The mansion's silence was absolute. Without DiZ or Naminé's touch, this place was drearier than ever.
Helios moved slowly, his footsteps muffled by the dust-thick carpets and long-rotted wooden floors. Shafts of twilight slipped through the fractured windows, illuminating floating particles in the air like silver fireflies. Every room he passed told the story of abandonment—curtains hanging like torn flags, cracked oil paintings staring with lifeless eyes, books warped from moisture and time.
But he felt it.
A dark presence.
He felt a pull of an existence that was tied to the darkness.
While tied to the darkness, it wasn't exactly darkness itself. Something in-between but slightly closer to light than he expected. Something fragile.
He swept through the grand hall, the library, the shattered conservatory, even the moonlit upper bedrooms—but found nothing. It was only when he reached a collapsed stairwell near the rear of the house that the whisper of energy grew stronger.
Helios stepped over the broken railing and dropped into the basement level below. His boots touched down with a faint thud onto crumbling stone.
A cold draft swept past him.
He followed the narrow corridor to a rusted iron door at the end.
Behind it—he could feel the presence.
He pushed it open with his shoulder. It groaned loudly, scraping stone.
Inside was a long, low room lined with pillars and moss-cracked floor tiles. Cobwebs stretched between ceiling beams like curtains of neglect. But at the far end, where the weak light of a broken ceiling vent poured down, a figure lay still—motionless.
Helios approached slowly.
She lay atop a circle of discolored stone, knees curled toward her chest, arms folded beneath her head. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Strands of raven-black hair spilled across her bare shoulders like ink, shimmering faintly under the dusty light.
She looked like Pocahontas—but not exactly.
Her skin was a similar warm bronze, but her features had changed—sharper, more sculpted. Her jaw was more defined, lips thinner but firm, her high cheekbones casting soft shadows along her face. Her eyebrows arched naturally, almost regally, above her closed eyes, and her nose had a smooth, straight bridge.
A Nobody's face would be emotionless at first, but not empty. Peaceful in sleep, but shadowed in aura.
Her hair was long and loose, reaching her waist, layered slightly at the ends and parted to one side in natural waves. Woven through her strands were two thin braided cords, each decorated with a small ring of blue beads.
Her outfit was modernized, but unmistakably inspired by her origin.
She wore a sleek, sleeveless tunic-style crop top—buckskin-toned fabric with a slight suede texture, cut diagonally across her shoulder. The top wrapped under one arm and left her right shoulder exposed. Thin tribal stitching ran along the hem in patterns of faded red and pale blue, and a single feather-shaped silver pendant hung from a cord around her neck.
Her midriff was bare, showcasing defined abs and a lithe, athletic build.
Around her waist was a dark leather belt, cinched tight with a silver clasp shaped like a stylized compass rose. She wore asymmetrical leggings, fitted and flexible—one side a faded chestnut brown, the other black with a bark-textured paneling that mimicked tree roots curling upward.
Her lower legs were wrapped in soft dark leather strips, tied at the back like sandals—leaving her barefoot.
On her left bicep, above the elbow, was a faint red tattoo—a modernized echo of her tribal marking, but designed with angular lines, sharper than its natural counterpart. It almost looked similar to the mark of a Nobody.
Helios knelt beside her.
"She must've only recently formed and has yet to awaken," he murmured.
Her aura was faint, flickering like a dying candle. She hadn't stabilized yet—not without a purpose, a name, or the protection of an Organization cloak. Like all Nobodies born unclaimed, she was already beginning to fade.
And something else noticed it.
A soft hiss behind him.
He spun around.
From the darkness near the door, two Shadow Heartless emerged—eyes glowing like twin embers. They slithered forward soundlessly, followed by two more—then five—then seven. The creatures crept out from the corners and cracks, sniffing at the air.
Drawn to her.
To her vulnerability.
Helios stood and extended his hand, summoning Equilibrium in a burst of silver-blue flame.
"Not today," he muttered.
The first Heartless lunged—and he struck it mid-air, cleaving it in half with a downward arc. The others surged forward, but he moved like water—spinning, pivoting, striking low and clean. Each swing carved through darkness with precision.
Within seconds, all that remained was mist and flickering embers.
Helios exhaled slowly, watching the last one dissolve.
He turned back to the girl.
Still unconscious. Still untouched.
But not safe.
"Without a cloak, you're a beacon," he said quietly. "And cursed to be hunted until you fade or something dark claims you."
He knelt again and gently lifted her into his arms—princess carry style. Her body was light, but real. Solid. Warm.
And incredibly fragile.
Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder. A lock of hair brushed his cheek. Her breathing stayed soft, rhythmic.
"You were almost gone," he whispered. "But not today."
He raised his Keyblade.
A dark corridor opened beside him—spiraling outward like ink in water.
The aura of the place trembled as he stepped into it.
Stone cracked beneath his feet.
And then—he vanished into shadow, carrying her with him.