When one truly, deeply forgets, they forget that they've forgotten anything.

This held true for Sora's mother. The only unusual thing about this time was that shower of falling stars and the peculiar dream of a boy stepping into a lotus-shaped machine.

This was perhaps a mercy; she forgot the agonizing, heart wrenching months after Sora disappeared, lost to a thunderous sea. But perhaps it was no mercy, for what is a mother whose lost their child? What mother forgets their child?

Kairi had come back, but Riku had not, and there were shadows in the young woman's eye that warned against asking all the questions that pressed on her heart. There was an unknown urgency, a forgotten pain, but she had lived on the edge of knowledge her whole life and supposed this was no different.

Kairi disappeared again, and somehow, it came as no surprise. She had come to them as a child in a falling star, and had left just as abruptly. She returned, last time, in a dazzling shower of falling stars, and there was something of her nature that breathed of stardust and veiled purposes. Kairi was not an Island child; she was made of something else. When she disappeared this time, it was with the distinct ache of someone who loved the Islands but didn't belong.

So there was no one there, no one else at all who had an inking of what was going on, when memory snapped back into agonizing place at the sight of the shell-stars the children made on the beaches, and the woman who had forgotten she was a mother grieved her lost son. He would have been sixteen. She remembered when he had been six - sea stars and sand, aches and scrapes and laughter, starlight and sunlight and bright, aching sorrow.

But Sora was made of stardust, too, now, and he came back to her on the inbound tide, laugher and tears and newfound, well-worn confidence in his eyes. He was tall, and courageous, and covered in far, far too many scars.

He had changed. All of them had. Riku moved in shadows better than he moved in daylight, and seemed simultaneously awkward and lethally graceful in his own skin. Kairi drew and drew and drew, creating deceptively colorful art that lay at sharp odds with her portraits of looming, foreign architecture populated by inhuman silhouettes. And Sora, when she turned around, could have been someone completely different - a taller boy, a sadder boy, hidden in the shadows of Sora's bright demeanor.

When she smoothed his hair now, he didn't dodge playfully, but instead quietly leaned into the touch. It was devastating, in a way she couldn't quite articulate.

He came to her, just as she was beginning to realize that her son was really here, really home, with a glass bottle and an aching, regretful determination. "Mom," he whispered. The bottom edges of his pants were drenched; he must have been wading in the ocean again. "Mom, I've got to leave."

It took all of her self control to not immediately forbid it; no matter how old his eyes were, he was still her teenage son, and she would not send him back to that land which tore at his body with scars. But Sora was not the only person she had forgotten, nor was he the only person she now remembered.

(Two boys, so connected that to forget the one was to forget the other. One heart in two bodies, or perhaps the other way around.)

His voice, the voice of the other, forgotten boy, the tired one that ached with sorrow, echoed in her mind - she would bet all her money that he, too, bore deeper scars than most - and said Sora is a very special person...and someday the worlds are going to need him.

So she let Sora speak. He started stumblingly, hesitant and unsure, but gained confidence in the retelling. There were world out there beyond imagining, and dear friends whose lives were threatened by rapidly falling darkness. He was going back to save his friends. His love and loyalty would allow nothing less.

He had already died to save his friends, and he might very well do so again.

Right then, she wished she haven't taught him about sacrifice quite so well.

That had been three weeks ago. Sora had left, trailing starlight and shadows in his wake, and she had stayed.

She had an astonishing amount of answers, now, far more than she ever dreamed. Her mind was ringing with all the truth she had spent years trying to come to terms with, and everything was whirling with newfound, terrifying grandeur.

But she didn't have Sora, her beloved, bright son, and it seemed a poor trade.

"I'll be back," Sora had told her, with depth that he hadn't possessed in the time before he had left the Islands (just as he always said he would). "I promise. I-" Sora said, with a shade of awkward sincerity she hadn't heard from him in years, "- I made this for you." He held out one of the shell charms the children had been so fond of making in their earlier years, now constructed with adult grace and skill. The sight brought still-returning memories flooding back, threatening to drown her, but she took and clung to the painted charm regardless.

"It's a promise," Sora said softly. "I made the same promise to Kairi. I'll always find my way back to you."

Now, she stood watching the ocean waves crash against the Play Island, the last place she had seen Sora and Riku, and now Kairi, before they left for the outside worlds.

She held the green charm tight. I'll always find my way back to you.

She would hold him to that.

Thinking of you, wherever you are.

Sometimes, in his search for Riku, Sora dreamed he was back on the island, young and carefree. Those dreams were always unsettling - there was something fragile in the way he had always assumed his childhood would last forever.

It hadn't.

He wondered if his mother still wondered where he was, or if she had given up hope by now. She had never believed them when they told her they were going to the outside worlds. He hasn't believed himself, nearly, until he woke up with his world destroyed.

Now, to his relief and dismay, his dreams were different. Gone were visions of home; now, the foreign-familiar shape of Castle Oblivion loomed large in his dreams, despite the fact that they had only spent what felt like a few hours there. (It had been longer. Far longer. According to Jiminy's estimate, it had been over a year. Even that - horrifyingly long as it was - seemed to rather underestimate things, though Sora could not understand why, no matter how much he strained for the answers.)

He dreamed of a white room, chains of gray light running serenely up its sides. He dreamed he was trapped, then freed, then dreamed of the Islands and three young children full of light -

He dreamed he was asleep. What a useless dream - it dragged at his attention, even when he knew he had to focus on the Organization and their prodding, manipulative games. When he knew that they would freely overturn the safety of the worlds that had cost him so much and trapped Riku in eternal darkness.

He couldn't - he wouldn't - allow them to succeed.

Still, he kept waking up to dreams of heartbreaking sorrow, frantically grabbing at the fragments before they faded, always reaching, never grasping what knew, bone-deep, was so very, very important. Goofy thought they were nightmares, and Donald thought they were silly. He had tried to explain, he really had, but gave up after realizing he had no idea what he was trying to explain.

Sometimes, he thought the dreams were memories. Sometimes, he thought his memories were only dreams.

Reality spun onward; Sora wondered if and when he had fallen off it.

Still, he reached. One day - one wonderful, terrible day - he would understand why.

A forgotten dream that's like a far off memory. A far off memory that's like a forgotten dream. I want to line the pieces up . . . yours and mine.

Ventus had been asleep for a long time.

A very, very long time.

Far longer than twelve years.

He still dreamed, sometimes. Often. Faraway towns, glimpses of faces his heart remembered, but his mind could not. Almost a memory - he was - I was -

-and then it was gone.

Because Ventus has a life before the Land of Departure. Ventus had a life, had once been Vanitas, and before that - he had once been himself, the keyblade apprentice, the learner, the blinding brightdark, shadow in the sunlight, beacon in the dark night, survivor, leader, warrior, and he remembered it in dreams.

Just because he refused to give in to his darkness didn't mean it wasn't part of him.

(Just because he refused to give in to his light, the shadows murmured longingly, from a long ways off, from right beside him, didn't mean it wasn't part of him.)

Ventus has been asleep for twelve years, but his true self, his complete self, had been asleep much longer.

Now that he was asleep, he nearly remembered it.

One thing he did know. One thing he held onto, through the blinding light of Kairi and the murky shadows of Organization XII, through the pain of Nobody, then Somebody, then himself, his reflection brightdark in the endless cavern of dreams.

He knew that he was waking up.

His dreams drifted no longer. They pointed incessantly toward what Sora had forgotten and what Ventus' dreams remembered.

White stone, cradling darkness. Dark realms, cradling light.

Ventus dreamed of Castle Oblivion.

And, after a time, so did Sora.

Dreams weren't supposed to make sense, but Ventus thought this might be the rare sort of dream that made more sense once he woke from it. His dreams had shown him the oblivion, then shown him past it to the life beyond. Now, his waking would show him what was next.

His memory fluttered, uncertain, agitated, between dreams of keys and kingdoms, and dreams of dearly beloved ocean children that grew up far too quickly. With a sigh, he scooped both up into his arms, both valued, both equally precious.

This is me, he said, looking upward with his armful of memories. The light, the brightdark, the broken, the reborn.

Clouds tugged at the edges of his memories. Above him, the sky cleared.

Ventus stood quietly in the faint, steady light of Kingdom Hearts.

Don't assume your dreams are just fantasy. If you can imagine a world, believe in it . . . and dive in.

Ventus dreamed he opened his eyes, yawning hugely. He felt more himself than he had in ... in ever. So this is what wholeness feels like, he thought, or at least a part of it.

It was exhilarating. It was comforting. It was home.

"Hey, Ven," Sora said from behind him, tall and strong and not nearly so young anymore. "I've missed you. I'm really, truly sorry I forgot about you for so long."

Ventus shook his head, clearing the last of the sleepy, broken fog from his mind. "You were meant to." He looked around, taking in the familiar blue platform. "I'm not really awake yet, am I?"

"No," Sora said, radiating fierce compassion and hope, "not yet, but almost."

Everything is coming back to me, the true . . .

She dreamed of a battle for the fate of the universe.

There is always sleep between part and meet,

With our usual words on the usual street.

So let us part like we always do,

And in a world without you, I'll dream of you.

When I come to, let us meet

With our usual words on the usual street.

*Deep breath.* It's a wrap! After two years, this story is finally done.

There's a few final things. First, thank you so much to everybody who has read, reviewed, and generally stuck around for this story. It means the world to me.

Second, as I've just mentioned, I started writing this a little over two years ago. Long story short, I've spent the past few months rewriting good portions of this story. Plotwise, nothing changed massively. Writing-wise, though, I feel the new chapters are much better. Go take a look, if you want. (If you do, know that chapters 4-9 definitely have the most significant changes.)

Third, I've just posted the standalone oneshot sequel to this, which is called Waking Hearts and is set near the end of DDD. It's pretty loosely related, granted, but it's there if you're interested. There's also a stand-alone prequel oneshot posted a few years ago about Sora's mother and Sora as a baby called A Name of Legend.

Fourth (last thing, I promise!), KH3, which I am dearly excited for, may quite well come along and change our understanding of Sora and Ventus' relationship. If the differences between this story and KH3 are not too huge, I'll come back after KH3 to tweak this story so it lines up with KH3. If it's dramatically different, then this is just going to stand as a pre-KH3 piece of fanfiction.

Thank you again to everyone reading this! It's been a wonderful ride.