The world was quiet now.
Broken coral spires floated lazily in the current like shattered monuments. Cracks lined the trench walls, veined like old scars. In the middle of it all, Kurai and Helios hovered—both still, both breathing, but heavy with more than wounds.
Kurai floated upright, shoulders squared but trembling. Helios leaned against the jagged shelf of a broken ridge, one hand clutching the trident, the other pressed over his ribs. His breath came in short, shallow waves.
Ursula's body had drifted slightly in the still waters, shrunken and human once more, bound tightly in chains of black that pulsed with Kurai's energy. The Shadow Sovereign floated at her side like a sentinel—dormant, yet ready.
Helios raised the trident and slowly released a restorative wave. Light flowed from the tip like cascading sunbeams—soft but radiant. It wrapped around Kurai and himself, sealing their wounds, knitting muscle and bone, soothing scorched nerves. Yet, the deeper exhaustion remained. Magic healed the body. Not the spirit.
Neither spoke.
They simply let the silence settle.
Eventually, Kurai's voice cut through the stillness—sharp, but quieter than usual.
"You stole my kill. That makes me upset."
Helios blinked, then let out a low exhale that might have been a laugh. "You're welcome by the way."
She turned slowly to face him, eyes half-lidded but simmering with unspoken emotion. "I came here to end her. To end this all. I didn't need your interference."
"You're welcome anyway," Helios said flatly, his grip tightening on the trident. "Because if you had fought to the end maybe you would have died. Worse yet maybe that parasite might've leapt to me or worse yet to you next. You're strong, Kurai—but not invincible. Luckily things worked out this time."
"No one is," she muttered, then turned away, arms crossing over her chest. "But I chose that battle. I prepared to face her alone. I knew it wouldn't kill me. My life is worth more than her so why would I trade it for her death? Although she was stronger than I imagine I would still have won."
"And I didn't let that happen," Helios said. "So if you're mad, fine. Add it to the list of things you hate or dislike about me."
"I don't hate you. You're a very important partner to me," she said quickly—too quickly. "But you ruined the ending I planned for. I fought as I am, wielding all of my darkness. That was the first time I'd ever fought such a battle and I must say the ending was not satisfactory. I feel vexed by all this or at least that's what I believe I'm feeling."
Helios sat upright, brow twitching. "So I owe you something now, is that it?"
Kurai tilted her head. "Exactly."
Their eyes locked. It was the quietest tension imaginable—sharp-edged and weary, not from malice but from the weight of what they had survived.
"So what do I owe you?" Helios asked, voice dry. "My soul? My future?"
"No," Kurai said, floating closer, her arms still folded. "Why ask for something we both know you'll never give. When I tell you to do something, you'll do it. Without hesitation. No cleverness. No evasion. You owe me that."
He considered that.
And then, with a smirk that couldn't quite hide the ache beneath it, Helios nodded. "Very well. A queen's command. One order, and I will obey."
"You better keep your word," she muttered, but the tension in her shoulders eased.
They sat in silence again for a while. Not awkward—just… still.
Eventually, Kurai glanced at Ursula's unconscious form and sneered. "Let's rescue Thalen. Then we leave this cursed world behind and never speak of it again."
Helios let his head fall back against the rock. "Whatever you want. Just give me a day."
"You need sleep?"
"Yes and no, I do need sleep.," he muttered, "afterwards I still need to do something before we leave."
She gave him a questioning glance but didn't press.
Instead, Kurai waved her hand and conjured a web of darkness—chains wrapping tighter around Ursula, latching into the rock itself. Not even a flicker of malice stirred from the bound sea witch.
Kurai laid herself on the shelf beside Helios, limbs heavy, expression unreadable. Her Keyblade—Shadow Sovereign—floated downward, embedding itself in the sand with regal stillness, like a blade planted on a battlefield before it vanished in a beam of darkness.
They didn't speak again. Not until the current lulled them into half-sleep, exhaustion finally winning.
Far away—beyond oceans and beyond realms—something stirred.
In the endless void of the Realm of Darkness, where light dared not reach, a great mass shifted.
It wasn't truly seen. It wasn't meant to be seen.
A faceless thing, older than malice, watched from its perch in the black sea of nothing.
Its single eye blinked open with billions of smaller eyes within the giant eye. It shimmered with reflections of too many voices. They spoke all at once:
Whispers. Screams. Elegant poetry. Madness.
"The speck managed to test those two…" it murmured, its voice layered and discordant. "…and the results were very underwhelming."
It blinked again—slow and patient.
"I'll leave them be for now. I hope they both grow stronger soon or I'll have to dispose of them."
And with that, the eye closed.
The Realm of Darkness grew still yet again as it slept once more.