For Ventus, days had stopped being defined by sun and stars and the heat of sand and strange crawling monsters, and had slipped into a strange new routine at the whims of a new Master.
Don't get Ventus wrong, he was in no way unhappy with the shift. For all of his very short existance, the few concept that stuck in his head where that the world was harsh, it was uncaring and lonely and...and...
Well Ventus couldn't do anything about it. And apperantly, he wasn't supposed to. He was, for all extents and purposes, a tool, and for some undefinable reason he had finally been an acceptable enough one to be taken here.
Where before he had seen Xehanort perhaps ones a week, perhaps less, to get supplies and had his progress checked on, now his training had progressed to actual training, not just vague instructions on plans and purposes.
Things had been a routine, safe that was, until now.
Ventus was frozen in the doorway, staring wide eyed as Xehanort crumpled in front of him a bit of blood splattered down the front of his clothes. He'd been trailing right before the older man after all, and he still stood, frozen in place as Xehanorts falling body revealed another boy behind it, about his age, with a keyblade in hand.
He was staring at the body, frozen as well. Part of Ventus's hand twitched automatically, trying to call for Wayward Wind. This is an enemy His training said. This is a danger. You need to fight. You need to strike first, this is a test this is an attack just movemovemove!
But Ventus couldn't move a muscle, he stood there face slack and looked down wide eyed, a puppet with its strings cut.
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Don't get Ventus wrong, he was in no way unhappy with the shift. For all of his very short existance, the few concept that stuck in his head where that the world was harsh, it was uncaring and lonely and...and...
Well Ventus couldn't do anything about it. And apperantly, he wasn't supposed to. He was, for all extents and purposes, a tool, and for some undefinable reason he had finally been an acceptable enough one to be taken here.
Where before he had seen Xehanort perhaps ones a week, perhaps less, to get supplies and had his progress checked on, now his training had progressed to actual training, not just vague instructions on plans and purposes.
Things had been a routine, safe that was, until now.
Ventus was frozen in the doorway, staring wide eyed as Xehanort crumpled in front of him a bit of blood splattered down the front of his clothes. He'd been trailing right before the older man after all, and he still stood, frozen in place as Xehanorts falling body revealed another boy behind it, about his age, with a keyblade in hand.
He was staring at the body, frozen as well. Part of Ventus's hand twitched automatically, trying to call for Wayward Wind. This is an enemy His training said. This is a danger. You need to fight. You need to strike first, this is a test this is an attack just movemovemove!
But Ventus couldn't move a muscle, he stood there face slack and looked down wide eyed, a puppet with its strings cut.
He had no idea what to do.