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I have yet to tell Baldr the news to avoid any unnecessary concern, Master Odin says, and Eraqus hears the implicit command: Don’t tell him.
He glances at Bragi, who gives him a minute shake of his head. He looks at his classmates, who all face forward, bearing solemn expressions. He turns to Master Odin, and he bows in deference, and he sits back down.
Not now.
Later:
They walk through the halls as a unit, but the usual chatter is subdued. Despite a valiant effort by Vor and Bragi, the atmosphere is solemn. No; it’s grim. Eraqus lags toward the back, with Urd, who is absently running her fingers through her hair, muttering something under her breath. Probably Master Odin’s instructions.
Eraqus stops, abruptly. I need to use the bathroom, he announces.
Really? says Bragi. In the annoyed, are-you-serious kind of way, not the genuinely questioning way. Facing away from the others, he raises an eyebrow in a clear message: I know what you’re doing.
What he says, is, You couldn’t have figured that out three flights of stairs ago?
You don’t have to all follow me, Eraqus shoots back, putting his hands on his hips. I’ll meet you at the docks in a bit.
Xehanort, of all people, is the one to take the bait. Just don’t be late.
Am I ever? Eraqus says, more out of obligation than anything, and sprints for the stairs before anyone can reply with equal enthusiasm. Classic Eraqus, running away from a conversation— well, that’s what he does, isn’t it?
Baldr’s room is empty. So is Hoder’s, and there’s a thin layer of dust coating both of them, the same thickness of it from one to the other. The first conclusion Eraqus jumps to is, of course, that Baldr has been missing just as long. Maybe Master Odin was trying to throw them off, with his order. Hiding in plain sight, and all that.
Second idea, less accusatory: Baldr is, as has been indicated to his classmates over the past week, terribly sick, and he hasn’t recovered enough to do any sort of mission. After all, he wasn’t meant to be anywhere near the upper classmen.
Or so Eraqus can keep telling himself. The memory of that day on the docks swims into view every time he blinks.
—Meant, and there’s the crux of it. None of this was meant to happen. Whatever. He can’t do anything about that possibility, so he won’t consider it.
It’s been ten minutes. They’ll come looking for him soon.
One of the rooms in the medical wing is shut and, when he tries the door, locked. Why do they even bother locking doors in the tower populated entirely by Keyblade wielders? Eraqus raps the door extra hard, magic rippling from his stinging knuckles to the lock, and calls, Baldr?
No response, but when he opens the door, there’s Baldr, curled up into a ball on the floor. Dulled eyes raise to greet him. Eraqus?
It’s barely above a whisper, but the walls close in around them, and it echoes. I’ve been looking for you, Eraqus tells him. He shivers at Baldr’s blank expression, at the empty room. In the artificial light, unflickering and undimming, the shadows pool. Master Odin told us you were sick.
He said I was sick...? A laugh, as bright as ever. Gentle, sweet Baldr. There’s something awful about it. I guess that’s one way to put it.
Ah. He knows. And more than the lower classmen were told, too. About Hoder and the others... I’m sorry.
It’s not your fault, is the reply.
Silence. The question now is, obviously, whose fault is it? Better yet, whose fault does Baldr think it is? Let’s go downstairs, Eraqus says instead of asking. He can fight it all he wants, but in the end, maybe it’s true that all he’s good for is running away. The others are waiting.
A smile graces Baldr’s face at last. Yeah, he says, slow and measured. Let’s go.