Kingdom Hearts: The Fragorian

I placed my hand on the glyph seal of my front door. With a hiss, the door slid into the wall, allowing me and my colorful companions entry. I turned to Twilight.

“In the kitchen, I keep all my potions in the top cupboard. Can you grab one for me?”

Twilight nodded with a faint smile.

“I haven’t said this before, but make yourselves at home. I need to clean up a bit.”

“All righty then,” murmured Applejack.

“Okie dokie lokie!” chirped Pinkie.

I headed towards my room, unhooking the Boltstrike and detaching my armor and padded gear. I stepped into the restroom and cringed at the sight.

My face and torso were covered in blood and cuts, like some sort of tornado victim. I spent a little time cleaning the wounds and washing the blood from my body. When that was all said and done, I towelled off. I heard a knock at the door.

“C’mon in. I don’t look look quite like a victim anymore.”

Inside stepped Twilight, the potion hovering near her head. I nodded before taking the bottle and downing it with one swig.

“Ergh.”

With that sound of ‘this is disgusting’, all of my wounds took on a green glow, and sealed up. My wounds weren’t all that bad. Just numerous.

“Thank you.” I said.

“Those potions work a lot like the ones Zecora used to make.” She murmured.

“Who?”

“Oh, she was a Zebra that lived outside of our town. She specialized in making potions of all types.”

I left the room, with Twilight trotting close behind. Applejack was nodding with a slight grin (though rather forced) as Pinkie chatted on and on about something I’d care not to listen to myself.

“Ahem,” I interrupted. They gave me their attention.

I shuffled a bit before proceeding. “As you all know, Combo Breaker has died. His family is very close to mine, the Spires. I need to tell them what happened. Alone.”

“But—”

I cut Pinkie off. “This is something very simple. I won’t be risking my life by telling someone about it.”

“We could be moral support!”

“Trust me, I could not be more motivated to do this if I was mainlining energy drink and had a cheerleading team behind me. This is really important, and while you three are pretty cool, in a situation like this, I can’t help but think your contributions would be...” I struggled for an inoffensive word.

“Inappropriate?” Twilight offered.

“Yes,” I sighed, resisting the urge to reacquaint my forehead and my hand. “Inappropriate. What Connor’s family will need is a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, so to speak. They won’t need down-home bluntness, Applejack—” she huffed and rolled her eyes. “—and they will definitely not need or want a party.” I could hear Pinkie’s smile deflating from across the room. “And while I’m sure none of you are all that happy Connor died, you didn’t know him that well, so...”

“Alright,” Applejack interrupted me. “We get it. Go on n’ do whatcha think ya need t’do. I’ll stay here.”

“And I’ll stay here, throwing a Wow-Our-Host-Is-Super-Emotionally-Mature par—”

“No parties,” I called, halfway out the door. “Please. I don’t think my mind could stand it.”

I discovered that day that if a pony makes a pout strong enough, it makes a noise. This is just one of the many ways ponies are adorable, and one of the ways they are absolutely insidious.

***

The Breakers’ house was not too far away, only a thirty minute jog. I couldn’t wait to get this over with, as horrible as that might’ve sounded.

The sky didn’t reflect my worsening mood, instead choosing to be cloudless and a bright blue. Knowing our weather patterns, that could change in less than two hours.

I passed by many a person, each nodding in my direction or giving a friendly ‘hello’. I tried my best to return the favor, even if my emotions told me not to do so. I could see the modest home coming up. Only a few more streets to pass, and then a small flight of stairs.

Why was this so difficult.

I stopped for a moment to take a deep breath and calm my thoughts, as I have been taught in the past.

Don’t cry. Be a man. They can cry for him.

He was my best friend.

Even so, you have to be strong.

My face contorted for a split second before I regained control. I ran the rest of the way.

The Breaker house was similar to that of their neighbors: Two stories and a small flight of steps to the door. It slightly reminded me of the steps I had to take in the dream. Sadly, it worked perfectly.

I took the stairs two at a time and ended up at their door, a faintly glowing blue glyph meeting my gaze. I pressed my hand against the surface, prompting a ringing chime that resounded through the house.

I heard the sound of footsteps leading up to the door, and then the hiss of it sliding into the wall.

Before me was a young boy, face smudged with oil and ash save for a bright silhouette of goggles around his eyes. Said goggles currently rested on his forehead, pushing up a single singed tuft of hair.

“Hey, Rend!” he said, chipper as ever. “What’re you doing down here?”

“Who is it, Christopher?” called a woman from further inside the house.

“It’s Rend, Mom!” he called back.

“What’s he need?”

“I dunno! Hang on!” he turned back to me. “So...”

“I need to talk to your parents.... well, to you. All of you.”

“Is it about that Keyblade on your back?” he asked, grinning at me.

“No,” I sighed. “Well, sort of. It’s really complicated, and I would really not like to have to repeat it.”

“Should I get Lionel down here?”

“Please and thank you.”

He turned and scampered down the back hall, making the telltale THUMPs that twelve-year-olds make when they climb stairs. At roughly the same time, an older, brown-haired woman — obviously Mrs. Breaker — came from the direction of the kitchen, one of Chris’s famous gadgets in hand. There was a reason his nickname was “Circuit.”

“Ah, Rendynn! What brings you around here?”

“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” I said, grimacing as her genial smile faded... “It’s about Connor.” ...and then disappeared completely. “I’d appreciate it if I was able to deliver this news to your entire family. They deserve to hear it straight from me.”

“I see,” she said, somberly. “Shall I get the tea out?”

“Please.” The last thing I needed was unwelcome nerves.

As she retreated back into the kitchen, I took a seat on the nearby velour chair. It was comfy, soft, and most likely had been sat in this morning by the late Connor Breaker. I squirmed a little.

Mr. Breaker, after a brief muttered conversation out of sight with the Missus, came into the living room and sat down on the loveseat opposite me across the coffee table. He was of roughly the same age as his wife, but his hair was much whiter. Back when making up funny nicknames for them was appropriate, we kids used to call him “Back” Breaker. Now, when we’re older and not stupid, he’s just “Yes sir, Mr. Breaker, it won’t happen again.”

“So,” he said, not looking at me. “This is about Connor?’

“It is.”

“Is he...?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking anywhere but at him, even as he did the same. “I’m afraid so.”

He nodded stoically, and sighed.

Mrs. Breaker came in with her tea set, mouth drawn into a thin, worried line. I took a cup, eager to calm my jitters. After draining it, I set it down to see Circuit and his brother, Lionel (“Line,” for his book-writing obsession) coming downstairs and into the living room.

They sat down expectantly, waiting for me to say something.

Oh god oh god what do I do what do I do.

Might as well come right out and say it, right? At least then I wouldn’t be agonizing over it any longer.

“As of this morning...” I paused, taking a breath. “Your son, Connor Breaker, is dead.”

Mr. Breaker already knew, so his expression didn’t change much. Mrs. Breaker recoiled, tearing up, as her worst fears has been realized. Lionel sighed, much like his dad, and stood up to comfort his mother. Chris just stared at me.

“...What?”

“Dead. As in, a Heartless broke into Combo’s Breakers this morning, seeking shelter from the sun. It made its way upstairs and blindsided Connor. He shot it, of course, and it was dead on  my arrival, but not before he was fatally wounded.” Wow, dude, what an obituary. I could do better than this, right? “...If it’s any consolation, he died fighting, just like he always said he wanted to.”

“Did...” Mr. Breaker started. “...did his... heart...?”

“You know, it almost made it just fine,” I sighed. “But the remains of the Invisible latched onto it and turned him into one of them. I, ah...” I tapped the Boltstrike, still strapped in place. “I got it back. Wherever hearts go, he’s there now.”

The silence in the room was oppressive. I was not well-versed in the art of comforting grieving families. The whole point of this was to make sure there weren’t any more of those in the first place!

“It’s my fault, really,” I said for no reason.

Mrs. Breaker looked up. “Oh, no no no, you didn’t—”

“I should have been there,” I insisted. “I had let something distract me from getting to your son’s store for a few seconds. In those seconds I lost, I could have been there in time. I could have made a difference. Instead, I failed to protect your son and now I have to tell you how he died.” I shook my head. “Some Keyblade wielder I am.”

Someone punched my arm.

“Ow.”

“Hey.”

I looked up. Chris “Circuit” Breaker, in all his twelve-year-old fury, was giving me a look. You know the kind I mean.

“Don’t say that,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not fair to you. I don’t think you’re the reason Connor’s dead.” He turned to his family. “Do you?” They all shook their heads. He turned back to me, satisfied. “It’s not your fault. Alright?”

“Okay...”

“And, hey.” He grabbed the Boltstrike’s handle, jangling it. “You know what this means, don’t you? It never has to happen again. We’ve got a new Keyblade! You can help look for the Keyhole and then nothing like this will ever have to happen to anyone else!”

“Assuming I can find the thing,” I muttered.

“You can,” Circuit insisted. “Connor always said you never gave up. When that Keyblade master keeps failing your exam, do you give up?”

“No.”

“When you couldn’t fix that crossed circuit in your sword, did you give up?”

“No.”

“When you and Connor accidentally got stuck under a sleeping Large Body—”

“Oh, you had to bring that up, didn’t you?!”

“Did you give up?”

“No.”

“Then I know you’re not going to give up on this until you’re done. You’re Rendynn Spire, the guy who retook the Mark of Mastery Exam more times than most people hear about it! And I have faith in you.”

I blinked. This was Circuit Breaker I was talking to, right? Twelve years old, doesn’t even shave yet, boy tinkerer, Christopher Breaker? Where’d all this depth come from?

“I... don’t...”

He gave me a flat look. “And I won’t forgive you until you do it. Deal?” He held out his hand.

There’s the Circuit I knew. “Deal.” On that day, I shook hands with a god damn twelve year old and made a pact that would catapult me to adventures the likes of which I couldn’t yet imagine. What a way to go.

I stood, feeling something like resolve. I looked at the family, still sad, but proud. Of their youngest, who could rouse a man from a funk that quickly. Of me, surprisingly, in some strange foster-parent surrogate pride that really didn’t make much sense but existed anyway.

I was on my way out when I remembered.

“Oh, right. Lionel...” I turned back as I closed the door behind me. “...Connor said the shop’s all yours.”

As the door clicked, I could swear I heard him say “I knew it.”

***

So concludes a short, short tale of failure, tragedy, and the resolve to overcome both.

But while this tale is over, it is merely the beginning of the beginning of a story.

This story spans worlds. It reaches across the boundaries of normalcy and delves into the downright odd. Things happen in it that no one — neither reader, character, nor author — can predict.

This is the story of the quest to save worlds.

This is the story of three young ponies’ journey homeward.

This is the story of...