Chapter Text
CHAPTER II: contrived coincidences
When Ignis mutters the words, voice raspy and strained, Gladio only has a moment to freeze and still, to feel his insides turn to cold, before the sound of glass breaking has him turning his eyes to Noctis. His King had stood, the papers crumpled in his hand – blue eyes swathed in snippets of fear, disbelief – and it was instinct alone that had Gladio standing right after, hand already gripping his lover’s shoulder. The line of muscle was tense, stone-still, and Gladio feels his heart drop at wide-eyed gaze that moves to him the moment he touched Noctis.
There were so many emotions swimming in those eyes, some of them too fast for Gladio to catch, for him not to be distracted by the myriad shades of blue in those eyes. Even then, when Noctis was younger – when they were all younger – Gladio had always been drawn to those eyes, so open and expressive and vulnerable. It was unlike the way his father and King Regis looked, too guarded and cold and impersonal, save for the slight trace of warmth in Clarus’. Noctis, though – Noctis had always been to open, and even more so when it comes to Gladio, who couldn’t help the fact that his heart beat faster when he entertained the idea of his then-prince so willing to let down his fragile walls around him.
It was a two-way window, Gladio now realizes. The grief, the horror – the sheer disbelief – shone brightly in the way those eyes flick towards him, as they take in the details of his Shield’s face. The way Noctis’ lip trembled as the papers in his hand crumpled all the more. Gladio doesn’t need to read it to know what information it holds, recognizing Aranea’s seal on the upper right corner of the document.
As if Ignis’ words finally took root, Noctis’ shoulders did a little spasm, like a shiver running up his spine beyond his control and Gladio could feel it, his fingers pressing into the muscle of his King’s shoulder and trying to ease and soften, wanting more than anything to pick him up and fold him into Gladio’s chest.
“That’s—“ Noctis croaks, voice hollow, unfocused eyes moving from him to Prompto then back to Ignis. “That’s not funny, Iggy. Impossible.” A low chuckle – it held none of the warmth and the humor that Noctis tried so hard to hide, it was empty – and the tilt of his lips painted a smile that seemed more of a grimace than anything else. His eyes gestured for them to deliver the punchline, the end of a bad joke. The gesture wasn’t as confident as Noctis would like them to believe, his fears belied by the way the papers in his fist continued to tremble.
Ignis remained silent, just as tense as Noctis, the worry rolling off him in waves. Noctis began to tremble under Gladio’s hold and the Shield swallowed, not realizing his mouth had dried, before attempting to speak. “Has this been confirmed, Iggy?”
Prompto was silent, had stood as well, and his fingers were biting into the utensils in his grasp. Gladio doesn’t let himself surrender to the throb of the panic underneath, he has to be focused. He has to be logical, someone has to be.
Perhaps, it was misidentification. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility – in the aftermath of the Long Night, during the recovery efforts, there had been so many faux cases of possible daemon attacks. What had been the results of violent animal incursions had inexperienced hunters who couldn’t tell a bulette-bite mark from an iron giant’s slash spreading the wrong information – believing that daemons had returned. In the months after the light came back, the rumors had gotten so widespread that mass hysteria was almost a definite conclusion. If not for the actions of Ignis, together with Talcott and Dr. Sania in educating people and the remainder of Aranea and Cor’s military forces keeping order, everything would have gone to hell, and right after ten years of tragedy.
There was also the possibility of it being a prank. Cruel, insanely so, but possible. Gladio was old enough to realize that people weren’t always kind and good. He knows, intimately, how some can be vicious if they want to – that they make the choice to be like that – and it’s not improbable for this to be one giant mess because someone was sadistic enough to want to cause terror in people. He knows it’s not always one person to blame. Sometimes, it’s the way they were brought up. Sometimes, it’s because of the way their body chemicals are wired. Nature versus nurture, so to speak. Not everything is black and white.
Regardless, whatever the reason may be, Gladio’s priority here was to be a voice of reason. Ignis always took that role but Gladio knows that all four of them had their lapses, their weaknesses that made them all the more human. Ignis wasn’t always perfect – Gladio didn’t really notice it then, but ever since that fateful day in Altissia and the trial of Leviathan, that careless, almost frenzied streak he saw in their constantly stoic friend scared him. Even the memory of Ignis risking it all – his entire life – and almost dying in the process, his vision burned out as the price for using the Ring of the Lucii’s powers, still had Gladio breaking in a cold sweat, sometimes. It was impossible to gloss over those details with his treasured memories of their childhood – as much as he had wanted then to recall the easiness of their younger years in school, Gladio can’t help but think that it was also good they had to go through all those tragedies, if only because it made them stronger in the long run.
The barcode on Prompto’s wrist lay uncovered as he reaches out to hold Ignis’ hand, and Gladio can’t help but feel proud of him…of all of them.
“Aranea herself signed the documents.” Ignis responded tersely, and Gladio grunted. If the former Imperial commodore actually took the time to approve the documents and not one of her subordinates Biggs and Wedge, then it can’t be anything else but true. He knows Aranea; in spite of her flirtatious nature, he knows that there’s a knife-sharp intellect and a keen instinct in those grey eyes, on top of the elite dragoon training. You don’t get to the upper echelons of a military regime and staying there by being nice. “An entire platoon had gone missing.”
“Shit.” Noctis bites out, trembling. “Shit.”
“Noct,” He says, quietly, tries to be soothing for his King. There’s a tenuous line there – can easily be broken – but Noctis staying strong. He has been, for so long. Gladio will never know how it feels, what Noctis had gone through. The best he can do is be there, now. As helpless as it makes him feel, Gladio knows that it’s the only thing he can do.
“This isn’t s’posed to happen!” Noctis doesn’t shout, but his voice does break at the last syllable. The trembling returns but he doesn’t shrug Gladio’s hand away. That’s good, at least. Noctis and Gladio shared the same temperament – they were easily triggered, Gladio knows that and he’s guilty for it – but Noctis isn’t keeping it to himself, locking everybody else out. “This was—this shouldn’t. Fuck.”
His eyes are glossed, but no tears spill. It’s not sadness in them, anyway. It’s fear and anger.
“Hey, just relax, buddy.” Prompto tries but his voice is high and reedy. It sounds unsure, just like how the rest of them are feeling. “Aranea could be wrong. Nobody’s perfect.”
It was a flimsy excuse, that Gladio knew, but hope can be difficult to build sometimes. The first few years after Noctis’ ‘death’ viscerally taught him that.
His King doesn’t really loosen up at Prompto’s words, but he does stop biting his lip. His eyes are still unfocused, lost in things – maybe the past, memories that Gladio will never know – and it takes a while, just Gladio repeating his name before he nods and breathes deeply. “Okay. I’m fine.”
He’s not, Gladio knows. The fact that Noctis tries, though, has his chest aching with an oh-so familiar weight.
“I’m sorry,” Ignis’ words are said in a low tone, but the worry and the regret is there. Noctis turns to him and gives him a sad smile, even if the former advisor can’t see it anymore. “It’s an upsetting report but it’s what we have, right now. I’ll ask Aranea to look into it more, and tap Talcott’s research team and have them assist her.”
If there’s one thing that remained steadfast when it came to Ignis, it was his honesty. Gladio agrees, looking at Prompto. The blond was still worried, they all were, as he faces Noctis but he nods all the same and resumes his seat. Ignis doesn’t follow after, as if waiting for the rest to take their seats.
Gladio moves his hand from Noctis’ shoulder to the small of his back, keeping his touch light in case it was unwanted. As if noting the direction of his thoughts, Noctis leans a bit against his hand and into Gladio’s space, and the Shield starts lowering himself back to his seat. His King follows him, and when he’s back in his seat, he grabs hold of Gladio’s hand – tight.
How many times – he can’t count how many times he’s wanted this, the comfort to hold Noctis’ hand, to grasp those fingers and keep them warm and pull his then-prince and King into his hold and never let go. What he thought had been childish affection, the unspoken line between friendship and fondness blurred in childhood, had not disappeared as they grew older, but intensified. Watching Noctis grow up, changing, from that timid boy who hid behind his father’s leg into a quiet, still sullen teenager with a need to excel, to achieve and, after ten years of absence, returned to the world like the king he was – it was too much for him, too much that his lips slammed shut with all the things he wanted to say but can’t because he was terrified. All the regrets and the missed chances and the fantasies he’s played out in his heads – he once thought them useless. There was no possibility between them – he was a Shield and Noctis was his future King. Now, though – after everything – he still can’t believe it—
—that he’s allowed to reach out and run his thumb down his cheek, that he’s allowed to hold that hand and press it against his chest, that he’s allowed to cup Noctis’ face and kiss him, funneling everything that he’s held close to his heart, over the fire of a wilting candle in a lifetime’s worth of darkness, into that one action.
He doesn’t really know if it’s true – if daemons have returned. A part of him doesn’t want to believe, doesn’t want to restart and relive the nightmare that had robbed him of so much and leaving him grasping at the sands of bitter regret. It’s not right, fucking unfair, for the world to go through that once more, to have all everything they’ve sacrificed to rebuild thrown to the wind and set aflame. He doesn’t know who to blame or what to do if that was the case – if it’s another ploy from the Astrals who have shown time and time again that they were fucking cruel or if it’s just life, if all the bullshit is just a cycle they’re all destined to repeat.
Looking at his King, now, at the way he held himself together, the way the light and focus returns to those eyes – eyes that he had spent so long fearing he’ll never see again, fearing he’ll never remember how they looked, the regrets piling up until he’s ready to explode - if everything they feared was true, if the darkness was destined to return, then he’s keeping his promise this time.
He squeezes the hand in his. He’s not letting go of Noctis ever again.
∞
As much as Gladio would want to stick around Ignis’ office, he does have a job to do. It would be easy, to let go of the hunters and put all his focus back on that one singular duty of a Shield, to defend and guard his King. He wants to go back to that – to nothing but Noctis at the end of his vision – but doing so would mean letting the world know that the fabled King of Light had returned, and he can’t have that.
Not because he was selfish and he wants Noctis to himself – that one was particularly true and untrue at the same time, but because doing so would be painting a target on Noctis’ back. He wants the world to know how amazing Noctis was, wants everyone alive to know that the reason they’re able to stand and feel the sunlight on their face was because of the man he loves so fucking much – that he’s worth more than anything Gladio could think of – but he knows it’s not fair to do that to Noctis. His King never wanted the throne, never wanted the royal duty and this new life – this miracle, because there was no other way to describe it – was his chance at something he never had in the first place.
And he’s ready to admit that he’s a hundred percent selfish when it comes to Noctis.
So, he has to suck it up and do the job he’s been given. Leading an organization wasn’t something he ever thought he’d need to do, to be quite honest. That was one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of responsibilities he had to take over. He wasn’t trained to lead, to hold the lives of so many people on his shoulders, waking up every day with the terror that he’s failed, that he failed them all and he couldn’t do anything to fix it. The irony – the bitter, ugly irony – that he once had been frustrated, almost cruelly so, at Noctis for not being strong enough to handle the duties of kingship and realizing that the tables have now turned left a rotten taste in his mouth. Another line in a never ending tally of lines of the times he’s failed to be there for his King.
Still—
As Gladio heads to the hunter command in Lestallum, sitting in the backseat and Noctis driving—
It was hard to keep those ugly thoughts around when his eyes are trained on the way Noctis’ hair dances in the wind. It was so easy to reach out and run his fingers through his King’s hair, and he’ll know that Noctis loves that – that he’ll close his eyes and lean back and let Gladio run and lightly scratch at his scalp, can imagine the way those lips will curl up in a smile and those blue eyes darken to midnight, a tinge of red across his cheeks, a picturesque angel in repose – and nobody can fault him for wanting that, for wanting this amazing man that he has long pledged to live and die for, the man he was born for.
Just the personification of everything good and kind and beautiful to him—
It’s not easy to hold himself back from just wrapping his arms around Noctis and having his way with him and letting the whole world know that his King was his and his alone but he stops, has to put the more important thing above all else – which was Noctis’ safety. They’ll play the bodyguard game, let the people talk of Noctis as the bland shadow behind the Grandmaster. It’s just one more sacrifice for Gladio, and a sacrifice he’s all too willing to pay if it meant Noctis is out of danger’s reach.
Idealistic, maybe gullible and naïve as nobody is ever truly safe. You can’t protect everyone from everything, from the physical hurts and the fears and terrors – but he can work with what he has, and with everything he’s got, he’ll make sure that whoever or whatever tries to hurt his King and lover will have to get through him first.
They come up on the main building by the time it hits past two – back then, it used to be the Imperial fortress near Coernix Bypass but after the dawn had returned and once the hunters had enough numbers – and with Ignis’ new republic’ approval – they had demolished the remnants of the base. The walls were still there, a surviving relic from the Old War, but they had reconstructed the inside, turning it into a working headquarters and training grounds for new hunters.
There are a few trainees out on the field, the rangers on field barking orders and routines for them to do. There are a number of military jeeps parked next to theirs, from the officers in the area, and Gladio takes a moment to survey the trainees. He wasn’t wearing his uniform – just a simple, sleeveless tanktop, jeans and his boots – so most of the passing hunters weren’t quick to recognize him just yet. Noctis locks the car, and nods at him, trailing behind Gladio as he walks to the main entrance. Unlike him, his King was wearing the shirt with the hunter seal on the breast portion and upon recognizing Noctis, the other hunters realized who he was with and stood, backs straight as they saluted him.
After making their way through the brightly-lit halls and the immaculately tiled floors – and stopping almost every other minute as the hunters all stand on attention when in the presence of their Grandmaster – Gladio and Noctis finally arrive at the head office. The hunter opens the door for them, and upon Gladio’s entrance, all heads swivel towards the door.
The highest-ranking officer salutes Gladio, before greeting them both. “Lord Amicitia, Noctis.”
“Hewley,” From beside him, Noctis nodded. After Gladio’s response, the rest of the officers in the room resumed their operations and he took the time to take note of the orderly traffic of the office. Back then, the hunters were just a civilian paramilitary organization, taking note of postings for hunts. Since then, they’ve extended to police work and securing the towns and cities around Lucis – many of the officers were assigned to different areas, not just in training but also in recruitment and administration, the organization’s own security and the financial aspects. Running a military force didn’t only mean banking on getting more people to train, but also meant expending money to pay for these people, find housing for them and maintaining the conditions of their system. “How’s the fort doing?”
“As well as can be, my lord,” Officer Hewley motioned to the busy work areas, gesturing with a large arm. The man was older, probably had ten or twenty years on Gladio but he didn’t look the part, his form still robust. Hewley is probably one of the few people who could give Gladio a run for his money when it comes to the skill of a greatsword, well, aside from his own sister that is. “It’s good to have you back here in Command, sir.”
There’s a line of mischief in the man’s eyes that had Gladio grinning. “Why is that, officer?”
Hewley’s lips were a flat line, but there was no denying the grin in his voice. “I don’t mean anything wrong by it, sir. Lady Amicitia’s handling of the base was perfect, as usual.”
“Let me guess, she trashed another training room while practicing, didn’t she?” Gladio raised a brow, amused. Beside him, even if he couldn’t see, he was sure there was a smile on Noctis’ face. His sister can go a little…overboard, at times, when it comes to her training runs. Hewley’s silence only proved his point further. He patted the man on the shoulder before making his way into his personal office.
His personal office wasn’t anything glamorous. It was just a small room with his desk and the couch and a few bookshelves with a collection of the novels he’s picked up in his travels. It wasn’t so much as the minimalist décor of the room or the dark palettes used to paint it, but the idea that it was his space. A sigh escapes his companion, and Gladio turns to find Noctis locking the door and – before he could even say something – his King had barreled into his chest, arms around Gladio’s waist and nose pressed against his sternum. Without hesitation, his hands fall to Noctis’ back, where he idly rubs at the tense muscle until he’s all that’s holding his King up.
“You okay?” He asks, keeping his voice low and can’t help but smile at the shudder Noctis tries so hard to suppress. There’s a moment of silence, where it’s just his King breathing against his chest and Gladio cherishing his closeness and warmth before Noctis slowly nods, pulling his face away from the cloth and looking up at him, eyes clear. “Good.”
Noctis opens his mouth, his lips make this weird movement, before he closes them and smiles crookedly at Gladio. “What?”
His King shakes his head. “Was about to say sorry, but then I remembered you hate it when I say that.”
The smile that comes up is pure and genuine, and he gives into the temptation of leaning down and taking Noctis into a kiss.
Kissing Noctis is—
There’s nothing to describe it, really.
Gladio will blame it on the novels he’s read, the gothic romances he always denies he loves to read, the clichéd stories of bard-kings and courtesans, of the tragic love affairs between knights and princesses—
Kissing Noctis is—
It’s like the feeling the sun on your skin after years of being cold, as if the taste of him was the vestiges of the sun trapped in the memories that have built up in the recesses of ice and despair. It’s not like anyone else and Gladio knows that—
He’s been with a lot of people, men and women, some for romance and others for pleasure but with Noctis, when it’s Noctis’ lips that he’s kissing—
It’s not just for the push and pull of their lips, or the thrill in his veins or the static pooling in his groin. There’s fire in Noctis’ touch, a tinge of light and grace that will never fail to fill Gladio with a burgeoning sense of hope – because kissing his King was like flying close to the sun and knowing it won’t burn you.
He leans down, one hand falling to his King’s rear and pulling him close, his lips part and allows Noctis’ tongue entry—
The tilt of his head, the angle just right as he moans lowly, taking all of Noctis in, the press of his King and lover’s fingers into the muscles of his shoulder blades. It was perfect, all of it. When he opens his eyes and they meet midnight blue, Gladio knows with a certainty that there will never be room for anyone else but Noctis.
“I love you,” he says – the moment they break apart, the distance between them almost negligible – and it’s true. Noctis looks at him, emotions flashing past the blue – affection, happiness, maybe a slight tinge of sadness perhaps – before he blinks a few times, his eyes shining. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
“I know.” His King answers, and Gladio remembers the first time they had said those words – the day his King came back to his life, in the soft firelight in his living room, a mirror of their exchanges. A day in Gladio’s life that he’d pay anything to play over and over again. “I love you, too.”
The moment doesn’t long, and they slowly disentangle themselves from each other, just in time as someone knocks on his door. Noctis gives him a smile, the light back in his eyes, as he walks to the door and peeks through the eyehole before opening it, nodding at Hewley. Gladio nods at him, hoping he doesn’t look any different – Noctis’ lips are a bit redder than usual.
“Caem would like us to patch them through your line, sir. I sent word to Lady Amicitia that you have arrived at the office.”
Gladio nods, and turns to his desk just as Noctis closes the door after Hewley’s departure. He takes a seat as Noctis takes position behind him, the monitor display of the phone lighting up and a shrill ring following after. He presses in his credentials and watches as the monitor changes to display Iris from her office in the Caem command center.
“Gladdy!” She calls, her voice cracking a bit through the speaker. His sister raises a hand to wave at them, and her smile grows smaller as she looks at his – no, their King, her eyes just a bit sadder. “Noct. How are you guys?”
Other than Ignis and Prompto, only a few select people knew of Noctis coming back, and moreso at their relationship. Iris had been one of the first few to know, after Cindy and Cid, and her smile could be seen from Lestallum to Gralea. He remembers how she used to have the biggest, most obvious crush on Noctis – something about the idea of both Amicitias attracted to their prince and King has him smiling – and how she couldn’t even look him in the eye for more than five minutes before flustering. His sister had grown, matured.
The brightness was still there, if a little subdued. Guess the same could be said with everyone who survived. She had grown stronger, more independent, less attached to people. She still had that trademark Amicitia energy and temper, though, if his suspicions regarding a broken training room is to be believed. Not to mention the strength. Even through the screen, he could see the hilt of her own greatsword settled next to her seat.
“Doin’ well,” Noct answers from the side, and he moves to rest his hip against the arm of Gladio’s chair. “Turns out some people are happy you’re not here anymore.”
The twitch of her eyebrow was obvious as her eyes flash with rage for a moment before she sighs, running her fingers through the dark hair down the right side of her face. The left side had been shorn, leaving her scalp bare where a tattoo of a raven ran from temple to nape. A new cartilage piercing glinted as she turns to set some documents off to the side of her desk. “Why don’t you give me some names and I’ll schedule a personal appointment with them, Noct?”
Gladio grins at her. “I don’t think so, kid. It’s hard to find people to hire, nowadays. Can’t have them go missing.”
“Not my problem, Gladdy,” She says, a bit distractedly, as more documents are moved and the clacking sound of the keyboard could be heard in the distance. “Hate to cut to the chase, but Iggy told me that you both know the situation in Olympus already.”
They nodded at Iris. She hums for a bit, turning to the side and pulling the keyboard close so she could type – probably another report – before the printing machine next to Gladio’s phone started. “Alright, sent you more of the intel my men recovered from the last transmission we got.”
Gladio waits for the print to finish, setting it on the desk where Noctis could see without moving away from his side. It wasn’t a military report – Gladio was sure – it read more like a scientific journal, if a little archaeological. “This is about the ruins on Olympus.”
“Yup,” Iris agreed, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “this transmission was more than a month ago, when the team managed to get some headway on the excavation at the site. Turns out the ruins were intact after Titan raised the earth. Talcott and his guys have been carbon-dating the shit—“Gladio grunts, a quiet ‘language’ thrown in between as he reads along, “and, guess what, the ruins have been there since before Solheim.”
“But there was nothing before?” Noctis supplies, frowning. “Wasn’t Solheim the first civilization?”
Iris grins at him. “First civilization we know of. There’s still a lot to Eos that we don’t know and it’s always possible that there must have been an earlier civilization before Solheim happened. Wasn’t that part of the legends? Solheim happened after Ifrit gave man fire, but what about before? Why give fire in the first place, anyway?”
The King shrugs at Iris’ questions – a bit of Talcott seeping into her voice. The kid’s love for history and science has obviously rubbed off well enough on her. He continues reading the documents, as the scientific team noted down the observations regarding the carved symbols into the walls of the ruins – an ancient script, obviously – and penned down hypotheses at how Solheim’s language might have developed from it.
More clacking sounds of the keyboard and Iris moves her chair closer to the screen, her face taking up most of it. “But that’s not everything. After the team managed to put an estimated age to the ruins, their contact log shows that they also reached out to their counterpart teams doing the same expeditions in Terra.”
“With Aranea’s men?” Gladio cuts in, looking up. He remembers the report Ignis was talking about just a few hours ago. Iris nodded, her amber-gold eyes – a mirror of Gladio’s – serious. “And?”
“Apparently, the ruins they found in Terra also had a similar estimation. Seems like both ruins were present at the same time from before Solheim.” She clears her throat, a bit of embarrassment on her face. “Well, it’s not as simple as that – plus Talcott can explain this better, anyway. It’s not the age of the ruins that worry me, it’s what on it.”
“What does that mean?”
The printing machine starts up, and another document arrives. “Sent you some of the images they managed to send back to us before we lost contact.”
Noctis grabs the sheet and holds it between him and Gladio, allowing the Shield to see. The image seemed to have been a cut off portion of a wall, where a series of images were carved into it in a series of columns and rows. He has no idea if it’s to be read horizontally or vertically, or what the images even mean. There were some he recognized, a bit, like a symbol in the shape of the sun or a bird. He can guess that language then wasn’t as advanced as it was now, with the use of alphanumeric codes. People, then, used to write in symbols and each symbol didn’t necessarily mean a single word as they would an idea . The symbol in the shape of the sun may not mean the sun itself but perhaps morning or daytime, the bird could mean flight or perhaps an allusion to something – maybe freedom, or a deity.
“I don’t understand a single thing here, Iris.” Noctis says, voice flat. Gladio huffs in agreement.
“Same, here. Talcott’s team does, though. There’s a bunch of linguists and other people who could read that better than us stationed there with the rest of the expedition, and they had copies of what they managed to translate sent back to Caem.” Iris waved her hand at them. “What I sent you isn’t important, anyway. Just wanted to show you what the guys over there were working on before they disappeared on us.”
“Still no contact?” He asks, folding his arms as Noctis settles on the arm of the chair. Iris shakes her head. “Nope. Been a while now. We’re already preparing a recovery team, they’re ready to deploy at the end of the week and we’ll know what the fuck went on there.”
They’re quiet after that, with Iris typing on her computer while Noctis eyes the document with the markings. Gladio resumes reading the report. From what he could gather, the team in Olympus was already making some headway after managing to excavate what seemed to be three floors of the original ruin – which they hypothesized to be a temple – most of which had been buried under the earth.
“Guys,” They both look up at her, “we managed to backtrack the communications log, seems that the team in Terra was making the same progress and they found similar markings in the ruins there. That’s, well, a big coincidence, then.”
Gladio raises a brow, remembering what Noctis had said some time ago, when he had a vision of Shiva, that it was Titan who raised the lands. When it comes to the Astrals, everything was either coincidental or more magical bullshit.
“The Terra team had more success regarding the translation,” Iris continues – her eyes reading something off-screen. She frowned, the corner of her lips pulling down, “hey, Talcott left a note on some of these translations. Huh. Wait.”
The way she says the last word has both of them looking up at her, the single word spoken in a dark, stern tone. “What is it, kid?”
“My guys forwarded the translation logs to Talcott’s people first before sending it over to us, and he left some comments here.” Her brows are furrowed as she turns to them, her eyes hard. “From what they could gather, the markings are talking about daemons.”
The reports from this morning, coming from Terra of all places, suddenly return to Gladio’s mind and he can feel Noctis freezing beside him. Gladio wasn’t any better, as his grip on the arm of the chair grew tighter. It can’t be possible – right? It just can’t be. But—
It also can’t be coincidental. Not after this morning. Not after what Ignis had told them. It was too convenient, too contrived. If the drop of his gut or the hair on the back of his neck standing on end was any indication, his instincts were pointing towards one conclusion.
“What?” It takes a while for him to realize that the reedy, disbelieving voice was his.
“Daemons,” Iris repeats, voice cold, “they’re – Talcott – not sure what the markings mean but he’s sure it means daemons. Apparently, the markings are similar to what Solheim used and what a lot of other languages copied soon after.”
“But—“ Noctis cuts in, voice oddly calm. Gladio turns his head to him and notes the hollow look in his eyes. “The daemons were because of the Starscourge. That happened after Solheim. Ifrit made the Starscourge.”
Iris takes a look at the document again before meeting Noctis’ gaze, head-on. “That doesn’t say anything about the Starscourge being the only source of the daemons. There’s still a lot of things we don’t know about it – the Starscourge could possibly what made the daemons, but there’s also the possibility that it’s not the only one.”
He knows Iris means well – she doesn’t intend to be cruel, least of all to someone like Noctis – but her words are straight and true, frank, because she’s always been the better Amicitia between the two of them, not willing to sugarcoat things. Noctis physically flinches at that, and it takes everything for Gladio not to pull him into his arms. He relents by holding Noctis’ hand, tight.
His sister looks repentant for a moment, her eyes sorry and her lips open as if to apologize, but she purses them shut and clears her throat. “Normally, I wouldn’t be worried about this. The past’s better left buried, anyway, but…you guys know about Terra, right? About Aranea’s soldiers?”
Noctis isn’t looking at her, his face is pointed towards the door and his hair gets in the way of Gladio’s view of his face. He nods at her, instead, running his thumb in circles over Noctis’ wrist. His King is still, his breathing forced, beside him.
As much as Gladio dislikes touching on the topic because of what it does to Noctis, he can’t help but agree with needing to talk about it. The coincidences were far too many for it to be considered as anything but coincidental. Something was going on, that he was sure of.
“Yeah,” He tells his sister, “I hate to believe it, but there’s definitely a connection. Two new regions with the same ruins and the same markings and the expeditions we send are either missing or dead. It’s not just paranoia, Iris, something is definitely happening here.”
“I agree,” Nodding, Iris glanced at Noctis for a moment – her eyes pained – before turning back to the computer on her desk. Gladio drops the papers on the table and leans toward his King. As if waiting for that one action, Noctis relaxes into him, his head still bowed. He wasn’t crying, Gladio knows, but there’s nothing like a reminder of the nightmares you’ve faced to make you feel helpless and deathly alone. The only thing keeping Gladio together was the idea that he can’t break now, not when Noctis needs him to be the Shield that he was supposed to be.
The sound of the keyboard stops and the disbelieving whisper of ‘shit’ reaches his ears, turning to the screen. Iris noticeably paled – clear even in the oversaturated color of the screen – as she looks at the screen, her eyes wide as they swivel towards them, him, and to Noctis. Even his lover looked up at her curse, as Iris’ lips open and close, as if wanting to say something but doesn’t know what to say. She’s still calm-looking, but there’s a slight hint of panic and…fear in her eyes.
“What is it?” Noctis blurts out, voice sharp and frustrated.
Iris doesn’t take offense at the tone, the expression on her face not changing as she presses a few buttons on the pad. The printer starts – a robotic sound – and Iris starts gesturing to them.
“Talcott just sent that.” Her voice was high-pitched, the cadence stilted. “He, um, said that it was also on the communications log from both Terra and Olympus. One of the earliest markings they collected for translation.”
The document finishes printing, and Gladio looks up at Noctis – who is eyeing the paper like it’s something horrible and evil – and, thing is, it is just paper and the worst thing you can get is a paper cut. However, the bells in his head are ringing – clanging loudly – as he grabs the paper, turning it over.
His hands turn to ice as he takes in more of the markings, in criss-crossed lines, and on the center, surrounded by a bunch of other symbols, carved deeper and larger than the rest was one familiar glyph. It’s not something he could find anywhere, only on one place. A very special place. It’s a glyph that he’s seen frequently in the last few months, has felt it with his hands, his tongue and his lips. It was a symbol of hope, for him – another chance for all his missed chances. Now, looking at it, his blood runs cold. He’s only seen that symbol in one place—
“Gladio,” Noctis’ voice is not only empty, but broken. It’s unrecognizable.
His King raises a hand, and Gladio doesn’t have to turn to know that the symbol on the paper is the same symbol branded on Noctis’ chest.