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The ground rumbles beneath their feet. Noctis cries out in pain, crumbling to his knees, hands pressed to his temples. Blood drips from his nose. He shudders where he fell, the tremors that vibrated through the earth travelling along his nerves. Gladio kneels next to him, bracing his shoulders to keep him from collapsing into the hard ground.
Titan moves in front of them. Rising, rising, with the Meteor still on his back. He roars something both soundless and too loud at the same time. Trees bend with the force hundreds of meters away. Lava ripples like water. Noctis wails again, curling over his knees, covering his ears with the heels of his hands.
Ignis stands above him, daggers ready. Prompto dual wields pistols, his hip brushing Gladio’s shoulder. Ignis wants to say they can come back later. He wishes it were that sort of thing. He wishes they could return to Lestallum. But he knows they can’t. As the blood streams from Noct’s nose and starts to drip from his ears, it just cements that this is something have to do right now.
“Can you stand?” Ignis asks.
Noctis groans, bloody hands moving to cover his face, fingers pressing into the sockets of his eyes. He stumbles to his feet, held steady mostly by Gladio. He sways side to side. His hands fall away, he stares blankly at the pillars of stone rising from the Meteor like the blazing trails that follow a fallen star.
The ground rumbles again. It doesn’t send Noctis back down. Instead, he plants his feet and calls upon his Engine Blade as his eyes spark magenta in the fading light of the sun.
“I’ve heard enough,” Noctis says with finality and something otherworldly to his voice. It straightens Ignis’ spine, causes Prompto to grip his guns tighter. Gladio summons his claymore and steps up to his prince’s side. “This ends now.” He raises his blade, points it where the Landforger lays in waiting. “Square up, Archaean.”
Prompto chokes on his laugh. Noctis sends him a grin, ruined by the blood staining his teeth. It comes off ghastly, but Noct doesn’t seem to notice. He runs his tongue over his teeth, grimaces at the taste, and banishes his blade back into the armory.
Without a word, he starts to climb. The soles of his shoes slip over smooth stone. He trips over loose rocks. His tears his hands on ragged edges, leaving stains of blood behind. Noctis moves with a terrifying single-mindedness that makes Ignis want to pull him back. He swallows the urge and follows as he’s wont to do. Who is he to rage against the gods?
(one day, maybe.)
“Is that what I think it is?”
A royal tomb comes into view. Smooth and alabaster, teetering on the edge of a cliff. Noctis stumbles towards it, catching himself on the lip of the statue. He reaches out, blood dripping from his fingers, and the sword in the dead king’s hands answers him. Its ghostly mirage plunges into Noctis chest, causing him to stumble. He barely catches himself, leaving the others scrambling into their attempt to help.
He gasps, pressing a hand to his sternum. Noctis turns to say something to his friends, only for the ground to shake the hardest it’s ever done. It sends Noct to his knees, screaming.
The Trial of the Titan began a long time ago, but now its Chosen has arrived. Let the judgement of worth begin.