Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The region known as the Vesperpool glittered underneath the early noon sun. N–iP01357 would have taken a moment to soak in the view, but there were more important duties to attend to. Mainly N–hN01897, who had a light fever once the snowy tundra of their country receded into thick forestry and foliage. Currently, they sought refuge in what was commonly referred to as a Haven.

N–hN01897 groaned under the sunlight. “Where are we?”

“The Vesperpool,” replied N–iP01357 and eyed the fellow Level 4X with wariness. “You are in need of medical attention.”

“Where is the nearest human civilization?”

“Currently unknown,” said N–iP01357 and pursed his lips. “We are surrounded by both water and land—no humans are in sight.”

N–hN01897 groaned again and curled an arm over his face. “We will need suitable disguises in order to blend in with the human community.”

“I am aware,” said N–iP01357.

“We’re going to need new classification numbers,” said N–hN01897. “Human designations, to be more specific.”

N–iP01357 nearly twitched. “I am currently unfamiliar with this regions dialect and designations. What we choose may be unknown or peculiar in this area.”

His response floated in the tense air, and N–hN01897 made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat before he winced. What N–iP01357 really meant was: I don’t know what we’re going to do and we’re going to be fucked.

N–hN01897 sat upright with careful movements and squinted under the glare of the sun. His stomach grumbled, but that was an easy noise to ignore. “Let’s make a list—we’re in need of curatives, of food and water, and shelter.”

“And money,” N–iP01357 pointed out with a sigh. After a few more minutes of pondering their situation, he added, “How well do you think you are? We might reach a community if we begin walking.”

“I have not perished yet,” said N–hN01897, but he wobbled on his feet, nonetheless. “Let us head east—I see smoke in the distance.”

“Very well.”

They didn’t have much, in terms of belongings, between the two of them. All they had managed to grab when they left the Keep was a small, ratty bag that held two weapons and a blanket. Their training had made it possible for them to fare in the devastating environment that surrounded Niflheim, but the whiplash in regions shared between Niflheim and Lucis was enough to send a fever through N–hN01897.

A dirt path snaked through the Vesperpool—a road, untraveled as it was—and they followed it slowly, taking care to not attract the local wildlife to their injured states. The wind curled around them as they traveled, a somewhat comforting weight against their skin, and the dirt path turned into a paved road. They shared a look, one of bridled excitement and fear, and continued.

A tunnel rose once they rounded the corner and it opened up to reveal a small community. A chipped sign at the entrance said Meldacio HQ. Small houses and platforms lined the walls along with a few clusters of trees. Noise and laughter filled up the tunnel, and N –iP01357 heard the distant rumble of the vehicle humans call ‘cars’.

Few humans paid them mind as they slowly ambled through the community. An older human rocked back and forth on a chair, nestled in a corner of a houses’ porch, and gave them curious looks over the needles in her hand. The sight of the pointed metal made N –hN01897 shudder before he noticed an eatery establishment.

He pointed over at the cluster of tables and chairs. “Let us head there.”

N–iP01357 nodded in agreement.

Once they reach the edge of the establishment, N–hN01897 then approached the chef and tugged on her sleeve to grasp her attention. He did that sometimes with a few of the scientists back at the Keep, the ones he knew he could manipulate with wide eyes and a solemn expression for a few extra bites of food.

The chef blinked down at him. “Hey there, sug’. What can I do for ya?”

“Are you aware of a profession where my . . . companion and I can gain access to a suitable amount of funds?”

The chef blinked at N–hN01897 before she said, “You kids’ sure do talk funny—but I think yer talkin’ about being a Hunter?”

“Wonderful,” said N–hN01897. “How may we sign up for . . . hunting?”

“I don’ know,” the chef frowned and scratched her chin in thought. “Ain’t a lotta folks too keen on young’uns bein’ Hunters, but, well, there ain’t much of an age line in place—listen, how ‘bout you two get me this here ingredient out by the Vesper? Most Hunters think it’s a waste o’ their time, so it don’ never get done.”

“We accept,” N–hN01897 said with a half-smile. “Might I inquire what the ingredient is?”

“Jus’ this radish—ya can’t miss it, hon’, it’s stickin’ right out the groun’ with them red leaves.”

They discovered a cluster of the radishes near a drooped tree with ease and returned to the chef promptly. The chef—Call me Maria, now—praised them for their quick work, and they were soon the proud owners of 3,000 gil. Chef Maria gifted them a free meal as well once she heard the persistent grumble of N–hN01897’s stomach.

“It ain’t too late,” Chef Maria said once they were finished with the meal. “Say, why don’t y’all be my lil’ helpers for a bit, yeah?”

When they completed Chef Maria’s tasks—two types of fish from the Vesperpool, a spotted egg from a nest of creatures that, apparently, exploded under stress, other herbs that grew around the Vesper pool, and a taste tester for one of her dishes with the spotted egg—the sun had lowered in the sky, they had accumulated quite a bit of funds.

Enough for what Chef Maria called a potion, which was sold in the store beside her establishment. When they entered, a few other humans eyed them in curiosity; their eyes lingered on the bruises and dirt N–hN01897 and N–iP01357’s meager clothing could not hide.

N–hN01897 noticed a red sign talking about a sale and half-off price on what looked like a set of camping gear. He nudged N–iP01357 and tilted his head toward the sign. “I think we could use that,” he said quietly.  

N–iP01357 nodded in agreement and drifted toward the items. N–hN01897 observed the display potions and mentally begun calculating their funds and how many they could purchase. A shadow fell over N–hN01897 a few moments later and he tensed before he realized he sensed no animosity.

“Well,” said the older man after he tilted his head in greeting. “Ain’t you two the lil’ hunters Maria talked about?”

N–hN01897 blinked up at him. “It appears so, sir.”

The human barked out a laugh. “You can call me Dave, kid.”

N–hN01897 hummed in agreement but didn’t offer Dave his own designation. Dave respected his quiet. N–iP01357 quirked an eyebrow at N–hN01897, a silent question of are you in need of assistance, and N–hN01897 sent him a small smile of assurance.

Dave held out his hand. N–hN01897 blinked at it for a moment before he realized that humans liked to do what was called a ‘handshake’ when first meeting someone unfamiliar. After a slight hesitation, N–hN01897 clasped hands with Dave and was rewarded a quiet, soft smile.

“Well, I’m one o’ the older Hunters in these parts,” said Dave—or, rather, Hunter Dave—before the man crouched to N–hN01897’s height. It almost made him drawback, as if suddenly struck because older humans didn’t . . . go down to an experiments level, after all. “So, if y’all ever need help, jus’ gimme a call, okay?”

“Understood,” N–hN01897 said with a firm nod, but, internally, he wondered how he would be able to transmit a message to Hunter Dave. He did not appear to have the standard communication devices nestled in his ear like the other older humans in the Keep. Perhaps, Lucian humans communicated in a different manner?

Hunter Dave seemed amused at his response. He opened his mouth to speak, but when N–iP01357 appeared at N–hN01897’s side, the sale items in his grasp, he closed it and gave them a considering look. “Would y’all like a basket?”

N–iP01357 tilted his head. “Basket?”

“Yeah—one o’ these.” Hunter Dave lifted a plastic green . . . basket, according to his words. “Actually—here, take mine. I wasn’t really gonna shop today.”

N–hN01897 gave him a dubious look. “Then why have you entered this establishment?” N–hN01897 asked before he snapped his mouth closed, eyes falling to the floor. His heart thudded painfully in his ear. Old injuries ached and murmured against his skin. N–iP01357 tensed beside him, and they both waited, in an ominous sort of quiet, for the blow.

Experiments don’t question humans. Ever.

But Hunter Dave only laughed; a bright noise that made N–hN01897’s gaze snap to attention. “Ah, I’m jus’ a busybody, really—the folks of this place an’ I go way back.”

“Yeah,” called a voice by the front. “And now, we cant’s get ridda ya!”

Hunter Dave rolled his eyes in what was possibly an exaggerated manner. Commodore Highwind would do that sometimes, whenever Chancellor Izunia or Doctor Besithia spoke. N–hN01897 exhaled through his nose and accepted the offered basket. Without further prompting, N–iP01357 placed their belongings in the basket.

N–hN01897 took a moment to slip some of the cheaper priced potions in there as well (at least, the number beside it looked cheap).

After a beat, N–hN01897 shared a glance with N–iP01357. Where would they purchase their items?

Hunter Dave seemed to understand their quiet conversation, and said, with a kind gaze, “The cashier’s just upfront.” And then, in a conspiratorial tone, added, “An’ you can’t miss Maya’s big hair either.”

“I heard that, Auburnbrie!” cried the aforementioned Maya.

Hunter Dave only laughed again. He seemed to laugh quite a bit, for an older human. Those who were around N–hN01897 and N–iP01357 rarely, if ever, laughed the way Hunter Dave did; big and bright and warm, N–hN01897 only felt safe in the echo of that laugh.

When they reached the cashier (whatever that was), Maya’s hair was, indeed, distinctive. “Hey, kiddos, what can I do for y’all?”

N–hN01897 encountered a dilemma and stared. He and N–iP01357 were both too small to fully reach the counter. How . . . tragic.

Behind them, Hunter Dave seemed to notice the problem and lightly coughed. “Let me put your things on the counter for you, boys.”

“Certainly,” said N–hN01897 and handed him the basket.

“Well, well,” Maya said, eyes sparkling. “Ain’t y’all the politest things I’ve seen.”

Maya scanned their purchases and bagged them in an efficient manner. When she told them the monetary value, N–hN01897 reached for the pouch they held their money in but Hunter Dave stepped forward with a wad of gil in his hands.

“I’ll pay for y’all,” said Hunter Dave, and at N–hN01897’s concerned look and N–iP01357 stare of clouded suspicion, added, “It’s only fair—since we’re both Hunters.”

Maya accepted the payment but made a delighted noise in the back of her throat. “Ooh, y’all are the lil’ Hunters Maria talked about? Adorable!”

N–hN01897 did not know how to respond, and thus stayed quiet. N–iP01357 followed his lead. When Hunter Dave handed them their bags, he smiled and said, “Y’all take care getting back home, okay? It’s dangerous when the moons’ out.”

N–hN01897 nodded but struggled to keep his amusement under wraps. N–iP01357 stayed quiet. Dangerous? There were little things more dangerous than them.

“Y’all get home safely now,” called Maya as they walked down the steps of the store. “Your Ma and Pa’s probably worried.”

N–hN01897 smiled in a polite, distant manner before he turned on his heel and walked toward the other end of the tunnel. N–iP01357 fell into step beside him. As they made their way back to the Haven, N–hN01897 turned to N–iP01357 and asked, “What are a Ma and Pa?”

N–iP01357 only shared the same look of quiet confusion. “I haven’t an idea.”

They settled into a sort of routine at Meldacio, the first few weeks they arrive there. Chef Maria would send them on tasks for ingredients and fish; sometimes, they would be a taste tester or deliver packages to others in the HQ. Hunter Dave would give them tasks, too, mostly to retrieve dog tags or pass along information.

As dawn broke on their third week in residence, Hunter Dave sent them on a task to retrieve a dog tag near the fishing docks. “Ain’t much aggressive wildlife in those parts,” he had said. “But take care, though, the forest can still be a dangerous place sometimes.”

N–hN01897 wanted to laugh but hadn’t. The forest would never be a danger to N–hN01897 and N–iP01357.

While they discovered the dog tags—two partly rusted metal attached to some sort of necklace— N–hN01897 faced the shore and watched, enraptured, the way the sun glittered against the surface of the lake. Then, a crunching noise sounded a few feet away and N–iP01357 made a noise.

N–hN01897 whirled around with a thudding heart. “What?”

“How pretty,” said N–iP01357, reverently.

N–hN01897 begun to inch away. “What is that?”

N–iP01357 stared at bright blue feathered . . . thing with a look of utter fascination. It reminded N–hN01897 of Doctor Besithia or Chancellor Izunia for a good moment before he blinked.

“It’s so pretty,” N–iP01357 cooed and clamped a tight grip on N–hN01897’s wrist so that he couldn’t escape back to the Haven. “I want to pet it, N–hN01897.”

“You will do no such thing,” N–hN01897 snapped and vainly attempted to escape N–iP0357’s ironclad grip. “The number of diseases it carries will most likely diminish the population once it’s released.”

The bird-thing made a soft kweh in response, and N–iP01357 nearly melted before he turned to N–hN01897 and said, matter-of-factly, “I think I’m falling in love.”

“I think you are delusional,” said N –hN01897 and eyed the bird warily. It didn’t seem aggressive or unfriendly; in fact, it chirped and edged toward them in a curious manner.

“They will grow on you,” N–iP01357 informed him right before he reached a hand toward the bird.

N–hN01897 twitched. What if it were poisonous? They did not have enough money to spare on an antidote.

“Let me pet it,” N–iP01357 demanded.

“No,” N–hN01897 snapped.

The bird chirped.

Then, behind them, someone chuckled and said, “I see y’all met my Lottie.”

The ground thundered beneath them. Something crackled and hissed in the distance. N–hN01897 whirled around, ready to defend and protect, but faltered at the sight of a taller, older human with what looked like a fishing rod; he held his palms out in front of him.

“I’m sorry for scaring y’all,” the man said. “I jus’ wanted to see what got my Chocobo so excited.”

N–iP01357 narrowed his eyes at the man. “. . . Chocobo?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “The, ah, blue bird you wanted to pet. It’s species is called a Chocobo, but that one is named Lottie.”

N–iP01357 made a delighted noise in the back of his throat. “Are they all so . . . friendly?”

“Are they poisonous?” asked N–hN01897, less heated now that he knew the bird—the Chocobo—wasn’t a danger to their wellbeing.

The man laughed a little. “Typically, Chocobos are friendly creatures—s’pecially the ones down by Wiz. And, as far as I’m aware, Chocobos ain’t poisonous.”

N–hN01897 nodded in relief.

“May I pet Lottie?” asked N–iP01357 and cheered when the man agreed. The noise made N–hN01897 startle—he’d rarely heard N–iP01357 make such a sound before.

“The name’s Navyth,” said the man before he tipped his hat at them. What looked like fishing lures dangled from the material. “Now, what’re you two doin’ out here?”

As N–iP01357 preoccupied himself by lavishing Lottie in affection, N–hN01897 raised the dog tags. “Hunter Dave sent us on a task to retrieve these two materials for him.”

Navyth blinked at them and then said, “Ah, the two little Hunters. I see. I see.”

News travels fast here, N–hN01897 thought. His stomach curled into knots at the realization. Outwardly, he cleared his throat. “This is . . . your, um, pet?”

“Sure is,” said Navyth with an easygoing grin. “See, Chocobos are great for transportation—and there’s a little Rent-a-Bird right by the Meldacio caravan where ya can rent a Chocobo from the ranch for a few days for some gil.”

N–hN01897 tucked that information for another day. It could prove helpful as they move on from the region. They could not stay in Meldacio for much longer—it would be too dangerous to remain in a singular location for a long period of time.

N–iP01357 made a cooing noise. Lottie chirped.

“You can pet ‘er if ya want,” said Navyth.

N–hN01897 eyed the soft plumage and Lottie’s calm and placid behavior under N–iP01357’s affection, and thought, why not? When he hesitantly brushed against the soft feathers, he made a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“Lottie is very soft,” said N–iP01357 knowingly.

After a few more moments of petting Lottie, N–hN01897 retracted his hand. “We must return to Hunter Dave now. He might be getting worried.”

N–iP01357 made a disappointed noise but understood. To Navyth, he said, “Thank you for letting us touch Lottie—it was nice . . . meeting you.”

Navyth tilted his hat. “I’ll see y’all around.”

When they returned to Chef Maria’s establishment, Hunter Dave seemed relieved at their entrance. “—see?” he was saying. “I knew they’d be alright.”

Chef Maria hummed and eyed them with pursed lips. “Y’all doin’ alright?”

“We are well,” said N–hN01897.

Barely contained, N–iP01357 said, “We met a Chocobo.”

Hunter Dave smiled. “I see, I see—say, did y’all happen to find them dog tags?”

“We did.” N–hN01897 handed him said tags promptly but didn’t ask why Hunter Dave touched them with such a sad expression. Even Chef Maria looked at the items Hunter Dave’s hands in silence. “It was not a difficult task.”

N–iP01357 glanced at the sky and hummed. “We should head back to our accommodations soon—the sun will set.”

N–hN01897 nodded in agreement. The older humans tended to become nervous if they walked back to the Haven as the sky darkened. N–hN01897 didn’t truly understand why, but the murmurs he listened to discussed something about daemons.

Chef Maria squinted at them. “Where are y’all sleepin’?”

“We have suitable accommodations, Chef Maria,” said N–iP01357.

Chef Maria placed her hand on her hips and frowned in a manner that made them feel vaguely guilty. “Now, that don’ mean nothin’—have y’all been sleepin’ in the alley?”

“No,” N–hN01897 assured. “The Haven by the Vesperpool is more than enough.”

They don’t understand why Chef Maria looked so horrified nor why Hunter Dave went silent, sitting down heavily in a chair.

“Are our accommodations upsetting for you?” N–iP01357 tilted his head in confusion. Most of the older humans they had interacted with never showed so much concern about their sleeping environment. “Might I ask why?”

Hunter Dave sighed heavily. “Kid—Kids, don’t y’all wanna sleep on a bed?”

N–hN01897 stared. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“A bed?” echoed N–iP01357.

Hunter Dave and Chef Maria shared the same look of horror at their confusion, the same expression of a dawning revelation that made N–hN01897 want to grab N–iP01357 and run before their luck dissipated, and they found themselves back in a place where they hurt, and they ache, and—

“Well, shit,” said Hunter Dave, and then winced when Chef Maria leveled a scalding glare in his direction. “Sorry—but a bed . . . a bed is where people sleep. It’s . . ..”

“It’s for comfort,” Chef Maria took over the explanation as Hunter Dave looked hopelessly lost. “People get a good nights’ rest sleepin’ on a mattress opposed to hard rock.”

“So,” N–hN01897 started slowly, “it is a luxury item, then?”

Chef Maria glanced at Hunter Dave and then said, hesitantly, “I suppose it can be seen as that, yes.”

“Sleeping on a bed, then, is an impossible task for us,” said N–iP01357, as blunt as ever. N–hN01897 almost smiled. At the older humans’ expressions, he added, “We are not allowed such luxuries.”

N–hN01897 coughed, then, and turned to Chef Maria. “Would you like those peppers now, Chef Maria?”

Almost in a daze, Chef Maria accepted the ingredients, and N–hN01897 assumed that would be the last of such a conversation.

It wasn’t.

After Chef Maria sent them on three more errands—more ingredients from the Vesperpool, some more fish, and some sort of green . . . thing—they gathered their funds and prepared for another night spent at the Haven, but Hunter Dave intercepted them and tilted his head toward a sort of vehicle parked a few feet away.

“I’d like for y’all to do somethin’ for me before ya settle in for the night,” said Hunter Dave. It didn’t sound like much of a suggestion.

N–hN01897 exhaled, entwined hands with N–iP01357, and followed Hunter Dave toward the place. When they reached the edge of the property, Hunter Dave flagged down a man who was, presumably, the owner.

“Olly,” greeted Hunter Dave before he motioned to N–hN01897 and N–iP01357. “I have here two kids in need of your caravan. Think you could help them?”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Olly smiled at them, and N–hN01897 tried not to stare in amazement. Older humans smiled quite a bit toward them—was it a Lucian social gesture or was it simply for this region only? “Course,” said Olly in a jaunty tone. “How many nights?”

“As many as they need,” Hunter Dave replied in a firm, immovable manner.

When N–hN01897 reached for the money pouch, Olly almost refused their money. “Lis’n I don’ charge kids, now,” he said, but N–hN01897 was nothing if not persistent, and accepted the money with an amused look he shared with Hunter Dave.

When N–hN01897 waited for his turn in the bath, he was certain Olly managed to sneak the money back inside their bag.

How? He wasn’t certain.

N–iP01357 exited the bathroom and steam curled in the air. “N–hN01897, N–hN01897,” N–iP01357 said in excitement, bouncing on his heels. “The facility has hot water!”

Five minutes later, N–hN01897 stepped into the shower. When he returned to the sleeping area of the caravan, he pretended he hadn’t cried. N–iP01357 said nothing of his delusions, only gave him a soft smile and patted the spot beside him.

“Come,” said N–iP01357. “Let us see why these humans think this is necessary.”

N–hN01897 nodded and slipped beneath the covers. N–iP01357 turned off the lights a moment later, and it was far, far too easy for them to slip into slumber.

(perhaps, the humans were onto something when they invented beds.)

Sunlight poured inside the caravan gently, and N–hN01897 woke with little problems. N–iP01357 slumbered beside him, curled into a tight ball, but he looked so peaceful that N–hN01897 slipped out of bed without bothering him. After a quick shower— N–hN01897 didn’t want to use up the hot water, after all—he went through a small portion of their rations; a simple granola bar and a pack of dried fruit that they’d purchased from the store.

As he ate, he eyed the silent TV. Experiments were not allowed to watch TV or participate in other recreational activities meant for humans. He knew this. He knew it as if it’d been carved into his soul. Nonetheless, his fingers inched toward the remote. If he watched it for a few moments, a few precious minutes, no one would know except for him.

Decision made, N–hN01897 turned on the TV. It flipped to a local news station, and his breath caught in his throat at the red banner displayed on the bottom of the screen. N–iP01357 drifted awake, but N–hN01897 paid little attention to the noise, his gaze captured by the screen. The red banner drifted by again, words bright and bold. He barely breathed.  

BREAKING NEWS: NIFLHEIM SURRENDERS UNDER LUCIAN SIEGE

Chapter Text

“An estimate of more than ten thousand children,” Regis said to the room at large, solemn and weary and tired. He looked like he didn’t even want to open the remaining files and, honestly, Nyx couldn’t blame him. “Not counting, of course, those who were involved in the discontinued programs, those who disappeared on a . . . mission, those who simply disappeared.” He ran his fingers through his hair and then echoed, sounding defeated and older than he was, “Ten thousand . . .”

Cor remained still and expressionless as a statue beside Nyx, but it was obvious to those who knew him that he struggled to contain his rage.

No one knew how it happened—or, if they did, they kept quiet about it—but Niflheim’s MT program splintered and shattered until only the human soldiers remained, and they were little match for the magical powerhouses of the Lucian Kingsglaive. Rumors of the cause flitted through snow-laden streets, floated above the dull roar of an opened market: the emperor, found dead in his sleep; the minister of research, scattered throughout his precious laboratory; the chancellor, frozen in eternal death.

Cor considered it the result of an underground resistance against the Empire, as did Regis and Clarus, but no rumors discussed its existence. If they did, they were heavily laden with code he couldn’t decipher. What he did know, however, was the reappearance of a simple, innocuous name: Zegnautus Keep.

No one talked about it, except in terrified murmurs. No one knew where it was, except for a region mothers told their children to stay away from. No one knew what it looked like or what happened there—except for blank-eyed children that lived deep, deep in the forests no one entered since the Emperor ordered the death of Shiva’s slumbering form.

But Cor was nothing if not patient, and Nyx always had an ear on the ground in a way Cor could never have. They pieced the mystery together slowly, subtly questioned civilians and those who worked in the dismantled, barely-there government—but, in the end, as they thought they knew what was going on, Commodore Aranea Highwind, the only highest-ranking official that survived . . . whatever had happened to Niflheim’s government over the past month, clued them in.

“It’s pretty simple,” she had explained, a black-tipped nail tapping a disturbingly thick folder, as they had settled into her office. By default, of both the tradition and politics involved in Niflheim, Aranea ascended the throne and became the newest Empress. “The Keep involved human experimentation, mostly with kids but there were a few adults and teens thrown in there, but they had a variety of programs—some of them were infected with the Scourge, some of them weren’t . . . some of them were for military purposes, some of them weren’t—you get the picture.”

She had then handed Cor nearly five boxes worth of files and information. “My men and I are still combing through the Keep’s archives, since the main computer systems’ been shot . . . but I figured His Majesty would appreciate this information.”

Regis flipped through a random file titled Project: MIRACLE. Most of it continued a sort of diary entry from a researcher and interspersed throughout were various profiles of children—none of them older than five—and all of the profiles had a bold, red X over the children's’ pictures.

“What do these markings mean?” Regis asked, but he sounded as if he knew very well what they meant.

Cor cleared his throat. “Aranea explained the . . . X’s mean the children were decommissioned.”

Regis hummed. “Decommissioned?”

“Dead,” said Nyx.

Clarus picked up one of the profiles and peered at it. “Were all children involved in the MT Program?”

“No,” said Cor. “There were different projects, but the MT Program had the most, ah, subjects, if you will—but, apparently, Highwind only interacted with either the MTs or Project: GODBLOOD.”

Regis looked up over another file. “GODBLOOD?”

Cor looked deeply exhausted when he hummed an affirmative.

Clarus rubbed his temples. “And what is this project?”

Nyx decided to take over the explanation. “According to Highwind, Besithia and Izunia wanted to create an assassin unit that would later become a two-person army—and they used specific genetic material from some of the gods.”

Regis made a noise in the back of his throat. “Ichor? They used ichor?”

Clarus raised an eyebrow. “You lost me—what’s ichor and how does one get DNA from an Astral?”

“Ichor is the . . . scientific word for a gods’ blood and genetic material . . . and you obtain it very, very slowly,” Regis explained briefly before he focused on Nyx. “What Astrals did they obtain ichor from?”

“From the reports, they could only get it from Shiva—because of her location—and from Titan—apparently, there are various samples smeared around the Disc—and, somehow, from Ramuh.”

“Ramuh?” Regis’ eyes widened. “How did they do that?”

Nyx shrugged slightly. “They hadn’t explained that in the report.”

Clarus stared at another X across a solemn child’s photo before he pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, “Please tell me it doesn’t get worse.”

“I’m afraid it does, Clarus,” said Cor.

Nyx tugged on one of his braids, a nervous habit he’d never really outgrown, as he wondered how the King would take the next bit of news.

Regis exhaled noisily before he steeled himself. “Well . . . let us hear it, then.”

“Might as well,” murmured Clarus.

“They seemed to have obtained genetic material from you, your Majesty, and Queen Sylva,” Cor said in a ruthlessly blunt manner. When Regis made a choking noise in the back of his throat, Cor only continued with a quick, “They then made test-tube babies with said material.”

“Not exactly clones,” Nyx added. “Because their cells diversified, and because of the godly blood in them, they’re more like . . . children you didn’t, um, know about—or conceive.”

Clarus dropped the paper in his hands. “What the fuck?”

“How many?” Regis asked. His eyes were closed as if he couldn’t bear watch them speak. “How many . . . children of . . . my blood have the Empire created?”

“Two,” said Cor. “While there were others, they had been either too unstable or they had died young. And because genetic material, ah, decomposed quickly with the process they’d gone through, they focused their attention on the surviving two children.”

Nyx then motioned toward what was the thickest file on Regis’ desk. “That’s their file, your Majesty.”

Regis eyed it warily. “I . . . see.”

When Regis opened the file, it was on a profile of a child labeled N–hN01897. His breath caught in his throat. He and Aulea struggled for a child, and to think Niflheim had done something so cruel made him almost wish Aldercapt were alive so that he might kill the man himself. N–hN01897 shared many similarities with Regis, but there were differences—the bright shade of his eyes, the soft roundness of his features, the nose. Despite them, though, it was obvious that N–hN01897 had Lucis Caelum blood running strong in his veins.

The second profile contained information on N–iP01357. He had the standard blond Nox Fleuret hair, only a tad darker. Freckles that appeared on Queen Sylva when she spent too much time beneath the sun. Purple-blue eyes and a sharper bone structure than N–hN01897.

“Are they still in Niflheim?” Regis questioned.

“Are they stable?” Clarus asked next, sharper.

Nyx twitched a little. “Their location is unknown as of now.”

Regis paused. “They escaped?”

“Three weeks before . . . whatever befell the previous government,” said Cor. “Highwind and I both agree they weren’t responsible, as they left so . . . early, but she did suggest divine retribution being one of the causes.”

Clarus hummed and rubbed his chin. “Guess the Astrals weren’t so keen on their play with genetics.”

“Indeed,” said Regis.

Silence floated in the office while Regis sifted through the rest of the file. When he had finished a page, he’d hand it to Clarus for him to read. Nyx and Cor were already familiar with the contents of the file, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the angle one looked at it), and thus they were prepared for the inevitable question:

“What . . . what does Level 4X mean?” Regis questioned, the frown on his face deepening. “It keeps reappearing in the file.”

“From what Highwind could tell us, the level number of the program determined how . . . dangerous those involved in the program are,” Cor explained briskly. “Level 4X is . . . the highest danger level of the Keep.”

Clarus tensed. “Are they of a sane mind?”

“How can you assure me that . . . they will not obliterate a village or outpost should they become displeased?” Regis questioned next.

Nyx licked his lips. “Your Majesty, if I may?” When Regis nodded for him to continue, he grasped his bearings and said, “I am aware of how grim this situation looks, and while we might never know or understand what they’d undergone . . . at the end of the day, different abilities or not, different . . . upbringing or not, they’re just . . . they’re kids—traumatized, severely tortured kids who barely managed to escape their abusers.”

“Highwind vouched for their stability,” Cor added after a pause. “Mental and otherwise.”

Regis stayed quiet for a moment, clearly considering their words, before he closed the file and sighed. “Cor, Nyx . . . I’m going to have you do a silent manhunt of sorts, gather a small team of trusted members and debrief them . . . find the children and make sure they’re safe—make sure that they know they are safe. But do observe if they are as much as a threat as this file says they are.”

“And if they are a threat?” Cor questioned in an even tone.

Regis’ eyes were hardened as he said, “Do what you must, if they are.”

Cor and Nyx bowed in agreement right before Regis dismissed them with a quiet, “You may leave,” and reached for his phone. “Astrals, I do not want to tell Sylva about this over the phone,” was the last thing Nyx heard as the door closed behind him.

As they walked through the Citadel’s spotless hallways, Nyx relaxed his shoulders and sighed. “That was some meeting.”

Cor snorted.

Nyx eyed him as they rounded the corner. “Who are we going to bring with us?”

“Glaive Khara and Altius would be the best for this,” Cor explained, quietly, as a group of Crownsguard recruits walked by. “Khara is good with technology, and with people, and Altius will be able to aid us in the case of a magical sort of problem.”

Nyx nodded and reached for his phone. “I’ll text them to meet us in your office.”

“In ten,” said Cor.

“In ten,” Nyx echoed and tapped out a group message.

Before dawn fully approached Meldacio HQ, N–hN01897 rented a Chocobo from the Rent-A-Bird station nestled a few feet away from the caravan, right where Navyth had said it to be. He paid for a week and the station dispensed a whistle he would then use to call the rented Chocobo. When he returned to the caravan, N–iP01357 zipped up the last of their belongings in the new bag they’d purchased from the store.

“I rented the Chocobo,” said N–hN01897 before he held out the whistle for N–iP01357 to see. “The instructions stated we only need to use it once for it to appear.”

N–iP01357 nodded and then, softly, as if wary of being overheard despite the utter silence in Meldacio, questioned, “Where will we be headed now?”

N–hN01897 chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “Duscae is southeast of Meldacio—and, from the map we obtained from the store, I believe the forests of that region will provide veritable protection.”

After a moment, N–iP01357 nodded and slipped the bag on his shoulders. “Alright.” He paused, then, and tilted his head. “Shall we leave a note for the humans?”

N–hN01897 hummed. While he didn’t want the older humans to worry of their abrupt departure, N–hN01897 wanted to leave as little hints as possible of their existence—but even he knew it’d be cruel to leave without letting the kind humans know they had left of their own free will.

He sighed. “Do we have anything to leave a note?”

N–iP01357 pointed to the small notepad and pen on the bedside table. “That was there when we entered the establishment.”

There were other experiments that had no need to learn the human script, other programs where they only needed to learn how to aim and shoot, but because N–hN01897 and N–iP01357 needed to learn how to blend in with humans, to an extent, when they were dispatched on stealth missions and the like, they had received a limited education on those skills.

N–hN01897 scribbled down a simple note, informing the older humans that, while they appreciated their support, would be moving on to other regions.

We were not pressured to leave, N–hN01897 added, though, in reality, they kind of were. Pressured by their own fear, by the echoes of what remained from Besithia. Perhaps we will find one another sometime in the future.

N–iP01357 approved the message and they left it on the bedside table. They spent a moment coming through the room, making sure their existence in the little caravan became nonexistent. After everything was wiped and cleaned, N–hN0187 looked over at N –iP01357 and nodded.

They exited the caravan quietly. Not a soul disturbed them as they walked a few short feet away from the area.

After a steeled breath, N–hN01897 brought the whistle to his lips and blew. The sound floated in the air sharply before they heard the distant, ever-increasing caw of the Chocobo. After a few short seconds, the bird in question skidded in front of them.

N–hN01897 stared.

N–iP01357 said, after a beat, “We have encountered a problem, N–hN01897.”

With an eye roll, N–hN01897 echoed what he’d heard a few humans around Meldacio say before: “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

N–iP01357 very nearly stuck out his tongue, but the problem remained the same.

They were far too short to get on the Chocobo.

“Perhaps we get a chair?” asked N–iP01357. “To use as a sort of step stool?”

N–hN01897 agreed with a soft hum and walked back to the caravan. Nestled a few feet away were a circular table and four chairs. N–iP01357 came to help, and they accomplished their goal of discovering a step stool within a few minutes.

The Chocobo chirped softly at them, and even settled lower to the ground for easier access. N–iP01357 cooed at the gesture and patted its’ flank.

“What a good Chocobo,” he said, seemingly blissful at the softness of its feathers.

“Yes,” N–hN01897 agreed after a hesitant pause. Despite his initial fear at the bird, it was growing on him. “It is.”

They both settled onto the Chocobo with little issues. N–iP01357 clucked his tongue softly and steered the bird toward what many considered the “entrance” of Meldacio HQ, the side opposite of the Vesperpool. They started off with a gentle, but fast enough trot. Neither of them had a map with them and were going off on memory.

N–hN01897 made sure to keep a tight grip around N–iP01357’s waist as they picked up their speed. Last thing they needed was for one of them to fall off their transport and break something. Even if they had accelerated healing, potions were expensive.

They reached a winding tunnel once they bypassed an area filled with towering wildlife and clusters of what looked like abandoned, crumbling architecture. The animals—tall creatures with horns and feet that made the ground shake—make them and their Chocobo nervous, so N–iP01357 sped through the area until they reached the tunnel, settling down into a comfortable trot.

N–iP01357 patted the Chocobo’s flank. “Good girl,” he cooed, smiling wide when he heard a squawk in response.

“How do you know the Chocobo is a girl?” N–hN01897 questioned.

N–iP01357 twirled the whistle between his fingers and said, “I don’t know. I just have a feeling.”

“Uh huh.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. It’s early enough that they were the only travelers on the road, though N–hN01897 wasn’t complaining about that at all. He discovered, over the course of their time at Meldacio, that older humans were very nosy, though well-meaning, and asked questions N–iP01357 and N–hN01897 were either uncomfortable answering or didn’t have an answer to.

The tunnel opened up to a sprawling town. A sign read WELCOME TO LESTALLUM. They continued forward until N–iP01357 drew the Chocobo to a stop, a few spaces before the entrance to a parking area that dipped down to a lower part of the area. N–hN01897 stared at the sight before the parking area; all of Lucis gleamed below the cliffside where Lestallum was situated.

“This is not eastern Duscae,” said N–hN01897 as if he knew what eastern Duscae looked like.

N–iP01357 blew an annoyed raspberry. “I am well aware, N–hN01897.”

Their Chocobo—whom N–iP01357 cheerfully named Blue despite the bright pink feathers—chirped. N–hN01897 calmed his nerves by petting her flank. They observed the town rustle to life: food vendors set up their stalls and prepared for the morning rush, clusters of tourists clambered out of their hotels and cars, and what looked like some sort of entertainment group began preparing their instruments. N–hN01897 thought they were what a scientist once called a “band.”

N–iP01357 worried his bottom lip. “What should we do?”

“We cannot stay here,” said N–hN01897. “We must move before they realize what we are.”

Their stomachs grumbled in tandem, and N–iP01357 grimaced. “Perhaps,” he said after a pause, “a meal, first?”

N–hN01897 hummed and dipped his head into a nod.

Once they make sure Blue would be alright by herself, they walk toward the front of the town; an opened square of food vendors and little markets. The scent of cooking food made N–hN01897’s mouth water.

N–iP01357 held N–hN01897’s hand so they wouldn’t get lost amid the older humans, and asked, “Which vendor shall we go to?”

N–hN01897 pointed to a random food vendor selling what looked like sticks of grilled meat. Out of all the vendors, this one looked the most – approachable. “That one?”

“I see no problem with that,” N–iP01357 agreed.

It took a moment for the vendor to realize they were there, but N–hN01897 didn’t mind. They were rather short, compared to those in their . . . cohort.

“Well, ain’t y’all early risers,” the vendor greeted them cheerfully, though N–hN01897 observed the worried pinch of their eyebrows that they hid with their cheer. It looked similar to the older humans back at Meldacio, when they thought N–iP01357 and N–hN01897 weren’t paying attention. “What can I get y’all?”

“What do you offer?” N–iP01357 questioned, giving the contents of the skewer a curious glance.

“It’s a classic Galahdian meat and veggie skewer,” the vendor responded before listing off a couple of ingredients. When N–iP01357 and N–hN01897 only stared blankly, they continued with a, “Well—it don’ matter, but it tastes delicious.”

N–hN01897 chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “How much for two skewers?”

“Hmm . . . for my first customers of the day, how about 6 gil total?” the vendor said, a finger pressed against their chin, before they sent another kind smile. “That manageable?”

Another food vendor gave N–iP01357 and N–hN01897 curious looks. “Hey, kids, where are your parents? I know Lestallum’s peaceful and all, but it’s still dangerous to walk around by yourself.”

“Parents?” N–iP01357 hummed, wondering, briefly, what that word meant. “I don’t believe we have one of those.”

N–hN01897 fished out the appropriate gil and handed it to the now silent vendor and said, quietly, in a manner that Chef Maria called so sweet and precious, “Two meat skewers, please.”

“Should we get one for Blue?” N–iP01357 asked, but N–hN01897 shook his head.

“I don’t think Chocobos can eat . . . human food.”

“Chocobos have their own food,” the vendor explained as they handed the meat skewers to N–hN01897. “Here, your skewers and some napkins. Say, I don’t think I caught your names! Names’ Tai, and that busybody over there,”—Tai pointed to the other food vendor, who sputtered— “is Silas.”

“Busybody?” Silas sniffed. “I’m not the one bugging two infants over their names.”

N–hN01897 frowned a little. Was he being insulted?

N–iP01357 made soft noises around the meat skewer. “The skewer tastes wonderful, Tai.”

Tai grinned. It softened the scar around the bridge of their nose. “Why, thank you . . ..” They trailed off, staring at N–iP01357 and N–hN01897 expectantly.

N–hN01897 tensed, features shifting into a glare. “What?”

“Your name, sweetheart,” said Tai, gently, unbothered by N–hN01897 sudden animosity. “I can’t thank my favorite customers properly if I don’t know their names.”

N–hN01897 swallowed. “Oh.”

He shared a glance with N–iP01357, long and considering, before turning back to Tai. “Noctis,” N–hN01897 said after a pause, and the name settled sweet on his tongue. “My name is Noctis.”

N–iP01357 swallowed his bite. “Prompto,” he said, breath floating in the dewy morning air, and smiled. “Call me Prompto.”

Chapter Text

Sunset painted the sky in soft reds and golds by the time they restocked their rations and fed their Chocobo. Neither wished to stay long in Lestallum, considering there were no caravans nearby and it was unlikely an adult would allow them to have access to the hotel lodgings they called the ‘Leville,’ as they were considered young by human terms.

Once they were settled onto their Chocobo and said their goodbyes to Tai and Silas, though not before accepting what humans called ‘leftovers’ from the food stalls, they went south in the hopes it would, eventually, lead to Duscae.

Nh-iP03—Prompto took control over the Chocobo’s reigns after a short water break. Their Chocobo had chirped in appreciation, grazing the grass nearby while they’d sought refuge under a cluster of trees. Once they settled back on their Chocobo, Nh-hN01—Noctis gripped tight fingers around Nh-i—Prompto’s waist, keeping himself steady as they started out in a trot.

Neither were keen on falling off their Chocobo. Nh-h—Noctis wasn’t sure if the distance would be enough for them to break their necks, but they would certainly break something if they happened to fall off the large bird the wrong way. They didn’t have much funds saved, either, and, from what they’d figured, healing potions and other medicines would likely become troublesome to obtain.

They didn’t want any well-meaning adults asking questions, either, though they didn’t exactly have plans to settle in any areas just yet.

Quiet settled between them as they traveled. Neither found it wanting, considering they found comfort in the silence, and it allowed them to observe the beauty of Lucis’ nature and wildlife without any distractions. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they happened upon a Haven and decided to spend the night there.  

Neither were aware of what happened during the night—only that humans, the adults more so than the other age groups, whispered about it with wary, sometimes horrified, tones. Even back in the Keep, the scientists and minders would often shudder whenever they stayed too late. Because of the caution, they tended to travel only when the sun was out. After all, they couldn’t fight an enemy they knew nothing about.

Noctis coaxed a fire to life while Prompto managed to set up their tent with little problems. Their Chocobo, Blue, munched on a few greens, somehow looking delighted at the break. Noctis made a mental note to find the nearest resting spot so they could rent her for a longer time. They’d only paid for a week from the Rent-A-Chocobo.

“Shall I begin cooking?” asked Noctis, already reaching for the materials in their bag. During one of their breaks, he’d managed to catch three pieces of fish, and when they had happened upon a small resting spot (a ‘gas station,’ it was called), they’d purchased a few ingredients (called ‘seasonings’) from the little store, hoping it would make the fish taste less . . . fishy and bland.

“Please do,” said Prompto, and then paused as a dark, looming figure in the distance caught his gaze. Prompto squinted at a forming shape in the distance, a mass that grew, and grew, beneath the moonlight. “What . . . is that?”

Blinking, Noctis turned to where Prompto pointed and raised his eyebrows at the sight. He could barely explain the creature, considering he had little knowledge overall, but crinkled his nose at the scent floating in the air. He knew the stale, acrid stench of death and blood well. “Perhaps . . .,” Noctis started as he worked to debone and descale the fish. Navyth the Fisherman from the Vesperpool had taught Noctis a few things before they’d disappeared. “Perhaps, it is those daemons we hear the adult humans discuss so often?”

Promptoed tilted his head with a pensive frown, echoing, “Perhaps.”

“We could ask someone at the nearest resting place,” Noctis suggested softly, though they both knew it would likely never happen. Their questions might set off red flags at their lack of knowledge, and that was something neither of them wanted. Well-meaning humans were—well, well-meaning, but they had the habit of prying where they shouldn’t pry.

“Maybe,” Prompto hummed. After a few minutes of quiet, listening to the sound of Noctis deboning and scaling what would soon be their dinner, Prompto asked, “Do you . . . do you think people are looking for us?”

Noctis paused, the knife poised over the grouper. “The Keep?”

Prompto nodded, and then— “Or the Lucian military.”

Noctis grimaced at the mere thought. “It is likely they know of our existence by now,” Noctis mused as he worked, his thoughts on what he knew about both Lucis and Niflheim racing through his mind. “Lucis, that is. I’m not sure as to how much they know, since the Keep tended to destroy files first, and ask questions later.”

“Or never,” said Prompto, and Noctis snorted, echoing Prompto’s snark with a half-smile. “I suppose . . . we shall have to wait and see what our future holds.”

“We shall,” Noctis replied and then eyed the small array of seasonings they had. Most of them were unfamiliar, but Noctis knew what salt was, at the very least. “Do you think I should use all of them?” At Prompto’s befuddled blink, Noctis added, “the seasonings, that is.”

Prompto hummed for a moment, and then shrugged. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help, Nh—I mean . . . Noctis.”

Noctis ignored the slip, knowing it happened to himself in his own thoughts. It would be a work in progress—and although his name settled over his skin as if it had always been there, Noctis knew it might take a while for him to fully accept (and realize) he had a name. Names . . . they were for humans, not for experiments whose sole purpose was to carry out the Empire’s will, even to the extent of their life. Names meant . . . freedom. Meant they had left the Keep and everything that establishment had stood for behind, in that devastating tundra and lack of life, where Shiva had died and bled by the blade of Niflheim’s greed for power.

“I suppose I shall, ah . . . ‘wing it’,” Noctis said, though more to himself than to Prompto, and reached for the salt.

Prompto turned his attention to Blue and fished out a few more greens from their satchel when the Chocobo cooed at him. Although he knew he should save them for later, he couldn’t help but spoil the pink Chocobo a little more. He realized he adored Chocobos—perhaps, more than he adored Noctis. He paused at the thought, humming as he weighed the two in his mind, and came to the realization that Chocobos weren’t quite on Noctis’ level on his adoration charts just yet.

That dark, looming figure shifted, causing Prompto to tense. Likely coaxed by the scent of cooking food, but those strange carvings on the Haven pulsed, glowing bright beneath the stars, and the creature—no, the daemon—hissed and shuffled back. Prompto blinked and pressed a palm to the stone; it hummed beneath his fingertips, warm and almost, dare he say it, loving.

Safe, Prompto thought to himself. I feel safe.

The daemon prowled on the outskirts for a moment, strange growls and hisses pouring from its mouth, before he turned attention elsewhere. Prompto averted his gaze from the poor voretooth stumbling across it, knowing the unlucky end it’d meet soon enough. Unless daemons only targeted humans . . .? Which, of course, wouldn’t make sense as to why it approached the Haven . . .

However much they wished otherwise, Noctis and Prompto simply weren’t human. They were not born from a human carrier. They were created in a lab filled with hungry scientists and minders who had white gloved hands, clipboards, and syringes that often-brought pain instead of relief. They were created with a purpose—to serve as the Empire’s most powerful weapon, a devastating power on the field that no other nation could hold a candle to.

Noctis gave him a look when he noticed the extra greens in his hands. “Don’t spoil her, Prompto,” Noctis said, though Prompto knew the other wasn’t annoyed by his actions.

Prompto pouted. “She looked so cute, Noctis.” As if to agree, Blue cooed once more and gently head-butted Prompto, who made a delightful noise in the back of his throat, reaching to pet her. “I couldn’t just leave her be.”

Noctis only rolled his eyes. “Do what you must, I suppose,” he sighed out, and then pointed to the first fish he’d finished cooking. “That’s yours. Eat up—I think we’ll be traveling a while once sunrise hits.”

“Understood.”

They finished their meal beneath the glittering sky, quiet conversation drifting in and out. Blue settled into a slumber, making soft huffs of breath that Prompto assumed was the Chocobo version of snoring. His fingers itched to capture the scene forever, much like the scientists had done for documenting purposes, but he had no access to a camera let alone any knowledge on purchasing (or using) one.

Once they cleaned up and settled into their sleeping bags inside the camping tent, all they could hear was Blue and the wind. A few creatures chirped and croaked in the distance, but the background noise wasn’t distracting. Prompto found himself calmed at the noise, even, knowing from experience that dead silence typically meant something was inherently wrong. Noctis, too, found himself soothed by the consistent noise. Sometimes, thoughts became unbearable when it was just you and the sound of your own breathing.

However, for the life of him, Noctis couldn’t fall asleep. He squirmed around in the sleeping bag, suddenly restless despite the fatigue in his bones and the warmth of a full stomach. It was something he wasn’t quite used to just yet, even though they had escaped the Keep several weeks ago. A full stomach and an experiment just weren’t synonymous, back at the Empire.

But we’re not at the Empire anymore, Noctis reminded himself, like he would every time he woke, breath in his throat as he waited for the blank, clinical order to ‘get up and receive your morning rations, Nh-iN—.’

“. . . Noctis?” Prompto whispered, breaking the quiet in the tent. Noctis turned onto his side and faced Prompto properly, though it was difficult to make out the blond’s face in the dark. “. . . D-do you think . . .,” Prompto stopped, chewing on his bottom lip (a nervous habit their minders always hated, always tried to get Prompto everything to stop—), and then, after a shuddering, grounding breath, continued, “Do you think we will die?”

Suddenly, it didn’t matter his stomach was full for the first time in—well, since his existence, to be truthful. It didn’t matter he had been calmed by the outside noise of the region. Only Prompto, and himself, in that moment, huddled together inside of a campers’ tent, mattered.

“I . . . I would like to say that our chances of death are unlikely,” Noctis started in a quiet murmur. “I . . . I want to assure you that, that now we are safe from death because we are no longer in the Keep, but . . . Lucis remains an unknown, even now, and we . . . we have no idea of how they might react to our presence, still.” Prompto worried his bottom lip some more, and Noctis, for once, truly wished he were good at comforting the other. “But . . . we could also find our end by the wildlife,” Noctis added with a slight smile, hoping it would alleviate some of Prompto’s fears of death by a silver blade. By the Lucian crown. “Or those strange night creatures we saw earlier.”

Prompto made a soft noise at that. “You’re correct. As always.”

Noctis smiled and joked, “As always.”

Prompto reached over and poked his side, and Noctis shuddered with a flurry of giggles. They quieted a moment later, lying in the quiet of the night, before Prompto reached over again and entwined their fingers. Noctis squeezed Prompto’s palm and rested his head on the boys’ shoulder, seeking the comfort there.

“You have me, Prompto,” Noctis murmured as his eyes started to shut. “Even if you shall find our end in a terrifying way . . . you will not be alone.”

There was comfort in that; an ease in which Noctis’ bones settled. He would not die alone—because Prompto would be there. Prompto had always been there, just like Noctis had always been there. Always Noctis-and-Prompto, ever since their beginning—and it would be that way even to their end.

Prompto rested his head on Noctis’. “Yes, I won’t be alone,” he whispered, body heat warm as it pressed against Noctis’ side. “And neither will you.”

Noctis squeezed Prompto’s hand once more. Prompto squeezed back.

Their dreams, for once, were pleasant.

Rain drowned Duscae. Metaphorically, of course, given the entire world would have a field day if Ramuh decided to swallow Duscae whole with rainwater. Rain, nonetheless, made tracking someone—let alone two someone’s—nearly impossible. Nearly, of course, since Cor didn’t become the Marshal of the Crownsguard just by twiddling his thumbs.

The Kingsglaive, likewise, weren’t anything to sneeze at, either. They would manage, of course, but it wouldn’t come without its’ trials. After Cor did a brief surview of the surrounding area, he sent a quick status report to Monica, who he’d left in charge of the Crownsguard while he’d gone on this mission. He hoped, for everyone’s sake, that Aranea hadn’t lied when she vouched for the children’s sanity and overall state of mind.

“This rain is brutal,” Pelna remarked as they settled beneath the awning of an abandoned roadside store. Cor’s nose wrinkled at the scent of rust and decay, but it wasn’t overwhelming. “I don’ think Duscae’s seen such thunderstorms in . . . well, ever.”

Cor hummed in agreement. Duscae had a perpetual rainy season, but its’ brief rainstorms ended within ten minutes.

“Kinda makes you think, doesn’t it?” said Nyx and, at Cor’s raised eyebrow, added, “Those kids . . . they have some of Ramuh’s blood . . . do you think Ramuh might be protecting them from discovery?”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if Ramuh were making a point. Crowe made a contemplative noise as she combed her fingers through her hair, picking a few sticks from the strands. “Maybe,” she replied with a soft snort. “I wouldn’t doubt it, given how protective the Astrals can be.”

Cor blinked at that. Not many Lucians would call the Astrals protective—many would, in fact, call them the opposite,given how hands off the gods often were, but he knew people who hailed from areas outside of Insomnia (and, if he were honest, Lucis as a whole) shared different viewpoints on the Six. He seldom visited the interconnected islands of Galahd, but even he, with his limited knowledge, knew they were close to their patron Astral.

Coincidentally, it was Ramuh.

“Especially this one,” muttered Pelna, though they all heard it.

Cor squinted a bit at the shared looks between the trio, his rather pathetic knowledge on Galahd trudging to the forefront of his mind. Though there were various scholars and historians (of course, they were from Insomnia—Cor never understood the contempt the city held for those who arrived from the Wall) that dismissed the claims and ‘stories,’ Cor knew the concept of ‘demigods,’ or, rather, the human children of the gods, originated from Galahd.

I’ll ask them later, Cor noted in his mind. Although Cor called his personal knowledge on Galahd and its’ culture minimal, he knew more than the average Insomnian—even amongst the Crownsguard. He hated lack of knowledge, personally, and he despised the attitudes and prejudice people had for refugees, and tried to rectify his own biases whenever he could.

Nevertheless—

“Do you believe that to be a problem?” asked Cor, and the trio blinked at him. “. . . Ramuh,” Cor clarified after a moment, and then motioned to the rain with a head tilt. “And the rain.”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” said Nyx, that familiar, borderline cocky smile tugging the edges of his lips. Cor nearly rolled his eyes.

“We’ll be able to manage,” Crowe assured, though not before she playfully jabbed three fingers against Nyx’s side, snickering at the offended squawk. Cor smothered his laugh with a cough. “These two are just superstitious.”

Pelna rolled his eyes. “S’not superstitious if it’s true.”

Crowe gave a skeptical hum. “If you say so.”

Cor glanced at the time and came to a decision. “Let’s head out in five—if we’re quick, we can make it to Wiz’s place and rest for the night. Given the rain, it’d be better if we traveled by Chocobo from here on out.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Understood, Marshal.”

Cor settled back and waited. He hoped—prayed, if he were truly honest with himself—they would not be too late when the children were found. Although Regis and Queen Sylvia were devastated by their origins, they cherished the fact they each had a new addition to their family. For Regis and Aulea, the children would be their only heirs (surviving heirs, if one wanted to be technical) to the throne, even if that annoying council might be opposed to the idea.

Though Cor wasn’t sure they would oppose if the children were ever able to access the powers of the crystal. Only those truly of Lucis Caelum blood would be able to manifest the powers of the bloodline. He supposed it would only be a matter of time before they figured out the so-called race of succession.

Two children had the blood of the Lucis Caelum and Nox Fleuret . . . Cor could only hope they, wherever they might be, were safe.

Mid-early morning found Noctis and Prompto bypassing a faded, broken-in-two sign that declared ‘wel m o scae.’ Prompto eased Blue into a slow stop and squinted at the sign, deciphering the scrambled, barely there Lucian text. “I believe that sign says ‘welcome to Duscae,’” He quoted and smiled, looking out at the stretching gravel road. “We’re on the right path, then.”

Noctis sighed in relief. “Good.” A droplet of water fell upon his nose, causing him to blink, and they had only three seconds (he counted, of course) before a rainstorm crashed down on them. Blue ruffled her feathers at the unexpected downpour but, overall, seemed unbothered. Chocobos were likely accustomed to changing weather patterns, though. As Prompto coaxed Blue down the path snaking off the gravel, Noctis continued in a louder voice, “Shall we look for coverage?”

Prompto needed to shout a bit to be overheard. “Traveling through the storm will cover our tracks,” said Prompto, and Noctis had to agree. It did provide wonderful cover for two runaway experiments. “Let’s – Let’s keep in this direction! I think I spied signs of a nearby station.”

A break would be wonderful, considering they had been travelling since the faintest hint of sunrise. With rain and thunder the sound of their background noise, they made steady progress through Rydielle Ley, bypassing the Disc of Cauthess, and soon edged onto the outskirts of Alstor Slough. Noctis spied a few Gigantoads scattered about, and inwardly grimaced at potentially grasping its’ attention. They’d need to stock up on curatives other than healing potions soon.

Noctis leaned forward and said just that, and Prompto agreed, urging Blue back onto the road where a gas station and resting stop soon appeared. Blue seemed content to stay near the Rent-A-Bird station, quietly grazing the grass while she waited for their return. They stepped inside the small store attached to the gas station, shivering beneath the cold spray of air conditioning as they entered.

“Whoa!” said the store clerk in lieu of greeting, eyes wide at their appearance. “Looks like y’all got caught up in that storm, huh?”

“It appears so,” said Noctis, ignoring the way the clerk blinked at his phrasing as he reached for a basket. “Does your establishment sell curatives other than healing potions?”

“Er,” the clerk blinked again. Her nametag said a bubbly, Hey there! My name’s Zia (she/her). “It’s, uh. Near the back. Y’all can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

“. . . No, uh, no problem . . ..”

Noctis made quick work of grabbing the appropriate curatives. They had enough healing potions to last them a few weeks, and thus stuck with the antidotes and potions that solved other afflictions. Prompto prowled the aisles for a few non-perishables they needed to restock, and joined Noctis at the cashier quickly enough.

Once they paid for their items, they made their way back into the storm. As it neared lunch, they purchased food from a food cart and sought refuge beneath a picnic table covered by a large umbrella. No one bothered them while they ate, though a few bypassing adults sent them kind smiles here and there.

Noctis swallowed his meat skewers, tongue humming beneath the spices Galahd was known for. Prompto wasn’t far behind, in that sentiment. It wasn’t to say that Niflheim food tended to be bland, given it boasted a culture of flavorful soups and warm dishes due to the climate, but experiments only received cold rations, air dried and often brittle. They’d be lucky if their food was even salted.

As they ate and marveled over their warm and satisfied appetites, the thunderstorm settled to a dull pitter-patter of rain. Noctis took a bite out of his third meat and fish skewer, his ears prickling as a group of adults (tourists, his mind pointed out, seeing one of them wear a WELCOME TO LESTALLUM shirt) bypassed their table, chatting loud enough to be overheard over the rain.

“Have you listened to the news—?”

“—ah, ‘pparently, some Crownsguard are looking for, like, some kids or something—.”

“It’s that awful MT business, I always knew somethin’ wasn’ right with those—.”

“—Poor things, really; I ‘ope they’re safe—.”

The once delicious meat tasted like ash in Noctis’ mouth. “. . . Oh.”

Of course, their happiness could not last. It only made sense, after all. Humans were meant to be happy and experience the range of emotions—experiments, however, were not allowed to feel such things. They were not allowed to be complacent. They must always improve in the name of the Empire—of the Great Emperor Aldercapt—

But he’s dead, Noctis soothed his thoughts. And so is Dr. Besithia, and Chancellor Izunia. The people who haunted his dreams, his every waking moment back in Zegnautus Keep, were not alive anymore. They were mere wisps of memory, and only the aftermath of their actions remained—but they could not harm Noctis or Prompto anymore.

At least, not directly.

Prompto touched Noctis’ wrist, pulling him out of his thoughts. “We must go,” Prompto murmured, wary of being overheard. His voice drowned with the rain. “I believe the Nebulawoods will be safer.”

Noctis internally agreed. From what they knew, the Nebulawoods had a denser forestry than the rest of Duscae. Much like the Alstor Slough, the region contained abandoned homes scattered about, along with Havens. It would be the perfect place for two runaways.

For two experiments that wished to live out the rest of their days in peace, hidden from the rest of the world that wanted their end.

They quickly finished the rest of their meals and set off with Blue. Soon, the outpost was a tiny speck in the distance, a dark smudge blurred by the rain. Shrubbery and dead grass bled into denser forestry at some point. Noctis wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but they bypassed a few hidden ponds, some ruins, and a Haven or two, and surmised they were likely in the Nebulawoods like they’d planned.

He noticed a few frog-like creatures, but Prompto evaded them with ease. They made slow progress through the Nebulawoods, their pace slowed down by the heavy rain and the muddy, slippery terrain. Although Blue seemed to be doing well enough in their conditions, likely due to the way her claws were developed.

Disoriented as they were in that moment, they noticed the prowling voretooth far, far too late. Blue squawked when it lunged and swiped at her hindlegs, and the shrill noise that made Noctis’ ears ring. He gripped Prompto’s waist so that he wouldn’t get thrown off Blue, out of fear, out of reflex, out of ignoring everything their trainings have told them to do.

It doesn’t matter, anyhow.

Blue dislodged them from her back when the voretooth did another lunge, her shriek echoing above the trees. Noctis and Prompto hit the ground with muted noise, but pain sprawled, nonetheless. Blue took cover for safety from the voretooth, kicking up dirt and mud as she dashed to the sides. Leaving, of course, Prompto and Noctis together on the ground.

With the voretooth.

Prompto barely blinked before the voretooth snarled, lunging, his heart plummeting to the ground as he struggled to reach for his weapon—and then, in a shower of blue sparks, dropped to the ground, a shimmering sword plunged through its’ skull. Prompto barely breathed, barely felt the way Noctis’ nails dug into his arm, as their savior removed the blade with a stomach-rolling noise and turned to face them.

Cold terror trailed down his spine. Noctis gripped his small dagger tight enough his knuckles turned white, though they knew they were unmatched. Even shrouded within Zegnautus Keep, they heard rumors of the notorious Cor the Immortal, the youngest Marshal of the Crownsguard in Lucian history. A merciless enemy of the Empire, to the point where he had an outstanding kill on sight order.

Prompto swallowed at the realization: Lucis had sent Cor after them. He’d taken out a voretooth with merciless ease and hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Who knew what he’d do to Noctis and Prompto? Who knew if he’d even see them as people, so accustomed to swathing through hordes of MTs in battle?

“Er, Marshall?” An unfamiliar voice made them startle. Prompto’s mind raced. How many surrounded them? The ground rumbled. Thunder crackled in the distance, hints of lightning nearing. “I think you’re, ah, scaring them.”

Someone else snorted quietly, and said, under their breath, “We’re going to get smited by Ramuh.”

Cor blinked. “Ah.” With another shower of sparks, the blood-soaked weapon disappeared. “Apologies, Your Highnesses.” Noctis shared an open-eyed, bewildered look with Prompto. Pardon? “Scaring you wasn’t my intention. I saw the voretooth, and” —Cor grimaced, stepping further in front of the voretooth corpse to hide it from their view for some bizarre reason— “reacted before the situation worsened.”

Words formed in the back of their throats, but only silence floated in the air. Noctis found courage somewhere in his mouth and whispered a soft, “. . . Highnesses?”

Instead of Cor, a man with features and braids that hinted a Galahdian heritage stepped in. “You might not be aware, but you two are the children of both King Regis and Queen Silvia,” the man explained, tone gentle and warm.

Prompto and Noctis shared another look.

“Who . . . Who is Queen Silvia?” asked Prompto, tone and expression befuddled. They knew that other countries outside of the Empire had their own leading parties, but they were seldom taught their names. All Prompto knew was that the Lucis Caelum’s lead Lucis, and the Nox Fleuret’s with Tenebrae. “A-and K-King Regis?”

What human named their child ‘Regis’? Prompto thought to himself, knowing the poor royal would be forever known as ‘King King’ if anyone translated their name. Then again, Prompto’s chosen name essentially meant quick, and Noctis’ translated to nightlight, if Prompto weren’t mistaken, so they truly couldn’t have much of an opinion.

Cor tightened his mouth, and Prompto flinched, falling silent. He should’ve remembered the rules—influential military leaders never liked it when they spoke too much. Noctis reached out and squeezed his fingers, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

“Sorry, I—.” Cor paused, expression clearing, and then sighed. They startled when the man crouched down to their height. “I understand how confusing and scary this might be for you right now, but I want to . . . assure that nothing bad will happen to either of you.”

“That’s right,” said the other man, and he winked cheerily at them. “You’re under the protection of the Crown, Your Highnesses.”

Prompto and Noctis shared another glance. “Wait . . .,” Noctis started, his mind whirling. “Are you – are you saying we’re the, the . . . heirs to the Lucian crown?”

Prompto wondered if he could keel over from the fluttering knots in his stomach. Noctis looked a half’s breath away from doing the same.

“As of right now, you are not the official heirs,” explained Cor after a pause, “but you are officially recognized as children of royal blood, nevertheless. An official heir to the throne will be announced in the future, when you’re older, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

Noctis swallowed. “I – I see.”

Prompto straightened. “What if – what if we . . . don’t want to go with you?” He questioned softly and stared up at the man the Empire called ‘the Immortal’ with a steely gaze. “Are you . . . are you going to kill us?”

They were raised to be the perfect two-man army. They had ways to go, in terms of power and skill, but they would hold their own quite well. Enough to give themselves breathing room to escape and heal once hidden.

“No.” Cor looked horrified. “No one is going to harm you; if they dare try, I’ll take care of them.” After a pause, Cor visibly pensive, the man continued. “If you two decide to stay out here, I assure you we will do our best to make sure you have acceptable accommodations.”

Prompto blinked at those implications. He and Noctis never truly had anyone willing to kill others for them. That was simply not how the Empire worked. That was not how Zegnautus Keep worked. It seemed Lucis ignored the strict rules engrained into their lungs since their existence.

They had a choice, nevertheless: continue to live in the wild of the outer regions of Lucis or attempt a life in the cutthroat society of royalty in the city of glass and metal.

Cor and the others wouldn’t push the issue. Prompto could tell they would rather swallow nails than try and enforce a certain agenda. Prompto knew they, also, had a mission to complete, though what that mission entailed he didn’t know—and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He found he wasn’t that anxious over that uncertainty, however, simply because Noctis would be with him regardless of their decision.

“. . . Prom,” said Noctis.

That was all Noctis needed to say, really.

Prompto nodded in agreement and reached over to entwine their fingers, squeezing. Noctis squeezed back with the beginnings of a smile. Prompto stared out to where Cor and the Glaives lingered, allowing them space to talk without interruption, and breathed. Something cold and tight fluttered in his lungs, but it dissipated somewhat when Noctis squeezed his fingers again.

“You’ll . . .,” Prompto started to whisper, and then paused, suddenly shy and terrified. At Noctis’ beseeching look, he took another breath and continued: “W-We’ll stay together, r-right?”

Noctis blinked at the sudden question, and then his expression softened. It was almost maddening, how freedom could exist in the smallest of things. Back at the Keep, they had no choice but to remain expressionless dolls. Even the tiniest hint of personality would cause those humans to drag them back to the operation table and split them into pieces, attempting to figure out where their little masterpieces had gone wrong.

“Of course,” Noctis responded in the same low tone. “Remember what we promised back then?”

It was the worst snowstorm Gralea had ever experienced. The labs had essentially been abandoned by the time the peak of the storm thundered above, and N–iP01357 knew of three Projects that had succumbed to the cold already. He and N–hN01897 were strangely unaffected by the subzero temperatures, but they chalked it up to their trainings and the divine blood in their veins.

They stood at the edge of the platform, facing the surrounding forests of the Keep. Not that they could see much besides the swirl of white and gray. Surprisingly, the patrolling MTs had not discovered them as they made their escape—and neither did the snipers above. It made N–iP01357 believe some divine intervention was at play.

His assumption was correct when silent footsteps caught their attention, and a woman in flowing robes appeared. Her feet did not make noise nor indents in the snow. N–hN01897 tightened his grip on his sword, but paused when N–iP01357 touched his wrist. He knew no harm would befall them from her, however strange she might have appeared.

“My little Stars,” she greeted, her voice kind and warm. N–iP01357 wondered if this, perhaps, could be what a ‘mother’ sounded like. “Set course for the Kingdom of Light.” For all that her expression looked as though it were etched from ice (Shiva in her human form, perhaps?), it softened considerably as she stared at them. “You shall find no resistance there.”

N–hN01897 brows pinched. “What—?”

Wind howled, suddenly, and N–iP01357 closed his eyes at the force of it. The woman—most definitely Shiva—had disappeared. They side-eyed each other with a look, and then turned back to the field of snow and ice. From N–iP01357’s calculations, they had about ten minutes before their escape would be discovered, and they’d get gunned down by the guards.

In a remarkable display of humanity, N–hN01897 reached over to squeeze their hands. It was something he hadn’t done since the earlier days of their existence, leading N–iP01357 to believe the White Coats had stamped it out with their interventions.

“Could you . . . Could you promise me something, N–iP01357?” asked N–hN01897. They were Projects. They were assassins created for the sole purpose of the Empire. They were weapons of destruction; a two-person army that were supposed to be the bane of Lucis’ existence. “Stay by my side,” N–hN01897 continued in a whisper, barely heard over the wind. “Please?”

They did not make something as humane as promises.

Still, though, even knowing this , N–iP01357 squeezed N–hN01897’s hand and promised: “Always.”

Blue chirped at another Chocobo and brought him back to the present. “I do,” Prompto replied with a head tilt. “How could I forget?”

Noctis squeezed his hand once more. “Then . . . then you know the answer to your question,” Noctis murmured. “If they try to separate us . . . we’ll just run again.”

That was a good plan, and it certainly eased some of his nerves. “That’s correct,” Prompto mused after a moment. “We don’t . . . nothing says we have to stay.”

With that decision made, Noctis and Prompto turned to Cor and the Glaives. “We – we’ve made our decision,” Noctis said with a confidence he absolutely didn’t feel. “We would like to, um, go with you back to the city.”

“Understood.” Cor rose to his feet and then, after a pause, held out his hands for them to take. After only a moments’ hesitation, they took the offer. “Let’s head over to Wiz’s for some lunch.”

From the corner of Prompto’s eye, he noticed an elegant, almost translucent, shadow. He blinked when he noticed that woman from the Keep, who’d guided them towards Lucian territory, and she smiled, mouthing ‘Live well, My little Stars’ before she disappeared, a wisp in the wind.

Whatever would happen next, neither Prompto or Noctis knew, but they had each other—and that, in their opinion, was the most important thing.