6,581 Miles to Luma [ 10/?? ]
This chapter is kind of unfortunately short. On the plus side, the next one will be up very soon, both to make up for the shortness and to make up for the very long wait since chapter 9.
Title: 6,581 Miles to Luma [ 10/?? ]
Author: Casey
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: R/M
Pairings: Axel/Roxas, Riku/Sora
Warnings: The holy trinity of language, sex and violence.
Genre: Post-apocalyptic sci-fi/fantasy road trip
Summary: A clone, a priestess, a fugitive and a knight are crossing the desert together in a V-class 1300-series armored truck. There must be a punchline.
Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
Nightfall, Part Three
It was exactly two hours and seven minutes later when Roxas's eyelids fluttered and he had enough presence of mind to mutter, "Turn the lights on," just loud and vague enough that Riku jumped out of his seat instantly and flipped on every toggle on the bank of controls over Roxas's head, up to and including every floodlight and cabin light until the truck was a veritable beacon. He was just fast enough, because in the next instant Roxas felt himself slumping forward, sliding down in the chair, Riku grabbing the wheel and shouting his name as the truck listed to the side.
He didn't remember anything else until he woke up in the lower bunk, twenty-six hours later.
When Roxas tried to move, his muscles turned to water. He shifted as much as he could, tried to curl up around himself, entire body weak and aching like he'd caught a fever. Opening his eyes was a feat of strength, blinking in the dim cabin light that was still too bright. And there was Sora, sitting next to the bed, blue eyes wide and watching him. The pocket doors were closed, no sounds but silence and the rumble of the truck as it continued on, so Kairi and Riku must have been up front.
Sora stared at him as he tried to lift his hand enough to rub the sleep from his eyes, barely able to move his fingers, make a few passes until his arm collapsed limp at his side. He groaned a little, closing his eyes against the light and the weight of Sora's gaze.
"You overdid it," the boy said softly, finally. "You almost hyperextended; you would have if you hadn't passed out."
"I know my limits," Roxas grumbled, or tried to, into the pillow, but his voice came out too faint.
"Then you know what happens," Sora said, voice firm and serious in a way he hadn't heard before now, and when Roxas opened his eyes Sora's stare was hard, almost angry, eyebrows drawing together. "You know what it's like to die that way; your Art eating you alive from the inside out."
Roxas felt that tug in his gut again, the one that tried to draw him to Sora. He wanted to reach out, right at that moment, touch Sora's hand or cup his cheek, something soothing and altogether too familiar for the minimal relationship they had. His hand moved of its own accord, under the blankets, but didn't get far. He was too damn tired, too weak. Sora's eyes flickered, his mouth curled into a frown and his head tilted down and that thing in Roxas's stomach tugged again, harder, almost painful. His hand twitched.
They were like polarized magnets, he thought. At certain angles they were pulled inexorably towards each other; at others an invisible force stood between them, shoving them apart. He couldn't define it, whatever this was; he dug long and deep for an answer but could only recall Xemnas and his low, contemplative voice explaining that there were some mysteries in the world that even the House of the Wise had never uncovered. Naminé and her small pink smile that never revealed anything.
Sora felt it, too. He knew it by the way he shifted on his knees, the way he'd avoided touching Roxas the way Roxas avoided touching him. Because like magnets, when they did finally come in contact something would snap together, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what would happen when they did.
"Just be more careful," Sora said to the floor, after the silence was drawn taut. He shifted again and stood, one hand drawing a water bottle from the floor and leaning it against Roxas's pillow. "You need protein. Lots of it. I'll go switch with Riku, I can't cook anything that requires more than unwrapping." His grin was sudden and brilliant, turned down towards Roxas like the rays of the sun, so bright it made him blink.
After he was gone, and Riku was busy clanking around the kitchen appliances, Roxas continued to lay and stare at his hand, too tired to do anything else or even begin to think about it.
Riku cooked every piece of meat in the icebox that was in danger of spoiling if left much longer, spicing and preparing each one slightly different for some variety, although Roxas ate them all as though he hadn't seen food in weeks and barely tasted any of it. He fell asleep again late in the afternoon and slept through the night, boneless and dreamless and woke when Kairi brought the truck to a halt in the morning, feeling like a whole new person.
He changed the lights on the roof with the sun warm on his shoulders and watched Sora practicing his swordforms from the corners of his eyes, a blur of movement with the flickering glint of steel. He let Riku take the wheel and cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Kairi climbing into the upper bunk and promptly falling asleep somewhere midway through the process, and he proceeded from there to tidy up the entire living area, although there wasn't much to do, seems how they had a domestically efficient Replican along for the ride.
He breathed deep, and felt relaxed all the way to his bones and couldn't remember when he'd last had that luxury. In the space of quiet in the living area, the only sound aside from the truck itself being Kairi's soft breathing, Zexion slipped out from whatever hiding place his heart utilized behind Roxas's left ear; he didn't take form, just hovered around the room as a trailing ball of light. Roxas figured that was his equivalent of stretching his legs.
If Zexion felt secure enough to wander around on his own, then it was probably as good a time as any to do some maintenance. Settled into the lower bunk, it was easy enough to check on Kairi while she was sleeping, assuring nothing had come loose or blown aside. Leaving her heart safe and secure, Roxas let himself slip deeper, into his own heart and the secret, second Art that occupied the same space. Warm and gentle and peaceful, like floating on his back in a pool of gently rolling water, warm in the sun, fingers sliding through the watery nothingness like silk.
He let himself float there, just for a moment, then took a long, cleansing breath, and let himself sink.
It was slow at first, like drifting down through water, but steadily became faster and faster, vertigo destroying his sense of which way was up. Awareness of his surroundings vanished and there was no way to tell if he was really still lying in the lower bunk of a truck as it sped across the desert in a tiny world run by clockwork, or if he was falling through the eternity of space and time.
Eventually his decent slowed from a fall into a gentle drift that automatically settled him upright, let his feet touch down slow and careful. Eyes still closed, he could sense the liquid flow of mist around him, the gentle glow that seemed to come from below his feet and nowhere at the same time. If he reached out his hands he'd feel the web of threads surrounding him, insubstantial enough for him to walk through and at the same time completely solid under his fingers. Heartspace, Naminé had explained the first time she'd pulled him down into this plane of existence, was something that the human brain couldn't comprehend, so it created images that would make sense: a floor under his feet, a light source, thick strands of fiber to represent the connection between hearts and each heart contained its own tiny universe. Even this place had looked different to Naminé--she'd seen the walls of a ruined temple, Roxas sitting on an altar in front of a fresco painting of the sky god, still a child and so bright she couldn't look directly at him.
Roxas opened his eyes to the comforting swirl of grayish mist, a few threads hovering nearby. There were others in the distance, still more that he could only sense; most were white, some were colored, some were taut and some loose and trailing on the ground and some crossed or tangled with others but each belonged to another heart, connecting him or someone he knew to another person.
He smiled, index finger wrapping around the taut red thread that tied him to Axel. That one was strong enough to allow his consciousness to travel along it, assuring him that Axel was safe--distant now, disgruntled somewhat but their encounter on the road two nights ago had done no lasting damage.
The thread that tied Zexion to him was next; it was somewhat slack but hadn't frayed, and the contract was still tied to it securely, ancient characters glowing softly through the rolled paper. Roxas moved on, taking in the two new white threads that lead back to Riku and Sora, still thin and uncertain alongside the slightly stronger one that lead to Kairi. He tugged on each, felt the connection there and gaged what could be done with it, if anything. He checked the knot that tied Kairi's thread to his thumb, giving him a direct connection to her heart on the material plane. It was still strong on both ends, with no frays or loose fibers that would damage the link. He nodded to himself, about to move on when his foot caught on something.
Roxas frowned down at the ground, which was less ground and more swirling charcoal fog with something solid underneath. He bent down and tried to wave the fog away, and when that didn't work he shuffled his feet again until his toe connected with something, then plunged his hand down to grab it.
What he lifted up was--a rope. Thick and heavy, dust falling from it like sand, the edges of it so worn that the fibers frayed out like fur. He shook it to clear more of the dust and could barely see past the dirt and wear enough to tell that it had once been bright, brilliant red, like the thread that connected him to Axel.
Red meant love. So... what in the name of the Seven was this?
It wasn't even a proper thread, it was a rope--an ancient one at that--but if it was here, that meant it belonged to him. It meant he was tied, strongly, in some way and for a very, very long time to whoever was on the other end. He wrapped his fingers around the rope, but the connection was all but dead. He could sense a presence, somewhere, but that was all.
Roxas frowned and shook the rope again, tugging it up to see how far it went. There was no telling, really, as he peered off into the murky distance, unable to really gauge anything. After a moment to consider that he'd never encountered anything like this before, that there were dangers to any Art no matter how you used it, and that there were some mysteries nobody was meant to know the answer to, he started walking his hands along the rope and followed it.
The passage of time didn't fully register in this space--it was like a dream, what felt like hours could be only seconds and what felt like seconds could last an entire night. Hand over hand, Roxas pulled himself along the rope, watching the landscape change from murky to light gray, wondering where it might ultimately lead. When he reached out to grab the next section, though, the weight of the rope changed. He paused and used both hands to lift it up, frowning at the difference, and saw that there was now a third length of rope trailing off into the fog.
He looked down at his hands, where the three intersected. The thread was split.
That... was impossible.
He nearly dropped the thread right there but caught himself at the last second for fear that he wouldn't be able to find his way back without it. He backed up first, hand over hand like he'd come, then finally spun around and ran, one hand loosely coiled around the rope to guide himself until he could see the convergence of threads where he'd started, his own heart, at which point he dropped the rope and broke into a sprint.
Once back in his own space he spun for a moment, disoriented and panicked, until he found the gold thread, the one that glimmered with its own light and felt like the softest brushed cotton under his fingers. He grabbed it, wrapped his fingers around it tight and closed his eyes, focusing on the slip of it under his palm until he felt the landscape around him shift and resettle, disoriented in liquid for a long moment, another long fall through darkness. When time slowed, and he felt something solid beneath himself again, the thread had became a small, soft hand curled in his.
He felt, for a moment, the natural resistance of a heart that wasn't his, the space pushing at him before it accepted his presence and wrapped around him. He blinked his eyes open then, to brilliant white--she was fond of it, the walls and sheets pooled and wrapped around them like light itself, ambient and endless. She was knelt before him, eyes closed and head drooping as though asleep, white cloth wrapped carelessly around her from torso to knees, one hand reached out to clasp his. Her blond hair hung in a quiet fall over one shoulder, brushing the god-knot eternally present at the hollow of her throat.
Roxas scooted forward through the pool of fabric wrapped around his waist; she had built her heartspace like this, used to his presence and prepared for the inevitable nudity. He didn't think that part of direct contact had ever been explained. "Naminé."
Her head raised, eyes blinked open, brilliant and blue against the whiteness surrounding them. They blinked once, and she smiled, white teeth all behind small, pink lips. "Roxas!"
She all but threw herself forward and almost knocked him down, laughing softly and he hugged her back just as tight, arms around her slim waist, nose pressed against her shoulder and it was comforting, just the familiarity of that. She hummed and cupped his head, rocking a bit, equally content here among him and her brilliant white sheets. The last time he'd seen her, the last fleeting glimpse before the hatch closed on the Inverse Glider they weren't even sure would work, brass batwings spread wide and gears ticking away beneath glass--you could die, he told her, bloody hands fisted against the metal handle, and she smiled at him with that simple upturn of petal pink lips, eyes kind and ageless.
Which is worse?
Roxas shivered, turned his head enough to speak against her collarbone. "You got home safe, then?"
"I did." Her voice was soothing, fingers stroking through his hair, as though she had called up the same memory. He remembered checking the threads every night afterwards, wondering how long the glider would take. Terrified that he wouldn't be able to find her, that her thread would disintegrate under his fingers. He was supposed to wait as long as possible before contacting her like this. He was supposed to refrain from contacting Axel at all--it was too dangerous, too risky, with him still among the rest of the Organization.
"How about you?" Naminé pushed him back gently, holding him by the shoulders for a long moment, checking him over with a flick of the eyes as though she could see his physical form even on this plane. "Everything okay so far?"
"I suppose." Roxas sighed as her hands moved to cradle his face, and amended, "It's fine, but nothing's going the way I expected."
Her head nodded as though she'd expected as much, blue eyes closing for a moment--she was holding something back, withdrawing a thought or a feeling or anything at all that he might perceive and react to. Roxas had seen her do that before, blocking information in this space; sometimes it was for training and sometimes it was to protect him, and sometimes he didn't know the reason, but it always made him frown. "So long as you're safe," she murmured, smiling again with her eyes still closed, and her hands resettled on his shoulders. "How's Kairi?"
Roxas groaned, slumping forward in childish exasperation, and her laugh was like bells.
"That much trouble?"
"She'll be fine," Roxas assured her, straightening and taking her hands in his because the seriousness of their situation deserved acknowledgment. Kairi was a handful, a bigger difficulty than he anticipated, but they'd manage. "We'll both be fine." He watched her nod, her smile of reassurance, squeezing his fingers. "Nami," he said and noted how her eyes widened at the tone and the quiver in his voice, "have you ever heard of a thread being split?"
Her smile fell, and her eyebrows knotted above the bridge of her nose. It was a familiar expression, the one she got whenever he asked her something difficult, something she wasn't certain she could answer--not necessarily because she didn't know, but because she wouldn't. Or couldn't. The Temple of Luma was a powerful entity, and the Oath was a force of will. He'd heard the phrase "That is a mystery" so many times during his training that he'd come to loathe the word like a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.
"There was a rope--a very old one, very worn but sturdy. It was red. Under all the dust, at least." Roxas twisted where he sat and dropped his head to rest on Naminé's knee, staring out across the folds of white fabric, clear columns of light holding up nothing, something that may have been white walls at an indefinable distance. The lack of color was disorienting; he had thought, several times just like this during training, with her fingers combing soothing trails through his hair, that she did it on purpose, so that you could never find anything. She was a master--a shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
She was more dangerous than he would ever be.
"I followed it," he continued, closing his eyes against the white, "Until it split in two." Roxas could feel her heartbeat under his cheek, through her skin, trace it back to the pulsing in her chest and feel the way it resonated with the piece of his own heart nestled in alongside it. "That's impossible, though, isn't it? That would have to mean there was another me, somewhere, or two of someone else."
"That's very strange," Naminé murmured above him, voice and fingers soft in his hair.
"A mystery?"
She hummed a bit as though considering. "Maybe. I'll have to do some research."
"I see."
For several minutes the silence rang loud in his ears, white like the space surrounding them. Finally, Roxas sucked in a breath and sat up, letting her hand drop away, shifting away from her. "I have to get back."
"Roxas." Naminé murmured, and he opened his eyes to see the frown on her face. "If I can tell you what I find out, I will."
That was probably the biggest concession she could offer him. Roxas nodded, reaching out to take her hand, reverse the connection. "Thank you."
"Be safe." She smiled again, a pink curve of lips. Demure and controlled; she never showed her teeth. "When you visit Axel," she continued, smile a little devious for a moment because she loved the way his ears went hot, "tell him I said thanks."
"We agreed that I shouldn't--"
"But you will." One of her too-blue eyes winked. "I trust you to wait until you really can't stand it any longer."
Roxas smiled in spite of himself; she really knew him far too well. It was going to get him in trouble someday. He leaned forward just enough to press a quick, soft kiss against her lips and then let his eyes close, hand on hers. "Okay."
Falling backwards through water, the membrane that was the edges of her heart struggling for a moment to keep him inside before giving way, letting him drift back into his own netherspace. When he could feel it around him, reach out to run fingers over the web of threads, he let go and pushed up, up like floating through water, towards the surface, slow but inevitable and back into himself. The end was always too fast, quicker the closer he got to the surface and then suddenly his eyes blinked open, breath rushed into his lungs, pain prickled over his skin, and the real world came back.
Zexion was lounging against the foot of the bed, transparent hands folded over his equally transparent stomach and watching Roxas with disinterest all over his stoic features. "Everything well on the astral plane?"
"As well as could be expected," Roxas muttered, sitting up slowly, feeling the blood rush to his head. Like surfacing too fast in the ocean after going too long without breathing. The world swayed around him, gradually righting itself.
"Excellent." Zexion's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Roxas decided to simply wait until the man continued, as he clearly had a grievance to voice. "I think it would behoove you to know that the invalid and his Replican are romantically involved. With each other, in case I'm not making myself plain."
Roxas raised his eyebrows, dubious. "Really."
"It would appear so, based on all the cuddling occurring in the driver's seat while you and the vegetable were sleeping."
"So long as it's just cuddling." Roxas swung his legs off the bed. "It's none of my business."
"Also," Zexion intoned, and he paused. "Although being devoured by your own Art is certainly a very nasty death, it is not particularly what I had in mind. Too brutal, not enough finesse. You are obliged by our contract to continue living until you encounter a method I approve of. Please remember to abide by that."
He didn't wait for Roxas to answer, form immediately dissipating into the little ball of light that was his core. Roxas sighed, and figured he'd take it as an approximation of concern.
[ NEXT ]
Title: 6,581 Miles to Luma [ 10/?? ]
Author: Casey
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: R/M
Pairings: Axel/Roxas, Riku/Sora
Warnings: The holy trinity of language, sex and violence.
Genre: Post-apocalyptic sci-fi/fantasy road trip
Summary: A clone, a priestess, a fugitive and a knight are crossing the desert together in a V-class 1300-series armored truck. There must be a punchline.
Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
Nightfall, Part Three
It was exactly two hours and seven minutes later when Roxas's eyelids fluttered and he had enough presence of mind to mutter, "Turn the lights on," just loud and vague enough that Riku jumped out of his seat instantly and flipped on every toggle on the bank of controls over Roxas's head, up to and including every floodlight and cabin light until the truck was a veritable beacon. He was just fast enough, because in the next instant Roxas felt himself slumping forward, sliding down in the chair, Riku grabbing the wheel and shouting his name as the truck listed to the side.
He didn't remember anything else until he woke up in the lower bunk, twenty-six hours later.
When Roxas tried to move, his muscles turned to water. He shifted as much as he could, tried to curl up around himself, entire body weak and aching like he'd caught a fever. Opening his eyes was a feat of strength, blinking in the dim cabin light that was still too bright. And there was Sora, sitting next to the bed, blue eyes wide and watching him. The pocket doors were closed, no sounds but silence and the rumble of the truck as it continued on, so Kairi and Riku must have been up front.
Sora stared at him as he tried to lift his hand enough to rub the sleep from his eyes, barely able to move his fingers, make a few passes until his arm collapsed limp at his side. He groaned a little, closing his eyes against the light and the weight of Sora's gaze.
"You overdid it," the boy said softly, finally. "You almost hyperextended; you would have if you hadn't passed out."
"I know my limits," Roxas grumbled, or tried to, into the pillow, but his voice came out too faint.
"Then you know what happens," Sora said, voice firm and serious in a way he hadn't heard before now, and when Roxas opened his eyes Sora's stare was hard, almost angry, eyebrows drawing together. "You know what it's like to die that way; your Art eating you alive from the inside out."
Roxas felt that tug in his gut again, the one that tried to draw him to Sora. He wanted to reach out, right at that moment, touch Sora's hand or cup his cheek, something soothing and altogether too familiar for the minimal relationship they had. His hand moved of its own accord, under the blankets, but didn't get far. He was too damn tired, too weak. Sora's eyes flickered, his mouth curled into a frown and his head tilted down and that thing in Roxas's stomach tugged again, harder, almost painful. His hand twitched.
They were like polarized magnets, he thought. At certain angles they were pulled inexorably towards each other; at others an invisible force stood between them, shoving them apart. He couldn't define it, whatever this was; he dug long and deep for an answer but could only recall Xemnas and his low, contemplative voice explaining that there were some mysteries in the world that even the House of the Wise had never uncovered. Naminé and her small pink smile that never revealed anything.
Sora felt it, too. He knew it by the way he shifted on his knees, the way he'd avoided touching Roxas the way Roxas avoided touching him. Because like magnets, when they did finally come in contact something would snap together, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what would happen when they did.
"Just be more careful," Sora said to the floor, after the silence was drawn taut. He shifted again and stood, one hand drawing a water bottle from the floor and leaning it against Roxas's pillow. "You need protein. Lots of it. I'll go switch with Riku, I can't cook anything that requires more than unwrapping." His grin was sudden and brilliant, turned down towards Roxas like the rays of the sun, so bright it made him blink.
After he was gone, and Riku was busy clanking around the kitchen appliances, Roxas continued to lay and stare at his hand, too tired to do anything else or even begin to think about it.
Riku cooked every piece of meat in the icebox that was in danger of spoiling if left much longer, spicing and preparing each one slightly different for some variety, although Roxas ate them all as though he hadn't seen food in weeks and barely tasted any of it. He fell asleep again late in the afternoon and slept through the night, boneless and dreamless and woke when Kairi brought the truck to a halt in the morning, feeling like a whole new person.
He changed the lights on the roof with the sun warm on his shoulders and watched Sora practicing his swordforms from the corners of his eyes, a blur of movement with the flickering glint of steel. He let Riku take the wheel and cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Kairi climbing into the upper bunk and promptly falling asleep somewhere midway through the process, and he proceeded from there to tidy up the entire living area, although there wasn't much to do, seems how they had a domestically efficient Replican along for the ride.
He breathed deep, and felt relaxed all the way to his bones and couldn't remember when he'd last had that luxury. In the space of quiet in the living area, the only sound aside from the truck itself being Kairi's soft breathing, Zexion slipped out from whatever hiding place his heart utilized behind Roxas's left ear; he didn't take form, just hovered around the room as a trailing ball of light. Roxas figured that was his equivalent of stretching his legs.
If Zexion felt secure enough to wander around on his own, then it was probably as good a time as any to do some maintenance. Settled into the lower bunk, it was easy enough to check on Kairi while she was sleeping, assuring nothing had come loose or blown aside. Leaving her heart safe and secure, Roxas let himself slip deeper, into his own heart and the secret, second Art that occupied the same space. Warm and gentle and peaceful, like floating on his back in a pool of gently rolling water, warm in the sun, fingers sliding through the watery nothingness like silk.
He let himself float there, just for a moment, then took a long, cleansing breath, and let himself sink.
It was slow at first, like drifting down through water, but steadily became faster and faster, vertigo destroying his sense of which way was up. Awareness of his surroundings vanished and there was no way to tell if he was really still lying in the lower bunk of a truck as it sped across the desert in a tiny world run by clockwork, or if he was falling through the eternity of space and time.
Eventually his decent slowed from a fall into a gentle drift that automatically settled him upright, let his feet touch down slow and careful. Eyes still closed, he could sense the liquid flow of mist around him, the gentle glow that seemed to come from below his feet and nowhere at the same time. If he reached out his hands he'd feel the web of threads surrounding him, insubstantial enough for him to walk through and at the same time completely solid under his fingers. Heartspace, Naminé had explained the first time she'd pulled him down into this plane of existence, was something that the human brain couldn't comprehend, so it created images that would make sense: a floor under his feet, a light source, thick strands of fiber to represent the connection between hearts and each heart contained its own tiny universe. Even this place had looked different to Naminé--she'd seen the walls of a ruined temple, Roxas sitting on an altar in front of a fresco painting of the sky god, still a child and so bright she couldn't look directly at him.
Roxas opened his eyes to the comforting swirl of grayish mist, a few threads hovering nearby. There were others in the distance, still more that he could only sense; most were white, some were colored, some were taut and some loose and trailing on the ground and some crossed or tangled with others but each belonged to another heart, connecting him or someone he knew to another person.
He smiled, index finger wrapping around the taut red thread that tied him to Axel. That one was strong enough to allow his consciousness to travel along it, assuring him that Axel was safe--distant now, disgruntled somewhat but their encounter on the road two nights ago had done no lasting damage.
The thread that tied Zexion to him was next; it was somewhat slack but hadn't frayed, and the contract was still tied to it securely, ancient characters glowing softly through the rolled paper. Roxas moved on, taking in the two new white threads that lead back to Riku and Sora, still thin and uncertain alongside the slightly stronger one that lead to Kairi. He tugged on each, felt the connection there and gaged what could be done with it, if anything. He checked the knot that tied Kairi's thread to his thumb, giving him a direct connection to her heart on the material plane. It was still strong on both ends, with no frays or loose fibers that would damage the link. He nodded to himself, about to move on when his foot caught on something.
Roxas frowned down at the ground, which was less ground and more swirling charcoal fog with something solid underneath. He bent down and tried to wave the fog away, and when that didn't work he shuffled his feet again until his toe connected with something, then plunged his hand down to grab it.
What he lifted up was--a rope. Thick and heavy, dust falling from it like sand, the edges of it so worn that the fibers frayed out like fur. He shook it to clear more of the dust and could barely see past the dirt and wear enough to tell that it had once been bright, brilliant red, like the thread that connected him to Axel.
Red meant love. So... what in the name of the Seven was this?
It wasn't even a proper thread, it was a rope--an ancient one at that--but if it was here, that meant it belonged to him. It meant he was tied, strongly, in some way and for a very, very long time to whoever was on the other end. He wrapped his fingers around the rope, but the connection was all but dead. He could sense a presence, somewhere, but that was all.
Roxas frowned and shook the rope again, tugging it up to see how far it went. There was no telling, really, as he peered off into the murky distance, unable to really gauge anything. After a moment to consider that he'd never encountered anything like this before, that there were dangers to any Art no matter how you used it, and that there were some mysteries nobody was meant to know the answer to, he started walking his hands along the rope and followed it.
The passage of time didn't fully register in this space--it was like a dream, what felt like hours could be only seconds and what felt like seconds could last an entire night. Hand over hand, Roxas pulled himself along the rope, watching the landscape change from murky to light gray, wondering where it might ultimately lead. When he reached out to grab the next section, though, the weight of the rope changed. He paused and used both hands to lift it up, frowning at the difference, and saw that there was now a third length of rope trailing off into the fog.
He looked down at his hands, where the three intersected. The thread was split.
That... was impossible.
He nearly dropped the thread right there but caught himself at the last second for fear that he wouldn't be able to find his way back without it. He backed up first, hand over hand like he'd come, then finally spun around and ran, one hand loosely coiled around the rope to guide himself until he could see the convergence of threads where he'd started, his own heart, at which point he dropped the rope and broke into a sprint.
Once back in his own space he spun for a moment, disoriented and panicked, until he found the gold thread, the one that glimmered with its own light and felt like the softest brushed cotton under his fingers. He grabbed it, wrapped his fingers around it tight and closed his eyes, focusing on the slip of it under his palm until he felt the landscape around him shift and resettle, disoriented in liquid for a long moment, another long fall through darkness. When time slowed, and he felt something solid beneath himself again, the thread had became a small, soft hand curled in his.
He felt, for a moment, the natural resistance of a heart that wasn't his, the space pushing at him before it accepted his presence and wrapped around him. He blinked his eyes open then, to brilliant white--she was fond of it, the walls and sheets pooled and wrapped around them like light itself, ambient and endless. She was knelt before him, eyes closed and head drooping as though asleep, white cloth wrapped carelessly around her from torso to knees, one hand reached out to clasp his. Her blond hair hung in a quiet fall over one shoulder, brushing the god-knot eternally present at the hollow of her throat.
Roxas scooted forward through the pool of fabric wrapped around his waist; she had built her heartspace like this, used to his presence and prepared for the inevitable nudity. He didn't think that part of direct contact had ever been explained. "Naminé."
Her head raised, eyes blinked open, brilliant and blue against the whiteness surrounding them. They blinked once, and she smiled, white teeth all behind small, pink lips. "Roxas!"
She all but threw herself forward and almost knocked him down, laughing softly and he hugged her back just as tight, arms around her slim waist, nose pressed against her shoulder and it was comforting, just the familiarity of that. She hummed and cupped his head, rocking a bit, equally content here among him and her brilliant white sheets. The last time he'd seen her, the last fleeting glimpse before the hatch closed on the Inverse Glider they weren't even sure would work, brass batwings spread wide and gears ticking away beneath glass--you could die, he told her, bloody hands fisted against the metal handle, and she smiled at him with that simple upturn of petal pink lips, eyes kind and ageless.
Which is worse?
Roxas shivered, turned his head enough to speak against her collarbone. "You got home safe, then?"
"I did." Her voice was soothing, fingers stroking through his hair, as though she had called up the same memory. He remembered checking the threads every night afterwards, wondering how long the glider would take. Terrified that he wouldn't be able to find her, that her thread would disintegrate under his fingers. He was supposed to wait as long as possible before contacting her like this. He was supposed to refrain from contacting Axel at all--it was too dangerous, too risky, with him still among the rest of the Organization.
"How about you?" Naminé pushed him back gently, holding him by the shoulders for a long moment, checking him over with a flick of the eyes as though she could see his physical form even on this plane. "Everything okay so far?"
"I suppose." Roxas sighed as her hands moved to cradle his face, and amended, "It's fine, but nothing's going the way I expected."
Her head nodded as though she'd expected as much, blue eyes closing for a moment--she was holding something back, withdrawing a thought or a feeling or anything at all that he might perceive and react to. Roxas had seen her do that before, blocking information in this space; sometimes it was for training and sometimes it was to protect him, and sometimes he didn't know the reason, but it always made him frown. "So long as you're safe," she murmured, smiling again with her eyes still closed, and her hands resettled on his shoulders. "How's Kairi?"
Roxas groaned, slumping forward in childish exasperation, and her laugh was like bells.
"That much trouble?"
"She'll be fine," Roxas assured her, straightening and taking her hands in his because the seriousness of their situation deserved acknowledgment. Kairi was a handful, a bigger difficulty than he anticipated, but they'd manage. "We'll both be fine." He watched her nod, her smile of reassurance, squeezing his fingers. "Nami," he said and noted how her eyes widened at the tone and the quiver in his voice, "have you ever heard of a thread being split?"
Her smile fell, and her eyebrows knotted above the bridge of her nose. It was a familiar expression, the one she got whenever he asked her something difficult, something she wasn't certain she could answer--not necessarily because she didn't know, but because she wouldn't. Or couldn't. The Temple of Luma was a powerful entity, and the Oath was a force of will. He'd heard the phrase "That is a mystery" so many times during his training that he'd come to loathe the word like a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.
"There was a rope--a very old one, very worn but sturdy. It was red. Under all the dust, at least." Roxas twisted where he sat and dropped his head to rest on Naminé's knee, staring out across the folds of white fabric, clear columns of light holding up nothing, something that may have been white walls at an indefinable distance. The lack of color was disorienting; he had thought, several times just like this during training, with her fingers combing soothing trails through his hair, that she did it on purpose, so that you could never find anything. She was a master--a shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
She was more dangerous than he would ever be.
"I followed it," he continued, closing his eyes against the white, "Until it split in two." Roxas could feel her heartbeat under his cheek, through her skin, trace it back to the pulsing in her chest and feel the way it resonated with the piece of his own heart nestled in alongside it. "That's impossible, though, isn't it? That would have to mean there was another me, somewhere, or two of someone else."
"That's very strange," Naminé murmured above him, voice and fingers soft in his hair.
"A mystery?"
She hummed a bit as though considering. "Maybe. I'll have to do some research."
"I see."
For several minutes the silence rang loud in his ears, white like the space surrounding them. Finally, Roxas sucked in a breath and sat up, letting her hand drop away, shifting away from her. "I have to get back."
"Roxas." Naminé murmured, and he opened his eyes to see the frown on her face. "If I can tell you what I find out, I will."
That was probably the biggest concession she could offer him. Roxas nodded, reaching out to take her hand, reverse the connection. "Thank you."
"Be safe." She smiled again, a pink curve of lips. Demure and controlled; she never showed her teeth. "When you visit Axel," she continued, smile a little devious for a moment because she loved the way his ears went hot, "tell him I said thanks."
"We agreed that I shouldn't--"
"But you will." One of her too-blue eyes winked. "I trust you to wait until you really can't stand it any longer."
Roxas smiled in spite of himself; she really knew him far too well. It was going to get him in trouble someday. He leaned forward just enough to press a quick, soft kiss against her lips and then let his eyes close, hand on hers. "Okay."
Falling backwards through water, the membrane that was the edges of her heart struggling for a moment to keep him inside before giving way, letting him drift back into his own netherspace. When he could feel it around him, reach out to run fingers over the web of threads, he let go and pushed up, up like floating through water, towards the surface, slow but inevitable and back into himself. The end was always too fast, quicker the closer he got to the surface and then suddenly his eyes blinked open, breath rushed into his lungs, pain prickled over his skin, and the real world came back.
Zexion was lounging against the foot of the bed, transparent hands folded over his equally transparent stomach and watching Roxas with disinterest all over his stoic features. "Everything well on the astral plane?"
"As well as could be expected," Roxas muttered, sitting up slowly, feeling the blood rush to his head. Like surfacing too fast in the ocean after going too long without breathing. The world swayed around him, gradually righting itself.
"Excellent." Zexion's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Roxas decided to simply wait until the man continued, as he clearly had a grievance to voice. "I think it would behoove you to know that the invalid and his Replican are romantically involved. With each other, in case I'm not making myself plain."
Roxas raised his eyebrows, dubious. "Really."
"It would appear so, based on all the cuddling occurring in the driver's seat while you and the vegetable were sleeping."
"So long as it's just cuddling." Roxas swung his legs off the bed. "It's none of my business."
"Also," Zexion intoned, and he paused. "Although being devoured by your own Art is certainly a very nasty death, it is not particularly what I had in mind. Too brutal, not enough finesse. You are obliged by our contract to continue living until you encounter a method I approve of. Please remember to abide by that."
He didn't wait for Roxas to answer, form immediately dissipating into the little ball of light that was his core. Roxas sighed, and figured he'd take it as an approximation of concern.
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