Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

'The Accursed was met by Ifrit in his prison. After being left to rot for forty years and forty decades, he was hungry.  The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Savior of the Starscourge, ask me to turn stones into bread.”

'The Accursed answered, “You have a lot of work to do to gain a silver tongue, because I’m not going to work with one of the Astrals whose plots damned me.”

'Again, Ifrit showed the Accursed visions of the riches he could have and the kingdoms he could conquer.^. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.”

'The Accursed answered him, “I’m not worshiping the petty fool who unleashed the Starscourge in the first place.’^”

'Then Ifrit took him to the top of the prison that Bahamut had made and had the Accursed stand on the highest point of it, at the opening at the top, so he could see the island below.  “If you are the Savior of the Starscourge,” he said, “throw yourself down. Escape. Take your revenge. It is so close you can taste it.”

'The Accursed rolled his eyes and said to him, “As much as I want revenge, I’m not going to do it by teaming up with heaven or hell. If I must wait another five hundred years to go free to spite you all, then I will.”

'Then Ifrit said, “Then you shall remain here, because no human remembers that you live. You cannot heal the Starscourge anymore, so here you will suffer to protect humanity from the daemons inside of you. The other Astrals will not save you. Humanity will not save you. Only I can save you.”

'The Accursed stared out at the blueness of the sea, and breathed fresh air for the first time in centuries. He replied: “That is what The Chosen King said before -”

'Ifrit threw the Accursed from the height of his prison and let him slam into the stone floor of it, leaving him broken and alone. As the Scourge healed his wounds, a great monster rose from his tainted blood; the Accursed was powerless to stop it as a creature of his own making devoured him. And so the Accursed lived no more; only mindless daemons spawn from his body now, and will until the Chosen King comes with the light.'

 - Cosmogeny, Book of the Accursed (Apocryphal), translation from Old Lucian

These were the facts:

Although Lucis and Nifleheim’s arms race had remained neck and neck for centuries, the last four had led to an uptick in Nifleheim’s daemon-based technology versus Lucis’s daemon-annihilating counterpart. What Lucis had in gifts for allies to stem the scourge, Nifleheim had in increasing numbers of daemons to unleash upon their enemies, scorching the earth.

If Nifleheim had a genius who was able to turn daemons into, say, robots sapient enough to take orders powered by daemon goop, the war would have been over in decades. Lucis would be in a corner they couldn’t climb out of.

However, Nifleheim did not.

So when a team of Niff soldiers and their minions showed up, instead of MT Troopers, there were wild daemons, ready to attack friend and foe –

And Ravus, rooted the ground in terror as a man in armor set his mother aflame –

An Iron Giant, collared and brought along as muscle, roared and swung a huge fist, sending the man in armor to splat against the manor wall like a beetle in a hurricane.

A hand grabbed Ravus’s. He turned. Luna.

“Run!”

She yanked on him. They ran.

It didn’t take long to catch up to Regis and Noctis in the woods. Regis was still a head taller than Ravus, with legs as corded and strong as ash trees, but he’d developed a limp in the year since he dropped Noctis off in Tenebris. He still carried Noctis over one shoulder as he made his way through

“What now?” Luna asked. Her voice sounded far away, as if in a dream. Ravus clung to her as if she might disappear through his fingers.

Regis explained his plan to her. Ravus barely heard it at all.  Every time he blinked, the afterimage of a silhouette in fire burned against his eyelids.

They all ran. Ravus followed.

Twelve years later, Ravus had his own apartment, an office in Insomnia’s Citadel, and a terrible dilemma.

His beautiful, adult, dying sister sat primly on the couch in front of his desk. On one side was her fiancé, Noctis, looking for all the world like a cat who had discovered the most comfortable place in the house was the keyboard a graduate student was using to write their term paper on.  And on her other side was the person the two of them were actually dating, a golden retriever on two legs named Prompto, who was giving Ravus some aptly nicknamed puppy dog eyes.

“Let me get this straight,” Ravus said. “You want me to pull strings so the three of you can have your bachelor party on an island that’s a federally protected nature reserve and only allows archeologists and biologists to visit. That’s rumored to be haunted by four centuries of a Starscourge colony.”

“There’s, like, half a monster on Angelgard, and it’s never attacked humans!” Prompto said. “Imagine the pictures we could take!”

“And there’s no fishing within three miles of Angelgard Island, so there’s sure to be good catches there,” Noctis said.

“I would love to take a look at the archeological ruins there,” Luna said. “As Oracle, isn’t it important to understand the history of how victims of the Scourge have been treated throughout history?”

She had that look on her face that Ravus knew too well: the one where if he did not say yes to this, she would jump out a window and convince someone else to do it. Lunafreya was the only person Ravus knew who could out-stubborn him, and was saying something.

“I’ll do it,” and the trio cheered, “but I have two conditions.”

“Name them,” Luna said.

“One: I’m going with you to Angelgard to make sure none of you get eaten alive or fall into the ocean.”

“Deal,” Noctis said, far too quickly.

“Two: I want to know why the three of you went to me instead of asking Regis for this,” Ravus said, and smiled unpleasantly. “Give me a good reason and I’ll pay for the entire trip.”

“I can’t believe you paid for everything,” Prompto gushed as he hopped into the knee-deep water at Angelgard’s shore.

Ravus jumped down after him and grimaced as water soaked into his boots. He thought he had water-proofed them enough to survive against the ocean. “I said I would do it, so I did it. There’s nothing else to it.”

“You act like a big sourpuss, but you’re a good guy!” Prompto patted Ravus on the back, then ran up to shore to join Noctis and Lunafreya.

Ravus made a face and followed him, flexing his prosthetic arm experimentally. He usually wore a human-looking arm in the palace, more form than function; for outdoor excursions, he preferred a simpler arm that responded to how he moved his shoulder and upper arm, with  a hooked piece of metal and thumb in place of a hand. It was not pretty but he could, for example, shove the pointy end into the soft palate of a monster before it could bite him and stab it into the brain stem, which was ‘pretty metal’, all things considered.

Lunafreya had the print out of the map she and her fiancés had sat around the day before, putting down landmarks to visit. “Most of those who died in the Scourge colony had their bodies thrown into the sea, but there’s a commemorative plaque on the only remaining building,” she said. “We should go there first.

She strode up the black sand beach, her boys trailing behind her. “Wouldn’t it be hazardous to throw dead people into the bay?” Prompto asked.

“No one drinks sea water. The real problem would’ve been the fish eating the dead bodies,” Noctis said.

Prompto gagged. Ravus didn’t laugh, but only barely. 

The island was small. It was almost entirely made of black volcanic rock, and had two sweeping stakes on each side of the island as if it were about to take flight. Most of the wooden hovels that had made up the colony for Starscourge infected had decayed in the 1500 years since it disbanded, which left the great stone mausoleum in the center of the island as the only remaining building. Columns of metal like great swords surrounded it like saluting soldiers.

“How did they get a building that big?” Prompto asked. “That looks like it’s entirely carved from uncut stone!”

“Aliens,” Noctis deadpanned with outstretched arms. “Don’t you watch the history channel?”

“Noooooct!!”

Luna cleared her throat. “It’s said that Bahamut created this island to seal a great evil during the time of the first king. Different versions of Cosmogony disagree on what that evil was – the Infernian, or the Scourge, or a vessel of one of them – but the versions that keep the Book of the Accursed in claim that this was all divine.”

“If only the Astrals could tell us which translation is the right one,” Ravus muttered, and Luna stomped on his foot. Still worth it.

Prompto rubbed his chin. “Wasn’t that the 1200 year old version they found buried near the Vesperpool? Like, they made a movie about it.”

Noctis said, “They’ve made several movies about it. One camera crew almost got shot trying to sneak onto the island without a permit. Dad hasn’t issued any since I turned fifteen – whatever strings Ravus pulled, they were well and tugged.”

“Your father may not be happy with us when we return, but that’s only if he finds out,” Ravus said. “So don’t tell him.”

“That’s the plan,” Noctis shot back. “It’s not as if we’re going cryptid hunting.”

Ravus blinked. “What.”

“There’s a cryptid that lives on this island! Allegedly,” Prompto explained. “The Angelgard Flan. It’s a black flan that only comes out on moonless nights.”

“Of course. Of course that’s your half a monster.” Ravus face-palmed. “We’re not just trespassing on a haunted Lucian nature reserve; we’re going to get eaten by Bigfoot.”

“It’s the Angelgard Flan! And there’s a 1 million gil bounty for a picture!” Prompto pulled out his camera. “But, speaking of pictures, we should do what we came here for.”

“Right.”

“Indeed,” Luna said.

The three of them spread out. Noctis and Prompto both took out cameras and snapped photos of the mausoleum and the swords, while Luna inspected the rock itself, looking for inscriptions.

Ravus sat down on a ridge and watched them.

“I know about the prophecy,” Noctis said, leaning forward on the couch. “Luna says it’s not time for me to hear all of it, but I know what it means for Luna. And what the covenants are going to do to her and… what getting them might do to me.”

Prompto clasped one of Luna’s hands in his own. It was a small movement, intimate, and Ravus only saw it because he had one eye on Luna as her face went pale and smooth as porcelain: her politician’s face.

And Ravus heard that ‘might’.

“There’s something on Angelgard Island that has to do with the Ring of the Lucii. That’s why Dad won’t let anyone on the island anymore – it’s going to do something within the next few years,” Noctis explained. “I don’t know what it is, or if it’s really there, but anything could help.”

“And even if it is a hunch that fails,” Prompto added, “it’s supposed to be a beautiful island. And it’d be kind of nice to have a picnic all to ourselves, and to get to know the guy walking Luna down the aisle…”

Ravus’s cheeks heated up. “You – I, of course I would come with you. It could be dangerous, and I could hardly let Lunafreya go somewhere unchaperoned with both of her fiancés. But having privacy from the paparazzi is paramount… which is why we’ve chosen this island.”

He gestured grandly towards his surroundings and turns back towards Prompto with a raised eyebrow.

“Dude!” Prompto’s smile was only partially forced. “You’re really gonna do it! That’s all it takes?!”

 “The king and I have disagreed in the past about how much or how little our charges should know about the prophecy. He feels as though it would be kinder to not burden either of you with what is to come.” Ravus folded his hands, entwining flesh with plastic in a deliberate pose. “Since Regis has taken us into his home without complaint, I have abided by the letter of his laws. But I feel it would be better if the two of – no, if all of you understood what was coming, so you can be prepared emotionally and physically. If you pursue this on your own, I’ll ‘not notice’ for as long as I can. It’s not my fault if I never noticed.”

“Gotcha,” Prompto quipped and finger-gunned with one hand. “You’re way nicer than everyone says.”

“Now you’ve done it. He’s going to be an asshole just to prove you wrong,” Noctis said.

“I take it all back, Luna. Your engagement to Noctis is over. Prompto is your only husband now,” Ravus deadpanned.

Luna laughed weakly. “Thank you, Ravus.” She pulled both of her fiancés to her in a big embrace.

“I’ll arrange everything. You three can go,” Ravus said, then paused. “Actually. Luna, I want to talk to you privately. Could you two leave?”

“Sure,” Prompto drawled, and Noctis saluted lazily.

Twenty years ago, they would have had to bring charcoal and parchment paper to take impressions of engravings on stone. Digital photography made things infinitely easier.

The stone door to the mausoleum was scattered around the entrance. The inside was dark, but that made sense. Shadows. It was just his imagination that it looked as though something had burst through the stone from the inside. And cryptids did not exist. Nope.

He pulled his sword from the sheath and rested it over his knees. Just in case.

“None of Prompto’s cryptids have been real so far,” Noctis said. Pointing his flashlight at a comically crouched Prompto in front of the walls, he shouted, “Stop glaring at the tomb! Relax.”

“One of them’s gonna be real eventually!” Prompto retorted back, jumping to his feet and shielding his eyes from Noctis’s flashlight.

“Hopefully not this one.”

“Yeah, true.” Prompto raised his Canon DSLR. “Here, Ravus, look! I’m gonna take a photo of Luna poking that mausoleum wall. If this was a movie, the monster would show up, but this is real life so everything is gonna be fine!”

“All right,” Ravus huffs. “Do it.”

Prompto focused the lens at Luna. She waved and her hand brushed over the entrance of the tomb.

Darkness oozed out. It spilled from the cracks like cold maple syrup and then piled up, up, up, and an obscene smile formed in it, two empty holes like eyes.

The click of Prompto’s camera echoed in the sudden silence.

Ravus jumped to his feet. “Luna, run!”

The enormous black flan turned towards Luna as she ran, slapping a huge pseudopod where she had been a second before, and Noctis warped next to her and then up to the ridge behind Ravus. He shoved a bunch of metal orbs into her hands. “You remember how to use the fire grenades?”

“I do.”

“Good. Cover me and Ravus –“

Who was already running at the flan, pulling out his own fire grenade and threw, enveloping the creature in flames.

Black goo melted off, but more bubbled up to reform the face.

“It’s not immune to Noctis’s magic! Everyone, get your grenades! If we can burn it fast enough, it might not be able to regenerate!” Ravus shouted.

Luna hit it next, then Prompto, and it burned the flan down until something pale grey was exposed, floating in the middle of the flan as it regenerated.

“It has a nucleus! Noctis, can you attack it?!”

“Not if it’s regenerating that fast!” Noctis warped so that he hung over the mausoleum entrance by his blade. “If all three of you hit it, I should have enough time!”

Ravus hissed and skidded back. “It gets slower whenever it has to regenerate, which means if we keep this up, we can keep it stunned until Noctis can finish it. Prompto, Luna – “

“We’re ready!”

The three of them threw their fire grenades at once, covering the great flan in fire. It roared and this time, when it melted –

There was the core. Grey like a corpse, because that was what is was. Sunken-faced, black ooze dripping from his nose and mouth and onto a shabby beard. Sharp angles at his ribs and shoulders where bones jutted. The flan’s insides steamed as it was exposed.

“Shit,” Noctis said. “New plan! I’m getting him out of there!”

“It’s just a corpse!” Ravus shouted.

“I’m not letting him get fried up as daemon shit!”

Lunafreya shouted, “You help him unless it looks like it’s going to get him killed!”

Ravus groaned. “Fine! Get him out before it regenerates!”

Noctis warped into the flan goop and grabbed the corpse under the armpits, unsticking it. But he was sinking into the flan himself, and he was only able to drag the body to the edge of the flan before it started regenerating around his knees, and Noctis warped away before it absorbed him.

“Noctis, if you and the others melt it, I will get the body out!” Ravus tugged his coat off and tied it around his waist, then wrenched his prosthetic’s hand open.

“Good. If we can get him back to Galdin Quay, they might be able to identify him. Whatever’s in that thing, it mummified him - he looks nearly alive.”

“Of course… Your bachelor party involves killing a cryptid and finding a John Doe.”

“That’s why your sister is marrying me: for my amazing parties.” The flan turned toward them, and the pale silhouette of the corpse inside was there too. “Ready?”

“Ready! Fire!”

All four of them threw grenades. The light burned the flan down, down, down, until it only came up to Ravus’s waist, until the man inside was exposed up to his own waist. Ravus clamped his metal hand around one wrist and got an arm around his waist; Noctis got his other side and together they pulled.

The flan tried its hardest to reform around him, goo wrapping quickly around his arms. Ravus hissed as he pulled, the flan’s sticky insides flowing into his prosthetic and wrenching the hand open. He swore.

Luna and Prompto ran over. Prompto shoved his gloved hands into the flan to wrench out a leg. Luna used her Niff army knife to cut pieces of the flan away.

Yank! The body was out.

What remained of the flan hissed and steamed. Bubbled. Dissolved, and the four of them quickly backed away as the mess spread and spread and spread.

“Guess this guy really was the core,” Prompto said.

The corpse hung between Ravus and Noctis, and then jerked, yanking his wrist away from Ravus’s arm to claw at his face –

“Shit, he’s alive!” Noctis snapped. One hand went into his pockets as Ravus tried to pry his claw off the man’s wrist; the man jerked away, fingers scratching at his nose and mouth as they leaked thick black goo –

Noctis pulled out a phoenix down charm and slapped it to the man’s chest. Healing light glowed between his fingers. The man vomited black bile until his airways cleared, and then he wheezed for breath.

“Get your healing ready. I’ll hold him,” Ravus said, and Noctis helped Ravus take the man’s whole weight. Ravus gingerly knelt down and lay the man on his side, pulling his matted hair out of his face. The man’s breathing grew steady, and his hands twitched and pawed at his own face, at his eyes. The flan’s sludge was caked onto his eyelids, sealing them shut. Ravus grabbed his hands by the wrists and tugged them away from his face as Noctis and Prompto sat at the man’s head. Prompto carefully held his head up, mouth open, as Noctis opened up an elixir and started dripping it into the man’s mouth.

He coughed and hacked with the first few drops. “D, dulce…”

“What’d he say?” Prompto asked.

“Babbling,” Ravus said. “He may have brain damage from being there for so long. Getting stuck in a daemon can’t be good for him.”

It certainly had not been. The man was emaciated, bones jutting at hips and ribs, hands bony, face haggard. A scruffy beard and long matted hair were stained black with flan goo, and his skin was a dozen shades of corpse-grey from the remaining flan sticking to him. It clung to a long scar up that ran from the corner of his lip to just below his cheekbone, and had caked shut his eyes. His clothing had been eaten away by the flan – probably – because he was naked save for cuffs around his wrists; each had a foot of chain leading from it that lead to melted links.

He was breathing evenly, and Noctis’s phoenix downs were enough to heal organ damage and internal bleeding, but his hands shook even harder than the rest of his body when he tried to move them and he was only able to spit out fragments of sound.

Once Noctis had poured the elixir in, Luna took a tissue soaked in her water bottle and started wiping up the man’s face. Underneath the sludge, his skin was as white and waxy as a candle, with deep shadows of exhaustion under his eyes. Once his face was clean, he blinked open his eyes and then shut them with a grunt of pain.

Luna had Prompto tilt his head and forced one eye back open. Pale brown, almost amber, but the striking thing was that his sclera was pure black. He hissed and tried to pull away from her, but the boys held his head still. She opened his mouth and found his gums and tongue a dark purple, and cleaning his neck revealed blotches of grey there. 

“Stage Four Scourge,” she said gravely.

Prompto said, “Should you really be putting your fingers in his mouth like that? Can’t you get that from being bitten?”

“Bitten by daemons,” Ravus said. “Or blood to blood contact with Stage Four or Five. It’s not an advisable idea, but it hasn’t killed her yet.”

“Ravus!” Luna snapped. “Oracles are immune.  I’ll be fine.”

“Will you heal him?” Noctis asked.

Luna nodded. “I will try. But his condition seems too far gone.”

“It may be kinder to take him to the Galdin Quay hospital and let him pass there,” Ravus mutters. “If he’s near Stage Five, healing him may do more harm than good.”

“But Luna’s the Oracle!”

“The Scourge is a parasite! If there is enough of it in his body, destroying the Scourge may be impossible – it will regenerate faster than she can kill it, and eat up more of him in the process. That will just accelerate his death.”

“Ravus!” Luna interrupted.

Ravus continued, turning to Luna with his voice rising, “You can’t heal everyone; even our powers have a limit! The consequences for your health -”

“I can try!” Luna snapped back. She put her hands on the man’s wrists and began healing, her hands glowing around his.

“Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, you will stop this instant –”

“Make me!”

“…Nox Fleuret,” the man muttered suddenly, and he twisted to break Luna’s hands, grabbing them instead. “Oranā, noli resilire."

If Luna’s hands glowed like moonlight, his shone like the burning of the sun.

 Once Luna had shut the door behind her fiancés, she and Ravus went to the opposite side of the room for a hissed conversation.

“Have you told them yet?”

“Told them what?” Luna asked. “You have quite a list of things you want known.”

“I think the reason why you’re dying would be near the top of the list!”

“They know what happens to Oracles when they’ve healed too much,” Luna said. “I should have a good five years in me if I pace myself.”

“But creating the Covenant will take away at least three years, if not more! And Noctis is the Chosen King – Prompto will be a widower twice over by the time he’s thirty! Don’t the two of them deserve to know that?”

 “What should I tell them? That our happiness now is temporary?”

“Better than have his death and yours come out of nowhere!”

 “I don’t want them to end up willing to throw themselves into meaningless battles for the fraction of a chance that it will save me! That’s how you lost your arm! You’ve been mourning me since you were twelve - ”

“I would let them take off both my arms if it meant the prophecy would spare you!”

 “I don’t want you to die for me!”

“No, Luna, I don’t want you to die for me! Prompto said you might fall - if doing this means that there’s a fraction of a chance that I can save you, then I’ll do it.” Ravus put his face in his hands. Tears dripped silently from his eyes and he took deep breaths, counted back from ten. “Mother is gone, we can’t go home... You’re all I have left.”

“And I won’t leave you,” Luna said, putting her hands on his. “But you must understand – that as you risk your life to save me, I will risk my life to save you and everyone else in this world.”

Ravus sighed and shuddered. “I won’t stop you from healing, but please let me help you. If we can find a way to save you and still fulfill the prophecy…that too is fate, is it not?”

The light was enough to blind Ravus. He was blinking back spots when Luna grabbed him for support and made a retching sound. He wrapped his flesh arm around her. “What’s wrong?”

She gagged. “I think… He turned my healing back on me…”

Ravus leaned over and opened his grip on the man’s wrist, then grabbed Luna. With his vision clearing, he could now see that she was dripping black bile from her nose and mouth and spilling out of her tear ducts. “Hell. I think he did.”

“Uh,” Prompto peeked over Ravus’s shoulder. “That’s healing?”

Luna staggered onto her knees, half turned and spat up more runny black liquid. “This is what it looks like when she heals someone with Stage Four Scourge,” Ravus explained. “There’s so much in the body that her healing forces it out everywhere it can.”

“It’s a good thing I’m on my period,” Luna said between dry heaves. “And usually why I ban reporters from coming in to hospitals when I heal. It’s not dignified for my patients to be leaking scourge from…everywhere.”

Prompto made a silent and understanding ‘oh fuck’ face.

Noctis, meanwhile, was uncapping another elixir with his teeth. He passed one to Luna and Ravus, then pulled out a second one and uncapped that too. “Prompto, you know how in your games, there’s powerful spells that you cast from your health and then you keel over?”

“Yeah?”

“I think he just did that. He passed out again.”

“Oh shit...”

“Then let’s get you both healed and back to the boat,” Ravus said. “We’re out of cell phone range, but I can have an ambulance meet us at the docks once we’re back in range. And then I’ll work on spinning this so that Regis doesn’t have our heads.”

“I can help,” Noctis said. “Are we still going to try and heal him?”

“Yes,” Luna and Ravus said together. Luna did a double take, then stared at Ravus. ‘You were all for letting him die five minutes ago.”

“That was before this.” Ravus drew back Luna’s palm and showed her how her blood was running red from her nose now. “It’s supposed to be impossible to heal oracles. This must be fate…and I am loathe to let death take an instrument of fate away from us.”

“That would be more heartwarming if you didn’t say that in such a creepy way,” Noctis said. “How are we getting them back to the boat?”

“He’s taller than I am,” Ravus said. “I’ll carry him. He may be too much for either of you to carry even with his emaciation.”

“Poor dude,” Prompto said. “What do you think happened to him?”

Ravus frowned. “Between the chains and his condition, I would guess a hostage situation gone wrong. When no one paid the ransom, the hostage takers probably chained him up and dumped him on the island to starve – or maybe threw him off a boat and he washed up on Angelgard.  No one visits, after all. Then the flan ate him.”

“Why would the flan sleep through crowds of biologists visiting but show up for us?” Prompto asked. “Was it attracted to Luna? He recognized her name! And he’s got her powers…”

“So maybe he’s an offshoot of our family. We’ve had bastards before,” Ravus said. He ran his hand over the man’s messy hair, wiping away flan goop with gloved fingers. It revealed red and silver, liquid flame. “Or it could be Nifleheim. We only go to heal there once every few years with the war on; they may have tried to recreate someone with the Oracle’s powers but dumped him for….” He frowned. “For what? He does have her powers. He’s a success. Is it because he has such advanced Starscourge? Or could this be Oracle sickness?”

“We can ask him when he’s lucid,” Noctis said. “Let’s get back to port.”

Chapter Text

You are dreaming.

The centuries have blurred together in your dreams. White stone walls. The flowering gardens of your palace. The stink of the sea and decaying seaweed and your own filth. The incense of the temples of the Astrals. In your tomb, you dream, and you dream in waking, because there is nothing to do except fall into your own mind, fall and fall and wait for someone to call your name once again.

You dream of burning, bright lights, and awful noises, and being yanked around like a puppet. You dream you’re fed sweet nectar as if you are a babe once again. You dream that there’s an oracle there, a power that calls to your own, that cuts through your daze like a knife and you reach out and heal, as is your duty.

And when you wake up again, you are still dreaming. This is normal. Your dreams are within dreams within dreams; now that Angelgard is no longer a place to abandon those with the scourge but your tomb, this is the only way to entertain yourself.

You are dreaming you are on a boat. The sea is as blue as the sky. It’s more color than you’ve seen in a lifetime. Your waking hours are as white as your tomb’s walls and as black as your blood.

The sun is so bright. You haven’t seen it in nearly five hundred years. You can barely stand to keep your eyes open with how it stings.

It’s so loud. There must be guard dogs near here with this growling. And there’s voices, but they’re so loud too. You can barely make them out.

There is so much. It’s been a long time since your dreams have been so vivid.

You’re on your side, watching the waves. Someone’s covered you in blankets. They are so soft. You take one and pull it over your face. Soft. Smells like dried flowers. 

“Man, are you doing ok?”

Someone approaches. You try and push yourself up, but the cuffs are heavy and your joints ache. That healing took a lot out of you, and you didn’t have much to begin with.

“You look like you’re awake. Ravus says we shouldn’t give you solid food or you might get sick, but Noctis made a bunch of elixirs so you feel better, and we’ve got some soda and some of Gladio’s old ramen.”

“What? Don’t talk so loud.” You put your hands over your ears. “No yelling. I can’t understand you being so loud.”

“Right, got it. Shhh. Whisper. Maybe it’ll be easier once we get to the hospital?”

You finally focus enough to roll onto your back and look at the noise. It’s a lanky blonde man in black leathers. He looks young, maybe your daughter’s age. It’s painful to look at him for more than a few seconds, so you cover your eyes and nod.

He gently taps the back of your hand. You peek up at him and prod him back. He grins and waves. You mimic him, waving back in return.

It’s child’s play, but your dreams haven’t given you such a calm interaction in some time. You’ve gone through more variations on your death than you’d prefer to remember, thank you very much, and playing a little monkey see monkey do is no trouble at all.

“Noctis, I don’t think he can speak yet, but he’s responding to me. Maybe you can get through to him?”

“You look like you’re having fun. I‘d hate to interrupt.”

“We murdered a cryptid and our girlfriend almost died! I feel really weird right now. Like, uh. Floaty, but not in the good way.”

“Then I think we do need to swap. You go hang out with Luna, I’ll deal with the old guy.”

“Ok, ok.”

The blonde waves to you, then stands. You wave back and wait for the next one to show up with the blanket over your face. You wave when you hear them sit down and wait.

“Feeling any better?”

“You’re all too loud. I still can’t understand.” You put your hands over your ears again.

“Then I’ll – wait. You said…. I’m too loud?”

“Too loud,” you repeat. “Yes, that’s – I can hear you now. That’s good.”

“You’re – speaking like this. Ok. I haven’t spoken like this in a long time.” 

He lisps as he repeats but this time he is clearly speaking each word. Nice and slow and quiet. You nod and ask your question.

“Good. Can you tell your dogs to be quiet?”

He pauses, muttering softly, and though it’s soft, you suddenly can’t understand him. You strain your ears. Is something wrong?

“Dogs, dogs, I’ll try – guys, he’s not babbling! It’s Old Lucian!”

He suddenly turns and shouts at the blonde man. You jerk away (he got too loud again), shielding yourself with the blanket. There is something wrong; your heart pulses in your throat as their conversation continues.

“Why is the old guy speaking Old Lucian?!”

“Maybe he’s an archeologist and the brain stuff made him forget how to speak Modern Lucian? His accent is really thick, but Specs tutored me enough that I can understand the basics! He sounds out of it, but he’s definitely speaking!”

“Ask him what his name is!” Ah, there was the Oracle. “Old Lucian is a dead language and I doubt the hospital will have translators, so we should get some of their work done for them.”

“On it!” And then he taps your shoulder. “Hey, do you remember your name?”

Of course, you remember. You wrote it on the walls so you wouldn’t forget; your nails are chipped from the effort. If you weren’t bothering to hide from the noise, you’d scowl at him. “Ardyn.”

He disregards the pout in your voice and continues asking.

“Do you remember how old you are?”

His next question catches you off guard. You search your mind, but you can’t remember the number of tallies you scratched on your wall. You timidly shake your head and wait for shouting.

But he whispers: “That’s ok,” and he pats your head. You’re glad he accepted your shoddy answer.

“What’s your hometown?”

You think of the great plazas you used to give speeches in, the walls you began building in your twilight years, the smell of the gardens in your palace. The screaming of the crowd when they turned on you. The stone of roads digging into your back as they dragged you by your legs - 

“I…I can’t go home,” you stammer, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself.

“What’s wrong?” You can hear him frowning. You carefully pull the blanket back from your head and look at –

You look up at your son.

You sit up so fast that you crack your forehead against his chin and both of you yelp with pain. Your back screams from the effort, and so do your legs as you haul them under your body so you can sit face to face with him.

Black hair, brilliantly blue eyes, your high cheekbones. Your eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but you know. 

“Somnus... You came for me.”

“I – ” You see a flicker of something in his eyes but then it’s gone and he’s holding you up, he’s smiling. “Of course I came. We had to get you back.”

The realization sinks into you. That voice, it really is him. You no longer care if the Astrals trick you again; if this is a trick, it is a kind one.

“Look how you’ve grown! You were so young the last time I saw you.”

Your hands are too weak to touch his face, to gesture, but he sees you and takes your hands and you squeeze them in delight and. Somnus was only nine when you died, still a child, you had him sent out for training with his older brother in anticipation of the hubbub when you died and wow, that was a good idea in hindsight with all the stabbing that ensued, and –

“Did you miss me?” It hurts to ask, but you force the words at the tip of your tongue out anyway.

“Of course I did,” he says, and he presses his forehead to yours. “That’s why we came to find you. I’m sorry it took so long.”

The knot in your throat intensifies; tears flow down your cheeks and each sob wrings you out like a wet cloth, but your pride is gone, your kingdom is gone, and you thought your family was gone but he’s here, holding you. Alive.

“You came. That’s what matters. I was afraid I would forget your face after all this time.” Decades. Centuries. You wondered if your family would take you back. You cursed their name and prayed to it, hoping that someone would free you, would put you out of your misery. “How are your siblings? Did your sister go back to Altissa like I told her to? Your uncle hasn’t - ”

“Father,” and he hesitates around the word, as if the word is foreign on his lips, as if you’ve been gone for centuries, “too many questions. You’re too fast.”

You breathe, slowly wiping the tears away.  “I’m sorry. It’s been so long since I spoke to anyone else. They, they left me there. When did you realize I was still alive? Did Izunia tell you? I - no, too fast again. I see it on your face... I shall stop now-”

“Father. Just. Let me hold you.” Somnus wraps an arm around you. Oh, how he’s grown! “You’re sick. Don’t get more sick from stress.”

“I’m fine.” You kiss his forehead. It has been so long. “Besides, there’s an easy solution to this illness.”

“What is it?”

“You have to kill me. It will be over in but a moment, and I will return soon enough. If your uncle could not finish me – oh, don’t give me that look, Somnus. No doubt Shiva will turn me away at the door once again, but it won’t be the first time. I know you won’t make it hurt as your uncle did.”

He looks so concerned. You’re glad he didn’t see your first death, the one that burned away your illusions that you were naught but a fatted calf waiting for slaughter, but you’re immortal now. Five hundred years starving to death in your own tomb, kept alive with offerings from the diseased and the rats who made their way through the cracks. Your death-date is far-off and waiting.

“Don’t say that. Don’t die.”

His voice is wavering. He’s so upset. Does – does he not know? What you are? Or–

No. You’ve misunderstood entirely. You almost forgot the nature of your existence now. “You’re right. If I die, I’ll wake up - and I’ll forget your face once more. I cannot bear that so soon.”

“Don’t say such frightening things. No son wants to bury his father-”

“And no father wants to bury his son.” You slump forward to hug him and he holds you. “Remain in this dream a while longer, Somnus. I have missed your face.”

“I will, I will.”

And he does. No melting away into black ichor and sludge underneath your hands, or turning into something else, or the Infernian’s hand burning between your shoulder blades as he shoves you and you fall,  fall, fall –

It is peaceful. The sky and the sea are blue and there is fresh air on your face. You think, you might have faltered and accepted Ifrit’s offer if he gave you a few more seconds to consider it, for the sake of the wind in your hair. For the sake of being awake again.

But this is good, isn’t it?

It doesn’t take long for your body to ache so much that you have to lie back down. Somnus lets you rest your head in his lap. The growling dogs still haven’t shut up, but it is easier to not be overwhelmed now that you have something to focus on. He helps you drink the sweet, sweet tea from before and it makes your joints hurt less, and he doesn’t comment on how shaky your hands have remained after all this time.

He speaks to the others, too loud to understand, and they come to join him. The blonde man and the Oracle. They look like a matching pair, white and black and gold, and they sit with the two of you. (You wonder if this blonde man is part of your son’s royal guards – or perhaps they are all part of something new. They’ve forsaken the clean tunics of Insomnia for black leather in the style of the barbarians to the east, and you can’t say you look forward to wearing something similar.)

“How is he?”

“He’s not doing great. Like, he’s lucid and talking, mostly, but he thinks I’m his son? I think Ravus was right that he was a hostage, but it went on for years before they gave up on him – he talked about how he hadn’t seen ‘me’ in a long time. And he said we should fix his illness by killing him, that I won’t make it painful like…what ‘my uncle’ did.”

The blonde man shudders. “…What the fuck?”

The Oracle says, “Held captive by a relative and killed by them…That happens sometimes. Someone gets the Scourge, and rather than risk the stigma, a relative keeps him or her indoors to stave off the infection. When the uglier parts of Stages 4 and 5 start to appear, rather than go to a hospital -”

“Again: What. The. Fuck?”

The Oracle huffs at Prompto and continues: “The worst part is that it makes everyone around them more likely to get infected, and the cycle continues…”

“No,” Somnus replies. “The worst part is that someone locked this old guy up and fucked with his head so that he thinks the best thing he can do for his son is to die for him. And then they killed him without his son getting closure.”

“He’s not actually dead.”

“He could have been!”

“Are you all angry on my behalf?” you ask Somnus. “You’ve grown up to be such a good man. Such good retainers.”

“Yes, Father. None of us like that you are sick and hurt.”

You groan and bury your face in his knee. “I’m not a child. You do not have to keep using such simple words for me. But…I’m happy you came.”

He rubs your face and you lean into the touch. It’s been so long. This dream is a paradise.

“You’re going to let him keep calling you his son?”

“Until he’s healthier. I don’t want to freak him out more than he already is. With any luck, Specs will have found the real Somnus by the time he can realize I’m not him.”

The dogs stop growling, and the boat stops moving. You have never heard of a dog-powered boat before, honestly, but perhaps it is a new invention. Or maybe it is not a dog? Your head is full of heavy fog and cotton and you do not dwell on it.

A fourth person appears. Tall, pale, angular, a negative inversion of the Glacian’s healthy cheeks and dark mourning robes. One hand comes out of his sleeve in a silver claw and that twitches and closes on its own with a roll of his shoulder, and you have the feeling he’s put on that show for your benefit.

You think you’re flattered. What a magnificent piece of art. For all your studies into the origin of the Scourge and the empires whose fall led to your rise, you were never able to recreate the living metal arms they used before the fall of Solheim.

…you wonder how many years you have lost while sleeping.

“Before we get into port,” the pale man says, “I want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“You’ve illegally arranged for Dino the reporter to keep the paparazzi away,” the Oracle says, “and so when we get to the hospital, we will bribe him with an interview on how we have found a poor innocent man with Scourge drowning while we were on a pleasure cruise, and then I grew ill from working on healing him. Or I gained a fever. From getting too wet.”

“It’s not illegal when Regis does it,” the pale man retorts.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Somnus says pointedly.

“And then,” the blond says, “then we stay with Luna while she gets checked out and look cute and we don’t tell anyone where we really found him unless Regis busts through the door to bust us.”

“Good. And while you three are recovering together and proving you didn’t get any infections, I will be…?”

“With Ardyn in the Scourge Ward, making sure he’s safe,” Somnus says. “You need to introduce yourself to him.”

“I can read Old Lucian. I can’t speak it.”

“I’ll translate! Now sit down and introduce yourself.”

The pale man grimaces and sits down in front of you and Somnus. He speaks, and after a moment, Somnus speaks as well.

Translating, you think, before you try to refocus.

“ – name is Rao – Rab – the letter V doesn’t exist in Old Lucian, hold on – Rafus, and I am your shield for the next few days. I serve my fair sister, the Oracle, who you were going to – shit, verb tenses – who you did heal, and so I owe you a debt. Please allow me to stay by your side and protect you.”

“I accept your protection, soldier of the Oracle,” you proclaim, and then Somnus translates it back. It’s not just your head, that you don’t understand. This is an entirely different language. You slow down to accommodate him. “Please tell me what I am to expect in these days with you by my side.”

Rafus slows down accordingly, and Somnus has an easier time translating back. “We will go to the house of healing. Your son has temporarily joined the Oracle’s side to find you, and so must stay at her side to not have sus – dammit – not be suspicious.”

You nod. It makes sense. Angelgard is for those with Scourge only, so only the Oracle or the king of Lucis could approve someone going to it. And any king would not do so if he knew you were still alive, which meant it was through the Oracle that your rescue was wrought.

“Please tell him, it is I who owe you and the Oracle my thanks, for helping my son. My powers are not as they once were, and I have no doubt he would never have been allowed to Angelgard without you.” And you turn to the Oracle and try to bow while lying on your side. It’s not terribly regal, but you’re working with what your body can do. “And I thank you, Oracle Nox Fleuret.”

It’s gratifying to see her smile. Many generations of Oracles have breathed their last on Angelgard, or practiced their craft on it, and they spoke to you through the hand-sized window in the door of your tomb. Sometimes they offered you cooked food, or new clothing, or parchments small enough to fit through the gap. Sometimes they stayed and talked to you, let you know what was happening on the mainland. Sometimes you would heal them, or try, to let them eke a few more years of healing, and they would stand by your door as the healing rebounded on you and you could feel the daemons wriggling inside you.

“You’re welcome,” she says, and Somnus translates. “I only wish I could heal you and return the favor.”

“Don’t. If this could be healed by mortal hands, it would have been by now. Save your youth for someone deserving of it.” And then you tilt your head toward the fourth member of your son’s retinue. “And, I believe I haven’t heard your name yet.”

The blond flushed. “Oh! I’m Prompto.”

“Yes, tell me your name quickly.”

Somnus said, “No, his name is literally Prompto.”

….what. “I’m getting too old for these abstract dreams.” You facepalm. “Somnus, you have a brother now. We’re stealing him. We’re getting him a proper cognomen. You’re Aurigena now.”

“Don’t boss people around, Father,” Somnus chides, and you grin up at him.

“Dude, what did he say?”

“He says your parents can’t name for shit so he’s adopting you. Your name’s now Aurigena, which means gold…something.”

“….we can’t let him near the dogs or he’s going to adopt them too.”

“He is not going to steal the dogs!”

“Get back on topic!” Rafus barks, and the two of them shut up. You jolt in alarm – you know it’s not you he’s yelling at, but he’s still so loud. Somnus pets your shoulder until you relax, and the Oracle smacks Rafus’s shoulder and scolds him. Rafus cows before her, as all brothers should do before their healer siblings in your humble opinion; when he speaks again, it’s in a quiet voice, and Somnus starts translating again.

“You have the – hold on, this concept didn’t exist in Old Lucian – the fourth dangerous part of Starscourge, so we must make sure that you will not spread the Scourge as well as help your weak body. It will not be comfortable and it will be frightening, but Ravus will make sure that no one will harm you.”

“I’m not turning into a daemon! I won’t,” you state vehemently. The four of them give you strange looks, and you sigh. You press your hand against the scar that had once sliced your mouth open; it comes back with streaks of black on your hand. It’s easy to irritate it enough to draw blood. You do not want to know what it must look like on your face. “… But I look too far gone to avoid their gaze, don’t I?”

Rafus’s mouth turns down slightly. “If it’s any consolation,” Somnus translates, “you are not the only one with the Scourge.” He moves his metal arm, drawing his flesh fingers from wrist to shoulder as if to demonstrate, and you understand. Sometimes it was safer to remove an infected limb to protect the rest of the body from the Scourge; you did not like it when you had to do it for the patient’s recovery was slow and painful. Better pain than death, you think morosely.

“I should have known. Your family is so hard-headed, it would take Leviathan’s wrath to stop you, and even then it would only be a one in two gamble.”

“Then I hope you won’t mind if we tell the doctors your name is ours for now. Ardyn Nox Fleuret?” Rafus asks.

“As long as you don’t start calling me Fleuret instead of Ardyn, I will graciously accept,” you reply.

He nods. Then he pulls off the coat around his waist and drapes it over you. You can guess that his next words are something like, get that on him, and so you cooperate with Somnus and Prompto as they help you crawl into it.

White leather on the outside, soft cloth on the inside. It’s long enough that once Somnus buttons it up, you’re covered from neck to knees, and you’re suddenly, awfully aware of just how naked you were. Chills you hadn’t realized were still there sink away as you bury your face in the soft collar, pull the long train over your knees to hide the black scarring that runs from hip to knee on your left leg.

The dogs start their growling again, and the boat moves. It’s definitely some kind of dog-powered boat, you think, and you lean on Somnus as you watch port come into view.

Boats were not so big in your time. You would remember if they were that big. And some of them are made of metal – not just wood with metal plating but metal all the way through, huge sleek things.

It occurs to you to look around. This boat’s deck is wooden, but parts of it are metal too. Some don’t even look like anything you recognize at all. You hadn’t noticed in your daze.

How long have you been gone? How out of it are you, that you missed that?

How deep into dreams have you dropped?

There are people in crisp uniforms waiting at the docks. They load you onto a stretcher and carry you to an enormous metal chariot, and Rafus goes with you. They’re all talking about you: you catch Scourge, and your name, and the Oracle, and there’s so many new smells and whatever animal pulls this carriage roars and-

You think you want to skip this part of the dream. You’ve exhausted yourself with talk. You close your eyes and sleep.

Chapter Text

Ravus wasn’t around for much of Ardyn’s initial check in to the hospital. He was stuck filling out forms, pulling out his credit card, filling out more forms, calling Gladio and Ignis to assist the prince, filling out even more forms, and then checking the 15 texts from Prompto and responding with ‘k, thx for watchin luna + noct’.

They wheeled Ardyn out on a stretcher a few hours later, scrubbed clean, face shaved and wearing a hospital gown under Ravus’s coat. It turned out that under the grime, his hair was a shocking red with streaks of silver and white; his hair had been chopped short rather than deal with the knotted mess, leaving him with shoulder-length half-curls.

Under all the grime, Ardyn had a harsh, haughty face, as sharp and regal as Regis’s. The stern effect he could have had had been muted, however, by the hazy look on his face and the amount of security he was wrapped up in as a Stage Four Scourge patient.

The Scourge Ward, used for late-term Starscourge patients, was traditionally in the basement of the hospital to protect patients from how UV radiation would accelerate the disease’s growth. Each patient had an individual room, no windows, green walls, with a steel door that could be locked from the outside. The beds had rods around their edges that could hold restraints; Ardyn’s hands had been cuffed loosely to the sides of the bed in soft leather restraints, and a variety of tubes were laced in and out of his body. Bandages on his wrists peeked out from under the restraints; they had had to use bolt cutters to get the cuffs off because they had rusted shut, and Ardyn’s wrists had shown scarring and signs of old infections.

(Apparently Ardyn had taken it all in stride, a model patient. The worst he’d done was slap people away when they’d tried to take Ravus’s coat away; he’d hugged it to his chest as the doctors palpated his back and took blood samples, and insisted on putting it back on once he was dressed. Fortunately, Ravus had loaned him a coat that could unzip sleeves away for ease of getting to his prosthetic, which meant that Ardyn’s arm could be exposed to host half a dozen IVs. )

“Since we don’t know if he has allergies, we’re going to put him on general antibiotics and a mild painkiller,” a nurse clad in green scrubs explained. “It appears that he took multiple injuries that healed untreated before you found him. His left hip and femur look as though they were broken in several places and healed back in a strange position, and he has severed tendons consistent with an attack with a blade. He’s lucky there’s no painful nerve damage. The painkiller should alleviate the amount of pain that his leg will him and make him more docile if his Scourge gets worse. ”

 “Stage Five side effects. I know.”

He and the nurse shared a mutual ‘well… fuck’ look.

 “When will it be alright to discharge him?” Ravus asks.

“Within the next two weeks. If he stays at Stage Four long enough for the Oracle to heal him, he should be safe enough to discharge once we’ve treated his malnutrition. He’ll need physical therapy to help rebuild his muscles, and he may need surgery to set his leg and hip correctly before he can walk again. We took blood and skin samples during the check up and they should be back from the labs in a few days.”

“Good. He’s not showing the dementia that usually precedes Stage Five… I can only hope he stays that way.”

“We all do.” The nurse nodded grimly. “We’re all praying that Lady Lunafreya recovers from her fever quickly. Every time she visits, our mortality rate drops by half for the next two months.”

“I hope so as well. This man tried to help Lunafreya when she was struck by fever, even with his delicate condition. We are hoping that both of them have a swift recovery.”

“We’ll do our best to help. Ravus, you have the nurse call button. Use it if you need anything.”

“I will.”

The nurse left. Ravus trned back to Ardyn. Ardyn gave him a wan smile and tugged gently at the restraints. “Ardyn daemon?”

‘Are these for if I turn into a daemon?’ was probably what he meant. Ravus nodded. He pulled out his phone and pulled up Moogle Translate. If you become a daemon, they will prevent you from hurting someone. He read: “Si sit daemon, ne forte aliquid facere.”

Ardyn squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “Quid. Est?”

Ravus knew a ‘what the fuck’ when he heard it.  My phone turns words into your language, but it is not very smart, he types. “Lingua vertitur in cordibus vestris sermones meos interdum nisi non dolor?”

“No,” Ardyn said. “No. Desiste. No, Refyus.”

“No, no, ok, ok,” Ravus said, mimicking his clipped tone.

“Ok, ok,” Ardyn parroted back. “Bonum!! No, Ardyn, no Refyus.” He gestured between them. “Ok Reyfus, ok Ardyn. Oracle Lunafreya, Ardyn. Refyus…?”

…oh. A copycat game. “Oracle Lunafreya. Ravus.”

“Re…fyus?” Ardyn grimaced. “Refvus. Refyus, ok. Somnus? Somnus, filium meum.”

That, Ravus could recognize from reading Old Lucian. Filio was close to – “Somnus, my son. Ardyn’s son. The son of Ardyn.”

“Mi…son. Son,” Ardyn said, testing the word. “Son-mus, ha. In-son-mia. Son-mus Lu-kiss…  Prompto Lu-kiss Aurigena. Oracle Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. Refyus Nox Fleuret. Ardyn Nox Fleuret. Mi son Aurigena et mi son Somnus.”

“Somnus son, Ardyn father.”

“Ardyn pater,” Ardyn copied. He yawned. “Mi custos Refyus?”

Custos, like custodian? The person that kept Ardyn in custody? That sounded about right. He tapped it into Moogle Translate.

“My guardian.” Huh. “Yes, ok, your custos. Ravus is your custos, ok? Now.” He rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes to demonstrate. “Ardyn sleep.” Then he put his hand over Ardyn’s eyes. “Sleep, will you?”

Ardyn’s hissed complaint slurred too much for Ravus to make out, but he had his eyes closed when Ravus pulled his hand away. Within a few minutes, he was asleep and drooling on his pillow.

Ravus pulled the blanket up over Ardyn and tucked his hair out of his face. All that power inside such a bony frame: even if he survived the Scourge, his other injuries would take months to fully recover from. It was a miracle he had survived long enough to be rescued. But even without his wounds….

Ravus’s grandmother had been Oracle before his mother. She had died just before Lunafreya was born. She had aged beyond her years back then; blood dark with the Oracle’s wasting and losing weight every day. She had looked as hollow-faced and bruised as this in the end, exhausted from healing every day.

It drained power, it drained energy, it drained your very life out of you. With how the Scourge infection rate had doubled, Lunafreya would live only half as long as her grandmother had. Or she would have –

Ardyn had healed it all with no hesitation, and the rebound on his health was far less than it would have been on any Nox Fleuret Oracle. It would take at least a week for Luna’s bloodwork to come back, but Ravus suspected that the effects of the wasting would be mostly gone. They had to be, if her blood had gone from black back to a natural red.

“If the prophecy can be fulfilled without her death, that too is fate,” Ravus murmured.

You wake up in the same dream. You usually don’t remember much of these ones that last for a few weeks. That means you have to enjoy this one now, while you still remember it.

The attendants bring you water. Refyus helps you drink it after you pester him for assurance that it’s not from one of the dirtier rivers. It takes a good twenty minutes to get the message through, one word at a time, but he’s almost as smart as your Somnus and does get the message eventually.

He will not bring you wine, which is the proper thing to drink. You don’t know what this hospital is thinking, using water instead of wine – everyone knows wine is the safest thing to drink. You try and explain this to Refyus, but he flat out refuses to listen.

You haven’t been strong enough to summon your Armiger Arsenal in a long time. But your annoyance makes you pull at it out of old habit, and you feel an echo of your old magic answer you.

It’s there. It’s waiting.

Apparently, half a day of not turning into a daemon has bought you some freedom, because the nurse removes the restraint around your right hand after a lunch of thin broth and water. Refyus pulls out the metal square out and offers it to you; the front he’s kept hidden until now is a glowing white square. It’s so bright it almost hurts.

He drags his finger across it and lines appear as if he’s finger painting. I write, but not good. Write to me.

“Oh!” This, you can do. He wipes the parchment clean, and you drag your finger on the screen. It feels like the glass that decorates Leviathan’s temples, worn smooth by the sea. You wonder if this is some holy item from there, used to assist the Oracle, or if you have simply missed things in the time when you slept.

Which is silly. You are still sleeping.

I am Ardyn. Thank you. Where are we?

Hospital of Galdin Quay. Country of Lucis.

You frown. Lucis knows Ardyn here???

No. Why?

You don’t want to explain it if he doesn’t know. (Why wouldn’t Somnus tell him?) So you make him clean the glass parchment, and then you draw yourself with a sword through your chest. Can’t go back. They will kill me.

Because of Scourge?

Yes. You scratch out your eyes in the drawing, black dripping down your face and tunic. More swords. It’s not a very good drawing, but you think he gets the idea.

Son said Uncle hurt you. Uncle put you jail?

You shudder and nod. He wipes the glass parchment clean and you start drawing your tomb. You don’t remember what it looks like on the outside. The inside was just you and chains and a stone basin of rainwater collected from a hole in the ceiling. Just you trying to scratch your way out.

Blink. That’s not your tomb. That’s just you scratching the glass over and over again. You snap your hand away like it was burned and cover your face, trying to catch your breath.

Your beard is gone. They took that away last night. You stayed very still as they shaved you. You haven’t been clean-shaved since you died. No razors in a tomb. You pulling your hair out. You scratching your arms. Trying to stay awake. It’s still gone. Your memory isn’t that good. You don’t know if you have the imagination to dream your hair changing after centuries.

Am I awake. Not dreaming. Real?

Ravus reads it. Then he takes your free arm in one hand and holds it palm up, and pinches you in the tender area just under your elbow.

You yelp. The pain in your dreams lingers like the ache in your bones. Squirms in you like your daemons.  It doesn’t come and go quick as a flash like this.

There isn’t the warmth of another human body in your dreams. It’s hard to mistake that. Refyus’s hands are hot and dry, like Tenebris’s summers. 

“I’m out, I’m out, it’s real, it’s real… Awake… I’m awake… I’m awake.” You stare down at your hand.

The intensity of this dream. The strange artifacts around you. Your son.

Someone wails. It’s not until you’re gasping for breath that you recognize it’s you who is screaming.

You lose focus. You don’t get it back until someone shakes you and presses their forehead to yours, holds you steady.

“Ardyn – Father, it’s ok. It’s ok, stop crying, it’s ok.”

It’s ok. It’s better than ok. You bury your head in his shoulders. Your ink-splot tears drip off his leather coat and onto the hospital blankets.

“Somnus, Somnus, you really did save me -”

He holds you until you’re emptied out and shaking. Reality doesn’t feel real after years of dreams. But you’re so tired, you feel weighed down by your body. You’ve been grounded.

“I can’t believe you were able to do this. ‘Zunia would never let this pass if he were still alive. I was afraid he’d tell you… did he tell you why he killed me?”

“Uncle Izunia, you mean?”

“Who else do we call Izunia?” You pinch his cheeks softly. It’s easy to fall back into old habits. You would not allow the wasting caused by your healing to stop you from spoiling your children. “It’s not done to use strangers’ praenomen in public, where anyone can hear it. Has living with the Tenebrians ruined your grammar and your manners?”

“Ow, ow, Father, not in front of Ravus!”

“If I have to spend a week half-naked and unable to walk in front of a bunch of strangers, I can baby you in front of your ally.” You can see Ravus smirking out of the corner of your eye and it. Helps. A little. You’re tired, but maybe things are. Better. “You haven’t told me anything that’s happened while I was away! Tell me what’s happened to you. Do you still live in Lucis? Have you taken a spouse?”

“Too fast, speaking too fast!”

“If you’re twenty now, it’s been at least ten years! I’ve missed plenty of…”

Wait.

No.

It hasn’t been ten years. You lost track of the notches on your wall, but there were more than ten. More than one hundred.

He looks so much like your son. But he can’t be, can he? Somnus is long dead. No mortal lives longer than one hundred years at the very most. It has been nearly five since your first death.

It’s funny. Things are even more unreal now than they were in the dream. You sink back against the bed and rub your face.

“Father?”

He’s not your son.

“What’s wrong?”

Your oldest was twenty-three when you died. Izunia was nearly fifty. Their lifespans could never match yours. So of course he had to ask your name. Of course it was the Oracle leading them, because no child of Lucis Caelum would come for you.

You should ask him what his name is. You should ask him why he has tolerated a sick man weeping on his shoulder.

You are so, so tired.

You let him tuck you in and wipe the tears off your face. You let yourself drift away from thoughts.

Noctis flipped through the saved pictures of Ardyn and Ravus’s conversation. “I’m going to sound like a broken record, but what the fuck.”

“The drawings correspond to the old injuries the doctors found,” Ravus said. “Broken ribs, broken leg, several of his tendons cleanly severed –"

“Shouldn’t we be more concerned about the fact that he drew six people stabbing him?” Noctis snapped.

“Kidnapping usually involves more than one person.”

“You don’t stab a hostage!”

“Actually –

“You don’t stab a hostage before you take them hostage! And he made it sound like it was an attempted murder. ‘Did your uncle tell you why he killed me?’ he says casually, and ‘I sent you, the little kid, out of town so you wouldn’t see me die,’ and he’s so surprised that his kid came back for him like I’d just be ok with him dying –

Ravus knew when the battle was lost before it began and did not interject. He waited for Noctis to stop ranting before he said, “He’ll be happy to hear you say that. His Somnus never did come for him.”

“I know!”

“But maybe you should consider talking to your father about this instead of taking it out on Ardyn?”

“This is not about my father,” Noctis hissed.

“This is not about your father, who is dying, and who you have barely seen in four years because he’s busy doing the thing that will kill him and you don’t want to watch him die?”

“Listen,” Noctis said, “I don’t bring up your mommy issues when you fight with Luna.”

“That is entirely uncalled for.”

“You spent an entire month sleeping on Luna’s bed when you got to Lucis because you were afraid someone was going to assassinate her. I’m amazed you haven’t staked out her hospital room yet.”

“That was a perfectly reasonable assumption given the attempt on our lives.” Ravus turned toward Ardyn. “And with the current policies on people with late-stage scourge, I wanted to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t end up in the Columbarium while we’re gone. And I’m starting to think he’s flat out not fluent. That was a conversation that would turn most people’s heads.”

“Yeah, and he hasn’t recognized me as Crown Prince or you as Dad’s PR guy. His accent’s thick, and he’s got better pronunciation than me. Most people don’t know that Lucis used to be called Lu-kiss, like he’s been calling it.”

“And those cuffs have been bothering me. They look like something out of a museum.” Ravus took his phone back and flipped to Ardyn’s next drawing, a mess of black scribbles.

“And. Ravus. What did you mean by the Columbarium? Those are the mausoleums for people who were cremated, right?” Noctis flcked back and forth through the photos, full of nervous energy. “You don’t think he’s going to die, do you?”

 “Do you know what happens in Stage Five Scourge?”

“You die,” Noctis deadpanned. Then he looked over to Ardyn, and the black scarring from lip to cheekbone. “Do you think he’s going to die?”

“I think it’s possible he’ll go to Stage Five, though I hope he won’t,” Ravus said. “But death isn’t what happens when you hit Stage Five. You turn into a daemon.”

“…What?”

“It’s not common knowledge so that people don’t panic. That’s also why cities outside Insomnia have their borders surrounded by bright lights, why most people travel by train or airship instead of by land, and why Luna is so busy – everyone who succumbs to the Scourge is one more daemon, and every daemon attack causes another infection. No one wants to think about Grandma turning into a monster because she protected little Jimmy and got bitten, much less the logistics of making sure people who aren’t healed don’t heal.”

Noctis’s face drained of blood.  “I’m going to regret asking this. If they don’t die when they become demons…”

“They’re euthanized the minute they reach Stage Five. That’s why everyone who hits Stage Four goes to the daemon ward, with the calming green walls and the steel doors. It’s why Ardyn’s been tied to the bed. If they die before they transform, then they’re simply dead. The bodies are disposed of to prevent infection. That is also why we have a crematorium right inside this goddamn building.” 

“… A what?”

“A crematorium. We burn the bodies on the off chance the daemons animate the corpses. We can’t give them a proper funeral so the nearby columbarium and memorial slabs are the next best thing.”

Noctis frowned. “A what, now? So you actually burn the bodies nearby?”

Ravus raised his palm to his eyes.

“No, Noctis. We burn the bodies in the crematorium. It’s directly below us, one floor down. The columbarium is where the urns containing the burnt bodies go after that with the memorial slabs. That’s in the next building altogether. We can only let the families see them once they’re burnt.” He says sternly.

“Well. Shit.” Noctis stared at Ardyn. “This is going to take a while to process, but keep going.”

“Oracles turn into daemons thanks to the side effect of their healing as well. However, they usually either die from other illnesses before it happens, or we make sure it doesn’t happen,” Ravus continued. “The resulting daemons are much larger and more hostile than those from ordinary people. The more Scourge healed, the more dangerous the daemon.”

“Like what?”

“There’s an enormous Mahanaga that was sealed inside a cave in Duscae around the time everyone switched to the Modern Era calendar. She was Kainé Nox Fleuret.” Ravus said gravely. “Ended an epidemic some eight hundred years ago – the one that united all nations enough to choose a single calendar system and be at peace for 300 years. She purified her children before she died so they could continue her work, but the weight of the Scourge she had taken on animated her body after her death.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.” Ravus looked at Ardyn. “So, let’s say that – a powerful Oracle became a daemon, but didn’t quite transform all the way. Maybe he’s ancient, or maybe he’s some Nifleheim experiment that got out of hand. Daemons don’t die of old age.  So if someone’s inside a daemon…maybe they don’t age?”

“….that’s a lot of ‘what if’s.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“But we did find him inside a daemon.”

“Yes, we did.”

Noctis grimaced. “Suddenly your kidnapping theory sounds a lot more pleasant.”

“I know.”

Noctis pulled his own phone out and flipped it open. “Prompto and Luna are getting lunch. Go take a break. I’ll sit with him.”

“Regis would take my head if I let you stay alone in the Scourge Ward! No, we are waiting until your Shield gets here for you to take over babysitting. Just get me MegRonald’s and I’ll eat it when you get back.”

“Specs will be in from Insomnia by then. I’ll bring you something decent to eat, and I’ll see if I can bring in something for Ardyn.” Noctis stood up, leaned over Ardyn’s bed and kissed his forehead. “Dormire bene, pater.”

“Mi amicus,” Ardyn murmured, touching Noctis’s face tenderly.

‘I don’t have daddy issues,' he says, Ravus thought mockingly as Noctis bid his ‘father’ goodbye and opened the door to leave. I don’t have daddy issues, but I sulk whenever Regis gets sicker, avoid him and adopt the first middle aged man I find unconscious in a flan.

He trembled with the growing resentment he held back acidic on his tongue as he went to make sure the door stayed properly closed. The steel door was thick and the rooms were built to hold in sound so that screaming daemons and the snap of gunshots would not be heard by others. It was only then, tears burning his eyes, that he let his frustrations loose. Tears threatened to burn his eyes.

"I don't have issues with my family like you do, Ravus - he says as my entire family jumps onto the pyre to save his ungrateful life!"

The rest of the day was unremarkable. Ardyn slept and stared at the ceiling, only responding to the nurses long enough to eat his dinner and then fall back into bed. Ravus played Justice Warrior 5 on his phone; he’d taken the week off work, and he wasn’t going to check his email on an insecure server, so instead he’d rack up some levels. Next time he got a chance to leave the hospital, he’d go get an Old Lucian dictionary and maybe a medical textbook and look stuff up.

Ardyn tugged on Ravus’s arm. “Rafyuuuuus.”

“Ardyn.” He pulled his phone out, flipped it back to the drawing app, and handed it to him. Ardyn’s handwriting was shakier this time.

I’m cold. Sit with me.

Ardyn squeezed onto one side of his bed and patted the space next to him.

Ravus considered this. On one hand, he barely knew this man. On the other hand, his powers were useful and gaining his trust would make life easier.

He sat on the bed next to Ardyn. Ardyn snaked around his body as much as his restraint allowed, then rested his head on Ravus’s lap.

Will you stay here tonight?

Ravus shook his head. Hospital rules. No sleeping in a patient’s room.

Come back tomorrow?

Yes. If When you recover, you come home with Lunafreya and me.

He hoped he scribbled the word away quickly enough.

To Tenib?

The ancient name of Tenebris. Ravus’s farfetched theory was gathering steam. No, Tenib caught by Nifel. We live in Lucis.

No Insomnia. No. Stay in Ravenaugh’s Shadow. Stay here in Galdin. Go to Caem. Not Insomnia!

Ravenaugh’s Shadow was an old name for Lestallum. Ravus couldn’t remember how old off the top of his head, but – at least 1000 years. Maybe more. The Rock had once been a religious site and Lestallum its pilgrimage city. Offerings for the First King, or something like that.

Is Izunia in Insomnia? Ravus typed.

Ardyn froze. His fingers curled away from the phone as if burned.

Ravus slowly picked the phone up.

We won’t let him hurt you.

Ardyn snatched the phone back and after a hasty scribble, he pushed the phone back into Ravus’s hands. He then starts pointing between a part of the screen and himself repeatedly.

Izunia’s children will. And his children’s children. THEY have ordered it. I am θυσία.

Ravus squinted at the words. That was the word ‘ordered’, conjugated to past perfect tense as done by a third party, but – that wasn’t how it was usually written. The suffix was too heavy, there was too much emphasis on the person – the people? – ordering the thing. 

Moreover, the word Ardyn was pointing at, Ravus did not recognize. He only knew the basics of Old Lucian – he’d need to ask Noctis for a translation. Some of those letters didn’t even look Lucian.

I don’t understand, but I am your custos. I will protect you.

Your Oracle comes first!

She has ordered me to protect you. Somnus guards her in my stead. Do not doubt my strength.

Then I have given you warning. Ardyn sighed and added: If you will stay by my side, will you –

Ravus squinted. He didn’t recognize any of those words. They were Lucian this time, but he’d only made it through three Old Lucian classes in college before he got caught up in government work.

I have no idea what that means. I don’t know that much words. Say it simpler.

Ardyn huffed. Give me your life.

No. My life belongs to Luna.

Ardyn hissed something in Old Lucian that probably meant ‘fine!!!’ going by his tone, then handed the phone back and sulked. It was not very dignified. His red and silver hair puddled around his face as he smushed himself into Ravus’s leg for warmth.

Ravus jolted in his seat. It had been a long time since he touched anyone other than Luna. Prompto would hug him now and then, and the officials Ravus worked with might offer him handshakes, but this was more intimate than that. Like how Ravus had clung to Regis as they escaped Tenebris long ago. Like how he had stayed at Luna's side for months afterwards.

It will gain his trust, Ravus thought, wrapping an arm around Ardyn. That’s why I need to do this. He can save Luna.

“Mi Rafyus,” Ardyn murmured sleepily.

“My Ardyn,” Ravus replied, softly petting his hair, stroked the grey blotches at the nape of his neck. “They can pry you out of my cold, dead hands.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Prompto and Noctis huddled around a supermarket's shelves of toys and books in matching King's Knight jackets. Noctis had a purple beanie tugged down around his ears.

“You really think it’s not from a concussion?” Prompto asked as he flipped through a coloring book.

“He writes Old Lucian better than I do, and I’ve been studying it since I was ten,” Noctis replied. “He doesn’t know what a phone is, and no one’s found him in the citizen database yet.” He weighed a box of markers in one hand and a box of crayons in the other. “You think he’d get in trouble if he drew on himself?”

“No, but what if it got on the blankets?” Prompto said. “Hey! This one has chocobos in it; we’re getting it.”

Noctis put the crayons in their shopping cart on top of the value pack of elixir energy drinks and the sketchbook. “Good point. They won’t be as lenient with an old guy as they would be with me after my accident.”

“Do you think he’d want a coloring book on cars, too? If he’s from before cars, it might help.”

“It can’t hurt.”

“Dude, look, they’re still selling that one on the Regalia!”

Noctis leaned over and looked at the Special Christmas Edition: Regalia Coloring Book Prompto was holding. “I don’t know if we should get that one. It’s going to be weird enough telling him I’m not his kid without bringing in the royalty stuff.”

“Good point.” Prompto frowned and put it back. “Do you think he’d accept kid’s books if we brought them, or would he be insulted?”

“It’s worth a shot? Translating it would have kept me entertained if I was bedbound for a month again,” Noctis said. “Go see if Gladio’s found all the snacks we’re bringing for Luna, and I’ll look at these.”

“On it!”

Lunafreya looked tired and pale, but this was the first day she hadn’t slept through Ravus’s visit.

“Your boys,” Ravus said, sitting primly next to her, “are out shopping for snacks. I brought a change of clothes and your phone charger. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she said. “But a good tired, as if I had just gone on a run.”

“Do you remember what the doctors said, or did you sleep through it?”

“Ten percent of my body weight, just gone,” she said. “All traces of the scourge and oracle wasting gone. You should be glad I didn’t let you in yesterday – it was coming out of holes I didn’t even know I had.”

“I didn’t need to know that part,” Ravus said, making a face.

“This is payback for all the ‘Luna, I need a hand’ jokes.”

“I take losing an arm with grace and dignity and this is how you repay me,” Ravus deadpanned, and he clacked his claw hand at her.

“If this is grace and dignity, I’d hate to see you being indignant.”

She shoved him playfully, and he grinned. “I’m glad you’re so energetic.”

“This feels good. I feel good.” They smiled at each other before it faded. Ravus went right to business.

“Ardyn hasn’t transformed into a daemon. He barely looks affected by taking on your Scourge. For the majority of the time he’s been awake, he’s been lucid and trying to communicate despite the language barrier. There’s no sign that he’s in danger of progressing to Stage Five; with his powers, it may not be the Scourge at all.”

“If he heals like an Oracle, he will get sick like one. Or he already has,” Luna said. “If it is Oracle’s Wasting, it will show up when the hospital finishes his bloodwork.”

“And then we take him out of the hospital and into our custody. You could use a second pair of hands.”

“We are not making him heal in his condition.”

“We won’t make him,” Ravus said firmly. “He healed you without hesitation. I imagine he’d want to help.”

“I will not take advantage of a sick man for a lighter workload. Besides, I’m close as to better as I can get. I can heal and make the covenants and live – at least ten years!”

“You’ll work yourself to death all over again?!”

“If the world needs it, I will! “

“There is no need to throw your life away if two can bear your burden –

“I won’t have you drag someone into this who isn’t ready for what’s waiting!”

“What, like you’ve told Noctis what’s waiting for him at the end of the prophecy?!” Luna didn’t slap him, but her hand moved like she wanted to. Ravus didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to tell him sometime.”

“And now is not the time.”

“Then when will it be? When his world has fallen around him from a fate he doesn’t know?”

The tension of their argument was broken when the door creaked open. Gladio peeked in through it. “What is it about Noctis? I heard yelling.”

“Nothing,” Luna said, her face going carefully blank.

“I told her she needs to tell him he snores or there will be problems in the marriage,” Ravus lied, and Luna shot him a grateful glance for backing up her lie. “Now, I believe Noctis said you were bringing snacks?”

Your dreams are of cold stone and the chill sea air. You wake up without your guardian pillow and some of that chill remains on your skin even as you remind yourself that he will return.

The wait for Rafyus to visit is cold and frustrating. Your head feels clearer now, and what you can think most clearly is that you’re bored. You’re still not allowed to pull all the tubes out of you, even though they itch under your skin, and the soft leather restraint around one wrist means you can’t try and pry the bandages off to look at the damage. Very rude.

But it’s not him who comes to sit with you that morning but Som – but Not-Somnus and your Aurigena, the poorly-named Promptly. Prompto. It’s a terrible name. You’ll have to help him replace it as thanks. 

“Ravus is visiting his sister,” Not-Somnus says as he sits at your side. “We don’t know how long until you can leave the hospital, so we brought stuff for you to do while you’re in here.”

He and the blonde scoop up their offerings to you. Brightly colored sticks of wax that, it turns out, are used to write; an enormous pad of strangely textured parchment – no, three of them, but two are filled with elaborate drawings.  The lines look too sharp to be manmade, but they must be, shouldn’t they? And their covers are dyed bright, impossible colors.

“What are these for? Are we decorating my walls?”

“They’ll help you practice using your hands again,” Not-Somnus explained. “These are made from cheap parchment, so you can color them with these.” He presents the ‘crayon’ and demonstrates by coloring in an inked drawing of a sunrise.

He could not be Somnus. He would know the significance of what he’s coloring. He would be more careful with the colors. Yet he tirelessly keeps up the façade.

“You must make your true father very happy if you show him this devotion,” you murmur, touching his hand to stop it. “Please, tell me your true name.”

He stops. “You figured it out… I was going to tell you when you weren’t so sick.”

“I understand. I was a healer before. Before…what happened. When patients’ heads have gone flying, you fly with them to keep them calm.” You carefully pick up a red crayon and begin to color. Your hand shakes too much to stay within the lines, but there’s no complaint from Not-Somnus for ruining his gift. “It’s no fault of yours. My son is dead. I forgot in…” In your tomb. In five hundred years. In your dreams. “I forgot. Until now.”

You hear Not-Somnus translating to Aurigena-your-Prompto before both of them take your hand. “It’s not your fault,” he says, “and my name is Noctis.”

You clutch at them both. Noctis’s hands are rough with sword callouses, and Prompto has the soft hands of an artisan, and you can feel life pulsing inside them. It fills your blood with electricity. They are very real, aren’t they?

“So, are you two part of the Oracle’s retinue?” you ask. “Why did she free me?”

Noctis relays the question to Prompto, and he grins and shows you his other hand, a gleaming ring. Noctis pulls a ring on a silver chain out of his shirt. “We will be…phrasing, phrasing… bound to the Oracle in marriage. We are lucky enough to marry both for business and for love.”

You clap your hands together in sudden glee. “Oh, she’s done well for herself! It’s the sort of match that nations are built on.” Aurigena-your-Prompto grins and flushes; you suppose your happy reply was enough for him to understand the gist of your message.

“As for why we rescued you – a daemon attacked us, and when we cut it open, you were inside it,” Noctis explains. “You were hurt. We couldn’t just leave you.”

So they don’t know who you are. (WHAT you are.) Which is good. And you probably should not tell them. Just in case.

What now? Do you try and figure out how much they know about Angelgard, about you? Has the world forgotten you save for vague mentions in a prophecy? Does the Oracle know? She didn’t seem like it on the boat –

No, no, no, stop thinking about that. Don’t panic. If they wanted you dead, you’d know it by now.

You did not think of a response quickly enough. They have noticed. Aurigena-your-Prompto says something that is too bright and chipper, squeezes your arm. He looks like he’s trying to reassure you. You smile weakly at him. Noctis says, “Someone hurt you before you went to Angelgard.”

You nod. That’s true. You didn’t die for most of it, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on the part of everyone involved. You’re amazed you managed to last all the way to Angelgard before your first death (last human death, only human death) kicked in, without dying from infection or blood loss or sheer overwhelming pain. Frankly, you’re amazed your leg is still attached to your body.

“I don’t care what happened,” Noctis says. “It’s not going to happen again, so help me.”

“You don’t even know what happened or why?”

Noctis raises his finger. “I still don’t care. One, you made yourself sick helping Luna, so I can’t believe you deserved whatever got you messed up. Two, if you did mess up, you healed Luna and you look miserable, so you probably did your time, so you’re not going to go through it twice.”

“You are far too soft,” you say, but not unkindly. “Someone with a sword should not wield mercy so liberally.”

“If it pains me to hear it from my father, it would pain me to hear the same from you.”

You realize he’s stopped translating. You ruffle his hair fondly. “You’re a good son. I hope your father realizes what a treasure you are, child.”

Noctis smiles, then realizes the barb you unleashed to ruffle his pride and get him away from this sensitive topic. (You do not want to talk about your death. You do not think he wants to talk about his father. It is a fair trade for both of you.)  He plays along, translates for Aurigena-your-Prompto before replying: “I’m not a child.”

“I have enough snow in my hair to call you child.” Ha!

Noctis translates, and Prompto teases back through him – “Then maybe we should start calling you Grandpa instead.”

“As long as you give me the respect that would merit,” you say, and pose as grandiosely as your aching joints allow.

“Of course, my liege,” Noctis deadpans, and he bows playfully.

You wonder if it would be safe to ask him to swear fealty unto you. Ravus didn’t understand the words – probably too archaic. They date back to your father’s Solheim traditions. Noctis might understand them, but. He is terribly young, younger than your oldest, and Ravus has already sworn to be your guardian. If you can get him to swear fealty to you, you can make him your Shield – and he will be ready for what that will entail. Noctis and Aurigena-your-Prompto are too young to be pulled into what will probably be  -

You don’t know yet. An ugly battle, maybe. An execution. A waiting game. Near thirty Lucis Caelums of Lucis had taken your throne before you slept; how many more could be left?

“Ardyn, what’s wrong?”

 You don’t know what Aurigena-your-Prompto is saying, but you can guess from his tone. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I-am-OK.”

“Dude, that’s Modern Lucian!”

“Don’t lisp, it’s Lu-key-an,” you instruct Aurigena-your-Prompto. “I can understand a little of your language.”

“How much?” Noctis asks.

“Just what I’ve learned from Rafyus. You have duties with the Oracle, and although I hope to stay there with you, I don’t know if fate will allow that. Better to be prepared.”

His eyes sharpen. “So you don’t know Modern Lucian.”

“I do not.” You rub your temples. You’ve been found out – or. You probably had been as soon as you opened your mouth on the boat, but no one had asked why you’re not fluent yet. “I imagine you have questions.”

“We do,” Noctis says. “We’ll tell Luna and Ravus but not anyone else. I told you I’d keep you safe and I meant it.”

“Then swear it on the throne of the King of Light,” you say. Swear it on your throne, to you.

Noctis translates. Then: “I swear, I will keep you safe, upon the throne of the King of Light,” he without hesitation.

“And I – I swear, on the, help what’s the next bit – “ Prompto adds, and Noctis helps him through the vow as well.

You hug them to your chest when they’re done. It is – a relief. If nothing else, if and when your true identity is revealed, they will remember swearing on you and hesitate to strike –

Or, perhaps, they will stand with you.

You do not give them your gift. They are not your shields; they are barely more than children. But when you know their language better, when you can trust more, (when they are not so terribly young,) perhaps you can give the king’s gift unto them as – as father to son? Would they allow that?

“I thank you.” You fall back onto your bed. This will be information-heavy, and you don’t want to wear yourself out by moving around too much. “To begin: what year is this?”

“Seven hundred fifty-six,” Noctis says.

You wince as you do some mental calculations. “That means…it’s been around 300 years since I’ve had human contact with anyone. I don’t remember when that thing ate me – “

Noctis squawks.

“ – but the last time I was told the year, it was in the 440s, and I - ”

Now they’re both squawking. You shut up.

“Ravus was right?!”

“No wonder he’s been so confused, he’s ancient!”

“I thought people switched over from Old Lucian way before the 400s, though??”

“Specs said it used to be used as a trade language. Maybe he’s a trader?”

“Or it was some kind of knock-off Oracle thing? A cult??”

“I think that’s only in the movies.”

“So are 300 year old grandpas!”

You guess by their tone and the names you recognize that they’re upset by what has happened to you. It’s nice.

As you wait for them to settle, you take your crayons and start coloring in the sunset scene. You are not an artist, but after a few tries, you figure out a rough replica of the mosaics you found in Solheim ruins. You use royal purple to write EOS on the sun herself, naming her. You do not know if her temples still stand after all these years. You do not want to forget.

The crayon is not your royal seal, but you still feel a flutter of satisfaction stamping the flat end down on the corner of the page as if you were marking parchment with wax. Your signet ring is long gone, given to your oldest son before you sent him out of Insomnia, but there is satisfaction in the mimicry of your station.

“You’re not surprised you’re old?” Noctis asks.

“After yesterday afternoon, I think I ran out of my surprise for the week,” you reply flippantly. You aren’t quite ready to admit that you’re over 800 years old, if the math is right. You never thought you’d hit 60, much less over 600. “They didn’t dump me on Angelgard to live happily ever after.”

“How did the flan eat you?” Prompto asks through Noctis.

“I was too hurt to run.” Ifrit had tempted you, and just when your self-control was about to break, he shoved you off the top of your prison for a thousand foot drop onto solid rock. You couldn’t run from the daemon spawned from your death-blood and Ifrit’s ill intent with shattered limbs. “It was more interested in using me as a renewable food source than devouring me whole, fortunately, but it’s not an experience I’d recommend.”

“It could live off you because you had – we call it Oracle’s Wasting now, that thing where your blood turns black from healing?” Noctis asks.

“Yes. By healing it, I would take the curse of the stars into my body. That’s what the wasting happens – you’re taking the curse of thousands of people into you piece by piece.”

 “We don’t know what causes Oracle’s Wasting ,but we know what causes the Starscourge. It’s not a curse. It’s a – it’s – like, very small animals you can’t see that live in blood.”

 “Then they carry the curse!”

“No, no, it’s the very small invisible monsters.”

“It’s not just them! Healing normal injuries and diseases is different from healing the Scourge.”

“Is that so?” Noctis asks.

You look around. “Get me some wine and I’ll show you.”

Noctis gives you a blank look. “Ardyn. You’re not allowed to drink wine on the curatives you’re on.”

 “It’s not for me!” you protest. “And it’s safer to drink than water. Diseases live in it, you know, unless you boil it, or you take it from the river before it flows through the city.”

Noctis seems unimpressed with your sage knowledge. You did not spend a good fifth of your life studying medicine when your own illnesses left you bedridden to not impress people now.

“Surely a curse can exist alongside tiny invisible monsters! They could be carrying it, as rats carry the plague!”

“The invisible monsters are the plague. They live in rats.”

 “But the Starscourge only affects humans because of the curse. That’s why it makes them become daemons.”

“We have better science than 300 years ago! It’s not a curse, it’s the tiny invisible monsters.”

You sulk. “Prove it.”

Ravus returned from Luna’s room to find Prompto and Noctis squished onto Ardyn’s bed, the three of them sucked into a MogTube video on Prompto’s iPad.

“It turns out he really likes chocobos, but he says they look funny now,” Prompto said. “Their heads are too big.”

“Shh.” Ardn put his hand over Prompto’s mouth, not looking away from the screen.

“You’re not supposed to get on his bed. He’s theoretically contagious.”

Ardyn shhhh-ed Ravus too.

“We just got him to stop asking about germ theory by wearing him out with documentaries,” Noctis said.

“Why was he asking about germ theory,” Ravus asked, voice flat.

“He was telling us that the Scourge is a curse, and Noctis told him it was bacteria, and he challenged us to prove it,” Prompto said, muffled by Ardyn’s hand. “We’re pretty sure you’re right about him being really, really old, he says he got eaten in 440.”

“I see.” Part of Ravus crowed with victory because he was right, his ridiculous theory was right; the other part of him went, how did he survive in a daemon for 300 years? (could there be other survivors in other huge, ancient daemons?) He pulled up a chair next to them; Ardyn snaked his hand around Noctis to pull Ravus into their huddle around the iPad.

A notebook was flipped open; Ravus recognized Ardyn’s loopy handwriting in crayon and a rough map of the historic sector of Insomnia -but there were two rivers running through it where there was only one in reality, and there was a plaza where there was now a temple to Bahamut. He recognized it because Noctis practiced the warp there and Luna parkoured after him for long afternoons in their summer vacations, and Ravus had been forced to memorize the place to keep up before someone cracked their head open on the paving stones.

Well, Ardyn had said his brother Izunia lived in Insomnia. It made sense that he knew the area. Ravus would have to crosscheck the map with Scientia to see if that would give more clues as to when Ardyn was from.

When.

“Your advisor wants to see you,” Ravus told Noctis, elbowing him. “You should go see him and Luna.”

“Right, right, let us finish this video…” It was one of those sappy videos about saving baby chocobos from bad breeders that got posted by 40 year old co-workers on Ravus’s CrystBook. Pure emotional manipulation with a side of cute animals. Ardyn looked near tears as a dozen juvenile chocobos in sweaters to compensate for their mange bounced around their new living area.

“How did you get from germs to chocobos?”

“Noctis’s voice got tired translating,” Prompto whispered, “so I picked a chocobo video and now he’s hooked.”

“Shh!” Ardyn said, propping one knee up to adjust the iPad. “Desiste. No. Bad Prompto.”

“Shhh, ok, Pater.”

Ardyn melted a little.

Ravus mouthed ‘daddy issues’ to Noctis and Noctis elbowed him in the ribs.

Once the video ended, closing on the chocobo rescue’s logo, Ravus took the iPad away. “Hey!” Ardyn snapped, and Ravus held the machine away from all three of them.

“Noctis, if you don’t go see Scientia now, he’s going to serve you toast for dinner. Prompto, someone needs to take my sister company while Noctis does his kingly duties. And Noctis, tell Ardyn where you’re going so he doesn’t pester me about it all day.”

Noctis quietly explained things to Ardyn as he and Prompto untangled from his bedsheets, and Ardyn sank in resignation back down. Noctis gave a further briefing to Ravus on what he had learned from Ardyn so far while Prompto got his iPad back and gave it to Ardyn, who hugged it to his chest.

“Are you sure you want to give that to him? He might break it,” Ravus said.

 “He’s been careful with it so far, and it keeps him entertained,” Prompto replied. “He might be in here for a while, so it’d be mean to leave him with nothing to do?”

He had a point. Ravus remembered his own convalescence after he had lost his arm, which had been both boring and painful. Mostly boring. “As long as you’re prepared for the possibility.”

“I am, I am!” Prompto held his hand out for a high five; Ardyn brightened up and reciprocated it, beaming up at Prompto like a dog expecting a treat for a trick. “He’s good, aren’t you?”

“Good, yes!” Ardyn chirped. “My friend Prompto Argentum Aurigena.”

“Get ready to teach. He’s better at taking language classes than I am,” Noctis said.

“I’ll endeavor to keep up with him.”

Chapter Text

And the Chosen King went to the chamber of the Crystal and found a twin of himself there, save that his twin’s eyes were full of darkness.

“What do you seek from our crystal?” the Chosen King asked.

“Lo, I am full of darkness, and the darkness may only be quenched with the light. I will devour the crystal, and it’s power shall quell this darkness inside of me."

But the light of the crystal had been made to destroy the darkness, not to feed it; Lucis still needed her light. So the Chosen King struck his dark twin down and had him taken to the Temple of Bahamut to be exorcized of the daemons possessing him.

The dark twin clawed at the chains keeping it imprisoned, lashing out at those who brought it food, so the Chosen King and his shield broke its legs to make sure it could not escape to hide among the people; the Chosen King fed it himself despite the awful curses it roared.

The dark twin wept when the Chosen King approached, tears of black and poisonous scourge. So the Chosen King removed those poisonous eyes, so that the daemon’s tears would not infect anyone.

The dark twin screamed, lo, I am your brother, free me! But the Chosen King was unmoved, for he had no brother, and the daemons were known to play tricks with voices. He removed the daemon’s lying tongue, leaving it voiceless.

But the power of the daemons was too great, and so the Chosen King was forced to kill his mirror image. By the power of the faith of the city and the strength of his priests, the daemon was rent to pieces.  But when he went to exorcise the body, it revived in a great cloud of scourge and screamed:

“I am the Accursed! I curse this city and the kings who rule it! I curse the royal family of Lucis, and I will not rest until their bloodline is destroyed!”

It grew a hundred mouths, a hundred eyes, a hundred legs and a hundred arms and it raged at the crowd. For three days and three nights, it terrorized the city.

    - Cosmogony, Book of the Accursed (Apocryphal)

You eat. You sleep. It gets easier to draw without your hands shaking so hard you drop the crayons. You find sudden new fonts of energy as aches you forgot could ease, ease. 

It takes four days for them to move you to solid food. Noctis brings his retainer Ignis to celebrate. Ignis, you’re told, has tutored Noctis in his duties as a noble for most of his life and cooks for him; you’re surprised not that Noctis is in the nobility, for protocol would demand that the Oracle marry well, but that he only has one servant dedicated to his wellbeing. You ask if Noctis’s father is austere, but discover that Ignis himself is but a few ranks below Noctis in whatever hierarchy Lucis has now, and re-evaluate Noctis’s status. He may be close to your level, as formerly one of twin kings. Perhaps a duke?

The soup Ignis brings is rich broth with a mash of root vegetables and spices; it’s warm and soft and cuts the sweetness of the hospital jello down to nothing, and you take the bowl and drink it down in one gulp. It takes you a few minutes to adjust to the strange feeling of not being hungry, and then you dive into conversation with the man about where you are, what’s going on -

Galdin Quay remains Lucian territory. Lucis is now pronounced Lu-sis, which is terrible. Even Ignis’s clear language is spoken with a lisp, and you have to stop him to check pronunciation now and then.

“So you think you’re fifty-three?”

You think you’re eight hundred and ten, but they don’t need to know that. “That was the age I was when I was taken to Angelgard, I think. Please pardon me if I remember incorrectly.”

“It’s natural, after your experiences. Fear not.” He smiles politely and you mirror it back to him. A little bureaucrat in the making; if Noctis joined a temple with Lunafreya, Ignis could slip into his station easily, you suspect. A back up plan. “The doctors wish to know your previous medical history.”

You’ve already thought through your lies for this. They slip from your mouth in smoothed-down pieces like pebbles. “Well, through an accident of fate, I was born with an Oracle’s powers. They did tell you about -?”

“Yes, they did. Lunafreya’s blood shows no sign of the Starscourge. The doctors are calling it a miracle,” Ignis says. Ravus watches you both over his laptop, where he does his own work. “She won’t be well enough to walk reliably for a few days. When that time comes, she will come down to see you at last.”

“Good.” You haven’t seen her except on Prompto’s phone, the little photo-graphs of her in bed and as laced up with tubes as you are. “My powers do not have the finesse of a true Oracle’s,” you explain. “I make up for it in – I can heal more than she can. I have more stamina for it.”

“When did your Oracle’s Wasting begin?”

“I learned I could heal when I was fifteen.” You had hiked to the top of Ravenaugh through a month of nighttime and made bloody sacrifice there, begging the Astrals to hear your plea, to help you bring the dawn back. To heal your family and your country, all suffering from the Scourge. “I didn’t notice any wasting until I was in my late twenties. Then it was exhaustion, pain in my joints, difficulty eating.”

“How much worse did it get?”

“Shaking fits in my forties. Losing time. I have yet to see my face but I know that the more obvious symptoms remain.” Your skin is near translucent and thin because it has not seen the sun in decades; underneath, your veins are black. “There was – a misunderstanding about what was happening to me. In the end, they thought I was changing. Angelgard is – was a good place to send those Scourge-cursed whose ends were near.”

That was its purpose once you were in your tomb. Unfortunates dying of the scourge or getting killed before they were transformed, and the lack of shelter on the island meant that any daemons alive at dawn would be burned to a crisp in the morning sun. You’d hear claws scrabbling at your tomb to get in to the safety of the darkness, and you wouldn’t know if it would be better or worse if a daemon came in and killed you for a chance to regenerate and run to freedom –

“I’m amazed at how good I feel now. I thought I was a dead man after everything they did.” You run your fingers over the raised scar on your face. “I realize mirrors are expensive, but is there a chance you could bring one here on a later visit?”

“I can do better than that. May I have that?” he says, and points at the I-pad you got from Aurigena-your-Prompto. You give it to him. He raises it and flashes bright light at you. As you blink it away, Ignis turns it back toward you and.

It is a photo-graph of you. It must be you. There were few others in all the lands of Eos who had red hair streaked grey with age, and the color is unmistakable. And there is the raised black scar from the corner of your mouth to your cheekbone, which you rub nervously as you look at the photo this way and that. But you do not remember looking so young, like this, without the wince of walking on sore legs, without the weight of an empire on your shoulders.

The whites of your eyes were white, too, back then. Now they’re black.

“Now that’s something,” you murmur. “No wonder you thought I had the Scourge.”

Ignis smiles mildly. “Well, once Lunafreya has recovered, she’ll hopefully be able to look good enough to leave. We’re working on making you citizenship papers, and looking for a place in Lestallum for you to stay.”

“Lesta – you mean Ravenaugh’s Shadow?” Yes. Please. Your favorite city after Insomnia. Your mother’s tomb. “Yes, that would be perfect, I – what do you mean, good enough to leave?”

Ravus scribbles something on a piece of paper and passes it over. People with bad Starscourge not allowed to leave hospital. Ever. Law of Lucis.

You groan. “But I don’t have it!”

“We know. Your bloodwork should prove your issues are Oracular in nature,” Ignis says. “We need to talk about that as well.”

Though your blood freezes in your veins, you stay casual, draped over your bed. Do they know what you are? Will they send you back? You can’t go back, not after this taste of freedom. “Does this have to do with the current Oracle living in Lucis?” 

“There’s going to be questions about where you came from, how there’s a second person with the Oracle’s powers that none have met before. Our communications technology is instantaneous now; the whole world could know within a day.”

You grimace. “I would prefer the sanctum of anonymity. My infamy as a healer is what brought me to danger in the first place. I would like to assist Lunafreya in her duties, but not to the extent that I actually lose a limb this time.”

“And there are governments who would argue that if there are two Oracles; Lucis cannot keep hold of both of them.”

“I’m technically a Lucian citizen by birth, but I doubt records of my birth remain. I’m more politically expedient to send to – whoever it is, if there’s a fuss, especially if Tenebris’s throne remains in contention.”

Ravus snaps a question to Ignis about Tenebris, and Ignis cooly replies. You suppose that having a potential ally – or tool – for retaking Tenebris must make him feel tense.

“Ravus says that he’s not willing to give either of you up to the Empire. He’ll go himself if need be,” Ignis says.

“Is that so? I am most lucky to have him as a guard, then,” you say, purring around the word custos and grinning at Ravus. “If he keeps this up, I may have to promote him.”

Once Ignis relays that to a mollified Ravus, you add: “In all seriousness, I’m willing to work with both of you in assisting Oracle Lunafreya in her duties in whatever official or unofficial capacities are possible. Ignis, as one of Lord Noctis’s attendants, you must be here to see if I’m willing to work with the Lucian government – or you will be soon enough. I have a few requests I wish to negotiate for when we do this formally.”

“Name them,” Ignis says. “I can look into getting them when the official inquiry does come.”

You swallow hard. “I want to live with the Nox Fleurets, or to have a house near theirs. I don’t know if I’ll be able to live on my own like…this,” and you gesture in frustration as your spindly body, “but I want assurances that I have a place to stay and people I can stay with.”

“Ravus has already petitioned to have you join his household. That paperwork won’t be difficult to deal with,” Ignis says. “What else?”

“I won’t go to Insomnia,” you say, heart in your throat. “And I won’t go back to Angelgard Island. I don’t care what trouble there may be; I will not go to either place.”

“That may be more difficult, but we can arrange that,” Ignis says without missing a beat. “We’re arranging temporary housing for you and the Nox Fleurets in Lestallum. They’ll need to come back to the capitol eventually, but –

Ravus shoves his phone in. I will stay in Lestallum if need be!

He truly is a good and loyal guard. You give him a thumbs up (Noctis taught you this) and Ravus nods in acknowledgement.

“I appreciate that you’re both – no, that all of you that I have met are working to give me a choice in the matter. As long as my two stipulations are fulfilled, I’ll work with you to the best of my abilities – limited though they may be right now.” You salute them, free hand to your breast, as your soldiers once saluted you long ago.

You and Ignis hash out more details, work out what your papers will say about you. You are an archaeo-ologist, a scholar of ancient civilizations, and part of the Nox Fleuret branch family. You took brain damage while studying and consequentially have to relearn how to walk and how to speak Modern Lucian. Ravus will create a family tree for you to memorize later, and your personal knowledge of ancient times would suffice to prop up your false history.

Ignis leaves you a box of chilled and pickled vegetables on rice with a savory sauce. You eat them slowly; the flavors are intense after all these years, and every bite takes a few minutes to process without drowning yourself in sensation.

Ravus hands you his phone. You said you would stay with us. You know Luna is sick. What do you want for this?

Ha. Clever man. You nod and write:

My own room with a window.

I can leave the house once a week.

I can leave my room and freely visit other rooms in the house unless they are private rooms.

My own i-pad with an inter-net.

A garden.

If you give me these, I will heal Luna for as long as we both live. My stamina is greater than hers. I can do it as many times as you ask me to; my stamina is ten times hers.

Ravus reads through his, this eyes narrowing. I will give you these, he writes. Then: Do you expect to be imprisoned in your rooms?

It happens to Oracles all the time. Either as valuable hostages, or to protect them us from the effects of healing. They say, this is for your own good. You will die unless I keep you here. You scowl at the thought. Promise me that you will let me see the sun again. That I can freely walk outside. I’ll help you if you give me that.

Ravus squints at this even more, his stony face twitching. You watch him. He does not look like your brother, but that is who you cannot stop thinking of. Of how he’d posted guards at your doors so you could not leave the Citadel to heal as you once did. Your healing is killing you. Please, rest, it is for your own good. You don’t know what you’re becoming. You’re turning into someone I do not know. Your chambers, once your sanctuary, turned into your mausoleum.

Ravus does not touch you. He does not respond. Apprehension knots in your chest.

You pull Ravus’s coat up over your face and smush inside it before you can start hyperventilating. It’s been 800 years. You should not still be this upset. You are the King of Light; you should not feel fear crushing your lungs empty.

I can trust him, you reassure yourself.

If he locks me away, I’ll be strong enough to summon Armiger soon. I can fight my way out.

 No – that’s not needed.

I can take the needles out of my arm and cut his throat open. Filet him like a fish. Let him choke on his own blood.

You can’t stand this silence. You can’t stand the scenarios your mind is conjuring up. You grab your I-pad and scribble on it, not daring to look at Ravus until you’ve finished writing, and thrust it into his lap.

Is it too much? Please let me see the sun. I’ll do anything. I want to go outside.

You can kill him and run. Warp away. Throw yourself into the sea off Galdin and when your body washes up on land once more, you will revive. You can’t be trapped again. You’ll end up locked in this tiny metal room forever, rotting away.

Ravus offers his phone to you. I am sorry.

“What?” you mutter. You don’t understand. You’ve asked that enough that he understands, flips to his next drawing.

I will not lock you away. I will help you see the sun. I promise. His stone face is eroding before you, into something like regret. I think I hurt Luna. I thought I was protecting her. Don’t be frightened of me.

I’m not frightened!

He reaches toward you and you can’t help but flinch. You’ve lost the poker face you spent years developing in the Senate. You hate this. You hate how weak you’ve become.

Did you lock Luna away? Let her out. Let her be free. Freedom is worth our deaths. Go let her out now! Your fingers fly even as your vision blurs. You were the king and you’re reduced to this.

I did. She was young. I was young. I was a fool.

You’re lucky she lets you near her! I will never forgive – Him. You can’t write his name. Why are you crying? What is wrong with you? For your own good, Ardyn. You are cursed. I cannot let you walk freely when you are turning into this.

Ravus sets the phone down and you crumple into his arms. This is not kingly. Your brother did this to you. He killed you himself. You hate him and you hate what you’ve become and your broken nails scrabble at Ravus’s shoulders in a storm of fury and need. He holds you close and doesn’t push you away when you weakly pound your fist against his chest.

“I hate you,” you sob, even though you know he can’t understand you. Maybe because he can’t. “I hate you… Don’t leave me alone.”

He holds you against his chest and lets you crumble.

Do you expect me to lock you in your rooms?

It happens to Oracles all the time. We are valuable hostages, or to protect them from the effects of healing. They say, this is for your own good. You will die unless I keep you here. Promise me that you will let me see the sun again. That I can freely walk outside. I’ll help you if you give me that.

The first thing that Ravus thought was: for the amount of power Ardyn wielded, this was a terribly modest request. Be allowed to leave the house? Keep a garden? He was the only person in the world who could heal Luna, and could have asked for a mountain of gold, or the throne of Tenebris. Hell, Ravus would consider giving him his flesh arm if he asked for it.

The second thing Ravus thought was: was it really so important to go outside? He’d grounded Luna from leaving her room a dozen times so she wouldn’t heal while she was sick. As her older brother, someone had to take care of her. She didn’t know better. And with Ardyn in this condition, would he be able to leave his rooms, much less go outside?

And then Ravus took those two thoughts and placed them side by side and gave them a long, hard look.

This is for your own good. You will get sick if you keep healing. You’re going to get die if you keep this up, Luna. I’m grounding you for your own good –

The realization hit Ravus like a blow to a gut. How long had he been justifying keeping his sister locked up like a prisoner inside the Citadel save for official functions? He’d argued with Regis that it was for her own safety, butted heads with him on the appropriateness of her moving out vs staying in the castle with him – and when Ravus was able to pull parental authority, he’d ground her for her own good.

He’d thought about how his mother had burnt away to bone and dripping fat. He’d thought about how Luna was burning away to nothing every time she used her powers. Making her sit and rest seemed like a good way to protect her.

He hadn’t considered that it could be more than a temporary punishment for Luna.

By the Six. His mother would be furious if she was still alive.

Ardyn shoved his own iPad into Ravus’s hands; his already shaky handwriting was quaking on its foundations. Is it too much? Please let me see the sun. I’ll do anything. I want to go outside.

Was it too much to let Ardyn outside? The doctors said that the scars on his wrists indicated he’d been cuffed for months, maybe years. Chipped fingernails, like he’d been scratching at something hard. A door? A wall? 

Ardyn was shaking. The doctors said he hadn’t fought at all when they’d restrained him. When they brought the huge bolt-cutters out to take off his old chains and pointed the heavy blade at him, he’d closed his eyes and let them tug his arms up without question. A model patient, because he’d allowed them to poke him and shove him around without a shred of resistance.

I am sorry, Ravus wrote.

Ardyn read it. “Quod est?” he said, as if he were on the verge of laughter. Or tears. What are you sorry for, Ravus? 

I will not lock you away. I will help you see the sun. I promise, Ravus wrote quickly, trying to reassure him. I think I hurt Luna. I thought I was protecting her. Don’t be frightened of me.

Ardyn’s response was quick and barely legible. I’m not frightened!  Pupils dilated, face waxy with cold sweat, wheezing with every breath. Shaking.

Ravus reached over to show Ardyn his next reply and Ardyn flinched, then held himself stock still. The only thing he moved was his fingers in writing.

Did you lock Luna away? Let her out. Let her be free. Freedom is worth our deaths, Ardyn wrote.  Anguish squirmed under his stiffening face like worms under a rock. Go let her out now!

I did, Ravus replied. She was young. I was young. I was a fool.

You’re lucky she lets you near her! I will never forgive – Ardyn clawed the name out. Then he altered his writing to squared angles and stiff corners. For your own good, Ardyn. You are cursed. I cannot let you walk freely when you are turning into this.

He shoved the words at Ravus, black tears oozing. It took Ravus but a moment to read, and before the implications could sink in, Ardyn doubled over with his face in his hands, and Ravus quickly tossed their electronics on the bed to hold him.

Ravus had to twist to an awkward angle. Ardyn still had one hand cuffed to the side of the bed, and the six inches of give meant that he could barely move it perched next to Ravus – so Ravus sat on the bed and held him there instead. He could already feel tears soaking into his turtleneck as Ardyn buried his face in Ravus’s shoulder, his free hand twitching and clawing at Ravus’s chest as if trying to burrow through him. He was remarkably strong for someone so emaciated; there would be bruises tomorrow.

He didn’t recognize whatever Ardyn was repeating over and over again. It didn’t matter for now. He held him like he remembered Regis holding him, once.

Ardyn clung to him for what felt like days. Couldn’t be more than a few minutes. Ravus wasn’t used to being the one comforting, not when he was the strict one to Regis’s soft touch. They all liked Regis more –

“Tu odio,” Ardyn muttered. He pulled away and tried to wipe the tears from his face, but only succeeded in smearing black over his cheeks and arm.

“Here,” Ravus said, and pulled some balled up MegRonald’s napkins out of his pocket. Ardyn took them and blotted his eyes, his face. “Are you – “ and Ravus quickly corrected himself, swapping to the words he knew Ardyn knew, “Ardyn, ok?”

“No,” Ardyn said with another rasping laugh. “Not ok...” He grabbed his iPad and unlocked it, wrote in the drawing app once more. I will never be ok.

Erased it. Wrote again. Go apologize to Luna. Promise her no locks.

Erased it. Wrote again. I cannot forgive what my brother did. Pray that she will. Pray you are not too late.

“Yes,” Ravus said, grabbing his phone. “Now?”

“Now,” Ardyn confirmed, pointing at the door. “Go!”

Ravus ran.

Chapter Text

Ravus had to change shirts on the way out of the Scourge Ward because the jacket Ardyn had cried on needed to be disposed of as a potential biohazard. Couldn’t be too careful with the scourge, after all. And then a nurse reminded him he really shouldn’t be running in the hospital.

So he ended up walking swiftly to Luna’s room, and opened the door calmly so as not to startle her.

Luna was in her bed. So was Prompto, who was sucking kisses on her neck with one hand on her breast. Noctis was sitting between Prompto’s legs and kissing his stomach as he petted Luna’s bare thigh.

The two siblings made eye contact.

“I’ll come back later,” Ravus said, and shut the door on the shrieking lovers.

Five minutes later, Noctis opened the door. “Have you heard of knocking?”

“Have you heard of not doing inappropriate things in the hospital?” Ravus grimaced. “No, I shouldn’t say that. Luna’s an adult and can do what she wants.”

Noctis paused.

“….Who are you and what have you done with Ravus?”

“I’m a fool who only now has gotten sense knocked into him. Please tell me all three of you are wearing pants now.”

“Yeah, it’s safe to come in. Come on.”

Indeed, when he went in, Luna had put her sweatpants back on and Prompto was sitting on his hands a good five feet away from her.

“What’s so urgent?” Luna asked.

“I need to talk to you. Alone,” Ravus said. “Just for five minutes.”

Luna’s face flickered surprise. “If it’s that urgent, then I suppose I can’t say no. Can you two wait outside?”

“Already on it,” Noctis said, scooping Prompto into his arms.

“Woah, Noctis!!”

“It’s probably one of their sibling things. If it was about Ardyn or something pertaining to Lucis, he’d tell us to stay inside. C’mon, you look as stiff as a board.”

“Alright, dude, if you insist…” The two of them nuzzled faces as Noctis carried him out. Ravus waited until he heard the door click behind them to kneel at Luna’s bed.

“What’s gotten into you? You look awful,” Luna said. She looked a dozen times better than she had a few days before, radiant in a pink sweatsuit and her hair up in a sloppy bun. She’d gotten a sunburn running around on Angelgard that made her even pinker than usual, and her cheeks were flushed red instead of the dark purple caused by black blood.

“Luna, I fucked up,” Ravus said.

“….what.”

“I made a terrible mistake.”

“Ravus, what happened?”

“I was talking to Ardyn and I realized I’ve been a negligent and incompetent guardian to you. I’ve curtailed your freedoms thinking that it would keep you safe, but all it’s done is made you unhappy. I can’t promise I can stop my selfish habits all at once, but now… Now that I’m aware of them, I will strive not to do so again. And you have full permission to let me know if I’ve been an ass.”

Luna stared at him. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Ravus?”

“Noctis thought that joke was hilarious too,” Ravus said. “Lunafreya, I’ve hurt you and potentially put our relationship at risk. You’re an adult. I shouldn’t have grounded you from leaving the Citadel so much. Or tried to get Regis to not let you leave the city so you wouldn’t get hurt doing your duties. The list is long in hindsight.”

She stared some more, then covered her face. “I don’t know how to respond to this… I’m sorry.” Her fingers laced together as she bowed over her knees. “I thought that I would have to sneak out under your nose forever. I know you do it because you’re worried.”

“I – “ His chest felt like it was imploding under the weight of realization. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you and I should have. You’re the only family I have left. I shouldn’t be – Mother would kill me if she knew,” he finished weakly, his flesh hand bunched in the sleeve over his prosthetic. “You deserve better than this.”

“I do,” Luna said, and Ravus’s heart shattered. “But I thought I could bear it if it would make you happy. You were so unhappy when we came to Lucis. I thought, if it made you feel safe…”

“It did,” Ravus said miserably. “And I’m sorry. I don’t know how I can make it up to you.”

“Stopping would help,” Luna said. “And this apology does as well.” She looked at him over the bridge of her fingers. “I was afraid you’d never realize.”

“I have now. I – I don’t know if I can make myself stop, but I will try.”

“I don’t think I can ask you for anything better,” Luna murmured. She ruffled his hair and Ravus leaned into the touch. The Oracle’s Wasting had left her feverish, like a scourge patient, and now her hands were cool and dry. “Actually, I can ask for one thing.”

“Anything.”

“If I tell you to stop telling me to do something, you’ll stop,” Luna said. “Please trust in my judgement.”

“I will,” Ravus said. “Or I’ll try. You may ‘sic’ your boys on me if I fail.”

“Are you sure you want to doom yourself to that?” Luna said with a hint of humor. “Now, what brought this on?”

Ravus let himself rest his head on the mattress. “Ardyn and Ignis were negotiating the terms of Ardyn’s protection by Lucis. He wants to live with us because he feels like he can trust our family, but his requests for us were – sparse. He wants to be able to leave his rooms and to have his own garden. He was imprisoned before he was sent to Angelgard by his brother. It seems as though the thought terrifies him.”

“Imprisoned in his room?”

“That’s what I just said. I realized I had been a fool and Ardyn ordered me to come up and beg for your forgiveness.”

Luna pushed the covers away and twisted her legs over the side of the bed. “Can you get my cane?”

“Of course, but why?” Ravus said as he rose to his feet.

“Perhaps this is a worry out of nothing – but rousing the fear of being locked in a room in someone who is currently locked in a room could end badly.”

Ravus picked up said cane from the nearby chair it was leaning on and handed it to her. “Point taken. He seemed stable enough when I left, but we should check just in case. Ignis told him he’d be leaving tomorrow, but I am trusting in your opinions – “

“I appreciate you’re trying, but stop.”

“I’m stopping. But before we rush into things, we need to consider – ”

They pulled Noctis and Prompto back into the room to quickly sketch out what to do. Luna would be expected to do some healing when she visited the Scourge Ward; Ravus had been carrying the folder with her expected itinerary for the last two days. Noctis and Prompto would make sure Dino got his interview, with Ignis making sure Dino didn’t push too far.

“Ravus, we should go now. Time is of the essence,” Luna said.

“Of course.”

They left. But surely Ardyn couldn’t have gotten into that much trouble in twenty minutes, could he?

You’ve had plenty of healers in and out of your room in the past few days, poking and prodding you, stealing your blood with needles, hooking up bags of water and threading them into your veins, making you disrobe so they can check this and that. As a healer, you specialized in the Scourge; you are aware that they tap on your body to check if your lungs are full of black ooze, and assume that the majority of what they do is along those lines.

Besides, even if it is (humiliating) uncomfortable, you are sick. That’s what your brother has been (had been) telling you for years. Even if Izunia was an ass, you are sick, and you know better than to annoy the healers who have your fate and comfort in their hands. It’s easier to keep saying yes to them until you’re out and free.

 So when another healer shows up with a tray of equipment for stealing blood, you dutifully put away your sketches and roll the sleeve of your coat up, stretch your arm out to bare the black vein in the small of your elbow. You don’t resist when he cuffs your free hand to the side of the bed  - it’s standard procedure for taking samples from those who might become daemons, you suspect. He takes black blood from your arm without incident.

It’s when he cuffs your good leg to the bed that you get a sinking feeling that something is not right.

He pulls the blankets back from your legs so they’re exposed. All you’re wearing is the thin hospital gown and Ravus’s coat and you are suddenly very aware of how little of you it covers.  He places out two small cups on his tray and then picks up a new needle, this one full of clear liquid. It goes into the small of your thigh, where the black scarring from your first death stretches from hip to knee, and the soreness in that leg vanishes. In fact, it all vanishes. You can’t feel anything there at all.

“What is?” you ask in Modern Lucian, trying to draw your leg up. “Why?”  He pins your knee down on the bed and presses a thin instrument to your thigh. You watch as he spins the circular head into your flesh and pulls out a cube of flesh the size of your pinkie nail; you can’t feel anything except the sudden wet gush of blood against your skin.

Is this supposed to be happening? you think, your heart in your ears. He hasn’t said a word to you. And it doesn’t hurt, not at all. He’s just cleaning the instrument and taking chunks out of your leg piece by piece, putting them in little cups and labeling them.

Surely if he was here to torment you, he wouldn’t have used the needle to make it painless. It is simply surreal to watch this. This fear beating in your throat is just you making too much out of things. Again.

The door opens as the healer cleans your leg out. There’s Ravus and there’s the Oracle Luna. She isn’t even supposed to be here yet but you don’t care. You smile in relief as they pour into the room, and smile even more as Ravus turns on the healer like a dog seeking prey. 

“What are you doing?”

“I was told to take a biopsy to check on the patient’s condition.”

“I did not order such a thing!”

“The labs have indicated that he may change soon, but they needed more samples to make sure.”

Ravus bares his teeth. “Is that so? I believe I need to talk to your superiors. Lead the way.”

“They’re all in meetings right now, you can only reach them by email!”

“Then take me to their meeting!”

As soon as the door closes behind them, Luna collapses in the chair next to you, holding her cane in a white-knuckled grip. Once she catches her breath, you start undoing the leather straps on your arms. You clutch at your leg once both hands are free; you can feel pressure but not pain around the series of holes. They’re all welling up with black ichor, and the oldest one is already hardening under your thumb as tree sap does when it dries.

You don’t scab anymore. Not for centuries.

She asks you something you don’t understand, then stops. “You ok?” she asks, using Prompto’s high-pitched intonation. 

You begin to shake your head, stop, and then shrug? You don’t know if you’re ok. “Not hurt,” you say. “What was?”

Luna has the I-Pad out and is writing. Her handwriting is better than Ravus’s, but her grammar is worse. Healer not belong here. Say need blood check to daemon. But your blood already say you oracle. No need.

…oh. So why?? You write back.

Don’t know. Ravus finds out.

Well that is. Good. You think. You choose your words carefully to bridge the gap between her fluency and yours. You did this with your daughter, long ago, when you’d taken her to the gardens and taught her how to write in the sand. Did he say sorry to you? Harm of sister is crime.

Yes. Not important. Ardyn hurt??

No pain. Can’t feel leg? You shrug again for effect. Not dead yet. Healers make mistakes.

Maybe. Luna frowns.

She’s making a lot of mistakes with tense. That’s fine. You can simplify. We do not talk much yet. Greetings, Oracle. We talk of Astrals or of Prompto?

We talk of Ardyn.

NO, you write firmly. Then, remembering you are in no place to make demands, you scribble it out and write under it, What do you want?

One, see Ardyn not hurt. Not hurt Ardyn. Talk of Astrals when Ardyn not hurt. Know Ardyn. You save me. I give back save. Give back friend.

You think you get it. You’re not sure if you can trust her, but a temporary alliance can’t hurt you. If she is genuine or has ulterior motives, you’ll discover soon enough. “Mi amicus,” you say, and you put your hand to your breast as your soldiers did for you long ago; then, in imitation of Prompto’s videos, you offer her your hand.

She takes it. Her grip matches yours.

The lights go out, then come back on low and red. There’s a metallic shunk from the door. The two of you are illuminated only by the light of the i-pad.

You blink rapidly, trying to adjust your eyes to the new darkness. Luna uses her cane to shove herself to her feet and yanks at the door; it doesn’t open.

What is this??? You ask her when she returns.

Emergency. Power off, door lock. Human turned daemon loose.

Locked doors to protect the patients or to keep the daemons in? Or both? Daemons can’t go through doors?

Both, she replies. Heavy door.

Good. We are safe. You pause. Use your telly-phone, where is Ravus? Ravus safe???

She pulls it out with a grimace as footsteps rocket through the tiny window in your cell. If you can hear it from here, whoever is running must be loud –

“Lunafreya!” Ravus says, illuminating himself with his phone light. “Are the two of you alright?”

Luna presses herself to the door, voice firm. “Just startled. What’s going on?”

“The nurse pulled a daemon out the crematorium and vanished. We’re stuck in here with it until it dies or a daemon-elimination unit shows up.”

“Are you safe from it?”

“If you two stay in here until security arrives, you should be safe.”

“Ravus, that was not what I asked – ”

You pull the tubes from your arm one by one. It stings, and you’re going to leave a bloody mess when the lights come on, but you don’t care. Your legs can barely hold your weight, but the important thing is that between your steady diet and your hip’s numbness, they can hold you long enough to get to the window and peek out into the hall, beyond Ravus.

The daemon is standing at the end of the hall, still, staring. It’s a tonberry. Small and green and chubby-cheeked, wearing a smaller version of the hospital gown you have, with one of the doctor’s knives in its hand. You snarl something so blasphemous it would have your spouse spinning in their grave if you hadn’t burnt their remains for Ifrit’s covenant.

You’re in no state to fight a tonberry. You’re pretty sure Ravus isn’t either. And this is a terrible place to fight a daemon in general, much less a close-range specialist – and even a toy  knife could be deadly in a tonberry’s hands. Born from innocents, the tonberry’s most powerful attacks hurt based on the amount of blood you had on your hands from your past crimes; you would probably go down with one blow even if you weren’t shaking from the effort of standing, and you suspect military-neat Ravus would have the same problem.

But Ravus is out there and alone. And even if he wasn’t, there’s at least one person in every room along this hallway, a few dozen, and even a little bump from a powerful daemon like that could spell their end.

What’s the worst thing that could happen, fighting that thing? You’ll die? You’d get better in a few minutes. You’re not going to wait around and watch your friends get slaughtered.

Your Armiger’s been on your mind like an infected tooth; every time you feel annoyed, you find yourself considering the shape of that familiar magic, the way it felt to pull something out of nothing, the crackle of your power around you.

So while Ravus and Luna bicker as the tonberry creeps closer, you reach out with your magic and call forth your best weapon.

The crossbow is a lot heavier than you remember. You lean against the wall to get pressure off your bad leg as you raise the front end to window height. It glimmers silver in the light from Luna and Ravus’s phones. This was wood before, you think. You repaired the stupid thing with parts scavenged from the Solheim ruins to the west when you were sixteen. This was the weapon you used the most once you grew too ill to carry a blade; you know what it looked like. What happened to your crossbow?

You’ll find out later.

“Ravus, Luna, quiet!” you snap as you make sure there’s an arrow in place instead of a channel for your magic. The two of them shut up when you bring the crossbow up to the window, arrow-point sticking past Ravus’s nose, and fire.

The arrow buries half its length into the wall opposite Ravus. You twist and warp yourself to the arrow, using it to prop yourself up against the wall once you’ve solidified. There’s an ache just beside your belly button as if you’ve just run a marathon, but you ignore it. You’re used to working through the pain.

“Ardyn?!” Ravus says. You ignore him. You yank the arrow out and slap it back into the bow before letting it slip back into your Armiger, then wobble forward.

The tonberry’s glowing eyes go from Ravus to you. It steps forward. You mirror the step. It’s suitably dramatic for a play - if one ignored that it was because tonberries had the stride of children and you’ve got the stamina of a headless chicken right now.

Ravus says your name again, says something, tries to grab you. “If you have to do this, then help me,” you say, hoping he at least understands the tone of it, and he catches you when you lean on him. You notice that his metal arm has been severed at the elbow, leaving twisted metal poking out of his sleeve, and there’s a thin line of blood leaking through his shirt. It just solidifies your plan to face the tonberry before Ravus can. You use him as leverage to push yourself forward a few steps before your legs give out and you kneel before the tonberry. Ravus hits the floor behind you, and you hope that means you’ve bought enough time for your gambit.

The tonberry is far smaller than you are on your knees.

Tonberries are usually daemons evolved from lesser monsters, tiny flans that solidified around their corpses’ skeletons and learned to hold a grudge.  The fact that this one still wears the clothing of the human they had once been is bad on multiple levels.

“Eos help me,” you murmur, and you thrust your hands out with golden power as the tonberry creeps forward. “Child, you should not be here without your parents.”

You can barely see the telltale first signs that it’s working in the dim red emergency lights: black particles ooze from the tonberry’s eyes and mouth. The next step is easier to see: flesh dripping, falling apart, like ice melting in the sun. The tonberry keeps on despite it all, steady stride not faltering even as it dissolves under your power, until the daemon is gone and a child no more than five stumbles into your arms, hair and face hidden under a thick coat of scourge slime. You take the knife; you pull off Ravus’s coat and tuck them into it as the child wobble falls to their knees pupils blown out and dazed.

You probably weren’t a great parent, always busy with your duties or bedbound from sickness. If your kingship isn’t reviled, it’s been forgotten. You weren’t worthy enough to become the true king. But if there’s two things you’re good at, it’s healing and pulling off stupid, risky stunts, and it seems like you’ve managed to do both today.

It worked. You weren’t a great parent, but you sacrificed your time with one to heal a thousand, and even just one more saved was one more reason it was worth it. Even if you’d feel it hard in the morning, you think as dizziness strikes you. Oh. You let go of the child before you pass out so you don’t take them with you.

The last thing you hear before you hit the floor is a child’s surprised shout.

"Shit!"

Chapter Text

The first thing Ravus thought was, not again.

There was the question of how Ardyn had gotten out of a locked cell in the first place, the glaive-esque light show of summoning a fucking crossbow, the smooth way he’d shot the arrow and warped and how the fuck was an oracle warping, but that was all knocked out of Ravus’s head once Ardyn used him as a launching pad hard enough to knock Ravus flat on his ass.

Same as last time. Monster in front. Ravus behind. His mother (Ardyn) between them, a shield, and Ravus froze, remembering last time, the dim red emergency lights like fire –

The tonberry went up in smoke and dissolved into a little kid and Ardyn face-planted onto the concrete floor.

And Ravus couldn’t move.

Everything was a blur after that.

Ignis burst in with some Kingsglaive and a few Crownsguards a few minutes later. The emergency was called off now that the daemon was gone, the doors unlocked, and Luna burst out to Ravus’s side at once. Staff in biohazard suits collected the girl and Ardyn, who was leaking black from half a dozen places.

A sweep of Luna’s powers proved that all three of them were uncontaminated. The girl had Stage Three scourge, a few pale grey blotches on her skin, and Luna healed those without a problem, then moved on to the other patients in the ward. Ardyn's leg had been sterilized and treated, though his black blood had already sealed and hardened in most of the small holes like wax.

Gladio stayed up top with the prince and Prompto while Ignis helped set up the investigation. The group of them were soon moved to a safehouse near the Galdin Quay train station, and the Nox Fleurets, Noctis’s party and Ardyn all took to one small room together while the Crownguard investigated the hospital. Ignis, Gladio, Noctis and Prompto sat around a small card table while Luna sat at the foot of Ardyn’s cot, where the man curled unconscious and waxen.

Ravus sat numbly beside Ardyn, his hand on the man’s bony back as he talked to the others.

They pieced the puzzle together bit by bit:

The nurse had worked in the Scourge Ward for several years, but had recently bought a new car, moved into a new apartment; he’d claimed he’d won a lottery windfall while in Altissia. He’d taken a lot of shifts over in the Scourge Ward, including the disposal and cremation of bodies.

He’d led Ravus to the crematorium to meet with his superiors, then opened one of the body bags and jabbed what was inside with a thick needle; a goop-covered corpse clambered out. It had formed into a tonberry halfway a few steps away from Ravus, and Ravus had been too busy trying not to get stabbed to figure out where the nurse went after that.

Luckily, the blows the tonberry had landed on him had mostly hit Ravus’s prosthetic arm, leaving a few bloody but shallow scratches on his side.

Ravus sounded the alarms. Texted Ignis for help. Almost got stabbed. Tried to barricade the crematorium closed, then the doorways to the patients’ hallway, but the tonberry had cut through it all like a knife through balsa wood. He’d stopped to quickly plan with Luna when –

“He summoned a crossbow, shot it and warped to the bolt. That’s what I expect from Shield Clarus, not an Oracle,” Ravus said. Between the stress of the battle and the haze of pain medication, Ravus felt like he was only sitting upright thanks to the stiff latticework of duty he’d built over the years.

Ignis nodded grimly. “He could have been part of the Crownsguard of his time. As a false Oracle, he could defend the king from threats that few others could – and possibly helped negotiate with the Astrals.”

“And if someone thought he was a threat to the king, that power would’ve meant he’d need to be completely neutralized,” Gladio said.

Ravus shook his head. “He said that his imprisonment was to prevent him from healing, slow down the progression of his wasting. It could be that his power was being doled out to the highest bidder.”

“Could’ve been a little of both,” Noctis said. “The chains would’ve made it difficult for him to warp, and we’ve had some real assholes in my family.”

“No wonder he’s so scared of Insomnia,” Prompto said. “If he thinks Izunia’s got the power of the throne behind him, he’s probably expecting whatever passed for an old timey warrant to be waiting around for him.”

“And the power of the king. Again, assholes,” Noctis said.

“Don’t talk about your family like that,” Gladio said.

“I can king-shame my family if I want,” Noctis replied.

And Ardyn had done what none of the Nox Fleurets had been able to do for centuries – heal someone after they had transformed into a daemon. The grainy security tape Ignis had snatched showed it all. The girl who had been freed was alive and awake, no physical injuries, although her short term memory was full of holes.

“But the problem is,” Ignis said, “she reached stage five three days ago, and was euthanized accordingly. Or she was supposed to be.”

“So her parents will probably be in the middle of planning the funeral when someone shows up to tell them their kid is still alive,” Prompto said. “They’re gonna be pissed about the mistake, if nothing else.”

“Or we’re going to get more protests about the Scourge policy,” Gladio said. “Your father’s getting less and less popular as the infection rate increases.”

Noctis groaned. “I know – wait. Prompto, you know about - ?”

“Dude, I’ve told you before, my parents worked in a Scourge Ward! I found out about the whole get-sick-get-murdered thing when I was eleven,” Prompto said, voice forced airy. “You mean you didn’t know?”

“Regis told us not to tell him,” Ravus said.

“Dad, what the fuck,” Noctis said. “I’m going to be king soon! How am I going to take over if I don’t know anything?”

Ravus covered his mouth with his hand so Noctis could not see his reaction to that.

Because.

Where did you even START with what Regis had not told Noctis?

“Why don’t we talk about what you haven’t told us, lover boy?” Gladio snapped, shoving Ravus aside. “The four of you went on a date and came back with a comatose man who can heal daemons, Luna healed, Ravus up to his eyes in paperwork, and you haven’t been answering calls from me, Clarus or Regis.”

Noctis looked up to Luna, who looked to Prompto, who turned pale and looked back to Noctis.

“It’s my fault,” Noctis said. “I wanted to go fishing somewhere nice and secluded, take everyone on a picnic, and I twisted Ravus’s arm off until he took us to the best fishing spot in Galdin Bay.”

Ravus’s jaw dropped. “Noctis, there’s no need for this façade to protect me.”

“It was our idea,” Prompto chipped in. “We made Ravus do it.”

“I helped!” Luna said.

“No she didn’t, it’s our fault and there’s no need to get them involved in it,” Noctis said.

Ignis rubbed his temples. “You went to Angelgard, didn’t you?”

Ravus felt Ardyn’s back stiffen against his own. He put a hand on his shoulder again, looked at the recumbent man, and saw his eyes twitching under their lids. Not as asleep as he was pretending to be, was he?

“We did,” Noctis said. “We wanted to go look around.”

“And fish! And take pictures!” Prompto said.

“Give me the camera,” Gladio said.

Prompto looked to Noctis nervously, who nodded, and handed over his camera. Gladio and Ignis started scrolling through the pictures.

“Is this what it’s like to have parents around all the time?” Prompto asked.

“If they think you did something dangerous, yes,” Ravus said. “One time Luna almost fell off a bridge walking Pryna and neither of us heard the end of it from Mother for a month.”

Luna elbowed him. It was worth it.

“And goodness knows, I’m not exactly replaceable,” Noctis said.

“So the flan does come out in daytime,” Ignis murmured. “Nice photo of Ravus stabbing it.”

“You mean, the government knew – I mean, knows about it?” Prompto asked.

“The details are too classified for me, but yes,” Ignis explained. “There’s not even rare butterflies there; that’s an excuse to send our people to check for signs of changes in the flan. It’s never a threat – oh. Never was a threat, it seems.”

“Yeah we kind of. Killed it,” Prompto said.

“And pulled the old man out of it,” Gladio added. “That answers one question and brings three more up.”

“We’ll definitely have to tell Regis. I know none of you wanted that,” Ignis said softly, “but this is a matter of national security.”

“I want custody, like we discussed before,” Ravus said. “I can arrange house arrest if need be. He’s an Oracle like Lunafreya, and as head of House Nox Fleuret, he’s my responsibility. I won’t have Regis swooping in to take him.”

“I think I can handle that,” Ignis said. “By all accounts and my experience, he’s been nothing but compliant so far. As long as his symptoms stay in remission and he remains cooperative, Regis will allow him to stay with you as he has done with Luna.”

And look how well that turned out, Ravus thought bitterly. Regis got to be the fun parent and Ravus was left with discipline. “Good. I’d feel safer personally making sure another incident like that nurse does not occur again,” Ravus said, and squeezed Ardyn’s shoulder. “Ardyn is Lunafreya’s and mine – our family’s problem.”

Ardyn didn’t know much Modern Lucian, but he knew ‘mine’. And despite a few days of good meals, he was still bony and underweight. This was probably why Ravus could feel every vertebrate stop digging into the small of his back as Ardyn relaxed.

Ardyn is mine, was a sentence the man could understand. And it’d calm him down without breaking the illusion that Ardyn was still asleep. 

“We understand, Ravus,” Gladio said with finality before turning to the prince.

As Noctis’s guardian and step-brother, Gladio was Ravus’s opposite and equal; he was the disciplinarian to Regis’s soft touch and Ravus suspected that things were going to move from negotiations to a sibling yelling match.

Couldn’t they do it in private like a civilized family? Ravus thought.

“Noctis, this thing is huge and you could have died!” Gladio began, flashing a picture of Noctis up to his knees in flan. Prompto winced.

Noctis retorted: “I had Ravus with me, and there wasn’t any information on a killer flan actually living there when we did research! And no one actually got hurt!

“That’s a federally protected nature reserve for a reason! You didn’t even come to us for help-”

“Because I knew you’d overreact like this!”

Ignis put a hand on Gladio’s shoulder. Prompto scooted closer to Noctis.

“It was my idea,” Luna muttered to Ravus.

“There’s no stopping them now that they’ve begun. We both know this,” Ravus said.

As Noctis and Gladio started bickering, Ardyn sat up and rested his hands on Ravus’s back to steady himself, his chin pressed against Ravus’s shoulder. “Quid – who is?” he whispered.

“Noctis’s custos and fratum, his brother, Gladio,” Ravus replied. “Ardyn ok?”

“Yes. Not hurt,” Ardyn said.  “Ravus not hurt? Tonberry ok?”

Luna fumbled for the ipad and held it up for Ravus. “I’m not hurt,” Ravus said. “The girl is – hold on.” He started writing with his good hand in short strokes. Girl can’t remember much but otherwise unharmed. Doctors making sure her brain isn’t hurt.

“Good. Where are?”

Healer who cut you was a. What was the Old Lucian word for spy? Taker of information. Enemy. He brought the daemon into the hospital. We’re in a fortress of Galdin Quay to be safer.

Ardyn slumped against Ravus’s back and wrote: You told them no Insomnia?

“Yes, it’s ok,” Ravus sighed. “You’re with us.”

Can we go somewhere with no yelling?

Yes. Do you need help walking there? Luna and I will help you.

Ardyn looked to Luna, who pressed her hand to his shoulder. He smiled shyly, then curled his hand around hers and nodded.

Which meant this was Ravus’s cue: “If you all don’t need us,” Ravus said, “Ardyn’s awake, so we’re going to leave. We don’t wish to subject him to needless yelling after he saved everyone’s lives earlier, do we?”

The noise stopped. Everyone turned to stare at Ardyn, who ducked behind Ravus’s back.

“Dude, you’re up,” Prompto said, the first to stand.

“Ardyn – “ Noctis said, and in a moment both were crowded around the bed, Prompto babbling praise and Noctis translating.

Ravus scooted down the bed to give them room. Ardyn kept one arm on Ravus’s shoulder to support himself, but sleepily smiled at the boys, headbutting Prompto fondly before responding to Noctis’s questions in short sentences that Noctis could translate easily – I’m fine, I’m glad everyone is safe, Ravus told me where we are, I just want a new coat, really I’m fine, I pass out after healing all the time and what’s the worst the tonberry could do, stab me? Yes, Noctis, that was a joke -

The rest of the meeting devolved into Ardyn gossiping with the boys while Ignis set up everyone’s itinerary and, eventually, brought in Gahladian take out for the group to share. Ravus could feel his eyes growing heavier as the night wore on, and Ardyn grew quieter and quieter, relying increasingly on the iPad rather than Noctis’s translations.

The only odd moment, Ravus thought, was when he’d finally been introduced to Gladio. Ardyn’s smile was wan as he shook his hand, and he’d stared at Gladio’s face for longer than was polite.

“Is something wrong?” Gladio asked.

Too loud, Ardyn wrote. Please teach your brother Noctis in quiet and more pleasing tones. I know Angelgard is a place of danger but I am grateful he helped the Oracle. I beg your mercy.

Gladio softened. “Yeah. I’m sorry. We were all worried sick when he heard he was in the hospital – both our dads almost had heart attacks when they heard. I don’t want him getting hurt because he did something stupid.”

“Dammit, Gladio,” Noctis huffed.

“It’s true!”

Your protectiveness does you credit. I am reminded of my brother’s dear friend, a valiant guardian. However, I still do not know your language or who you are yelling at, and my ears are still rather sensitive to loud sounds.

“Then I’ll tone it down,” Gladio said, and Ardyn nodded and accepted it with as eloquent wording as he could get translated.

But, despite that, Ravus caught him watching Gladio whenever the man’s back was turned, his hand white-knuckled around his plastic spoon. And when they finally walked to the respective rooms that had been made up for them to spend the night, Ardyn refused Gladio’s help and asked Ravus if he could help him limp to the bed instead.

They were splitting two rooms in the safehouse. Noctis, Prompto and his guards took one, while Ravus, Luna and Ardyn got the other. Some discussion meant Luna was taking the air mattress, while Ardyn and by extension Ravus would take the bed proper.

I don’t want to be alone in this strange place. I trust you. Please, stay by my side, Ravus! Ardyn had stolen the second of the three coats Ravus had packed for the trip, a shapeless black hoodie that did not match the blue boxers he had also borrowed from Ravus. And Ravus was trying to do the man a favor of not thinking about how much skin he ended up baring, about how fragile he looked in Ravus’s clothing hanging off his skeletal frame like sheets drying in the wind.

We’ll have to squeeze in together, Ravus wrote curtly.

Ardyn clapped his hands together and pushed the iPad back eagerly. That’s what I want! I get cold so easily, and you are warm.

I could crush you like an egg if I turned the wrong way.

I didn’t die when they tried to cut my leg off. A little extra weight won’t hurt me, Ardyn wrote. He put his hand on his chest in his ancient salute, bowing his head to indicate he was begging.  Please, stay.

Ravus sighed. He was too tired to try and argue this out. If the strange man who had saved both him and Luna wanted to use him as a living space heater, he could do that. Fine, but please answer one question?

Go on.

Did your brother’s dear friend help your brother hurt you?

Ardyn’s eyes flickered to the door, where Gladio and Noctis and Prompto had all bid Luna goodnight. There is not much resemblance but  It’s been so long and Yes.

Ravus curled a protective arm over Ardyn's back before he replied. Gladio’s bark is worse than his bite, but if he wanted to hurt you, I would not let him.

“Mi custos,” Ardyn breathed. If you guard me, I’ll give you whatever you want.

I want to go to bed.

Ardyn tried not to laugh, failed, then waited patiently for Ravus to plug the iPad in. When Ravus laid down, Ardyn used the nub of Ravus’s arm as a pillow and wrapped his arms around him, tucked his head into Ravus’s shoulder, and his breath puffed hot against Ravus's neck.

Despite his bony frame, Ardyn was not uncomfortable. Ravus was unconscious within minutes.

You dream.

The hammock is crowded with the two of you in it, but you’re managing. In the high Tenebrian mountains, you’re the only source of warmth around, and your spouse clings to you for it. They’re all angles, bones digging into your legs as you wrap your arms around them.

“It’s cruel to try and seduce him to be your shield,” they murmur. Their ice-blond hair brushes against your shoulders as their forehead brushes against yours.

“We never married for love,” you tell them. “You know that my duties eclipsed a consideration for love. We both did. The fact that we fell in love afterward is irrelevant. If my duties mean using Ravus, then so be it.”

“And they say being a priest of Shiva makes you cold,” they chuckle. Your spouse looks the same as they did when you last saw them, and you can’t tear your eyes away. You were afraid you would forget their face. “And yet compared to you, my dear…”

“You flatter me.” You press a kiss to their cold cheekbone. “Kings can’t afford to be as kind as Shiva is. We both know we paid the price of the covenants without hesitation.”

Your spouse titters, dust puffing out of their mouth. You had buried them in a grand tomb following their death earning Shiva’s covenant; when you had to use their corpse for Ifrit’s covenant three years later, the dry air of their tomb had near mummified them. Their eyes had rotted out of their face, but there enough left of their dried flesh to see the memory life a smile on their face.

“I’ll see you eventually,” you promise. “When my duties are over. There is so much I want to tell you. The world has become a new place while we were sleeping.” 

Chapter Text

And so the Oracle Manah Nox Fleuret came to Angelgard to take information from the Accursed in his lair. The bodies of those who had died of the scourge lay around that tomb.

“I bring you libations of wine and fresh fruit,” Manah said, and held her gifts in front of the window of the tomb. “Answer my three questions truthfully and I will give them to you.”

The Accursed’s skeletal hand emerged from the darkness. “Give me one now to prove your truthfulness and then I shall speak.”

Manah gave him a fruit and The Acccursed’s voice rumbled as he ate like a demon.

“Tell me: what is the origin of the Oracles of Nox Fleuret?”

“All magic is born from the blood of the Astrals,” the Accursed said. “Ifrit’s fire brought the Scourge into the world; now it is his fire that burns it away. As Ifrit’s descendants, you bear his responsibility for his crimes. Though I doubt it was said so plainly when Bahamut and Shiva uplifted you.”

“It was not,” Manah said. “Can anyone with Ifrit’s blood destroy the Scourge?”

“They can with training and effort, but there are few left. The Nox Fleuret were chosen because of their already prodigious healing magic and their loyalty to the Astrals. So long as you remain successful, Bahamut will not replace you.”

Manah said, “I did not ask if Bahamut would replace me.”

“Why else would you seek this knowledge?” the Accursed asked. “They are the only ones who could replace you; indeed, you are replaceable.  If your bloodline should wither, another could replace it if one knew where to look.”

“And how do I know if someone is a child of Ifrit?” Manah asked.

“Many children have magic. Many children can summon fire and ash or bring death. Think on what makes the Oracles unique, and you will have your answer.”

Manah gave the Accursed her gifts and he glutted himself on them. She had laced the wine with poison, hoping to slay him, but his curse was so strong that he was immune; indeed, he asked about her the next day.

• Cosmogony, Book of the Accursed (Apocryphal)

Ravus woke up both freezing cold and burning up; the former, because Ardyn had rolled up and stolen all the blankets, and the latter because Ardyn was sprawled on top of Ravus and drooling on his shirt.

Ravus left to get dressed, brush his teeth and put his hair up in a loose ponytail. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon when he went downstairs.

A few of the Crownsguard were gathered around Ignis, who was frying bacon and cooking pancakes. Prompto was sitting at the table with a tall, skinny woman, who was giving him advice on how to clean the pistol lying in pieces in front of him.

Coffee, black, some of Ignis’s bacon and a package of Pop-tarts. Ravus turned on his phone and looked at the news.

“You’re not going to like it,” Ignis said.

“If I won’t like it, then I want to know about it as soon as possible,” Ravus said, thumbing to the news panel on his phone.

MISTAKEN TIME OF DEATH AT GALDIN HOSPITAL SPARKS PROTESTS

MIRACLE RECOVERY OF STAGE FIVE SCOURGE PATIENT

RENEWED INTEREST IN STARSCOURGE TREATMENT BILL IN COUNCIL

Ravus thumbed out of the news panel. “Well, at least Luna will be pleased to hear about the miracle recovery. Will we be leaving Galdin Quay today to avoid the protests?”

“Yes. Noctis doesn’t need the kind of press that would come from interacting with that. Our train to Lestallum leaves a little before noon.”

“Good. If you wake Noctis up, I’ll wake Ardyn and Luna.”

“As you wish.”

Prompto didn’t look up from his pistol. “Didja sleep well last night?”

“Well enough, although I suspect Ardyn sleeps even deeper than the prince. He stole every blanket on the bed.”

“We can’t let him and Noctis share a room or all the blankets in the house will be gone,” Prompto joked.

“Can you imagine? We’d all freeze to death,” Ravus said, and took a bite of his bacon. “Adequate work as usual, Scientia.”

“You hear that, Iggy? He likes it!”

“Yes, we’re all aware of Lord Ravus’s deft grasp on understatement,” Ignis deadpanned. “You’re getting plain toast for your second helping if you keep that up.”

“As if I’d get anything more from you after last week’s stunts,” Ravus said.

“So!” Prompto interjected. “What kind of enemies do you think might show up? Crowe and I were discussing some new ammunition types and I was thinking I could stock up on the supplies to make more light-infused bullets once we get to Lestallum.”

Ravus took the change of topic coolly; he didn’t mind crossing swords with Ignis, since they had different views on how to deal with their charges, but Prompto hated conflict. It was probably why he got along so well with sleepy Noctis and Ravus’s regal and calm sister. The three of them could pacify a charging behemoth if they wanted. “That’s for the best. If we’re dealing with Niflheim sleeper agents again, we’ll want to have anti-daemon weapons ready."

The woman in the Kingsglaive uniform refilled her coffee cup and Prompto’s. She was knife-thin and lanky, with her tea-brown hair up in a messy ponytail. “You really sure you want me along? My magic usually leaves collateral damage.”

“You’re Luna’s favorite bodyguard. I’d have none other join us, Ms. Altius,” Ravus said. “Besides, most of us specialize in close-range attacks. You’d be the one driving the get-away car in an emergency, and your powers would destroy a wide variety of pursuers.”

Crowe Altius grinned as she sipped her coffee. “You’re lucky the truce Lady Lunafreya helped negotiate has held or I’d be permanently stationed in Gahlad. ”

“Niflheim needed to take a beating,” Ravus said. “I’m glad we could help you administer it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Crowe replied, and they clinked their coffee cups together.

You wake up to Ravus rolling you off of him. But you’re tired. You go back to sleep.

You wake up again to the sounds of bells. You poke your head out of your pile of blankets and find Lunafreya quieting her screaming phone, sitting up on her air mattress. The phone is the only light in here; you wonder what sort of powers have replaced the candles of your day.

No servants come to dress her. She simply throws on the strange garments known as pants under her tunic and then leaves. She greets Gladio in the hall, and you hear her leave.

Perhaps Noctis’s family is not as austere as you guessed. Perhaps, in this time, you would be considered spoiled, being waited on hand and foot as your ability to heal and to govern was dwarfed by your ability to be completely useless.

No ,you can’t allow yourself to think like that. You can’t afford to wallow now that you’ve made it back into reality, and you certainly cannot make them think that you or your powers may be slipping. You need to make yourself presentable and then join them in their morning meal.

Which is easier said than done. Even if you knew how to get to the fortress’s baths, you’re not sure if your legs will carry you that far after yesterday. Every time you move your left leg, lightning radiates from hip to knee, and that’s on top of the soreness from spending the first time on your feet in three hundred years jumping around like you were twenty again.

You crawl off the bed and to where you remember Ravus leaving the ipad, and fumbling in the dark eventually turns it up. You use it to light your way as you crawl to the door, then open up the drawing app to help you plan.

A quick peek confirms that Gladio is outside. You could ask him for help, but quite frankly, you don’t want to. He reminds you of your brother’s right-hand man too much for that.

And then there’s garments. You’re still in the tunic and Ravus’s cloak. Everyone else wears Tenebrian pants and black leather, and if you go out like this, there’s no hiding the scourge scarring on your legs like what you’ve done with the coat and your wrists, your shoulders, your chest  –

You could wait for Ravus. Let him get you. Ask him for new garb for this modern world. That’s why you’re working on gaining his loyalty, after all. But you can hear multiple people up there and you don’t want to go out like. This.

But it’s not like you’re going to get much better than this. They will know what you are sooner or later. The best thing for you to do is to establish alliances now. Befriend everyone, and be befriended. You knew a few Oracles who visited your tomb who were good at being sickly and gaining the love of their retainers, either by purity of heart or manipulative skill. And you, who gained the power to heal from the astrals because you were able to talk them into it, should be able to be pathetic and protectable and cute like your life depends upon it.

Because it’s entirely possible your life will depend on it.

You write out a few lines phonetically in case you can’t get the pronunciation right, then crawl into the hallway. “Gladio!”

He’s already looking in your direction. You must be louder than you realized. “What’s up?”

“Where’s Rafyus?” you ask, over-enunciating. “Please help go Rafyus.” 

“I can do that,” he says. “Can I pick you up?”

You have no idea what he’s saying, but you nod anyway. You want to get this over with. He scoops you into his arms like a bride being carried over the threshold and you squeak and hook one arm around his shoulder to keep your balance. He’s careful with your bad leg, adjusting his hold so that your hip presses safely against his stomach so it won’t come out of socket, and you’re suddenly very aware that he’s not wearing a shirt and your legs are bare.

Damn Amicitia, for having such a considerate and muscular descendant and damn Izunia for having the same spectacular taste in men as you do. You’re not sure if it’s fear or something else making your heart beat double-time in your chest but you cannot allow yourself to consider either. The former, because being scooped up and manhandled as casually as an animal reminds you far too much of how you were treated in the weeks before your death; the latter, because even if you weren't immortal, Gladio would still be less than half your age and you're old enough to have some fucking self control. You cover your nose and cheeks with your hands and hope you haven't gone red.

Up the stairs that you definitely couldn’t have handled on your own and to the right is the kitchen, and the smell of frying meat is fantastic. Gladio says something to Ignis as he pulls out a chair at the table next to Ravus and sets you in it, and you pull the train of Ravus’s coat up over your legs, flustered.

Ignis sets a bowl of thick gruel flavored with honey in front of you. You thank him and then grab the spoon Ravus hands you, try to eat.

Your hand shakes so much that the gruel falls out of the spoon on the first two tries. You end up hunched over the bowl so you can get it into your mouth before you drop it, and end up eating ravenously despite how hot and sweet it is, despite how it burns going down. Now that you’ve remembered how good being not hungry is, you’re going to stay like that, so help you.

“Hungry?” Ignis asks with a smile. You’re glad someone here speaks Old Lucian other than Noctis.

“Clearly not,” you deadpan, sucking your spoon clean. “Terrible. May I have more?”

“The doctors said not to strain your stomach too much. You’re still getting used to solid foods.”

“Then can I have some wine? I’m not in the hospital anymore, and I keep on telling Noctis I don’t want to take chances with pure water. I don’t care if you have to use the worst vintage in the house or if you have to water it down three to one.”

Ignis gives you an odd look. You grimace back at him until he speaks. “The water in this time is safe to drink, since we purify it within our aqueducts. The alcohol in the wine will interfere with your pain medication as well. Can I interest you in coffee or tea instead?”

“I don’t know those things.”

His look gets even more intense. “Then will fruit juice do?”

“It will.” You kick your legs irritably and get out your ipad. Ravus, is wine illegal now? Did the Nifel’s beer take over? What’s coffee?

You could look up a history of wine in Lucis, you know.

That’s on here?

Ravus swipes the screen a few times before Mogtube comes up, then types in Modern Lucian. A number of little videos with pictures of wine on them pop up onscreen, and Ravus gestures at them.

You can’t fucking read Modern Lucian, and you’re only starting to get the basics of the language, but you’ll take what you can get. You tap a video and sink back in your seat, placated.

Five minutes of badly tied togas and inaccurate grape harvesting methods later, you give up and just watch everyone around you.

People in black uniform move in and out of the kitchen. You see weapons, swords and axes and knives, and you see the weight of armor under their clothing, and you have sent off enough armies to recognize the set of shoulders and discipline that comes with one. A few stay around the table; you guess they’ll make up the guards that escort Lunafreya and her companions to - wherever you’re going.

Gladio’s gone back to the bedrooms. You imagine he’s helping Noctis wake up. Ignis and Ravus are talking in the kind of low tone that you associate with talking shop during dinner. Prompto and Luna have piled together onto one chair and have hands on each other, in their hair, under each other’s shirts. Good for them.

It’s no fun to eavesdrop if you barely understand the language you’re trying to listen in to. Maybe you should try and find a guide on modern clothing instead. Maybe pants will be a simple fad and you can wear a tunic like a normal person.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve discovered Moogle Translate, how it works, how it sometimes doesn’t work, and that you can’t escape the barbarian pants. Or leather. Or black.

How are you supposed to get your leg, which you can only walk on after 400 years of practice limping around your tomb, into skintight leather pants?

Ravus taps your shoulder. You’re mumbling and grimacing. What is it?

Ugh. You didn’t even notice. You’ve spent so much time alone - My apologies. I can’t wear your jacket forever but all the clothing is different now. I wanted to find something I can wear like a normal person.

Ravus looks up to Ignis. “The safehouses keep a stash of emergency clothing around, don’t they?”

“They do.”

“Which rooms?”

So. You, Ravus, Aurigena-your-Prompto and Luna in one little room, you ducking behind the bed and trying on clothing. You’ve found and claimed the first plain purple tunic available, which is huge on your emaciated frame, but you don’t care.

In your time, purple dye was painstakingly made in Altissia from ground up seashells. It was worth more than its weight in gold and so only the king was allowed to wear it. Purple’s a more common dye now, it seems, but you know what it’s supposed to mean. The world may be strange and unfathomable now, and you must remain cautious, but: you are still a king.

Underwear is easy enough. You find a thick vest that hides how skinny you are, then put Ravus’s wooly black jacket back on because it’s very comfortable and you like how it smells. Then socks that are, somehow, even woolier than the jacket. Long soft gloves over your sore wrists.

Which means the problem is back to the barbarian pants.

Can’t I wear a robe?

We don’t have any in your size, Ravus wrote.

I don’t want pants. I like Tenebris but this fashion goes too far. Pants are a crime made to hurt me.

“Six help me,” Ravus mutters. “He says pants were invented to torture him.”

“They are deeply uncomfortable,” Luna replies.

“Don’t take his side on this. We don’t have any dresses that would fit him right now!”

“If you two give me twenty minutes and a sewing kit, I can make one of these skirts fit,” Prompto says. “The problem is finding leggings for someone that tall.”

“That, I can do,” Luna says. “Wait here.”

She leaves. You hand the devil jeans to Ravus. You will not tolerate the barbarian pants.

Prompto asks and Ravus translates: Are pants from Tenebris?

Yes, they are! I don’t know how this fashion has spread here. Everything is black and leather. How much have I missed?

I only really started doing fashion after I met Noct, Prompto says. It’s way over my head too, dude.

Are you of lower status than him, then?

Pretty much, yeah. I’m still kind of in shock.

You brighten. Have they elevated you to patrician yet?

It takes Ravus a couple minutes to translate that, which is not a good sign. Prompto doesn’t seem sure how to respond, either. I gained titles after I swore loyalty to them? is what gets written, eventually.

Entitled – that’s good, for a start. You think. If he doesn’t recognize the patrician vs plebian divide, a lot has changed in the past 800 years. But this means this wasn’t an arranged marriage, doesn’t it? They chose you.

Chose?

You must know by now that noble marriages are a result of politics, not love matches. Being able to choose your spouse is a rare opportunity. Noctis and Lunafreya are a political match, but you’re not, are you?”You grin indulgently as you write. How exciting! Tenebris is more lenient with the matchmaking of their priests as long as they found a way to arrange heirs to the sacred bloodlines, but Lucis’s nobles are a bunch of backstabbing powermongers. Even a youthful noble like Noctis marrying a few classes down would have the Senate fussing like old hens!

This one takes even longer to translate, and Prompto turns several shades of pink as Ravus tries to explain some of your longer words. You have to translate lenient, backstabbing AND powermongers into smaller words, and apparently, there’s no Senate anymore?

Lunafreya’s back with long, fuzzy stockings by the time you manage to work out that there is no Senate anymore, just the king and a few yes-men. (Trust Izunia to turn things into a full on monarchy after you died. Typical.) Although these are still close to barbarian pants, they’re soft and easy on your hips, and the purple-flowered skirt Prompto is sewing joins them soon after.

You look like yourself again. You spin around happily before your leg reminds you that’s a terrible idea and you flop onto the bed instead.

You’ve chosen a fine spouse, you tell Luna. Would I have the honor of seeing the new bloodline of the Oracle, or is that waiting for after the marriage?

Ravus squints at what you wrote and replies without translating. They don’t have children yet. That’s none of your business.

So are you the one passing on the sacred bloodline? you ask. I realize it’s not much fun, but if you don’t get around to it, you have to go look for a bastard or go to a secondary line and that’s even less fun. You would think the Astrals were trying to make things harder on everyone with their bloodline-dependent magic, but this is the one time it’s a practical choice rather than pure elitism.

Finally, someone who is as frustrated with the system as I am!  Ravus writes back. It makes no sense, and places the burden of duty on those born into it rather than making it a matter of free will! A pause. Why do you say it’s practical?

Has no one taught you that the sacred bloodlines are those with the blood of the Astrals? All those with magic are a descendant of one of the former Nine – although unless things have changed, we’re down to Six now

Ravus stares at your words. Then up at you. Then back at your words. “Lunafreya,” he snaps, and the oracle siblings exchange words before just leaving the word in a rush.

“Wait! I need that to translate – “ But Ravus doesn’t speak your language, only reads it. Fuck your life. You put your head in your hands and groan.

The bed wobbles as Prompto, your Aurigena, sits next to you. “Ardyn?”

“Mi filium,” you say, my son, and he grins at you. He smiles a lot, but you didn’t become king by not learning which smiles were real and which were fake. You’re gratified that most of his smiles for you are real – both because you like him, and because every ally you have on your side is another ally keeping you away from Angelgard.

(Your daughter grew up to be a politician like you, and learned to smile through anything by the time she was seven. Your oldest son took after his uncle and only smiled in the heat of battle or in a debate. Your youngest, Somnus, was a shy child, and still hid his words and his inner self from all except his family at the time of your death.)

Ok. Translation time. “I, Rafyus mad… ask Prompto, Luna and Noctis filium?” you say. Mad can mean anything from sorrow to rage to discomfort, which makes it useful as a general descriptor, and you’re pretty sure Ravus is one of those things.

“Oh! Well, uh.. Luna no filium,” Prompto explains. “Oracle sickness.”

You wish you had the vocabulary to ask, why did she have to start so young, then? The Oracles who were sent to Angelgard to be healed by you or to transform usually started in their late twenties, to give them time to beget and train the next generation. You don’t remember much from when you healed Luna, but –

First, the chill of the air against your skin for so long, and then that pressure against skin of too much scourge, scratching on the inside of your skin to try and meet it –

It was too much, too young. Some three hundred and fifty years of tradition that you saw, pushed aside.

You kick your legs, irritated with your stupid self and how you can’t use your stupid words.  Prompto hands you his phone with Moogle Translate open, recognizing your dilemma, and you thank him as you type your next question. Why start at this young age Lunafreya? I know the tradition.

You hand the phone to Prompto, who types in and you both wait for the translation. Lunafreya's mother was killed during the 12-year-old. She offers in Oracle.

It takes you a minute to process what that’s supposed to mean, but your jaw drops when it clicks. What the hell. “No! Bad,” you say, typing furiously. Sacred the duty Oracle over all land!

Nifleheim, turning their weapons scourge? Continue to talk about predictions Ravus, out of all of us, crazy, Prompto replies.

….what. Scourge weapons? you ask. Prompto nods, face serious. “Daemons? They eat praetors, centurions? Eat plebians and patricians?”

“Eat everyone, yeah,” Prompto says.

And predictions, that must mean – “Oracle prophetiae? Ravus mad at prophetiae?”

“Yeah!”

Prophecies cannot be trusted. Prophecies are usually full of half-truths and bullshit to get mortals to the right places at the right times. Prophecies are just vague enough that if they fail the first time around, the Astrals can wait a few generations and try again, nevermind the cost to humanity with every failure. And you can’t say any of this because even if it didn’t get lost in translation, your true identity would get discovered so fast your head would still be spinning when they took you back to Angelgard.

“Prophetiae - prophecy, it Ardyn mad,” you say at last. It’s driving you out of your fucking skull. The last one you were in literally killed you, burned your crops, stole your family and exiled you from your kingdom. All your hard work, swept away because of your transformation. “Prophecy eat Lunafreya. Good, Ravus mad. Luna not be Ardyn.”

“Prophecy, make Ardyn go Angelgard?” Prompto asks.

You nod. You don’t think about rubbing your facial scar with your hand, it just happens. Force of habit. There was nothing in your tomb except yourself and your clothes, so you’d keep your hands busy acquainting yourself with the injuries you gained in death.  “Yes. Yes….”

He wraps an arm around you. What he says must be comforting words, going by his tone, but you don’t recognize anything except your own name. You rock into his grip in silence.

Time passes. Eventually, he pulls his phone out and takes it to some application you’ve never seen, then pats your shoulder until you’re watching the video.

“Umbra, Pryna, come!” A younger Luna calls, and two tiny herding dogs burst in, clustering around her heels. Noctis follows them and lies down, gets sat on by the darker dog, and Prompto’s laughter is loud even though you don’t see him.

“Luna and my filium,” Prompto says.

Oh Six, those herding dogs are so tiny and fluffy. She took in the runts of the litter and trained them as her guards. You want to pet them. You miss dogs almost as much as you miss chocobos. They are a perfectly adequate replacement for children for a young couple, especially one needing extra guard duty. Extra paws to help, haha.

So the two of you ‘paws’ your conversation so that Prompto can introduce you to his dogs.

Typing was a pain in the ass with one hand, but Ravus had years of practice to make up for it.

The original text of Cosmogony was available on the internet in a variety of forms, including the original Old Lucian. Some variations were easier to get than others.

An abridged version of the Book of the Accursed was online. The full version was in an Altissian museum, smuggled out of Tenebris after Nifleheim’s fall. They’d have to check that out eventually, but first –

“Luna, hold up the iPad.”

Ravus checked the words Ardyn had written against the Old Lucian script of the scanned documents. The handwriting was different, but the same words had been written. The fire in your blood will burn away the Scourge…

“They’re the same,” Ravus said.

“I can’t believe you read this enough to recognize phrases in it,” Lunafreya said.

“When I first learned of your fate, I pored over our every piece of Cosmogony I could get my hands on. I mediated on the things I learned for months, trying to find some information that could explain why this was happening. The Book of the Accursed is considered to be a false gospel, which is why most copies of it were destroyed, but what was in it is a font of information about Oracles and daemons that no other part of Cosmogony touches. Most of it is outlandish, but it is consistent in outlandishness.”

Luna nodded. “So why is that so important?”

“I’ll need to check in with Ignis to confirm, but I’m increasingly convinced Ardyn isn’t from 440 ME. He doesn’t speak the Old Lucian used in academia then; the pronunciation is wrong. He talks about patricians and plebians and he lectured Prompto on how Ancient Lucis actually made wine. Ancient Lucis was near the end of its lifespan in 440 DLC, Dynasty of Lucis Caelum, which was approximately 1500 years ago. That’s also around the time when the Book of the Accursed was first noted in history.”

“What are you implying?”

“I think he wrote it,” Ravus said. “Or wrote part of it. Having the scourge and being a blasphemer would doom him, false oracle or not. And maybe he was kept imprisoned by his brother so he wouldn’t get himself killed by officials… He was of high enough station that he was taught to read and write, which was not common then, and being a false oracle with some connection to the Crownsguard would give him familiarity with both the crown family of Lucis and the Nox Fleurets, which is consistent with the content of the book. It’s known for a strikingly negative portrayal of the Lucis Caelum family, which is part of why it was destroyed...”

“The other part being the blasphemy?”

“Indeed. There’s six chapters dedicated to cursing the Astrals, one chapter per Astral. Bahamut’s is the longest. Lucis is considered Bahamut’s home…”

 “Which would raise the ire of the king, no doubt,” Luna said. “There’s another possibility, though it’s probably unrealistic.”

“What is it?”

“If I remember correctly, wasn’t the Accursed introduced looking like a man in the first chapter?”

“He was a ‘mirror image’ of the Chosen King of Lucis, who are all known to be brunettes with blue eyes. Wouldn’t we know if the First King was a redhead?”

“The mosaics portray him with black hair,” Luna said. “But I wanted to investigate Angelgard for information on the Accursed, and he and that flan were the only things living there. Doesn’t the Book of the Accursed end with the Accursed being trapped on the island?”

“It ends with him dying on the island.”

“Not in the version I read.”

 “Care to put money on it?” Ravus said. “I’ll reread the Book of the Accursed on the train to Lestallum. I’ll pay whatever you’re willing to.”

“Make it ‘one day of doing whatever the winner says’ and it’s a bet,” Luna said.

“Deal.” They shook on it.

Chapter Text

Everyone packs up their belongings. Prompto gives you ‘sunglasses’, which will protect your eyes from the sun while they’re still sensitive from the scourge, and one of the bodyguards in black brings you a ‘portable wheelchair’, which is too small on you and jars your hip whenever  you go over a bump.

“We’ll get you a better one once we get to Lestallum, but I figure this is easier on your legs than walking,” Noctis says.

“It’s better than nothing,” you say. It’s probably more convenient than forming a litter to carry you, and your legs ache after that stunt you pulled yesterday. “We didn’t have such convenient devices in my time. This metal’s so light, and the wheels are covered in that protective substance – is it normal to keep these around?”

“Our safehouses have some stashed around just in case,” Noctis says. “We never know when someone might need one, and people get injured a lot in this line of work.”

“There must be new weapons, now, and Rafyus said that I-pads can send images around the world within a day, and your boats have become enormous. I can hardly imagine how much the world has changed, and how it’s changed the duties of the kingdom with it.”

Noctis and Gladio help you maneuver to the garage, where there wait large black ‘cars’ like enormous beetles. There’s no animals pulling them, so you’d guess they are animated through magic, as Solheim’s lost arts once made chariots that pulled themselves.

The insides are comfortable, if a little cramped. You’re allowed to take up the entire back seat, though, and what you had assumed was dark metal all the way down is at least partially glass that’s black on one side and transparent on the other.

The dogs that power the car rumble, and it pulls out of the garage with great smoothness. Outside is, you are told, Galdin Quay.

The boats that crowd the bay are enormous even from this distance. The roads are all paved smooth and black, as if with one Titan-sized cobblestone. The houses are built out of wood but the construction is far different than you’re used to – more subdued colors, brick upon brick upon brick in high layers, enormous windows – and you can’t tell if the sky is cloudier than usual or if it’s just the effect of the sunglasses and the car windows – and when the car starts moving it moves fast, faster than a chocobo, and you have to close your eyes and breathe when you get dizzy watching the world go by so fast.

Gladio and one of the guards have the front. Prompto and Noctis sit in the middle. The road curls around gentle hills and you see more colorful houses in the distance near the ocean dunes, sparkles of gold and silver in the distance.

“My daughter loved coming here,” you say. “She’d spend hours combing the beaches for shells and ambergris, then offer what she found at Leviathan’s Temple before we went home. Or she’d go spear-fishing and bring home something for the servants to cook.”

“She liked the ocean?” Noctis asks after he translates for Prompto.

“She did. She ended up marrying into the priestesses of Leviathan,” you reply. “She was very happy there the last time I saw her.”

“Married into the priesthood?” Prompto asks.

“I suppose that’s not something done now,” you say. “In my time, the priesthood of Leviathan was forbidden to all men. Anyone else could join. You’d marry a fellow also within the priesthood and then symbolically marry Leviathan as a vow to serve her.” 

“Dude!!!” Prompto exclaims when Noctis translates. “So there really were magic lesbians in Altissia?”

“Prompto, how am I supposed to translate that?”

“Is he asking about how powerful she was?” you ask. Prompto sounds so awed; you think that must be it. “The Altissian Islands are shared by many villages, and are only united by the priesthood of Leviathan because of their exposure to the ocean. Joining was a politically ambitious move she could never match by staying in Lucis. Perhaps it was becoming a big fish in a small pond, but there were many stepping stones out of the pond, as it were.”

 After he translates, Noctis says, “Well, that’s part of what he wants to know, but can she also do magic? Like, explosions, or summoning Leviathan?”

“She could have summoned Leviathan as a high priestess, but that would have taken decades to rise that high,” you say. “I’m not terribly familiar with the magics used by Leviathan’s worshippers, though. I know my Angerona was decent with the spells I taught her, though.”

“Like what?”

“Long-range explosions. Create a focus for your magic, enchant it, then throw. It’s useful for knocking out daemons, breaking sieges and disrupting phalanxes. Most casters have to actively use their powers, so being able to stockpile magic instead makes it easier to deal with ambushes and decreases exhaustion in the field.”

Noctis perks up. “I can do that too.”

“Good! Most people who can use magic can actively cast, but stockpiling magic is more difficult. It takes practice and talent to do well.”

The three of you talk magic for the rest of the drive. Noctis’s focuses are all gold and silver, shiny and smooth, and too heavy for you to hold without Noctis’s hands cupping yours. You can feel the latent energy in them like touching the chest of a purring cat. He’s not nearly as strong as you were at your prime (will anyone ever be?) but he’s good and he’s only going to get better.

Prompto helps him construct the orbs of magic; helps connect this and that together to create new effects. When they take one of the metal balls apart to show the pieces inside, Prompto’s words about the flow of energy are too much for Noctis to translate at first so the two of you go slowly, trying to put them together –

Time flies until you reach the train station.

They all help you into the wheelchair. While Gladio gets the train tickets, you wheel out from the car and into the sunny parking lot.

Even with the sunglasses, it’s terribly bright. You itch as if flowers want to bloom under your skin. You pull off your gloves and pull the sleeves back from your wrists and let the sunlight curl around the scarring there. Raise your hands to the sun. Let the heat and light fill you up.

You aren’t sure when you start weeping. You’re not sure why. The color of the sky (your children’s eyes). The clouds (white as your spouse’s hair). The smell of the sea and of flowers and the wind on your bare skin, and your new clothing is so soft and it’s all so much. The world is real and you’re in it.

“Ardyn,” Ravus says, and he touches you lightly on your shoulder. You wipe your ink-black tears on your sleeve and wrap your arms around him. He is real, too, and you can feel his heart beating against your forehead, and dreams are not so solid.

“The sun,” you say. “Ravus and Ardyn go the sun.” He’d promised that he’d let you see it again, hadn’t he? And he’d gone through with it.

He says something you don’t understand. You don’t care. It’s good enough.

Eventually, Luna calls the two of you back to the station. There’s a ramp, thankfully, and you’re able to wheel yourself the majority of the way to the ‘train’ before your arms start aching.

The train itself is. Enormous. Dull grey coaches stretch from one end of the station to the other, further than your eye can reach, and the air is heavy enough with smoke that you cough and the wheels are enormous and metal and you gape.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Prompto says through Noctis. “Daemons live everywhere between the cities, so the safest way to travel is in one of these! They’re powered by lightning now! I bet you want to know how we harnessed the powers of the heavens –

“Does it have a face?” you ask, and start wheeling to inspect the train’s serpentine body. “They had faces back in Solheim.”

“There were trains in Solheim?”

“Based on the astral Doomtrain, yes. They were said to swallow the souls of the dead to ferry them to the afterlife. When the Sol began building their mimicries of the Astrals, they crafted their faces on the trains. I hadn’t realized you had advanced so much to bring these back.”

“How’d they power them?” Prompto asks. “Steam? Lightning?”

“Well, plebians aren’t supposed to know, but I don’t think it can harm anything now,” you say, and shrug. “They used pieces of the Astrals. That’s why Solheim was smote down.”

Noctis slows down as he translates, and he and Prompto end up staring at you.

“I assume that’s still not common knowledge?” you ask.

“No, it’s not. That’s not a thing.”

 “It wouldn’t surprise me if the knowledge was erased from history. The other Astrals wouldn’t want anyone knowing they can die just as well as any human can. It takes more effort, but it can be done.” You finally make it to the front of the train. There’s no gaping maw, no skeletal eyeholes. It’s not like the husks of monsters you used to find in ruins that you’d take apart and melt down into swords that took twice as long to dull as normal iron. “Not even the gods themselves are safe from death. Noctis, can I touch the train?”

“Yeah, it’s not leaving for another fifteen minutes,” Noctis says. It doesn’t feel like metal, but it is warm. It’s kind of cool. “So, uh…do you know how to…?”

“How easy is it to kill one of those little invisible monsters the Scourge lives in?” you ask. “How long do they live?”

“Uh… It depends, but most of them only live for a few weeks. If you put them under heat, they fry pretty easily, or they get eaten by other invisible monsters.”

“It’s much easier to kill them than a human,” you confirm. “So, if killing something very small with a short life is easier than something big and long lived, then consider the effort it would take to kill something as tall as a mountain and as old as the earth.”

Prompto and Noctis consider this. “It would take a really big arrow,” Prompto says at last.

“Exactly!” you say. “Or a very strong poison. Just like many small invisible monsters like the Scourge or pneumonia can kill a human, a great deal of humans could and did kill an Astral.”

 Prompto says something, looks around, and then whispers it into Noctis’s ear. Noctis nods and then says to you – “So, Luna has some oracle stuff she needs to do, and knowing how to fight Astrals and forgotten lore about them would be helpful – “

You interrupt: “You’re going to ask me to help, aren’t you?”

“…yeah, basically.”

“As long as you keep me away from the Astrals themselves, I’m willing.”

“That we can do. Wouldn’t be fair to make you wheel out over rough hiking trails when you belong in a garden eating grapes while soft music plays.” You’d expect that statement to be sarcastic from anyone else, but Noctis is as genuine as he’s always been. He’s the opposite of your spouse; you were the only one who could tell when they were being sarcastic.

You nod sagely. “You understand me. I’ve done my duty, so now I shall set down my sword and shield and make for the fields.” It’ll take centuries for your successor to be born – Bahamut said the next chosen king would turn up after 100 generations, and you can’t have 100 generations in only seven hundred hundred years. Even if every child was had at first blood (far too young to be safely having children, honestly, but unfortunately possible) that would be one hundred generations times thirteen years, or thirteen hundred years. You can kick back for a couple centuries. Start a farm. Maybe you could start a cult, that could be fun. A benevolent cult, of course, you shouldn’t cause too much trouble, but you’d like to have some of that old kingly attention back.  

Prompto’s phone buzzes, and he gestures back down the train tracks when he looks at it. “Iggy says it’s time to board,” Noctis says, and the three of you walk back to get on the train. “I have to go talk to my father on a special phone, so I’m going to be up with Iggy and Gladio, and you’ll room with the Nox Fleurets and Prompto.”

“Come and visit us when you’re done,” you say.

It turns out that the four of you get an entire train car to yourself. Oracle privileges, Ravus writes, and it turns out that means each of you get a bed, and the floor is soft, and the windows are thick enough to take your weight as you clamber up on a bed and watch the train pull out of the station.

You spend a long time watching the world pass by. Dunes becomes orange rock formations become towns with small, elaborate buildings and signs carved in glowing lights and it’s all new. The colors are all so bright out here.

But the outside is still terribly bright, and even with your sunglasses, looking at such bright light for so long starts to take its toll. You flop onto the bed and pull a blanket up to shade your eyes even more, then peer at the rest of the car.

Ravus has taken up his bed and swaps between scrolling on his phone and writing in a notebook with his one hand. You’re a little jealous of his agility, honestly; it’s hard enough drawing a straight line with your sore wrists, much less doing it quickly. If you have to lose a limb to get that fast, well, maybe they can chop your useless leg off and be done with it all.

Prompto and Luna sprawl on the floor, Luna tapping on a phone as Prompto watches. There’s tinny music, like a bird singing through a metal pipe, and you roll off the bed and crawl over to them to investigate. Luna notices and half-sits up so you can sit next to her and watch as tiny bubbles fly over circles with faces on them, and Luna hits each face as the bubble intersects with it. The lights and the music are hypnotic in their allure. Luna and Prompto trade off on playing, each song as quick and alien as the last, and you can’t pull your eyes away.

Then Prompto hands you the phone. You square your shoulders as the screen flickers to the faces and the bubbles and prepare. The bubbles are much slower this time, but you tap most of them to the beat of the song. You’re quick enough for that, and each success fills a tiny bit of the gap inside you.

The three of you take turns playing songs. Prompto crows in delight every time someone completes a song, and Luna looks smug and nudges Ravus to make him look at what she’s done, and you’re content trying to learn the rhythms.

Time passes. You don’t know or care how much. Ravus taps you on the shoulder and passes his phone down to you. You read: Does ‘exesus’ mean: and then a picture of a fire.

That’s ‘exustus’, you write back. Exesus is like manducare, comedi? Eating, devouring, food. You even bite your hand in case he doesn’t know any of the synonyms you bring up to demonstrate what you mean.

Ravus nods and notes it down. Looks back at his phone, then his writing, then back at you, and then starts writing furiously.

You’re not sure what could be mistaken for burning away instead of being eaten, but you don’t really care. You go back to the game.

So you do.

Eventually black-suited guards bring everyone dinner – you’re not sure what everyone else has because you get to eat fresh fruit and yogurt for the first time in over four hundred years and that takes most of your attention. The fruits in this time are enormous, berries as big as your thumb and forefinger put together, apples as big as your fist, and you’ve forgotten what things should taste like but it’s ok because everything is overwhelming to you now.

Bright lights flicker on as the sky goes dark. You stay under your blanket to avoid them, and at some point you doze off. You only wake up when your head starts aching like someone’s put your temples in a vise and started squeezing.

The beds are filled. You suppose everyone else is asleep. The lights flicker like torches in the wind. There’s a rattling sound behind one of the doors.

You stand. You open the door.

Somnus is standing in the next train car. He looks as he did when you last saw him: still terribly young, black hair curling just as wildly as yours did, wearing a deep red toga over his tunic. When he opens his mouth, pebbles drain from it. He looks up at you and his eyes are brown and textured like stones.

That is not your son. This is a vision.

“Titan,” you say.

Pebbles spill over the floor as he raises an I-pad and writes.  You are awake once again.

“No, really? I hadn’t noticed,” you snap.

The time for your duties is once again at hand.

“I doubt it,” you say. “Bahamut said he’d let the prophecy be fulfilled in one hundred generations, since the ten that begat me had failed to produce a competent king for it. It’s 756 in the dynasty of Lucis Caelum, and I was imprisoned in 36 DLC - which means there hasn’t been enough time for one hundred generations!"

Titan points at time on the I-pad and circles it.

You sigh. “I realize that I still need to play my part in the prophecy, but it’s not happening for at least another six hundred years. I gave you and the other Astrals my life and my afterlife; can’t I get a few decades to rest?”

Titan shakes his head. He’s aging rapidly, growing taller, growing a beard. The pebbles are up around your ankles now. You do not understand the time.

“Don’t I?!” You kick away the rocks at your feet. More take their place. “So what am I to understand? Between Bahamut locking me in my own tomb and Ifrit feeding me to a monster made of my own blood, I don’t know anything anymore! I can’t speak or read the modern tongue, I don’t know how phones and cars work! I can’t go home because Bahamut and my descendants will try and kill me, and I can’t find out what happened to my children because then everyone would know who I am; they’d send me back to my tomb! Or,-” you spit, “-do you want me to go back there? Is that your plan? Would you have the tool of the Astrals kept sheathed and sleeping until it’s time to sacrifice him on your altar?”

Titan stares at you. The rocks are up to your knees now. Titan is growing old, old, older. His hair turns grey, then white. You can’t move. The rocks are up to your hips.

If I had any other choice, I would not have given you this fate. We are both bound by our duties. By our covenant, I bless you with speech.

He wades through the sea of stones. By now, they are up to your elbows, holding you in place. Titan grows to twice your size, bursting out of his human skin to his true form, all rough rock, and one enormous hand forces your mouth open while the other pulls your tongue out. There’s a sharp pain, like the one you felt when your brother cut your tongue out, and you can’t back away.

It’s difficult to breathe with the stones closing in around you. You scream anyway.

Ardyn’s eyes were rolling under his eyelids as he squirmed on his bunk. Ravus put a hand on his forehead; he was running even hotter than usual, and sweat trickled down his cheeks. Ardyn’s mouth formed soundless words as he twitched, trapped in his cocoon of blankets.

“We tried waking him up, but nothing’s working,” Prompto said.

“It might be better that you can’t. He’s having a nightmare,” Ravus said.

“Why is it good we can’t wake him up in a nightmare??”

“He can use magic.” Ravus explained, “Waking up a magic-user from a nightmare sometimes results in spontaneous casting. It’s fine for Lunafreya, since all she does is heal, but we don’t know what Ardyn’s capable of.”

Prompto looked back down at Ardyn and grimaced. “Poor dude…”

“He’ll be fine,” Ravus said. “I’ll keep an eye on him until he wakes up. You two can go do…couple things.”

“He’s trying to make us leave. That means he’s up to something,” Luna declared. “Has it got to do with your notebook?”

Ravus took his notebook and sat on it. “It’s not ready yet.”

Prompto took one side and Luna took the other, squishing Ravus between them. “Dude, tell us!”

“Please, Ravus.” Luna’s eyes sparkled up at him.

Ravus sighed. “Fine. But talk quietly so we don’t bother Ardyn too much.”

Prompto started carding his fingers through Ardyn’s hair, trying to soothe him, as Ravus got his notebook back out and flipped to the relevant page.

“These are passages from the Book of the Accursed,” Luna said. “You translated them back into Old Lucian and then re-translated them?”

“When I read them the first time, I focused on the parts relating to the Nox Fleuret oracles,” Ravus explained. “This time, I went back to look at the passage about the death of the Accursed.”

“He’s not dead,” Luna said.

“Technically, he’s both,” Ravus said. “See, this is the official translation. ‘The Accursed’s powers burned out and he was devoured by them, and now daemons spawn from his corpse.’ But I checked the original Old Lucian and this time, I knew enough to see the error. There was a mistranslation. You see, they mixed up exustus and exesus. If you see that, then that changes the context of the sentence because instead of being ‘consumed as if by by fire’ – “

“This is really interesting,” Prompto said, “but I know, like, nothing about Old Lucian, so can you sum it up?”

“The first translation implies the Accursed was consumed by their own powers like a fire consumes wood,” Ravus explained. “The correct translation, if I’ve done it right, says that they were literally consumed by a monster that came out of their body.”

“The Accursed gave birth to a monster?”  Luna asked.

“So you’re saying the Accursed was vored?” Prompto asked with a shit eating grin.

“Yes, Luna. Prompto, I will pay you a million gil to never explain what you just said.”

“Not if you lose the bet,” Luna said.

Ravus stuck his finger in Luna’s face. “Don’t you dare.”

“I will teach you about all the terrifying things on the internet that you have never seen because you used a Tonberry phone and a desktop until last year,” Luna said.

“Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, I love you dearly but if this goes anything like the time you taught me about ‘furries’, I will hang you and both your boyfriends off a balcony and tell the Glaives to use you for target practice. This is potentially vital prophecy information and shouldn’t be laughed off as a joke.”

“Why is it so important?” Prompto asked.

But Luna, apparently, had just realized why. “Eaten by the only monster on Angelgard,” she said. “Ravus.”

“Yes, it is as you suggested…”

“It’s as what suggested?” Prompto asked.

Luna and Ravus both looked at Ardyn. Tears glittered on his eyelashes as he panted for breath in his nightmares. They shouldn’t say it when Ardyn was right there, Ravus thought. Especially if they were wrong. What good could come of voicing the suspicion that Ardyn was the Accursed?

Before Ravus or Luna could decide, there was a terrible screeching of metal on metal; everyone almost fell off the bed as the train shuddered to a half, and then there was a loud crunch of metal from the ceiling.

Ardyn’s eyes snapped open. “No!”

Chapter Text

From the deep, the Archean calls

yet on deaf ears, the god’s tongue falls.

The king, made to kneel in pain, he crawls

to heed the call of Titan’s command.

To gain his gift, fight or withstand.

Archean speaks when danger rules the land.

From clay, Titan once molded men

He promised their safety always, then

When he speaks, he pleads for them.

     - Lucian nursery rhyme; earliest records date back to 1140 EE (Early Era) 

Trains were the safest and most reliable way to travel by land. Cars could run out of gas and had to stop at towns during night, and buses were reliant on towns as safe places, but trains could travel at night without fear. Most daemons would lose a battle with several hundred tons of metal ramming into them at sixty miles an hour.

The government of Lucis had their own trains. Some were official, shiny black, and were used when government officials were going somewhere for publicity. Others, like the one Noctis was riding on now, looked like normal freight trains on the outside but were full to the brim with armor and technology on the inside.

This also came with a secure internet connection to the Citadel. Noctis was sitting in front of the screen there, which was only a little bigger than a cell phone’s screen, and was glaring at his father through his bangs. Ignis and Gladio sandwiched him, stiff under the king’s gaze.

“Noctis, you could have died! That island is forbidden for a reason!” Regis leaned forward on his desk, face waxen, grey eyebrows knit together.

Noctis simmered, his hands jammed in his pockets in a rare show of frustration. “Gladio already read me the riot act, Dad. I get it! No going anywhere without permission!”

“You went to an island known to have a dangerous daemon on it without your Shield! You’re lucky you weren’t killed!”

“Gladio said that too! I got it, ok? But all the official documents said it was just a nature sanctuary, and there shouldn’t have been any danger! You didn’t tell me anything!” Noctis snapped.

Regis’s hands were white knuckled on the desk. Clarus hovered behind him like a worried pigeon. “Some things in the government are on a need to know basis. Everything about Angelgard is highly classified.”

“I still need to know! I know Luna’s part of some prophecy and she’s going to need my help and she might die and none of you were going to tell me about it!”

Regis sucked in a sharp breath. “Who told you?”

 “That doesn’t matter! If I’m in some weird world ending prophecy, I want to know all about it!”

“No, you don’t!” Regis pounded on the desk. Ignis and Gladio flinched, but Noctis stood firm.

Clarus leaned in and whispered to Regis, who scooted over and let his partner address the camera. His robes were wrinkled as if he hadn’t changed them in two days. “We don’t want to curtail your independence, but you can’t run off unannounced without your guards and then not answer calls for three days. We were afraid you had been injured.”

Noctis looked away from Clarus, running a hand through his messy hair. “I knew you wouldn’t be happy that I went. I don’t know a lot about what the prophecy entails, but Luna shuts up whenever I bring it up, so it’s got to be pretty bad. I know she’s probably going to die in it. But we figured that since the prophecy hasn’t started yet, it’d be safe to investigate one of the areas mentioned there. That way, when it starts, we’d be ready for it.”

Regis nodded. “That is – that was a reasonable idea, and I can see why you’d want to do that. But we already monitor Angelgard for prophecy-related reasons. Why didn’t you come and ask me about it?”

“Because you’d be upset that I knew in the first place,” Noctis muttered. “You didn’t tell me about all this. I’m marrying Luna next year, Dad, and none of you were going to tell me anything.”

Regis’s face crumpled. Clarus put a hand on his shoulder, his own stony face twitching as he tried to conceal his emotions. “We didn’t want to burden you with this,” he said softly.

“I want to know. It’s not a burden,” Noctis said.

“Then we’ll tell you,” Regis said. “But not here. It needs to be in person.”

“I can live with that,” Noctis said. “Should I head back or will you come over to Lestallum?”

“I –“ Regis said, but then the train braked hard and everyone was thrown forward as wheels screeched against the train tracks. Regis snapped forward, clutching the camera. “What’s going on?”

Noctis pried himself from the screen. Ignis regained his balance and said, “It appears we’ve come to a sudden stop. It’s probably nothi- “

A shrill siren started. “Everyone stay in your cars!” said a voice over the loudspeakers. “Unknown enemies have attacked the train. Move away from the windows and keep the doors shut. Unknown enemies have attacked the train.”

“Shit,” Noctis said, standing up. “Dad, we gotta go, there’s an emergency.”

“Stay safe!” Regis said, putting his hand to the screen.

“I will. I’ll tell you all about how we survived when we see you,” Noctis said, and put his hand to Regis’s as Gladio and Ignis turned the connection off.

“So now we bunker down,” Gladio said.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Something enormous slammed against the door of the car.

“That may no longer be an option,” Ignis said as he pulled out his double daggers, “if whatever’s knocking opens up the door.”

“Then let’s be ready for it,” Noctis said as he summoned his own shortsword from Armiger. “Dad’ll be sad if I died after he gave me that big lecture on not dying.”

Metal whined.

An enormous shipping container had crashed through the ceiling of the train car. The only thing holding it up from smashing onto the bed was the icy latticework of a Wall spell. Ardyn’s hands shook as he kept the spell up, yelling ‘no’ over and over again over the siren echoing through the doors as he glared up at the enormous metal box.

Ravus shoved Prompto and Luna off the bed, then grabbed Ardyn and yanked him out from under the blankets. His heels hit the floor with dull thuds.

The dust was still settling. Ardyn’s spell was crackling under the weight. “Ravus, go!”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Prompto chanted as he pulled out his gun and clicked the safety off. “This is totally a Niff tactic and they shouldn’t be this deep into Lucian airspace!”

“Aim now, ask later,” Ravus snapped as he tossed Ardyn onto the bed opposite the shipping container, then drew his sword. “It’ll open up once Ardyn’s spell breaks.”

“Three,” Ardyn counted down. “Two. One. Go!”

The Wall spell shattered and horde of hobgoblins no larger than dogs tumbled out. Gunshots burst, one-two-three-four-five-six, and as Prompto reloaded, Ravus took a swing and cut down the few remaining from the first wave.

Efficient.

The second wave of hobgoblins were dispatched with similar speed. They only had so much room to crawl out of the container, which made killing them easy. Soon the train car was silent save for the howl of wind over the hole torn in the ceiling, muffled sirens, and heavy breathing. The floor was sticky and black with daemonic ichor.

“Is anyone hurt?” Luna asked, holding herself up with her cane.

“Just kind of shocked,” Prompto said. “I can’t hear the engine. Did we stop?”

“What the fuck,” Ardyn muttered, hugging himself as he stared at the shipping container. “What the fuck. Was that.”

Ravus cleaned his sword on the squashed bed, then sheathed it. “I’ll bruise tomorrow, but it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. The bigger problem is that Niflheim never drops just one daemon bomb. If the train’s been stopped, they’ll have dropped more of them on the rest of the cars – not to mention the daemons that’ll be attracted by all the noise.”

“We have to help the other people on the train!” Luna said.

“We need to set up a barricade. Luna, you’re the Oracle. If you get killed, it will take years to train a replacement,” Ravus snapped.

“There’s a giant hole in the roof, Ravus! This isn’t safe!” Luna snapped back, gesturing at the hole. “And what about Noctis?!”

“He’s got Gladio and Ignis with him!”

The door creaked open. A small Marilith stuck her head through the door. Before Ravus or Luna could react, a gunshot split open her abdomen while a crossbow bolt slammed itself through her eye socket; the bolt shimmered red light and disappeared as she fell over.

Ardyn’s fist curled around the bolt as it reappeared there, wiping ichor off it on the bed before slamming it back into his silver crossbow. “Fucking Astrals… they can’t even give me a week off before pulling me back into this; I shouldn’t even exist after what they pulled last time! Why can’t Bahamut shove all his swords up my ass so he can fuck me over properly this time round?” he muttered darkly. “Can’t that fucking bastard even wait until I can walk three feet without falling flat on my fucking face?”

Everyone turned and stared at him.

Ardyn blinked up at them all and forced a smile over his frustration, giving Prompto a thumbs-up. “Good shot, Aurigena! You are certainly a ‘prompt’ fighter.”

“Dude,” Prompto said, “when did you start speaking Modern Lucian?”

 “Oh! When I woke up just now, I think,” Ardyn said. “That, or I’ve started hallucinating again and the real you will wake me up in twenty minutes. Either way, dying in a dream is just as unpleasant as dying in reality, so we should find a safer area. Luna’s correct that this place is too open. We’ll need a closed in space or a large, flat area and some wine if we’re going to do a proper barricade. Can one of you open my wheelchair?”

Prompto grabbed Ardyn’s canvas wheelchair and opened it up, helped him into it as Ravus stared. Yes, Ardyn was definitely speaking Modern Lucian. Ravus had missed it with all the fuss of the goblin attack. “How are you doing this?”

“I’m an Oracle, aren’t I?” Ardyn said. “I obtained all of my covenants, so I can call upon the Astrals – or they can call upon me. Their gifts are as random and fickle as they are.” He raised his chin at Ravus and Luna, as if daring them to correct him.

Well. Ravus had never heard of that, but perhaps things were different for old Oracles. Or Accursed? What was the plural form? Why would the Accursed even have a covenant?

 “Let’s not look a gift chocobo in the mouth,” Prompto said quickly, probably seeing the questions on Ravus’s face. “Luna, how far can you walk?”

“I’ll go as far as I need to,” Luna said.

“Luna,” Ravus said, glaring.

“You can carry me later, but we’ll need someone to help lift wreckage in the way. Prompto can’t do it alone,” Luna said.

“Now, what’s the safest way to go?” Ardyn asked.

The room the Marilith had come from had been blocked entirely by an empty shipping container, which she had evidentially crawled out of. They ended up having to go the other way. Ravus lead, Prompto followed to shoot over his shoulder, Luna was behind him, and Ardyn took the rear. He and Luna locked every door they came across so daemons could not follow them through.

Tiny hobgoblins were filling the rooms they ventured into next. A shipping container had crushed the two Crownsguard stationed there, and hobgoblins were ripping off handfuls of flesh to gnaw on. Prompto shot most of them, then turned away, going green as Ravus knelt to check the bodies.

“They’re dead,” he confirmed. The shipping container had crushed their skulls and chests like grapes; they probably hadn’t felt a thing when they died with the speed that the container had hit the train.

“What kind of catapult can fling these boxes so far?” Ardyn asked.

“We have boats that fly through the air now,” Ravus said, standing. There was no time to deal with the bodies now. “Someone brought these boxes onboard and then dropped them on the train.”

“We can fly now?! How big are the air boats??”

“We can. I’m sure Prompto has a MogTube video with more about them,” Ravus said. “Will your chair get around the container?”

“If you move the hobgoblin bodies out of the way, perhaps,” Ardyn said. He rolled forward, then ran into Luna, who was holding a nauseous Prompto. “I realize this is an upsetting scene, but time is of the essence and, more importantly, I can’t get up and walk around you two. Please hurry it up.”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto mumbled, and took a few stumbling steps forward. “I am so sorry.”

“Be sorry later. Do what you must, but do it while moving. There’s no shame in being unused to battle, but time is of the essence now. If there are injured survivors, if we are quick, we can help them,” Ardyn said gently, and Ravus saw Prompto’s look of gratitude as he started walking again, this time supporting Luna.

“How are we going to help them?” Luna asked.

“As a false Oracle, I have some small talent for healing physical woes as well as the Starscourge,” Ardyn said. “If nothing else, I can prevent the injured from dying.”

“Some small talent,” Luna said, “as if the skills you have shown so far are so little.”

“Yes, my ability to walk two steps is incredible,” Ardyn deadpanned as they rolled into the next room, locking the door behind him. “I’m also amazed by my ability to eat solid food with only minimal difficulty.”

“Physical and magical ability are rarely equal,” Luna shot back as they walked through a box-lined car. “No Oracle in five hundred years has been able to cure someone who has transformed.”

“It only worked because that girl turned recently,” Ardyn said, “and the toll it takes is heavy. I wouldn’t be able to do it with these daemons.”

“How can you tell?” Prompto asked.

“Those daemons were naked. It usually takes two weeks for a daemon to destroy the clothes they were wearing when transformed. My hard limit is three days,” Ardyn said.

“If you know that, you must have spent a great deal of time dealing with daemons,” Ravus said, looking back at Ardyn. “Was that why they let you into the Crownsguard?”

To Ardyn’s credit, Ravus only saw the gears churning to behind his eyes because he was watching for it. “I shouldn’t be surprised you realized,” Ardyn purred, patting his crossbow. “I’m loathe to go near any topic that may raise my former family’s notice. I wouldn’t have brought this old dear out if it wasn’t an emergency. Do you get attacked by daemons often, or am I just unlucky?”

“Both,” Ravus said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if people are looking for the ‘second Oracle’ now.”

“Especially if there aren’t any easy replacements,” Ardyn said. “I’ve had more than enough of being locked in a room alone, thank you very much. The next person to try it shall taste my arrows.”

Ravus thought, that was no doubt a warning as much as a statement of fact. He wasn’t surprised. Whether man or monster, being buried alive in a prison you were expected to die in was an unpleasant fate.

“How’d you get to be Crownsguard and an Oracle?” Prompto asked as he and Ravus checked the next room. More boxes. If Prompto had put together the potential facts like Ravus and Luna had, he wasn’t showing it.

“Part aptitude, part connections. My brother was a trusted comrade to the King’s Shield, and with the official Oracle stationed in Tenebris, having a permanent second stationed in Lucis gave us an edge in negotiations,” Ardyn said.

“Trusted?” Ravus asked.

He could hear Ardyn rolling his eyes. “What, is friendship not a word in the common tongue now?”

“Common enough, but the way your tongue curls around him makes me think they were more than friends.”

“Is that not the natural way of things for those who fight together? Political marriages are rarely love matches, but those you fight alongside often are.”

“You say it so casually, but it’s not safe to love so easily.”

“The nature of living is loss. If I shied away from the world for fear of sorrow, what pleasures would I have left to console myself with?”

“There are plenty of things one can do while solitary that are pleasing,” Ravus said. He was an introvert by nature; he only acquiesced to stay near others out of duty or a request from Luna. Moreover, he had been quite happy being abstinent for the majority of his life; who could spare time to indulge in carnal fantasies with a kingdom captured, a sister in danger, and an ever-growing pile of paperwork?  

“After an eternity of solitude, I would argue that the company of others is the finest pleasure one could have,” Ardyn said.

Luna wheezed. Prompto had to stop for a moment while she put her hands over her mouth and tried to muffle laughter. Ravus stopped too, turning around. “What’s wrong? Is the tension too much?”

“Ravus, do you hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?” Luna tried to stuff her hand into her mouth to stop her giggles.

“Yes, I’m saying them.”

Prompto, bright red, added: “Maybe you should, like, think about them some more?”

“Then perhaps we should take this speech to a more private place,” Ardyn said, “and leave our blades to talk on the battlefield.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Oh, Ravus thought.

“This is no time for flirtation,” he said flatly, then turned back to lead on.

“If you say so, my custos!”

Ardyn’s laughter was as rich and decadent as red wine, cut only by the sirens and the last of Luna’s giggling. Ravus sighed and marched on. He didn’t come here to be made fun of by geriatric apocalypse creatures or fake oracles.

The next door was locked. Ravus knocked on it, and a grey-faced train attendant looked in. “There any daemons out there?”

“We killed them all,” Ravus said. “Let us in.”

The door opened. The four of them carefully walked inside, Ardyn locking the door behind them. This car was a dining car with wide open spaces. The shipping container that had fallen here had imploded, sides bubbled where heat had come and gone in and instant, and there was nothing but ash falling from it.

The hole it had torn in the ceiling had caused more trouble. A few dozen soldiers and government workers were at the tables, and a few were trying to help a Kingsglaive whose lower body was trapped under a large chunk of metal.

“We were waiting for you to show up!” came a voice from the ceiling. Ravus looked up – Crowe was perched on top of the train, wreathed in smoke as she held up a fiery barrier over the hole into the train. “I didn’t think a few boxes full of daemons could kill you so easily.”

“Indeed. We’ve dispatched all that we’ve come across so far,” Ravus said. “The back of the train has been blocked by falling debris, so we’ll need to check for survivors there come morning, but we’ve brought everyone here from our end of the train.”

“The first box to drop crushed the engine; this train’s done for. They’ll send trucks for a rescue by morning,” said one of the officials at a table. “We just have to make it through the night.”

“Easier said than done,” Ravus said. “Is the other end of the train secure?”

“Yes and no,” Crowe said. “The section that can reach this dining car is. Noctis and his guards were ambushed up at the front, and they took the fight outside. The Glaives are providing back up fire so that wild daemons don’t try and join in.”

Prompto was halfway up the melted shipping container by the time Ravus said, “Then turn off your magic so we can join - Prompto, what the hell are you doing?”

“Noctis’s in trouble! I’m not gonna let him go at it alone!”

“At least wait for her to turn the magic off first –” Ravus spun to look at Luna and Ardyn. “And both of you are too injured to join a fight right now, and your powers cannot be replaced, so please don’t try and join the fighting.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Ardyn said with a look far too innocent to be believable.

“No,” Ravus said. “Because if either of you get hurt doing something stupid while you’re still injured, I will gnaw my own arm off and choke on the bones, and you’ll have to live with that.”

“It’s not like we can climb after you to stop you,” Luna huffed, crossing her arms. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort here.”

Ravus can run and climb and fight and it’s probably ironic that you, the mighty King of Light, are seethingly jealous of how easily he moves despite being minus a limb while you still have all four; never mind that one of them is a piece of shit that collapses under the slightest pressure, at least it’s fucking there.

What would it be like if you shot him in the leg? Just, shot him, and then ripped the arrow out and sawed at the hip until it started to break off -

You press your sunglasses against the bridge of your nose. This was no time to get derailed by intrusive violent thoughts. Come on.

Focus, Ardyn.

Lunafreya opens her bag and lays out shining metal cans. (Can is a new word, one that’s definitely not in your language, but it seems that Titan’s gift taught you some new words. As usual, he’s got all the subtlety of a wagon full of bricks, but his covenants are always helpful.) You follow her, because what else are you going to do? If you sit around in the wheelchair for too long, you’ll perseverate on how it digs into your hip and you’ll just be miserable for the rest of the night.

She goes over to the man trapped under the piece of ceiling. He’s round and softly muscled, with braided hair and a kind face that’s currently trapped in an agonized grimace.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“The shrapnel’s the only thing keeping him from bleeding out,” explains one of the soldiers. “We’ve been waiting for Noctis’s healing powers, but if the fighting doesn’t end soon...”

“I can do it,” you say. “Luna, am I allowed?”

“It should be safe to use your powers here, yes. They know you’re a Nox Fleuret,” Luna says.

“Good. Hold my wheelchair, will you?” You slide out of it and get on your knees next to man and shrapnel. “I’m trained in emergency healing magic; I can stop the bleeding if you remove the shrapnel.”

“There aren’t many healers around these days, even in the Glaives,” says the injured man.

“It’s the hardest form of magic, after all,” you say automatically, with a thread of pride. “Now, I’m going to have them take the shrapnel off at the count of 3, and then I’ll begin healing. This is probably going to hurt, so get ready.”

“How badly?”

“If there are severed nerves, I’ll re-attach them, but I’d personally say that healing nerve damage is on par with dealing with gallstones.”

The man winces. “Hell, we should get it over with, then. I’m Libertus, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ardyn! Three, two, one – ”

They pull the shrapnel away – first the heavy sheet from the top of the train, then the jagged edge of metal that pierced his left thigh. Blood sprays into your face. The wound goes in just under Libertus’s groin and, judging by the size of the metal pulled out; there is probably at least fractured bone. You press your lips together and shove your hands down on each side of the wound, and channel the energy of the sun.

You heal as a priest of Eos does. Eos, the mother and the sun, had a hand in the creation of humanity. She helped write the divine blueprint that all living beings sprung from. Where other bloodlines heal by laboriously knitting flesh together, your magic born of Eos’s blood works by reminding a body of the shape it was supposed to Be.

(This didn’t always work. Children born with holes in their hearts or missing organs – you couldn’t do anything about that. Your physical healing would remind the body of the shape it had been born with, so if things were less than life threatening, you’d check to see if there were places you shouldn’t heal.)

Veins and arteries, first, prevent death by blood loss. Then take what was left of the muscle and nudge it together. Remind the body that the dirt wasn’t supposed to be in there, no contaminants, make them ooze out before they could infect. Flush magic through to make the muscle grow – it would take time before he walked on this leg without help, but it would speed through the time natural rehabilitation would take. Then the stretchy tendons, pulling them and gluing them together so that the leg would move properly – then the nerves, lightning screaming down them as you take the ones you can find and pull them together and merge – Libertus bites on his hand so that he doesn’t scream, but you can hear it, and then you find the marrow of fractured bone and make it remember how it was, together, pull it together, and there’s the ash and fire of scourge deep in there and you purge that too, forcing the leg to come back together –

(Your leg hangs off your body. Your eyes have long ago been put out so you cannot warp to escape, but you can feel it dangling, pulled more and more by the chains around your wrists and the weights tied to your ankles. Every time you try and call upon your powers to fix yourself, you feel blood spurt and congeal around the stab wounds like old fat and your nerves scream when you try and fuse them back together. Izunia snarls and cuts your nascent healing away, taking off more of your old flesh each time. If you don’t get out soon, you won’t have a leg left to heal.)

You twist away from Libertus before nausea overtakes you, covering your mouth as you dry heave, bile in your throat. If you vomit on an open wound, all your efforts will be for naught. Blood squishes between your fingers and your face and the smell is terribly familiar and -

(The smell of blood and the sea and decay. Darkness. The only thing that’s real is the way your joints creak as you try and knit them back together.)

“Ardyn! Ardyn?” Luna’s voice. Luna’s hands on your shoulders. “Are you ok?” You shake your head. You will never be ok, but you are especially not ok now. You can feel the weights on your ankles pulling your leg out of socket.  

When your head clears a little, you look back over at Libertus. He’s sitting up now, and where there was a gaping hole the size of your fist is now opalescent scar tissue – you may have overdone it, but you’d rather leave scars than leave wounds open to infection. He’ll probably limp like you do for the rest of his life, but it’s better than dying.

Someone in a black uniform comes over to Libertus to – you don’t know. Check on what you did, you suppose. You press your back against one of the chairs. When did it become so hard to breathe. It’s as though Izunia’s hands are around your neck once again, thumbs pressed into the small of your throat, and only quick and shallow breaths make it through the blockade.

Luna’s asking you what’s wrong. There are a lot of things wrong with you. You don’t know how to describe what’s going on. She sits with you, and talks to some of the guards in black, and you let your focus drift up and away, towards the hole in the ceiling and the magic fire surrounding it.

Where? Where did your Ravus go?

Chapter Text

“This is seriously -” Prompto panted, “a ridiculous amount of daemons.”

“It truly is,” Ravus agreed. There was a veritable flood of hobgoblins surrounding the train. The shipping containers that had crashed into the engine car and derailed the train were full of them, and for every one Ravus cut down, another two sprang up. The time it took Prompto to reload his pistol was enough for the daemons he shot to be replaced twice over.

Noctis warped onto the ground behind them and wheezed. “Still can’t get onto the airship that’s dumping these on us. It’s too high up.”

“Has Ignis had any luck getting the anti-aircraft guns ready?” Ravus asked.

“No, they dropped a box full of daemons on that too,” Noctis said. “How did they even get here??”

“That’s not an official Niff military ship. That looks like a cargo ship,” Ravus said. “It’s probably smuggling contraband.”

“Contraband daemons?!”

“I guess??” Ravus chopped a hobgoblin in two in frustration. “My duties involve the Tenebris occupation! I don’t know about how Niflheim got onto this continent!”

“Guys, less yelling, more chopping!” Prompto said as he shot a daemon mid-leap onto Ravus’s back. “There’s got to be an end to these eventually, right??”

“You would think!” Ravus snarled. “There can’t be that many more boxes of daemons left!”

And indeed, a box of daemons had not dropped from the cargo ship in some minutes. It was just hovering there like an indecisive cat at the door, as if still wondering if it should continue its descent or leave.

Ravus didn’t flinch as the whine of an intercom system cut through the battlefield. A young, breathy man’s voice: “  -rible idea! This is a war crime! We’re nowhere near ready to fight Lucis itself!”

A gravelly voice: “They found one of our deep-cover agents! We might as well strike back when we have the chance!”

“I know, but attacking a major government convoy with civilian workers is not the way!”

The crashing of metal against metal. “They’re fighting,” Ravus murmured, eyes narrowed at the airship. Prompto shot some more daemons. “They must have hit the intercom button without realizing.”

“Lucky for us,” Prompto panted.

The older man snapped, “There won’t be war if they don’t know it was us. If everyone’s dead and there’s no sign of our involvement, they’ll blame the daemons instead!”

“Well, the daemons haven’t killed everyone, so unless you’re suggesting one of us goes down and finishes them all himself, we’re out of luck!”

A pregnant pause.

“Sixdammit!! Fine,” sighed the young man. “I’ll do what I can, but you better not cause more trouble while I’m gone. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes – like you dumping most of the cargo out on a non-essential target!”

“I can’t believe these clowns took over Tenebris,” Ravus muttered.

“Look on the bright side. Maybe we can kick them out if they’re like this?” Prompto said.

“You’re promoted to head boyfriend,” Ravus said. “This is definitely going on the propaganda sheets later.”

Prompto’s “Did you hear that, Noct?” was drowned out by the groan of the cargo ship’s door opening again, and then a giant mecha jumped out and landed on plains in front of them.

“To think we would do battle so soon, Lucian dogs!” announced the young man, who presumably was piloting the damn thing.

“I’m from Tenebris, you little ass!” Ravus yelled back, kicking a hobgoblin out of the way. “Prompto, go get Noctis and get out of this daemon mess! I’m going to destroy this clown.”

“Uh, Ravus, I hate to stop you, but how are you going to climb up and fight him if you only have one hand?” Prompto said.

The mecha groaning as it swept out to block Noctis’s first attack drowned out Ravus’s swearing. “If I still had my prosthetic, I could latch on with it!”

“Don’t you have any extra?”

“I thought we were going to be in Galdin Quay for two days! I don’t have extra!” Ravus swore again as he chopped up some more hobgoblins. “I suppose we’re stuck making sure these daemons don’t get in Noctis’s way as he cuts that Niff dog to size.”

“What do you have against dogs? Can’t you call him, like, a Niff-cockroach or something?” Prompto asked.

“I had to clean up after Pryna and Umbra when they were puppies, remember?”

“Don’t take that out on Dog-kind!”

The mecha turned away from Noctis’s devastating attacks and tramped towards the two of them, sweeping down one enormous metal fist towards the gunman. Ravus saw it out of the corner of his eye and – I can’t lose someone else - shoved Prompto out of the way, and his vision went white as two thousand tons of metal crashed straight into him.

You finally snap to attention when something smacks into the train car hard enough to make it rock. People yelp. You fall over on your back, and smack your nose on Luna’s shoulder trying to get back up.

“What’s going on?” you ask, rubbing your face. “How – how long was I out of it?”

“Only about fifteen minutes,” Luna says. Over her shoulder, you can see Libertus getting attended to by what must be the wartime healers of Lucis, who palpate his leg to check for – you’d guess clots and remaining fractures? “The cargo ship attacking us just let down a large mecha, so Noctis and everyone are trying to fight it while the Glaives keep the daemons from getting inside.”

“…What is a Meh-Kah?”

Her face goes very blank, as if trying not to laugh. You appreciate it. You feel like an idiot enough as is. “A large metal statue animated by electricity and gears. They’re usually used for warfare or to carry large objects during construction. This one is about the height of a three-story building.”

“How’d you get Ramuh to go along with that?” you ask. Then. Wait. Timing. Survive now, learn later. “I – if I’m not too dizzy, I believe I can help keep the daemons from getting inside, so more people can fight this mecha. Can you help me?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. Listen closely. I require a barrel of wine – don’t give me that look, I have a reason! – or a barrel of beer, or any large amount of fermented liquid. At least a jug’s worth, if quantity is an issue.”

Luna’s face is skeptical, now, but she goes to the others in the dining car and soon wheels back a small metal barrel. You crawl up onto one of the cushioned seats so you can reach the top of the barrel, and Luna helps you pry it off. Beer shimmers like molten gold inside; the smell is heady and more bitter than what you recall from Lucis, but it will more than suffice for your needs.

“Hey, take good care of that,” Libertus says. “We were saving it for when we got our night off in Lestallum.”

“I promise I shall repay your sacrifice when we return to town,” you say. “I realize that giving up your ration of beer is no small feat to a soldier.” In your armies, every man was owed bread and wine every day he marched; to take what must be the rations for this whole train is no small thing.

You will not disappoint them now.

With a flick of your wrist, you pull a dagger from Armiger – not one of the thirteen great weapons, but something personal of yours that you’ve kept safe all these years: ceremonial, silver, and so sharp that when you cut your palm, it takes a few seconds for the pain to register. You curl your fingers and let blood gather into your cupped palm, then set aside your dagger and put your hand on the rim of the barrel, sending a wave of magic through it.

“Astrals, by the covenants we have wrought, I beseech you for your blessings. I am the vessel of your power. Pour through me the Light which shall keep away the Darkness. Upon the Five who live, the Three who do not, and the One in between, I call upon you. Heed your servant. Take this sacrifice of my blood.”

Nine droplets of your black blood hit the surface and spiral into the beer. You can feel it starting to thrum with power. You grin; you’ve still got it after all these years.

“Titan, by the covenant via my youngest, keep the daemons away by land.”

Drip.

“Ramuh, by the covenant via my second, keep the daemons away by sky.”

Drip.

“Leviathan, by the covenant via my oldest, keep the daemons away by water.”

Drip.

You can hear murmurs of astonishment as the beer starts to glow. This is a power-intensive ritual with powerful results, and it usually gives quite a performance. You hope they’re impressed.

“Shiva, by the covenant via my spouse, keep the daemons away with your cold.”

Drip.

“Bahamut, by the covenant-” deep breath,” via my brother, keep the daemons away with your light.”

Drip-drip-drip. You’re not going to let Bahamut screw this up because he’s still mad after 700 years.

“Ifrit, by the covenant via my spouse, keep the daemons away with your darkness.”

Drip-drip-drip, can’t be too careful with him either.

“Odin, by the covenant of veneration of your tomb, keep the daemons away in life.”

Drip.

“Doomtrain, by the covenant of veneration of your tomb, keep the daemons away in death.”

Drip.

“Eos, by the covenant borne of me, keep the daemons away from humanity, your children, borne from your demise.”

Drip, and then nine more to close out the ritual. “I am the vessel of your power. Through me, work your blessings. Through these covenants, I ask for your protection.”

Between this and the healing, you’re almost out of juice – but now the beer is literally glowing, and that means it worked. King of Light was never just a metaphor, ha!

You lick the cut on your hand, trying to get the excess blood off, and look up to Luna. “If you cover the doors in this blessed liquid, the daemons won’t be able to break through. If you line the sides of a hole with it, they won’t be able to pass. This is used to create temporary sanctuaries. The magic wears away at dawn, so use as much of it as you need - I’ll have to create a new batch tomorrow if help doesn’t come.”

Luna grabs an unused cup from a table, scoops up a glass and sips it. “This is,” she pronounces, “blessed beer. It’s genuine.”

“Don’t drink it! You shouldn’t get drunk during a siege,” you scold. “Wait until after we’ve set up our defenses.”

She starts setting them up. The soldiers obey easily, pouring the beer over the doors; a few enterprising ones pull jugs out and go into other cars; another climbs up to the steel ceiling and pours around the hole there.

“What would happen if you threw this at a daemon?” Libertus asks.

“Similar to if you hit a human with boiling water,” you say. “It won’t kill it, but it’ll hurt it, Probably stun it for a few seconds. Might blind it if you get it in the eyes? If it has eyes. But I think protecting entryways should come before we go the way of buckets of boiling oil.”

“What if you dipped a weapon in it?”

“The weapon would poison the daemon with the first attack, but it’d wear off after that.”

“Why does it wear off at dawn?”

“That is a story that would take more time than we may have to tell,” you say. The barrel is half empty as soldiers come to get more beer and seal windows, or go out and vanquish daemons; when the mecha hits the train, you and Libertus work together to keep it upright. “But in summary, a great deal of my power comes from the sun. When she rises, that power returns there.”

“Huh.” Libertus knocks on the barrel thoughtfully. “Is it safe for people who aren’t Oracles to drink?”

“Yes, but again, you shouldn’t be drinking it during a battle and when it could be used for more important matters,” you say. “Once the sun rises, we’ll need to drink it all and throw what we couldn’t drink into the grass – it has to be gone before sunset.”

“Will it go bad?”

“It will remain safe to drink, but it can’t be used in a ritual again. This takes a good deal of power, so wasting it on beer that won’t hold the magic also wastes said power – not to mention if someone mistakenly thinks it still works and arms themselves with it, the consequences could be dire. I will not have someone injured from negligence.”

There’s shouting coming from outside. Luna stops ordering soldiers around and climbs up the twisted metal box to see why there’s shouting. It’s all too loud for you to grasp the shape of their words, so you tighten your grip on the beer barrel as Libertus replies:

“We’ll definitely be here to help dispose of it later. How’d you learn all this stuff, anyway?”

You are not sure the cover story you and Ignis made will hold up now that you’ve showed off your powers. So you say, “Trade secret,” and wink, and are very glad Titan included modern phrases alongside the new language.

Luna slides back down the broken metal box and hops over some shrapnel to you. “I need your help. Ravus was captured by the mecha and time is short.”

“Shouldn’t you get one of the Glaives?” Libertus asks.

“No time, come on,” Luna says.

You slide off the seat and under the table and crawl out, and look up and up and up at the box you’re going to have to climb up to get onto the battlefield in the first place.

“Luna, how am I getting up there?”

“Can’t you warp?”

Hmm. “I can try. I’m running out of energy, but…” You take the arrow from your crossbow and hand it to her. “Take this up there and put it on the ceiling. I should be able to get up there from here.”

“Does warping work like that?” Libertus asks.

“It does if your main weapon is a bow,” you say. “The problem is making sure that when you warp to the arrow, you don’t hit a wall so fast you break your nose.”

Luna takes the arrow and climbs the box, signals to you, and it takes a moment for you to –

-VWOP! –

And then you’re up on the roof of the train with Luna. The wind is light and the moon burns high in the sky, and you push your sunglasses up to get a good look at what’s going on.

OK, so there’s Prompto and Noctis on the roof of another train car, yelling at the – that must be the mecha. It looks like a large metal chicken skeleton? And one skeletal hand is wrapped around Ravus, who looks very annoyed and, more significantly, too pinned to wriggle free.

“How’d he get caught?”

“You can ask him once you get him out,” Luna says. “The mecha’s rider is threatening to crush Ravus if anyone gets too close to him. He wants him or Noctis as a hostage to take back to the ship. But you can warp to Ravus and get him out, can’t you?”

“His arm is free. I should be able to warp him out if he hangs on to me,” you say. “I’ve got about enough magic for three more warps.”

“Can you retrieve him?”

“Make sure the rider’s distracted.” You squint at the mecha. “Wherever he is. I can’t tell where his canopy has been set on it.”

“He’s inside the head. It’s hollowed out.”

“Typical barbarian construction. You don’t make magic statues mimic the Astrals and then ride in their heads,” you mutter. You put your arrow back in the crossbow and try and find a good place to aim at the wavering arm. “Tell me when.”

Luna looks over to Noctis and Prompto, and gives a hand signal. They must be communicating with the shrieking mecha somehow (and you should get a reward for keeping your focus in this noise, noise, noise, too loud for you to make anything out), and you ignore them as you wait for –

“Now, Ardyn.”

You aim and fire. The bolt buries itself into the inside of the mecha’s arm, and you –

-VWOP –

- and slam into the arm gut-first. You shove the bow back in Armiger and wheeze hauling yourself onto the arm, straddling it like a chocobo.

“Ardyn?!” says Ravus – or, you assume he does. It’s even louder to be on this damn mecha than it was on the train, and so you’re working on what you can see his lips doing in the moonlight.

You pull the arrow out and manifest the bow again, shove the arrow in. “Take my hand,” you say, over-pronouncing so that he can read your lips if he can’t hear you, and reach out to Ravus. He grabs your wrist. “Hold on tightly.”

The mecha’s arm starts shaking as the tinny screaming gets louder. You aim and shoot as best you can, and –

-VWOP –

- hit the ground on your bad side; you manage to shield your head before it hits the ground, leaving your arms bruised in its stead, but you feel your leg coming out of socket with a shock of cold pain. Ravus lands on top of you, and he’s probably all muscle under than fucking coat and that means he smacks onto your lower back like a block of unhewn marble. “Fuck!”

Ravus grunts, trying to push himself off you, and falters; you can feel his breath on your neck. “Did you mean to have us both hit the ground so hard?”

“Better than getting thrown off,” you mutter. “Damn! Remove yourself; I can hardly breathe with your bulk on me!”

“I can hardly remove myself after that landing.”

“This is the thanks I get after softening it with my very body?”

“You may have, but I’m still winded.”

You groan. “Well, get off of me anyway. If you’re having trouble breathing, consider me with you crushing me into the ground.”

 “I’ll make an attempt, Your Majesty.”

You know that was probably sarcastic, but you could get used to being called King again. “Hop to it, custos!”

He tries to shove himself off, and this time he manages to get the top of his body off you while he straddles your stomach – and then hisses, hand going toward his scabbard. You unwrap your arms from around your head and look up around you.

Daemons. Lots of daemons. They’re mostly small, but even a herd of chickens could kill a man if they felt like it. Dammit. You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel magic-wise. From this angle on the ground and how your head is spinning, could you aim your shot right to get the two of you back onto the train?

“Stay down, Ardyn. I’ll handle them,” Ravus says.

You glance to his empty scabbard, then back up at him. “With what, an invisible sword?”

“I have three functional limbs! That’s one more than you have!” he snarls back, and punches a hobgoblin. It goes flying into two others, knocking the three of them back. You have to admit, it’s kind of impressive even if –

“I’ve got more stamina than an infant like you!” you snap, and you raise your crossbow and whack it against a hobgoblin with all the strength that remains in you. Its legs crumple with satisfying snaps.

“I’m no child!” He tries to stand, then falls back to his knees, clutching at his ribs. He must have fractured a few – not good. A bad blow could snap something, puncture the lungs, and that was a very unpleasant way to go.

“I’m not as injured as you are! Let me up!”  He knees you in the stomach and you cough, and it feels like something inside you is going to crawl up your throat and come out. With Ravus over your stomach, you can’t pop your hip back in, and it hurts, and your legs hurt from all this movement and how the wheelchair has banged up your joints, and your head is aching and he keeps on disrespecting you and -

You are a King! You will not stand for this!

“Get off me!” you snarl, and you twist your body like you used to as a wrestler, when you were in your twenties and still strong and wide enough to compete in games with your friends. Ravus unbalances and you use that momentum to pin him to the ground. You shove your leg back in socket with a crack, and that hurts even more and something awful inside you is burning up and they’re rattling around inside your skin, coming loose as they do when you’re agonized and angry.

“He’s mine!” your daemons roar at the hobgoblins.

They freeze around you, all eyes on you. All of you.

“This is my train, my kingdom, my Ravus! Begone!”

Most of them start running. Even with this weak human shell, there’s enough inside you that could boil out and crush these little things like grapes during wine-making. You can feel it dripping out of your mouth and onto Ravus, black splotches on his pale face.

But one of them does not. Big. Another of the Mariliths. You snarl, and you’re definitely going to regret this, you think, but you pull the biggest sword you remember having out of Armiger and slice through the middle, where there’s no bones to get in the way, and she looks down at the mess of black viscera you’ve uncovered before collapsing. Black scourge particles melt off her flesh and into the dirt, and some billow into the air, and they will become black clouds overhead some day and –

Well. You’ve definitely hit your magic limit today, you think as you keel over on top of Ravus. Good job. At least the landing is soft this time.

Chapter Text

“I cannot believe the risks you all took,” Ravus said as Luna propped him up against the side of one enormous train wheel, “running around during the battle, letting Ardyn join the fray when he’s still recovering –”

“Ravus, I love you, but shut up,” Luna said.

He hung his head. He was doing it again – being overprotective and overwhelming. “My apologies.”

“Noctis is trying to make sure the most injured people get his potions first. He’ll get to you soon, as long as you do not try to move and accidentally puncture a lung with your ribs.” She was sitting next to Ravus. Ardyn lay unconscious between them with Luna’s coat used as a pillow, Ravus’s as a blanket, completely still from exhaustion. Ravus had managed to clean most of the blood and scourge goo from Ardyn’s face, but the roots of his hair were tacky with both where they’d gotten smeared during the fighting.

Whatever Ardyn had done to the daemons, screaming in – was that Old Lucian? –it had scared them more than. Well. Ravus did not know that daemons could be scared, until now. The majority of them had swarmed onto the Niff mecha until its pilot decided to get while the getting was good and had hopped into the airship, dripping hobgoblins as they hit the horizon. A small convoy of Glaives was following on a variety of vehicles they were able to pull out of the train wreck.

With the immediate threat gone, work went to triage. Ardyn’s glowing beer had been sprinkled in a 50-foot radius around the train, and daemons were unable to pass across the lines. That had allowed small teams to get to the blocked off areas of the train and start helping get the injured out of the wreckage, pull out bodies, evaluate the damage of the attack.

Ardyn had collapsed onto Ravus, his face on Ravus’s chest. Even if he was remarkably light for a man his size, he was still enormous and bony and Ravus was tired, and so he’d lain there with Ardyn’s bow in hand and waited for trouble. Eventually, Luna and Crowe had come to drag the two of them off the battlefield, and Crowe had told Luna to sit tight with her brother – she’d take it from here.

So here they were, watching the sun rise.

“We should be getting picked up by a rescue convoy by noon,” Luna said. “I don’t know how long it will take for them to clear the tracks from this crash.”

“Depends on how Regis spins the political fallout. Will he sue Niflheim for an unwarranted attack? Or will he want to hide that there’s enough Niff presence here until he’s found them properly?” Ravus mused. “Imagine how popular opinion might coalesce into something positive as Regis defends the homeland, instead of having to do battle with the ethically grey issues of Scourge patients.”

“I’m not ready for another round of talk shows about the morality of quarantines,” Luna said. “I wanted to have my bachelorette month off.”

“If it’s any consolation, if a war starts, the wedding will probably be canceled for a few months.”

Luna smacked Ravus on the shoulder.

“Fine. I deserved that,” Ravus said. “But at least no one’s been too badly hurt?”

“They’ve found ten bodies so far. On a train of two hundred, that’s not so bad,” Luna said. “Gladio broke his arm and Ignis burned his nipples off, but Noctis is just bruised and tired from enchanting so many potions, and Prompto, I have been told, is definitely not crying because he’s touched you saved him.”

“Definitely.”

“Mhm.”

“It was the most prudent thing to do. Niflheim wouldn’t hesitate to kill a random fiancé, but the Oracle’s brother is a good hostage. Of the two of us, I was the one most likely to survive being captured.”

“Prudent. Of course. It’s not because he’s the number one husband.”

“You speak as though it was not prudent to save your beloved?”

Luna sighed. “You’re allowed to be scared, Ravus.”

“Absolutely not. I have two emotions, and they are rage and disappointment. I will only feel joy when we have retaken our home.”

Luna patted on his arm this time. “If you say so.”

Ravus did not reply. He started finger-combing Ardyn’s hair and tried not to think. Not about the spike of fear that had pierced his chest when he saw Prompto in danger, and had moved without thinking. Not about how it had run through him again like ice when Ardyn had warped onto the arm of the mecha to rescue him, and almost fallen, and had smiled like hadn’t even considered the danger he was putting himself in.

Not about when Ardyn had snarled at the daemons, and had summoned a great glowing sword for just long enough to bisect a daemon. For just long enough for Ravus to recognize the sword from Regis’s Armiger. For just long enough for Ravus to remember how when Ardyn summoned his crossbow, it was always red magic, not Regis’s blue.

Had anyone else seen? Would they have, with all the attention on the mecha? Or was Ravus seeing things himself after hitting his head on the ground? Surely it was the same as last time, when he’d thought he’d seen red sparks in the darkness of the hospital hallway, and had written it off.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like to think about it.

Eventually, Noctis came around with his magic soft drinks. The pain in Ravus’s ribs dimmed to a dull ache, fractures to bruises. Ignis followed slowly, a splotch of pink new skin livid on his bare chest when it peeked out from Gladio’s borrowed jacket.

“Did you ever get that anti-aircraft gun working?” Ravus asked.

Ignis shook his head. “But it meant we were in a good position to protect the engineers and the driver while Noctis went for help. We only took minor damage.”

“Just be more careful with the gunpowder next time. We can’t have Noctis lose his private chef when he still burns the salad,” Ravus said.

“Hey, I may burn salad, but I can toss it too,” Noctis said, wiggling his eyebrows. Luna giggled, and Ignis shot him a look, and Ravus didn’t get it. Kids these days.

It seemed like they had more stamina than an old man like him. Who would be the infant now?

He looked down to Ardyn. “Does he need healing?”

Noctis pulled back Ravus’s jacket and prodded Ardyn, who wrapped his arms tighter around himself. “I got him before Luna carried him over here, but I guess he’s still out of it.”

“He used up all of his magic getting to Ravus,” Luna said. “If he wasn’t still malnourished, he could probably have kept going, but it seems as though his magic helps him keep moving when his body can’t. Whenever he burns through too much, he faints.”

“At least the amount he can do each time has increased,” Ravus said. “That indicates some degree of recovery.”

“Though the amount of disregard he has for his own health is alarming,” Ignis said.

“The fact that he was still lucid and moving when he cushioned my landing was extraordinary. If this is his stamina when he’s ill, I wonder at what it was like when he was in full health,” Ravus said. He stroked Ardyn’s face; the bruises where he’d slammed his head and side into the ground had faded to pale green and old from Noctis’s healing, and whenever Noctis got his hands on more potions, they’d be wiped away.

“It could be the pain medication,” Ignis said.

“It could be, but I don’t think that’s all.” Ardyn was still emaciated from what Ravus assumed was long confinement, but he still remembered from long ago – was it only last week? – stretch marks on his stomach and legs, as if he’d once been a bigger man, stronger. And he couldn’t stop replaying how Ardyn had flipped and pinned him to the ground in a few liquid movements, how his hands had strained over Ravus’s shoulders as he held onto him and shielded him, as if Ravus was worth protecting –

Hoc est Ravus! My Ravus!

Wait. Hold on. “Ignis ,could you say that again?”

“I said,” Ignis repeated, “we may need to make him wake up soon. It’s about time for his medication.”

“Ah. Yes.” Ravus patted Ardyn’s shoulder. He had a veritable rainbow of pills to take twice a day – for his blood sugar as he got used to solid food, for the pain from his injuries, anti-inflammatories, and an antidepressant. From Ravus’s recollection of the time he lost his arm, missing a dose of both painkillers and antidepressants would be unpleasant.

Ravus carefully scooped Ardyn up bridal-style, carefully resting Ardyn’s bad leg against his own hip, and rested Ardyn’s face on his own shoulder before patting it. “Wake up.”

Ardyn groaned and shook his head.

“Come on. You can go back to sleep in a minute.”

Ardyn slit one eye open, then flinched back and covered his face with Ravus’s coat. “Too bright.”

“We’ll get you a hat,” Luna said as Ignis arched an eyebrow.

Ravus went through the pockets of his coat carefully, eventually finding the small plastic rectangle of pills in one of them and poured the morning dose into his hand. He stuck it under the coat. “Listen, just swallow these whole like you’ve done before and you can go back to sleep.”

“Fine.” Ardyn scooped the pills out of Ravus’s hand, his bony knuckles rubbing into Ravus’s palm, before the coat moved with Ardyn swallowing them all, one by one. “Still taste awful.”

“You’ve told us that before.”

“You’re going to tell me how these work someday. Magic bean that makes you stop being sad is unrealistic. We’ll get some poppies in the garden so that we don’t have to rely on an outside apocathary.”

“Yes, yes.” Ravus patted his shoulder as Ardyn curled up in his lap. “Are you cold?”

“No one lives on Angelgard. If someone else is around, it’s real.” Ardyn yawned. “I can feel your heartbeat. You are very real, Ravus.”

“When did you learn Modern Lucian?” Ignis asked.

Ardyn pulled down the jacket a little so he could squint at Ignis. “From the deep, the Archean calls. The gift of speech from his tongue falls. Language differences oft cause stalls.”

“A nursery rhyme?”

“If you like. Now go away and do not speak to me unless someone else gets Titan’s gift. Or a migraine. They’re one and the same.”  He covered his face back up. “Good night!”

“You’re not going to get anything out of him now. When he decides he’s done, he’s done,” Noctis said.

Ignis sighed.  “I’m helping cook breakfast with what we scavenged from the train. It will take time to make something that will fit Ardyn’s dietary requirements.”

“Just simply catch me one of the vermin in your grain carts and I’ll make do,” Ardyn said, muffled by the jacket. “I could use the bracing power of fresh meat.”

“Hush,” Ravus said. “If you switch to certain foods too quickly, you’ll make yourself sick. Let your precious son’s attendant feed you properly so Noctis can take you around town.”

 Ardyn popped back out of the jacket, mollified. “I’ll accept this.”

They ate. Ardyn fell asleep on Ravus’s lap, and Ravus eventually also succumbed to it. They had both spent most of the night running around and fighting, after all.

Busses came to take them to Lestallum around noon. It was only once they were loaded and sitting in neat rows that Prompto finally sidled up to Ravus, who was brushing sleep out of his eyes.

“You’re ok?”

“I’m fine,” Ravus said. “Are you unhurt as well?”

Prompto nodded too quickly. He had dark bruises dappling both arms; he’d told Noctis to give his healing items to people who needed them more.  “Yeah, I’m good! I’m so good, I’m totally good. I’ve been busy helping Noctis run everywhere and. Stuff.”

You were afraid that I was upset, Ravus thought but did not say. Instead: “I told Luna and I’m telling you, my actions were purely practical. I had a better chance of surviving getting caught by that mecha than you. And I was rescued in time, as I knew I would be. You don’t need to worry.”

Prompto flushed and took the bus seat in front of Ravus, crossing his arms over the back of it as he peered at him. “I was really worried, man. You’re usually untouchable in battle, and then…”

“As a warrior beholden to the Oracle, Ravus’s heart must remain closed off in expectation of her final fate,” said Ardyn from the row behind Ravus, the back of the bus. He stretched out on the very long back seat, lounging like some ancient emperor in his many layers of purple clothing. “And yet no man is an island. The joy you bring Luna is matched only by that of the young lord Noctis, and you share that joy with Ravus without hesitation though he keeps his chest closed with bar and key. Weighing his life and yours, and the risks either would face, there was only one choice to be made. Walk tall, my Aurigena, for you have earned a rare loyalty: not of that of duty but of friendship.”

Prompto turned an even brighter shade of red. “I – Ardyn?!”

“Don’t fluster Prompto, or we won’t get a word from him the entire drive,” Ravus said, feeling his cheeks warm from the compliments Ardyn had lodged into his speech. “Besides, you’ve only known us a few days. What would you know of it?”

“Ah, but I have eyes, and they can see,” Ardyn said. “And it’s useful for an Oracle to make the measure of a man.”

Noctis leaned out from his seat and said, “I can’t believe Ardyn sounds like an escapee from one of Gladio’s romance novels now that he can talk again.”

“What, did my words blossom too heavily for you in the old tongue?” Ardyn teased.

“I could only understand about half of what you said until you started dumbing it down for me,” Noctis said, grinning. “You sound like you swallowed a dictionary.”

Ardyn blinked. “What is a dictionary?”

“Oh, I guess you only know the translations to words you’re already familiar with?” Noctis said. “A dictionary is a large scroll with every existing word and each word’s definitions listed on it.”

“Remarkable. You’ll have to find me one sometime,” Ardyn said. “I don’t intend to go into this world as a fool.”

“The real question is, can you read as well as you talk?” Noctis said, and dug through Prompto’s backpack to pull out a children’s basic reading book. “Try this on for size.” 

He tossed it to Ardyn, who caught it, then turned it around a few times. “This script is unfamiliar to me.”

“Then we’ll teach you. I bet Specs could blow your mind with his tutoring,” Noctis said.

Ardyn blinked even more. “Speck…. You call your attendant a small piece of dust?”

“No, no, like spectacles!” Noctis mimicked Ignis’s glasses by putting finger circles over his eyes. “That metal thing he’s got on his face!”

“Spec…tackle,” Ardyn echoed, and touched his sunglasses. “These are spec-tackles. Sunglass spectackles. But his haven’t been smoked to protect him from the glare of the sun, and they look too fragile to protect his eyes.”

“They help people with bad eyesight get better,” Prompto said. “It’s all blurry for him when he doesn’t wear them.”

“Oh,” Ardyn said, and pulled his sunglasses down, then put them back on. “May I try them sometime? My eyesight isn’t as it was in my youth.”

“You’ve got to ask him,” Noctis said. “Our guards will be here soon, and then we’ll drive to Lestallum – or Ravenaugh’s Shadow, for you.”

“Ravenaugh! It’s been an age since I’ve been there. Tell me, does the temple of Bahamut there still sit abandoned?”

“Abandoned, and so long unused that it has been transported to a museum in Insomnia for the people to venerate,” Ravus said.

“Is it so easy to transport an entire temple from one side of the continent to the other?” Ardyn mused. “Did they take the catacombs as well?”

“No. Even we modern fools would not interrupt the slumber of the dead,” Ravus said. “Had you ancestors there?”

“Some ten generations back,” Ardyn said. “I do not know when in the temple’s lifetime it was, or how long it was in these modern times. But…She founded our line. I would like to see her, if only in a view of the mountain itself. I don’t know if it is possible with my…” He gestured at his legs.

“We cannot climb up the mountain, but there are plenty of places to see the summit that you would find accessible,” Ravus said. “I’m sure we can find one for your purposes.”

“I am once again in your debt.” Ardyn swept his arm out and bowed to them, but Ravus had the distinct impression that Ardyn was doing him a favor by thanking him, and not the other way around.

He thought of his first impression of Ardyn at the hospital – if he had not been so dull-eyed with exhaustion, he could have been haughty, as regal as Regis. There was no if now. All in purple and with flame-and-silver ringlets framing his face, he could have been a king of old.

(And, thought some part of Ravus treacherously, it was said that the Accursed was a mirror image of the First King, like a twin. Always confident in his stone prison, his words laced with both silver and mercury, smooth and poisonous. Looking like a corpse, stained bone-white and scourge-black.

Locked within a small stone room. Unable to leave. The clink of a pile of gold coins – or that of chains. His wrists were still thickly bandaged from where the cuffs had rubbed them raw; he still could not hold a crayon or a fork without it shaking in his grip, and there was a good chance his hands would always shake.

It had taken Ravus years to find his equilibrium after his mother’s death, after Tenebris fell. Was Ardyn better at recovering than him, or just better at pretending everything was ok?)

“I think Specs is almost ready for us to leave,” Noctis said, peering out the window. “Ardyn, can you get the seat belt on? It’ll keep you safe while the bus is moving.”

“I’ve fallen off a chocobo and I’ve been fine,” Ardyn protested.

“This will go at least twice as fast as a chocobo,” Noctis said.

Prompto added: “Luna’s taking a nap in the seat next to me and she put hers on to stay safe!”

Ardyn sighed and sat up, put his seatbelt on, and then lay back down again in defiance of gravity and belt. “Will the iPads work, at least? If I cannot nap on the way, I wish for something to do.”

“Well, we don’t have any Wi-Fi, but we’ve got some games on our phones,” Prompto said.

“What’s a wifi?” Ardyn asked.  

Chapter Text

The ensuing trip, soldiers and royalty stuffed into two buses like tin cans, was noisy and smelly and only slightly air conditioned. Ardyn ended up borrowing Noctis’s sound-proof headphones and spent the trip watching the scenery zoom past the windows, eventually falling asleep on one.

Ravus read. And he spent more time than he’d admit watching Ardyn. Fortunately, Ignis was there to prevent the boys from horsing around.

Boys. Men. He’d known Noctis as a child. It was odd, seeing him as an adult-but-only-just.

(Did Ardyn feel like this, looking at the new world?)

They ended up at a large safehouse in Lestallum, run by a certain Jared. They had all flopped out of the bus sweaty and miserable, Ardyn hanging on to both Noctis and Ravus for support until he could get to his wheelchair, and had broken into small groups to take care of themselves.

Ignis had called ahead. When Ravus and Ardyn got into the kitchen, Ardyn’s dinner was already set out for him: half a dozen finely sliced fresh fruits, mashed potatoes and baked beans. He took to it like a man starving, and had polished off half of it by the time Ravus got around to his own meal of microwave chicken fingers, fries and fruit – maybe not the healthiest, but Ravus was too tired to deal with two-handed food right now.

“That smells good. I want it,” Ardyn said.

“No,” Ravus said, and chomped his chicken. “You’re on a diet to fix the damage of malnutrition. If you ate this, you could glue your insides up from digestion difficulties.”

Ardyn groaned. “I’ll live.”

“Yes, but not happily. I speak from experience: you’ll make yourself sick.”

Ardyn’s eyes flickered to Ravus’s side. “Your arm, then?”

“Indeed. If you have questions, you may ask,” Ravus said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ardyn stuffed his mouth with potatoes as he considered, and Ravus waited. And waited.

“What happened?” Ardyn asked.

“When I was 18, I was at a training camp for combat with the Insomnian Special Forces. Daemons attacked, and I was bitten. The captain who checked on me said it looked like it wasn’t infected, and I thought nothing more of it until a few weeks later, when my arm started transforming all at once. It was only because of Luna’s interference that they were able to amputate my arm before it could spread.”

Ardyn frowned. “I see.”

“You look displeased. Disappointed to not get a great tale?”

“Disappointed with your captain for missing the signs of infection, and for allowing such an attack to happen,” Ardyn said. “And…” His nails tinked on the plate, pensive.

“And what?”

“And usually, one would see signs of Scourge infection before a transformation. It doesn’t from nothing to transformation in a few hours. The normal course of infection takes at minimum a week, but usually a month or more.”

“Sometimes, there are aberrations in illnesses,” Ravus said.

“Still. It bothers me,” Ardyn said. “If I meet the man who allowed this negligence of both safety and duty, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

“Glaive Captain Drautos is investigating the airship that attacked us last night. We may not see him for some time.”

“He should be demoted,” Ardyn said, and glowered as he finished his potatoes.

Ravus rinsed the dishes as he answered Ardyn’s questions about Insomnia’s military, what is a car, what is a train, how does steam power work, what’s hydroelectric dam – why are you putting the dishes in that metal cage, what’s that, what’s that?

“Dishwasher. It washes pottery so you don’t have to, by hitting it with water and soap using water machines. Prompto can find videos on it.”

Ardyn had turned around in his chair so that he straddled it backwards, leaning over the back of it. “The number of things that have been invented while I slept is enormous. I don’t think I’ll ever stop having questions.”

“Question away,” Ravus replied. “I’ll answer anything you ask as truthfully as I can.”

Silence. In Ravus’s experience, when someone was given this opportunity, at least one of their first three questions was something they’d been afraid to ask before. When Regis had sat Ravus down, some eleven years ago, and told him that, it had taken Ravus until question number three to ask if it was really alright if he and Luna lived in Insomnia now.

When Luna had been contacted by the Oracles and told it, her first question was how long she’d live.

“Will you get your metal arm back? You haven’t put one on since the Tonberry broke yours back at the hospital,” Ardyn asked.

“My spare arm is in Insomnia. I don’t know when someone will have time to go get it,” Ravus said. “Annoying, but not life-ending. Luna can help me with anything that requires more than one hand.”

Ardyn nodded. “Is there anything like that which I could use?”

Ravus had to stop and think for that one. “Yes and no,” he said at last. “This is a conversation we should have with Ignis sometime, since he’s taken over for medical responsibilities for a while. But, from what I know – you will probably never recover to what you could do before you were left on Angelgard, but with the technology and resources we have now, you will probably be able to – I cannot make promises, but it is likely you will be able to walk again, and the tremors in your arms will go down.”

Ardyn stretched his arms out. He’d taken off his gloves to eat, and the thick bandages padding his wrists seemed to weigh them down like the manacles had before. “It’s more than I had hoped for,” he said. “I had thought death would be my only escape. And though it would have been a kindness, I could not bear to wait for it, but struggled to live.”

“I am glad you did. If you had died, we would not have met, and Luna would not have been healed.”

“Indeed.” A sigh. “I can only hope that what I can offer is enough to buy my safety.”

Because you’re the Accursed? Ravus thought, and then stomped it down. Because. As long as Ardyn didn’t lay a hand on Luna, Ravus didn’t see why that should matter until the prophesized whatever came to pass. “You gave my sister the twin gifts of life and hope. For me, that is enough.”

 “Life I understand, but I’m not so sure about hope,” Ardyn said. “Should I clean my hands before I wheel away from the table?”

Ravus threw him a napkin. Ardyn caught it and wiped his sticky fingers with it. “I imagine she’ll tell you about it herself someday. For now, I believe the bathrooms should be empty by now. We can bathe.”

“Good,” Ardyn said. “How far of a walk is it to the bathhouse? How many rooms do we have reserved for us?”

“You misunderstand. In this time, houses contain private baths. We’ll use those.”

“Private baths? In a small house like this?”

Small compared to what, the Citadel? Ravus thought. “It will be easier to show you.”

And it was. The bathroom in this safehouse was not quite so elegant or large as the ones in some parts of the Citadel’s living quarters, but it was a near second. Warm marble floor and foggy mirrors showed that they were not the first to make their way here, and the chocobo finger-drawn in condensation proved the identity of at least one of those people.

It was fun, watching Ardyn gape at it all. He wiped his hand on the mirror to take a look into it clearly, leaning close. Ravus wriggled out of his jacket and shirt while Ardyn examined the sinks, the soap dispensers, the tub and shower.

“Can you undress on your own?” Ravus asked.

“Of course,” Ardyn said too quickly, and started pulling off clothing. His jackets and shirt had been spattered with daemon blood and dirt during all the fighting, and underneath, his bony body was green with bruises Noctis had mostly healed away and then bone white with black scourge scars on his shoulders and stomach. Ravus could count his ribs and his vertebrae.

But he grew frustrated as he got to the skirt and leggings, banging his hip into the side of the wheelchair and cursing every time he tried to slip out of them. Ravus looked away; he remembered how frustrated he had been in his first weeks of losing his arm, relearning how to put on clothing, forgetting he didn’t have a second arm to open the jar of pickles with. And he’d been humiliated when he’d been caught in the kitchen with a broken jar of pickles, crying over the damn mess. If Ardyn wanted help, he’d ask Ravus for it; otherwise, he’d let the man keep his dignity. He didn’t need a practical stranger gawking at him.

The swearing became hiccupping breath, bitten back noise. While picking out towels, Ravus glanced in the mirror and saw Ardyn with his head in his hands, shaking. Humiliation or pain, he guessed. He suspected Ardyn was a kindred spirit in being proud, in not wanting to be seen in weakness.

(Was that why he kept on jumping into battles? To prove to himself he was still strong enough to fight? Ravus had done that the year after he’d lost his arm, up until Noctis pulled him into a corner and told him that if he got killed fighting monsters, Noctis would bring Ravus back from the dead to punch him for making Luna cry. And if getting lectured on his sister’s feelings by Noctis of all people wasn’t a wake-up call, Ravus wasn’t sure what else was.)

He took a washcloth and turned on the hot water, soaked it, wrung it out, then offered it to Ardyn. “If you’ve got sand in your eyes, this will help get it out.”

Ardyn nodded and took the cloth, buried his face in it.

Ravus waited until Ardyn had composed himself enough to finish undressing before he said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower first. You can relieve yourself and deal with that sand until I get out, I assume?”

A nod. Probably for the best, Ravus thought. Learning how to go to the bathroom with one hand had been bad enough. Doing it on a bad hip, weak legs and shaking arms would probably be worse.

Ravus was pulling off his pants when Ardyn said, “Wait.” So he waited until Ardyn added in a crackling voice, “I don’t – I don’t know if I can get to the toilet. From here.”

Oh no. Crawling on hard rock with a bad hip and weak legs would not be good either. And – how many times had Ardyn used a modern toilet? He’d been on a catheter for most of his hospital stay, had only been introduced to modern bathrooms two days ago –

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll take you there,” Ravus said. Ardyn nodded weakly, and took Ravus’s arm when offered; the two of them staggered to the toilet, and Ardyn didn’t (couldn’t?) look at Ravus once he landed there, one hand over his face and the other over his hips and groin. “If you need assistance, I’ll just be over in the shower.”

Another nod. Workable enough. Ravus laid out two towels between the toilet and the tub for Ardyn, in case he wanted to try and make the journey over, then finished undressing and finally got in the shower.

All Lucian safehouses were equipped to deal with the health problems of the Lucian monarchy. Between the ring and genetics, most of them had joint issues and a tendency to flex limbs right out of their sockets, so there were gripper bars in the showers, and the soaps and shampoos came with dispenser heads instead of pop caps. The latter made it easier for Ravus, too, since it was difficult putting shampoo into one hand when he was holding the bottle with the only hand he had.

It only took a few minutes to finish.  Ravus toweled off his hair. Ardyn had used the towel path to climb into the tub and had experimented enough to fill it with a few inches of warm water.

“The doctors said not to get the bandages wet, didn’t they?” Ardyn said. He’d folded his arms over the side of the tub. “And I can’t get them off on my own.”

“We’ll have Ignis do that when we’re done,” Ravus said. “I can help you wash up, or I can get something to cover the bandages so you can do it yourself.”

“There’s a material that can do that?” Ardyn asked, perking up, and then sank back down. “I – don’t know which of the soaps to use. Or how to use them.”

“How about I demonstrate how I use them? That way, you can do it yourself next time,” Ravus said.

“That will suffice,” Ardyn said.

“Just be patient with me. I’m doing this ‘unarmed’,” Ravus deadpanned.

It got a laugh out of Ardyn. “I suppose my learning will be ‘leg-endary,’ won’t it?”

“Indeed.”

Ravus soaped up the washcloth from before and started by washing the blood and dirt off of Ardyn. His back felt like iron from the amount of tense knots left in it, and Ravus managed to work a few of them out before Ardyn declared his back too sensitive for more even though it felt amazing. There were a few awkward moments when Ardyn had to shift positions to give access to his legs and almost slipped onto the tub, and he spent the next few minutes as Ravus cleaned his splayed thighs gripping the sides of the tub and looking away.

“I can’t get the dirt of your neck, but I don’t want to irritate it more. If you feel ready to move on, we’ll wash your hair.”

“Dirt?” Ardyn asked. He reached up and touched the dark spots just under his Adam’s apple and dappled the sides of his neck. “You mean here?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t feel bad. It’s not dirt.”

“No?”

Ardyn took Ravus’s hand and moved it to his throat. His fingers were long and almost overshot the marks, but – thumb on one, fingers on others. They had blurred together with what must have been trauma, but now Ravus could make out the shape of the handprints.

Strangulation.

“I…didn’t realize that could scar,” Ravus muttered after a frozen moment.

“The Scourge tried to heal it when my body couldn’t. Same as the other markings,” Ardyn said nonchalantly. “It’s a parasite, and it’s no good for the host’s body to die when it could still be useful. It’s simply a miracle of my magic that has prevented a full transformation.”

“As an Oracle.” As the Accursed?

“Indeed,” Ardyn said. “I appreciate the Scourge’s concern, but now I look like an escapee from a tragic play.”

If every place the scourge had scarred black was an old injury – Ravus’s hand moved up over the black scar that went from the corner of Ardyn’s lips to his cheekbone, like someone had tried to slice his mouth open. And his sclera were black, leaving only the hazel irises to show where his pupils lay.

“Now what’s with that look?” Ardyn said, his lips twitching up. “Pity for an old man?”

“I cannot help but think that, after going through all that trouble, your enemies must be frustrated that you’ve lived to tell the tale,” Ravus said. Yes, there was pity too, but he had no doubt Ardyn wanted to hear none of it. “For an old man who was locked away to protect his health, it seems like running headfirst into danger does a better job of reviving your spirits.”

This time, Ardyn smiled. “You understand me better than my brother did. He thought it would be the death of me.”

“Isn’t that the point of an Oracle?”

“That’s what I told him. He didn’t listen.”

“More the fool, then.” Ravus slid his hand back down Ardyn’s scruffy face, his thin neck, the hollow of his collarbone. “Now, are you ready for your hair?”

Ardyn lidded his eyes and took Ravus’s hand, put it back on his face. “Please, go ahead. After the miracle you worked on my back, I’m looking forward to you getting your hand on my scalp.”

So Ravus got the shampoo and soaped Ardyn’s hair up, finger-combed knots out of it, ran his short nails over his skin. Ardyn keened and melted against the side of the bathtub, arching his neck into Ravus’s touch to rub against his hand. He worked until Ardyn’s breathing had become even and slow, almost as if in sleep.

He washed the soap out, then repeated it with conditioner. Ardyn hardly seemed to recognize the soft noises he was making at Ravus’s touch, as he tugged at red and silver hair and stroked his neck. By the time Ravus was done, Ardyn was flushed and limp, practically leaning on Ravus’s bare chest as he dripped shampoo and water onto him and the marble floor.

Ardyn practically climbed into the freshly heated towel Ravus pulled out for him, let him dry him off, took the soft pajamas offered and wormed his way into them as Ravus blow-dried his own hair and pulled on his boxers and a loose t-shirt.

“We’ll go see Ignis to change your bandages, and then we can go to sleep,” Ravus said. “Do you want to walk there, or do you want to take the wheelchair.”

“Walk,” Ardyn said. He rubbed his face. “The chair keeps on banging my hips.”

“That happened to Noctis when he had to use one,” Ravus said as he helped Ardyn to his feet, taking on weight so they could limp to the bedroom Ignis had arranged for them. It was on the ground floor, a short walk away, and Ignis was waiting inside with the first aid kit.

“Noctis had to use a wheelchair?” Ardyn asked. His eyelids were drooping now, voice slurred with slumber.

“He did. A daemon attacked him as a child and left him unable to walk for two years,” Ravus said as they sat down on the bed. “Can you hold out your arms for Ignis?”

Ardyn nodded and did so. Ignis snipped the bandages off Ardyn’s wrists and disposed of them, then checked his injuries. “It appears that Noctis’s potions have accelerated the healing. Most of it is fresh skin and scars now. There’s only a few scabs left.”

“No more bandages?” Ardyn asked.

“No more bandages. One of Noctis’s private doctors will start visiting in the next few days,” Ignis said. “Ready for your medication?”

“Yes.” Ardyn took his pills and swallowed them one by one, dry, and Ravus helped him hold a glass of water he could sip out of with a straw. “Can I ask for something?”

“Of course. Name it,” Ignis said.

“My leg still hurts, even with these beans,” Ardyn said. “I don’t know if it’s possible, but in my time, we used willow bark tea to help soothe pain. Maybe adding that would help? It’s what we always used…”

“I’ll see what we can do,” Ignis said softly. He rose. “Now go to sleep. Ravus, can I talk to you in the hall?”

“Yes,” Ravus said, rising, but Ardyn grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to the bed. It was ridiculous, how much strength he had in that bony grip.

“Come back?”

“I’ll come back,” Ravus said. “Give me five minutes.”

“Fine, but I shall come and get you past then,” Ardyn said, and crossed his arms.

Ignis and Ravus went outside and half closed the door behind them. “Is willow bark tea even a thing?” Ravus whispered.

“It’s what they use as the main ingredient in aspirin,” Ignis whispered back. “If his leg is bothering him through what he’s on now, he’ll need something stronger than that.”

“If we merge our budgets, can we afford it?” Ravus asked.

“We should be able to. Ardyn’s issues aren’t too different than Noctis’s, other than the malnourishment. We should still have Noctis’s physical therapists on call, and Jared and I can keep up his diet. Usually therapy is suggested as well, but…”

“I imagine it’ll be hard to get him to talk about it,” Ravus said. “And there’s the fact that he might know classified Oracular information. We’ll need someone who’s been cleared by security.”

“Could your sister’s advisor Gentiana work?”

The Astrals’ assistant? Ravus thought. If Ardyn was the Accursed, that could end in tears or blood. “Maybe, but I think we should focus on getting Ardyn comfortable emotionally before we bring new people in. We don’t have to head back to Insomnia for a few months, correct?”

“Correct. We’ve all gotten clearance to work from here in the meantime.”

“Good.” Ravus gestured at the door. “I believe he trusts me the most, and he’s stated he doesn’t wish to be alone, so I’ll be rooming with him until he kicks me out.”

“Understood.” Ignis nodded, pushing up his glasses.

Ravus took a deep breath. “I realize – this is much more than you anticipated dealing with this summer. My sister and my unexpected adventure brought consequences. Thank you for handling this so well.”

“It was Noctis’s idea as much as Luna’s,” Ignis said. “I don’t blame you. The two of them are difficult to stop once they have momentum.”

“Mhm. Still.”

“I wish he’d come to me, though,” Ignis muttered.

“He couldn’t. You’d have told Regis, and Regis would have stopped him,” Ravus said. He shrugged his shoulder to fold his hands together -but his prosthetic was still gone, so all he did as wiggle it a little as his other hand wooshed to where there should have been another hand.

Six. He should bring this up now, before Luna did. Ignis should know. “How much do you know about the prophecy Noctis is involved in?”

“Not much. Regis has been cagey on the details,” Ignis said. “Noctis has been chosen for something, but no one will say what.”

“Regis is about as good as dealing with his emotions as Noctis is,” Ravus said. “Remember when Noctis refused to visit court for a year when Regis started using a cane?”

“Indeed,” Ignis said.

If this were a movie, Ravus thought, he’d have a cigar or something to waft smoke over the sleeping city as he stared coolly into the distance. Instead, it was two tired men in pajamas leaning against a wall.

“I’m just thinking out loud. You didn’t hear this from me,” he said.

“Absolutely. I can’t help it if I overhear you,” Ignis said.

“Luna’s not going to survive the prophecy, even with Ardyn’s healing,” Ravus said. “Noctis probably won’t either. It’s the price of the covenants.”

Ignis sucked in shocked breath. “I see.”

“Luna went to the island to try and find a way to alter the prophecy and spare Noctis. We’re hoping Ardyn knows something as an ancient Oracle that can assist us.”

“I can only hope he does,” Ignis said. He took off his glasses. “I’m sorry. I have to go think about this.”

“Go. Jared doesn’t lock the liquor cabinets now that Noctis is of age,” Ravus said. “I checked.”

“How crude,” Ignis said with a weak smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“See you then.”

And with that, Ravus slid back into Ardyn’s room. Ardyn was still sitting on the bed waiting, trying to keep his head from falling to his chest with exhaustion.

“I told you I would return,” Ravus said.

“I had to make sure,” Ardyn said. Ravus pulled back the covers and Ardyn pulled himself under with a few jerky movements, then patted the mattress to indicate Ravus should join. He did, and Ardyn wrapped himself around him like an octopus as Ravus pulled the covers up and then pulled his cell phone out.

“I have to check some work on my phone before I sleep.”

“’s fine.” Ardyn pressed his face into Ravus’s ribcage, under where his arm ended. “Good night.”

“Goodnight, Ardyn.”

Chapter Text

You dream. You stand over the steep cliffs over Titan’s canyon. Titan looks up at you with stony eyes, the sun making the crystals in his skin glint.

“I may owe you an apology,” you say.

Titan puts down the meteor and pulls out an iPad. It’s not realistic at all, but Titan’s voice is enough to give anyone a migraine. You think he’s trying to contact you as quietly as possible.

Text appears on the device: I cannot deny your rage, King, after helping in your imprisonment. I still dislike Ifrit after what he has done to me.   He runs his fingers over the large chunk of his skull that the meteor caved in.

You try and smile. It comes out uneven, the scarred side higher than the other. “I think we both do, after what he’s done. But if you have contacted me, I doubt it’s for revenge. The others have not appeared before me as of yet.”

Titan’s hand is slow and steady as he writes his next message.

The Night is coming. The world is not yet ready. You are awake now. Who else can guide the path of fate away from the edge?

“If you recall, you and the other Astrals convinced my brother to impale me and bury me alive the last time I tried to steer the path of fate. Can’t I have some time to recover?”

You shall have some time. But once the rockslide begins, I cannot slow it down.

“I’ll try not to kick any pebbles,” you say. And then, “Will the others call upon me?”

They will. You will be called upon to do your duty. In the end, I know you will do what is right.

“I heard that the Oracle Lunafreya may die for another prophecy,” you say. “And the young lord Noctis. I heard Ravus say as much before I went to sleep. Are those deaths needed as well?”

They are in Bahamut’s prophecy.

“Why do his prophecies always end in someone being sacrificed? Isn’t there another way?”

You have wrought the consequence of the other way. Would you leave them to your fate?

You curl your hand over your ribs, over the pitted scar where Izunia impaled you long ago. You had been willing to risk your soul to save your brother long ago, and you had died for it, and then you had lived for it. “So they too would become immortal husks, cursed to live until the prophecy could be made anew?”

I do not know. You made yourself the θυσία and made yourself vessel to both light and darkness. Even without Bahamut, you could not be touched by death.

“I see.” You lean against Titan, rubbing the scar on your cheek. “They wouldn’t get buried alive, would they?”

Not unless they threatened the Crystal.

“I understand. Thank you.”

That gives you options. Knowledge is power, and so forth. If you remember this when you wake up (and you usually do; visions are not so easily forgotten) then you can share it.

If nothing else, you can give Noctis and Luna a choice about how they want to proceed with their prophecy. Or closure, that their deaths will improve something. Hopefully. Maybe. You’d gone into Bahamut’s prophecy understanding that your life would be on the line. But from the way Ravus and Ignis talked about it, only Luna understood the full weight of what was happening. You’ll have to ask about it in the morning. That’s part of why you were rescued, after all; even if it was not, you’d still feel the same impulse for your siblings-in-arms in fate’s binds.

“Titan?”

Yes?

“You appeared as my son Somnus when you contacted me last. Can you tell me anything about him? What did I miss while I was gone?”

He was the one who took the throne of Lucis in the end. He had children. His bloodline and Izunia’s diverged, then came back together in the sixth king.

“How did he die?”

Exhaustion, in his forties. Ruling and magic took its toll on him.

“I see.” You press your hands into your eyes. “Was he happy?”

Eventually.

Your eyes burn, wet. “I’ll accept it.” It trickles out from under your palms. “It’s enough.”

Ravus woke up with his shirt spotted with black tears. It was nearly seven, a good hour after Ravus usually woke, and Ardyn had a death grip on his waist. Although his dreams had left him crying, he didn’t budge when Ravus tried to wake him up, or after ten minutes of Ravus wriggling out of his arms so he could eat breakfast.

The scene at the breakfast table was ugly. Ignis was curled over a cup of coffee, bags under his eyes, and Gladio was resting his head on the table itself, a half-drunk glass of what looked like blended eggs, grass and granola next to him.

“You told him,” Ravus said.

“How could I not?” Ignis said.

“Fair enough. I can see how well he took it,” Ravus said. “Is he out cold, or is he just suffering through the first sip of that awful hangover cure?”

“You swore by it when I made it for you,” Gladio said, not looking up from the table.

“Yes, and then I never got drunk again so I’d never have to drink it again,” Ravus said. There were plenty of fancy options for breakfast, but he just got out the frozen waffles and put a couple in the toaster. He didn’t have the energy for fancy today. “Did you talk to Noctis as well?”

“He told us everything he knew,” Ignis said. “The prophecy is going to heal the Scourge. The covenants will help strengthen him, but it will drastically shorten Luna’s life, and Noctis will probably look like Regis from the strain of the magic at that point.”

They still didn’t know about Noctis needing to die for the final ritual. Dammit. When was Luna going to tell them? – or should Ravus tell them? Would the grief they were in now buffer it, or just send them reeling further?

“What’s the point of having a shield if he’s just going to die anyway? Why would Noctis get raised as a prince when he’s never going to live to be king?” Gladio asked.

The latter. He’d cross that bridge later. “He didn’t get raised as a prince,” Ravus said. “He was raised like a normal child. He’s had to do the bare minimum of politics; the majority of his training has been in combat and magic. If I had to guess, I’d say Regis knew by the time he sent Noctis to kindergarten instead of home-schooling him.”

  “But if the monarchy’s gone, who will take over?” Ignis asked.

“Iris is next in the line of succession. She could take the throne. Explains why she’s been in all the political classes with us – you two will take over as her bodyguards once Noctis dies,” Ravus said. “Or maybe the monarchy will disband. Mother was talking about that happening when the Night ended in Tenebris before the Niffs attacked.”

Gladio groaned. “I need another drink.”

The waffles popped up. Ravus took one out of the toaster and bit into it, regardless of the heat. “It could be worse. Luna’s been planning her swan song since she was twelve.”

“Oh no.”

“She says that when she dies, she’ll go out in a Vivienne Westwood gown.”

“Isn’t her wedding dress a Vivienne Westwood?” Ignis asked.

Ravus said, “Don’t remind me,” and shoved more waffle in his face.

“Well, this explains why you’re such a cranky fuck,” Gladio said.

“You mean other than the majority of my living family being murdered in front of me and being exiled from my home country?” Ravus shot back. “I don’t get on your case for using Noctis as an emotional punching bag.”

“At least I don’t smother him.”

“No, you’ll just leave him a nervous wreck. At least I’ve never made her train until she couldn’t stand.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never locked him in his room for a week either!”

Ignis stepped between the two of them and pushed them both apart. “If you two keep this up, you’re both eating nothing but toast this week.”

“Unlike some people,” Ravus said, “I don’t need someone else to cook for me.” He bit his waffle spitefully, and Ignis’s arm was the only thing keeping Gladio from tackling him to the floor.  

“If you two are going to fight, don’t do it in the kitchen, or I’ll make you break it to Jared that you’ve ruined his safehouse again,” Ignis said.

“Fine,” Gladio said.

“Meet me in the gym when you’re done with breakfast,” Ravus said. “It’s been some time since we sparred.”

“You’re on!”

You wake up and immediately wish you had not.

Your joints feel like they’ve swollen up to twice their size, and every movement jars them together like pebbles in a river. You try and sit up and your hip promptly pops out and you groan and press the blanket against your face like it might solve something.

“Ravyus?” you rasp.

“He’s not gonna be in for a while,” says a voice. Somnus. No – Noctis. “He and Gladio went down to exercise, so I’m hanging out in here. Luna’s getting all fancy and Prompto’s out running.”

Relief floods you. “Hurts,” you say. “Can’t get out of bed.”

Noctis helps you take your medicine, helps you drink some water. After a few minutes, it feels like the swelling has gone down a little, and you worm your way up to the pillows. There’s no windows in this room, but the lights are on and Noctis is sitting in a wheelchair in loose clothing at your bedside.

“Any better?”

“A little. It seems my adventures over the last few days have caught up to me at last,” you say. “I’m guessing yours have caught up to you as well.”

“It turns out that jumping off a train is bad for you knees,” Noctis deadpans.

“Better or worse than jumping onto a mecha?”

“You look worse than me.”

“I’m four hundred and fifty three years old, at least. I look my age,” you joke.

“Want to watch MogTube until someone gets back?” Noctis says.

“Yes. One moment.” You grab your leg and maneuver it until there’s the flash of pain that means it’s back in socket, and then you finally manage to push yourself into a sitting position. Your hip isn’t happy about it, but it’s never happy about anything so, fuck it. “There. Come onto the bed so you don’t hurt your back leaning over.”

Noctis does. He’s wearing shorts and there’s something metal on his knee. “What’s that?”

“Knee brace. It makes sure nothing pops out,” Noctis said. “We can find one for your hip when you’ve got enough energy to try them on.”

“Good,” you breathe as Noctis pulls up Mogtube. There’s one big picture there with unintelligible text in red, and many smaller pictures around it of old men and the train you were on just yesterday, and you point at it and ask, “What’s that?”

You point too close. You tap the video and it takes up the whole screen, and the old man with the little white mustache and goatee is suddenly audible. “ – allegations that Niflheim has violated Lucis’s borders are being investigated under the full extent of the law. However, our preliminary reports indicate that what was mistaken for an enemy ship was a refugee transport taking Scourge patients to neutral territory in Galahd. The stress of being shot at by their own country was enough to cause a transformation in these very ill patients. After the revelation that still living Scourge patients were being misdiagnosed as dead and cremated in Lucian hospitals, I cannot blame anyone for wanting to seek superior treatment.”

A switch to what you’ll later learn is a reporter in a studio. “Emperor Aldercapt’s statement has instigated protests in Insomnia and Galdin Quay as well in the Nifle capital of Gralea. At eleven, we’ll take you live to a press conference with King Re -”

Noctis swaps to a video of kittens. You blink a few times in surprise. “What was that?”

“Politics. Don’t stress about it,” Noctis says.

“But that was – they had pictures of the train,” you say. “And something happened with the Scourge in Galdin Quay and we were just there!”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Noctis snaps.

You’re tired and achy and you snap back at him. “I may be an invalid, but I am not a child. If I have questions about the world, I expect to at least get a cursory answer about them so I can judge whether I can handle more rather than being left to stew in my own ignorance!”

Noctis pales, then flushes, then pauses the video. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It sounds like it anyway.” You scowl. “I doubt it’s worse than anything I faced in my prior life.”

Noctis doesn’t respond to that, hands curling and uncurling in the fabric of his coat. He’s thinking. You watch.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you,” Noctis says.

“Yes, I do.”

“And I wouldn’t make you go back to Insomnia.”

You think you see where this is going. “Let me guess. Your father is one of the king’s lovers, isn’t he? Or your mother. That’s why you have such high security.”

Noctis’s jaw drops. You’re sure you’ve gotten it correct – you always were smart.

And then Noctis swipes to another video and hits play, and and another reporter begins speaking:

“Latest reports on the prince’s safety indicate that Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum and his fiancé, the Oracle Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, have made it safely to the city of Lestallum after their train was derailed during an attack by Niflheim.” A blurry picture of Noctis and Luna appears on the screen behind her. “Despite his father’s increasing unpopularity, polling at only 41% approval this week, Noctis’s week in the limelight has only increased fondness for him. From helping the Oracle rescue a drowning man during their bachelor party to visiting sick children in the hospital while waiting for Lunafreya to recover from the subsequent bout of flu, the prince remains our golden boy. His staff have indicated that Noctis and Lunafreya wish for privacy while recovering from the shock of the train attack. Well-wishers are asked to donate to – ”

That, you think, is why he looks so much like your son. Seven hundred years had passed and still, some similarities remained. Your spouse’s blue eyes; your sharp nose and soft mouth.

You sink back against the bed. This shouldn’t be possible. The prophecy states that your end will come at the hands of one of your descendants, and all good sense means that they should be ready to turn on you at the drop of a hat. And yet.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” Noctis says in explanation.

“It is. A bit of a shock,” you mumble. You rub your face. Now that he’s revealed it, he has a point; you feel this close to drifting out of your body and into the void for a few hours. “But I’m glad I know. I don’t want it hidden. I’m just – ”

“After your king ruined your life, you expected his descendants to remember and keep an eye out for you?”

You nod. “I was never – quite human. Even before I looked like this. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had contingencies for if I came back, after what happened.”

Noctis nods, face serious. “Well, if there is, I don’t know about it, and you helped save everyone on the train, so I think that’s enough to save you from – whatever happened then.”

There’s a question there, waiting, and you answer: “I don’t remember how much was – that sounds like a fool’s excuse, but, on Angelgard – if you stay somewhere alone for a long time, with nothing to do, your mind wanders into fancy. After a certain point, I don’t know how much of what I remember is real and how much my mind created wholecloth.”

“Try and piece it together,” Noctis says. “Tell me what you know is real. If we’re lucky, Specs can find a historical record of it and we can figure out what really happened.”

“I attacked the king.” You attacked your brother.

“Why?” You raise your eyebrows at him. Noctis shrugs. “Some of my ancestors were jerks. It could’ve been justified.”

You sigh. “I was a not a true oracle but a θυσία.” 

“A what?”

“Thu-see-ah,” you say, pronouncing it slowly. “I suppose Titan’s gift won’t translate it because it’s a word from the language of Solheim. It would translate to sacrifice, or offering. Like you’d offer to the astrals at their alter?”

“An offering – wait a minute – a human sacrifice?”

“My brother and I descend from one of the astrals,” you explain. “The Scourge’s power is that which only an astral can rival. Through ritual sacrifice, we would protect Lucis from the Scourge by spilling the blood of astrals that ran within our veins. But as the day approached, I quailed at the thought. The covenants necessary to successfully complete the ritual had already driven me to lose my health and my spouse. The final leg of it required a murder-suicide and would leave the crops barren for a year to concentrate the power necessary – “

“Back up. The ritual required what?”

“A ritual murder suicide,” you repeat. “Channeling the power of the astrals, we’d enact on a small scale what we wanted to happen on a global scale both in this life and the next one by – well, dying in both this one and the next one. My brother would destroy the container of the Scourge – me – and then himself, then kill us both again in the afterlife; our ritual preparations would ensure that what happened between us would happen on a large scale in the world, weakening the Scourge.”

“Fuck.”

He’s indignant for you. It feels nice. “We resorted to human sacrifice because it worked. The astrals ask a heavy price for their help. We could think of no other way.” Your smile twists, tugged up by the scar on your mouth. “Or at least, my brother couldn’t. I thought I found an alternative.”

“What happened?”

“The crystal of the Lucian monarchs has fragments of power from several astrals. If I could take some of it, I could do the ritual alone. So, when the crystal was not as guarded as usual, I snuck in.”

It was a stupid plan, in hindsight, but you were desperate. You and your brother’s deaths could usher in a succession crisis with seven young potential heirs and a Senate of ambitious assholes, not to mention the havoc that would ensue when the Night returned for another year. Crops dying, herds dying, one of Izunia’s sweet but untested children on the throne –

No. You’d do the ritual alone. Your powers were fading, your spouse was dead, and your brother would take your children in and keep them safe. Izunia could stay with his family while you, the one who was already half-dead from healing, would shoulder the burden.  You just needed the power of the crystal to augment your own. But the crystal was kept in the inner sanctums of Bahamut’s grand temple, and even the king wasn’t allowed to visit it without supervision.

So you summoned the priests of Bahamut to the Citadel in the dead of night, snuck into the temple, knocked out everyone who was left and broke into the crystal’s chamber.

“The crystal is the seat of Lucis’s power,” Noctis says.

“Exactly. I didn’t plan to take all of it – and if what I had done worked, it would remove the Scourge, and so the crystal could afford to be weakened in sacrifice!” You get out your drawing pad from where you tucked it last night and try to pick up a crayon to try and illustrate, but your hand cramps when you try and grip it. You wince and shake your hand out in frustration. “But it was one of our most venerated and powerful artifacts, not to mention a gift from the astrals, which meant that what I was going to do was both treasonous and blasphemous if I did it incorrectly.”

“But the risk was worth it,” Noctis said. “Luna’s in a prophecy and she’s – wait. Do you know this yet?”

“I know,” you say. “I overheard Ravus and Ignis discussing it. It doesn’t surprise me – the blood of the astrals runs through the Lucian line just as it does in the Nox Fleurets. And those with that blood are called upon to commune with the astrals, with the ultimate price often being death.”

Noctis frowns. “Yeah. And I could see Ravus doing something like that if he thought it’d let Luna live.”

“Good,” you say, spitefully. “When king and his Shield came to stop me, they thought I’d been possessed by the daemons that I had taken inside me in healing. So, thinking they faced a daemon, they attacked – and fool that I was, I tried to tell them I had done it of my own will, and was struck down even harder for it.”  

“Which you had expected, since you just told me it would obviously happen.”

“I had. My daughter had already moved to Altissia at that time. I had sent my two sons, both too young to marry, out to be trained in war games far away from Insomnia while I attempted the ritual alone. I thought I could talk my way out of it later, or that we’d go ahead and get the ritual over with.”

“Which didn’t happen.”

“I was possessed. My powers weren’t working. So my brother was going to fix me, purify me. I’d be back to my old self in no time.”  

“But there was no old self to go back to,” Noctis says, understanding.

“Because that was the self I already was.” You shudder. “So the priests came through to bless me, and then healers, and then surgeons to cut the growing Scourge away from me, and then torturers to scare the thing inside me away. For my own good. My memory grows cloudy there.”

You had fought back. You were the king and this was your kingdom and even when it was healers and priests, you had been chained to a wall so you could not escape. You would not be a prisoner in your own home. You would not heal while they kept on treating you like a criminal.

You had refused to heal your brother’s wife, who had grown ill, in hopes that someone would get the hint and set you free. In a rage, your brother had pinned you to the ground and shoved his sword through your leg; as you tried to heal yourself, he cut and cut the new flesh away, and later you would realize he’d effectively crippled you with that one blow. You had howled and cursed after him when exhaustion racked you – in your agony, you told him you hoped his whole family succumbed to the scourge. He had his men hold you down so he could cut out your cruel tongue.

“From the torture?” Noctis asks.

“Yes.” You stare down at your hands. Your wrists are still scarred and pitted from the cuffs you were left in. “The days blurred together.”

You had no tongue, but you could still scream. You used Armiger to knock out the guards and warp out of the cell, desperate, and your brother’s Amecitia hunted you down as you tried to find a way out. And Izunia had them pluck out your eyes so that you could not see to warp again, doubled the guards, doubled the chains. Blind and bound and suffering, you refused your food, you refused your powers. If you could not be saved, no one else would.

You imagined that your family cared enough to visit. That your sons would come and save you. That your daughter might return from Altissia for you. That Izunia might change his mind and let you out. But the only constant was the weight around your wrists.

Did your children visit you? You had sent your sons far away, knowing the aftermath of stealing the crystal would be bad, but time enough had passed that they could come back. Had they seen you like that, naked and bloody? Had your daughter heard the news of your torture and come running from Altissia?

You feel like your throat might swell shut. “But, eventually, it was time for the ritual.”

Wrists over your head, hauled up by chains to the ceiling. A weight around your ankles. Couldn’t move, stretched thin. Your broken leg twisted out of socket. Could barely breathe. Too painful to scream. But you could hear the crowd. Gaping. At. You.

“I had completed my half of the ritual. My brother tried to complete his.”

 ‘He’s dead,’ Izunia had said. ‘That much blood. No man could bleed that much and live.’

‘You know what you must do,’ said Bahamut.

 And then each weapon in Armiger plunged into you, one by one. Through your stomach, just beneath the ribcage. Through your elbows and your knees. Until they were all in there.

Vomiting blood. Sobbing. The chains released. You hit the floor and the weapons jarred inside you. You screamed in shock. Death refused to take you even as you felt your belly open. That Amecitia, Gilgamesh, held you down as Izunia tried to end your suffering. His hands around your neck. Not as dead as he had thought. Thumbs pressed into your throat. Put Ardyn out of his misery at last.

“But I didn’t realize what was happening. I was frightened. I used what was left of my powers to try and escape again. Struck at everyone in attendance, including the king.”

No air. Your brother’s voice rasping in your ears. A fear as cold and blistering as ice. You had to run. You couldn’t see to warp, but throwing around a bunch of swords and axes in a crowded temple meant you didn’t need to see. You followed the screams. You had to get out. You didn’t want to die like this.

“I don’t know how far I got.”

I need more arms. I need more legs. I can’t get far like this. I need new eyes. I must escape. I don’t want to die like this.

Stay out of my way! I’ll curse anyone who stops me!

“I don’t know how much of what happened next really happened or if I dreamed it in Angelgard after the fact.”

The city became small under you. Crushing humans like insects under your hands. Like they should be. You’re the king. This is your country. Your sun. Your world. All of it is yours. No one will lay a hand on you again. You will destroy them –

“The king stopped me.”

Armiger gleaming around Izunia as he attacked you. Gilgamesh Amecitia at his side. Crushing buildings when you fell. Your body had become too big. Why can you see them when you have no eyes? What was happening?

‘I’ll stop you even if I have to cut off every piece of you!’ Izunia had shouted.

You dreamed your sons were there. That Ptongas, your oldest, had stolen your bow out from Armiger to wave it at you, had told you to leave him alone – all of sixteen, peach fuzz on his cheeks as he stood between you and little Somnus.

“I would fight everyone in my way.”

‘You’re a monster! Stay away from us! Izunia is our father now!’ and you had howled as if struck, tears and blood leaking from your eyes, and torn at your hair, and then started running again as your brother came near.

“Until – I don’t know. I don’t know how I got from Insomnia to Angelgard. I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”

Noctis puts his hands on your face. “Shhhh.” His hands are wet. No, your face is wet. You’re crying. When did this become your body? You should have more hands, more legs, more ways to run free. “You don’t have to talk anymore,” he says.

Good. Your throat has squeezed shut, as if Izunia’s hands are around it once again. You hold on to Noctis tightly as your body shakes. He looks so much like your sons. What did you do to your sons. Your brother. Your family.

Why can’t you remember.

“We’ll talk about other politics stuff later,” your son says. “It’s ok. It all happened back then. It’s not going to happen now.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. You cry into his shoulder. You are so sorry. You didn’t mean to do this. You didn’t mean any of this. What is wrong with you. You never meant to hurt him. You’re sorry, Somnus, you don’t remember what you did, you never wanted things to end like this.

Chapter Text

 “I go to exercise for the morning and you give the old man a panic attack,” Ravus said, crossing his arms.  He had dressed down to light exercise clothes and was sporting a bloody nose and a black eye from sparring with Gladio.

“I just told you, I didn’t give him one. It just happened!” Noctis said. Ardyn was curled up around him, crying into his shoulder, and all of the prince’s attempts to wiggle out of his grasp had failed.

Ignis sighed. “Well, it’s about time for lunch. I’ll bring up food for the three of you.”

“May as well make it five,” Ravus said. “I’m sure you and Gladio have more questions for him.”

“Don’t crowd him. He’s stressed enough as is,” Noctis said.

“He’s got a stranglehold on you, Noct,” Gladio said. “Our dads would be worried.” His voice was slightly muffled by his bruise-swollen lips, and his tawny skin was freckled with bruises.

“It’s not a stranglehold,” Noctis said, his thin fingers lacing through Ardyn’s hair.

“He’s got a strong grip; that’s all,” Ravus added. “Listen – Gladio, your father won’t arrive here for a few days. It’s not as if we need to get him off now.”

Gladio grimaced. “I know, but this is still…”

“Let me do it,” Ravus said. “You’re too ham-handed.”

“Go ahead. Let’s see your technique,” Gladio said.

Ravus sat next to Ardyn and Noctis, hooking his heels against the bottom of the bed before running ahand down Ardyn’s back. A few strokes and Ardyn looked up, eyes puffy.

“He’s got to go get lunch,” Ravus said. “Come over here.”

A hesitant nod. “Mi Somnus,” Ardyn murmured, “stay safe,” and pressed a kiss to Noctis’s temple before unlatching from him, shifting over to sit next to Ravus, hiding his face against Ravus’s bare arm. Black tears streaked his face, and thicker black liquid had oozed from his nose and dried there.

“There you go,” Ravus murmured.

“Is he safe, dripping like that?” Gladio asked.

“As safe as any Oracle sickness is,” Ravus retorted-

“’m not,” Ardyn mumbled.

“Shh. You all, go get lunch,” Ravus said, and wrapped his arm around Ardyn.

“Yeah, you go,” Noctis repeated. “You two go get food for us and then we can all eat in here.”

Ignis sighed. “Fine. Come now, Gladio, we’ve been sent away.”

“But – “

“Do you really want to argue with him when he’s in this mood?”

“I can hear you,” Noctis said. “And I’ll remind you both that I’m twenty years old and technically an adult.”

Ignis and Gladio left.

Which left Noctis and Ravus sandwiching Ardyn. Noctis explained what had happened, and Ravus nodded.

“If he’s been having trouble with his memory, he may have remembered something traumatic,” Ravus said. “Sometimes you forget something in the heat of battle and only remember it a few years later. Remember when I went vegan for six months?”

“Yeah, and you were the least insufferable vegan I ever met,” Noctis said. “What was that about?”

“Mother was burned after she was stabbed,” Ravus said. “One day there was a barbeque and I remembered what that smelled like.”

Noctis made a face. “Ugh. I get it.”

 “’s not like that,” Ardyn said softly.

“What’s it like, then?” Ravus asked.

“I thought everything I remembered in Angelgard was a dream,” Ardyn said. “Everything after a certain point wasn’t real. I dreamed… I crushed buildings. I hurt people. I fought my children. What if that really happened and I forgot? What if I deserved to go to Angelgard?”

“You didn’t,” Noctis said.

“But what if I did?”

“We can find out,” Ravus said. “A great deal of Old Lucian records have been destroyed, but what’s left is extensively catalogued. We can find out.”

Ardyn shook his head. ‘No, no, no. You’ll definitely send me back. I can’t.”

Ravus sighed. “As a sibling of the Oracle, I’m well aware that cruel things have to be done in the name of fulfilling prophecies and fighting the Scourge.” Accursed, he thought; a shadow of the First King; scapegoat. The first Oracle. Any one of those could leave a man with blood on his hands. The Book of the Accursed said that the Accursed had rampaged as a monster, but the First King and his royal family had worked together to defeat it. Him. The book claimed they had been unscathed, though Insomnia was not; would that quell Ardyn’s guilt? “I don’t care what you might have done.”

“I care!” Ardyn snapped. His grip tightened on Ravus’s arm. “You can’t just pretend I didn’t do anything!”

“You may not have done anything,” Ravus said. “You have no indication these are anything other than dreams.”

Ardyn made a frustrated noise low in his throat and wiped his face. “But I could have!”

“We’ll find out. There’s no point in assigning blame before then.”

“Why not?!”

“Would you let Somnus wallow in agony over something he might not have done?”

Ardyn’s face smoothed out in surprise.

“Furthermore, you were on the brink of death when we found you. If you did do it, don’t you think you’ve already paid for those crimes?”

Ardyn opened his mouth, then closed it again, deflating. “But what if I haven’t?”

“From what I can tell from what you told Noctis, you hurt people after you’d been imprisoned and tortured. You acted in self-defense,” Ravus said. “If people didn’t want you to attack them, they shouldn’t have attacked you in the first place.”

A sigh. “I know that is…reasonable. But I cannot stop thinking about it.”

“That’s because you haven’t had time to deal with it. After a few months have passed, you’ll move on to plotting revenge, as we all do.”

Noctis said, “No, we all don’t.”                                                               

“I can’t take revenge on them anyway,” Ardyn said. “They’re all dead. What am I going to do, kill my brother’s great-grandson? Blow up a temple of Bahamut?” And then he stopped and a thoughtful expression blossomed on his face.

“Do not blow up any temples of Bahamut,” Noctis said.

“Maybe we can go destroy what’s left of the one at Ravatough,” Ravus said.

“As long as we leave the catacombs alone.”

“Guys,” Noctis said, “those are federally protected ruins. Even I can’t,” and he gestured as if to suggest pulling their asses out of a fire of their own making.

“No one can blame a terrible mudslide,” Ardyn said primly. He wiped his face again; the tears had finally stopped, his voice steady. “And we’re going there anyway. The catacombs should still be well-preserved. Noctis can…go see some of his royal relatives. Some of the old Lucian royals were buried there.”

Ravus and Noctis looked at each other. Lucian royalty had been buried there – before the time of the First King. After that, they were either buried in the Citadel’s catacombs or were given tombs of their own. 

If Noctis didn’t suspect anything, Ravus thought, he probably did now. Ardyn had claimed that he was four hundred years old in the hospital, but he kept on referencing events and rituals that pre-dated the first king, who ruled some two thousand years ago.  He was far, far older than he was claiming, and he was already ancient.

“Ignis will come back with lunch soon,” Noctis said, “and if you’re up for it, we’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” Ardyn asked.

“If he told you,” Ravus said, “it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Noctis said.

“I don’t mind. I’ve never had a taste for sycophancy. If people must worship me, I want them to mean it,” Ardyn said. He managed a smile and nudged Ravus a little, playful.

“I’m sure you’ll have me on my knees in worship soon enough,” Ravus deadpanned.

And Ardyn laughed, startled, and then almost fell over giggling, his voice as clear as white wine.

Noctis put his head in his hands.

“If you’re all done,” Ignis said from outside, “lunch will be ready soon.”

You eat. It’s all finely cut fruits, mashed root vegetables sweetened with butter and cream, and a meaty broth with thick, doughy noodles within. You inhale it in a few minutes. You spend the rest of lunch trying to get one of Ravus’s ‘chocobo nuggos,’ and manage to get a few ‘fry’ from Prompto’s bag of food from a cook named Kenny Crow.

“He can’t have meat yet,” Ignis says.

“They’re potatoes and salt! He needs sodium for body stuff, right?” Prompto says.

“If I do not have a fry, I shall implode,” you say. “What food could be so precious that it warrants that amount of salt?”

Prompto feeds you a fry. It’s hot and salty and crunches and then melts in your mouth. You practically die on the spot. You haven’t tasted something like this since you were back in Insomnia, taking time away from your duties to buy street food and eat it in the street like a plebian.

You take another. Noctis donates the lettuce and tomato from his ‘borger’ to you, for health reasons, and you consume at least a third of their Kenny Crow Fries between their contributions.

“Gladio, tell Noctis he should take Ardyn’s example and eat his vegetables,” Ignis says.

“You tell him.”

“I tell him every day. It’s your turn.”

“He’s twenty. Let him choose his food,” you say. “Life is too short to eat unripe fruit.”

Everyone gives you some kind of Look. You wonder how many of them know about Noctis’s prophecy. You wonder how upset you could make them if you made a noise about fattening up sacrificial lambs for the slaughter.

But Noctis should get the pleasure of it. You won’t rob him of that.

Ravus slips you a chicken nugget dipped in red sauce. You have earned his favor. You eat it, smugly, in front of Ignis. The meat is thoroughly cooked to dryness, but the breading and the spicy-sweet sauce balances it out.

“He’s not allowed to have meat yet,” Ignis says.

“One nugget won’t hurt,” Ravus retorts cooly.

“Everything is so sweet in this time,” you say, sucking sauce off your fingers. “I like it.” Gladio keeps on looking at Ignis and is trying not to laugh, and Ignis’s face is carefully blank, and you add: “If anyone wants to give me manners training, I’ll take it as long as it comes along with utensils I can hold for more than five seconds. What is this sauce?”

“Barbeque,” Ravus says.

There’s a thump, and Gladio’s face goes blank as if trying to act like someone didn’t kick him under the table. “There’s nothing wrong with needing to eat with fingers,” Ignis says. “You’re still recovering.”

It’s a kindness to you, that you don’t have to learn how all these utensils work all at once. But still, it lodges under your skin and itches, that you are an invalid who cannot use the damn things. That you’ve got this leeway because you’re still so weak.

“Thank you,” you say, and you swallow any other words along with your dinner. The ideal personality of an invalid is sweet and understanding. You think that until you can gauge the trust of Ignis and Gladio more thoroughly, you will try and keep up that pretense.

(Ravus and Noctis are like you, and can be trusted. Lunafreya, too. Prompto, you have no proof of trust, but your gut feeling is that you can. Bodyguards are well and good for princes, but you still have the scars from your last encounter with Gilgamesh, damn him.)

The rest of lunch is taken up with chatter about Ignis’s cooking versus that of Kenny Crow, about the cars they can use at this house, Luna meeting with an advisor.  Some words skip and jump in the language, unable to be translated; others come in as fragments of old Sol from you tutors’ lessons long ago. You’re grateful to Titan, but you wish you had a proper dictionary.

You need one of those phones. The little devices. Everyone seems to have one. It won’t be that hard, will it?

Eventually, the food is gone, the plates are washed, and Ravus points you down a hallway. “That way.”

You put your hands on your wheels and roll slowly towards it, edge around the corner, and Noctis slips ahead of you and opens the door.

The light is blinding. You have to shade your eyes, at first. Roll with one hand.

“There’s a ledge down,” Noctis says. “Because of the door. You may want to step over it instead of rolling.”

“Of course.” You put your feet on the ground. You grab the frame of the doorway and use it as leverage to stand. Every motion takes thought and energy. You take one step, two, and Noctis helps you down when the ledge is deeper than you expected. You manage a few more before you gracefully crumple in the dirt.

The clouds leave the span of land behind the house dappled with shadow. There’s a stone pavilion out here. An arena for sparring. But, most importantly, Noctis has lead you to the garden, where blossoms in half a dozen colors spring around you. The dirt is soft, soft as your bed, and you’re glad you stripped off your gloves for lunch so you can now plunge your hands into the earth wrist-deep.

You sit there, stunned. Staring. Cone-shaped blue blossoms surround you. You know these; they were your spouse’s favorite. The two of you had brought seeds from your wedding at Shiva’s Temple in Tenebris to the Citadel.  You almost unbalance smelling one. Sweet. Floral. It’s been so long.

“Are you enjoying the garden?” Luna says, appearing from behind a bush. She’s wearing thick gloves and her loose clothing is smeared with mud.

“I just got here,” you reply weakly. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time.”

You do.

You missed this.

“Can I take some?” you ask.

“Of course. We can plant more,” Luna says. “Do you want help doing it?”

“No. I can do it myself.”

You spent a few minutes digging up one of the plants. Noctis’s companions trickle into the garden, onto the patio, wrestling in the arena. Ravus ends up sitting next to you as you separate flowers, leaves and roots into three piles. He’s left his coat and heavy boots indoors for a tank top and what Titan’s magic informs you are crocodile shoes. He’s holding a bottle of something, and he opens it up and dollops some white liquid on his hand from the narrow head, not quite looking at you.

“It’s remarkable they’ve done so well in Lestallum,” you say, offering the flower. “Gentianas prefer colder climates.”

“They’re called sylleblossoms now,” Ravus says. He holds his hand out, expectant, and you put your hand in his. He rubs the stuff into your hand, one, then the other, and then rubs some more onto your face.  “There. You won’t get sunburns if you’re wearing that.”

“Will I?” Ravus nods. You suppose he wouldn’t just make you do that for his own amusement, so you’ll believe it for now.  “And are they?” Blossom comes translated, flos, the flower’s crown, but sylle – like silva? A multitude of flowers? A forest of flowers?? “Goodness. The language has changed so in these past centuries.”

“Gentiana’s considered a name now, if old fashioned. Like meeting someone named Octavius or Beowulf.”

You snort, trying not to laugh. “My mother in law was called Gentiana. When my spouse and I married, I did not know what they would miss more anxiously – the woman or the flowers.”

“A Tenebrian, then?”

“Of course.” You take a long stem and flower and loop them around. Surely you remember the knotwork you’ll do next. “They would be pleased to hear that Tenebris still lives, even under barbarian rule. The people are as sturdy as their evergreens – but you would know that.”

Ravus nods. Of course he does. He looks little like your spouse, but he is just as hardy as they are. Were. 

“What was Tenebris like in days long past?” he asks.

“Cold,” you deadpan, and this time it’s Ravus who has to stifle a laugh. “Flowing robes in the summer. In my time, each city-state was formed around the worship of an Astral, and Tenebris hailed the Glacian as their protector. Blue and white were the colors chosen for their priesthood and their kings, and crowns of blue flowers given to their champions.” You thread one flower through a knot you’ve made in the second. “Of course, gentianas were popular both due to their beauty and to their usefulness. We won’t need to bother with the local apothecary soon, with such a bounty. The roots and leaves are useful for problems of the stomach and the blood.”

Ravus picks up a twisting gentian root, looking doubtful. “I thought sylleblossoms were ornamental.”

You tsk. “Even a prince’s garden should contain things both beautiful and useful. Roses and fennel are both lovely and can salve ailments. Aloe is not always charismatic, but it will always bring relief. And every royal’s garden should contain foxglove and belladonna.”

 “What’s the use of foxglove and belladonna?” Ravus asked, eyes narrowed.

“Well, tincture of belladonna can be used to enhance beauty or to relieve pain,” you explain. “And they can both be used to get rid of problems that may threaten someone’s life.”

“Do you mean that literally, or are you being euphemistic?”

“Come now, Ravus, you know what I mean,” you say. “We’re not barbarians. We don’t go around stabbing each other with swords if there’s an issue. I don’t know what you do now, but in my day, if we politicians had problems with each other, we used poison like civilized people.”

Ravus opens his mouth. He closes his mouth. “Stabbing is in these days.”              

“What.”

“It turns out that a king who can summon thirteen swords makes stabbing much more popular.”

“What!” Your Armiger Arsenal had been very popular with your kingdom; however, that hadn’t made it any more popular to deal with political rivals by stabbing them. The swords were for daemons and enemy soldiers.

(And you.)

“Noctis, you need to fix these sword loving hooligans,” you call out, creating the next knot and threading another step through. Then you drop it and rub your wrists; it feels as though ice is flowing through your tendons.

“It’s too late because he is one!” Gladio shouts back. You look – he and Noctis have blades locked, darting back and forth. Play battles. If either of them were serious, it would be over already.

“Kick him, Noctis!” you shout. “Destroy him!”

 A touch to your wrist, and you turn back; Ravus is running his fingers over the scarred inside of your wrist.

“Are they sore?”

“They’re always sore,” you mutter. “It will abide after a few minutes.”

“This happened a great deal when I lost my arm,” Ravus says, “because I had to do everything with one hand. There are exercises to help alleviate the pain.”

“They taught me a few in the hospital, but it’s good to have knowledge,” you say. “Show me.”

He takes your hand and bends it back towards you, holds it there, then flips it the other way and holds it. Does the same with your other hand. Some of the ice breaks away in your wrists. His hands are calloused from quill and blade, you think as you feel them. Your own long-earned callouses have been worn away by decades in your tomb.

He is cold to the touch, like mountain stone. Poor thing. A creature of snow and ice, stuck in this warm climate. Your spouse had known that Lucis would be unduly hot when they had sworn to stay at your side. You suspect Ravus and his sister did not get that choice, with the war.

You rub your wrists again, then pick up the line of flowers. You knot and thread, and Ravus watches.  “I suppose that’s a longer lived art than I had imagined,” he says.

“What is?”

“I’ve seen Luna make those.”

“Well, it is a Tenebrian art. We used the bay laurel to make these in Lucis. It’s a different weaving pattern because of the leaves.”

Ravus’s look becomes thoughtful. “Want to compare how much it has changed?”

“You can make one?”

“Lunafreya taught me. I am not so fast at it, but it should be a competent facsimile.”

“Then let us see it.”

He digs up his own gentian plant, removes the leaves and roots as you have, and begins weaving them together. The task so consumes the two of you that you do not speak until your tasks are complete.

The crown you have woven is uneven, the flowers spaced unequally, more green than blue. Ravus’s is half-squashed from where he’s had to hold the chain of flowers between chin and chest.

Nevertheless, they both stay together. That pleases you.  Ravus places his on your head, and it pleases you even more. Even if it is squashed, a crown is a crown, and you are king.

“You look as pleased as the courl who ate the chocobo,” Ravus says.

“Who wouldn’t be? Perhaps you need a demonstration to understand.” You place your flower crown on his head to demonstrate your point.

You don’t know why he seems so surprised about it. What did he think you’d do with the other crown? You were going to wear it, but now you have one, so you may as well –

He colors. You realize, for the first time, that he has freckles that contrast his flush. “Thank you?”

“I can’t have a crown and leave my shield without,” you say. You clap your hands together. “If you can get me a bucket of boiled water and a sheet, we can clean off the roots and prepare them! And then we can enjoy the rest of the garden.”

He does. You clean and dry the roots and leaves for preparation later, then ask Ravus to help you inspect the rest of the garden. There are roses, blooms bigger than you had ever seen before, and –

“Would you like to help me water the plants?” Lunafreya asks.

"I'd love to!" you chirp, and she hands you a watering can light enough for you to hold. The two of you get to work.

Chapter Text

The afternoon passes in a blur as you roll in the dirt and help. Your skin pinks under the sun, but you don’t care. The pain will be proof you’re alive. It’s proof you’re under the sun. You dig and clip blossoms and harvest until shadows drip heavy over you.

“The rosehips will be heavy, if the flowers are this big,” you say to Luna, deep in the rosebushes. It’s just the two of you. You don’t know what the boys are doing. You can’t hear them anymore.

“We trim the roses so that we can enjoy the blooms all summer. We can buy rosehip jam at the market instead of making it,” Luna says.

“That’s no fun.”

“These roses were made to be beautiful, bred by gardeners over generations to give big, colorful blooms,” Luna says.

You look at the rose she’s clipped for you. The head is enormous, the petals red with white and silver streaks, and it hangs heavy on a steam too flimsy to hold it up. It weeps sap where the leaves and thorns have been cut off.

All of a sudden, your mood falls.

“They’re only flowers,” you say, “but it seems cruel to rid them of their defenses and to trim them into certain shapes. It’s silly, isn’t it? We did the same thing in my day, and I thought nothing of it then.” You look at her with a forced smile.

But her grin is as false as yours. She knows what you’re thinking. “Better to bloom in a frenzy than to waste away, isn’t it?”

“Speak for yourself. I wasted to quite an age before I was snipped.” You twirl the rose thoughtfully. “I don’t remember much from my awakening, but you were near the end then, weren’t you? It was all through your body.”

“I was,” Luna says.  She lays down her shears. “Do you want to talk about this now?”

“It will come up sooner or later, won’t it? We are alike in duty. It will be easier to talk of better days once we’ve gotten the hard topics over with.”

“Are you sure? You may not like what I have to say.”

“I like little of prophecy, yet it hasn’t stopped me from being up to my ears in it.”

“True.” She nods. “Then, to start with, I came to Angelgard to seek what my line has always sought there.”

You understand. There is only one thing (one monster) the line of Nox Fleuret has sought from Angelgard. “Then you know.”

“I did not know what form you would take. Tales of you have become muddled over the centuries. I did not know if you were real, but perhaps something on your tomb could have been useful for my prophecy.”

“Of course.” You suck in a deep breath, let the air cool in your lungs, and breath out, casting. A fine frost covers the rose. It is proof of your finesse in magic. Anyone with your power could bring down a great blizzard; it’s being able to temper and shape it that proves you are a master.

(Proves who you are. A master of magic. A king. Accursed and blessed both.)

“What do you need from me? If my math is correct, my prophecy will not be fulfilled for some seven centuries hence, which means we have plenty of time.”

She seems a little disturbed at that thought, but nods nonetheless. “Noctis and I need to obtain the covenants in the next year.”

“Have either of you had reoccurring migraines?”

“No. Those are from Titan, are they not?”

“It’s Titan’s way of telling people to get a move on – that it’s the last possible moment to complete all the covenants necessary for the prophecy. If you haven’t hit the migraine stage yet, you probably have time to do things properly.”

“What do you mean by ‘proper’?” Luna asks.

“There are two ways of gaining the covenants. One,” you say, listing them off, “you go through the ritual offerings to each astral. They all differ significantly, and some are easier than others to do. I’d suggest doing Ramuh’s and Leviathan’s the ritual way, if nothing else. Ramuh’s is a simple ritual, and Leviathan’s is – easier than the second way.”

“What is the second way?”

“Trial by combat.”  

She nods gravely. “I thought as much. There’s not much information on the ritual offerings used in the covenants, so I thought we’d have to fight all of them.”

“Don’t do it for all of them. Titan and Ifrit, yes, and but Shiva and Bahamut won’t allow trial by combat, and Leviathan might flood Altissia if you challenge her. Titan and Ifrit’s offerings are difficult enough that you should go ahead with the combat to avoid them.” You frown. “We’ll need ipads or pen and paper. Some of the rituals require precision and I think you’d prefer to have a record."

“I would,” she says. “What about the onset of Night?”

“What about it?” You shrug. “The soonest it’s happening is in six hundred years. I’m not familiar with the newest additions to the prophecy, but I was told it would only happen after there were at least one hundred generations of Lucian royalty, and if it’s 757, there’s could only be a maximum of fifty to fifty-five kings.”

Luna nods grimly.

“I might be able to buy a few years of time once it’s near,” you explain, “but until then I can’t do much. I’m the locus of the Scourge, not the origin of it. It’s going to take decades to walk again; I doubt I’ll be able to do anything fancy with magic for centuries.”

“I see.”

She’s watching you as much as you’re watching her. She hasn’t said Accursed yet. You haven’t mentioned Angelgard yet. Which one of you will break first?

“Who else knows?” you ask.

“Ravus does.”

“Will you tell Noctis?”

“Not unless it’s needed for the prophecy.”

“What will become of me?”

This time, when she conceals her emotions, you cannot discern what is beneath her mask. “That depends on your actions. In the end, I believe you will have to rely on Noctis’s mercy.”

You chuckle, and it sticks in your throat. “Thrown to the whims of the throne once more. How apt.” Your brother had tried mercy until he’d found you too monstrous to keep around. You retain shards of memory within you, of your sons’ scared faces. It is easy enough to replace them with Noctis and Prompto, shrinking in horror before you. “I see little need to leave my garden until the Night is nearer. I gave myself to the Astrals when I was not yet a man. I believe I’ve earned a few years to myself.”

“If I may ask…. How much time would use to prepare for the Night?”

You look around. There is no one else listening in, still. Then: “When I was a boy, we had a Night that lasted near six months. We’re lucky it was in winter, for it would have destroyed the harvests. We were lucky we were behind Lucis’s wall; the one we had back then saved many of us, but was near destroyed in the process. Rebuilding it properly – I’ve been told my son finished it, after three generations laboring over it. We’d need farms that could exist in darkness or food stores enough for ten years. Dried meats of all kinds. Weapons and armor that the daemons could not pierce. The villagers would need to be trained. Wards and runes put up. A veritable list longer than my arm.”

“Yes?”

“I’d give myself at least a century, probably two. The sun, the beating heart of Eos, is where all life was born from. Without it, plants will die, and then the herds will die. I could probably scrape it together in twenty years if pressed, but I’d prefer to have plenty of time to cover all contingencies.”

Her mask twitches. Something about this has struck her badly. Your face asks the question, and she replies: “We have not been taught there was a Night in your time.”

“It was short, for a Night, and quickly overshadowed by miracles of the king of light. Perhaps it has been folded into his tales, or overshadowed by his later deeds.” By your deeds, your words. Even if they have forgotten Ardyn, your healing should be recalled.

She nods. “There are many in this time who would pay dearly to learn of the king of light."

The thought of it startles a laugh out of you. There is a burning coal wedged in your throat. You laugh, and you laugh, and your hands clench and crush the treacherous rose you still hold. The feeling of crushed petals and a single untouched thorn pressing into your palm is what snaps you out of it.

"Forgive me," you say, and sober up. Your throat burns. "No one could pay me enough to say a word about him. Not even you."

"Not even Noctis?"

"Nor the king of Lucis himself. I beg you, Oracle, do not ask such a thing of me else." You take the crushed rose and yank at the puff of remaining petals so that they fall in in a cascade of red, like blood dripping between your fingers. The small puncture left by the thorn Luna forgot to prune drips black upon them. "Once that bottle is unstoppered, nothing can put it back. Do not ask for things you will not want to know."

She nods grimly. You see questions in her eyes, but she knows better than to ask them. Instead, she leaves and comes back with antiseptic and bandages, cleans the mark on your hand and bandages it.

Twilight is falling. She calls over Gladio and Ignis, and the two of them help you back into the house while Luna follows behind with her cane. Your clothing is muddy, your hands filthy up to the wrists, but you satisfied with the afternoon.

Mostly satisfied.

Dinner is quiet. The others talk over you. Too tired to listen, you focus on your food, the fruits the size of your fist and the vegetable mash that Ignis had spiced liberally. You're falling asleep in your wheelchair when Ravus takes you to the bathroom to clean up, to scrub the dirt from your hands and sponge your body down.

He is terribly patient. He lets you move yourself, lets you take turns with the cloth and soap once he has prepared them. He gives you clothing that is soft and helps you back to your shared room once again.

You wait until he has shut the door to speak. You've set the pillows behind you to keep you sitting comfortably upright for this. Your hips don’t like the arrangement, but you want to have this talk as equals, face to face.

Ravus's eyebrows raise when he sees you waiting for him. "Do you have something to say?"

"Lunafreya says that you know." It should come out commanding. Instead, a rasp. You should be frightened by this, to confirm that Ravus knows the worst part of you, and you are, but you wish you could keep your composure as you did long ago, in the chamber of the crystal. When you had stood before it, mouth bloody, and defended yourself until your brother had taken powers that Bahamut said were yours alone and struck you down.

"I know many things," Ravus says. Is he mocking you? "You have to be more specific."

You huff. "You know what I am, do you not?"

His eyes widen, then narrow. "You are that who lives on Angelgard."

"Not who, but what," you correct.

"History is often full of holes," Ravus replies. "The kings change what is written. You saved my sister, first on the island, and then when the tonberry attacked. I would call you ally even if you were a shaved behemoth, after that."

Hair prickles on the back of your neck. There's no good reason for that phrase to wound you, but it does. "I have no need for your pity," you state, back stiffening.

"I didn't say that I pitied you. But I can hardly call you a beast when your first act upon freedom was to heal Luna, even as it sapped your strength. Nor how you threw yourself into the path of danger without hesitation or thought that it might reveal your true nature."

You deflate a little. It is mostly true. You had thought little of how your powers would reveal you, that time, when it was surely the first clue to what you are - if she had not realized already at that point.

"Most of what you say, I cannot deny," you say.

"And yet, there is something you will." Ravus's head cocks like a hawk sighting prey. "What? Will you say that rats and dogs are kinder to one another than men, and thus you are a beast as they are?"

"I am a cuckoo, not a dog," you say, "but that's not it." You don't know how he missed it, when he saw it with his own eyes. "I didn't fight that tonberry for Lunafreya. You are my Shield, are you not? It would be inconvenient to lose you so soon."

His pale face colors. It highlights his cheekbones, the sallow angles of his face. It is, you decide, a good look for him.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt. But I have not been a human for a long time,” you explain. “I can survive getting stabbed. You might not have. I thought that if I buy your life with my discomfort, it would be a worthy trade.”

“You are irreplaceable,” he snaps. “I am not!”

“I cannot die,” you snap back. “Wouldn’t you know that by now? I am a monster that can only be slain by a specific person at a specific time in a specific way. My death is pre-ordained. No matter how much I may bleed and starve and suffer, this life will never end - !”

And you dig your nails into your wrist until you draw blood. Someone grabs you by the wrist and you act on instinct and strike back.

And then freeze.

Ardyn came back from the garden remarkably subdued, for all his joy going into it. But, a half hour before, Luna had gone to speak to him, and Ravus suspected what she had talked to him about. He was silent during dinner, cleared his plate without complaint, and went with Ravus to clean the mud away.

He was silent then, too, but his golden eyes were on Ravus. He was thinking. And he would tell Ravus sooner or later.

Sooner was that night, in their room, sitting in a throne of pillows. His face stony, his fingers curled tight in the blankets.

"Do you have something to say?" Ravus asked.

And indeed, Ardyn had plenty to say: about being the Accursed, and that he was a beast. And Ravus told him truthfully that he was no beast but a man, and the caution Ardyn had worn like a shroud had puffed up around him like an angry cat, then deflated as Ravus explain why he did not think Ardyn a monster.

"Most of what you say, I cannot deny," Ardyn said at last.

"And yet, there is something you will." Just like Lunafreya, to give some ground and stake a claim on the rest in a single breath. Of course Ardyn could do it too. "What? Will you say that rats and dogs are kinder to one another than men, and thus you are a beast as they are?"

"I am a cuckoo, not a dog, but that's not it." His lips turned up in a smirk. "I didn't fight that tonberry for Lunafreya. You are my Shield, are you not? It would be inconvenient to lose you so soon."

My Shield, Ravus thought. It would be inconvenient to. Lose you. My Shield. Mine. My Ravus.

“I can take care of myself," he said automatically.

“I have no doubt," Ardyn replied, looking like he DID believe it, "but I have not been a human for a long time. I can survive getting stabbed. You might not have. I thought that if I buy your life with my discomfort, it would be a worthy trade.”

Ravus considered the many black marks on Ardyn's body that marked his death and the circlet of fingermarks around his neck, and what more he'd gain on his body shielding Ravus of all people - "You are irreplaceable. I am not!”

Ardyn's smirk turned into a snarl. “I cannot die. Wouldn’t you know that by now? I am a monster that can only be slain by a specific person at a specific time in a specific way. My death is pre-ordained. No matter how much I may bleed and starve and suffer, this life will never end - !”

He dug into his skin until it drew black blood, dragging them back. Ravus grabbed his hand and drew it away before he could do more than give himself shallow scratches, and Ardyn snarled and broke out of Ravus's grip, slapped him with his bloody hand. That alone would enough to nearly make his head spin, but then Ardyn froze. His eyes went to Ravus's face, widening as if in recognition.

"I did not mean to startle you," Ravus said.

"You - I - " Ardyn pulled his hand away. Stared at his own blood on it, then at the wet spot where Ardyn's blood must have marked Ravus's face now. He could feel it cooling on him.

“There is no need to apologize.” Ravus knelt in front of the bed, putting him about a foot below Ardyn. Lessening the gap between them. “You’ve lived a life of constant pain, haven’t you? If you’re attacked, you defend yourself.”

Ardyn’s lips pulled thin. His hand went to his cheek, nails digging into the scar that went from the end of his lips to his cheekbone in a lopsided smile. “Est – isn’t – I. Am the scapegoat. The θυσία, the φάρμακον. I contain the evils of the world. You know, and yet you’re calm.”

“Lunafreya commands the greatest powers of the world. I’m used to power,” Ravus said. “Did you know that you’re bleeding?”

“I did.” He pulled his hand away and looked at the black under his fingernails. “There was nothing in the prison on Angelgard except stone and water. Just me and myself. Only thing to entertain myself with was me.”

“So you’d hurt yourself to keep your mind occupied.”

“I can’t die. It doesn’t matter. It helps.” Ardyn spread his and out. “What it helps with, I do not know, but it does.”

“Well, even if you are the one who was taken to Angelgard,” Ravus said, talking around the word Accursed, “you saved Luna, so it matters to me. And you matter to me.”

“Good to know I’m useful for something,” Ardyn said, and managed a weak smile. He wiped his hands off on his shirt, then straightened himself again. “If that’s the case, I have a request.”

“Name it.”

“Swear fealty unto me,” Ardyn said. “Second only to your sister and the world.”

“I swear it.” The words came as easy as breathing; Ravus paused, considered, and added: “As a Shield is to his king.”

They struck true. Ardyn colored; his blush was a deep purple thanks to his black blood. It was a good look on him. Like one of Luna’s particolor roses.

“Am I your king, then?” Ardyn asked, and his voice was terribly soft, like petals. That shroud of grief was nearly gone, leaving Ardyn’s emotions bare.

(And if he had lived in the Citadel of Lucis, had lived with the royal family – had been one of them, perhaps, uplifted by his chosen status – would being acknowledged as one of them help banish those veils around Ardyn’s heart?)

“You are. Noctis may be our prince, but I offer you my loyalty.”

“Oh, Ravus.” Ardyn’s hands reached up to Ravus’s face once more. They wiped the drying blood off his cheek, then pulled him closer to Ardyn. Ravus felt Ardyn’s hot breath against his face. “Mi custos. Then as your king, your family is under my protection.”

“Didn’t I just say I would protect you?”

“Didn’t I just establish that I’m a monster that’s very hard to kill?” Ardyn’s hands slid down Ravus’s neck, his shoulder, and guided Ravus’s hand to his neck. “You could, in theory, do whatever you wanted to me.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Ardyn lifted his chin, pressed Ravus’s thumb to the small of his collarbone, over a black thumbprint. “I would welcome it.”

Ravus considered. When he had been in training just after his mother’s death, he’d thrown himself into it to avoid thinking of what had happened to her. The pain of sparring, of injuries, of new callouses blotted out the pain of grief. And it had been a controlled pain; he’d chosen to join the ranks of Regis’s army to become stronger, and it was up to Ravus whether he stayed in it or chose to become a cushy aristocrat instead.

Control. Ardyn didn’t have much he could control. Not even his body. To go from a revered Oracle to an invalid who did not even own his own clothing had to sting worse than the loss of Tenebris to Ravus. At least Ravus had his status as a prince and Regis’s support to buffer him. Ardyn didn’t even have the comfort of his own language to fall back on.

He doubted that Ardyn’s manipulation was malicious, but Ravus imagined the man was just as desperate for control as he had been after Tenebris fell. Better to invite pain on your own terms rather than to wait for it to come; better to solidify an allegiance with an offer no other could match, with an offer that would test the character of his partner.

Well. If it was a test, Ravus would not fail it.

“What I want is for you to get some rest,” Ravus said, and he lifted his hand, used it to tuck Ardyn’s hair behind his ear instead. “A doctor should be coming to check on you tomorrow, and it will be more annoying to deal with him if you’re sleep deprived. We can discuss how we’re going to save Luna and Noctis afterwards.”

Ardyn broke into a relieved smile. “That sounds good to me.”

“Is there anything else we need to speak on tonight?”

Ardyn’s eyes lidded as he considered it. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Prompto says he thinks I have – the starvation of the touch.” It was clearly a concept new to Ardyn, one that flustered him – his face grew more purple in a blush. “Please share this bed with me until I can take my fill again.”

“Very well,” Ravus said, and he turned off the lights and lay down. He hoped the darkness would hide his own flush.

Ardyn tucked himself against Ravus’s side, his face pressed into the small of Ravus’s shoulder. Ravus curled his arm around him.

It does not take long for Ravus to settle into sleep. You keep your face pressed to his neck, feeling blood pulse under his skin.

He is very much alive.

You wonder what your spouse would think of you trying to provoke Ravus into violence. They’d probably scold you for doing impulse self-destructive nonsense. You didn’t even want him to act on it, you just suddenly had to know how he’d react -

You wonder what you would have done if Ravus had taken your bait.

But, may Titan help you, the only reason you did it was because you were halfway sure he’d react exactly as he had – because you knew you could entrust your life in his hands.