His New Theory [Xehanort]

"It's quite the collection, really"

The sound of that voice was doubtless one that the Assassin hadn't hoped, nor expected, to hear. Being greeted with it in a place so private as this couldn't have been comforting in any sense. Xehanort, or Master Xehanort, simply wasn't able enough to escape his assured destruction, let alone stealthy enough to slip into that room without using the loud, roaring Corridors that the Organization depended on. So, with that known, how was he here, undetected, so casually standing near the opposite corner of the room and flipping through one of Lauriam's carefully-collected books?

The old Master didn't look keen on explaining his methods. "From the looks you give them, I take it they don't cover exactly the subjects you need," he surmised as he gently shut the tome and put it back in place with a kind of respect that only scholars like him would ever spare for what would otherwise be seen as just another bundle of paper. When he turned back to look at Lauriam directly, there was a softness to his expression. The malice that used to lay under every glance and motion was absent here, leaving only an airy sense of aimless curiosity. That, or indecision. He was well and truly unarmed, in every sense of the word, and yet that familiar tension was there. He made no threat through the typical show of force, but by approaching so brazenly without a threat, and without outwardly regarding Lauriam as an enemy, he boasted a confidence that even his smug demeanor as the Organization's leader never quite reached. "I'd like to talk a while, if you... have the time."

Xehanort wasn't amused by his former colleague's fearful display. He was neither intimidated, nor pleased, nor humored at all. If anything, he was a bit disappointed to find himself on the other end of such a scenario so soon after the last time. He looked down at the shaking scythe with a gloomy face of pure disappointment, remarking quietly to himself, "So that really is all I am now..?" Hee put his white-gloved hand on the jagged head and pushed it aside. "Don't be so quick to label me a villain again," he warned, the mild sarcasm of his introduction no longer present. In its absence, there was only an unfamiliar emptiness, signature of someone who just didn't have the want to fight. Still, passive or not, Xehanort understood now that his presence was far too disheartening to have any real conversation with even those who he'd worked with before.

And so, he made the first real move, holding a hand aside and conjuring up the brightly-shining shape of a Keyblade. Only, it wasn't the typical black lightning that Marluxia would have been so familiar with, but rather a bright blue beam that took the form of black gears and neon crossbars. Depending on just how much this newly recalled Lauriam remembered of their early days, it may have come across as either an eerie return to form or, if he had forgotten, a completely new weapon for the old man to hold, typically only being carried by the young self that had traveled forward through time to participate in the War. Before any questions could be asked or answered, Xehanort set the Keyblade flat on the desk and let it go, folding his hands behind his back in complete abandonment of any aggression.

"The Eye is gone," he answered the inevitable question. "I gave it up, passed it on. I've things left to do, but not with the Eye on my back. I've not come to make a victim or witness of you- Just to talk."

Oddly enough, the note of privacy was the first thing to truly offend the old Master. "You seem to think there was a better method," Xehanort observed. "Perhaps you'd rather I prowl the crowds, stay in the light? News of my arrest would surely reach you quickly enough." He glanced down to the assassin's weapon, recalling how little hesitation there was in raising it. "...And with all that's happened, I'm sure you'd not have fled had you seen me on the street." Xehanort shook his head, tossing off the momentary anger that nearly had him raising his voice. Now was now the time to be upset about valid concerns.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a business behind them, a whirling of thoughts that didn't fit such a sure-stepped fellow as him. Someone who had defied the tremendously sleighted odds of survival on so many occasions may not have had much of a right to show doubt in the face of basic conversation. "Not much, only... a chance to put my thoughts in the open, to talk through them with another ear. I passed through the hands of many a master and mentor, you see, and recent events have shed a new light on the ideas of theirs which shaped my bleak perception of our bickering Worlds. Both their views and my own have been brought into question, and pondering it all alone is... confusing. Tiring, even." Xehanort put his hands up in a vague approximation of a shrug, shaking his head in concession of defeat. Though the gesture was shown to Lauriam, he was really only forfeiting against the limitations of his own mind, and his own patience, both of which had seen bolstering over the years only to prove inadequate now.

He was quiet when his Lauriam criticized his masters. Even if he agreed that mistakes were made, and that certain views had been proven wrong, Xehanort could never bring himself to call any of them 'evil'. Even he was doing those things to make the Worlds better, and he still felt a tremendous respect for anyone with the constitution to make those hard choices, whether they be right or wrong in the end. He wouldn't fight the words, though- It wasn't a battle worth starting, especially with someone who was clearly still hurting from all that happened. Xehanort had learned the art of passivity, and this was one such time he'd put it to use.

It was more than a bit uncomfortable hearing the previous assassin's work through his thoughts. In a way, it felt like he was being mocked, as if calling him 'someone like you' was a jab as some kind of poor decision making. They were weighted half-questions, and they stung. Still, Xehanort didn't dare falter from his previous servant's reclaimed eyes. He had no right to back away from earned dissent, and so he was direct and honest when the accusation came. "In a way, yes," he started. "Rather than picking the fruits of your work, however, I offer my help in moving it along. Two eyes only see so much. When my mind is set, and my deeds are done, then I will be without the purpose that drove me to challenge the realms and their guardians."

Perhaps he was in no place to barter favors. "I owe you a great deal already," Xehanort admitted, "for work done willingly and otherwise. Through this, I intend to repay that debt and settle my own matters, so..." To a degree, it should have been embarrassing, practically begging for work like some alleybound peasant. For Xehanort, though, there was no bigger blunder than what failures he had already committed. He had no shame anymore. He held a hand out in an official offer to shake and accept his deal. "Will you hear me?"

Though the words still hurt- They'd hurt anyone, even somebody whose heart was seen so black as his -the impact was dulled by the fact that Xehanort was far more prepared after the first round of verbal slugs. The Master's offer of peace couldn't have possibly been enough to cut through Lauriam's tempered hate. After all, even the warrior servant Lauriam once became had never been truly amicable. Xehanort understood that dissent and hoped that it wouldn't make its wielder too stubborn. Workmates, equal or otherwise, were useless if not cooperative.

He had plenty of carrots to give for good behavior, though, and he saw no point in bothering with the stick part of the routine. His hand dropped and he turned his attention away from the suggestion and his eyes away from his partner's. "I'll brief you on the story, then- It's a short one, easily summarized. I'll waste no time." He stepped over to the table where he had left his Keyblade, choosing not to confront the half-rejection when it was better to focus on the practical components of their deal. "Imagine a boy, later a man, and perhaps further on a zombie or shell, and in growing he takes up a special sort of path. It runs along those most take, but his takes less-wandered turns through and around the straight ways, dipping into a number of truths and observations that most have ignored. Those walking that straight path only have their destination in mind, but his is a dark road which crosses over with the light only to provide a distant vantage from which to observe it."

"Bordered by the shadows, he never sees the light quite so brightly as the rest. He saw too much darkness. His tutors could only teach him so much when the worlds were his masters..." Xehanort had sped on through his words, immersing himself in his story in an almost careless manner, freely spelling out the vague plot of this supposedly fictional tale. "...And then, he constructs a theory. He believes that those Worlds can never truly escape the dark. They are tarnished, impure in a way that can never be cleansed unless the whole thing is set to fire, burnt away to leave none of its tainted corpse behind." He put his hand on the shaft of the weapon, quietly recalling something he had said once before. "An empty world, pure and bright."

Another short moment of hesitation, and he let his explanation take a turn. "But there is a flaw in his thinking. All of it comes back to his belief that the people in it, good as some may be, could never be so pure in their Heart that they could truly uproot the clinging darkness. Worlds, hearts, men- They all begin in darkness, and all so end, and with this cycle repeating so, so, so infuriatingly quickly, no one person could ever live in the ideals of the light for long enough to perfect it. He knew he would die long before he could find a perfect solution, and so instead he chose to burn the lot down in whole. Whoever came next could build it better, with none of his darkness to stop them.

"And then, in the end, he fails," Xehanort concluded. "Even his failsafe plan was brought down by the weakness of men and the strength of children. He perished, reluctant, but content knowing that, at the very least, his darkness would disappear, and though everything was fleeting and men would return to the dark in time, their days in the light would be enough if there truly was no alternative. In the end, that was his new theory."

He took some time to collect himself before reaching the end of the story. "Imagine, then, that there is an alternative. It has yet to be conceived, and by all means no man should ever live long enough to do so, nor would his knowledge ever be so perfectly preserved as to allow perfect study in the future through which to achieve the same- No known means, that is." He turned back to Lauriam, his eyes shining in a way that his once-servant would never have seen from the nihilist who built the Organization. "Through the proper will, and through the proper means, and through perfect understanding of the elements in play, someone was able to bring this failure from what should have been his end. In theory, if one were to recreate the procedure, it could be done again." Xehanort faced Lauriam properly again, his story complete and his theory made plain. "You can bring her back," he said. "It's been done before- Three times, by my count, and it can be done again."