Actually...what an interesting concept for an AU. "AU where little Kairi's pod did accidentally end up in Quadratum, and she never got to meet Sora or Riku."
I'm not sure how such a thing would play out. She's a Princess of Heart, so the worlds being short a princess is...probably not a good thing. Especially if she took the World's light with her and she can't pass on her power to someone else (due to being in a different reality). That could upset the light/dark balance of the World, potentially making the Realm of Light more prone to darkness since one of the pillars that upholds it is just, plain missing.
It would also drastically change the events of KH1. Sure, BBS establishes that Riku wanted to see the outside world partially because of Terra, but it was also partially because of Kairi. Her absence might mean his curiosity and desire for freedom never grow strong enough for him to act on those feelings, meaning Destiny Islands doesn't fall early (or at all) and no one gets the Keyblade in time to escape the world and eventually put a stop to Ansem's plan.
(Not to mention, since Kairi doesn't end up on Destiny Islands, Xehanort/Ansem never locates a Keyblade wielder like he wanted. Which I think he needed in order to forge/wield the Keyblade of Heart, maybe? This might be another reason why Riku and Sora's journey would never begin.)
Though, can Ansem even achieve his plan without Kairi? I guess so, since in KH1 the Keyblade of Heart was never actually completed with her heart, anyway. Canonically, Ansem had to use his back-up plan instead: the artificial Kingdom Hearts made from the hearts of all the worlds he destroyed.
So...Ansem's plan succeeds in this scenario, perhaps. Darkness unleashed, utter destruction.
Meanwhile, an amnesiac Kairi lives a normal life in Quadratum as a normal teenager, completely unaware that her absence from her original reality has brought about the end of all worlds.
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@lightandfellowship re: your tags on this post (just to kind of bring this out to a different post).
I was thinking about making a separate post to expand on those tags anyway because they were a little off topic to the op, but I was like, you know, it's that Xehanort was worse to the Dandelions than Luxu was, yes. But Luxu was supposed to be that callous to the Dandelions in the first place. He was supposed to think of them as tools and to just let whatever fucked up thing was supposed to happen to them just happen. And with anyone else he can, but he can't put his personal feelings aside enough to 'do what needs to be done' for this set of people alone.
But Xehanort can.
And I think that's really interesting when looking at Xehanort as the 'replacement Luxu.' Xehanort who, as observed by another post I don't have immediately to hand, speaks with MoM twice. Xehanort who is chosen by MoM and manipulated into doing his bidding the same way Luxu was, given the same coat and made the heir to Luxu's keyblade, Xehanort who actually is allowed to take action to bring the Keyblade War about and revive the Lost Masters while Luxu is only allowed to watch.
Actually I started this post with a different thesis ('Xehanort is able to put his personal feelings aside and be ruthless even where Luxu fails to follow his role') but writing that paragraph I've changed my mind actually. Because Luxu has basically no agency in this situation, whereas Xehanort does.
Like, both of them are assigned roles by their mentors but Xehanort isn't really given a road map about how to fulfill his role. He's being manipulated, sure, but he's also making choices himself all along. They're choices that are fucked up but he understands they're fucked up and is choosing them anyway because he strongly feels it's necessary for the greater good.
Luxu has been told these things are necessary for the greater good. He's been told what to do. He's been told to just watch and that he can never take action. He doesn't even have the illusion of agency that Xehanort, who is actively choosing to lean into his feeling that destiny is inevitable, does. What is that like, to live hundreds of years never having any sense of agency? For Luxu, helping the Dandelions is fucking up. It's doing what he knows he's not supposed to, what he's been told is against the Plan, but he has no agency and this is his little way of rebelling, even if this is, to us, the 'right' thing to do. There's a question of what actually is 'right' and 'wrong' here and whether Xehanort is a 'better Luxu' than Luxu for choosing to simply follow The Plan.
Also I'm rambling here but putting things together as I go, sorry to also expand on other tags on posts I reblogged from you lol, but like. Luxu also very clearly has Lucifer stuff going on, the same way Xehanort does, down to the name. Xehanort takes on the Satan imagery over time - but it was Luxu's first. And Luxu is the one who actually tried to rebel against his Creator by deviating from his role (only to watch) and intervening with the Union leaders.
The thing about angels is they are not, in Catholic traditions (I can't speak to other denominations) is that they are not supposed to have free will. Free will is for humans; angels only follow The Plan, with no agency or say in the matter. They're messengers and avatars created only to execute the will of God. The Foretellers seem to play this role, if you will, in relation to Master of Masters. He hands them roles to execute the plan he's already designed. If we're, in this analogy, considering Master of Masters to be in the role of 'god', both Ava and Luxu are ultimately fallen angels - they both question the will of their creator, both rebel - but Luxu rebelling was built into the plan. He is Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and so he was still allowed to come back to the fold at the end of kh3, having fulfilled his duty even considering his rebellion. He still had no agency in the end, even having done what he thought was exercising it by saving the Union leaders.
Anyway I'm just rambling on at this point and don't really have a conclusion to this but the whole interplay between Luxu and Xehanort, agency and servitude, angels and devils, light and dark, feels really compelling to me.
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@lightandfellowship re: your tags on this post (just to kind of bring this out to a different post).
I was thinking about making a separate post to expand on those tags anyway because they were a little off topic to the op, but I was like, you know, it's that Xehanort was worse to the Dandelions than Luxu was, yes. But Luxu was supposed to be that callous to the Dandelions in the first place. He was supposed to think of them as tools and to just let whatever fucked up thing was supposed to happen to them just happen. And with anyone else he can, but he can't put his personal feelings aside enough to 'do what needs to be done' for this set of people alone.
But Xehanort can.
And I think that's really interesting when looking at Xehanort as the 'replacement Luxu.' Xehanort who, as observed by another post I don't have immediately to hand, speaks with MoM twice. Xehanort who is chosen by MoM and manipulated into doing his bidding the same way Luxu was, given the same coat and made the heir to Luxu's keyblade, Xehanort who actually is allowed to take action to bring the Keyblade War about and revive the Lost Masters while Luxu is only allowed to watch.
Actually I started this post with a different thesis ('Xehanort is able to put his personal feelings aside and be ruthless even where Luxu fails to follow his role') but writing that paragraph I've changed my mind actually. Because Luxu has basically no agency in this situation, whereas Xehanort does.
Like, both of them are assigned roles by their mentors but Xehanort isn't really given a road map about how to fulfill his role. He's being manipulated, sure, but he's also making choices himself all along. They're choices that are fucked up but he understands they're fucked up and is choosing them anyway because he strongly feels it's necessary for the greater good.
Luxu has been told these things are necessary for the greater good. He's been told what to do. He's been told to just watch and that he can never take action. He doesn't even have the illusion of agency that Xehanort, who is actively choosing to lean into his feeling that destiny is inevitable, does. What is that like, to live hundreds of years never having any sense of agency? For Luxu, helping the Dandelions is fucking up. It's doing what he knows he's not supposed to, what he's been told is against the Plan, but he has no agency and this is his little way of rebelling, even if this is, to us, the 'right' thing to do. There's a question of what actually is 'right' and 'wrong' here and whether Xehanort is a 'better Luxu' than Luxu for choosing to simply follow The Plan.
Also I'm rambling here but putting things together as I go, sorry to also expand on other tags on posts I reblogged from you lol, but like. Luxu also very clearly has Lucifer stuff going on, the same way Xehanort does, down to the name. Xehanort takes on the Satan imagery over time - but it was Luxu's first. And Luxu is the one who actually tried to rebel against his Creator by deviating from his role (only to watch) and intervening with the Union leaders.
The thing about angels is they are not, in Catholic traditions (I can't speak to other denominations) is that they are not supposed to have free will. Free will is for humans; angels only follow The Plan, with no agency or say in the matter. They're messengers and avatars created only to execute the will of God. The Foretellers seem to play this role, if you will, in relation to Master of Masters. He hands them roles to execute the plan he's already designed. If we're, in this analogy, considering Master of Masters to be in the role of 'god', both Ava and Luxu are ultimately fallen angels - they both question the will of their creator, both rebel - but Luxu rebelling was built into the plan. He is Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and so he was still allowed to come back to the fold at the end of kh3, having fulfilled his duty even considering his rebellion. He still had no agency in the end, even having done what he thought was exercising it by saving the Union leaders.
Anyway I'm just rambling on at this point and don't really have a conclusion to this but the whole interplay between Luxu and Xehanort, agency and servitude, angels and devils, light and dark, feels really compelling to me.
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Y'all know what I like doing by now. That's right: commentary and overexplaining.
Sometimes, Xehanort just...sits.
When I started writing this in a sudden burst of inspiration after getting Starlight's ask, at first I didn't consciously choose to write it in present tense. In fact I usually prefer past tense. However it ended up working out in the end. One of the themes of this oneshot is Xehanort trying and failing to focus on the present while ignoring the tragedy and attachments of his past. So for the most part he thinks and acts in present tense throughout the fic...until he starts unintentionally reminiscing and naturally transitions into past tense.
Repeated exposure to the dense darkness within these corridors had strengthened Xehanort's heart and toughened it, much like how repeated exposure to the elements toughen the bottom of your feet after walking barefoot for miles and miles.
To go along with the title of the game (Dark Road) I incorporated a metaphor about walking vs resting. Walking represents moving forward, not looking back, focusing on your destination/the future, constantly making progress towards a goal, not allowing yourself time to rest and be vulnerable, etc. Resting of course represents the opposite of all those things: reflecting on the past, focusing on yourself, admitting when you're tired and weak, etc.
Eventually, the skin hardens, and the sharp edge of spite, the biting chill of indifference, and the scorching heat of animosity become—for the most part—bearable.
I specifically chose sensations that you would feel if you were walking barefoot out in nature. A sharp rock embedding itself into your foot, an icy cold stream numbing your feet, sun-baked ground burning you with every step.
I was also inspired by user corishadowfang here, because in their fic Fool's Gold they tend to describe Xehanort's empathy powers in a very tangible/tactile way, and I really like that.
The resemblance is striking, he thinks. No, not their appearance, for every time Xehanort has run into them in this place, their face has, without fail, been obscured by the hood of their favorite blue cloak.
To provide a reason for why Player is seen wearing that cloak so much. They live on a tropical island and they're wearing that? Perhaps it holds some sort of special meaning for them.
The emotions are different each time (he recalls them with ease, as if they were engraved upon his own heart: guilt, doubt, pity, grief), but he recognizes them as belonging to his mentor all the same. It's them, somehow.
I just really like the idea that an empath can correctly identify a person through their emotions alone, as if each person's emotions are a unique fingerprint.
And I suppose this is obvious, but the Player spirit Xehanort frequently sees in the dark corridors is always a manifestation of some dark emotion Player experienced in life, thus all the listed emotions being negative.
Rhythmic waves of emotion imitating the heartbeat that he used to know so well, that used to lull him to sleep every night as a baby.
Used to.
Use—yes. He utilizes these dark corridors so often now.
This is Xehanort catching himself reminiscing about something sad (a precious experience that is now out of his reach forever) and then turning the sentence around to be about something else (something objective and unemotional), essentially changing the subject. (He even switches from "use" to "utilize" for that extra layer of separation from the first thought.) As I mentioned before, he transitions from past tense back into present tense.
(Does "used to" count as past tense? Actually I'm not sure now.)
It would be foolish not to take advantage of all the benefits such travel provided, so of course that's why he's gotten into the habit of using the dark corridors whenever he can. For efficiency, and for proving the strength of his heart. No other reason, really.
He's lying, of course (he also uses the dark corridors in order to encounter...)
But sometimes he doesn't pass through the corridors with the swift, purposeful pace that he ought to. Sometimes, he loiters, peering into the turbulent darkness as if looking for someone. He waits, in those halls that should not be traversed by the living.
Continuation of the walking vs. resting metaphor, Xehanort is starting to falter in his ability to distance himself from emotions and attachments and finds himself frequently loitering in the corridor instead of going straight to his intended destination.
All at once, the pain he was so masterfully ignoring up until this point hits him in full force: the rapid, uncontrolled beating of his heart; the bone-deep ache in his legs; the soreness of his feet; the lightheadedness and stinging intakes of air that follow running out of breath.
Again, for the sake of the metaphor all the listed "ailments" are things you would feel after running non-stop until you couldn't take it anymore.
The rough skin of his heart had finally fractured under the strain of the corridor, and the darkness that flows into the cracks feels like water rushing into his lungs.
The darkness = water metaphor of the series, y'all know how it is.
His arm shaking, he desperately tries to grip the hand of the only parent he's ever known (known, but not the only parent he's ever loved) to steady himself, but his own hand passes right through.
He's just been calling Player his "mentor" throughout the fic, emotionally distancing himself from them, but now he finally admits that Player is like a parent to him.
And, for once on this seemingly never-ending journey of his,
he just
sits.
Why do I say "for once" when the fic established earlier that he's sat down in the dark corridors before multiple times by now?
It's more figurative this time around. Those other times weren't true instances of "sitting" because he hadn't yet fully given himself over to rest and vulnerability. But in this instance, in immense physical and emotional pain, he finally has no choice but to stop, lie down, and grapple with the grief over Player's death that he's been ignoring for so long.
The "just" in "just sits" that's repeated throughout the fic is important as well...Xehanort has all of these grand, noble goals that he wants to accomplish, but in the end he's just sitting. Something so mundane and inconsequential, an act that benefits only his rest and doesn't contribute to anything "important".
A Single Step
(A short Xehanort fic inspired by this ask @starlightwayfinder sent to me.)
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sometimes, Xehanort just...sits.
That strange (and frankly, highly suspicious) man he had met while preparing for his Mark of Mastery exam had been right, in the end: after some time, Xehanort didn't need to wear the black coat inside the dark corridors anymore.
Repeated exposure to the dense darkness within these corridors had strengthened Xehanort's heart and toughened it, much like how repeated exposure to the elements toughen the bottom of your feet after walking barefoot for miles and miles. Eventually, the skin hardens, and the sharp edge of spite, the biting chill of indifference, and the scorching heat of animosity become—for the most part—bearable. Nothing can stop you from making any trek, no matter how perilous the terrain may be.
He no longer required the protection of the coat, and sometimes, he just sits within the depths of the dark corridor. Waiting.
It doesn't usually take too long for "it" to appear.
The afterimage of his mentor.
He doesn't really know what the afterimage is, exactly. Oh, he has theories, sure, based on his own observations and what he was taught in school. But no true way to test those theories. And in any case, he doesn't particularly care about the specifics—not now, anyway.
The resemblance is striking, he thinks. No, not their appearance, for every time Xehanort has run into them in this place, their face has, without fail, been obscured by the hood of their favorite blue cloak. But their heart—their heart!—he can feel it: their emotions.
The emotions are different each time (he recalls them with ease, as if they were engraved upon his own heart: guilt, doubt, pity, grief), but he recognizes them as belonging to his mentor all the same. It's them, somehow. Were it not for the figure's ghostly translucence betraying their true nature, Xehanort could almost swear that his mentor was standing right next to him again, alive. Rhythmic waves of emotion imitating the heartbeat that he used to know so well, that used to lull him to sleep every night as a baby.
Used to.
Use—yes. He utilizes these dark corridors so frequently now. A journey of hundreds of thousands of miles, reduced to nothing more than a brief stroll. A method of travel that is quick, convenient, and covert. It would be foolish not to take advantage of all the benefits such travel provided, so of course that's why he's gotten into the habit of using the dark corridors whenever he can. For efficiency, and for proving the strength of his heart. No other reason, really.
But sometimes he doesn't pass through the corridors with the swift, purposeful pace that he ought to. Sometimes, he loiters, peering into the turbulent darkness as if looking for someone. He waits, in those halls that should not be traversed by the living.
And he just sits.
Finally, a figure coalesces several feet ahead of him. He's so used to it by now, and yet he can't help but draw in a sharp breath at the sight of it.
His mentor. Or something close to them.
Close enough.
Xehanort gets on his feet, and slowly inches his way towards the apparition. He's encountered it several times already, but has always kept a safe distance away. Today, however, will be different; today, he will indulge his curiosity.
The spirit remains perfectly still as Xehanort approaches. It doesn't react, doesn't turn to look at him, doesn't seem to notice him at all. He may as well not exist.
He's only a couple of feet away from the spirit when suddenly, something inside of him shatters. His knees buckle on their own from the shock, and he crumples to the floor without meaning to.
All at once, the pain he was so masterfully ignoring up until this point hits him in full force: the rapid, uncontrolled beating of his heart; the bone-deep ache in his legs; the soreness of his feet; the lightheadedness and stinging intakes of air that follow running out of breath.
The rough skin of his heart had finally fractured under the strain of the corridor, and the darkness that flows into the cracks feels like water rushing into his lungs.
He doesn't know what caused his heart to falter like this. Was this the spirit's doing, somehow? But the pain is so relentless, so overwhelming, that he can't focus long enough to consider the possibilities.
Endure it. Keep going.
His arm shaking, he desperately tries to grip the hand of the only parent he's ever known (known, but not the only parent he's ever loved) to steady himself, but his own hand passes right through.
He knows this will happen. He knew this would happen. But a pained sob escapes his throat regardless when he fails to make contact, soft and broken and child-like and utterly drowned out by the sea of unintelligible whispers surging all around him.
Trying to stand up in this state would be a futile effort, he realizes. Instead, he crawls the final few inches to his intended destination and collapses, curling up next to the memory of someone long gone.
And, for once on this seemingly never-ending journey of his,
he just
sits.
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