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In the square of the citadel, the great statue of King Noctis fell.
The light that the last of line Lucis Caelum had shed on the land had not been wasted, for in it people were again allowed to flourish, free for the first time in aeons to forge lives outside of the threat of Starscourge. The world without an Oracle, without a King of Light, was not so different, however… They left a vulnerable seat at the core of Insomnia. No great walls, an infrastructure left weakened, myriad leaks in what could have been an impenetrable monument to the most technologically advanced society on Eos…they gave way to secret paths forged by whose who would seek power. For how countless many had perished in the Decade of Darkness, how much the cold and dark had robbed lands of their riches and laid the population gaunt, that much more did the powerful few desire more power.
It was said among the New Court that no true Lucian would ever question the ability of King Ignis Scientia to lead. The one who, even when robbed of his sight, guided the last king to his stars-sworn destiny was a clear pick among those with any authority to raise him to the throne. He himself would doubt it at first, only accepting when he realized fully that his path deviated from the former’s on the day of his Ascension. He would temper this new world in his own way.
He led knowledgeably.
He spearheaded the reclaiming of Insomnian technologies nearly lost in the war with Niflheim. He signed initiatives that would aim to restore flora and fauna to the outer realms of Lucis. He issued edicts that would integrate refugees within the crown city. He expanded documentation of the tombs of ancient Lucian kings, as well as historical archival of what had transpired in the waning days of the Empire. That he saw to personally. Much his reign did accomplish in a few short years. He and those close to him worked tirelessly.
Lonely the throne and heavy the crown, he led a people he could not see, guided only by light, by shadow, by the vestiges of Noct within his broken heart. It had taken him too long to trust him fully. Noct had forgiven him. Yet still, his self-doubt compounded, even as his people lauded his reign.
He never let the others see it. Especially not Prompto.
The interlopers attacked from shadows beyond even his perception. So thorough and complete was their attack that it must have come from inside. He could not place who; not that it mattered now.
Crouched in the thin corridor of a secret passage, Ignis continued to receive news from his radio. Voices scattered among gunfire, the sound of steel clashing. “He’s down — High Commander Amicitia — he’s down —”
“What of High Commander Highwind?”
“No word—”
The words cut in and out sharply, amid buzzing static and settling chaos. Ignis slouched against the cold wall of stone, in his arms Prompto Argentum. Between the two of them, their wounds, cut mutually through their sides, weren’t very apparently grievous — certainly not more than they’d suffered in the past at the hands of mere beasts — yet their infection was insidious and pervasive, and their fates soon beset them.
“Has anyone seen Iris?”
“Iris has fled with Talcott.”
“Dammit!”
“Biggs?? Come in!”
“There’s the Commander! Commander Highwind, she’s—”
“He’s down!”
“Behind you! Aranea, no!”
He should have been on his guard.
Ignis thought himself disconnected. He could not see how the people still suffered. Even under the best of leadership, dissent could still foment. Such had happened generations prior, right here, among a less kind people, all in arms about what to do regarding the ever encroaching might of the Niflheim Empire. Their inner conflict would serve as a unifying factor for the coming ages, the people then willing to do anything for the sake of peace, though all of it would culminate in a one-sided war; and it seemed once again now that Lucis would fall. This time, it would be Ignis’s name associated.
He had made his peace.
Voices grew more distant, quiet; radios cut out one by one as the battle waned. Ignis flipped the switch on his radio, leaving him in cold silence save for his and Prompto’s belabored breathing. He shuddered; winter this year had left the kingdom especially cold. Prompto drew himself deeper into Ignis’s arms. A paleness had already come to his skin, but together, they were still warm enough.
“Who do you think it was?” asked Ignis. “Bartz?”
“No way,” Prompto replied. His voice had taken on a sleepy timbre. “Gladio hired him specifically ‘cause he’s too dumb to betray anyone.”
“Then Dagger?”
“Doubt it. Heard she took a fall. Enemy’s gunfire.”
“Tina?”
“Eh… I trusted her.”
“She did have eyes like yours.”
The slightest chuckle. “How would you know?”
“Gladio told me.”
They fell into silence for a moment. Ignis felt a deep and somewhat distant boom coming from his left.
“Ah, there goes the vault.”
“What do they even want?” Prompto looked at Ignis as if he could answer. “What more could they even ask for?”
“The human heart…has unknowable depths.” Far from his ability to know, Ignis felt. It had taken longer than the Decade of Darkness for him to even recognize his own individual personhood, his truest ideals and wants, that which he was discovering even far past his coronation. More difficult still was to understand the populace from the perspective of not just an advisor, but a leader. It hadn't come naturally for him to see the hearts of the people at large; only Noctis's.
Ignis felt the heartbeat of his partner calming. Becoming lost in its soft pulsing, he remembered what these long years had taught him. He had often wondered if only deep loneliness had driven him to Prompto. Today, only today, did he know his answer.
“Well… We tried, right?” Prompto patted Ignis’s cheek a couple times before reclining his head onto his chest.
Ignis coughed a few times strongly. Prompto’s head jolted back upward. An inky black bile spilled from the king’s lips. Prompto wiped them gently, weakly, before laying a ginger kiss upon them. He winced out of the kiss; the wound in his side had pierced even his thick Kingsglaive uniform, deep black and crimson staining the highlights. Both were weighed down by still-running blood.
“Iris…and Talcott are probably halfway to Cleigne by now,” Prompto said. “Gladio saw to that.”
“They’ll always have a place…among the hunters,” Ignis said, adjusting himself against the wall.
“It had to have been Red, right?”
Ignis had trusted Gladio, Prompto, Cor, and Aranea to help discern who should join the ranks of the royal as advisors, defenders, and more. He valued people who saw things differently than he, as worldly a perspective that he possessed; among those chosen, some may have even despised him. But who? They hid it well. Ignis was not so disconnected as to simply overlook when he was not liked.
In the way of past kings, perhaps he was looked at as weak in the long game. A new king, without heirs — due to his injuries, unable to create heirs — in a matter of decades, he would grow old and irrelevant, pass, and leave the new world to yet someone else.
Perhaps that was not it.
In more recent years, he had made little effort to downplay his trysts with Prompto. The general buzz seemed to be that this conduct was inappropriate for a king — especially one succeeding the King of Light, “virginal sacrifice” that he was.
Thinking of this burned Ignis’s heart.
Noctis was little more than a symbol to most of the city’s refugees. Even to people who had known him, seen the man himself in their very own streets just decades ago. He had spoken of Noct as a personal friend, as a savior. That man had given everything. And he had helped make Noct; he had loved Noct —
Prompto noticed Ignis’s tears before he did.
Wiping them away, Prompto cooed, “I’m still with you, buddy.” He gently swiped a loose strand of Ignis’s hair behind his ear and kissed the forthcoming tear from his face.
Ignis drew his good arm around Prompto, coughing lightly. “How long until you think they’ll find us?”
Prompto settled back into Ignis’s chest. “Honestly, I’m just…surprised they haven’t yet.”
When they find us…
Prompto was his only solace in this world. Not long after Noctis had gone into the crystal had he discovered just how much Prompto valued the group’s friendship. With them, he had come so far. Without his king, however, Gladiolus would continue to withdraw further into himself year by year, the once-colorful warrior ultimately living only to protect Iris, and — once she learned how to protect herself — living only to follow orders, because at the very least, it’s what Noctis would have wanted.
He protected King Ignis because it was his duty. One could not order someone to love another.
And so, at once, the days were warm and full of light, hope, relative prosperity; they were bleak, unemotional, motionless. The meteoric progress of the first years gave way to a stagnant plateau of dissatisfaction, personal and public. Perhaps Ignis cut a few deals short. Perhaps he paid some territories more mind than others. Maybe he even let royal promises fall by the wayside. Maybe he kept Prompto off duty and closer to him. Maybe he let Prompto fill his sleepless nights.
He tried his best.
He felt Prompto begin to tremble. He moved his hand up and down Prompto’s back with the faintest of strength.
“I’m scared.”
Ignis tilted his head toward Prompto. Kissed his golden hair, leaving a streak of black. “Don’t be. Noct will be there.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“I believe it.”
“What’s…it going to feel like?”
“Hmm… If it’s northern nightshade…then it should just feel like going to sleep. With a bad tummyache.” Ignis coughed. Prompto joined him.
Another moment. Still, awful silence. Disconnected from the chaos. Prompto's trembling subsided. It was over.
Prompto gazed distantly down the hall. “I-it went dark…I can’t see anything,” He coughed. No response. “Ignis?”
“I’m here.”
“You don’t think…it was…Gladio, do you…?”
“He hasn’t the capacity.”
“That’s what I thought too, but…”
“You think he resented me?”
“We were all confused…for a long time. It got…harder to read him…”
“You were both the first to suggest I take the crown.” A heavy breath. “What if it was you?”
Prompto would have shot a sharp look at Ignis if he could. He could feel the tension beaming off the smaller one at his suggestion. Ignis mustered a small chuckle at the expense of some bile. He cleared his throat.
“You haven’t a cruel bone in your body.”
Prompto wrapped his arms further around Ignis, sliding a little downward. He was finding it difficult to keep hold anymore. Ignis allowed him to turn and recline backwards instead, good arm supporting him. Prompto could no longer feel the pain.
“An insurrection. Who knew.” Ignis’s voice was dry.
Prompto didn’t respond.
“Prompto.”
“Still here, bud.” Prompto patted Ignis’s arm lightly. The bile had begun leaking from the corners of his mouth. “Ain’t so bad once you go a little numb, huh?”
Ignis laughed. Laughing, gurgling, crying.
A long pause.
“Who’s next?” Prompto asked.
“Hell if I know. Whoever’s in charge of this better…bloody well have some ideas.”
Silence.
“Prompto.”
Still nothing. Ignis let loose a small gasp.
“Iggy…”
“Prompto.”
“Iggy, I-I’m tired… I’m…gonna take a nap, okay?”
Ignis sniffed. “Yeah. Me too.”
“C-can I…lay in your lap, Your Majesty?”
“Certainly.”
Prompto allowed his body to slide until he lay mostly on the floor, his head in Ignis’s lap. After Prompto adjusted himself, Ignis laid a hand on his chest while Prompto took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and closed his eyes.
There Prompto coughed, then rested for a moment.
“Prompto…”
“Iggy.”
“Sweet dreams, Prompto.”
“G’night, Iggy.”
❦
Light filled the corridor, the door bursting open and the space flooding with insurgents in advance of their leader. A large woman, face encased in arcane armor, marched to the front of them, treading up the path of blood and poison, lifting her helmet to take in its tableau: Prompto Argentum of the Crownsguard, lying in the king’s arms, the latter frozen, raiments drenched in blood, arched over him to touch his face one last time.
“Dammit, I didn’t say to kill them,” she turned and spat. “What are we supposed to use as leverage? Who’s responsible?”
“I believe it was an accident,” said one of the others. “They were aiming for the Immortal.”
“And where’s he?”
“Unknown.”
“Useless, every last one of you. Cleaning up this mess is gonna take longer than I’ve got.”
As if summoned, the last of the Crownsguard appeared at the opposite end of the corridor. The woman and her insurgent troupe faced him wordlessly.
“Cor.”
“Cefca.”
Katana drawn, he made his stand.
❦
At the end of the corridor of light sat a grand and familiar throne. At its seat, Noctis, dressed as sharply as his father; on his lap, Lady Lunafreya, radiant as she had always been; to their right, Gladiolus, dressed far better than he ever had been in life; and to their left, Aranea, dragoon even in spirit. Umbra and Pryna rested at the royals’ feet, stirring as they noticed their new company.
The pair stepped out of the light, dressed their Sunday best. Prompto had begun crying before he even reached the stairs, rushing up even ahead of Ignis to reach them at the top. He threw his arms around Noctis and Luna, both with gentle tears already streaming. He stepped back to admire Luna; she was exactly how he’s always pictured her. Powerful, heavenly, warm. No, she was even better . Her hands on his shoulders, she took a good look at him as well, one of pride and of love unconditional. He stepped back to frame the couple in his fingers, forming a square, a picturesque pair before him. Pryna leapt up onto Prompto, nearly knocking him over in the middle of it. It seemed that, even after all this time, she still remembered him…and, of course, he recognized her. He wrapped his arms around the sweet dog, allowing her to lick his face as much as she wanted.
To break things up, Gladiolus walked over and gave Prompto’s arm a firm pat. Prompto glanced at him softly, Gladiolus returning an almost apologetic look. Prompto smiled, then turned to Aranea, who gave a very Aranea-esque wave and crossed her arms. Prompto laughed; he could feel within his heart a true homecoming. But…
Ignis made his way up the stairs slowly, only just now approaching them all at the top. He very formally shook the Lady Lunafreya’s hands, taking them both into his own as she acknowledged him. He gave the whole group a once-over, taking in the sight of all his friends together, then stopped in front of Noctis. Prompto only then noticed that Ignis had his eyes back; and Ignis’s bright eyes pierced Noctis with their usual stoicism for just a moment before the tears began to slide down his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost it all. I’m sorry.”
He pulled Noctis close to him and cried like he never had before, chest heaving even as he sputtered, trying futilely to control himself. Noctis kept him close.
“It’s okay. It’s over now.”
The group surrounded the former kings, hugging each other in unity.
From beyond the throne room, all the ancient kings of the past gazed down, knowing that their work was final.