A War of White Shadows (Kingdom Hearts)

Darkness Calls I

Sora strains against his iron shackles when a young Xehanort appears out of the dust. The cuffs on his wrists cut into his skin, and his legs are long numb from his unwilling vigil in the Keyblade Graveyard, where he has been standing for days. But he wills himself to forget his fatigue when he sees the smile painted on Xehanort's face.

"The Master is tired of waiting on you," Xehanort says.

"What did you do to Riku?" Sora demands.

The thick iron shackles holding Sora's wrists are attached to three chains apiece; each of these chains is strung high overhead. The distant ends sink deep into the ancient cliffs' walls. The web of chain links stretch high above Sora, interconnected here and there, like a pair of web-like iron wings. Xehanort regards these chains. Then, he breathes in, uncoiling his hands, and steps into the shadows of the massive chasm to face his adversary.

"Riku," he repeats. "Could he be the keyblade wielder who tried to attack the Master?"

"Answer me!"

"I did nothing. I never raised a hand against him."

Sora bares his teeth. "You're lying. Riku would never let you bring me here."

"You're right," Xehanort says. "Which is why it was so prudent of you to handle him for me."

Sora's head swims. Handle him? Why is he saying that? He can't shake the feeling that Riku is hurt. He swallows, tasting dust. When he looks up to glare at Xehanort, a second black-cloaked figure catches his eye. Saïx. A shadowy gateway evaporates behind him. He holds Sora's gaze, filled with contempt as ever, before turning to Xehanort.

"Master Xehanort is waiting."

The young Xehanort waves him off. "Sora wanted to talk. Don't we owe him that?"

Sora lets out a frustrated groan. His throat burns. "Cut it out, Xehanort. I'm not playing games with you."

"Nor I you, seeing as we are now peers." Xehanort paces slowly past Sora, though he never completely turns his back. "Now that your heart has, after all, accepted the Master's own heart, we should not keep secrets from each other. I wish you would stop this nonsense and return to join the ranks of the Organization, where you should be." He pauses, then turns towards Sora. "Do you truly not remember? The way you lashed out at— what was his name?"

Sora's shoulders tense. Dread spreads into his limbs. "Tell me where Riku is."

"Yes—Riku." Xehanort's head tilts in thought. "It very much took Riku by surprise as well. The look on his face when you tore into him. So sudden."

"Stop lying."

"And your King Mickey. Your betrayal cut him so deeply. I don't believe even the Master expected you to take to the darkness so readily, with such violence. As if some beast was coiled inside you, waiting."

"Stop talking!" Sora cries. "Can't you see that I... that I don't believe you?" He sags against his binds. As he stares at the ground, vision blurring, water droplets begin to blossom in the dust.

Xehanort looks away, staring off at the Eastward horizon. His cruelty seems to leave him. He grows distant. "It seems your body remembers, though your mind does not. I have been told your memory—yours in particular—is a chain easily severed. Is that true?"

Before Sora can react, Xehanort's arm shoots into his field of vision and grabs a fistful of his shirt. He yanks it up, exposing a patch of burned and twisted half-healed skin. Sora shouts, jumping back in horror. But he can't look away. A memory jumps unbidden into his mind, he and Axel—this battle different from the ones before. Axel's face, unable to conceal his own horror and fear as he hurls two flaming chakrams; Sora's vision vibrating red with adrenaline, blood under his fingernails, blood smearing from his hands to his face to protect himself from the assault; his movements lightning-fast but not controlled enough get out of the way as Axel's chakrams throw him back and burn him in his ribs; a fleeting glimpse of Riku's crumpled body on the floor between them, red standing out in stark contrast to the white floor.

"Your friend left this scar to remind you," Xehanort growls. He shakes his fist, still clutching fabric. "And you gave them scars enough to remember your betrayal for a good, long while. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can face the Master. He will help you understand. Are you ready, or not?"

Sora shakes his head. "You're lying."

Xehanort releases him. Sore stumbles to catch himself.

"He's not ready," Saïx says.

"He's lying to himself," Xehanort says. The words are arrogant. Self-righteous. "He knows the truth. There's nowhere else for him to go." He turns his back, walking towards the mouth of the chasm.

Xehanort's words are toxins. They creep under Sora's skin, into his bones, curl around his beating heart. A familiar compulsion—like adrenaline injected straight into his chest and pumping from his heart into his veins—seizes him now, just as it did when he fought Axel. More unwelcome memories consume him. Sora squeezes his eyes shut. Xehanort is telling lies. Lies. Sora doesn't believe it. He wouldn't hurt them. Not his friends. Not Riku. His heart thunders, dark energy seizing his limbs. His hands turn to fists and the fatigue plaguing his muscles disappears. When he opens his eyes, he sees his body consumed in darkness.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The mantra seizes his limbs in a mad fury. He rips his fists down, snapping the iron chains like cloth. He sees Xehanort's back turned. Sees red.

Liar!

Sora lunges. 

~

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