Chapter Text
Ignis pushes the dining cart down the hallway. It was a hard-won victory to convince the kitchen staff that yes, he truly did want to take care of the delivery himself. Gladio and Noctis have Prompto down on the training grounds, drilling him on how to retrieve and discard weapons from the Armiger, testing his affinity for elemental magic, and trying valiantly not to laugh when his attempts at warping and phasing leave him flat on the ground and fighting off nausea. Ignis wasn’t needed there; for all Gladio enjoys his ribbing, he is actually a good teacher, and he will make sure Prompto measures up.
Ignis knocks at the door to Lunafreya’s suite and is permitted entrance by Glaive Altius.
“Oh, Ignis,” Lunafreya says from the couch. She sounds surprised, but not unpleasantly so. The cushions and coffee table in front of her are littered with sheafs of paper and an assortment of highlighters, and she’s sitting cross-legged in one corner. “Am I running late?”
“Not at all,” Ignis reassures her. He steers the dining cart to the kitchen table and begins unloading its contents—two meals, instead of the one that Lunafreya was expecting. “Do you mind if I join you? The others will be training for a while longer yet.”
“Of course not. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Ignis finishes setting the table while Lunafreya extracts herself from her work. He does his best not to smile when he notices she picks her way through the chaos rather than tidying it up. It is something he has seen Noctis do many times before; now, it makes him think he may truly be comfortable with calling her simply Luna someday.
“How is your brother doing?” Ignis asks once she takes her seat.
“Better,” Lunafreya says, and there is no mistaking the depth of relief in that single word. “Between myself and the Citadel’s physicians, we believe he is truly out of danger now. What’s left is the slow work of recovery.”
Ravus’s survival is no small miracle. He had collapsed on the Citadel stairs, half delirious and with a festering wound. His fever had been dangerously high; there had been talks of possible sepsis. But the doctors’ skills and Lunafreya’s magic dragged him back from the brink.
“I’m glad to hear it. Have you told him yet of our planned departure?”
Lunafreya’s answering grimace is almost an answer in itself. “He is insisting he will catch up with us on the road.”
“Do you think it likely?” Ignis has not seen Ravus himself, but everything he has heard makes him think it will still be days before the man will be able to get out of bed, much less be able to endure the trip they’re planning.
Something in Lunafreya’s expression shifts, but it is gone too quickly for Ignis to parse exactly what happened. “He will try. I know he always intended to come on this journey with me.”
Ignis files the moment away, to bring up to Noctis later. It is not his place to offer Lunafreya the chance to delay their journey, nor is it his place to push back against the Astrals’ message, but—
If Noctis is to be surrounded by his closest on his journey, it would only be fair if Lunafreya could be as well. Even if their planned departure can as easily be counted in hours as it can in days. If Ravus is well enough to join them before they leave the Lucian continent, there is no reason they could not connect somewhere along the way.
They eat together then, not as stiff as a formal meal but not as companionable as friends. Ignis is trying to become better at socializing with her, for he is well aware the distance is his own fault. He is still too conscious of propriety and hierarchy, and he hasn’t spent enough time in Lunafreya’s presence alone to start putting in the hours that it will take to become friends.
Noctis and Prompto have messages, passed back and forth across the years, and Gladio has never failed to charm anyone he intended to. Ignis has always preferred the periphery. He’ll lose that shield soon within the confines of a single vehicle and a journey around the world.
Lunafreya is a good conversationalist, and if she is aware of the barriers between them, she circles by them but does not attempt to breach them. They keep their conversation on the plans Ignis drew up, and her insights are valuable. She has actual, recent experience in the wilds of Lucis and the outposts and towns that sprinkle them.
She thinks it sweet that Ignis is so optimistic about the timetable he created, which is a little embarrassing. But he dutifully reviews the notes she made on her printouts after she fetches them from the living area and promises to make her revisions. Lunafreya is, after all, the only other capable driver in their group, and if she insists so many of the smaller roads are in a wretched state, that the forests and the deserts are far larger than the intelligence reports make them sound, he will believe her.
“At every outpost, we should ask around for the local shrines,” Lunafreya says as she pushes a piece of paper that is all handwritten across the table to him. “Gladio may be more at ease if Noctis has more opportunities to purify himself beyond relying on my magic.”
Gladio’s worry about Noct’s ritual purity on this trip has been a background concern for years; now that their departure is imminent, it has risen several levels. It will be impossible to control access to Noct’s space out in the wider world as they do now in the Citadel, especially if they are to travel incognito. Lunafreya’s demonstration—reaching up to cup Gladio’s face with both hands and a warm golden light that left him swaying on his feet—has kept Gladio’s concern to a quiet simmer. Having access to shrines, even intermittently, where Noctis can run through the ablutions he normally does at night, will help quiet that concern even further.
(A small, bitter part of Ignis’s heart is also keenly aware that Noctis has not asked for comfort from him since Lunafreya’s arrival. It may be that Noctis will have far less cause to purify when they’re on the road than he did before.
Ignis hasn’t asked Prompto if Noctis is doing the same for him; there is no way to ask that question without giving away his heart.
The wise thing to do would be to come to terms with Noct’s focus on Lunafreya. She is allowed to offer him that physical reassurance when Ignis isn’t, and it would be easier than torturing himself with both the lack of contact and the chance of being caught. So long as Noctis has the comfort he needs, Ignis’s role doesn’t matter.)
Ignis tucks away Lunafreya’s notes about tipsters and the hunters system into the stack of paper she already gave him for further review. “Have you requested everything you need for the journey?” he asks. “If something hasn’t arrived yet, or if there’s anything else you need, do not hesitate to let me know.”
“I have everything I need,” Lunafreya reassures him. “I am packed and ready for our journey.”
“I do apologize for the early hour of our departure,” Ignis says. Noctis has complained about it multiple times already, and though Lunafreya hasn’t said a word, it’s only polite. “But I thought it best if we attract the least amount of attention when we leave. I will take the wheel first so everyone else can sleep.”
Ravus’s dramatic appearance inevitably attracted enough attention that they couldn’t completely hide his presence, though Ignis believes the news has been mostly contained within the Citadel. Lunafreya’s healing sessions with him have also made her more visible, but an early-morning departure and the fact that Ravus will be left behind may be able to confuse the issue for some time. It is likely inevitable that news of their survival will make it to the Empire, but every delay in information is a welcome one.
And, considering the state of the war, it is also prudent to keep Noct’s departure as secret as possible. The last thing anyone wants is for the people of Insomnia to believe that their Chosen King has abandoned them. Noctis will get the Royal Arms and the gods’ covenants and then return to them.
Ignis drops off Lunafreya’s revisions in his quarters and then heads down to the training grounds. He could have gone straight to Noctis’s quarters and waited for the rest of them to arrive, but on the whole, he would rather wait with them than be on his own.
He finds Gladio, Prompto, and Prompto’s replacement lingering in the hallway, still waiting for Noctis to emerge from the priests’ purification rooms, cleansed of physical contact and violence. Gladio and Prompto are still damp from their post-workout shower, judging from the state of their hair. Gladio looks loose-limbed and pleased, like he usually does after a productive training session. Prompto is still a bit pink from the showers, and the line of his shoulders is drooping; he is undoubtedly exhausted.
But he is still on his feet and smiling, chatting with Gladio easily. Ignis can’t help but smile as well, nor can he ignore the warmth of affection that settles across him.
He felt much the same when Prompto knelt for Noctis and was joined to the Crystal. Not quite contentment, but the reassurance that the person they had been missing all these years is finally at Noct’s back. A blossoming of hope, that with all the pieces in place, Noctis can finally take the steps he needs to take in order to fulfill his grand destiny.
The Cosmogony has never promised that Noctis will be victorious. And perhaps it is a bit reckless to think so, but now that Prompto is here, the ambiguity of the ancient text is less threatening than it used to be. They are on the precipice now, and Ignis will support Noctis in any way he can.
The door opens, and Noctis emerges. Prompto perks up immediately, and while Ignis is too far away to make out what Prompto says to Noctis, the enthusiasm in his voice is impossible to miss. Whatever he says makes both Noctis and Gladio laugh, and Ignis finds a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ignis keeps his approach quiet, but Noctis still spots him. “Hey, Specs,” Noctis calls, and Ignis cannot help the fondness that unfurls in his heart as he joins them.
They assemble in the King Regis’s receiving room in the pre-dawn hours. Ignis tries to ignore his discomfort at being so informally dressed in front of the king, but a mixture of practical comfort and a desire to exit the city with as little notice as possible has demanded it. Prompto hovers at the back, also clearly uncomfortable at being out of uniform and uncertain what to do with himself besides.
Clarus is present as well, and so is Captain Drautos. Ignis was surprised to see the latter, though his confusion was immediately cleared up when the man handed over an envelope. Inside were several carefully folded pieces of paper detailing the most recent information the Kingsglaive had on the Empire’s strength, movement, and bases on the Lucian continent. Ignis thanked him for the update, and Drautos nodded and retreated to the edge of the room.
Gladio and Clarus speak quietly to one another on the opposite side of the room, and as Ignis watches, Clarus hands over the keys to the Royal Tombs to Gladio’s safekeeping. Noctis and Lunafreya, meanwhile, stand near the center of the room, with Regis.
The king summons his Royal Arm and presents it with both hands to Noctis. Noctis accepts the sword from his father, fingers curling gently around the blade and the hilt. Lunafreya presses her hand to his shoulder, and Noctis closes his eyes. Then the sword is gone, vanished in sparks of crystalline blue.
“When you return,” Regis says, “I will share the burden of the Ring with you.”
“Dad—” Whatever Noctis meant to say next is lost when he steps forward and pulls his father into a tight embrace. Ignis looks away, not wanting to intrude on the moment, and pretends he cannot hear Noctis tell his father he loves him.
When the two finally part, Regis grips Noct’s shoulder in his hand. “Take care on the long road. Wheresoever you should go, the line of Lucis goes with you. Walk tall, my son.”
The Sword of the Wise rises into the air, a specter glowing blue-white and burning with so much magic that Ignis can taste it in the air. And even though he knows what is to happen next, he still can’t entirely smother his alarm when the sword rotates and rams itself into Noct’s chest.
Noctis staggers back with a gasp, but he stays on his feet. He presses his right hand to his chest briefly as he gets his breath back. Then he extends his hand out in front of him again, and the sword materializes in his grip. The triumph in his smile makes Ignis’s heartbeat stutter.
Noctis and Lunafreya sit at the edge of the haven, awash in the runes’ pale blue light. She carefully points out the constellations Noctis was unable to see for himself until tonight, and he looks at her and the night sky with equal wonder.
“You know,” Prompto whispers as he carefully takes aim with his sniper rifle. There’s a panicked edge to his voice that Ignis has never heard before, which would be more concerning if Prompto’s hands weren’t steady. “Spiders are bad enough when they’re regular size.”
Keycatrich Trench has rapidly climbed to the top of Prompto’s most-hated-experience list judging by his commentary, and Ignis won’t ever forget how Prompto paled when Ignis told him how many more of the royal tombs were located underground. First Prompto had to fight through his claustrophobia and now—
“Fuck whichever Astral was responsible for arachnes,” Prompto mutters, and then he pulls the trigger.
Lunafreya extends her right hand so her trident can shimmer into existence. And then she begins to sing.
If there are words to her song, Ignis cannot understand them. The melody is high, much higher than Ignis would have thought her range would be, and there is something—powerful in the notes for all their airiness. He fights off the urge to shiver, or, perhaps, to take cover. It feels like the very air has turned its attention toward the Oracle to listen.
The last note fades, and the faintest tremor rumbles through the earth.
Insomnia burns under the setting sun. It isn’t the first time Nyx has seen plumes of smoke rising like this, or monstrous daemons and dropships in the air, or MTs in the streets, but it is the first time he’s seen Insomnia’s sky without the shimmering Wall.
It’s like all the magic that used to be above has retreated to the king’s eyes. They blaze with the Crystal’s magic even though Clarus has to help keep Regis upright.
“I will do what I can with the Old Wall from here,” Regis murmurs, half to himself. Then he looks to Nyx, and his voice steadies. “See Ravus safely to Altissia. And take this.”
Regis slides the Ring of the Lucii off his finger and holds it out to Nyx. “Tell Noctis I am sorry I could not keep our promise.”
“Then let us once more into the fray, old friend.”
Ignis glances back in the rearview mirror. Lunafreya is still dead asleep, her head resting on Prompto’s shoulder. She was the only one not injured in the battle with Titan, nothing beyond a few scrapes she insisted on treating herself with a first-aid kit, and thus the only one who didn’t need to take a potion when the dust finally settled and Noct’s eyes glowed with his first covenant. Without a potion to restore her energy levels, she fell asleep mere minutes into the drive while even Noctis still buzzed with his success.
She seems pale, despite the sun and the dirt and the exertion. Ignis decides that they should get a nicer hotel once they reach Lestallum.
“It's over. The daemons are unleashed. Lucis is fallen.”
“Hear me,” Ravus snarls as best he can with Glauca’s—Titus’s, fuck, how did that happen?—sword at his throat. Nyx drags himself closer, but his legs and left arm aren’t cooperating. He’s not close enough. Where’s Crowe—?
“Surrender the Ring,” Titus says calmly. “You couldn’t defeat me before, and you certainly can’t now.”
Ravus staggers back, still weak, but Nyx realizes it is just a feint when Ravus’s hand slips into his pocket and emerges with the Ring. “Lucian kings of old,” Ravus shouts, “this man murdered the Oracle, and I will have his head!”
“There was an attack. The imperial army has taken the Crown City.”
Ignis closes the bedroom door behind him to allow Noctis his privacy with Lunafreya. There is no better pair to try to comfort each other. They’ve both lost their kingdoms and their parents, and Ignis—is practical. A little better at compartmentalizing, or perhaps in a possession of a more functional version of shock.
He does not expect news from his uncle or his cousins.
Gladio is gone, undoubtedly trying to reach Iris again despite her number being unavailable. But the main room isn’t entirely empty. Prompto hovers against the wall, anxious and disappointed to see him rather than Noctis emerge from the room.
“Prompto, if you would begin packing,” Ignis says as evenly as possible, trying to force his mind to the next task and off the pointless fear. “I do not believe it wise for us to stay here past check-out.”
“A word of warning, if I may,” the stranger says as he finally pushes off the hood of their car. His first steps toward Noctis and Lunafreya are immediately stopped when Gladio steps between them. “The general brigadier isn’t the brightest of men. What he lacks in subtlety he makes up with cruelty. Lestallum isn’t much for civilization, but it is a marked step above the rest of Cleigne. I would suggest you not return here for some time.”
“And who should we be thanking for the warning?” Noctis asks.
“A man of no consequence.”
Lunafreya’s final note still hangs in the air when the sky above starts to darken. In mere moments, black rain clouds blanket the world from one horizon to the other. The wind picks up and the rain begins to fall, and Ignis is so caught up in the wonder of it that he misses when Lunafreya’s trident winks out and she falls.
“Luna!”
Noctis and Prompto are at her side in an instant, but not fast enough to beat Gentiana’s sudden appearance. She keeps the Oracle from striking her head on the ground and transfers Lunafreya to Noctis and Prompto’s joint attention.
“Is this hurting you?” Noctis demands. His voice is nearly drowned out by the storm outside the tent, but the Stormsender seems in no hurry to make them move. “You were exhausted after Titan, too. You still weren’t recovered when we had to leave Lestallum.”
“This is my duty,” is all that Lunafreya says.
Ignis cannot bear to look at the dawning horror in Noct’s expression, so he lowers his gaze to Noctis and Lunafreya’s clasped hands. Prompto’s anxious fidgeting vanishes and his fingers dig into the sleeping bag they laid Lunafreya on.
“Her life is more important, Gladio.”
Prompto knows Noctis is trying to keep his voice low, in case Luna wakes up, but also for Prompto’s sake. Because each time Luna would use her powers to purify Noct at the end of every day and she passed out, Prompto pulled away more from Noctis.
“She is doing her duty, to get you to your goal, without failing.” Gladio’s voice is a growl, a tone Prompto has been hearing more of as of late. Their nerves are all collectively shattered, and it seems like things are only getting worse, not better.
“I will fulfill my destiny.” There’s a crack of emotion in Noct’s reply that makes Prompto squeeze his eyes tight. But the tears make their way down his cheeks still.
For a brief moment it feels like the world isn’t crumbling around them, that the nights aren’t getting longer and there are more and more daemons.
It’s just Prompto, taking silly photos of Noct trying to feed chocobos, while Ignis and Luna watch with soft smiles.
He wishes they could just stay there.
Seeing Pryna shakes Prompto to his core. It’s the message they have all been waiting on—to know if there is still some hope, that there are others out there who can help them.
Monica, Talcott, Iris, and Cor go upstairs to leave the five of them to read what has been sent.
Prompto wants so badly to reach under the table and take Noct’s hand in his. But instead he has to sit there, hands curled into fists on his knees, and just hope Noct knows Prompto is there for him, too.
Luna scans the page and sighs. “He’s alive, and the Ring is safe.”
They don’t relax yet, though. “And the others?” Prompto dares to ask when the silence hangs.
“Nyx and Crowe are with him. They are headed for Altissia.” When Luna looks up, her eyes are wet, and Noct immediately reaches across the table. She takes his hand and looks up at the ceiling. “He lost an arm, protecting it. But he’s alive.”
“We’ll see them soon,” Noctis promises.
Maybe Prompto could have tried to stop Gladio, or given Noct a warning, had he realized what the off to the side chats with Cor would lead to. But Prompto didn’t know all the ins and outs of all things, even now. It seemed normal that the Marshal and Gladio would need to talk privately.
All he knows is that after Gladio and Cor walk away, Prompto holds Noct tight in his room in Cape Caem with the door locked, gods be damned.
“He said he isn’t strong enough. Fucking idiot,” Noctis says between sobs, “what is he thinking, leaving?”
Prompto hugs him tighter.
“I trust you’ll be civil. Commodore Aranea Highwind, I leave them to you.”
Prompto feels only mildly better about entering this place with Aranea instead of Ardyn. Mildly.
“You sure you and I haven’t met somewhere before?” she asks when the others walk a bit ahead to inspect the ruined entryway.
Prompto knows they haven’t but the question still sends a chilling spike through him. “Nope, definitely not,” he sings and laughs as he skips away from her.
“Whoa…someone did a number on you.” Prompto says without thinking after Gladio spins Iris around in a hug.
“You should see the other guy,” he replies with a shrug. Iris fusses over the new scar, but Gladio’s gaze falls to Noct. Prompto steps back a little beside Ignis and Luna.
Gladio salutes and falls to one knee in front of Noctis. “Fear and doubt got in my head, made me think I wasn’t worthy to be your Shield. I’m sorry I left you.”
It’s the first time Prompto’s ever seen Gladio kneel like this to Noct and also the first time he’s ever sounded so serious. Prompto holds his breath.
Noctis worries his lip, and while Gladio’s head is bowed, his fingers twitch as if wanting to reach out.
Instead Noctis takes a small step away. “You’re back, that’s what matters.”
Prompto doesn’t mind having to stop at night. He would honestly rather delay getting to Altissia. He’s excited, sure, but he’s also scared. Things are getting so much bigger than he had ever thought.
He sits at the front of the boat, watching the stars, listening to the sound of water.
“Noctis, you must promise me.” He hears Luna’s voice, hushed. When Prompto turns, he can barely see Noct’s back as they speak off to one side.
“I will not let anything happen to you.” Noctis makes no attempt to quiet his voice.
“All that matters is the final covenant.”
“It means nothing if we don’t all make it out.”
Prompto tries to make himself as small as possible. As he looks back out over the ocean, he vows not to lose anyone else.
The group is full of high hopes and adrenaline as they plot out their plans in the office of the Secretary. It’s honestly the first time he’s seen them all smiling in...a long time.
Prompto swallows the fear and doubt that snakes up his throat as he shares a smile with Noct over the table.
Ignis wakes sputtering on saltwater, lungs burning. He’s—water, he’s in the water. It takes a dizzying moment to reorient himself and process how he’s still alive. Somehow he caught hold of some floating debris and kept his head above water. Ignis shoves away the thought of how easily he could have drowned and searches for a way out of the canal.
The sounds of battle are all around, and further off, the roars of Titan and Leviathan. Fear for Noctis, for Lunafreya, works its way around Ignis’s heart and squeezes tight.
There—steps leading down to the water. Ignis lets go of the debris and swims as fast as he can for the landing.
Ravus looks far healthier than when Ignis last saw him in the Citadel infirmary, though it is impossible to miss that the empty left sleeve of Ravus’s coat has been pinned tight to his body so it doesn’t get in the way. He, like Ulric and Altius, is sprinkled with ash and spattered with blood, and he is just as capable as them of dispatching the MTs and Imperial officers that have flooded Altissia’s streets.
They aren’t supposed to be here. They were supposed to head for the Altar of the Tidemother immediately after Lunafreya’s address, to defend her there. The fact they have not yet reached her—
Once the plaza is clear of enemies and Ignis is close enough for conversation, Ravus resheaths his sword. “Scientia.”
Ulric and Altius salute. Ignis doesn’t have time to ask for a report because Ravus steps forward, hand outstretched. When his fingers uncurl, the Ring of the Lucii sits dark and unassuming in his palm.
Confusion quickly gives way to horror as Ardyn shrugs off fatal blow after fatal blow. He can summon weapons as well, a glowing red Armiger of them. He can warp, and his magic extends beyond the elemental. He tears through their ranks as if they were all children on the battlefield for the first time. First Ulric, then Altius, then Ravus. He taunts the latter, calling Ravus cruel for failing to end Lunafreya’s suffering. Ardyn promises he shall do it for him.
For a long moment there is no sound but the rainfall and the distant vestiges of battle. Ignis tastes blood in his mouth and coughs, overwhelmed by the nonsensical thought that he is drowning again. He struggles to push himself up to his elbows, but the screaming pain in his leg keeps him from getting any further.
The movement catches Ardyn’s attention. He drifts over, looks Ignis up and down for a moment, and without warning kicks Ignis onto his back. The blow knocks the wind from Ignis, and beneath it something cracks, sending another horrible spike of pain through his core.
Ignis blinks up at Ardyn, who has gone blurry from the rain. “Come now,” Ardyn says with mock pity, “Why not follow your liege’s lead and stop resisting?”
I’m sorry, Noct, Ignis thinks, and then he puts on the Ring.
If thou dost wish to save the King, a sacrifice must be made.
The Lucii took Ravus’s arm to kill a traitor, and he carries the Oracle’s blood in his veins. Ignis has willfully put Noct’s acceptance by the Crystal at stake for years, and he is up against an opponent beyond measure.
Take everything , Ignis begs them. I will pay any price.
“Noct!” Prompto screams as he and Gladio sprint towards the altar. He can’t believe just how fucking bad things had turned out. The only way this could be worse is if—
He skids to a stop on the wet cement when they turn a corner and see figures on the ground.
But it isn’t Noctis, lying there unmoving. He and Luna are the ones placing their glowing hands upon a body.
“Ignis!” Gladio charges ahead. Prompto finds his feet won’t listen. When Gladio gets closer, it looks like he almost pushes past Noctis before he remembers himself and kneels beside Luna instead.
“We must get him somewhere safe!” Luna shouts. But Prompto can’t stop staring at the way Ignis’s body hangs lifelessly as Gladio cradles him in his arms.
“...yet he, so impure of heart, was denied by the Crystal and cast into ignominy…”
Prompto opts to focus on Ignis’s sleeping form, focus on the injuries covering his face.
“I should have known,” Luna hisses through her teeth. “I should have sensed the darkness in Ardyn.”
“Hey.”
Prompto hears a chair moving along the carpet. He dares a look and sees Noctis, sitting close enough his knees touch Luna’s and their hands are clasped between them. “We won’t fail. I won’t let us.”
Prompto finds he can’t look away as he watches Noctis slide the black ring onto his hand, and it feels like there is a shift in the air.
Ignis does not expect to wake, but the pain drags him towards consciousness until he breaks the surface. He wakes in the dark, aching body draped over something—soft.
It takes a while for his thoughts to settle, reorient. The agonizing headache doesn’t help. It pulses behind his eyes, and the spikes of pain make his breath hitch. He’s horizontal, on a bed, he’s fairly sure. Which means he—survived, he survived Ardyn and the Ring.
A panic settles on his chest, pressing down and down and down.
“Noct?” he tries, but the name snags in his dry throat. He licks his dry lips to try again—
Something—someone grabs his hand. Holds tight. “Ignis?”
Noctis. Relief hurts nearly as much as the headache. The panic eases, just a little, and Ignis grips Noct’s hand back. Even he can tell it’s weak, even if he knows he shouldn’t. Surely Noctis wouldn’t hold his hand if anyone else could see it. Perhaps that’s why they’re in the dark.
There is something—odd about that thought, but Ignis can’t sort it out. It doesn’t matter right now. “I’m here. Lunafreya?”
“She’s okay,” Noctis says. His voice sounds—wrong. Ignis struggles to puzzle out why he would sound like that. Even though it hurts, Ignis turns his head towards Noct’s voice. “So’s everyone else. They’re all alive. You’re—you’re the one that scared us.”
Ignis remembers, suddenly, why Noctis might be scared. After everything, did Ignis lose it? “The Ring?”
“I have it now.” Noct’s voice breaks.
Is Noctis crying? The thought is intolerable, and Ignis reaches for Noctis with his other hand, wanting to reassure him. His control is clumsy and isn’t helped by how dark the room is, but he eventually manages to find Noct’s wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Noctis says, voice wretched. “The covenant—after it, the best we could do was keep everyone alive. I couldn’t—”
It still takes a moment to figure out what Noctis cannot bring himself to say. Ignis remembers his vision fading out, to be replaced by brilliant lines of inhuman color, and closes his eyes.
Ignis leans back against the headboard and tries to breathe through the nausea. Lunafreya is still weak, but she is capable of getting out of bed and walking in a straight line, which means everyone came to Ignis’s room to hold the conversation.
Once Prompto is certain Ignis is settled and not about to vomit, he sits down next to Ignis on the bed. He nudges Ignis’s shoulder in a silent show of reassurance; Ignis does not quite suppress a flinch. Prompto sucks in a breath as if to apologize, but he must notice how Ignis’s hands dig into the comforter because he keeps the words to himself.
Ignis loathes himself for the vicious relief he feels.
“The Empire has the Crystal,” Gladio points out. “That’s exactly where they’ll expect us to go next. We’ll be walking straight into a trap.”
“I know.” Noct’s voice is tight with frustration. “But I still need the Crystal’s power. We’ve seen what Ardyn can do. The Ring isn’t enough.”
Ignis tells himself that no one is looking at him.
“We should go to Tenebrae,” Lunafreya says. “There are records—”
“The Manor burned,” Ravus bites out. “And even if it hadn’t, it’s unlikely the Empire simply left the Oracle’s library untouched.”
Lunafreya doesn’t rise to her brother’s temper. “The temples,” she says. “They had their own records, beyond what the priests let me access as the Oracle-in-training. If there are any surviving records about the Accursed, that’s where they would be.”
The snow burns as it hits Prompto’s face, but he doesn’t have the energy to push himself back up.
What a way to go.
“No no no,” Prompto has collected as many files as he could while making his way through the complex. He spreads them out in the small supply closet he’s hunkered down in.
His hands shake as they slide the newspaper with the headline A New Hope, and a picture of someone who looks an awful lot like Prompto underneath.
“They’ve left you to die.” A sharp blade lifts Prompto’s chin to force him to face amber eyes; he’s too tired to fight, his mind clouded over by the pain radiating through his body.
“Shall we go ahead get this over with?”
“Fuck you.”
Prompto rests his head on the pillow and lets out a shaky sigh once the doors to the bunker hiss shut. He’s aware Noctis is the only one left, somewhere near. But they haven’t touched since before the covenant in Altissia, before everything went to shit, and Prompto honestly doesn’t expect much at this point.
Everything is going so fucking terribly.
The bed dips as Noctis sits, his back hitting Prompto’s thigh. Prompto would move, but he’s too tired. They had to be mindful with potions, and he didn’t want to use too many, so while his pain is lessened he still feels completely wiped out.
So instead of moving he just closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Noctis’s voice is small, shaky. When Prompto blinks his eyes open, Noctis is staring at him, eyes red and watery.
“Noct—” Prompto reaches his hand closest to Noctis, weakly, and Noctis takes it. He presses the back of Prompto’s hand to his forehead, and it’s clear he’s trying to get control of his emotions.
“You don’t have to say sorry.” Prompto doesn’t move at all, doesn’t want to give Noctis any inkling that he wants to get away. Because he doesn’t.
Noctis shakes his head. “But I fell for his trap. I hurt you. I got you stuck here.”
“How would you have known?”
“But I should have!” Noctis lifts his head and wipes angrily at a tear with his free hand.
Prompto moves his hand so that they interlace their fingers. But that seems to just make things worse, because Noctis dips his head and squeezes Prompto’s hand.
“You’re my Swordsworn, and yet I’ve almost lost each of you. What kind of King am I?”
“Hey now.” Prompto sits up, but Noct’s grip on his hand is too strong for him to fight against. “I’m the only one who has the self-pity parties here.”
Noctis doesn’t look up. Prompto isn’t sure how much time they have before the others return, but he knows he doesn’t want them to come back to Noctis being upset.
“You’re an amazing king.” Prompto forces himself to sit up fully, and Noctis shifts so they are sitting close. Prompto looks at their hands and squeezes before taking a steadying breath.
“You’re an amazing person, Noct. You put yourself last, always. You’ve lived a life that honestly I don’t think many people could.”
Prompto licks his lips and when he looks up, Noctis is looking at him like he’s a different person. Prompto manages to get his free hand up to rest on Noct’s forearm—Noct is warm, and Prompto finds himself leaning forward so his head rests on Noct’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to see his face.
“And you’re a good...friend. The best, imo.” He doesn't mean to falter on the word friend, and when he does, he winces. He hasn’t had much time, really, to think about how his feelings measure up to all the shit going on around them. “I wouldn’t go through this for anyone else.”
That’s as much as he is willing to say; he doesn’t think it will help anything now to expose his deepest feelings in this shitty place, during such a shitty time. Or really ever. So, he clears his throat and lies back down, finding it not so hard to make a pained face as he does.
After a few beats, Noctis covers Prompto’s hand with his other one. “Prompto, we’re going to get through this. Together. You with me?”
Prompto sets his most determined expression and hopes what he says carries even an ounce of the emotion he feels. “Ever at your side, always.”
Prompto used to love how blue lights played off Noct’s skin, his hair, his eyes. But at this moment he hates it. Hates the color. Hates the reflection as the Crystal pulses and glows in Noct’s irises.
“This can’t be it.” Prompto isn’t afraid to say the words no one else will.
“Prompto.” Luna is the one at his side, hand on his arm. “This is what he has been preparing for.”
Ignis’s head is tilted in the direction of Noctis—somehow he always knows where Noctis is. Gladio is the one standing in front of Noctis, blocking him from taking any more steps.
“Gladio.” Luna sounds like a queen, and Gladio huffs as he steps aside. “Only the Chosen King, anointed by the Crystal, can purge our star of its scourge.”
“He must be tested,” Ignis says more than questions. He sounds unafraid, and Prompto wonders if he would feel different if he could see the Crystal in front of them.
Luna steps away from Prompto and takes both of Noct’s hands in hers. “We have all done our part. Now it is time for you to take this step.”
Noctis looks at each of them steadily. “See you on the other side.”
Prompto wishes he could look at Ignis, because suddenly all Prompto can feel is dread.
This is where they know, truly, the effects of their actions.
The temple is eerily empty, despite everyone’s search for survivors. Ignis is little help in that department, nor can he assist with their sorting through the records. He tends the hearth they’ve decided to make their base. He can detect a little light, but nothing so distinct as shapes, and he is more sensitive to heat with his scars than he used to be. Without the dark glasses, sometimes even that is unbearable.
Footsteps behind him, light enough they cannot be Gladio, Ravus, or Ulric. Ignis tilts his head, but he can’t hear anything else that would give away who it is.
“Ignis.” It is Lunafreya after all. Weeks after Noctis demanded the Crystal renew her health, Ignis marvels at the difference in her voice. He knew she was tired when she arrived in Insomnia and grew worse on their journey with every covenant; there is no comparison to the strength in her voice now. “Do you have a moment?”
Ignis knows she is simply trying to be polite, rather than assuming because he—no, that is enough of his self-pity today. He should have left it behind in Cartanica, but for all his declarations there, it still sneaks up on him.
Ignis turns toward her voice, careful not to bump into the stack of firewood Gladio procured. “Of course. How may I be of assistance?”
Lunafreya lowers herself to the floor to sit—across from him, he’s fairly certain. “I am hoping that you will have some advice for me.”
There is something about the statement that suddenly reminds Ignis that Lunafreya is the last—not living, present, because the Crystal accepted Noctis into itself—ruler in all of Eos. And that Ignis was raised to provide advice, not for her, precisely, but someone of her station.
He inclines his head. “Whatever I have to offer is yours.”
“We will lose the light eventually,” Lunafreya says over the quiet crackle of the fire. “Whether that will take two months, two years, or longer, we will lose it all before Noctis returns.”
Ignis ignores the ache in his chest that always flares at Noct’s name.
“I believe my best course of action is not to lead, but to resume my journeys. In addition to searching for ways to subvert Noct’s destiny, I think I need to begin creating new havens. What say you?”
Ignis has never seen a Starscourge patient up close and never will now, but the sounds of the man’s suffering and his fearful family are obvious enough. Lunafreya’s strain is also plain through her prayer, and Ignis closes his eyes against the traces of her holy light and joins her in a parallel prayer. Not for this stranger’s health, but for hers.
“She seems nice,” Luna has a mischievous grin on her face, framed by her short platinum hair.
Prompto doesn’t look up, only focuses on his rations. He can hear Cindy talking to someone else a few booths down, now. Same topic as with them— the sun’s already setting, it isn’t safe, we’ve set up lodgings in the garage.
“She is,” is all Prompto can manage to say. He hears Luna hum, and he looks up to see her staring over his shoulder, chin in her hand.
Prompto clinks his bottle of beer with Ignis’s—Hunter HQ is one of the few places to still find booze, and it usually came at the cost of a few hunts.
Which is fine by Prompto.
“What are we toasting to?” Ignis holds his bottle up.
He doesn’t have to think long to answer that. “To Noct, wherever the hell he is right now.”
Ignis doesn’t move right away. When he does, he takes a heavy swig, and Prompto does as well. Feels about right.
“Do you…” Prompto peels at the label on the bottle. “Do you ever worry, he won’t come back? Because of...us?”
Ignis takes another drink. “I have to believe he’s returning. That the Crystal accepted him.”
Prompto swirls the bottle around on the wooden table. “I get that.”
“Do you?”
Prompto looks up and even though Ignis can’t see his face, he feels like Ignis knows exactly what has been going through his head since the moment Noctis stepped into the Crystal.
“I do. I...I don’t want it to have...messed anything up. Because it was something he needed.”
Ignis hums.
Prompto inhales deeply, and blows the air out slowly.
“Something else on your mind, Prompto?”
“Igs, did…” Prompto props both his elbows on the table, head in his hands. “If he...I need to know. That he’s gonna be okay. I don’t…” Prompto grips his shirt at his heart. “I feel like something is missing. And it fucking hurts.”
He closes his eyes at the confession. He’s never said anything about this to anyone—why would he? And to who? Not when his whole world revolved around the one person he was not supposed to fall in love with.
Ignis touches his shoulder. “We can only hope the Astrals saw our good intentions. Our...dedication.”
Prompto isn’t going to cry, dammit. But when Prompto looks at Ignis, Ignis’s eyes are watering—he isn’t sure Ignis is even aware of it. And then tears fall, and Ignis is surprised enough to sit up and wipe at his eyes.
“Apologies…”
Everything falls into place, in that moment. Prompto leans forward and hugs Ignis.
“Is this payback?” Ignis’s breaths are heavy between words, and he spins the wooden polearm Gladio fashioned.
“Don’t know what you mean.” Prompto jumps forward with the spear he made.
Ignis dodges, but then stumbles. “Damn it.”
Prompto holds out a hand to help him up. “Again.”
“I’m telling you, we need to go back. I’ve drawn up a map with the locations of all the Solheim ruins we previously visited for Royal Arms.”
“Ruins? They are probably crawling with daemons, are you insane?”
“Gladio—”
“How the hell will looking at old ruins bring Noct back?”
“It won’t!” Luna stands up to Gladio, looking up at him with her arms crossed. “We’re doing this so we can help him when he does!”
“Seriously, though,” Prompto hisses under his breath. Ignis tightens his grip on his daggers and focuses on the skittering he can hear across the stone. Not in this chamber yet, but close. Several of them, unless this is a new mutation with even more legs than normal. “Fuck whichever of the Astrals is responsible for arachnes.”
“Come on,” Iris says. Ignis hears the whisper-quiet sound of leather and metal as she unsheathes the sword from her back. “This can’t be as bad as Costlemark.”
“Why would you say that?” Prompto demands. Crowe snickers under her breath.
“On my mark,” Ignis cuts in before the teasing can go further. The skittering is undeniably closer now. “On three. One—”
“You’re certain you transcribed this correctly?” Ignis runs his fingers across the raised script again, unwilling to let his hope take flight without confirmation. This—if it is true—
“I’m certain,” Talcott insists. “We double checked it, we always do before we give any of it to you.”
“Who translated it?” Ignis asks. He flips through the pages carefully, searching for the reference information. “This text was found in—Steyliff Grove, last month.”
“I’ll check the log. Just a minute,” Talcott says before he darts off.
Ignis tries to calm his racing heart by taking measured breaths. He searches for the passage again with slow, trembling fingers, desperate to make sure that the words haven’t changed in the seconds since he first found them.
The air leaves Prompto’s lungs when Noctis steps out of the truck. He’s aged, just like them, but it’s jarring, it conflicts with the image he’s held in his head for the last ten...fucking hell, ten years.
“Hey,” Noct waves, awkwardly.
Luna is the first to run forward, throwing herself at him in a big hug. Noctis laughs and holds her tight.
Prompto can’t stop staring.
Ignis leans close to him. “Is it really…”
“Ya…” Prompto steeples his hands at his mouth, “he fucking did it, Iggy.”
Gladio excuses himself first, moving into the tent after saying his good nights. Prompto looks between Ignis and Noctis, unsure. Of a lot of things.
“You guys,” Noctis leans forward, elbows on his knees.
Ignis turns in his seat. “Noct?”
“I know...there’s still a chance. Things could go sideways.”
“Naw dude, we’ve had ten years to prepare for this.”
Noctis stutters a laugh. “Just. But if it does. I just want you to know…”
Ignis and Prompto have the same idea at the same time—they both move out of their seats, and then are kneeling on either side of Noctis. But neither of them touch him.
That still feels like a taboo, even in this moment.
Ignis grips the arm of Noct’s chair. “We will see the dawn, together.”
“Hell ya we will.”
Noctis looks between them.
He reaches his right hand out and takes Prompto’s hand. Prompto is too shocked to do much but watch as Noct then leans over to Ignis, pressing their foreheads together and cupping the side of his face.
Ignis looks like a statue.
Prompto slides around but doesn’t let go. “Noct, you shouldn’t—”
Dust rises up when Noctis kicks the chair back and falls to his knees, pulling Ignis and Prompto close on either side of him.
“Don’t you guys get it? I passed through.” Noctis laughs thickly as he grips the back of Prompto’s shirt tighter. “It doesn’t matter now, it doesn’t matter. I can...do this.”
As if one, they all cling to each other tighter.
“Today, we finish it. Today, we walk tall—together.”
