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They tell her she’s four years old, or at least close enough to it. They figured it out based off of the pictures they took of her teeth or something. She doesn’t care that much. She’s gotten bored of grown-ups passing her around between doctors and detectives and whatever dumb grown-up things so they can ask her questions and then not believe her. Or ask her to teach them how to stack blocks and draw faces. It’s not her fault that none of the grownups are as smart as her.
“I’m on a quest,” she huffs, for the millionth time, annoyed. “And it’s important!”
“Yes, I heard you,” the latest buzzkill—an older woman with a long skirt that looks like it would be fun to twirl in—says, “and you don’t know what that quest is.”
“I’ll remember,” she snaps.
“Okay. But until then, do you have parents?”
Kairi sticks out her tongue. Then she hops off of the examination table and starts going through drawers.
“Kairi, you can’t—please stop. This isn’t a place for you to explore.”
Kairi doesn’t listen. She’s too busy looking for where the juice boxes are kept. They’re always hiding somewhere.
Then, suddenly, her fingers are being pried from the cabinets, and she’s being picked up against her will. She screams, kicking and writhing until she’s dropped on the floor.
She’s vaguely aware of more adults in the room, of the nurse switching languages and muttering something, but she’s mostly busy seeing red and wondering if she can kick someone’s kneecaps in. And she really wants a juicebox now.
Then, a tall man is crouching down to her level, so their eyes can meet.
“Kairi, an emergency happened, and only you can help,” he says, seriously.
“Yeah, I know,” she huffs, annoyed.
His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh, but she doesn’t know what’s funny.
“My friend Sora needs help collecting sea shells,” he continues. “It might be too difficult, even for you,” he says dramatically. “But do you think you could try? He’s right outside—“
She’s already running out before he can finish giving instructions, because no one tells her what she can’t do.
———
She’s five years old now, not a baby anymore, so she’s old enough to build things. Especially obstacle courses.
“Then you hop on one leg back to the start,” she explains, “and skip rope fifteen times, and then you run back to the log and do a handstand.”
“I can’t do a handstand,” Riku mumbles.
Kairi huffs.
“That’s not my fault,” she complains. Still, she helps hold his legs in place for him when he gets to that part of the obstacle course. Even though he’s on Sora’s team, not hers. She’s heroic and cool like that.
———
She’s six when she decides that they need to have a serious meeting.
“We need to define the relationship,” she says, copying the phrase she’d read.
“Oh. Okay,” Sora says, feet swinging in the treetops. Riku’s nestled close beside him, forehead on Sora’s shoulder, because Riku’s always scared when they’re this high up in the trees. He insists that he’s protecting Sora, but Kairi can see through it.
“We’re starting real school soon,” she says. “A lot can change.”
Sora and Riku’s eyes widen.
“Really?” Sora asks. “I don’t think things will change for us, though, right—”
Kairi shushes him.
“I’ve read enough stories. This is a turning point.”
“So, what do we do, then?” Sora whispers nervously.
Kairi smirks.
“We have to make an oath. To never betray each other.”
Sora smiles in relief.
“Oh! That makes sense. You’re so smart, Kairi.”
“I know,” she says.
———
She’s seven when she’s given the freedom to canoe to the surrounding islands, so long as she takes a buddy with her. Which is a funny requirement, because that’s the point of exploring. Why would she want to explore if she didn’t have her squad to protect and play games with?
They explore the tinier islands together, looking for the perfect place to reenact her fairy tales. She insists that they need to find the most magical island in the Ocean, one where they can look for faeries and mermaids, where the water sparkles just right. Riku and Sora agree, of course they do, and they debate the merits of different locations, drawing maps in the sand with sticks and planning out their trips for the day.
———
She’s eight when she finally masters the art of being quiet. It takes a lot of effort, and kind of sucks for a while, but she forces herself to learn how to sneak up on the lizards so she can pick them up and set them on Sora’s head. He always starts giggling uncontrollably when she does, and then she and Riku are giggling too, and it’s perfect and good for a minute.
And then it’s not—it’s bad—there’s something she’s missing something she’s forgetting something something something.
But it’s fine. It’s okay. There’s other fun things to do. Other things to learn.
———
She’s nine years old, and she’s running out of books to read.
It makes her antsy. They’re all missing something. She’s not quite sure what, though. But she’s sure that they’re missing some stories.
It’s okay when she’s with her friends, at least, because Sora and Riku keep making up new plots for their games, inventing new fairytales. She’ll never run out of stories when they’re nearby, never feel like she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel and finding holes torn in it. But being alone is getting more and more painful, the wrongness setting in faster and faster.
She asks Sora to play with her, and he says he’s busy with chores. She yells at him for being no fun, and not loving her, and then he’s crying, and then both of their parents are talking and she has to apologize for a week.
———
She’s ten when she starts joining every sport the village offers. She had worried it would get in the way of time with her friends, but they follow her still, cheering from the sidelines at every practice.
Or, almost every practice. One day, Sora isn’t there, because Riku is sick, and Sora wants to take care of him. And Kairi is furious, though she shouldn’t be. She destroys her opponent in wrestling, slams them to the ground, and she’s aware that there’s probably something wrong with her. She probably shouldn’t feel this much, when it’s literally nothing.
She tries not to overthink it. Tries to throw all of her emotions into the game so there won’t be anything ugly and messy leftover when she’s with her friends.
———-
She’s eleven when the bad-wrong-misplaced feeling sets in hard as she looks at her own reflection. She’s missing something. Some part of who she was. Or maybe something she never had.
She grabs some scissors on impulse and chops off all of her hair.
It doesn’t help.
Then she sneaks out to Sora’s house to ask him to fix it, but before she can, he tells her she looks like a cool warrior princess, and then, then it’s better. They make bracelets out of flowers until they’re both exhausted, and she sleeps over at his house for the night.
———
She’s twelve, and she’s propped up on her knees, her toes digging trenches in the warm sand.
She’s recently discovered the absolute thrill of touching Sora’s face, and has started taking every excuse possible to do so.
“Hm,” she says, brushing her thumb under his eye. It’s just a mosquito bite, she knows, but she doesn’t want to pull her face away. She goes through everything her mom told her again, looking for signs of infection.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Riku asks, biting his lip. She should feel guilty for worrying him, but Sora is so close she can’t feel bad.
Sora tries to say something too, but she shushes him, chastising him for distracting her.
“You distracted me,” she says, seriously. “I have to start over.”
———
She’s just turned thirteen, and it is suddenly very important that she can beat Riku in a fight. In front of Sora. She’s not quite sure why.
But there’s something that burns inside of her, and yeah, of course Riku’s her friend, but she needs Sora to know that she’s the strong and cool one. It’s important. And it’s true anyways, so it’s not hard.
———
She’s fourteen, and she’s itching, desperate, to get out of here.
Her mind is so set on a single track, she forgets to be nice, sometimes.
But they have to build the raft. They have to go farther. She needs, needs, needs answers.
She’s fourteen, and she doesn’t know where she came from, but she’s determined and she has a plan. She has too many dreams, too many questions.
And then… then the darkness comes, and she’s not really anything for a while.
————
She’s fifteen, and there’s a massive, raw hole in her chest, and no one cares .
Everything, everything is wrong, and she doesn’t know why , but there’s something off about the entire world.
The lizards scampering by, the trees that are good for climbing, the books on her shelf and the flowers in the field, they all make her chest throb in excruciating agony.
There’s something alive inside of her heart, in her head, writhing and intruding in there. Sometimes, she feels things tugging at the corners of her memory, like tugging at baby hairs if that was a thing that could kill you, and her vision starts to go black.
She passes out for half a second, conscious again before she hits the ground. Then there’s the wave of overwhelming vertigo, and there’s something digging through her mind still, and she throws up in the sand.
And then, like she always does, she rinses her mouth out with some water, splashes more water on her face, and heads back to track practice.
She doesn’t tell anyone why she’s so shaky. She doesn’t have an answer to tell.
———
She’s sixteen, and maybe a little too excited about being kidnapped.
So much is happening, her stomach is doing flips, and she’s maybe going to throw up, but at least there’s something .
And then there’s Sora. Sora Sora Sora. The broken pieces of her heart are mending, and it’s such a relief, until he’s slipping through her fingers again again again before they can even talk about anything. They haven’t talked since she was fourteen .
And he should be the only one who understands. They should be in this together. But he’s gone, and she’s alone, and she hates everything.
———
She’s somehow still sixteen, and she’s getting tired of this. She doesn’t know where Sora is. She’s not entirely sure where she is, even. She just knows time is weird here. But at least she has a sword and half a chance to be important, if she tries hard enough.
She’s collecting questions so much faster than she’s receiving answers. She’s giving up on trying to find any purpose other than fighting. One task at a time. She needs to get rid of the pesky emotions before anything else happens.
———
She turns seventeen, but doesn’t really notice it.
What matters most is how she’s going to strangle Sora with her bare hands if he doesn’t look at her right this instant.
She’s done everything right. She’s done nothing but fight to be with him. And he doesn’t care .
He’s not even a jerk about it. He’s just busy, distracted. She’s probably not a priority right now.
(She’s going to be a priority when she pummels him and chokes him and—)
She forces herself to stop the train of thought. Steadies her breathing. She’s not being fair. He doesn’t have a choice in this any more than she does.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks instead, forcing herself to sound friendly and unconcerned.
“I don’t think so,” Sora says, and something inside of her shatters.
———
She hasn’t given much thought to how dying would feel, but she definitely didn’t imagine it would be like this. She doesn’t feel anything, except maybe irritated. This seems like a pathetic way to go.
She used to think she’d get more years than this. But. Whatever. Who cares anymore. She’s in some kind of void, and she doesn’t know if this is the afterlife, or a fleeting dream before it all goes black, but she knows for certain that she is dead. That her story is over, and it was pitiful at best.
And then—then she’s awake, gasping for air, and it feels like she’s just been resuscitated from drowning. The air here is too thin to breathe, and her fingers are tingling from lack of blood, and none of that even matters because Sora is holding her hand, looking at her so tenderly and sadly, that she’s going to throw up.
She tackles him into a hug, even though her skin is going numb, and she digs her fingernails into his clothing, trying to get closer.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and then she’s kissing him hard.
Hard enough to break through the numbness and bruise her lips. She’s not even sure if she enjoys it, but kissing Sora is a lot less scary than not kissing Sora, and she knows that as soon as she lets go, he’s going to slip back away.
———
She’ll later find out she’s eighteen, if only on technicality. Time passes, with or without her.
She’s alive, in some sense of the word, but she came back all wrong. That has to be the reason she’s like this. Because otherwise, she’s just always been a broken husk on the brink of shattering. She spends a lot of that first day sobbing, screaming into the bark of the tree, refusing to come down. She thinks that she can get some sympathy for a day. The wound is still fresh, her friends still care.
And then it’s back to being shoved aside, forgotten, suffering as quietly as possible.
But. It’s whatever. She’s a ghost. Maybe she’s always been. And that’s okay, she reminds herself. It has to be okay.
She goes back to that place as soon as she can, as soon as she gets an opening. They put her in some kind of magic sleep, and she’s a horrible person, but she barely listens to how it’ll help Sora. She just doesn’t want to feel anymore. Not when there’s nowhere for her feelings to go.
She wanders through the clouds, letting time get fuzzy. She calls out for him, sometimes, and sometimes she feels him brush his fingertips against hers, before slipping back away. She’s in a lucid dream, and yet it feels like a recurring nightmare.
Her feelings are severely numbed, but she still curls up and cries a lot. She wonders if anyone in the real world remembers that she’s here. She wonders whether it would be better if they forgot.
———
She’s nineteen, which is a really funny joke.
It’s not like she’s been alive for nineteen years, not really. She has too many holes torn in her memory and consciousness.
And of course she’s alive now, when she doesn’t want to be. It’s just her luck.
She rolls her eyes, resting her head on her hand, as Aqua and Terra talk in low voices about backup plans and what-ifs.
“He’s not dead,” she snaps, voice too rough. They both jump, realizing she’s been eavesdropping, and she’s too full of nausea and fury to feel guilty.
She knows they’re not taking her seriously, knows she sounds pathetic, like a lost little girl grasping at straws, but she can’t elaborate. If she tries she’ll end up saying what’s in her heart, which she can never, never do. So she just tells it to Sora instead.
“I hate you,” she tells the wind that night, voice quiet, but making up for it with the concentrated bite in her tone. “I wish you were dead, so I could move on. I wish we were both dead.”
She laughs without humor, hugs her arms around herself. And then, because he can’t hear her anyways, she switches to talking to him in her head to avoid being overheard.
“I can’t even kill myself,” she thinks bitterly, “because I know that if I do, you’ll just show up and drag me out of hell.”
She swallows, glancing around, worried someone somehow is eavesdropping on her thoughts. “Because you’re annoying,” she whisper-hisses. “And you never listen. So I’m returning the favor, okay? You don’t get to disappear if I don’t.”
That familiar tug on her heart is still there. It buzzes, not strongly enough to make out words, but enough that she knows he’s out there.
———
She’s twenty. For real. For sure. For the first time ever. Aqua dug up some old records from Radiant Garden. She’s two months younger than they had guessed. Which was a remarkably close estimate, all things considered.
It’s weird, because, apparently Radiant Garden doesn’t do birthdays the same way the islands do. According to Radiant Garden tradition, she’s twenty-one already, but she’ll take whatever technicality she can to make it sound like she’s missed less of her own life.
“It’s funny that I was so into fairy tales when I was little, because I’m sure as heck having my entire life story told to me instead of living it,” she mutters to the stars, laying on her back in the grass. “Do you ever feel like that, too?”
Sora doesn’t respond. He never does. But he’s alive.
“I need a win,” she continues. “You get that, right? So if you could send me a sign, or something, that’d be appreciated.”
She gives him a minute. Just in case this is the one time something gets through.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says, and then she’s laughing, for real, even though she’s not quite sure what’s funny. “It’s a good thing for both of us that I’m so stubborn, huh?”
The connection pulses with warmth, and, sure, it does that sometimes, but she lets herself believe that he’s on the same page as her, somehow. It’s not like he’s here to argue with her interpretation.
The wind whistles just a little, and the stars twinkle and blur in her vision as she starts to fall asleep.
The soft-warm-home feeling pulses again, and she tries to send that same feeling back at him.
“You owe me, like, seven years worth of birthday presents, by the way,” she says, with a yawn. “And I’m going to make you pay up.”
It may be the sleepiness, but she swears she feels his laugh.