Welcome to Gaia! ::

The moment the metallic tridents struck the doors, a deep, rumbling noise could be heard within; the sounds of heavy gears and other machinations springing to life suddenly filled the giant tower. The trembling earth beneath them seemed to cease its tumultuous churning, the winds calmed their to-and-fro motions, and even the lightning above seemed to stop as the tower, for lack of a better word, came to life.

The doors were pulled inward, as if inviting the giant group inside... though all they could see was a dark hallway. The gateway was more than wide enough to fit them all, but still they hesitated. They each seemed to look at each other, and then to the Keybearers, and then to the canons that had been able to accompany them. They were at least 25 strong... they could handle pretty much anything that came their way, with numbers like that.

Kyle glanced to Jon, who glanced back. The two nodded, and together stepped into the unlit foyer. However, the moment their feet touched the ground within the doorway, torches burst alight along each wall of the corridor, their flames not a bright orange, but a familiarly-sickening green. Just as the light at the top of the tower radiated no warmth, neither did these lanterns, which served only as an aid to the eyes.

They paused, Kyle even going so far as to lift his foot off the ground. His eyes were rapidly skimming the lights, the decor (or lack there of), the doorway, the symbol of the door knockers, before placing his foot back on the ground. They all knew there was something horribly wrong about this place... but they also all knew that there wasn't really any choice. With no form of transportation, they were left to consort with... well, whoever lay within.

"Here goes nothing," Kyle repeated under his breath before continuing forward. He personally lit his own Starlight in his palm, the Holy light also giving off a bit of the warmth this place was so grimly lacking. The walls, he could see, were not brick, but were certainly stone of some sort. Unlike brick, which had lines running throughout, this stone was more unified, with strange patterns running along it, as if it were made of the same marble or other-such-stone that palaces might have been made of.

The group all began to follow in after Kyle, with Jon and Joseph right beside the light-bearer, Sora and Riku directly behind, and Cloud, Leon, and Auron taking the rear. Unsurprisingly, as the last of the group stepped past the giant doors, they closed themselves, letting in none of the outside light, or what little there had been to begin with. In the distance, the echo of a jester's laugh could be clearly heard, obviously very amused with something. Cloud muttered something under his breath before actually drawing the Buster Sword from its rear-sheathe as the group neared the end of the morose hall.

Sora had run ahead to get a better look at what they could all now see. The path led directly toward another giant set of doors, though these bore no metallic knockers, no handles by which to open them. Like the walls around them, it had an almost-royal appearance about it, ornately designed and crafted. In the center, crossing over the two doors, was a single steel plaque, which Sora read aloud for all to hear:


"God-Blades..." Riku scoffed, stepping forward as he summoned his own Keyblade, the Way to Dawn. On either side of the plaque, two tiny keyholes could barely be seen, prompting Sora and Riku to take their positions, everyone else backing up somewhat. Keyblades raised, beams of light soared from their tips into the keyholes, and a singular 'click' could be heard within the door, which slowly opened up before them.

The interior of the tower was far more grand than any of them could have predicted. They'd exited out of the foyer into a grand trapezoidal hall, within which they could see three podiums where statues should have stood, though only one actually remained: the other two had been shattered, their rubble lying around their respective podiums. The remaining statue was seen as a single cloaked entity, his or her face not actually etched in stone.

Beyond the podiums in the center, the room's opposite wall was missing, replaced by a guard rail. Peering out beyond the railing, they could see that the rest of the tower was entirely hollowed out in the center. Their 'room' was actually more akin to a niche in the wall of the tower, making what they'd consider 'massive' look minuscule in comparison. The tower must have been at least a quarter-mile in diameter, judging by the distance across. At varying levels, and at varying sides of the tower, there were massive stone platforms; some were completely sealed off via patterned-walls (which they could now see appeared more like magical glyphs), some were almost entire rings going around the circumference of the tower, and others were just combinations of the two.

What made the scene so mystical, however, was not the platforms, nor the patterns on the walls, nor the statue. The entire tower was filled with the same blasphemous light that had attracted them here in the first place. As some of them looked upward toward the top of the tower, they noted it appeared to go on endlessly until being encompassed by the forsaken rays.

Another, almost familiar aspect to the tower were the massive gears, the smaller, floating platforms, and waterfalls that filled the tower. The gears were constantly moving, actually causing some of the platforms to move, revolving around the center of the tower. The waterfalls, on the contrary, were not quite so easily explained, for instead of falling, they rose; indeed, giant streams of water rose from the seemingly bottomless tower (all they could see were more platforms before endless black) and were pulled into random points at random levels of the tower.

"It's almost like Hollow Bastion...," James muttered, to everyone's simultaneous approval. It did have the same appearance as the dreaded Heartless Castle that Ansem the Wise once ruled from. They peered around the grand hall for some way to traverse the tower; on the walls, there were tiny niches that seemed to be emitting their own faint lights, each a varied color. Every so often, the lights would fade, then come back a different color. However, only one person could fit inside each niche, so mass transportation was next to impossible.

They were shaken from their reverie moments later, however, as the second set of doors not only closed, but slammed behind them, causing some to jump. Immediately, everyone turned to face the door...

But it was in front of the statue in the center of the platform that their eyes began to focus on. Seven Corridors of Darkness opened, one after another, the final one appearing in the front and center. From the abysmal blackness, all-too-familiar foes strolled out, standing in their black, zipped up cloaks.

Larxene, the Savage Nymph; Marluxia, the Graceful Assassin; Luxord, the Gambler of Fate; Zexion, the Cloaked Schemer; Xaldin, the Whirlwind Lancer; Xigbar, the Freeshooter...

And Xemnas, the Superior of the In-Between.

"Good evening," the silver-haired Superior greeted them, a slight smirk on his features as he addressed the large group before him without a shred of worry... not that he could have felt it, regardless.

So, I didn't want to post any of my newer poetry here to disrupt the flow of the fanfic, but as is now obvious, that little muse probably won't be sparking up again any time soon. Sooooo, here's some stuff I wrote awhile back!

EDIT: Also, they're not all that good, but meh, you were warned.

[[ Author's Note : Possibly my favorite in a long, long time. And yes, the picture is relevant. ]]

The sound of boots slowly clashing against stone echoed down the hallowed temple halls as the man made his way into the bowels of the old sanctuary. Each step seemed to reverberate a hundred times over, inviting delusions of heightened activity. These delusions hardly affected his pace, which remained slow yet steady in his descent. The spiraling stairwell was narrow enough that he could not fully extend either arm, but he did not mind; in his reverence, he ran a gloved hand over the ancient walls, inscribed long ago with countless words in the old tongues. He traced the curves and arches of the runes and symbols, feeling the ancient artists' wisdom in their scriptures.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the old musk of the temple halls. Such was the treasure of hidden truths. If he were free to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, he would make his home on this hallowed ground. He could not remember feeling more at home anywhere else; not in his home city of Haloras, nor on the frozen plains of Sinkyoto, not with tropical wildlife of Ulodia, neither with the tribal customs of the Tri'vvelry Tsuvri. Something about this religious nexus called to him, nourished him, satisfied his essence in ways mortal pleasures simply could not.

But such was not meant for him. He was a missionary. It was he and he alone who could bear the task of travelling the world, spreading the gospel of truth. He was a shepherd of the people, an avatar of those divinities that had for so long been forgotten by the likes of mortal men. He would save their souls, so cherished by his masters, and they would be eternally grateful. Perhaps, in time, he might even have brothers and sisters who hear the ephemeral Calling. Perhaps, he thought with barely-reigned joy, this most recent Calling would be the last he would have to pursue alone.

At the bottom of the staircase, he found a set of wooden double doors. The doors were carved long ago with the eternal insignia of the gods, the familiar five-lined spirals as pristine in shape as they'd been eons ago. He paused in reverence before gently opening the doors, allowing himself into the chapel hall. Despite the last meeting of the congregation having happened countless centuries prior, the pews and the altar were untouched by the dusty layers of time. He marched onward, down the center of the aisle, the black rug cushioning his footsteps and reducing the noise he made. It was only fitting, that such holy ground be at peace. He went beyond the pulpit, passing the altar, and opened a small door hidden only by its camouflage with the rest of the back wall, and began walking down still another spiraling staircase. His boots once more began to echo, the sound travelling down to the Inner Sanctum and returning in what could only be described as a hypnotic harmony.

He could feel their presence now. Here, in this sanctuary, the atmosphere was pure, charged with hallowed mana, untouched by worldly corruption. Their Calling reached him with such clarity here that he could have thought they were at his side, literally guiding him to the gifts of the devout. Oh, if only such were the truth. Perhaps, though, in time. It was not long before he found the Inner Sanctum, just as he'd last left it. It was a small, circular room made entirely of what seemed to be black, iridescent stone, similar in feeling to marble. Engraved upon the walls were endless strings of runes, the ancient symbols all faintly humming with life. In the center of the sanctum lay a single zabuton, upon which the man immediately sat in his meditation stance. In front of the cushion, opposite the entrance, was a large alcove in the wall; it was a simple archway, beyond which was simply another stone wall.

For a moment, there was nothing but the humming of the engraved scripture. However, the glyphs along the walls began to glow in a faint, pale light, and the man smiled.

"Oh, beloved Chosen, how you have made us proud," came an ethereal feminine voice, sultry in tone, and profoundly resonating within the sanctum.

"I have only sought to bring you honor," he responded, his eyes remaining closed in reverence. "And I will continue to do so. What purpose have you Called me for today, Old Ones?"

"Ever seeking to please," came their response. This time, it came with the voice of young man, sounding no older than the follower before him. It was marginally higher in pitch, with an undercurrent of wisdom.

"Your previous trials have proven your worth to us, young Chosen." An older man, his voice deeper with a bit of a rasp, continued on. "Your diligence to our teachings has made you strong, given you resilience. You have taken our words and turned them into actions. In doing so, we feel you have earned ascension."

His eyes jolted open, their steel-blue irises reflecting in the hallowed walls. "Ascension?" he repeated, dumb-founded, before he tightly shut his eyes and lowered his head in shame. "I am not worthy for such an honor."

"Perhaps not," came the voice of an elderly woman, her tone clear in her own doubt.

"But we feel that experience will be your final test of worth," finished the voice of a small child. The voice seemed so young as to not yet even have a gender. "Such is our decision. Do you deny the privilege?"

"No!" he shouted hastily, jolting once more with eyes open and gazing longingly into the empty alcove. He cleared his throat. "No, my Glories, I will never turn down your gifts. You are all I have."

"Best not forget it, love," replied the vixen's voice once again. "Step forward."

The man stood, his eyes hypnotized by what he saw: the alcove slowly began to fill with a strange, bright layer of fluid-like magic, filling in from the top, sides, and bottom. When the magic covered the entire alcove entrance, it took a highly-reflective surface, appearing much like a grand mirror. He gazed into this mirror at his humbled visage: a tattered cloak enveloping the majority of his form, his thick boots to protect from the harsh conditions outside the temple, the medium-length black hair that reached his brows, contrasting with his metallic eyes and pale skin.

After a few moments of silence, a shadow fell over his reflections face. A porcelain white mask began to manifest, the openings of its eyes and smile filled with the same strange, iridescent stone of the sanctum itself. It eyed him, smiled at him, greeted him with the familiarity of an old friend...

"Do you accept your role as Our Chosen, Vereor Ryutetsin?" all the voices sang in an eldritch harmony that he swore resonated with his soul.

"I do," he responded somberly, reaching out for the mask beyond the sanctum's reflective veil and passing through its viscous surface. He grabbed hold of his gift and pulled gently, watching as his body faded away in the reflection, itself beginning to disappear. It felt so light in his hands, yet so heavy with responsibility... no more was he a mere shepherd. With ascension came a new title and new duties. He felt ecstatic at the thought, smiling as wide as the mask as he placed it over his face.

"It is our pleasure to welcome you into your new position, Prophet Xanatos," the vixen cooed to the young man. "Harbinger of the Second Coming."

"No, Old Ones, my Glories," he responded, kneeling in utmost devotion. "It is my pleasure to be your humble servant. Where will you send me?"

"To the epicenter of deceit," the older male commanded, the runes reverberating with utmost finality. "The Valerat capitol, Haloras. There shall it all begin."




"Not again!"

A small flock of mockingbirds scattered outside the window as the young boy quickly realized he was the last one still in bed. He leapt from the sheets, landing one the carpet with a light thud. He pivoted on his feet and went straight to washing his face in the water basin on his bedside table, followed by a rapid scrub with his toothbrush in order to get all the nightly grime off that he could. Spitting the water out the window, he took one look at his armoire and turned, instead, to yesterday's robes, still lying on the floor. The next few moments were a disorganized blur of color and ruffling of cloth as he changed out of his pajamas; there was simply no time to retrieve a clean set of clothing. Slipping into his sandals and grabbing his satchel hanging on the bed post, he dashed through the dormitory's exit, heading down the spiral staircase as fast as he could manage.

The stone walls and their paintings seemed to pass like blurs as he ran, doing all he could not to trip over his loose robes; something about ill-fitting clothes gnawed at the back of his mind, but he pushed the thoughts away. He could deal with stretched robes for the day. When he reached the common room, he he rushed toward the exit and leapt into the hallway outside, ready to continue onward. However, there were still numerous other students strolling the halls between classes. He took a deep breath, trying to release his tension-- he wasn't as late as he'd thought.

Taking the chance the spare time had given him, he took a small detour off the main hall's path, slipping into the boy's washroom. It was empty. All the stall doors were open, and the only sound the could be heard was the steady drip of the second faucet from the end of the room, which had dripped in the same manner for at least as many years as he'd been here. Stepping up to the nearest sink, he took a look in the mirror. He'd managed to maintain the hair part down the right side of his head, but his brown hair was getting longer with each day, now covering the tops of his ears. Instead of looking trimmed and clean, his hair was beginning to look wavy and uncouth. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

After running his hand through his hair, he let his dark-brown eyes go over his face. A few tiny scabs littered random spots, such as his right cheek and the tip of his chin; they were the result of his inability to leave his often-insignificant pimples alone. Overall, though, they weren't such eyesores on his fair skin. Forcefully grinning, he looked at his teeth, which he'd managed to clean fairly well. The small gap between his two front teeth were the main eyesore, causing him to frown.

'Maybe when Syrena attains Adept status with her Alteration...'

Chuckling at the accidental alliteration, he exited the washroom, only to stop in his tracks as he heard his laughter echo down the halls. There were only a handful of students still loitering around, meaning he'd taken longer than he'd thought. Figuring it best not to push his luck, he hurried on down the hall, taking a left when he couldn't go straight anymore, passing a few more doors before finding himself in front of his Elemental Attunement class.

Except the door was locked. There was a piece of parchment attached to the door. His chest tightened as he yanked at it, and reading the note only worsened the feeling:

"Today's Elemental Attunement class will be held in the central courtyard."

"No no no!" he shouted, tossing the crumpled paper down as he sprinted toward the nearest staircase. By this point, the halls were entirely bare, only filled with portraits, bulletin boards, and the loud slapping sound his sandals made when he smacked them across the stone floor. The heavy tolling of the bell could be heard from the city clock tower, signalling to the world that it was nine in the morning, and signalling to the students of Haloras Magicka Academia that the first classes of the morning were now beginning. He jumped two stairs at a time, and decided to push his luck by attempting the final three in one leap. He failed, as usual, but rolled forward and sprung forward, refusing to stop. And still, his pants refused to stay on properly-- not counting the many near-slips on the stairwell alone, he must have tripped twice between the foot of staircase and the double doors leading out into the courtyard.

"I'm here!" he shouted as he shoved the doors open on the final chime into the central courtyard, which was a well-kept garden of sorts with various flowers and bushes, as well as a small pond in the center. He tried to dash forward down the cobblestone path and ignore his luck thus far in the morning activities, but such was his mistake. He tripped on his robes, falling flat on his face as the entire class turned at his announcement. Laughter erupted from all but the professor, who managed to silence the entire crowd just by clearing his throat.

"Late again, Mr. Ashhart?" Professor Atmos sneered. The tall Ultevri's silver eyes narrowed toward the fallen 'Mr. Ashhart', and his pallid lips curled into frown. What was more worrisome, however, was that the professor's normally-braided auburn hair was loose and flowing upward due to a fiery red aura currently enveloping his limber form-- the flame attunement he was going to be teaching the class. Cormac Ashhart could feel the heat radiating off of him as he tried to get to his feet. "I take it you were having too much fun Altering your robes to notice the time?"

"Altering-?" he muttered with a confused look before realization washed over him, his ears turning a deep shade of crimson. It was no longer a mystery to the teenager why his robes didn't fit: he now vividly remembered using them for his Alteration practice the night before. Having grown tired and finding himself unable to reverse the process, he'd gone to bed with the intent of getting up early enough to get Syrena's help. "No, sir, I'm sorry, I'd just--"

"Don't bother," Atmos interrupted, flinging a small, prismatic sphere of magic at him. Cormac flinched at the oncoming spell, but felt no pain on contact. Instead, there was merely a brief flash of light, and his robes quickly shrank to their original size. He also noted that the spell had left him feeling uncomfortably warm without good reason. "Detention with me this weekend for repeated tardiness, and a demerit for Pent Dragon."

Most of the student body began to snicker once again as Cormac took his spot near the rest of his Pentacle. Unlike everyone else, the three of them shared looks of disappointment and frustration; he swore he could feel Syrena's fiery eyes boring holes through his soul before Atmos continued with the lesson, while luckily Jor'thal seemed to just shrug and pat him on the shoulders with his large paw.

"Now, how many of you actually practiced your attunements?"