Without a Reason to Live (Xehanort/Hono)

As chance or fate would have it, she was not alone at all. Among the remnants and dead souls, someone else still walked, and once the haze of heat and dust had thinned enough to see, she could spot him weakly treading along, expression soured from stress and exhaustion. Soon, he met the space where the roads crossed, where in the center stood a single blade, unique among the many duplicate arms surrounding it. The black, jagged blade looked hostile enough to drive off most innocent minds, but to him, it was the most inviting of any of these poor excuses for weapons. He limped over and wrapped his fingers around the handle, comforted to feel the familiar shape underneath them. He didn't go so far as to draw it from the dirt, though. That would be rude, when there was a question to answer, coming from the person who he'd ignored up until then.

"You've missed the most of them," he explained, the coarse, gravelly tone of his voice reminding them both that he was in severe need of water. With his hand resting atop the head, he clarified, "I'm all that's left, it seems." He looked over the stranger, noting just how poorly their colorful self meshed with the grim environment they'd found themselves in. Half the time, this was a warzone, and all other times, a graveyard. It was no place for children... outside of a few specific occasions. "Curious, someone like you wandering here. I've my reasons- Sharing a grave with the rest, that is -But I doubt yours are the same. You haven't strayed so close to the Dark on purpose, have you..?"

Maybe he shouldn't be so critical of one's choice of domain. He'd made a real home of this place before, so it wasn't that hard to believe someone else was drawn to it. It could have been something so simple as a curiosity that spurred her on to explore, an act which he'd been just as guilty of in the past.

He ran his fingers over that jagged weapon, nodding slowly in response to the girl's poorly concealed panic and remaining silent for a long while afterward. It may have started to get a bit awkward, just how long he pondered it with his eyes closed before an amused sort of grin came to his face, "Not quite how I wanted to leave my mark, but it will do," he reasoned quietly before putting his hand back on the hilt of the sword and tugging it from the dry earth. and holding it underhand as he turned to the girl and stepped over toward her.

It wasn't beyond his understanding that she might be fearful. Many people would be wary of someone like him, with a weapon like that, in a place like this. It was just a natural response to menace and ugliness. So as not to scare her off, he didn't rush over, nor did he step too close. Instead, he was still a few full steps away when he stopped to raise the object up, tilting the lower end of the handle in her direction in a quiet request for her to take it from him. "If you have no place here, then let me take pity on you," he offered. "I will lend this to you, and it will act as a key to the door of your choosing. You may use it to leave and return to wherever it is you belong, just as I did when I held it." He glanced around at all the abandoned items in the field around them.

Admittedly, none of them were much to look at. Trying to find one in truly working order would be a bit of a challenge. Still, he did not rescind his offer. "I will make do with what is left," he compromised so as to fend off the inevitable argument of, 'what will you do without it?' "This is no place for children," he voiced his own thoughts from before. "Take this and be rid of these rabble. In time, I will follow to collect it."

"It's simple metaphor, child- Simpler than you're making it, that is." Xehanort took the opportunity to lightly scold her lack of comprehension instead of answering any questions of identity. Kids these days, with their not trusting strangers. He wrapped a hand around the closest half of the raised blade, pulling it back down between them. A second hand on the opposite half, and he let it drift around until it was aimed down one of the open lanes in the field of weapons. "This is a Keyblade," he explained as their aim wandered. "Like any key, it will open doors. It needn't be a 'real' one, so to speak. It can be any proverbial 'door' that would otherwise remain locked." He put some emphasis on the word 'door', hoping to nail in the importance of its symbolism. Part of him felt that it would be a hard concept to teach. He'd have to give a demonstration, and that was why he joined in holding the Keyblade.

He felt the presence of a potential opening and locked onto it. "The concept of a 'door' that doen't exist, leading to a hallway that, also, shouldn't exist. This is how the Keyblade can be used to travel between Worlds: By opening that 'door' and letting its holder through." To show just how it worked, he let the weapon do as it chose, a light shining at its tip for a short moment before gently floating over through the air until it hit something invisible. A moment later, and the air was torn open, creating a blue-and-white rift. Another light, and a second rift, this one more of a green tint, came about just next to the first. A third, stained with dark purple colors, manifested not long afterward. All three would be examples of what doors she could open with the tool he had loaned her.

Without any intent to maintain them, the portals closed and he loosened his grip on the Keyblade, tapping it with a finger as if to tell her that, yes, his demonstration was concluded. He still wasn't sure if she had the aptitude for the spells, though. "If magic is beyond you, then simply showing you mine will be of little help," he admitted.

That old man wouldn't lie to himself by saying he had a measure of the child's talents before seeing them for himself. That would just be absurd. Sure, he had better instincts on such subjects than most, but only an absolute idiot would rely on conjecture. That's why he was happy to provoke her pride, something that could easily push someone to give an example of their aptitude, and sure enough, she gave him a very thorough one indeed. "You'll have plenty, in time," he assured her on talk of practice, giving her a rather forceful pat on the back before stepping over to inspect the newly-made hole in the floor.

He nudged a small rock into it, waited for it to return, and was satisfied to find that it never came back. "Leagues more stable than my first few Corridors," he praised her work aloud. "It should take you through with all your fingers. Probably." Xehanort turned and took back his place near her. Truth be told, the portal wasn't anything special. It really was the work of an amateur, but one that had gotten enough of a grip on the concept that, rough as it may be, the hole they made would suffice.

"...As for where it goes, well, that depends on your aim," he explained, deftly avoiding any responsibility for whatever odd place she ended up in after slipping through. "No matter what door you open, I'm sure it's a better-fit place than this. Head on home, then- or wherever it is you're meant to be." He turned his attention elsewhere, padding off toward the nearest jumble of swords and inspecting them to see which ones might serve his purpose. He'd have to leave too, sometime, so he may as well start searching now.