After her child was born, Aqua spent about a week recuperating from the pregnancy and birth, caring for her offspring all the while.

The baby Heartless was energetic and rambunctious, constantly stalking into the withered trees or scrambling over stony ridges. At first, Aqua worried for it—but it always returned none the worse for wear. Eventually she realized that she had nothing to worry about. The Heartless didn’t attack each other.

As her energy returned and her figure gradually slimmed to what it was, her baby grew—and fast, at that. Within only a day or two it was already standing taller and stronger. Within four or five, it reached shoulder height. By the end of the week, it towered over her—not as big as its father (not yet) but still a strong and powerful Heartless. It was growing harder to control, too, and more independent; it was prone to wandering off and not heeding her calls.

One day, a little after a week had passed, it had cozied up to her, given her a number of affectionate licks, purring all the while, and then had turned and padded away into the darkness—and had not come back.

She had been expecting as such. No Heartless could truly be controlled, not even one she had carried and bore herself, but the sensation of watching her child leave had still been more than a little bittersweet. She’d wiped a tear and kept to herself the rest of that day.

Since then, she’d resumed her wanderings in full. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for—a way out? But it was an entirely different realm of existence. A simple passage back to the world of light was unlikely, to say the least. Deep in her heart, she knew that her trekking was aimless.

If escape isn’t an option, why not find a new purpose? she asked herself during those times when she rested.

Aqua avoided thoughts of what that purpose might be, though. She couldn’t allow herself to go down that path. She was a keyblade master, not some monster-fucking harlot. What had happened last time was an anomaly. It wouldn’t happen again.

Even if…