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Axel is a dancer. Not in the traditional sense, but the way he twirls around with his chakrams and flames, is nothing less than a dance.
One day he takes Roxas out to the sands of Agrabah to practice his magic. The day is hot and the sun looms overhead, both boys strip down to their undershirts. Roxas seats himself on a small sand dune while Axel practices.
It is art in motion.
He summons his chakrams, giving them a quick twirl around, sparks flying. Despite taking off his cloak he keeps his gloves on. Roxas eyes the long burn marks that snake up his arms, from when he was ‘young and reckless’. Roxas doesn’t think that description has changed at all.
Then it starts. Slowly at first, small twirls of his weapons, then he throws them both; they arch around him in a large circle, flames trailing them. He grabs them both out of the air they never stop spinning. He whirls and twirls around, flames growing and growing, spirals and circles of growing heat, taller than him.
Then sand is burning, scorched black and hard to the touch. Axel never stops moving, completely unaffected by the heat.
Roxas watches, completely frozen, he can barely see Axel anymore, just the tips of his flaming red hair, or was that the flames?
The chakrams burst out of the flames every now and again, adding more fire, more height, more heat. They cut through the sand, leaving deep black strikes against the beige.
“Burn, baby, burn.” Axel screams.
Roxas wants to stop him, tell him there’s nothing left to burn, nothing but him. But he can’t, can’t force himself to move, it is horrifyingly beautiful.
Roxas thinks Axel is flying, his feet no longer touching the melting sand. Flames lifting him into the air, spinning round and round, nothing but heat flowing from his movements. He can’t even tell the color of the flames apart anymore, just white hot heat. It is ballet on fire.
Then as slow as it started, it begins to cool. The fire becomes lower, closer to the center. Changes from white to blue to red to orange to yellow. And Axel is there, still slowly twirling around, arms lifted high to the sky, eyes begging to the blue, chakrams tightly fisted.
A light breeze blows out the last of the fire, and just like that, it is over. Axel drops his arms and weapons; they clank against the cooling glass sand. Axel drops to his knees, out of breath. He sits in the middle of an enormous glass spiral, it reaches as far as Roxas’ sand dune and is scorched black.
Roxas jumps to his feet so quickly he trips while trying to run down the hill. He is still spitting sand out of his mouth when he reaches Axel.
He is still on his knees, having only sunk a little lower, taking deep breathes. He chakrams have disappeared but left two perfect imprints on the ground next to the Nobody.
“Axel…” Roxas lightly grabs the other man’s shoulder.
He looks up at Roxas and blinks once, twice, three times, before grinning and rising to his feet, “Hey Rox, well wasn’t that fun.”
He grabs his cloak out of the boy’s hands and swings it over his shoulders, effortlessly zipping it up. With a flick of his wrist, he opens a Dark Corridor and gestures for Roxas to follow him.
He turns to the desert one last time, the wind already moving sand over the spiral, to cover and hide it.
Roxas wonders how many times Axel has done this desert dance.