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[dawnward]

Appearance: ☆ ☆

These photos are a few years old; Riku has gained an inch or two more and his hair keeps putting on length. He doesn’t take the time to cut it very often and lets it do what it will. He’s only recently started wearing his glasses all the time; years of study have put a strain on his eyesight and really, always having them on his person means he won’t lose them. His dress is usually an exercise in somber colors: grays, blacks, and pale blues, simple vests and durable leggings, with gloves to somewhat protect calloused hands. Suits are only for formal occasions, which he doesn’t attend if he can help it. Nearly all the scars he has are old, a testament to his skill; few Heartless or opponents have been able to mark him in recent years.

Like all Keyblade Masters where he’s from, there is a tattoo placed on his body that indicates rank and ability. The system goes from C, B, and A-Class to the rare S-Class. Riku is an S-Class, with a black Nobody insignia on the back of his neck. He rarely puts his hair up in order to keep it covered; he and everybody he works with know it’s there, but it’s a measure he takes, regardless.

Personality: Riku doesn't talk very much. He used to, when he was younger; he liked to be the leader in his group of friends, the guy who always knew what to do and did it better than everyone else. He was always the oldest, the bravest, the smartest, the strongest and he liked to prove that; when they played save the princess, he did the saving, half because it was right and half because it felt good to be good at it. That's changed. He still knows he’s the best, but it doesn’t feel good. He's intelligent and possesses a keen sense of any situation that might be mistaken for bravery; in reality, he’s watching everyone and everything, observant and silent, keeping all that he learns entirely to himself. He's polite and well-mannered out of habit and convenience; he doesn’t like having to deal with people’s tantrums. But habit is just that: habit, most of which he doesn’t really mean, and it doesn’t take much for his reserved, noncommittal answers to turn coolly superior.

The way he follows the orders of his superiors - the dogs’ masters, some worlds whisper - is something he likes to think is just habit, too. Deep down, some part of him knows better; Riku’s not brainwashed, but someday...he might be. Maybe sooner than he thinks.

Having grown up in a world surrounded by people who were only out for whatever they could get for themselves, he doesn't really believe in honesty, friendship, honor, or kindness from others anymore. Those are all found in the ghosts of his memories, which he keeps locked up with a bittersweet fondness bordering on obsession. He won't let anyone near him and will fight off with sharp words and an icy glare any individual who tries to probe for his secrets. Of course, this means that when faced with someone who really is just trying to be nice, he can come across as a stiff and unresponsive; he may just start reading a book or get up and walk away in the middle of a conversation. It's hard to approach him when he both believes people around him aren’t worth noticing and doesn’t desire their notice in return.

In the end, what this makes him is a profoundly lonely young man who misses his friends and has been missing them for a very long time, so long that he barely remembers a time when he wasn’t missing them. He can be terribly awkward when he isn't being standoffish and an odd shyness can pop up now and then, though rarely; inadequacy is a weakness and he can’t have that. He escapes into books regularly and occupies his time with scholarly pursuits or honing his skills in order to fill his leisure time. He’ll pick apart mysteries, technology, and histories simply because there is nothing else for him to do; over time, he’s come to enjoy it very much, but they came about due to long hours alone in a silent room.

When he talks, it’s usually to himself.

Since Then: Riku's been trapped on the Crucible - or at least near it - for about six months now. It's strange, how six months can change a person. Things have happened that he could have never predicted, much less prepared for.

Riku has to admit to himself that he's changed. When he came to the ship his only interest in other passengers was finding out what they knew or how they could help him accomplish his task of finding a way to escape. He was polite and as friendly as he needed to be, with no reason to antagonize anyone but no reason to get any closer, either. Books and notes and long graphs and equations were his preferred companions, with maybe a little cooking in between. Most of his time was spent alone.

Maybe that was what it was. Riku could tell himself that he was used to - even favored - his own company, but the truth was that he really was very lonely. Achingly so. All his careful composure, cool superiority, imposed distant and practiced, logical attitude couldn't change that.

Being with people again, knowing them, helping them, fighting tough circumstances alongside them is what did change it. Little by little, almost without notice, Riku started to care about people again. He cares about friendship and loyalty, honor and kindness; he cares about righting wrongs and protecting those that need protecting. He can joke, in that dry, amused way of his, and has learned to laugh at himself, just a little bit. He talks to people now, openly, freely, even when there's nothing to be gained from doing so other than someone's company. He's let deeper emotions take hold in his heart and acted upon them, if in his own awkward, insistent, patient way. It could be said that he's become more of his old self again, the tough, brash kid that protects the princess no matter what that he thought he'd lost forever. He's still better with books than with people and he likes to spend hours at his desk or with his notes. He's as intelligent and obsessive-compulsive as ever and yes, quite the snob on occasion. He's still a realist who knows very well that sometimes sacrifices must be made and lines crossed. The shadow of the Organization continues to hang over him, most especially a dark future for himself that he's been made aware of and knows he has very little chance of avoiding.

But the difference between who he was and who is he is now is that, sometimes, he really does believe.


And At the End: Riku spent a year trapped on the Crucible. In that time, it can be said that he became a completely different person than who he used to be. The carefully constructed facade he wore, the walls he'd built up over the long, empty years with the Organization, all of those fell away. For the first time in a long time, Riku truly looked at himself again, and what he had become.

It wasn't a pretty picture. He was mere months from losing the last traces of his childhood and becoming wholly the Organization's tool. He didn't question the orders that he was given, he didn't question his own dwindling feelings, and he'd stopped pretending that rescue and escape were real options for him.

But seeing was the first step towards renewal. The second step was courage, the ability to stand by his friends throughout the dangers and trials that they faced while trying to escape the nightmare timeloop that imprisoned them. He did all this, and more, helping and being helped. He found friendship again, closeness and intimacy, and the ability to believe in the goodness of his own heart.

The last step was faith. Riku learned that, in his future, he would be made into a Nobody by the Organization. He was even, through the strange machinations of the ship, able to meet his future self. Two of them, in fact. One that embodied all his fears, and the other, a possible happy ending to the long, dark road that he had traveled thus far.

When the Crucible's journey ended and he was given a way to return home, Riku chose to go. Despite knowing what lay in store for him. Despite knowing he might lose the memories of his time on the ship. He still went home.

He knew his friends would be waiting for him there. He couldn't let them down.

History: To Riku, it feels like he’s been working for the Organization forever. He knows that he hasn’t; nine years ago he had been living on Destiny Islands with his family - the orphanage was family enough - and his friends - more family than any adults could be. He can still remember Sora and Kairi's faces so clearly in his mind and can almost feel the warm sea breeze prickling over his skin, the surf splashing against bare legs and laughter playing like music in the background. Theirs had been a world on the fringes of Organization control, allowed some small freedom simply because they were too remote and too inconsequential to garner the attention of the massive ‘business’ the Nobodies ran throughout the rest of the worlds. The people whispered about it, of course, sometimes when the children could hear, and Riku had learned enough to at least marginally understand what it meant when his life changed forever.

Everybody knew the story. A long time ago six apprentices of a great scientist started to experiment with the darkness in peoples’ hearts. As a result, the six lost their own hearts, leaving behind Nobodies; a Nobody was the shell of the former person, with a will and a mind and memories, but no heart to speak of. The stronger the will, the stronger the Nobody, with weapons and powers and a hungry need that could never really be satisfied. The six immediately sought a way to try and regain their lost hearts, but when that failed time and again, they found the next best alternative: the hearts of others.

They discovered a way in which to use a stolen heart for themselves for a fixed period of time. Instead of pursuing the rumors and dusty old legends of a place called Kingdom Hearts, they instead invented a method of processing hearts for use: these processed hearts were called clockworks. A Nobody could use a clockwork like a real heart and, when the clockwork heart eventually ran down and disappeared into nothingness, all they needed was to procure a new one. The stronger the heart, the longer the clockwork made from it could last, so the six began to manipulate the Heartless - who could harvest hearts much faster and in greater numbers than just the six of them could - into invading worlds in a systematic and purposeful fashion, searching for the best hearts.

But then they were presented with a problem. How to retrieve the hearts from the Heartless that stole them? The easiest way was to destroy the Heartless, of course, but again, just the six of them would go too slowly to really provide proper clockworks fast enough. However, their leader had a plan. Xemnas knew of special individuals called Keyblade Masters, whose hearts were of a caliber that let them use the fabled weapon to banish darkness. If they could apply the Keyblade’s power to their operation, they could concentrate on processing hearts and adding to their strength while the Heartless and the Keybladers took care of the dirty work. A system could be developed, highly efficient and productive, of the capture and extensive training of young Keyblade users, both in body and in mind, after which they could be ‘employed’ by their teachers, on worlds ripe with fresh hearts soon to be overrun by natural and manufactured Heartless.

It started with just one or two, children stolen from their homes or manipulated into service. Nobodies lacked a conscience and so, if a child refused, they, their family, and their world paid the price. With Heartless teeming over worlds, whether by chance or by design, the Nobodies’ ranks started to swell; individuals of strong will would leave behind their shells and the Organization - as they began calling themselves, operating in the shadows - would offer them positions within their number. If they refused, they were dealt with in the same manner that the Keybladers were. It was just business, and an utterly ruthless one at that. Xemnas and the rest of the apprentices added the subtle nuance of industry to their scientific and despotic exploits, learning to smile as they held out their hands, knives behind their backs.

Most of those that they approached did not refuse. And so the Organization’s power only grew. From six to thirteen to thirty to over a hundred, with legions of Heartless as well as lesser Nobodies under their control and an ever-growing regiment of Keyblade Masters, there eventually came the fateful day when the Organization didn’t have to hide its presence anymore.

Many worlds resisted. All of them were crushed. Xemnas was no fool; he knew ways other than force to achieve his goals. The Organization become something much more intricate and purposeful than a simple gang of dangerous villains: they were a corporation, a twisted family of departments and coalitions and factories, managing an operation that spanned the stars. In places where worlds warred with each other, he offered a side power in exchange for subservience; he gave benevolent, kind rulers the option of sparing all but a few of their people a grisly fate in exchange for the occasional harvest, and the sacrifice to their cause of whatever children that may appear that were capable of wielding Keyblades. He made sure it was known that those that made themselves useful would obtain freedoms and concessions not available to all the rest. Those worlds that capitulated to the Organization’s will became linked by shared masters that encouraged an exchange of commerce, culture, and technology that benefited a great many worlds. Advancement became possible for anyone with the necessary will; when the rewards continued to grow, worlds even began to offer scores of their people to the Heartless in the vain hope that one might produce a Nobody of worth and gain recognition for their homeland.

People often forgot the ever-present paradox: you became a Nobody based on strong will, as well as strong heart. If your heart was strong, that meant that when it was harvested, it was the most likely to become a clockwork and would, one day, fade into nothing after it had been utterly exhausted fueling someone else’s emotions. But that didn’t matter; once a person was a Nobody, they were promised position, eternal life - if they weren’t killed on assignment or by their superiors, of course - and power.

The only price for the prosperity and power the Organization had to offer was utter submission and blind eyes turned when people disappeared in the night or children were taken away by Organization agents in the hooded coats they used to wear before taking up the trim business attire that suited their image. That was what happened to Riku, not long after his tenth birthday. No one really knew how the Nobodies identified potential Keyblade Masters, but one evening, not long after midnight an agent came to the orphanage when all the children were asleep, his face hidden by his hood. A few cool, quiet words were exchanged between the agent and the terrified caretaker that answered the door and then Riku was taken away.

The Organization's facilities for training and 'educating' Keyblade Masters were famous and infamous both. There had never been a complete failure to bend and break a child to fit the mold they had set for their soldiers. None that had lived, in any case. This was one facet of the 'business' that dropped the benevolent pretext completely. These were conditioning camps, pure and simple, where obedience was openly rewarded with treats and privileges and skill with blatant favoritism. Physical discipline was used just as much as mental and emotional, drills, 'classes', and grueling examinations weeding out those that couldn't survive the treatment with their bodies and hearts intact. Failures were frequent, but the successes were exactly what the Organization wanted them to be: Keybladers conditioned to follow orders without question, with the skills required to keep Heartless and interfering civilians in place.

Of course Riku resisted. He was a cocky, unbending child used to being the one in charge, the leader out of his little ring of friends who made all the decisions. He hated taking orders and hated the way they were treated: the facility was huge, clean, and white, with hard, sharp lines, like all Organization construction. Their ‘teachers’ dressed like soldiers and carried weapons and treated them like animals to be trained. Mercy was a word notably absent. Children would frequently disappear and sell each other out for some modicum of comfort in the harsh, unforgiving environment. It went against everything Riku believed in; friendship, freedom, the comfort of what little family he'd had and the carefree days that people were supposed to have. He'd never seen the cruelty and efficiency of the Organization before nor been under it's thumb. It was like waking up to a nightmare.

But Riku refused to give in. Every harsh lesson that left bruises and scars, every night or day or week spent in the solitary chambers or out working the frozen ground - his facility was in a place called the Land of Dragons, up in high mounts perpetually covered in snow, but he never saw any dragons, or any people, for that matter - only made him more determined to defy the Organization at every level. He was going to escape and go back home. He was. His friends were waiting for him.

He would learn how foolishly idealistic of him this was. Normally, children like him were quickly discarded, but Riku was different. His heart was the strongest the Organization had seen for a very long time; his very rebellion made him strong, strong enough to keep if they could just put a leash on him. When their usual methods failed to break him, a quick look through his files provided an alternate means of deal with the rebellious, valuable tool.

The head of Keyblade recruitment and training and internal security came to see to it himself. Very few of the 'old guard' of the Organization - those that were members of the original six or thirteen - were ever seen by the people that worked for them. If a lowly peon did happen to have business with them, it usually didn't end very well. To have one come to see child was an event indeed and one that Riku would never forget.

Saïx. That was his name. He had eyes like an animal and a smile that cut like a blade.

Riku was brought to Saïx late one evening in the dead of winter; he'd been at the facility a year by that point. He was given two things. The first was a charm made of shells from his islands. His friends had been writing him letters, the Nobody told him, at least one every month, practically since the day he had left. The charm had been with the last one to come, along with a promise that his friends would be coming to look for him as soon as they could find a way to do so.

The second was an ultimatum. Destiny Islands was remote. The Organization paid it little mind and, if Riku did as he was told, that would not change. If he didn't follow orders perfectly, if he didn't submit to his teachers and his superiors, the Nobodies might become much more interested in the backwater world and what it had to offer. If he went out of his way to impress them and make himself useful to their cause, he could be rewarded in a manner he actually cared about.

After all, he wanted to go home again someday, didn't he?

Of course he did. He was more confident, defiant, smart, and fearless than he'd been before in order to achieve that end. But even then he knew that it was all pointless if he didn't have a home to go back to. He knew it the instant Saïx carelessly tossed him the charm and left him in the cold, dark room to make his decision.

There was only one decision he could make. As one heroic little boy he could resist all he wanted, but it wouldn't take anything for them to simply say a word and wipe out everything that he loved.

Three years later he graduated from the facility, the best in his unit, his identification tattoo still burning on the skin of his neck: he was designated as an S-Class Keyblade Master, the highest distinction possible to receive. Rebellion had turned into iron determination; anger into icy neutrality. Riku had stopped fighting his teachers at every turn; he stopped receiving punishments almost daily. He stopped talking to the few other children that tried to make friends with him; he would always be in the library or out on the training grounds, working, fighting, trying, constantly trying, all the strength of his heart poured in another direction. He read constantly to improve his knowledge of the worlds and the people he'd be dealing and fighting with, and pushed his body to the limit in order to face anything and everything that could be thrown at him. He let them drone on and on about loyalty and obedience and service and told himself that he wasn't really listening, that they weren't really changing him.

It was just that if he did well, his home would be safe. If he was the best, he could go back. That was what he believed. That was what he had to believe.

As the days and weeks after he became an official Keyblade Master for the Organization stretched into months, and then into years, he kept believing this. He believed it as he went from world to world, destroying Heartless with an efficiency that only increased the longer he did it. It was as though nothing could stop him. It didn't matter how strong the Heartless were or how hostile the world. Riku would fight until he had won, through strength or through intelligence, as though he cared about nothing else except completing his mission. He took his orders without questioning them, expression cool and manner calm, and avoided interacting with everyone, be they superior or teammate. He didn't care about the privileges granted to him as an S-Class and ignored any rewards, taking whatever quarters were available and doing little more during his leisure time besides read or train. The recognition, awe, and envy he received meant nothing to him.

He had to get home. He would keep on believing that it would happen, one day, because if he didn't it would mean admitting that he'd always known that agreeing to what Saïx had said would mean he'd never be free of the Organization ever again.

He still believed it not long after his twentieth birthday, when he awoke in a place that definitely wasn't his quarters at Hollow Bastion.

Strengths: Being an S-Class Keyblade Master means Riku really knows his way around a sword. He's efficient, wasting as little movement as possible, and is methodical and business-like at all times; he's not an easy opponent to distract or upset. He's used to fighting unusual foes and can think quickly on his feet, often working out an entire plan to defeat an enemy while in the middle of combat; he's very intelligent and can call upon any background knowledge he may have as necessary. His Keyblade is a magical weapon, capable of opening any manner of lock and is particularly effective against spells and creatures composed of darkness. He has quite a few special skills at his disposal and some spells, though those are primarily for healing. Technique is his specialty and he knows a wide range of tricks and methods to employ in many situations.

Because Riku doesn't let anyone in, it's hard to read him or tell what he's thinking or break through his calm exterior. The term poker face comes to mind and makes reading his moves during battle a very difficult thing to do.

Weaknesses: Riku has never been big on magic. He's got some basic defensive spells, but that's about it. He usually tries to take out magic-users before they can use any spells, but if he can't, it gets tough for him. He only knows the basics of hand to hand and yes, it is harder for him to see without his glasses. Because he always focuses on ending a battle quickly, his doesn't have a lot of stamina and suffers in a battle of attrition. He's not a hand-to-hand fighter by any means and without his Keyblade or some other sword-like weapon he is particularly vulnerable.

And just because Riku is tough to crack doesn't mean it can't be done. Since it isn't done often, if an opponent can break past his walls they can almost disable him. His home, his 'job', his choice to work for the Organization: these are buttons to push. He's very picky about his personal space and can't stand the idea of losing, either in a mental capacity or a physical one.

There's guilt in him and, if you find it, you can break him.

First Person Sample:

I found something strange in the library today. Most of the books are electronic, but this one's bound, like they were on my world. It's even handwritten. It doesn't make sense that there would be a book like that on this ship.

[flips through the scruffed leather-bound book sitting on his lap, pushing his glasses up further on his nose]

It's a diary. A lot of the pages are torn out, but I could still use this to-a crew member? [leans closer, eyes excited, then abruptly snaps the book shut]

I'd better keep this quiet. [glances evenly at his Sphere] ...

[reaches up and turns it off, the image winking out]

Third Person Sample:

In some small way, it was a relief. One prison might have been traded for another, but here, he wasn't always under the watchful eyes of the Organization and his peers. His every move wasn't tracked and recorded by a faceless corporation that siphoned off other people's lives like parasites. Instead, he sat like a bird in a cage, never really knowing who was watching or what they wanted.

Riku had never seen a ship like it. Huge, bigger than any of the Gummi vessels the Organization's interplanetary department put out once or twice a year. Sometimes - like now - he simply walked the deserted halls, no destination in mind, wondering just how much there was to the place. Maybe it went on forever; the halls and the cushy cabins and the brightly-lit entertainments without limit, yet one more gaudy club or computer-run restaurant behind each new door.

A pretty, engaging cage. Not that he really cared about any of that. He didn't want to 'relax' or pretend that the 'accidents and glitches' weren't real when they happened; he didn't want to socialize or approach anyone anymore than he had before he'd come here. All he would do was go in search of whatever books he could find, retreat with them into his cabin, and read about worlds he'd never heard of and histories that didn't make sense.

He'd been to the environmental simulations only once. There was a beach there, he'd overheard someone say, just like the real thing.

Yes. It had been like the real thing. So real that his hands had shook and he had dug his fingers into the flesh above his heart and stumbled back out as quickly as his suddenly weak legs could take him.

Dreams of the islands had haunted him ever since.