Chapter Text
They don’t even get a warning.
One moment, they’re in the middle of the desert, sweating under the blazing sun; in the next, the rusty sand turns silvery blue and the open space hazes over with sparkling icy dust. Noct is just a stone’s throw away, but Prompto can barely see him now. The sudden blizzard builds up and swirls around him as Shiva graciously answers the call.
Prompto has been caught up in more than a few unfortunate applications of ice magic; he’s caused half of them himself, taking the brunt of the biting cold from flasks exploding in his hands. But this – this is so much more. The raw, primal kind of cold from a time before the sun.
Shiva is on their side. She’s come to their aid, as crazy and incredible as it is. She’s made it clear she wouldn’t hurt the Chosen King or his companions. But she’s also a freaking goddess. She probably doesn’t even realize how immense she is to a mere mortal.
Prompto curls in on himself, shivering. The ice prickles his skin with tiny needles, seizes his throat and lungs with every breath. His awe and wonder do little to take his mind off that. He’s witnessing a literal miracle, and yet he can’t wait for it to be over.
And when it is, he can’t feel it right away. He can’t feel much of anything, really. His body is rigid like the blood’s turned solid in his veins, and even if he could move, he’s pretty sure he would crack.
“You okay?” Noct jogs up to him, snow crunching under his boots. There’s frost on his eyebrows and his lips are slightly blue. Beyond that, he seems none the worse for wear. Prompto wonders briefly if that’s what it means to be Shiva’s favourite.
“I’m f- f- f-“ He wavers between fine and freezing, but neither makes it past his chattering teeth.
Noct doesn’t wait for him to finish – just grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him in. The guilty look on his face is doubly pathetic between his red nose and watery eyes. He runs his hands up and down Prompto’s arms, rubbing over the bare skin and brushing off the tiny ice crystals that stuck there.
It doesn’t do much when he’s ice-cold himself, but Prompto still feels his body grow warmer from the touch: a familiar, glowing warmth that starts in his chest and spills over his neck and cheeks.
He melts into the embrace, watching over Noct’s shoulder as the desert slowly thaws down. The last few snowflakes flutter around them, and when he looks closer, he sees a pair of wings, a slender figure and the tiny face of the goddess herself.
Before it disappears in a flurry, he could swear it gives him a wink.