Daybreak Town was known to be the epicenter of peace. There, warriors who fought to maintain it were trained. They lived for the Light, for its warmth that guided all in life, for freedom. Being granted the power of the keyblade was an incredible honor.

After obtaining their first keyblade, wielders had to join a union that would act as their new family. There were five unions, each with a different Leader. Those unions didn’t separate warriors from each other, quite the contrary: they were working for the one and same goal, all under one Master.

The Master had never been seen by anyone but the Leaders and was considered by all as an idol, almost, an all-powerful figure - invincible and untouchable, mighty but kind. He had left a book to his disciples, known as the Book of Prophecies, and the book guided them all. It was what united each and every wielder, known then as banishers of darkness and gatherers of light. It brought cohesion.

And as monotonous and common as life could be, vanquishing darkness was exciting. Gaining power, slaying monstrous creatures, saving worlds and bringing peace, gathering as much Lux as possible and making Leaders proud - life was easy, peaceful, yet thrilling.

But it didn’t last.

It started on a cloudy day, the first clash of keyblades. Many were out of town, on missions and the likes, but the few that witnessed the battle could feel their entire body shaking for days after, confusion sinking deep into their bones: the Leaders were fighting.

It came as a surprise to all, but no one questioned it further: if Leaders were fighting, there was no one to stop unions wielders from doing the same. Hell, if Leaders were fighting, it must have come from above; not only was it allowed, but most of all it was an order.

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There had been tension for days, they could all feel it. The Leaders were upset and nervous about something only a few were privy about; they remained silent, acting in the shadows, neglecting their duties as Leaders as long as they could fulfill their roles - and what roles , really, they were so very secretive about them.

That day had been one of many under a cloudy sky, the sun setting behind the clocktower, casting the world in darkness. It only took a few seconds before the sound of metal echoed in the streets. It only took a few minutes before the damage became apparent. The quaint district turned into a wasteland: the river overflowed as the bridge collapsed, drowning the flowerbeds until all plants died, then it turned into a massive tornado that swirled and swirled and swirled, taking down entire walls in its wake. It flooded the streets before vanishing in a hissing steam.

When wielders dared to look outside after the steam cleared and the clash of keyblades stopped, it was unrecognizable. As everyone gathered in the streets wondering what could have pushed their Leaders to act in such a way, the first drops fell onto the ravaged pave alleys, falling into crumbled buildings and lost homes. The end was upon them all.

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The rising of conflicts would be lost to history. Those puny quarrels were but the starting point of a grander and most devastating battle, one that would make history. One that would change the worlds.

In the matter of a few days, the peace that reigned over Daybreak Town disappeared. The streets were wrecked: cobblestone broken, building crumbling, blood splattered on walls. Wielders would start a fight for the most insignificant things - they were all filled with anger and jealousy, hearts filled with bitterness. Even the most important role a warrior had quickly turned into a competition, its primary goal cast aside and forgotten.

The Lux they gathered didn’t bring Light and safety anymore.

Darkness grew stronger.

It spread quickly, like the most contagious disease. It followed wielders to faraway worlds, who, in their quests to keep the light for themselves, succumbed to the creeping infection that soon plagued them all. It fed on their jealousy and greediness, their hunger and wrath. It swallowed light and hearts. Battles raged, the worlds fell, Darkness grew.

No one could have stopped the war from happening. Maybe because Fate had long decided it was inevitable, or maybe because it had been written, and all efforts to avoid what had been scripted only furthered its arrival. Nonetheless, the war broke.

What had once been a radiant town quickly turned into a ruin. Bodies covered the land, keyblades flew to the sky, magic burnt the ground down. For days, the battle raged. More and more hearts fell, guided to the sky and beyond, to where they could rest between light and darkness. All, together, united once again.

No one truly knows how it ended, no one survived long enough to see the world disappear. The land they called home was no more and soon it faded in a cold mist.

Darkness won.

Or so it thought.

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It had been raining for days without end. The battlefield was empty of bodies, all gone after their hearts had flown away, somewhere . But there remained everyone’s keyblade, now looking dull after losing their sparkle. Someone laid there, in the middle of the crossroads of keyblade. Face splattered with blood and sweat, their own, a resigned smile on their lips - awaiting too, to meet their end like the others. After all, they could only battle and escape the Leaders so much.

They slide their hand down their chirithy’s fur, strangely dry despite the weather, and closed their eyes. They waited.

But nothing came. Instead, a bright light flashed above them, so sharp they had to cover their eyes. It had been cloudy for so long they had forgotten what the sun felt like - was it the sun? it lacked its usual warmth, and it was so close . How odd.

When they adjusted to the light and opened their eyes, they were met with the kind and reassuring smiles of two friends, hands extended toward them, offering a way out of this Keyblades’ Graveyard, and a path towards a new future.

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Hiding from spying eyes, powerful and pure hearts had joined to form a new alliance, that history would remember as the Dandelions. Those children who resisted the call of the war went far, so far away nobody's sure, to this day, where exactly they were gone to escape the end of the worlds.

Nonetheless, small fragments of Light survived in their hearts. They carried it for centuries, passing the mastery of the keyblade and the legacy of the Light to those they trusted, in hope of, one day, being able to rebuild their lost world. And they did.

Hope and peace survived the dark centuries until they were strong enough to form a new world, the world that now exists. And it’s the duty of the new keyblade wielders to protect the light and honor the memory of those who fought.

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Clad in a long leather cloak, overlooking the city down below and the lost boys, in quest of a way back to their world, back to each other, a figure stood. With their hands, they formed a heart around the moon, and they smiled.

Somewhere, a black box opened to the gazing eye.

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Until pride consumes them. Until the cycle starts again .