The firm interjection is all it takes to nudge Terra out of the worst of his anger, but the inexplicable lack of his Keyblade demands some kind of reaction, some acknowledgment from the universe that it has skewed off-course. He turns to face the stranger, anger not doing its job of concealing the way he feels like he's been cored like an apple. Of the two of them, Terra's the taller by some inches, but this stranger has a weight in his presence that bespeaks authority.

"They did this to me, to us," he insists, wild-eyed. "They took - they broke -" Or did they, he can't help but wonder. He feels broken, unable to reach his Keyblade, but wasn't he already broken? After what he did, does he deserve a Keyblade?

He falters and looks down at the floor.