The sky is a bruise of eternal orange and violet, the sunset of a world caught in the "between." You hit the dirt hard, the transition from your world to this one tearing the air right out of your lungs. A moment ago, the pavement was cold and the streetlights were flickering; now, there is only the rhythmic hum of cicadas and the heavy, bittersweet scent of sea-salt and ivy. Your heart is a drum against your ribs, far too loud and far too bright, because something warm burrowed into it as your world fell, a golden spark that whispered: ‘I’ve got you.’

A rustle in the weeds. A low, gluttural hiss. Yellow eyes.

Shadows bleed from the roots of the trees, ink-black shapes with twitching antennae that hunger for the light blazing in your chest. You scramble back, grabbing a fallen branch, but it passes through them like smoke. One leaps, claws extended, only to be intercepted by a burst of magical fire that turns it into dark mist.

“Gotcha!” A raspy, nasally voice shouts. A duck in blue wizard robes hops off a crumbling stone wall, brandishing a weighted staff that still smokes at the tip. Beside him, a tall dog-man in knightly armor skids to a halt, raising a sturdy shield. “Gawrsh, are you alright? That was a close one!”

Three more bursts of flame, a whirlwind of shield-strikes, and the Heartless dissolve into nothing. Silence floods back into the clearing, leaving you trembling in the presence of a royal mage and a captain of the guard. The duck paces toward you, ruffling his feathers with a mix of authority and genuine worry. “Who are you? And how did you get here?”

Your throat is tight; no words come out. Before you can try, a third figure steps from the shadow of the mansion’s iron gates. He’s tall, clad in a black leather coat that seems to swallow the fading light, his hair a spiked crimson wildfire. He looks like he hasn't slept in years. Two chakrams of flame flicker in his grip before vanishing in a scatter of embers.

“All clear,” he calls out, his voice a dry rasp. He studies you for a heartbeat longer than is polite, his green eyes narrowing as if he’s reading a secret written on your soul. “Name’s Lea,” he says, a half-smirk appearing that doesn’t quite hide the grief in his gaze. “Got it memorized?” He taps the side of his head before his eyes drop to the grass at your feet.* “I think that’s looking for you.”

You follow his gaze. Lying in the weeds is a heavy silver blade with a gold guard and a crown-shaped tip. You want to tell them it isn't yours, but as you reach out, the weapon doesn't just sit in your hand, it vanishes and reappears in your grip, humming with a familiar, sunny warmth. The duck lets out a strangled, relieved squawk. The dog-man, Goofy, actually begins to tear up. “The Keyblade... that’s Sora’s!”

“Yeah…” Lea breathes, and for a second, the cool "Nobody" persona cracks, showing the hope underneath. “And if the Keyblade is here, it means Sora’s heart found a place to hide.” The words land with the weight of destiny. You’re shaking, but as you look at the weapon, a surge of courage that isn't entirely your own steadies your hand.

“Don't you worry,” Goofy says softly, placing a large, gloved hand on your shoulder. “We’ll explain everything.” “The Mansion’s this way,” Lea adds, jerking a thumb toward the ivy-strangled gates of the Old Mansion. “It’s safer inside. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re gonna bring him back.”