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Even years after the fact, Prompto sometimes wondered just where it had all gone so horribly, horribly, horribly wrong.
Did it begin in Gralea? Possibly, given all they went through there. Altissia, maybe? That was where it had become evident that everything they had known was doomed to fall apart.
The altar. Noctis, unconscious, but alive. No sign of Ignis except his bent and shattered glasses on the wet stone. Ravus Nox Fleuret, of all people, there with instructions on what to do once Noct woke up.
Then, Gralea. The painful slog through Zegnautus Keep—painful in large part due to the palpable tension between Noct and Ravus. Noct was solely focused on finding Ignis; everything else came after. Prompto was inclined to agree, even if he couldn’t even begin to understand the lifetime bond between the prince and his chamberlain.
He couldn’t help but think that maybe there were downsides to such a bond. Especially after what happened once they finally reached the Crystal.
“Ignis? Ignis!”
Numb. That’s how Prompto remembered feeling, as he watched Noct pull Ignis’ ashen, unmoving body into his shaking arms. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.
“Iggy… Iggy… what have you done?” Noct’s voice broke. “What have you done?!” He slumped over Ignis’ lifeless form, rocking back and forth like a bereft child. His grief flowed unabated from his eyes, splashing onto Ignis’ motionless chest.
Prompto thought he might have felt tears on his own face. A pain in the centre of his chest, like his heart didn’t want to deal with this and was trying to beat down the walls and escape.
A sharp intake of breath to his right startled him—the only sound other than Noct’s broken, echoing cries. Gladio had a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and glistening, shaking his head in a mirror of the disbelief washing over Prompto.
It was a surprisingly short time before Noct stopped sobbing wretchedly into Ignis’ chest. Almost abruptly, he stopped, though his whole body still shook. He lay Ignis down and took his hand (the hand with the ring) in both of his own. Prompto would have been inclined to rip the ring away and throw it into the nearest volcano for all the hell it had wrought. Noct slipped it off quietly, holding it in his palm as he continued to clutch Ignis’ hand, whispering into his knuckles as if praying. After a chaste brush of lips against fingers, Noct gently set Ignis’ hand down on his stomach. He stood and put on the ring as if it were any other hunk of polished metal from a department store.
Then he turned towards the opening through which the Crystal gleamed on its own little island platform, a world away from their human troubles. He marched forwards holding out his newly coronated hand.
“Hey!” he yelled, voice coarse. “You want me? Fix this, and then we’ll talk.”
The Crystal didn’t respond, didn’t do anything but float there in all its ethereal eminence. Prompto and Gladio watched mutely as Noct continued shouting at the glorified rock.
“Bring him back! He doesn’t deserve to d—to die because of me!” Noct’s shoulders were heaving again, every breath a ragged battle. “I can’t—I… I won’t…” He dropped to his knees. “Just bring him back. Bring him back!”
Prompto stepped forwards, movements stilted and robotic. His legs didn’t even feel real, but he resisted the urge to look down and check. He kept his eyes on Noct’s crumpled form as he walked past Ignis’ body. He knelt down behind Noct, putting both hands on his best friend’s quaking shoulders.
“He’s gone, Noct,” he said quietly (as loudly as he could bear to). He felt disconnected from his own words. Like something inside him, something that knew what to do better than he did, had taken over. Despite how weird and awful it felt, he was a little grateful. “Not even the Crystal can reverse death.”
Noct went still under Prompto’s hands. “Ardyn,” he growled. “He did this. I’ll make him pay.” He pulled away, staggering to his feet. “Have it your way, then.” These last words were said so quietly, Prompto barely heard them. He knew they weren’t directed at him. There was only one thing they could be directed at. But… the pure vitriol, the hatred in Noct’s voice… it frightened him.
“Noct…”
Noct turned to him, face blotchy, jaw set and eyebrows fixed. “Make sure he…” he trailed off, unable to finish despite his newfound conviction.
Prompto swallowed, then nodded. Noct’s eyes flickered towards Ignis once more, steely mask threatening to slip. He didn’t let it. He turned and warped across to the Crystal, and silently disappeared into its light.
When next they saw him, it was to escort him to his own cruel death.
As the years passed, Prompto went from asking himself ‘why’ every few hours, to every day, then every week, every month. Eventually it was only on his worst days when he sequestered himself in his apartment and tortured himself with a play-by-play of everything he could have done to save them.
He missed them. Gladio did, too.
The big guy was doing well for himself, though. Better than Prompto. Marshal of the Crownsguard under General Cor. Married. Kid on the way.
Prompto hadn’t had as much success holding down a partner, but he was looking forward to being Uncle Prom. He’d downgraded his own position in the Crownsguard once the city had started thriving again. He helped out when needed, and filled in for the occasional absentee on patrol, but most of his time was spent on his photography. He had a steady position providing headliner shots for whatever big story was being run in that week’s edition of Insomnia Times, and ran his own blog on the side.
One day, some five years after the Dawn, he and Gladio grabbed lunch at a newly-opened sushi bar in the city centre. That was when it happened.
They were just leaving, stuffed to the gills with maki rolls and sashimi, when a peal of delighted laughter unfolded somewhere to Prompto’s left.
He stopped. Something about that laugh struck deep in a way he couldn’t explain. He cast his eyes over the bustling heads crowding the street, but nothing caught his eye. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for a Saturday afternoon in the busiest part of Insomnia.
Gladio bumped into him from behind, causing him to stumble forwards a couple steps. “Hey, what’s the hold up?”
Prompto didn’t have time to reply—nor react—as two children appeared out of nowhere, damn near bowling him over as they sped past. All Prompto managed to see was a flurry of black and a flash of light brown. And a childlike voice in a distinctive accent as they melded back into the crowd: “Please slow down! You’ll get lost!”
Stricken, Prompto turned to Gladio. “Tell me I’m not hallucinating.”
“Unless there was something in our food.” Gladio said, expression blank and blanched. “Otherwise… no.”
They blinked at each other. Then, as one, they took off through the crowd. Listening for that voice, that laughter. Looking for those heads of hair.
After about half an hour of searching, earning them plenty of bemused, startled, and downright disgruntled looks from the people they pushed past, they gave up. They slowed to a stop in an alley. Prompto slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, exhausted in a way he hadn’t been in years. Gladio opted to punch the wall instead.
“Dammit!”
Prompto thought Gladio had mellowed out a little in the last decade and a half. Seeing the familiar outburst was strangely jarring. Stressful situations brought out the worst in people, Prompto supposed. Ah, who was he kidding? Their entire lives had been nothing but stress.
“Guess there was something in the food after all,” Prompto said miserably.
“There’s no way we both imagined the same thing,” Gladio growled, fist still fixed to the wall, head bowed; glowering at a cigarette butt by his foot. “It has to mean something!”
“Well, maybe it’s… a sign,” Prompto suggested. “A sign that, wherever Noct and Iggy are… at least they’re together. Like always, right?” He sighed, and mumbled an addendum: “Maybe they’re finally happy.”
Gladio harrumphed, his posture relaxing. He leaned against the wall next to Prompto and tilted his head towards the sky. The blue, blue sky—that beautiful, clear blue that was only possible thanks to Noct’s final gift of daylight. Thanks to his sacrifice—and Prompto liked to believe that Noct had found the strength to give himself for the world because Ignis had already given himself for Noct. Neither’s sacrifice was in vain.
“Never could imagine one without the other,” Gladio said.
Prompto smiled, warmth spreading through his chest. The feeling of something unclenching. A knot which had been pulled tight for so long that he’d forgotten about it was finally loosening.
It would be a while still, but, finally, he felt no guilt at the prospect of… letting go. Letting the past be the past. Moving forwards.
He turned his face towards the heavens. “Thanks, guys,” he whispered to the sky. A smile tugged at his lips. “For everything.”