It had happened on the 6th dayâor was it on the fifth? Roxas couldnât remember. He had hoped that at least memories of his last few days there would be salvaged, but time was cruel. Time here especially, when there was no concept of days; only ongoing events he caught wind of when he chose to marked that he was still awake at all.
He used to be so good at counting.
No one else had noticed it. He himself had even hoped it to be a trick of the light, but there was no fooling himself. As he sat upon the clock tower with this friends, the glare of the sunset passed through the whole of his hand like how control of his life seemed to slip through his fingers. He was disappearing whether he liked it or not. Everything Namine had said would, everything he wanted to ignore, was coming true.
He remembers telling himself one more lie: it wasnât happening. âIâll go to sleep, and thingsâll be fine when I wake upâ. He based the lie on the fact that heâd been dreaming like mad for the past week, first dreams of a boy who he had never met but now knew everything about, and then dreams of another self, another him, who had lived before. A boy bitter with longing and confusion, yearning for something intangible.
But he was Roxas. Not Sora, not some friend of Axel. He was best friends with Hayner, Pence and Olette. Fifteen years of his life was spent in this town, growing up with hisâHis what? Who did he live with? And why? When Roxas tried to recall the life he had so much conviction in just moments before, he found that suddenly there was just a gapâŚas though those memories had been replaced; no, âdeletedâ. He couldnât even take comfort in some sort of deja vu, where he had at least forgotten them in such a way that they could visit him later.
Because they didnât exist.
And when heâd woken up the next morning to find that his friends refused to respond to him, that they didnât even seeâhearâwho was he, if not their friend?
He could no longer ignore it.
He remembers that all he wants to do is run. He tries to make sense of his other self so that he can use it to escape, but all he can gleam is the fact that he could either return with Axel to live the life of a pawn collecting heartsâ
It was tempting, because the former meant that he might at least retain his life. But why had his other self been so sure of leaving? Why did Roxas feel like he was going to vomit at the mere notion of collecting more hearts for this strange organization that supposedly assured him salvation?
He exists. He lives. He isnât Sora, even though he knows he could be. Suddenly he knows the entire lifetime of a person and finds that he no longer has one himself. It was only natural that he become Sora, then.
But he wasnât Sora. No matter what they said, what they would have him believe about Nobodies orâŚwhatever he was, Roxas was Roxas. They didnât have the same personality, the same interests; had Roxas been in Soraâs place on the Islands, heâs sure he wouldnât have had the same wanderlust that those three kids had had. He would have loved his mother, his nice home, gone to school. Normal things. He didnât need traveling to new worlds to satisfy him. He just wanted to live a normal life with his friends, to spend every day with them without fear that they wouldnât always be there.
Haynerâs words, now foreshadowing, haunt him.
And so he goes to the mansion. Namine will no longer be there because sheâs said too much and paid the price. It seems important that everyone wants to keep him in the dark. But why? Was he a child? Did they think he wouldnât be able to understand?
Roxas remembers the real start of his anger when the realization hits him hard:
they donât want him to retaliate
It was then that he began to see what was really going on, and with each step closer to the truth he found himself growing more and more indignant of his situation. Who cared if they thought he âwasnât supposed to existâ? He did, and that meant he was supposed to. Even if it was only for a little while, he was supposed to be here. He had a purpose beyond being an inconvenience to cowards that wouldnât even face him. He had to. It couldnât be such a sad world where one was tossed like trash, was it?
A faint hope leads him to the familiar white room where he somehow manages to reclaim more memories of his time in the Organization. Roxas lingers there alone, but whether it was to postpone the fear of what his gut was pulling him towards or hoping to find something more of himself was left to be seen. One image in particular stuck out to him, one that hadnât been there before. Had Namine left it? Roxas keeps its memory as a memento and goes on to explore the old mansion until he finds himself in the library. There is a secret switch involving the emblem left to him, and a stair case emerged.
He swallows, but his throat is dry. Another secret.
In the room below are computers everywhere. There, Roxas for the first time sees tangible proof of this âSoraâ.
He stares at the screen on the wall, teeth grit and in the end he finds them gnashing. Denial screams in his mind until it tears his throat apart.
At some point he decides must have blacked out, because when thoughts are coherent again heâs out of breath and the computers are destroyed. Everything within reach detailing this personâs existence is completely trashed. Heâs still seeing red, but that doesnât mean anything.
Sora was here. Roxas isnât sure how or why he knows, but heâs here.
He refuses to dwell on the drop in his stomach, because all of his fears means nothing. Thereâs a vague sense of dejavu, as though he were experiencing something heâd read in a story. But that character had been resigned to their fate, terrified or not. That person, he felt, must have been willing.
He finds Axel, and knows him well enough to know when he wonât back down. A memory that he barely touches with his fingers brings forth a second Key Blade, and he suddenly finds that he wields both much more naturally than he had having just one before.
Axel is defeated. Their parting conversation is brief, but they never needed to talk much to understand one another. Axel was his best friend after allâbut he canât go back with him. He desperately wants the familiarity, wants the ability to live, but what brought that second Key Blade back was a promise he remembers making.
He has to find Sora, and to free the hearts trapped in Kingdom Hearts.
Roxas continues on; pods holding the familiar faces of Donald and Goofy arenât of importance, and he doesnât want to lose his resolve. He was going to see this through even if every step felt heavier than the last.
A door, and then a bigger pod. He feels blinded by white, and shudders. He wants to vomit, but steps forward and immediately locks eyes with the man before him.
âAt last, the Key Bladeâs chosen one.â
He was being taunted. This guy was really something else. Roxas has to bite back a more vicious retort.
âTo half of Sora, of course. You reside in darkness. What I need is someone who can move about the Realm of Light, and destroy Organization 13. â
Vague, always vague. This light and darkness stuff, this guyâs face as he stares at Roxas as though heâs already wonâbut Roxas keeps his cool. Heâs going to ask his questions. Heâs going to get answers.
âI am a servant of the world,â a demeaning laugh clouded his ears and Roxas stiffens, âAnd if Iâm a servant, you should consider yourself a tool, at best.â
Something inside him snapped. Roxas charges towards the figure thoughtlessly, blinded like a bull in the ring. But as he lays a haphazard blow intended to kill, it fazes right through the body.
Eyes widen for a fraction of a second, before narrowing again into a glare. Blood pounds in his ears and he can barely hear anything else with how loud he can feel his heart beating.
His heart. The one that roars in frustration. Everything he did, no matter how much he fought, nothing came of it. Why was he always a part of someone elseâs game?!
He stops caring. With wild abandon heâs hacking into the phantom with everything he was until succumbing to a mixture of fatigue and hopelessness.
âI hate youâso much.â
Roxas wants to cry so much but doggedly holds onto his sense of self as he manages one more strike.
The figure disappears, and thereâs a resounding click that knocks all the air out of him.
The pod opens, and his rigid stance goes limp.
Roxas recalls how he suddenly knew he had to do this, but he wanted do so with dignity. Respect for himself. If he was going to disappear, so be it. The boy straightens, Key Bladeâthe thing that connected themâat his side. It gives him strength.
âYouâre lucky,â the words are said softly; for the second time his world crashes down around him. There was no more fighting, not when he could feel himself fading fast. He wouldnât look down, not at himself. He refused to acknowledge the proof. Instead he fixates upon the dream, the sleeping boy, and lets it happen.
I watch you, fast asleep. All my fears, mean nothing.
