happy end - sagefire - Final Fantasy XV [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: no one

Chapter Text

Though bleak, the rest room serves its purpose. Prompto adjusts the blanket over Noctis's resting body to give him some well-deserved warmth. They came here to let Prompto rest but instead the poor guy fell asleep as soon as he sat down. Staring at Noctis lulls him into a daze before Ignis's voice pulls him out of it, and he turns to where he and Gladio sit on the opposite bed.

"I don't mean to alarm you, but... There's a high probability that one, or all of us, will die here."

Well, consider him alarmed. Prompto sits anxiously on the edge of the bed with his hands clasped together. Gladio picks up the baton, voice steady and strong.

"It's Noct who needs to make it out of here alive. We get him to that crystal, no matter what. Even if he needs to step over our bodies to do it."

Prompto gulps.

"Me and Ignis, we've been ready for this our entire lives. But what about you? Can you give up your life for Noct, at any moment?"

The burn of Ignis's silence and Gladio's gaze stings his skin like an itch that won't go away no matter how much he scratches. They're patient, not accusing him of anything, not judging him. But still Prompto hesitates, heart beating so loudly that he can't hear his thoughts let alone set them in order. Is he really ready? It's not like he came on this trip thinking nothing could go wrong. He learned self-defense for a reason. He wears these fatigues for a reason. Just say yes. It should be easy. Nothing to cause his stomach to tangle into knots, or his foot to tap nervously, or sweat to drip relentlessly onto his lashes.

Then he remembers Lunafreya. It’s not like she had it easy either. If Lunafreya could handle it...

His hands grip together tightly enough for blood to dot his nails digging into skin. He's hurting, but not as much as his best friend must be.

"I'll do anything for Noct."

Noctis nearly trips over himself running toward Prompto to get him out of his restraints, with Gladio following suit. His dear friend looks awful and probably feels worse, but he's alive. All of them are alive and Noctis considers that a gift. Prompto seems like he wants to say something and Noctis certainly has much on his mind as well, but now isn't the time. Ardyn still controls this scenario from wherever he perches, and will hardly give them the chance at leisure conversation. So he pats Prompto's shoulder and suggests they rest at a break room they passed by earlier before heading out.

Seconds after leaving their temporary haven, the hallways of Zegnautus Keep fill with the mechanical screeches of MTs. Damn things still send chills down his spine. Bracing himself, he suffers the Ring of the Lucii tightening on his finger as though to remind him it's there. He grips his father's sword and stares desperately at the rotted swarm, unaware of the timid step back he takes. No one else notices.

Gladio barks swift orders before taking his place at the foreguard, while Ignis wordlessly settles into an defensive stance. And Prompto, poor exhausted Prompto, lays a hand over his wrist and squeezes as if saying a quiet prayer, before clutching the gun he picked up along the way. For a few minutes it's nothing but the skin-crawling sound of steel against steel, warnings from Gladio, assurances from Ignis, eerie silence from Prompto that in itself proves deafening—and Noctis swears he hears Ardyn's disembodied voice chuckling in the middle of it all.

He steps back to fortify his footing but miscalculates the distance and slips against a detached MT arm. Gravity betrays him but the impact doesn't come as hard as expected. Startled, Noctis looks up to find himself in the arms of his best friend, who wears a half-hearted smile.

"First time for everything, huh? You okay?" With Prompto's support, Noctis gets to his feet and gives his body a good shake.

"Think so, yeah." He pauses, the mere second of it enough to make him uncomfortable. "You?"

Prompto swallows and shrugs a bit, which isn't much of an answer. Worry writes itself over Noctis's scrunched up features, and Prompto realizes he didn't actually say anything.

"Uh, yeah. Will be. Still got a few le—" Just as he finishes the sentence, the remaining troopers are struck down by Gladio. He watches the other two and mumbles something about being all good now. Noctis watches him in turn, noticing a sort of vacancy in Prompto's eyes. Again he feels the worry build up, and forces the words out.

"You sure?"

Prompto looks back at him straightaway this time, lips thinning into a smile.

"Yeah. Just tired. Probably better off than you, though. You worry about yourself and leave the rest to us."

Unable to take Prompto's kindness at face value, Noctis shifts restlessly. It didn't feel wrong, per se, just... Shouldn't he be more concerned with himself? He's the one suffering from whatever the hell happened to him during his captivity, yet he smiles at Noctis like nothing's changed between them. Like Noctis actually deserves his protection.

With Noctis's silence, Prompto trots over to the others. Once again he can't put his feelings into words, out loud or in his head. When this all comes to an end, will he be able to have proper conversations with everyone? Prompto, Ignis, Gladio...can he put his pride and embarrassment away for once and actually tell them what he needs to? Or is it too much to ask that they already know how he feels? Despite all his childish posturing, they have to know he loves them...right?

...Did his father know? Did Luna know?

He shivers. Shut up, stop thinking about it. Focus on getting out of here, then deal with his feelings. Exhaling with purpose, he rubs his face to wake himself up and get back in gear. His entire body aches but he has to contribute.

It takes only a second. He can't remember what came first, the gunfire or Prompto screaming his name. A weight suddenly knocks him into the passage railing, back nearly snapping in half from the collision. He chokes when he hits the floor, made nauseous by the overwhelming dizziness squeezing his head in its grip.

"Aaugh!!"

"Get down!"

Instinctively he covers his head while still not knowing what the hell is going on. In the corner of his eye he spies Gladio throwing Ignis to the ground and shielding him. He doesn't know who screamed. Shots continue to fire in their direction, sparks flying everywhere and the wretched stink of smoke filling his nostrils. More MTs? Goddammit, it just never ends!

"Ignis, magic!"

Gladio's voice. Ignis gets the hint, or maybe he was already fishing out a flask from his coat. Gladio takes it and sits up during a half-second lull in the barrage to fling it toward the swarm. A satisfying boom sends shakes through the floor, making Noctis's teeth chatter, and he holds himself to the ground in hopes of not getting blown away as well. Amazingly, the gunfire stops, but they hear a familiar rumble instead: more troopers in the distance, or perhaps daemons this time. They have to get out of here.

Once the fog clears, however, that thought vanishes along with it. The sight before him renews every last reserve of energy and he can't scramble to his feet fast enough.

"Guys, Prompto's...!"

He drops to his knees to where Prompto lays against the railing. Upright but hunched forward, he clutches at his stomach and pants in choked breaths. The shaking Noctis feels under his palms when he holds Prompto's shoulders burns more than any fire would, but that doesn't compare to the ache in his chest when he sees the blood. Seeping through Prompto's hands, staining his clothes, flooding the creases in the floor—it's too much.

The holes in the back of Prompto's jacket say this wasn't the work of a single bullet, but Noctis can't bear to count. For now, he turns Prompto toward him and puts his hands over his friend's to add pressure to the wounds.

"Don't do this to me, Prompto, not now. What the hell happened?!" It hits him just as he asks it, and he whispers, "You pushed me out of the way...?"

Gladio and Ignis rush to join them, where the latter kneels down to try and find Prompto's face with his hand. He carefully brushes Prompto's bangs away, his fingertips smearing a light film of sweat. It's the only thing he can do now; the scent of blood tells him enough.

Prompto tries to reply but only spits out more bubbling blood, reducing his words to a mumble. Noctis sucks in a sharp breath.

"Don't talk! Sorry, it's okay, don't talk. I'll fix this. It's not even that bad—"

"Noct..." comes Ignis's soft, unrelenting voice.

"We have potions, right?!" He knows they don't. "It's okay, we just gotta stop the bleeding first. It's okay. There was a first aid kit in the break room. Go get it, Gladio. It's okay." A desperate mantra he repeats to himself as he pushes down harder.

"A first aid kit's not gonna help him now," Gladio mutters in a quiet manner unfitting his stature, but the prince quickly bares his teeth.

"Get the goddamn kit!"

"N..."

He gasps again and looks back at Prompto. "Yeah, I'm here. We're gonna fix you."

No they're not.

"... Wrist. Right wri..."

"Wrist? Yours?" He glances at the hand in question, so disoriented that he humors the randomness of it. "What, what about it?"

"C-...Code. Codeprint. Need it."

"I don't..." Noctis shakes his head, not understanding. But Ignis takes initiative and feels for Prompto's hand, eliciting a content groan. He pushes back the bracelets and waits for Noctis or Gladio to do the rest. Gladio kneels as well now, and both he and Noctis see that a barcode does indeed mark the skin. They suspect it isn't a simple tattoo.

"Gotta use...open doors... Take it with you." His words slur and he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back, but Noctis desperately latches onto every one. None of this makes any sense!

"What are you talking about?! Doors?"

Ignis stops Noctis from speaking further with a hand on his arm. As always, he understands immediately. "There were doors we couldn't pass, weren't there, Gladio? We couldn't use brute force either. A ploy by the chancellor to lead us down the right path. Surely you encountered the same, Noct?"

Well, he did, but how is that important right now? Aware enough to recognize he isn't reaching Noctis, Prompto uses what little strength he has to sit up a little further. Doesn't matter that blood and spit drip from his lips, it doesn't stay the determination stitching his consciousness together for as long as possible.

"Overheard...throne room. Get to the throne room, your powers... You gotta use the code."

As Prompto's breathing slows, Noctis's becomes erratic. Prompto is dying in front of him and no one's coming to their rescue. Doesn't Prompto see that?

Suddenly, the clamor he closed his ears to resounds again. He completely forgot about the enemies at their back marching ever closer, and the realization nearly drags his pounding heart right out from his chest. But he ignores it in favor of grabbing Prompto by the shoulders.

"I don't get it, but basically we need you, right? C'mon, you gotta get up!"

Prompto shuts his eyes and shakes his head, moaning not from the loss of pressure to his wounds but because Noctis isn't hearing him.

"Can't, Noct, I can't."

"You can! I've got you, I promise!"

"Noct, we gotta go," Gladio warns, getting to his feet when he spies the daemons locking onto their targets. Ignis also stands and attempts to pull Noctis up with him, but is angrily shaken off.

"We're taking Prompto!"

"We have to go now."

"I am not leaving him behind!"

"Noct!"

Prompto grabs Noctis's jacket, leaving his shattered abdomen to spill blood. From somewhere truly deep within him he finds the strength to bring his voice back from brink of death, to get the words out as coherently as possible.

"Cut my hand off."

"What?!" Noctis's voice cracks from the madness of the situation clogging his throat up, but Prompto pulls him closer as if to shock the confusion out of him.

"Leave me and take it. You need it. Let me be useful. I can't go, Noct, I'm so sorry. I'm one of them. Niffs. Should've told you. I'm sorry—Noct, please...!"

"I-I'm not—!" Every part of him shivers in dread. His best friend bleeding out, daemons behind them, Prompto somehow being an Imperial citizen, telling him to cut off his freaking hand—he can't handle it. This is all too much. "I'm not leaving you!"

Prompto bites down a half-smile that only serves to accentuate his clear blue eyes watching Noctis's, wanting to calm his anger that might force their star-like shimmer to break into tears. That anger warms his heart and those words mean everything to him, yet there's no denying reality. What did Noct say earlier?

"It's okay."

He pushes Noctis back and yells with all his might, his voice now nothing more but a broken gasp. "Take him, Gladio! Iggy, I— Dagger—"

They get the hint. Gladio grits his teeth and swears loudly before throwing Noctis over his shoulder, leaving him to scream and do everything in his power to resist. Ignis summons his dagger and Prompto unsteadily brushes his hand over his, intending to take it. But Ignis pulls back and shakes his head as he gently rests a hand on Prompto's arm.

"I've got it."

Prompto's lips part in surprise for a moment before he understands. He relaxes back against the railing, feeling no more pain but all the tension leave his body. It's because he did good. He did something right. It really, truly, is okay now.

The throne room belonging to the late Emperor Aldercapt sits considerably smaller than that of Regis, but spares no expense in design and ornamentation. Its abandonment made that much clearer, the three men stand within the singular light coming from the King's power. Wherever or however Prompto got his intel, he was right. Destroying the nearby control panel restored Noctis's magic, and they wouldn't have gained access without the codeprint. So he wasn't speaking nonsense after all.

Gladio breaks the stifling silence by wrenching the door back open to leave. Looking at him, one would believe Noctis's feet were molded into the floor for the intensity of the stare he directs to his feet. It is a wall easily broken by his Shield.

"Noct...come on."

Gladio's level voice would impress him any other day, but not now. Now it just sounds heartless. He hears it already—the persistent reminder of the King's mantle draping his shoulders, to ignore the blood staining its trim and push forward. Have they lost so many comrades that adding one more to the count makes little difference? Not even worth a passing mention?

"...What the hell's wrong with you?" Noctis mutters. He steps back and glares accusingly at his retainers, who only stand silent under the scrutiny. "The both of you! Prompto's dead and neither of you seem to give a crap. And don't you dare tell me to suck it up. How the hell is this normal? This isn't normal! This isn't—"

He stops when his voice breaks. His eyes are wide, angry, scared. All he sees is Prompto's smile just before he pushed Noctis away. It's like he didn't want to be saved. But that can't be true, nor does he want to believe it. He shakes his head now.

"You don't just tell someone to...to dismember you like that! What was he so desperate for? This wasn't supposed to happen. Why is he dead?!"

"He died protecting you. That was his job. He—"

"His job!?" Noctis brandishes his arms in disbelief. "How is that supposed to make this any better? His job wasn't to die! He just..." His hands clench into fists so tightly that his fingertips become as red as the carpet under their feet. Some dangerously thin strand of self-restraint keeps him from resorting to violence. "He's not like you guys. He wasn't trained for this. He didn't grow up thinking it's natural to throw your life away for your king. And I didn't want him to. Do you even know anything about him? Always thinking he wasn't good enough. Too much of a coward and a weakling to ever match up to you. I told him he was fine but I could tell he didn't believe me. And then I... I..." He falters, lips trembling, and suddenly his chest seizes with the onslaught of memories.

"I pushed him off that stupid train. If I hadn't done that... If I'd just seen through Ardyn's trick. He wouldn't have been trapped here in the first place. I mean, I should've known. I should've known it was Prompto."

Yes, it isn't any fault of Ignis or Gladio. He was the one who didn't know a thing.

"He was the strongest out of all of us. But I didn't need that, I just... He just needed to be here. That's all."

Gladio watches as Noctis's realizations force him to his knees. Even he knows this isn't the time for rebukes, while Ignis tells himself he has no right to say anything at all. They both pushed Prompto to live up to his role as Crownsguard, and Noctis will never forgive them for that. But they'll willingly bear that burden. It means one less for Noctis.

As much as he'd like to give Noctis time to grieve, give them all time, they must continue onward. Ignis gestures to Gladio, then calls Noctis's name a few moments later. In his outstretched hand rests Prompto's glove, at which Noctis stares absently.

"It is a meager sentiment, but..."

He is here. The words linger in the air. He doesn't believe in it at all but he accepts the glove anyway. Even ruined with blood, it finds its place next to Luna's notebook and his father's sword.

Locating the Crystal marks the next step, but things never are that simple. Noctis's restored powers make their battles less strenuous, but they are still lacking one-fourth of their fighting strength, void of supplies, and utterly exhausted. Noctis fuels himself purely through grief and expends it all to destroy their targets. But he was wearing thin long before they rescued Prompto, and reckless abandon serves no purpose. He ignores his companions' warnings until reality forces him otherwise—in the form of an opponent he really didn't want to see again.

"Ravus?!" Astonished, Noctis puts some distance between himself and the approaching commander-turned-daemon. "Dammit, we don't have time for this!" He summons his sword with a growl. In a second Gladio stands next to him, clapping him on the back before throwing his greatsword over his shoulder.

"Calm down. We're still fine. Keep an eye on Iggy," he tells Noctis just as Ignis himself clatters up to the prince's opposite side.

"No time for that. Noct needs to be at the forefront with you. I will lend all the support I can."

"...Like always?" Noctis asks, his lips twisting into something neither smile nor frown as he stares Ravus down.

"Like always."

"Hear that? Now buck up. This one's not going down easy."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Noctis tries his damnedest to get back in gear. Ravus poses every bit a threat as he looks, more so with the daemonic energy fueling his corpse back to life. No matter how quick they are, he's quicker, and it's clear he has enough endurance than the three of them combined. Even every monstrous snarl out of him somehow saps their energy, the sound echoing unbearably in their ears.

Only three minutes later, Noctis pants erratically as blood falls from a searing cut on his cheek. He has to catch his breath before Ravus takes advantage of this opening. Gladio should be keeping him busy—

For a second he can't believe what he hears: screeches and screams all too familiar. Daemons seep out from the corners of the room and surround them in the blink of an eye, and in that moment everything speeds up to a pace Noctis can't handle. Ravus still stands and now they have two dozen more enemies to worry about. He's bleeding, Ignis stands behind him unable to keep up, and Gladio fights a losing battle.

He shivers violently—they're not going to make it.

"Ig-...Ignis...!" He clumsily warp-strikes toward Ignis in time to throw off a goblin sneaking up on him. While Ignis regains his bearings, Noctis swings with newfound ferocity at any daemon that dares come close.

Gladio spares a second to spy the other two barely hanging in there. Even he feels the burnout of his near constant defense, and the appearance of more daemons does nothing for his spirits. No matter what, though, he can't let it stop him from doing his job.

But determination pales in the face of fate. Ravus shakes off his sword, locks Gladio's head in his claw-like hand, and squeezes, earning a strangled bellow. Through sheer desperation, he swings his body and kicks his feet square in the daemon's chest, loosening the grip enough to free himself. But the damage is done. His head spins and blood flows freely into his eyes, clouding his vision for the time it takes to miss the danger sprinting toward Noctis.

A foras slams its tail into Noctis and knocks him into Ignis in turn, sending them both flying toward the elevator. Their cries as their bodies hit the caging are enough to rip Gladio's heart into two. But the instant he screams Noctis's name, his own body tears apart as Ravus's sword plunges into his chest from behind. Blood spurts from his mouth and he shudders against the foreign object twisting his rib cage open. And now Noctis is the one screaming.

Is it the blood getting in the way or are the elevator lights shining now? Gladio's mind works quickly. This is it. A choice must be made, and Noctis always comes first. With a roar, he grabs the blade to prevent Ravus from pulling it out and more importantly, keep him in place.

"Ignis, the elevator, grab Noct and go! Don't you dare warp here!"

Ignis comprehends instantly, regardless of the way his wrists flinch. However, paying no more mind to his injuries nor the creeping daemons near the shaft, Noctis stares wildly at the nonsense Gladio spouts.

"What the hell're you saying?! Just wait—" He tries to evoke his sword to warp but abruptly topples backward after Ignis pulls his jacket. He swings around and cries in confusion. "I can get to him, I can get him back!!"

"Right side, the controls!"

Gladio's sudden faith invigorates Ignis enough to feel for the entrance and slam the switch that activates the elevator. Noctis doesn't stand up fast enough and just collides with the closing doors, locked away permanently from Gladio.

"No! I can save you!!" He slams his fists on the doors as if he can break them down. Despair constricts his throat with he yells, but it doesn't stop the elevator from descending nor does it save him from seeing Ravus overpowering Gladio and cutting him near in half, leaving the sight of blood and flesh splashing out burned into his eyes.

Gladio's reprieve lasts only a moment because once the elevator opens again, a new horde of daemons awaits. Noctis gasps frantically, but Ignis knows what to do and grabs Noctis's wrist without delay.

"Run, Noct. Avoid the daemons and just run!"

To where? What about Gladio? His bruised body sways but he has to do something, right? He shakes off Ignis's hand only so he can be the one holding onto him, and runs.

He doesn't know where they are—some dreadfully dark hallway with steel doors on either side. How much time has passed? He tries to sit up but only manages to hiss in pain. Everything and everywhere aches, and he imagines Ignis must feel the same by the way he looks. His friend leans against the wall, glasses off and eyes closed, with his chest rising in a steady rhythm. Good, let him rest while he can. Noctis doesn't want to disturb him, so he bites back his groans as he turns onto his side and rests against the wall too.

While absently rubbing his arms for warmth, Noctis stares at Ignis. He wants to ask why he followed through with Gladio's request without the slightest hesitation, and at the same time doesn't. Part of him already knows.

He bites his lips harder to keep his emotions from bubbling over. Don't panic, don't lose it. The Crystal won't find itself, not to mention he alone has to be Ignis's eyes from here on out. He won't forgive himself if he gave up, so he decides it simply isn't an option to begin with. Hasn't it always been that way?

A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.

He lets out a soft, choked laugh.

"Dammit, Ignis..."

"Noct?"

He flinches and looks up to find Ignis’s head turned in his direction. Noctis swallows anxiously.

"Yeah, I'm here. I thought you were sleeping."

"A respite." He massages his forehead and then the bridge of his nose before replacing his glasses. "...I apologize. Let's get going."

"It's fine, just sit. I don't want to go yet."

The objection hovers between them but ultimately Ignis says nothing, so they sit in silence. Noctis takes that time to calm down so Ignis won't sense his nerves. When he feels confident his voice won't crack, he speaks up.

"You okay?"

"I...am, yes. And you?" Ignis's tone suggests he wasn't expecting that question.

"I'm..." Ah, now he sees. What a stupid question. "...not. Not really." He tightens his arms around himself to quiet the words thumping against his chest, but they quickly topple such meager forms of resistance.

"They're...really dead, aren't they?"

The silence from Ignis proves too much. Noctis shakes his head, thinking it might shake away the denial crawling back into his heart, seeping through his veins and breaking his skin as goosebumps bloom across it. Even if he left Prompto in the face of daemons, or saw Gladio stabbed in the gut, it's not like...he really saw them die, right?

"They could've made it—"

"Noct." It's the hand on his shoulder that finally stops him from saying anything further. Ignis shuffles closer as best he can and rubs Noctis's shoulder gently, a paltry form of comfort.

"...Y'know," he mumbles, deciding to talk about something else. His words come slowly, thoughtful and hesitant at the same time. "I just remembered what you said in Cartanica. Push onward. Never look back. That's how a king should be." A short hum from Ignis lets him know he recalls the conversation. "I'm trying. I'm really trying, but...wouldn't they...won't you guys hate me for it? It's like you're saying to forget everything you've done for me. How am I supposed to be content with any of this?"

"You shouldn't. I certainly hope you won't, at least." He trails off, then continues in a softer voice. "It's quite the opposite. Remembering all those who have aided you on your journey, those who have given their lives for you, their king—every single one of them would be honored if they had a place in your heart, Noct."

"I don't want them in my heart, I want them alive! What kind of kingdom should I rule if everyone in it is dead? I'm sick of all these sacrifices. Sick of not being able to protect anyone. I can't be this weak anymore. It needs to stop!" He gasps for air, all efforts to calm down gone in an instant. Baring his teeth aggravates the cut on his cheek, the blood touching the corners of his lips with each breath. The taste reminds him of everything he's lost and adds to the pool of anger in his gut.

But in that anger does Ignis hear sorrow instead. Never has he witnessed Noctis so distraught, like a lost child in the middle of a crowded city. Has he underestimated just how much of an impact these past few hours had on his prince? Blindness is no excuse for being a poor friend, and no lesson is worth it if Noctis breaks.

His hand ghosts up to Noctis's head and gingerly pulls it down to rest on his shoulder. He lowers his own head and speaks so softly that only Noct, just Noct, can hear. The words jumpstart his emotions all over again, and Noctis's jaw goes slack. For a few seconds he doesn't say anything because he doesn't know how. But eventually his body relaxes and he manages to regain some composure as he shuts his eyes against the fabric of Ignis's jacket.

"It's not like I was blaming you."

"I know."

"I..." He wants to apologize as well, but the words tangle on his tongue. What else is new? It's in poor taste, but he's glad Ignis can't see him right now. "...I'll get it together. Don't wanna give Gladio another reason to want to punch me. Can't believe he hasn't done it yet."

"Careful now."

"Don't jinx it, I know."

He doesn't know how long they stay like this, and even though it's embarrassing as hell, he can't deny he appreciates the quiet that Ignis's company occasionally brings. Prompto and Gladio, Luna and his dad...they're all gone and he truly will have to suck it up and accept reality one day. But he still has Ignis.

"Don't die on me too." He lets out a short out-of-place laugh, to make his words lighter than they are. As if Ignis would be fooled, but he plays along because he knows that's what Noctis wants.

"As you wish."

That's good enough for now. His last chance to give into weakness spent, Noctis pulls away. He closes his eyes and exhales to settle his nerves for the struggle ahead. When his eyes open, he sees Ignis smiling at him. It throws him off a bit. Somehow, he feels he doesn't deserve it.

As he tries to smile back (even if Ignis can't see it), an immense boom echos across the hall and he recoils violently. Something splatters across his face and chest, and another grazes his arm that leaves behind a burning sensation. Immediately he cries out and clutches the wound, where the skin withers away under his palm. But he forgets it all the second he looks at Ignis.

A gaping hole lies where his heart should be, with blood sputtering out and burnt flesh still dotting the edges. Ignis sways before tilting forward, and Noctis catches him as quickly as he can.

"N...No. No no no, this isn't happening. Iggy?"

Nothing. Not a whisper. His breath hitches, then again, and again, until it becomes broken and erratic. Frantically shaking Ignis only worsens the situation when he feels blood spilling onto him, and that's to say nothing of the smell. He moves back enough to see his face.

Vacant. Dead. The last bit of light left in his one eye has vanished. Everything crashes around Noctis in an incomprehensible instant. A weight like no other presses against him from all sides. It clogs up his ears, washes whiteness over his eyes, and steals away all awareness until he buries his head into Ignis's shoulder as he did a moment earlier and screams.

"A fine sacrifice for the Crystal's power, don't you agree?"

A voice appears from down the hall. Clueless to the amount of time that's passed, Noctis's fragmented breaths vibrate against Ignis's shoulder when he peers up. A figure stands at the door, now open, and it takes him some time to make sense of the silhouette through his unsteady vision.

Ardyn...?

"Come along now, Noct." He bows extravagantly and extends a hand to the path behind him, but it is the massive magitek gun laid across his chest that steals Noctis's attention. "Your destination is just ahead."

This entire time... He remembers. He's only here as a player in Ardyn's elaborate game. Up until now he had no chances to fight back, not directly. But with the man standing but a few meters from him now...

A single thought swiftly fills the expanse of Noctis's mind, allowing not even an inch of consideration for Ignis's body when it slumps to the floor without support. He doesn't feel his lungs being pushed to their limit as he sprints toward Ardyn with an animalistic roar. Slipping into the shadows of the path, all the older man offers is a wholly satisfied grin.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!!"

No matter how much he trips over his feet in the dark hallway or how his pain manifests as a constant ringing, almost screeching, in his ears—none of that matters as long as he can strangle Ardyn with his own hands.

Like a slideshow, the scenery changes in a flash. The darkness lifts so abruptly that the light momentarily blinds him. He shields his eyes with his arm and tries to get used to the brightness as fast as possible, but soon recognizes where it comes from.

The Crystal.

The luminous structure stands a few feet away and nearly three heads taller than him, and Noctis's confusion brings home a sliver of clarity. What was he doing again? Running, running... He was chasing Ardyn, wasn't he? No, he was trying to find the Crystal. Did Ardyn lead him to it?

No, he doesn't have time to ask himself all these questions. He can't hesitate here. Before Ardyn comes to ruin it all again, he needs the Crystal's power. He needs this much or everything he suffered to get here will be meaningless. Cautiously, he stretches out his hand.

Another hand snakes up to his and clasps it to prevent him from moving any further. Noctis can't hear the gasp he lets out before a voice breathes louder into his ear.

"No. Not yet."

He shoots up from his sleeping mat covered in sweat, and no matter how hard he tries he can't get his breathing to level. He coughs several times to ease his scratched throat and get some sort of rhythm back.

"...The tent?"

Then he notices the three other mats void of their occupants, and panic rises within him all over again. He can't clamber to his feet and out of the tent fast enough, but that leads to him gracefully toppling over at the entrance.

"Whoa?! What the hell, Noct?"

"That's one way to wake up."

He whips his head up and stares wide-eyed at the scene playing out in front of him. The familiar surroundings of the haven. The savory smell of breakfast, the sun warming his skin. Prompto, Gladio, Ignis, all there and all very much alive. How is this possible? No way that whole night was a dream, he remembers it too clearly for it not to be real. But here he sits, facing his friends without a scratch on any of them. Prompto is still Prompto, hand in tact and jogging toward him to see if he's alright. Gladio remains in one piece. No hole in Ignis's chest. Nothing.

Everything's fine.

He ignores Prompto's confused calls and turns right back into the tent. Caught in a frenzy, he grabs his jacket and tears the pockets apart. If it wasn't a dream, then surely—

Color drains from his face when he pulls out a leather glove, his hand quivering so much that it drops onto his knee. The soft weight is very real and he can only gape at it with fear and nausea bubbling up his throat. If he has Prompto's glove, then...

"Noct? You okay, buddy?"

He turns toward the voice and judging by Prompto's reaction, he must have startled him with the expression etched onto his face. But more importantly—he has his gloves. Both of them, firmly clasped and free of blood.

Last night...and this morning...

...are both real?

Chapter 2: luna

Chapter Text

The first thing he does is vomit. Evidently, tension and terror don't mix well on an empty stomach. Prompto, in all his delicacy, immediately calls for Ignis in hopes that he can use his super chamberlain powers to figure out what's wrong with Noctis. Ignis puts aside the matter of pinning down what constitutes as a joke from Prompto to focus on Noctis, because if falling out of the tent didn't warrant concern, this certainly does.

Once he's cleaned up and settled with a glass of water to sip at, Noctis observes his surroundings again. Ignis isn't blind anymore. Gladio's new scars are notably fresh. Prompto smiles like he hasn't experienced being pushed off a moving train. He can't help but fixate on his friend's right wrist. Prompto looks his way in that moment, making him wonder if he's been caught, but Prompto trots over none the wiser.

"I was just asking Ignis if maybe last night's dinner could've caused your stomachache. Man, the look he gave me! So how you holding up?"

He feels entirely uncomfortable, for one. No amount of nausea compares to his experience at Zegnautus Keep, and he still struggles with the fact that he most likely traveled back in time, and with taking that statement seriously. After horrifically losing each of his friends, here he is speaking to them once again as if nothing's changed. Whiplash is an understatement.

"'m fine," he lies with a shrug. "Must've ate too fast or something. Or he snuck in some greens when I wasn't looking."

"You sure? Well...we're okay if you wanna wait another day before heading to the Cape. Don't wanna be stuck on a boat for who knows how long with a stomach bug."

"...The Cape?" It takes a second to connect the dots. That's right, Cape Caem, their new destination after failing to secure a boat at Galdin Quay. After recovering the treated mythril from Lestallum, they were to return there. So if he's to buy into this bizarre time travel theory, then he came back to a point in time where they haven't sailed for Altissia yet.

Prompto nearly yelps when Noctis splashes his water everywhere from suddenly standing.

That means Luna's alive too.

"Dude, you're seriously freaking me out! What's wrong now?" Prompto asks incredulously as he picks up the fallen cup, but Noctis just stands frozen in place.

Luna's alive. His friends are alive. Did he just stumble onto an incredible opportunity here? If they've yet to go to Altissia, that means he can rescue Luna and make sure the rite goes smoothly. He can save Ignis's sight. Maybe he can even stop the Empire from burning the Fleuret manor and imprisoning Ravus. Hell, it's so much more than that. Saving Luna means preserving daylight. If he combines the Crystal's power with her strength, just as they first intended, then wouldn't they save Lucis without all the bloodshed he already experienced?

No, that way of thinking is too naive. There's Ardyn to worry about as well. He must accept that sacrifices will be made, but he also can't run around willy-nilly with no concern for the consequences, not again. If nothing else, losing his loved ones once fuels his determination to see this through. Perhaps he won't succeed, but he has to try.

Noctis turns to a confused Prompto as well as Ignis and Gladio who have noticed the commotion.

"No, let's leave right now. We can make it to the Cape by evening, right? That should give Cid the night to fix the boat."

"I believe so, but Noct—" Ignis answers with hesitation heavy in his voice, but Noctis cuts him short.

"But nothing. I'm fine. I just, uh...had a bad dream." Yeah, that'll suffice. He looks at them one by one. His friends, alive and well. He refuses to take it for granted. Before anyone can argue with him, he heads back inside the tent to pack up. He finds his jacket and Prompto's glove hidden under it. Holding it in his hands stings a bit and for a second he considers discarding it, but eventually returns it to his pocket.

The radio announcing Luna's public appearance in Altissia buzzes in Noctis's ears as he sits on the boat, still as stone with a gaze firmly set forward. Having given up on getting a word out of their prince, the other three converse amongst themselves to pass the time. They play it off well, but Noctis's uncharacteristic silence coupled with what happened yesterday morning weighs on their minds. When they saw that distant look on his face, they had a feeling this wasn't a simple case of nerves.

"Won't be much longer now, Noct."

"Huh? Oh..." He recognizes the scenery to Altissia's harbor and sits up straight. It's as eerie as he predicted to see everything unfold as they did the first time. Delivering the mythril to Cid, wishing everyone well as they left Cape Caem, the gatekeeper at Altissia asking for a permit—even the way Cid turns the boat is remarkably exact.

He knows what's at stake now. With his thoughts organized and heart steady, he's ready to tell the others the truth. While he trusts them to have his back, he won't blame them if they look at him funny once he starts going on about the absurdity that is time travel. But this is no dream, and he won't walk alone in this reality.

"Guys, over here for a sec."

After successfully making it through the entrance's final checkpoint, Noctis pulls them all into a relatively private corner of the street. If he has to wait until they check in at the Leville, he might actually explode from impatience.

"This is gonna sound insane, but you need to listen and trust me. I swear this isn't a joke and I'm not trying to back out of anything." He looks at Gladio in particular. Prompto will probably believe him, and Ignis may have some trouble but ultimately accept it, but Gladio's the group's skeptic. That just means everything will be fine once he convinces his hefty bodyguard.

"O...kay? What's up?" asks Prompto. After Noctis's behavior on the ship, the other three exchange rightfully concerned glances.

"I'm still not sure exactly how it happened, but I went back in time. I've already been in Altissia and I know what happens. It's not good, but we can change it this time. I really think we can, as long as we do things right. Because whatever the hell we did before didn't work."

Fingers twisting the strands of hair at his neck, he pauses to gauge their reactions—all varying degrees of perplexity. About what he expected.

"Before you call me crazy, listen. I get the blessing, but Luna, she...she dies in the middle of it all. Killed by Ardyn. Ignis gets hurt somehow and goes blind. Then when we reach Niflheim, we get separated from Prompto because...because of something stupid I did. But that's not the worst of it. Because Luna's not around to fix the Scourge, the nights keep getting longer, and longer nights mean more daemons. We end up going to Gralea where the Crystal's supposed to be, but we only went because Ardyn baited us into it. Saying that it can get rid of daemons and that Prompto was there. I'm thinking we stay away from Niflheim for now, figure out another way, but we can talk about that later."

He pauses again for a breath. Now it gets hard. No amount of mental rehearsal makes it easier to turn bad memories into words.

"So we get there, and..." He brushes against the fabric of Prompto's glove in his pocket the same moment its owner speaks up.

"What the hell are you going on about?"

A sting like static shock forces his hand away before he can pull out the glove, quickly forgotten when he stares at the others. Prompto regards Noctis with a suspicious squint, pulling in his shoulders as if reeling away from something vulgar. Ignis follows closely behind with his arms folded across his chest and a narrowed gaze. And Gladio looks outright pissed.

"That's seriously messed up, man," Prompto continues.

"You're nothing but excuses, aren't you?" Gladio points his chin forward in a show of distaste. "When are you gonna grow the hell up?"

His head jerks back out of sheer confusion. Okay, they're upset. But aren't they...being a little too dramatic?

"You didn't let me fini—"

"You wanna scare us off from the mission? Try to worm your way out of your responsibilities?" Gladio spits, eyes shining with a film of quiet anger he's never seen before.

"Wh—no! What're you even talking about?!" They're not making any sense! "Didn't you hear me? I'm trying to warn you guys. We should do things right this time!"

"'We' haven't done anything yet. Just sounds like you had a creepy nightmare," says Prompto, his lips curling into a frown. "Time travel's one thing, but like, Iggy going blind? You ditch me somewhere? Damn, dude."

"Imaginative, if nothing else," Ignis sighs. Ignis, who should be the voice of reason. But the way his eyes shimmer under the shadow of his glasses gives Noctis no comfort. It twists his stomach into knots, painful and setting off alarm bells.

"I just—" He opens his mouth to tell them. But his throat seals up, lips drying when nothing but his breath comes out. Only when he snaps his jaw shut do the bells cease their ringing. Something's wrong. He tries to speak again, to shout some sense into his friends. He blinks—

"Noct! Hurry up, you're gonna get lost."

Nearly tripping over himself to turn around, he sees his friends behind him now. Prompto waves a hand after noticing he'd been dragging his feet.

Wait, dragging his feet? Wasn't he just talking to them across the street?

...Was it a daydream? The unease settled in his gut has him second-guessing himself. But it had to have been. The guys would never react like that even in the worst of situations. He should take a page out of Prompto's book and practice a bit of optimism.

"Guys, I need to tell you something!" He jogs over and pulls them to the side again. Maybe he needs to ease them into it.

His boots scuff against Altissia's cobblestone streets, but no one notices him lagging behind his friends in the hustle and bustle. Noctis himself doesn't care, lost in the tumult of his mind.

He couldn't tell them. He physically couldn't. No matter what combination of words he used to speak the truth, it would always elicit a vicious, almost repulsed reaction from the other three. And each conversation felt like a dream, a made-up scenario in his mind like he'd been reduced to an overanxious mess. He would blink and everything would return to normal, but with his friends no wiser.

So he gives up. He tells himself he's tired, stressed. That maybe this entire venture is an illusion and he'll wake up back in the Keep with the Crystal at arm's reach. How else can he make sense of what just happened? This simply means he's on his own for a while. He resolves to tell the guys the truth, just...not now.

Regardless of how he feels, they have business to attend to, next of which involves securing their lodgings. He has to play off finding Maagho so quickly as a stroke of luck, but it reminds him not to be visibly prophetic. When Camelia arrives at Maagho to greet the party, Noctis shrugs off the remnants of his anxiety and faces her with a sophistication that impresses even Gladio. No time to deny his family roots anymore, and her cooperation will save Luna and the city. It must have worked to some degree as Camelia extends her invitation for talks with a more favorable tone than before.

"Whoa," Prompto exclaims after the First Secretary takes her leave. "Where did super dignified King Noctis come from?"

The super dignified king squints. "He's always been here."

Gladio snorts. "Oh please, you totally pulled that out of your ass. Good job though, 'cause it looks like it worked. About time, too. She didn't seem the type of lady to lower herself down to a brat's level."

"This brat is doing just fine, thanks. And you're overreacting."

Ignis nods along with the others. "Not at all. Our operations in Altissia hinge on having the Secretary's confidence. I believe you've come close to accomplishing that."

"Now you're really overreacting. You guys realize we haven't actually started the talks yet, right?" Noctis frowns self-consciously. The praise is nice but is it really so strange that he be an adult once in a while?

...Who is he kidding, of course it's strange.

"Do we have an agreement?"

Coming into the talks, Noctis contemplated a variety of ways to maneuver the conversation in his favor. He considered asking for Luna to be brought into his custody, refusing his companions to be involved in the evacuation effort, and even warning Camelia of Ardyn's true nature and intentions. But he didn't want to shake the boat so much that he could no longer control the situation, so ultimately he lets it play out the same way. The impending battle with Leviathan will already be the epitome of chaos, he won't purposely stack up additional burdens. He nods and, this time, extends his hand to Camelia first.

"We do."

He returns to the inn and throws his heavy body back onto the bed, legs dangling off the side. Someone plops down next to him and he cracks an eye open to see Prompto.

"Let's check out the city! Might be our last chance before the rite."

Prompto doesn't know how right he is. Still, Noctis groans and closes his eyes again.

"I'm good."

"You'll miss out on the sights," says Ignis before heading for the door. "Perhaps you have enough energy to join me in restocking our supplies?" After another groan, Noctis feels the extra weight disappear from the bed.

"I'll go. Don't you whine to us later."

"Like princess here needs a reason to complain," Gladio chimes in from the other end of the room, long legs draped over the bed and arms crossed behind his head. He grins as he practically feels Noctis rolling his eyes.

After the voices disappear into the hall, Noctis sits up. They're almost too easy to manipulate, but he's glad he didn't have to do any added work to get Ignis and Prompto to leave the room.

"Gladio."

"Hrrm?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

Gladio looks over. Yet another instance of Noctis acting out of character. While he may not pay it as much attention as the other two, he doesn't brush it aside.

"Yeah?"

Noctis slouches as he links his fingers together and for a few moments just twists them together in thought. Thankfully, Gladio waits.

"I need you to look out for Prompto and Ignis."

"You don't need to cash one in for that. What's up?" He sits up and raises a brow. As both his job and desire are to protect, he doesn't know how this qualifies as a favor.

"Nothing really, just... We don't know how things will go down tomorrow. You saw how well it went with Titan. You guys might be separated in the mess, but I gotta focus on Leviathan. We don't know what the Empire will try, just that they'll try something."

Gladio's gaze grows serious. Nothing wrong with showing concern, but it certainly isn't Noctis's style to express it in so many words. Or any words.

"I dunno, I guess I'm..." Noctis continues, oblivious. "Taking down as many Imperials as we can is important, but try not to go down with them. Alright?" He picks his head up to look at Gladio now, not thrown off to see him looking back. Gladio may be his only hope in keeping everyone safe. He regrets not finding the strength to ask what happened to make Ignis incur such a debilitating injury, but since he doesn't know what exactly to look out for, he needs someone to simply look out for everything.

"You expecting one of us to screw up?" The question comes accusingly and Noctis doesn't blame him. He shrugs a little and answers quietly and, more importantly, honestly.

"Yeah."

Gladio obviously doesn't like that, but Noctis sounds so dejected that he guesses a reasoning sits behind his pessimism. A stupid reasoning, no doubt, but.

"Prompto's already extra careful. He hangs back on instinct. Always going on about whether this is safe or that we should turn back or that we're all gonna get trapped in a cave and then have to eat each other to survive." He says that, but he hasn't forgotten how it was Prompto who went after Noctis to fly him closer to Leviathan. And if he does so again, Noctis will have an additional task to keep him busy. "And I know Ignis can handle things on his own, but he's at his best when he's backing us up. I'm worried he'll try to take on more than he can chew once he has less people to look out for. Plus he has a habit of overthinking things. Well, maybe not in battle, but anything can happen out there—"

"Basically, you don't want us trying to be heroes?" Gladio interrupts.

"...Pretty much." A long silence follows, but eventually Gladio falls back down onto the bed.

"Done. Doesn't make up for doubting us, but I don't blame you for being uneasy." Noctis's face scrunches up, unsure he got his urgency across, but Gladio interrupts again. "Maybe when this is all over, you can tell us what the hell's going on with you. Acting like a proper king one second, then pulling this stunt the next."

Noctis frowns. "I do trust you guys—"

"But you're just asking for a favor?" Gladio glances at him knowingly. He can't help a wince.

"Right."

On the gondola ride to the where the citizens await the Oracle's speech, Noctis and company review the battle plan. Noctis is to focus on receiving Leviathan's blessing. The others will combat the Empire's forces after evacuating the citizens, and assist the goddess so that she won't fall before Noctis completes the covenant.

It's a good plan. It's a plan that would've worked the first time if he wasn't caught off guard by the true might of the Hydraean or by Ardyn's meddling. But he knows now to remain vigilant.

As he thought, Imperial soldiers still guard Luna while she delivers her speech. It would only take a few paces to touch her. He could force his way through to follow her to the altar, but with the Empire's ships just moments away from descending upon them, he can't guarantee she won't be caught in the crossfire. For now, he needs to focus on clearing out the Hydraean's threats. Noctis slashes through them with practiced movements, checks in with the other three often, and makes sure to keep the ceremonial altar in his sights. Luna holds her own as he knows she will, but that doesn't make it easier to stomach the sight of the Astral colliding with the altar.

"Noct, jump!"

"Right on time," Noctis laughs humorlessly to himself before sprinting over the edge of the vantage point with no hesitation. Prompto's there to catch him aboard the Niflheim harpoon, though no amount of preparation can keep Noctis from holding on for dear life.

"Sweet ride, huh!"

"Brag later!"

He trusts Prompto to navigate through the barrage of Leviathan's water dragons while he concentrates on protecting their rear. They clear the way to her, but that's not where Noctis wants to go.

"Head for the altar!"

"What?!" Prompto shouts, obviously bewildered.

"The altar, we gotta get to Luna!"

"What about Leviathan? You won't reach her from there!"

"Just trust me!" He knows how he must sound from Prompto's perspective, but he swears he'll make this work. "I have a plan."

"Oh god, you totally jinxed it."

"Would you just go?!"

With an exasperated cry, he maneuvers the magitek as best he can toward their new destination. They narrowly avoid the debris from crumbling buildings to lock onto a straight shot to the altar, but right past the rubble comes the face of a water spout Prompto can't evade fast enough. It thrashes against the harpoon and sends them spinning out of control, and they both quickly see what that means.

"I swear to god, Prompto—"

"You jinxed it!!"

Screaming in sync, they barrel toward the altar at a frightening speed. Prompto miraculously manages to skid across the stone without totaling the harpoon, but they do gracelessly topple off of it. Noctis succeeds in not rolling off the edge into the sea, and Prompto luckily smacks right into a pillar.

"Uugh..." He pushes himself up with a groan. Everything spins and he tells himself not to goddamn throw up here, though he definitely feels the throbbing pain all over his body. At least he didn't crack his skull open.

"Noctis?!"

He turns to the voice and his eyes widen at the near-blinding view of Luna standing at arm's length. He forgets all his aches to scramble to his feet as quickly as humanly possible, but his jaw slackens when the words fail to leave his mouth. She's so close.

Hastily giving up on remembering how to talk to girls, he instead searches for his friend.

"Prompto! You good?"

"Still alive...!" Crawling up to sit on all fours, he responds with a shaky thumbs up. And with the harpoon still in one piece, Noctis considers that a victory. He doesn't have much time to spare, so being awestruck by Luna and thanking Prompto for his ridiculous piloting skills can come later.

"I need you to get that thing running again, buddy. Luna!" He closes the distance between them and claps his hands on her shoulders, startling the already baffled Oracle. Better she be confused than dead. Leviathan roars behind them as an immense wave begins to form around them, stealing away Luna's attention for a second.

"You'll be killed if you stay here. You forged the pact, right?!"

"I—" she stutters, not yet finding her voice, but the urgency in Noctis's eyes forces her to put aside her questions. Her expression quickly shifts to match his. "I did."

He nods. "Then it's my turn. But I can't defeat her without the power of the past kings." He pauses, realizing for the first time the fairly cheap tactic to earn the blessing. His memory may be hazy but he's pretty sure Luna only appealed for that power after seeing Noctis fail once. But that power is rightfully his anyway, and he can't defeat Leviathan on his own. Pride has no value right now.

"...Please. I need your help." He stares at Luna, and in his eyes she sees the conviction she promised Leviathan the Chosen One would prove to her. She nods and grips her trident in one hand while the other reaches up to touch his. Something slips into his palm.

"You will always have it, Noctis."

A relieved smile crosses his lips before he steps back. Luna briefly returns the smile, then turns to face Leviathan just as she lunges forth to swallow them whole. A brilliant flash of light blinds them all and Leviathan jerks away with a shrill cry. Luna brandishes the trident with an intensity to strike Noctis speechless. In that opening, she sets the staff in front of her and concentrates. It slowly shines gold and Noctis senses the air almost physically change. He glances back at Prompto to see him getting on the magitek again. No sign of Ardyn yet. He can do this.

"Prompto," he calls out while the souls of the Lucis kings begin to skate around him, like fireflies bleeding their light. "Take Luna and join the other evacuees. Try to find Iggy and Gladio if you can, but stay out of the Empire's sight."

They have absolutely no idea what he's talking about, and while Luna can't spare a word yet, Prompto does for them both.

"That's your plan?! I almost got us killed on this thing, Noct! You seriously expect me to let her ride along?" He's scared for Luna, of course, and Noctis understands. He only has a few seconds left but he'll be damned if he doesn't say this much.

"I trust you, Prompto. No matter what."

Prompto can be shocked all he wants as long as he fulfills Noctis's plea. Meanwhile, the trident melts from Luna's hands into a final ribbon of light to sail into Noctis's body, after which he immediately pulls Luna toward the harpoon.

"Luna, Prompto. Prompto, Luna. You can trust him, so get out of here and don't do anything stupid. And hold on really tight."

"Noctis, what on—"

"I promise I'll explain everything later! Please, just..."

"Oh cra—behind you!!"

Prompto's cry comes right on time as Noctis turns and hurriedly parries an attack from Leviathan, at the expense of fearing his arm might snap out from its socket. Seems she doesn't care much for being ignored. Behind the attack comes the massive wave that they have no hope of dodging if they don't get moving now.

"Go, go!" He all but shoves Luna toward Prompto, who has no choice but to fumble her up onto the magitek and push off. Noctis warps out of the way at the last second and hovers in the sky to find the red fire of the harpoon flying away from the arena. With renewed morale, the prince charges the Astral.

Knowing her movements and strategy doesn't change the fact that she is a goddess, but though he struggles, he does much better this time around. With time, effort, and diligence, his victory lies but a breath away. He throws all his weight into a volley of attacks that collides with the Hydraean head-on. Anticipating the explosion, he warps a great distance back and waits for the smoke to clear before diving back in to land the killing blow. Blade poised in his hands, he stabs into her flesh and tears her open down to her very core. A thundering howl overflows the field in tune to the water pouring from Leviathan's wound.

She doesn't fall, however. Here, his memory of his previous battle ends. According to the testimonies back then, Titan manifested to defeat Leviathan and Luna's body was lost to the sea. He does recall being sapped of his energy, but oddly, this time he feels more invigorated than ever.

"I'm ready for more if you are! Or else let the covenant be forged now!"

Ignoring her injuries, Leviathan cries out and launches at Noctis once more, but he throws her off with a growl and projects a voice even a god can't ignore.

"You know what's at stake! I need your power!" His fists clench. "I'm begging you. I'm no King without it."

Prepared for another round, Noctis is amazed when the Hydraean stills. She asked for a fight, got one, and lost, so he really counted on her having some sense of honor to see her promise through. Still, and maybe this is because he didn't go into this battle blind, but part of him feels the goddess complied a little too easily.

The familiar light of the blessing surrounds him, while the walls of the whirlpool gradually wither away along with Leviathan's ferocity. She looms over him and though he can't decipher her words, he senses she burdens him with even heavier expectations than Titan's. Fine, bring it on.

After flying down to what remains of the altar, Noctis stumbles a bit before falling onto a knee. It must've been adrenaline fueling him until now. He attempts to control his breathing, but when he looks up and sees who casually strides toward him, his breath stops completely.

"Truly a moving performance. Why not sit back, rest your body?" Ardyn smiles leisurely to match his pace, but his features soon twist into the condescending grin Noctis despises. "Coming to the Oracle's aid like that... Very impressive."

All he sees is the man who blasted Ignis's heart out of his chest, and the rage erupts within him.

"I'm not here to impress you!" he snarls before lunging for Ardyn, but the elder man effortlessly sidesteps out of the way. Noctis immediately spins to throw his fist at Ardyn's face, but that too is evaded with ease. He trips, and Ardyn takes that chance to grab and crush Noctis's throat, relishing in the strangled noises leaving his lips. Noctis claws at his hands, but as if he can't feel it, Ardyn pushes him onto his knees and overshadows him with that same smile. Whatever amusem*nt he takes from the fact that Noctis prevented him from killing Luna as he surely intended, Noctis doesn't know. He sees Ardyn's lips move but the howling winds around them swallow his voice.

Unable to breathe, Noctis's consciousness fades.

He wakes to a familiar ceiling spanning its decorative marble across his vision. Grumbling, he turns onto his stomach under the bedsheets and reluctantly pushes up on his arms. Then he remembers Ardyn and immediately rubs at his throat, only to note the absent pain from being strangled.

"Oh, thank goodness! You're awake."

Startled, he glances over his shoulder to see Luna standing from a chair as she presses her hands on the bed to try and get a better look at him.

"Do be careful. We've healed your injuries, but you—"

"Aah!"

With a humiliating yelp, Noctis tries to back away and simply succeeds in falling over the bed. Luna lets out a surprised gasp of her own and quickly rounds the bed. He struggles to untangle himself from the heavy bedsheets and soon emerges with a huff. Luna sits on her knees in front of him, hands outstretched and ready to help.

"Are you all right?!"

"Fine!" He stumbles back onto his hands. "I mean, I'm fine. Just...surprised."

"Goodness..." Luna, naturally, wouldn't understand why he'd be shocked to see a young woman at his bedside first thing after waking up, and he doesn't want her to. While Noctis shifts into a seated position, Luna chuckles softly, and he looks up when she pats down his tousled hair.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Forgive me. Did you hurt yourself?"

"Uh, no...I'm good."

The initial shock dying down, now he sits in awe. Luna's alive. Right in front of him. Talking, smiling, fingers in his hair. The well-known weight of anxiety settles in his stomach, but he can deal with it. Did he finally do something right?

A quiet gasp leaves Luna's lips when Noctis embraces her. Her skin is like silk warmed under the sun and her hair tickles his cheeks. He breathes in and nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, basking in her oceanic scent. As if she might melt away if he lets go, he squeezes tightly, desperately.

"Luna..."

The most fragile whisper floats into her ear, and she can't bear to move for fear of hurting him. Eventually he pulls back enough to look at her. With hands trembling, he brushes his fingertips over her cheeks and waits to see if she'll allow him to continue. She makes no refusal, so he holds her face like he touches delicate glass and presses their foreheads together. Luna moves then, placing her own hands over his. While Noctis hasn't felt anything softer, Luna feels the rough, calloused skin of a battle-worn young man. To think his hands were once smaller than hers. But she wouldn't trade this sensation for any other.

They aren't children anymore. They can no longer return to the simpler days of the past. Dreams of a life together are nothing but that now. Their fate cannot be avoided and she has long since prepared for the day. But when Noctis bares himself before her like this, all she wants is to save him from it.

Having embarrassed himself doubly, Noctis stands self-consciously across from Luna. After insisting he didn't need any more bed rest, he moves onto other matters.

"Are the others okay? Are they hurt?"

"Your companions are fine. A fair share of cuts and bruises, but not enough to batter their spirits."

His eyes widen before a comforted smile spreads on his face. Ignis is okay. They all are. He runs his hands through his hair and exhales loudly before continuing.

"Good... I, uh, I'm sorry I pushed you around like that at the altar. My head was a mess and that was the best thing I could come up with. I'm just glad you made it."

Luna shakes her head. "Please, don't apologize. I admit you surprised me, but it was your determination that struck me. I am only relieved that the goddess could see in you what I promised her."

Noctis's lip curve up awkwardly. He doesn't feel like he accomplished much yet, not until he's back home sitting on the throne. But he's grateful nonetheless.

"So, I have another request...will you hear me out? he asks, cautiously peering at Luna. She nods without hesitation.

"Of course, Noctis. What is it?"

"I want you to come with me. To Gralea. The Crystal is there, and there are a few other stops we gotta make along the way, but the capital is our new goal."

"You know where the Crystal is being kept?" Luna asks, perplexed by this sudden burst of information.

"Yeah. I'll explain when we meet the others. But you can't stay here. ...I mean, I don't want you to stay here. Not when you're surrounded by Imperial forces."

"...I am not certain I should accompany you." Lacing her fingers together, Luna seems restless. "It is true I am no longer welcome in Altissia, but I would be nothing but a burden on your travels."

Noctis has patience. He knows Luna forces herself. A burden? Please. Luna made it out of Insomnia, roused the Six for his cause, and made it all the way here to deliver the Ring to him. She's tougher than he'll ever be.

"Do you think that because of what the covenants are you doing to you?"

Luna flinches, but Noctis persists and steps forward to take her hands into his. "Yeah, I know about that too. I won't tell the others, and I won't tell you to stop either. I'm the last person who should. You gave me the Ring but that doesn't mean we have to be separated again. I want to protect you, I need—" He pauses with a breath, struggling. "...I need you with me. Not because you're the Oracle, but because..."

"Noctis..." She lowers her gaze and grips his hands gently. He sees her shoulders trembling a little, just as they did in the vision he had of her in the fields of sylleblossoms. He has a chance now to answer the pleas she cried out then.

"I wanted to hear your voice for the longest time. Not on TV or the radio, but in person." He moves closer and brings their clasped hands to his chest. "You just... You've done so much for me already. Give me a chance to do something for you instead."

Luna lifts her head and they watch each other for a long, quiet time before her voice breaks the silence.

"...Is it all right? Is it not too much to wish for?"

Noctis finds the strength to smile for her.

"Won't need the notebook anymore, so as long as that's okay with you, then yeah."

The faint, choked giggle he hears makes up for everything.

Chapter 3: luna

Chapter Text

"Lady Lunafreya? It's Ignis."

Noctis offers to open the door himself. Ignis, along with Prompto and Gladio behind him, express their surprise in seeing him in their own ways.

"You're up!" Prompto exclaims.

After looking them all over, a comforted smile spreads on Noctis's face. "Yeah," he breathes out steadily, then steps back to allow them in. Ignis and Luna exchange polite bows. "Woke up a second ago. I was just asking Luna what happened."

Prompto claps Noctis's back a few times. "More like we want to ask you what happened."

"Yeah, yeah." He did kind of promise to.

Gladio lingers at the door when he and Noctis catch gazes. For all four of them to be standing here proves he kept his word, and Noctis hopes his gratitude comes across in the silence. Even if they were alone, he probably wouldn't be able to show just how thankful he is. He may know the words, but they're persistently stuck in his heart.

After sharing information with each other, Noctis learns the citizens were successfully evacuated and the damage to the city is significantly less than he remembers. He also learns that these are Camelia's lodgings, so they're temporarily safe from the Empire. When confronted with questions about his actions at the altar, Noctis amounts it to a simple whim that happened to pay off, that he expected the battle to get messy and wanted Luna out of there before it was too late. With some uncertainty (and plenty of whining from Prompto), they buy it.

"Do they know Luna's here?"

"Yes," Ignis answers, "but the First Secretary has agreed to shelter her until we had a chance to formulate a plan with you. She cannot stay here long."

Even more reason to take her with them.

"Then let's figure it out. We need to get to Niflheim. There's still two more Astrals, not to mention the last royal tomb Cor talked about. It's around an old mine, Cartanica I think?"

Ignis nods, impressed with Noctis's initiative. "Very good, Noct, that's correct. We will have to cross the sea and then continue by train. The trek will be long and quite likely dangerous."

"The Glacian's up next, yeah?" Gladio chimes in. "But the Empire took care of her years ago. Apparently her corpse's laying around the desert plains near Gralea."

"But can the Astrals even die? I mean, aren't they gods?" Prompto asks.

Noctis crosses his arms in thought. There's no doubt Shiva's corpse rests in the desert, but there's also no denying Shiva is Gentiana's true form and very much alive. He won't pretend to understand the details, but what troubles him is that Gentiana only revealed herself after Luna's death. Why wait so long if she's been in their lives this whole time?

"The Glacian lives." Everyone turns their eyes to Luna, who speaks calmly. "And she will lend you her blessing, Noctis. I promise you."

But the time has not yet come. The words go unsaid but Noctis takes a good guess. So Luna knew who Gentiana really was. That's concerning all on its own.

"...Alright. We'll have to—" he starts, then feigns doubt so that he doesn't appear a sudden expert in Niflheim geography, "—uh, probably cross the desert anyway if we want to make it to the Imperial capital. Maybe we'll find clues there."

"Uh, what? Why are we going to the capital again?" Prompto raises a brow at him. Noctis planned his explanation earlier, though that doesn't make it easier to stomach. Clenching his fists, he answers in a low voice.

"Ardyn told me." He continues before anyone can get too alarmed. "I met him after the battle. Or more like he found me. He mentioned the Crystal's locked away in some lab, Zegnautus Keep. It's in the capital, so I figured that should be our ultimate destination. And I have a theory. Dad used the Crystal to protect Insomnia, so it might be related to keeping the daemons at bay. We won't know for sure until we find it, but—" He slowly reaches into his pocket to reveal what Luna slipped to him at the altar: the Ring.

"Combined with this, we'd have a fighting chance." He turns to Luna with a solemn expression and quiet voice. "Thanks. It must've been hard to get this to me. I'll take care of it." And Luna smiles back, relieved to have finally completed her mission.

"We're trusting that guy now? Throwing convenient clues our way because he feels like it?" Gladio grunts as he places his hands on his hips. Ignis contemplates a little longer while Prompto pipes up.

"He screams shady old man, but he hasn't really lied to us yet...I think? He did save us back at the Disc. Maybe he's willing to help us out."

Noctis can taste the bile in the back of his throat. Having to rely on Ardyn physically makes him sick, because after everything he did to him and to his friends, it's clear he absolutely does not stand on their side. But he can't prove that now, and ironically, relying on Ardyn is the only way he can naturally maneuver the party to the capital.

"What do you say, Ignis?"

Ignis meets Noctis's eyes. "The route may be guarded by Imperial forces. But until we hear a better plan, I believe it's a risk worth taking. It's the only lead we have at the moment." He nods. "If this is what you want to do, then we're right behind you."

"Uh, hey," Prompto cuts in, tone laced with concern. "Quick question. Are we taking Lady Lunafreya with us, or...?"

"Yeah, she's coming."

"Are you nuts?" Gladio quickly objects. "Dragging the Oracle through enemy territory isn't what I call a good idea. Especially when she's the target."

"W-Well, wait, let's hear him out! You got a plan, right? Something better than your last one, hopefully?"

"She's not safe here!" Noctis challenges. "You heard Camelia, they're done protecting her. We may as well hand her over to the Empire ourselves if we're just gonna leave her here."

"And who's going to watch her back? You?"

"Obviously. How is that even a question?"

"Gentleman, why not ask Lady Lunafreya herself for her opinion?"

Luna's shoulders straighten when the conversation focuses on her, and she readily lends her voice. "If you will have me, I ask that I accompany you." She looks at Noctis as she continues. "To stand beside you."

Silence lingers for a few seconds before Gladio interrupts it.

"Can you fight?"

"I can try."

Noctis frowns at his tone, but Luna pays it no mind. Gladio's brow twists skeptically and for a moment no one knows what to say.

"We already talked about it. She knows what's coming, and I will watch her back," Noctis says pointedly to Gladio. "Don't underestimate her."

Prompto interjects, "You didn't see her with Leviathan, Gladio. She was pretty badass." He gives Luna a lopsided smile. "Don't know how much good it'll do, but you can count on me too."

Gladio narrows his eyes while Ignis sighs.

"You're adamant about this. There's no changing your mind?"

"Not this time."

"More like every time," Gladio mutters loudly enough for the two to throw glares at each other.

The first step is to sneak Luna out of Altissia. Camelia arranges for the Regalia to be loaded onto a passenger-less train bound for the capital (for a price, but worth paying), so all they have to do is sail for the Niflheim continent. Time passes, and they stop at Cartanica to visit the royal tomb. His memories of this place are some of his worst, so to not have to experience an injured Ignis bumbling over every step or Gladio snarking at him comes as a bigger relief than anticipated. And Luna proves herself more durable than she looks, not minding the trek through the rough environment.

With the last Royal Arm and eventually the Glacian's blessing successfully in his arsenal, they continue on. Noctis remains on edge the entire time as he awaits signs of Ardyn's magic, but they never come. He even suspects the chancellor may already be masquerading as one of his friends, but none of them act out of place. He should be happy, right? They don't need Ardyn's intervention when the Empire's forces might descend upon the train at any moment.

Did saving Luna stop the domino effect of tragedy? As if things could work out that perfectly. But he hasn't heard any reports on the radio about their 'deaths,' or Ravus's defeat in Altissia for not felling the Hydraean. With the Oracle's powers, daylight persists as well, so there are no talks of longer nights or an increase in daemon activity. Does the Empire even know where they are? Is it because they're moving forward weeks earlier than last time?

He breathes out in frustration before curling forward in his seat and covering his face with his hands. To hope for the best while expecting the worst messes with his head. At that moment, someone plops down next to him and the sound alone lets him know it's Gladio. They buried the hatchet about Luna a few days ago, so he doesn't mind his presence.

"Where's Luna?" Noctis mumbles into his hands.

"Nice to see you too." An idle groan from his friend brings a lazy smile to Gladio's face before he continues. "Relax. Iggy and Prompto are keeping her company. What else are they supposed to do when you suddenly leave the car like that?"

"Yeah, I know... Just needed to think."

"Getting anything done down there?"

"Mhm." He exhales through his fingers before pushing himself upright, collapsing against the back of the seat. "Not really."

"There's this thing called confiding in your friends. Should give it a try."

"Coming from Mr. Got My Own Business To Deal With, that's not all that convincing."

Gladio snorts and shrugs, as much as an agreement he'll offer. A quiet passes between them.

"You've been on edge ever since Cape Caem, and we all know by now it's not just nerves. At first I thought you were losing a grip on things—" Noctis's heart tightens in recalling a particularly nasty memory on a train. "—but it turned out to be the opposite. Taking initiative, worrying for the rest of us. Remembering your duty and ready to tackle it head-on. I'm not complaining. It's about time. But." Noctis glances over to see Gladio looking right back. "Something's wrong, isn't it."

He presses his lips tightly together. Should he tell them after all...? No, not if he wants to experience Altissia all over again. Even if he could get the words out without worrying about hallucinations, he has to get things under control first. And if he can't do something that simple, then he really has no business trying to be king.

"I'll get over it."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I haven't forgotten what we're here for. As long as I keep my head on straight, it's fine. Like you said, it's about time."

Gladio should be happy to hear that. He distinctly remembers being tossed around by his Shield after Luna's death. The words spoken then still linger in his mind, even torment him on tougher days, but they serve as a reminder of his responsibilities. But all he hears is a sigh.

"Still not ready to tell us. Fine, but remember what you promised back in Altissia. I expect an explanation one of these days."

Noctis frowns. Gladio should be soaring with pride.

"I didn't actually promise..."

"No, you did," he says forcefully, "and I won't let you forget it. So—" He reaches over to pat Noctis's shoulder. "don't wear yourself too thin. Didn't I tell you to not to rush ahead on your own?"

The hand on his shoulder weighs heavier than expected and not because of its size. He doesn't know what to think now and his brief silence shows that.

"When...?"

"Back at the Disc. It wasn't that long ago."

It has been for Noctis, but he does remember after some thought.

"Nah, I remember. You have a bad habit of manhandling your king."

"Someone's gotta toughen you up," Gladio says with a smirk before giving Noctis's shoulder another good clap. "C'mon, let's get back."

Noctis forces himself to stand up after a few seconds. It's not like he wants Gladio yelling at him, but not being yelled at feels weird in its own right.

They return to the previous train car to find Luna and Prompto seated next to each other, and Ignis on the opposite side. Noticing the former two huddled up closely, Noctis frowns and soon sees that Prompto has his camera out. Showing off his photos?

"Oh man, I remember this. He was trying so hard to show off, which usually means he's about to get his ass—aaaaassumptions. Overturned. Because, y'know. He was over-confident?"

"Remarkable."

"Shh!"

"...What the hell are you doing?"

The three of them look up to find Noctis and Gladio strolling toward them. Gladio joins Ignis and Noctis strides over to see what's got Luna chuckling, but Prompto yanks the camera away.

"This is for Lady Lunafreya's eyes only!"

"Since when?" He squints. "Exactly which pictures are you showing her...?"

"The highest quality ones, obviously. For a high quality lady." That wouldn't be so questionable if not for Prompto's obviously suspicious smile.

"You have that look on your face you get when Ignis catches you snacking before dinner."

"That has nothing to do with anything right now!" Prompto yelps.

"They've mostly been photos of you, Noct," Ignis comments. "Prompto's gathered quite the collection."

"Don't make it sound weird. Remember I said I wanted to show Lady Lunafreya these pictures? I thought now was as good a chance as any. And they're pictures of all of us, okay?"

Noctis can only scowl for so long with Luna casting a warm smile at everyone, somehow enjoying this pointless banter. He relents and sits across from the pair, resting his chin in his palm.

"Fine, don't let me stop you," he says pointedly, causing Prompto to push his lips out and declare he'll do just that. Their idle conversation distracts him for the rest of their journey. With his friends' comforting chatter and Luna's mere presence, he basks in the temporary reprieve.

They don't stop in Tenebrae. The Empire, eerily, isn't there. Both the people and the Fleuret manor are unharmed, but that means there's no reason to stop. Just one more avoided tragedy to add to the list. He feels the irony when he's the one to suggest they continue, arguing that this would be the first place Imperial forces would search for Luna. The boys leave it to the Oracle to decide their course. Patiently, though with a heavy heart, she agrees to press on.

Together they formulate a plan for when they reach the capital. Noctis expects Gralea to be void of life as its people should already be infected by the Scourge let loose by the Keep's failed experiments, and that much holds true. But because they still have daylight, they are afforded a brief respite. This makes sneaking into the Keep easier, as is deciding what to do with Luna. With her input, they ultimately decide that merely being in Niflheim puts both her and Noctis in constant danger, and the safest place remains at their sides.

The empty city doesn't escape his retainers' attention and he doesn't fault them for thinking they've fallen into a trap. At one point Noctis idly thinks about Ravus, wondering where he is and if he stole away the commander's chance to communicate with his sister. Noctis also keeps checking in on Prompto, having noticed no significant change in his behavior even after entering Gralea. But he doesn't need a reason to help see him through this so they can have a proper talk about Prompto's supposed origins. Getting through the Keep will be as strenuous as clearing out any Imperial fortress, but they've had practice.

He knew things had been too easy. After making a good dent in the Imperial forces, a blackout suddenly descends upon them with chaos instantly following. Now they must fight hordes of daemons as well, the timing of it all too perfect to be a coincidence. Had they been expected? Had Ardyn been following them this entire time and warned the Empire? How?

With an irritated growl, Noctis slams down another MT before rushing down the cleared path. They're all still in good shape and Luna faithfully keeps them healed (Noctis couldn't stress enough the importance of supplies before going in), but they seem to get ambushed every five seconds and it pisses him off enough to make him consider using the Ring.

Then Ignis disappears.

He notices it when his call for backup goes unanswered. Searching around wildly allows a daemon to sneak up on him, but Gladio splits it in two with a swing of his sword.

"Pay attention!"

"Where's Ignis?!"

Gladio sweeps the field and his tone quickly sobers. "Can't see him."

Even after making sure Prompto and Luna are safe, Noctis's first inclination is to panic. "We gotta find him!"

Gladio suddenly shoves Noctis out of the way to parry a MT, with a shot from Prompto finishing it off.

"Stay alive first!"

He huffs in frustration but does just that. After clearing out the forces, they check the area and call out for Ignis. Every second that passes without a response sinks in his stomach like a rock, but eventually Gladio urges them to continue. They may catch up with him later, he insists. Noctis only accepts that outwardly.

Knowing their target is the central elevator, Noctis does his best to lead them there without outright saying he knows the way, while they tackle their foes and search for Ignis. But it comes easier than expected because magitek soldiers and daemons only appear to be pouring in from all paths except those which lead to the elevator. The sinking feeling in his stomach gets worse.

They soon reach a familiar platform where Noctis breathes a sigh of relief. Prompto comments on the oddity of the elevator's lights shining amidst the blackout, but before they can discuss it further, another ambush sets upon them. They hold their own but Ignis's absence has obviously weakened them. With each swing of his weapon, another terrible theory of what could've happened fills Noctis's head. If this really is somehow Ardyn's doing, he'll tear that conceited face of his into pieces.

"How we doing, Gladio?"

"How do you think?" he answers with a grunt just as he obliterates a line of troopers to prove it.

"Show off," Noctis mumbles before raising his voice again. "Prompto?"

In the midst of the commotion, he can't hear Prompto's voice.

"Prompto?!" Again, nothing. Noctis clashes with an MT and his knees crack as it pushes him down. Unwillingly to relent, Noctis pushes back with all his might and cuts it down. He warps back to Luna, who herself strikes back a soldier with a swing of a borrowed trident.

"Have you seen Prompto?!"

Luna scans the field before shaking her head, a feeling of what may have happened swelling in her chest. His eyes widen fearfully at the realization that Prompto has disappeared too. Could he have fallen off the platform? He doesn't know what's worse.

Impatiently, he defeats as many enemies as he can so they can look for Prompto. When the coast clears, Gladio joins in the search. Prompto doesn't lie dead among the bodies around them nor is there any indication he tumbled down into the shaft. Noctis remembers his own experience of falling that far, and it didn't kill him. That gives him hope.

"We have to get down there. People don't just disappear like this!"

A familiar click sounds and a light shines around him. He looks down to find his jacket torn and a wound he didn't even notice closing. The potion capsule disappears from Luna's hands.

"Thanks... Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head. "Not at all. But more importantly..."

Gladio hums deeply to himself as he dismisses his greatsword. "You think we have time to wander around with daemons overrunning the place? We finally made it to an elevator. No guarantee we can make it back if we leave."

"So we hope for the best and keep going?" Noctis clenches his fists.

"There's nothing we can do right now. We only came this far for the Crystal, and it's looking more obvious that this is a trap. None of us are safe here and you have to make a choice. I'm not saying we stop looking for them—"

"But duty comes first?"

Noctis's voice comes so low and cold that it gives pause to even Gladio. Luna clasps her hands tensely in front of her, understanding those three words more deeply than anyone here. But his layer of calm doesn't last long. Before Gladio can react, Noctis turns and steps toward him as quickly as the anger piling up within him.

"You're the one who told me to look out for the people around me. That I have a job to do as king, that I need to get my head outta my ass and stop complaining. You think I came here expecting this to be easy? I'm taking this as seriously as I can! But if I could've done this alone, I would have. I am not leaving anyone else behind! Why is your head so goddamn thick that you can't understand that?!"

Rage permeates his voice with each word and makes his body visibly tremble, but his expression betrays the weakness in his burdened heart. He doesn't even realize that the Gladio standing before him now is not the one he intended to berate.

Gladio's brow curves sharply at Noctis's outburst, but he has enough tact to know not to rebuke him right here and now. More than that, he's concerned. Something else is at play here, as he long suspected since Altissia, but until Noctis feels like talking, he'll just have to deal with this behavior. So he keeps his voice steady.

"I never said that much."

Noctis's eyes widen when he remembers. The conversation on the train, after Luna's death...that never happened this time. Of course it didn't. He doesn't want to explain and wouldn't know how to anyway, so he simply lowers his head and stays quiet, allowing his frustration a chance to dissipate.

"Let us press on, Noctis." Luna steps up from behind him and lays a hand on his arm, both her touch and voice gentle. "We will find Ignis and Prompto as we search for the Crystal. We won't leave anyone behind."

He glances at Luna, eyes heavy with dejection, but eventually nods. Gladio sighs, and the two don't exchange any more words.

Amidst the quiet rumble of the elevator, Noctis stands alone near the door while Gladio and Luna wait a distance behind him. Though for different reasons, they both decide to give him time to think.

"You're managing to hold your own out there." Gladio peers down at Luna. "Ever since the mines. You're not going to tell me you're used to hiking through places like this, are you?"

She offers a small smile. "I don't make a habit of it. But I still stand only because you, Noctis, and the others lend me your strength."

"No, something tells me you'd be fine on your own. It was only because of you that Noct could meet the Six to begin with. Not just anyone can stand up to a god," he says genuinely before adding in, "I'm sorry for doubting you, Lady Lunafreya."

Her smile only softens in response, and the conversation ends there. Nothing more needs to be said.

The elevator opens to a long pathway he knows well, surrounded by white walls before opening up to a darker void in the distance. But as their bad luck would have it, MTs completely litter it and all turn in sync at their targets. Noctis springs to attention and immediately steps in front of Luna while Gladio jumps to the foreguard, sword already brandished and a curse on his lips.

"sh*t."

"We can take 'em."

"Or we double back."

"The Crystal is—it could be here! We have to at least search."

Gladio lets out a grunt and thinks for a split second before he lunges to block the closest MTs.

"Then you better not get distracted!"

Noctis clicks his tongue in response but has every intention to comply. He's about to warn Luna to hang back before a voice interrupts. Belonging to none of them, it echoes all around and bounces across the vast expanse of the space.

"You chose the Crystal over your companions? Well done. As expected of the True King. But—"

Noctis's blood boils so much that he might just burn from the inside out. He knows this voice and nearly cracks his teeth from grinding down so hard.

"Ardyn!!"

"—you're missing out on the gift I prepared for you. Now, keep your hands and feet away from the closing doors."

Noctis and Luna are stunned when the elevator suddenly closes with Gladio on the other side of it. A sickening sensation of déjà vu rushes within Noctis as he starts for the doors only to slam his fists into the cold steel. The elevator descends without a care, spurred by a force neither of them can control. He screams and continues to pound the door, blinded by the memories of this very same situation.

"Noctis!" Luna exclaims as she grabs one of his arms to stop him, and his body shudders. "You'll ruin your hands! We'll head back up once the elevator stops."

Her words make sense but struggle to break through his panic. He has no choice but to listen, though it makes it that much harder to accept that the elevator won't function once it returns to the previous area. He breathes out shakily as he grabs a fistful of hair in frustration and curses.

"The Crystal will be yours in time, Noct," Ardyn's disembodied voice invades his ears. "This way, now."

The lights dotting the path on the other side of the elevator shine to show the way, further proving this very selective blackout. Noctis stares grimly at it, and Luna's expression doesn't fare better.

"So I have to leave them behind after all," he mutters to himself. Why is this happening again? Karma catching up with him? Payment for the effortless journey through Niflheim? Or by reshaping the course of things did he force Ardyn to change his game as well? No matter the reason, he swears he was more resilient than this. Already regretting his outburst in front of Gladio, he actually hopes his Shield smacks some sense into him when they reunite.

"...We must hurry, Noctis, so we may return to Gladiolus."

Pulling him out of his thoughts, Luna helps him take a step forward.

While trudging through the halls, he finds himself holding Luna's hand. Or maybe she held his first. Either way, this should hopefully prevent one of them from vanishing without warning like Ignis and Prompto. Luna senses Noctis's fluctuating resolve and takes it upon herself to bear the burden of vigilance. She's the one to notice a door to a rest area and, after some urging, convinces Noctis to use it. Not a word passes between them as they sit across from each other, but Noctis's mind overflows.

'Gladio will be alright. A bunch of MTs are nothing to him. He's probably already cleared them out by now. Ignis knows what he's doing. This isn't like battling an Astral. And Prompto...he survived the first time we got separated. He'll survive again. Get a grip on yourself. They're not dead yet. Luna's here too. I don't have time to mope around. We're so close to fixing things. I'll fix things.'

"I'll fix things..." he mumbles, unaware that Luna hears him. But she doesn't acknowledge it. She worries for him, however, and hopes this won't take too much of a toll. Were there something she could do, she'd have done it ten times over. Perhaps King Regis felt the same way.

Ardyn's game continues leading them through the Keep until they stand in front of a recognizable set of doors that sends a chill through his body. Behind it lies the hanger, and he grips Luna's hand before entering.

Things couldn't be worse. Scattering the floor are dozens of Imperial bodies and one in particular, lying in his own blood, that shocks him.

"Ravus...?" Luna breaks the silence, releasing Noctis's hand as she takes one, then several listless steps forward until she rushes to her brother. Ravus is dead? The radio didn't mention a word of him nor any indication he tried to contact Luna. Did he end up here the same way he did the last time? The biggest difference now is that his father's sword can't be seen anywhere on Ravus's person.

"Luna, wait—!"

The moment Noctis starts after her, the bodies suddenly jolt with such force that both of them stop in their tracks. They push themselves up, limbs twisting every which way and heads turning around to find the way forward, and one by one notice the pair. When Ravus's body starts doing the same, Noctis hurriedly pulls Luna back. He knows what's coming.

"We have to get out of here!"

"But Ravus!" Luna cries in both desperation and confusion, unsure whether she should be pulling away or letting Noctis lead her.

"That's not Ravus anymore, trust me!" Noctis breaks for the doors they came through only to have them shut in their faces. Gritting his teeth, he spins around and searches for the exit: the small elevator leading to a path out out of the hanger, a route he's all too acquainted with. But from here he can see it isn't in working condition.

"Don't leave your gift behind."

Ardyn's voice once again echoes in the space, and at his cue Noctis turns around to see Ravus fully standing with the troopers. Before, he had already transformed into a decaying daemon, but now they're made to witness the process from the beginning.

His corpse stutters with a dark fog rising from his magitek arm, burning away fabric and flesh. Every inch taken over elicits a strangled heave, but it continues on to expose his very heart. Then it bursts open, gushing black and startling Luna as she stumbles back into Noctis. Whatever the dark substance is, it covers him like thick paint, molding with his bare muscle and reshaping him into the form Noctis remembers. They're unable to turn away no matter how abominable the sight.

Noctis may be at peak health this time, but he also stands alone and faces nearly twice as many enemies. The MTs are one thing, but what chance does he have against Ravus?

"Looks like we're not getting anywhere without a fight." He stabilizes his breathing and steps in front of Luna to summon his weapon. He can do this.

Except no weapon forges in his hand. He stares at it with a terrible feeling overwhelming him.

"No no, not now!" He tries again and again, but nothing works. The troopers take that chance to clamor toward him, and he's forced to grab Luna and run to the other end of the hanger.

"What happened?!" she yells anxiously.

"I can't get the weapons to work! Just, gimme a second!" Cursing mentally to himself, he tries to get some distance while searching his pocket for the Ring. With no chance to prepare for the pain, he releases Luna to slip it on. An agonizing pain stabs into his body and he lurches from the force. For some reason the pressure from the Ring weighs heavier than he remembers, but he compels himself to stand. No time to think about why or how his powers stopped working. What matters is getting out of here alive.

"I decided to make things interesting, You can handle it. He deserves that much," comes Ardyn's voice. Indeed, Ravus doesn't deserve to be pulled away from death like this a second time, least of all in front of his sister. He'll end it for him this time for sure.

But first come the MTs. Knowing he can no longer warp, he turns on his heel and sprints toward his foes. Staying low, he employs some old-fashioned grappling to tear one MT down and thrust it back to collide with the soldiers behind it. That gives Ravus an opportunity to charge him, and Noctis narrowly avoids the full brunt of his slash, blood spraying from a long cut on his arm.

He raises his hand to call forth the Ring's strength. Ravus and the troopers struggle against the force, but Noctis notices that though their health drains, it fails to return to him. That can't be right. Even Ardyn can't interfere with the Ring, but its malfunction is irrefutable.

Clicking his tongue, he backsteps from an MT that broke through and jumps forward to scrape off a discarded ax from the ground. He spins and throws it at the trooper behind him, then quickly runs to grab it from its teetering head and go on to the next. It's not the best strategy but it gets the job done and he keeps it up for as long as his stamina allows. But he's soon thrown off balance when Ravus suddenly tears through to tackle Noctis.

He coughs hoarsely and staggers back after failing to avoid the impact. He uses the Ring again to slow down the crowd, and spares a glance at Luna only to catch a stray MT clawing her way. Without a weapon, she does her part to take shelter behind a parked tank, but she already lies in its sights.

"Luna!" He dashes her way with a growl to wrestle the MT to the ground. Its gun goes off in all directions and Noctis frantically tries to direct it toward his opponents. The soldiers contort against the bullets and even Ravus slows down for a second. Grunting with effort, he pulls the MT's head back to disable it and jumps off when he catches sight of the telltale sparks, just before the explosion obscures his vision.

It sounds like that managed to take down the remaining troopers, but Ravus emerges unexpectedly from the smoke at a frightening speed and collides with Noctis with an inhuman might. He goes flying and swears his bones split through skin as he bounces off the floor and slams into the wall.

Crap. He did well to diminish the MT numbers but Ravus alone amounts to an entire army. Attempting to push himself up results in spitting out blood and sending the pain throughout his body. Some bones are definitely broken but this intense pain can't be from that alone. The Ring is stealing his energy.

Panting unevenly, he stays there and tries to use it anyway, ignoring how his skin looks and feels like it's on fire. Unfortunately, it only temporarily slows Ravus. The magic fades and Noctis almost loses consciousness then and there, but someone hoists him up. Through the corner of his eye he spies a blurred Luna pulling out an elixir. Expecting to feel the effects, he instead convulses again as blood floods his throat.

The elixir didn't work.

She shakes her head. "Why didn't it...?! The Ring shouldn't—"

"I'll figure it out later, but you can't..." He doesn't get a chance to finish before Ravus charges them with a tremendous roar. Luna shoves them both out of the way into a bumbling roll, and the debris from the now-cracked wall litters them. Through pure force of will, Noctis drags them both to their feet to run.

He can't use his weapons, he can't absorb health, restoratives have no effect, and the Ring drains his strength at too fast a pace for this to be normal. These anomalies irritate him as he and Luna vainly head for the lift. Maybe he can kick the thing back into service.

"Luna...fre...ya!"

His blood chills when the name comes mangled through the daemon's lips. Ravus totters toward them, not because of his injuries but because he seems to have regained some awareness. Heartbreak fills Luna's expression as she watches her brother reaching for her.

"Oh, Ravus..." she whispers. Noctis glances over to see her shut her eyes, willing away the urge to reach back. He then makes a decision.

"See if you can get the elevator working." He gently nudges her behind him. "I'll take care of him."

Faced with the finality in his quiet voice, Luna does nothing but turn away.

He wipes the blood from his mouth and ignores all his pain to find a weapon, but fumbles his grip. Looks like he won't be able to keep this up for much longer, so with ax in hand, he resolves to make the best use of his capabilities. He'll never beat the daemon in a straight up brawl, after all.

Ravus, who remains distracted by Luna, fails to notice Noctis running up to lodge the steel into his neck. But Ravus catches on at the last second and and shifts so that the ax only slices into his arm. Noctis keeps trying, backstepping to regain his footing before taking a swing. But Ravus suddenly grabs him with his daemonized arm and attempts to crush him as he once did with Gladio. Anticipating this, Noctis grabs onto his arm and kicks his head in as hard as he can.

That second of insight saves him. The impact compromises Ravus's balance and Noctis uses the momentum to push forward so that he crushes Ravus to the ground with his weight. Now sitting on him, Noctis takes the ax and slams it into the daemon's neck. The ink-black substance flowing through Ravus's body douses him, but it doesn't stop him pushing further and further until Ravus can't vocalize his gasping. But when even that doesn't end him, Noctis uses the Ring to deplete the little strength Ravus clings to.

Finally, the struggling body underneath him stills. Noctis slowly crawls off to collapse next to him. He gasps, struggling to breathe and trying to put pressure on the wounds he endures. The Ring is definitely consuming him and he can't do anything about it. A familiar touch wakes him and soon Luna pulls him up toward the elevator. Of course, it works now.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs before fatigue overtakes him.

He jolts awake to find his body pulsing in pain. Makeshift bandages cover the cuts and bruises still fresh underneath. If he could see himself he'd notice the scars left behind by the Ring's magic, too strong to ever fade away now. Steady hands lay him against the wall and he catches Luna through fluttering eyes. Black and red stain her person from carrying his own dirtied body.

"Don't move, Noctis. We're all right now." Her comforting voice almost lulls him back to sleep, but he shakes his head and puts his hand over hers.

"We gotta go... Get back to Gladio and find the others." He can't know for sure with so many irregularities mixing together, but they may not be able to use their weapons with Noctis's powers sealed—a thought that fills him with anxiety.

"...The Ring is too much on you, isn't it? We can't heal your wounds either. Something's wrong."

"I know. Don't know what it is yet, but we don't have time. We can think about it later." He laboriously gets to his feet. Accepting his determination, Luna supports him.

The entire walk back to the central elevator, Ravus's name doesn't come up. Ardyn also remains curiously quiet and doesn't stop them from taking the now-functioning elevator back to the highest floor. Noctis's irregular gasps and the blood staining through the bandages are nothing to scoff at, but scoff he will so long as there's a job to do. But fate hasn't left his side yet.

The door opens to the scent of blood, gunpowder, and scorched metal. Disabled MT bodies clutter the path and at the end of the trail lays Gladio, slumped against the railing. Pierced through his chest are several troopers' swords, glistening red and steel in the hallway's light. Blood drips from the terrible wound and swims through the mechanical bodies, meeting just where Noctis and Luna have stopped short.

Noctis can no longer stay upright and falls to the floor, taking Luna with him. She holds him up as best he can but the severity of the scene before them takes too much of a toll. His mouth hangs open as nothing but choked whimpers leave it. He can't even bring himself to cry, only feeling numbness for the time it takes to register what happened.

He doesn't immediately hear Luna call for him and turns to her despondently when he does. They somehow get back on their feet and past Gladio's body to continue on. Luna trembles against him, and it takes all he has not to collapse again.

It keeps getting worse. More blood speckles the path, then bits of cloth, flesh, bone. Like breadcrumbs, all of it leads the way. Noctis's throat constricts with broken heaves when they meet Ignis, body torn apart but still recognizable purely to torture him, to give him no doubt that his friend has died. Dried blood seeps from every crevice as if something forced it out from within him, but Noctis can't make sense of it now. All he sees is a body broken elsewhere and dumped here like an old doll thrown into the trash. Another friend lost because of him. Because he did something wrong again.

He stumbles against Luna but she does her best to hold his weight, pressing back into him for balance but also as a form of embrace. A comfort they both indulge in, some time passes before they find the will to continue walking.

They reach the vast space with the Crystal's light shining in the great distance. Luna is naturally stunned to have finally found it, while Noctis is just content to know the Empire didn't move it. Approaching it proves difficult as he hits his limit and staggers to the floor again, but Luna keeps a firm hold and waits for him to catch his breath. Be it from the grief, his injuries, or the Ring sapping his strength, he fears he won't even make it to the Crystal unless Luna hauls him there.

A clatter of footsteps from behind jars him awake and instinctively he turns to use the Ring on whatever persistent MT thought to sneak up on them. But it simply flickers before Noctis's concentration breaks with a bullet grazing his cheek. The placement alone tells him that whoever the gunman may be, they aimed for the head.

"Pro...?!" he wheezes. The Crystal's light shines dimly on his features, but the figure aiming his weapon at the pair unmistakably belongs to Prompto. Fighting his weathered appearance, it is the grip on his gun that remains unyielding.

"You..." Prompto starts weakly, and Noctis and Luna gape wide-eyed as they pull each other back to scarcely avoid the next shot. "You killed them!"

"What the hell are you doing, Prompto?!"

"Noctis!" Luna cries before pulling him again, but this time drags him to his feet so they can run. Noctis moans in pain even with the panic and adrenaline dulling it. Too many things are happening at once, gods, he just wants to breathe. Two more shots explode behind them, one missing and the other grazing Luna's shoulder. She stumbles, but it only breaks skin and she bites back a whimper to focus on getting Noctis closer to the Crystal.

"Don't say my name with that face! You're nothing but an imposter!" The anger colors each word out of Prompto's mouth darker and darker, but he sounds as broken as Noctis feels.

Noctis heaves, trying to find his voice again, but all he gets are battered pants. Prompto cares little for that, and a second later Noctis's ankle gives out. He and Luna both skid to the floor, and he looks down to find blood oozing through his boot. They peer back at Prompto, expression now clearer in the Crystal's light—fury and grief wrapped into one look Noctis never imagined to be facing in his best friend.

"I have no idea what you're talking about! Stop shooting for a second!"

"I saw you kill them! Gladio, Ignis, Lady Lunafreya...you killed them!" Prompto shakes his head erratically. "Why? Who the hell are you?!"

"What in the... I didn't kill anyone! Luna's right here!" Noctis gasps to get the words out. "Gladio and Ignis, they were already... J-Just, calm down! I don't know what you saw but that wasn't—"

"Stop lying!" Prompto screams before pulling the trigger, and Noctis finds himself clutching yet another burn on his shoulder. Nothing about this is normal. 'Imposter'? He killed Gladio, Ignis, and Luna?

"Prompto!" calls Luna while she helps put pressure on Noctis's injury. "Please come to your senses! I'm still here, I am still alive!"

But Prompto doesn't hear her, or rather, doesn't see her. As though she isn't here to begin with.

"Where's Noct?! Did you kill him too? Why are you pretending to be him? They all...they all must've thought Noct killed them!" Tears fall from his eyes now and his shoulders shiver with emotion. In all his apparent cowardice, never before in all the years they've known each other has Noctis seen Prompto cry.

But the tears don't interfere with his aiming, leaving Noctis to hopelessly inch away. Luna soon catches onto the fact that, for whatever insensible reason, Prompto isn't aware of her, and stands to guard Noctis. Startled, Noctis tries to pull her back down.

"Luna, n—"

"You must get to the Crystal, Noctis!"

"The Crystal's not gonna stop him!"

"My, would you look at him. He'd rather speak to ghosts than answer you. Perhaps he doesn't understand just how severe these accusations are."

A voice belonging to none of them glides through the air, and Noctis's heart sinks when he recognizes the shadow framing Prompto's figure. Arms snake around him and grasp the hands folded over the gun's grip, giving him the support he needs.

"You saw what he did. You heard what he said. Taking on your dearest friend's face, his voice, all to kill everyone he loves. Unforgivable, no?"

Ardyn stands behind Prompto, and the puzzle slowly pieces together in Noctis's head. He must've been the one to show whatever messed-up illusions he could think of to confuse Prompto. How he did so much in such a short time boggles him, that he can twist a person apart with so little effort.

"Then don't forgive him. Killing your companions in cold blood is not a crime meant to be forgiven." Ardyn's sweet, rotting voice flows easily through Prompto's ears, keeping him steady and upright—a distinct contrast to Noctis struggling to stand up.

"Don't you dare listen to him, Prompto! He's done this to me before too, but I know you can beat him. You can break this illusion, just think clearly for once in your life! I didn't kill them! I'm still me!"

Prompto flinches and aims his gun again, eyes narrowed and shaking with resentment.

"He's a terrible liar," Ardyn chuckles as he lifts Prompto's hands and squeezes. "You felt their cold bodies. As cold as this very steel. Would you have their lives amount to nothing if you allow this masquerader free? Is it not your duty to the Crown to avenge your allies? You're the only one left. Here it is, finally, your chance to prove yourself worthy! You can't erase that codeprint, after all."

The dread surges in his throat at the realization that nothing he says makes an impact. This isn't some simple illusion; Ardyn's completely brainwashed him. When, how, why—questions he wants answered but knows won't be.

He looks at Luna in front of him, then at the Crystal behind him. It definitely won't help this situation, but they can't be shot to death here either. What does he do? Choose to be King, or to be a friend?

...Screw it. Noctis turns back to Prompto and with bared teeth and no warning, charges him. He wills his body to duck and lunge for Prompto's waist, but also to avoid a direct shot to the face. The gun does go off but not fast enough. With a jagged cry, he tackles his friend to the ground and fights to wrench the weapon out of his hands. Ardyn is nowhere to be seen, either melted into the shadows or never there to begin with.

Yet another shot bursts in the struggle but the smell of his burned cheek goes unnoticed. Prompto's half crying, half snarling at him to get off.

"If I can't knock some sense into you—!!"

He slams his head into Prompto's and the backlash from the headbutt blinds them both. An unpleasant crack resounds when Prompto's head hits the floor, while Noctis nearly falls through the railing. But with the gun successfully in his grip, he ignores the stars glittering in his eyes and staggers up to fling the weapon into the void of the chamber.

Somehow, he stumbles back toward the Crystal. Luna's voice and silhouette are distant, but the softness that keeps him upright tells him she's there. He all but crawls forward and feebly stretches his hand out to the light. The Ring catches the shine, enough to fool anyone into believing it to be a simple piece of jewelry. Not even the Astrals can ever have him willingly choose between his kingdom and his friends. He'll choose both.

"That's enough of that now. You can do better than this."

The light blinks out and instead those words shove him into the darkness.

Chapter 4: someone

Chapter Text

His eyes open to light trickling through the tent, darting around to see the same Coleman tent he's woken up in many times before. Yet something tells him he shouldn't be here.

Then the memories hit all at once. Battling Leviathan, saving Luna, infiltrating Gralea—he remembers everything except the moment he crawled back into a tent. Wasn't he at the Keep with Luna? And Prompto, he...

When he pries off the sweat-drenched blanket to push himself up, dizziness overtakes him and he flops back down with a quickened breath.

"Time for breakfast, buddy! Get your butt outta bed already."

Noctis stares through squinted eyes at Prompto popping into the tent, bright smile on his freckled face. "Whoa, are you okay? You look terrible."

"...Why..."

"Huh? Why what?"

Why did he return here? He traveled back in time again, didn't he? The realization sinks in more calmly than it should, fatigue clouding his senses like a thick winter fog. But fog always clears, and questions of why this happened and recollections of what he experienced just minutes earlier overload his mind. His body still remembers the terror and appears to have chosen not to deal with it.

At some point Prompto calls Ignis into the tent, probably when Noctis didn't answer him. Ignis helps him sit up but Noctis waves him away, pride forcing him to ignore his lightheadedness.

"You're completely flushed, Noct," Ignis insists as he checks for his temperature and other symptoms, eliciting a half-hearted grunt in protest. "Hmm. Warmer than I'd like."

"A fever?"

"Possibly. Would you fetch some water for him?"

Prompto does just that while Noctis blinks dumbly into space. They're overreacting as usual, though he does feel a little off. He supposes seeing his friends die again and getting shot at will do that to a person.

"...Any chance we're back in Lucis?"

"'Back'? We haven't left in the first place." Worry creases into Ignis's brow, wondering if he underestimated the fever's strength.

"Right..."

Did he do something wrong? If he doesn't know what sent him back to the past in the first place, he'll never figure out why it happened a second time. It raises his spirits to see his friends alive, then lowers them to know everything he did to change the course of the future was thrown to the void. Another past to be forgotten by everyone but him.

Ignis tells Prompto to go ahead with breakfast while he instructs Noctis to take the bottle of water. Sipping at it, he tries to focus and really think about this. His actions may have been different but his end goal remained the same. It can't be a coincidence that he blacked out mere inches from the Crystal. Something about the Keep forces him back to the past...or perhaps the Crystal itself is at fault. His eyes widen at a possibility he never thought he'd have to seriously consider.

What if he's not meant to become King?

Noctis doesn't insist on leaving immediately this time, so they hang around the haven to enjoy a relaxed breakfast. Sitting back in his seat to watch the others is almost therapeutic. They're alive, not dragged into his mess, not dead because of his mistakes. Their voices could lull him back to sleep if he isn't careful. Can't get too comfortable just because things have 'reset' again. He needs to try harder. He's expected to.

But what can he do differently? He can't say 'hey, let's not reclaim my throne after all.' He needs the blessings and the Crystal. Meeting the Astrals is unavoidable, and he'll get the Ring as long as he meets Luna, but there must be another way to reach the Crystal. It's in the Keep now, so...perhaps having it moved is his best chance. Compromise the safety of the fortress somehow and force Niflheim to relocate it, preferably to a place not full of daemons and MTs on standby. He's not confident he can do that on his own—Ignis's insight will come in handy, and no doubt Gladio's strength is necessary. And Prompto...

He looks at his friend. He remembers his own foolish actions on the train the first time around, how they lead to Prompto's death at the Keep, and his apology to Noctis about keeping his background a secret from him. Somehow Ardyn knew about Prompto's self-doubts and used them against him. Going to Niflheim isn't a good idea until he talks to Prompto.

Wanting to be a better friend and actually accomplishing it are two different things. That he took this long to do something about it sobers him. The weight of Prompto's glove in his pocket sits heavier than ever.

"Prompto."

After handing his dishes to Ignis, Prompto walks over. "What's up?"

He wonders how to bring this up without seeming totally out of the blue, then realizes there's really no avoiding it. Maybe he should start with something less heavy that's been on his mind for a while.

"Uh," he starts eloquently while Prompto takes the seat next to him. "I was just thinking. Did you know Luna before all this? Like, personally."

"...Huh?" Prompto gawks, baffled, but Noctis spies a spark of panic in his eyes. He struck something.

"You're always going on about how you can't wait 'til we get to Altissia. And you said you wanted to show off your pictures of our trip to her. But for someone you don't know anything about, you're weirdly dedicated. More than usual, anyway."

That isn't exactly true. Noctis hadn't thought anything of it until he saw Prompto with Luna. He jumped at any chance to talk to her, and Luna appeared comfortable with him too, urging him to shed formalities (he insisted on 'Lady,' but otherwise complied). Maybe he's too sensitive about it, but if there's nothing to it then he'll drop the matter.

"I did say that, yeah... And it's not weird! I'm just excited, is all." He pushes his lips out before glancing away. Noctis stares at the gesture.

"So you don't know her?"

"Of course not. When did I ever get a chance to go to Tenebrae? I don't have a nifty notebook like you either."

"And she doesn't know you?"

"Probably not?" His voice definitely got a little higher there. "Unless you told her about me. ...Did you?"

"Yeah, couple of times. She knows about Ignis and Gladio too. I've shown her pictures."

"Pi—?!" He teeters dangerously forward in his seat, surprised. "Of me?! Which ones? Good ones?"

"Just the ones you gave me." Frowning, Noctis leans back in response. "So, good, I guess. From high school."

Prompto levels the chair with a sigh. "Okay, that's fine. Of course they're from high school. Yeah." After a beat he adds, "Wait, so she does know me! Why are you asking me if you're the one who told her?"

"That's not what I meant!" His frown deepens, frustrated that he can't explain this the way he wants. "So there's nothing you're keeping from me? If I ask Luna about it, she won't say anything I don't know already?"

Prompto brings his shoulders in, bewildered. "I have no idea what you're talking about, man! You're kinda weirding me out..." He trails off, something clicking in his head. "I'm probably, hopefully, way off, but...don't tell me you're jealous?"

He gapes wide-eyed before kneading his hands into his face and groaning.

"You brought it up!"

He sends a glare through his fingers that chills Prompto to the core, and the blonde shifts restlessly in his seat before making a discontent noise and standing up. Noctis all but stumbles out of his seat as he's dragged into the tent, while Ignis and Gladio watch the ruckus with relative disinterest.

Once seated, Prompto squints at Noctis. "Okay look, I'm only telling you because I think the fever is messing with you and I feel bad. It's not a big deal so don't get too excited."

"Fine." At least it worked. Prompto sighs and crosses his arms contemplatively, searching for the nerve to talk.

"So... She sent me a letter way back. It was a thank you letter."

"Thanking you for what?" Not what he expected, but he goes with it.

Prompto chews on his lip, thinking back on the memory. "I found her dog injured on the street and took it in for a while." Noctis tilts his head, images of Umbra and Pryna popping into his mind. "Then it suddenly went missing one day, and I got the letter after that. Lady Lunafreya must have tracked me down or something, but anyway, she thanked me for helping Tiny."

"Tiny?"

"Ah, yeah, that's what I called her. She turned out to be Pryna."

So it was Pryna. Luna never mentioned that in their correspondence; probably didn't want to worry him. Noctis cracks a light smile now.

"Tiny, really?"

"Pretty good naming sense for a kid, don't you think?" Prompto laughs, then folds his hands over his feet as he falls quiet.

"And? That's all?"

"Mhm..." Looks like he needs a bit of time. Noctis waits, and eventually Prompto's quiet voice cuts in. "It's pretty stupid."

"I'll tell you if it's stupid or not."

He exhales, relenting. "She just... Well, she said that she'd sent Tiny—Pryna, to check on you, so I guess she thought I knew you personally." He rocks back and recalls the letter he's long since memorized. "'I've heard Prince Noctis is usually too busy to play with his schoolmates, so you must not see him very often. But I hope you will continue to be a good friend to him.' Is what she wrote."

Noctis's eyes widen in surprise. Luna had said something like that to Prompto?

"Obviously, you didn't even know I existed, and I wasn't gonna do anything about it at first... But she just seemed really happy that you were hanging out with someone. I mean, it was a letter for me but half the thing was about you," he comments lightheartedly. "So I thought, why not become friends with him now? She's counting on me...something like that."

A short silence sit between them until Noctis speaks up. "So was that when you started stalking me in elementary school?"

"Wha—no! I still can't believe you remember that. I was...psyching myself up!"

"But you admit you were following me around."

"Ugh..." He goes rigid for a second before relaxing with his umpteenth sigh.

"Y'know, I remember when you tried talking to me. Mostly I remember you falling on your face."

So does Prompto, all too clearly. "And you helped me... Tried to, anyway."

"Oh yeah?"

"That's what you don't remember? Man, you're the worst. You actually called me heavy."

"I did?" He honestly forgot.

"Yeah. I don't think you were trying to be mean." Prompto grins. "Scared me right outta talking to you again, though."

"Oh come on."

"It's true! I told myself, there's no way someone like me could ever be the prince's friend." His grin softens, and Noctis recalls their conversation in Old Lestallum. Lines form between the dots that are his memories, starting from that very first meeting.

"But you did, eventually," Noctis offers calmly.

"...Yeah." He breathes in, then continues with a bit more vigor. "But I wouldn't have even bothered if it weren't for Lady Lunafreya. So basically it's all thanks to her!"

Noctis co*cks his head. Thanks to Luna, huh.

"She wouldn't have sent that letter if you didn't help Pryna. It all started with you."

"You think?"

"I do."

"Well..." Prompto smiles nervously while scratching his arm. "Anyway, if I seem excited or whatever, it's because I want to thank her. Though I'd be satisfied with making a good impression. She seems kinda...out of reach, y'know?"

"Yeah." Noctis sobers at that. In an attempt to throw off unwanted feelings, he adds in, "As long as you leave it at a thank you."

"What d'ya mean?"

"I know how you get around older women."

"I don't 'get' anything," Prompto says in confusion.

"Hmm. Good point."

"Wha—That's not what I meant!" he cries, offended now. Though the rest of him appreciates seeing Noctis smiling. "Alright, I told you my big ol' secret, so we good now? You should take a quick nap while you still have something nice to sleep on. I'll tell the guys we can leave later."

Noctis starts, snapping back to reality to pull Prompto back down rather ungracefully.

"Dude!"

"I'm not done yet."

With a huff, he straightens himself out and sits properly. "What?"

His mouth opens and stays open when his words decide to melt away on his tongue. Somehow, it got harder to bring up what he really wanted to discuss. May as well start with preemptively calming Prompto down.

"I don't want you to freak out."

"Then don't say something that'll freak me out..." Prompto says, inching away.

"I saw the tattoo on your wrist."

He stares Prompto right in the eye to get across his sincerity, where he sees the discomfort forming as the words register one-by-one. He grabs Prompto's arm just in time to stop him from getting up. Prompto sucks in a breath at the contact, and the regret that he made it obvious something was wrong sings clear in his voice.

"Yeah...?"

"It's okay. It's something you wanted to hide, I get it. Just calm down and listen."

Uncertain of what to do, Prompto doesn't move even after Noctis releases him, standing there like an awestruck animal. When he finally does decide to sit down, Noctis relaxes with an air of appreciation.

"Since you're hiding it, I'm guessing it's not a normal tattoo." Prompto's gaze flutters down. "Can you tell me what it is?"

"...When did you see it?"

Noctis frowns, though not out of frustration. "The last time we stayed at an inn. You finished your shower and hadn't covered it back up yet. I caught a glimpse."

Prompto's probably thinking back to the very moment, how he managed a second of carelessness when he was so mindful. And he was, for years. Noctis did think it strange to always see some new accessory on Prompto's wrist that he would safeguard with the same tenacity Gladio and Ignis showed toward their duties. While he feels bad for lying, Noctis can't speak freely yet.

"Prompto?"

"Yeah, uh..." Subconsciously his fingers grasp at his wrist, as if covering it now will hide the truth. This really bothers him, doesn't it? "It's nothing... I guess you won't believe me if I said that."

"I'll believe whatever you say."

Prompto picks his head up slightly. "Then it's nothing."

"Except that."

"Noct..."

"You were asking for that. C'mon," Noctis urges, gently as he can. "Getting you to talk about your problems last time was like pulling teeth, but I'll do it again if I have to."

Prompto's eyes dart between the tent walls and down to his hands, and when he notices they're shaking, he immediately wills it to stop. Maybe...maybe it'll be okay. Maybe if he gives a voice to his worries, Noctis will find a way to make them mean absolutely nothing, and then he can breathe again.

"It's...It really is just a tattoo. But I've had it since I was a kid. Like, I can't remember not having it. That's weird, right? You don't just give kids random ink right where everyone can see..." Prompto shrugs like he's shaking off some tangible agitation from his shoulders. "My folks made me cover it up. Never told me what it's supposed to be, but I got the hint. It's not anything good."

Focusing on the clasps of his bracelets, he misses the searching glint in Noctis's eyes trying to pinpoint any signs of dishonesty. But there's nothing. So he really doesn't know what the codeprint is? When did he learn its purpose? Between now and their reunion at the Keep...so perhaps after Prompto fell from the train in Niflheim? Noctis turns the questions over in his head, then reckons Prompto isn't hiding the truth. And Noctis isn't about to reveal it now.

"Thanks for telling me," he says, surprising Prompto. "I get why you hid it. But you don't have to anymore."

"I mean...I guess, yeah. But you can't tell me you don't think it's creepy. It's a freakin' barcode, man. And if my parents didn't give it to me, that means I had it before they adopted me. When I was a baby. So what if...what if there's something wrong with me—"

"Don't care." He crosses his arms and hunches forward to lean on his legs. "Just like I don't care that you're a regular guy with no ties to the Crown. So you have one weird tattoo. Gladio's got a giant bird on his back and it's never bothered anyone."

Prompto wavers. Something in his eyes shows he can't accept that so easily. And Noctis understands a little more now, if their conversation in Old Lestallum is anything to go by. Prompto has issues, but so does he. Maybe it's how they managed to bond in the first place.

"Look. You really think I'm gonna let some ink bother me?" He inclines his head to catch Prompto's fickle gaze. "All I care about is you being here. You're perfectly normal and kind of a pain, and that's good enough for me."

Prompto chews on the inside of his mouth. He wonders if Noctis hears how casual he sounds. Something he's worried about for all his life reduced to a minor headache—exactly what he expected from Noctis, and probably what he's counted on these past five years. Somewhere in that nonchalance, he finds some comfort.

"Kind of a pain, huh?"

Pausing to regard the sincere, placid expression that finds its way onto Prompto's features, Noctis shrugs.

"Not as much as Gladio 'n Iggy. Two outta five."

Hearing Prompto's sheepish chuckle sounds like a victory in Noctis's ears.

"Gone?"

It had went exactly as it did before. He warned Gladio to take care of the others. Luna delivered the Ring and escaped the altar. Leviathan gave him her blessing. Nothing should have changed.

"Something must have tipped them off. They separated us too easily. We took down as many Niffs as we could, but we didn't reach them in time."

He sent Prompto off like he did last time. He told him he trusted him. Prompto promised he'd get her to safety.

"We do know they were taken alive. Had a ship ready just for them. Prompto put up a helluva fight, I'll give him that. Just...not long enough."

"Noct... Forgive us. There are no excuses. We allowed the Empire to take Lady Lunafreya."

Prompto and Luna are gone.

Where did he go wrong? He did everything right, so what changed? The only thing he did differently was talk to Prompto at camp, but that can't possibly have anything to do with this. Then was the Empire particularly vigilant this time? As if he'd accept that coincidence.

"So what do you want to do?"

Noctis peers up when Gladio presses on. The regret clear in their eyes doesn't bar their willingness to fix their mistakes, and that consoles him. He knows they did their best, just like Prompto did. Maybe the experience he gathered over these time warps has somewhat tempered his penchant for angry panic.

"We get Luna and Prompto back, obviously."

"To Niflheim, then?" Ignis readily asks.

"It was always our goal anyway. Now we just have two more things to steal back from them."

As they prepare for the journey, Noctis tries calling Prompto's phone but reaches a dead line. Then Ignis points out that Umbra left something for him earlier, and Noctis's heart leaps to see Luna's notebook. He barely keeps his hands steady flipping through the pages to find her last message. But to his confusion, nothing is there. No pressed sylleblossom, no final words. Another anomaly? The apprehension drips down his back like ice-cold water and he involuntarily shivers.

Umbra whines when Noctis crouches and buries his head in his arms. A muffled groan seeps through the cracks but eventually he peeks over. He reaches to massage Umbra's soft fur, drawing out a content murmur from the pup. It's alright. Not all is lost yet.

He flips to a fresh page in the notebook and ghosts his fingertips across the familiar feel of the paper to calm himself. Then he writes.

You'll be killed if you stay with the Empire. Tenebrae could be in danger too. Do what you need to.

After fastening the book to Umbra, he scratches the dog's ears again with affection in his touch. He doesn't know what good this will do, seeing as the Empire may not even bother with Ravus now that they have Luna. But it's something. Though there may be little love between the two of them, Ravus supports Luna and that's enough for him. On the chance they're in contact, he hopes Ravus will take initiative and get Luna out of there himself.

"Get that to Ravus, but be careful. Come back to me if you can't make it, got it?" While gentle, his tone carries a firmness that speaks to concern for Umbra's safety. Umbra accepts it with a bark and a nuzzling under his palm. Noctis smiles, lingering in this moment of calm that will no doubt be one of his last for a long time.

They don't even make it to Cartanica.

Explosions rip the train apart like a piece of scrap paper. Broken glass fragments fly about perilously and no one can stop the spreading fire. Pushing past fleeing passengers, Noctis scrambles to the next car where Gladio and Ignis went to speak with an informant, but another blast sends him smashing into the wall. Shards of glass slice into his skin and he cries out, allowing smoke to fill his lungs. Still he gets up, struggling to breathe but desperate to move.

Then the train lurches with such violent force that his vision flickers. Something must have bulldozed the train from the outside, and Noctis and the other passengers find themselves tumbling out the windows. After hitting the ground, he barely has time to register the pain when he spies the car come toppling toward him. He grabs at the dirt, fingers stinging as he climbs out of the way. The tremors that vibrate across the surface when the train flips over fill his body, like someone grabbed his insides to tousle them against his bones. He doesn't know what happens next after debris hits him and everything blacks out.

Judging by the slightly darker dusk skies, he mustn't have been asleep for long. He elects to look around from where he lies. The train sits completely destroyed and what's left of it spreads around the area. The passengers litter the ground as well, sparking a sense of urgency in Noctis that compels him to move. He only manages to crawl forward a few paces when gunshots explode somewhere behind him. Instinctively lowering himself, he slides to the corner of an overturned cargo box and peeks at the commotion.

Imperial soldiers. His breath catches in his throat when one approaches a weak passenger pleading for help. He can't process what happens until well after the bullet lodges into the man's head, and realizes what the soldiers are doing: killing the survivors.

Noctis flattens himself against the cargo box. What the hell is happening? The Empire attacked the train and now they're killing everyone off? Even Imperial civilians? Did they know Noctis and company were on the train? That surely must be the reason, but how? Is Ardyn following them again? But he hasn't shown his face yet, not even at the altar during the rite.

Ignis and Gladio suddenly flash in his mind, and he makes an easy decision to warp out of hiding and straight into a MT to strike it down. The soldiers all lock onto their new, or perhaps intended target, but their numbers are manageable. As the last trooper falls, Noctis scours the field for survivors. Then he finds his friends.

He falls to his knees and stares at the crumpled bodies of Ignis and Gladio. Burned and cut from the explosion, but the bullet holes in their heads are the only things in his field of vision now. He was too late.

Uselessly, he drags himself to the closer Ignis and shakes him, calling his name and hoping the sharp grip on his shoulders will wake him. But his eyes never open. Gladio must have woken and tried to fight back because his chest is riddled with holes, still leaking blood. His eyes are wide open, shocked, caught off guard.

They're both still warm. He must have been mere minutes late.

"This isn't happening again... Not again...!" His voice trembles but no one can hear. If he'd just woken up sooner. If he'd seen the attack coming. He knew the Empire could attack the train. Just because it didn't happen last time doesn't mean he should've grown complacent.

His knee scrapes against something sharp and he finds the small pendant Ignis wore around his neck. The chain long lost, Noctis picks up the chipped ornament and gazes at it vacantly as his mind swarms with regrets he thought he would overcome this time. Losing track of Luna and Prompto, and now this... Why does he keep messing up?

He almost misses the weak voice in the distance over his teeth chattering. After shoving the pendant into his pocket, he searches wildly for the source. If there's someone, anyone he can still save—

"Hey, I got you! Just hang on!" Noctis pulls up an older man with one hand while the other fishes out an elixir from the armiger. But before he can use it, the man's shaky grip digs into his wrist.

"Prince of Lucis..."

Stunned, Noctis wonders how a regular Niflheim citizen would recognize him, or if perhaps he's from Lucis. But the man's fractured voice halts his thoughts and chills him more than the evening air does.

"You...were to bring light to us all... What have you done...?"

The wind steals the man's breath and every last sound in the air, leaving Noctis to sit limp on his knees as the silence and misery engulf him.

Chapter 5: prompto

Chapter Text

The sun sets over Noctis and the other survivors trekking to the outpost on foot. He managed to heal a few and convince them to keep walking to avoid the darkness. He ran out of restoratives for himself and discovered his phone had been obliterated in the crash, but after all that's happened he chalks it up to course of nature and lets the bitterness stew within him.

Though meager in ways of comfort, the station provides light to ward off daemons. The air hangs heavy with grief as everyone regains their bearings. Being no different, Noctis slumps against the wall and pulls his legs up to bury his head in his knees. Exhausted and in pain, his heart bears a weight that crushes everything inside him and makes it hard to breathe. He tries anyway.

Gladio, Ignis... If he'd gone with them to speak with the informant, then they would've been together during the crash. They could've kept each other safe, kept the other passengers safe. Or maybe they would have lost consciousness together and all be shot dead by now.

Regrets only cause torment from an unreachable distance—best to leave them behind.

Something cold against his arm stirs him to attention, and he looks up to a boy extending a water bottle. He narrows his eyes, then notices what appears to be the child's mother standing near the vendor, looking his way. His features quickly turn apologetic, and he takes the bottle with a tired smile.

"Thanks." It's enough for the boy to offer a smile of his own before he trots back to his mother. Noctis twists open the bottle and downs the drink. Infused with his magic, the effects come as a temporary relief, and he allows his eyes to flutter closed.

A sudden murmuring among the people jerks his body awake and he sees what they do: a single Imperial airship sailing right for the station.

"Everyone inside, now!" Noctis yells before scrambling to his feet and ushering the civilians into the rest station. Though small and not durable, it keeps them out of sight. If the ship holds the dozen or so soldiers they've commonly encountered in Lucis, he has confidence he can clear them out.

Once the hatch opens wide enough, he warps to the ship to take the initiative but instead comes face to face with a force knocking him straight into the paneling. As he slides down to the floor, he instinctively throws a dagger to slow down his attacker. Then, out of nowhere—barking.

He makes it up on one knee before something tackles him right back over. Noctis yelps, utterly confused and frankly a bit lightheaded from hitting a steel wall, but manages to pry off the weight to see Umbra panting at him. What in the world—

"Deplorable. What exactly were you expecting to accomplish here?"

"Ravus...?!"

He gawks at the Imperial high-commander towering over him like a mountain wrapped in white smog. The dagger caught in his hand now fades with Noctis's magic. Ravus ignores the prince in favor of directing his troops waiting further in, and the soldiers drop down to the surface. Noctis attempts to give chase, but a whining Umbra pulls him back.

"They carry supplies," Ravus answers, watching the scene below. Noctis's confusion dissipates when he sees the soldiers offering means to tend to the civilians' injuries. He relaxes, glad, since his meager potion supply wasn't enough. The question now is, why? He carefully climbs to his feet.

"How did you...? Did you know about the crash?"

"Did you not warn me to leave?"

That earns a short gasp of understanding. Looks like his message was safely delivered. Did Umbra lead Ravus back to Noctis? Suddenly something strikes him and he continues more urgently.

"Where's Luna?! Is she with you, is she safe?"

"Lunafreya is dead."

The words are spoken so softly and yet with such finality that for a while, only silence settles between them.

"What...?"

Ravus turns to him now, casting his narrowed eyes on Noctis's stunned features that struggle to process the news. Didn't the Empire take her alive? Why would they kill her now?

"Not again..." He slurs the words and struggles to keep standing, but tries nonetheless and shakes his head to stop the uncertainty from swallowing him whole. "What happened to her? How did—She was supposed to be safe! I got her out of there, I..."

"You sent her away from the altar?" Ravus squints, not understanding what he means by 'not again.’

"Yeah... She would've died if she stayed."

"That is not something you could have foreseen. And so the Empire took its chance to steal her away."

The sting of Ravus's accusation hits full force and he expects more to come. It's his fault after all.

"I knew she had been taken," Ravus goes on, "but we were not permitted to meet. The Oracle is a reward greater than any other. The second they had her in their grasp, my use reached its end." His armor clinks distinctly as he moves. "I escaped in time with your warning and was set on taking Lunafreya with me. Your message was for her sake, I suspect." Not hearing a denial, he continues, "But Lunafreya had already passed. I wasn't quick enough and she paid the price."

Perplexed, Noctis stares at him. Ravus's voice may not betray his emotions, but...is he blaming himself?

"No, I...I wasn't careful enough. I knew she wouldn't be completely out of danger. There were Niffs everywhere but Leviathan wasn't going anywhere either, and I just—I tried, it should've worked! This wasn't..." Luna, Ignis, Gladio. They weren't supposed to die again.

"Be that as it may," Ravus's tone suddenly sharpens, "with the Oracle gone, the world will plunge into darkness unless the Chosen King guides it through. But I see no King before me." Ravus steps toward Noctis, forcing Noctis to take one back. "Rather than bemoaning the past, will you not finish what Lunafreya left undone? Or will you remain ignorant of all she's sacrificed for you?"

Noctis grits his teeth. Now, too late after the fact, he recognizes the reason behind Ravus's anger.

"I know the covenants were killing her," he mutters helplessly. "She did so much for me. She's always done so much more than me. And now there's nothing I can do to bring her back. Bring them all back..." His voice falls further, nearly lost to the rumble of the ship. "They're all gone because of me."

How and when Noctis knew the truth of Lunafreya's ordeals will be determined later, because his words bring attention to Noctis's pointed lack of company. There were only a handful of civilians down in the station, and Noctis mentioned a crash. He can merely guess, but only one reason would force a knight to leave his lord's side.

Does that mean he alone remains to smack some sense into the Lucis prince? Lunafreya left him with too tedious a chore.

"Whatever you believe you've lost, it does not compare to what lies ahead." He pauses, glaring at Noctis with a sentiment to entrap him within a sense of obligation rather than run from adversity. Noctis knows it too well. "Did Lunafreya deliver the Ring?"

He can't forget the weight in his pocket if he wanted to. A constant reminder of what Ravus declared, his duty to not just Lucis, but the entire world now—a burden that gets heavier each time he relives this mess.

"Yeah."

"You do not wear it."

"I..." Sobered under Ravus's refreshingly forthright manner, Noctis remembers that Prompto's still out there. His heart hurts, but he needs to keep going for him. So he pats his pocket to show Ravus where the Ring lays.

"I'll put it on when I need to. It's heavier than you think."

If Noctis only knew. Ravus makes no comment and another silence flows between them. This time Noctis breaks it.

"Any chance that..." he sighs, bracing himself for disappointment. "You hear anything about a guy called Prompto? He was with Luna when..." He peers up to see Ravus's hard expression, probably not too happy about the shift in conversation. Still, he humors it because something sparks in his mind.

"I've heard Izunia speak that name... Yes, as we prepared for the operation in Altissia."

"...Ardyn?"

Just like that, his body flushes with renewed strength when the meaning behind that answer registers. It was Ardyn who killed Luna the first time, and Ardyn who visited the altar once more the second. He thought he didn't show himself this time, but what if he just didn't appear before Noctis? The anger builds up so quickly that his body trembles in an effort to contain it. The sudden change in the air around Noctis doesn't go unnoticed by Ravus.

"It was all him... Again and again and again, it's always him!" Noctis clenches his fists so he doesn't slam them against the steel paneling. Before Ravus can inquire, Noctis whips back to him. Though he can practically feel his blood heating up, his eyes remain unclouded.

"I need your help."

"Your prince asks you for one thing and even that is beyond you. It is to be expected, growing up a simple boy with a simple mind. Yet he keeps you at his side. Treasures you, almost. Am I simply blind to the appeal, or are you truly worth something?"

In this black void reminiscent of a starless sky with no top or bottom to speak of, Prompto sits in what should be a dream but undoubtedly remains reality. The cool air bites his bleeding wrists when his restraints release. Ardyn steps from behind and puts some distance between them before turning to smile.

"He accepted you and you repay him by delivering his beloved into enemy hands. Such duplicity! You fit right in here in Niflheim."

"You're the one who took us!" Prompto yells before summoning his gun. He can't believe he ever entertained the idea of trusting this guy. Capturing and locking them up like some common criminals—he won't allow Ardyn to mess with him. He has to find Lunafreya and get her out of here and back to Noctis. But no matter how sharp he aims, Ardyn evades each bullet like he can spy them with the naked eye.

"I will admit, for having about two seconds of training, you're a good shot."

Prompto stops. Didn't Noctis once say something like that? How did he—

"But you're easily distracted." Ardyn suddenly appears behind him and Prompto spins in shock, throwing the butt of his gun in what will hopefully be Ardyn's head. He stumbles when he connects with air instead.

"And easily exploited."

Prompto looks around wildly but Ardyn is nowhere to be seen.

"Have you ever killed a man, Prompto?" The voice both sends a chill down his back and boils the frustration bubbling inside him, but he bears with it. "They say it's either terrifying or exhilarating. I say it gets boring, but alas, it is necessary at times. For example..."

"Where's Lunafreya?!"

"I intend to kill Noctis."

He freezes. No... No, don't buy into this. Ardyn just wants to get into his head.

"'Just an idle threat. He's only saying that to rattle me.'" Prompto's audible wince gives Ardyn all the answer he needs. "Careless boy. Threats are charming, but I prefer getting things done."

"You have a history of dragging us along at your own pace, so I'm a little skeptical. Cut me some slack." Though he can't quiet his beating heart, he tries to make his tone lighthearted as he keeps an eye out, arms stock-still to steady his gun.

"Very prudent of you. Still, Noctis must go. But here's how you may salvage what little value you have left."

His teeth grind down hard enough to crack. Like some sketchy old man can play on his insecurities and get away with it. It's okay. Noctis accepts him for all he is. Noctis trusts him with his life and that of Lunafreya's. Noctis trusts him.

"Kill me before I kill him."

'Uncomfortable' can't fully describe the experience of fighting alongside Ravus Nox Fleuret. No one can deny the man's strength, sure, but he won't even pretend to be decent company. That says nothing of the inevitable conversation concerning the whereabouts of Noctis's friends. At least the trek through the Cartanica mines goes quicker this time. With another Royal Arm in tow, Noctis and the stranded civilians take refuge in the Imperial ship, where Ravus fills him in on current events.

Immediately after the Oracle died, Gralea hurtled into chaos. The city all but eradicated itself when the Keep lost control of its experimental MTs and the citizens transformed into daemons under the Scourge. The disorder then spread like an infection into the army's forces, and now rogue troopers go around destroying anything and anywhere inhabited by people, spurred by a voracious appetite. The chain of command has crumbled with Emperor Aldercapt's disappearance, but not before he ordered the deaths of Noctis, Ravus, Ardyn—anyone who may threaten his reign. Refugees flock to Tenebrae, the one place inexplicably safe from threat.

He can safely say he's completely baffled.

The Empire obtained Luna alive only to kill her later. Ravus wears a target despite no 'treason' of his being broadcasted. Tenebrae stands intact but still safeguards victims of Niflheim's terror. The attack on the train occurred far earlier than expected, and most confounding of all—this all happened within days.

It's as if someone took these isolated events and decided whether they should occur or not with the flip of a coin, regardless if they made sense. How any of this is physically possible is another story entirely. It took weeks for the Oracle's absence to affect the world last time, now here they are experiencing five hours of daylight. And he just has to deal with it, doesn't he?

"Suppose we should head to Tenebrae to drop these people off. After that..." He glances up tensely. "I know the Crystal's in Gralea. I just, I was really hoping I could get them to move it somewhere less...daemon-infested."

Ravus has learned not to question these bursts of insight from Noctis, because Noctis won't explain.

"And now there is no one left to move it."

"Which means we gotta get it ourselves, I know. But even if I can't, Ardyn will be there. He always is." Again, Ravus doesn't question. "Have to meet the Glacian too. That'll come after stopping at Tenebrae..."

Deciding to sit down, Noctis rubs his face with a heavy exhale. Going through the steps for a third time exhausts him, but somehow he ended up going down the same exact route he did before. At this rate, won't he just be stopped at the Keep again?

He misses his friends so much.

"How the hell did Luna do this...?" he mutters into his hands, his miserable voice drawing attention from Ravus. Neither of them says a word after that.

"Watching someone die is almost as fun as doing the killing yourself. Almost."

"Story time again?" Prompto growls impatiently. His breathing quickens in tune to how his eyes flit left and right. Ardyn has toyed with him for who knows how long, appearing and disappearing at will, making him waste bullets. No matter how far he runs, blackness traps him.

"I could let the prince bleed out. It's a quicker death than you might imagine. Often painless. Would that not suit you better? You wouldn't want him to suffer."

Noctis lays before him, curled and clutching his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. His body jerks with each breath as he vainly clings to what life lingers inside. Prompto recognizes this game. Ardyn chose it once he realized he wasn't getting anywhere prodding at Prompto's complexes. But familiar or not, it still makes his stomach churn to witness Ardyn's sick illusions.

"Burning him to death would be a sight. Far too many directions that could take, however. A good choice if you're in the mood to be surprised."

The heat compels him to turn to where Noctis hunches over, holding his head and screaming over the cries of the fire swallowing him whole. His clothes and hair long burnt, his skin peeling off, the fat leaking out—

Keep it together. He's not actually killing Noctis. No big deal. Keep it together.

"Ah, but if you want a show, simply tearing him apart is the ideal. It's fascinating to test the limits of the human body. And the mess—"

"Prompto?"

He whirls around to see Noctis standing behind him, untouched, and in that moment Prompto forgets it's all fake.

"Noct—"

He recoils violently when the darkness explodes before him, sucking in a sharp breath and a burnt scent. Something viscous drenches him and when he opens his eyes, Noctis's mangled body teeters and collapses into the broken, bleeding pile of flesh it's become. He doesn't hear himself cry out as he staggers back, or when he looks down to find himself covered in blood and chunks of something he refuses to identify.

"See? A mess."

He can't run fast enough away from the sight and the stench, frantic to find an exit but desperate to shut his eyes to it all. Ardyn's low chuckle follows after him no matter where he runs, fused to the very oxygen he breathes.

"Oh, you want it to stop? Then make it stop! You're a servant of the Crown. A little blood on your hands compares naught to the sacrifices he must make."

Kill him. He has to kill Ardyn. He has to or he'll kill Noctis! Noctis trusts him and for that, a little blood is a little indeed.

A door appears and Prompto wrenches it open hard enough for the hinge to crack off the post. In the middle of the simply furnished room stands Ardyn. Beneath him, unmoving in a pool of his own blood, lies Noctis. He doesn't know what it is—the realistic surroundings, the smile plastered on Ardyn's face, the accumulating stress from watching his best friend's death over and over and over—but it all draws out such an intense compulsion that there was no chance of stopping himself from screaming over every shot he expels into Ardyn's body.

They all hit. Then color sinks back into the scenery to unveil the illusion.

Lunafreya sprawls on the floor with blood spilling out of her bullet-riddled body. It takes his ragged pants to calm down before he recognizes that Ardyn isn't the one who's dead. Then it starts all over again—the panic, the trembling, his jaw going slack and eyes widening until they dry up, everything going quiet and deafening at once.

A draft flows from behind when Ardyn places his hands on Prompto's shoulders and lowers his lips to his ears.

"Now look at what you've done."

It's after they resupply at Tenebrae that winged daemons overrun the sky as if they were the stars themselves. The ship doesn't stay airborne for long and topples to the surface without a care for those inside it. Noctis pushes through the busted hatch and surveys the inconceivable sight before him. Ravus doesn't seem to mind facing the herd of daemons headed their way, solemnly approaching Noctis's side. The other mercenaries they picked up vary in colorful reactions, one in particular stepping up to the two men.

"Well, sh*t." Aranea stamps her spear into the ground while sweeping the field for a headcount.

"There's no way—"

"Conceding already, Chosen One?" says Ravus.

"You have got to stop calling me that," Noctis spits. "Where are they even coming from? There must be thousands!"

"Then we all take on a hundred each and finish up before morning," Aranea suggests far too irresponsibly than Noctis can deal with right now. "If you haven't noticed, we have nowhere to run. The capital's that way."

"Ugh, I know!"

The damn cold doesn't help either. They were just about to reach the Rift too; he swears he sees the shadow of Shiva's corpse from here. He unleashes all he has to take down as many daemons as possible. But for every daemon slain, ten more take its place. They can do nothing but struggle against their dwindling odds. To make matters worse, not just one or two but at least a dozen red and iron giants spring forth from the earth to join the fray. Now that's just unfair.

"Prince!"

Aranea's warning comes too late—a fist claws up from beneath Noctis and hurls him into the night at tremendous speed. He frantically fights gravity but ultimately skids against the dirt with nothing to soften the blow. Where the hell is Gladio to yell at him for sucking this much?

After crawling up on all fours, he notices he was thrown so far that he can't see the others anymore. But there are just as many daemons here, forcing him to ignore his sprains and fight. Should he wear the Ring? If it abnormally drains him like before, he's all but dead, so he sets that idea aside.

Several minutes into his solitary effort, Noctis curses furiously. Each time he makes progress to reach his companions, more daemons appear to block the way and have actually pushed him farther away. But daemons can't think that strategically. What the hell is going on?

He runs. If there's no way back then he'll go forward. Reach the Rift on his own and seek Shiva's help, seeing as the other Astrals won't lend it yet. He'll think about what to do next after that. The darkness makes way for his blade and magic, but the daemons are determined to chip away at him at the cost of their lives. His throat burns with battered pants and he's forced to stop to catch his breath. At some point he crossed into the blizzard generated from the Glacian's corpse, but the good news is that the daemons swarming toward him are affected by the cold too. Great, they can all die from hypothermia together.

Through sheer will Noctis continues running until he reaches a rubble heap and bumbles into cover. With hands shivering from either adrenaline or the cold, he slips on the Ring and bites down through the rush of pain. He'll never get used to this.

He breaks for an open space and bit by bit the Ring's magic consumes the beasts into the void. As expected, no strength returns to him and he feels weaker each second, but no matter how the fiercely the magic cracks through his skin, he keeps going until the last daemon evaporates.

As though the Ring itself causes the tremors, he can't stop shaking. Nothing but the blizzard howls around him as he forces himself to climb ahead, using the looming railroad as a guide. He knows he only bought a few minutes before more daemons arrive.

While inching forward, something in the distance catches his eye. A rumbling and...headlights? The scratching of brakes on the rails carries over the wind and he soon identifies the train's shape. The driver couldn't have possibly spotted him in the snow—did they realize they're headed into a daemon swarm?

The train slows and something remarkably bright explodes into the sky, causing Noctis to flinch away from the light descending upon the area. The shrieks of daemons fill the air as they melt under the illumination, giving him all he needs to recognize the tactic. Still, he squints through the snowfall to see the truth for himself.

"Prompto?!"

Shots ring out and the daemons grappling with the brightness fall one by one. He supposes they can reunite after they purge the threat. With a clearer view of the field, he does his part to throw a barrage of magic before commanding the Ring again, no matter how it seems to control him instead. It's the quickest way, evident by the impressive dent they make in the horde.

Then quiet falls, another wave extinguished. When he doubles over into a coughing fit, someone pulls him to his feet.

"Thank the gods you're alive..." he mumbles breathlessly as he supports himself against Prompto. His friend says nothing while he drags Noctis to the train, their only way out of the snowstorm.

"Oh, I wouldn't thank them yet."

The foreign voice delivers all the warning they get before the train erupts into a blaze far brighter than Prompto's Starshell. The force of the fire topples them down the slope. Though Prompto shields Noctis with exceptional speed, Noctis's senses become overwhelmed by memories of the crash near Cartanica, and he feels just as useless as he was back then.

In this situation where nothing ever goes right, the fire's heat serves as their one saving grace. They peek up to regard the train, plainly unusable now with daemons crawling closer to drive home the fact that they're surrounded. Amidst it all sits Ardyn atop a safe portion of a train car, unaffected by the snow, the fire, and even the daemons, acting like his being here is completely natural. The mere sight of him incentivizes Noctis's body to scramble up—if Prompto didn't trap him in his grip. His protests fall to the wind, throat burning as much as the train. Fine, Ardyn can hear him from there.

"Don't you ever get sick of it?! You killed her! You killed Luna again!!" The words spit out with venom that could burn skin, but his voice betrays the agony behind his rage. Ardyn's so close, he could destroy him in an instant if he could just move. "What the hell is even going on in your head?! What do you want?!"

"'Again'? My boy, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." Oblivious to any inner turmoils the young men face, Ardyn chuckles. "But I will tell you this. I did not touch the Oracle."

"Don't f*cking dare lie to me now! I know you took her and Prompto, and now she's dead!"

"Indeed. And her murderer stands next to you. Thank me instead, Prince Noctis, for I have delivered your vengeance right to your feet." His eyes shine in the light only to cast darker shadows across his smile. "Isn't that right, Prompto?"

The weight of Ardyn's words hit him when Prompto squeezes him tighter. Noctis turns his head to his friend quivering next to him. Prompto's jaw slackens as he tries so hard to say something. The words come erratically, barely strung together in coherency.

"Noct, I... I'm so sorry, I killed her. I killed Lunafreya. I didn't—it was a mistake. I thought it was Ardyn, I-I thought...she wasn't... I'm sorry..." The words slur against his caught breath. He can't decide whether to push Noctis away or keep him close, but his balance gives out regardless.

Face shifting from confusion to fear before settling on anguish, Noctis holds Prompto up instead as they both fall to their knees and draw to each other for warmth, comfort, anything reminiscent of something better than this. He can't comprehend it. Prompto killed Luna? Didn't Ardyn take them? Before that, how did they find Noctis anyway? This is all so...

"Prompto," he whispers in his ear to surmount the winds, then pulls them both back up. But before they can spare another breath, a blood-curdling shriek crawls up their spines and Noctis looks up to find daemons charging them. With no time to make sense of things, Noctis pushes them both out of the way and they tumble further down the slope, bouncing off the sharp snow and landing in a pile. Scurrying upright, Noctis grabs Prompto and runs.

"Noct, I can't...!"

The sky abruptly rips open and stops them both short when a foras makes straight for them. Unable to avoid it at this distance, Noctis virtually throws Prompto out of the way to bear the brunt of the its fangs bursting through his torso.

He is so goddamn tired of daemons, and pure resentment incites his punches right into the beast's eyes. The foras drops him with a wail and the snow pads his landing, quickly sullied by his blood. With sword in one hand and the Ring on another, Noctis closes the distance between him and Prompto, and screams.

"Run, Prompto! Just run!"

Unnerved, Prompto forges his gun and does just that. They'll have to fight their way through but Noctis has confidence he can do this now that he has help. Prompto's back, alive—that's what matters.

Ardyn follows the play below with his smile unchanging. The Ring cares little for Noctis's newfound strength and continues to wear him down, while Prompto looks like he doesn't know if he should bother fighting at all, consumed with the possibility that Noctis may kill him in retaliation. The prince thinks he can break through the pack, but that won't do. The stage isn't big enough for that, so the daemons trap the two men in a circle like the pickings they are.

Noctis slams against Prompto's back and scans the field. Somehow their odds have gotten even lower and just the sight of the encroaching daemons makes him lightheaded. Or it could be the Ring draining him; he makes for quite the spotlight with his skin fissured with radiant burns. Whatever determination he had in the beginning dissipates as easily as he slumps against Prompto. He catches Noctis with a gasp right when the daemons ready to take advantage of the opening. He frantically blasts another Starshell into the air, scattering the beasts and giving them a chance to run. Noctis barely remains conscious, but barely is enough.

"Just...go, Prompto."

Panic and even a smattering of anger distort Prompto's features at the weight of those words, so much so that he doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice.

"Not a chance! I can do this. I got you, Noct, you'll be fine!"

A vulnerable groan not befitting the friend he knows ripples through the wind. Without plugging up the source, daemons will gather endlessly no matter how powerful the Ring may be, making Noctis's physical reparations in vain.

"Did you...really... Luna?"

Prompto stops, only for a second, to ignore the way his heart jumps into his throat again.

"It was a mista... That doesn't matter, does it. I...shot her. I killed her." Blood drops to the snow when his teeth sink into his lips. "I was gonna kill him. Ardyn. He was going to hurt you and I couldn't... I tried, Noct, I really—"

"You don't kill people." He clutches onto Prompto's shoulder as he wills the words out. "That's not you, Prompto, promise me you won't—" He sucks in a breath and fights to let it back out, hissing in pain instead. Prompto understands and reaffirms his grip on Noctis, unfaltering in this one thing.

"I killed Lunafreya."

"It was Ardyn. Always f*cking Ardyn. I'll kill him myself. You just...have my back. Like always."

"...Like always." A poor semblance of a smile touches his lips. "Like...Iggy and Gladio?"

The blizzard nearly swallows his whispers, but Prompto doesn't need to hear more. He rests his head against Noctis's, a show of understanding. He had a feeling.

"We'll all give our lives for you, Noct."

His insides constrict as he tries to stifle the pressure in his throat to no avail, and an utterly broken sob pushes past his lips. He's so tired of this. Tired of his royal blood killing everyone around him, tired of placing his duty before his friends and family, tired of being special if it means being alone.

"That's not fair," he slurs incoherently. "I'd do it too. I'd die for—"

Something cleaves through his torso and rips out blood and muscle to stain the snow beneath them. Everything flashes white and he can't breathe, the scream trapped inside him. Only the smooth ringing of the tail sounds when the foras pulls it free. He falls to the ground, but if only circ*mstances were kind enough to end it there.

He hears Prompto somewhere, screaming. Then he feels snow, like he's being dragged across it. A dull booming—Prompto's gun? He has to help him. He has to...

The flat surface he leans against sparks life back into his eyes, fluttering open to see Prompto putting pressure on the wound. See, can't feel.

"Stay with me, I'm begging you, please Noct...!"

He breathes, catching Prompto's attention.

"Noct! Stay with me here, okay? Please let me fix this, I can fix this!" His voice is high, weak, angry. He doesn't believe in his own words, Noctis can tell. He said something like that once, didn't he? Prompto was the one bleeding out, and Noctis begging him to live.

"I'm so freaking useless. All this time and I can't... Couldn't kill Ardyn, couldn't protect you...can't even die for you. I promise, Noct, I'm gonna save you. Gonna do something right for once."

No, don't say that. He shouldn't worry about that.

"Turns out I'm only useful when I'm being used," he mutters, unable to stop the film of moisture forming over his eyes but refusing to let it blind him. "Killing the Oracle...I messed up the entire world. That's new even for me."

Prompto needs to stop talking. Finding strength from who knows where, Noctis pushes up. Only now does he hear the harsh gasps leaving his mouth, echoing through his body. The gaping hole in his abdomen persists.

"Prom..." he chokes, blood and spit dribbling down his chin.

"Don't try to talk! Please Noct, you're.. It's not..."

"Just...shut up...!" He grabs Prompto's shoulders and growls the words out through pure tenacity, widening Prompto's eyes with shock. Though his words break apart by fractured breaths, Noctis keeps going. "How many times do I have to tell you? Stop saying you're useless. You just..."

His vision falters and Prompto gasps when Noctis's head drops onto his shoulder, his hands slipping off to grip uselessly at Prompto's shirt. He can't see anymore but he needs to say this. He blames himself for Gladio and Ignis, but if he allows anyone to blame themselves for his own death, he'll never rest peacefully. He refuses to rest.

"Just...be here."

A warmth that sits out of place in this blizzard envelops him, and he soon realizes it comes from Prompto's trembling arms around him. Noctis tries to return the gesture, just this much, but his body won't listen.

"I-I...I'm here, Noct. Okay?"

He hums softly. Did Prompto get the message? Did Ignis, and Gladio? Well...then maybe Prompto will forgive him for not hugging back.

They sit there for a time Prompto doesn't bother keeping track of. He recognizes nothing but the snowscape, dull as the light in his eyes. At some point the tears stop, though their cold residue lingers on his face. Somehow, he feels that more strongly than the cold itself. Noctis can't warn him that he stopped shivering.

Fingertips dance across his cheek, calling enough life back into him to gaze at the scarved man kneeling before them. Ardyn smiles, as empty as Prompto feels.

"You can still save him. Just answer me this." Ardyn takes back his hand and stands with a narrowed look cast over the two boys. "Forfeit this world for Noctis's life in another. A fair trade, I believe."

'Another'?

"He can live again...?" he murmurs, lifting his chin with what strength he has.

"Another world, another Noctis. But this world cannot exist alongside it."

What's that supposed to mean? He should doubt Ardyn, he should be furious that Ardyn dares to speak with him. But it doesn't really matter anymore, does it? Noctis is dead, Lunafreya is dead, Ignis and Gladio are dead. This world has lost all hope to bring the light back. Then what about the millions of people still left, still struggling against the darkness? What about their desires? What if they want to keep struggling?

...No, don't humor this. This is just another game of Ardyn's. He never seems to get enough, and Prompto doesn't have anything left in him to care. Fantasies are meant to be indulged. A meaningless wish is just that.

"I want him to live."

Ardyn's smile curves up almost imperceptibly.

"And so he shall."

Chapter 6: ignis

Chapter Text

A mess of color and shapes clouds his vision as he hobbles out the tent, still on his feet despite the inexplicable pressure threatening to pull him down. One hand clutches at the canvas and the other his abdomen, feeling for the wound that should be there. No hole, no blood, but everything he experienced still caught onto every nerve ending, still telling his brain he's about to die. Neither the figures of his friends nor their startled voices register when he crumbles to the ground.

He wakes under blankets and an ornate ceiling. A cold weight rests on his forehead and his eyes struggle to work, let alone the rest of his body. But he doesn't need to move; after a shuffling to his side, Ignis appears in his line of sight.

"Noct."

"Where..." A guttural sound leaves his lips, the air aggravating his dry mouth.

"We've returned to Lestallum. You're recovering from a high fever." A gloved hand lays gently on his chest. "The local physician treated you. You'll be fine with some rest."

That explains how dreadful he feels, but the worst must have passed. A low moaning resounds in his throat as well as some words he can't decipher.

"They're in town. No need to wait up for them. Go back to sleep." Patient, pleasant, doing an admirable job of hiding his unease—everything he expects to hear in Ignis's voice, enough to wash his aches away.

Then the words register. 'Go back to sleep.' His body seizes with a jerk, the compress falling off and a shattered gasp ripping through his throat. If he sleeps, he'll die. His injuries, the blizzard, they'll kill him if he lets sleep overcome him. There's Ardyn to deal with, and all the daemons, and Prompto—

"Noct, calm down! Breathe." Ignis shifts from soothing to sharp, and Noctis's vision clears enough to see his friend holding onto his shoulders. They heave under his hands, but Ignis's reassurances help settle his breathing. His eyes search Ignis's, finding concern and perhaps even fear. Seeing Noctis faint and come down with a terrible fever out of nowhere must have disturbed even him. His memory slowly but surely returns, finally separating the past from present.

Did he go back in time again?

"You're...all alive," he whispers, hands leading themselves to Ignis's own shoulders. If Ignis wasn't unsettled already...

"Let's lie you back down."

Having no strength to protest, Noctis's head drops back onto the pillow. With the compress set back in place, Ignis readjusts the blanket over him, then takes a seat on the chair placed beside the bed. Was he keeping watch? Ever the worrywart. But Noctis won't criticize him now. Mind too heavy with the memories, he lets his eyes shut.

So he died. And for all his efforts, he gets another chance not only at accomplishing his mission but at life as well. How utterly ridiculous.

If he were to attribute this feeling to a memory, then he would choose the moment he learned Luna died. Back then, with Gladio's expectations and Ignis's blindness hanging over him like a neon sign advertising his incompetence, he wonders how he didn't spill out the ugly feelings spoiling his heart for everyone to see. He kept going till the end but lost everyone he did this all for in the first place. Two more opportunities were granted to him and he wasted them both.

He shouldn't complain. He can't allow vulnerability. He can't take a break. He can't give up. Kings don't have these luxuries. That's what he's been taught, whether or not he wanted to learn.

But even if he whines, he'll fail again and this world will be lost, and no one will remember a thing anyway. Burying into himself, his voice is nothing but a tired murmur.

"Why does this keep happening?"

"...Another nightmare?"

Ignis doesn't have a chance of understanding, but that's a decent guess. Though returned to its familiar mellow tone, his voice weighs down with worry. Noctis laughs bitterly once and digs further into the bed.

"That would mean it wasn't real..." He can't accept it after all. Every misstep he made flashes before him, taunting him. Why can't he save everyone? He exhales, breath stuttering in tune to his heartbeat. "Ignis... What do I do if I have to choose between you guys and the kingdom?"

Ignis shouldn't have to answer such an unfair question. He feels no more than a child who doesn't know better when he starts crying and making trouble for those around him. And yet—

"The kingdom cannot save itself. But not even fate will take us from your side, Noct."

He doesn't know what to think. The words strike his heart too painfully and he doesn't let up from under the covers, but knowing Ignis is there lulls him back to sleep.

He wakes to darkness and peaceful snores resonating throughout the room. After peeling off the compress, Noctis blinks into space. That's right, they're in Lestallum's inn now. Though he still feels warm, he can tell the fever has come down. Thankful his vision isn't spinning out of focus for once, he slips out of bed.

He casts a vacant gaze over his friends. Alive once more, but for how long? Even he, the supposed Chosen King, couldn't escape it. He rubs his stomach, the sensation of being ripped open still fresh in his mind. First he couldn't tell the difference between reality and memory, but now the disconnect throws him off.

Where does he go from here?

It's when he catches Ignis's coat folded neatly on the edge of his bed that things grow hazy. The light returns to his eyes only when he stands before the Regalia and comprehends what he's doing.

This is the right thing to do. Drive to Cape Caem, convince Cid to fix the boat, and sail to Altissia. If Cid won't cooperate, he'll find another boat and sail there on his own. His stare burns a hole through the keys sitting in his palm. The time for sulking has passed. He's been given another chance.

"What are you doing, Noct?"

Heart leaping out his mouth, he spins around to find Ignis peering down at him from the parking ramp. Ignis closes the distance between them, making it easier to notice he doesn't wear his glasses. Unobstructed by the lenses, his gaze cuts sharper than Noctis remembers.

"...Yo."

"It's the middle of the night."

"I, uh, couldn't sleep, so... Thought a drive might help. Y'know, fresh air."

"When you're running a fever." Ignis offers his hand, a simple gesture asking for the keys back. But Noctis doesn't give in.

"And what're you wandering around for?"

"You woke me up," he answers, hand still outstretched.

"Sorry, thought I was being quiet. The fever's not that bad anymore. It'll just be a quick lap around." He can only take Ignis's insistent gaze for so long before averting his own. "I'll be fine, Ignis."

"You are not—" Only after he hears the clinking of Ignis returning them to his pocket does Noctis realize the keys are gone. "—fine."

"Ig—" He blinks, jaw going a little slack at Ignis's sudden, albeit slight, intensity.

"I won't ask about our conversation this afternoon," Ignis starts, making Noctis stop, "but that doesn't mean I've forgotten it. You are not well and operating a vehicle at night in your condition is the very definition of foolish. Any number of things could go wrong, including being ambushed by daemons." After a beat, he adds in with a tone so unfairly softer than the rest that it threatens Noctis's resolve, "Let's go back, Noct."

His gaze wrenches back to Ignis. Ignis can't possibly know what torments him, part of him rationalizes. But he always knows what he's thinking, another part insists.

"I told you, it'll just be a quick lap around the city! There's plenty of light to ward off daemons."

"Will you let me accompany you, then?"

"I...wanna be alone for a while..."

"That I cannot allow."

"I'm not gonna get another chance like this once we get to Altissia, so just..." He sighs, frustrated at himself for fumbling. "Ten minutes is all I'm asking for."

"A walk wouldn't have sufficed?" Ignis asks in a way they both know means 'you're taking the car for a reason.' Noctis's brow pinches together and disappointment spills into his eyes. Ignis holds his gaze, not once faltering in face of his vulnerable prince. He won't win this, will he?

His head hurts.

They drive to Cape Caem the next morning. Noctis fights the concerns of his companions with his usual demeanor, feigned as best he can. In truth, he's exhausted. Tired of reliving the same path again, overwhelmed with time travel theories, discouraged he couldn't tear away from his friends to continue on his own. He can't not involve them in what's to come in Altissia once they're there, and that allows for any number of things to go wrong—things he can't personally prevent when he has the Hydraean to face.

Should he try telling them the truth again? He contemplates the question for so long that before he knows it, they're moments away from Altissia's harbor and he's no closer to an answer. When the others aren't looking, the facade of normalcy fades and all he imagines is the Empire taking his friends away from him once more, regardless if they know the truth or not. It might stop the constant flow of inquiries to his condition, but if a snide remark or a cheeky grin can quiet them, he'll settle for that.

After securing a deal with Camelia and retiring to the inn, they find Umbra waiting for them. An idea sparks within Noctis and he steps away once the opportunity arises so he can retrieve Luna's notebook. After scribbling a lengthy memo, he sends Umbra off. While he hopes it won't disrupt the recipient's clandestinity, he still wants the message to make its way.

Later, he pulls Prompto aside before they head to their rooms.

"Hey, I need a favor for tomorrow."

"Oh, uh, yeah?"

"After you evacuate the civilians, I need you to snag one of those harpoons from the Niffs. The things they used to snare Titan."

"Uuuh..." Prompto thinks for a few seconds before snapping his fingers. "Oh yeah, those things! Got it." He squints. "Wait, you want me to do what now?"

"Steal one. You need to get to the sky somehow." Before Prompto can ask how Noctis expects him to maneuver something clearly not meant for flying or why he wants him attempting to fly at all, Noctis forces a smile. "Might need some tinkering, but nothing you can't handle. Just get airborne and I'll handle the rest."

A million questions cross Prompto's face but Noctis urges him to do as he says, and makes especially certain Prompto knows he has his trust. In all his wallowing during the journey here, he forgot to speak to Prompto about his tattoo, but...maybe after the battle, if things go well, they'll talk.

Just before they all tuck in for the night, he speaks to Gladio. Whatever Gladio's doing, it saves Ignis each time and he won't risk changing anything about it.

All that's left is Luna.

He's about ten percent certain this might work. At the podium, Luna delivers the final lines of the speech he has memorized in time for the Empire's ships to loom over the ceremony. Making note of each one, he looks back at Luna and catches her gaze. She smiles at him the way she always has, and while it sends a ripple down his heart, he bears it and nods. Then he mouths 'wait.'

Summoning his blade scatters the civilians around him and once he has room, he warps to Luna. Startled, she has no choice but to be swept into Noctis's hold while he avoids the Imperial soldiers' fire and warps up to an Imperial airship, sword slicing into the steel paneling for purchase. From here, Noctis's goal sits in clear sight.

"I'll explain in a second!" he yells over the rumble of the engine to save Luna the trouble of asking what on earth he thinks he's doing. As expected, the other ships swiftly unpack their cannons and take aim. He knew he could count on these idiots to target him even at the risk of harming the one who holds the Ring of the Lucii.

He warps to another ship the moment before the guns fire, and the ship they leapt from explodes in flames. Repeating this tactic long enough clears the immediate skies of all but one ship, nearest to the altar. Once he spies the hatch opening, he and Luna tumble in and reach for each other's hands so they won't tumble right back out. But Noctis is shy an inch and with a jolt down his back he's about to warp to her, but another hand reaches out instead.

Ravus.

Thank god, he really hoped this ship wasn't full of MTs. Ravus pulls Luna up and ensures her footing before releasing her, though they still clasp hands as Luna stares wide-eyed at the unexpected sight of her brother. Noctis gets to his feet as well with a rough exhale, glad that this all somehow worked.

Before either Fleuret can question him, a crackled voice sounds from his earpiece.

"Where the hell are you, Noct?!" Prompto cries over the wind in the background.

"Headed for the altar, you close?"

"Yeah, I see you now! Still can't believe you're making me do this!" Noctis smirks at his friend's anxious tone, but he has faith. The moment Prompto pushes past his doubts, he can do anything.

Noctis rushes to the open hatch and finds the familiar red flame of the Empire's magitek, with Prompto riding atop it. He stretches out his hand and yells.

"Jump towards me!"

"What? What the—what?!"

"Just do it, I got you!"

Through the earpiece he hears a familiar whine, then a distressed grumble, and finally a relenting growl before the harpoon draws closer to the ship and Prompto leaps towards the hatch. True to his word, Noctis grabs him and uses the momentum to fling Prompto into the ship. The unfortunate blonde bounces off the paneling and slides painfully across the floor into a heap, but remains in one piece.

"C'mon buddy, no time to waste," he says, helping Prompto up with a pat on the back.

"This plan is stupid and I hate you and I'm gonna strangle you—" Prompto gripes miserably as he's made vertical, but the sight of Luna jerks him right to attention. "Lu-Lu-Lunafr— Ravus?!"

Ignoring him for the moment, Noctis turns to Ravus. "The ship's okay?"

"We're here, are we not?" Ravus answers curtly.

True.

The plan itself is simple but the execution comes with risks. However, with the Empire's actions a mystery no matter what he does, Noctis must take those risks. After Luna forges the pact with Leviathan, she'll escape on the Imperial ship with Ravus and his troops guarding her. Where they go is up to them, so long as it's far from Altissia and the Empire. Thinking ahead, he gifts Luna with a spare phone courtesy of the Camelia.

Like last time, he warned Ravus that the Empire may target him or his homeland if the rite does not go their way, and that Luna needed his help. The very ship they're in is Ravus's answer, if he could (or chose to) successfully deceive the army. He'll have to thank Umbra for rushing his message to the commander so that he'd have the night to prepare.

"So...what am I here for again?" Prompto mumbles during an opening in the conversation, where all eyes turn to him.

Noctis pauses awkwardly. "You were my backup plan. Someone needed to pilot the ship."

"Backup?" he whines, a sound so familiar that it pulls the smallest smile from Noctis.

"Hey, I'm still counting on you. Stick with Luna, okay?"

Prompto straightens up and glares at Noctis. He has about ten more questions lined up since last night, but he's aware enough to know this isn't the time. If Noctis has a plan that involves his cooperation, well, what else is he here for if not to cooperate?

"Got it. And, uh," he swallows, attempting to direct his gaze to Ravus, who has yet to acknowledge his speck of an existence let alone speak with him. "We're friends with Ravus now?"

Noctis understands Prompto's apprehension but his confidence draws eyes back on him again.

"He's Luna's friend. That's all that matters."

Nothing but the roar of the sea and the enormity of the Hydraean hovers over them. When faced with the idea that he'd have to fight her a fourth time, Noctis believed the pressure might crush him. But now, standing here before her with Luna at his side, the adrenaline easily makes its way through his veins. Maybe his plans aren't the best, and maybe something new will go wrong, but he needs to keep trying. Doesn't he?

Just before Leviathan's waves swallow the altar, Noctis warps Luna back to the waiting ship. She delivers the Ring as always and he spares the best smile he can for her along with all his hopes that if nothing else, this goes right.

Perhaps he spent that wish too early.

Leviathan's immense fins come charging toward him when a scream pierces his ears so intensely that he swears his brain rattles against his skull from the impact. Recognizing it as Luna's scream breaks his focus, and he goes flying the next moment. He thrashes against wind and gravity to find his bearings in the air, Royal Arms spinning chaotically around him. Instead of facing the Astral once more, however, he searches for the source of the voice. Luna can't possibly be here but he knows he heard her. Did the ship crash? Shot down? Is everyone safe?!

His body distorts against several water dragons striking him down, and just barely does he avoid hitting the ocean surface to return to the air. A terrible headache thrashes within him and he just makes it worse by growling to himself, torn between concentrating on the fight and worrying for his friends. He throws his weapons at Leviathan's eyes to earn a few seconds to recover, but they're soon gone to waste when his own vision trembles against the force of another voice.

"Not checking up on your bride-to-be? Heartless."

Now he hears not only Luna's cries but that of Prompto's. The sounds swell within him, so violently pulling on his insides that he wrenches forward with a battered cry. The pain isn't physical but hurts all the same. More than that, he knows exactly who the voice belongs to.

"Ar...dyn...!!"

"Oh, watch out."

Taking advantage of his disorientation, Leviathan's open mouth lunges at him. With a strangled yelp he parries her to the side, or least that's what should have happened. Instead his body buckles when it can't bear the brunt of it, and the serpent's head pitches him at too fast a speed to comprehend. Something sears into him, and then the sickening crack of bone after he bounces off pavement and into a heap.

"I did warn you."

He realizes he broke through the waterfall and landed somewhere in the city. Noctis barely gets a groan out when the telltale march of MTs reaches his ears. His arms fail to push himself up, a sharp cry leaving him instead when pain shoots down his back. With the armiger dissipated, he's all but easy pickings for the soldiers now.

"Taking a break? How irresponsible. When your companions are suffering so..."

He is so damn tired of being banged up. A growl reverberating in his throat, he pushes himself up once more through sheer willpower, not allowing broken bones or bleeding cuts to stop him. But when even that isn't enough and he slams back down to the ground, a nostalgic sense of alarm envelops him. He looks down at himself in a panic, but before he has a chance to think—

A string of troopers crumble as daggers pierce their heads. Water splashes against him when feet zoom past and kick down the remaining soldiers with subtle grace. Ignis.

"Ever the knight. But there exists no shield that cannot be broken."

Ardyn's disembodied voice cleaves his head, but he'd rather concentrate on Ignis. What on earth is he doing here? Where's Gladio?

"Noct!" Ignis kneels at his side and sits him up after wiping out the remaining MTs with a flash of magic. He needs only one look to pull out an elixir and bring it to the prince's lips. The bubbly liquid makes its way down his throat, soothing his pain and helping his wounds to rapidly sow themselves up. The unnatural process always chills him to the bone, but more than that it confirms his suspicions.

"How did you end up here?!"

"That's my line," Noctis grunts. "Got knocked out by Leviathan. No big deal. Where's Gladio?"

"Separated, I'm afraid. I was just about to make my way back to him when I saw you." Concern colors Ignis's features. "We need to get you back to higher ground."

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll come looking," he spits bitterly before falling silent. They don't have time to waste, but...this is really happening, isn't it.

"Ignis, um."

"Save it for later. Imperials are still in the area. Come on," Ignis insists with that particular tone of his, but Noctis doesn't budge when he's pulled. Swallowing thickly, his voice comes out smaller than anticipated.

"I can't feel my legs..."

Ignis's hand goes cold around him. His mind makes sense of something insensible in a matter of seconds, but it doesn't stop his features from distorting.

"The effects...could be delay—"

"The elixir didn't work!" The finality to his voice stuns them both. Noctis can't stop himself from shaking ever slightly, yet the vibrations are enough to sting Ignis's palms. But the approaching footfalls of MTs cut off any more conversation. After a sharp glance to their enemies, Ignis does what he's supposed to do: he pulls Noctis up onto his back.

"H-Hey!"

"Don't fall off now," Ignis warns, like he'd ever let Noctis fall, and takes off opposite the direction he came from.

"What about Gladio?!"

"He'd do the same thing."

The same... Leaving the others behind to prioritize Noctis. He grinds his teeth in frustration but has no room to debate as the one who foolishly hurt himself to such a degree. All he can do is hold on tight and try to ward off his restlessness with idle thoughts, one being how Ignis's strength never ceases to surprise him. For someone who looks so slender, Noctis may as well be weightless for how seamlessly Ignis weaves through rubble and enemy fire to make his way to higher ground.

"Noct, the goddess...you can still earn her blessing."

He honestly can't figure out if that's a statement or a question, and he doesn't think Ignis knows either. A bitter smirk touches his lips.

"Yeah, about that."

"Don't lose heart."

"Titan's nothing compared to her." He exhales against Ignis's shoulder, disheartened despite his friend's wishes. "I don't stand a chance without the kings' powers, and I've already..."

Realization hits. Ignis strains his ears when Noctis trails off, but he doesn't have to wait long. He rummages desperately into his jacket pocket and pulls something out. When Noctis wraps his arms around Ignis's neck again, he sees what that something is.

"It might kill me," comes Noctis's breathless voice, strained by the memories of wearing the Ring hitting him all at once. Whether it be from Ignis's running or his nerves, his hands sway as he positions the Ring over his finger. It may not have actually killed him yet, but faced against an Astral, the Ring seems more a burden than a miracle.

"What?" Naturally, Ignis can't begin to wonder why Noctis thinks the Ring poses such a danger to him. His breathing rushes haphazardly past Ignis's ears as though to tell him that this is no light matter.

"Nothing, I can do this." His voice betrays his doubt but he forces the Ring on and prepares for the onslaught of agony. And it comes in waves, shooting through every working nerve in his body. His body jerks against Ignis and with a shuddering gasp he buries his face into Ignis's shoulder.

"Noct?!"

"I'm...fine..." he grinds out after a few moments. Looks like it hasn't killed him yet, but the pain is considerably less than he expected. In fact, it's identical to the pressure he experienced the very first time he wore it. What the hell?

"Are you certain?" Ignis manages to ask just before he avoids another stream of water courtesy of Leviathan. Her furious scream pierces the air next, powerful enough to send ripples down their backs. Questions later, giant serpent goddess now.

"I said I'm fine! Never mind that, I need—we gotta find those harpoon things. I can use that."

Ignis eventually nods. If Noctis has a plan, he'll support him. The path to such magitek lies on the path to MTs. Noctis digs out a magic flask to swiftly take care of the front lines targeting them, but to their surprise it destroys the entire horde in a single round. They exchange bewildered glances. His magic may be effective, but not that much.

"My gift to you, Noctis."

He shivers at the voice burrowing into his skull again, the sensation so repulsive that he doesn't have the mind to consider Ardyn's words. He needs to concentrate on the battle this time.

"Here, Noct." They finally find a fallen harpoon and Ignis helps settle him atop it. It drives home the fact he truly can't use his legs, but that's why he has two arms. This will do. Thank the gods he paid attention when Prompto flew him around on this death contraption. He works on getting the engine running again while Ignis looks on.

"I should come with you."

Noctis looks up sharply with an immediate response.

"No way. Trust me, Iggy, this thing isn't safe."

"All the more reason, then! Noct, your legs...!" He grabs Noctis's arm and at that moment he sees the dread in Ignis's eyes. The sheer strength Ignis puts into his grip strikes him speechless.

Not even fate will take us from your side.

Ignis didn't want to leave Gladio behind but he can't live with himself if he abandoned Noctis instead. He fears for Noctis and for good reason. Noctis decided not to take his friends for granted anymore, yet he dared to try and ditch them anyway. So against all better judgement, Noctis offers quiet assent.

"...Make sure I don't fall off, then."

Ready for an argument, it takes a moment for the words to hit home. When they do, Ignis's face crinkles in relief.

The sky tears apart with Leviathan's roars as Noctis careens around the cracks. With Ignis acting his anchor, he can set aside his worries of plummeting into the seas and focus on the fight. That said, he can't yet re-summon his arsenal of Royal Arms so he settles for individual, direct attacks. He knows where all her weak points are, but getting to them is the hard part.

Pushing away his hesitations that are more rooted than he cares to admit, Noctis glares down at the Ring.

"You better not let me fall to my death!" he cries over the wind. Ignis catches the glint of the Ring and understands.

"Is that doubt I hear?"

He grins to himself, granting him the courage he needs to steer the harpoon closer to Leviathan. The well-known surge of power through his body fractures his skin like tangled branches, and burns with light. He centers all his thoughts on the magic, imagining it enveloping the Astral like it did to the daemons he's faced. He doesn't expect her to succumb at all to the Ring's power, but all he needs is a lull in her defenses to capitalize on.

A high-pitched shriek rips through Leviathan that twists her immense body as if it were nothing but a thin piece of string. The sound so inhuman, Noctis immediately claps his hands over his ears, however useless the action. He and Ignis look on with horror as her scales shatter, glistening like glass when they catch in the storm. Some come speeding toward them and break against the harpoon; Ignis instinctively shoves Noctis down to avoid the debris.

"What's happening?!"

"I-I don't know! I think...the Ring worked?!" He truly doesn't have a clue. When he brings his hands close to his chest, though, the heat from the Ring pulsates against him. Somehow, using a sliver of his awareness, the magic continues to cast itself.

Leviathan isn't the only one spiraling out of control. Apparently drawing life from her, the waves surrounding them rise taller than ever before and converge toward the goddess. They realize they're very close to being submerged under it if they don't move. Ignis keeps Noctis down and pulls the harpoon himself, swerving up to gain altitude. That doesn't stop Noctis from shouting out a complaint.

"You have no idea how to drive this thing!"

"Did you?" Ignis counters. His only choice being to hold on for dear life (again), Noctis squints through the storm to see the goddess crying out in denial of her defeat. Already he senses the power of her blessing within him. Whatever the Ring did to her, it worked. Perhaps a little too well.

"You're complaining? Selfish boy."

His heart pounds when Ardyn's voice comes from nowhere. But his thoughts scramble when something collides with the magitek, and he and Ignis go flying far from their destination. Ignis's protective hold on him may keep him from falling off, but it won't stop the waves from cutting them off. Helplessly, the magitek loses power and they plunge into the waters.

Pleasant sunlight streams through the windows as Noctis pushes himself up against the pillows. Further down the room, Ignis stands from his seat to walk to the bed. The first thing to cross his mind is, thank god Ignis isn't hurt.

"Good morning," Ignis greets while adjusting the pillows. Noctis hums in reply, drowsiness weighing down his gaze. Morning already? How long has he been asleep?

"We're not dead, are we?"

"Not quite." A soft noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle echos from Ignis's throat. When Ignis takes a seat on the edge of the bed, Noctis senses a conversation on the way. From here he can see that Ignis isn't fully recharged either, looking as worn out as Noctis feels.

"Is the city...?"

"Largely destroyed. The floods were...far-reaching, but some buildings avoided the worst. We're in the First Secretary's rooms now."

He struggles to recall what happened during the rite. Leviathan had fallen but the waters around her seemed to take on her wrath instead. Is it an Astral thing? He can't even begin to wonder, but he does remember they weren't able to escape the waterfall.

"You sure we're not dead?" he asks sincerely enough for Ignis to catch on.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I know we fell off that magitek... Don't tell me you swam all the way to land."

"I did."

"You're kidding!" Noctis sits forward with a jolt, incredulity wiping his fatigue.

"Ah, well. I'd say the currents did most of the work. We were carried quite a distance from the battlefield, but I brought us back to the surface. There were plenty of debris to latch onto."

Ignis recounts the story like holding onto another person while trying to stay above a massive flood compares to a morning run. He raises his brow curiously when Noctis grabs his upper arm and squeezes.

"What's this?"

"Checking if your arms are made of steel."

Heaving a sigh at the out-of-place humor, Ignis gently peels off Noctis's hand before continuing. "You were unconscious as soon as we hit the water. A consequence of the Ring of the Lucii's power, I presume. If there's anything to thank the flood for, it's wiping out the rest of the Empire's forces."

Those who remained escaped immediately following Leviathan's defeat, and the civilians were evacuated long before they could be caught up in the mess. After Ignis's explanation reaches its end, a question hovers over them like a heavy fog.

"And Gladio?"

Full of uncertainty, turbulence...Ignis's expression steals his breath. He grabs Ignis's arm again.

"He's safe, right?"

"Gladio is...missing."

The anguish that colors Noctis's features shines clearer than the sunlight outside. The way his hand digs its nail in or how his eyes grow round and glisten despite the absence of tears, one would think Ignis had delivered news of Gladio's death instead. Surely, to react this much is... Ignis thinks back to what happened in Lestallum and once again faces the fact that something indecipherable plagues Noctis. It isn't often that Noctis's mind is completely unknown to him, and what a jarring sensation it is.

Gliding through the quiet between them, he reaches for Noctis's hand. But a knock on the door interrupts him before he makes contact. Ignis snaps back to reality and Noctis jerks away, from surprise or perhaps embarrassment. He drops his head, and without a word Ignis stands to get the door.

Once the stranger introduces himself as a physician, reality returns to hit Noctis this time. Clutching at the sheets, he doesn't meet the doctor's eyes and instead stares at the reason he's here: his legs, blanketed by warmth but unable to perceive it.

"Noct." Again, the patient voice that he has often taken for granted does well to lift his gaze. Ignis approaches him and asks, "Are you up for an examination?"

No point in delaying the inevitable. The doctor's empathetic expression only hastens his uneasiness.

"Get it over with."

The doctor's explanation of his diagnosis may as well take place across the city for how little Noctis pays attention. He's been here before, he knows what happened. They should be grateful that Noctis got away with paralyzed legs after being flung thousands of feet into hard pavement. He knew he had hurt his back. But he's alive, so that's...something.

Once they're alone, Ignis retakes his seat on the bed. Noctis idly twists fabric between his fingers while attempting to keep track of everything that went wrong and how to proceed from here. He doesn't make much progress.

"Restoration efforts are already underway. Gladio could be—"

"Dead under some rubble?" Rather than the words, the dry tone silences them both. Noctis instantly regrets it. "...Maybe he got away. Or caught by the Empire. Something other than...just, gone. I mean, it's Gladio. Couldn't kill the guy if you wanted to. I'm...I'm sure he'll turn up eventually."

Ignis merely hums, adjusting his glasses just to give his hands something to do. With bad news after bad news, the atmosphere grows ever unpleasant. Not only that, they've glanced over the revelation that Noctis will never walk again, and for the first time Ignis can't decide if Noctis's usual apathy isn't usual at all, but a self-preservation tactic to stay afloat.

"You haven't asked about the others," Ignis comments, moving on.

"I know where Prompto is. Kind of." At that moment, he realizes his jacket isn't in sight. When he inquires about it, Ignis brings over the tattered material and he searches the pockets. Prompto's glove and Ignis's pendant are miraculously in tact (and kept safely from Ignis's view), but as expected his phone is all but shattered to pieces. He tosses it on the bed with a sigh.

"Don't suppose yours still works?"

"Unfortunately not, but," Ignis pauses to present a sparkling new phone, "Camelia was kind enough to lend a spare. I've caught the Marshal up to speed, and I...tried calling Gladio, with no success. Prompto didn't answer either, but the line isn't dead."

Noctis takes it and immediately hits redial. Whatever the reason, the call goes to voicemail. After leaving a frustrated message, Noctis chews his bottom lip before trying another number. Ignis looks on inquisitively.

"...Yes?"

"Luna!" Noctis brightens in a flash, life surging back into his body and voice in a way that surprises Ignis. But he waits for explanations until after the call is done.

"Noctis...!" Her own voice sings with relief and Noctis smiles to himself in hearing it.

"You okay? Where are you?"

"Yes, we're all safe on the ship."

One worry alleviated, Noctis tackles another. "Is Prompto still with you? He's not answering his phone."

"Ah..." A pause and a shuffling later, Luna continues, "I did hear the ringing, but...well, I wasn't sure I should answer his phone myself. He's sleeping. Shall I wake him for you?"

Noctis pauses before pulling the phone back to look at the time. The clock reads ten in the morning. This fool made him and Ignis think something terrible had happened to him because he overslept?

"Ugh. Yeah, could you?" After a beat, he adds in clumsily enough to make Ignis's lips curve up. "Please."

"Of course, just a moment." There's more shuffling and other background noise, and finally something that sounds like Prompto exchanging panicked words with Luna. A flat expression subconsciously crosses his face, imagining how Prompto's probably been bumbling in front of Luna since meeting her, but in the back of his mind he's glad they got to meet at all. What happened to the two of them last time...he refuses to allow it a second.

"Noctis? I'm giving the phone to Prompto."

"Uh, yeah. Wait a sec."

"Yes?"

"...You sure you're okay?"

Luna takes her turn to pause, but he's patient. If she's really thinking about her answer, then that's a good thing.

"I admit I didn't know what to make of your decisions. But Prompto has shown great trust in you. He's assured us all," Luna answers. Noctis smiles wryly to himself, knowing Prompto doesn't even have a clue about Noctis's supposed plan. "And I trust in you as well. We all hope to see you again soon."

He breathes out through his nose and basks in Luna's voice. He wants so badly to do things right by her this time. By all his friends who risk their lives for him.

"We will. I promise. Sorry, I know I said I'd explain things, but..." He sighs, unable to find the words and ends up apologizing again. Luna senses Noctis's struggle and offers to hand the phone over as promised. Though a deep fear caught in the corners of his mind nags him about this moment potentially the last he hears from Luna, he doesn't give into it and greets Prompto's voice on the other end of the line.

"You've alive!"

Noctis's eyes crinkle in contentment before he puts the phone on speaker. "Still having doubts about that, but yeah. Ignis is here too. Check your phone, dumbass."

"Huh?" Startled, Prompto pulls out the phone in question and a gasp follows. "Crap, sorry, guess I didn't hear it go off. It's been a long night."

"It's fine, as long as you're okay. Any Niffs following you?"

"Not since we left Altissia. Either they gave up or Ravus is super good at sneaking around. We're actually headed to Lucis! He said something about that being your idea, but...is it really?"

"Uh, yeah." That earns a look from Ignis. "Figured it'd be the safest place for now."

"I guess. We heard about Altissia last night. Sounds like a lot went down. Tried calling you too, y'know. No one was picking up! Worrying my ass off for you guys while I'm stuck here with an Imperial commander who I'm pretty sure still hasn't realized I exist. One of these days he's gonna accidentally step on me if I don't get out the way. And he probably still won't realize I'm here. How can he and Lady Lunafreya possibly be related? Speaking of, you won't believe—"

How long has it been since he last listened to Prompto's babble? Even Ignis loses some tension in his shoulders, casting the phone a kind gaze. It means he's alive and well.

"Shut up for a second, will you?" Noctis cuts in with a chuckle. "Just hang in there 'til you get to Lucis. See if you can meet up with Cor or Monica. You'll need to be the one to convince them Ravus is on our side, okay? He'll work with you if it's in Luna's interests."

"W-What?" Prompto falters, uncertain about this new responsibility hoisted onto him. "Seriously? I mean, my word doesn't really mean that much... They'd sooner listen to Iggy or Gladio—"

"They'll believe you."

A silence follows for a time, but when he speaks next, Prompto sounds a tad brighter.

"Got it. So fill me in, you guys still in Altissia?"

"Yeah." Acknowledging his short affirmation, Noctis moves on. "Parts of the city are safe and all the civilians escaped. Got the blessing too, so it wasn't a total disaster. Probably."

"Nice. Gonna catch up to us in Lucis?"

"Uh..." He shares glances with Ignis. They haven't gotten that far in their conversation, but fortunately Ignis takes it upon himself to answer.

"It's likely. The Empire has retreated and the First Secretary has kindly lent us shelter, so we've some time to regroup."

"Iggy! Okay, just keep me posted. I'll glue my phone to my face if I have to." Noctis snorts at the imagery, but the humor fades when Prompto continues. "Gladio there too?"

"...Yeah, he's still asleep. Big guy deserves it." Ignis looks up in alarm, but Noctis brings a finger to his lips.

"And he's always the one kicking me awake. Fine, then just tell him I said hi. ...Hey, when we all meet up, you're gonna tell me what this plan of yours is all about, right?"

Noctis swallows. "Yeah."

"Alright. Keep me in the loop. Want me to put Lady Lunafreya on again?"

"Yeah, thanks. Prompto?" He breathes out softly. "Keep her safe, but don't die."

Prompto's familiar laughter warms the space around them.

"You're jinxing it, Noct!"

When Luna's voice comes through the speaker, Noctis tells her to step away from Prompto before catching her up: that Gladio has gone missing, that she and Ravus should keep an eye out for him, and that most importantly, not to tell Prompto. It's more likely Gladio is either still in Altissia or taken captive by the Empire, but their efforts won't hurt. Recognizing the worry laced into Noctis's tone, Luna assures him they'll do all they can to help. After the call ends, Ignis doesn't spare any time to get answers.

"Are you certain, Noct?"

"We'll just have to find Gladio before we meet up. Easy," he says nonchalantly mostly for his own sanity. Ignis isn't so convinced.

"You left something else out..." He draws his gaze to Noctis's legs, at which the prince scowls.

"They have more important things to concentrate on."

"Noct," he insists, but Noctis won't have it. Whether or not he's okay, they both have to deal with it.

"Never mind that, we need to figure out what to do next. Or did you forget we have a job to do?"

Ignis regards him with narrowed eyes, still struggling to accept matters as they are. He knows Noctis pushes himself. Any other day that drive would be admirable, but now it only seems an act of desperation.

"I don't believe it wise to move on with just the two of us."

"The Crystal's in Gralea." He continues before Ignis has time to react. "So all we have to do is get to Niflheim somehow. Eventually. Maybe. I'm hoping we don't have to."

"...Care to explain?"

He briefly explains what happened before the rite and why Prompto travels with the Fleurets. No one actually had to tell him about the Crystal, of course, but he did ask Ravus for assistance in the matter of moving it. Proving himself a traitor to the Empire, Ravus may not be able to access the Crystal now, but there are others to rely on. Noctis refuses to enter the Keep unless absolutely, undeniably necessary. After what happened last time, he bewares going near Niflheim in general. Things should be fine with Luna alive but the risks still linger. He rushed too much too often before, but he learned his lesson. They need time to assess things. Now he understands why Ignis frequently advises caution.

"Besides, I don't think Camelia has the time to hitch us a ride with her city to take care of," Noctis offers in a moment of empathy. "We should stick around for a while. Wait and see if Gladio's...somewhere, too. He might come back here."

Ignis massages his forehead as he organizes the rush of new information. Noctis watches him in silence, again noting the exhaustion rolling off his friend in waves. Looks like he slept for little under a day, but how much sleep did Ignis get, if any?

"Look, don't think about it too hard. There's always tomorrow. Go sleep."

"I'm fine, Noct." He peers up at the unexpected proposal. "But you make a valid point. I'll see if there's anything I can offer toward the restoration efforts. Perhaps we may earn Camelia's favor once more."

While that's a shrewd suggestion, Noctis glowers. "Sleep."

Ignis thins his lips into a frown of his own, but another knock on the door disturbs the conversation. With a sigh, Noctis flops back against the pillows while Ignis greets the visitor—the physician, who rolls something in that forces Noctis upright again. Not even the sunlight caught onto the steel makes the wheelchair any more enticing, and the two men watch Noctis's face twist into a resentment unearthed from his oldest memories.

"It's fine," he interrupts the doctor. "I know how it works."

He couldn't get out of the wheelchair and back into bed fast enough, throwing the sheets over his head so he can sleep. Ignis's voice comes muffled through the fabric, and Noctis eventually deigns to peek an eye out.

"You should greet Camelia, at least."

"Later. Didn't I tell you to sleep?"

"And I told you I'm fine." A sigh leaves Ignis as he places his hands on his hips.

"If you sleep, I'll meet whoever you want me to."

What a ridiculous argument. And unfortunately for Ignis, he'd rather end it sooner than later.

"Very well. I will hold you to that."

A hum is all he replies with until he sees Ignis heading for the sofa.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep?" Ignis breathes out. He sinks into the seats, fatigue catching up to him now that he's off his feet.

"I meant in another room. On a bed." With soft pillows and warm blankets and space.

Ignis looks over in the middle of folding his glasses. "We were only afforded one room. The rest are occupied." By others who, like Noctis, weren't able to escape and need shelter to recover from their injuries. He idly realizes this is why a doctor was readily available for him.

"Fine, then sleep over here. Plenty of room."

Ignis deserves more than a cramped couch, but that doesn't appear to register immediately. Squinting at Noctis, a variety of emotions cross his face while considering the offer.

"I don't think—"

"Don't make it weird. Won't matter when we're both asleep," Noctis says decisively as he pats the space next to him before shuffling over to make room. He pulls the covers over his head again to drive home the fact that there will be no more argument or inquiries to his sudden charity. After a full minute, he hears Ignis's footsteps and the bed creaking under the added weight. Good.

Altissia's dusklight casts shadows in the room when he wakes up. Evening, huh? Ignis may complain about wasting a day but his words won't have much weight when he's still asleep himself. With a horrible case of bedhead, at that. The sight draws the faintest smirk from Noctis before his attention shifts to the wheelchair next to the bed. He supposes it won't hurt to roll around a little.

After pulling himself into the seat, he takes the phone left on the bed and wheels himself to the windows. The view alarms him; though he can spy people cleaning up, the damage is as bad as Ignis described and much worse than his past experiences. If these are the least affected areas, he can only imagine the state of the rest of the city.

If he hadn't been distracted during the battle, if he hadn't given into Ardyn's taunts...

Sighing, he checks the phone. There are some texts from Prompto—they've successfully sneaked Luna into Lucis and have met up with Cor and the others. Glad they made it safely, he texts a thank you for Prompto's efforts.

A sound from behind makes him turns his head to see Ignis rise, pushing back his hair and reaching for his glasses.

"Noct?"

"Yeah."

Ignis murmurs, then makes his way to stand beside Noctis at the window. He pulls back the curtains to look outside and comments with a hint of discontent in his voice, "It's late."

Complaining right on cue. Noctis smiles to himself but says nothing. He feels the Ignis's eyes on him, and silence lingers for a time before Ignis gingerly breaks it.

"You haven't been particularly vocal about your injury. That isn't a bad thing, but..." Noctis grips the phone in his lap. "I wouldn't say it's good either."

Noctis simply takes in those words until something occurs to him. Then he breathes out a short laugh.

"I learned that from you."

"Pardon?"

He idly turns the phone in his hands. Ignis's blindness may have disabled him, but it didn't curb his desire to remain at Noctis's side or contribute as a member of the group. It certainly didn't stop him from trying to fight anyway, either. He remained silent even though his fears of becoming a burden tormented him. Even though that should have been what he complained about.

But he didn't. So Noctis won't either.

"Nothing," he answers before continuing with a decisiveness that both impresses and troubles Ignis. "I'm not dead. And there are still things I need to do, so..." he trails off with a shrug, and his voice grows quieter when he picks it back up. "Dad couldn't walk right either. Didn't stop him."

They both know it isn't the same.

The conversation clouds Ignis's features in frustration. With Gladio missing and Noctis injured, a foreign sense of powerlessness settles in his stomach. He hasn't a clue what Noctis meant by 'learning' from him, but if he somehow inspired Noctis to keep his head above water, then the least he can do is persist as his pillar of support. Deciding to leave things at that, Ignis changes the subject.

"It's about time for dinner."

"They have food?" Grateful that Ignis won't question him further, Noctis looks up curiously.

"It won't be anything luxurious, but yes, there are rations."

"Hmm... Sure, sounds good."

"Understood." He steps back to leave, though not before laying a hand on Noctis's shoulder in passing. Noctis presses his lips together at the touch, then folds his hand over the Ring.

"Ignis. Don't blame yourself. I mean it."

Ignis stops in his tracks to look at Noctis. He doesn't look back, and nothing more is said between them.

Chapter 7: ignis

Chapter Text

They spend a couple of days in Altissia, during which they learn that Cid made it through the flood. Noctis sends Ignis to catch him up on matters and inquire about the Regalia. Though a bit beat up, both the car and the boat are safe, and Noctis takes that as a cue to get moving.

Though none too happy with the state of her city, Camelia sends off the prince with well regards and a promise to keep an eye out for his Shield. Cid is rightfully shocked to see Noctis rolling himself up in a wheelchair, but after some brusque remarks, he dutifully helps him onto the boat. Noctis follows with an off-hand comment about cutting his legs off to implant magitek prostheses à la Ravus, but a particularly poignant look from Ignis shuts him up.

With nothing but the blue sea to keep him company, he ends up falling asleep on the seats. After Ignis draws his jacket over him, conversation strikes up again.

"Don't let the poor fool chop his legs off."

Ignis sighs. "I can't promise anything. He's been full of surprises ever since leaving the Cape."

"How d'ya mean?"

He struggles to explain. The little, subtle changes in Noctis's behavior that even Prompto picked up on caught his attention, but none of them had room to question. Then there's what happened in Lestallum. He promised he wouldn't pry but wonders now if it's at the root of it all.

"He's taking it too well. I'd rather he simply be trying to act tough, but...that isn't it. Something's changed." And not knowing what is maddening. Whether he picks up on that or not, Cid just grunts in reply before falling quiet.

With Cid insisting he'll wait for Cindy to collect him from the Cape, Noctis and Ignis take off for the Hunters' headquarters where Prompto and Luna await them. Noctis texts a status update to Prompto before settling against the passenger seat. It feels good to be back in the Regalia again.

"What did Prompto have to say?" asks Ignis from the driver's side.

"Still alive. Apparently there's been more daemons lately so he and Iris are helping the hunters out. Ravus doesn't have any news about the Crystal though, but he's working on it." Noctis shrugs. "Luna can't exactly be running free around Lucis but hopefully she won't be holed up for long. And the Empire's been pulling their troops. At least, that's what they think since there haven't been any attacks since we left."

"The rite didn't end in their favor, after all. They will need to regroup just like us."

That doesn't convince Noctis, knowing how Niflheim's sovereign teeters over the edge of madness. With no Ring or Oracle to show for his efforts, he won't take his loss lightly. Then there's Ardyn. Knowing Ardyn stands against them, it shouldn't surprise him to find the chancellor at the cornerstone of everything awful since he first traveled to the past. He murdered Luna, tormented him at the Keep, separated him from his friends—he guided them all to Altissia only to tear them apart afterward. And nothing Noctis does prevents that from happening. Somehow or another, he winds up alone.

He jolts when a vivid chuckle seeps into his ears, and he immediately recognizes it as Ardyn's. Ignis raises his brow when Noctis wildly twists his head around. Is he hearing things again? Ardyn couldn't possibly be in the Regalia, but a part of him has learned to expect the nonsensical. Ardyn controls illusions, after all, so what if he really is playing tricks on his mind? Or perhaps this whole thing is actually a colossal, twisted hallucination. Could he have been dreaming this entire time?

Noctis slumps back with a heavy sigh. So this is what paranoia feels like.

"Night is falling," Ignis attempts to pull him from his thoughts. "I suggest we stop at Old Lestallum."

Noctis frowns, thinking of the spectacle he'll become.

"I'm fine with camping—"

"Absolutely not."

His frown deepens before he sinks into his seat. "So much for a suggestion," he mumbles.

At least the town isn't crowded. They hurry into the motel where Ignis spectacularly evades each probing question from the receptionist and wheels Noctis to their room. After showering and getting dressed, he seriously considers those prostheses—or braces, crutches, something other than flinging his legs around uselessly. He isn't eight-years-old anymore, he can't expect someone to hold his hand every hour of the day. And he definitely doesn't want to have the inevitable conversation about how he intends to fight like this. Prompto would probably expect him to bust out dormant superpowers or awaken to heightened senses to overcome his detriments, like some comic book hero. If only.

It will take time, but he'll get used to it. That's what he tells himself.

Losing himself to his thoughts again, he sits on the bedside and stares vacantly at his legs. That may have compelled Ignis to speak up.

"Noct, I have a proposition."

"Another suggestion I can't say no to?" he replies, a scowl twisting his features.

Ignis settles next to him, along with a heavy atmosphere that softens Noctis's expression only for tension to replace it.

"I think..." Ignis starts carefully. "We should allow the Marshal and the others to take point for now."

He lets that sink in before glancing over to gauge Noctis's reaction, the slow cycle from stunned to hurt to resentment—as he expected.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Take point in what?" he spits out.

"Lady Lunafreya is under their protection and you have Ravus searching for the Crystal. I believe it wise to stay put until we hear news on that front. Stay somewhere safe."

"Stay safe while everyone else does all the work for us? There are still royal tombs to open. Daemons to fight. What happens if Ravus can't get the Crystal out of Niflheim? That means I'll need to go get it myself."

Compared to the growing volume of Noctis's voice, Ignis remains patient. That patience drives Noctis insane sometimes because it paints him the temperamental child in contrast, a little brat who doesn't know what he's saying.

"How do you intend to fight in your condition?"

And now they have to talk about that.

"I still have arms. I can't just—the whole reason we're on this damn trip is because of me!" He pulls the sheets into his fist, sending ripples down the fabric with his anger or fear, neither knows. "I'll...manage it!"

Why is Ignis of all people telling him to take a back seat? When he always urges Noctis to do things at his pace while still moving toward the end goal. But he hurts himself and suddenly he's incapable?

Is this how Ignis felt once he lost his sight?

The tension disappears once the thought strikes him. He watches Ignis's unfaltering gaze as he awaits an answer. Yes, he's waiting. He hasn't given up on him. If Noctis has a plan, he'll follow it. So when Noctis sullenly lowers his head, Ignis simply lays a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll take the time to figure it out. Properly."

It isn't an unreasonable request, but all he feels is how Ignis must have when he insisted on accompanying them to Cartanica's mines. 'I'll manage somehow,' he said.

"I do think we should reunite with Prompto soon, but if he has a job to do, then let's not distract him." Noctis bites the inside of his cheek, knowing who that distraction would be. "Isn't that why you kept the truth about Gladio from him?"

Noctis’s lips part but allows no words through. Instead he shifts the conversation away.

"...I'd be fine. I have you to protect me, don't I?" he says, unable to keep the spite from slipping through knowing full well they aren't just bodyguards. Going along with it, Ignis offers a thin smile.

"There are three of us for a reason."

"You better remember that."

No more sacrifices. He doesn't care if it's part of being king, he'll find a way to move forward and keep everyone safe at the same time.

Ignis inclines his head, then takes his hand back and simply watches Noctis. Coming to a conclusion, he breaks the silence with another question.

"What happened in Lestallum?"

A new wave of apprehension freezes Noctis in place.

"You said you wouldn't ask about that."

"I did. But you've been acting strangely since that night. I want to know why."

"And I don't want to talk about it."

"Noct..." Worry seeps into his eyes but he's cut off with a strong but shaky voice.

"I made a mistake! Okay? Forget about it already. I won't try running off again."

Noctis hopes admitting it will get Ignis off his back, but it has the opposite effect. Once again the weight of Ignis's hands drops on his shoulder, but this time it turns him sideways to force upon him the full brunt of Ignis's searching eyes.

"There are things even I won't understand if you don't explain it to me, Noct."

The unexpected words make his stomach turn, and he averts his gaze to look anywhere other than at Ignis. But Ignis's voice persists, low and gentle.

"What led you to making that mistake?"

His eyes flutter as a debate wages in his mind, pushing him to tell Ignis the truth and yanking him away from the impulse. He made a decision not to leave his friends behind, didn't he? Should...should he try telling the truth again, this time for sure? Even if he hallucinates, all he has to do is keep at it. Carefully he lifts his gaze, still wavering but finding comfort in Ignis's. He opens his mouth—

"That won't do."

Jerking away, Noctis snaps his head toward the ceiling and strains his ears to catch the voice again.

"You! Where are you?!"

"Noct!" Equally startled, Ignis grips Noctis's shoulders to calm him down, but Noctis ignores him in favor of recoiling under Ardyn's guttural laughter.

"I suggest tidying yourselves up. You have company."

The lights flicker before going out entirely, followed by the lights outside. Noctis nearly cracks his teeth from how hard he bites down. Always, always getting in the way...!

"Shut up, shut up!"

"Who are talking to?!"

A barrage of roars sends tremors throughout the motel that cuts further conversation short, and out the windows they see familiar silhouettes accented by magic—daemons.

"What the?!" Noctis blurts out eloquently at the sight, then looks on helplessly as Ignis pulls his jacket on and works to get Noctis's feet into his boots.

"Ignis, I-I can't—"

They exchange panicked stares at the realization of Noctis's predicament, but a sudden crash interrupts their thoughts. Broken glass rains on them when the windows make way for an enormous hand that can only belong to an iron giant. Ignis yanks Noctis to the floor to shield him. With no time to think, he hauls Noctis onto his back and sprints out the door.

"Hold on!"

"What exactly is the plan here?!" Noctis yells in his ear.

Another roar pushes against Noctis's back and he looks back at the Giant ripping the room apart and staggering toward them, taking down the rest of the motel with it. The other guests run down the crumbling halls, but to see the unlucky ones caught in the collapse sends a shooting pain to his chest.

"We have to take them out!"

Ignis grinds his teeth, sidesteps the cracks forming in the floor and barely makes it outside before the building loses all support. When he spies the Regalia in their sights, Noctis gasps.

"What are you doing?! We have to fight!"

"Not like this," Ignis counters, throwing Noctis into the seat before getting in himself. Torn between crawling back out and wanting to stick with Ignis, Noctis gapes at him.

"But we can't just leave them!"

Ignis starts the engine and backs up with such force that a short spell of dizziness overcomes Noctis, but it comes just in time to avoid another iron giant slamming its sword down on the gas pumps. Other smaller daemons scratch against the car's exterior, seeking purchase but not quick enough to. Then Noctis sees it.

All the daemons have turned their way.

"...Are you kidding me?"

The Regalia skids when Ignis spins it around to face forward. The sheen of the daemons' magic illuminates the fleeing figures of the townspeople. Watching them makes it certain now—the daemons don't acknowledge anyone but him and Ignis.

An idea sparks and he stares down at the Ring. He lifts his hand into the air without a moment's hesitation.

"No!"

Ignis's warning comes too late. The Ring creates the deep red waves of magic he witnessed during the battle against Leviathan, and the light twists around the daemons to pull them into the magnetic void. However, the Ring uproots more than the creatures—the roads crack open with as much intensity as the void's suction. Over the rush of the Ring's magic, the daemons' bellows, and the thundering tear of pavement, Noctis misses the whisper in his ears.

"Cross the bridge."

The Regalia swerves wildly and ultimately angles right to drive away from the outpost. Only dust lingers in the aftermath of Noctis's magic, but the fracturing road chases after them. Noctis slumps back into the seat and holds his hand to his chest, the heat from the Ring nearly burning through his shirt. What the hell just happened? The Ring's magic shouldn't be this powerful to affect the very earth around them. Then he remembers how Leviathan's seas turned against them when faced against the Ring.

"I knew it," Ignis cuts in after a quick glance over his shoulder. "That power is far too destructive to use carelessly—Noct!" He cries out, jolting Noctis back to attention.

"What?!"

"Your face..."

Scrunching up in confusion, Noctis grabs the rear view mirror. In his reflection sits the usual crystalline cracks littering his skin, burning bright enough for Ignis to see in the dark night. But noticing something strange, Noctis traces the scars back to his arm and finally his hand, where the Ring sits on a single battered finger. Even his nail is cracked, though painlessly. That's...new.

"It's fine, it'll go away in a sec!" Unable to prove it, Noctis suddenly yelps. "Turn, turn!"

Ignis's eyes whip back to the road and his hands flurry against the wheel to avoid the mass of daemons materializing ahead. More and more appear to thwart them, keeping the nearby haven from their grasp and ultimately blocking the road to the Vesperpool. When Ignis makes the last turn, there in the distance lies the glittering smoke of the Rock of Ravatogh.

Noctis pales. "No no no, we can't—we can't! That's a freakin' a death trap! Turn back! I'll get rid of 'em!"

"You'll take the road out as well! And then where will we go?" Ignis shouts just as he swerves to avoid daemons selectively popping up from the road. "There's another haven on the way!"

"We'll never reach it like this! I'm begging you, Ignis, lemme try!"

Struggling between allowing Noctis to do what he wants and to do what will keep them safe, Ignis stutters out an exasperated pant.

"Turn back!"

Ignis's knuckles crack when he grips the wheel and nearly gives in, but the Regalia suddenly lurches. Behind them, a giant charges with its outstretched hand.

Refusing to do nothing anymore, Noctis calls upon the power of the Ring and imagines its magic devouring everything. All the daemons, the monsters, even Ardyn's ghost—he won't succumb to them. Blinding light explodes around them and the cries of the daemons fade with their existence, but so does the ground below. Ignis can only do so much before the Regalia skids onto dirt. The fissures swiftly follow and Noctis's heart jumps when the car drops. They'll fall into the collapsing earth if he doesn't do something, so he frantically lunges for Ignis and pours all his concentration into warping.

Never warp without full control of his body—a hard lesson learned after they're thrown hundreds of feet into the air. Quick to the draw, Ignis makes the best of the situation.

"Haven's behind you!"

He twists around and throws his sword toward their destination, illuminated by the Ring's persisting magic. But something doesn't click inside him and they end up materializing even higher and farther.

"sh*t, I can't—!!" he manages to growl out against the crisp air, with Ignis holding tighter onto him.

"Don't rush it! I won't let you go, so be patient and concentrate!"

Through squinted eyes he sees the confidence Ignis bores into him and uses that to steady his bearings. He breathes and lets his body go slack as they plummet toward the surface. Before they hit, Noctis tenses and summons his sword, and in the next moment they bounce off bedrock and roll to a stop.

Groaning in pain, Noctis tries to push himself up and spies Ignis doing the same a few feet away. But energy surges into him when he sees what comes up from behind—swarms of daemons rising from the earth.

Ignis slides in front of Noctis in an instant and with a flick of the wrist, throws a magic flask toward the horde. The magic takes a good chunk out of them out in moments. Ignis scoops up Noctis and runs.

"Literally fell right into the death trap," Noctis gripes before squeezing around Ignis's neck. "You okay?"

"Are you?" Ignis breathes, relief heavy in his voice despite the circ*mstances. Noctis wishes he could attest to the same.

They only run so far before another horde ambushes them, forcing them to resort to an old-fashioned brawl. The process of running, stopping, and fighting repeats with no end in sight. Though he hides it well, it takes its toll on Ignis. Noctis offers what he can with well-timed gunshots and essential magic, but being unable to move freely makes him an easy target for their enemies and a distraction for Ignis. His reactions slow down, he suffers mistakes not even Prompto would make—things are past a point of no return when even Ignis succumbs to fear. And the thought of being the source of it makes Noctis sick to his stomach.

If there were ever a time to listen to Ignis, it would've been then. But with his warnings lost to the wind, Noctis desperately summons the Ring's magic once more. It annihilates every last daemon but also destroys their solid ground in the aftermath. Panicking, Noctis searches out Ignis and finds him sprinting toward him. The moment their outstretched hands make contact, Noctis shuts his eyes and warps away.

The wind bites his body when he flings upward again. He peeks his eyes open to spy the volcano's silhouette carved into the night. His mind forces nearly all his focus into keeping his hands locked with Ignis's, the rest spared toward not falling to their deaths. And with a few more erratic warps, he barely manages that much before they crash onto the surface.

He messed up.

Blood and torn skin streak against the ground as he crawls forward with one arm while the other pulls an unconscious Ignis by the collar to any semblance of cover. After laying Ignis against a boulder, he thuds against it himself. He observes the bruises peeking through the burned cracks on his skin, now spread all over his body with no signs of disappearing. With how luminous they are, he worries about broadcasting their location to daemons. But the dead quiet in the air, though discomforting, tells him it's safe for now.

The elixir pulled from the armiger is quickly put to use, showering bright blue across Ignis's chest. When the dark bruises sprouting from behind his ripped clothes don't fade, however, Noctis genuinely believes he might be hallucinating.

"What the hell..." he mutters while grabbing another elixir to spill over Ignis. But the lack of results persists, and Noctis feels a weight he's getting rather accustomed to sink into his gut.

He tries a potion on himself—nothing. They worked just fine a second ago! This isn't the first time restoratives lost their effect and he was really hoping it would be the last. That last time...he wore the Ring then too. Could it be the two magics clashing against each other? No, that makes no sense. So then what?! Growing increasingly desperate, he runs through five more precious elixirs to heal Ignis, but his friend's injuries continue to sully his pale skin.

His head thumps against Ignis's arm, where the fabric of his jacket warms with Noctis's gasps. What is he doing? Lost his legs, can't control the Ring, can't warp, and distracted Ignis enough to get him hurt as well. Now he can't even heal him. The Chosen King is supposed to be the protector, not the protected. He sent Prompto off on his own, Gladio's gone... Nothing went right this time either. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he tries, everything falls apart in the end. The dread spreads like poison and soaks his mind with nothing but disgust towards himself. What should he do? Let the resentment fester inside? Wait for it to jumpstart his brain into figuring out how to fix this, instead of floundering like a fool?

"Come now, Your Majesty. It isn't over yet."

The sway of decorated fabric fills his peripheral. There, striding past with a comfortable expression, is Ardyn. Noctis's eyes slowly widen to make sense of the scene, each inexplicable detail burned into his vision. Then he remembers every declaration he made to confront Ardyn, the memories overshadowing the caution his body tries to scream at him.

Ardyn's smile sweetens after he kneels down to ghost his hand across Noctis's scarred cheek. He jolts back to reality, then lunges. He knows he grabbed a fistful of Ardyn's coat, but in an instant he's colliding with bedrock instead. Anger too quickly fuels him, helping to forget his aches as he wildly calls forth a gun and aims. But in the darkness, only Ardyn's voice lingers.

"Truly an inadequate king."

Noctis shoots into the night to catch Ardyn in the shadows, already forgetting that daemons might hear him. The bullets hit nothing.

"Two of your retainers have vanished, and look at what you've done to Ignis. Forcing him to protect you when you aren't even worth it anymore."

Noctis's breath hitches in confusion, the thought of Ardyn reading his mind striking him silent. But he doesn't let it distract him any more than that, sits up and holds his gun with one hand while the other scoots him back to the boulder. He watches his surroundings for the slightest shift in the dark air, waiting for Ardyn to appear again.

A deep chuckle resounds from ahead. Before Noctis's trigger finger can react, a hand snakes through the blackness at astonishing speed. The breath out his mouth is silenced by the rough palm clamping over his neck. A ripple of energy shoots down his body at the same moment, immediately familiar and just as quick to take effect. He's frozen.

The gun slips from his lifeless hands, so he urges himself to use the Ring or call a weapon, anything, but his body refuses to listen. He barely recognizes Ardyn's eyes glimmering in the dark. The long, thick fingers squeeze his neck, eliciting a choked gasp from Noctis.

"Weren't you hoping to throw your duty away? Your friends would understand. Poor thing can't walk anymore. Can't lead anyone like that, they'd say. Weren't you relieved when Ignis gave you the justification you needed? Sit back and stay safe?"

With each word Ardyn's hand moves up with purpose; cupping his chin, scratching his cheeks, digging in like it means to remold his features. Blood dots his fingers when he bores in a little too strongly. Noctis wants to scream but not even his voice works anymore. Everything Ardyn's done to them flashes unrelentingly before him, warning against retaliation, but what does that matter? Ardyn killed people he loves. So Ardyn needs to go.

"Being a cripple isn't enough, you say?" His eyes narrow in delight and he scrapes his nails just under Noctis's eyes. "Then shall we make you blind as well? Just like Ignis."

Just...like...?

Blood splashes on him, but it isn't his. A flash of steel later, a pair of arms sweeps him up. He finds Ignis's battered face close to his and Ardyn's figure behind them, his arm already mending itself as if Ignis's blade didn't just sever it.

"Where did he come from?!" Ignis yells in his ear, unable to temper his anger.

"O-Out of nowhere...!" he stutters before wiping the blood from his face, then heaves himself up to look over Ignis's shoulder. Ardyn doesn't follow them but that disturbs him more than a chase would. His voice then falls to a whisper. "How did he know...?"

"What?"

A ringing makes them both flinch in surprise, but Ignis continues running while Noctis rummages to find the source—their phone, amazingly intact.

"Noct?! Thank god you finally picked up. Where are you?!" comes Prompto's voice over substantial background noise.

Disoriented, he fumbles his answer. "I don't—why, what's wrong?!"

"Daemons are going crazy over here! You guys are safe right? Tell me where you are!"

He exchanges quick glances with Ignis. "Somewhere near...god, I don't know anymore. The volcano, I think."

"sh*t that's so far... Okay, just hang on! We're heading right for you!"

"What?! No, stay there! Stay with Cor!" If he gets Prompto dragged into this mess too... "I got Ignis, I'm fine! Please, just..."

"What?" Prompto cries, flustered by Noctis's uncharacteristic reaction. "What about Gladio?"

He hunches forward in Ignis's arms and holds the phone close. Like this he can hear how quickly Ignis's heart beats, but he feels his own stop completely.

"I-I...I'm sorry..."

"Wha... Sorry about what? Noct, wh—"

Bedrock explodes ahead of them and forces Ignis to a stop, and he drops to his knees to shield Noctis from debris. Prompto's screams from the phone go unheard as they blanch at the scene unfolding.

A fresh drove of daemons occupy their vision from all angles, far greater than anything they encountered tonight. Even the earth trembles under their weight, but that isn't what they focus on. Charging from the forefront of it all lies a familiar face: Gladio, visage consumed by grotesque flesh and blood-stained greatsword welded into a clawed hand. That alone would give his identity away, that even in adversity he would never let go of his sword. Neither Noctis nor Ignis need any further explanation to know what's become of their companion.

"I left him in tact just for you." The disappointed tone radiates amusem*nt, as it always does. "I warned you. There exists no shield that cannot be broken."

To force Gladio, a man who would sooner die than lose his way, to become such a wretched existence purely for fodder to torment Noctis with, it's unbearable. But he can't look away from the daemon who clings to what little awareness he has to tear down those around him, only to be pulled back into a trance.

When Ignis's hands squeeze around him, he realizes he hadn't been breathing.

"We can't fight against Gladio..."

"That isn't Gladio anymore," Ignis whispers, voice betraying him.

"No, I mean—" They both wince at the invading roars, but from somewhere deep within him Noctis drags out a wavering smile. "We'll never beat him."

Ignis peers down at him in bewilderment before swallowing. "... Point taken."

With that, Ignis moves Noctis onto his back and wordlessly turns on his heel. His decision seems to only anger the horde behind them.

"Ignis?!"

"I apologize, Noct, but," he lets out a particularly shaky breath, "I know my limits."

"We can't just keep running until the sun rises! I'll use the Ring—"

"No," he warns. "It's too risky."

Speechless, his lips part dumbly. That's right. Still useless.

And so Ignis runs, leaving Noctis to look back at the daemons clamoring after them like the two of them are their last meal. It tears him apart to see life return to Gladio's form to obliterate the front lines with his sword one moment, then become the one running the fastest the next. Even now he protects them.

He buries his head into Ignis's shoulder, hands clawing around him as despair sinks in. Useless, useless, useless—

"Useless."

Noctis's eyes flash brighter than the burns on his body when energy springs forth, and a voiceless scream rips out of him as he throws his head toward the sky. So what if he can't use his legs, so what if his powers are uncontrollable? The King has other tools at his disposal. Only a single thought runs through his mind—he can't fail again.

Ignis slides to a stop in face of the shape forming in the distance. The massive silhouette of Titan shines against moonlight. He sprints toward them, each heavy step sending tremor after tremor across the ground. The giant runs over them to meet the daemons with a raised fist, but behind him he carries a vicious tempest littered with rock and grit. It shows no mercy against their meager flesh, and Ignis needs to dig a dagger into the dirt just to stay upright. Noctis gasps heavily on top of him, struggling to stay conscious against the unchecked magic ripping him apart from the inside. It's left to Ignis to fight against the gust and widen the distance between them and Titan's point of impact.

The Astral slams his fist down. The earth shatters without resistance and consumes any daemons unable to flee quickly enough. But with waves of quakes each stronger than the last, Ignis loses his footing.

Darkness and twisted shapes of rock surround them like a cage the earth personally made for them. Noctis rolls over with a groan and rubs at the blood dripping from his head. That explains the dizziness. He spies Ignis not too far from him, and the rubble trapping him does nothing to edge Noctis's panic.

Just moments after he starts crawling, something cracks and the ground underneath Ignis gives way. Noctis scrambles forward as if possessed and nearly throws himself over the edge to clutch Ignis's wrist before he slips with the rocks.

"Ignis! Wake up! Wake up, wake up!"

He can't imagine a worser situation. Trapped in a daemon-infested night with an unconscious Ignis in his hands, and the only thing stopping him from falling into the depths of the newly formed cliff is Noctis's sweaty grip. Perhaps the rock will crumble with his weight and they'll be lucky to fall to their deaths together.

Ignis's eyes flicker open, a ray of hope in the darkness.

"Noct...?"

"Hey! Haul yourself up, I'm begging you," Noctis mutters, his breath fragmented from exertion. Ignis recognizes the crisis but hisses in pain when his brain reacts to his condition. Still, he doesn't stop looking for a way out. Noctis does his part to keep pulling, but can't get the leverage he needs. If his damn legs just worked!

"Gimme your other arm!"

Ignis tries, but when the mangled limb flops uselessly at his side, he shakes his head. Noctis's heart drops. What can he do? Risk warping? It'd have to better than this, right? So he concentrates, visualizing his destination, but nothing happens.

"...I can't warp." Noctis's eyes widen and his voice falls when the realization sinks in. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

Ignis appears to take the news far better, his reply gentle. "There's still a chance you can escape—"

"Don't you f*cking dare!" His scream breaks as well but faithfully carries the bitterness he feels. "I am not letting you go! Iggy...!" Features twisting in anguish, he lowers his head into his arms. "You need to live..."

Ignis's eyes shimmer as he's sure Noctis's are, but he won't get anything across if he cries here. There may be little chance for Noctis to survive as he is, left in the dark for daemons to prey upon. But unable to find the friction to pull himself up, there's zero chance Ignis will live. He won't take Noctis down with him.

"It's alright, Noct."

"Shut up!! It's not, please... I'll try, I'll pull you up!" And he does, teeth gritted with effort but all for naught. The blood dripping from his forehead threatens to blind him, so he digs his fingers deep into Ignis's wrist. He wants to scream. "Why does this keep happening... I keep trying and trying but nothing ever works...! Goddammit, I just—"

Ignis suddenly jolts in his grip.

"No!!"

The sword drives into his back before he sees where it comes from. His head turns brokenly to the daemon at his heels. Disfigured beyond logic, Gladio pulls the blade out like a battered puppet.

Even as blood floods out his mouth and splashes onto Ignis, Noctis refuses to let go. But his resolve means nothing before his failing body, and the inconceivable pain forces his vision to grow dangerously dark.

"I won't...let go!"

He's not sure he's ever seen Ignis look so petrified.

How did he ever think it would be okay if he failed again? That it didn't matter if he complained because his friends wouldn't remember a thing? He should've told them everything, hallucinations be damned.

"I'm sorry...I kept it all from you." Blood thick on his lips, Noctis's words are barely comprehensible. "I-I don't want to be the only one who remembers... Please, please don't forget...!"

A weight thuds next to him—Gladio on his knees, shuddering in tune to the growl clouding the air. This entire time, he fought against the plague within him to return to his senses and stop himself from hurting the ones he swore to protect. He's still fighting. Desperate enough to try, Noctis chokes out.

"Gladio, ple... Help Ignis..."

Amber eyes look his way. When the daemon stands again, his heart leaps at the possibility that Gladio heard him.

With a flash of Gladio's sword, blood spurts out from his severed arms, and Ignis falls without a chance to blink. This world has already forsaken them all.

Nothing but impulse pushes Noctis off the cliff after Ignis. He uses what little life he has left to stretch out his arms and close as much distance as possible between them. He doesn't think about surviving anymore, he just wants to reach Ignis. They've always reached each other.

Their bodies crash together into the jagged rocks below skewering them. With the prince's life taken by the fall, Ignis convulses as he lifts his good arm toward him, aching for one last brush of contact to ease his pain. But the arm drops vainly to deny him his last wish.

Chapter 8: intermission

Chapter Text

Sunlight weighs on his eyelids when he tries to open them. Far too bright to bear, the warm-colored light quickly moistens his eyes from the sting, wetting his lashes from his involuntary blinks. The soft groan he lets out calls forth a pair of shapeless faces to the bedside, doing well to shade him.

"Is he awake?"

"Think so. Can you hear us? Hey."

Are they speaking to him? He tries to move but winces at an unexpected pain shooting throughout his body. A hand presses down just enough to stop him from sitting up.

"Take it easy."

"Thank goodness you're awake... We're in Altissia. How are you feeling?"

Exhausted, for one. This pressure can't just be from the thick blankets trapping him in place. His gaze shifts aimlessly before he forces his voice out through dry lips.

"Altis...sia."

"Yeah. The rite...didn't go as planned. How much do you remember?"

"Rite...?"

"Let's give him some time. I'll call for the physician."

"I'll do that, you stick with him."

Any further conversation from the shadows is put to rest after his words stun them into silence.

"...Who are you guys?"

His name is Noctis. He lays against the pillows in bed where he watches the two men, Gladiolus and Ignis, argue with the doctor about...his injuries? Amnesia? He can't keep up. Other than a few aches, his injuries aren't as severe as they suggest with their fussing. In fact, he doesn't even feel like this body belongs to him. He looks down at the parts of him that aren't covered in soft wool, from the outline of his collarbone to the chipped edges of his nails. His attention ultimately lingers on his hands, where he runs his fingertips over the decorated ring it wears. What is this weight? Unnatural as it is, he doesn't even consider removing it, like the ornament belongs there. But the more he stares at it, the more the same word runs in his head.

"...Dad."

It's just a breathless whisper but somehow Ignis picks up on it and turns sharply.

"Noct?"

He looks up at the men and inclines his head. When no explanation comes, the others are left visibly disappointed.

"How the hell did we mess up this badly?" Gladiolus runs a restless hand through his hair. "This is the last thing we need. We don't even know if he got the blessing."

Ignis remains quiet in contrast, allowing Noctis a chance to watch them. The bigger one, Gladiolus, wears cuts on his cheek and forehead, while Ignis bears a much more prominent wound under dark glasses.

"You're both hurt..."

Their faces twist with varying expressions, though anger colors Gladiolus's more than anything. Whether it's directed at Noctis, himself, or both, remains unclear.

"We're all right, Noct," Ignis answers, showing no signs of explaining his loss of sight. "Is there anything you remember?"

"He's been looking at the Ring this whole time."

Ignis considers that before sitting on the bedside. "Did you remember your father?"

Noctis shakes his head. "No, it just kinda...popped into my head. Is this his?"

"It's... It belongs to your family, yes. If that was enough to trigger something, perhaps your memory will return sooner than we expect."

"That's optimistic even for you, Iggy," Gladiolus comments, his frustration replaced with something more...sympathetic? Noctis can't be sure. He still struggles with the fact that he's evidently a prince and these two are his retainers. He doesn't feel like royalty, but then, what does being royalty feel like?

He sits there with his eyes glued to the ring, while Ignis's focuses on Noctis even though they can no longer see. Gladiolus peers at them both. Things are less than ideal. In one way or another, every single one of them failed.

His supposed memory loss appears to have created quite the roadblock in their arrangement. He often spies Gladiolus and Ignis speaking privately. Whatever the plan is, Noctis is neither privy to it nor compelled to ask, but imagines he'll have to follow it regardless.

There is one curious matter. Noctis finds something in his pockets: a weathered glove dried in blood and a cracked pendant in the shape of a skull. Ignis shows more tolerance for his questions but Gladiolus can actually see the items, so he goes to him.

"These were in my pocket."

Gladiolus squints before shock crosses his face. He grabs the accessories for a closer look.

"How did you—this is Prompto's glove? And Iggy's..." he trails off confusedly before glaring at Noctis, who shifts uncomfortably but keeps his gaze locked. Gladiolus looks more baffled than angry, after all. "Were you with him when...?"

"Prompto?" He sounds out yet another unknown name.

"Did he protect you?" Gladiolus mumbles to himself after he snaps back to reality. He clenches the glove before returning it to Noctis. "Keep it. I'll pass this on to Ignis." He holds the pendant in his fingers before turning.

"Oh, uh...okay. But who's Prompto?"

"He's dead," is all Gladiolus has to say, leaving Noctis to stare after him.

"Whoa!" he cries out when something suddenly hits his legs from behind. He finds a large black dog panting up at him.

"Umbra?" Ignis asks, with Gladiolus raising his brow at him.

"Good guess."

"He has a distinct scent."

Noctis crouches down and carefully runs his hand over Umbra's head, who nuzzles into it with a low whine.

"He sounds sad," he comments, unsure of why he thinks so. Behind him Gladiolus sighs, and Ignis replies a moment later.

"He must have come to deliver the notebook."

"Notebook...this thing?" After unfastening the book from Umbra's back, Noctis flips the pages open with curiosity swelling in his gaze. Though aged and well-used, it retains a particular charm. Occupying a good portion of it are an assortment of words, photos, stickers, cards, and a pressed flower at the very end. A fresh, elegant hand fills the latest page.

"Luna...freya." The foreign signature catches on his tongue and he wonders if he mispronounced it. When he looks up, both his retainers face his way with an anticipation that calls a thought to mind. "That's the name on the radio, isn't it? The one who died."

In a flash, dismay replaces expectancy.

"You don't remember her?" Ignis quietly asks, to which Noctis shakes his head. "...I see."

They eventually decide to return to Lucis, their home country, but Gladiolus insists on checking if Noctis can still fight first. Ignis's relative silence suggests he isn't keen on the idea, but he doesn't disagree either.

"Visualize the weapon in your hand and your body should remember the rest. Watch—" Gladiolus demonstrates by summoning his greatsword from the arsenal, eliciting surprise from Noctis. Swallowing nervously, he holds out his hand and imagines the same sword materializing in it, as incomprehensible the thought.

Nothing happens at first but there's definitely something nostalgic about the motion, in addition to a stirring within him that might be the magic rising from its slumber. He can't begin to figure out how to control it, though. So when the greatsword appears in his hands, it flashes away before its weight can pull him down. Energized by the fact he managed it at all, Noctis keeps trying until the sword finally sits firm in his grip. Unfortunately, his attendants don't share his sense of accomplishment.

"Better than nothing, I guess." Gladiolus scratches his neck. After a bit of sparring to get a feel for Noctis's limits, something else comes to mind. "What about that fancy Ring of yours? It's not just a control device for the Crystal, right?" He directs the question to Ignis, who mulls it over.

"I'm no expert, but I do believe it grants the wearer access to the strength of the past kings of Lucis. Magic, essentially. But before you go suggesting Noct should try and use it," Ignis cautions before Gladiolus gets a word out, "I don't think it's safe. Not with the way he is now."

"It'll be even less safe if he doesn't have any way of defending himself. We can't sit around waiting who knows how long for his memory to come back. People died getting that thing to him, Iggy."

They're both aware of that without having it pointed out. With a sigh, Ignis waves his hand to tell him to get on with it. Gladiolus offers a pat on Ignis's shoulder before returning his attention to Noctis.

"How's that ring feel?"

"Um," He brings his hand up to look at the jewelry. "Heavy."

"Heavy?"

"Yeah. I don't mean physically, it's more like...something's pushing down on my body and it's hard to move."

Not what he expected to hear. He already senses Ignis crossing his arms in disapproval behind him.

"You said something about your arms and legs being numb. Is it the same feeling?"

Noctis did mention that back when the doctor first examined him after he woke up. His limbs were there, uninjured, yet it was like their strings had been cut and his brain had lost its means to move them. Walking proved slightly difficult as a result, but the tension relieved itself after moving around a bit.

"Not exactly. That went away after a while but this heaviness has been around the whole time." He looks up at Gladiolus, eyes round with curiosity but also confusion. "Should I be worried?"

"Gladio..." Ignis warns. Gladiolus remains silent in contemplation until he comes to a decision.

"Let's try it out once. Don't worry, I won't push him. Not like either of us could help him learn."

They move to a more spacious part of the city where Gladiolus and Ignis step back for Noctis to concentrate on the Ring. He closes his eyes and imagines what the magic may look like—glittering in the same shards of blue-white light that came with his weapons, but full of power worthy of the Ring's supposed reputation.

But instead comes darkness. His eyes open to the city replaced by a vast void, with the only spot of light far above him. It's as though he dropped into a deep hole and the light serves as a sign of his unreachable goal. The second he thinks that, an inexplicable terror overwhelms him and he falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain effort to control the shuddering.

He's doing something wrong. He needs to remember.

"Frightening, isn't it?"

The voice ghosts past his ear and rips a pained gasp out of him to pull him back to reality. He doubles over here as well, forehead scraping the ground as he clutches his wrist where the pain springs from. The Ring shines brightly but not enough to hide the burns spreading over his body, and with each new patch of cracked skin comes more pain.

"Noct?!"

Being pulled back sends more aches to every nerve in him. He burrows into the body holding him, kicking his feet into the dirt and writhing in pain. The heat consuming him burns his skin just as strongly as the Ring's power does, but he can't tell if he's actually catching fire or it's all in his head. It's unbearable all the same.

"What's happening?!"

"Noct!! sh*t, he's burning up..."

The desperate cries remain distant to his senses. They recognize only the body around him, colder than the burns by comparison. He clutches at Gladiolus's shirt and tries to speak, but he can barely breathe let alone get a word out, so only a miserable sob tumbles out. He wants the pain to stop. Thinking that, he tries to pull the source of it off his finger, but his body only quivers in response and his hands fall limp on his chest. Gladiolus sees Noctis's intent and grabs his hand, only to whip it back with a hiss.

"f*ck, he's literally burning!" Refusing to back down, he uses his jacket as protective cover and yanks the Ring off. Noctis's trembling abruptly stops along with the cracks on his skin. Now he only breathes out heavy, broken pants. Sweat drips onto his lashes but he can make out Gladiolus and Ignis above him, and their petrified faces are the last things etched into his mind before his consciousness fades.

"Not quite suited for the power of Lucis this time, are you? I'm terribly anxious to see what you'll do next."

The low voice rings clear, yet at the same time reverberates with a particular grumble. It belongs to a tall man adorned in heavy garments. He stands ahead with his black hat and unkempt hair obscuring most of his features. All Noctis sees is the smile on his aged face, one that lacks the warmth a smile normally brings. Instinct tells him this is a dream, but not even the blank darkness around them can steal his attention away from the stranger.

"Did I know you too?"

"Not well enough," the man hums. "But we have all the time in the world to form a bond, you and I."

Suddenly the stranger stands right before him, but Noctis doesn't so much as flinch even when his chin is tilted up, forcing him to look into sharp, sunset amber eyes.

"All the time in the world, Noctis. Remember that."

The man and the darkness vanish to clear the path to reality. He opens his eyes to a bedroom he's seen before. Fatigue and a dull ache swiftly replace the weightlessness he felt in the dream, but he succeeds in sitting up on his own.

"Oh, you're up." The doctor gets his attention by approaching the bed. "Careful there. How do you feel?"

"...Tired."

"No pain?"

"Not really." The aches quickly fade the more he wakes himself up, but that comes as a surprise. He runs his hands over his notably bare arms. "Wasn't I... We were outside."

"You remember what happened? You had terrible burns when your companions brought you in, but they faded completely on their own. I can't make any sense of it, but you're no longer in any danger. Feel free to rest a while longer if you'd like."

Noctis returns a nod before asking quietly, "Where are the others?"

"Just outside the door. I can call for them if you’d like?"

Another nod. The physician ushers his guests in. The restless clack of Ignis's cane against the floor resounds loudly in the quiet around them, and he idly thinks it strange that he can garner their feelings from something so minor. The commotion they make is a little embarrassing but still somewhat pleasant, knowing there are people who care for him this much. Eventually, Gladiolus offers the Ring and a thoroughly apologetic expression.

"Don't put it back on."

Two days later, an elderly man named Cid sails them back to Lucis on his ship, and for the most part he's left on his own to admire the sea. Ignis occasionally checks on him, though Noctis wonders if their positions should be reversed since Ignis still has his blindness to adapt to. Ignis insists he's fine, and who is he to say otherwise?

He's more concerned with the way Ignis and Gladiolus have been acting ever since he fell unconscious. His memory hasn't returned and he's been deemed unfit to fight, so he expected to be treated as a liability. But now they seem doubly worried and even distracted, often looking out into space or searching around for something. Ignis even asked if he experienced anything strange since leaving Altissia, to which Noctis debated mentioning his dream. In the end he keeps quiet purely to not add to their burdens.

But he wants to ask. He wants to know about the stranger, about Prompto and Lunafreya, and even his father. Losing his memory doesn't mean he can't learn about himself, right?

A sudden clatter grabs his attention and he spies Ignis on his knees. Closer to him than Gladiolus, Noctis jogs over.

"You okay?"

"Yes, just...a misstep, is all," Ignis answers calmly, but the fist he makes doesn't go unnoticed. It gives Noctis pause and not for the first time. How can Ignis be so attentive to him while struggling with something this debilitating? A bit of memory loss doesn't compare.

"Hey, uh," he starts. Ignis turns his way, ready to give his full attention to Noctis even like this. "I know we're pretty much strangers since I can't remember anything... And I don't know what it feels like to be, um. To not see anything. But it must suck. So you can talk to me. And complain if you want. I'll listen."

It really is the least he can do. However, Ignis looks like he just started spouting some alien language.

"I...appreciate that, Noct, but I'm fine."

"Oh." Noctis chews his bottom lip. Well, it makes sense. Ignis's resilience must be more sound than he imagines. Unloading your feelings onto a stranger isn't the smartest thing to do either, in hindsight.

"It isn't because you've lost your memory," Ignis adds, to his surprise. It's like he read his mind. "It's because one day your memory will return, and you'll remember this moment."

So...Ignis doesn't want him to remember his vulnerability? He supposes that's logical, but it does leave him wondering what sort of person he is that he'd judge his friends for leaning on his shoulder. Or is it Ignis who would judge himself?

"Do you understand?" Ignis asks when met with silence. Noctis mumbles, genuinely unsure. A short silence lingers before Ignis searches for Noctis's arm and pats it once. "But thank you."

Noctis looks up to find Ignis smiling at him, and something about it sparks a warmth within him. It feels nice, and even if Ignis can't see, he finds himself returning it with equal sentiment. Maybe he's not entirely useless.

Things move quickly after arriving at the Cape. A young girl and little boy fuss over his memory loss while the adults express their sympathies about the tragedies incurred at Altissia. Amidst the planning for what lies ahead, Noctis struggles to keep up. He overhears things about longer nights, increased daemon activity, crystals, royal tombs—all incomprehensible terms. But he knows one thing for certain. He's vital to solving whatever problem looms over the world, and they don't have time to spare waiting for his memory to return. So if he needs to do something, he'll just have to. There's an itch in his heart telling him so, a precept burned into his conscious—going against it wouldn't be right.

'Right'?

"I'll do it," he says plainly, drawing all eyes on him. "We have to go to Niflheim, right? I might need some help, but, well, just tell me what you need me to do."

"Ah, Noct, it isn't really...that easy," Iris, the young girl, starts quietly. He knows everyone worries, but all the more reason.

"Sure it is. Look, I get it, I'm not much use right now. I have amnesia, I can't fight...but that shouldn't stop the rest of you from doing what you're supposed to do. So figure out a plan. I'll be fine." He swallows nervously under the stares until Cor, an older retainer of House Caelum, breaks the silence.

"Very well. The Empire won't stop its hunt for you or the Ring, and it's true we don't have time to waste. We'll make do."

Though the group remains anxious, the marshal's words are final.

He said all that, but things like military force, transportation, and verifying leads are beyond him. He passes time with Talcott, the curious little boy, while the others regroup. He catches up on matters of the world and gets a grasp on the man he used to be. When something like simple manners surprises someone, it really makes him wonder if he's actually a huge jerk. Talcott insists otherwise, but it's likely his admiration for 'Prince Noctis' talking.

Iris gladly paints pictures of Prompto and Lunafreya for him to take on his journey. After noticing how she hides her grief about their loss, he understands why Gladiolus and Ignis were hesitant to speak. 'Their deaths weren't in vain,' she says. Noctis desperately wants his memory back if only to rid the nagging sensation in his heart when he hears their names.

They're ready to move out a week later. He'll see for himself what these 'royal tombs' are as their first destination is a mining quarry in Niflheim. Cor accompanies them and from the mere look of him, Noctis can tell he'll be an invaluable asset in battle. But that fails to explain the sourness emanating from his companions.

"What's wrong?" he hesitantly asks when they're out of earshot. "Do we not like him?"

"The marshal?" Gladiolus crosses his arms. "Are we making it that obvious? It's nothing like that, just..."

"It's humiliating," Ignis finishes quietly. "His presence is a sign of our weakness. And our failure."

He doesn't quite get it, but as long as there's no ill will among them—or so he thinks. Gladiolus quickly topples the balance a few minutes later.

"I think you should stay behind, Iggy."

"Come again?"

This has to be the first time he's seen Ignis remotely angry. Noctis looks on awkwardly while the two argue before Cor breaks it up.

"There won't be any room for quarrels once we're in Niflheim."

"You can't possibly think bringing him along is a good idea, Marshal," Gladiolus gestures to Ignis to make his point.

"I'm aware what I'm asking for is ill-advised, but I will accompany Noct to the end."

"If the end involves you getting yourself killed, sure."

Ignis clicks his tongue, surprising even Cor before he cuts in.

"You must realize where he's coming from, Ignis. It's your decision in the end, but we won't slow down for you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Silence falls over the men, giving Noctis time to observe. True, even he knows bringing a freshly blinded man into a potential battlefield isn't a smart move. He wonders what he would say if he had his memories. Would he understand Gladiolus's reluctance? Ignis's insistence? Who would he side with?

"I think he should come." He needs to get used to everyone looking at him all at once when he says something outrageous. "We need manpower and he's been with us from the start, right? What is he supposed to do here instead?"

"Not get killed," Gladiolus retorts.

"But he wants to come. Or does he not get to make decisions for himself now that he's blind?"

"That isn't the point and you know it. ...Or maybe you don't. You don't understand exactly how dangerous it's gonna get once we reach the Empire."

"Okay, yeah, maybe I don't, but that's not what I mean. It's just—" He glances at Ignis, who faced his way the moment he spoke. He's clenching his fist again. "Separating ourselves...doesn't seem like a good idea. That's all."

Gladiolus heaves a sigh while Cor crosses his arms thoughtfully, but Ignis speaks first.

"I refuse to sit idly by when one of us has already given his life for Noct. Could you do the same?"

He knows full well Gladiolus couldn't stand it and he glares at Ignis for asking. But in face of that, he knows he lost. Moments before they set sail, Ignis pulls Noctis aside. 'Thank you,' is all he says, and Noctis is glad he can't see the sheepish smile that crosses his lips.

"You aren't deviating as much as expected."

"Deviating?"

The heavily decorated man pulls off his hat and brushes aside his hair, each movement purposeful and precise. It captivates Noctis more than it should, and drags his gaze as the man closes the distance between them. Granted a clear view of his face this time, Noctis beholds the deep-set wrinkles on the stranger's slightly tanned skin, his wavy auburn hair, and those unnaturally gold eyes. But even such distinct features fail to evoke a single memory.

"Your companions have mettle, if nothing else. Their belief in you is staggering, when you're nothing but a container of Lucis blood right now." The man takes Noctis's hand into his and brushes his thumb over the Ring of the Lucii with a meticulosity that entrances Noctis.

"But it makes sense. You can't warn your companions now. And just when you finally worked up the nerve to speak the truth." The larger hand wraps around his and squeezes painfully enough to pull a flinch out of the prince, but nothing he does frees himself from the grip. "But such is the roll of the dice. I'm certain you won't disappoint me in the end."

"Noct."

Light seeps into his vision when his eyes flutter open to find Ignis standing above him. His senses overflow with hints of reality, helping him realize the dream has ended.

"I'm up."

"We've arrived at port."

"'Kay," he mumbles as he stands up and stretches. Before he knows it, he calls Ignis back with a quiet voice. "Uh, I kinda had a weird dream."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. There was this—"

"He still sleeping? Hurry it up already!" Gladiolus's loud call strikes Noctis silent. With a pat on his shoulder, Ignis smiles.

"Tell me later."

"...Yeah."

They've a ways to go before reaching Cartanica, but the expensive-looking car unloaded from the ship tells him the trip will at least be comfortable. His eyes can't help but sparkle as he climbs into the lush back seat with a childlike excitement bubbling in him, but that fades once he catches the clouded expressions of his company.

"What?"

"Still don't remember anything?" Gladiolus asks.

Oh. The car must be important.

"...Sorry."

Gladiolus shrugs before starting up the engine, with Ignis reassuring him and Cor remaining silent through it all. Noctis droops back against the seat and settles in his own thoughts. With nothing else to do, he pulls out the notebook he received from Umbra and starts reading it from the beginning. As time passes, the others delve into conversation.

"Looks like Lucis isn't the only one affected," comes an idle comment from Gladiolus.

"By?" Ignis inquires.

"Longer nights. It's what, two, three in the afternoon? Sun's already setting."

"That's what happens when someone decides to murder the Six. The Oracle's absence has also taken more of a toll than we expected," Cor muses. When the other two express their confusion, he continues. "She alone kept the Scourge at bay. Judging by the rumors, her efforts were already reaching their limits long before Altissia, but it—"

"Only the True King can purge our star of its scourge." The words leave Noctis's lips like a reading from a script, and he snaps back to reality a moment later to find everyone's attention on him.

"What the hell was that?" Gladiolus asks dubiously, brow raised at Noctis through the rear-view mirror.

That's what he'd like to know. "It just popped into my head. Uh..." he stops, massaging his forehead. The words are familiar but he's unsure that he's the one who first spoke them. "Someone told me...I think. Something about a crystal."

Next to him, Ignis suddenly whips his head forward, then also brings his fingers to press harshly against his temples. Gladiolus alone catches it, but simply frowns and says nothing.

"Don't force yourself to remember," Cor assures him.

"Yeah..." Dropping his hand to rest on the pages of the notebook, he mutters, "But what does that mean? Who's the True King?"

"Perhaps it refers to the Lucian bloodline," Ignis ponders, whatever ailment bothering him passed. "It surely can't be the duty of the Oracle alone to belay the Scourge."

Gladiolus hums. "So Lady Lunafreya was only slowing it down until Noct got all the power he needed? No wonder she was in a hurry to rouse the gods."

"With the Crystal in enemy hands and the Empire on her heels, I imagine it was the only option available to her." Cor pauses before continuing solemnly, "Still a shame, what happened at Altissia."

Another bout of silence settles, making it easy for Noctis to clock out and focus on the notebook again. In the back of his mind, however, the words he spoke out of the blue snag on a corner to remain a source of unease.

Wary of daemons, they procure lodgings at a modest town once it grows too dark. The night passes uneventfully and they resume their drive the next morning. Getting dressed, Noctis considers discarding Prompto's glove, frankly turned off by the dried blood. But knowing it belongs to a close friend who's now dead ultimately pushes him to keep it.

They encounter the news playing on the radio while shopping. The lack of anything unusual concerns them. It may have been a few weeks since, but not even a fragment about the clash at Altissia, the fallout, or the longer nights is reported. 'They don't want people to panic,' Noctis naively suggests, and no one can answer him.

Uncovering no other intel, they pack into the Regalia again and set off. Noctis nibbles on their light lunch while continuing where he left off in Lunafreya's notebook, half interested in its contents and half hopeful they may trigger a memory. A picture of two teenagers in school uniforms, one presumably himself and the other a blonde-haired boy, gives him pause.

"That's Prompto?"

Ignis turns toward Noctis's voice. "What was that?"

"Oh, uh," he pauses. "It's a photo of me and this other kid. We're in uniforms, I think. 'Prompto' is written on it."

"Ah." He goes quiet. "Yes, the two of you attended high school together."

"Mhmm..." Noctis slumps in his seat as he stares at the photo a while longer. "Why do I look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Super unfriendly."

Gladiolus snorts from the front seat. "Par for the course. You never smiled much back then. Either too lazy or too pissed off. Usually both."

He makes a face. "That sounds awful. Prompto's smiling way too much though."

"That never did change, did it," Ignis remarks, a hint of a smile of his own in his voice.

"Nah, he cleaned up his act a little since then. Barely," Gladiolus chuckles lightly before breathing out his nose. "Been quiet without him."

"It has," is all Ignis says. Noctis realizes the mood fell in that split second. Chewing his lip, he stares at the photo again and frantically wishes for a memory to return. Such a vibrant looking kid and he can't remember the slightest thing about him. About any of them.

"I was gonna kill him. He was gonna hurt you and I couldn't—"

He draws in his shoulders with a gasp at the sudden voice invading his head. Where on earth did that come from?! It surely doesn't belong to any of the other three, the voice much higher and distraught. No, he hasn't heard it before, but the words carry a nagging familiarity. Who said it? Who are they going to kill?

Taking advantage of the silence shrouding the group, he leans into himself against the door and hopes the breeze cools down his restlessness.

"Gladiolus."

"......"

"Perhaps I should take ov—"

"I got it."

"We're lost, aren't we," Noctis mutters ruthlessly, chin in his hand as he watches Gladiolus's shoulders sink in defeat.

"Should've taken that damn turn..."

Cor leans back against the seat. "What's done is done. We're better off stopping at the nearest outpost. Let's pick up in the morning."

Noctis has learned that Gladiolus hates losing even in the most minor things, so the drive continues with the irritability emanating from him almost opaque in the air. They eventually pull into a gas station where Gladiolus and Cor get out to ask about directions and lodgings, while Ignis opts to stay with Noctis. He yawns, feeling a nap coming on, but Ignis pulls him out of his fatigue.

"Noct, do you still remember your dream?"

"Huh? ...Oh! Yeah." He nearly forgot he planned to talk to Ignis.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"Sure. Um, so," he pauses to recall the now-hazy dreams. "There was this guy wearing weird clothes, saying stuff about the power of Lucis, and that I'm 'deviating' from...something. And that I needed to warn you guys? Or that I couldn't warn you? I can't remember it too clearly anymore. Sorry."

Far from the best summary, he expects to see disappointment. An unusual severity crosses Ignis's face instead.

"What did this man look like?"

Noctis describes him, those details still fresh in his memory. Heavy coat, fancy scarves, wine-colored hair and golden eyes under a black hat; quite different to his and his companions' appearances.

"He said we know each other," Noctis finishes. With the way Ignis's fingers curl on the seat, there's no hiding the truth.

"His name is Ardyn Izunia."

"Oh. ...Is he from Niflheim?"

"Yes."

"So he's the enemy," he carefully presumes.

"It would appear so." What a strange thing to say. Ardyn's name has clearly upset him, so why isn't he sure of himself? When Ignis asks if he's seen Ardyn in person. Noctis denies it, so he continues. "And nothing more has happened to you, other than the dreams?"

"No, why?"

Ignis shifts, wanting to say something, but the words entangle in his throat and he decides against it. "I'm just worried. It could be a side effect of your amnesia."

"That'd be a weird side effect," Noctis says with a breathy chuckle.

"Agreed. Be sure to tell us if anything feels off, no matter how insignificant it seems. I won't put it off for later next time. Let's hope these dreams are the worst of it."

"Okay." His lips pull upward in a short smile before he falls quiet. He worried for a second there, but Ignis took him seriously and seems genuinely worried for him, despite more important matters demanding their attention. He's glad he spoke up.

"Hey Ignis, how old are you?"

"...? Twenty-two." He tilts his head inquisitively, not seeing where the shift in conversation came from.

"And how old am I?"

"Twenty. Your birthday is in a few months."

"So we're around the same age. I was just thinking you really have your head on straight."

"Ah. Not the first I've heard of that."

"Heh. You just seemed older. Smarter, too. And it's easy to talk to you. You're kinda like...a brother. But also like a dad? Not that I remember mine. Or what a dad should be like. I dunno," he shrugs. He didn't intend to sound coherent, only to speak his mind.

"Now it's my first time hearing that. I’m not sure how I feel about it." Ignis's brow arches. Sibling, sure. Parent, not so much.

"Hah, yeah," Noctis grins. "I think it's mostly because...you always seem to know what I'm thinking. Like I can't hide anything from you." A trace of intimidation, perhaps. Ignis only chuckles in a way that doesn't at all set him at ease. ...He should probably be mindful of his thoughts from now on. Just in case.

Ignis moves the conversation on in a natural direction. "What do you think about Gladio?"

"Umm... He's...less easy to talk to."

"How so?"

"When we first met—well, y'know. He's always scowling at me like I did something to make him angry. I know the memory-loss thing is a huge setback and you all have to work around me. He probably doesn't want to bother with the amnesic me. And I get that, but it still doesn't feel great. And then he wanted to leave you behind. If you really wanted to hang back, wouldn't you say so yourself? I mean, aren't we all friends, so why would he—"

"You misunderstand, Noct."

Realizing he's rambling, he peers cautiously at Ignis. Fortunately, there's no trace of the irritation he anticipated.

"He isn't angry with you, he's angry at himself. Let's see... We told you he's your Shield, yes?"

"Yeah?"

"He takes that duty very seriously. But your amnesia is a constant reminder of how he failed to protect you. Of how we failed. I think...I think he cares very strongly for us. So strongly that it puts that much more pressure on him to accomplish his duty. That may be difficult for you to believe right now, but that's all right." Ignis pauses for a breath. "He may encourage us to push past our limits more often than you'd like—the you before all this—but it's only because he pushes himself twice as hard. So with the...misfortunes during the rite, I can't say I don't share his frustrations."

Noctis ponders this. Though he can't imagine his retainers' struggles, he knows it must be tough. They did lose a friend with barely a minute to grieve, after all.

"And leaving me behind, well, that's simply logic. He suggested it precisely because we are friends. He's concerned but he's also smart. Don't hold it against him too much." He says it with such composure that Noctis finds no room to argue. Is he truly okay with it, even when he himself takes his blindness the hardest?

"I-I won't. It's not that I don't like him." Embarrassed, Noctis mumbles to himself. He knows he has no place to criticize, so he adds on pathetically, "He's getting easier to talk to."

"I'm happy to hear that." And Ignis takes it in stride, like he knew of Noctis's concerns from the start. Taking a minute to refresh his mind, Noctis continues.

"I guess he's kinda like a brother too."

"Likely because he is one in reality. I can assure he feels the same way about you."

"Good to know." A quick smile flashes by as he shifts in his seat.

"While we're at it," Ignis asks after a moment, "what do you think about the marshal?"

"Uh...sorta like a weird, scary uncle?"

"I see we're keeping the family theme."

"Huh? Isn't that what we're doing?"

For a technologically advanced country, the scenery becomes dryer the closer they get to Cartanica. They do cross into a city with decorated buildings towering over its borders, where Cor recommends they stop to resupply and search for some real intel. A few treasures are bound to be hidden within a place as big as this.

But with big cities come strict security. They're forced to park the Regalia and sneak in on foot. Inside, they spy magitek soldiers who they later learn are on duty to impose strict curfew. Ignis suggests they use this opportunity to be more aggressive in their interrogation of the civilians. Curfews beget dissatisfaction, and dissatisfied people complain.

He also suggests they split up to cover more ground, with Noctis accompanying Gladiolus. When he realizes the undertone to these pairs, Noctis steals a flustered albeit useless glance toward Ignis. He takes it back—he'll never confide in him ever again.

At least Gladiolus doesn't mind splitting up. As he follows the older man, Noctis hopes to relieve some tension by returning to a recent fixation of calling and sending away a weapon from the King's arsenal. Practice makes perfect, up until a heavy hand suddenly smacks his away, shattering the dagger into pieces of light.

"Ow!"

"Cut that out! You can't be summoning your weapons in public."

"Wha—" He scowls and rubs his hand. "Why not?"

"Didn't we tell you?" Gladiolus grumbles. "Argh, guess not. Look, we're trying to keep a low profile, yeah? That power isn't exactly normal outside the royal family. So quit it."

Noctis falters, eyes growing round with regret. "I-I didn't know. I thought I should practice...sorry."

Something about his expression gives Gladiolus pause as well, but he simply sighs in the end. "No, it's fine. My fault for not warning you. I know you've been practicing and didn't think to tell you." He scratches the back of his head before continuing. "But man, old habits never die, huh. You did the same thing as a kid. You sure your memory's not back?"

"...Pretty sure," he says half apologetically, half curiously at that bit of trivia.

"Right. Of course." Gladiolus takes the lead again with Noctis left to stare at his immense back, a convenient landmark so he doesn't lose his way in the crowd. He knows he should be searching for clues, but as if the sparkling new scenery wasn't distracting enough, he has Gladiolus to tiptoe around. Is this distance between them purely because of his guilt?

"Gladiolus?"

He looks over his shoulder. "Gladio."

"Hmm?"

"Call me Gladio. Hearing my full name out of your mouth doesn't sound right," he comments lightly, but Noctis hears a trace of bite that he tries to ignore.

"Right, um... So, where do you think we should go? Kinda seems like we've been randomly walking around."

"You really gotta start paying attention, Noct. We're gonna hit the bars."

"...Okay, I don't know much about drinking, but doesn't that usually happen at night?"

"We're going there to talk to the locals." He rolls his eyes, then peers at Noctis as a grin sneaks onto his face. "Well, I will. Not sure if you can get in."

"Ignis told me I'm twenty," he shoots back with a pout that doesn't help his case. Gladiolus just laughs again.

When they find the closest bar, Gladiolus is satisfied to see a fair amount of patrons despite the early hour. The shorter days must have everyone on edge one way or another. Unfortunately, the ID-less prince doesn't convince the staff, so he reluctantly loiters in the shop across the street. He attempts to do his part and ask around, piling up bits of information.

The four reunite two hours later and ultimately chalk up their findings to propaganda. Niflheim’s authority went to great lengths to twist the facts, so not only do Imperials believe they have the upper hand, but that daemons are the makings of Lucis magic. One thing is clear: these little deceptions likely cover up a greater lie festering in the capital city, so their end goal hasn't changed. It's all gone cleanly over Noctis's head, of course, more so when Ignis assures him he needn't worry about it. But he'll have to eventually, right?

Hurrying may have been the plan, but plans have a way of taking a life of their own. They had just checked into a hotel for the night when Gladiolus and Ignis abruptly stand on alert. Noctis senses something truly off now. Their sudden bursts of searching around or standing vacantly haven't stopped since the boat ride to Cape Caem, to the point where even Cor has had enough.

"What is going on with you two?"

"Shh," Gladiolus hisses. Ignis also makes no move to explain, prompting Noctis to stand up nervously.

"sh*t. We gotta go. Keep an eye on Ignis, Marshal!" Gladiolus eventually orders before grabbing Noctis to run out of the hotel.

"What the, what!?" Noctis yelps. He finds his answer outdoors. Dozens of strange ships soar in the dusk sky and inch closer to the surface. The people outside haven't recognized whatever threat Gladiolus predicted, and they don't stop to let them know.

"We gotta get to the Regalia! Just trust me!" Gladiolus yells, carving a path through the dumbstruck crowd for Cor and Ignis to follow. "Those are Imperial ships."

The enemy?! Before he can ask, an immense sound blasts through his ears and he nearly trips over himself from the shock. He turns to see fire and smoke rising far behind them—an explosion.

"They're bombing their own people?!"

Gladiolus clicks his tongue and runs faster now, trusting Cor to keep up. But swarms of soldiers falling from the ships regularly interrupt their rush to their infiltration point and wear them down. He knows what these are: magitek troopers, the Empire's unique military, thoroughly explained to him by his retainers. And they're every bit as challenging as he'd been warned.

Things get particularly bad when Cor violently yanks Noctis by the collar as an ax rends the concrete apart where he stood. The MT wielding it melts into scrap metal a mere moment later after Cor's sword disables it.

"Gladiolus! Eyes up!"

The Shield whirls around in shock, struggling to process the fact that he missed the threat. Cursing vehemently, he pushes back the front lines with a massive swing of his greatsword, allowing them seconds to regroup.

"This isn't working, the sky's flooded with them!"

"Even if we reach the Regalia, we'll have daemons to contend with soon enough," Ignis reminds them.

Exhausted from breathing in all the commotion, Noctis stutters apologetically, "It's because I can't fight..." His poor parries nearly lost him a limb so often to the point where Gladiolus ordered him to hang back completely.

"No time for regrets, Your Majesty," Cor asserts, patting his shoulder with an unexpected level of consideration. But Noctis looks up with eyes full of fear, appreciation, helplessness; all of it felt but none of it voiced before reality forces their focus elsewhere.

A colossal machine falls from one of the ships, nothing like the humanoid soldiers they've fought against until now. The others' reactions tell him they recognize their new enemy.

"What is it?!" Ignis urges when he feels Noctis stumble toward him.

"One of the big ones, goddammit," Gladiolus clenches his teeth before readying his sword. Just as they discuss Noctis's lack of ability, an enemy that he'd be perfect against drops on them?

He suddenly grabs his head, then growls at apparently nothing and charges before anyone can question his behavior. Cor directs Noctis to cover before following suit. As he leans back against safety, he summons his sword and holds it tightly in front of him. He can't stop his shaking hands or even imagine how to swing it in a way that will help. Shouldn't his body remember how? Shouldn't he be accustomed to the smells and sounds of battle?

A sharp cry turns his head to find an MT throwing Ignis across the ground and closing the distance. Gladiolus and Cor are too far and too busy with the larger robot to reach him in time.

His throat stings with a gasp when he lunges for Ignis and pulls him back, narrowly avoiding the blade of the guile MT. Noctis then scrambles to summon a gun and expel every bullet into it. When the soldier wilts, he lets out the breath he didn't know he held in.

"Noct?!" Ignis holds on as he pulls them up onto their knees.

"One of them almost got you," Noctis replies breathlessly before gasping. "You're hurt...!"

Something makes Ignis freeze as his grip digs into Noctis's shoulder, and Noctis almost misses the way his lips curl. Is he...angry? At him?

"Crap, I-I'm sor—"

"Noctis! Take Ignis and go on ahead!"

"What?!" Both of them cry out incredulously at the ridiculous order.

"He's right, you're sitting ducks out here! Just run, we got your backs!" Gladiolus yells over the sing of his sword pushing back the giant machine. But Noctis finds himself rooted in place and gaping at the other men, trembling arms wrapped around Ignis. They are getting closer to the city border, but...!

"You're asking me to abandon you?!" Ignis's voice in his ear makes him flinch. The words spit out like venom, but to whom is the poison directed?

"Ignis!" Cor shouts. "Noctis is the priority!"

Those words should be enough, and they are, but Ignis winces again like something else torments him. Noctis misses it, preoccupied with Cor's statement.

"Priority...?"

A sudden shot of pain cleaves through his skull and Noctis grabs his head with a hiss. The sensation of something amiss settles in his stomach again but weighs heavier than ever.

"That's...wrong..." Eyes wide and quivering, he stares at his hand as it drops from his head. Moving forward while the others still fight, being the 'priority'...it's all wrong.

His thoughts stop short when the ground shudders again after yet another robot falls near him and Ignis. This one doesn't spare time to swing its elongated claws toward them, nor does Noctis waste a breath in shoving Ignis out of the way. The claw tears into Noctis's clothes and squeezes his torso, but Ignis desperately tries to pull Noctis back while he fishes for a magic flask. Their hands tangle perilously and the very sight of it blurs Noctis's vision. He's seen this before. This scene, these circ*mstances, it's suddenly so familiar and too much to handle.

"Ign—!"

But his memories lose their way in the chaos. The second he rips away from Ignis, Gladiolus's hand latches onto his instead. Did he sprint all the way here?! The robot flings them both into the air, and Noctis clings to Gladiolus with a frantic scream as they speed higher and higher until they hit something.

That something turns out to be the inside of one of the flying ships, and he realizes they've been pitched in here with startling precision. The ship rises at high speed, its engine thundering while a line of MTs tries grabbing him. Gladiolus immediately strikes them down before tackling the others.

Noctis quickly forges his own sword to defend himself, but the second the sky outside catches in his peripheral, a sudden and vicious pain pulses in his head. Again and again like a quickening heartbeat, the pulsing draws out his strangled cries. He shuts his eyes to the scenes flashing behind his eyelids; swimming in the air, fighting daemons, grasping someone's hand, losing his grip, falling into a void. Falling—

"Noct!" Gladiolus roars when Noctis trips over the edge of the hatch. He lunges to pull him back into the ship, but gravity betrays him and they both dive into the sky.

They say time stops completely in periods of panic and you're left with a sense of calm that could potentially grant you the chance to see a way out.

Not this time. Despite Gladiolus's arms around him, the wind cuts mercilessly into his skin. His throat bleeds with his frightened gasps and his eyes sting with tears even as they melt into the sky. But he can't ignore it anymore, not when his body screams at him to remember this sensation. And he does.

Chapter 9: gladio

Chapter Text

"And I even warned you ahead of time. How did you let it come to this?"

How Ardyn's voice remains crystal clear against the roaring wind can be determined later, since Gladio intends to ignore it anyway. He twists around, leaving Noctis's back to the clouds as he reaffirms his grip around him. But the stability does little to calm Noctis's shuddering.

"Gladio?!" he screams, the name seizing his friend's attention. The panic swelling within him kills the warmth from Gladio's arms, leaving behind only a single thought: he'll die if he doesn't do something. They'll both die because of him. They'll die!

His body flares blue, drawing a stunned gasp from Gladio.

"You're trying to warp?!"

"I-I don't—" he wheezes, lungs fighting for the air stolen away by the images burning before his eyes each time he blinks.

Ignis plummeting to the rocks. Prompto trying not to cry as he begs him to live. Luna's body convulsing around Ardyn's dagger. Gladio ripped in half. His father sending him off with a smile and a lie. His failures push away the rest of his memories like they don't fit into the puzzle, leaving his mind punctured. He's incomplete.

"I can't, Gladio, I can't do this!" And he truly can't, his magic flickering vainly. Gladio's eyes bulge at the inconceivable sight of such a feeble Noctis.

"Useless boy, isn't he?"

He snaps out of it, grinds his teeth and growls out, "You can! You've done this a million times!"

"I can't!" he chokes out. "I'll just mess up again, I always mess up! You'll all die again... Nothing I do ever helps!"

He grabs Noctis's face and squeezes. "Calm down! Pick a spot and focus. You got this, Noct, I trust you!"

Noctis's wide eyes search for the trust Gladio speaks of, but it appears that nothing will calm him down—not until his head stings again with pain. With each new memory filling the blanks of the puzzle comes bursts of strength to surge in his veins, compelling him to act.

He bites down and throws his arm toward the Imperial airship, and after a flash of blue they collapse on the roof. He coughs hoarsely as he rolls onto all fours. His head throbs and he doesn't know if it's because of his memories returning or from spinning around midair, but at least it fades.

"I see he has recovered his memory. But does that really change things?"

Gladio massages his forehead before grabbing Noctis's arm so they don't both topple off the roof. "See, you did it just fine."

"Of course I did," Fighting his disorientation, Noctis scoffs and rubs at his face, like it would help him forget the way he behaved just a moment ago. But Gladio smiles anyway at the fragment of the old Noctis, no matter how forced.

"Good to go?"

Honestly, he doesn't know. His heart races and he's pretty sure he teetered on the edge of a panic attack there, but there will be time to sort through all that later.

"Yeah. Get rid of the ships?"

"You got it," Gladio grunts before pulling them to their feet. And so, ignoring the pit in his stomach, he runs with Gladio to vault inside the ship, kicking in the head of an MT for good measure. He calls his sword to strike down the rest, body propelling itself with practiced movements as if he never forgot them in the first place.

They warp to the closest ship and clear out the MTs here too, repeating the process until they reach a big one housing a cannon responsible for the bombings. After destroying the rabble, he drags the immense weapon around and fires it at the remaining ships in the distance before they can.

After destroying the control panel, Noctis yells, "Done! We gotta take care of the ones on the ground!" Pulling Gladio forward, he leaps out of the collapsing ship and whips his sword downward to warp.

Or he should have, but another shot of pain through his skull cuts his concentration and they reappear in midair, still falling.

"Augh, s-sh*t!"

"What happened!?" Gladio cries, legs swinging wildly in the air.

"Just, g-give me a sec...!" His heart beats mercilessly against his rib cage. This isn't the same, he isn't falling to his death this time. Get it together!

His senses return in time for him to warp and crash painfully into the ground along with Gladio, but he urges himself to stand and run.

"Slow down!" Gladio's shouting goes ignored as he leaps onto the head of the nearby MA-X and drives his sword into the ridges. First objective, annihilate these goddamn giant robots.

"As reckless as always. He just might get himself killed one of these days. But I suppose that's what you're here to prevent."

Gladio clicks his tongue and focuses on the fight. Noctis jumps off just as the machine spins to aim its launchers at them. He welcomes it by calling forth the fully charged Armiger, and the blasts bounce off against the shield created by the Royal Arms dancing around him.

"I'll distract it!"

Taking all the direction he needs, Gladio circles to the machine's rear. Noctis flashes back and forth to strike at its legs and take the brunt of its gunfire, giving Gladio time to whittle away at its remaining strength. He summons the final reserves of his magic at the right moment and throws it all into the robot, after which he and Gladio jump back to see the MA-X crumble into itself, its last breath of life disappeared into the clearing smoke.

Noctis heaves a sigh and wipes the sweat off his brow, exhaustion catching up to him. But he pays it no mind as he turns on his heel.

"We gotta find Ignis and the mar—"

Gladio yanks him back by the shoulder and when Noctis glares at him, he follows his Shield's narrowed gaze. His stomach coils.

"...How?"

A fresh wave of Imperial ships dot the sky, illuminated by the dusklight that casts down on their path. They run through fleeing crowds and remnants of the once-grand city, and even find the other massive automations cut down with telltale grace—leave it to Cor to take down the beasts on his own.

They only get so far before MTs swoop down from their crafts and methodically cut off all avenues of escape until they stand back-to-back, surrounded by a circle of troopers. Yet with their guns and blades aimed, not a single one makes a move.

"Caught like rats already? Perhaps Noctis isn't the useless one."

Gladio surveys the field in hopes for an opening to exploit. Why are they just staying still like that? Even on the ships, the MTs were less focused on fighting and more with getting their hands on Noctis...

On Noctis?

Don't tell him...the Empire destroyed one of their own cities just to capture Noctis alive? He glances over his shoulder to see Noctis with teeth bared and fists clenched over the grip of his sword.

"Noct...you still have the Ring?"

"Huh?!" he hisses, not immediately understanding Gladio's point. "Yeah? Where did that come from?"

"Idle thought." He really hopes he's overthinking it. "You ready?"

Noctis scoffs again, though fails to keep his apprehension completely at bay before kicking off. The second he does, one half of the circle shifts focus to him while the other unloads their guns on Gladio. He summons his shield just in time, arm shuddering against the impact. So this is how they'll play it?

They severely lack numbers but that only fuels their morale so they can move on and find Ignis and Cor. No longer content to allow his fear to debilitate him, Noctis abandons all reserve and fights recklessly. But perhaps it controls him instead, his frenzy incited by the need to not fail again. Whichever it may be, it helps clear out the rabble but pulls him to his knees afterward.

"Noct!" Gladio runs over and pulls him upright, supporting him as he catches his breath. "What the hell was that?!"

"What the hell was what? I beat them, didn't I?" he spits as he pushes his sweat-drenched hair aside, and less successfully Gladio. Neither gets another say in when they see what greets them in the sky. Noctis eventually grinds out the words in disbelief. "Are you f*cking kidding me?!"

More Imperial ships loom over them and prepare to land. This shouldn't be possible, there weren't any signs of them during the battle. Yet here they are, hatches opening to reveal packs of troopers and—

"...Daemons."

"My gift to Noctis. He's quite fond of them. See?"

Ardyn's charmed voice lingers in the back of his mind as Gladio grabs Noctis and runs. He manages to catch a peek at inexplicable terror burned into Noctis's eyes.

If he follows the trail of MT bodies, he may just find Cor and hopefully Ignis at the end of it. But if not, then...

Noctis is the priority.

The skies ahead of them carry ships as well, leaving Gladio to anticipate another blockade. He weaves them through the stampeding crowds to dart from cover to cover. While that doesn't stop the ships from unpacking their armed cargo, it inches them closer to their goal.

Then, a roar. Far louder and fiercer than what they've heard so far, it precedes a terrible tremor across the ground. Noctis stumbles. The daemons, the darkness, their uneven footing—it drags his mind back to Ravatogh. No, don't give into the fear. Summon that obnoxious confidence that his friends harp on and beat this.

But when the clamor grows louder and even the buildings sway from whatever bounces toward them, he makes the mistake of looking back.

Behemoths. So many litter the ravaged horizon and sprint their way, tearing through buildings, vehicles, and people to close the distance. Suddenly, the MTs look more inviting.

"I suppose that's a little unfair. Best of luck."

Gladio outright growls if only to tune out the chancellor's empty chuckling. These circ*mstances are far too abnormal. Does Ardyn control their foes from wherever he watches? The MTs, sure, but can daemons be controlled?

Time to make a decision.

"Noct, get us to higher ground!"

"H-Huh?" he stutters, baffled. "Are you blind?! Everything's collapsing!"

"I just need a second to look around!"

Swallowing thickly, Noctis prays to the gods he doesn't screw up like last time. They flash blue and reappear on a roof, where Gladio casts his gaze until he spots the city limits.

"That way, go!"

"Did you see them?!"

The roof shudders violently and with a tug from Gladio, Noctis flashes again. They jump from roof to teetering roof until Gladio orders him to land back on the surface. It doesn't take long for their enemies to catch on, gunfire and daemon cries following after them far too quickly to be rational.

When he realizes where they're going, Noctis instantly resists. "Are we leaving?! What about Ignis and Cor?! They have to be somewh—"

"Aha, I've waited for this. Your prince doesn't take kindly to abandoning others for his sake, you see. Just how will you explain?"

"Gah, shut up!" Gladio roars, shocking Noctis into silence. The confusion and hurt in his eyes pull ruthlessly at Gladio's conscience as he scrambles to fix his mistake. "No, I didn't mean you—"

Suspiciously on cue, another vicious blast rips through the air and something charges them, too dark to make out. Gladio summons his shield at the last second and digs his feet into the ground against the massive daemon pushing both him and Noctis back. If it came from this direction, that means daemons are already beyond the city.

Fine. He'll cut every single one down if that's what it takes to get Noctis out of here.

Time stills. It truly, completely stills here, where Noctis stands in blank space. Not even Ardyn can be seen. It doesn't feel like a dream... Where exactly is he?

"It is not yet time for sacrifice, the Chosen King."

An unbearably boisterous voice blares in his head and he grabs at it with a cry, tears already pinching his eyes from the volume. He knows this sensation.

"I will lend my strength to you. As only you can quell the Fallen."

Titan.

"N...No...!" Not again, he can't let the Astral set foot here again. Noctis screams skyward, eyes widening in panic. "You can't!! You'll destroy everything again! I can handle it! Just don't—"

"I offer my power of my own accord." The voice continues to thrash inside his skull, making him stagger and tune out all else.

"What's wrong?! Noct!!" Pulled to his knees, a strangled noise comes as his answer. With a ferocity to match the enemies swarming them, Gladio slams his shield into the ground before grabbing Noctis by the shoulders. "Can you hear me? Hang in there!"

"I didn't summon you! I'm begging you, don't come! Please, please...!" But the Archaean's footsteps already inch closer and tousle the earth. He can't stop it anymore.

"The Ring shall safeguard you."

The Ring...? Gladio's warnings are wind in his ears as he struggles to pull it out. If he wasn't shaking before, he does now, hands outstretched to try and fail to slip the Ring on. The panic fuels his racing heart, drawing out memories of all that went wrong because of his heirloom. He can't think, he can't breathe—

He looks up at Gladio, meeting his desperate gaze with his own fearful one. He must protect his friends. Forcing the Ring on with that single thought, a brilliant blue light crystallizes over them the same time Gladio slams him into the dirt to shield him from the crumbling world around them.

"What a terribly quaint view. But oh, those poor, poor people..."

Ardyn's throaty chuckle rings in Gladio's ears to stirs him from unconsciousness. He looks around. Where the city once stood now lays uprooted earth. The only flat piece of land is the patch they rest on, like a new splatter of paint on a withered canvas. Remnants of buildings, roads, vehicles, and bodies litter the wreckage. He remembers Titan, and Noctis using the Ring at the last second.

Ignis's and Cor's faces flash in his mind. If the city is gone, then all the people are...

"All because the gods put their dear king first."

While he'd rather find and destroy Ardyn's damn face, he opts to rouse Noctis. Though uninjured, his slightly feverish friend shows no signs of waking, so Gladio hauls him onto his back. If they can at least get back on the road, they'll find help eventually. The quicker the better—he'd rather Noctis not see this.

He wakes to a gentle tousling. After peeling his cheek off whatever it stuck to, he urges his heavy eyelids open. Something about the view rings nostalgic.

"...Are you carrying me?"

Gladio peeks over, surprised to hear Noctis. From the looks of him, though, he has a ways to go before completely waking up.

"Yeah."

"I can walk," he slurs unconvincingly.

"Sure. Go back to sleep."

Unable to argue, Noctis groans. As soon as he catches the faint traces of burns on his arms, he figures out the cause of his aches. It's been a while since the Ring drained his strength like this. Putting that aside, he struggles to recall how he ended up this way in the first place. Though his memories are all in place, fatigue temporarily thwarts him.

"Did we get 'em?" he mumbles.

"Get who?"

"The daemons and everything."

"Yeah we did."

"Where're Iggy and Cor?"

"Up ahead. You did good, Noct. Go back to sleep."

"You are a very good liar. Who would have guessed?" Ardyn sneers in his head, making his eyes twitch. "You won't show him their bodies? After all the trouble I went through to lead you to them. Oh well."

He'll regret the lie later, but he'll bear that burden. The important thing is that it satisfies Noctis enough to pull him back into slumber.

He doesn't know how or when, but the next time he wakes up is in a bed. He pushes himself up with a deep sigh; he's more rested now but the Ring still weighs heavy. When he sees a familiar silhouette sitting listlessly at the foot of his bed, he squints.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Gladio turns and hums in reply. "Waiting for you to wake up."

"Creepy." He hunches forward and rubs his face, listens to Gladio's footsteps around the room, and finally flinches away from something cold against his skin—a glass of water that Noctis enthusiastically gulps down.

He flinches again when Gladio presses the back of his hand over his forehead, scowling now. "What?"

"Just checking," Gladio breathes out. "Your fever's come down."

"Oh." How many of those will he get? "Does Ignis know you're doing his job for him? Where is he?"

When Gladio finally speaks, he sounds tired. "The whole city was destroyed by the Archaean. Daemons, MTs, anyone who couldn't escape in time...Ignis and Cor. They're all gone."

He faces Noctis's blank stare head-on, watching every minute detail as it morphs from confusion to shock to plain panic.

"D-Destr... Gone?" he gasps, voice raising as he continues. "What do you mean gone?! You told me they were fine!" Gladio simply shakes his head, which only provokes him. He throws off the sheets and shoves Gladio aside to stand up. "Did you even look for them?! I swear to god if you tell me you left them behind just to get me out of there, I will lose my goddamn mind."

"Noct, listen to me—"

"I am listening, you're just not making any f*cking sense! How can the entire city be gone? Yeah I get it, Astrals, but an entire city? I-I didn't—I didn't even summon him!" he breathes out exasperatedly as he pushes his hair back. "We need to go back."

Noctis's proposal draws a frown from Gladio, but he must be the calm one here. How Ignis managed this on a daily basis astounds him.

"There's nothing to go back to. We were lucky enough to find somewhere to stop at before it got dark."

"So that's it, we don't even bother looking for them? Maybe they can't move, maybe they're hurt! Hell, there might be other survivors!"

He couldn't know. He didn't see the result of Titan's intervention. At that moment, an unwelcome snickering echoes in Gladio's ears. He'll have to tell him. Of course he does, he intended to from the start. But knowing Ardyn watches from somewhere, lapping up every second of their suffering, drives him mad.

"I found their bodies. Iggy, the marshal...I found a lot of bodies. The rest probably got caught under the collapse. They're dead, Noct."

He meets Noctis's frozen gaze, unable to convey his sincerity any other way other than forcing himself to witness the anger leaving his friend and grief enwrapping him instead. Because he couldn't do his job as Shield properly, Noctis has to deal with this.

"But... But how is that..." Noctis mumbles before collapsing on the second bed. He tries to reason how this happened. The Empire tore apart their own people to go after them, sent MTs, daemons, anything to get the job done. He and Gladio were cornered, and then...Titan called to him and offered the power that ended up eradicating the city. All to save him.

"I killed them," he whispers.

Gladio recoils. He will not entertain that conversation. Without realizing he raises his voice to drown out Ardyn's laughter.

"No, you didn't."

"How can you even stomach saying that?" He plants his face into his hands and breathes out through his fingers. "Maybe I did summon him after all...and that destroyed the city. Killed everyone. I destroyed an entire city."

Gladio kneels in front of Noctis so he can wrench away his hands. "Titan destroyed the city," he insists, but Noctis shakes his head as he vainly tries to pull away.

"To save me. He said to use the Ring, and I thought...it would protect everyone. I thought it would finally do its job this time! But it only protected you. Because you happened to be next to me. I even killed Ignis..." he chokes, anger and emotion finally catching up. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I was gonna tell you guys everything and fix things! I should've told you from the start. What the hell is wrong with me?! You're all dead, again...!"

He pulls even harder but Gladio's iron grip is unrelenting. Complaining like this is exactly what Gladio hates and he knows he needs to stop. No one will comfort him, no one will offer him forgiveness or justification. He simply must accept his mistakes and move on. Yet he lowers his head to hide himself and to avoid Gladio's inevitable disgust.

"Are...Are Prompto and Luna really...?"

The grip eases up ever slightly, almost out of surprise.

"Yeah."

Noctis stutters out a breath. He knew it, but it still hurts.

"You don't remember?" Gladio asks, and Noctis shrugs. The last thing he recalls before waking in Altissia is falling to his death. Why he didn't wake in the haven this time is beyond him.

The silence that lingers afterward proves unsettling. He squirms again to release his arms. Surprisingly, Gladio lets one go and Noctis peeks down to see him rummaging through his pocket.

"Just now you said some pretty weird stuff. Does it have anything to do with this?" The skull pendant in Gladio's fingers makes him grimace. "It's Ignis's, the one you showed me in Altissia. Except when I tried giving it back to him, I saw he still had it around his neck. And that one wasn't cracked. I didn't think much of it after that, but then you go on about 'fixing things' and 'we're all dead again'... If you want a chance to talk, here it is."

The invitation sinks in and he nearly concedes right there, desperate to get everything off his chest. But in the back of his mind still lingers a taunting voice—'what's the point?' He was so close to telling Ignis, and look how that turned out. Defeated, he lowers his head again.

"...I'm not the king you want me to be, Gladio. Can't even keep you guys safe."

This is much more than grief from the deaths of their companions, if Noctis's cryptic words weren't enough. Gladio needs to figure out what happened. This isn't the Noctis he wants to see.

A stinging shoots up Noctis's arm when Gladio digs his fingers into it.

"I can't read your mind like Iggy, so tell me what's wrong."

The words strike his body rigid, making him remember Ignis's kind assurances after he spoke about his dreams. He grinds his teeth behind tightly pressed lips. It isn't just Ignis—having expected Gladio to tell him off for behaving so decrepitly, he leans into the shoulder that's offered without hesitation. Gladio will support him too. So he finds the nerve to speak.

He stumbles with where to start but in time the words flood out. Each trip to the past, trying to avoid disaster, the successes and failures associated with his efforts. All the deaths, his own deaths, how everyone but him forgets it all once time 'resets.' How the daemons in the city made him nauseous. The surge of panic he feels just before he warps. How he'd rather throw the Ring into a volcano and never think about it again.

Gladio believes all of it and it kills him to see what it does to Noctis. If Noctis met with failure each time, that means he, Ignis, and Prompto were also responsible, just as they are this time around. Odds be damned, they have one job: keep Noctis safe.

"So that's why you had Iggy's pendant?"

"Don't know why I picked it up, really."

"You still have Prompto's glove too?"

He searches his pockets to present the tattered accessory. Tired from talking so much at once, Noctis murmurs, "Yep. I almost threw it away too, but apparently amnesic me likes old gloves covered in blood."

"No keepsake for me?"

Noctis only stares at him, the very face of despondency.

"Sorry. Bad joke." Gladio sighs. "But where was I during the your last trip to the past?"

"You..." He subconsciously shifts his arm, feeling the ghost of the cut Gladio's sword made. With the memory still fresh, he'd rather not describe it in too much detail. "You went missing after the rite in Altissia. So it was just me and Ignis, until, you know..."

"Until you both died." Gladio considers that before asking, "How exactly did that happen?" When Noctis remains silent, he adds, "I get that it's not a pleasant memory, but I find it hard to believe Ignis let that happen on his watch. The more I know, the better I can help prevent it from happening again."

Gladio chooses the worst times to be perceptive. He stares a hole into the floor before summoning his voice. "The ground...gave way under Ignis. I caught him but I couldn't pull him up. Then we both fell. And you—" He stops. He said too much.

"And I what? C'mon," Gladio insists, but that only makes it harder to hide his discomfort. What good will this do? Yet the words tumble out with a life of their own.

"Y-You... You came back. When we were being chased by daemons, you were there. You became a daemon. I don't know how. It was more like...half-daemon? You were still in there, somewhere, but..."

The grip on his arm loosens for half a second.

"Noct," Gladio whispers as he inclines his head to catch Noctis's gaze. "Did I hurt you? Iggy?"

A long quiet settles, the words losing their strength to force Noctis to speak them of his own accord.

"I think...I think you probably killed me. When I was holding Ignis, you just...came out nowhere and stabbed me in the back. Literally, I mean. So I lost my grip, and..." He shakes his head. "We were both gonna die anyway. I would've lost my grip eventually, if we weren't attacked by daemons first. Even Ignis knew that—"

He stops when Gladio exhales. A silence sits between them, and Noctis waits until Gladio lifts his gaze.

"I'm sorry all the other mes let you down."

Caught off guard by his composure, Noctis jerks back and raises his voice. "I'm the one who let all of you down!"

"You didn't give up, is what you did. I don't regret asking, Noct, but let's just say...it's hard to swallow." He wants to remain calm for Noctis's sake, but struggles to imagine a scenario where he betrayed his king. Then how unbelievable was it for Noctis himself? "And here I thought you were acting mousy around me because you lost your memories. It must've been on instinct."

Noctis hadn't considered his attitude toward Gladio like that and he hates that Gladio does. He again tries to break away from Gladio's grip.

"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd make it your fault! I get it, your duty is to protect me and you take it more seriously than you should, but I got myself killed. I'm the one who couldn't even reach the Crystal, I'm the one who's doing something wrong."

"At least he knows who is responsible."

Ardyn's voice resounds in Gladio's head, disgusting and cold, and he narrowly avoids letting it show in his face.

"This was supposed to make you see." Urgency fills Noctis's voice as he starts to ramble. "Even with all these second chances, I still can't accomplish anything. 'At least I didn't give up'? That's just a nice way to comfort people who do nothing but fail. How can I lead an entire country like this?"

"He can't."

"I don't even want to think about what to do now. The Niffs know we're here, we'll never make it to the Crystal with just the two of us. Do we even want to, with all those rumors..."

"Always with the complaints and the excuses."

"Except Dad would probably fight out of his grave and wobble all the way here just to slap me in the face for being a disappointment. ...A disappointment."

"His father's blood made him eligible, but was he ever really worthy?"

"Gladio...?"

"He isn't. He's worthless."

"Shut your goddamn mouth," Gladio snarls under his breath so viciously that Noctis flinches in his hands. Realizing he said that out loud, Gladio looks up sharply.

"W-Wha..." Noctis murmurs, but before Gladio can explain, he suddenly gasps and pulls away from Noctis in pain.

"You really should be more careful. You might hurt the boy's feelings," the chancellor mocks, going completely unheard by Noctis as he leans over.

"What's wrong?!"

He hisses through his teeth as the headache subsides. After Noctis leveled with him, maybe it's only right that he do the same.

"This is gonna sound nuts," he starts, and Noctis only throws his hands out as if to say, 'after everything I just told you?' Fair point. "...I've been hearing the Niflheim chancellor's voice in my head ever since we left Altissia. Ignis did too, so either both of us were going crazy or something's up."

He expected some level of surprise, not the sheer vehemency saturating Noctis's eyes when he grabs Gladio by the shoulders.

"Don't listen to him!! He's not on our side! All he wants is to f*ck things up for all of us. We're just caught in that bastard's game!"

Gladio gawks for a second before gathering himself. "I'm not listening to him, but what the hell are you talking about?"

"I think he's involved in all this somehow," Noctis breathes out hoarsely from the spite. "I told you how he's been there from the start, right? But, I don't know how, but he knew about stuff that had happened to us in a different past. He knew Ignis had gone blind, a-and—" He pauses, eyes widening at a realization. "And then the dreams..."

"Dreams?" Gladio parrots in confusion.

"Crap, I only told Ignis." He swallows before continuing. "When I still had amnesia, I started having dreams about Ardyn. Saying things like the power of Lucis isn't suited to me, and I'm not...deviating. Deviating. He said I couldn't warn you guys. Of course not, I couldn't remember."

Gladio admits the puzzle isn't quite as clear for him as it apparently is for Noctis, but he sticks through it.

"That makes it sound like he's the one who gave you amnesia."

As if something that convenient would be possible. But then, so is time travel. Noctis appears to take Gladio's suggestion seriously.

"...He could have. Dammit, he really could have. I mean, if he's the one sending me back to the past, what's a little amnesia to him?! 'That's the roll of the dice,' he said. This isn't a game!" Noctis heaves an agitated sigh, to which Gladio responds by placing a hand on Noctis's knee.

"Look, I'll tell you if I hear him again. So calm down."

"Fine." He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. So that explains Gladio's and Ignis's strange behavior over the past few weeks. They both remain silent for a time until Gladio stands.

"I think it's time for bed. We can sort the rest out in the morning." When Noctis peers up at his nonsense talk, Gladio narrows his eyes. "There was no helping it since you lost your memories, but what matters now is that you told me what's going on and I can help you do something about it. No more lone wolf, got it?"

Unable to offer any retort, Noctis nods. After settling himself, he flops back down onto the bed and stares at the ceiling as sleep evades him for a good ten minutes. He reminds himself of what he still needs to talk about in the morning: the rumors in the city, something Titan said that stood out to him, among many other topics.

Judging by the shuffling across the room, Gladio fights his own restlessness.

"Are you mad?" he asks.

Gladio's suspicious voice answers back. "Why?"

"I'm not the king you wanted me to be," he offers like an irrefutable fact. Not like that would stop Gladio from overturning it.

"Are you giving up?"

"I don't know," Noctis mumbles.

"Then I'll reserve judgement."

He blinks before his lips tug into a reluctant smile.

"Figures."

"I'm offended you would reduce my efforts to a simple game, Noctis."

His eyes shoot open only to see darkness before him, but that becomes the least of his problems once he realizes he's falling. He fights to upright himself but nearly forgets to breathe as he spies Gladio close by, falling along with him.

"Gladio! Wake up!"

He jerks before he too witnesses their incomprehensible circ*mstances. But if anyone can keep his head on straight during such times, it's Gladio.

"There's a wall!"

Noctis turns to the blackness and sees the slightest sheen in front of him, so he forges his sword, slams it forward, and hopes for the best. Sparks fly from the contact and his descent slows as the blade carves into the barrier. Hard concrete abruptly breaks their fall and they roll into a stop. Gladio gets to his feet first and gives Noctis the nudge he needs to stand as well.

When the vertigo dies down, their surroundings sink in. An extensive hallway stands around them, as wide as four Regalias and infinitely long. In contrast to the crisp roofing and white marble floor, the structural pillars are weathered away and even crumbling in some parts. Amidst all that, the warm sunlight trickling through the gaps of the pillars sets off alarms.

"I'm gonna skip the part where we wonder if this is a dream and focus on getting the hell outta here," Gladio asserts, already on alert to survey the area. "You see anything?"

His question goes unanswered and Gladio turns to see Noctis staring ahead, eyes round and searching. He doesn't recognize the architecture, yet it invokes nostalgia and even longing, as if he once strode through these halls before age chipped them away. He can almost imagine the floors filled with footsteps and shadows of the people who walked them, their vibrant voices and the sound of the breeze bustling through their clothes. But behind those perceptions is the sense of something wrong, that perhaps these feelings are only imagined because of the surreality of it all.

"Noct? Hey!" Before Gladio can shake his shoulder, Noctis jolts.

"This isn't a game."

"Ardyn..."

"You're hearing him now?! What did he say?"

"You really should know where this is going by now." Void of his usual vitriol, Ardyn's voice instead rings uncomfortably impassive. The words call forth a rush of paranoia, every blunder he's ever made painted in his mind to remind him of where exactly he stands before fate—a mere puppet made to dance.

"Find the exit."

"Gladio," he whispers, "I think we're gonna die here."

Chapter 10: gladio

Chapter Text

The hallway proves to be truly endless and the scenery remains unchanging while they search for clues. The monotony would make it easy to lose themselves to their thoughts if their situation didn't weigh over them like a fog.

'We're gonna die here.' Gladio runs Noctis's earlier words in his mind. He ultimately let it slide after realizing Noctis had no intention of elaborating.

They haven't chanced going ‘outside’ past the pillars. The sunlight may seem inviting but when nothing visible lies beyond it, Noctis would rather not risk walking into a void. Figuring out what Ardyn wants commands priority. He can go to hell with his 'not a game' bullsh*t—he's all but admitted he has some hand in Noctis's time travels. To what degree, Noctis needs to figure out if he ever wants to get ahead of him.

Gladio suddenly splays his hand on Noctis's chest to stop him. He follows his gaze to a picture frame on the wall.

"W-Wha... Mom?"

There sits an illustration of a gracile young woman. Her long dark hair contrasts ghostly skin, and she stands tall wearing the black of Lucis. He could never forget the portrait he saw everyday in the castle as a child—Queen Aulea.

Noctis stretches his hand toward it without hesitation, to run his fingertips over the canvas the way he used to do in his youth. A person he knows only through the meticulous brushstrokes of a biased artist now seems like a ray of hope. But he doesn't make contact—instead, his hand slips through the picture and something pulls him forward.

He falls to the surface the next moment and wastes no time in scrambling to his feet, instantly vigilant. The hallway has vanished and he appears to be standing on bridge instead. Water sits below it, and decorating the view are deep-green trees blooming with flowers of varying shades of red. Then he sees it isn't one bridge but many interlocking ones, spanning as far as his eyes can take him.

"...A maze?" he guesses out loud until he notes an absence. "Gladio...? Gladio?!" He yells again and again, but instead of any clue to Gladio's safety, a wretched scream pierces his ears. With no time to think how exactly his mother's painting gave way or why a maze exists here at all, he takes off toward the sound. When he turns a corner, his feet fly up and he falls unceremoniously onto his ass.

"Goddammit," he grumbles as he wipes away whatever the hell he slipped in, only to blanch at the unmistakable red staining his hands. Blood pools underneath him and he follows the trail up to a figure he recognizes all too well.

"Ig...nis...?"

That's impossible. Didn't Gladio say that Ignis had already... Yet there he lays, chest drenched in blood that still pours from him as if he was killed just a moment ago—

The click of a gun kick-starts his reflexes. He narrowly rolls away from the shot and finds another familiar face at the source. The trees cast a russet hue over Prompto's features, but pales in comparison to the vivid blood splattered across his cheeks.

"Found you!" Prompto sings before pulling the trigger, the bullet bouncing purposely at Noctis's feet. He clambers upright to regard his friend in horror.

"Prompto?! What the hell are you—" Another shot rings out and burns through his shoulder. "—doing?!" Noctis retreats further back as he puts pressure on his wound, while Prompto leisurely turns the corner. This feels uniquely familiar and Noctis wants nothing to do with those memories anymore.

"Playing the game, obviously. Iggy's out, if you couldn't tell. Haven't seen Gladio yet, but he'll be easier with you out of the way first," he declares enthusiastically, as if entertained by having just witnessed Ignis's lifeless body. Like this is fun.

"T-They said you were dead! What's going on?!" Noctis stutters, too taken aback by Prompto's demeanor to react as quickly as he did before.

"The game, Noct." Face contorting into a wild grin, Prompto raises his gun again. "You never were as good as you thought."

The bullet surges cleanly through his heart and all his senses vanish. He doesn't feel his body hit the floor or see the surface bubble up to swallow him whole. Instead, all too suddenly, his eyes flash open to find himself at the head of the maze. Untouched, unhurt, alive.

For a while he simply stands here, blinking dumbly and still holding his shoulder. When his mind catches up, he runs his hands over his face and body to confirm the bullet wound and bloodstains have disappeared. What just happened? He couldn't have possibly imagined that whole godawful thing up, right?

"...Prompto," he says, remembering. Whatever this place is, it can't be the real world. Is that what Ardyn meant by finding a way out? He shakes his head and cautiously returns to the corner from earlier, but finds no blood, no body, and no Prompto.

But he hears something; not a gun but the telltale swish of a weapon forged. The second he turns around, his head thrashes against a pillar and his throat constricts around a gloved hand. Through flickering vision he sees Ignis, lips curled into a snarl and eyes colored with a heat he wouldn't dare cast on Noctis. Before he can comprehend any of it, Ignis drives his dagger forward with extraordinary speed. His sight blacks out, the splintering of his skull the last thing to touch upon his senses.

Then he stands at the entrance, bridges and backdrop the same as before. His throat no longer aches, his head remains in one piece, and Ignis has vanished.

Confusion overwhelming him, his legs give way. He unmistakably died just now, murdered by a very healthy Ignis. The absence of pain proves more unsettling when his memories are still so vivid. Does he trust in his memories, or the ghosts of the sensations left behind? The thoughts swim around in his mind until they form a whirlpool swallowing up rationale to leave a blankness behind.

He does know, at least, that he isn't getting used to dying. The very act of returning to life like so quickly so often shouldn't be something humans be made to understand in such a literal manner. It doesn't feel real like this, which scares him into thinking he may one day believe that it's 'all right' to die if he'll just come back.

He shakes his head. That's a rabbit hole best avoided.

Returning to more relevant matters, he comprehends that those people weren't Prompto and Ignis. There's Gladio’s testimony to consider, but even if they were still alive in this world, they wouldn't turn their weapons on him or practice such cruelty while doing so. He has to find some sense in this.

He gets to his feet. Mere impostors of his companions won't stop him from getting back to Gladio and beating Ardyn's asinine game. That said, there are few places to hide. Great gaps stand between the pillars on the bridges, and only a few spots are fortified by solid wall. The reflections off the water also make stealth difficult, but at least they all face the same disadvantages.

First, he tests his limits. Summoning a gun tells him his weapons still work, but any power beyond that remains elusive to him. Restoratives, of course, don't work. His body also refuses to warp, and he's sure this time it isn't because of his recent amnesic state. This place affects the King's power somehow. Perhaps he can find something in common here with the other times his powers failed him. Perhaps not. For all he knows, it could be the whims of time travel.

Whatever. He ventures down a new path, committing the turns and dead ends to memory. A few minutes pass uneventfully, but he finds something new when he turns into a corridor. A painting sits upon the stone wall with another illustration he remembers well: his parents in their wedding attire. He stands in front of it and against better judgement, stretches his hand out on the slim chance it will bring him back to the white hallway.

A gunshot interrupts him and he immediately throws his own gun forward. At the corner stands Prompto, languidly reloading his weapon with his lips pushed out.

"Any chance you'll tell me what's going on this time?" Noctis grinds out as his finger hesitantly hovers over the trigger.

"Playing the game, obviously," come the same words in the same mismatched voice. "You're the first one I've found! Getting distracted, are we? Ooh, I see why."

"Start making sense!"

"Or what, you'll shoot me? That's the point," Prompto laughs as he fires again. The bullet grazes Noctis's jaw to drive home his intent to kill. Noctis gets a few shots of his own in, clipping Prompto's shoulder until he dives into cover. Noctis takes that chance to step back, but runs into something around the corner.

A blade sears through his stomach and his back hits the floor as blood carves through the air. Made immobile as Ignis pins his arms down with his knees, he can only watch the dagger thrust into his chest. Over and over and over, blood flying from each hit, his conscious understanding he's being stabbed. Only a strangled pant leaves his lips when he tries to speak, but he still sees Ignis above him—eyes wide and focused, unblinking each time he rips Noctis apart.

"Dammit, Iggy, you said I could have Noct!" Prompto’s whine is somehow both near and distant.

With a final thrust, Ignis climbs up and wipes the blood from his face with a distinct meticulosity. Noctis's chest heaves with each broken breath. The pain finally registers when his fingers graze his wounds, trying to hold them together. Though his gasps echo relentlessly in his ears, he strains to catch what the others say.

"Fine. You better help out with Gladio then. No complaints after, 'kay?"

Everything blurs together after that. Yet his vision stays black for barely a second before color and light spill back into it.

The maze entrance. The trees, the bridges, the water, it all spreads before him as if he only just toppled in here. Even though he remembers the dagger digging into him, his clothes and torso remain intact and clean of blood.

"What the hell is going on?!" he screams, venting his frustrations to the space around him.

"What a terribly dim child you are. Do you want a hint?"

Ardyn's voice in his head jerks him to attention, and by now he knows better to look around for a man who won't be there.

"Hint?!"

"I did tell you to find the exit, didn't I? All you have to do is take care of the obstacles, and the way will be made."

"Obstac..." Prompto's and Ignis's words come to mind. They wanted to kill him, but something toward the end suggested they weren't exactly working together. "...Don't tell me."

"Ah, but I will. To move things along, you see. It's very simple. Kill Gladiolus, Ignis, and Prompto before they kill you, and you will be freed. I suggest you return to the painting."

Noctis hisses through his teeth. He refuses to be dragged into Ardyn's pace again.

"And you think I won't be able to do it, huh? Kill my friends? Except those aren't them! Just some more messed up illusions."

"But the pain is real."

He freezes at that particular truth, but it doesn't change things. If he treats them as any other enemy, he'll get out of here in no time. Don't think of them as his friends, think of them as mouthpieces for Ardyn. That's all.

As he takes off again, he pushes aside all decidedly irrelevant thoughts about the meaning of death and the rather easy decision to murder other human beings, and organizes what he knows so far in his head. If Ardyn's illusion magic pulled them into this world, then the rules of reality don't apply. Each time he fails in the objective—killed by the others—he returns to the entrance with a new life. The status of his friends must reset as well, since Ignis returned to life and Prompto didn't remember meeting him once already. Again, how isn't this a game?

Though he has no way of knowing if a fake Gladio exists as well, he does know Ardyn fancies separating him from his allies. He supposes he'll find out soon enough.

Gun forged in his hand, he travels back to the painting while keeping an eye out for the others. While loathe to take Ardyn's advice, he admits the painting could be a clue. So when he stands before it again, he doesn't hesitate to touch it. Disappointingly, the painting doesn't give way like the one of his mother but only shines dimly once. He squints at it, examines it as much as possible, then decides to cut his losses and continue onward. Of f*cking course Ardyn would lead him astray.

He makes good progress until he hears the faintest of footsteps behind him, and he waits around the next corner to listen. The footsteps inch closer and closer until they reach just before the edge, where Noctis throws his arm out to smash the butt of the gun into whoever sneaks up on him.

The second he makes contact, he drops and swings his foot into the legs of the offender, toppling them enough for Noctis to point the gun down with an audible click.

Gladiolus raises his hands with a sluggish smile unsuited to his features.

"Damn, you got me."

"Hardly," Noctis spits as he regards his Shield with narrowed eyes. This is not the Gladio he knows. "You could've avoided that easy, not to mention your footsteps were way too loud. Or are all the fakes having a contest to see who can suck the most?"

"Fakes? That's a little harsh." The smile drags across his face. "Aren't you going to shoot?"

"Tell me what this is first."

His brow tilts in amusem*nt, but all he has to say is, "You're not getting out of here without killing us all."

He had to try. Noctis's finger taps the trigger, but a moment's indecision makes his aim waver. That hesitation opens up a chance that Gladiolus seizes without remorse. He bolts forward, causing Noctis to fire a shot purely as a reflex. The bullet clips some skin from his cheek but otherwise misses. Gladiolus grabs Noctis's wrists, wrenches them sideways, then rams his head forward. The tremor rips ruthlessly through Noctis's body as his vision goes white, but he can't decipher the pain before he's grabbed once more and Gladiolus's knee smashes into his abdomen.

Holding his stomach, he crumples to the floor and gags from lack of air. But Gladiolus spares him no time. He takes a fistful of hair and drags Noctis like a sack of goods to the edge of the bridge lowest to the water. Noctis resists with what little awareness he has, clawing at Gladiolus's hands enough to draw blood, screaming at his senses to not allow himself to be beaten down like an amateur again.

The world turns and water envelops him. He thrashes ferociously to get free after realizing Gladiolus threw his head into the water and holds him there. He heaves in a gulp of fresh air when his head is violently pulled back, only to be pushed back in. No matter how he kicks and claws at Gladiolus, he can't compete against his strength. Years of sparring are nothing when Gladiolus genuinely means to kill him.

Left in the water permanently now, Noctis must rely on instinct to not inhale. But even that reaches a breaking point and everything suddenly burns. His half-conscious mind forces him to breathe, desperate for oxygen but instead rewarded with water. Flooding his bruised throat and lungs, it burns so much that he wonders if he isn't drowning in actual fire instead. The rest of his body quickly fails him without the strength it needs to keep going, and the last thing to flutter across his hazy vision is the unusual red hue of the water, cast by the trees overhead.

Then he inhales again. The comfort of air filling his lungs replaces the burning in an instant. His chest heaves with more desperate breaths as he falls to his hands and knees, shuddering in the memory of drowning, thinking he still is. When he composes himself and gets to his feet, he realizes he stands in front of the painting of his parents. His clothes are dry and no pain lingers. Returned to life.

Forcing those thoughts aside, he wonders why he ended up here instead of at the entrance, then comes up with an utterly ridiculous possibility.

"This better not be a freakin' checkpoint," he growls under his breath before clenching his fists. "How the hell isn't this a game, Ardyn?!"

His shout goes unanswered, leaving him to stalk forward with the ill combination of rage and fear brewing in his chest. Enough is enough. No more fishing for information. This is just a hunt, and a way back to reality the reward. A sh*tty reality, but better than this.

He bites back the nausea when he shoots Prompto in the back of the head, and another when he pins Ignis to the ground with a knife through his throat. He frantically wipes the blood off his face so he doesn't have to smell it and continues to find another painting on a wall.

This one depicts him and his father, painted more than a decade ago. Regis allowed him to sit on the throne while he stood next to him, and he remembers his immeasurable joy in pretending to be king, pretending to be his father. Now the painting serves as another unpleasant memory, though not enough to make the hairs on his neck stand on end. That sensation comes from the blur rushing toward him out of the corner of his eye, and he ducks just in time. A loud crash follows suit, and he rolls away to get some distance and assess the situation.

"Oops. There goes your checkpoint," comes Gladiolus's nonchalant reply as he yanks out his broadsword from the dent it made in the wall and painting. When Noctis climbs up to summon a greatsword of his own, Gladio smiles. "Nice dodge, but you could've been quicker."

"I've been cutting practice," he says flatly before charging. Smirking with excitement, Gladiolus dodges the stab and parries the next hit as Noctis spins and throws the sword down into him, shoving him away with little effort. As the weapon disappears into light, he flings two daggers forward to buy him time. It works; Gladiolus evades by making his sword vertical, only to find Noctis suddenly above him.

Using a lance to propel himself into the air, Noctis falls onto Gladiolus's shoulders, locks his head around his legs, and immediately pulls his weight back. They both fall to the ground and with a strained grunt, Noctis throws Gladiolus over onto his back. Whether he was a second too late or Gladiolus's reflexes won over his, the dagger he forges doesn't make its way into Gladiolus as intended, but clatters against the floor Gladiolus rolled away from.

Both back on their feet moments later, they move at the same time. Gladiolus tackles Noctis and bulldozes him into the wall at the same moment gunshots ring out. Noctis cries out in pain from the sharp impact, but the wetness pouring over his hands tells him he hit his target. But even though the bullets went cleanly through Gladiolus's side, it may as well be a graze for how unaffected he appears. Instead, he all too happily grabs Noctis by the head and slams it back on the wall. Once, twice, up to four times before Noctis empties the gun into wherever the hell it can get to.

Gladiolus finally steps back and presses his hands against the holes in his torso almost curiously, as if he didn't just get shot six times. Noctis staggers against the wall. Blood falls into his eyes from his injuries but he won't let that stop him. He shakily raises his hand with a freshly summoned gun, but Gladiolus catches on and slaps the weapon away, then latches onto Noctis's wrist to lift him off his feet.

"Trigger-happy much, aren't you?" he asks without waiting for an answer. He throws Noctis again, and suddenly the water slaps into him. His eyes flash open under the waves, the memories that come rushing back more painful than his headache. He desperately pulls himself up halfway only to be slammed back down by Gladiolus.

"Not f*cking again!" he roars, and endeavors to makes this as difficult for Gladiolus as physically possible. He thrashes chaotically and kicks at his bullet wounds, but may as well be hitting a stone wall for how much use it does. As soon as he musters the concentration in between choking for air, he summons a dagger and stabs in reckless repetition into wherever he can reach. Blood splatters on him and eventually he pushes Gladiolus back enough to gain some leverage, but Gladiolus steals it back by clutching Noctis's neck.

He's plunged into the water and kept there. The inhuman pressure around his neck forces him to inhale water. Even as he chokes, pure rage manipulates his body to claw and kick at Gladiolus, but even that gradually ebbs away along with his consciousness. The blood staining the water sinks into his eyes to steal away his sight for good.

Then he sees his parents' portraits again, and Noctis almost vomits after realizing he's back to life. He grasps anxiously at his neck as if Gladiolus's hands might still be on him. A solid five minutes pass before he finds the motivation to stand back up.

As he stalks the halls half-aware of his surroundings, Gladiolus's cryptic words come to mind. It seems the painting of him and his father marked another checkpoint, but he missed his chance to touch it. But what's the point? How far he walks the maze has no bearing on his success, and Ardyn won't answer his doubts if he voiced them.

And so the game continues, with Noctis's losses accumulating—which, despite anger and impatience clouding his judgment, might raise a red flag under normal circ*mstances. Even hindered by reckless emotion, his skill is not so minimal as to lose repeatedly, die repeatedly. And though he long since accepted fighting impostors wearing his friends' faces, he never quite got used to the dying part. Shot, stabbed, choked, drowned, bled out; his opponents consistently find new and imaginative ways to take his life, all the while keeping him from progressing.

He lost count of how many times he restarted the game when he finally drags himself to his father's painting, the blood he trails over it remnant of his latest encounter with Prompto and Gladiolus. The painting shines like the last one but otherwise does nothing of note. He slides against the wall with a sigh and presses his face into his knees. As horrible as he feels, some pride lingers in getting this far.

Then he hears it. Footsteps around the corner, purposely audible to clear any notions that Ignis means to sneak up on him. Noctis labors to his feet and faces the fake with narrowed eyes, while Ignis regards him as he would a weed on a sidewalk.

Ignis differs the most from his counterpart. His apathy never fails to send a cold shot of electricity down Noctis's back, but what's worse is that he hasn't spoken a single word the entire time.

Noctis strikes first. His sword swings until he backs Ignis against the edge of the bridge. Ignis then parries and pours forth sudden strength to force him back instead, using the opening to stab a dagger forward. Noctis wards it with a hastily forged dagger of his own, and slices it sideways to put some distance between them.

Ignis flicks his wrists to reorient his weapons and kicks off with a flurry of strikes that push Noctis away again. He blocks as best he can but struggles against the unnatural speed and his own fatigue. One misstep leads to a shallow cut across his shoulder, but he ignores it and takes that chance to slash Ignis's chest. As Ignis winces, Noctis dismisses his blade to tackle Ignis to the ground, and pins him down to smash his face in with a tight fist.

His shattered glasses and bloody nose don't stop Ignis from retaliating. He grabs Noctis's collar and throws them sideways so that he sits above instead, and swiftly summons a dagger to slam down. Well-accustomed to this move, Noctis arches his neck to narrowly avoid a hit to his jugular. He latches onto Ignis and with a guttural cry, flips him over his head. He rolls to his feet and calls a gun as soon as he spins around, but the shots miss as Ignis is nowhere to be seen.

"What the—" he stutters out before realizing too late that Ignis is above him, propelled by his spear. Long legs quickly squeeze his neck and throw him to the ground, leaving his head curved at a painful angle while the breath gets knocked out of him. Ignis continues to squeeze as he grabs Noctis by his hair and pulls back, intending to force his neck to break.

The thousands of headlocks he's broken free from in the past have no bearing now as he struggles like a novice. It really shouldn't surprise him that impostors in a dream world would hold unrealistic strength, but he refuses to succumb when he's so close. Instead of resisting, he gives into the pressure and launches himself upward in Ignis's direction, grabbing Ignis in the process to throw him down.

He stumbles away after deeming it safer to keep his distance. He forges his gun again and shoots, but Ignis recovers just in time that the bullets hit his arm instead of his head. Noctis keeps shooting even as Ignis swerves toward him, taking the bullets to his chest without obvious distress.

Noctis's confusion makes him hesitate long enough for Ignis to grab him and bore those piercing eyes of his into his own.

"Noct."

Just for a second, he completely freezes. That's all it takes—his chest rips open with Ignis's lance and the tip hits the ground to leave Noctis's speared body tilted in the air. He chokes and convulses as he feels his rib cage come apart around the foreign object, but urges his hands to try and pull it out.

Ignis doesn't let him get that far. On the verge of death himself, he uses the life he has left to call a dagger. His hand gently rakes across the back of Noctis's neck to lift his head up, and Noctis stares with trembling eyes at the utterly empty look Ignis gives him just before he drives the blade across his throat.

A moment later and he stumbles into the painting with heaving broken breaths, fighting to stay vertical. The contradictions between his healthy body and distressing memories remain a hefty burden he takes with him each time he comes back to life, like a drawn-out whiplash. He eventually stands to find the portrait of him and his father, causing momentary puzzlement.

"...Right. Checkpoint." It must have changed since he managed to reach it this time, but it doesn't explain the blood smeared across it. He knows he left it there, but why is it still there? Didn't things reset? Whatever benefit the checkpoint entails continues to evade him, so he moves on.

But as he turns the corner, there walks Ignis in his direction, who stops upon seeing Noctis. Dammit, he forgot Ignis came from this path before. Needing time to come up with a better plan than 'shooting things dead,' he begins the next bout by quickly sprinting the opposite way.

Ignis consistently proves more trouble than Gladiolus and Prompto because he's so damn nimble. So as Noctis kicks off a pillar and launches into the air, he decides he must do everything possible to immobilize him. He summons his sword midair and slices downward, missing Ignis but forcing him to stumble back. He uses the momentum to spin and strike at his legs, and the satisfying resistance tells him he drew blood.

He forces Ignis away with attack after attack, and the parries give way a little more each time until he finally slashes Ignis's chest. Before he can drive home the final stab, a lance flashes into view and strikes away the blade. Instantly cautious, Noctis jumps away and runs again.

Ignis's injuries will slow him but he remains vigilant all the same. Yet when he chances upon another painting, the danger escapes him as he takes in Luna's portrait. Dressed in her ceremonial robes, she appears almost too resplendent to compare to a mere human. His hand raises on its own to touch the canvas and calls forth the familiar shine. But his daydream ends abruptly when a dagger screams past his hand and he recoils in shock to see Ignis at the corner, trailing blood behind him.

"That was way too fast." He clicks his tongue and summons his gun to fire off two shots. As though his wounds have no bearing on his condition, Ignis's daggers slap the bullets away with inhuman accuracy before he lunges at Noctis. He leaps back to avoid a stab to the chest, then replaces his gun with a sword and clashes against Ignis's blades, an impatient growl cutting the air between them.

Ignis suddenly swings his leg and clocks Noctis in the chin. He stumbles and barely keeps his balance as his foot grazes the edge of the bridge. Sheer force of will keeps him from falling into the water. When he sees Ignis driving a lance toward him, he gracelessly throws himself to the side and the spear hits the water instead. Rather than topple in as well, however, Ignis holds onto the spear and launches vertically, then lets gravity pull him back down onto the bridge in a mesmerizing arch.

He seriously needs to do something about those legs.

Their fight drags on with both of them chipping away at the other's strength but making no fatal dents. Noctis nearly resolves to summon one of the bigger machinery in his arsenal, despite memories of destroying the cluttered bridges and almost setting the place on fire the last time he used one; if only the damn trees weren't in the way. But in the end, an exhausted and injured Noctis slips up first—he literally steps off the bridge after a miscalculation and loses his balance from the sudden level change. Ignis takes his chance, and with a flick of the wrist, a dagger lodges itself into Noctis's chest.

His hands shudder against the hilt of the blade. Rather than pain, however, raw anger boils within him and with an aggravated roar, he summons a spear and chucks it toward Ignis. But that's all the adrenaline his body affords him, and he falls to his knees seconds later. He manages to look up to see Ignis on the ground as well, the spear carved through his stomach. Well, at least he didn't miss.

Lethargy weighing on his eyelids, he leans against the wall and idly rubs the left side of his chest. His healed body tells him all he needs, but Luna's painting grants some comfort. He really messed up when he didn't manage to kill Ignis after getting Gladiolus and Prompto. All that wasted effort churns into a pool of regret to sit in his stomach.

When he hears a breathing that doesn't belong to him, he turns to see Ignis standing at the corner, chest and ankle bloodied and eyes burning his way.

"Already?!" Noctis yelps, then hastily summons a sword to defend himself. Then it hits him—Ignis's injuries, his timing, the direction he came from. A reset definitely occurred, and yet things are as they were before he reached Luna's painting.

...No, just as he reached the painting. The purpose of the checkpoints finally made clear, Noctis immediately runs. Touching a painting didn't record his progress in the maze but in clearing its obstacles—how many of the fakes he managed to kill. Except he never managed to kill someone and reach a new checkpoint until the last reset. That's why Ignis walked the same path before, and why he appeared so quickly now bearing the same injuries.

This means Gladiolus's and Prompto's fakes should already be dead. Now he can concentrate fully on Ignis. No more wasting time, then. If he kills Ignis, he wins and he'll be done with this place. He has to believe that. After finding a sturdy spot, he faces the advancing Ignis with an irritated smirk.

"I swear, if you manage to avoid this—" He summons the best machinery he has and fires without delay. The recoil slams him against the wall and sends a deafening crash ahead of him. Taking no chances, he keeps firing and watches the bridges and trees crumble in the distance. As the cracks surge up the floor to where he stands, a voice echoes in his head.

"Well done. You win."

The crumbling floor gives way and he falls into the water. But instead of the three-foot pool, his body submerges completely and sinks further down into a void. No matter how much he tries to swim upward, an invisible force ties itself around his legs and arms and yanks him away from the surface. The combined sensations of drowning and disabled limbs send a rush of panic that escapes through his mouth, and the water fills him up without remorse.

He awakes at the end of a suspension bridge. Immense trees stand at either side, rich with greenery that would obscure the sky if the sky existed in this place. Loose leaves litter the lush red deck, laid relatively straight with cable walls that appear sturdy at first glance. Sturdy or no, though, nothing would make him cross such an obvious death trap.

Except, perhaps, Gladio. He'd recognize that massive back at the other end of the bridge anywhere. Gladio's head turns slightly like he noticed something, just as Noctis calls out to him.

"Gladio!"

He already has both feet on the bridge when they stop short. Gladio's back tears open against a fist ripping its way through it. Blood splatters about until the fist retracts to throw Gladio aside like a weightless rag doll. And standing there, arm dripping red, is Ardyn.

He doesn't know whether five seconds or five minutes have passed before he realizes what happened. Then the rage needs only a moment to overwhelm him.

"Ardyn!!"

He storms across the bridge and closes the remaining distance with an instinctive warp-strike, not even considering it may not have worked or noticing that it did. Both Ardyn and Gladio disappear by the time he lands, and he searches madly for any signs of them until it dawns on him.

"Was it... It was an illusion, wasn't?!" He may have escaped the maze but this is still Ardyn's twisted dream world, and he fell so easily for another trick.

He spins around when he hears something, where a hand charges from the shadows and grabs his face. A strength that not even Gladio could muster forces his entire body to his knees, but his mind focuses instead on the hand crushing him and the slimy substance plastered on it.

"My boy, if I gave away my illusions, they wouldn't be nearly as enchanting." Ardyn speaks evenly for someone viciously digging his nails into another's face. He slathers it in the wetness until he covers Noctis's mouth, where he gets a taste. He gags on the blood and tries to pry off Ardyn's hand but only scratches at it uselessly. Again, Ardyn's strength disables his entire body. He can't stand back up, he can't move away—this isn't mere physical disparity, he genuinely cannot move.

Ardyn casually dips his fingers into Noctis's mouth, and he convulses at the intrusion. Strangled noises escape through the gaps as the rotten taste overpowers his senses. He can't even bite the fingers. Whatever magic cast over him has left him a puppet for Ardyn to play with.

"How does your Shield taste?" Ardyn leans down to look Noctis closer in the eye, his measured tone never losing its beat. "Swallow it."

Tears pinch his eyes from the strain of not being able to breathe properly, but Ardyn digs deeper until the acrid pieces of flesh fall down his throat, until that's all he can smell and taste. The sounds of his gagging serve as the only noise in this empty vacuum.

"Thank you for complying with my every word. But you must understand something, Noct. I will push you and push you until my one wish is realized, and I expect you to push back."

He barely comprehends Ardyn's nonsensical chatter, but then he blinks and suddenly Ardyn teeters. His head bounces off to the side while blood pours from the clean slice across his neck. His apparent death releases the magic controlling Noctis and he immediately pries Ardyn's hand from his mouth. He wipes the filth off his face and sputters frantically, but nothing erases the foul aftertaste of what he just ingested.

Then he sees Gladio, broadsword flashing away before he falls to his knees in heaving breaths. His eyes travel to the gaping hole in his friend's torso. It wasn't an illusion...! When he hurries to catch Gladio before he tilts over, the warmth of his blood can't be denied.

"It's okay, I got you!"

"Finally found you and already you...got yourself into trouble..." Gladio whispers, life pouring out of him with each word. How is he even still alive?

"You know me, completely useless without my babysitters." Noctis tries to pull Gladio up but falls back down when Gladio can't hold his own weight. Everything he experienced with Ardyn just now flies out the window to make room for the sole thought of getting Gladio to safety. But how?

"I would think a retainer of House Caelum might practice better manners," comes a voice from ahead. Ardyn steps into view to snatch up his fallen hat and place it on his notably intact head. "But I suppose I did just punch you through the gut. Let's call it even."

Staring at Ardyn calls forth the anger no longer locked away by magic. Noctis lunges with teeth bared and screams spilling out, ready to tear him apart until he becomes nothing more than a stain on the ground. But Gladio's vast arms curl around him to keep him still, or perhaps keep him safe. Still he squirms and fights, blinded enough to miss the blood splashing against his back. His own screams ring relentlessly in his ears, making his head pound in tune to the abrasive pangs in his windpipe. But immune to it all, Gladio holds tighter and Noctis is left to shudder violently in his grasp, snarling at Ardyn like a dog trying to break his leash.

Ardyn simply smiles. "Now that's what I want to see. But wouldn't you rather say goodbye to your knight first? He doesn't look well." He retreats out of view, and Noctis's throat burns with the roar he sends after him.

"...another chance..."

Gladio's words don't reach Noctis's ears over the adrenaline still rushing through him. It's a long while before his rapid breathing finally calms down and his body goes limp in Gladio's arms, thoroughly exhausted. The silence around them suddenly proves too deafening.

Gladio's weight presses against his back with his head resting on his shoulder. He recognizes the blood pooling underneath them now, stained over Gladio's hands that wrap around him, smeared on his own face, lingering on his tongue.

Whatever words he might have wanted to say turn breathless by the emotion swelling in his chest. For everything that happened in the maze to lead up to another failure makes him wonder, and not for the first time, if there's any point in continuing. They were tossed into this mess before reaping the benefits of confiding in Gladio, and he's almost certain now that Ardyn is the one sending him back in time like some sort of omnipotent power. Anxiety builds up faster than he can control and Noctis finds himself placing his hands over Gladio's arms, as though indulging in the otherwise meaningless gesture might dispel the turbulence.

"Gladio..." he whispers in a ruined voice. He turns his head, cheek brushing against Gladio's loose hair. But the warmth of his breath no longer touches Noctis's shoulder—probably hasn't for some time now. His eyes widen at the realization, and then he simply sits there locked in Gladio's hold and lost to his thoughts. If he moves, will Gladio vanish like he never existed in the first place? Is he stuck in this abstract world until Ardyn decides to free him?

Will killing himself send him back in time to start all over again?

His breath hitches before a battered chuckle pushes past his lips. Die here so he can go back and try to fix things?

"Yeah right..."

There's no such thing as 'fifth time's a charm.' He doesn't actually have proof against Ardyn either. It may truly be from lack of skill that he always ends up lost and alone in some form, no closer to the Crystal or his throne.

"Ah, yes, your birthright."

Ardyn's voice leaves the darkness the same moment a flash of red envelops them. Less surprised with how Ardyn read his thoughts and more with the change in scenery, Noctis gapes dumbly at what lays just a few meters away.

Still starlit and brilliantly blue, the Crystal's shine hasn't changed since last he saw it. Gladio's weight behind him is as real as the steel flooring and the chamber around them characteristic of the Keep. It could be another well-crafted illusion, but...

"Did we just warp...?" That familiar surge of power lingers in the air and he can't shake off the electric sprinkle over his body.

"Did we? Now I wonder how that could be possible." Ardyn strides past with his words. Noctis nearly takes off after him right there, but Gladio's body slumping forward interrupts him and he hurriedly stops to hold him up, no matter how useless the action. Paying no mind, Ardyn stops a few paces from the Crystal and turns to face them with arms outstretched in tasteless flourish. "Here it is, that which you have searched for so long and hard. Don't you want it?"

"I'm not falling for another damn illusion."

"Not this time. There is only one Crystal, always one. There are things even I cannot influence." Ardyn's smile makes Noctis no less suspicious nor wary of this charity.

"Y'know...if you're immortal, that just means I can kill you over and over, doesn't it?" he growls.

Ardyn lets out a short laugh and shrugs, his tone dripping mockery. "Just as your friends did to you? It did look fun." Ignoring how Noctis bares his teeth at him, Ardyn turns to gaze at the Crystal. "So you will pass on your prize?"

"You've probably rigged it again. You're the one sending me back in time, aren't you? How the hell that's even possible, I don't know, but it's seriously getting old."

"You won't even bother? Or will you choose your friends over your duty this time?"

"I can choose both!"

"No one's stopping you."

"You are!" he screams. He can't imagine feeling sicker than he does now. Say he does claim the Crystal. The worst that can happen is being sent back to the past again. But then he looks at Gladio and all his reservations come charging back. The sight of his dead friend agonizes him more than the trials he endured in the maze. His head thumps against Gladio's. The anger and despair in him makes his body tremble as it seeks an outlet.

If he takes the Crystal and his throne, his friends will remain lost forever but he'll fulfill his duty. Going back to the past will return them to life, but should he fail again...

The echoing footsteps don't reach him until it's too late, and he looks up for Ardyn's hand to cover his eyes.

"Then you'll just have to try again, won't you?"

A dull rumbling from above touches his ears before anything else. The sluggishness of his body and the warmth in his cheeks don't go unnoticed, lending to the weight over him that he could be convinced was literal. It takes him several minutes to blink away the heaviness of his sleepy eyes, to stretch back life into his limbs so he can sit up inside the tent and run a hand over his face.

Ardyn, the Crystal, Gladio lying dead against him. He remembers, but there's no shock, no desire to leap to his feet and confirm the facts. He knows he returned to the past again, and he knows who sent him here.

He's tired. He's tired but he gets up anyway and pushes back the canvas. Under a drab sky sit his friends around an extinguished campfire, all appearances suggesting they're in the middle of breakfast.

"Look who's up."

"Wow, I really thought he'd sleep through the thunder."

He approaches the camp after Prompto waves him over, but doesn't take a seat yet. Distant as they are to his foggy senses, their voices set him at ease and nearly make him forget all the chaos he experienced mere hours ago. If Ardyn meant to condition him into fearing his own companions, then at least he failed in something. After the incident with Prompto on the train, he had to learn his lesson at some point, right?

"Ignis wants to get a head start before it starts raining, so it's a light breakfast today. If that's okay with you. Buuuut I convinced him to stop at Crow's Nest later," Prompto declares proudly like he just beat Ignis in a game of chess.

"Don't think we'll make a habit of it," says Ignis. A plate of apples that he begins slicing sits on his lap. "Good morning, Noct."

"Dude, did you get any sleep last night? You should see your face."

"That's just his face, I think," Gladio says with a lopsided smile.

"It was Gladio's snoring, wasn't it? Like a freakin' train going by. Do you know how many times I have to stop myself from taking a pillow and—Ow!" Prompto gingerly rubs his shin while Gladio looks entirely unapologetic. At the same time, he notices the focus of Noctis's gaze. "What's up?"

"Noct doesn't care for apples," Ignis answers, already identifying the issue.

"So why're you cutting them up?"

"Because Noct doesn't care for apples."

"Ooooh, gotch—Whoa, Noct?!" Prompto exclaims out of nowhere, and they all look up.

A film of light shimmers like glass in Noctis's eyes before the tears tumble forth, a sharp contrast to his listless expression. But soon his features scrunch up ever slightly from the ache. Even the tightly clasped bottle of his heart must overflow at some point, telling him it's finally time to cry. Prompto staggers from his seat, Gladio frowns, and Ignis carefully lays down the knife. But he keeps still and breathes out, shaky at first but evening out with his whisper.

"I need to tell you guys something."

Chapter 11: ignis

Chapter Text

He tells them everything. No glancing over, no exaggerating, no details spared. He doesn't stop when Prompto holds his wrist close, when Gladio digs into nails into his arms tightly enough to draw blood, when Ignis takes off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, the slightest tremble in his fingers. It doesn't matter how long it takes or how much his throat hurts from talking so much. He speaks through the heavy downpour outside, now easing up as the sun casts its warmth over the tent they sit in. And then he finishes.

While the other three absorb what they've learned, he digs his palm into his wet eyes. The dried tears had stuck uncomfortably to his cheeks, but no one commented on it. No one stopped him from talking either, and for a moment he wondered if they were just trying to figure out if he was losing his mind. But they let him continue, believing every unbelievable word out his mouth.

Prompto's the first to break, nearly throwing them both down to the floor as he crushes Noctis in a hug.

"I have no idea what you're saying." A shred of humor sticks to his tone while he slowly pats Prompto's back through his muffled outburst, having no strength to pay the physical contact any mind. Prompto pries his face from Noctis's shoulder only to hug him tighter.

"I said I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Noct. We forgot everything while you had to...you had to do everything on your own."

"...You believe me?" he asks quietly.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Prompto blubbers, his reproach losing some of its bite. When he pulls back, Ignis offers a bottle of water that Noctis peers at curiously.

"To calm the fever."

He reflexively rubs at his face before taking the bottle and gulping half of it down. Would it kill Ignis not to take care of him for five seconds? ...The cool liquid does feel good, he admits. When he looks up, he finds Ignis staring back.

"Thank you for telling us," is all he ends up whispering. Noctis watches him in turn, uncertainty darkening his eyes, but he chews the end of his lip and gives a small nod in the end.

"Noct," Gladio starts next, and Noctis spies a familiar look in his eyes that prompts him to interrupt.

"You didn't let me down," he says. His gaze drops as he fiddles with his bootlaces. "And I don't want to hear anyone saying it's their fault. What's done is done...I guess."

"Not our fault?" Prompto gawks despite the warning. "Noct, I mean—look at how many times we couldn't protect you. We even ki..." He struggles to get the word out let alone stomach the thought.

"You didn't kill me either." Noctis lets his shoulders sink. "I told you those were fakes. I don't care if they looked like you guys, they weren't actually you. ...I don't want to talk about that anymore, okay?"

The other three exchange looks. They aren't as easily convinced but they have no choice but to keep quiet.

"There must be a reason why you don't remember anything. I mean, this is the first time I've even been able to tell you without something going wrong." Having briefly spoken of the incident that Noctis can still only attest to a hallucination, the others understand what he refers to. Even now he expects the very sky to fall on them at some point. "Maybe that's how Ardyn wants it, or maybe I have to figure out how to break out of this loop thing on my own, I don't know. But...if I can't do this much, maybe I..." He trails off and closes his eyes, suddenly looking doubly exhausted. No one finds the nerve to ask him to finish his sentence.

They have much to review. That the Starscourge plague is what turns people into daemons is accepted more calmly than he anticipated, perhaps because it explains all they never understood. Ignis and Gladio also accept Prompto's Imperial background without incident, as Noctis expected (or he would have had words). On the other hand, his two retainers lament their failures in protecting Noctis, even if those failures aren't strictly theirs. But at Noctis's insistence, they learn to take it as a lesson learned for the future.

They switch gears to focus on the more immediate issue: Altissia. Something has always gone wrong during the rite, whether it be Ignis losing his sight, Noctis hurting his legs, Luna being murdered—there are too many uncontrollable elements no matter how well they plan.

"Contacting her will be difficult, what with the heavy guard Noct mentioned," says Gladio. "From the sound of it, it's probably bigger than the guard she had in Tenebrae."

Tapping his fingers on his crossed legs, Prompto sighs dejectedly. "Too bad we can't just call her. Umbra's amazing and all, but things would be a lot easier if she had a phone."

Noctis has thought the very same thing a thousand times over the past decade. "Luna wants to stay in Altissia, to summon Leviathan. If she doesn't, then—"

"You don't get the Six's power," Gladio finishes. "Which makes this whole trip pointless. Yeah, I see the problem."

"But even if he does get their blessings, won't Ardyn just send him back to the past anyway? I think we need to do something about him first...even if he is apparently immortal," Prompto says carefully.

"Still find it hard to believe such a convenient magic exists," Gladio huffs. "Not even the royal family is capable of something that drastic. Unless you've been hiding something from us, Noct."

"I wish. No, I'm pretty sure he's the one sending me back. He's definitely involved, at least, so we do need to do something about him one way or another. But that's only if we get through all this first. Meeting the Six, getting to Niflheim—not to mention the Crystal being locked up in that damn Keep. And that's assuming Ardyn doesn't throw us into another dream world in the middle of it all." He breathes out before staring dully ahead, tone lowering in frustration. "Maybe we can keep shooting him in the face so he stays perpetually dead. Practical and therapeutic."

Prompto exchanges a bewildered glance with the others until Ignis takes the reins. "One step at a time, Noct. Let's focus on our operations in Altissia before anything else."

Noctis casts his gaze over them all, then slowly throws himself back on the tent floor. "Okay."

He hears Prompto heave a sigh, then Ignis's voice. "There was one instance where the rite ended relatively well. I suggest we build up on that plan."

"Works for me! But it sounds like Noct is doing most of the work. Can't we evacuate the civilians a day earlier or something so we can back him up?"

Noctis answers, "Then they'll find out that Luna wants to summon Leviathan and pretty much destroy their lives for my sake. Camelia cares more about her citizens than anything else, but she'll help us if it hurts the Empire. So she tells everyone that Leviathan and the Empire attacked Altissia on their own and that Luna did all she could to protect the people. Boom, reputation saved. But that means someone actually needs to protect them, so she makes you guys help with the evacuation while I get the blessing. Keep the damage from the fight to a minimum, take out some Niffs as a bonus. Basically holding you guys hostage so I don't screw her over."

The silence that follows makes him lift his head enough to see everyone's eyes on him. "What?"

"...Nothing, it's just weird for you to talk strategy. Or sound remotely intelligent." Prompto sputters unceremoniously when Noctis pitches a pack of cards at his face.

"The chances of taking the goddess down with as little damage to the city as possible?" Ignis asks.

"None, zero." Noctis's head flops back down. "She's worse than Titan and about ten times bigger. Even with you guys taking care of the Niffs, she doesn't go down easy."

Hand around his chin, Ignis contemplates this for a long enough time to draw the attention of the others. When he speaks, his eyes still narrow in thought.

"The Astrals lent their aid a number of times before you were first sent back to the past, correct?"

"Yeah. You already know Ramuh helped us at the Imperial base, and... Titan apparently showed up to take care of Leviathan after I lost consciousness. Then after we reach Niflheim, Leviathan gets rid of some daemons. And I guess Shiva's technically been helping me out here and there, since she's Gentiana."

"But that's all, right? The Archaean is the only one who appeared since you began traveling time."

Noctis grimaces at the unpleasant memories of Titan's idea of support. "Yeah, I guess... So what?"

"Are the gods no longer on your side?" Ignis asks point-blank, causing Prompto and even Gladio to jolt in surprise. Noctis sits up on his arms as his face goes slack at the implication of those words, partially because he remembers a time he considered the same thing.

"Why do you think they're not?"

"I've noticed some similarities among your ordeals. Your consistent inability to pull yourself out of harm's way has all the makings of a third party's influence."

Noctis deadpans. "You sure it isn't because I suck?"

"Noct," Ignis says in that tone that always makes him shut up. "The Astrals withhold their aid when you need it, but lend it when it proves most harmful. Your magic becomes unreliable. The Ring's power grows unstable. What should be immutable is manipulated against you. The only constant has been waking up in this tent, up until you lost your memories in Altissia." Ignis taps his lips with a finger. "You believe every action you take in each past sets off a new chain of events, but isn't it more likely that in sending you back in time, Ardyn controls what happens, regardless of what you do?"

Noctis blanches while Prompto makes a disbelieving noise in his stead. "What?! Isn't that worse? The time travel thing is weird enough, but there's no way someone can do that. Like, control the Astrals?"

"And the Ring? This is Lucis magic we're talking about, Iggy," Gladio says, but none of their words reach Noctis's ears as he rolls onto his stomach and stretches toward Ignis's bag to pull out his recipe book and a pen.

"You know," he begins, scribbling on a blank page, "I did think this whole thing might actually be some big illusion. That I could've been dreaming the whole time." A contemplative silence falls upon them before a hand sneaks across his cheek and pulls. "f*ck—what the hell?!" he cries as he slaps away Prompto's hand from his reddening skin.

"Not a dream!" He grins wickedly, and earns a drawled out groan in response.

"Yeah, I figured out that much!" He returns to his writing, prompting the others to look over his shoulder. "I just wouldn't put it past Ardyn to try something like that. If there's one thing he's capable of, it's illusions. But controlling everything like..." Like a game. "...I guess it's possible if time travel is."

"Okay, but what does that have to do with ruining Iggy's recipe book?" Gladio glances at the aforementioned who wears a complicated expression while watching Noctis's flurrying hand.

"I'm writing down everything we talked about. Well, mostly. The important parts. And some other stuff."

''Quell the...Fallen'? What the heck is that?"

"Something Titan said to me before he wrecked everything. I just remembered it now. I have no idea what it meant back then, and I definitely have no idea what it means now."

"'It is not yet time for sacrifice, Chosen King,'" Ignis reads. "'I will lend my strength to you, as only you can quell the Fallen.' Hmm. That is quite..."

"Ominous, to say the least." Gladio tucks the 'sacrifice' part in the back of his mind for now. "So Titan's calling Noct a 'Chosen King', but who's the Fallen?"

"No idea... Oh, I remembered something else. 'Only the True King can purge our star of its scourge.' Something I said when I lost my memories. Don't ask me what that means."

"But what does it mean?" asks Prompto, naturally.

"'True King' and 'Chosen King' are likely synonymous, which suggests that Noct holds the key to eliminating the Starscourge—or so the Astrals believe." Ignis narrows his eyes in scrutiny. "And yet it is the Oracle who has been halting its advance all these years. First Queen Sylva, then her daughter."

"That's where the Ring and all that 'defeat the darkness with the light' stuff comes in, right?" Prompto asks, but no answer comes for what should have been an easy question.

"That's only if I use it alongside the Crystal," Noctis eventually says. "Except I haven't even been able to get close to the damn thing."

"And the two times you did, you were immediately sent to the past."

"Three times, technically." His hand stops when he drops his forehead to the paper, suddenly feeling sick. It was only a few hours ago that he was tasting Gladio's blood (and Gladio) on his tongue, and he swears it's still in his mouth. Before anyone can get a worried 'Noct' past their lips, he picks the pen up again.

He summarizes the pasts but also writes what he learned and every contradiction surrounding each piece of information. All the rumors surrounding the Crystal, the Empire's daemon experiments and how it all backfires with Luna's death. The Ring's fluctuating capabilities and its effects on his body. Every single word out of Ardyn's mouth that he can recall.

There are things even I cannot influence. Meaning there are plenty he can, lending credence to Ignis's hypothesis.

"I wish..." he mumbles after some time, "he'd sent me farther back. It's too late to fix things now. Dad's dead, Insomnia's ruined, Niflheim's winning the war... The gods haven't been on our side for a while now."

Noctis's shift becomes as bright as day the more they watch him. Though his lackadaisical, occasionally brusque self remains, his words now cut softer and carry a more measured weight. He even moves differently; he stands straighter and his eyes are always flitting about, alert and tired at the same time. They could never guess that just hours earlier, he dipped his hands into the pool of capitulation and only pulled free because Ardyn forced him to.

To them, the change came literally overnight. So it takes time to adjust and to fully absorb what Noctis says next as they all stand in the middle of the damp haven, the noon sun beating down on them.

"I need you all to try and kill me."

The only sound comes from Prompto in form of a high-pitched hiccup.

"Yeah, okay, try that again," Gladio says, squinting.

"Training, you guys," Noctis drawls.

"Don't joke around about you dying. Seriously, after everything we just talked about?" Gladio counters with an edge in his eyes that Noctis faces head on.

"I need to," he mutters. He won't elaborate on the contradiction of wanting to ease the strain all the deaths he's been exposed to on his mind, yet refusing to grow numb to the idea of dying. "It's because of what we talked about. I wasn't kidding when I said I suck. At fighting. I lost too many times in that maze alone, and..." He looks down and flops his hands uselessly at his sides. "I need to get better."

Prompto does what he can not to let his jaw drop to the floor, opting to bite his lips as he swallows a lump. Noctis, confident and co*cksure and utterly arrogant Noctis, admitting he has room to improve? He exchanges glances with Ignis and sees in an instant that they share the same thought: how frightening it is to witness Noctis knocked down this many pegs by his ordeals.

Gladio, on the other hand, is all too ready to knock more humility into his prince.

"All three of us at once?"

"Yeah. No holding back."

"Well?" Gladio throws the question to the others. Prompto shifts uncomfortably, but Ignis shrugs.

"If Noct wants to spar, we'll spar." And the blonde ultimately relents with a grunt.

"Good." Noctis nods before calling a sword into his hand. "Then kill me."

They all lay collapsed on the haven's smooth rock surface about half an hour later, bodies heaving with gasps of varying effort. Prompto's hoarse voice breaks the silence this time.

"Noct, I swear...if this was all some messed up prank to show us how much better you are than us—"

"Like hell it was!" Noctis cries with exhaustion overshadowing his baleful tone. "I'm dying over here too, if you haven't noticed."

"Noct," comes a growl from Gladio.

"So," Ignis rasps, "you don't 'suck' as much as you think. I'd rather say you've improved."

"...Maybe." And he almost allows himself to be convinced, but Noctis shakes his head and crawls to his feet. "No. No no, this is wrong. I didn't just imagine having trouble. Even before the maze, with all the daemons and MTs—it was so freakin' hard."

"Didn't you say that the fake us were all stupidly overpowered?" Prompto groans as he rolls onto his back.

"They were, but that doesn't explain everything else."

"The daemons and MTs were overpowered too, then?"

"That..." Noctis frowns. "Could be possible, but..."

"'How', you're wondering? I can think of one reason." Ignis pulls himself upright and casts a look they all immediately decipher, followed by a whine from Prompto.

"Ardyn is officially the cheapest boss ever."

"How about...we don't go to Altissia?" Noctis offers quietly in the middle of lunch at the Crow's Nest. Prompto nearly deposits a pint of ketchup onto his meal from clutching the bottle in shock.

"We didn't spend two hours coming up with ways to handle the rite for us to not go," Gladio sighs, while Ignis observes Noctis over the rim of his cup.

"Look, hear me out. If the gods really aren't on my side anymore, then there's no point in getting the blessings. The only real reason worth going is getting the Ring from Luna, but anyone can do that. So we send someone else to Altissia while we steal the Crystal back. With a decent plan this time."

"Steal the Crystal," Prompto parrots flatly, wiping excess condiment from his plate. "From the MT-and-daemon-infested fortress you said you don't want to be within a bajillion miles of ever again?"

"I think we'll only have to deal with the MTs if we do this right."

"Oh, that's much better."

"And what exactly is your idea of 'right'?" Gladio asks.

Noctis pauses and turns a smile to them. "Isn't that what you're all here to help me figure out?"

In the end, they make for Cape Caem. Along the way, Prompto points out that Lunafreya might be pissed (as much as he loathed pairing such a crude word with someone he's viewed as divine all his youth) to have gone all the way to Altissia only for Noctis to tell her to cease her evidently useless efforts. Noctis waves it off, saying Luna won't take offense from a little foul language (That's not the point, Prompto countered).

They also stop at a general store where Ignis wordlessly enters on his own and returns with two-pack pens and a small notebook for Noctis. Noctis mumbles a delayed apology.

At the Cape, they deliver the treated mythril and a story no one there expected. They all believe Noctis but share twice as many misgivings as his retinue. It takes a little more work to convince them to cancel the Altissia trip, especially when faced with Noctis's elementary course of action upon reaching the Imperial capital.

"Most of their forces are already in Altissia, it's perfect timing. We create a distraction to clear the Keep, or at least force them to move the Crystal. Simple."

"A little too simple, Highness." Cor's already wrinkled brow furrows further. "How do you plan on doing this with only the four of you? If you had the Ring, then maybe—"

"The Ring's gotten me killed more often than it actually helped. Same goes for the Six. I'd sooner trust Prompto to keep watch over our snacks." Prompto chokes on his own saliva, and little Talcott claps his hands over his mouth to hide a giggle.

"That may be." Cor pauses, and everyone in the room senses a reproach coming. "If I may be blunt."

"Aren't you always?"

"Your strategies during these different pasts have been terrible."

A long silence follows all eyes sticking to Noctis. He frowns, but only sits forward to link his fingers together.

"I figured that much."

"And still you wish to abandon your mission in Altissia?"

"We can't know what happens unless I try. Maybe it'll be one of my worst ideas yet, maybe it'll be the best one." He sighs. The fatigue of repeating the journey started taking its toll on him long ago and still weighs heavy today. So the idea of trying something new, no matter the risks, encourages him far more than walking the same linear path does.

"Very well," Cor relents, none too easily. "Then I will accompany you."

Noctis immediately puts his hand up. "No. I said you came with us last time, right? And honestly...it didn't make much of a difference. Don't look at me like that, I don't mean it in a bad way. It's more like...Ignis's theory about Ardyn controlling everything might not be completely off. There's still a chance he'll get one up on me. Again." His voice loses some edge without his realizing, flashes of despair speeding through his mind but chased after by a light of hope. Things might work this time.

He convinces Cor that he would be put to better use here in Lucis, where he can help the boys acquire their means of transportation—an Imperial airship. Meantime, Monica and Dustin will head to Altissia to give Luna the change of plans in any way possible and deliver both her and the Ring into safety. Should they meet Gentiana, they are to ask her to meet with Noctis if her Astral tendencies lead her that way.

Baiting a ship and clearing its inhabitants are easy enough (though with some clarity regarding the troopers' true natures). Next comes stocking up on supplies and Cor retrieving decades-old maps of Niflheim cities and bases from the King's arsenal. Noctis looks them over in approval before sending away all but the most immediate one into his own arsenal. Ignis chimes in at the sight.

"Noct, your notes need safekeeping as well."

Noctis looks away. "That, uh...doesn't work. The armiger actually resets every time I...reset. But anything that's on me stays on me, for some reason." He pats the pocket where his folded notes and new journal sit, and Ignis leaves it at that.

Later, he pulls out an old glove that has been crumbling in his other pocket for too long. Its stark contrast to the clean glove on Prompto's hand now makes him so sick that he decides, finally, to throw it away. He never took back Ignis's pendant from Gladio either, and when Gladio's casual remarks about keepsakes cross his mind, he chucks the accessory into the bushes with an aggravated growl.

No more keepsakes.

"Wait," Gladio orders as he digs through a crate of (generous, Noctis insisted) supplies, pulls out a potion, and faces Noctis. "We need to test this out."

Noctis squints until it hits him. "Oh." Then he takes an immediate step back and puts his arms up defensively. "Don't you dare punch me."

Gladio jerks his head. "Prompto, punch him." And Prompto beams as he poises before Noctis with his fingers curling into a fist.

"You just had to embarrass me in front of the marshal, didn't you? The marshal, Noct! C'mon!"

Noctis nearly breaks both ankles trying to run from his friend-turned-rabid chocobo, but soon ends up in a tangle of limbs as Prompto gets his vengeance with an exuberant whoop. After he's pried off by an unimpressed Gladio, Ignis offers Noctis the potion. He downs the bubbly liquid, bruised cheeks wincing from the effort, and awaits the unnatural mending.

It doesn't come.

"Oh," says Prompto, all signs of triumph disappearing in an instant.

A familiar pull of darkness washes over his skin, yet refuses to touch him at the same time. He's felt this weightlessness before, where time doesn't exist and there are no such things as entrances and exits.

"Frightening, isn't it?"

Words he heard before, a voice he won't ever forget. He turns to Ardyn who stands in the distance one moment, then a few paces him from in the next.

"How much longer will you drag others at your heel for your own selfish aspirations?"

"Didn't you want me to keep trying? They want the same thing as me," Noctis answers calmly. He doesn't feel anything here, no rage or even curiosity. Ardyn's presence is as natural as the void around them.

"Willing sacrifices for the pickings."

"I didn't say that."

"But you know it will come to it." Ardyn stands just at arm's length now. "Your companions, or your duty. You can never choose both."

"Watch me."

Ardyn's eyes crinkle in delight, but are overshadowed by something far from amusem*nt.

"Your companions, over the kingdom of Lucis?"

"Both."

"Over Lunafreya?"

"Both."

"Over the world?"

"Both."

"Then, Noctis," Ardyn whispers in his ear, now hovering even closer, his hair brushing against Noctis's cheeks. "What will you do if they choose the world over you?"

His eyes snap open and his senses overflow with the makings of reality. He smacks away the hand on his shoulder like it just burned through his flesh. The copper-colored fog clears from his vision and he sees Ignis kneeling next to him, wearing an understandably startled expression. Noctis stutters and fails to get a fully-formed word out until Ignis shakes his head.

"It's alright. Bad dream?"

"...Yeah," is all he trusts himself to say. Ignis doesn't pry. He offers a hand and Noctis takes it to get upright. The hum of the ship fills his ears as they walk over to the others—Prompto, piloting, and Gladio keeping him company. Noctis joins in to survey the situation.

"Doing okay?"

"Don't. Talk. To me," Prompto hisses, eyes firmly set ahead and hands welded to the control panel.

"...He still hasn't gotten used to it?" Noctis whispers to Gladio with a raised brow.

"Piloting? He got that down in five seconds. It's the 'screwing up and killing us all in a fiery crash' part that's sticking."

"Please tell me we haven't been going in circles, at least."

"Why do you think I'm here? Still got a ways to go. Go read a book." Gladio shoos them away from the already crowded cabin, so Noctis rejoins Ignis further down the ship. He collapses in a seat and thuds his head against the wall. Ignis sits in silence across from him, and Noctis lasts a full four minutes before giving in.

"I think I dreamed about Ardyn again."

Ignis looks up sharply. Noctis told them about his dreams-slash-visions involving Ardyn and a slew of cryptic conversations, and though they don't cause Noctis physical harm, they weigh on their minds.

"What do you remember?"

"Y'know, the usual 'you're gonna fail and everyone you love will die' spiel." His gaze falls to avoid the disapproval no doubt coloring Ignis's eyes, and he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "He wants to make me choose between saving the world and you guys. I...don't know if it's the real Ardyn or not. But the man can time travel and apparently control daemons and gods, so showing up in my dreams seems tame enough."

"Noct."

The hair over his eyes isn't enough to cushion the hardness of Ignis's stare.

"What else?"

What else, like he knows Noctis has told him everything except for what actually bothered him. How does he do that?

"I really hate that about you sometimes."

"I can handle sometimes," Ignis replies, completely understanding.

He frowns, bites the inside of his cheeks, then sighs. "He said you guys might choose the world over me. Just more taunting. He drinks it all up, trying to make me angry, or..." Desperate. Scared. "That's all. Happy?"

Ignis quirks his brow, and Noctis rolls his eyes before seeing if he can bury his entire face into the neck of his shirt.

"That simply isn't possible," Ignis says with his usual, infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone. "You are the world to us."

Noctis peeks over with his wide eyes blinking slowly. "...That's the sappiest thing that's ever come out of your mouth."

Ignis smiles. "I try."

The remarkably uneventful flight to Gralea is exactly the thing to bring Noctis to the edge of paranoia. The others can only dream of reassuring him that things will go better this time. That's what he thought the second time, and the third and fourth.

They land the ship as close as possible to where they need it and wait until dawn to infiltrate the capital, ensuring the most amount of daylight at their disposal. Once there, they separate from Ignis while Noctis directs the rest to a tucked-away entrance to the Keep. Then they wait.

Privately, he prepares himself for the waves of nausea no doubt ready to spring forth once he enters the facility. He needs to have his head on straight and his mind stable to react to whatever they find inside, from the turn of a corner to facing down a drove of MTs. He needs to get it together.

Their signal comes as an explosion at the border of the city, then another and another until the sunrise becomes indistinguishable from the smoke and fire. Several minutes later, a siren sounds and a woman's crackled voice echoes across the city to advise citizens to follow evacuation protocol at once. A static at his ears comes shortly after.

"It's done, Noct. I'm returning to the ship."

"Thanks, Iggy. Time to go, guys."

As he leads them through the entrance, Prompto whispers excitedly, "It'd be great if we could ask Titan to cause another fuss, like at the Disc. That would've made one helluva distraction!"

Noctis breathes out through his nose as he stares ahead, eyes indecipherable. Prompto catches himself at once.

"Crap, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," he lies before continuing on.

Prompto can only accept the smack Gladio gives him upside the head in disgrace.

They soon find the main security room and knock out its nocturnal overseers with ease. He sets Prompto to work on deactivating the radar, the magitek on guard throughout the Keep, and just enough security checks (after encouraging him that his technological hobbies will help). Meanwhile, he pulls out the fortress's map from the armiger, already marked with his revisions, so he and Gladio may review the quickest route to the Crystal.

They elude evacuating researchers who are either too exhausted to notice their MTs have stilled, or care more to save what work they can. They use the chaos to head to another control room, where the Crystal lays in full display on the screens. Noctis looks for a view of the hanger and finds MTs piling into ships, likely to deal with the bombings courtesy of his magic.

"We need to get it to the hanger. Prompto, can you handle it?"

"On it!" He hurries to the panel, so Noctis takes Gladio to the transport area. He tries not to focus on how sickeningly familiar everything is and concentrates only on making sure one foot follows the other.

"Ignis, you good?"

"Just about. No one's noticed the ship yet. I'll have to thank Prompto."

"No one should take to hacking that easily." The faintest touch of pride tints his voice. "We're gonna clean up any loose ends and get the Crystal. Hang tight."

"There's no rush," Ignis says casually enough to make Noctis smile.

It all goes too well. Avoiding researchers, slipping past vacant MTs, ducking into spaces he knows will be there to hide from sight. The trepidation swirling in his lungs might actually be fueling his competence. His body moves the way he wants it to, and as Gladio quickly finds out, he's always at least a few paces ahead. Eager, but not impatient.

To Noctis, it serves as a prelude to the inevitable fallout of his good luck. To his Shield, it's a source of admiration. Their sparring made Noctis's growth clear—improved reactions, exerting the right amount of caution, the way he virtually melts into the darkness to wait for the moment to proceed. Seeing it in action now proves it wasn't a fluke. Noctis could say he has years of experience over Gladio and no one would question it.

So why did he look so ready to give up when he cried at camp that morning? Because he failed in his missions so many times? How did he fail at all?

He doesn't put much stock in Ignis's theory that Ardyn shapes the pasts Noctis experiences, as if reality is a chess board and Ardyn can move pieces from both sides with a thought. As for time travel, well, Noctis himself proves it's no myth, but it also begs the question of how. Noctis has probably asked himself that question more than enough times.

After they step out of the elevator, Noctis taps his ear.

"Prompto, how's it going?"

"Okay, so, I lowered it down to the same floor, but it has to be moved physically from there."

"Yeah, I can feel it," Noctis says forcefully, and Gladio spies the beads of sweat on his face that make his hair stick to his skin.

"You hanging in there?"

"...It's the same pressure I feel when I wear the Ring." The bite in his voice sings clearer than the commotion in the distance, as he recalls the Ring's fickle side effects. Even standing at arm's length from the Crystal didn't invoke this much vertigo. It didn't invite anything; he'd felt completely at ease.

Gladio taps his back. "Don't push it."

He gives a noncommittal grunt before touching his ear again. "Any chance you can reactivate the MTs there? Tell them to bring it to the hanger."

"IIIII can try that, yep."

"Good." He sets off toward the hanger, where he and Gladio watch the last few ships depart for the skies. "No time to waste. We're taking the rest out, Gladio."

He feels Gladio shift behind him, hears the grin in his voice. For someone who preaches caution as frequently as Ignis, he enjoys jumping into the fray just as much.

"About time."

With a smirk, Noctis warps right onto the shoulders of an unfortunate trooper and jams a dagger into its neck. Gladio follows close behind to clean up the soldiers on the other side of the room.

He nearly forgets the potion incident until blood arches from his arm. The MT ignores its splintering armor and digs its fingers into the wound as if to pull the very skin off Noctis. But with a flash of his sword, the arm splits from the body and Noctis kicks the trooper away for Gladio to land the final blow. He rips the detached arm from himself and winces at the ugly but manageable cut before getting back in gear.

They make quick work of the crowd. Noctis signals to Ignis, and a few minutes later the ship parks in the hanger to await its cargo.

He touches his earpiece again. "Prompto?!"

"They're moving really slow, man. But they're almost there, just give it a minute."

"Fine, then get down here already."

They don't need to ask why Noctis doesn't move the Crystal himself, so they spend an anxious few minutes waiting. Then they spy a group of MTs down the room, hauling the luminous Crystal on its platform and making it plain why they're delayed. Their mechanical bodies twist unnaturally in their efforts to push the Crystal, like the structure expels a pressure to disallow anyone from touching it.

Noctis swallows. It's fine. He won't touch it this time. He'll be fine.

By the time the MTs load the Crystal onto the ship, Prompto runs through the hanger and Gladio tries to pull Noctis from his knees. He finds the strength to stand but his legs tremble so violently that it's a wonder they work at all. They all feel the Crystal's presence, a dull ache in their bones mimicking what it must feel like to be stuck between a literal rock and hard place. But Noctis looks like he's drowning.

The blank void he was beginning to grow accustomed to has transformed into something wildly different. His childhood room sits as it always does: vast, tidy, sparkling in daylight that shines through the glass windows. But like always, he feels nothing, not the nostalgia from a familiar setting or the discomfort of experiencing the unknown. In this dream, he simply exists.

"How many times did your father come into this room," Ardyn begins as he glides across the floor with wide steps, "look down on you as you slept, and think, will I live to see my son outgrow this bed?"

Noctis turns to see him brushing his fingers across the ornate headboard. Ardyn looks up and the two share a moment's gaze before Ardyn steps away, now standing behind the prince.

"He must have ached when he learned of the prophecy. The things he must have done to change it even the slightest."

"Prophecy...?" He blinks, and Ardyn sits at the window sill.

"If only sacrificing the whole of Lucis would save you. Ah, but..." Ardyn smiles vaguely at him. "He tried that anyway, didn't he?"

"Something's wrong."

Gladio states the obvious while they watch Noctis bump into the door frame for the tenth time. Noctis himself waves it off, then pauses during another dizzy spell.

"Airsick."

"Now?"

Even he admits the poor excuse, but if he has to hear fever ever again—

He almost trips over his feet getting to the wash basin and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into it. Ignis goes after him, and Gladio and Prompto exchange looks.

"Morning sickne—"

"Don't," Gladio says, kicking Prompto's leg anyway.

Whatever ails Noctis continues to worsen. It comes to a point where he desperately wants to rest in the pilot cabin because it's farthest from the Crystal. His tender arm is bad enough, but he must also contend with the tension pulling his insides apart and making breathing a chore. It reminds him of the strain the Ring put on him, but amplified hundredfold.

Then breathing becomes easier compared to the need to move. He starts with pacing, paying no mind to how much more often he slams into the walls. Ignis forces him to sit, and he burrows his head into the paneling and claws at his shirt, the fabric suddenly itchier than it should be.

"It's just the Crystal," he tells them. It's not the Crystal, he tells himself.

Day two and he's vomiting again. His balance has gotten bad enough for Ignis to confine him to a cot, but that leaves him with sheets to twist restlessly in his hands and pillows to bury his face into, hoping the lack of oxygen hurts less.

"Monica and Dustin have secured Lady Lunafreya," Ignis says at some point, but his voice is nothing but a distant buzz and he loses all sense of time after that. Later, he's made upright and tries to wrench away. Gladio's steadfast grip stops him from fidgeting again, so he groans in frustration.

"We need to change your bandages. It'll be over in a minute."

"Way too long," he manages to string together.

A sigh, Ignis's name carried across the air, and then another set of hands on him. It itches, and he writhes against the prickling sensation over his arm. But a few seconds later, the hands stop.

"...Iggy, tell me that's not what I think it is."

Another pause comes, enough for him to force his eyes open. His friends are incomprehensible shapes made worse with their disembodied voices.

"It...It could be an infection."

"Just where the hell have you seen an infection like this?"

"But how can it—"

"What's happening...?" he mumbles as he's laid back down. He hums under the calloused fingers brushing his hair away.

"Try to sleep, Noct."

He's done a lot of trying in the last twenty-four hours, and whether he succeeds in sleep or not is lost on him before his senses shut down again.

"There's something you must understand about the gods." Ardyn sits across from Noctis at the table with his hands draped under his chin. The Citadel's gardens touch every corner of their vision, full of colors too vibrant under the dismal sky. The first raindrop hits Noctis's nose but he hardly registers it, letting it slip down his face like an idle tear. "They are gods. To compare them to humans is to observe a drop of water disappear into the cosmos."

Noctis searches for anything to suggest why he persists with these nonsensical anecdotes, but finds nothing.

"Could've figured that much on my own."

"No, Noctis. You will never truly comprehend just how vast the chasm is. Perhaps not even when you experience it for yourself."

"But they chose me, didn't they? I'm their Chosen King."

Ardyn's smile remains unchanging, the same lifeless smile he wears each time they meet in these dreams.

"Are you?"

A terrible tremor jolts him awake and almost throws him off the cot. He catches himself despite the pressure still binding his body in place.

"You gotta land this thing!"

"Five seconds, Gladio, if you could shut up for five f*ckin'—"

"Noct, listen to me." Ignis is suddenly there grabbing him by the shoulders, and just as he resists wriggling away, his world shakes again. He realizes then that it isn't his vision wavering but the ship itself. "Imperial ships are attacking us. As soon as we land, we'll take the—"

The ship jerks once more and everything turns sideways. He hits the wall with a deafening thud and blacks out at once. When light fills his eyes again, he finds dirt cutting into his damp skin as someone drags him away from the shore. He growls, then coughs from the distinct taste of seawater saturating his mouth.

"He's conscious!"

"I got you, Noct. Try and breathe."

He does, only to cough again. Against all odds, he pulls himself onto all fours and takes deep breaths. Someone smooths his back in slow, circular motions to help ease his lungs. But he's still so nauseous and disoriented, so cold.

"Wh-What happa..." he asks when he manages to push his voice past chattering teeth.

"Shipwrecked," says Gladio. Noctis looks up to see him and Prompto drenched and sprawled on the ground.

"Good times. At least we're alive. I think. Please tell me we're alive."

"We're alive. You did good, Prom."

"Yeah, well, I might've landed on the island instead of around it if you kept your freakin' mouth—"

"Yeah, yeah," Gladio says as he smacks Prompto on the chest, eliciting an alarmed sputter.

"The..." Noctis breathes. "The Crystal, where's the..."

"Safe, for now. The ship's past the shore. But, seeing as where we landed..." Ignis replies while Noctis takes his hand to pull themselves up.

"We're totally stranded, but our phones still work. We already called the marshal, they're coming to pick us up and hopefully fix the ship. Thank the gods we got that mythril, huh?"

"And the Niffs are gone. Guess they figured us for dead once we hit the water." Gladio gets to his feet as well. "Not sure why they didn't try to get the Crystal back, though... Anyway, there's something that looks like a cabin a ways from here. You got him, Iggy?"

Ignis nods. "Just hold onto me."

He uses Ignis to support himself until his feet decide to stop working after a few steps. He crashes to his knees with a strained gasp and clutches his shirt, wanting to rip his chest open to get at that persistent itch. But no amount of pressure can dull the pain latching onto every nerve ending, sharpening them into blades to stab him from the inside. In seconds, the pain grows so unbearable that even his skin feels like a layer too many.

He shuts his eyes in a vain effort to dull everything, but it just turns his tears into needles. A burst of panic makes him think the needles are real, so he digs his palms into his eyes to temper the ache. He wipes away what he swears must be blood, streaking it across his face.

He looks at his shivering hands, and the blood is black.

"Ignis!"

The pressure returns to force him to double over, starting in his stomach and surging into his throat, but nothing comes up. It only sits there and chokes him as he begs for air, no matter how much it hurts to breathe. He sees his friends standing frozen several feet ahead. Gladio traps Ignis's arm in an iron grip after he pulled him away from Noctis...but why?

The pressure suddenly eases, making way for shots of pain and a strangled shout, then another and another until he can't tell the difference between breathing and crying. Then in all the coldness comes a warmth, fabric over his shoulders and the tickle of someone's hands brushing his sweat-drenched hair back.

"See how they look at you?"

Ardyn's whisper urges Noctis to focus on his friends again. Gladio, teeth bared, features twisted with fear and caution. Prompto, shell-shocked. And Ignis, caught between wrenching his arm away and staying absolutely still. They watch him like something monstrous looms from behind, and the only thing stopping it from tearing Noctis apart is how well they can mask their fear. But there's nothing behind him. It's Noctis they fear.

"It will come easier if you breathe, I promise." Ardyn almost sounds kind guiding Noctis through the agony, only to contradict himself when his hands glide over to cover Noctis's mouth and nose. He gags and tries to breathe until he realizes he's vomiting through Ardyn's fingers. Or are they his? The thick and noxious blood coats his hands pressing against his face. Once his brain registers the putrid taste on his tongue, he retches again.

"I wonder where that pesky power of light has gone, hmm? Surely that would have been enough to stop the infection." The words invite a stinging pain from his arm, where a blackened gash festers under the bandages.

Is Ardyn real? He lingers regardless, and the ghosts of his hands move to Noctis's trembling shoulders to pull him back. Noctis's hands fall and he shudders non-stop now as he stares at his companions with the face of vulnerability.

"It would appear the gods have turned on you after all. Perhaps you shouldn't have turned on them first."

"G-Guys... I...I don't..." He sputters like a broken engine while blood continues to fall from his eyes. Ardyn squeezes his shoulders before slipping away with a final word.

"Worry not. Daemons are eternal."

He reaches out and tries to crawl forward but another wave of blood out his mouth throws him down. He stares wide-eyed at the proof of his imminent death pooling in the sand.

"No..." He doesn't want to die. Not now. He finally confided in everyone. He felt the warmth of their support more than ever before. But now it slips through his fingers as easily as the black blood. He hasn't the mind to think how this is possible, how the power of light streaming through his veins can so easily allow this poison to corrupt him. No, rather than fight it, it seems content to simply exist within him, like the two powers are no different from each other.

"Prompto, no! He's turning into a daemon. We can't go near him like this."

"So we just leave him be?! Screw that, we need to try."

"He can't be healed, remember? The only thing that can help him now is..."

"...Lady Lunafreya! S-She can cure the Scourge, so if we get him to her, then—!"

"He'll never make it..."

"Then what the hell are you trying to say, Gladio?!"

"Yelling at me isn't helping any of us! You think I wanna stand around doing no—...Ignis? I-Ignis, hey!"

A pair of hands carefully pushes him upright, and he sits on his haunches while Ignis brushes back his bangs.

"Iggy, I..." He's too broken to help himself but they'll fix him, so that he can fix this world. But Ignis simply offers a harrowed expression and a silence that grows too loud. For the first time, Noctis understands without a single word needing to be said. Slowly, he shakes his head.

"No Iggy, Ignis, please..."

He begs even as he chokes on the blood in his throat. With a realization he never expected or wanted, his desperate plea quickly swells into a rising temper. He feels the human in him fading to make room for the daemon burrowing in, and that pain amplifies his anger. Yet with his screams reduced to indecipherable sounds of frustration, he can only latch viciously onto Ignis's forearms in hope of imparting his desire to live. Behind them, Prompto tries to wrestle out of Gladio's grip like a man gone hysterical.

"You said you wouldn't abandon me...!"

"Noct..." Ignis whispers his name like a prayer, so gentle and full of love. He wraps his hand around Noctis's neck and presses their foreheads together. Such simplicity silences Noctis altogether regardless of his own wishes, and his eyes flutter against the sparse warmth that eases the poison's chill.

"You're already lost to us."

He misses the tears that dot Ignis's lashes, and the shimmer at his hand just before the dagger drives into him.

Chapter 12: no one

Chapter Text

"The hubris of the gods truly rivals that of man. Some days, you can't tell the difference between the two. Certainly makes you wonder which to despise more."

Sitting behind Noctis, Ardyn lets a lazy smile cross his face, his larger back serving as a surface for the young prince to rest against. He doesn't move as to not disturb Noctis, but also because he doesn't particularly want to. Here in this empty, lightless space where the two have often dreamed together, Ardyn is content to speak to himself alone this time.

"But the Kings of Light would not exist were it not for the bloated self-importance the gods cling to. They are free to quarrel amongst themselves, yes, but they allowed the world below to drown in their mess. And," he laughs, a guttural sound in his throat carrying years of weight, "to then have the audacity to command humans to clean it up! As though they jumped into the ocean of their volition. The gods may dress it up in prophecies and folklore, but it won't heal the poisoned core of their mistakes."

Blood drips, and he wipes the blackness from his lips as if dabbing a stray raindrop.

"No. Nothing will heal it."

Noctis cannot suffer his trivial condemnations. Instead, his body slumps back when Ardyn turns away, and Ardyn lays him down with a measured amount of care before standing over him. His sleeping face would convey a boy completely free from burden were it not for the dried black blood coating his face. Just a boy. His twenty years is a drop in the ocean against the existence Ardyn has endured.

He smiles when the blood drips on Noctis now, lost in what already paints him.

"There are times when I wonder if you will come to damn the gods as I have. If pushed hard enough, you are capable of it. Can't you see the horizon? A version of yourself standing there who would cast everyone and everything aside."

He lays a hand on Noctis's chest and presses down. His fingers sink past clothes and flesh to flutter against Noctis's still heart, evoking the slightest twitch behind his closed eyes.

"Allow me to show you for what exactly you have been Chosen. Whose mistakes we've paid for." He leans down and hovers over Noctis's face. His pallor a mirror to Ardyn's, the ink-colored blood sinks into the crevices of their broken skin. It is a face Ardyn has seen so many times before across the centuries, committed to memory even if he didn't want to. The face of Lucis.

"Just a glimpse. You will come to me wanting to know more, and you will be told to wait. But don't fret. You're nearly past the prologue."

He squeezes the heart, and Noctis's eyes fly open.

A book clatters against his feet the same moment he registers standing at Galdin Quay's shores. But the colors are all wrong, no longer vibrant but old and drab like an aged photograph. He briefly wonders if he actually is in a photograph, because none of this feels real.

Another dream? Deciding on that pretty easily, he picks up the book and narrows his eyes at the familiar cover of Cosmogony folklore. He remembers reading this particular volume in Tenebrae, when his boyish hands couldn't hold the book proper. Now it feels smaller than it is. Never mind where he is, why this book suddenly appeared, or why he opens its cover without any more thought to his circ*mstances—rather, opening it seems the most logical thing to do.

He reads through the poems that portray the Six, each wildly unique but all protectors of Eos. Supposedly. When he closes the book, the waters of Galdin have shifted to the less impressive architecture of Lucis's outposts, the transition smooth enough to warrant no doubt. His hands are empty but a weight falls at his feet again—another Cosmogony volume. Prompto found this one during his fervent exploration of the settlement, and they all read it together. It narrates the story of the Six fighting alongside humanity at the beginning of time, before returning to their places in the Astral realm. They left behind their servants to sustain the alliance, of which there are apparently twenty-four.

"Be nice to actually meet one that isn't Gentiana."

"No, it won't."

He gasps at the sudden voice invading his senses, but finds no one there. Instead, both the book and the scenery wash away like colors of a painting to make for another picture on the canvas. Now he swelters under the heat of Lestallum, feeling it stick to him the way it always does. Another book lays at his feet, and Noctis understands the pattern forming.

The next few volumes tell the stories of Lucis kings and the Oracles of Tenebrae, both born from the gods' blessings. The bridges they then formed with the gods represented their gratitude. The books detail the covenants forged by the Oracles and utilized by the Kings to gain power and serve the world, but conveniently leaves out the costs they take against the Oracle's life and the homes of the pious people. Did they really accept the devastation the trials left behind as course of nature?

The last three volumes give him pause. He knows these fables—everyone does. Not only do they shape Lucis's culture and religion, they serve as the foundation for Lucian royalty and highlight the Crystal and Ring as gifts from the Six. But with what he knows now, these stories become awfully lacking. It says that a Lucis King fought against the Plague—the Starscourge, he now understands—and brought a temporary peace. But what of the sacrifices? Nowhere does it say that the Ring is the source of the Wall at the cost of the King's life, and the bridge connecting the Lucis bloodline. Nothing states that the Crystal can dispel daemons, only that it is simply to be safeguarded.

No one knows that centuries' worth of kings died protecting Crystal and Ring for the sake of a Chosen King they would never meet. All for Noctis to be born.

Luna told him the Crystal exists to appoint of the King of Light to destroy the Scourge and save everyone. She told him he is that King. Then why do the gods refuse to help him? Why does it hurt so much to wear the Ring or stand before the Crystal? Why are they letting Ardyn do as he pleases with their precious ace?

He thinks of the six gods and remembers their painting hanging in his home, the Citadel. He remembers that only five were depicted.

When he shuts the last book, everything fades into a familiar void of blackness. But instead of waking up, he watches the black turn a vicious red, and suddenly he's brought to his knees and suffocating in an unbearable heat. Fire-washed rock spreads around him and towers into a sky that might actually be burning. But what litters across the rock gets his attention more than the fire: bodies, blackened not by the blaze but from the inside out, and wrenched apart in the cross between human and creature. They're all daemons.

And there, ahead of him—the Infernian, in the arms of five other massive figures as they lay his unmoving body on the scorched slopes. The second his skin touches the rock, the fire extinguishes all at once like it never existed in the first place. The terrain goes cold and the sky reverts to the black of night.

The figures step away from the tarnished body, then turn to Noctis in frightening sync. He freezes against their gazes but can't turn away, forced to face the magnitude of the gods in a body not yet honed to bear it. One of them speaks and the voice strikes like a hammer through his skull. Every pause between a word repairs his senses only for them to be broken down again until he can't hear himself screaming anymore.

"The Fallen awaits. The Light remains. Time shall be forged anew."

"As shall you, for you are not yet fit."

Not...fit?

"That which brought the Plague has been silenced." In the midst of his spiraling vision, he sees one of the silhouettes extend its arm to the fallen Infernian, now as black as the rock he rests on. Wait...is it saying that Ifrit, a god, created the Scourge?

"But it persists. It will always persist."

"Do not turn away. When what was old becomes new, the Light will claim you."

The height of noon creates beautiful light patterns over the Leville's common suite, but Noctis focuses past the glass window, the dull shimmer of his eyes a contrast to the daylight.

After waking at camp with the realization that not only did he die, he also traveled back in time again, the first thing he did was try not to scream. He remembers not being able to stop shaking from the accumulating fear and anger, desperate to figure out how he became a daemon of all things. But at some point it all faded away until he just felt exhausted. Now, melting into the mattress with one arm draped over his stomach, feet tucked into each other and face slack on the pillow, he may as well be part of the decor.

"Hey, Noct..." The bed sinks with weight. "I was wondering, you wanna go around the city with me? I'd love to take some shots, and you probably know where all the best spots are, since... I mean, if it's okay with you. I just thought, uh...it'd be nice. To get out. It's a beautiful city, y'know?"

He drags his head to regard Prompto. He hadn't expected the invitation and even Prompto seems confused for asking. His strained smile looks strange in the warm ambiance. Contemplating, Noctis looks back out the window, then slowly turns back to Prompto.

"Sure."

Prompto lights up brighter than the sky.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have thrust his notes into his friends' faces with little explanation so he could get it over with. Once again his efforts have been for naught, but this time is different. This time, he had finally managed to tell them everything and enlist their help. They made progress. Things were going well and for the first time he truly believed he could hold onto his sanity. But it didn't work. It all crumbled so easily.

Then there are the dreams. Where does he begin interpreting them? The Cosmogony books, the fire-torn field, the Six, and a feeling that Ardyn was there in the middle of it all. Ifrit caused the Starscourge? He's 'not fit', the 'Light will claim him'? The True King is chosen by the gods to clean up a mess they created?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything.

He didn't tell them everything about the last reset. They only needed to know about the operation in Gralea so he could convince Cor and the others to infiltrate the Keep while they dealt with Leviathan. He may be walking them into another doomed, linear path, but coming up with some semblance of plan got them all off his back and that's all he really cares about right now. In the meantime, he'll kill time before the rite with Prompto. They walk the crowded streets of Altissia and Prompto couldn't look any more excited. The camera and his face are one at this point, and the persistent shutter is a not-so-terrible echo in Noctis's ears if only to drown out the voices of the townspeople. Somehow...it gets on his nerves.

At the fountain, he sits on a bench and pulls out his journal. Prompto pries away from his camera long enough to notice, and hesitantly tiptoes over.

"What'cha writing?"

"The plan for this round," he hums while keeping his gaze to the page. He knows he won't feel like doing it later.

"Oh. Cool."

Prompto's feet shift in his peripheral. He's nervous. Of course he is. Finding out your best friend has been jumping through time would be one thing, but to hear about every other crazy thing that happened is something else entirely. Noctis didn't do a great job of explaining, either. They must think he's lost his mind.

Once he closes the journal, he finds Prompto looking at the stairs.

"We should head back. I've taken a ton of pictures already. Iggy's probably—"

"What?" Noctis blinks. Then he recognizes the way Prompto fidgets with his camera strap when he feels self-conscious. He's trying to be considerate. "No...it's okay. Um..." Now he's the one shifting, a rather sudden burst of guilt itching at his insides. "There's a place by the water. It doesn't...look half bad, in the evening."

Prompto's shoulders raise in surprise, but he considers the offer. Then he looks surprised all over again.

"Is it a fishing spot?"

He nods. That was a good guess.

"You wanna go fish? I'll keep you company," Prompto says with a smile. Noctis shakes his head before dropping his gaze, and Prompto swallows. Has Noctis ever turned down a fishing opportunity?

"Oh, okay." He chews his lower lip, then moves on. "Well, 'huge waterfront at dusk' does sound awesome. It'll make for some great pictures."

With some delay, Noctis peers up.

"Kay."

After texting Ignis, Prompto throws himself into the tour of Altissia while waiting for evening to fall. Noctis trails behind, truthfully too tired to keep up. But knowing Prompto only bothers with this romp for his sake, he tells himself to suck it up. It distracts them both.

When Prompto lets out a short yelp out of nowhere, he watches an Altissian apologize for bumping him into the stairs railing, to which Prompto chuckles good-naturedly.

"Figures amazing architecture would also be deadly. Oh, it's fine! Just a tiny little cut, see? Are you okay?"

Noctis claps a hand to his mouth when he sees the blood. Prompto's forearm bears a truly minor cut, but the trickle of red evokes the need to retch. He bounds for a corner to huddle in and gags again with the effort of trying to keep his breakfast down. Breathe. Everything will be fine. There's no pool of a friend's blood to slip into, no blood staining his hands as he tries to hold together wounds. No Ardyn feeding him human flesh, no daemon blood choking him. He's fine.

After some frantic self-motivation, he staggers to his feet and wipes the drool from his lips. Unsurprisingly, Prompto stands in distress.

"Y-You okay?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"Does seeing blood make you sick...?"

"Apparently. Of course it does. What's one more piece of bullsh*t to deal with?" A great wave of frustration swiftly replaces the nausea, and he growls as he drives a hand through his hair. Eventually, he opens the armiger and throws a pack of band-aids toward Prompto, courtesy of a conscientious teenage Ignis. He waits until after the rustling of plastic to look back. Prompto's expression hasn't changed much, but Noctis spies the gears turning in his eyes.

"Here, I know what'll make you feel better." Prompto drapes an arm around Noctis's shoulders and pulls him along despite the grunt of disapproval. They end up at vendor stand bursting with color, and Noctis immediately deadpans.

"Ice cream makes you feel better."

"Ice cream makes everyone feel better. C'mon, pick whatever you want, it's on me!"

"You mean it's on Ignis."

"It's on Ignis!"

He snorts without meaning to. If only Prompto's stupid smile worked this well all the time. And after smacking him in his stupid face before he could comment on Noctis's charming selection of Merry Berry Medley, they walk to the marina. There, they throw off their boots and let their feet soak in the cool water. Prompto devours his ice cream in minutes, while Noctis nibbles at his as he vacantly watches the fish dart beneath the waves. It's so much quieter here.

When the sky darkens with dusk, Prompto tugs at his camera but doesn't lift it to his eyes. Noctis doesn't notice until his soft voice breaks the stillness between them.

"Hey Noct?"

"Hmm?"

"You said—well, wrote it. We talked about...my tattoo, before. Right?"

Noctis finds Prompto staring up at the sky, his expression hidden behind his hair. He doesn't answer right away, momentarily stunned but also searching his memories. A time he remembers, but Prompto doesn't and won't ever.

"Yeah, we did."

"So, um." He shifts, and his feet create ripples in the water that disappear completely by the time he speaks again. "You don't...think it's weird?"

The memory comes stronger now. Yes, Prompto asked the same thing back then. To lack confidence is one thing, but to be doubly troubled by his own identity; Noctis never expected it, never bothered to try and see it before then. And if time had run its natural course, he would have lost everyone without ever knowing their heart. Prompto not knowing who, or what, he really is. Ignis taking on so much, too much, solely for him. Gladio pushing him forward, all the while wearing himself down. And Luna, his father, all the servants of Lucis...died, simply so their bodies would align the path he needs to walk.

In Prompto's innocent question, Noctis faces the reality that so many possible worlds, so many lives were lost on his watch. What happened to them? Did the past really just reverse itself, or do those timelines still exist somewhere? Are the people in those worlds still living their lives without a king to save them? Or have they all vanished into nihility, remaining only in his memory with nothing else to prove they ever even existed?

He doesn't know. When he breathes, coming up for air from the misery he's submerged himself in, something wraps around his ankles to keep him there, like he isn't allowed to pull himself out. He certainly has the resolve to answer his friend's doubts, but...what happened to that other Prompto? Did Noctis's words have any effect in the end? Are any of his actions meaningful?

"Not even a little," Noctis eventually answers. Directed to Prompto's or his own question, he'd rather not decide.

"...You sure?"

"Even if it did bother me, I'd get over it. Because I...need you here. You're all irre....irreplaceable. So don't worry."

He doesn't look up for a reaction, just waits for a reply. Nothing comes. Instead, Prompto throws his arm over Noctis again to pull him close and nudges his head into Noctis's with a giddy laugh. Noctis resists at first but when the warmth of Prompto's happiness spills into him, he nudges back.

The moon shines a little too brightly tonight, highlighting the sleeping figures of his friends. Hit with another bout of insomnia, Noctis sits in a bundle of blankets and stares up at the pale fixture as if seeing it for the first time. Something about it draws him away from sleep, like a warning he would be remiss to ignore.

"Can't sleep?"

His heartbeat drums in his ears at Ignis's sudden voice. Thankfully, Ignis doesn't notice as he walks closer to the bed.

"Something like that." He'd like to know what Ignis is doing up, but decides it doesn't really matter.

"Shall I make some tea?" Ignis asks, quieter.

"Nah, I'm good."

Ignis nods, then pointedly takes a seat on the edge of the bed. When the night at the Old Lestallum inn flickers before his eyes, Noctis's gut twists. Simply sitting before Ignis could reveal everything shoved away into his heart, like it did that night. He's done well enough so far to lock up his complaints, to find reason to continue on with their mission to reclaim the Lucis throne. He can’t have the idea of giving up crossing his mind again. He wonders if, before all this, he was even aware the possibility existed. There was always only one path in his life. Always.

Even those efforts were probably pointless. With an internal sigh, Noctis turns his attention back to the moon. They both sit there watching the night sky.

"You didn't speak about what happened after the operation at Zegnautus Keep." Ignis's voice is even softer now but still carries the firmness to suggest he only brings this up after careful consideration for Noctis's feelings. His feelings clearly lost to whatever Ignis weighed them against, so he scoffs a little.

"You know, you're always asking questions I don't wanna answer." Ignis's silence speaks volumes to his apology, for asking and for not backing down. Noctis brings the blankets around him. "But I guess...you know to ask those questions in the first place."

"Will you tell me?"

There are things even I won't understand if you don't explain it to me.

But if there's one thing he doesn't want Ignis to understand, it's this. He thought he might do his chances some good to spare no detail of his time leaps so that there would be zero miscommunication among his friends. Seeing how remarkably little that did, now he doesn't want them to know at all. He doesn't want them to find out that the king they've pinned all their hopes on can fail and die as easily as any common human. It's better that he alone suffers the truth. There's nothing special about him after all, and for the first time in his life, he resents that.

"Are you...afraid of us? Because of that maze—"

"No," he says decisively enough to surprise Ignis, though Noctis doesn't notice in the dark. He accepted his experience in the maze already. But Ignis and the others haven't heard of Noctis's inexplicable transformation into a daemon. Though misplaced it is in hindsight, he hasn't forgotten the anger that surged through his veins as easily as the black blood. Of course, the Ignis sitting here isn't the same one that killed him—or, perhaps, saved him. But all the same, it makes it...vaguely difficult to look at Ignis. To think he once murdered countless foes wearing his friends' faces and had the gall to justify it—how absurdly ironic.

"Noct, you are avoiding me. Please, you're wrong if you think I'll think of you any differently—"

"I said no." He lets out an agitated breath to overshadow the quickening sounds of his beating heart. 'Difficult'? Grow up. The past is done and over with, and he just needs to deal with whatever comes next.

It's easy to say. But he knows now. He knows he has no idea what to do.

"There's just a whole f*cking lot to keep track of. I didn't tell you because it's not important. So stop asking."

He finally looks up to see Ignis's expression, and wishes the moon wasn't so damn bright.

They do a quick review of the plan and of what to expect from the Empire, which remains mostly unchanged. Instead of sending Luna off to Lucis, Noctis tasks Ravus with flying her to a part of the city that should remain relatively safe during the rite. He also has Prompto stay on the surface to fight off the Niffs. Everyone stays in one place, protecting each other. So unless something goes dreadfully wrong that all of Altissia sinks into the sea, they will be safe.

Since last night, he had remained unsettlingly quiet within his company. Even now he slips the Ring on wordlessly, just as the air pulsates with the Hydraean's roar. If his dreams are to be trusted, then everything that happened to Eos during the last two thousand years is the Six's fault, and humanity has paid for their blunders ever since. All because of what, a falling out?

Goddamned gods.

"You will prove yourself before me. If not, then all shall end!"

Had he a clearer mind, he might wonder how he can suddenly decipher the goddess's words, but now—now, he only glares at her with eyes glowing a vicious red. All his life, all instances of having any semblance of agency were snatched from him and dangled like a piece of bait he might reach with some effort, only to be thoroughly denied time and time again. That sense of being cast adrift has always transformed into something else. Indignation.

"Prove, prove, prove... I'm done proving anything to gods as fickle as you."

She roars again, far greater than ever before that even the altar trembles beneath his feet. He propels himself into the air with the King's power and hovers in front of the great serpent.

"You are but a speck who forgets its place, and of those who have stood watch!"

"Yeah. Stood watch and did absolutely nothing while the world withered away because of your f*cking mistake!" His inhuman voice echos ferociously with the magic of Lucis fueling it and burns the storm around him the louder it grows. "One minute you're saying the Crystal chose me, and the next I'm not fit to be the Chosen? If you can't make a decision after thousands of years, then do something about the Scourge yourselves and leave me out of it!"

The wind and rain whip through the air when Leviathan's earsplitting cries resound again. Her anger becomes more evident with each vibration in the sky, but Noctis doesn't care. Let her get angry. It won't come close to what he feels.

"Only until that which the Stone has Chosen surmounts all revelations will the Light claim it. Time shall be made anew!"

Those words... Not that he didn't already know, but it still hurts pretty f*cking bad to know the Astrals were aware of his time traveling exploits and did nothing to fix it. Instead they throw around this nonsense he doesn't understand because no one bothers explaining. He brandishes his sword at Leviathan and throws his voice far, beyond the storm and even the waterfall encircling them, sure to pierce through the Astral's senses just as hers does his.

"Give me the blessing. Right now."

"It is not for you to lay upon me a decree. I am a goddess!"

"And I am the King!"

If the city shudders under Leviathan's voice, then it breaks from Noctis's. He spits the words with malevolence that stains the storm with the red shimmer overflowing from his eyes. His magic pulses like a earnest heartbeat to engulf the Hydraean's power—as if forcing her to bow. She resists with all her being and lunges to devour him, but it only takes bringing down his sword to pull her with it. Neither of them know from where he calls the strength, but it's enough to draw a pained cry from the goddess. She writhes and shrieks, not ready to surrender.

"I said, I'm done proving myself! Give. Me. The blessing!" With a snarl, he throws his arm back and forges the Trident. His magic trails behind him as he bolts for Leviathan and plunges the blade between her eyes, and both their visions go dark.

He's grown sick of a lot of things during his time jumps, but Altissia has got to be at the top of the list. The winding streets, all the stairs, the unnecessary pomp, and the ravaging MTs that have become part of the decor at this point.

Leviathan's notable absence startles the Empire, but not enough for them to give up on the next best thing. Troopers immediately converge on Noctis after he lands on the surface. Fueled by the Ring's power and the Astral's blessing, however, he carves through them in no time. Then, standing in the middle of crumpled bodies and tattered buildings, he takes a second to breathe.

"Gentiana. I know you can hear me. Show yourself."

Deep red trails from his body when he turns to find Gentiana standing behind him, ever calm in the whipping wind around them. Noctis banishes his sword and walks until he stands some distance from her.

"Out of all of them, I think I hate you the most. Pretending to be on Luna's side, to help me. But you're just another god who likes watching us struggle from the sidelines. Like humans only exist to entertain you." He pauses before shaking his head. "No...I guess you'd have to care to be entertained."

Gentiana remains silent, so Noctis moves on.

"You all spoke to me in that dream, so I know you know what's happening to me. You better start explaining. Titan was the first to mention the 'Fallen'. I'm not an idiot. It's Ardyn, isn't it?"

"It is true." There are no signs in Gentiana's voice to suggest confusion to Noctis's words, or a desire to fight his accusations.

"And somehow he's sending me back in time, on your watch. He's stopping me, all of us, from getting rid of the Scourge?"

Gentiana says nothing.

"The Scourge that the Infernian started." He always bore the title of Betrayer for causing the Great War of Old, about the only thing known about the War nowadays. But to usher in the Plague as well? "They said it'll 'persist.' Why can't the gods stop what the gods created? Why do I have to clean up after you? Apparently I'm not 'fit' for it anyway."

"That which has been cast has not been revoked. It is he who must cleanse this Star of its Plague."

"I can't cleanse anything if I don't have the Crystal's power! So why does it feel like it's rejecting me? Even the Ring can't decide."

He lifts his hand to regard the Ring laying on skin completely untouched by its power. Rather, the magic struggles to stay in Noctis's body, swimming around him like loose leaves in the wind. It's as if he gives it power in this timeline, but he knows by now not to count on random fortunes.

"From us did the Stone take breath, but it does not hear our words. It shall grant him its gift when he has walked the trace of time it has paved for him. Only then will he prosper, my King."

For once, for once, he'd like someone to be straight with him.

"So...what, keep doing what I've already been trying to do this whole time? Great. Fantastic. And then there's Ardyn to deal with. Every damn time I face him, I'm powerless. I can't move." On numerous occasions he has remarked on how his body slips into the mold of a puppet before Ardyn, so easily made to bend to his will. Or more accurately, to have his strings cut entirely. After the first time, even Noctis realizes something unnatural is at work. "How the hell do I stop an immortal? He's not human, is he?"

"He is," she reveals to Noctis's surprise. "But a human tainted. By the power of Light may he be laid to rest. Such is the path the Stone bid the King walk."

"Laid to rest..." he mutters quietly at first, sounding out the words like their meaning didn't sink in. He then snaps to attention. "The path? The power of Li—the Crystal's power?" She nods, and Noctis stares at her utterly dumbfounded. "You realize you're saying that the Crystal wants me to...to kill Ardyn, but killing Ardyn requires the Crystal's power. And I can't get that power until the Crystal decides to give it to me?"

Instead of answering, Gentiana opens her eyes and gazes into his with a force strong enough to contend with his magic. Noctis gapes at her before throwing out his hands.

"Are you kidding me?! That's the stupidest f*ckin'— What does the Crystal want me to do?!"

"Won't you tell him, my dear?"

A third voice has Noctis whirling around to find one subject of their conversation standing far off, as unaffected by the scenery as Gentiana. Ardyn extends his arms with a smile.

"How does it feel to be the champion of the gods? Bit stifling, I imagine."

Noctis looks back at Gentiana who, to his horror, steps away and fades from view. No matter how much he yells for her to return, she doesn't. Behind him, Ardyn sighs with dramatic effect, as if to surmount the chorus of the winds.

"She was never this shy before."

In a burst of pure aggravation, Noctis charges Ardyn, but Ardyn sidesteps him as easily as avoiding a puppy. Noctis turns on his heel with practiced motion to strike at Ardyn again, and again and again until he draws blood. But he never does. Only after he bounces off the pavement does he realize that Ardyn finally decided to swat him aside.

"So full of energy!"

"You're the only one here, so deal with it!" Noctis snarls, then he readies his sword once more. "Unless you wanna tell me what's really going on?"

"Oh, but you were trying so hard all on your own." Ardyn shakes his head. "But the answer is no. Didn't I warn you that you would have to wait?"

"What. Are you talking about?"

Ardyn simpers, enjoying a joke he alone knows the punchline to. At this point it's become his natural state of being, and Noctis is thoroughly sick of it.

"Very well, a hint. The gods, Noctis. You still regard them as you would a human. They do not worry or wonder or delight in things as your fellow man would. Man travels on intersecting paths, and the gods walk a circle. Up is left and down is right—you get the idea."

"...Basically don't trust them. Your advice is mind-blowing as always."

Ardyn's eyes crinkle. "It must be so very hard to make your own choices when your entire life is built on those of others."

Noctis freezes only for an instant. This is so not the time to address his psychological needs, or the increasingly high chance that Ardyn can read minds.

"I'll make a decision once I know what the hell is going on! Why do you keep sending me back in time? Telling me you want me to get my birthright just to force me to do everything all over again. Showing up in my dreams, throwing me into those stupid games. You want me to kill you that badly, then let me!"

He blinks, and Ardyn suddenly stands before him. Noctis stumbles back when the familiar rush of Ardyn's illusions overwhelms him, but something about this comes off too real. Ardyn truly did cross the distance in a second, and now has his hand on Noctis's face—a very real hand through which he feels an inexplicable cold.

"Then try." The cold proves unsettling against Ardyn's smile, and he shudders.

"W-What...?"

"Here's your chance. All you need to do..." He digs his fingers into Noctis's cheek and Noctis flinches from the unnatural pain. His magic whirls erratically around them and then, a dagger sits in his palm. "...is plunge this into my heart."

It can't possibly be that easy. Noctis desperately searches for some shred of rationale in Ardyn's eyes, but they only narrow in levity.

"No? Well, if you won't—" The hand on his cheek wraps around his face instead. Energy floods his body and his eyes grow wide at the swift pulses of pain sent to his nerves. He can't even scream, simply made to crumble to his knees at Ardyn's behest. Waves of red quickly overtake the man's figure and he realizes too late that it's his own magic enveloping them both. Except Noctis is the one who falls.

He wakes with a gasp ripping through his throat. His vision stutters as though he rides a boat sailing through tumultuous seas, and he claws at the earth beneath him to prove to himself he isn't actually sinking and to push himself up. But he collapses, breathing heavily into his arms. Despite how heavy and vulnerable his body feels, he knows he must move. But any attempts to crawl forward have him plopping back down again like dead weight.

Confusion permeates his mind. What happened?

"Pr...Prompto..." he rasps, and lifts his eyes to at least figure out where he is. Only a thick fog surrounds him, a remnant of Leviathan's storm, as well as indistinct sounds of battle. Not much time should have passed, then.

"Ignis... G-Gladio...!" He breathes, again and again. He tries to push up once more despite his arms trembling under his weight. He needs to find his friends and get them out of here, away from the Empire, away from Ardyn. But he falls again, gasping for air and unable to keep his eyes open for long. It's then that he spies the Ring on his finger, glittering even in the fog to remind him it exists. Is it stealing his strength again? No, this exhaustion isn't familiar, not from the way it hurts from the inside rather than from any external source.

Footsteps echo in his ears.

"And here I thought forbearance was one of my greater qualities." The mirthful voice hovers above him. Noctis doesn't need all his faculties to recognize it. "But I don't have the heart to not meddle."

All too abruptly, gunshots ring out and Ardyn steps back a few paces with a ghost of a laugh.

"Get the hell away from him!!"

In his haze he manages to make out another figure charging for Ardyn, who trails away into the fog. He knows this voice well—Prompto.

He has to help. Prompto won't stand a chance if Ardyn decides to play with magic. Digging into every energy reserve in his body, Noctis gets to his feet and squints through the mist. Then he looks down at himself to see red glistening on his skin: his magic, still alive but fluctuating, unstable. Wonderful.

He forges his sword and jogs toward the gunshots, searching for higher ground as he goes. Just when he spies a collection of rubble he can jump across, a tremendous weight slams into his chest and sends him flying back with the air knocked out of him.

Someone pulls him by the collar before he can breathe, and once again Ardyn is there grinning down at him.

"Oh no. That must have hurt."

Noctis doesn't need to be reminded of the last few times Ardyn had him in his grasp. But just as Noctis prepares to kick him, something sings through the fog and whacks Ardyn across the head. The man falls to reveal Prompto behind him with a long, gruesomely bent steel pipe in his hands.

At that moment, Noctis's head shatters with a violent pain and he screams, and he nearly rips out his hair trying to dull the ache. After a few dreadful seconds, the pain subsides to something more manageable. He can't tell if the red he sees is his magic or his vision trying to stabilize itself.

"Noct!" One hand drapes his arm around Prompto's shoulders and another supports his back. "I got you, buddy, hold on. Guys, I found Noct! Which one of you's closest?"

A dull crackle sounds, likely a voice from Prompto's earpiece. As much as he'd like to commend Prompto's newfound ferocity, he has to focus.

"Prompto, he's not...Ardyn's still—"

Noctis spies the magic from the corner of his eye just before Prompto yanks them out of the way, and they both skid across the ground. The second he can breathe, Noctis calls the Ring's magic, and it spins like a tornado before exploding outward. It clears the fog, but Ardyn has disappeared again.

Prompto doesn't wait for another attack, but the magic trailing from Noctis makes it difficult to hide. It isn't long before another burst of power collides and throws them apart.

"Prompto...!!" Exhausted and hurt, he staggers up to find his friend, but gasps when Ardyn stands before him instead. The black of his long coat shimmers with a familiar blue, and Noctis's heart stops. How hadn't he noticed before? Had his anger during the battle with Leviathan truly blinded him so? It's the same blue as his own magic.

"How are you...?"

"Don't worry, Noctis. I won't kill you." Ardyn smiles, almost calm. "Not when I went through all the trouble of lending you my power."

"Y-Your—"

"An experiment, let's say. One with the most delightful results."

Ardyn's lying. He has to be. What does the color matter? This is his magic, the one he's known all his life. That's right, all he amounts to is a plaything for Ardyn and the gods, why would they ever be straight with him? So forget that and focus on finding Prompto.

He takes careful steps backward while searching for a spot to warp to. With his third step, however, several gunshots suddenly ring out in rapid succession. Ardyn regards the holes through his clothes in bemusem*nt, but Noctis fixates on the lack of blood.

Then he sees it. Not on Ardyn, but bubbling across his own chest and soaking his clothes. The moment he dips his fingers into it, feeling the very real warmth and wetness, the pain registers and he chokes. From the shock or the nausea, he doesn't know, but it pulls him to his knees. He claws at his chest in a daze, like coating his hands in the blood will piece together the situation.

"Wh...at, is happening...?" His voice breaks when his breathing starts to quicken. He looks up at Ardyn, who still smiles down at him in perfect health.

"Oh dear."

Two more shots cut through Ardyn, only to burst through Noctis's clavicle and arm instead. He cries out, overlapping Prompto's shout.

"Why the hell aren't you—...Noct?!"

Ardyn strides aside for Prompto to survey his handiwork. Just as confused as Noctis and no less terrified, Prompto nearly skins his knees from sliding in front of his friend.

"No no no, how the... Stay with me, Noct. What happened!?"

He tries to answer but gags from the iron taste in his mouth, so his voice comes out strangled. Dammit, that's why it's so hard to breathe—Prompto always was a good shot.

Perhaps the urgency of the situation helps him figure out what happened. Ardyn's injuries are somehow being transferred to him. Being shot, having his head bashed in—getting slammed in the chest earlier must have been another attack he endured in Ardyn's place. Now understanding how this is possible is another matter.

As Noctis tries to hold his wounds together, Ardyn chuckles behind them.

"A particular...exchange of the senses," he offers. "Unrefined, certainly, but a fair trade for the power to make the most ruthless goddess submit to you with a single word. Could you imagine the fun we might have had if all your friends were here? There may not have been enough of you to tear apart." His eyes narrow as he dons his hat. "Do forgive my impatience. Oh, and Prompto? I must say, you've improved."

Prompto turns to Ardyn with eyes full of fear, despair, and revulsion all at once, but Noctis's moans grab his attention. His hands hover uselessly while he wracks his mind for a solution.

"H-Healing, I'll heal you, just—!" He pulls an elixir from the armiger and after fumbling with the cap, brings it to Noctis's lips. Noctis resists at first, and Prompto learns why when nothing happens. "...No. I forgot. Healing...h-healing doesn't... No, Noct." His lips tremble from the emotion swelling in his throat, and again his hands flutter over Noctis's arms, over his bloodied chest, across his cheeks. "Noct, I'm so sorry, I-I didn't think he'd... I didn't think!"

He's going to die again. Don't get used to it. Don't get used to dying. But he doesn't want to be so afraid anymore, either.

"Prom..." he murmurs. His voice becomes less coherent with his punctured lungs continuing to push blood out his mouth. The taste makes his head spin and all he wants to do is lay down, but he has to persevere for Prompto's sake. "S'long as you're... Stay alive. Okay, just be okay." As Prompto's hands hold his face, so do his graze his friend's cheek to make sure he's still there.

Prompto's eyes shoot open at the words before he grits his teeth. A terrible intensity crosses his features at once, equal parts fierce and anxious. He pulls Noctis up and makes sure there's pressure over his wounds.

"No! No, I am not letting this happen! You're gonna be fine, Noct. Gonna get you patched up the old-fashioned way. Got it?!" The words carry a determination Noctis wishes he could borrow. The bullet wounds hurt, his eyes keep rolling back into his head, blood turns to foam at his mouth, and all he can think about is making sure his friends don't blame themselves.

"...Sounds good."

"Yeah? Yeah, okay. Good."

He'd apologize if he could. He'll do better next time. No matter how many times it takes, no matter how the gods toy with him, no matter how pointless it all seems. He has to do better, and he has to protect them and get out of this time loop. A life built on the decisions of others...somewhere, somehow, it has to have some worth.

"I'm so sorry. I'll fix this, I'll fix you. I promise, I promise I'll save you, and..."

Prompto's voice goes high when he can't hold back a sob. He knocks his head into Prompto's, smudging blood on the other's face when he forces the words out as clearly as he can.

"Irreplaceable, remember?"

Please let him remember that much.

None of them remember.

He keeps his notes stuffed in his jacket. When they stop at Crow's Nest for lunch, he sneaks out the back and speeds off in the Regalia before any of them can even imagine up the idea of Noctis leaving them behind.

After putting enough distance behind him, he parks the car and wanders the fields until he spies his target: an Imperial airship, which he boards after clearing out its joke of an MT force. Here he pulls out his journal where he copied simplified renditions of Cor's maps, and draws a course to Altissia. He can't trust Cor and the others not to stop him at Cape Caem, after all.

His hand pauses over the map when a thought occurs to him. Loathe as he is to trust her, Gentiana suggests his efforts so far should be enough to convince the apparently sentient Crystal to accept him. But how many times had he accomplished that only to be denied, even before Ardyn sent him back to the past? The puzzle is far from complete, and someone is hiding many of the pieces. What can he do about it? Ardyn is immortal, so...

What would happen if he destroyed the Crystal?

Chapter 13: luna

Chapter Text

Sometimes solving a problem is as easy as getting rid of the cause.

After Noctis flips on the ship’s auto-pilot, he sits back and opens his journal. He knows so much and so little at the same time that the conclusion that someone is lying to him seems most logical. Ardyn was the first to say that the Crystal held the power to belay daemons, and he believed him. The Six mostly confirmed it as well. But now, after everything, can he be so sure? The Crystal wants Noctis, but won't accept Noctis. And if no one is willing to tell him what he's doing wrong, then why bother listening at all?

It's a stupid idea, but it's an idea. If by destroying the Crystal he ends up screwing up the entire world, well, serves the gods right for refusing to learn anything about how humans work—they don't take well to manipulation. He'll try anything to get out of this loop.

He learned some alarming things last he visited Niflheim. Thanks to substantial propaganda, the Imperial citizens believe daemons originated from Lucis and that the Crystal, called by other names, sourced Niflheim's victory in the war. There were also rumors of the Crystal causing the Emperor to lose his mind and send the capital into chaos, resulting in the nation-wide curfew. Of course, such circ*mstances could have been unique to that particular timeline; it wouldn't be the first instance. He doesn't keep high hopes, but if the Crystal really does have a mind of its own, maybe he can speak with it.

He closes his journal at the same moment his pocket vibrates. He pulls his phone out to see yet another incoming call from Ignis, and sends it to the pile of declined calls from his friends. Having them at his side and their faith in his nonsensical stories empowered him, but it didn't make a difference in the end. If and only if the Crystal can't be destroyed, then he'll figure something else out at the risk of facing his companions' indignation.

Infiltrating the Keep comes easier this time. It takes knocking out a few researchers and MTs, fiddling with the security measures to open the Crystal's vault, and a lot of stealth, but it gets done. Walking the long ramp into the chamber calls forth unwanted memories, but he only stops until he faces the shining structure.

The pressure of standing in its presence still weighs on his body, but he calms his breathing in an effort to ignore it. Then he summons his sword.

"So apparently you have a life of your own."

A pulsing incandescence answers his inquiry. He growls in his throat when he can't quite keep the bite from his voice.

"You're the one who went through two-thousand years worth of trouble to pick me, so I think I deserve an explanation as to what the master plan is." He narrows his eyes sharply when his voice lowers. "...And why the man messing everything up has the same magic as me."

The Crystal pulses again but shines brighter than before and forces Noctis to look away. When he feels the pressure building up over his skin, needles trying to find their mark, he knows he needs to do this now. He takes a few steps back, then sprints forward.

The blade pierces through with a deafening crack until it shatters, steel mixing with iridescent stone before splintering again like stars bursting in unison. His skin breaks and burns, ripples like waves as the magic surges in his veins as if it were his own blood. But none of it hurts, like the sensation of being torn apart and put back together is nothing but normal. So he forces his sword further in, and the light swallows him whole.

He falls into a defensive stance and looks around.

It's...a battlefield? As soon as he recognizes that much, the sounds of battle burst in his ears all at once. Darkened under dusk skies, warriors fill the expanse of his vision, flurrying back and forth to fight for their lives. But he also sees soldiers tying together their own wounds to keep going. To them, continuing on is the only option that makes sense. Bodies spill across the battlefield so violently that it makes Noctis retch up his own insides. At least what comes up isn't blood.

He dropped into the middle of a war and Noctis has no idea why no one notices him here. He stumbles through the field until something stops him: a lone swordsman covered head to toe in intricately decorated armor that rings familiar to Noctis, but not immediately recognized. When he stabs his weapon into the ground, the field dissipates as if it were nothing more than an illusion. A second figure stops at his side, seeming to shield him from all corners by force of will alone.

"This peace of ours is not perpetual. There will come a time where the Plague devours the world once again, and we will not be here to stop it." The swordsman turns to his taller companion, who kneels at the feet of his lord. "We die for the Chosen King."

The scene changes as smoothly as flipping a channel. Noctis's eyes shine when they all flicker across them, playing too quickly for the naked eye to comprehend, but at the same time only vanishing once Noctis has assimilated every detail.

He sees the lives of men who wear an obsidian crown woven by gods. All turn worn and battered by the weight sinking into their hair, but all continue to stand tall regardless. One fights alongside thousands who hold each other up lest they slip in pools of their own blood. One stands entirely alone and raises the single sword in his hand to call the earth to rise with him.

One swims in an ocean of books and canvases, weapons and armor, flowers and trinkets, all shining new in one moment and stained in fire the next. One walks and walks and keeps walking even after his legs decay with injury and age. One doesn't move at all but expends his life to support his beloved, and dies where she can't see him so he won't take her from her duty.

One who never knew what it meant to be alone becomes so lost when his friends and family vanish that he takes off his crown and lets it drift in his blood. One kills his family with his own hands in fear of having his crown taken from him. One tries hard to rule well and loses himself in the process, left with a mind beyond repair.

One pushes mountains away as easily as he holds open doors to pave roads for those who come after him. One shields her kingdom, but no shield protects her from the war wrenching her body apart. One believes in the light of the gods to hold him up, and another damns it when the death of his cherished darkens his path.

Over a hundred histories etch into his heart. They make him want to scream, cry, and laugh all at once as though he lived these lives himself, like he's taken on all the love and hate they held for Lucis until his chest swells in pain. And all the kings say the same thing when they draw their last breaths.

For the True King.

Some declare it with pride or a smile on their aged faces. Others spit it out like poison on their tongue to damn their expendability, and a few whisper it in fear of an unknown future. But one way or another, everyone takes the hand offered to them at the final moment, which Noctis pales to see belongs to the Crystal itself.

Without time to think on it, the final scene of the play manifests. Regis stands before him, old and tired. Noctis doesn't reach him in time. Instead the ground slips from under his feet and the void swallows up his cries. Once he hits the surface, an oppressive heat cleaves through the darkness that burns too true to be another vision. And yet he can't describe it any other way when he sees what looks to be an older version of himself ten feet from him.

Though aged twenty or thirty years more, the elder Noctis's features wear a lifetime's worth of experience. Adamant but tired—too similar to Regis. He swears they lock eyes but the man runs past him like he would a piece of shrubbery. Noctis spins around to face a measureless fire painting the Citadel's plaza. This...is Insomnia.

"Noct, over here!"

He starts at the voice directed not toward him, but his older self. Ignis? Again, no one notices he's there nor do the flames hurt him as it does the others, so he has the freedom to observe the situation. The elder Noctis runs to his friends, all equally aged but no less determined to shield their king from the vicious fire. And behind the fire sits an imposing figure Noctis has only seen in paintings: Ifrit.

An older version of himself. His friends. Insomnia in ruins. He wonders if this is perhaps proof that he gets out the time loop to reach this point in history, where he can finally make good on his promise to reclaim his throne. But he is cautioned by the part of him that remembers nothing is ever as it seems.

"What...is this?"

"It is a future you lost."

He nearly trips over himself when he sees Ardyn standing at his side. When his mauve hair flutters back to reveal his expression, however, Noctis stills.

"You're not him..." He shakes his head. Illusion or not, there are more pressing matters, like how someone has finally acknowledged him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, a future I lost? Everything I saw already actually happened, didn't it? It was the past..."

Ardyn, or the person who looks like him, stares at the battle waging before them. It moves on fast forward like it was recorded beforehand.

"It was the future written for you. The awaited end to the prophecy. But now, it is no different from ash the Pyreburner leaves in his wake."

Prophecy. Not the first time he heard that word and his name in the same sentence. Until now he believed the prophecy told of his fate as the Chosen King. But after everything he saw here—the lives of Lucis' kings offered to the Crystal—another possibility comes to mind. Before he can ask about it, the stranger continues speaking.

"This man holds the power of Light," he says, surprising Noctis. "Witness how it came to be."

A terrible roar vibrates across the field and Noctis spins around to see Ifrit turned cold as ice, and the glitter of magic Shiva leaves behind from her fatal blow. Both life and gravity leave the Astral, and Noctis gasps in shock when the giant tumbles toward him. He runs past Ardyn into the darkness of Insomnia to avoid the crash, but his senses tangle over his feet and he falls into yet another void.

A young man lowers himself to allow the crown of Lucis to be placed upon his head. The black steel compliments his red hair and brings out the gold of his eyes, brimming with intensity to rival the sun. But his smile shines the brightest as family and neighbor surround him with cheers. They applaud their new king who will lead them and heal the sickness that threatens their home.

As Noctis stands beyond the crowd, his eyes grow round with understanding when the man turns his way. Even with a face free of age and hate, he would never mistake Ardyn for another.

The scene shifts to show an older Ardyn on a terrace with a companion. His hair has darkened with time and is caught in a neat ponytail, showcasing his sharpened features. The man beside him, black-haired and golden-eyed and as tall as Ardyn, presents in a similarly elegant manner. Noctis wonders if he may be a relative or subordinate. He steps toward the two men, a ghost in their reality.

"I can always do more," Ardyn says with a smile that falters in a way only Noctis spots.

"And you always do, brother," his companion replies, and wraps an arm around Ardyn's shoulders. "No one will ever say you didn't try."

Again the scene changes and now a plain pasture spreads in all directions, upon which stand dozens of people. One by one they are beckoned by Ardyn, who himself has a modest guard at his back. He places his hands on each person and calls forth a light that Noctis instantly recognizes—the magic of the Oracle. But the light hides a blackness that travels like little snakes over Ardyn's skin to sink into his veins, drawing the faintest wince from him each time. Whether anyone else notices, he can't tell, but that dark mist can only be remnants of the Scourge.

After the people disperse, Ardyn stumbles but is faithfully caught by his brother. Another friend holds up his back—Noctis gasps. It is the same figure he saw on that first battlefield, kneeling at the feet of his king. Albeit light, he is still wrapped in armor to suggest he is a knight of some sort. Or...a Shield?

"You push yourself too hard, Ardyn. What can a healer do if he does not heal himself first?"

"Make a difference," Ardyn rasps. "That's all that matters."

Noctis tries to follow them but the scene changes against his wishes. It is a pattern he grows used to as he witnesses the growth of a magnanimous man and the bonds he weaves with his comrades. Just as Noctis depends on Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio, Ardyn finds solace in his sibling. They are candid and display sincere trust in each other all the way into adulthood.

But with each new stage comes a light that stutters unnervingly like a faulty light bulb, and they bring Ardyn closer to the man Noctis remembers. The king continues his mission to heal the Starscourge at the cost of his health. He hides broken nails underneath gloves and wears heavy robes to shield his blackened body. Where others pretend not to notice, Ardyn's brother confronts him without fear.

"You can't go on like this any longer. Can't you see it's killing you?!"

"If I stop," Ardyn mutters in that disparaging, almost sing-songy tone that always grates Noctis's ears. "Who will take my place? Is there perhaps another king ready in the wings? Someone the people can entrust their very lives to? Well, ———?"

Noctis flinches. The brother's name continues to hide under a scathing static, and he hasn't figured out why.

"If the Crystal refuses to see what ails you, then it is not worthy of reverence. Certainly not from me." The man approaches Ardyn to hold his arms. "Ask for it to choose another. Surely it will find someone else to bear the burden. You have done enough, brother!"

"Another, another..." Ardyn chuckles lowly before prying off his brother's hands to hold them in his instead. His fingers wrap around with such delicate care, but his tone betrays the sentiment. "Like you? Do you want my crown?"

He starts, but quickly composes himself. "What I want is for you to live! Please, let me help you. We still have so much to see and do in the world. Together, Ardyn! But how can we when you're falling apart before my very eyes?"

Ardyn's eyes crinkle in a way Noctis has seen before. A gaze meant to look down upon others from a place up high, drunk on authority and self-confidence. It should not be cast on a loved one, yet he burns it into his brother without hesitation. His gloved nails now dig into the hands he holds before whipping them off.

"You won't have it," Ardyn says with another laugh and a wide smile, both unsound. "I won't let you have it. Out of everyone in our family, the gods chose me. Me. Surely they must know I will withstand their trial. And when I do, well, perhaps I will become a god to sit beside them. For getting rid of their pesky plague, it only seems fair, no?"

His brother looks on with horror as Ardyn falls back into his seat and splays himself over it as if it were his throne. Just when Noctis steps between them, a light peeks through the cracks in the floor and explodes to envelop him again.

He opens his eyes to a hallway that sends a chill down his spine. The marble floor, the decorated pillars, the white walls dotted with color from numerous paintings hanging from them—the same hallway he saw when he and Gladio were thrown into Ardyn's twisted illusion.

He sees Ardyn with his back to him, on his knees in front of a group of Lucian nobles and armed soldiers. Underneath him is a pool of blood that provides an unsettling contrast to the white architecture and a churning in Noctis's stomach.

"How are you still alive?!"

"He's a daemon... Look at him, he's become a daemon!"

Ardyn's clothes can no longer hide the black markings staining his face and eyes, and from his stomach pours blood. But he doesn't appear to be in any pain. Rather, his crooked smile suggests he's rather entertained by all of this.

"Ardyn...I warned you to stop. I begged you."

"'Now look what's happened,' is what I imagine you'd like to say. Oh, ———... Did you really believe a few profound words would stop me?"

"What are you talking about...?!" His brother raises his voice, anger and anguish both fighting to overcome the other. "This is no longer a joking matter! The gods made their judgement very clear. You have lost their blessing, and your body... You are no longer human, and Lucis cannot have a daemon as its king."

"Can't it?" Ardyn stands effortlessly and pats down his bloodied clothes. "Daemons are eternal. I am eternal, and Lucis shall live forever because of it. I will make certain there is no one left to—what was it you said? Bear the burden? Worry not, dear brother."

He approaches the other man, each stride pushing back the nobles and soldiers behind them until he stands inches away. He brushes his decaying fingers across his sibling's face with an affection only the two of them recognize.

"Because I can bear it just fine. I won't let anyone have it. Not even you."

Noctis bites down when he spies Ardyn tugging a dagger from his coat, but darkness overwhelms his vision before he can see the blade reach its target. Something or someone yanks him backward, and within seconds he goes from feeling nothing to skidding across the crisp steel of the Keep's floor. With a sharp gasp, he struggles to make out the Crystal's chamber, the Crystal itself, and Ardyn looming over it all looking utterly livid.

"Oh no no no," he says with a delirious tone that reminds Noctis of what he just witnessed. But something about it now rings more sound, a genuine anger drudged up from the pit of Ardyn's core. Something Noctis hasn't heard before. "For a collection of gods that insist on perching in the sky, they truly are above nothing. You must have thought I would never find out. Why would I, when the Crystal spurned me millennia ago?"

"W-What?" Noctis sputters in disorientation. Ardyn faces the Crystal instead of answering, which Noctis now notices remains completely intact.

"Did you hope to gain his obedience by selling him such uninspired fabrications? Paint the big bad daemon as nothing more than a common villain? Don't start pitying the boy now." Ardyn jerks his head to steady his temper, but the seething hiss on his tongue could very well burn away the chill around them. "Those memories are not for you to twist."

Noctis can't recall if he ever saw Ardyn this angry. The scene is so bizarre that he forgets he should fear the man and wonder how on earth he reached the Keep.

"And you." Ardyn finally regards Noctis, telling of someone who forgot he was even here. Noctis manages to push himself to his feet. "Targeting the Crystal so soon... Whose impatience did you inherit?"

"I...destroyed it. I know I did. What happened?" he asks breathlessly after licking his dry lips. "Everything I saw, that was... You're... You were a King of Lucis."

"Ah." Ardyn narrows his eyes. "You saw it, didn't you? The history of our lineage. I've never had the pleasure. It's no wonder you were so difficult to find. That isn't something I can meddle with."

Noctis glares at Ardyn with equal parts suspicion and confusion, while Ardyn takes the silence as invitation to approach him.

"I commend your decision to destroy the Crystal, but such a thing is impossible."

Noctis pushes himself back against the railing as Ardyn gets closer. "If it got me out of this f*cked up time loop of yours, then why not? You're the one who wanted me to 'keep trying!' Maybe if you finally told me what you're expecting to get out of all this, I could give it to you and you can leave me alone."

A chuckle rumbles from Ardyn's throat, a strange sound paired with a face lacking a smile. "What of your duty to your kingdom? Destroying the very thing your bloodline is sworn to protect seems a tad counterproductive."

"I got the Six's attention. Learned some things too."

"Oh yes. Rather timely they would share such stories the moment you begin to doubt them."

Maybe, but it's true he learned something. Not only did the Crystal command Lucis to protect it, it took the souls of the dead kings for itself as its lifeblood or power source. The kings themselves knew their fates and gave into it one way or another, for the sake of the prophecy. It wouldn't make sense if such a gruesome reality was a lie—surely they would concoct something more motivational instead. That just makes it more baffling that the Crystal refuses to give Noctis its power and therefore fulfill the prophecy it spent centuries working toward.

"You just hate that they showed me your past. What you did." Ardyn's already tense face wrinkles further, casting darker hues over his skin, but Noctis dares to continue. "What, didn't want me to know that you wanted the throne so badly that you killed your own family—"

A hand seizes his face in a vicious vice grip, and he gapes with wide eyes that feel like they might pop out from their sockets from the inhuman force.

"He was a fool who opposed me at every turn and the only one who didn't at the end. But I did not kill him," Ardyn spits. "How convenient it must be to have such mercurial principles. Turn to the one who extends his hand first, no matter the filth staining it, hmm? Truly Lucis-born. You are the very picture of your ancestors."

"When are you gonna start making sense?" Noctis manages to ask from behind Ardyn's hand as he tries to pry it off. But Ardyn's grip only intensifies as he stares Noctis down with round, luminous eyes.

"You trust in the Six now, do you?"

"I trust that they want to get rid of you as much as I do!"

Ardyn smiles wildly, then yanks Noctis forward and throws him onto the opposite railing. He yelps from the bars burrowing into his back, but glares at Ardyn with a ferocity to rival his as he continues in trying to free himself.

"Surely you must have learned what they are hiding from you!"

"That I'm probably gonna have to die once I'm done curing the Scourge?"

Now Ardyn laughs once before digging his nails in, a weight Noctis remembers clearly. Already he feels the trickle of blood on his face, and kicking at Ardyn amounts to kicking a steel wall. Ardyn leans in and smirks in the starlight of the Crystal shining behind him.

"Oh, Noctis. It is much worse than that."

His heart jumps when a familiar pressure washes over him—the tug of time beckoning him to the past once more, and he can't stop it no matter how much he screams.

The minute he wakes up, he leaps out of the tent and runs for the Regalia before anyone can wish him good morning. He ignores the cries of his friends when he drives off without them, though they catch in the corners in his mind to feed his guilt.

After his failed mission to destroy the Crystal, another solo operation would concern even the most inept of strategists. He recognizes his stupidity but the urgency to figure out what's going on outweighs it. He can't rely on his friends to give him what he wants—information on his family's past. There has to be something in the Citadel that documents the secrets Regis kept from him, the secrets the gods continue to keep from him. He also hopes to find something on Ardyn, but given how there hasn't been a whisper of such a figure in the Lucian history he studied, he imagines such records may have been destroyed.

At Insomnia’s border, he crosses the bridge with some perilous warps, and takes care of the guard with stealth and carefully placed lightning blasts. He then uses the ensuing confusion to gain entry into the city, and slips through nooks and crannies to both hide from the Imperials and reach the Citadel as quickly as possible. It isn't easy, but it gets done.

The city's destruction strikes him silent for only a moment before he presses on.

The tapering guard allows him to enter the Citadel without difficulty. He finds his former home nearly untouched from the outside, but a different world awaits him within. Floors tracked with grime, discarded weapons, scarred walls, and trails of blood leading to what he can only imagine to be the site of battle. He purposely ignores it all and heads for the archive. There, he combs through shelves of literature for even a speck of new information, but comes up empty after a few hours. Then he decides to try another room.

In his father's study, his gentle footsteps push aside dust to sparkle in the afternoon light. The desk is in order, the furniture tidied—picture perfect, just like the room's owner. He spies the piano in the corner, which he and his father would occasionally play together when Noctis was still learning. He brushes his fingers over the old keys and strikes a few chords pulled from the recesses of his memory.

Looking around, he thinks the room is almost too well-kept. Then he remembers why his father sent him away from home in the first place. Regis had expected to die here, so he set his affairs in order. Suddenly Noctis feels an urge to trash the place.

After another fruitless search, he drops into his father's seat and lays his head on the desk. For a while he simply stares at a spot on the wall and loses himself in the few memories he has of this room. He and Regis spent less time together than either of them would have liked, and Noctis only worsened the situation by moving out in high school. Regis was just always, always occupied.

But the times they did spend together were richer for it.

He groans in his fight with his heavy eyelids, but they eventually concede and open to the dim evening light. When his vision equalizes, he shoots upright so fast that he gives himself whiplash.

"Gentiana!"

The Messenger stands unmoving in the center of the room. Noctis staggers out of the seat with eyes flashing in suspicion.

"Unless you're here to tell me what's going on in five words or less, I'm done talking to you."

"His path has not changed. The Tide Mother awaits him for the Revelation." She speaks as if she didn't hear Noctis, and he narrows his gaze in annoyance before rounding the desk to approach her.

"You give me a few cryptic answers and think I'll start trusting you again? If getting the blessings and raiding the royal tombs was all it took, the Crystal should've accepted me a long time ago. I get that the gods don't think the same way we do, but even you have to see how much easier it'd be to just tell me what I'm doing wrong. Ardyn's supposed to be our common enemy, right? So imagine how it looks when he starts making more sense than the Six."

"King of Light." Gentiana stretches out her hand and brushes her fingers on Noctis's chest, making him jump. "He has done nothing wrong. But he must persist. The Stone will not close the path to him."

His brow furrows when he can't keep his miserable tone at bay. "Persist?! I've tried so many times already, I don't—" Gentiana's eyes open to interrupt him, as does her calm voice.

"He has done nothing wrong. Persist."

The light that sends him back differs greatly from Ardyn's magic, but it makes it no less easier to swallow when he flops in the middle of Cape Caem's cabin in spectacular fashion, surrounded by his companions.

"Noct?!"

So Gentiana can apparently spirit him to and fro at her leisure. Great, just great.

Iris's shrill voice preludes the commotion everyone else puts up. Noctis has the honor of experiencing the indignation he predicted from his friends. Ignis's displeasure could burn through steel, Prompto starts literally shaking him when his scolding gets a little too passionate, and Gladio struggles not to outright smack him. He doesn't have an explanation for how he materialized out of thin air, and his admission about his trip to Insomnia goes as well as he expected.

But he's here now and he has to deal with it. He shares his journal and his experiences inside the Crystal with great hesitation, hoping the others may have some insight. But he only succeeds in worrying them even more, particularly with the knowledge that Ardyn is in fact of Lucis blood.

They sail to Altissia with constant reassurances to Noctis to avoid the worst, but Noctis sees it in their eyes—his indiscretion has made them wary. It makes sense; Noctis's decision showed a lack of trust, and now he is simply on the receiving end.

They don't avoid the worst.

His demands of Leviathan go completely sideways, as does he into a building. He manages to break his fall, but the second he realizes he landed in the middle of a MT force, his head pulses violently with memories of the past. Thrashed by Leviathan, the bubbly elixir mending his wounds, his legs made useless—unable to tell the difference between reality and remembrance, Noctis crawls helplessly away from the advancing troops. His senses only return when Ignis shakes them back into him.

Noctis chokes on the panic clogged in his throat. Ignis holds his face still and talks him down from his frenzy, his hushed voice doing well to return Noctis to the real world. He finds his legs intact and the MTs already cut down by Ignis's bladework.

Then time speeds up. Something pushes him away, the clash of steel, an arc of blood through the fog, a cry, a burst of magic—perhaps not even in that order, but it happens all at once and Noctis doesn't understand why Gladio and Prompto are suddenly there, or why Ignis holds his face in pain.

"You're gonna be okay, Iggy, we got you!"

"Did you heal him yet?!"

"I did, b-but, I dunno..."

"We need to find cover. Noct, are you hurt?!"

Noctis offers a vague answer as he watches Prompto hold Ignis up, while he stumbles into his Shield's firm grasp. After they find a spot to hide in, he notices the blood staining Ignis's shirt, falling from his face. Then he slides in front of Ignis and yanks his hands away, and chokes again. The scar across his face is healing but nothing hides the lack of light in Ignis's eyes.

"No...not again..."

"Noct, it's..." Ignis breathes, sensing his distress. "I'm all right. The wound has healed, and—"

Every sound turns into an inaudible buzz, every motion stilled as time slows. Even when Prompto and Gladio crouch at his side, their voices of concern fighting with each other, or when Ignis tries to calm them all down, he can't sense any of it. He just rubs his thumbs anxiously over Ignis's face as he holds it this time, mumbles gibberish under his breath that Ignis alone deciphers as apologies. He doesn't see the golden glow of magic trickling from his fingertips, and can't understand why Ignis's eyes are suddenly wide and staring into his.

"Another gift."

The whisper in his ears drowns in Prompto's and Gladio's collective exclamations. Noctis whips his luminescent hands away in shock. They urge him to continue, saying something about it 'working.' Only when Noctis sees the color literally flood back into Ignis's eyes does he comprehend.

He healed Ignis.

"...This is wrong," he mutters. Even with Ignis bringing him back to reality with a touch, he can't shake off the dread that comes with an unknown magic. It sends tremors up and down his limbs, sings through his veins and stings his nerves with power. A magic he shouldn't have. The last time he felt this, Ardyn caused it. And Ardyn causes everything to go wrong.

But like all his beliefs, this too is overturned by fate. With Ignis healed, they return to the fray and defeat Leviathan without any more lasting damage to the city. Noctis receives the blessing and after successfully reuniting with Luna and Ravus, they sail back to Lucis. Growing apprehension renders Noctis mute until they're back on Lucis soil, when night falls and a warmth joins his side at the Caem lighthouse—Luna. He struggles in feeling relief to see her alive, knowing a threat lingers at their backs. But Luna waits until he finds the nerve to speak. He stretches out his hands to her, where they shine brilliantly in the dark to trouble him.

"What's happening to me...?"

"I'm afraid I don't have the answers you seek, Noctis. But the power to heal has always been within you."

"Not like this. No, this is just more of Ardyn's tricks. It's only a matter of time before I screw up and get someone killed." The overflowing magic makes his hands tremble involuntarily with each word until Luna takes them into hers to calm it. "And even if I do make it to the end, it's just...I don't know what the gods want, Luna. What do I..."

Luna squeezes his hands when he trails off. "The gods are...not liars. But it is not in their nature to convey the entire truth."

"'Cause they're 'testing' us?" he says bitterly. Luna's gaze falls with his when he lowers his head.

"If Gentiana told you to stay on the path, then that must be part of the answer. I...wish I could offer something more palpable. I am so sorry you are put through these horrors on your own."

He shakes his head and for a time they quietly stand there, the stars watching Noctis's shoulders sink under dejection. They have their arms wrapped around each other before he knows it, and Noctis buries his face in her shoulder. She smells like the sea, sweat, whatever Ignis is cooking in the cabin, and completely safe. At one point he tries asking her about Insomnia, but decides that the knowledge of how his father died would be too much right now.

"Thanks for not getting mad," he whispers. For his actions at the Insomnia border, for being reclusive, for not standing ready to tackle this head on like a king should. Luna understands, and nuzzles her head against him.

"Truthfully? I'd rather give Ardyn a right good smack for what he's done to you."

Noctis laughs and hugs her tighter.

He catches up on his journal and goes to bed, but once again struggles to get a good night's rest. He can't decide if insomnia makes up for the lack of cryptic dreams, as both leave him fatigued the next morning. But the plan continues regardless, which is to 'stay on the path'—receive the Glacian's blessing and steal back the Crystal. It isn't without effort, but that plan proceeds too smoothly for Noctis's tastes. With all the pieces in hand, he doesn't know what to think when he stands before the Crystal. The pressure rippling over his body proves it is no illusion, but he looks back at his company to make sure they're still there.

He grips the Ring on his hand, where he can't differentiate its glow from the erratic shine of his healing magic. He then turns to Luna, who nods and approaches the Crystal.

Before she speaks, however, the Crystal's great light pulses in tune to vibrations sent across the floor and into their bodies. Where the others wince, Noctis hisses in pain and steps back. Luna stays in place but faces the Crystal with a thin frown.

"He is more than ready to take on the mantle. But what can he do when no doors exist for him to open? Our star needs its King."

Biting back the ache, Noctis glances between Luna and the Crystal through narrowed eyes. He hadn't expected this to be comfortable, but why is he the only one in pain? He glares at the shining fixture, cursing its ambiguity and hoping it will help at the same time.

Just as he regains the step to stand beside Luna, she gasps sharply. Her hands clench at her sides to match her low tone.

"...That can't possibly be true. You needn't go that far! To alter the prophecy now—Noctis cannot continue on like—!"

The Crystal pulses again to draw another flinch from Noctis and a grimace from Luna. He peers over in time to see her looking at him, eyes trembling with whatever torments her.

"What...did it say?"

In an instant her features shift into urgency. She whispers his name as she takes his hand into both of hers.

"Listen to me carefully. These time loops you've experienced, there is—"

And just as quickly, everything flashes bright before being sucked into a vacuum of blackness. Suddenly, only Noctis, Luna, and the Crystal stand there. Their companions are no longer in sight and panic immediately settles in Noctis's stomach. Luna cries out at him but her voice turns to wind in his ears before even she disappears from view. Blackness covers his eyes for one second, then light the next. It's because he knows what's coming that he fights for one minute, one more second's worth of a chance to resist.

"You don't want him to live? My dear, I didn't know you could be so callous!"

"To free him of this wretched cycle you've forced upon him, I would do anything."

"Well now... I must take that into consideration for the future. But this time, I already have what I need. You may not make the wish, but there are others who will. 'Anything' for their dear prince."

The voices mix together in a hollow space. But finally, the dreadful hands of time stretch their palms and drag their nails across his skin to pull him in.

Chapter 14: someone

Chapter Text

What awaits him is not the dreadful canvas of the tent that has greeted him on so many mornings, but the splatter of rain across his face. The drops hit like little rocks, crediting to velocity of the storm, but such pain is insignificant against the backdrop of a roaring sea and the brilliantly white silhouette of Lunafreya.

Standing tall on a teetering Altissian ceremonial altar with her trident stretched out, she turns her head back to regard him. Even torn and tattered by the rain, her features remain unyielding in her self-given task to shield Noctis. A fleeting thought crosses his mind then, not even having time to register in his memory for the future—that in this moment, Luna looks more a king than he'll ever be.

"Noctis, are you all right?!"

The storm nearly swallows up her voice but Noctis hears her. He then realizes his predicament—sprawled on his ass and quite literally in the middle of battle with the Tidemother. He blinks away the raindrops before scrambling upright, then promptly winces from the pain that finally sinks in; not from the storm but from bruises peeking through his own mangled attire.

Did he go back in time again? Was it the Crystal's fault? Why is he in Altissia, facing Leviathan? He was with Luna and the others a moment ago, and she was trying to tell him something... He heard voices afterward. He knows he did, but whose voices? What was said?

The questions come and go in a blink of an eye. Leviathan commands all his attention as soon as he sees the vast wave rising over the horizon, headed for him and Luna. His body moves without meaning to, a desperate desire to protect what's right in front of him. He shoves Luna aside and puts his hand up, like that alone would be enough.

"No!!"

The wave crashes into the altar but spears outward against an invisible force around the pair. No, not invisible. Noctis spies a particular sheen crystallizing over the curved shape glittering in water. It follows the arch of his fingers, the depth of his palm, the sharp line of his hand pointing out. A barrier of magic, familiar but not his own.

Through the misty veil cast over them, Luna stares at him in shock. It is short-lived; another wave and a deafening roar from Leviathan demands their submission. She acts as quickly as Noctis now and throws up her trident, calling forth the very same barrier. A bright, sun-tinted glow envelops them before the wave hits, clearing them of even a single droplet of seawater. The shield is obviously stronger than Noctis's attempt but no less similar.

The Oracle's magic. Luna's—no, Ardyn's magic? He's seen the man use the healing power the Oracles are gifted with. Is it so much a stretch to think he might have access to their entire arsenal? The questions pass without answers once more when he's tugged by an impatient Luna across what's left of the altar to return to more solid ground.

"W-Wait, what about the blessing?!" are the first words out his mouth. Luna spares a glance that asks what on earth he's going on about.

"You already have it!"

He already has what now?

As if reacting to Luna's words, his heart thumps against his chest once, twice, again and again until the power swells in his veins all the way down to his toes. He feels it. Ramuh's blessing, Titan's, and indeed Leviathan's, all swirling within their vessel of the Lucis king. So then why does the serpent goddess seem incredibly intent on pursuing them into their watery graves?

No. Why bother asking? He shakes off Luna's hand and slides to a stop, skidding against the wet pavement and fighting gravity to maintain balance. No matter the rain pounding down on them, he faces Leviathan with a glare that could burn away the ocean she sits in. There will be time to ponder his time travel problems after he makes this sniveling excuse for a god lay completely flat against the earth in deference to him.

"Noctis?!" Luna cries.

"Leviathan!!" Noctis whips his hand back, a flurry of Royal Arms materializing in the cut made into the air. They swarm chaotically around him only for a second before they follow their path laid by the viciously bright blue gaze of their wielder.

"You know how many damn times I've beaten you by now?" he snarls under his breath, deep and low but enough to be heard. He knows the Astrals remember the pasts he's re-lived. Of course they do, if they allow Ardyn to do as he pleases. It's why he wanted to know why he has to go through this nonsense of 'proving himself' every single time. But Leviathan didn't answer him, nor did Gentiana, nor even the Crystal. No one did. So he's done asking.

The Arms glide cleanly through the storm to their targets, needle-sized faults in Leviathan's armor that Noctis has long since memorized. He needn't even go that far—leading her on in the air and mark her patterns until he finds the chance to strike her between the eyes would suffice as well. But why exert himself? He'll bring her down from right here.

"You're a god? So what?!" His voice thunders with power and steadily carries over the winds. "You can't even stop the Scourge! And if I just stop trying to fix things and let all the humans die out, no one will be left to remember you. Without me you'll become nothing. Forgotten!"

Leviathan screams like her own storm turned against her, writhing under Lucian magic as she bleeds out through her broken skin. Her scales shower over the sea like dying stars. A memory comes to Noctis at that moment, of one instance in time where the Ring tore her apart so easily. But it isn't the strength of a millennia's worth of kings fueling him now. It is simply anger.

"I already have the blessing? Then you had better f*cking kneel!"

He spits the words out like the Blight itself to do away with the storm for good. His weapons circle around Leviathan in the sky like the prey she is, then dive into her at once. They meet their mark, and her shrill cry of defeat reverberates through the air over and over until the storm finally clears and she trickles down into the sea. Noctis's armory returns to him one by one, sinking into his body in a flash of blue before the heat in his eyes dissipates with his magic.

With the adrenaline rapidly leaving his senses as well, he might have the mind to remember that only a few minutes ago was he anxious about yet another unknown magic suddenly granted to him. That only recently did he think he'd lose his mind after learning all his efforts meant absolutely nothing. That only a short time ago had he felt completely lost. He might have remembered, if he didn't promptly fall face flat into unconsciousness.

His eyes fly open when he bolts upright, only to drop right back down into a soft, comfortable bundle of pillows. He seriously considers tearing off his own face if it kills the fever digging its persistent nails into his head. How many goddamn times—

"..."

A warmth grazing against his fingers silences his thoughts. Through his wavering vision he sees blonde hair. Pooled messily around a pair of folded arms on the bedside, it frames Luna's sleeping face so perfectly that he wonders if he's having hallucinations again. This one, at least, he approves of.

In remarkably sharp contrast is Gladio's massive figure sitting lax in a chair on the opposite side. His own dark hair hangs loose around his broad shoulders and shields his eyes from the morning light itching to break through the curtains and disturb his rest. Noctis guesses the two kept him company through the night, seeing as he certainly didn't make it from the altar on his own.

He gives his body time to fight the fever enough so that he won't throw up all over the nice sheets. Then he shuffles up and lifts the blankets to look over himself. His jacket was already gone by the time he found himself in the middle of yesterday's battle, and he thanks his past self for thinking to put his journal in his pants pocket instead. His phone is nowhere to be seen. His limbs? All working, thankfully. Some minor bruises are the worst of it, idly reminding him that this must be the first time he's gone back to the past with any sort of injury. Does it mean something? Probably, and probably not.

And the Ring...sits prettily on the nightstand next to the bed. He squints at it.

"Rather have my phone than you. Piece of sh—"

A groan from Luna shuts him right up in surprise. She doesn't wake, however, so he relaxes.

He watches her a little longer and, testing his luck, finds his hand reaching out. It barely brushes against her hair, not so much timid as it is cautious. This Luna...isn't the one who was moments away from warning him about something. She heard the Crystal's words and in an instant became desperate to tell him. But time itself stopped her. He wonders what the other Luna is doing now. What they're all doing now.

He'd spoken with her, touched her, held her, yet every single meeting with Luna in Altissia has his heart pounding with nerves and joy and dread. Happy to see her and terrified of losing her; a feeling not so different from what he bears toward his companions, but still unique enough to Luna that her sitting before him now gives him pause. Because he knows her fate differs very little from his own. A life led captive by humans and toyed by gods leaves much to be desired. That's why it's meaningless if he alone escapes this nightmare.

With an exhale, he distracts himself. Her hair is still damp from either a shower or yesterday's storm, and tangles around his fingers to a point that she'd wake if he pulled. He gently frees himself and settles for skimming his knuckles over her bangs, easing them away from her face. The color of her skin is fair, free from the fever he's under now. Her breathing seems steady enough and she doesn't appear to be in pain from any invisible wounds. A glance toward Gladio tells him his Shield looks okay too. Though a mountain could fall on top of him and he'd come out of it with a mild headache. Noctis knows all too well Gladio is only human, but the thought still tugs the corner of his lips.

"Mmgh..." comes a mumble from Luna that shocks his hand away, like his guilt for touching her pulled it back. He yanks the blankets up higher, makes a face at himself for being weird, then settles into a normal enough position for Luna not to question once she awakens.

"Noctis...?" she asks in an exhausted, rumbly voice. His shoulders fall in sympathy, and he waits for her to wake herself up a bit before answering.

"Hey."

Luna blinks sleepily in that cute little way he's seen once before. She looks younger with her hair down, nothing more than a normal girl who stayed by a sick friend all night. If only that was all they were. He smiles for her nonetheless, soft but genuine.

When Gladio wakes, he greets his prince with an affectionate ruffle of his hair and a big grin. Noctis has to bite down to keep from smiling too much in return, self-conscious from the attention. The relief the two have to see him awake and well warms him to his core, but he stops himself from getting too comfortable.

"Where're Iggy and Prompto?" he whispers in a voice unfamiliar to Gladio, contributing to the few factors delaying his response. His gaze lifts from under his bangs, watching Gladio who now sits closer at the bedside. It makes it easier to see him swallow a lump in his throat, his eyes blink rapidly to calm some sudden surge of agitation. But his Shield always perseveres.

"Missing."

Ah.

Noctis's eyes flutter down where his gaze now marks the intricate details in the blanket, following their path as though he might find some semblance of hope at the end. How ironic. He remembers seeing that very same look from Gladio in Ignis once, when he broke the news that Gladio had gone missing in the Altissia aftermath. He had grabbed Ignis and bore into him his anxiety, begged to hear better news. But now...

Though they wait patiently, his silence causes his companions great concern. Already Gladio notices something different about Noctis, something so small and possibly insignificant but enough for him to wonder. Luna, on the other hand, can't quite get the memory of Noctis facing Leviathan so brazenly out of her head—or the way he quelled her in an instant.

Oblivious to their inner thoughts, Noctis shuts his eyes to the blinding white sheets and breathes. He expected as much when he only saw Luna and Gladio at his bedside. No, even before that. To wake up here instead of Lucis, in that tent—the minute he faced off against an unusually bitter Leviathan, he knew in his gut that things had gone wrong. For all his temper tantrums against the gods, his heart is too wrought to process another death. Again like a mantra he tells himself not to get used to it. And yet, this timeline...isn't it already forsaken?

He digs into the blankets and comes up with his journal. He passes it to Gladio, who takes it with a crooked brow.

"Read it from the beginning. Both of you." He glances at Luna. "Finish it all before asking questions, okay? I'll wait."

His soft voice and careful movements don't come from fatigue but from a measure of composure. They exchange glances before Luna stands to join Gladio to peruse the journal together. Letting the tension leave him, Noctis sinks back into the pillows. It shouldn't take them any more than five minutes to get through it, but the booming pressure in his head persists and the fever ultimately shuts his body down regardless of his will. By the time Luna and Gladio finish reading, Noctis has fallen into a deep and uncomfortable slumber.

Feather-soft tickles skitter across his cheek with the greatest care, meant to ease the flush of his skin rather than call him from sleep. His body allows the sensations to soothe his nerves in a way he hasn't experienced in a long time. But the prickly feeling becomes too much to withstand without shifting, and his eyes open to a late-afternoon shadow. Luna fills a corner of his vision, then her retreating hand, and finally her smile.

She helps him upright when his dizziness makes that simple task not so simple, but once he has a chance to breathe, he realizes that absolutely nothing in his condition has changed since morning. He pushes the blankets onto his lap so their warmth won't suffocate him, then looks to Luna.

"Your temperature hasn’t gone down very much...don’t push yourself. How are you feeling?"

Indeed, his body still weighs heavy and scorches to the touch when he rubs a hand over his face. He eventually offers a quiet reply before his eyes wander around the room.

"Gladiolus went to get some light meals for us. He should be back any moment. And this..." She trails off as she presents his journal. Noctis takes it absently, then meets her gaze easier than he expected of himself.

"You finished?"

"Yes, both of us."

"Okay."

He'll wait until Gladio gets back to talk—the statement flows wordlessly between the two. And when Gladio does, his features express a calm relief in seeing Noctis awake. Since they both insist Noctis get some food into his stomach before any lengthy conversation, he sits there nibbling some buttered bread while Luna and Gladio fill him in on what's happened since the battle with Leviathan (which was over a day ago, he learns). It's a story he’s heard so many times before but he tries to listen regardless. Then the story ends, and Noctis must once again navigate the pleasantries of explaining time travel and the truths written in his journal. It comes and goes as a buzz in his ears to a point where he wonders if he just imagined speaking about it. Even if he did, he's ready to move on.

"They're probably dead," he mumbles softly, though not enough to allay the candor of his assertion. But knowing what they know now, Luna and Gladio find it difficult to debate it. Ready to accept the swift change in subject, Gladio replies.

"Because something like this has happened before?"

Because he's tired of hoping.

Instead of saying that, Noctis shrugs. Beside him, Luna bites her tongue when it wants to assure Noctis that the search for missing people is still ongoing. Such baseless expectations won't do him any good now. Sensing that in the way she shifts in her seat, Gladio continues.

"So what caused you to go back in time this time?" Noctis looks up, confused. "You didn't write it down. The last thing was about Ardyn's magic?"

A flicker of realization sinks in Noctis's eyes before he opens up his journal to confirm. Right, he stopped writing after that episode in Altissia. Things had moved quickly after that. Smoothly too, which by now he's learned to interpret as things about to go terribly wrong.

"Um...we made it to the Crystal. All of us—you, Luna. Iggy and Prompto, Cor and even Ravus too. Luna was communicating with it. She's the only one who can understand what it's saying, I think." Noctis exhales, his hot breath drying his lips. Goddammit, this fever is more intense than usual. "Whatever she heard must've been bad news since the look on her face was..." His words trail off, feeling strange to speak of 'Luna' like she isn't sitting right in front of him. "Sorry. I know you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"It's all right, I'm keeping up." A beat passes after Luna's reply, her voice stable. "To speak with the Crystal... I would suggest we search it out again, but it appears to be involved in sending you back in time, if not the cause outright. Perhaps it’s best we keep our distance until we know more."

"Yeah." Neither acceptance nor disagreement. Comparatively, Noctis's voice falls to a mumble again, as do his eyes to his fingers that idly fiddle with the blankets. It's what persuades Gladio to reach for Noctis's shoulder and incline his head in hopes of catching that elusive gaze.

"Hanging in there, Noct?"

"Hmm?" he hums in a way to suggest that even that little sound took effort. He's tired and it's clear as day, but that 'something more' itches at Gladio's conscience. “I’m fine,” he eventually musters, an automatic response. “We just...need to keep going. Get to the Crystal and try again.”

“Try again?” Gladio parrots, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Didn’t we just agree that wasn’t a good idea?” He glances at Luna in saying so, who wears a restless expression of her own to match his. But Noctis shakes his head.

“I’ll figure it out. That’s the only thing we can do.”

“The only... Noct, look.” Gladio takes Noctis’s shoulders again. “With everything going on in the city, we’re grounded for a few days anyway. You don’t have to figure this out on your own. How ‘bout we start with what do you want to do?”

“...Want?”

A switch flicks on, like he’s been thrust into battle with Leviathan all over again. A well-known pressure slithers into his head to make its home there. It could be the fever, it could be something else. Even he can guess by now it’s some consequence of his body going back through time over and over. But now the heat flares up twice as strong, spurred by a sudden, anxious swell in his gut. It clouds his senses, fuels the words out his mouth that make him weak.

“Want? What does that matter? I get the Crystal back. Fix things. Gotta see things through to the end, right?” He can’t hear his voice rising in pitch but feels that twist in his gut wanting to unravel and let loose all his grievances no matter his resolution not to. “I mean, what choice do I have? Did I ever have one? You’re the one always going on about my duty this, my duty that!”

“Noct,” urges Gladio to no avail. Noctis’s voice just gets louder.

“It’s not like I can stop! Right?! Look at all the people who died for me. Keep dying. I wish I could just, just—”

At some point he latched onto Gladio’s arms, be it as an anchor or to push him away. His eyes bear into him an almost frenetic gaze that can’t focus. His nails dig in but find little purchase with the growing feebleness of his body. Yet his voice persists, and he’d kill himself just to shut his mouth that much quicker.

“Just die like I’m supposed to. ‘Cause that’s what was waiting for me. For me, Dad, our entire family, from the beginning of time! Couldn’t deal with it all my life and now, now I can’t...can’t die?” Something like a laugh leaves him, his throat burning with the sound. The heat burns hotter, makes him want to dig into his eyes and yank them out if it means getting some cool air into his head. Once he lamented the fact that he, the Chosen King, could perish so easily. But isn’t it more appropriate now to say that in being held back from his duty, he isn’t allowed to die?

“But I have to do it!” he spits out. That’s what he told himself. That’s how he’ll make the best use of a life that has only gotten this far with the blood of hundreds, thousands, millions of others. A life he’ll never have control over.

His head spins. He thinks he might actually experience his entire body combusting if this heat doesn’t temper itself. Subconscious it may be, his hands definitely latch onto Gladio for support now. But the weight on his shoulders disappears. Instead, a sharp coolness over his cheeks lifts his gaze. He gasps and immediately recoils, but Gladio wouldn’t ever allow him to flee his grasp. The warmth weaving itself into his skin makes Gladio’s hands that much colder, too much and just right at the same time.

“No...!” Still he tries to get away, not wanting Gladio of all people to fuss over him. This isn’t the first time he took his anger out on his Shield and he hates himself for it. But Gladio only brings him closer, their foreheads nearly brushing together as his deep voice pierces the pressure in his skull to reach Noctis’s ears.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay, Noct. You’re okay.”

His throat itches with a moan. He wants to shove away the comfort yet falls into it nevertheless. Unable to focus, his eyes flicker rapidly but are able to make out Gladio’s features. Close, to let him know he’s there. The heavy fingers rub over his cheeks to calm their agitated flush. Noctis hiccups when he realizes he can’t breathe, but Gladio’s voice helps with that as well. With his vision finally giving out, that’s all he has to ground him.

When did he get like this? So damn decrepit. This is where Gladio should shine, whip him back into shape, unabashed even to his king. A well-made Shield to prop his lord up no matter how much ire it gets him in return. But the only thing Gladio does now is carefully lay him back down on the pillows and keep his hand on his forehead until its chill does away with the fever. As much as he tries to fight it, it lulls Noctis to sleep once more.

With Noctis tucked in, Gladiolus heaves a great sigh he’d been holding in since the start of their conversation. He remains in his seat even now, watching over the sleeping prince with an unreadable expression. Perhaps Noctis would figure it out. As she is now, Lunafreya could never decipher it.

Ultimately, she is the first to stand. Though she’d rather give an exhausted Gladiolus the rest he rightfully deserves, she places a hand on his shoulder to urge him to follow. She leads them out to the room’s small balcony and bids him to stand next to her before facing forward. Her hands clasp in front of her, a gesture that denotes both respect and regality.

“Gentiana. I wish to speak with you.”

Gladiolus peers down at her in silence, though even his plain expression wears a bit of curiosity. That look turns to confusion when several seconds pass without any answer. Lunafreya lowers her chin and breathes softly out through her nose before trying again.

“This is the last time I will ask politely. Please show yourself.”

In the time it takes for Gladiolus to return his gaze forward, a woman stands at the other end of the balcony. His lips press together tightly, but that’s all the surprise he allows himself to show. For her part, Gentiana advances a single step, though keeps her eyes gently closed.

“She has heard the Tidemother’s voice.”

“I have,” Lunafreya answers, knowing she wasn’t asked a question. “It lends that much more truth to Noctis’s claims of traveling through time.” Now Gladiolus looks down at her expecting an explanation. “I understood her cries during the battle. She urged Noctis to prove himself, yet insisted in branding him ‘unfit’ for the task. ‘Time shall be made anew,’ she said. I don’t yet comprehend the meaning, but I do know this proves the gods are complicit in whatever chains Noctis down.” All this, of course, was already mentioned in Noctis’s notes, but she wants Gentiana to know that they know. “How is he to fulfill his calling if the gods themselves keep him from it?”

“His calling, huh...” Gladiolus mutters, not meaning to interrupt but unable to stop his voice. “Allow me to ask the same question. No point in pushing him if something like this is stopping him. Why won’t you just tell him what he needs to do? Why the hell isn’t he ‘fit’? Isn’t he your Chosen King?”

They’ve never truly known what that meant for Noctis, and Noctis himself never elaborated. Because he didn’t know either or chose not to divulge the information was also unknown to them. But little by little, as their trip grew increasingly precarious, they surmised this wouldn’t end cleanly. Not for Noctis. And the one with all the answers, the Astral in the guise of a Messenger, still chooses to keep them to herself.

“He has done nothing wrong. He need only persist.”

“That means nothing to us,” Lunafreya asserts. “Surely even you don’t overestimate him so much that you think he can continue on like this. Pushed so far without any clear goal in sight. You must have faith in him, Gentiana. He is the only one this world can count on now. Is the truth so difficult to explain?”

When a terribly long pause follows, Gladiolus is the first to break it.

“...Unless it is. If it’s something you don’t want him to know.” Another bout of silence has him holding back from clicking his tongue. “How bad is it?”

Lunafreya looks between him and Gentiana, waiting for a reply. But of course, nothing comes.

“Then what’ll happen if he just stops?” Gladiolus continues. Next to him, Lunafreya’s shoulders jerk when the memory of the battle comes to mind, what Noctis said then. “If you could just force him to do what you want, you’d have done it already. Which means you can’t. And that means it’s all on Noct. So what happens if he up and decides not to reclaim the Crystal? Stop the Scourge?”

Lunafreya can’t accomplish what the gods want on her own, else they would have pinned all their hopes on her. No, it’s Noctis they want. And it’s Noctis they insist on pushing away.

“You just said he ‘need only persist.’ Meaning if he stops...you have a problem.” Gladiolus folds his arms across his broad chest, though no manner of menacing can deter someone of Gentiana’s caliber. “How long you think you can get away with keeping your mouth shut?”

Inexplicably, Gentiana does just that. Lunafreya bites her lip, her patience spent.

“Enough, Gentiana! This is not the time for secrets! What you’re doing is only wearing down Noctis’s heart more and more. How much more will you demand of him when he already—” When he already has to pay for everything with his own life? But that particular truth remains in her and Noctis’s hands alone for now, because Gentiana opens her eyes.

“The prophecy will be rewritten.”

That quiets Lunafreya in an instant, and only for an instant.

“What...What do you mean? How is that possible?” she murmurs. Her voice quickly finds traction, however, and she nearly begs now. “What are you planning—?!” But no sooner are the words out her mouth does Gentiana vanish, gone with the sea breeze that washes over the balcony. Gladiolus does a double-take, but comes to his senses in no time to favor staring at Lunafreya. Being thoroughly ignored has her gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. That single sentence is all Gentiana will ever afford them, and that fact makes her want to scream. But she forces the tension to leave her in well-trained discipline.

“Thank you, Gladiolus.” Lunafreya takes the cup of boiled water offered to her and brings it carefully to her lips. It is a small comfort, but with the rest of the city as it is, she’s grateful to have this much.

Gladiolus takes a seat opposite her. Dusk approaches, and though each has left the room to attend to minor errands over the course of the day, Noctis hasn’t been left alone. Even if they were both to leave, Pryna serves as welcome company at the foot of the bed. Noctis hasn’t woken from his earlier episode and Lunafreya much prefers it that way. At this moment, this simple room in the First Secretary’s headquarters seems the safest place in all the world.

“No one’s stopping you from taking a break, Lady Lunafreya,” Gladiolus says with a wave toward the bed. “I can scoot Noct over no problem.”

She smiles, genuinely, but shakes her head. “I’m fine, but thank you. Perhaps in a short while.” Words she doesn’t really mean, because she can’t think of sleep no matter how much her body aches for it. In respect, Gladiolus lets it go. He takes a sip from his own drink, then casts his gaze to the sights beyond the window. She sets the cup on her lap before following suit.

The battered silhouette of Altissia sits on the horizon, a stark contrast to the mildly torn buildings of this part of the city. The battle took much away from the people, and those who weren’t evacuated in time now take refuge here. Their little trio partakes in Madam Camelia’s courtesy, but only until Noctis is well enough to travel.

In hindsight, they realize Noctis has witnessed these very same conditions numerous times. Once, Gladiolus wasn’t sitting here. Once, Lunafreya wasn’t either. To change the direction of fate so often only to wind up at the same spot...Lunafreya and even Gladiolus have no difficulty imagining Noctis’s frustrations. Though they will never truly understand it without experiencing it themselves. It may have been the height of panic they saw from him earlier, but that doesn’t mean his true feelings weren’t hiding among the words.

“Wonder how Umbra’s doing.” Lunafreya looks back to Gladiolus at the question. “Does no news mean good news?”

“I can’t say... If my brother is well, he need only send a message back. But it may also be that Umbra simply can not reach him.”

“There are places even he can’t get to?” Gladiolus asks in surprise. Having often witnessed firsthand Umbra’s knack for sniffing out Noctis in the middle of nowhere, why wouldn’t he be surprised?

“In some rare cases, yes.” It’s an indulgence she hangs on to. Ravus risked far too much to keep in contact with her all these years to be stopped here. Gladiolus’s silence again speaks to his taking the cue. The quiet hangs over them like the ocean’s mist, tangible but not unpleasant, as they absently watch time tick away within the darkening skies outside. It gives Lunafreya’s mind a chance to settle and to recall a memory. She breathes in when it comes to her.

“There is something I must tell you. About the last thing Noctis wrote in his journal...” She reaches for the book resting on the coffee table, borrowed from the sleeping Noctis to look through again, and flips it to a recent page. “‘Iggy got hurt again but I healed him. Ardyn's magic.’ I had thought this strange at first.” She meets Gladiolus’s eyes to continue speaking. “The power to heal has always been within Noctis. It differs from mine, which belays the Scourge and the daemons that come with it. But both our bloodlines were blessed by the Six.”

Gladiolus sets his drink on the table before leaning back, smoothing down his beard in thought.

“Yeah... Why someone of the Lucis line is suddenly the Imperial Chancellor is beyond me. I understand why Noct believes it, if he’s used warp magic. But why does he think the healing comes from Ardyn too?” They had unfortunately not gotten that far in their discussion before Noctis deterred himself.

“I believe this ‘new’ magic granted to him is in fact the Oracle’s magic.” That has Gladiolus co*cking a brow in doubt. “When we faced against Leviathan, I did think it strange that he seemed so focused on the fight in one moment, then utterly lost the next. That’s when he believes he awoke in this timeline. Right after that, he shielded us from an attack. With a barrier.”

“He doesn’t use it often, but that’s something within Noct’s capabilities.” He doesn’t use it ever, he should say, with how abysmally out of practice he is. Lunafreya shakes her head, however.

“It was the Oracle’s magic. I know because I am capable of forging the very same barrier. His attempt was rather amateur, admittedly, but there is no doubt in my mind.”

She sounds so certain that Gladiolus feels bad for not being immediately on board.

“Say that’s the case, then. How? Why? Time travel or not, he’s not the Oracle.”

Lunafreya flips back a few pages in the journal.

“‘Ignis cut off his arm but it regenerated.’ He speaks of Ardyn here. Not even we have such magic at our disposal, but Ardyn does.”

“Yeah, I remember that. Ardyn’s clearly got something going on if he’s involved in sending Noct back in time. It doesn’t sound like he completely understands how yet, but.”

“Daemons can regenerate.”

“You think he’s a daemon?”

Noctis’s groggy voice doesn’t slighten his incredulity, but in only a few seconds his expression morphs from contemplation to shocked understanding. Luna doesn’t miss it.

“Shall we continue our discussion from earlier? If you feel well enough for it.”

“Yeah...yeah, sure.” Pushing his hair out of his face, he can tell he isn’t ‘well enough,’ but his desire to banish the word ‘fever’ from the human language into the outskirts of oblivion itself outweighs a need for rest. He’d also rather not talk about his casual breakdown instead.

“Um...right, Ardyn’s magic. We talked about me talking to the Crystal. And that I saw the lives of all the past Lucis kings. Ardyn was there, that’s where I saw him use healing magic.” He allows a second for that information to sink in. “He was already King at the time, but people were treating him like the Oracle too. And...and whenever he healed the Scourge from someone, it seemed like it was infecting him instead.” He looks to Luna for any explanation.

“The Oracle’s magic has evolved over the centuries. I’ve heard tales of my ancestors dying young because their magic wasn’t yet strong enough to cure the Scourge. Rather than allowing a victim to suffer, they took on the disease themselves. Their innate power would keep it at bay for a time, but the more people they healed, the quicker they approached their death.”

“Astrals...” Gladio mutters. Noctis shares the same sentiment. “That’s a tough hand to be dealt.”

“It was simply their calling,” Luna answers solemnly. “But you are not incorrect.”

“So that’s why...” Noctis trails off, waiting for the thoughts to connect before voicing them aloud. “He healed too much and became a daemon...?”

Daemons are eternal. Of everything he witnessed in those horrid visions, that single line has stuck in Noctis’s memory. Because it wasn’t the first time he heard it.

“How long ago was this?” Luna asks. Noctis manages to snap back to reality without raising suspicion in time to shrug. The visions could have been out of order for all he knows. “If Ardyn is indeed immortal, then your visions of him could have been from any number of centuries ago. A time when the Oracle’s power was at its weakest.”

“He’s not just some regular old man, at least. He’s got Lucian and Oracle magic.”

“One more thing,” Gladio interjects. “Putting what Noct saw aside—hasn’t the Oracle always been a woman?”

Noctis blinks. That...is true.

“To my knowledge, yes. It is what legend dictates, as well as my own family history.”

‘History.’ The word resonates with Noctis for a reason he doesn’t yet understand. A puzzle piece for a puzzle he hasn’t even pulled from its box.

“Yeah...there wasn’t any mention of Ardyn in the archives back at home. Hell, I haven’t even heard of him before leaving Insomnia.”

“Could be using a fake name,” Gladio suggests.

“No, the people in those visions all called him Ardyn. But...” Noctis pauses, pushing his lips to the side. “He was acting weird when he found out I saw the past. What was it he said? Ugh...” He digs his fingers into his temple, hoping to call the thoughts to the forefront of his mind. “‘Those memories aren’t for you to twist’? Something like that?”

“For who to twist?”

“The...Crystal, I guess?”

“So what, what you saw could’ve been completely made up?”

“Ugh, I really hope not.”

“But you didn’t imagine seeing his body regenerate, did you?” asks Luna, leaning forward in her seat. “‘A human tainted,’ Gentiana called him. That’s what she told you.”

“Yeah... And it’d line up with the documents I found in the Keep. That daemons are...”

“Originally human,” Gladio finishes. He leans back in his seat, arms folded tightly across his chest. This fact that Noctis casually revealed when he first woke up still weighs heavy on the Shield’s mind. Luna’s reaction, on the other hand, suggested she always had an idea—as the only one capable of curing the Scourge, it comes as no surprise. Up until now, their current world was made to believe the Scourge simply elongated nighttime, brought disease to the land, and infected humans until they vanished. To think those humans didn’t disappear but became the very monsters prowling Eos; Noctis still feels sick thinking about it. Because even he...

His gaze drops to the pages of his journal where several lines are crossed out so thoroughly that it’s a wonder the paper didn’t tear. After everything he’s already exposed in these pages, he still wants to hide this. He thoroughly denied Gladio and Luna’s attempts to pry the truth from him, insisting it was nothing important. Yes, he’ll hide it, at least until he learns how in the world he turned into a daemon, or why his new magic matches that of an Oracle. Ardyn, someone of Lucian blood, has suddenly became the closest thing to a hint.

The next morning comes with little change in Noctis’s condition, no news on Ignis’s or Prompto’s whereabouts, and an ultimatum from First Secretary Camelia: leave Altissia by the end of the day. Though she insisted she would forward information regarding his retainers, she couldn’t have made it clearer that both the King of Lucis and the Oracle have overstayed their welcome. Though Noctis is more than happy to go, he doesn’t know where.

While Gladio leaves to find Cid and get the boat ready to leave at any time, Luna stays behind with Noctis. She and Pryna fuss equally over him as they help the feverish prince with packing. It’s when she spies him staring at the Ring burning a hole into his palm that an idea comes to her. But, first, more than anything...

“Noctis?” she whispers. He glances over to find her standing closer, her hands held to her chest and eyes set down. “In all the commotion, I never found a chance to tell you.” She looks up now, gaze tempering with the tone of her voice. “Despite all you’ve gone through to reach this point, I truly am so happy to see you again. Is that...is that cruel of me, I wonder?”

His own eyes flinch in surprise. Gripping the Ring tightly in a fist, he turns to face her properly. Luna’s hands find themselves reaching out to his cheek, their coolness and otherworldly softness capable of bringing him to his knees if he didn’t fight it.

It was so obvious yet completely absent from his mind until now. For him, it’s been a few days since he last saw Luna. But for her, it’s been years. So many long, lonely, hard years. He thrusts the Ring into his pocket like some piece of garbage to throw out later in favor of taking Luna’s hand into his. It feels like a century ago that he first met her again through the graces of time travel, could finally feel the warmth of her flesh that told him she was there, she was alive. If the Luna in front of him experiences even a fraction of the emotion he did then—

“Of course not. I, I’m—” He chews his lips to give himself a chance not to stutter his way through this. “You have no idea what it means to have you here with me. I made a lot of mistakes getting here... Trying to do things on my own, thinking that was somehow better. It’s not. I need the guys, I need you.”

Thank the stars Gladio isn’t here to hear this, or he might have to pick up his friend’s jaw off the floor. The frank words still bring a particular shade of pink separate from the fever to his cheeks, but he’s getting better at this. And honestly, he’ll speak any manner of sentimental if it means seeing that giddy little smile Luna always tries to bite down.

Cid works on getting the motor running while they wait for Luna, who had hung back to attend to a few final matters in the city. When she returns, it’s without Pryna.

“I sent her ahead to Lucis with a message,” she says when questioned. “Because I’ve thought to amend our plans.”

“Amend?”

“You said you couldn’t find any pertinent information in the Citadel, Noctis?”

“Uh, yeah. Even Dad’s study was a bust.” He pulls a clump of hair in thought. “I thought digging up old birth records might help. I recognized some of the names I heard in the visions, but there wasn’t anything on Ardyn. Though there’s still a chance it’s a fake name, like Gladio said. But even then...”

“Nothing about a Lucis king-turned-daemon, right?” Gladio offers. “Not exactly something to brag about. It could be that any mention of it was erased from the archives.”

He recalls yesterday’s conversation, that itch in his mind. Erased from the archives? Erased from history? Could that really be it? He swallows. The thought is a bit...no, a lot terrifying.

“Yeah... There’s nothing in Insomnia that’ll help, in any case. What about it, Luna?”

“I think,” Luna begins slowly, “we should go to Tenebrae.”

Chapter 15: intermission

Chapter Text

A sleepy groan reverberates in his throat all the way into his head, knocking his senses about until an eyelid manages to creak open. Drool glues his cheek to the cold sleeping mat, setting a sharp contrast to the heat wrapping around the rest of his body. Even without a blanket, his fever makes his clothes stick to him, and he shifts in search for some comfort.

“Morning, prince charming.”

He hears Gladio before he sees Luna, though he can’t be sure which has him shooting upright in surprise. Curled up neatly next to him is the Lady’s figure, clothed in casual attire but lacking in a blanket of her own. It makes the curve of her waist that Noctis’s arm sinks into that much more obvious. He swallows, then blinks dumbly.

“Go back to sleep,” Gladio says from where he sits comfortably in a fold-out seat. Noctis turns his dumb look to him. “Not actually morning yet.”

Indeed, only a sliver of sunrise lines the horizon. The moon has yet to relinquish its light for the night. The words register but none of that really matters to Noctis right now. Eventually he plops back down to his place next to Luna, and only then does he remember where they are: camping in the barren plains of Niflheim.

After taking up Luna’s idea to visit Tenebrae, Cid sailed them to Niflheim and helped them unload the Regalia before saying farewell. The plan is to travel the land in as much secrecy as possible, which means avoiding trains and big cities. Finding a map proved easy enough and Noctis himself remembered enough about the country to set a general course. Now they spend their days traveling the vast expanse of the Empire.

He vaguely recalls Gladio offering to keep watch this time, what with Niflheim lacking the magic of havens. Luna asserted that the land was too weak to shoulder the Oracle’s runes, from which the havens draw their strength, so they make do with some extra precautions. These days the fever forces him to bed early, and he often wakes in the middle of the night with either Gladio or Luna sleeping nearby. But seeing Luna’s face this close is a first, so soft and unguarded and really freakin’ pretty—

He breathes out through his nose. He has no way of knowing who nestled closer to who, but all he wants to do is stay like this. His fingers drum the air nervously at the arch of her waist before finding courage to drape around it as they did before. He shimmies closer, their hair tangling together and Luna’s breath mingling into his. This warmth, he doesn’t mind.

Gladio shoves his phone back in his pocket with a self-controlled sigh. Noctis notices.

“Nothing...?”

“Nah,” comes the casual reply, only after the briefest of pauses to temper the tone. Noctis realizes then he probably should’ve kept his mouth shut, as on most occasions when he actually chooses to speak (hindsight never fails).

He leans against the trunk of the Regalia while they wait for the tank to fill. Gladio had chosen that time to check his phone for any messages from Camelia or the comrades they left behind in Lucis. No news from Camelia isn’t anything new even after a week, but recently, contact from Iris has tapered off. The big guy would never admit it, but Noctis knows choosing not to return to Lucis hits Gladio the hardest. No, this entire thing weighs down on him the most. The loss of Ignis and Prompto may as well be opaque for the color it gives the fog swirling around Gladio’s general presence. His Shield, or a mirror? Noctis glances away.

“Apologies for the wait.” A pleasant voice cuts through the tension with ease. Luna hurriedly approaches them, then breathes out to see the gas nozzle still affixed to the Regalia. More relaxed, she smiles at the men. “How does this look?”

She refers to the fresh sweatshirt and pair of jeans she changed into, fitted loosely around her slender form. A near match to Noctis’s own inconspicuous attire, few would guess the Oracle of Tenebrae hides under the hood pulled over her tied-back blonde hair. All Noctis has to offer is a suspiciously content sigh, enough to drag a smile from Gladio.

“Positively ordinary.”

Luna chuckles in her throat before setting her old sweats in the backseat. Noctis’s eyes follow her until he pushes off the trunk.

“Hungry? Gladio can get something.”

“I’m fine. We can have a proper dinner tonight with these ingredients, I think.”

“Hmm...” he mumbles contemplatively as he eyes the bag of food further down the seats. Lackluster they may be, fresh produce certainly beats the pre-made meals they’ve had to rely on the past few nights. “Maybe. I can probably copy something Iggy’s made once.”

“Uh, no,” comes Gladio’s deep voice. “I’ll handle it. You ain’t going anywhere near the food til it’s done.”

Noctis throws a squint over the hood of the Regalia.

“I don’t appreciate your tone.”

Gladio just snorts before turning his attention to the pumps, returning the nozzle to its place and snapping the fuel door shut. Climbing into the backseat, Noctis mutters a moody comment while Luna takes a seat up in front. A comfortable setting—the previous tension vanished, the newly formed trio retires into the tempo they’ve created all for themselves since Altissia. A mellow rapport different from the foursome Noctis remembers, but enough to fill the void in his gut aching for normalcy. With Luna’s delightful laughs and occasional savvy banter challenging Gladio’s own cultured quips, he could be fooled into believing all is well. That they’re just returning from a supply run to where Ignis and Prompto await them.

But then a dull rumbling fills all their ears, and Noctis has to physically hold his arm down to stop it from summoning a weapon out of habit.

Distant it is, the shadow of the magitek ship sailing through the sky still covers the width of the highway. Noctis swallows a thick lump down his throat as he glares at the diminishing silhouette for as long as it lingers in their line of sight. Gladio breaks the silence first.

“Looks like an all-nighter tonight.”

Luna lets out a lengthy exhale before her gaze drifts to the bag of food in the back.

History hasn’t changed, after all. The Fleuret family remains a prime target for Niflheim’s vengeance since losing their bout against Leviathan. With Umbra still out in the wild, Ravus’s location is also a mystery. Gladio picks up whatever intel he can from outposts along the way, but public information continues to be strictly controlled, leaving much of the Empire’s intentions up in the air.

“Worth it,” Noctis says. “No way we’re letting them reach Tenebrae before us.”

Despite the depth of Noctis’s fears, they reach Tenebrae without incident two days later. With no signs of an impending Imperial attack, their current obstacle—and perhaps the biggest one yet—is how to actually reach Luna’s manor without anyone recognizing her. They end up discreetly parking the Regalia and bypassing the train station to enter the mossy forests, wet with dew from last night’s rainfall. Doubling the distance to trek, each person takes their time through the uneven terrain until they finally reach the side of the manor. Gladio and Luna wait among the trees while Noctis warps to the nearest balcony facing away from the town. He spies through the window for any sign of movement, and repeats his surveillance with other nearby windows before returning to the others.

“Looks abandoned,” he reports. Luna brings a knuckle to her lips in thought.

“The staff must have heard news of my ‘death’ by now... Perhaps they were ordered back to their own homes. Though it appears the Imperial soldiers have also left the city.”

“Wouldn’t someone stick around? What if Ravus came back?”

She shakes her head. “Last we spoke, he made it clear he wouldn’t return home.” It would only bring danger to the citizens, she continues, if an Imperial High Commander casually strode into town when the Oracle wasn’t present. Such an act would do little for his clandestinity as well.

Gladio throws his gaze over the vast manor. With the sun gradually inching higher into the sky, they have plenty of time before night comes. That doesn’t mean they can loiter for too long, though.

“So, where do we start?”

Noctis wipes the fever’s sweat from his forehead as he and Gladio follow Luna up the stairs. He’s long since given up fighting the sickness, leaving his body’s condition up to the whims of fate so his mind has room to focus on the task at hand. Their intentions inside the manor last only long enough for Luna to fetch a pointedly well-hidden key from a study (not enough for Noctis’s eyes to wander around a building he hasn’t seen in a decade). They return to the first floor and into, unexpectedly, a hidden passage through the wall, unlocked with the key.

In a single file, Luna takes vanguard while Gladio walks in the middle. The gradual decline in the slope of the floor doesn’t go unnoticed, and eventually Noctis calls up a handful of fire to light the way down the path.

The walk lasts no less than ten minutes, and simply by the weight of the air pushing down on them can they tell how far underground they’ve come. But the dull, compact walls eventually make way to an open space. In that space sits a single door. Noctis heaves a breath before crouching down with his head hanging low.

“...There’s still more?” he whispers.

“You good?” Gladio asks. Any other time and he’d have called him out for his lack of stamina, or rolled his eyes at his inability to stomach a little effort. Noctis kind of, just kind of, misses that Gladio.

Shaking off the creepy crawly that is self-pity, Noctis climbs to his feet.

“I’m good.”

“Alright.” Gladio’s eyes linger before he steps closer to Luna. With an internal sigh, Noctis does the same. Even Gladio has to look up to see the top of the door, and they all follow the thin line down the middle splitting it in two.

“So now what?” Noctis asks again.

“Only the King of Lucis and the Oracle may open this door. You and I, Noctis. I will guide you—you need only focus and meet me in the middle. We must do this together.”

The solemnity of the situation descends upon him. After Gladio pulls back to give them space, Noctis faces the door too. Closing his eyes, he inhales and focuses the way he always does in preparation of using his magic. At first he doesn’t know where to go, what to forge in his mind’s eye. Whether it be the air pressure or the darkness pushing down on him, he fights a sudden urge to snap his eyes open again. For his efforts, a light flickers in the dark and he goes toward it without hesitation.

“That’s perfect. Open your eyes.”

He does. This time, the light filtering through the cracks of the door makes him want to turn his gaze away. The light grows brighter still until the very force of its shine pushes the door apart.

Luna enters even before the way is completely open with so little hesitation that it makes him blink in surprise. He makes to follow, but a heavy head on his shoulder not only stops him but tugs him back.

“I’ll go. Stay behind me,” says Gladio.

Noctis jerks his head back, then jabs a finger forward.

“Luna says it’s fine.”

“She can take care of herself.”

“I can ta—” But Noctis’s retort goes unanswered as Gladio slides through the light to enter whatever sits on the other side. He sighs exasperatedly before clawing through the shining center to go after him.

Awaiting them on the other side of the door is an entirely bland archive. The small, circular floor measures no more than the length of two Regalias. Caked into the cracks of the surface must be centuries worth of dust, and the stone walls or the shelves lined end to end with books fare no better. One would never guess such a dilapidated nook of a nook hides underneath the grand Fleuret manor. They are still underneath the manor, right?

“Think the books are gonna attack us?” Noctis asks dryly, sniffing at the dust tickling his nose. Gladio casts down on him a crooked smile.

“It’d do you some good if they did. When’s the last time you even opened one?”

“I’m the one who snuck through a MT-freakin’-infested Insomnia just to raid my dad’s library, y’know.”

To that, Gladio only presses his lips together with a breath out his nose. Noctis has to turn away from that smile, no matter how mild.

“Where do we start?” Gladio asks Luna, who approaches the center of the room where a meager table rests. Vaguely puzzled, Noctis peers back.

“You’re not even a little bit curious about where the hell we are?”

“Sure, but we’re on a schedule, aren’t we? We came here for answers. Let’s find them first, then I’ll hear the history lesson if there’s time.”

With little room to argue, Noctis shrugs. That nonchalance comes in handy sometimes. If Ignis and Prompto were here... Prompto would just be happy to be out of those cramped halls, only to whine and moan about the creepy-ass library they’re bound to be buried alive in should the whole place collapse, lest they forget they were a bajillion miles underground. Ignis would be rifling through his third book by now.

He sighs.

“Let’s just pick our own corners. That okay, Luna?”

“Certainly. And not to worry, I’ll explain what I can.”

She does just that after they each pull out a book from the shelves. Not only are the books exceedingly aged, but every single one is handwritten. The language reads the same, if a bit dense. If flashbacks could kill a man, Noctis is sure he’d be lying dead on the floor after recalling his childhood studies of ancient history and teenage years of suffering through formal documents.

“As you may have guessed, this is an archive, shared between Lucis and Tenebrae.” Noctis peers at her at that, where Luna elaborates. “The door to this room exists in Insomnia as well. Where exactly, I do not know. But Regis should have held the key. With the key and the combined strengths of the King and the Oracle, one may enter this space.”

“So we’re...not exactly under the manor anymore?”

Luna nods. “Two separate doors, but only one destination. The Oracle...my mother spoke of this room a long time ago. I never imagined I might actually see it for myself.”

“You never heard about anything like this from His Majesty?” Gladio asks. While he takes the time to properly think on it, Noctis ends up chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Just another one of his secrets, I guess. Doesn’t matter, I know now. If we ever get to the Citadel, maybe I can look for that key.” Of course, he can’t begin to guess where the door might be, but it’s an idea to tuck in the back of his mind. The way he returns to the book in his hands quiets any response from the other two.

It becomes immediately clear that the information stored here sits on a completely different scale than that of Insomnia’s archives. That in mind, it isn’t exactly what he expected. Rather than records or pure statistics, the writing likens more to anecdotes. This particular journal speaks of the author’s dealings with the Oracle—two centuries ago, if he takes the dates in the page corners at face value. Perhaps the person was her attendant, the way Ignis is to Noctis? The stories certainly are detailed enough to suggest the two spent much time together, but not so personal as to depict a deeper relationship. Indeed, the writing’s neutrality paves the path to the real message within: the Oracle’s suffering.

Realization stitches Noctis’s brow together at a passage recounting the Oracle’s deteriorating condition following the curing of the Scourge, still referred to as the Plague in this time period. No modern literature comes close to the amount of detail here. No, all they have are legends and pretty Cosmogony books teaching children the fairytale version of Eos’s history. It took Noctis several jumps through time itself to barely piece together what is written so plainly on this single page. Is the entire archive like this?

He grimaces.

“...Half expect Titan to come crashing through here.” Luna and Gladio glance at him at his sudden statement. “Gods forbid I actually learn something.”

“We’re safe here,” Luna counters. He looks back at her. “I told you, didn’t I? This space exists only at the King and the Oracle’s behest. No one else may enter without our permission.”

Noctis pushes his lips the side, incredulous. “Even the gods? We’re only King and Oracle because of them.”

“Even the gods.”

Nearby, Gladio seemingly makes a mental connection.

“Didn’t you say Gentiana mentioned the Crystal being independent from the Astrals? Despite being the ones that created it.”

“Aah...yeah, that did happen. Huh.” If he hadn’t written it down, he surely would have forgotten by now, his anger at the time overwhelming most other thoughts.

“And if the world was working the way it’s supposed to,” Gladio continues, “the Crystal would be serving the Lucis Kings in exchange for their protection. The people worship the Six. In return, they give power to the King and Oracle so they can protect the people. It’s vague, but I can see a checks and balances happening.”

“It’s the other way around,” Noctis interjects, a firm frown set into his features. “The Six came in and handpicked a King and Oracle to help clean up their mess. The Scourge they created would’ve wiped everything out otherwise. That’s the only reason things like the Crystal or the Ring even exist. No one knows the truth. Everyone just blindly believes daemons are monsters and that longer nights are inevitable. That someone will swoop in and fix everything as long as they keep praying. Gives them less time to think.”

He wrenches his gaze away so he can focus on the book again to keep his blood boiling at the thought of the gods, and the fact that he used to be one of those blind believers.

“No single being in this world is truly omnipotent,” Luna eventually says. “The gods depend on us just as much as we depend on them. Well, to put it bluntly—” She claps her book shut, the echo easily filling the small expanse of the archive. “They will never breach this room. You needn’t worry, Noctis.”

He doesn’t look back but says nothing to dispute her. It’s a small comfort knowing they won’t be interrupted, so he resumes his reading. Flipping through the next few pages, he discovers this particular Oracle eventually succumbed to the Scourge poisoning her body. The rest of the journal describes her heir taking her place some years later, though not before the world suffered an increase in Plague victims. The Oracle’s absence certainly complicates things, he’s come to learn.

He fishes out his phone and takes pictures of pertinent pages before returning the journal to the shelf and picking out another one. He doesn’t know if the photos will remain should be fall back into the past again, but he finds it’s better not to think about that possibility.

And so the process repeats. When he knows for certain that this room is an accumulation of the experiences of past Kings and Oracles, a question comes to mind.

“I wonder why she didn’t tell me last time...”

“What’s that?” Gladio mutters, attention still divided between the book in his hands.

“Luna—from before, I mean. This is the first time I’ve heard of a place like this. If she thought it could’ve helped, why didn’t she say anything?”

The Luna from the previous timeline certainly had enough information to make the decision to come here. Instead she agreed with the plan to head for Zegnautus Keep to demand answers from the Crystal. Did she really believe that to be the best course of action, even after learning of the Keep’s danger and Crystal’s repeated rejections of Noctis?

When he catches Luna looking his way, he offers an apologetic expression in return.

“I know you can’t answer that.”

“No, I cannot. Perhaps...” she pauses, glancing aside. “She couldn’t, for some reason or another.”

“Maybe.” Noctis’s own gaze falls. Circ*mstances were different then, regardless. With so many of his companions at his side, going after the Crystal once more didn’t feel nearly as hopeless as it does now. Luna could have felt the same way.

He shakes his head. Nothing to be done about it now. He’s here now, he needs to make the most of it.

At least an hour flies by with little learned from the other books he picks up, most amounting to things he already knew or weren’t relevant. Then, in a more recent volume—a thin notebook, really—the entries nearly have him throwing the thing to the floor.

“It killed him?!”

Even Gladio gets caught off guard by the outburst. Luna, who had taken a seat at the table, stands now in confusion.

“What happened?”

“The Ring, it—!” He stops and breathes, but visibly struggles to contain whatever bids his hands to tremble. “It kills anyone who isn’t the King of Lucis! This piece of—” He digs into his pockets and presents the Ring of the Lucii. Its weight never faded, never making him forget even accidentally that it was still there. Still its mild heat washes over his palm, and it’s only Gladio’s grip on his wrist that stops him from chucking it to the floor. “The piece of garbage has never once done any f*cking good, and now you’re telling me it can just decide on its own who gets to wear it? Since when? Who the hell gave it the right?!”

“Noct! Calm down. I don’t know who it killed, but it’s not hurting anyone now.” Gladio’s heavy voice pierces Noctis’s senses to steady them. While he lets his arm go slack in Gladio’s grip, the tension still seizes the rest of his body. His teeth grind down hard enough to crack, curled lips shaking from the effort.

“The gods, the Crystal, now this goddamn ring. How many more things are gonna run the rest of us around like idiots? What the hell are we to them?!”

His hand continuing to trap Noctis’s wrist, Gladio stares at him with a narrowed gaze as he gleans what he can. Then his eyes flash to the book in Noctis’s other hand.

“Let me see.” He retrieves it without much fuss and skims through the open page. With his glare burning a hole through the floor, it’s Gladio’s deep inhale that tells Noctis he found the passage.

“‘I can only surmise the Kings of Yore deemed him unworthy of the power, but to go so far as to take his life? What part of him was undeserving of the strength to help people? Yes, he was not King. But he saw what the Ring was doing to me. Eating away at what little life I had left. And so he thought to use the rest of his...’” Gladio voice gradually quiets before trailing off completely.

“But it killed him on the spot instead,” Noctis growls. “Because what, he wasn’t of royal blood? Who the f*ck knows. I thought I—I thought I could at least trust in my own damn bloodline!”

Recognizing Luna’s silence, Noctis’s anger turns to her for some semblance of relief, or as an outlet.

“Did you know? I feel like...you always know so much more than me about this stuff. I didn’t even care when I was a kid, but...but at least your parents didn’t keep secrets.” His voice, eased from its gruffness but scratched from the force, falls quiet. Luna allows a few seconds to pass.

“I knew.” The simplicity of her reply and her almost impassive expression make Noctis’s temper flare up again, his shoulders flinching from its heat. “It’s only right. The Ring commands immeasurable power and delegates it to a single person. So the Kings hold court to determine whether that person should wield that power.”

“That doesn’t explain why it kills them!”

“It doesn’t always go that far.” Luna closes her eyes. “Ravus lost his arm when he tried to wear the Ring.”

Both Noctis and Gladio jerk in surprise. How or why Ravus acquired a magitek arm never made itself clear on their journey, but to think the truth was something of this caliber. Luna continues in spite of their collective shock.

“I can only guess the Kings took pity on him, as one of the Oracle bloodline.”

Noctis’s mouth hangs open as he struggles to connect his thoughts in any coherent manner. The Ring rejected Ravus... Could that be the reason for his antagonistic demeanor toward Noctis, someone worthy of the Ring by simply existing? He’ll never know without asking the man.

And ’simply existing’ isn’t exactly accurate anymore. Could the discrepancies he experienced with the Ring in the past be the fault of the old Lucian Kings, not the Six or Ardyn? That makes even less sense, because why would even they want to thwart Noctis’s path? He isn’t sure he can stomach any more rumination on the matter.

“...It’s still f*cking stupid,” he ultimately grumbles. He knows how childish it sounds but he doesn’t care. He shakes off Gladio’s loosened grip, leaving the book in his Shield’s hands, and stalks to another corner of the room. “Kings, gods, magic...the world would be a lot better off without any of that.”

No one answers him.

He washes a hand over Noctis’s sweat-drenched hair to push it away so his skin can breathe. His cold knuckles press against the red cheeks, knowing they’ll feel the same high temperature. With a breath out his nose, Gladio pries the book out from under Noctis’s hand and sets it aside on the table. Then he steps away from Noctis’s sleeping figure after making sure his neck wasn’t strained too much from the way it rests on his crossed arms.

Luna smiles when their eyes meet. He sends one in return out of politeness more than anything before turning to the shelves. They’ve been here three or four hours but haven’t found any solid evidence to explain Noctis’s predicament, let alone solve it. Much of what they have learned is the extent of the tumultuous lives the Kings of Lucis and Oracles of Tenebrae endured, made to serve a world that relied on them too much.

A sense of duty is no foreign concept to Gladio. Immersing himself in these anecdotes only strengthens his own resolve to see his mission through. Some of the stories he reads were penned by past Shields, after all, lending to the empathy swelling in his broad heart.

It’s when he comes across a terribly timeworn bundle of parchment that he remembers the term ‘Chosen King.’

“‘We die for the Chosen King, so he may...’” Gladio doesn’t realize he stopped reciting the words until he swallows the lump down his throat. “‘...may die for us.’”

Even if Noctis hadn’t blurted it out in panic that day in Altissia, they always knew. Knew by watching Regis wither away before their eyes. The frost in his hair, the way his hands trembled in grasping the cane that barely kept him upright. The scarring on his skin far too wrinkled for his age, forbidding them to forget who it was casting the Wall that protected their home. For years it was Regis. The next day it could have been Noctis. In a month, a year, a decade, Noctis would wear the same scars like thunder had struck his skin, would struggle to run or walk or breathe before he hit forty. The Kings of Lucis were always meant to die young. It was their Shields’ duty to make sure they lasted even a day longer. A few decades more with Noctis...he wouldn’t complain.

It will take millennia. But our deaths feed the Crystal the strength it needs to do away with the Plague forever.

Certainly, Noctis recounted as much in his stories of the visions he experienced within the Crystal. But something about the passage doesn’t sit right with Gladio, like a stone thrown into the pit of his stomach, persisting against the acid to remain a burden.

The only one capable of wielding that strength, the True King blessed by the Crystal and the Gods. Some will curse him. Others will revere him. But we all fight a fight we ourselves will never win. We are bidden to trust a man in a future so distant it is near impossible to imagine. But we will welcome him all the same, who are to dwell within the Ring as we await the True King to take the Crystal into his hands. Only then will this madness end.

I do pity him, on occasion. He will never see the world cleansed from sickness. But neither will we. I do not curse nor revere him, and I do not mind to be cast from history forevermore. Yet it is only fair we of exalted Lucis blood share in this fate.

“Never see...?” Gladio whips back to Noctis, amber eyes growing lighter with understanding. “Hey!” This time he calls out to Lunafreya, who tiptoes closer. “Read this.”

The parchment changes hands. Lunafreya’s lashes lower against her eyes as they flit across the old ink staining the surface. Watching her, Gladio notes little change in her expression. In fact, when she finishes, only a breathless sigh leaves her lips.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She looks up at him, her eyes now open wide and the faintest crease set neatly in the center of her brow.

“You want to ask me if it’s true.”

Gladio’s lips part, then close, then part again to speak.

“Once the Crystal accepts Noct...that’s it? It’s over? The Scourge is destroyed but he just dies, right then and there?”

“He and the Crystal will become one for as long as it takes for the power of light stored in the Crystal to adhere to Noctis and the Ring.”

“Adhere?” Gladio’s eyes narrow, perplexed. “No, forget that, how long will it take?”

“It could be an instant. It could take years.” Her words bring a sliver of hope fated to crumble into dust the next moment. “But the outcome won’t change. When he and the light become one, it will strike the Starscourge out of existence. Like all Kings of Lucis, Noctis is meant to die for his people.”

Everything clicks. Why Regis adopted such a lenient upbringing. Why Ignis was worked harder than Noctis. Why he was permitted to attend public schools or work in the city like a common citizen. Why Prompto was even allowed in his general vicinity, let alone to join his personal guard. To be his friend, for as long as it lasted.

“Did he know...?” Gladio whispers to himself.

“Didn’t you?”

The unexpected question has Gladio widening his eyes at her. Lunafreya’s gaze hasn’t left him.

“You must have. To be named Chosen and be blessed with the power to do away with a darkness that has ailed the world for millennia, that no one before him could even contend with—could someone like that truly live a normal life after accomplishing such a task? The gods aren’t so compassionate.”

Struck speechless, Gladio only stares at her as she speaks in both a logical and uncharacteristic manner. He doesn’t know her well, granted, but Lunafreya surely stands at the front of the line of those who support Noctis. After that confrontation with Gentiana, how can she speak of his death so casually?

But her point stands. He must have known and just chose not to see it when it proved convenient. In pushing Noctis, he pushed himself to be the best Shield he could, to be a model Amicitia and take pride as leaders of the Lucis Crownsguard—to protect not only Noctis but the people he’d come to serve. He loved it. He thrived on it, ached for that strength and used it to temper himself to be that much sturdier a shield. He was born into this life just as Noctis was into his, so he couldn’t understand why Noctis didn’t embrace it the way he did. But Gladio didn’t mind guiding him or playing the bad guy to discipline him so he could catch himself should he fall, because Gladio would always be there to support him regardless.

But Noctis wasn’t the only one made to look upon the murals in the Citadel depicting the legends of the Lucian bloodline and its fate.

“No, guess not. Chosen, blessed, protected...and still so many people had to sacrifice themselves for him.” Gladio starts quietly, shifting his stare to the weathered books lining the shelves. “His Majesty, my dad. The Crownsguard, the Kingsglaive. Lucians who died in the attack on Insomnia. Hell, the entire Lucis and Tenebrae lines. Thousands of years worth of people, waiting and dying so Noct could be born and cure the Scourge. And in end he just becomes another body thrown into the pile.”

Of course. He always knew he was protecting a dead man. But...but—

Dust sprinkles over them after the side of Gladio’s fist smashes into the shelves, echoing louder than the books knocked to the floor and the coarse hiss through his teeth.

“Who gave them the right?”

Splintering like burned wood, the structural integrity of the shelf wavers when he removes his hand. But his fist lingers at his side, clenching tighter and tighter until the wrinkle of his skin compares no different to the cracked shelf.

In light of all it, the Crystal still turns Noctis away when he’s practically begging it to let him accomplish his duty. Yeah, he gets it now. From the greenest grunt in the Glaives to the very first King of Lucis, the gods play them all for fools.

“You need him awake?”

“No, but we don’t know what awaits us outside. Best to remain alert.”

He recognizes that words are being spoken yet can’t comprehend them even while his body is shaken away from the slumber it wishes to sink into. A pair of hands lift him from his place at the table and drag him into the side of a much larger body. Now he shifts, a low groan lending to the garble of his reply.

“I can walk,” he insists with his eyes still closed. Above him, Gladio sighs.

“Just accept the help for once, would ya?”

Another moan, determined as it is pitiable.

“Lemme—” His hand searches for purchase around Gladio’s shoulder, then uses it to push away. He focuses on finding the floor with his feet and achieves relative success in staying upright. See, he can walk just fine.

“‘m gonna find the guy who invented fevers and rip his head out through his own damn ass—”

“Okay, tough guy,” Gladio interrupts before pulling Noctis away from the table. Luna awaits them at the door, then closes it after they’ve all exited. According to her, exiting the room comes with far less stringent rules, or at least Noctis would hear later.

Only after he feels the slope of the path does he realize what they’re doing.

“We’re done reading...?”

“For now. Gonna check on the city, then find a place to crash for the night.”

“Night...?” A sound of confusion comes out with his breath. “S’only been like, two hours...”

“At least six.” Noctis manages to lift his heavy head to gawk at Gladio. “You were out for a while.”

“Why didn’t you wake me—” What was supposed to be a smack against Gladio’s arm turns into Noctis stumbling into him like a drunkard. Gladio steadies him with ease. “God f*ckin’—”

“Because of this. You need food and a proper bed, and who knows if we’ll find either out here.” Gladio looks ahead at Luna, who leads their little trio up the path. “You two still need to stay out of sight, but if the Niffs have caught up, we need to be there to stop them.”

He knows all that, but he still hates wasting so much time because his stupid body can’t keep up. The archive may not be going anywhere, but the other shoe will drop sooner or later. They—no, he needs to make the best of use of his time as possible.

“Fine, just...wake me up earlier next time,” he mutters. Gladio relents with a pat against his back.

The ten minute trek that feels like ten hours finally ends, and the group finds the evening sky bearing down on them through the manor windows. Deep purple clouds obscure most of it, keeping the moonlight at bay at the same time.

The manor would be a perfect place to spend the time if it weren’t the first place Niffs might look for a vagrant Lunafreya. They also need to be on their toes around the townspeople, so it’s a no-go. They depart through the back of the building into the forests once more.

“Careful. Lot darker than before,” Gladio warns. This advice Noctis takes to heart, for the forests reflect any scrap of moonlight the second they step into its borders. For a moment Noctis’s feet refuse to take him further, his chest suddenly surging with apprehension for the unknown. It’s the same forest they ventured into this morning, and the lights further down around the city will keep daemons in check, but the looming sky reminds him of all that’s went wrong in the darkness.

“Wait,” he urges in a whisper. Silently, he takes Gladio’s hand and then Luna’s, connecting a line of sorts with him in the middle. “Let’s just... Okay?”

They look at him, then at each other, before each gives an affirmative reply. As if to laugh at his fears, the forest takes them in and lets them out without a fuss. Noctis heaves a sigh with his hands on his knees, then immediately feels dizzy from the change in posture.

“Ugh...”

“We’re almost to the Regalia,” comes Luna’s gentle voice. Her hand draws circles into his back, easing his nausea to help him upright. He swallows saliva and nods. When they reach the car, he crawls into it to rest on the seats on his back, one arm slack on the floor while the other drapes over his eyes. Outside, he hears murmurs of Gladio and Luna’s conversation, likely about where to stay for the night or where Gladio can secure supplies and intel. At least the city seems peaceful. No Niffs in sight.

He tells himself he should check his phone for messages from the gang in Lucis. He tells himself, but with a nice, cool surface swallowing him up into its homely void, Noctis falls fast asleep in seconds.

When was the last time he dreamed? He can’t remember and doesn’t think to try with the coils of his reverie pulling him by the ankles. Further into it he goes until his restraints let him down gently to the surface where he can watch the show in peace. Ardyn isn’t here.

He sees himself pacing outside a door. The vaguely disheveled school uniform and the pristine halls of the Citadel tell him this is a scene from a few years ago. The past—his past, not one conjured up by the gods for their inane schemes.

The door opens and he stops pacing. A man a full head taller comes out and grins when he sees his prince.

“You waited up? Aw.”

Gladio. The thick bandage over the length of his left cheek is where Noctis focuses, and understanding sets in. The younger Noctis only spares it a glance because the words distract him.

“Just tell me you’re not blind.”

“I said I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

“You—” Noctis clicks his tongue, then sighs before throwing a hand out. “You’re an idiot.”

“What,” Gladio says, his smile softening after he rolls his eyes, “no thanks?”

“Say it.”

The whisper rings in his ears as he watches his younger self, hoping it might reach his as well. Because he remembers exactly how this conversation went. Gladio protected him from some drunk fool with a knife out in the city and got his face cut up for his trouble. He remembers Prompto was with them then, who he sent home before he got caught up in the chaos that always followed even the possibility of the Crown Prince being in danger. He hated everyone fussing over him like a helpless puppy, hated Gladio for getting hurt, and hated himself for letting it happen.

“Your own damn fault. Did I ask you to butt in? I was gonna take care of it.”

Noctis sighs, disappointed.

“And I just did it for you. Can’t have His Highness getting into fights with the common folk. No big deal, no one was hurt.”

“You were!”

Gladio lifts his shoulders proudly, Noctis realizes now, and ruffles the younger prince’s head.

“It’s okay. As long as you weren’t.”

The scene shifts the way it always does in his dreams, but he steps forward in hopes of perhaps entering the scene this time. A chance to change it, to smack his bratty self in the head and teach him to show some damn gratitude no matter how embarrassing. His dreams won’t give him that luxury, but offer something else instead.

Gladio and his father Clarus stand before him now. His teeth grind hard in confusion at a conversation he’s never witnessed before. Instantly cautious, he steps back. It may be a dream but he doesn’t want to hear this, he clearly wasn’t meant to. But his back hits an invisible wall and keeps him there, forbidding him to move.

“How is it?”

“Fine. Doctor said it’ll scar.” Gladio lets out a amused breath. “That’ll teach Noct to learn to control his healing magic one of these days.”

Noctis swallows.

“You’ll just have to cover for him until he does,” says Clarus, his tone more level. “But magic won’t always save you. Or him.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Clarus asks. He faces his son fully, appearing larger despite being the shorter man. Noctis feels it even from his corner, so Gladio must as well. His fists clench at his sides as he takes on his father’s gaze head-on.

“That man shouldn’t have been allowed to approach Noctis in the first place.”

“...Right,” says Gladio. “I know it’s my fault.”

“Knowing is all well and good. Learning is even better.” Under his heavy formal uniform, Clarus crosses his arms. “I have faith in you, Gladiolus. You will do better.”

Gladio simply nods, taking the lesson and the scolding for what they are.

“A Shield exists to take on as much pain as possible to spare his King even a modicum of hardship. He has too much already on his plate—an entire country to serve. We give him one less thing to worry about. Even if we break in the process.” Clarus pauses here. Noctis’s gut tells him what to expect and he wants to rip out his ears if it’ll keep him from hearing any more.

“Are you willing to break for Noctis?”

He’d had felt infinitely better if Gladio hesitated for even half a second. But no—

“Yes.”

Noctis feels sick.

When he wakes up to half his face submerged in a pillow, Noctis gives himself whiplash from sitting up so fast. He was in the Regalia just a second ago. Where the hell is this? He didn’t go back in time again, did he?

“Gladio!” He scrambles to throw off the blankets off his body, growing increasingly frustrated with how his legs tangle in the fabric. “Gladio, where are you?!”

“Mhm?” comes a muffled reply from the head popping out through another door. Gladio pulls out the toothbrush to try again. “I’m right here, where’s the fire?”

Noctis gapes at him, then practically melts back into the bed with the magnitude of his sigh of relief.

“Gods, I just...I give up.”

“What?” Gladio breathes out a short laugh. “Bad dream?”

Dream. His body shivers involuntarily with the remnants of sleep, and he tries digging himself further into the bed to hide it. Then he realizes once more that he’s in a bed.

“Where the heck—” He arches his head up to take a proper look around. It’s a room, certainly, big enough for amenities if Gladio’s taking care of his hygiene. “An inn?”

There’s some shuffling and then the running of faucet water in what he assumes to be the bathroom. It gives him time to notice a second bed next to his.

“Where’s Luna?”

“Outside on the phone. Couldn’t get service in here.”

“Alone?!” Noctis exclaims. He’s about ready to pitch the blanket at Gladio’s face once he leaves the bathroom, but stops when Gladio points behind him at the window.

“Relax. I told her to stay in sight.”

He gets out of bed, stumbles a little, then presses his nose to the murky glass. Standing not too far off near the parked Regalia is the hooded figure of Luna, a phone to her ear.

“Who’s she calling?”

“Iris. Hopefully she picked up this time.”

A bit more relaxed now, he turns back to Gladio. In trying to forget the dream now obnoxiously fresh in his mind, he switches gears.

“Anything from Camelia?”

“Nope.”

Gladio’s simple answer is what he expected. At this point, they both know better than to keep hoping Ignis or Prompto are alive and safe somewhere, but neither have it in him to voice it aloud. Noctis certainly won’t bother.

“So...where are we again?”

“An outpost not too far from the city. We backtracked a little. Staying there wasn’t gonna work out. You don’t remember?”

“I barely remember leaving Tenebrae...”

“You clocked out soon as we made it to the car.” Gladio rounds the bed so he can sit on the edge, and Noctis pulls himself up into a seated position as well. “You were a little awake once we got inside.”

Noctis shakes his head and shuts his eyes, feeling immediately better not to have the sharp morning sunlight in his face. “Don’t remember.”

“Your fever—”

Noctis expertly swats away the hand coming to feel his forehead.

“I hate it when you do that!”

“Kinda late to feel shy about it,” Gladio counters, brow raised and a lazy smile on his lips. Noctis considers punching that stupid face in, and it must have showed since Gladio stands back up again. “Just worried, is all. You’ve had bad days before, but you were really out of it yesterday.”

“...I’m fine now.” And he is, if marginally. To prove it, he gets out of bed to ready himself to leave. When they meet Luna outside, she gives them the bad news of failing to contact Iris, or anyone else for that matter. She insists it could be the bad connection, but Gladio isn’t so easily convinced. With a heavy heart, he wordlessly gets into the Regalia. Luna and Noctis have no choice but to follow.

“Back to the archive?” Noctis asks once they’re on the road. “Did you guys find anything? We never talked about it after we left.” He’ll make sure tenfold he doesn’t lose consciousness halfway through this time. Maybe he should spirit away the entire collection into the armiger so they can peruse it at their leisure.

“Nothing that’ll help,” Gladio answers. “But we still have more than half to get through. We’ll find something.”

Noctis hums in agreement before plopping back into his seat, missing the way Luna glances at Gladio from her spot in the front. Content to let the breeze pacify the heat lingering in his cheeks, he closes his eyes in hopes of dozing off.

Upon reaching the archive, Noctis opts to stand this time. If there’s one thing he has yet to accomplish in his lifetime, it’s sleeping while upright. And so the trio spends their morning picking apart the library once more for a scrap of insight, silence falling over them like a comfortable blanket.

Leaning his forehead to the cool wood of the shelf, he does his best to make sure his eyes actually absorb the words while they glaze over the pages. Then, a name stands out.

I met Bahamut.

He stands straighter and reads the line again. And indeed, the writer asserts that he met the most elusive of Astrals, the Draconian. Despite his image used to represent the Kingsglaive, Noctis sometimes wonders if the god even exists, with nary of a mention of him in the most official records. Only his name has survived time. Which king was this? He flips to the beginning to find the author’s name too faded to read properly, so he returns to the relevant page.

I merely chose to speak aloud my doubts within the Crystal’s chamber, only to hear a reply. To think he had made his home so close to us all along.

Bahamut resides in the Crystal?

’All is ordained.’ That is all he spoke to me, as if that alone would answer all my uncertainty. Perhaps it does. If my successes and my failures alike are merely an artifact of fate, I will go to the afterlife with a lighter heart. I will go, knowing even her death was not in vain.

‘Her’? Probably someone close to him. Whatever this is about, it paints a sour taste on Noctis’s tongue. Another king, another blind follower of the gods. He shuts the journal a few minutes later, learning nothing more of consequence. But now he has more questions that need answers. Was Bahamut there when he tried to destroy the Crystal? Is it Bahamut’s will that gives the Crystal sentience, or are they two separate beings? Is Bahamut even involved in whatever the hell is going on with this time travel nonsense? He can’t recall if he saw the Astral there in his dreams when he first learned the Scourge’s true origin... Does he also hide from his fellow gods?

Noctis sighs. Perhaps hearing his plea for clarity, his phone suddenly vibrates in his pocket. Shocked first by the sensation, then by the realization that it even works in this place, Noctis fumbles in pulling it out.

“Iris?!” he blurts out. He smashes the call button and somehow remembers to put it on speaker for Gladio’s sake, who practically teleports to his side. “Iris, hey!”

Instead of the clear, bell-like voice of his young friend, a garbled static comes through the phone. It could be the poor connection or simply a busy background. A constant rushing sound makes Noctis wonder if a moving vehicle is involved.

“Hello? You there? Iris?” he tries again. Nothing but the same muffled nose answers them. By now Gladio has lost what little patience he had left in waiting to hear from his sister this past week, so he grabs the phone from Noctis for his turn.

“Iris! Can you hear us? Say something!” Still nothing. Luna joins Noctis’s side now, where they both wait with varying levels of anticipation on their faces.

“...N...!” They all stand at attention at the barest hint of a voice. “...ge...eim... We c—...” But the rest continues to be indecipherable babble. The phone nearly cracks in Gladio’s tightening grip. He doesn’t get another word out his mouth before the call suddenly disconnects.

“Let’s go back up!” Noctis declares while already turning to leave. “The connection’s probably bad.”

The trio quickly returns to the surface. Within the manor, Gladio tries the call but fails to reach Iris again. He throws the phone back to Noctis with a surprising amount of self-restraint, though not enough to stop himself from pacing.

“I wonder if we might learn something in town...?” Luna offers. Incredulous, Noctis raises a brow at her.

“Even if any news about Lucis made it here, I doubt it’ll just pop on the radio.” They’ve been trying ever since arriving in Niflheim to keep up with current events, after all. Noctis would prefer hearing bad news over this, not unlike his time traveling the country with Ravus. Speaking of Ravus, that’s another person they haven’t been able to contact. What the heck is Umbra doing?

He looks at Gladio. He knows what he’ll hear if he dares ask his Shield’s opinion—they stay on their own course. But dare he will.

“You wanna go back?”

A sharp gaze meets his, but he holds it to give Gladio time to properly consider it.

“...Even if we leave now, it’ll take us days to get there. Who knows if we’ll find a ship anyway. Let’s just...” Gladio stops, trailing off along with his gaze that follows the patterns on the floor. Noctis sees it and helps finish his thought.

“Just wait and see?” Their eyes meet again. “Okay. Let’s wait.”

Chapter 16: gladio

Chapter Text

He learns in hindsight that waiting was the best choice they could have made.

After trying and failing to reach Iris or any of their comrades in Lucis, they take Luna’s suggestion to dig a little deeper around town for any news. Able to walk Tenebrae freely, Gladio carries the brunt of the work. Noctis splits his time between the surface and the underground archive, while Luna is all but confined to the archive or the outpost to where they return each night.

With an Imperial presence a regular fixture of their lives until recently, the Tenebrae citizens give up their gossip more willingly than their inland counterparts. Nevertheless, as the days pass by, they learn very little to piece anything together. As far as Niflheim is concerned, they won the war against Lucis and peace is upon them once more.

Peace. Like little lambs locked safely away in their towns, unaware of what truly transpires beyond their borders. The similarity to his life in Insomnia rings too harshly in Noctis’s ears, and not for the first time.

To add to his pile of disappointments, Noctis discovered he couldn’t whisk away the archive’s repertory into the armiger. When Luna couldn’t give a concrete explanation, he chalked it up to course of nature as he does to most things these days. At least his phone can accommodate all the pictures he takes, because though they don’t find anything on Ardyn’s existence or something to describe the new combination of Noctis’s magic, he reads plenty about past Kings and Oracles and how each of them interpreted their calling. And all of it makes him tired.

They near two weeks in Niflheim with no news from Camelia or Lucis. Noctis busies himself with mental visualization of warping them all across the ocean should they not find a boat to sail them back when their patience finally pays out. It happens in the form of two figures on the other end of the street.

On their way to the concealed Regalia, they spy a gathering of three or four city officials discussing something in relative privacy in the corner of town. The two figures who Noctis is the first to notice stand with their backs to them. He first sees the larger figure when pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt. Along with the fabric, an eerie sense of déjà vu envelops him and urges his pace to slow. ‘Larger’ may undersell the figure, towering over their much slimmer companion and even the officials by at least a head and a half. They’re both covered head to toe in robes, but when a ghost of the tall one’s profile comes into view, Noctis stops completely.

“Ravus...?”

His breathless whisper echoes in the space of his hoodie, yet the figure turns as if he hears Noctis. He didn’t, of course; mere happenstance compels the man to survey his surroundings and have their eyes meet. Noctis’s features grow slack upon realizing that the man is Ravus, while Ravus’s twists into that of utter disbelief. He spares no time in turning heel and stomping their way. Noctis doesn’t move, however, his mind fighting the idea that his fever might be messing with him. That slight indecision would be what saves him—saves him from stopping Luna to step forward and pull down her hood with a thin smile.

“Ravus.”

The officials left behind all cry out in differing levels of panic while Ravus’s companion hurries after him. The fluidity of Ravus’s movements give Noctis little time to come to his senses. So little, that between Ravus slipping his magitek hand into his robes and a flash of steel lodging itself into Luna’s chest, he wonders if he had actually blacked out for a second there.

“Luna!!”

All in a single beat, Noctis lunges for Luna’s faltering body only to get pulled back by Gladio, another dagger splits the air apart to land neatly next to its sibling in Luna’s chest, and a brilliant blast of light enshrouds them all. Ravus slides aside for his companion to take his place, the practiced movements giving testimony to the trust keeping the two in sync. The light comes from the smaller figure, their robes fluttering away against the force of the shine to illuminate the person underneath.

Lunafreya.

“Begone, daemon!” she cries. Her hand arches over the frame of the trident forged in her magic, casting the light that much stronger. The wind brought with it accompanies her shout and surges upon everyone, helping to bring them to their senses. All but one, whose form fights the light with the darkness crackling from it.

Noctis can’t breathe. How can he, when he’s suddenly within Ravus’s grasp and all but launched into the new Luna’s general direction. Gladio goes after him like the very wind pushing against his back, and they both turn to witness the absurdity unveiling before them.

“I knew keeping you alive would bring about all sorts of fun,” says the crumpling silhouette. As if tainted by the very dark miasma swirling about, the mellow voice burns away for a deeper, more resonant sound. Choking on the nausea bubbling into his throat, Noctis shudders to the depth of his bones at the sight of Ardyn. He stretches out his hands in grand fashion, unconcerned for the knives stabbed into him. But the seemingly theatrical act calls forth a shield of magic to throw back at them. Gladio instinctively shoves Noctis behind him and call up his own proper shield, but another bright light is quicker to surround them. Noctis recognizes it first: Luna’s barrier.

“W-What is even—?!” Noctis sputters. And for once, Gladio isn’t quite as quick to the take as he’d like to. But Ravus, ever decisive, ignores them both.

“Go, Lunafreya! You won’t have another chance!”

Behind them, Luna nods with less reservation than Noctis might have expected from her, had he seen it. In another bout of déjà vu, Noctis finds himself grabbed by the wrist to run with Luna. He just barely tugs at Gladio’s sleeve to urge him along. Even still, he takes a moment to look over his shoulder. Amidst the seconds-worth of chaos, Ardyn stares right at him.

“Please, Gentiana, I need your help!” Luna screams, her desperation clear as the clash of swords behind them. Using the time granted to her by her brother, she makes her intentions transparent. “Take us to the Crystal!”

“What?!” Noctis violently releases himself from her grip before sliding to a stop. With barely enough time to gather that the Luna he was just with isn’t the real one, he certainly isn’t about to follow her blindly if this is what her plans entail. Gladio catches himself before he rams his prince over, but takes over as Noctis’s human leash and yanks him forward. “No! I’m not goi—”

But his protests have never meant a thing to the gods. A blink of light later, the trio disappears from Tenebrae.

He needn’t open his eyes to know where they’ve landed. The dim, inorganic ambiance of Zegnautus Keep finally forces him to empty his stomach, and the subsequent lightheadedness brings him to his knees. It could also be Gentiana’s brand of teleportation he’s experienced precisely once before that twists his insides in its magnetic grip, but it hardly means a thing now.

“She could’ve done this this whole time?” Gladio mutters from somewhere nearby. He isn’t sure, not when he can’t even discern his hands from the floor of the Keep. What eventually calls him back to reality are Luna’s hands, gently spreading over his back to ease his sickness. He flinches, remembering what just transpired.

“Luna—”

“You’re telling me we could’ve asked Gentiana to drop us in Lucis in an instant?” Gladio interrupts with a shout. Directed to whom, neither knows, but Noctis ends up answering.

“What? I-I dunno...I guess.”

“You guess?!”

“I mean!” Noctis starts, exasperated and sick and confused, yet grateful Gladio’s fists remain at his side rather than make a home in his face. “Yeah? She’s warped me from Insomnia all the way to Caem once...”

“Then why the hell—”

“It’s not like I asked her to! She probably wouldn’t have come even if I did. I completely forgot about it.” Noctis staggers to his feet, pointedly avoiding Luna’s help. The fever chose an awful time to flare up but he’ll beat the thing to the ground if he has to. “That’s what they do, just f*ckin’ mess with us. Besides—” Now he acknowledges Luna, a bitter frown set deep into his features and a huff out his mouth. “You’re the one who told her to bring us here.”

“That’s correct,” she says simply. Throwing her trident away into the void, she pats down her robe before facing the men. “I...I’m so sorry. Circ*mstances delayed me in reaching Lucis in time... I thought I could at least get you and Gladiolus out of danger.”

Words refuse to form on Noctis’s tongue, instead stuttering out an agitated mumble. He wipes his mouth clean, then presses a palm to his head. The heat festers under his skin and a pain bubbles forth onto a path surely headed down to the rest of his body. There’s just...too much information to unpack.

“So the one with us this entire time...it was Ardyn?”

Luna pauses, her lips pulling back in a bite.

“Yes. I had no idea until recently.”

He feels sick for an entirely different reason now. Another fatigued breath leaves him as he shuts his eyes, but they quickly blink open when he considers he might actually fall unconscious if his guard lets up.

“I...forgot. That he could do that. f*cking illusions. f*ck,” he whispers, digging his hand further into his face as if the pressure might hide away the shame for falling for such an obvious ploy. He knew, he knew Ardyn could disguise himself. It just had been so long... “But, how does that even...what about the archive?”

“Archive?” Luna parrots. However, Gladio’s clear voice cuts in before Noctis can.

“If that was Ardyn, then where the hell have you been this entire time?”

“And Altissia?” Noctis mumbles to himself, hardly hearing Gladio’s question. “No, that can’t...”

“It was me in Altissia.” She shakes her head, perhaps remembering. When her mouth opens to continue, again she pauses, like the words she truly wants to speak are stuck in her throat. “Yes, I was with Noctis until just after we departed the First Secretary’s lodgings.”

“Then you left,” Gladio says slowly. “Said something about an errand.”

“I heard Gentiana’s voice.” Noctis looks up here, skepticism in his gaze. After all, Luna isn’t the only one capable of hearing voices in her head. “And I was desperate to meet her. I thought, perhaps she might finally answer my plea...” Luna trails off, deciding for certain now not to speak further. It only riles up the other two that much more.

“And then what, Ardyn waltzes in to take your place and you didn’t even know? You’re not that stupid,” Gladio counters. “Even if you were caught off guard, why’d it take over two weeks for you to catch up?”

“Hey, I’m still not buying it,” Noctis interrupts. “If it was Ardyn all along, how the hell did we get into the archive? Only the King and the Oracle can get in, right? I don’t think someone who’s apparently a daemon can get into a place like that so easily.”

“What is this archive?” Luna asks again, a bit desperate now herself.

“No, but, then...the havens,” he mutters. “When she—he said, he couldn’t use the Oracles’s runes...”

“And where did Ravus come in? Is that why Umbra never came back? And Pryna?” Gladio continues, growing ever more impatient. “Don’t tell me you were in Lucis. Do you know what’s going on there?”

The silence that follows speaks quite loudly to the fact that none of them are on the same page, each with their own questions that need answering. Only when Noctis sways does some semblance of uniformity return, with Luna and Gladio focusing on him. Despite that, he puts a hand up.

“Don’t, I’m fine. Can we just... Can we leave first? I never wanted—”

“We cannot,” Luna asserts. “We’re not leaving, Noctis. Please, I promise you I’ll explain, but we must reach the Crystal as quickly as possible.”

“Explain it now!”

In a show of solidarity, Gladio places a hand on Noctis’s shoulder and faces Luna.

“I’ll hear it too. I know you didn’t forget everything he warned us about the Crystal. But if you’d rather keep your mouth shut, then I’m more interested in going to Lucis. Call Gentiana again.”

Luna once again shakes her head.

“There is no reason to go.”

“Luna!” Noctis shouts. He knows he’s just taking his anger out on her, perhaps even mistaking her for Ardyn. The level of pure anger boiling in his veins at the very thought can’t be measured. He doesn’t want to believe it, and Luna isn’t helping. In spite of it all, all she does is dig into her robes to a small bag wrapped at her waist. From it she presents several papers.

“Newspapers?”

“Lucis has been claimed by the Imperial army.”

Noctis’s hand misses the papers completely with the candor of her statement. It hangs in the air the way his shoulders go slack. But a brush of wind flits past him to snatch the newspapers in his stead, and he looks up at Gladio with round eyes searching for clarity.

“Imperial forces take control of EXINERIS Industries power plant...” Gladio reads, eyes thinning across the headline. “Though the plant remains largely undamaged, high casualties were confirmed as the city was...” He sucks in his breath, forcing Noctis to peek at the article himself.

“...as the city was destroyed?”

Lestallum was known for housing the biggest power plant in all of Lucis, but is now temporarily inhabitable as a result of the conflict. Serving as a warning to other regions, many have surrendered peacefully. While lingering Lucian insurgents continue to fight back, Emperor Aldercapt assures us that the threat will be dealt with in a timely manner. Many former Lucian Crownsguard, Kingsglaive, and other paramilitary outfits have also surrendered and are cooperating to ensure the safety of civilians.

Meeting Luna’s gaze tells him without a single word spoken that the papers are true. Each one by different publishers, on different dates within a three day period. When would this have reached Tenebrae? Tomorrow? In a few days? Never?

“Why...” he whispers under his breath. Why would Niflheim continue their attack on Lucis? They already raided Insomnia and infiltrated their magitek troopers into the rest of the country long before they even left the Cape. And after Altissia, shouldn’t they have refocused their efforts on tracking Noctis’s group in Niflheim?

No. That was in the past. Things are different this time.

“Were they...” As though the cold steel platforming might answer his dread, his gaze falls to the ground. Did they go to Lucis because they couldn’t find him? To lure him out from wherever he, and the Ring of the Lucii, hid? Did they go so far as to attack an already defenseless country missing its king? He remembers the lack of an Imperial presence recently...

The crunch of paper echoes next to him, and the vicious growl of Gladio’s voice even louder.

“So where the hell is Iris? The marshal? Did they surrender too?”

“I...I was in Lestallum before the attack. It was only because Umbra guided Ravus to me that I was able to escape, but the others...” Her lips seal away the rest of the sentence, while Noctis’s part with the sharp hiss of a breath caught in his throat. No...no, there must be a bigger part of the story they’re missing. Iris had failed to contact them days before the supposed attack. Umbra left to find Ravus weeks ago. And how did Luna end up in Lucis to begin with? All of this rings familiar as Noctis recalls a timeline of random events occurring willy-nilly regardless of whether or not they made sense.

But no matter the answer, reality won’t change. Unable to voice his fear of being the cause of Niflheim changing targets, Noctis instead focuses on another topic of discussion—how Ardyn was able to switch places with Luna so seamlessly to the point that Luna herself didn’t realize.

“Go forth at once, my King. Reach for the Stone.”

Successfully stopping him in his tracks, the smooth voice splits his head apart with the suddenness of its arrival. It exacerbates the pain already there courtesy of the fever. It reminds him of where he is and what lies in wait for him. He grabs his head and chokes on the involuntary grunt of pain scratching his throat.

“All will be made clear. Go.”

‘Made clear’? As if.

At an incredibly leisurely pace, the three make their way through the steel fortress solely because turning back seems the less productive of options. Gladio remains silent ever since pitching the newspapers aside at the entrance, and now leads the group as its vanguard. Though the chance to interrogate Luna thoroughly sits prettily before him, Noctis finds trying to keep one foot in front of the other much more paramount.

After hiding in the shadows of a corner while a pair of researchers walk down the hallway, Luna whispers a reply to one such aimless question.

“I’ve never heard of any underground archive. Perhaps that too was an illusion?”

“No way, I have pictures of it and everything. But, I guess...it’d probably explain why Ardyn could enter it in the first place.”

Luna considers it a moment. “Or the library is real, and it was through your power alone that it opened. Right now, you command the magic of both King and Oracle, Noctis.”

He starts. That’s true, but could it really be that convenient? How did Ardyn know where the key was, then? Or was the key alone a fake? Gods, so many damn questions.

Sweat drips onto his lashes and he blinks rapidly to steady his vision, only to discover that it stays on the path of becoming permanently blurry. For now he successfully keeps the pain to himself, often biting his lip to endure the intermittent bursts of discomfort. But the closer they get to the Crystal, the more its power buries itself in the fiber of his being all the way to tips of his nerves. While it keeps him from recalling that they’ve left behind so many more bodies of their friends, it does make it a tad difficult to walk straight.

It hurts. A lot.

He wordlessly tugs Gladio in the opposite direction when the Shield makes a turn. The layout of the Keep persists in his memory and he questions his sanity of willingly going to the Crystal. His little episode in Altissia now seems a omen come true. Again, again, no matter what he does...he’ll always end up on this path.

“We...” he begins, then realizes how sluggish his voice sounds. He swallows and tries again. “We should camp out in one of the rest rooms. Wait till night. Less people around.” Great, now he can’t form full sentences.

Hindsight hits him like a train. Coming to a room with a bed was an awful idea. Half his consciousness flies out the window the second his hands brush against the coarse cot, but when his body bends toward the flat surface, nausea returns full force. His own boneless body stops him from grabbing a pillow and suffocating himself with it to make it all hurt less.

Luna is there in an instant to help him into a seated position, while Gladio plops heavily down on the opposite bed. Noctis rests his head against the bedframe instead, hoping the hard steel will dig into his skull enough to keep him awake.

“Luna, you...” He blindly searches for his phone. “Gotta see the pictures. Stuff from the archive.”

Though he misses it, Gladio’s shoulders level in attention. Whether Luna saw it or not, she takes the phone without a word. He wraps his arms around himself in hopes that moving his body will stop it from shutting down. But in trying to warm himself up, he tires out all the quicker. The steel frame become a cool surface to ease the fever and he’s out in seconds.

Iris is dead. Iggy and Prompto are probably dead. Cor, Monica, Dustin, maybe even little Talcott. His Majesty, his dad, long dead. They’re all dead. And he’s still sitting here without a scratch on him, in the one place he least expected to be and never wanted.

“You’ve been putting off explaining where you’ve been these past two weeks.”

Though quiet enough so as to not disturb Noctis, Gladio’s voice spares no hesitation in asking the question now that he won’t hear. Having just finished draping Noctis’s shoulders with her robe, Luna folds her hands in her lap and faces Gladio with little qualm of her own.

“It was Gentiana who brought me to Lucis, the same way she brought us here. I hadn’t asked her to, but even if I had a chance to speak to you two beforehand, I may have in the end.”

“Right. So?”

She nods. “Pryna guided me to my brother. He had been ordered to Lucis to lay siege to small towns to lure out Glaives and the Crownsguard. But when Umbra’s message reached him, he turned on the Empire. We joined with your companions and tried putting a stop to the battles, but we could do little to stop them from reaching Lestallum...” Her voice peters out, eyes falling closed at the memory of all she experienced in Lucis. “An entire half of the city burned away...there were no survivors.”

He thought he could handle it. But the crack in his heart created by the death of his father had already burst open upon losing Prompto and Ignis—now the void has almost certainly widened and he isn’t sure he can keep it closed anymore. But he must.

Though he wants to point out that this doesn’t explain why he couldn’t get in contact with the gang since long before the attacks, he knows Lunafreya won’t have the answer to that.

“So she spirited you and Ravus to Niflheim.”

“To find you and Noctis. But she couldn’t locate him no matter how hard she tried. I thought it odd, but now I wonder if it was some interference from Ardyn that kept her at bay.”

“Who knows. The other Astrals didn’t think to clue us in, anyway.” Now he knows exactly why Noctis has so many reservations toward the Six. Three of them right at his side and not a whisper from them this entire time. It makes Lunafreya’s sudden trust in them all the more aggravating.

“He said Gentiana’s the one he hates the most.” He gives a second for that to sink in, to force her to remember all Noctis revealed to them in Altissia. “Because she lures him in with a promise only to break it later. And you’re falling for it.”

When Lunafreya doesn’t answer, he takes out his phone and after fiddling with it a moment, hands it to her. With the knowledge that the Lunafreya he spoke with in the archive was Ardyn all along, he finds he must go through this conversation all over again.

“Did you know about this?”

It doesn’t take her very long to read the particular excerpt he took a photo of. And just like Ardyn, her expression changes very little. But there’s a flicker across her lashes that tells him she is simply holding back. Practiced, like he is.

“Is it true?” he asks.

“Yes.” She lifts her eyes to meet his. The phone sits tight in her clenched grip, but not so much to suggest the news comes as a surprise.

“And you still want him to get the Crystal?”

Now she pauses, perhaps considering her words or whether to answer at all. Noctis may fancy going soft on her but he has no intention of letting her off that easy. His concerns end up unnecessary, however, and any snappy comebacks he had at the ready for the next excuse Lunafreya would pull out her ass disappear into the cold chill of the rest room.

“She told me the truth. I know what’s happening to Noctis.”

Her eyes narrowing contrasts so sharply the way his eyes grow round with the shock that sweeps over him.

“And you’re not gonna tell him for the same reason she won’t. Cause it ain’t good news.”

Her shoulders drop along with her gaze, her fingers twisting around the phone while silence envelops her. There it is. But after being subjected to bad news after bad news today, Gladio believes he can take it. He will. He has to.

He really thought he could.

Come midnight, the night shift settles nicely within the Keep, creating an atmosphere Noctis experienced several timelines ago with his retinue proper. Back then they had Prompto to disable security and Ignis to cause a distraction outside to help encourage the human inhabitants to evacuate. Now, though, they must rely on good ol’ stealth to make it through.

Fortunately, Noctis knows the way—they’re so close to the next control panel to unlock higher access through the elevator. Not so fortunately, he can’t make his legs work. Giving little regard to his will, his body finally stumbles into a railing hard enough to wrench a cry of pain out of him, as if he collided with it at mach speed. While he grips the railing to help push himself up, Gladio rushes to him. Noctis immediately puts a hand up, threatening his sense of balance in the process.

“I’m fi—”

“You say that one more time and I'm gonna smack you.” Gladio cuts him off in a voice saturated with bitterness. He means well, Noctis knows, he always means well. So he doesn’t stop Gladio from settling him into his side, their arms around each other. Gladio supports his weight with ease, but Noctis struggles to drag one foot in front of the other.

“The hell’s going on with this fever?”

That’s part of it, yes, but Noctis shakes his head—immediately regretting the resulting pounding in his skull.

“It's the Crystal,” he rasps, disgusted at his weak voice, so battered and spent. Attempting to use what scarce energy he has to keep his eyes open, he succeeds in only blinking sleepily. “I can feel it. It kinda...really...hurts.”

No point hiding it now. He licks his lips and swallows, leaving his mouth dry and breath heaving, echoing in his ears. The sporadic bursts of pain have transformed into a constant pulsing in his chest, reverberating against his very bones while the ache travels the plain of his body.

“The same pain you felt in the past?” Gladio tries.

“Yeah. But worse.” A lot worse. The worse it’s ever been, in fact. Long since given up on learning why, Noctis just wonders why after all this, Luna insists on getting him to the Crystal. She leads them in place of Gladio now, keeping a lookout while also checking in on the pair. No amount of worry on her face can explain away this situation.

In the midst of his thoughts, Gladio’s voice peeks through.

“There's no shame in relying on people, Noct.”

He sighs, the long exhale shivering at the end with exhaustion.

“Even if it's not kingly?” His own brand of bitterness punctuates each word, but Gladio takes it in stride.

“The king has tools he can use.”

“You're not a tool!” For his efforts in trying to push himself away, Gladio pulls him in closer. Irritation rising to bring a shudder to his shoulders, Noctis boils under his Shield. Once he thought the very same thing of the gods, but never his friends. He’ll ask for help when he needs it, but if it renders him useless in the process? Then why should he?

“I know.” Gladio’s whisper makes his outburst temperamental in contrast. “I’m your Shield, but also your friend. I’m here for you, Noct. Alright?”

A shrug against Gladio’s side answers the question. Whether the silence comes from agreement or acquiescence, neither of them really knows.

“I...” Noctis begins several minutes later, just after sneakily getting the access they need for the elevator. All but dragged by Gladio now, his feet well on their way to failing completely and his breath coming out in regular pants, his voice alone carries what little strength he can spare. “I have to keep going.”

Sweat blinds him, the heat makes him itch, and he just wants to sleep even if the possibility of waking up in the past terrifies him more than he’s conscious of. But what other choice does he have? Once he thinks he makes a decision of his own, without fail the world reminds him that he and perhaps his entire family were never allowed any alternative. This is the reason they exist. To save and to serve, their wills be damned.

Yet his body fails. It crumbles like sand, bits and pieces of him left behind on the Keep’s steel floors. He’d slip away completely were it not for Gladio’s hold. But no matter the comfort that brings, the pain overwhelms. Every breath becomes something to choke on, every step closer to the Crystal jostles his insides to and fro, every beat of his heart scares him into thinking it might eventually wear his chest down. But perhaps the potential void would make it all hurt less.

The squeak of his boots hit the floor when his knees buckle. Gladio catches him in an instant and wastes no time in scooping him into his arms, where Noctis buries closer with a strangled cry of pain. Gladio’s chest becomes a surface to dig himself into, like the pressure might distract him from the convulsions ripping his nerves apart. He looks up, vaguely remembering Gladio is there to begin with. But that single motion steals away the last of his awareness. Now he’s left as nothing more than a shuddering bundle in his Shield’s grasp.

While Noctis’s gasps of pain tell him he’s conscious, Gladio wishes it would knock him out instead if it might spare them both the torment. Having to watch Noctis succumb to such agony from simply being in the vicinity of the Crystal and be unable to do a thing about it, Gladio struggles to conjure up a worse method of torture. But still Lunafreya leads them on, following her own instincts of where the elevator might be. As much as it stings them both, Noctis’s condition acts much like a compass at this point.

Noctis convulses again, his hands clutching Gladio’s shirt so hard that they turn sheer white. The fabric stifles his moans and his eyes remain shut to the dim lighting of the hallways, forging deep lines in his forehead from the effort. A fair shade of red colors Noctis’s skin even now, the fever adding to the regular shudders that ripple down Gladio’s arms.

Upon all of this, Gladio grinds his teeth. Worry and fear twist his brow, and his eyes tremble ever slightly each time Noctis digs closer. He takes all the desire to destroy this entire facility and puts that energy in making sure he doesn’t grip Noctis too hard. He and Lunafreya are the only ones Noctis has now. They alone know what awaits him.

Something felt off the second he decided not to tell Noctis what Lunafreya revealed to him, after he woke from his nap in the rest area. Something off that stayed with him till now, attached to his ends of his cognizance. It fought a silent battle with his heart, his mission, his entire reason for existing here and now.

“Don’t...make me...”

And when Noctis whispers that meek little plea with a voice as honest as it is delirious, when his gait comes to a stop, he knows then that ‘something off’ finally won.

“Gladiolus?” Lunafreya asks once she realizes he had stopped. She turns and takes a step, but pauses when his expression comes into view: a somber, nearly vacant look cast down Noctis in his arms, still squirming and choking on the pain clogged in his throat, no longer aware of his surroundings.

Fighting the wish that sprouted ever since Noctis spoke his truth in Altissia, ever since he read that stupid journal in the underground archive, his mind swam in turmoil. But the battle ends now. It could’ve taken that one second, or it could’ve been since the moment Noctis broke down in front of him that Gladio wished he could turn around and take Noctis with him.

He can’t move forward. He doesn’t want to.

Lunafreya suddenly appears in his peripheral. He lifts his chin a bit to see her and their gazes lock amidst the silence. Maybe she sees through him, maybe she simply makes an educated guess.

“It’s all right.”

From the hand that sneaks up to graze his cheek, its softness bringing clarity to his features, he finds forgiveness. Gladio turns his back on his duty for the first time. They leave the Crystal behind knowing they damn the world by saving Noctis.

But even then, their choice would come to mean nothing.

The absurdly palpable change in Noctis’s condition upon leaving the Keep sheds all burden off their shoulders. His breathing evens out and though the heat lingers in his body, no longer does it convulse with pain. Pale blue eyes peek through his wet lashes, occasionally blinking but still out of focus. Gladio takes all the small victories he can get. A soft moan slips through Noctis’s lips when he presses his head into his chest again, and Gladio holds him there as he continues carrying him further away from their initial goal.

Of course, neither of them expected to get far before someone stopped them.

“Gentiana,” says Luna, instantly moving to stand between her and Gladio, ever Noctis’s second shield. Knowing why the Astral chose now to appear, her response bears no hesitation. “We’ve changed our minds.”

In face of a statement that should have brought shock, Gentiana’s eyes remain firmly closed.

“Return to the path,” she replies. With her words comes a cool breeze to wrap around their ankles. Quicker to the draw than Gladio, who wouldn’t recognize this particular brand of magic, Luna summons her trident.

“No! We will find another way. I’ve decided. Too many sacrifices lay at the gods’ feet already. Neither Noctis nor I will add to the pile. We will live to see to the end of this madness!”

“Gladio...” Behind her but heard by Gladio alone, Noctis’s soft mumble vibrates against his shirt. Gladio starts, then holds Noctis closer. They’ve a threat in front of them, after all.

“I’m here. Go back to sleep.”

A hint of nostalgia comes through those words. Bit by bit, his senses return. The pain he’d lost himself to is now a buzz in his bones, a discomfort he’ll survive. All the more reason for his suspicion.

“What’s...” He lifts his head to allow his gaze to sweep the area. “Are we at the Crystal?”

“...’Fraid not.”

He doesn’t understand. The heaviness in limbs doesn’t stop him from trying to pull away from Gladio’s grasp so that he can stand on his own. Then, in the corner of his eye, he spots Gentiana.

As if his gasp triggered it, the magic at their feet swells instantly. A massive gust swathes them in a biting chill, causing them all to recoil from the sharp bite against their skin. Before them, Gentiana sweeps an arm in front of her. Her fingers curve neatly as they move to face her palm upward and invite something into it.

“She disappoints me. If the girl will not return, then time must be made anew after all.”

Answering her demand is a strangled yelp from Noctis. He lurches in Gladio’s grip, head thrown skyward as his chest pulses once more. The pain and the coldness Noctis remembers all too clearly compels his mind into overdrive.

“N-No... Aa-agh!!”

The sheer billow of energy reaches their senses before the crash does, but it surges through their ears all the same and yanks them to their knees. Gentiana alone remains standing in order to welcome what she calls from within the steel fortress. Floating up in the sky far higher than the Keep itself is a sparkle Noctis would recognize if he could see it. Instead, he’s left to scream within the shelter of Gladio’s arms.

“Stop!!” Luna cries vainly. Listening to her no more, Gentiana just waits. All in the span of a minute, the frigid air turns wet with rain, then accented with light. Highlighting it all is booming thunder piercing their ears without remorse. Luna casts a barrier to protect them from what she can, but it falters instantly under the abysmal might of the Astrals summoned by their comrade’s call.

All the gods from whom Noctis earned a blessing descend upon them one by one, their massive forms filling the evening sky to cast down that much more darkness on the earth. And their vessel latches onto Gladio like his life depends on it, clawing at his clothes for any scrap of relief from the strain the summoning takes on him. Never before has it been this bad;. Noctis is certain he’ll die this time. There can’t be any way to survive this.

Paying little heed to the king she claims to aid, Gentiana drops her hand. With it comes the Crystal, flashing to the surface and hovering tidily next to her. Another strangled gasp leaves Noctis, but this time he puts forth every last bit of energy to fight it. But gods does it hurt.

He sees the Crystal. He knows instantly what Gentiana wants him to do. What he doesn’t know is how he ended up outdoors or why Luna and Gladio are suddenly resisting their objective.

To supplement Luna’s faltering barrier, Noctis reaches out a shaky arm to bestow his own magic into hers, futile it may be. Gladio immediately tugs his wrist back.

“No, Noct! Don’t,” he says gently enough to surprise Noctis. ‘Don’t push yourself,’ he hears in the air. Of course, how could he ever hope to help when he can hardly keep his eyes open? All sorts of flashbacks cross his mind then and he shakes his head to rid them at once. If nothing else, it earns him another bit of distraction from the pain.

“Come, oh King. He will fulfill that for which he was born onto this Star.”

He stills. Ahead, Luna looks back with an expression he’s never seen from her—fear. Around him, Gladio’s fingers dig just slightly into him.

“We have heard him. We stand with him.” Gentiana’s chin tilts up to acknowledge her brethren. Leviathan, Titan, Ramuh: all beings that shove distrust down his throat, and yet... Gentiana looks back at him, her eyes finally opening to meet his. “Come. The Stone welcomes him.”

Wait...no way. No way. She couldn’t be saying what he thinks she’s saying. But there the Crystal awaits. There the gods watch. Waiting for him. Finally, finally ready to allow him to complete his duty. Could this really be it?

He breathes, then again and again when he realizes how difficult it comes to him. But slightly, just slightly, the pain eases. The fever doesn’t burn as hot. His body shudders under the weight of the trials it’s been put through in such a short time, but the mere fact he can fight it to the point of thinking clearly is a miracle in itself. It allows a sliver of hope, something that until now only poisoned him.

No...no. The fear endures. He can’t, he shouldn’t hope. It hurts, the very idea of hope aches.

The arms around him pull him in. While the storm keeps them to their knees, Noctis looks up at Gladio. His face hovers close enough to breathe against, so Noctis sees his eyes set firmly forward. Then they close.

They must have only moved a few inches, but the relief brought about by Gladio’s body turning away from the Crystal is not insubstantial. No, it’s not just his body. Gladio in his entirety sits between him and the Crystal to shield him from as much pain as possible. Or...to keep him from his goal.

Noctis breathes again, and this time the warmth fills the short space of their closeness. The arms around him would keep all danger away if they could, and try if they couldn’t. Every time he jerks with a sudden bout of pain, Gladio keeps him steady. Every time the fever flares up, the coolness of Gladio’s skin tempers it. How easy it would be to stay here and remain protected like he always has been. He could give into this weakness and call it home. He’d be safe.

But he can’t. For every danger he escapes, his Shield chips away piece by piece. Suddenly, he knows why they left the Keep.

Struggling, Noctis plants his hands against Gladio and pushes to break free. Gladio doesn’t let up easy, of course, quickly bringing him back in. His beard scratches Noctis’s forehead as they hug, where Noctis hears a harsh wind brush past. Surely it swept over Gladio instead, and knowing that makes him push harder.

“G-Gladio... Gladio, it’s okay,” he whispers, repeating it just in case he simply imagined himself saying it. Perhaps confusion lightens Gladio’s grip because Noctis successfully drags himself out. Still using the bigger man as support, Noctis finds the ground with his knees and turns to face him properly. His hand searches blindly for purchase, eventually finding Gladio’s face. Once one splays over a cheek, the other crawls up to hold the other. Damn, he’s shaking pretty bad.

Gladio realizes immediately what he intends to do, with the way he stares wide-eyed in disbelief. He doesn’t think he’s seen that expression from Gladio very often either.

“You don’t have to—” Gladio breathes, his own words caught in his throat. Noctis can’t handle that crack in his voice. He made a man like Gladio turn away from reality, didn’t he? Look at him, making his friends act all out of whack because of him. Always because of him.

Slowly he shakes his head. Then from the depths of whatever pit of hope drifts inside him, he pulls a meager smile.

“I wanna be your shield.”

He shuts his eyes and pushes away completely to stagger to his feet like a doll searching for its cut strings. But Noctis latches onto as many as he can find still hanging from the skies to stitch himself back together. The waves of pressure rolling off the Crystal as well as the Astrals’ storm gently flow the other way, pushing against his back. Perhaps they mean to pull him closer. He’d love to spit on their idea of generosity.

A single glance toward Luna has her reaching for him with a gasp, but she stops upon reading the words on his lips. Looking between him and Gladio, though, she doesn’t give in so easily.

“They could be lying, Noctis!”

“I...I know. But I have to try. I have to...find a way to end this.”

If all of this hullabaloo was in fact an elaborately staged lie, he doesn’t know if he could take it. All the questions he still wants answers to linger in the back of his mind, but maybe he won’t need to mull over them anymore. As long as this ends, he’s okay with being in the dark.

He doesn’t even remember making it to Gentiana and the Crystal, but there he stands. After he slips on the Ring, Gentiana offers a single nod before stepping aside, presenting the Crystal like his hard-earned gift. The stone itself shines brilliantly in the dull-colored rain, and no longer does it push Noctis away with the strength of its presence. And suddenly, faced with the reality of it all, Noctis’s heart jumps with anxiety.

He makes the mistake of looking back. Gladio and Luna stand together now and bear the storm to watch him, and the burden of knowing they can’t do anything to help or stop him. That look in Gladio’s eyes...he knew it. Gladio must have found out what’ll happen when the Crystal accepts him. And he tried pretty hard to keep that a secret too...

Dammit, he’s so freaking scared. He doesn’t want to die. But he has to. For his dad, for all the people that got him here, for everyone who died as mere consequence of his messed up fate, this is the least he can do. He knows it in his head but it doesn’t stop his lips from trembling, jaw tightening with the emotion rushing up. A different kind of pressure he hasn’t felt in a long time threatens his vision. The tears don’t fall but they sting all the same.

He wonders if he should say something. In the end, he bites his lips and whips back to the Crystal. They shouldn’t remember him like this. Selfish as it is, let them remember that he went willingly.

The storm dissipates like it never existed in the first place, and with it the light of the Crystal and Noctis’s silhouette. The gods in the sky fade into the night, while Gentiana looks upon the dark structure in silence.

Lunafreya staggers but keeps her balance. Her mind completely blank, she knows not what to say or think. This is exactly what she came here to accomplish. If she can’t save him, if the Six refuse to let Noctis roam free, then this is the best possible outcome for him. And yet...why does it feel like she’s lost something irreplaceable?

“It’d be better if he’s dead,” comes a whisper from her side. She looks at Gladio who watches the Crystal as well, his gaze clouded over by the lingering storm. He needn’t explain further for Lunafreya to know exactly what he means.

When she spies Gentiana staring their way, her face scrunches up in confusion. Then she realizes Gentiana isn’t looking at them.

“Now how hard was that?”

Not a single breath wasted, Gladiolus shoves her behind him. She gasps to see Ardyn there, untouched by the rain that poured down on them a moment ago. One might think he just arrived, yet he behaves as a witness to the whole thing. If he’s here, then Ravus...

A forge of steel interrupts her thoughts. Gladiolus’s greatsword swings swiftly in his hands, pointed directly at Ardyn like the warning it is. His hands tremble not from the weight of the weapon but from sheer anger toward the incomprehensible man before him.

“Oh, put that away,” says Ardyn, flippantly waving his hand for additional effect. Then he chuckles, the sound so deep and inhuman that it seems otherworldly. “I’ve no quarrel with you. Not anymore.”

“Anymore?” Gladiolus outright growls. “You seemed pretty cozy with us these past two weeks.” Noctis wasn’t the only one feeling sick about that particular revelation. But Ardyn, of course, simply grins like a damned cheshire cat.

“Wanted a bit of fun, is all. If I don’t keep an eye on the boy, who knows what trouble he’ll get himself into.”

“So you hid him from us,” Lunafreya cuts in, wondering if her earlier assumption is in fact correct.

“If that helps you feel better, my Lady.” Ardyn brings a hand up to his face, fingers following the curve of his lips as he watches Lunafreya a few moments longer. “You tried so very hard...and still you came to the same conclusion. It’s fascinating.”

“What the hell is he going on about?” Gladiolus mutters above her.

“About Noctis, of course,” Ardyn declares, then gestures toward the woman standing behind them. “And I needed to make sure she kept her word. But it would appear I had nary a thing to worry about.” His eyes narrow in delight to see realization spread across their faces, Lunafreya first and Gladiolus soon after. Realization, and then a lovely shade of dread. “After all—”

A surface both soft and solid sticks to the side of his face. His lashes brush against it as he nuzzles his head closer, thinking it an acceptable pillow. Far too long ago did he experience such a comfortable warmth, to finally be free of that wretched fever. In fact, with a nice cool breeze sweeping over him and the cozy seat under him, he swears he’s simply napping in the Regalia.

His eyes flutter open, curiosity getting the better of him. The surface appears dark at first so he looks up and waits for his vision to stabilize. Realizing he actually is in the Regalia surprises him less than the person he leans against.

“Gladio...?” Whether or not his muted voice made it past the wind, his friend looks down at him anyway. A little smile crosses his broad face, amused at whatever expression his sleepiness etches into his own. Wait...it really is Gladio. Does that mean Luna is driving? What an odd thought. Did he make it back alive?

“Gladio...” he tries again, vaguely urgent this time before he pushes off what was Gladio’s massive arm. A ghost of a smile touches his own lips at the sight of his friend, heart bursting to the brim with relief—a sensation he can’t quite remember the last time he felt.

“Sleeping beauty’s finally awake! Thought we’d have to go for lunch without ya.”

They sit in his peripheral.

“Like you actually care,” Gladio replies skeptically. “You’d ditch him in a second for the nearest Crow’s Nest.”

“Excuse you, I’d wait at least a minute.”

He straightens in an instant, but it takes longer to fully absorb the scene before him. A scene he must have witnessed a thousand times and thought he would never again. Ignis at the wheel. Prompto caught halfway between the passenger seat and the back. Gladio to his right, the open roof of the Regalia, the mild green rush of the scenery as they drive down the roads of Cleigne. This isn’t inside the Crystal. This isn’t the afterlife.

He’s in the past again.

Exhaustion alone keeps his screams trapped deep inside his chest, pushes him from Gladio’s shoulder to settle back in his corner of the car, renders him silent until they reach the Cape. He brushes them all off like they’re hardly there, his sighs and eye-rolling reminiscent of a Noctis from before the fall of Insomnia. Not even Talcott can drag out any semblance of empathy from him. If he has to pretend everything is all right, he might explode.

The morning they’re to set sail for Altissia, the other three climb up to the lighthouse. Noctis lags behind before stopping completely, going cross-eyed as he stares at the tall fixture. Not really seeing it, he gives into the utter lack of strength in his being. Be someone’s shield? His own fault for thinking he could. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to come back here either.

A hand finds its way to his pocket and pulls out his journal. All he needs to do is show it to his friends and they’d help him find another way out of this time loop. But the book bears the force of his vacant gaze before he returns it to his pocket.

He doesn’t tell them. And he won’t ever again.

Chapter 17: luna

Chapter Text

To watch his father die a little bit every day was something he believed he alone experienced. Made to study about his ancestors dying young, to look upon their statues all over the city, to face his own death with immeasurable pride. Dying was his purpose as a future king. Dying was okay. So what was the point in living?

Little comfort could be found in his childhood. His teenage years come as a blur on some days, crystal clear on others. Adulthood was simply a step closer to the throne and to burying his father. Living for that moment might have very well been impossible without Ignis there to meticulously arrange every detail of his schedule, Gladio there to force him to train his body, Prompto there to talk to lest he forgot how to speak entirely. His promise to Luna lingered. Being his father’s son hovered like an inescapable fog.

He wakes each day halfway caught between his dreams, his sleep too deep to escape their memory. And every day he struggles to stay awake like his body prepares him for his eventual future. He always wondered how his father dealt with this, but his temperamental desire to stay away from both him and the Citadel deterred that conversation. They loved each other, but Regis was always King first, parent second.

Noctis sighs. Every once in a while, he’ll dive into these aimless thoughts. The pool of misery that once threatened to pull him under, that burden he swore he’d overcome if only for his comrades’ sakes, has become a warm bed to sink into. Every damn day of his life he resisted his duty. Now, ready to accept it, the gods deny him. Lie to him. Force him to keep living.

To have been so scared of becoming used to dying over and over now seems idiotic. The memories of the numerous pasts that exist solely within him are the only things that keep him from completely losing his mind—to remember that he isn’t the only one who suffered at the gods’ whims. But he’s the one stuck in a time loop, once again made to face how meaningless his actions are.

Ah...damn. He knows he needs to stop, but complaining feels pretty good.

“Noct, wait up!” comes a cry from behind him. He doesn’t slow or turn around, but Prompto catches up regardless. “Hey, what’s the rush?”

The same old noncommittal hum in his throat brings a worried frown to Prompto’s lips. All he wants is to climb into bed, so after meeting Weskham at Maagho, he leads the gang to the Leville. Well, ‘lead’ may be generous—Noctis walks confidently through the crowds with little care to his friends lagging behind. Feeling as light as he’s ever been with the fever completely vanished, he just wants to get this over with.

“Hey, look...it’s okay to be worried for Lady Lunafreya. But we’re gonna get through this together, so maybe ease up on the silent treatment? Please?”

He throws a side-glance, long bangs tempering the glint in his eyes. The last thing he wants is a pep-talk from Mr. Stepford Smiler himself. Hell, it could very well be Ardyn in disguise. ‘Together’? No, the less time he invests in the people around him, the less it’ll hurt. Or so he hopes, no matter the vaguest tinge of guilt in his gut.

The unrelenting rain makes him sputter and blink rapidly to fight the blinding wetness. He turns his head only for pain to instantly shoot through his body. The aches render him motionless, but he finds lying here perfectly fine.

Piece by piece, his thoughts arrange themselves. Right, Altissia. He and Leviathan fought for the blessing, but...did he get knocked out? He must be on some sort of rubble because the altar sits far in the distance, largely destroyed. Where’s Luna? Where’s Leviathan herself? With no hint of the blessing inside him, he idly wonders if she’s dead.

“Wait...dead?”

Even under their heavy fatigue, his eyes brighten with clarity. How didn’t he think of such a simple scheme earlier? Going after the Crystal yielded nothing, but what of the Six themselves? Ifrit was supposedly felled, so maybe...

Trying to push himself up results in his boneless body slipping back onto the rocky surface. Now that his mind has caught up, he understands just how severe his exhaustion actually is. Whatever the outcome of the battle, it drained everything out of him. Leading to a dangerous combination of fatigue and resignation, Noctis allows his eyes to flutter uselessly against the rainfall.

A shadow appears above him. Melding with the grey of the storm, the dark figure ventures close enough to partially shield him from the rain.

“So you’ve come to damn the gods after all.”

A finger traces the outline of his forehead, pushing away his wet bangs with no real purpose. Noctis stares absently up at the man with an all too familiar voice that weaves through the wind, ever sweet and wicked.

“Look at us. Birds of a feather.” Ardyn smiles, at least he thinks so, before spreading his palm over Noctis’s eyes. All he can do is shut them to the darkness. “Go on and try. You’re nearly there...”

The blanket pools in his lap as he pushes himself up. Blinking sleepily at the blanketed figures of his friends surrounding him, he realizes he’s back in Lucis—back in time again. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know if he died back there in Altissia, or if Ardyn simply whisked him back with whatever magic he has at his disposal. What matters now...is the muffled sound of rain.

Exiting the tent, Noctis steps into the mild drizzle and looks skyward. A crooked flash of light sings through the clouds, followed by a dull boom of thunder to herald a greater storm. He closes his eyes and breathes in the mist.

For the second time since jumping through the past, an Astral answers his call. When his eyes open to the haven’s rugged surface, a swish of fabric touches their corners. He peers up to find Ramuh.

“Human-sized, huh. Convenient.”

Ramuh says nothing in return. But surely he knows why his master summoned him. Now, with the power of the Oracle still coursing through him, Noctis can communicate with them. His trust in them is but a drop in an empty bottle, but he places his bets on the idea that they can’t ignore their chosen savior now. So he wastes no time, his voice slow and hushed.

“What would happen if I killed all of you?”

The dull thud of Ramuh’s cane against the haven ushers in both a lull in the rain and his reply, a surprisingly reserved tone coming forth from the aged Astral. Perhaps it suits him, in hindsight.

“Balance will be lost.” Long off-white hair swimming like smoke around him, his head turns toward the far west. “The one you call Ifrit was quelled by our brethren, and so the fire of Eos has calmed. But it would not be so should he have fallen by another’s hand.”

The west...the Rock of Ravatogh? It’s true, the volcano has remained dormant for centuries, and that’s where Noctis witnessed Ifrit’s body laid to rest in his vision. But, there in the Crystal he also witnessed battling the Infernian in a future Insomnia. Was Ifrit resurrected at some point? Or was he never really dead to begin with? Prompto did mention it once—it can’t be that easy to kill an Astral.

“Were the one you call Titan to fall, the earth will tremble in its sorrow.” Ramuh turns eastward this time. There, Noctis spies the faintest glimmer of the Meteor trapped perilously in its crater now that the Archaean no longer holds it up. Now the Fulgurian gazes up. “Should the one you call Leviathan perish, behind her she will leave her wrath to ensure her oceans live on. Their fight for dominion over the land will last many ages.”

“I get it. Killing them would screw the world up pretty bad. And Gentiana...the Glacian. Her corpse is causing a blizzard in the middle of a desert.” He never did ask her how her giant frame became not only the size of a normal human, but that her Astral form has multiple copies. Seeing Ramuh now, though, perhaps accomplishing such a thing comes easily to the gods.

Eyes glazing over under the dreary atmosphere, Noctis bites his lip in thought.

“Does Bahamut still live in the Crystal?”

Ramuh’s gaze lingers for some time. That alone tells Noctis that no matter the true nature of that underground archive, its contents were real.

“I couldn’t destroy the Crystal, and I didn’t meet anyone like Bahamut when...” He trails off when one by the one the words drag out a realization from the depths of his crowded mind. “Wait...that guy who looked like Ardyn. Could that have been—Crap, what did he say...” He tears apart his memory to find the one he wants, one from so long ago and not very long at all. There in the Crystal, he had met someone wearing Ardyn’s visage. But no matter the similarity, his instincts warned him otherwise. Bahamut or not, they knew something Noctis didn’t.

‘Prophecy.’ The single word he remembers from that encounter. So vague is the memory next to the blindingly clear recollection of the other visions he experienced that he wonders if he imagined it up. He gives up quickly after that.

“What would happen if he died?” he asks, moving the conversation along. Yet Ramuh remains silent no matter the unchanging path of his gaze. Too little patience remains in Noctis to tolerate it. “He represents light. So, what, the sun goes out?” Not so dissimilar to the phenomenon ravaging the world already, though the Scourge at its current state runs less severe. He pauses, sensing there’s another piece of the puzzle to be found if he digs into those two concepts a little more. But even if he does, will it matter?

He shuts his eyes, like the silence that follows weighs down on them. He’s so damn tired.

“Just...” he whispers, resignation falling to the ground with the rain. “just tell me what I have to do. Will I see Bahamut if I try destroying the Crystal again? Will he give me answers?” A beat passes before his voice falls further. “Or is Ardyn gonna be more helpful?”

Again, silence. About ready to crawl back into the tent and hope that whatever storm follows drowns them all for his comfort, a scratch across the haven stops him. His head inclines to see Ramuh looking upward as well.

“Upon him we made a vow.”

His brow twists in frustration, confusion, and a hint of curiosity.

“Who, Ardyn? Bahamut?” Seconds pass with no answer. But it’s more than he’s ever gotten from the gods in all the time jumps combined, so from the deepest pit of his core he drags out some patience. “So this is all...on purpose.”

Noctis’s gaze sets so strongly on Ramuh that his eyes cross again, but the blur brings a numb comfort that tempts to pull him in. He nearly takes its hand, because Ramuh extends none.

“All of you made a promise to someone else instead of keeping the one you made to me.”

Meaningless. The word pours on him like the cold drizzle.

“Noct? What on earth are you standing out there for?”

Ignis’s voice flows in and out through his ears like air, but the breeze does enough to turn his attention away from the drab sky. Ramuh left a while ago but Noctis lingers in the ghost of their conversation. Deciding to linger no more, he goes and ducks into the space Ignis creates under the pulled-back tent canvas.

He finds the floor, sits with his knees bent and gaze lost in the material. Ignis follows, crouching close to wipe down his damp hair with a cloth pulled from somewhere.

“I don’t need to tell you you’ll catch cold like this, do I?”

He shrugs, unsure if his shoulders moved. Quickly noticing his nagging goes unchallenged, Ignis’s hand pauses before pulling back.

“What’s wrong, Noct?” Inclining his head in hopes for a better look at Noctis’s face, he lowers his voice to a level of softness Noctis absently recalls from their childhood. That alone should tell him he needs to stop being such a child. Just a minute ago he gave Ramuh grief for the silent treatment. He needs to say something. He needs to grow up.

“Can I just sleep some more?”

He doesn’t see Ignis blink quickly, confusion flicking across his eyes as he questions why Noctis would suddenly ask permission for anything, especially from Ignis. But soon, long legs extend in Noctis’s peripheral and Ignis’s voice falls upon him next.

“Of course. Go on, I’ll wake you when breakfast is ready.”

Noctis shakes his head to that before crawling to his corner of the tent. He curls into himself and hopes waking up comes as hard as it always does.

Ramuh never said it was impossible. Rather, he neither stopped nor encouraged Noctis after his suggestion to kill the gods. Whether it be indifference or silent agreement, Noctis chooses to believe he has the Fulgarian on his side. The question then becomes, what does he do with the rest? How does he even begin to move forward with this plan? What happens if he succeeds? Does the world simply...die?

That doesn’t sound so bad.

The burn of a grin ripples across his cheeks for the first time in a long while. Tempered by rain splashing against him, Noctis grinds his teeth hard before letting out a bellow of a laugh as light envelops him. Splitting open Leviathan’s body, its warmth spills over into the storm and bolsters his sword into digging deeper to slice her very core. He warps back from the serpent and watches her from the sky, Royal Arms keeping him afloat. A glimmering trail of red leaves his eyes when they flash skyward at his companion, Ramuh.

The aged Astral casts his staff down to beckon the storm, stealing its attention away while its true master writhes in anger and agony. Leviathan’s pride forbids her to fall so easily, but also warns her of Noctis’s real intentions. Such knowledge no longer serves her, however, as Noctis dives right back in when he spies an opening. The core in sight, he throws the Arms into her wide breast to carve it open further. Ramuh’s lightning paralyzes her and brands her skin. She could contest him on equal ground were it not for Noctis’s presence. Now outmatched, she succumbs to a fellow Astral. And finally, she bleeds. The blood runs out of her like it chases the storm and swirls wildly into the whirlpool. It hits Noctis with the weight of rocks and a taste of salt, but for once it doesn’t make him retch. No, it may as well be the rain pouring down for how little he pays it attention.

“Ramuh!!” he roars in tune to the Arms encircling him. One by one they crash into one another to form a lance, then sing through the air with a heavy wave of Noctis’s arm. They burrow into the space they create in Leviathan’s body and nestle into her heart. She screams, but her own storm drowns out the sound. Answering his King, Ramuh raises his own arm. Light pools around the tip of his staff, and with the flick of his hand comes a tremendous gale and its thunderous ally.

Leviathan’s final scream lasts longer than her storm, reverberating through Noctis’s bones even after the sun scatters the clouds. The light tingles on his skin, and he compares its shine to the iridescent gleam of the serpent goddess’s scales. Her massive body sits underneath the sea’s surface, creating a particularly unique view from his place in the sky. But he cares not for her beauty.

As it turns out, Astrals truly can’t die. But they can sleep. It’s what kept Ifrit chained to his volcanic prison until something freed him from his restraints. He doesn’t know the details, only who the Infernian answers to now: Ardyn. He considers it fortunate that Ramuh told him this much, and figures he can leave the god of war for last.

He wipes his face with the butt of his hand before spitting out a wad of blood. Only when it hits the water with a resounding note does he breathe out.

“One down.”

Ramuh’s breath hits his back and he straightens against the gust. That’s right. One down, but one more to go. In the middle of wondering if he’ll need to summon his next target, the sea surface shimmers white with light. The smile spreading across his face goes half-unnoticed as he watches the water with eyes wide with exhilaration.

He could laugh at Titan’s emerging figure, a pebble in comparison to the Tidemother. And he does as he dives right down toward the Astral with the Royal Arms splaying chaotically at his back. To have something go right for once, to not be under the influence of a damn fever, to glide through the sky like someone truly free—the thrill intoxicates him.

Even the air trembles against the Archaean’s presence. The space moves with each curl of his fingers as they form fists. The pressure trickling off his massive arm as it winds back swells, scattering brave Niflheim ships that lingered after the bout with Leviathan. No doubt they question the inconceivable scene before them, having already witnessed once the clash between Titan and the Prince of Lucis. Why are they fighting a second time?

Blind to their predicament, Noctis meets Titan’s fist with his Arms, the impact scathing his ears with the high-pitch sound. It does stop him for a second, but not enough to deter him from bouncing off the rocky surface and landing on the giant’s wrist. He bounds with heavy leaps down the colossal arm, single sword in hand as he follows the path to Titan’s head. Having beheld Leviathan’s fate, Titan knows what the boy intends to do and has no plans to make it so easy for his would-be master.

Noctis vaguely remembers Titan seeming so much bigger the first time he ever met the Astral. So much more frightening when he galloped toward him in that daemon-filled night, when he had to shield Ignis from the god’s might. So much more imposing when he watched the prince from his spot in the sky, silently bidding him to do his duty even when Luna and Gladio wanted to pull him back.

Now, as he evades Titan’s other hand when it tries to swat him away, nothing but furor floods his veins. No more fear. He heaves a great effort just before slicing his sword into a bouldered eye, throwing his entire weight on it to make certain the orb cracks. Ribbons of blue magic twist ferociously around him, growing ever brighter to fuel the attack. He warps away back into the sky when the job is done.

Half-blinded, Titan roars. Drunk on adrenaline, Noctis grins delightfully before diving right back in. Wanting to feel the wind cutting into him, he soars a great distance before warping the rest of the way to land on one of Titan’s fingers. Again he runs down the length of the arm, each heavy impact pulsing painfully up his legs. But the pain pushes him forward, even when Titan catches on and throws him off into the sky. Noctis fights the gust to right himself, then brandishes his arms to call the Royal Arms to his back. Each weapon lines up perfectly, spinning in a spiral to gather traction before they follow the twist of Noctis’s hand to plummet toward Titan. They split off along the way and smash random targets on his vast body, forcing him to either take the hits or pick an area to protect.

His choice proves fruitless when lightning slices through the air and explodes against the side of his head, knocking him back a significant distance and, more importantly, distracting him.

“Again!” Noctis yells before following his Arms. Above him, Ramuh raises his staff to call forth more of the sky’s energy, thunder resounding around them from the effort. With a spear held tightly in both hands, Noctis darts close enough to strike across Titan’s cheek, casting a sound to rival fingernails against a chalkboard. He cuts the rock open from mouth to ear, and after warping just above his handiwork, drives the spear down. It burrows into the center of the fissure to split it wider and wider; one might think Noctis means to pull Titan’s face apart.

Instead, he warps away. In his place comes another surge of lightning to hit Titan once more. It swells over the expanse of his body, burning the cut on his face as it digs into the rock to find a home within. A tremor of Titan’s bluster vibrates through like an earthquake in the air, pushing Noctis further up into the sky as he bears against it. But even that isn’t enough to stop from charging in once he spies an opening. Titan’s disorientation serves as an invitation for him to drive a sword into his face. And this time, he digs as deep as he can.

The storm pulls back to a light drizzle by the time Noctis makes it to the surface. He stumbles onto the altar and plants both hands on a pillar to stabilize himself and catch his breath. His muscles will definitely feel their fair share of aches come tomorrow. If he makes it that far, anyway.

Leviathan and Titan are asleep. Ramuh sinks back into the clouds, the patter of rain the only indication he hasn’t completely retreated. That, and the fact the ocean and earth haven’t toppled over one another in the battle’s aftermath. But who knows what will become of Altissia once the Fulgarian leaves this place, without an Astral to watch over the land. Looking up, Noctis’s eyes glaze over the murky sky and the disorderly shapes the clouds make. They soon shut closed. He breathes again before standing straight, but stays still for a minute longer.

He may have beaten Leviathan a dozen times by now, but never once had he struck her down to this extent. Having an Astral actually obey his instructions for once does wonders for his odds in battle. Who knew.

His knees buckle when he tries to take a step forward, and he laughs at himself. Gods, does it feel good to have something to laugh at. He calls a lance to hand and uses it as a makeshift walking stick to leave the altar—he’d rather not be ambushed by MTs or have Ignis and the others come looking for him after witnessing what they surely must think was mayhem incarnate. Besides, there’s one more Astral on his mind.

And speak of the devil. He peers up to find Gentiana standing at the end of the path. The storm’s wind tousles her elegant robes like they have a mind of their own, and her sleek hair swims around her face to frame her closed eyes. But her gaze tingles.

“This is not the path, O King.”

Her voice surmounts the breeze to reach him, placid as ever despite the weight of her words. Noctis matches it.

“Looks like a straight shot to me.”

“It matters not should he point his blade at us. We will stand again.”

“Wow, is that an actual piece of advice? Didn’t know you had it in you.” He continues walking, each measured step forward accenting his voice. “Too bad, though—Ramuh already told me. If I get sent back to the past again...the gods I put to sleep will just wake up again. But see, the thing is, I don’t care. I’ll do this again. And again, and again, and again. I’ll keep killing you as many times as it takes until someone tells me what’s going on, or you decide I’m not worth the trouble and get rid of me for good. Honestly, I’m up for both.”

“The path has always been one.”

“To ‘persist’? That’s not gonna cut it anymore.”

His skin digs into the cold steel of the lance as he tries to temper his tone. But when he fails, he throws away the weapon to forge a dagger instead. It fits snugly in his palm before he suddenly launches it forward. Its course to Gentiana breaks when an equally swift veil of ice casts over her, and both fall to the ground into broken shards of magic. But the spectacle shatters as Noctis warps through it, high in the air with another blade aimed at Gentiana’s head.

More ice manifests to shield Gentiana but this time endures against the cut of Noctis’s dagger. He pushes that much harder to break it, summoning flames to explode from his grip to melt away the god of ice at the cost of his own comfort. It’s enough to draw out the faintest flinch from Gentiana’s closed eyes, no matter how much she insists on projecting impassivity. The wall eventually pushes back to throw Noctis off into the air until he lands on his feet, sliding back and dropping onto a hand to keep balance. He exhales heavily as aches from the previous battle ripple throughout his body, but they have yet to deter him from his goal.

He wastes no time in straightening himself and summons a great wave of fire around him, fingers curling over a ball of it sparking at his palm before he kicks off. Like a dog off his leash, he bounds for Gentiana with teeth bared and claws outstretched to carve her open. But his fist and his flames bounce off another barrier—not one of ice.

With a surprised grunt, Noctis jumps backward and glares round-eyed at the intruder.

“Luna! I told you to get outta here!”

Trident in hand, Lunafreya steps in front of Gentiana as if to shield her from Noctis’s offense. Though in her mind she merely wishes to stall whatever incomprehensible motive drives him to attack the Messenger.

“What are you doing, Noctis?! What would compel you to attack Gentiana like this? And your battle with Leviathan, Titan even—this goes beyond proving yourself for the blessings of the Six!”

Noctis lets out a laugh as hollow as the woman standing behind Luna.

“Blessings? We’re way beyond blessings! Just stay out of the way before she lies to you again!”

“Again? What do—”

“I said get outta the way!”

Flames converge wildly around him, nonsensical designs in the air that lash out like snakes itching to devour their prey. They bend around Luna with wills of their own to finally swallow up the Astral behind her in a single, massive eruption. The fire burns whiter than Luna’s dress and the sheer force of it shoves her away so she isn’t burned as well.

“Gen—!”

She cuts herself off with a gasp. The fire climbs higher into the sky until the silhouette flickering beneath vanishes. When the fire shines too bright, Luna turns away with a hiss caught between her teeth, then looks back to find the flame gone. In its place is ice creeping up from the ground to devour the heat piece by piece until nothing remains. Then the ice shatters, its fragments shooting out like bullets from a thousand guns. Shards of it cut against her skin before she puts up a barrier, and a distinct clinking echoes from behind as Noctis knocks some away with his sword.

Gentiana is gone. But rising from her place is a form Noctis remembers well, no matter how long ago it was he last saw it. Her pale blue body glows in its cold shimmer, accented by crystal filigree and translucent fabrics. An elegant hand rises to brush away her long, ornate braid from her shoulder. Shiva’s clear eyes open to regard the King and the Oracle.

“There you are,” Noctis says, the anticipation in his voice almost childlike if not for its delirious undertone. The fire around him reignites to combat the cold swiftly overtaking the altar, but he sheds its robes before sprinting toward Shiva.

“Stop!” Luna cries. Coming to her senses, she manages to throw herself between the two again and clashes against Noctis’s sword with a clang ringing painfully in her ears. Genuine shock washes over Noctis before irritation takes its place. “Why are you doing this?!”

“You don’t need to know!” He pushes harder, not wanting to hurt Luna and equally determined to get her out of the way. “She’s not worth your protection. She’s not worth anything! None of them are!”

Gritting her teeth, Luna holds her own with both hands supporting her staff as she pushes back. Her arms tremble from the effort, but she can’t deny the hint of frustration adding to it.

Behind them, Shiva glides up into the sky—taking Noctis’s attention along with her. Immediately a snarl rumbles deep in his throat and he quickly jumps away, throws up his sword, and follows it in a blue flash. But instead of reappearing in the sky, he crashes into an invisible wall not too high up. Frazzled, he phases to the surface and shakes his throbbing head. Only then does he notice a familiar sheen spread all around the altar in the shape of a half-sphere. Below it stands Luna, staring at him with her trident raised to cast the barrier.

“What are you doing?!” Noctis screams. “Are you seriously gonna fight me?”

She squares her shoulders as she levels the trident beside her.

“If I must.”

Now Noctis snarls at her before he throws his head up to the sky.

“Ramuh!”

Thunder answers his call. Light burns through the clouds and they wither away against the Fulgarian’s presence. Answering him of her own volition, Shiva swims along the winds with nearly a dozen of copies of herself. The flock of ice-fairies neatly evades strikes of lightning that hit the ocean surface instead. Luna can only observe the scene for so long before her space suddenly swells with blue. Noctis warps to her and yanks the hand holding the trident forward, bringing them closer to each other so that she may see the depth of his anger.

"Take it down!"

“Not until you come to your senses!”

Luna defies him readily even when Noctis makes to pull the trident from her. He nearly succeeds until she does the only thing she can and brandishes it at him. Light gathers at its tip faster than he can take a breath and explodes straight into his gut, throwing him far off the edge of the altar. He manages to phase back onto the ground, but his disheveled hair does little to ease his round, luminous eyes. Luna meets the indignant gaze head-on.

“This isn’t gonna bring back Leviathan or Titan!” Ignoring his sore stomach, he throws out his hands in aggravation. “Don’t get in my way!”

“Tell me why you’re doing this! There must be a reason.”

He scoffs, and a humorless grin spreads across his face. “So if I have a reason, it’s okay? Then just pretend I do and leave! You don’t wanna fight me, Luna!”

“No, I don’t... But the Six must not be allowed to fall.”

“Not allowed by who?! Think for yourself for once!”

Luna gasps when he warps to her again but this time throws his sword down with purpose. She barely blocks him with her trident, sliding back several feet from the sheer force.

“Why should we protect them when all they do is lie to us?!” He draws back to slam the blade down again, catching it between the trident’s prongs when Luna flips it up. “All they are is a curse on us, on all of humanity!”

The words spat so desperately only make the confusion sit heavier in Luna’s gut. Her face scrunches up from the struggle, and once again she shudders under Noctis’s strength. The wild abandon about him and their persistent collision speaks loudly to the fact that Noctis won’t let up.

“I don’t—” She heaves a great effort to smack her trident into his shoulder, then conjures a barrier that shoves him further away. “—know what you’re talking about!” But Noctis won’t be fooled by the same tactics twice. His sword snags the tailend of the shield like a hook and burns it away with his own magic.

“You don’t know anything!” Blood splatters across his sight when his blade finds resistance under Luna’s collarbone. He grimaces, but pulls away too smoothly to suggest hesitation. She sucks in a breath and clamps a hand over the wound. “We’re better off without them! We don’t need magic, we don’t need kings, we don’t need gods!”

“You can’t—you can’t mean that! The gods are what give our world life! It will fall without them!”

“So what if it does?!”

His scream rips through the air like lightning itself, shocking Luna with its candor. She doesn’t have a clue. This is a completely new Luna thrust upon him by the whims of the gods. The others are gone. The Luna trying to warn him of whatever the Crystal conveyed upon her. The Luna who rubbed comfort into his hands whenever they trembled. The Luna who smiled when he said he needed her and vowed to stand by him in turn. And the Luna who fed into Gentiana's drivel, convinced that getting Noctis to the Crystal would be his salvation. Even after everything he told her.

He tried doing the right thing. Then he tried doing the wrong thing. When both courses of action lead to the same meaningless result, what is he left with?

Luna’s breath stutters when Noctis finally manages to wrench the trident from her hand. Alarms bang against her skull and knock her senses askew. She truly believed Noctis’s aggression could be allayed once she calmed him down enough to speak with him. But that aggression so suddenly transforms into something she never thought Noctis to be capable of. For the first time, she’s afraid. But even that fear hasn’t the time to burrow into her when she’s thrown down onto the sharp concrete. An unpleasant crack echoes alongside the alarms when her head hits the ground. Then she feels his hands around her neck.

“N-Noctis...! What are you do—”

“They don’t even care if you die! I could kill you right here and they won’t blink!” Noctis sits above her with eyes wide and wild. All his contempt for the gods bleeds out of him like his entire body is an open wound, stains the very air around them in a dark smog. It chokes her more than his grip does. “How many times do we have to die until they’re satisfied?!”

After another strangled gasp, she quickly tries prying off his hands. When that fails, she digs her own hands into his face to shove him away best she can. Her legs swing about behind him, vainly searching for leverage. But Noctis doesn’t move.

“Please...p-please, Noctis, don’t!”

“Do you see any of them running to save you? After everything you’ve done for them, after dying for them so many times, they don’t care! That’s what they want. You’re supposed to die, just like me. But it’s still not enough for them! Nothing is ever enough!!”

“Noctis...!” She resorts to banging her fists against wherever they can reach. Her frantic mind endeavours to make sense of Noctis’s madness even if that effort would serve better to save herself.

“If they think I’m not good enough, why not act like it? I’ll kill them all as many times as it takes! Let this world die over and over again until they finally let their precious Chosen King die too!”

When Luna finally pulls herself up the slightest bit, it sets Noctis off in a way that has him slamming her head back down.

“Why can’t you just trust me? I told you everything! Everything! But you still ran back to them! You made me do it. You made me think I was saving you and Gladio, you made me die again!”

The barrier above them shatters. Its shards fall upon them with the rain and hail of the Astrals’ battle, striking Noctis’s back like the knives they are. But he doesn’t budge, content to dig his nails into Luna’s skin harder and harder until blood dots them. Nausea surges instantly but loses itself in the fear and infuriation curdling in his stomach. He’s blinded. His heavy breaths turn to frost. Damp hair sticks to his face and drips idle raindrops onto Luna that soon lose themselves among scalding tears. Is he really crying, though? He’s hurt his friends before. He’s killed them. He can do it again.

His mind isn’t there to remind him that the Luna within his tightening grip is no impostor. That he walked to the Crystal with his own two feet.

Blinking away the tears, he stares down at Luna with a gasp. The pulsing under his grip has stopped. Blood smudges on his fingers and burns so brightly that everything else seems greyer by comparison.

“Luna,” he whispers. He leans down over her face and searches her eyes, lashes half-cast over the bright blue. Her hands drape against his chest, caught in the crook of his arms. His own hands abruptly release from her neck in turn, and a prickling numbness spreads over them. The roar of the storm and his own breathing fill his ears to the brim, gouging his head open until he hears nothing else.

“See? I told you. No one cares.”

When the numbness fades, he splays his hands over her cheeks. The scratch of his whisper contrasts everything he screamed until his throat burned. He keeps blinking, finding difficulty to see clearly beyond the tears that keep falling.

“You get it now, right? Are you gonna trust me this time?” He presses his forehead against hers and breathes again, a sparse warmth within the storm’s chill. Then he raises himself up and brings her along. Her boneless body melts into his chest as he hugs her tightly and awaits an answer that will never come.