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Summary
I carried you like this when you were a child, Ignis remembered, shifting his numbing arm so Noct's head rolled against his shoulder in a terrible parody of that childhood intimacy. He'd thought Noct heavy then; the weight now was killing him. Six, if you've any mercy, give us back the darkness, and not a world without him. There was so much he'd wanted to say, and to hear. There had been, in the end, too little time.
The sun crept over the horizon. Ignis heard Gladio and Prompto's steps falter, and sensed unfamiliar warmth across his cheek. He kept walking, one resolute step at a time, slow as a dirge, toward his final duty to his king.
In his arms, Noct stiffened and shuddered, gasped and thrashed like a fish yanked from water. Ignis could neither hold him nor drop him, so he fell to his knees, pulling Noct up against his chest roughly.
The dawn brought miracles, but in their wake Ignis struggled to rebuild his life in a world reeling from the apocalypse and strained by old political conflicts.