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Summary
He woke with the gasping breath of a drowning man. Hands flung out, pulling himself to the surface, only to tangle in sheets as he jolts upright in the bed. His breathing is coming too fast and his brain can’t process what he is seeing. There’s a searing pain in the centre of his chest, it hurts to breathe. With shaking hands he touches, expecting to feel the smooth blade of his father’s sword but it’s not there. Racking up the black t-shirt he’s wearing only shows a bared, unmarked chest.
Noctis is in his bedroom. Not his personal apartment in the city, but his room in the Citadel. The last time he had been there had been the day before he and the other had left to Altissia. Is this what the afterlife looks like? Not the glowing realm eternal with the kings of old, and Luna but in broken fragments of his lifelong passed?