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I.
Master Xehanort’s second-in-command is introduced to him as a laid-back loyal simpleton, who may not be the smartest tool in the shed but can be counted on to get a job done.
This introduction comes from the second-in-command himself, and immediately the young time-travelling Xehanort is skeptical.
He’s not quite sure what to make of the guard with slicked back black hair who struts around the lab and talks with his hands almost as much as his words. His speech is casual and familiar—perhaps that’s to be expected given their age gap, and it not being his first meeting, but Xehanort can’t imagine this man using a formal tone with anyone. He wonders what sort of man his future self is to tolerate it.
The man calls himself Xigbar. Or more accurately, “I guess I’m probably Braig now, but I’ll be Xigbar again soon, so whatever floats your boat. We should probably be more concerned about what to call you. We’ve got enough Xehanorts running around to start an actual club, so gotta tell ‘em apart, you see. Though, I have to say, it feels a bit weird calling my future boss “Junior” or the like.” He drops it quickly enough when Xehanort doesn’t answer, for which the latter is grateful. He does not appreciate the nickname in the slightest.
Xigbar isn’t a particularly tall or imposing man (the two guards on the floor seem like they would dwarf him), but there is something unsettling about him. Xehanort’s eyes quickly draw to his pointed ears and golden eye—telling signs of darkness corruption. The scar on his face is obviously a darkness burn. It’ll never fully heal, and Xehanort wonders how it got there.
The unusual thing though, Xehanort notes, is that he can’t get a proper reading on Xigbar’s heart. He knows of techniques, of course, to shield the heart from darkness (and prying eyes), but he’s never known someone to be able to shield it so perfectly, let alone someone who doesn’t even have a Keyblade.
Xehanort doesn’t doubt this man is laid-back. He supposes he’ll have to bear witness to proof of his loyalty and ability. But the man called Xigbar is no simpleton. Of that, the young time-travelling Xehanort is certain.
“So the first order of business then,” Xigbar tells him as he crouches down beside one of the unconscious figures on the floor. “We gotta go back to being Nobodies. Having a heart’s great and all, but it’s a bit of an inconvenience under the circumstances. Prepping a vessel’s a bitch when they’ve got a heart of their own.”
In a surprising display of strength, Xigbar effortlessly lifts the black-robed blue-haired man over his shoulder. “Let’s take this upstairs though. Not sure how much time we’ve got ‘fore they all start waking up, and we’re on a schedule.”
Xehanort nods and follows after. Upstairs turns out to simply be the study, though it’s secure enough once Xigbar clicks a button on the wall and the entrance they used is replaced by a wall. Xehanort had passed through it before quickly when he went to the lab, but only now does he take note of the unusually trashed room. A hurricane (or heartless) had clearly swept through it, and books lie on the floor in testament, but the broken glass had been neatly swept up towards the walls, and a portrait on the wall had been taken down and carefully placed against the wall. A series of notes on the wall give away the portrait’s original hanging spot.
The man in the picture is also unusual. Though his face is different, there is something familiar about his dark skin and silver colored hair.
Xigbar chuckles. “Good pic, ain’t it?” he says. “Yeah, that’s you. From about 10 years ago.”
Xehanort turns to him in confusion. From this time period, 10 years ago, he would be…
“Long story,” Xigbar says. “I’ll tell you on the way to the others. Right now, we need your Keyblade.”
Xehanort summons it. Xigbar’s eye linger on it briefly, then he sets down the man he’d taken and props him against the wall, carefully positioning him so he doesn’t fall over.
“Atta boy,” he mutters. It’s unclear to Xehanort whether that remark is for him or the body. Xigbar turns to face him once more, and for the first time, his arrogant grin is gone.
“This is probably a first for you, so listen carefully,” he says. “You need to take that Keyblade and separate our hearts from our bodies. Don’t worry about them disappearing, we’ll just turn into Nobodies.” He puts a finger to his chest and traces an “X”. “Aim here.”
The young time-travelling Xehanort has heard of the things he will do in the future that will lead him to the place he is today. But as it has yet to become a reality for him, his expression falters slightly, and his grip on his Keyblade tightens.
Xigbar doesn’t miss this and scoffs. “What? You scared?” his grin returns, spreading across his face. “Yeah, I get it. First time you stab a dude’s an experience. But look, we do what we gotta do. Ansem, or whatever, told you how this little visit works right?”
“Yes,” Xehanort says evenly. “I am here to learn of my destiny and become one of my future self’s 13 vessels. When I return to my past, I will forget what I’ve seen, though the experience will remain engraved in my heart.”
“Bingo!” Xigbar snaps his fingers. “We’ve all got our roles to play. And mine right now is making sure you get the right experiences in there. Pay attention, cause they won’t be teaching you this in Keyblade school.” His mouth twitches upwards as if he’s found something exceptionally funny in his statement just then.
Xehanort stares at the Keyblade in his hand. He hasn’t had it long, and this one is a pale imitation of the one he will obtain one day. He still has much to learn about the Keyblade and his destiny.
“I’m surprised,” Xehanort says a cruel smile finding its way forward. “To think you’d give up your heart not even willingly, but voluntarily.”
“I’ve given up a lot for my mission,” Xigbar says dismissively without missing a beat.
“Why?”
Xigbar’s eye narrows. “Excuse me?”
“Why do you give up so much? Why do you stick with Master Xehanort so loyally? What’s in this for you?”
Xigbar’s grin fades and he makes a showing of putting his hand to his chin in deep thought. His golden eye betrays his indifference though.
“Well, simply put, big bad Master Xehanort promised me something I’ve been trying to get my hands on for ages. So I accepted.”
Xehanort finds himself oddly disappointed by the answer. He wants to ask what it is, but he suspects he either won’t get an answer or it will be just as unsatisfying. “Is that all?”
“What? Not good enough for you?”
“You’ve devoted yourself to this cause for over a decade. A cause even you’ve said you don’t know the endgame of.”
“That’s the role I was given here.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Xehanort agrees and mentally steels himself as he raises his Keyblade. He’s decided to use it on Xigbar first. “I hope whatever it is you’ve been promised is satisfactory then.”
Xigbar doesn’t react at all to a Keyblade aimed at his chest. His grin grows sinister and Xehanort thinks he can finally sense the darkness in him. “Don’t you worry about that.”
The young time-travelling Xehanort won’t remember this meeting.
But he hopes his heart will remember this unease.
II.
Radiant Garden is an unusual world. Bountiful and peaceful, it is a world that shines with a bright light earning it the nickname “city of light” in the texts. It is a rare world that knows of the World Order, and though he’s never confirmed it, Xehanort has heard of the wise sage-king studying the mysteries of the heart behind the castle walls.
The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, so he supposes it’s not surprising that his darkness stands out, and he’s quickly noticed by a guardsman. He notices the guards gaze on him as early as the Central Square. A uniformed man with sleek black hair and a red scarf watches him from a distance. Their eyes meet briefly. He’s too far away for Xehanort to see his expression, but when their gaze breaks momentarily and Xehanort looks back out again, the guard is gone.
He’s erased all presence of himself, but Xehanort knows he won’t be left alone that easily and simply makes for the Outer Gardens. He waits patiently for the guard to reveal himself again.
“Man, I must be slipping from the lack of action,” the guard says in a casual tone as he steps out into the garden. There’s a pair of arrow guns in his hands, one dangling carelessly, the other slung over his shoulder. “Thought you wouldn’t notice me there.”
“You hid yourself well,” Xehanort assures him with a chuckle. “I simply knew it was a matter of time before you would approach me.”
“Oh yeah?” the guard tilts his head in a quizzing manner, then shrugs as though it matters little anyway. “Guess I won’t bother with the coy act then. You’re not from around here, are you old timer?”
“No,” Xehanort answers truthfully.
“Yeah, figured,” the guard says. “I don’t forget a face that easily.” He stows his guns and relaxes his posture. “Well, whatever. Welcome to Radiant Garden. World Order’s about as open a secret as it gets, but don’t go on blabbing about it either way. No talking about other worlds with locals, and no mentioning your exact world to other Outworlders. Follow the rules, and the big man in the castle won’t ask any questions.”
The guard walks around and gestures wildly with his hands as he speaks. Despite this, his eyes never leave Xehanort, and he reveals no openings. There’s something peculiar about him Xehanort can’t quite place, but he doesn’t worry about it. He has no reason to.
“So that’s the bureaucratic crap out of the way,” the guard says simply, and makes a big showing of pulling back his glove to check his watch. “And wouldn’t you know it, it’s time for my break. So, old timer, what really brings you out here?”
“Xehanort,” the old timer says. Xehanort doesn’t appreciate the casual speech but he’s too curious about the fool before him. “If you wish to speak with me, use my name.”
“Sure. In that case, name’s Braig,” the guard called Braig replies. “I may not look like it, but I’m a researcher, and I have to say, your heart’s an interesting one. There’s a strange power emanating from it.”
Xehanort nods. So the rumors about Ansem the Wise’s research were true then.
“They teach you well,” he says. “I am what’s called a Keyblade Master.”
“Woah, Master Xehanort!” Braig whistles and his grin grows as though he’s just hit the jackpot. “I’ve heard the stories but didn’t think your kind were left! So then, you really have one? A Keyblade? Oh you’ve gotta let me see!”
Xehanort obliges. This man is important, though Xehanort doesn’t quite know how yet, so it’s necessary to keep his attention. No Name materializes in his hand, its blue eye fixing on Braig as he stares at it with wide eyes. At one moment, he reaches out to it, and it’s at that precise moment that his hand is about to touch the Keyblade that Xehanort stows it.
“Aww just when we got to the good part,” Braig complains. “But man, oh man, is it cool to see it up close.” He makes a flexing motion with his hand, miming the feel of a Keyblade. “So then, what brings a Keyblade Master, of all things, to our humble little city of light? You don’t look like you’re here to see the king.”
“No,” Xehanort confirms. “I am here on my own business.”
“Oh?” The guard is curious. His gaze continues to linger on the space that had been filled by the Keyblade. “Some sort of darkness business.”
Xehanort pauses. Braig laughs.
“Oh yeah, we know a thing or two about that ‘round here,” he says. “Honestly Master Xehanort, sir, you’re lucky it’s me who spotted you and not one of the others. A scent of darkness as strong as yours would alarm anyone.”
“But not you?”
“Light and dark are a balance, aren’t they?” Braig says earnestly. “Never really got the whole light is good, darkness is bad spiel. Oh, but you’re the Keyblade Master here, sir. Perhaps you can clarify that for me.”
“You are correct,” Xehanort says pleased. “Light and darkness exist in a balance. It’s foolish to fear and suppress the dark. I should only hope the young man I’m assisting now can learn that lesson.”
“A young man?” Braig repeats. “Your student?”
“My friend’s student. I’m merely helping him find his way. He needs to learn not to fear the darkness in his heart.”
Xehanort wonders how he can say these things with a straight face sometimes. The guard nods animatedly.
“Yeah, I get it,” he says. “Any way I can assist?”
Xehanort raises a brow. This man sounds eager.
“Hey, come on, it’s not every day you meet a genuine Keyblade Master. You know how long I’ve wanted to see a Keyblade that wasn’t a sketch on some documents? It would be an honor to see you at work.”
Xehanort considers the offer. He is a man who lives along destiny’s guiding hand. His heart always tells him when he’s following the path he’s meant to, and it reacts strongly to the man before him now. This meeting is significant.
Xehanort grins.
“Very well.”
He lays out an idea. A simple plot to stoke the fire of rage within Terra’s soul. He’s careful with his words, but the guard easily reveals his unscrupulous nature as he listens and grins. He’s a native to this world so Xehanort listens to his own suggestions for when and where their plan should be carried out. He doesn’t object to anything, and eagerly volunteers to make all the arrangements on his end.
They part ways with matching grins, though its only Xehanort who can smile at the plot’s completion. The guard’s injury is unfortunate, but it’s a small price to pay for the beautiful rage Terra displays. The boy should learn some patience, Xehanort thinks, if Braig’s intentionally aggravating manner can set him off this easily.
Xehanort remains behind as Eraqus’ pupils depart for other worlds. As he expects, Braig comes looking for him right away. The arrogant grin is gone. Along with his right eye, and there’s an angry red gash peering out from the bandage on his cheek.
“This is not what I signed up for!” he yells, firing his arrow guns. An easy enough attack to deflect. His battle with Terra gave Xehanort all the insight he needed to this man’s combat ability. Against a man without a Keyblade, he might even be a threat.
His bravado crumbles at seeing the Keyblade he’d admired so brilliantly aimed at him.
“Hold on, you still need me to do something, right?” Braig sputters.
“And what do you propose I have you do?”
“I did some scouting while I was tailing Terra,” Braig says. “Spotted some interesting characters here and there. A whopping three Keyblade Wielders running around our little city. And one of them stood out quite a bit.”
“Oh?”
“Heart of pure light, that one. Definitely ain’t natural.”
He can tell. Xehanort is mildly surprised, but he supposes Ansem has learned much in the course of his research. Perhaps it would do well to keep an eye on it in the future. Perhaps that could be a use for this man.
“He ain’t a princess, so that darkness had to go somewhere. And the library has quite a few texts about what should happen if pure light and pure darkness clash. Master Xehanort…are you…trying to create the legendary X-Blade?”
The guess is too good, and Xehanort raises his Keyblade higher. Braig steps back instinctively, but he doesn’t break his gaze.
“You’d be surprised by some of the things we’ve got locked away here. I’d love to show you if you’d be willing.”
“What do you want?”
“You’re trying to get a new Keyblade right? What’ll happen to this one afterwards?”
Braig talks too much, Xehanort thinks. If not for his heart’s interest in the man, he would no longer be standing.
When Braig speaks again, there is a grin on his face once more.
“Would you believe it’s been my lifelong dream to have a Keyblade? Grew up on the fairytales. Masters take apprentices, right? If you made me yours, I’d do anything. Embrace the big bad darkness? Gladly. I’d put my whole heart into it. You’ve got big plans, I can tell. Surely, you’re gonna need an extra set of hands.”
Xehanort is a man who lives along destiny’s guiding hand. This offer is a crossroad.
He’s doesn’t need to be familiar with Braig to understand how he looks at the Keyblade.
“And when you say you want a Keyblade, you mean this one. Not just any would do.”
Something flashes in Braig’s remaining eye.
“An eye for an eye, right?”
The aging Master Xehanort considers it.
“Very well.”
And a heart for a heart.
III.
He’s settling.
The amnesiac Xehanort knows nothing about himself. The name “Xehanort” was the only thought in his mind when he was found, and though his mind has filled up with many thoughts since then, none of them are familiar.
But he’s settling.
The ruler of Radiant Garden, the scholar known as Ansem the Wise has given him a place to live and the freedom to roam. Surrounded by books and researchers, it takes little for Xehanort to take interest, and when the interest translates to an unusual bank of knowledge, Ansem extends his generosity with a lab coat and an apprenticeship.
Xehanort thinks he was a researcher. He’s never read the books and papers Ansem hands him, but he absorbs them quickly, and debates them quicker. The other apprentices are welcoming. He doesn’t know them, but he feels at ease around a group of intelligent people unafraid to tackle the unknown.
In this Hollow Bastion of light and knowledge, Xehanort almost thinks to abandon the past, and accept this new life.
But a shadow lurks.
The shadow is named Braig. Xehanort is told that he’s the one who’d found him. On his more cynical days, Xehanort wonders how convenient.
He doesn’t like Braig.
He hasn’t liked him since the moment he first approached, and he continues to dislike the man’s alleged attempts to befriend him.
The old Xehanort was not a physical person. He’s sure of this, because he hates the way Braig drapes his arm around his shoulders and hangs off him. He doesn’t like the lengthy inane conversations about nothing he’s pulled into, and he doesn’t like how telling or pushing him off only encourages him further.
But most of all, he doesn’t like Braig’s mystery. The man is overly familiar with him, in a way that’s different from how he’s overly familiar with everyone else. He can shoot the breeze with Dilan and Aeleus and drive them to the brink of their patience (both of them), but with them, there’s a certain straight-forwardness.
With Xehanort, he makes cryptic comments, and eggs him, and asks the same questions as if he’s a awaiting a specific answer.
The amnesiac Xehanort thinks they may have known each other before. If that is the case, then it’s deeply unsettling that Braig denies it. He makes an effort to avoid Braig, but it’s ineffective to avoid a man who has a same freedom to roam as he does.
And a talent for sneaking up from out of nowhere.
It’s why the sudden arm around his should shouldn’t startle Xehanort as much as it does, but the carefully compiled research paper scatters to the floor all the same. Braig snorts at the reaction, arm still in place.
It’s a reminder for Xehanort not to sit by the door. In the upstairs laboratory, they all have their preferred seat, and Xehanort, the newcomer, had grown used to sitting by the door. But when it’s only him, Professor Even, and the child, Ienzo, he has to freedom to sit wherever.
Even and Ienzo look up from their respective writing and reading.
“Howdy,” Braig announces himself, finally unwrapping his arm, but resting it on Xehanort’s shoulder instead of removing it completely. “How’re my favorite brainiacs doing?”
“We were doing well.” Xehanort doesn’t hear this said, but that’s what he imagines Even’s muted mutter to resemble. Braig may or may not have heard his words, but he’s not here for Even.
“Whatcha reading today?” he is instead, as always, focused entirely on Xehanort and the things he studies.
Xehaonrt wonders if Braig may have been his teacher once. Between his vague mysterious questions, he takes too much interest in Xehanort’s education and tosses occasional suggestions. It’s the one thing Xehanort doesn’t completely hate about him.
“Oh Gast. Yeah, figures given the company,” he looks at Even as he says this, and crouches down before he can see the flushed glare he gets in return. When it comes to studying the heart, this cohort, and Even especially, leans heavily towards the Gast ideology. Braig is the strawman, though how much of it is just to rile Even is unclear.
He gathers the papers for Xehanort, skimming them as he goes along.
“You know, we’ve invented this thing called staplers long ago. Youth shouldn’t be afraid of technology,” Braig jokes as he makes some effort to organize them again. The effort is quickly abandoned though when he suddenly spreads out the papers on the table and reaches past Xehanort to grab a red sharpie. “Oh hey, now this part’s interesting.” Without warning, her circles a paragraph on a page Xehanort has not yet read. Then he pulls Xehanort in close again, and whispers, “You read L. Iaiga’s Foretelling the Heart yet? Radical stuff, but you’d like his writings on the heart and identity.”
From his angle, Xehanort can only see Braig’s eyepatch. A grin where the eyes are hidden is somehow frightening.
“Yeah,” Braig says, intentionally louder. “It’s good to read the foundations, but sometimes you gotta branch out to other schools of thought and denounce the academia. You know, Even once—
“Do you need something?” Even’s sharp tone cuts through the chatter. Braig quiets down and looks at the professor with a mock-hurt expression.
“What? I can’t drop by to visit my favorite prof, kid, and new guy?” The favorite kid just glances up from his book pointedly, then resumes reading.
“Not if you insist on being a nuisance,” the favorite prof tells him, and Braig decides to leave it at that. He puts up his hands and saunters out of the lab as quietly as he came in, and Xehanort lets out the breath he suddenly realizes he’s holding.
“You don’t have to be afraid of him,” Even says not unkindly once Braig is gone. “He acts oafish, but he won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” Xehanort says, but he really doesn’t. He doesn’t know anything about Braig other than the man has no regard for personal space and may or may not have known Xehanort before his amnesia. There’s an unsettling unease in Xehanort’s heart whenever he thinks about it. “I just wish I knew what he was thinking sometimes.”
“Don’t we all,” Even laments with a tired sigh. Even has worked in the castle for a long time. From what Xehanort has learned, Braig was hired shortly before him. Their interactions are different from Braig’s with the child or the other guards. They seem to dislike each other on a personal level, but professionally, Xehanort has heard that they can debate their theories through the night.
He has yet to witness this.
“Braig is…difficult,” Even says, but his face scrunches up in that way one’s does when “difficult” is just a carefully selected stand-in for less diplomatic feelings. Even is like this. He’s not a quiet man, especially not when he gets going about his research, but he tries to be a patient one. He delivers his words in a reserved even tone, and rarely raises his voice. His face, however, is far more expressive, giving away his true thoughts much more readily. It’s because of this that Xehanort is not reassured and lets his own face say as much.
“He’s a very smart man, so I don’t understand why he acts the way he does,” Even continues. “It’s as if he wants people to take him for a fool.”
Xehanort nods. Braig is like that. He speaks without a filter and is as physical as he is wordy. But his expression is always guarded, and it’s unclear what meaning, if any, there is behind his words. If they did know each other previously, Xehanort doesn’t imagine they got along well.
“If he continues to bother you though, I will speak with his Lordship,” Even says reassuringly. “It’s unacceptable for an apprentice of Lord Ansem the Wise to behave in this manner.”
Unseen by Even, Ienzo rolls his eyes. His gaze meets Xehanort’s and he lowers his book. There’s a pursed frown on his face. There usually is. The child is another one that’s hard to read.
“Thank you,” Xehanort says. “But I will manage.”
Even nods and returns to his work. The child returns to his book. Xehanort picks up the pages of his scattered report, and flips to the paragraph Braig had circled.
“You read L. Iaiga’s Foretelling the Heart yet? Radical stuff, but you’d like his writings on the heart and identity.”
The circled paragraph touches very briefly on it. Specifically, it denounces it for unsupported idealism.
Braig isn’t an idealist.
“Excuse me, Professor,” Xehanort says, neatly tucking the report under his arm.
The amnesiac Xehanort doesn’t like Braig.
But something in his heart compels him to listen to him.
IV.
In losing his heart, the Xehanort now known as Xemnas has lost many other things. His emotions, his attachments, and the ever-present whisperings of Braig suggesting plots and experiments under the guise of casual observations. Indeed, since losing his heart, Braig, now Xigbar, keeps his distance, speaking no more than necessary, and focusing his attentions on the other members of their cohort as though they still or ever mattered.
Now it is Xemnas who has to seek him out. If he had a heart, he is sure he would appreciate this greatest of ironies.
It’s not difficult to get a hold of Xigbar. On the surface he acts as he always has, and his act has always been that of Xehanort’s “buddy”. This has not changed. So, when they’re in the company of the others and Xemnas requests that Xigbar stay behind, he does with little more than a shrug and a snide comment.
When they are alone however, his demeanor changes and he watches Xemnas with his one good eye sharply.
“You are afraid of me,” Xemnas observes.
Xigbar snorts. “As if. I’ve known decrepit old geezers scarier than you.”
“I see.” Xemnas doesn’t expect a straight answer so earily. But he doesn’t need one when he can feel Xigbar’s golden eye on him, as though watching for sudden moves. Xemnas knows the reason for the caution. If he had a heart, he is sure it would be warning him to be cautious as well. However closer to the darkness Xehanort got, whatever truths he learned, he never solved the mystery of Braig, the man who may or may have known him before his amnesia.
He has a hint now. At the very end of their “life”, Braig let slip a certain truth. Even now Xemnas is unsure if it was intentional or a mistake. He wondered if the amnesia was faked. If he would ask that, he knew enough to reach such a conclusion. If he knew Xehanort in the past, then he surely knew other things.
“You are cautious of me,” Xemnas says again. “Perhaps even angry?”
“Okay? Yeah, sure, I’m angry,” Xigbar replies dryly. “You stabbed me. With a Keyblade. Dammit, what asshole even taught you to do that? No way they teach that in Keyblade School!”
“We agreed to give up our hearts to the darkness.”
“Did we? I must have missed that meeting. And all the others you held behind my back.” Xigbar draws back. “Yeah, I know about those. Because someone still had to make sure the plan ran smoothly.”
Xemnas pauses. “What plan is that? My plan or the plan of the man you knew before?”
“Oh is that what you’re still on about? Yeah, fine, I knew you before. Happy?”
Xemnas is not, in fact, happy. He feels nothing, but he is certain that he would not feel happy even if he could. Because he has learned in the past year that if Braig readily gives an answer it’s because he no longer sees the gain from hiding it.
It’s their first real conversation since they have re-awakened as Nobodies. It’s a conversation Xemnas has looked forward to.
“You have yet to answer my question.”
“Why? I’m following your orders, aren’t I?”
“And are they truly my orders or the orders of the man you swore your fealty to?”
Xigbar frowns. It is perhaps a puzzling dilemma for him.
“I didn’t swear fealty to anyone,” he replies after a long pause. “The old you and I had an arrangement. I hold my end, he’d hold his. That’s it.”
“And what was this arrangement?”
Xigbar doesn’t answer. “What happened to the Keyblade?” he asks instead. “The one you stabbed us with. Haven’t seen it since.”
“It’s gone.”
“Tch.”
It would be a shame, Xemnas thinks, if he could feel shame. The Keyblade they’d studied so carefully had appeared to him at the height of his power. It appeared to him with all of its knowledge. His heart taught him how to wield it.
And his heart was gone now, the Keyblade with it.
“The Keyblade is a weapon of the heart. I imagine it has disappeared since this form lacks one.”
“You should probably fix that then.”
Xemnas hums to himself. The suggestion is one he would find amusing.
“So what now?” Xigbar asks. “You had us sacrifice our hearts for some greater purpose, I hope. What was it?”
There is a purpose to their sacrifice, but that purpose is only a vague imprint now. Xehanort lacked memories but his heart guided him down the road he needed to follow. Its resonance only intensified after the old king’s experiment though the memories remained sealed. But now that Xemnas is without a heart, he only has the apprentice Xehanort’s research and experience to fall on.
“We continue the experiments,” Xemnas says simply. “A vessel without a heart yet its own will is a curious thing. The heart should be the essence of the self, yet in its absence, the body continues to move. We have observed the Dusks scurry about, clinging to the illusions of their previous lives. And yet, do they merely act on instinct like the Heartless or are they truly capable of higher thought? And then we have ourselves. Beings who continue our lives exactly as before though we’ve relinquished our identities. We have much to learn about these “Nobodies” we’ve created.”
Xigbar nods, but he seems to be awaiting something further so Xemnas adds. “The heart proved a bothersome thing. An empty vessel should be far more moldable to our needs.”
“If you say so.”
“We’ll need thirteen,” Xemnas decides.
“The darkness side of the ancient ratio,” Xigbar mutters to himself just loud enough to still be heard.
“Correct. The 7 princesses of light and the 13 seekers of darkness. We shall be the thirteen, seeking out the dark path that leads to Kingdom Hearts.”
Xigbar starts to clap.
“So all roads lead to Kingdom Hearts in the end. Works for me.”
Xemnas nods. If there is one subject Braig had always been especially vocal about, it was calling forth Kingdom Hearts.
“Is this the arrangement you had with my former self?”
“Does it matter?”
It does. Xemnas knows that however much power he may wield, he will need more than intimidation to keep the rest of their group in line. And to keep them in line, he needs Xigbar in line and loyal to him.
“I don’t see why we can’t have our own arrangement,” Xigbar offers, and though his grin returns, his body remains rigid.
“And what do you propose?”
“Ooh scary. Yeesh, if you keep glaring like that, we’ll never get our old friendship back,” Xigbar remarks, but his eye shows his resolve. “I’ll keep this simple. I don’t care what you do or what you want me to do. But you keep your blades, keys, ethereal, or otherwise, to yourself.”
It’s too mundane a request.
“Is that all?” Xemnas doesn’t buy it.
“That’s all.” Xigbar says seriously, then moments later burst out laughing. “What? You think you have something I want? As if. I’m really no different from the others. I’m in this for the long haul. But I really don’t appreciate being stabbed.”
Xemnas knows there is something he’s still not being told.
“Suspicion won’t do you any good,” Xigbar tells him. “I know too well the difference in our power levels to plot against you. So you either promise not to stab me again and gain a loyal underling, or you don’t and we carry on as we do.”
In the end, Xemnas will get all of the power and none of the information he seeks. He knows too well by now the shape that Xigbar’s loyalty will take. But he also knows that it is better to accept the offer to keep him close.
“Follow my orders, and you’ll have nothing to fear from me,” he finally says.
Xigbar finally relaxes, as though he’s been waiting all along for this resolution.
“Whatever you say, Superior.”
The title is already mocking.
V.
“You son of a bitch.”
The heartless Ansem is used to silence. A formless spirit, his only company is the darkness and the children who play in the cave by the Door. As such it takes a moment to realize that the gravelly voice belongs to an adult, and longer still to realize it’s talking to him.
When he does though, the black hooded figures shape becomes familiar, and an image of a scar and an eyepatch cross his mind.
“Do you need something?” Ansem says.
“What, no “Howdy Braig” or “long time no see” or even a “where the hell have you been, old pal”?”
“We are not pals.”
“Harsh.” Ansem remembers Braig to be a man who talked with his hands as much as his mouth. Now that his mouth his hidden by his hood, his hands appear even more animated.
“Guess it’s on me then, huh?” he asks, and clears his throat. “Howdy Xehanort. Long time no see. Where the hell have you been, old pal?”
Ansem responds with silence. Then,
“My name is Ansem.”
“Oh yeah? What a coincidence. I’ve got a new name too. It’s Xigbar.”
The recusant’s sigil? The term springs in Ansem’s mind, but he dismisses it. What would “Xigbar” know about it.
“I see your Nobody near daily, but you’ve been MIA since the whole stabbing-us-and-taking-our-hearts thing. That was, what, a decade ago now? Remember that?”
It has been far more than a decade for him, but Ansem remembers. He also remembers Braig having a more jovial carefree tone in the past. Now it is either an act or time and experience has made him more attuned to his old partner in crime.
“What do you want?” Ansem demands.
“Do I have to want something?” Xigbar asks. There is only darkness around them, but Ansem can still see his old unsettling smile. He continues without prompting. “Anyway though, I’m almost surprised to see you still alive, even in that form. Didn’t think to look here of all places.”
“You were looking for me?”
“Something like that. What happened to you anyway? There’s no body in there.”
It’s an observation, not a question. The heartless Ansem doesn’t have a body anymore. He hasn’t for many years. His appearance now is that of a hooded figure, held together by the darkness.
“I have cast it away to fulfill my new role.”
“No kidding.” Xigbar reaches up and scratches the top of his hood. Ansem awaits questions, but there are only echoes of footsteps as Xigbar wanders around the cave. His eyes linger on the childish carving on one of the walls.
“If you’re here in that state, something big must be coming. Clue an old pal in?”
Xigbar is not an old pal and Ansem will not clue him in. He has seen and learned much since they last met, and he is no longer the lost lamb needing the wolf’s guidance. Xigbar is no longer useful to him.
But in the interest of their old alliance, Ansem will humor him.
“The Key will soon appear.”
The echoes stop. Silence reigns as Xigbar faces the mouth of the cave for the longest time as still as a statue. Eventually, he turns back to the stone walls around them.
“Is this where the door is?” he asks in a flat tone.
“It is.”
“Any chance of it opening soon?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.” More echoes as Xigbar kneels down in front of the drawings. “A certain lady of magic has been on the move for some time now. Worlds falling to sleep, princesses going missing, that kind of thing.”
“The seven lights will open the Door to Darkness to Kingdom Hearts, the heart of all worlds.” Despite his seclusion, the heartless Ansem is already aware of this. He has learned of it from the darkness. He awaits the result eagerly.
“Ah, so that’s the plan this time, is it? Good to know. Anyway, seems she set up shop in our old lab and took over our research. Whoops!” Xigbar is more entertained than concerned. “Oh well, nothing to do about it now. Xemnas—that’s your Nobody—told me to keep tabs, so here I am. And now here you are! Just like old times, I suppose.”
Ansem's response is a low grumble. The activities of his Nobody are or little interest to him. The activities of his irritant benefactor even less so. Xigbar would do well to stay away from this, and he says as much.
Xigbar grows tired of tracing the carving and stretches upwards with a grunt. “You’re breaking up a winning team, you know,” he remarks, slipping back into his usual snide tone. “But body or no body, you’re still not someone I’d want to cross, so guess that’s that. You really sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”
Ansem doesn’t answer. Xigbar doesn’t seem interested in one as he stretches his long limbs and opens a corridor of darkness beside himself.
“Welp, suit yourself. I did offer. Guess I’d better report back to the other boss. Thanks, old pal.”
“Do not interfere,” Ansem warns him again.
“Who me? As if!” Xigbar laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You cast me as a spectator, and I take my roles very seriously, you know.”
But as the darkness surrounds him, the laughter stops. “Looks like things have finally begun to move again, huh? Pity all I get to do is watch, but I expect a hell of an opening act then. First impressions are important, you know.”
Then as suddenly as he appeared, he is gone, and darkness fills the cave once more.
VI.
It’s the beginning of the end.
The resurrected Master Xehanort stands in the Keyblade Graveyard waiting. The thirteen darknesses are ready. The seven lights will arrive soon. Kingdom Hearts hovers unseen over him, so close in his grasp. Master Xehanort has waited several lifetimes for this moment.
And he knows another has been waiting as well. He clears his throat to acknowledge the presence behind him.
“Geez still? And here I though after all these years, I’d finally manage to sneak up on you,” the former-castle guard steps out from the shadows, hands raised in surrender. “Good to see the great beyond hasn’t dulled your senses, old man.”
“There is little time left,” Xehanort says dryly. “This would be our only opportunity to speak.”
“Is that right?” the man once known as Braig says in mock consideration and pulls down his hood. “So you’re saying I’ve gotten predictable then. Harsh.”
He is not and will never be predictable, Xehanort thinks. But it’s what he’s always found interesting about his so-called second-in-command.
“You’ve done well these past few years,” he says, because it’s good to get to get the formalities out of the way. “I’m almost surprised to see you again.”
“You and me both. That plan of yours was a jigsaw puzzle and a half. I’m still not sure I get most of it.”
“You don’t need to “get it”. It was destined to reach this point.”
“Is that really what you want to say to the guy who busted his ass for you for over a decade?”
“Fair enough. I suspect I owe you much more than an eye by this point.”
Xigbar lets out a good-natured chuckle. “Yeah, no kidding,” he says. “You owe me one hell of an overtime cheque for starters.”
“Is that so?” The resurrected Master Xehanort does not have his vessels’ memories. He has a vague impression of their experiences and feelings from the fragments of his heart in them, and as such knows of some of Xigbar’s activities in the interim.
“Would you be content with my not asking about the Black Box you’ve been seeking then?” He hopes for a reaction but Xigbar just shrugs uncaringly.
“Oh you know about that?” He asks in a flat uninterested tone. “Sure, works for me. Saves me the long story we don’t have time for.”
It’s not much longer now. Xehanort knows that Sora’s team will reach their world very soon. He can feel it.
“I’m kidding about the overtime cheque, you know,” Xigbar says with only a hint of impatience. “You know what I want.”
“Of course,” Xehanort replies and summons No Name to his hand. As it had all those years ago, Xigbar’s eye is immediately drawn to the piercing blue on the handle. The longing fondness in his eye is familiar. “When the X-Blade comes to be in my possession, this Keyblade will be yours. Rejoice. Your years of hard work have paid off. You’ll finally be a Keyblade wielder.”
“Yes,” Xigbar says, eye never leaving the Keyblade. Even after all these years, he remains the same Keyblade obsessed fool from the Radiant Garden library. It’s almost endearing, and Xehanort grows curious.
“What will you do once you finally have a Keyblade?”
It’s a question worth asking, he thinks. He can empathize with putting your entire life towards a single goal and having that goal’s finish line mere hours away. Xehanort knows what lies beyond his life’s goal. He wonders if Xigbar does as well.
But Xigbar just shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe I’ll go catch up with some old friends or something.” A noncommittal answer from a noncommittal man. He really hasn’t changed.
“I hope it’s everything you wanted it to be,” Xehanort tells him.
“Are you going soft on me, old man? That’s kinda gross.”
Xehanort ignores him and closes his eyes. He can sense Sora’s gummiship in the space above them.
“Guess it’s time, huh?” Xigbar says, and finally tears his gaze away from No Name. “I doubt we’ll get to chat like this again, so it’s been good knowing you, Mister Master.”
He disappears without awaiting a reply. Xehanort waits until his presence completely fades. Then a low rumble begins to escape his throat. It grows in volume, echoing around him. It is the first time Master Xehanort has truly laughed in decades.
This is the beginning of the end. Everything has led him to his moment. And once he summons Kingdom Hearts at long last, everything will be over.
He pities men like Xigbar. So corrupted by greed and darkness, willing to throw everyone and everything away for their selfish goals. He cares for nothing but the Keyblade he desires. He could never hope to understand Xehanort’s ambitions.
Still, he was a good pawn, so the resurrected Master Xehanort will grant him his wish.
And then the world will end.