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Having got used to warmer climates, he found late summer in the Crown City to be pleasantly cool. There was no damp heat sticking to his skin as it would in Altissia, nor dry and dusty wind as there was in Lestallum. Of all places he had ever been to, Insomnia still had his favorite kind of weather. It also was home for some of his favorite monuments, his favorite restaurants and some of his favorite memories. And some of the most… painful ones, too. That's why, even though everything in that city screamed 'home', he could not bring himself to stay.
What for? He knew nothing of politics or finances and no amount of personal growth had made him exceptionally good at organizing people or structuring an agenda. Gladio and Ignis were better suited for such things.
So, after a while, he left.
At first, he was worried that, having come together again after so much time on their own, his departure would feel like a betrayal. But they understood. After all, he thought, they were no longer a team. Not without Noct or without the promise that he would come back someday to guide them.
This time, he was gone for good.
'This time' meaning five years ago, although walking through the Insomnian streets made it feel like it all had happened just yesterday.
Five years.
That was about the time he spent with Noctis — five years. So little time, considering he himself was a man of thirty-five. So little it was unfair. So little it almost felt ridiculous compared to how deeply he had marked his life.
He had saved their world from ruin and brought daylight back to thousands, but did he know, really, how loved he was? How precious to them, his friends, who had hold him so dear even through ten long years of darkness? Mere words could not describe such feeling. Ten years of endless night and constant daemon menace had scarred all survivors in one way or another, but his was a healing presence. When Noctis showed up, he had felt, for the first time in years, that everything was going to be fine.
And everything went fine. Everything was going fine. Just… without him.
Though he had never yet been to the festivities, Gladio had told him that the day of the Dawn was a great holiday. Of course it was, not only in Insomnia but also everywhere else, though it was in there where the real thing took place. Many people even visited the Crown City during those days as a new form of pilgrimage, while others did it just because the festival itself was apparently 'breathtaking', according to those who had been there.
And while it was mainly a day of joy for everyone, there was also more solemn parts of the celebration, the most moving of them all being a minute of silence in honor of their late King. The Citadel's courtyard, Gladio had told him, would overflow with people who would all fall silent at once. And then there was cheering and applause and weeping and floral offerings.
The way he put it, it sounded beautiful, but every time he had asked him to come, Prompto had declined the invitation.
He still felt bad for it. It was Noctis' holiday after all, the day they all celebrated his memory. But it was also his death they were celebrating, and he just couldn't bring himself to see that. At least, not yet.
When he had told Ignis about it, he was understanding and advised him to take all the time he would need to heal first. Ignis knew a lot about invisible wounds.
And Noct, he said, wouldn't have been mad at him either.
He was probably right.
Five years ago, right there where he was standing, he had seen a sunrise like no other, beautiful beyond words.
Well, it was actually little blurry, objectively speaking. His eyes had got used to the darkness, so they were not only teary but also stinging like hell. The long-awaited light wiped every daemon in its path and once again it bathed in warm radiance the star they call a home. Then, a single thought came to their minds: Noctis. He and Gladio were the first to run towards the Citadel. He still remembers that feeling of uncertainty, the unbearable pressure in his chest and how he held onto the vain hope that perhaps what they would find in the throne room would not be what they expected — what he knew they would find. Noctis had already done everything for them and had given everything to them, but still he found himself asking for one, just one more miracle.
Sunlight came through the great windows and made the golden accents throughout the room gleam more golden than ever. It was warm and majestic at the same time. It was quiet, too. Only the sound of Gladio's steps, heavy, and his own, lighter, echoed through the air. Halfway through the staircase, Prompto stopped in his tracks, and gasping, he covered his mouth. Countless tears were brought to his eyes. Noctis was there, seated on the throne, head leaning to the side. There was no blood nor signs of struggle. Except for a slight frown, his expression was serene, as if he was nothing but peacefully asleep. Gladio knelt by his right, called his name and rose both hands to touch his face. His head tilted a bit, but that was it.
Gladio had changed during those ten years. He had always been a reliable man with an iron will, but time had also made him a sensitive man, one who was as capable of giving orders and saying stern words as he was of comforting hearts and keeping hope alive in time of need. But never, in all the years they had known each other, had Prompto seen him shed tears like that.
He took the last steps to the throne fearing that his trembling legs would make him fall any second. He did not dare to take a closer look at Noctis. Instead, he dropped to the floor beside him, curling up with his back against the armrest and his hand clinging feebly to Noctis' leg. He didn't stop crying until his eyes were dry, and even when he had no more tears left, he felt inside nothing but emptiness.
Ignis was the last to arrive. His footsteps were slow, quiet, steady. He didn't say a word as he climbed the stairs, nor when he put a hand on Gladio's shoulder, nor when his legs finally gave up and he fell to his knees, crying on the lap of his King.
The funeral was austere.
It is probably what Noctis would have wanted, though the truth is that they lacked the time or means to hold a proper burial, one truly fit for a king. After all, they still lived in a ruined world. An intimate and too silent ceremony was celebrated instead. Few words were said. At that time, there almost none of them to be said. It felt too bittersweet. Too unfair, also. Gods, he thought, certainly are creatures of capricious nature. First, they had let their world be consumed by darkness, and then they did this. So, Prompto didn't care for the Gods anymore. As far as he was concerned, they were all dead to him.
He found Gladio waiting for him at the bottom of the entrance staircase and jogged towards him, waving. The Shield welcomed him patting his back hard enough to make him bend. On the way up, they talked briefly about how life in the city was progressing, the new businesses that were being opened almost daily as Insomnia regained its liveliness and Prompto's blooming career as a photographer. Looking at Gladio, he noted his hair was longer than the last time. Two years ago he had decided to get a short haircut, but then realized that he liked it better when it was longer, so now he was probably working on growing it back.
Ignis identified their footsteps as soon as they walked into his office. Gladio was less given to displays of affection, but it worked very differently with Ignis these days. Prompto greeted him with a warm embrace, and Ignis gladly hugged him back. Then he asked him about his journey, whether he had visited Cindy, and how he had found his hotel.
After the Dawn, Ignis had been hesitant at first about whether it was right to put Insomnia on their shoulders. There was no such thing as a plan of action in case the kingdom lacked a king or queen, and heir or any other member of the royal family to take their place. Actually, Lucis itself had began to dismember since the times Imperial occupation, but after those ten years and now that the Lucis Caelum bloodline had gone extinct, there was no 'kingdom' to speak of anymore — only Insomnia was left. The people had wanted their rightful king back for so long, but now that restoring the Lucian monarchy was definitely not among the possibilities, maybe it was time to take a different approach on how to rule over the Crown City.
Still, he shouldn't have been so surprised when the people expressed their wish to have the captain of the Crownsguard and their late king's advisor to form a new government.
And they seemed to be doing a good job.
Despite having missed the celebrations of the Dawn every year or having left Insomnia, Prompto was far from not wanting to pay Noct a small tribute, at least from time to time. It took him some months, but he finally gathered the strength to pay him a visit.
The throne room had been turned into some sort of mausoleum. Definitely not in line with the usual Lucian royal tombs, although they had made him a sarcophagus according to the tradition. Besides the sunlight coming through the windows, there were also rows of candles arranged around the room. Next to Noctis' tomb, there was King Regis'. It surely held no remains in it, but still he had been given a proper, though belated, burial and a final rest place alongside his beloved son. Prompto had remembered to bring flowers for him, too.
As for Noct, he had brought a bouquet and a video game, which was… a bit weird for an offering, maybe, but just flowers didn't seem enough for a gift, especially not after how long he took him to visit. And Noctis, he thought, would have liked it. Not only because it actually was fairly good — he hadn't had much time to play his own copy, but the first hours of gameplay had been quite enjoyable so far —, but also because he would have been happy to know that the industry was slowly coming back to life.
He still spent a while in there, and when he came out his friends were waiting for him outside the throne room. They found him with swollen eyes and his lower lip slightly trembling.
"He'd love it", he mumbled. "Doesn't smell gross, it's not a hundred feet underground, and there's definitely no lava in sight", he chuckled. Or so he tried. He barely managed to keep his voice steady.
As time healed his wounds, the yearly visit became more of a yearly tradition. Every year, Prompto would travel to the Crown City, he would visit Noctis' tomb and then the three of them would spend the rest of the evening together.
Some years ago, Gladio told him that Ignis didn't cook as much as he used to. He still cooked for himself, obviously, but seemed to have lost interest in his never-ending pursuit of new flavors and fancy recipes. Of course, it was a bit more difficult for him than it was before losing his sight despite having pretty much regained his usual skill, but Prompto had a feeling that it actually had little to do with his blindness. After all, not even during those ten years he had dropped his long-time hobby, as he spent most of his time either hunting, training or figuring out how to make the most out of the increasingly scarce ingredients they had access to. Perhaps he was afflicted by the same feeling that had led Prompto to leave Insomnia: having realized how much he missed cooking for someone else — for Noct —, his favorite pastime had started slowly to feel like dropping salt on an open wound.
At some point during the past years, though, he seemed to have regained interest in it, and every year for Prompto's visit he would make something special for them. 'For the old times', as he had said. Just then had Prompto realized that thinking about the 'old times' no longer felt as painful as it used to, but more like a bittersweet nostalgia instead.
"Do they still use the kitchen?", Prompto asked, now empty-handed after having left his presents in the throne room — now the royal tomb. This year he had brought a Justice Monsters Five figure he had bought in Altissia.
"Not much, now that no one resides in the Citadel anymore", Ignis answered as he led the way through the corridors. These days he had got used to using a cane again. They didn't had to fight anymore, so he no longer had a need to keep both his hands unoccupied to use weapons, and though he had taught himself not to rely on one because of that, now the cane made it much easier for him to navigate the city. "But some either like their water really cold or keep forgetting their cutlery at home", the way he said it, it sounded like he could name exactly who he was referring to, "so there's people passing by every now and then. Though not for cooking, that's for sure.. But they are kept in perfect condition, so they can still be used in case of need."
"'Cause feeding us is definitely a need", Gladiolus said.
"Is it not?", he retorted, a smirk on his lips.
As soon as they arrived to the kitchen, they were welcomed by a lovely smell. Ignis had baked a cake — chocolate sponge cake, with chocolate frosting and berries on top — and it tasted exactly as good as it smelled. Not too sweet though, despite the copious amounts of chocolate, which greatly pleased Gladio's palate. The three of them sat down to eat and chat. They talked a lot throughout the year, but it was nothing like catching up in person.
"You alright, Prompto?", Ignis asked. Perceptive as usual, he seemed to immediately sense how unusually quiet he was.
"Yeah, just… thinking."
"About what?"
Prompto remained silent for a few seconds. He wasn't sure whether saying out loud what he had in mind would be right or not.
"Looks a little… like a birthday cake, y'know?", he muttered.
"Does it?"
"I mean, could be used as one."
"And risk ourselves to be cursed by Noct's new Ruler of Yore powers?", Gladio added.
Prompto felt his stomach twitch, as he had just voiced exactly what he was thinking but didn't dare to express, but chuckled right after. And, in doing so, he found himself delighted by how genuine his own laughter had just sound.
"But Kings don't need to eat, do they?", he unconsciously turned his gaze towards Ignis.
"I don't think so", he answered. "But again, their existence occurs in a way that's incomprehensible for us mortals.
"Noct would eat even without the need for it, given the chance", said Gladio as he shoved a spoonful into his mouth.
"You don't sound like someone who fears being cursed."
"C'mon Iggy. You really think he'd do it?"
"Without a doubt."
At some point, Prompto had started to space out from the conversation. At the 'existence' point, to be more precise. They had already had that talk in a few occasions: about Kings, their magic, about Ignis' fateful experience with the Ring. There was a lot in it that was, truly, incomprehensible to him, or to any of them, but he found hope in all of it.
By then, he had already come to terms with the idea that Noct was dead. But maybe he wasn't entirely gone, not really. Or so he wanted to believe.
He wanted to believe that he was somewhere, somehow. He hoped that wherever he was, he had met with Luna, with his father and his mother. He hoped that he knew that things were going well and how much they missed him, that Gladio still trained in the same room where they used to train, that Ignis would often use ulwaat berries in his dishes because they remind him of him, that every year in his birthday Prompto would return to Insomnia to leave a present at his tomb.
But mostly, he hoped that he didn't feel sad for having left them behind.
Or mad at him for celebrating his birthday without him.