The Wing Wherewith He Flies To Heaven

In many ways, Knowledge was an empty man: his self-awareness spanned a relatively short time, and unlike most amnesiacs who fought to regain what it was they had lost, Knowledge wasn’t even aware he was missing something. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing before him.

Knowledge’s past, so to speak, was a very short one, and looking back on it wasn’t particularly entertaining. In moments like these, he couldn’t reflect on things that others would no doubt be reminded of.

Instead, he made a habit of remembering things that had happened to others. In this case, of course, they were things that the man at his feet had lived through. Two invisible forces pulling him in opposite directions: the security of his family in one direction, and the lure of the unknown in the opposite. In the end—and it didn’t take a Concept to figure this one out—the unknown had won out, and Haruki had departed on his little trek through Hueco Mundo, hoping to be able to find the source of his obsession and overcome it.

As the mortal struggled to come to his senses, Knowledge raised his eyes to the horizon. Even at this distance, it was clearly visible, testament to the absolute power the King wielded in this domain, and always had—aside from that little hiccup a while ago, thought Knowledge with a smirk. Truth was such a pushover. Sure, Wish had fought on the opposite side of that war, but a single future Transcendental shouldn’t have been able to tip the scales like that.

Obsession, however, seemed at significantly less risk of falling prey to whatever it was that had wrenched Hueco Mundo free of Truth’s grasp. These were his lands in a way that they had never really been Truth’s. He would not let them go so easily.

Something stirred in Knowledge, a sympathetic sort of pity. Such a shame that both he and the one who shared his fate in Seireitei were so blind to their own harmony. It was almost as if they conciously rejected it, clinging to the safety of familiarity instead of taking the leap of faith that Truth, Wish and Knowledge had.

He looked back down at the mortal, and Knowledge found himself wondering if the man—the boy—would ever find himself crossing paths with the very personification of what drove him away from those he loved most. It seemed almost inevitable, but then again, Knowledge didn’t believe in fate. Nothing was preordained.

‘Smart lad,’ replied Knowledge, the laughter barely contained in the back of his throat. He stepped gingerly around the flecks of blood on the sand—yes, he had gone ever so slightly overboard, he had no difficulty admitting it—and gently lifted the front of his trousers to facilitate falling into a low squat, as if to examine the young man lying there.

‘I suppose it should go without saying that you’re still alive because I like you better that way,’ he said, his arms resting across his thighs. ‘The implication here, of course, is that if you try something stupid again I might purposefully make a mistake and Cecania will very suddenly find herself widowed. You don’t want that, and neither do I, so I suggest we revisit my earlier suggestion: let’s have a nice talk, you and I.’

That was one of the drawbacks of not being Wish: desire was beyond the scope of Knowledge. He had to do things the hard way.

‘And because you’re not really in a position to decline, how about we start with what it is you’re really looking for in this desert of ours.’


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