"You were once, willing to turn your heart inside out for answers." Ienzo nods tiredly, holding up his hands as if to concede to that point- No one would ever dare argue that Xehanort had been any less than eager to forfeit all for the sake of knowledge. He used to believe that was so noble of him, much more noble than Master Ansem, playing it safe and sanctimonious.
His eyes narrow on the password screen, daring that cursor to move, to fill in those damning names. No, that shouldn't even work, they've changed all the passwords. Ienzo tells himself, holding onto that awareness like a talisman against illusions, against the mutable rules of dream-reality.
He resents being spoken to like a child, in that laboriously noxious, inculcating tone, talking round in circles about the same universal mysteries. Never did they manage to close in on Xehanort's forgotten past. The darkness only ever darkened, obscuring their vision, wrenching them apart. If not for the others, if not for Lexaeus keeping him grounded, Zexion may have wound up just as ephemeral and vacant as their leader... and that's not a divergent path he's particularly interested in exploring any longer.
"But after you lost your heart, you lost all interest in recovering the missing truth about yourself." Ienzo continues, still faintly accusatory, tucking his arms in tightly against his body. "Our organization began to revolve around other lofty, inscrutable plans. Worlds lay before us, in diverse fragments, yet all sense of wonder in them ceased. You set yourself apart from us, called yourself Superior, and allowed that distance to become empty space, dividing what we once had."
Or had that been a fallacy too, that energy they'd shared, churning hairbrained theories together, sitting up late into the night collecting ideas, scheming up possible tests, opening up the narrow focus of their disciplined learning.
Who would have known the endless void could still feel so small, on the other side?
Collecting up his nerve, biting at his lower lip, Ienzo finally lifts his eyes in defiance to meet Xemnas's face again, his reflection in the glass.
"But Xigbar said you still came here alone, quite often, to speak with someone else."
Cat's long been out of the bag about those napping habits, murmured about. Everyone knew it- even if they didn't really know why anyone would seek out that sort of solitude. Why chase ghosts down in that basement, if not to conclude a path of inquiry alone, in secret? That should have been when he'd suspected that critical information was being withheld, even if he could have never fathomed the weight of it.
"I thought it might have been your other half that you would rather confide in, down there, than any of your old colleagues." The apprentice snipes sullenly, through heavily hooded eyes. He frowns, the softness of his features sharpening in focus, skeptical.
"So why now, having already cast us off?" It's a rather insolent demand, from a follower who had always been unfailingly polite. Ienzo has none of Zexion's cooled and removed temperment, he is swollen with hurt too-long tampered down, buttoned up, stuffed beneath a pile of to-dos to be dealt with later.
He's got to deal with this now, or else never.
"You will not anchor yourself in me again." Ienzo articulates plainly, firmly, more assertive than he can ever remember being, to anyone's face. "I have given you too many of my years already, in pursuit of your aims."
no subject
His eyes narrow on the password screen, daring that cursor to move, to fill in those damning names. No, that shouldn't even work, they've changed all the passwords. Ienzo tells himself, holding onto that awareness like a talisman against illusions, against the mutable rules of dream-reality.
He resents being spoken to like a child, in that laboriously noxious, inculcating tone, talking round in circles about the same universal mysteries. Never did they manage to close in on Xehanort's forgotten past. The darkness only ever darkened, obscuring their vision, wrenching them apart. If not for the others, if not for Lexaeus keeping him grounded, Zexion may have wound up just as ephemeral and vacant as their leader... and that's not a divergent path he's particularly interested in exploring any longer.
"But after you lost your heart, you lost all interest in recovering the missing truth about yourself." Ienzo continues, still faintly accusatory, tucking his arms in tightly against his body. "Our organization began to revolve around other lofty, inscrutable plans. Worlds lay before us, in diverse fragments, yet all sense of wonder in them ceased. You set yourself apart from us, called yourself Superior, and allowed that distance to become empty space, dividing what we once had."
Or had that been a fallacy too, that energy they'd shared, churning hairbrained theories together, sitting up late into the night collecting ideas, scheming up possible tests, opening up the narrow focus of their disciplined learning.
Who would have known the endless void could still feel so small, on the other side?
Collecting up his nerve, biting at his lower lip, Ienzo finally lifts his eyes in defiance to meet Xemnas's face again, his reflection in the glass.
"But Xigbar said you still came here alone, quite often, to speak with someone else."
Cat's long been out of the bag about those napping habits, murmured about. Everyone knew it- even if they didn't really know why anyone would seek out that sort of solitude. Why chase ghosts down in that basement, if not to conclude a path of inquiry alone, in secret? That should have been when he'd suspected that critical information was being withheld, even if he could have never fathomed the weight of it.
"I thought it might have been your other half that you would rather confide in, down there, than any of your old colleagues." The apprentice snipes sullenly, through heavily hooded eyes. He frowns, the softness of his features sharpening in focus, skeptical.
"So why now, having already cast us off?" It's a rather insolent demand, from a follower who had always been unfailingly polite. Ienzo has none of Zexion's cooled and removed temperment, he is swollen with hurt too-long tampered down, buttoned up, stuffed beneath a pile of to-dos to be dealt with later.
He's got to deal with this now, or else never.
"You will not anchor yourself in me again." Ienzo articulates plainly, firmly, more assertive than he can ever remember being, to anyone's face. "I have given you too many of my years already, in pursuit of your aims."