Chapter Text
Ravus Nox Fleuret is standing by the window.
Six days after the covenant with the Hydraean, the sky over Altissia is incongruously clear, and the concrete wreckage of Altissia's oceanside roads bake in the midmorning heat. The door is ajar and Ignis knocks lightly. "Ravus."
He turns, recognition faintly crossing his face.
"Don't go outside," Ignis continues. "Niflheim is searching for you and the First Secretary can only protect you here."
The man is barefoot, loose-fitting pale shirt and pants suited to bed rest. One hand rests lightly against the windowsill. Like this, Ravus Nox Fleuret reminds Ignis, very unexpectedly, of Noct in those first days after Insomnia's fall: a prince accustomed to a home now suddenly set adrift. As if, without the unyielding frame of sword belt and military coat, he's not quite sure how to stand on his own.
When Ignis woke up in the safe house he remembered the storming evening sky, the gale-force winds, and the Altar of the Tidemother crumbling beneath the sea spray. Luna and Noctis, hands linked, unconscious on the stone; Chancellor Ardyn's face twisting in a sneer as his boot descended towards Ignis' head. And then, nothing. There is a big blank space where everything else should have been.
Fear had drenched Ignis like a cold waterfall and he summoned a dagger into his left hand, then vanished it. The Armiger still functioned. So Noct must be alive, at least.
Silence in the Armiger's narrow holding space. Ignis tied a written note to the Engine Blade, then went in search of someone who might know what had happened.
He finds one of the First Secretary's aides in an office on the ground floor, who informed him that the Chancellor had taken the Lucian King and the Oracle and left via airship, just several hours before Commodore Aranea's cleanup and recovery crew arrived. Ignis had spoken to the aide a moment longer, then requested an audience with the First Secretary so that he might thank her himself.
Camellia Claustra had shielded both Ignis and Ravus Nox Fleuret from Niflheim's search-and-rescue operations on account of the Lucian King's assistance with the Hydraean, and Accordo's once cordial ties with former Tenebrae. Noctis' remaining retainers, she surmises, may not have been as lucky.
Sudden fear for Gladio and Prompto had gripped Ignis' heart again even as he thanked her for her assistance.
"Stay here, Scientia," the First Secretary said. "You must know that darkness is coming to Eos. Accordo could use your help. Of course, we will do what we can for Lucis and King Noctis in return."
Somewhere in the mechanical heart of the Niflheim Empire, Noct is waiting. "There is one matter for which I would ask your assistance."
The Secretary regards him steadily. "And what might that be?"
"Retrieving King Noctis from Gralea," Ignis replies, voice level as if he's talking about the weather. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to pick up a few things for a little trip to the Empire."
Ravus had remained unconscious for another two days. Between the injuries he sustained from Ignis and later the Chancellor, Ignis had wondered how the man was even still alive.
Beneath his coat his skin was cool and smooth as marble, the broad expanse of shoulders and torso scattered with the raised scars of old wounds badly healed, a testament to his many years in Niflheim's military. Lines of violet ran the length of his artificial arm, ending in a web of dark veins radiating outward from where the prosthetic meets flesh: magiteknology, Ravus had said that day in Altissia. Strength gained at the cost of humanity. Ignis is not squeamish but the stark vision made his flesh crawl.
Ignis removed a precious potion from Noctis' still-untouched stock and shattered the glass bottle just over Ravus' chest. The magic glittered, sank into the man's flesh, and vanished. He did not wake, and his forehead smoothened as he fell back into untroubled sleep. Ignis covered him with a blanket again before leaving him to rest.
For a brief moment Ignis almost regretted his actions, in case Noctis should come to need that curative. But Ignis also needs Ravus Nox Fleuret alive. If he is to reach Gralea and get Noct back, he will require this man's help.
Ignis leaves Ravus the rest of the morning to re-orient himself, then takes his lunch tray into the common area and sits down opposite him. Late morning light filters through the east-facing window, illuminating the far corners of the room and the complex patterns over the carpet. Ravus glances up at his uninvited lunch companion and says nothing.
"My name is Ignis Scientia," Ignis begins. "Six days ago, I aided you on your way to the Altar of the Tidemother. Now I need your help."
Ravus regards him warily. "And what do you want?"
Ignis lays out the circumstances. The Lucian King is missing, not yet dead, last seen with the Niflheim Chancellor en route to Gralea. Ravus spent half his life in Ulwaat, the other half in Gralea, and is intimately familiar with the climate and terrain of the southern continent. If Ignis is going to attempt to rescue Noctis from the heart of Niflheim, then Ravus is the best candidate as guide.
Ravus levels Ignis with a stare. "You are asking me to walk into the heart of a nation who wants my head, to save the life of the man responsible for the destruction of my home."
His voice is quiet: too exhausted for rage, or too steeped in grief. Ignis recalls again the vision of Ravus holding his sister's body against the storm. Ravus, too, lost much on the Altar of the Tidemother that day. "Lady Lunafreya wished for Noctis to live," Ignis replies. A low blow, he knows, to invoke the Oracle's name now. But Ignis' first duty is, and will always be, to Noctis.
"First my sister, and now you." Ravus' face is contorted with an emotion Ignis cannot place. "Tell me, what is it about that man that makes people throw their lives away for him without a second thought?"
He is the future of the world, Ignis thinks, but does not say the words. Ravus is not asking, not really.
Ravus stands and goes to the window again, looking out over the ongoing repair efforts. "And you think that your presence or absence will do anything to change his fate?"
"I do not know. But I have to try," Ignis replies, and follows Ravus to the window. Below, a construction crane and a magitek armor move rubble from the street. Progress, slow but sure. "You can go with me, or you can stay here and wait for Niflheim to find you. And, believe me, they will."
Finally Ravus turns, arms folded, forehead creased in a frown. "If Altissia's rail station is intact, that is the quickest way across the Cygillan Sea."
The response is close enough to acquiescence.
The open-air balcony of the apartment overlooks the street, and that evening the breeze is cool on Ignis' face, smelling faintly of sea salt. On the outdoor table behind them a narrow tube projects a digital map of the southern continent over the balcony railing. Ravus goes over the route again: they will drive southwest through Succarpe, then northwards through Eusciello until they hit the Ghorovas mountain road, which will take them straight on to Gralea.
Their bags are stacked in the common room, ready to go first thing in the morning. Ignis had had his things picked up from what remained of the party's former lodgings. Between a last-minute shopping trip and the few of Gladio's things that fit, they manage enough clothes for Ravus.
The night before leaving Insomnia had been much like this one: clear and warm, the sounds of nightlife far away in the city beneath. That night, Ignis had also lain awake waiting for the dawn to arrive.
Already, it seems like a different lifetime.
The freight train to Calcano leaves first thing in the morning. The First Secretary's aide escorts them to the cargo bay and herds them onto a carriage which already contains a series of unmarked cartons. She reminds them that their safe passage is guaranteed from Altissia to Calcano but no further.
Midway to Succarpe, beneath the Cygillan Ocean separating Accordo from Niflheim, the interior of the cargo hold is nearly pitch-black. Ignis clips his portable torchlight to his breast pocket, and by its light he examines the vehicle the First Secretary's aide had provided them for the trip.
The car is an offroader, equipped for long-distance travel through the southern continent's harsh climate. Ravus bends to check something on the driver's door, his sudden proximity making Ignis draw breath sharply. "Niflheim-issue," Ravus observes, tracing a sigil embossed just beneath the handle, barely visible unless one were looking for it.
Ignis nods. "Vyra said it belonged to a Niflheim diplomat unfamiliar with Accordo's terrain."
"Who must have left it there," Ravus concludes. In the interests of not being recognized he's left his trademark coat in one of his bags, replaced by a pale grey bomber jacket over long pants and sturdy boots. Even away from the imperial army he seems to favour light colours.
He stands and walks around to the other side of the car, still assessing. Ignis watches him go, his profile lean and graceful in the torchlight.
Impossible to tell what he is thinking.