Chapter Text
“Maybe when you’re not too busy moping, you can look around and give a shit about someone worse off than you.”
Anger burned hot in Noct’s veins. He wasn’t—oblivious. Gladio needed to get off Noct’s ass and go find a punching bag, rather than using him as one. “Let go of me.”
“How’s that ring fit ya? You’d rather carry it around than wear it? She gave her life so you could do your duty, not so you could sit around feeling sorry for yourself—”
“You don’t think I know that!?” He would put the Ring on, but not when there was no use for it—not when it would just drain and drain and drain, for no purpose at all—
“You don’t! Ignis took one for you too, and for what—!?”
“Enough, Gladio!” Ignis interfered, but Noct didn’t think for a moment it would work. Gladio was even more protective over Ignis than he was for Noct. If it had been only Luna who made a sacrifice for him, and not Ignis too, Gladio probably wouldn’t be this mad.
Gladio tsked. “You think you’re a king, but you’re a coward.”
“Shut up,” Noct finally growled. He fisted the edge of Gladio’s jacket in his hand and shoved, only managing to make Gladio lean back slightly.
But even in a situation like this, his spatial awareness was high. His breath stuttered when Prompto came between them and on instinct alone, he jumped backwards. Since their two first meetings, nothing Prompto had ever done had felt like an invasion of space. Not like this.
He didn’t manage to react to Gladio shoving Prompto over by the face. If Gladio said something, it failed to pierce through the ringing in Noct’s ears. He didn’t bother trying to respond.
He turned to where Prompto was curled over a train seat. For a long moment, Noct’s left hand—his bare one—hovered over Prompto’s shoulder. One touch, and it wouldn’t be an issue anymore. He wouldn’t startle just because his own best friend got a little too close.
But how many more problems would pop up in its place?
How many more nightmares would join the ones of Luna getting stabbed by Ardyn while Noct lay prone on the ground, unable to lift a finger? The ones where Gladio ditched him entirely, permanently moved to Lestallum, and finally succumbed in his own home?
Prompto was watching him, eyes wide. His face was fine, but the emotional scar would be a deep one; Noct could already tell.
A tear dripped down Noct’s cheek.
He let his hand return to his side, and stormed off.
When it finally happened, it was in the worst way imaginable.
“Dude, are you seriously trying to kill me…?”
“Why wouldn’t I!?” Noctis roared, prying the train door open. He stalked towards Ardyn, screaming his throat completely raw. “What are you after, following me around this whole time— It’s all YOUR fault—!”
Noct pinned Ardyn to the wall by pressing his forearm vertically against his chest.
In the next moment, as he forgot to anticipate, he saw a premonition. But it wasn’t this sack of shit whose death he saw.
It was Prompto, thirty-three years old (somehow, he just knew that) and sitting on the floor. It looked like he was in a Citadel bedroom, but it was so trashed that Noctis almost doubted himself—he’d never seen any part of the Citadel in so much disarray. The moon reflected light onto the array of papers scattered across the ground.
Photos, Noct realised, with a jolt of his already wildly beating heart. Of him. But weirdly, they were pretty much all recent ones. He could make out pictures that the Prompto of the present only took last week. Photos of the time Noctis caught a fish that Gladio had to hop into the ocean to drag out of the water. Another several from Insomnia before the fall—arcade visits, Noct in his sushi shop uniform, Noctis smirking in the driver’s seat of the Star of Lucis.
There were tears streaming steadily down Prompto’s face, but he was quiet. He looked heart-wrenchingly calm. On the inside, though, Noctis could hear him screaming at the walls of his own mind.
Finally, his gaze attracted to it by the glint of steel, Noct saw the handgun.
Oh, fuck. Shit.
It was like Prompto’s heartbeat was beating alongside his own, urging each other faster and faster until the pressure burst.
I can’t do this anymore, Prompto was thinking. I tried. I tried, Iggy, like I promised, but I just can’t… I can’t.
You and Gladio have each other. So you’ll be okay.
Without Noct… no one really needs me, anyway.
Noctis wished he could close his eyes and cover his ears. But it was too vivid a vision—his eyes and ears couldn’t escape the scene. He was forced to watch Prompto pick up the gun and aim it at his own head.
The Prompto that Noctis knew wouldn’t be able to do this with a steady hand. But the one in this fucked up future had almost thirteen more years of practice keeping his hands still in the most tense situations. Both, though, had perfect aim.
The vision ended with the gunshot—Prompto died instantly.
And then Noctis was left on his knees, dry-heaving by the steps while present-day Prompto—still disguised as Ardyn—watched uncertainly.
He’d tried to kill Prompto. He’d stuck iron rods into the worst of Prompto’s insecurities without even realising it. He just saw Prompto commit suicide.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Noctis stumbled to his feet, gaze darting between every entrance. “Ardyn! Show yourself!”
Just as Noct assumed, he’d been listening the whole time. He entered through the same doorway Noct and Prompto had, wearing Prompto’s face and speaking in Prompto’s voice. “Well, well. That was an unexpected turn of events. You’ve really never seen how your best friend dies? Impressive.”
“Shut up,” snapped Noct. He summoned the Engine Blade and lunged, but Ardyn stepped aside, unfazed.
Prompto remained flat against the wall, watching.
“But then again, if not for that vision, you never would have known it was your dear Prompto you were attacking in the first place; now isn’t that right?” Ardyn’s drawl sounded especially sick in Prompto’s voice. “Maybe you aren’t very good friends, after all…”
“That’s not it,” Noctis retorted. He didn’t care whatever the hell Ardyn said or thought, not after everything he did—but Prompto needed to know. Noctis was just an idiot who’d let his rage give him tunnel vision. Prompto was everything, and Noct couldn’t let him believe otherwise; not while Noctis was still around to tell him so.
Suddenly, the train shook. Noctis registered in the same moment that the train hadn’t been moving for who knew how long.
“Ta-ta,” said Ardyn, plastering a smirk on Prompto’s face. “Go on now, and have fun dealing with my diversion. I’ll see you again later.”
He took a step—Noctis tried to stab him, and he swore it connected, but Ardyn didn’t even blink—and then he was gone. With a shout, Noctis swang for the empty air where Ardyn should have been. How the fuck did he do that? Where did Ardyn get all these powers from!?
“N-Noct,” Prompto called. Noctis turned, and finally, Prompto looked like Prompto again. “We gotta see what’s up with the train.”
Noct’s anger washed away. Prompto looked so nervous, and it was all his fault.
“Prompto,” Noct started, but Prompto shook his head.
“We can talk about it later. C’mon, I’m gonna try and call Iggy.”
When Noctis reached Prompto and Ardyn’s square-off on the roof of the train, he hesitated.
“Noct,” the Ardyn-looking one implored, and Noctis flung himself at the other. The Prompto-looking one stumbled back at the attack, and with a sharp yell, fell overboard.
For a moment, he and Prompto stared at each other, both of them breathing hard.
“Too bad that doesn’t work on me,” Ardyn said low in his ear.
With that, Ardyn pushed Prompto off the train.
“Prompto,” Noctis breathed. He felt like he’d been to hell and back, but seeing his—his Prompto hanging off of that device, none of it compared to his desperation to make sure Prompto was alright.
He shoved the metal bars leading into the room open and barged inside.
“How is he?” asked Ignis quietly, while Gladio figured out how to get the contraption to free Prompto.
“He’s… hanging from this T-shaped… thing,” Noctis answered. “Dunno if he’s awake… He’s banged up.”
Ignis was there to catch Prompto when he collapsed, thanks to some sixth sense. Potion ingredients were in short supply here, but none of them objected to the use of the Hi-Potion Ignis forced upon Prompto.
“Hey, you alright?” asked Gladio.
“Are you hurt?” Ignis inquired gently, when it was clear that Prompto was conscious. “Do you need help?”
“I-I’m fine,” Prompto attempted to insist. “Thank you, Iggy…”
“Of course.”
From then on, Prompto’s gaze was fixed solely on Noct.
Noct could touch him now. He’d seen how Prompto would die, twelve or thirteen years in the future. It had been replaying non-stop in his head ever since—long enough for it to sink in that the level of detail in that vision meant he and Prompto were soulmates.
And either because they hadn’t touched skin-to-skin, or because Promoto had been wearing Ardyn’s skin, Prompto didn’t have Noct’s soulmark yet.
Everything else about this whole ordeal fucking sucked, but being Prompto’s soulmate? It was like being able to breathe again.
“You came. Just like I believed you would.” Prompto’s smile was faint, but it was there.
“Prompto…” Noct intoned shakily.
“That’s why I told myself I couldn’t die,” Prompto continued, standing on unsteady legs while Gladio hovered beside him, prepared to catch him if he fell. “Not until I could see you… and hear you tell me I’m not a fake. That I’m the real me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Prompto insisted, like Noct knew he would. “Everything’s alright now.”
It wasn’t really. But with Prompto here, it was better. Infinitely so. And Noctis knew how he could improve on that—but not right this second.
“Let us find a place to rest for a short while,” Ignis said.
Noctis nodded. “Yeah. The last bunker isn’t far.”
So that’s where they went, Prompto serving as Specs’ eyes while Specs surreptitiously offered Prompto walking support. Noctis led them, and Gladio took up the rear.
Once they were inside, Ignis searched the Armiger and retrieved some water and a granola bar. Prompto polished off both within the minute.
Noctis beelined for the nearest bed and sat down. Patting the space beside him, he called out, “C’mere.”
Prompto hesitated. He was staring in that way Noctis did all the time, too tired to hide it—or maybe just not bothered to anymore. It was the one that said that all he wanted to do was press against Noctis, feel his hair between his fingers and their heartbeats between their chests. At least, that was what it meant when Noctis looked at Prompto that way.
Prompto was hesitating because he didn’t know whether he could resist this time; Noctis could see that much.
Good thing he no longer needed him to.
He gave Prompto what he hoped was a comforting smile, until Prompto finally tiptoed over and joined him on the edge of the bed. Gladio stayed outside to guard the door while Ignis felt his way inside the attached bathroom. Noctis and Prompto were alone.
Noctis almost went all in, prepared to wrap Prompto in his arms and lie them both down—but then he paused. “Is there, like… somewhere you want your soulmark?”
Prompto stared at him incredulously. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Prompto kept staring, lips pursed. The moment Noct noticed, all thoughts of things other than kissing Prompto almost evaporated, but he held himself back. This was important. (Also, having a soulmark on your lips sounded really embarrassing.)
“We’re… really soulmates?” There was a furrow in his brow, like he was only just remembering that horrible moment when Noct had pinned him to the wall, thinking he was Ardyn, was also their first touch. “I thought it would have to be skin-to-skin, like soulmate marks…”
Noct shook his head. “It even worked through a window, once. That’s why I was so… careful.”
Prompto bit his lip.
Before he could ask, Noct said firmly, “I’m not telling you.”
Just thinking about Prompto taking his own life made him nauseous. Thinking about telling him was worse. Right now, Noct just wanted to focus on the good parts: that they were soulmates, and he could be as tactile with Prompto as he wanted.
“You never answered my question,” Noctis prodded.
“Well—I don’t know,” Prompto stammered. “I don’t really care, as long as it’s—um, as long as it’s you.”
All the breath in Noct’s lungs left him in a big gust.
He’d been hoping Prompto was his soulmate for a long time. Practically since that day in high school when Prompto said ‘hi’, pretending it was the first time. But now it seemed especially obvious—how could it have been anyone else?
Skirting Prompto, he swung his legs up onto the bed and laid down flat. Then he gestured for Prompto to join him, like a reenactment of the dream he had ages and ages ago that he could never let go of.
Prompto was trembling. Noct could see it as he planted a hand by Noct’s head and leaned over him.
“Are… you sure?” Prompto whispered.
“Yeah,” Noct said quietly in return. “I’m sure.”
Trembling, Prompto lowered himself to lie half on top of Noct’s chest, and half by his side. His face pressed into the space between Noctis’ head and shoulder, his arm lay draped across Noct’s, and their legs tangled together. The shoulder Prompto was lying on was going to go numb in no time, but Noctis didn’t give a shit—this was exactly what he’d been craving for years.
Noctis craned his neck down to look at their overlapping arms and chuckled.
“What?” Prompto asked.
“Look,” Noct told him, and he did, shifting more onto his side than his stomach so he could see the same thing Noctis did. Just as Noctis expected would happen, their soulmarks covered practically every inch of bare skin, painting them an emerald green. It was going to be all over their faces. Unlike Luna, there was no hope of covering it all up. Noct was going to be delighted to have it on display at all times.
(Maybe it would prevent fate from taking Prompto away from him.)
Noctis hadn’t considered that maybe it would be him who was taken away from Prompto—Prompto, and the entire world.
Time didn’t really pass inside the Crystal. He went through years’ worth of the Crystal’s memories in the blink of a second. Whenever his awareness returned, he found himself afraid. Thirty-three year old Prompto didn’t have any pictures of thirty year old Noctis. What if Noctis emerged from here, and Prompto was already gone? What if Gladio was dead inside that cursed home? Iris had died lonely and heartbroken because everyone she cared about had already left her?
What if Noctis returned to Eos, and even Ignis, who was fated to die thirty-one years after Noctis entered, was no longer around?
What was the world going to look like when Noctis finally saw it again?
Desolate, was the answer.
And cold, though not as much as one would expect for a world that hadn’t seen the sun in ten years.
Ten years. If not for Gentiana, there was no way anyone would have believed he was still coming back.
Seeing Talcott was so surreal that Noct was kind of afraid to look at his own face in the truck’s side mirror. He didn’t know if it’d be worse to find a 30 year old looking back, or to discover that he hadn’t changed one bit.
But at the same time… Noctis had never seen the full extent of his soulmark before. He wanted to, more than anything.
Then again, he’d be seeing Prompto in a matter of hours. He would be able to see its twin, then.
The drive flew by, thanks to the overload of information Noct was receiving. Soon enough they were parked at Hammerhead, and Noct just had to stare. Much like Galdin Quay, it had irrevocably changed with time, and not for the better.
The second he got out of the truck, Gladio was clapping him on the shoulder, giving him shit for his lacklustre “Hey.”
He didn’t miss the way Ignis failed to perk up until he heard Noct’s voice. Even if Specs had recovered any sight, it probably wasn’t much use when it was this dark.
And Prompto. His soulmark was just as extensive as Noctis remembered it. Viridian painted three quarters of his face, parts of his neck, and large swathes of his arms. (It was like a claim; a giant label over Prompto’s skin proclaiming him as Noct’s.) Prompto bounded up to Noctis just like he would have a decade prior, stopping short of making contact and everything. “Noct—it’s you! It’s really you!”
“Is it? I hadn’t realised,” Noct deadpanned. He didn’t move any closer, and in turn, neither did Prompto—a mirror of each other’s apprehension. Noctis was afraid of touching Prompto and seeing that vision again. The last thing he wanted was to watch Prompto’s eyes roll back in his head as he collapsed onto the floor, left prone for whoever was unlucky enough to discover his body.
It was only three years away, he realised suddenly. His eyes burned.
He made himself grab Prompto anyway, tense and prepared to flinch away.
Nothing happened.
Prompto glanced down at his wrist encircled by Noct’s fingers like it was a revelation, and maybe it was, because in the next moment he was stepping forward and pressing his lips against Noctis’. Hard.
Noctis’ mind was TV static. It was a faded out blur of warmth everywhere he and Prompto were touching, from their lips to their hands to the back of his neck where Prompto was curling his fingers and pulling Noctis even closer. He should have resisted. This was only going to make their separation so much harder. But when the subject of several years of daydreams came to life, how was he supposed to?
So he scraped together enough brain cells to kiss back.
It didn’t get very far, of course. After Gladio was done guffawing and narrating the whole thing to Ignis, he shouted, “Alright, you’re very happy to see each other, we know.”
And Noctis flinched back like he’d been shocked.
Prompto, to his surprise, was far more relaxed. Bashful, but happy enough to laugh at Noct’s expense.
The self-assuredness looked good on him.
The drive from Hammerhead to Insomnia was longer than Noctis expected it to be, which didn’t make any sense, considering when they left Insomnia for Hammerhead, the Regalia broke down and they ended up pushing it the rest of the way.
But they ended up setting up camp at a Haven they’d never used before.
“The magic in the Havens is fading,” Ignis shared while they set up camp with the familiarity of a group who’d done it a hundred thousand times, “as this is the longest they have ever gone without an Oracle to restore them. It appears that instinct keeps daemons and other creatures away, regardless, though we cannot expect that to last.”
The more Noctis learnt about this new, apocalyptic world, the more guilt seeped in. He remembered brushing against people ten years ago. In the streets of Insomnia, inside the arcade, at the Citadel, and around Lestallum, too. He remembered watching a million visions where people got cut down by daemons, and always shoving them out of his mind, figuring that examining them further was fruitless anyway.
Now all those people were dead.
He was sure the others would talk themselves hoarse to convince him that it wasn’t his fault, but surely it was. Even one less month in wait could have saved so many lives. Who knew what they would have done with a year? With five?
“What’re you thinkin’, Noct?” Gladio asked. He unfolded a camp chair and gestured in invitation for Noct to sit.
Noctis didn’t want to get into an argument over self-blame. It would be pointless. He knew if he remained quiet, though, Ignis would start. So, despite being even more reluctant about this conversation, he brought up something else. Something important.
“There’s… something I have to tell you guys. …About the prophecy.”
Prompto had been subdued since Noctis told them all what was going to happen. It hurt, watching Prompto try harder than ever to get on with his usual antics, only to fall ever so slightly flat.
It wasn’t just him, but Ignis and Gladio were more serious than they were a decade ago even before Noctis spilled the beans, so it was harder to tell with them. Either way, Noct was happy to let all three of them stand just that bit closer, let their hands linger whenever they touched him. He’d cuddle Prompto as long and hard as time would allow.
He wondered, in the quiet moments, what his dad knew about his death. Maybe he knew Noctis was going to be only thirty years old, or maybe he knew Noct would die on the throne. Maybe he had known the full prophecy; the one that made clear the Chosen King would give up his life in sacrifice.
Whatever the case, Noctis would probably be able to ask his dad in person, soon enough.
Pulling Prompto aside the moment they reached the Citadel’s front gates was a split-second decision.
Even if it wouldn’t change anything, even if it was in vain. Noctis couldn’t bear to stand back and let fate run its course this time. Not for Prompto. There was nothing he could do for Ignis, nor for Gladio. He’d never touched Cindy or Talcott before, and Cor wasn’t someone he had to worry about in the first place. But Noctis could do this for Prompto.
“Noct? Is… something up?” Prompto was asking uncertainly, while he glanced into the corridor, where Ignis and Gladio were waiting.
“Yeah. Um, listen.” Noctis reached out and took Prompto’s hands in each of his own. “This is important, okay?”
Prompto stayed quiet, adjusting their hold so that he could trace Noctis’ knuckles with his thumbs while Noct figured out what he wanted to say.
“I get… I get that… it’ll be hard,” he began haltingly, and Prompto’s movements stopped.
“Do we have to talk about this? The first time was—”
Noctis cut in, “I know. Just—let me say this one thing. Please.”
Prompto bit his own lip, hard, and nodded silently.
“I want you to live. If you can’t for your own sake, then… for mine. For Ignis and Gladio, or—for the people you can help.” Noctis let go of one of Prompto’s hands to thumb Prompto’s cheek, where Noct’s soulmark had imbued his skin. “You… deserve a good, long life.”
Prompto blinked hard. His free hand caught Noct’s arm in an iron grip. (Noct had no idea how they managed to go so long without this anymore. Now that they could touch freely, it was like they didn’t know how to stop.)
(When Noctis was dead, would he miss it?)
“Noct…” Prompto said, wobbly and choked. “How am I supposed to fight like this?”
“Sorry,” Noctis murmured. “I… Sorry.”
And he was. He didn’t mean to be the reason Prompto was so sad. He didn’t mean to take ten years to reach acceptance and return to Eos. He didn’t want to die.
“And don’t apologise,” Prompto said harshly. He stepped in for a hug, and Noctis met him halfway. Countless times they’d done this, in the past week or so that Noctis had been back, and all he wanted was more. Everything. He wanted his cup to overflow. But it wasn’t meant to be.
“That’s the last time, then,” he promised.
Prompto squeezed him even tighter. “Good.”
All too soon, Noct’s time was over.
He looked down at his best friends one last time. His Shield, his Hand, and his soulmate. Then, with a significant portion of willpower, he turned his back on them all.
(He never did look at his own soulmark, nor his own face.)
The throne room had always been eerie at night. It was only worse now, without his father standing beside him, holding his hand.
Noctis’ knee ached horribly by the time he made it up all the steps to the throne. “I’m home.”
“I walked tall.” He looked out at where the Council was supposed to reside. He would be the first king whose coronation was in an empty throne room, in a mostly abandoned city, in a world with no other countries left.
“And though it took me a while… I’m ready now.” He would make things right, so that the world could start turning again.
Sitting down almost felt anticlimactic. There were no cameras or expectant faces. Not a single cheer, nor disappointed cry. But in his mind, there was a sea of them. From his father, to Luna, to the people they met when they traversed Lucis and visited Altissia. To Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto. All of them helped him get here, and now, he was paying them back.
“Kings of Lucis…” he began, and his dad’s spectre appeared in the corner of his eye.
“Wait!”
Noctis’ magic withdrew. He watched Prompto sprint up the stairs to meet him, perplexed. “Is—Is something wrong?”
“What kind of question is that?” said Prompto exasperatedly. Then he commanded, “Summon Bahamut.”
“…Why?”
“Just do it.” When Noctis didn’t move, Prompto leaned over him, sliding his hand over Noct’s left, where it was resting on the throne’s arm. “Please. Trust me.”
Ultimately, Noctis couldn’t deny his best friend anything.
He concentrated on that place in his mind where his connections to the Gods lay, and tugged on the thread that led to the Bladekeeper. He tried pulling away from Prompto—he’d never done this while someone else was holding onto him before—but Prompto wouldn’t let him go. (Honestly, Noctis didn’t mind.)
The thing about Bahamut was that the physical form he preferred was bigger than the entire Citadel. He would never fit in the throne room. But he knew that Noctis wasn’t looking to be lended his strength, anyway, so he manifested as a booming voice inside Noctis and Prompto’s heads: “For what cause does the Chosen King summon me?”
Noct waited for Prompto to speak. The last thing he expected to hear was, “Ardyn’s almost dead now. You can finish him off.”
Noctis opened his eyes—unaware until then that he’d closed them—to stare up at Prompto in silent question.
“I shall not fulfil the duty of the Chosen,” said Bahamut resolutely.
But before his presence could fade from their minds, Prompto shouted, “And why not, huh? Noct already did ninety-nine percent of the work! All you have to do is knock off one last HP, and that’s too much for you?”
Even the Draconian, apparently, could be stunned into silence.
“You already took ten years away from him. From all of us, really. You don’t need to take the rest from Noct, too.” Prompto had his head craned up so that his chin was all Noct could see of his face. Even so, Noct wasn’t surprised by the tears. “He deserves a good, long life, too.”
After a long, tense silence, Bahamut responded. “Mercy might be granted to the King; however, a sacrifice is required, still.”
“My magic,” Noct supplied, before Prompto could argue further. “With Ardyn and the daemons gone, I won’t need it anymore.”
“The power granted by Reflection—that grants the King of Kings strength beyond that of the Six?”
“Yes,” said Noctis. “We’ll treat injuries the old-fashioned way. And we’ll recover Eos with our own hands.”
“The Chosen’s Covenants with the Six will be severed,” Bahamut decided, “and the Ring shall be a mere artefact henceforth. The Crystal and its power shall remain, but tied to the Kings, no longer.”
“If the Crystal won’t give Noct’s descendants magic, what will it be there for?” Prompto asked.
The Bladekeeper’s presence was already gone.
Instead, there was a shift in the air—or maybe it was Noctis alone who felt something. He looked down at the Ring of the Lucii, and searched for the magic it housed, but there was nothing.
One more minute, and daylight began to peek in through the cracked windows.
Noctis wasn’t comfortable about seeing his own face in the mirror. Once Iris gave him a haircut and Gladio demonstrated how to shave, it was better. But the only new part of his appearance he could really appreciate was his soulmark.
Most people got their soulmarks from handshakes, like Ignis and Gladio. People with different ones tended to have a story to tell, and everyone loved to ask Noctis and Prompto for theirs. And while it was embarrassing to discuss how they’d known each other for five years before just lying on top of each other one day—with all the nitty gritty details glossed over, of course—it also made Noctis glow inside.
Prompto and Noctis aged. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three. The day Prompto would have died passed without incident.
Noctis shouldn’t have been surprised that his ability to foresee people’s deaths remained, but he was, at first. That was until he remembered—that power was one already in his possession when he began his journey. Perhaps it was one that Bahamut didn’t have control over; it made sense that it would stay.
Noctis stopped refraining from touching other people, regardless. He wanted to be personable, and that required handshakes and helping hands. Alongside that, a part of him wanted to see those little glimpses into the future. He wanted to know that when these people died, it wouldn’t be from starvation or war or suicide.
Your dear soulmate is the key, a feminine voice whispered to him one day. Some part of him instinctively identified it as Etro—the goddess who had transcended to the heavens long ago, and could touch Eos no longer. With the two of you together, fate is not set in stone.
Noctis smiled.