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He was everywhere. In the warmth of the sun kissing bare skin, in the wind that howled eerily between the empty decaying buildings that made up Insomnia, in the touch of everything Ignis’s smooth digits ran across as he felt his way around the ruins of their home, in the pain and grief that had flooded his friend’s voices since the sun had returned, in his dull aching heart that beat stubbornly despite Ignis’s dark thought of just dropping dead and not having to deal with the pain anymore.
How was he supposed to bloody move on when Noctis was still everywhere? Hurting, and angry, Ignis had secluded himself in the Citadel, taking inventory of how things stood and making a mental list of everything that would need to be done to return any sort of normalcy to the Crown City now that the daemons were gone. Mostly avoiding Gladio and Prompto, not wanting to deal with their grief and pain along with his.
He’d stumbled into Noct’s old room by mistake, and good sense would have had him turning on his heel and walking away, but Ignis had stayed. The room still smelled like him, although a nagging part of his brain said that was psychological. After ten years there was no way any sort of scent of him remained. Before common sense could return Ignis had stalked over to Noct’s closet, pulling out the first thing his fingers came across.
A shirt – soft, probably polyester by the satiny feel of the fabric, and Ignis found himself weeping into it, knees giving out, falling onto the dusty carpet of Noct’s state room.
“Forgive me, your highness.” He wept, tears leaving tracks down his scarred and flushed face, the tears hot and burning. Noct had deserved better – and Ignis had failed him.
He should have told him when he had the chance – should have just damned the prophecy and let Noctis make his own choice for once. His heart twisted in his chest as a fresh wave of grief over-swept him then. He should have also told Noctis his feelings for him too, even if they wouldn’t have gone reciprocated.
This was just an excuse. Trembling hands reached up to wipe away at the tears angrily, as shaky legs pulled him up into a standing position. “Get it together Ignis.” He mutters to himself, walking over to the bed to sit down and gather his bearings.
There was no sense in living in the past – he had to move on, had to live for Noctis and get Insomnia back together for his sake. He owned him that much. And dwelling on the what ifs wouldn’t bring Noct back. “I’ll make this right, somehow Noct. If you’re watching – know I do this for you, everything was always for you.” He delves into silence then, resting his head against the surprisingly soft still pillow on the bed.
He closes his good eye, curling up a bit, and thinks of better times.
His wake into consciousness is sudden, jarring, and cold wet water is cascading confusingly down upon him, and its with a start that Ignis can see. Heart beating fast in his chest, Ignis’s mind reels to try and assess what was going on. Ardyn stood before him, smiling down at him like a mouse in a trap, and his blood runs cold.
One of these nightmares again. His lids narrow around his eyes, gaze glancing down at the unconscious form of Noctis, heart twisting at the sight of seeing his king again, even if this was all a dream. This feels real, shockingly so, and Ignis begins to wonder.
There’s a sharp pain as an MT pushes down onto Ignis’s scalp, gritting his cheek roughly against the wet pavement. He hisses, the pain sharpening his mind, and focusing his thoughts. This had to be real. Somehow he’d traveled back ten years and was back in Altissia, back at today of all days.
But he was just in Noct’s room in the Citadel – blinded and Noctless – and how?! Ignis stares up into Ardyn’s harsh gaze, having missed whatever silver-laced diction that had spewed from his lips.
“I’m sorry what?” Ignis asks, mind still reeling, his question more to himself and towards the situation than to the daemonic chancellor himself, eyes locking onto the Ring of the Lucii tantalizingly close on the ground before him, if only he could reach it. “Tsk, Tsk, I guess I may have been too rough with that stomp of mine.” Ardyn responded before repeating himself.
“I’m giving you an ultimatum. Join me, instead of perishing in a cold watery grave.” Ardyn smiled then, extending a hand towards Ignis before turning away to look down at Noct, with what Ignis could only assume was a look of utter contempt.
He wiggles an arm free, reaching out and snagging the ring before Ardyn can turn around and look, the MTs surprisingly complacent in their actions, perhaps mistaking Ignis’s move as one of discomfort than escape, and his hand is back to the curvature of his spine before Ardyn can turn around. “What do you say, hmmm?” Ardyn crooned.
Images swim in Ignis’s vision once more. He sees the future he just came from, seeing Noctis sacrifice himself, seeing him grotesquely impaled on his father’s own sword, a sight he’d never seen before, never wanted see, and sees so many other things that his mind fails to keep track of them all. Had the ring made him live ten years of darkness only to reel him back to here of all days, just to relive it all over again?
But then – what if he played along? What if this was he chance to make things right? What if somehow Noctis could survive? No, he would survive, even if Ignis had to die for it.
“I’m listening, Ardyn.” Ignis responds, voice impossibly level. Ardyn’s response is a predatory smile that has Ignis almost regretting this decision. What has he just agreed to?
“Wonderful, unexpected, but wonderful nonetheless.” And he reaches down then, placing a hand upon Ignis’s shoulder. “Let us go then.” And then in a puff of purple wispy smoke, Ardyn has whisked him away from Noctis.
“Don’t worry, you’ll see each other soon enough.” He hears Ardyn chuckle darkly into his ear. And then everything goes dark once more.