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m1d-45 · 1 year

Note

i gobbled and devoured the post imposter things. scrumptious!! but what if poor little xiao man feels guilty for hunting or scarring us in the hunt? and please don’t feel obligated to answer, i know you’re busy

burden to bear

word count: 2.7k

-> warnings: spoilers for liyue archon quest, canon typical violence…. minor body horror? blood mention.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

during the hunt itself, xiao is driven by a need to prove himself, pushing past his instinct and the way his karma flares around the one on the throne. he sees it as a way to redeem himself, to finally scrape some of the sin off his hands. it’s a way to prove himself, and one he takes eagerly.

it’s not correct to say he’s blinded by faith, but it’s not exactly wrong either. he definitely feels, subconsciously, that something’s… off, maybe, about his god. perhaps it’s the way his vision always seems to flutter and flare, or the ice in his veins when the command to hunt is given. he feels uneasy, unsettled, finding himself rolling his shoulders and wondering if he needed to add more stretches into his routines. and yet, despite the tension in his shoulders and the twist in his stomach, he kneels, bowing his head with a swear of fealty that goes unanswered.

unacknowledged.

perhaps he had delivered it wrong?

he doesn’t think much of it, quickly dissolving from the throne room and appearing besides the statue of the seven on the west edge of liyue. looking out over jueyun karst, he knows it’s a bit fruitless to start his search there due to the vicinity to the other adepti, but the spires there are tall, filled with wiry bushes and crags of rock that are easier to hide in than may seem at first glance.

he draws his pole arm, spinning it once over his hand before tapping the end to the stone beneath him. he’s not sure why he’s so nervous—is it the fact that this is technically the first order he’s been given? is it the idea of slaughtering somebody so identical to his creator that it nearly fooled morax, who’s been alive longer than he could fathom?

or is it simply the prospect of failure?

xiao grits his teeth and steps off the edge of the floating stone, halting his fall with anemo at nearly the last possible moment.

his feelings meant nothing. orders were given, and he had to follow them.

why else was he there, if he couldn’t?

it takes him longer than he expected to find you. he’s almost impressed, really, that you managed to evade his searching eyes, that you dodged not only him but the other adepti as well, all without taking refuge in any villages or otherwise civilized areas due to the orders the millelith put out. you hid well, he could attest to that, and though he was the one to find you, it was only on accident.

he was clearing out a group of hilichurls north of the inn. he was surprised so many had settled so close to the statue of the seven, as hilichurls usually avoided concentrated elemental energy, but didn’t think too hard about it. he simply unhooked his mask from his belt, noticing the difference in strength between these hilichurls and the average, and teleported into the middle of the camp.

the first thing he heard was a spotter’s cry. the second was the mitachurls’—archons, there were three—roar as they hefted their weapons. the final one was the intricate chanting of the abyss, but not any incantation he recognized.

he kept himself half in smoke as he danced around the edge of the camp, taking out the archers while he tried to find the abyss mage. he could catch glimpses of hydro bubbles through the walls of the hut, but the steps were covered in frost-

he barely ducked under the swing of a mitachurl’s axe, slashing his spear along its side as he slipped away, darting across the path of one charging with a large stone shield. it clipped his shoulder despite his efforts, pain spiking down his arm, but he didn’t pay attention to the injurh. normally he wouldn’t be this distracted, but two abyss mages and three mitachurls in one camp could only spell bad news. the best he could likely do was to leave and grab back-up, but who? the millelith were busy, morax and the adepti were on their own search…

xiao quickly climbed onto the roof of the hut, jamming his spear between two of the logs to keep grip on the woven roofing. the grass was damp, squishing uber this feet, likely from whatever hydro magic the mage was busy with within it. it likely wasn’t the smartest idea to stand on the roof, but this area of liyue was mostly plains, with little cover from the charging mitachurls. he needed a moment, if only a short one, to hash out a plan to deal with the camp.

the three mitachurls were standing besides the hut, two with shields and one with a crackling axe, electro dancing along the blade. xiao shifted, pivoting around the peak of the hut to move away from that one, the grass roof squishing below his feet.

the mitachurl’s ear twitched.

he shoved himself off the roof just as the mitachurl slammed the flat of its blade onto the roof, the whole shack shaking. electricity swarmed across the waterlogged roofing, reaching the opposite edge just as xiao dropped off it, landing between the other two mitachurls. they didn’t charge, nor attack, their motivations only made clear when the hiss of cryo froze out the lingering moisture in the air in front of him, effectively boxing him in.

the abyss mage swayed in its circle, staff glowing a sharp blue from within its bubble of frost.

“leave, adeptus,” it hissed, waving its staff in a circle. “you have no place here.”

xiao didn’t reply, instead picking apart his options. he couldn’t do significant damage to the shield mitachurls without utilizing his burst to destroy their shields, but that didn’t cover the mage at all… and he was still wet from the roof, so the mage would be able to freeze him within the time he had drawn in enough anemo energy to wield his mask with any level of efficiency…

he flexed his hand around his polearm. how had he gotten into this situation? his only options were to get lucky or teleport away, but even the latter of those relied on the first.

luck. how useless was he, to rely on luck-?

“‘adeptus’?”

the abyss mage startled at the voice, the cryo it had been swirling dissipating. both he and it turned to the side, to the entrance to the hut, where a figure could be seen just beyond the mitachurl.

his first instinct was that it was his god, and he briefly relaxed under the knowledge that he’d get out of this in mostly one piece.

his second was to recognize the torn clothing and dirt-smeared skin, and realize that you could never be his god.

xiao’s eyes narrowed, his spear twisting towards you faster than the distracted mage could react. you, his target, the one he had been seeking out, were hiding behind the abyss. he should have expected it, in truth, figured out the one known for going against the rules of nature would side with the most unnatural force, but that was not for now.

not now, when he was launched forward by the power of anemo, his spear driving him forward, barely skimming the mitachurl in favor of his true target: you.

your eyes barely had the chance to dart in his direction.

xiao was, in truth, not the first one to see you.

many villagers had glimpsed you running around the outskirts of their villages, plucking apples and sunsettias off trees and taking mint from their gardens and leaving bundles of sweet flowers behind instead. they’d seen you, face half-covered in a poor mask made of scraps, your clothes that of the haphazard stitches of the hilichurls, which helped you blend into teyvat a bit more at the price of comfort. many had seen you and assumed you were a run of the mill thief, perhaps one taking advantage of the current hunt since the millelith were occupied. they wryly called you clever, warning the traveling merchants about you, the one they glimpsed at inane hours of night.

he wasn’t the first to see you, by far. he was, however, the first to recognize you.

he was the first to lay eyes upon your form and realize the truth, to realize that the blood seeping into your clothes was the color of stars and galaxies, to recognize that your heart beat blue.

the argument could be made that the hilichurls were the first, or perhaps the mages that had taken you in and brought you food, but it was not them that gathered you into their arms and whisked you away in a flash of teal, uncaring of the spike of cryo that drove into their side at the last minute. the hilichurls did not walk with frosted-over limbs, the abyss did not cry with a throat full of ice, calling for assistance in undoing their own crime.

xiao couldn’t decide whether it was lucky or not that baizhu was in the pharmacy, speaking with herbalist gui over the front desk. on one hand, it was best to have the most experienced healer in liyue at your side, but on the other..

“adeptus xiao, what is-…..”

confusion, then anger, then realization, all flashing over his face in an instant before he tilted his head and walked quickly to a back room, xiao following.

he busied himself with picking the ice off his body and clothes, ignoring the shake of his hands and the stench of blood in the room. the mage had pulled you from the point of his spear, but he still hit the side of your stomach, and he could tell it was messy.

knocks sounded at the door but baizhu turned them away sharply, only allowing qiqi to pass him a bowl of lotus seeds. he was focused, changsheng slithering off his shoulders to grab supplies as needed. time seemed to slow to a crawl, like xiao had entered a domain without an exit, filled with the iron smell of blood and the never ending chips of ice he peeled from his skin. it left behind stinging wounds and red marks, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

what was his brief moment of injury compared to a scar upon his god?

the moment that baizhu had stopped, all but collapsing into a chair and wiping off his hands with a tired call of ‘it’s done. the foundation will be okay.’ xiao had stood and left, biting his tongue through the protests of both his own body and the doctor.

he’d given changsheng his confession, but he did not wish to stick around and hear his verdict.

weeks later, morax came and visited him at the inn, carrying with him a plate of almond tofu and an apology. xiao leaned against the furthest edge of the balcony, curled around the plate, staying as far as he could from the one with your aura imprinted upon him.

he felt it, when zhongli had first come up the stairs. the shock, then the warmth, the all-encompassing comfort that soothed the pain from the bruising on his shoulder. he felt it, and knew that he did not deserve it.

“it’s not your fault,” zhongli insisted, baritone words colored with unreturned sympathy. “the fake… had fooled us all. even me. i cannot hold your actions against you when i myself would have done the same.”

and maybe that was true. maybe he would have drawn his own weapon, pierced your skin himself, acting on the orders of one who dared to take the place of the divine, but that was irrelevant.

xiao was the one who had hurt you. and it was entirely his fault.

almond tofu, his favorite dish, tasted bitter and sour on his tongue, almost akin to the pain medication that zhongli had made him drink after noticing how cautious he was with his injured arm. he’d made him take the first dose in front of him and swear to take the rest, with a long monologue about taking care of himself tacked on afterwards, but it was for nothing. aside from the first night he had it, xiao hadn’t touched the bottle. it sat on his nightstand, beside a bed he hardly used, taunting him when he returned earlier than usual.

he could take it. there was nothing stopping him from doing so, and he probably should if he wanted to return to his duties quicker. but every time he picked up the glass, thumb tracing over the engravings as he undid the top, he hesitated.

he could take it. he probably should. but did he deserve to?

you were still recovering, possibly still bedridden weeks later. your blood still stained his spear, dripping down to his palms, pale and scarred skin marked further with the blue and purple swirls of his sin. you were still in pain, still healing from a spear to your side, and he was here, reaching for medicine for a sore shoulder?

(it was worse than that. bone had knocked against bone, bruising beneath where muscle could reach. it ached even when he sat as still as possible, dragging him out of every attempt to meditate. the dark purple splotches stretched beyond his clothing, reaching across his back and up his neck, making nearly any action flare the wound. it was far beyond an over-exerted muscle or a particularly tiring day, and yet even the worst nights of his pain were staved off by the memory of having to wash blue off his blade. even as the latch on the bottle was undone, the lip pressed to his, he could never bring himself to drink it)

(even the small droplet of it on the rim, tasting of qingxin extract and violet grass, threatened to make him sick. how dare he?)

yes, it would likely only get him into more trouble were he found out, but he was careful not to be. whenever the wind brought him the heavy presence of geo, zhongli’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, he snatched the bottle and emptied it into the stone carving on the balcony, letting the medicine soak into the soil beneath it. it splashed when he was sloppy, the deep purple medicine appearing blue on the stone, sparking a memory that weighed harder on the pit in his stomach.

even as he handed the bottle over to zhongli, his jaw clenched from the strain on his shoulder. the action was stiff, jerky, but evidently smooth enough that it had passed his assessment.

zhongli tucked the bottle away, surprisingly not drawing out a new one.

“i am proud of you, and of the progress you have made,” he said, golden eyes softening in the light of dusk. “well done, xiao.”

how strange, he thought, watching him leave, that the very action that made his vision swim with unshed tears was one that was praised.

he wouldn’t complain, of course. he never would. this pain was his to bear, just as the burden of your bloodshed was his to shoulder. he was well aware his pain could never take back yours—though he wished, desperately, that he could move your injury to him. he wanted to be able to take on the physical reminder of his defect, to take the hit of his own spear to spare you from his lapse in judgement. he would take it, take ten times the pain you endured, if only it meant that your skin was free of his scars.

it would be an honor to assist the divine, even at the price of his own life.

#genshin #genshin impact #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #sagau impostor au #genshin self aware au #sagau xiao #xiao #xiao x reader #xiao x you #genshin x reader #sagau x reader #*lying through my teeth* what do you mean of course i don’t have favorites #hey writer tip here: just write. i know you think it’s gonna be bad. i know it’ll likely seem strange and off-key. guess what? write.#just do it. best advice ever. who cares if it’s shit? you can rewrite it later! once you get through the bad and into the groove it’s fine!!#you’ve gotta expel your Bad Words to get to the good stuff. take it from me i always rewrite my beginnings whenever i post #the first paragraphs are gonna suck! and that’s okay! just keep goin baby!! you’ll get it eventually!!#oh btw just so it’s clear: zhongli’s proud of him for taking the meds not for his um. violent acts.#it’s meant to be a ‘thank you for trusting me and accepting help’ but the twist is: he ISNT #i love xiao. with all my heart. i absolutely adore him. he is my beloved little blorbo.#but good lord do i like to see him cry sometimes.

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minijenn · 2 years

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And now, because I’m insane, here’s every line of out of context Grandpa Twist foreshadowing I can find in Keys:

“How remarkable,” the master speaks, but still the boy doesn’t stir. With a smile, the master descends down to his level. He slides several gloved fingers under his chin, tilting it upward to get a better view of the child’s unconscious face. “You really do look so much like him. And even more like her …” (ch. 1)

The master fully turns to face the boy again, a dark, twisted Keyblade flashing into his grip. “Do not think I am trying to derail your destiny,” he says, closing his eyes in cool contemplation. “If anything, my aim is to put you on the proper path. You could say… it's the path that’s always meant to be …” (ch. 1)

“At long last, here you are…” Xehanort proclaims as he extends his arms out wide to welcome his vessel. As he sets the most important piece in place for the game he’s been eagerly waiting to play for 15 years straight. (ch. 1)

Tears have only barely started brimming in his mother’s eyes as she steals a glance at the family photo on the far wall, one taken before her beloved husband had been lost to the sea. Sora does everything in his power to hold those same sort of tears back as he stares at that photo, practically feeling his father’s warm, cheerful smile falling upon him. At the same time, he feels that strange pang of pain, the same one from both the tower and the beach, tugging at his heart once more. Whether it's out of grief, regret, or something else entirely, he has no idea; but the feeling is far from a welcome one all the same. Which is why he does all he can to pull himself away from that feeling altogether. (ch. 2)

(more under the cut bc there are just... so fucking many)

“How are you going to protect me from the darkness...” He stops, only for a second to open his eyes. And when he does, Riku is stunned, horrified to see that they’re no longer the shade of vibrant, welcoming blue he’s always known them to be. They’re a bright, bitter shade of glowing gold instead. “When darkness has always been a part of me all along...?” (ch. 6)

“You are ours…” they urge, an edge of hostility slipping into their otherwise calm tone. “And we are yours… Come back to where you’ve always belonged… Come home to us, Sora… Come home…” (Ch. 7)

“Let me guide you home , Sora … ” one voice rises above the others, a voice some part of his mind almost recognizes, almost knows. He finally stops just a few feet shy of the owner of that voice, his own hand starting to raise to meet theirs. (Ch. 8)

“A valiant effort, that was ultimately for nothing,” Ansem counters. “He was already ours long before you rushed to his ‘rescue’. Long before you ever met him, before he was even born.” (ch. 8)

“We have been waiting for such a long time…” Xehanort concurs as Sora feels yet another wave of searing anguish rip its way across his heart. (Ch. 10)

The young master lets out a genuine laugh at this, at the mere icy sound of it is enough to unnerve Sora far more than he already is. “Oh, Sora, you already are just like me. In far more ways than you could ever even know.”

“Y-you’re wrong,” Sora calls his bluff before he can even let such a horrifying thought fully sink in. The thought that he has anything in common with his most dangerous, darkness-driven foe.

“I’m not,” Young Xehanort counters without skipping a beat. “But you’ll come to realize why I’m not before it’s all said and done, I’m sure. And until then, that rich, untapped darkness flowing through your body, your blood, your very heart itself, will be an asset that the Organization will be certain to make good use of” (Ch. 11)

“Then, when the time has come and his heart is ready for the taking, we will strip him of that hope, along with anything and anyone he believes he is fighting for,” Xehanort assures his upper vessels with a cold, malicious smile, rallying them to a treacherous, twisted plot that will all culminate in a victory that he’s been carefully planning for decades. A victory that depends on the complete cooperation of his chosen thirteenth vessel, regardless of what cruel methods he might have to resort to in order to get that vessel to comply. “We will tear the boy away from all he knows and loves, and by the time he has nothing left to lose, then, and only then will Sora finally be ready to answer our call to guide him to become what he is truly meant to be…” (Ch. 31)

Xemnas’ cold scowl lifts into an amused smirk upon hearing this as he properly picks himself up to stand once more. “Then it's such a shame that your own heart doesn’t bear that same kind of strength, Sora,” he says, forcing more palpable pain upon Sora from afar. He shudders when it hits him, but otherwise shakes it off, resolved to resist it, to resist any further attempts Xemnas, or anyone else from the Organization, even Xehanort himself, might make at subjugating him. “Now that you’ve willingly hallowed it out from each of the hearts that had once inhabited it, more room remains for the master’s power to take root without any irksome interference interrupting it. There’s no point in delaying your inevitable destiny any longer; it’s time for you to finally take your place among your true family, Number Thirteen…” (ch. 44)

“You both still believe you can save him? Then be my guest to try,” Xemnas scoffs condescendingly. Even so, a dark corridor appears behind him, a relieving sight to Sora, Roxas, and Xion as Saïx steps through it first. “But in the end, you’ll see; there’s no changing a heart that already belonged to darkness long before the life that’s tied to it even began… Sooner or later, Sora, you’ll find your way to your true purpose. And when you do, there we’ll be, waiting in the wings to welcome you home ...” (ch. 44)

“My dad?” Sora repeats as a warm, nostalgic smile fills his features. “My dad was awesome! He always gave the best advice--and the best hugs. He also told the funniest jokes, though he always said me and my mom were way funnier than he was. He used to take me out on his boat and we’d swim in the ocean and build sandcastles together until sunset and…” he trails off with a small, wistful sigh. His smile fades slightly as he grips his crown necklace, a charm gifted to him by his father at a time when his life had been so much simpler, so much calmer than the constant storm it’s turned into now. And as he thinks back on those long-gone days off his innocent youth, Sora can’t help but briefly wonder what his father, who he still respects and admires so much even years after his untimely death, might think if he could see just how far his son has fallen now. “And… yeah… it was great...”

A beat of solemn, saddened silence passes after this, until Aladdin voices the question that the others are all largely thinking. “So… what happened to him?”

“He… he went on a fishing trip one day back when I was 8,” Sora closes his eyes, fighting back the pain that always trails along with this unpleasant memory. “There was a really bad storm and… he just never came back.” ((ch. 45)

“Sure is, kiddo,” his father chuckled, ruffling his hair lightly. “Just like you’re getting to be someday. You know, someone once told me that each and every one of those stars up there is an entirely different world. Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah, it is!” Sora exclaimed, his eyes wide with immense fascination. “Can we go see another world someday, Daddy?”

His father’s smile finally faltered a bit at this, and it’s only as it does that Sora realizes he can’t see his face, at least not clearly, thanks to the odd shadows concealing it. (ch. 46)

He was all but asleep by the time the lullaby reached its end. Yet right before he could slip into peaceful dreams, his father’s face suddenly shifts into someone else’s entirely. A face that Sora recognizes all too well, but has no time to even be scared of as he drifts off into the dark void of slumber. Though not without his father’s voice--or someone else’s-- bidding him toward it.

“Good night… Sora..” (ch. 46)

Xehanort merely raises a knowing eyebrow at this, giving Sora his unspoken permission to continue. Yet even when he does, the rest of his question comes out quiet and broken, a testament to just how terrified he truly is of whatever answer he might receive. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asks morosely, miserably. “What made you choose me to be your vessel?” “What did I do to deserve any of this?” he almost asks, but doesn’t. Mostly because that’s the one question he already knows the answer to all too well.

The master’s grin widens as he ponders this inquiry, and the initial answer he gives is one that does little to set Sora’s worried wondering to ease. “Sora, I chose you because you were the only choice I could make.” (Ch. 46)

“Isn’t it ironic, how both you and I got our start on a world as small and insignificant as this?” Young Xehanort asks, keeping up a conversation that Sora wants no parts of. “Then again, perhaps it isn’t irony at all that our point of origin would be one and the same. Perhaps, like what this very island is named for, it’s destiny .” (Ch. 47)

Young Xehanort stands by, smiling in muted satisfaction as Sora runs past him, plunging into the portal and leaving his home behind in the process. “Until we meet again, my thirteenth,” he bids him farewell as the dark corridor closes up behind him. As soon as he’s gone, the young master turns back toward the sea, still standing on the shores of his own youth as well as his thirteenth and final vessel’s. Though even then, he knows that this shore is far from the only thing the two of them have in common. “How destined indeed, that you and I would have the same beginning, Sora.” His smile deepens as he pulls something out of his coat pocket and holds it aloft: a small, crown-shaped charm bound by a silver chain, glistening in the dying rays of the setting sun. “The same beginning… and the same end…” (Ch. 47)

At this, both Riku and Kairi step aside, revealing some sort of reflective surface behind them. At first, Sora doesn’t know it’s a mirror as he stares at Young Xehanort, caught off guard by the strangely distressed look on his usually collected face. It’s only as he spots the silver chains keeping the young master bound, notices the way he moves in perfect preciseness along with him, hears him draw in a horrified gasp that only comes out of his own mouth that Sora realizes exactly what’s going on here.

He realizes that he’s no longer Sora at all, not anymore. Because now, he’s become what he’s always feared he’d be. He’s become Xehanort himself. (ch. 48)

“Oh, I know LOTS of things, Keyblade.” Bill’s bright yellow form suddenly changes as countless images flash across it far too quickly for Sora to make aunty of them out. “For example, I know you’ve been out on your own for, oh, roughly two weeks or so, and that you’ve been having one heck of a time living the ‘hobo’ lifestyle you’ve taken up. I also know you can’t go back to any of your friends because the minute you do, they’ll be fitting you for a nice set of shiny new chains inside a cozy prison cell. AND I know that it won’t be long now before the old man finally finishes the job in forcing you into his big happy ‘family’ and-” (Ch. 49)

“No way to stop this? Who told ya that?” Bill sneered, rolling his eye. “Oh, lemme guess! Dear ol’ gramps wanted to scare you into giving up, and from the looks of it, it worked. But you shouldn’t let him get you down, kid! Even he doesn’t know everything , not like I do…” (ch. 49)]

“Sora, please ,” he begs morosely, miserably. “You have to listen to us. If you go through with this, then-”

“Then he will be exactly where he belongs,” Xemnas interjects as he places a possessive hand on Sora’s shoulder. “Finally within the fold of darkness, where he has always been meant to be, isn’t that right, Sora?” (Ch. 50)

“When the time comes, you’ll know,” Young Xehanort says cryptically. “Until then, do as you’ve been told; find the Keys and bring them back to me.” With this, the young master conjures up a dark corridor, one that starts to engulf Sora from underneath. He gasps, terrified of being taken somewhere where he’ll be vulnerable again, where he’ll be alone again. Sora extends a distressed hand out to his master as the shadows swallow him whole, wordlessly pleading with Young Xehanort to let him stay… But just as before, his master hears his unspoken prayers… and doesn’t care in the slightest about them. “And when you do, Sora,” he only barely manages to catch his master’s coldhearted smile before the shadows whisk him somewhere far away. “Then rest assured; you will finally be a part of your Organization. Then… you will finally come home .”(Ch. 52)

As these final words fade out, he carefully draws his hands away from the piano. When he opens his eyes, a tear finally slips down his cheek, one that he’s quick to wipe away as he notices Roger looking over at him in absolute awe. “What an utterly enchanting melody…” he muses, clearly intrigued. “Tell me, where did you learn such an incredible song?”

“Oh, uh… m-my dad taught it to me,” Sora explains, looking away. “He used to sing it to me every night before he…” He trails off, drawing in a shuddering breath as he forces himself to hold back even more tears. He’s never sung that song to anyone else before or after his father’s passing, not even to Riku or Kairi. For so long, it’d only been something kept within their family, a cherished secret shared only by himself and his parents. (Ch. 54)

“It appears you stand at a crossroads, my thirteenth,” Xehanort muses, standing behind the boy as he rests a heavy hand upon his shoulder. “You can either stay here with this loving, yet oblivious family that has given you so much you have lost, only end up “thanking” them for their kindness by killing them when you inevitably lose control. Or… you can leave this world behind and continue searching for the Keys that will open the door to your real family. A family that is more than equipped to handle the kind of death and devastation you are destined to bring. The choice is entirely in your hands, Sora… Let us hope for everyone’s sake that you make the right one.” (ch. 54)

Between the two of them, they soon arrange the rest of the shells Himari had gathered in a simple, yet elegant fashion around the headstone. At first, neither of them say much as they do, wanting to pay their respects in silence. But as the last shell is settled, Himari sighs wistfully as she glances over at her son. “You know… you really are starting to look so much like him…”

“L-like Dad?” Sora asks, suddenly embarrassed as he tries to pin his antennas back a bit. “No, I… I really don’t.”

“You do,” Himari assures. “Well, I-I mean… aside from…” She trails off, knowing she doesn’t have to point out the antennas or the claws or the fangs or any of the other features that make him look less than human. “He’d be proud to see how much you’ve grown since he’s been gone.” (ch. 63)

“The time has come, my thirteenth,” Young Xehanort smiles cordially, warmly, almost. “You’re finally ready to take your place among your true family.” He extends a gloved hand out to Sora as his smile widens ever so slightly. “Come with us, Sora… and you will never be alone again…” (ch. 64)

His hand drifts toward his neck, to what he’d slipped on as soon as he got out of the shower by sheer habit alone. The crown-shaped charm on his necklace shines dully in the colorless light of the room, its metal surface cold as he gently skims his claws over it. His master had told him to remove everything that stood as a symbol of his old life, and certainly, that must include something like this. Tears find their way back to Sora’s eyes as he lightly grips the chains tethering it to his neck, his heart swelling with grief as he realizes what he has to do. But just before he can remove it, he happens to recall the first time he ever saw this necklace. A memory he can’t let go of, no matter how much his master might want him to.

“Happy birthday, kiddo , ” his father had said with a wavering smile when he gave him the charm on the day he turned eight. “I know this isn’t much, but… I hope you still like it all the same.”

“...I still do, Papa…” Sora whispers as he holds the charm close. “I still do…” (ch. 65)

“Hm,” the master hums in what Sora guesses is approval. “It suits you, my thirteenth. I believe you will settle nicely into your new life here, and into the place I have planned for you. You’ve experienced such a grave loss, but something good can still come of this. You’ve spent so long lost in the light… but now, you’ve finally found your place here within the darkness. You’ve found a family that completes you every bit as much as you completes us. You’ve found your way home , Sora. And now that you’re here, you needn’t ever wander or worry again.” (ch. 65)

“That’s right… sleep soundly, my thirteenth…” he whispers as he brushes a few white locks out of the boy’s closed eyes. He reaches down to tuck the crown charm that had slipped out from underneath Sora’s coat back into place, his smile turning a touch nostalgic as he thumbs its smooth metal surface. As he decides exactly when and how to share one final secret with the boy in a castle so very full of them. “Sleep and know that your destined day is almost here…” (ch. 65)

“Almost?” Sora asks, already figuring this is bound to be some kind of trap. But even so, he can’t help but want to know. “What was still here that almost made you stay then?”

Young Xehanort falls into silence once more as his gaze settles on his coffee mug in his hands. He grips it a bit tighter, a wave of what almost looks like nostalgia washing over his features as his voice turns earnest, perhaps even a bit sad. “...Thalassa. Her name is– was Thalassa.”

“Thalassa…” Sora repeats in sudden confusion, as if a long-forgotten memory has started to stir in the furthest reaches of his mind. “That’s weird… I feel like… I’ve heard that name before, but… I don’t remember when or how…”

Young Xehanort slips on a subtle smile when he hears this, muttering something that his vessel isn’t able to hear. “...You will …” (ch. 66)

“...I have no need to,” Young Xehanort replies. “I will see her again when I return to my own time–my elder self has already told me that much. And as strange it may seem, our reunion shall be what ultimately kicks the wheels of fate into motion to this very moment right here and now.”

“Huh?” Sora frowns, absolutely lost. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out in due time,” Young Xehanort’s usual sly grin is back, and Sora finds himself frustrated by it. Frustrated by how quickly anything resembling genuine emotions, genuine humanity have left his master so very quickly. (ch. 66)

“But even beyond that destiny… I see so much of myself in you, Sora.”

“Huh?” Sora his eyes and mind both turning heavy and tired.

“You and I have much in common,” Young Xehanort says that very implication aloud nonetheless. “We’re both from the shores of the very same island, both of us ventured out from those shores to the vast worlds beyond, and… we each lost the friends we thought we loved… only to gain something so much better in their place: power… and the promise of a life unending.” (ch. 66)

And then after that the grandpa reveal basically happens lol

#there's plenty more than just this probably #but these were the standouts i found whenn quick skimming keys #i wasnt about to read the whole damn fic again to find them #idk if you've noticed but keys is over a million words long so nah fam #i will reread it tho eventually #before its over bc i looooove it #jen writes #keys to the kingdom

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