In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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"Hey, you remember the tangerines?" The spectral voice rang through his ears and he looked up into the eyes of the pale girl in front of him. Her eyes were dark, the exact opposite of his, but her light hair fell around her shoulders in a tomboyish mess. Keisha sat properly in the chair across from his Red Room four-poster bed, her fingers nimbly transferring a pencil from one to the next. "You said you liked them back then... Would you still like them now?"
Synthest shrugged. That was... Years ago. Ten? Twenty? The teenage boy couldn't remember. Ever since the Fever had taken his body, he hadn't aged an inch. Meanwhile, his own death loomed closely on the horizon as the Heartless that inhabited his body feasted on his Heart. What did tangerines have to do with anything that the Worlds were going through right now? How did they affect him whatsoever? "I don't eat much nowadays."
It was odd how Synthest had been running from his own fate. At first, he had been depressed. Then it seemed that he found false hope after escaping from Elaeus and his crew (the dark shackle on his wrist was a constant reminder). He'd been happy for a little while, but soon enough he found himself sleeping in the Hotel of Traverse Town, where he seemed to belong. The town shrouded in Darkness welcomed him like no other, even Radiant Garden, where Leon and the others knew him well. At this point, he lived as a regular citizen of Traverse Town. Reclusive. He didn't have many friends.
No friends, actually. No friends but the phantom image that stood before him. She pursed her lips in the childish form she used to when she was alive. Before Keyon had murdered her, when Synthest could see the strict line between good and evil. How many people had he killed to satisfy his Heartless' dark needs? Not that it mattered, it was survival, however much he hated it. He turned away from the ghost and sighed. "Why am I even talking to you? You're just a figment of my imagination, or some kind of hallucination due to this damn Heartless. The Fever's probably feeding on me right now and I don't even realize it." The teen stared at his right arm in hopelessness, running his fingers down the dark veins that ran through that part of his body. When he looked back to see if the girl was still sitting in his chair he breathed a sigh of relief.
She was gone.
He no longer cried for his long lost love, or the brother that had left him for dead so long ago. Instead, he hated himself for all the Worlds he'd doomed to Darkness with his own hands. All of the people who had died. The only relief he could find was the fact that Sora had brought it all back so long ago. Maybe... With the fresh start that the Keyblade warrior gave him, he could find redemption.
The dark-haired warrior stood up and donned his shirt, pulling his jacket on as well. He was out the door before he could check for the phantom that might be staring at him from the mirror. The chill air of Traverse Town filled him as he left the hotel, staring over the Second District. He felt his spirit raise slightly as the feverish feeling that coated his right arm began to numb, the evil presence falling back into its slumber. Whenever he saw the ghosts, the arm hurt him so much... And his chest was beginning to hurt as well. He hoped it wasn't spreading.
As normal, the Heartless of the Second District rose to the smell of Darkness in the air. Synthest was never a target but more of a common interest. He smelled good to them, he supposed. The Shadows jumped and hung on his jacket with their weak claws and he chuckled, allowing one lucky Shadow the prized throne on his shoulder. The two walked down the Second District, not even caring if anybody else saw them, and Synthest sighed. He looked to the bulbous yellow eyes of the (admittedly cute) creature and grimaced. "Are we bad because we want to be or because we have to be?"
It was a legitimate question, no doubt, and as Synthest kicked the cobblestone he mentally struck himself for talking to a Heartless. As if the feral creatures could understand him. This one would disappear as soon as it smelled a Heart worth eating and he'd never see it again... He was still far different from the Heartless he'd seen in the Worlds. Perhaps he had a little longer to live.
