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The Forest || A Christmas Gift for @brothersgrim

The Dark Corridor spat her out at the edge of the forest.

The sun was setting, and the dying light stretched the shadows of the trees long. Crows cried in the winter stripped canopy above. The arrival of twilight scraped the sky gold and lilac. A chill lingered in the air and settled on her exposed skin. She was out somewhere in North Texas. In a rural area of cow farms and long strips of untamed land. She hid her hands in her coat pockets. Xion closed her eyes.

Magic in this world was sparse and so the exceptions were notable. ‘Taker, Aeleus, and Kane, all burned like bonfires in a black night. If she focused, she could sense them from even a mile away. Magic formed Xion and thus she was sensitive to it. When she was younger, she had lacked refinement. Her anxiety and inexperience muddled the waters, kept things confused. She’d soak in other people’s emotions and memories then drown in them like a tidal wave. Now that Xion was older she was more confident in her abilities. If she focused and breathed slow, she could definitely find her family in this forest.

“I need you to find me.” Were the sole contents of the text that ‘Taker sent her. After almost three weeks of absence and Aeleus wringing his hands, that was all he had to say. She almost sent back a witty reply, “okay, I’ll start looking now.” Only held back by her worry.

Xion had been looking but now her efforts doubled. There was a difference between calling people and asking if they'd seen the seven-foot tall, undead wizard. Versus what Xion could do if the pedal hit the metal. For three weeks she had hung back as ‘Taker and Kane had their business that they preferred her not to get into.

She could respect that.

“Find me,” was her invitation to stick her nose in.

It wasn’t within her ability to track ‘Taker down when he was so far away, though. That didn’t mean she couldn’t dig up an old spell book of Jewel’s and borrow some of his clothes. The ritual was simple, and the results pointed her in the right direction. Xion had set out right away. She didn’t tell Aeleus – he had enough on his mind with the farm, the funeral home, and a missing husband. There was always a chance this was a goose chase. She’d rather just return home with ‘Taker instead of getting his hopes up.

Now that she was closer, she could rely on herself. The forest was vast and expansive. The meager magic of this world cleaved to the ground and hid in the roots of the trees. The magic told a story, spring and budding, winter and hibernation, life, death, growth, decline, on and on. The small animals hid in their warrens. The predators sniffed them out. Birds roosted in the underbrush. There, like a chasm she couldn’t see the bottom of, the static in the air before a lightning storm, her father, and beside him, not far, Kane.

They weren’t but a half-mile away.

Xion found an old hunting trail in a break in the tree line, and she followed it into the forest. The worn path wound through the trees, up the hills, and down into the creek beds. There was a whisper in the air. Some chilling murmur of malcontent. The birds didn’t sing but the crows cried. It wasn’t just cold, like she’d expect of a winter day, it was chilled. She thought about calling Aeleus. As long as ‘Taker hadn’t been home, Kane had been away longer. The brother’s relationship was in a constant state of flux. It drifted through peaks and valleys over the years. Sometimes they fought to the literal death. Sometimes Kane made breakfast at the funeral home. Just when the family got comfortable with Kane’s presence something would shift. They'd wake-up one morning and he'd be gone. It was always Paul, the perpetual tumor affixed to the Valdis’ family back side. If it weren’t for Kane, they’d have cut it off years ago. If Kane and ‘Taker were here, then Paul wouldn’t be far behind. Of that she was certain.

Xion stopped on the trail. She reached into her coat pocket and procured her cell phone. She hit the power button, the screen flashed and then fizzled out. One of her eyebrows quirked and she returned her phone to her pocket. That chill dripped down to the base of her spine. Things weren’t just weird they were dead wrong, and she was now certain: she had walked into a trap.

She could turn around. Walk back the way she came and get Aeleus. Something told her that was a bad idea. It wasn’t anything solid. No hard fact she could point to but instead a million tiny details that added-up. Xion had survived years by trusting her instincts. She wasn’t going to stop now. There was a fight waiting for her, no matter which way she went.

As her old mentor had once said, once you’re in a trap the only thing to do was spring it.

So, Xion kept walking.

She came to a clearing at the end of the trail. There was an old, abandoned house at the end of a dirt road. Rot had decayed the house. Half the porch was sunken-in, and the windows were all broken. Yellow and red ‘NO TRESPASSING’ signs were slapped onto the unhinged doors and on the grayed siding. Dozens of abandoned cars were scattered around the house. Maybe, many years ago, this place was a scrap yard – not that it mattered now.

The cars, some dating back to the seventies or eighties, were everywhere. Big cargo vans, small sedans without wheels, smashed-up motorcycles. All left in varying states of disrepair, rust, and demolished. It was like she was in a vehicular graveyard. There was also a metal shed on the other side of the clearing with a big bay door. ‘Taker and Kane were very close, but she couldn’t tell where, exactly. The magic was like a haze here, a dense fog of mixed signals. They could be standing next to her, and the magic wouldn’t let her know.

The sky darkened, clouds crowded overhead, black and thick. The air popped and, in the distance, Xion heard a peal of thunder. “Well, I found dad,” Xion drawled.

She walked across the yard, picking her way between the cars. In-between the vehicles were piles of junk and stuff. Broken children's toys, old tires, bags of rotten garbage picked over by wild animals, cups, and cracked dishes, dusty furniture missing legs. When she reached the shed, she pried her fingers beneath the bay door and lifted it. The old door rattled on its rusty hinges as it slid up and out of the way.

Inside the shed was an old workshop, wood cutting equipment, car tools, a few piles and buckets of tools. Xion kicked aside an empty bucket as she walked the perimeter. Until she came to a single, full-length mirror propped against the wall. Dust covered the mirror. Xion reached out and ran her hand through the grime, leaving a clean track upon the glass.

Her eyes, dark like charcoal, the color she chose the day she killed Roxas stared back. For years Xion had had a complex relationship with her own reflection. It took a long time before she could look in a mirror and not flinch. A long time before she could look at herself and say, ‘yes, that’s me.’ Now she appeared about twenty, tall, and lean. Her cheeks were less rounded, her hair grown out. Somethings hadn't changed though: Xion still kept a knife in her boot.

She messed with her bangs a bit, trying to get them to lay right – they resisted. Thunder rolled, loud and rumbling, and shook the fragile walls of the shed. She glanced to the open door. The forest and clearing had turned a dull, darkened gray. A car radio, somewhere out in the yard, flicked-on and began to play a tinny tune: an old rock ballad ‘Taker liked.

“You’re killing yourself if you don’t believe it.”

Xion returned her gaze to the mirror. She swallowed – standing over her shoulder was ‘Taker. She hadn’t seen him in three weeks. Dark circles were punched under his eyes and his face look haggard like he’d age three years. His coat draped over his broad shoulders, the tails fluttering in the wind as he watched her. His face was severe, cut pale in the dark. Her jaw flexed as she looked into her own reflection.

Her eyes were blue.

Lightning flashed.

Xion whirled around and turned onto the empty shed. Her heart thudded against her chest, her pulse in her throat. She didn’t dare look back at the mirror. She shouldn’t have to look back at the mirror. She refused to look back at the mirror. Xion would not let him get into her head like this. She did not need to look.

She did not look.

“Get up, get up, get back on your feet.”

She marched-out into the yard, eyes scanning the dark. Xion strained to get some clear picture from the magic. It was like her head was full of fuzz. The white static that played on television screens and the crackling of an out of tune radio. All at once the car headlights turned on. Ancient, dilapidated bulbs burst to light, the filament burning red hot. It was blinding, searing her eyes as she lifted her hand to shield her face.

In the light the shadows grew long, towering over her, twisting and pushing in. Xion was not afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of something right behind her. Something at the corner of her vision. She pivoted and put her fist through it. Her hand smashed the car window. The glass shattered and sliced her skin open to her wrist. She pulled back her fist bloodied and cut. Xion picked-out a shard of glass, wedged into her index finger knuckle.

She gasped for a ragged breath and gritted her teeth. For a moment, she let herself feel the pain. The sensation of her broken skin, the blood dripping into her callouses, the shame burning in her gut. The pain sharpened her and pulled together the threads of her frayed mind.

Again, Xion closed her eyes and she breathed. Slow and long, until she could part the fuzz like a curtain, peering through to the truth behind. Illusions and tricks, designed to get under her skin, only worked if she let them. With her blood drawn, Xion was no longer interested in playing. Magic saturated the clearing, intensified, pushing against her skin. She waded through the noise– Xion pointed behind her and a beam of light shot from her hand. The spell pierced the tail of ‘Taker’s coat, cutting a hole in the leather. Xion’s jaw set as she met her adopted father’s eyes. Lightning struck, thunder rolled, and she did not dare look away.

“Found you,” she whispered.

Something in ‘Taker’s eyes almost looked proud.

“Oh, yes, indeed!” A grating voice, familiar in its whining whinge echoed across the yard. Xion scowled and rolled her eyes. Before wheeling around to face Paul.

He stood in the bright high beam of the car headlights. The light turned him a ghastly pale shade. In his fat, meaty, sweaty hands was the urn, the old brass urn, that held the ashes of ‘Taker’s first body. He had never talked about it, but Xion had figured the details out herself. That urn controlled 'Taker and it was in Paul's grasp.

Beside Paul was Kane. He wore one of his old leather masks, pulled tight over his face so Xion couldn’t read his expression. There was something stiff about the way he was standing though. She could only imagine what lies and bullshit Paul had fed him this time. Lies and bullshit that Kane bought into even when he knew better. If what she thought was happening was happening then Xion guessed that she was in for a very, very rough night.

“Hello, young Xion,” Paul whined. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“I can’t say the feeling is mutual, Paul,” Xion said. Behind her was ‘Taker, ahead of her was Kane, but she focused on Paul. Her magic could keep track of the brothers. “So, what's the plan this time? Kane couldn’t kill me by himself so now you got ‘Taker in on it?”

“I warned you!” Paul declared; he pointed his thick finger at her. She viscerally imagined snapping it like a chicken wing. “I told you there’d be consequences for getting in my way!”

“You know I don’t get it,” Xion said. “Even after all these years.”

Paul’s sallow face sneered at her.

“All this for a funeral home,” Xion spread her arms. “I’ve seen the books, Paul, I know there’s not that much money in this. You’ve wasted your entire life trying to get a fucking house in the middle of rural Texas, and for what?!”

“There is much you do not understand,” Paul said, “I know what power lies in that yard.”

“You’re playing a game you can’t win, Paul,” Xion warned. “Unlike you I’ve actually seen what comes in and out of that yard – it’s not pretty. You’re the only person stupid enough to think this is a good idea.”

“You –” Paul hissed.

“You burned down the funeral home,” Xion interrupted. “You tortured and abused those poor boys. You keep harassing my family. Yet, little-by-little, your control slips. Kane doesn’t like you as much anymore. ‘Taker don’t listen like he used to. The deck is stacking against you Paul but for some reason you still seem to think you’ll win.”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t understand!” Paul insisted. “Tonight, the Undertaker will kill his own daughter, and it’s me, me! Who will finally hold all the cards! The funeral home will be mine. My boys will be mine! All mine!”

Xion tilted her chin down, fixing Paul with a piercing stare, and she smirked. “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

Paul turned a crimson shade of beet red. Xion actually hoped that he would have a stroke. No such miracle happened and Xion was not going to wait for ‘Taker to hit her with lightning. She lunged, sprinting for Paul. All she had to do was get the urn. If she got the urn this scene changed dramatically. She’d pry the stupid thing out of his greasy paws and smash him across the head with it a couple times.

Kane moved in front of Paul, blocking Xion from him. A stride from him she teleported. Xion zipped to the other side of Kane, bypassing him. Her hand twisted into Paul’s ill-fitting suit as he clutched the urn to his chest. She lifted her fist and then ‘Taker was there. A force struck her across the side, jarring her, and tossing her. Xion teleported again before she hit the ground and skidded to a halt on her feet.

Now between Paul and her stood the Undertaker and Kane.

Shit, she should’ve told Aeleus where she was going.

Xion settled into a loose stance. Paul was laughing, chortling to himself, almost giggling. Perhaps this was a great form of revenge for all the court rooms Xion dragged him through. He was going to kill her for daring to deny him what he wanted. With Kane and the Undertaker under his thumb surely this spelled Xion’s doom. What a deranged man. Somehow, Xion would rather deal with Xemnas than Paul.

At least Xemnas’ voice didn’t make her cringe.

Xion dragged her teeth over her lip. ‘Taker and Kane, step-by-step, circled her. They knew what she was capable of. They had seen her magic and seen her fight a couple of times. Even for powerful, dangerous men like them they knew that they had to be careful. Xion was almost flattered by their respect. There was another dimension of this. Under Paul, Kane was angry and aggressive, but ‘Taker tempered him. There was only one thing worse than an angry Kane and that was a strategic Kane.

Kane inched towards her. Xion flexed her hand. He stopped moving, waited a second. The air pulsed, static popped, Xion caught Taker’s lightning spell on a reflect. The magic fizzled off the face of the shield. She saw Kane step forward. The hunt was on. Xion moved first.

She vanished into a burst of light. When she emerged off Kane’s flank, she struck at him. Fast strikes, fists wrapped in magic. A right, left, he blocked both, but she caught him with a spinning elbow to the chest. Put off balance Kane stumbled and she drove her foot into his gut. She vanished before ‘Taker's lightning caught her. The spell exploded a wardrobe into shrapnel.

She re-appeared on the top of a car. Xion leapt off the hood and launched herself at Paul but before she reached him a hand fisted in her jacket. ‘Taker slammed her into the ground. The blow knocked the wind out of Xion, jarring her. She saw lightning, bearing down on her, wrapped around ‘Taker’s hand. She rolled out of the way and the strike seared the ground beside her. The clap of thunder rung in her ears. The flash left her seeing spots.

Xion zipped away again, back onto her feet. As soon as she appeared out of the teleport, Kane was on her. It was a constant back-and-forth, trying to get strikes in on one before the other interrupted her. Xion had to keep giving ground. She vanished into light, slid over car hoods, and tried to keep them separated. Xion dodged bolts of lightning, lifted shields of magic against blasts of fire. Yet, it was like they knew what she was doing before she did it. The brothers filled in each other's weaknesses and gaps, shored each other up. Never once did they let her catch her breath.

And she was getting worn down. She could feel the strikes and spells that got through accumulate, feel the drain on her magic. One was a lot, two was too much.

Kane got her by the arm, dragged her around, and then put his hand through her elbow. Xion heard more than she felt the snap of bone. His grip tightened around her arm, fire at his fingertips. The flames burned through her coat arm until she smelled smoke, singed flesh and leather. The wash of pain was dull, but it locked her jaw so tight she swore her teeth would crack.

Pain, pain, pain, it was like a light in the dark, a bell in the night. A slap to face after a hangover. Clarity in the midst of confusion.

Damn, it’d been a while since she broke a bone.

(And it was at this point Xion worried that she may have gone soft).

“Wow!” She cackled, bracing herself on her good arm. “That sucks!”

She felt the magic more than she saw it. The snap of lightning, ‘Taker fulfilling his command: finish her. None of this was personal, it was all drama and bullshit, and Paul being a little bitch. And she had tried to do this without Dawn Breaker, really. It didn’t feel right to bring out a sword against two unarmed opponents, but Kane had just broken her arm.

Dawn Breaker ripped through the lightning spell. It was an edge of magic and intention, it will cut. Even through ‘Taker’s magic and the sparks that shattered around her. The obsidian blade gleamed; midnight black in the headlight halo. Xion clenched her left fist. A sickening pop sounded from her elbow. She flicked out her fingers as her arm healed. Xion tilted her head, this way and that, working out a kink in her neck.

“C’mon, daddy!” She shouted. “You’ll have to do better than that!”

Kane roared and lunged for her.

“Stop.” She said.

He stopped, frozen in time by the spell, hand extended and reaching for her. Xion bolted past him. She went straight for ‘Taker, darting in with a teleport. He telekinetically pulled sheets of metal from nearby cars. Ripping off the doors or the hoods as quick shields that Dawn Breaker cut through like butter. They left strips of steel behind them as they danced. A blast of aero tossed aside a scrap of metal and a diagonal cut slashed open his shirt, drawing blood.

Kane.

Xion parted from ‘Taker. She flipped over Kane’s wild attack as he released from his stop. Even before her feet touched the ground the blizzard spell hit him. Again she froze Kane, covered him in a thin sheen of solid ice. Xion landed in a crouch and another whip of wind stumbled ‘Taker. The ice had already thawed around Kane. Steam lifted from his heated skin as his power flared. The melted ice left him dripping with water, as she intended.

She put her palm to Kane’s chest and lightning lit him up like a Christmas tree. The spell would’ve killed a human, but it only brought Kane to a knee.

Xion turned but ‘Taker was already gone and when she looked back so was Kane.

Xion seethed, teeth gritted, Dawn Breaker tight in her hand. The headlights of the cars had gone out, Paul was gone, and the yard was back to normal. Of course, of course, this wouldn’t be straight forward. Daddy could never do something simple. Night had fallen and the thick clouds blocked any natural light. If it wasn’t for the roll of adrenaline coursing her body she would’ve thought the whole fight was a delusion.

She crept between the cars, senses pricked. She expected a sneak attack or another play of the light to convince her her eyes were the wrong colors. What she didn’t expect was to take a step forward and to be home.

Xion was in the upstairs hallway at the funeral home. It was a good illusion, Xion would admit. Everything was right down to the minute details. The pictures on the wall were in the right order: Kane and ‘Taker in Houston, the family picture from 2002, Xion with her GED. When she peaked in the bathroom, she even saw the right number of toothbrushes in the cup. She walked to the top of the stairs. There were voices in the kitchen below. She headed on down.

Sitting around the kitchen table was ‘Taker, Kane, and Aeleus. Dinner was set for four and they were having ribs tonight. There were dishes of from scratch bake beans, a huge salad, and macaroni and cheese. There was an aluminum tray of banana pudding on the counter. She could smell the barbecue sauce and the spices. See the shine of the overhead light on the silverware. Even the cut of shadows on Aeleus’ angular face looked real.

“Nice try,” Xion called. She lingered in the living room. Aeleus looked-up, noticing that she was there for the first time.

“What was that baby girl?” He asked, smiling fondly. He dished out some salad onto his plate.

His voice was perfect, the same deep rumble of Aeleus, the accent, everything. She reminded herself that ‘Taker knew Aeleus’ voice as well as she did. The details meant nothing. They proved nothing. This was his home as much as hers. Of course, he could recreate it. (What if it was real?)

“It’d be obvious to have you play the same parts,” Xion said, she wandered into the kitchen, walking a slow perimeter. The confusion pulled on their faces. Kane tilted his head to the side. “Are you Aeleus, or somewhere else in the room?”

“Xixi,” Aeleus said, “you’re not making any sense.”

“Come on, sit down for dinner,” ‘Taker said. “I’m starving.”

“No,” Xion said. “I’m not sitting.”

‘Taker and Aeleus shared a knowing glance between each other. For a moment, their eyes met. It was so real. She’d seen that expression on their faces before. Exactly like this, when her PTSD was acting up and they needed a game plan. The chair scraped as ‘Taker stood-up.

“Hey, baby, everything’s okay, I promise,” Taker said. He crossed the room. She flinched and stepped back. He paused, hands outstretched in a gesture of peace but hesitating, waiting for her. He didn’t even look hurt about it. “Did you have another nightmare? It’s okay. You’re home. We’re here. You’re safe.”

“I am not,” Xion whispered.

“You’re always safe with me,” ‘Taker replied, “I’d never let anyone hurt you, Xion.”

“You’re hurting me now,” Xion replied. “Just, please, ‘Taker snap out of it. I need you. I can’t take on you and Kane by myself. I don’t – I don’t want to hurt you.”

‘Taker’s gaze softened, and suddenly she was just a year old. A scared kid with a wound in her gut, on the run, forgotten, and dreaming of revenge. A weapon dressed-up as a little girl, who had never known peace much less a home. Now she was looking at the man who raised her. The one who talked to her after her nightmares. The one who held her when she was scared. The one who taught her to ride a motorcycle and helped her study for her tests. Now she was supposed to hate him, be afraid of him. None of this made sense, what if she was wrong, what if she was home, and it was all a nasty nightmare?

Where had she been?

In the hallway, but where did she come from? Before she was in the hallway, where was she? She didn’t remember getting out bed but that could happen. Xion had awoken from nightmares before and not come to until a few minutes later. Sometimes she found herself in places she didn't remembering walking to. She dreamed about the car yard and the abandoned house. About Kane breaking her arm and ‘Taker attacking her, nothing else made sense. She was home, it was okay, everything was okay.

“I know, baby,” he said. His hands rested on her shoulders. Xion thought about how ‘Taker would never touch her in a moment like this if she hadn’t moved to him first. She thought about how his grip was too tight. How none of this was right. How she didn’t care.

Xion threw her arms around ‘Taker’s neck. He smelled like ‘Taker, like the soap he used and the laundry detergent Aeleus favored. His hands were cold like ‘Taker. He was strong like ‘Taker, sturdy as ‘Taker, everything was exactly as it should be. He let her go and Xion sat down at the table. She sat down with her family. She ate dinner and talked about her day at school. About this college class or that, and the gossip among her friends.

Everything was at it should be.

After the meal, she helped Aeleus do the dishes. The sink water ran and Aeleus scrubbed while Xion dried. He handed her a plate, she swiped the towel over the face, and placed it in the cabinet. Aeleus hummed while he worked. Some meandering tune that occasionally flirted with an actual melody. ‘Taker read the newspaper at the kitchen table and Kane had gone to sit on the porch to watch the sunset. (In her dream it had been night).

“You know,” Aeleus said. He handed her a bowl. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?” Xion asked. She worked the towel around the outside of the bowel. “About what?”

“How you’ve forgotten who you are,” Aeleus said. He squirted some soap into a pan and began working the sponge into the corners. “I mean, really, Vexen created you as a weapon and now here you are, acting like a real person. Do you really care that Angie broke up with her boyfriend?”

“What does that mean?” Xion asked. She stopped herself from pointing-out that Angie's ex was a real dick. If Angie hadn't rid herself of him, Xion would've taken care of it.

“It’s just that you can’t change the nature of something, is all,” Aeleus said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Xixi, but no matter how hard you try. You’ll never be human. We can send you to college but that won’t change what you were created for.”

“It doesn’t matter what I was created for,” Xion argued, “you’ve never cared what Vexen thought, why start now?”

Aeleus turned off the sink. The water stopped and he flicked the blood from his hands. “Deny it all you want, baby girl, but you’re never going to be normal.”

“Ael, stop talking like that,” Xion said.

He turned away, reaching for the towel. Xion grabbed his arm and hauled him back around. Aeleus cussed and winced in pain. When she pulled her hand away, she had left bruising marks across his bicep. “Ow, girl, what’s wrong with you?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Xion gasped. She looked down at her hand like it had offended her or belonged to someone else. She was always so careful –

“What’s wrong with you?!” Aeleus demanded. He reached-out and grabbed her by the biceps. His massive hands closed around her arms like loops of iron. He shook her like a doll, “What is wrong with you?!”

“Dad, stop! You’re hurting me!” Xion cried.

He stopped, staring at her for a second, then his hands released around her arms. For a moment he was bashful, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby, I just–”

Fire licked at his shirt. Flames bursts along his skin and he scorched, burning like paper. The fire ate until it had picked him clean to the bone. Bone that still burned, grasping and seizing her with their skeletal hands. Xion stumbled back and Kane wrapped his arms around her. He slammed her into the fridge. Her head whipped back, slamming against the hard surface. It wasn’t a fridge; it was the wall of the shed. He pulled her back, grip so strong it was crushing her hips and spine. He slammed her again, and again, and again. Kane beat her against the wall until she left a smear of blood on the metal.

Xion was limp in his arms, broken ribs, a displaced shoulder, and pain, lots of pain. He dropped her to the ground. Kane wedged his foot into the back of her thigh. All three hundred some pounds of his weight bore down into the thin limb. Fire flared around his boot. Xion screamed, her clothes burned, it was so hot, like placing her hand on a stove and holding it there. She could imagine Paul’s slimy voice ordering: kill her but make it slow.

Make it hurt.

Kane lifted his foot. Xion wailed, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes as she curled in on her burnt leg. Kane reached down, grabbed her by the shirt. Kane hit her, again, and again, punches, kicks, swung hard, with his full body. He wrapped his hand around her throat, his massive fingers curling around her entire neck. Xion choked, the air cut off from her lungs, she scrabbled at his arm, his wrist. Her vision dimmed, the world closing in on her. She summoned light to her palm and Kane flinched. He let her go and Xion collapsed, gasping for breath.

“Summon your sword,” ‘Taker ordered.

She looked-up but it wasn’t ‘Taker. It was Roxas, staring down at her, haloed by the golden light of Twilight Town. The clock tower chimed, gong, gong, gong, it’s almost midnight. Roxas had grown up in the past few years too. He was taller now and had filled out his frame a bit. He kept his hair shorter. He was still Roxas though. Still her best friend. Still the boy she killed.

Xion extended her hand, sniffling, and summoned Dawn Breaker.

She met Roxas’ eyes, blue eyes, blue eyes, and she turned the blade around until it pointed into her gut. Right over their old, shared scar. Tears, stained in blood and dirt, trailed down her cheeks. Xion gripped the sword by the ricasso. Roxas smiled like she had told a good joke and Xion impaled herself. She forced the blade through her body. Until she felt it through her back, scraping her ribs along the way. Xion wheezed and gasped, trembling, shaking.

“Good job, Xion,” Roxas laughed.

‘Taker grabbed the sword by the ricasso, covering her hand with his.

“Sorry, baby girl,” he said.

The lightning current ran the blade. Her mind was like broken glass, jagged edges, ripping, shredding, she opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her entire body went rigid. Heart throbbing, skittering, stopping, restarting, and then for a brief second, it all went black.

She approached the circle of fire glow from the dark. She was a year old again, she was a little kid, she was a young woman. Xion sat down on the log across from the man. The old soldier tended the fire. His hair was gray and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He was as she remembered him, the skinny lanky man who hadn’t bathed in a week, dressed in tattered clothes.

“I told you not to come back,” he said.

“Am I dead?” She asked.

“No, not yet,” He answered, “Although you should be.”

“I’m hard to kill,” Xion noted.

“Very,” he confirmed.

She watched the fire flicker. The coals glowed red and yellow, warm but not hot. Somewhere, outside of the fire glow, was the pain. She ignored it for now. The pain could stay outside. It wasn’t real here.

“So, is this a hallucination?” She asked. “Or one of those weird heart connections that Sora goes on about, or a dream?” Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Are you real?”

The soldier stared at her. His calloused hands folded together. Finally, he smiled at her. Xion had met many people, but this man had the warmest smile she’d ever seen. Perhaps because joy was rare to him, and it was genuine when he showed it. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Xion breathed. She grinned back at him. “No, it doesn’t.”

Xion looked down at her hands. The wounds, the cuts, the blood, and dirt, were gone, cleaned away in this bizarre space she had fallen into. She put her teeth to a peeling callous and chewed off the layer of old skin. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. She scraped her nail off the soft, new skin underneath.

“Yes, you do,” the soldier drawled. He reached into the fire and picked-up a coal. It blazed in his hand, red hot, but it did not burn his skin or singe his arm hairs. “You’re just scared of that keyblade.”

“I am not scared of it,” Xion said.

He looked at her again. The soldier had slate gray eyes, but it had never been the color that struck her. It was the war behind them. The years of violence and horror, inflicted upon him, and he upon others. He was an imperfect, fallible man, who had climbed a mountain to escape his past. He had hoped to find redemption in the still waters of the alpine lakes. As he once said to her, on a chilled night, there is no forgiveness in loneliness. He had run away and, on that night, he commended her to fight.

“Xion I am a manifestation of your subconscious, I know.” He said. He tapped his finger against his temple. “You’re afraid that if you use that keyblade you’ll prove your worst fear right: you are a weapon. All you were made to be was a weapon and all you’ll ever be is a weapon. After all, it doesn’t matter if you dress an atomic bomb up in nice clothes: it’s still a weapon of mass destruction.”

“I’ve done so many things,” Xion insisted, “that Xemnas and Vexen never thought I’d be capable of. I have a family. I’m in college. I have friends. I’ve – I’ve survived!”

“But that doesn’t disprove their point, now does it?” The Soldier returned. “So what? You’re an atomic bomb with extra features.”

Xion sighed and pushed her hands through her hair. She pressed her lips together, trying to find some argument but all the words caught in her throat.

“There’s an old saying,” the soldier said. He dropped the coal, now cooled black, back into the fire. “’They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks.' Do you know what it means?”

“Not really,” Xion said.

“It means to take a weapon, an instrument of war, and turn it into a tool for farming,” he said. “That is what you attempted to do. To take a sword and beat it into a plowshare. So, now your purpose is for something else. In your mind you can only be one or the other: a sword or a plowshare.”

“I feel like I’m doing both terribly,” Xion admitted.

“You are, because you think you can’t be both,” The soldier said. “You are a weapon, Xion. Vexen made you for war and yet that is not all you can be. You can beat swords into plowshares and plowshares into swords. Maybe yesterday you were a plowshare, and tomorrow you’ll be a pruning hook, but today, Xion, you need to be a sword.”

“I’m not human,” she said, “I never have been. I never will be. I think going to college made me realize how ‘not human’ I am. I don’t know how to be normal. I’m worried – I’m worried I’ll never really fit in anywhere.”

“You’re afraid of yourself,” he said. “Like, if you admit what you’re capable of then Vexen will have been right. You hide away that keyblade. You temper your strength. You play at responsible daughter. You knew Kane and ‘Taker could kill you. You still held back. Is that what you think they want?”

“No,” Xion said.

“’Taker would die for you at thousand times,” he said, “before he’d let you die for him.”

“’Taker dying don’t mean shit,” Xion said.

“Then why are you holding back?” The soldier demanded.

“I don’t know!” She growled. “I just – I don’t want to hurt them!”

“Xion, if you die today,” he said, pointing at her and leaning forward, driving the point home. “There will be no redemption.”

“I can’t beat them,” She insisted.

“Yes, you can, you know you can,” the soldier said, “because there is one thing that you have that those boys don’t.”

She eyed the soldier.

“Adam and Kane were born as little boys. Two human children with a loving family,” he said, “and they were beaten into weapons. You were a weapon who was beaten into a little girl. You can’t forget who you are and learn from the past. If you want to find some redemption, some hope, in all of this: you must survive.”

The soldier returned his gaze to the fire.

“Today you can be a sword,” he said. “Tomorrow you can be a plowshare, and the day after that, whoever you want to be – just don’t be afraid of that person, Xion. Never be afraid of who you are.”

In the record skip of her scattered mind, almost fried on lightning, she thought of that scene in Lion King when Mufasa appeared to Simba and waxed about, “Remembering who you are.” It all got screwed-up, like someone cut the film wrong or forgot to rewind on the tape deck. People she'd lost, moments she'd forgotten, and places she hadn't been in years. Saix blade cutting through her back. Roxas on his knees. The moment Xemnas died. Until she was back in excruciating pain.

Knees in the dirt. Sword through her chest. Sitting up, slumped over, body limp and yet locked into position by the static. They were back at the car yard.

“Is she dead?” Kane asked.

“No,” ‘Taker answered.

“How is that possible?”

First her fingers, then her wrists, elbows, shoulders. Nerve by-nerve, working out the static from her crumpled limbs. Xion lifted her arm. She grabbed Dawn Breaker by the blade. The edge cut into her palm and blood dripped down her forearm. It was a slow slide as inch-by-inch she pulled the sword from her body. Until the tip fell clear of her sternum and Dawn Breaker clattered to the ground. She spat, spittle mixed with blood.

The scene changed, here, there, the home, Aeleus, the Castle that Never Was, a thousand places in her memory. ‘Taker became Axel, and Kane, Saix. Then they weren’t there at all and Namine was pleading with her to just stop fighting, please, Xion. She got a foot under her, her leg trembled, her muscles protested and she pushed to her feet. She stumbled, blood dripped from her mouth, joined her torn, ichor stained clothes.

She closed her eyes.

Xion grabbed ‘Taker’s wrist a second before the spell went off. Lightning shot over her head and crashed into open air. He strained against her ungiving grip, trying to pull his hand back. Xion closed the loop of her fist and the bones shattered. She let him go and outstretched her hand. Shadows After Dusk, her keyblade, a twisted piece of steal and lilac came to her. The blade fused with her magic, invigorated her drained reserves.

The curaga flashed, smelling of petrichor, fresh cut grass, and lavender. The magic worked over her bruised and broken body. Bone knit back together. Her wounds closed and a new vitality pushed into her weary frame.

Flashes of magic, vague shapes in the dark, cars, walls. Places she’s been before, places she’s never been, a burning house, a ring in an arena. It didn’t matter what bullshit hallucinations ‘Taker tried on her because Xion didn’t need to see. She could feel the spaces that ‘Taker and Kane filled. Know the spells they cast before the lightning struck and the fire caught. She cut through illusions, through Aeleus and Roxas. All the attempts to pull on her heart strings that she mercilessly ignored.

The clouds grew heavy, burdened by rain and the static charge. She stole the lightning from ‘Taker and the bolt struck the open air between them as thunder echoed over the hills. He picked-up a car, she slammed it back into the ground. When she tapped into Kane’s powers, taking bursts of fire and flames she heard it. At first it was like a whisper and then it reached a crescendo of a roar.

A wall of emotions crashed into her. The thud of fear, the pierce of agony, and the overwhelming tidal force of regret. The thoughts and ideas ‘Taker and Kane shared between each other. Their tactics: stay close, move away. Everything shared between the brothers bleeding into her. Xion fell back, eyes darting between ‘Taker and Kane, trying to make sense of everything she heard.

Kill her. An insidious voice whispered, somewhere in ‘Taker’s head. It was persuasive and he was incapable of ignoring it. It locked-up his limbs, took his own body from him. Twisted his thoughts up into knots until he came up with vicious ideas to kill his own daughter. Until he rolled with two forms of frustration. Anger at himself for what he did and fury that Xion would not just fucking die. And in the echo of the insidious whisper, which forced ‘Taker to do things he did not want to do, came the quiet reply: No.

Kill her. No.

Kill me.

Her eyes widened, lips parted, and then, from across the demolished car yard she found ‘Taker’s eyes. For a split second, their gazes matched. A flood of images flashed through her head. Her mangled body (snapped bones, burnt skin, torn muscle) but also Kane’s (a still chest, a cold, stiff corpse). Taker’s raw terror of not only what they could do to her but also what she could do to his brother. He could die. He’d be back in like a week anyway. Kane couldn’t die. Kane had to survive.

Because Kane was ‘Taker’s only brother but also, and on a level Xion understood intimately, the day Kane died Paul won. If she killed ‘Taker she could handle Kane – at least in a way that wouldn’t leave him too hurting. Xion could fix a broken bone, but she couldn’t fix dead, after all.

I can do it. She thought back.

Kane was listening too, he raged against them as they conspired. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. Paul will know. Paul will be upset. Xion told him to shut up.

Eyes forward, Xion told ‘Taker.

That’s all she needed. A little space, a small opportunity, if he could give her that she’d take care of the rest. All he had to do was trust her. Trust her to take advantage. Trust her to take care of Kane. Vexen created a weapon. For years she resented that. Resented using what the power she’d been given because it only proved her design right.

But today Xion was fine with it.

Kane attacked first, breaking their brief stalemate. She dodged, darting back, avoiding blasts of fire and wild punches. Until she was able to slip past him. Light erupted in geysers and beams that tore the ground, striking for ‘Taker.

He dodged the attack, rolling to his feet. Xion charged straight in. She lifted her keyblade high above her head, prepared to cut him down. 'Taker caught her by the throat, lightning in his fist but his hand closed around nothing but empty air.

The knife sunk into his back.

Xion leaned into 'Taker and he leaned into her. Her shoulder pressed to his. The crows cried and screamed. The knife, plucked from the sheath in her boot, drew trickles of hot blood. She heard him wheeze and gasp. The tell-tale rattled of a punctured lung. He swayed on his feet, she let him fall back into her arm, easing him to the ground. Xion took that knife and stabbed him one more time, through the left chest, into the heart.

‘Taker’s breath brushed over his lips, his voice a rasp whispered: “I don’t blame you, baby girl. It’s okay.” His hand stroked her hair, the back of his knuckles brushing her cheek.

The illusions ended as ‘Taker drew his last breath. She was back in that shitty car yard, in the cold dark, crouched over her father’s dead body. The wind pulled at Xion’s hair, cold but no longer chilling. All of a sudden, she was just very tired. Very tired of the fighting. Very tired of her life being interrupted by selfish men. Very tired of the people she loved getting hurt.

Tired of holding her father’s dead corpse.

“No,” Kane said, like a strangled bark from a beaten dog. “No!”

Fire flared, a hot inferno that heated her cheeks and lit up the night. It was as if hell opened a door. The ground cracked and fire spilled from the heavens. Massive turning pillars of flame towered above the trees. Branches and underbrush caught flame. The rising hot air tugged tires and pieces of furniture into the vortex. Xion pressed to her feet. As she set her stance she let her limit break. Golden light shone from the steel of her keyblade until it enveloped her like an armor. All the exhaustion and pain banished from her weary body, this was it. Either she finished this here, or she died trying.

Xion launched herself at Kane. A wall of fire, exploded from his hands and in front of her. The blast warded her off but licked off her armor instead of burning her. Xion did not let up didn't give him room to find his footing. She pushed through the fire and flames, past Kane’s attacks, his dodges, his defense. Anything he put in front of her, Xion knocked aside.

Xion planted her feet and swept her blade-up, coated in light. The attack tossed him into the air. She teleported above Kane and slammed him back into the ground. Xion landed beside him as he struggled to his feet. The keyblade vanished from her hand as she caught his wrist, dragged him around. He was big and strong but she was stronger. Xion didn’t give as she lifted her fingers in front of his face and snapped.

“Sleep,” she said.

Kane’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. The last of her magical might overloading his frayed neurons. She leveraged everything she had into this one spell such that he had no choice but to comply. She caught him around the waist as he crumpled. The fire and brimstone burned down. The night returned with the cicada cries. The trees still burned and the yard smelled of scorched trash.

Xion laid Kane down on the ground and stepped over his limp body. She did not have to look to find Paul, cowering behind a car. She wedged her foot into the vehicle and kicked it aside. It went spiraling away, a dozen feet, crashing into a truck on the far side of the yard.

Paul whined about this, and that. He pleaded a little, threatened some, made all sorts of pitiful noises that fell on deaf ears. Xion summoned Dawn Breaker. She lifted the blade, the obsidian a spill of ink on a starless night and she brought the sword down, across his neck. Paul's head rolled off his neck and landed with a thud beside his collapsed body. Blood pooled, soaking his ill-fitting suit.

The storm clouds broke. Drops of rain splattered across the forest and put out the fires. Washing away the pools blood on the dry ground. Xion turned her face into the cool, soothing rain. Kane was never going to forgive her for killing his father. It was going to be months, maybe years, before things went back to even a semblance of normal. They might never be the same.

And as she returned to Kane, and healed his injuries, pushing the last of her magic into his body so that he wouldn’t wake-up in any pain– she was okay with that. She would take him, and 'Taker, home. She would tell Aeleus the truth. She would probably leave the valley for a while, until things boiled over. It would be hard but she was strong, and it would be fine.

Because Paul Bearer was never going to fuck with her family, ever again.

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