The moon had always been his greatest friend. As a child, he would sit in his bed and look up at the shining satellite, wishing in the night for safety and love, a friend to rely on, good health for his family. And when he met Lea, the incarnation of the Sun itself, he accepted with arms open the implication that he was the incarnation of the Moon, the perfect contrast to his new-found friend. The Moon had given him hopes and dreams, even in his darkest hours, even when Kingdom Hearts had but replaced his cherished light; he stayed strong.

His heart was stripped bare and he thought that was the worst that could happen after losing his home and everything he loved. At least, he still had Lea. Until he didn’t. The man started calling himself Axel of his own volition, summoning and swirling chakrams, playing with the fire that slumbered within him, obeying those who stole everything from them. It baffled Isa.

Of all of those he had known and was now working with, he had always thought Lea would be the last one standing. That joy and hope could not be killed. But there he was, against all odds, the last one standing. Not Lea, not the young Ienzo, not the kind-hearted Aeleus; him - Isa.

When he looked up at Kingdom Hearts, a pale imitation of the moon but a guide nonetheless, he prayed for each and every one of them. For their safety and return, for the end, soon, of this madness that had taken them, for discoveries and for a reunion with their lost friend.

None of that came. In fact, holding onto dreams and hopes, onto his humanity, did not sit well with the higher-ups. He bared his teeth, refused to yield to their barbaric way, to submit to their authority. He grabbed onto the memories of his heart, calling to the moon to give him strength and casting away his fear and anxiety.

But the Moon was an illusion.

She did not protect him.

The repercussions of his rebellion were grander than he could have imagined. Death did not welcome him, but it was all the same.

He was brought to his knees in the Round Room, hands and legs bound, anger boiling deep inside, growing with each unsuccessful frantic motion. He couldn’t bear the deafening silence, only broken by the sound of corridors of darkness opening and closing one after the other. They all gathered to watch him, to judge him, to make him one of them.

He could feel the weight of the years lost, the gaze of a friend, a child, of innocent souls that deserved better than sit there, watching Isa disappear. He could feel the end, the end that came with echoes of heels on metal ground and a low hum that hid malicious intents.

He did not pay attention to the words that were said to him - he did not need to, he knew he would feel them soon enough.

The first cut was a quick agony, the second was painfully slow. It started off as a sudden coldness, frigid air sipping into the fresh wounds, blood spilling down the bridge of his nose and along his cheeks, collecting on his chin before dripping down, drop after drop, onto the immaculate white floor. Then it burned, like fire licking at the flesh, like scalding needles piercing his being.

He didn’t hear himself scream, didn’t register he collapsed - the pain too great for his body to allow himself to bear it any longer.

He woke up hours later in the middle of the night - or he thought it was, for a moment, as it was pitched black all around him. He didn’t hurt anymore. In fact, he felt nothing. Nothing. As if he was simply floating in space, void of anything but darkness. No stars or moon in sight. Darkness all around. An infinite emptiness.

Then he woke up, actually woke up. He opened his eyes to see the bland ceiling of his room, vision partially obscured by a large bandage, covering the rapidly healing scar now adorning his face. He meant to sit up, but his body refused to move, like something, someone, was preventing him from doing so.

The voice came out of nowhere. It was deafening, oppressing; piercing through the darkness and drowning him in noise from all around.

“Number Seven,” it sounded like Xemnas, and yet there was a tone to this voice, knowing, powerful, old, that made Isa shiver. “Your darkness is needed to yield the key. Bear the sigil of the recusant and be mine .”

His body moved, out of his control. He got up and walked out of the room as if he hadn’t suffered a severe wound mere hours ago. With each step, Isa screamed. His grip around his own self loosened with each echo of heels against the floor, and soon, golden chains tightened around his wrists, legs, and neck. And when, in the reflection of a window, he noticed the yellow glow of his eyes, he understood: Saïx was born.

For years, he witnessed: the worlds falling to darkness, the many lives taken - innocent and harmless people, foes and friends alike. He was a robot, a puppet; an invisible hand pulling the strings attached to his limbs. Possessed and useless. His chest filled with jealousy and bitterness, over those who fought and broke their shackles, escaped and lived for themselves. He lost sight of his one goal, his one wish. He stopped fighting.

Until, for a brief second, he was given his body, his heart, back. The regrets were never-ending: his hands were stained red and would stay that way until he atoned, and atone he could. Atone, he did.

For the first time in what felt like decades, he stood up and, consciously, of his own volition, for himself and everyone else, he walked back into the lion’s den.

He lost his heart, lost control again, but this time, he welcomed the chains - like an old friend, something familiar, almost strangely comforting. He accepted the gift of the Moon, that ancient betrayer guide, and embraced the madness and fury that came with berserking.

This time, he would walk the path to Hell and come back victorious. For his friends, for the innocents, for those who fought for the Light and those who succumbed to Darkness.

And he would bear the weight of the traitor to bring peace to the future.