Chapter Text
Noctis wakes up in a bed he didn’t go to sleep in. It’s his own bed, which shouldn’t be possible.
He must be dreaming, but the sunlight that shines from his bedroom window feels real enough. As do the window curtains as he parts them to look below. Below, being the streets of Insomnia outside his old apartment. He’s awake early enough to see the rush of morning traffic, people on their way to work within the city. Citizens bustle by on the sidewalks, talking on their phones, going into nearby shops, walking their dogs, all things that Noctis had thought he would never witness again. His eyes dart across the city landscape, looking for glimpses of fire, ruin, destruction that he had witnessed so clearly on newscasts from that day, but all he sees before him is the city he was never supposed to return to.
He stands by the window, willing himself to wake up, because he’s not sure he has. He can’t allow himself to think this should be possible.
Feeling like he’s in a trance, he looks towards his bed. It was the train’s cabin bunker the night before, he’s sure of it. It was also the only shelter available to them within the ruins of Tenebrae. Noctis had wanted to push on, to get to the capital, to get Prompto back as soon as possible, but Ignis had insisted they should find what rest they could beforehand. Noctis had forced himself not to argue with him. He was terrified of what Prompto could be going through, but Ignis was still struggling with his injury, and Gladio was a ghost of his usual self. Noctis doubtlessly didn’t look much better. So they huddled in the bunkers for a night that seemed much darker than it should have been.
Noctis is surprised he managed to get any sleep. It must have been exhaustion that finally did him in. He vaguely remembers laying in the dark, feeling a soreness and ache all over that his potions did next to nothing for. Though, he found himself knowing that all the pain in the world was easier to overcome than the deafening disappointment in himself. All of their sacrifices…all their suffering, for what? So he could feel helpless to protect them? What was the point and when was he going to understand it?
Noctis notices a bump beneath the tousled blankets of his bed. He pulls back the covers and Luna’s notebook falls open, followed by the Ring of Lucii that rolls to a stop beside it.
He stares at the two items. He looks back out the window, the city bustling with Crown citizens that should be dead. He does a once-over around his room. If this wasn’t a dream, then what was it?
And where were his friends?
He notices his cell phone charging at his bedside. He hastily moves to pick it up, his fingers find their way to his contacts and he types “Specs” into the search bar. He feels his heart drop when nothing comes up, and searches again for “Ignis”, even faster. His panic subsides into unease when that produces a result, but he’s pressing the call button before he can dwell on it for long.
He gets an automated message after three tries and feels like crying, but leaves a voicemail through it anyways.
“Damn it, guys, where are you?!” He begs into the phone, his grip on it almost bruising. “I don’t know what’s going on, I… I’m back at my apartment, and – and I need to know where you are, so just call me when you get this, okay?”
The dread in Noctis’s stomach only plummets further as his attempts to call Gladio don’t even ring through and go right to a voicemail box that’s full. It’s bad that Ignis isn’t answering. But it’s much, much worse for Gladio to not pick up. It leaves no room for reassurance that they’re at least around each other. Noctis doesn’t want to think about Ignis, newly without his vision, surviving without Gladio. He realizes that could mean a number of things, which Noctis doesn’t want to think about, either. He sets these thoughts aside and tries to search for Prompto in his phone’s contacts. But as far as he can tell, the number isn’t saved anywhere. He’s not confident he would have been able to pick up, anyways. The last time Noctis saw him, he was falling off the side of the train. All because of…
”How long were you in the dark?”
Noctis feels his teeth grind and he reaches to rub the spot behind his neck where Ardyn had struck. That had been the last thing the chancellor had said before the world went away from Noctis. When he woke again, Ardyn had disappeared, and he had no idea how far away Prompto was. After that came the swift daemon attack to focus on, and then the refugees of Tenebrae to take care of. They had settled in the train car for the night and were planning on continuing to the capitol, and then…
Why… couldn’t he remember…?
Noctis draws breath through his teeth as he feels a sharp pain strike the center of his forehead and he has to put both his hands on his head to oppose the pain. It’s not unlike the headache he felt before his meeting with Titan, and the hurt is enough to make him struggle to see straight. He stumbles to sit on the edge of his bed, pressing the heels of his wrists to his temples. He focuses on deep, deliberate breaths, just as Ignis had guided him through when the tremors caused headaches. He’s not sure which is worse – his head, or the unbearable nauseation that’s anchored in the pit of his stomach at the growing number of questions he has. He clutches at his bedside table to hoist himself back onto his feet. He has to figure out what’s going on.
No sooner as he begins to search for the Regalia’s keys does he hear his apartment’s front door open. The walls become a blur as he rushes into the living room.
“Guys?” His voice sounds like a plea, but it meets someone he’s not looking for.
It is, at least, someone he recognizes. Monica toes the door further open, her arms overwhelmed with bags of groceries that Noctis is too stunned to think about helping her with. She looks equally surprised to see him.
“Oh, good morning, Your Highness,” she says, a tad breathless as she staggers inside. Evidently she knows where the kitchen is, as she heads there next to begin unloading the food. “I must say, it’s good to see you out of bed. I thought I might have to coax you to even sit up today.” She studies him as she busies herself, worry settling over her forehead. “How are you feeling? You look like you’re doing… better.”
Noctis hesitates dumbly at the doorway. Gladio would be demanding answers right now, but Monica doesn’t seem to share the bewilderment that Noctis holds about the city being put back together. Ignis would doubtlessly feel out the situation with the rational ability that Noctis sometimes feels he himself was born without. And Prompto… well, Prompto might just tell him he should go back to bed because this has got to be a dream. Noctis goes with the best option he thinks he has.
“Yeah, I, ah… feeling fine,” Noctis finally responds, peering into the hallway for anyone else she might be accompanied by, but the space is empty. “Why are you here? What’s going on?”
These questions are loaded with serious intent, but Monica only hums casually as she rummages for space amongst the cupboards. “I always bring your weekly groceries, Your Highness. Are you sure you’re alright?” She looks over at him again and frowns at how wild his demeanor must look. She walks over to feel his head lightly. “It’s good that you’re out of bed, but… perhaps you need another doctor visit today?”
Noctis draws his eyebrows together and leans away, shaking his head. “Ah, no, I’m fine…hey, can you tell me where Ignis is right now? I need to speak with him.”
Monica blinks at the sudden question. “Oh, I… I’m afraid I don’t. Ahm, he should have a shift tomorrow, shouldn’t he? Did you request a schedule change with him? I’m sorry if I was unaware of…” She trails off, studying him with nervous apprehension.
Noctis bites back the frustration that he wants to let out. What was she talking about? Since when did Ignis take shifts? “No, that’s… fine. I’ll just catch him tomorrow. Ah, what about Gladio? Is he…scheduled today?”
Monica settles him with a very strange look and carefully returns to putting away the groceries. “If you mean Gladiolus, I’m afraid Cor is using him to train some recruits this morning. Since you’ve been unwell, the Marshall has been borrowing him. It might be difficult to interrupt them.”
Noctis does his best to hold his tongue. “Do you know when I’ll see him next, then?”
Monica nods as she digs through his fridge, examining a milk carton that looks past its expiration. “I’m sure he’ll be around the Citadel this evening. His Majesty actually wanted you to attend dinner and asked me to see if you might feel up to it. If you’re still unwell, he suggested he might come to visit here tonight. Which do you prefer?”
There’s a very long pause that follows her question, so long that Monica looks up to see if the prince had `heard her, but he’s already bolted back into his room, frantically intent on finding the Regalia’s keys as quickly as possible. He nearly rips the top drawer of his dresser off its hinges before he finally locates a pair of keys next to some notebooks. He doesn’t recognize it as the Regalia’s, but they’re in his stuff, so they must belong to him. Good enough. He holds them with a vice grip, hastily puts on shoes, and makes a beeline for the front door.
“I’m heading there early,” he says to Monica in quick passing. “You can let yourself out, right?”
By the time she probably responds, Noctis is already pushing the lobby floor’s button in the elevator. He rests the back of his head against the wall, looks directly into the box’s ceiling light, and tries to take some more deep breaths because he’s just been told his father is alive and he’s not sure he can handle it if it’s not true.
He’s not sure he can handle it if any of this isn’t true. Insomnia seems to be back in one piece, standing like it always has. It’s surrounded again by the wall that had been ripped open like paper, when the attack happened, when his father had been…
Noctis has had dreams of this. To have everything that was taken from him be restored, suddenly and without compensation. But those were just subconscious wishes, remnants of his grief. It’s before him now, and all he can think about is it being a lie. It’s more tortuous than any nightmare he’s had.
When he reaches the garage, the Regalia isn’t there. But a vehicle he knows very well is. Star of Lucis is what his father had called it when he gifted it to him for his twentieth birthday. He can count on one hand the times he had actually driven it. There wasn’t time for test runs, with the wedding being so close. Then after… well, he didn’t have time to think about the car perishing when the Empire attacked, but it would make sense for it to have gone down with everything else in Insomnia. He shakes his head and gets in anyways.
He drives on the streets he’s familiar with. He speeds by shops he used to visit, parks he used to walk through, restaurants he used to eat at, all the places he had watched be reduced to ash and wreckage. It’s difficult to believe he’s actually seeing these places, but not as difficult as seeing the Citadel when he pulls up to the gates. It looks the same as when he left for Altissa, when he left his home, without a single clue it was about to be taken away.
He’s thankful that the Crownsguard at the gates let him through easily, albeit a little surprised at his unannounced visit. He drives the Star into the main carport and parks her at his usual spot, taking a moment to check his phone as he pockets his keys. The unease that has fixed itself to the center of his stomach deepens when he doesn’t see any recent notifications. Why hasn’t anyone responded to him? Whatever kind of situation he’s in, he still has his phone, so shouldn’t the guys have theirs? Ignis and Gladio are definitely here from what Monica has said, so they should be looking for him like he’s looking for them, shouldn’t they? Unless they’re being kept away by something.
Or someone.
Ardyn.
Wouldn’t he be behind this? If this new reality is caused by anyone, it has to be him, Noctis thinks. He could have never imagined Ardyn would be capable of an illusion this complicated, but he’s clearly able to throw Noctis into controlled chaos, like a puppet tied up in strings he could never hope to notice. He remembers viscerally how helpless he was to the Chancellor’s illusions on that train ride. He was so sure it was Ardyn that he had attacked, had even sounded like him, and yet it was Prompto’s face that he watched twist in shock and fear as he fell off the train’s roof, disappearing into the forest’s fleeting brush.
Again, he’s cheated his friends of their safety in exchange for his own. If all that surrounds him is another illusion, is he just expending the security of those he loves by playing along with it?
He takes a deep breath, hand a vice grip on the door handle, and tries to steel his thoughts to a halt. If he’s under an illusion, then he’s trapped in another game, presumably under the Chancellor’s control. Games can either be lost or won, depending on how they’re played. But neither result will happen by not playing at all. He may have no choice, but he at least has a chance.
He can’t trust what he sees before him. But he wishes so deeply that he could.
Dustin is the next familiar face Noctis sees when he steps into the Citadel’s main hall. He’s clearly busy, sorting through files with one of the building’s receptionists. When he looks up to see Noctis fast approaching him, it doesn’t seem to set him at any ease.
“Ah, good morning, Your Highness,” he greets, reluctantly setting his paperwork to the side. “You look well, all things considered… We weren’t expecting you until this evening, if at all. Is everything alright?”
Noctis gives a quick nod as he fiddles anxiously with the keyring in his pocket. “All good. My dad around?”
Dustin has a brief look of worry skim across his face, the same one that Monica had given him earlier. “He’s… in the midst of a meeting, at the moment,” he speaks gingerly. “I can send word that you’re here, but I’m not certain they can end it on short notice. Maybe if you were to come back later-“
Noctis swallows down a sigh and starts backtracking towards the elevator. “Don’t worry about cutting it short. I’ll just wait for him to finish up.”
It’s the last place he wants to go, but he heads for the only place he knows to wait at.
The Hall of History looks as he remembers it, from the windows that shine from the ceiling to the material of the couches where he now sits, waiting. He used to feel dread just thinking about being in this room, the place he associates all of his father’s worries with, but now he just feels…strange. Like he’s not supposed to be here. Like he doesn’t deserve to. He checks his phone again for a distraction against the overwhelming silence. Still nothing. His hand trembles around his phone case. Where are they? Are they safe? Are they as lost and confused as he is? When can he see them again?
Noctis pushes himself off the couch, feeling too restless to sit, and begins walking around the Hall, gazing up at the large artworks that portray the star’s history, as if for answers. They still hold the same detail, tell the same story he’s been told all his life. He stops before one that used to scare him as a kid. It depicts the story of humanity, riddled with the starscourge brought on by the Astral’s fury. Eos, nearly purged by the war amongst the gods, now cursed by an unholy disease that can only be cured by the forthcoming of the true king.
It’s a tale told to him ever since he could remember. He didn’t really understand it when he was a child. Even though he was told he was to be a savior by Luna’s words, it always felt like something that was supposed to happen to someone else. He thought maybe he would understand it more as he got older.
Now he’s older. His father, his friends, Luna, they’ve all suffered around him. He doesn’t understand it any better. The only thing he understands is how angry he feels about it.
“Brushing up on your history, are you?”
Noctis almost falls over with how fast he turns around. All at once, he thinks about the days when he was a kid, and he would spend rare afternoons falling asleep with his head on his father’s knee while he read aloud to him. He recalls his time in junior high, when even his loneliest of days wouldn’t seem so terrible when his father would take him to get ice cream after he’d done especially well on a school project. He remembers the time after he’d just moved out of the Citadel. Desperate to get away from his father, he had barely spared a few words over a month, yet when Noctis fell so sick he was delirious, the King arrived at his apartment as soon as possible and held Noctis’s weakened frame until the pain had passed. And now Noctis is thinking of his father’s hand on his shoulder as they stood on the steps of the Citadel together for the last time. Noctis thinks about his face, how he was smiling with all the pride in the world. Noctis could never understand what he did to deserve it.
He should have thanked him. He should have told him he loved him. At the very least, he should have hugged him goodbye.
His father is standing in the doorway, his warm smile reaching up to his eyes. He’s still using that horrible cane that Noctis hates so much to support himself, but he’s there. He’s alive.
Noctis swallows thickly and tries to speak, but nothing comes out. What can he even say?
The King’s usual concern spreads across his face, and he crosses the room to Noctis. It’s almost slow motion, the way he reaches to brush his son’s messy bangs away from his face to feel his forehead. Noctis is frozen, petrified that if he moves his father will disappear before him. “I’m always glad to see you, but you still don’t look fully recovered. Are you sure you’re well enough to be here? You didn’t drive yourself, did you?”
Noctis knows that the kindness in his voice is more than he deserves and he struggles to find a reply. He does his best to compose himself, remembering that he’s trying to figure out how his dad is breathing in front of him. He makes himself avert his eyes towards the floor, since looking into his father’s face is nearly more than he can handle. “No, I’m fine, I just had to… see you, I guess. Sorry if it got in the way of your meeting. I can wait, if you need more time.”
The King shakes his head and pats Noctis on his shoulder with fierce care. “It’s a welcomed interruption. They can only drone on for so long, after all. Come and join me for tea.” As he turns towards the door, he spares a quick glance up and down at Noctis’s form. “You are certain you’re alright? It… seems you were in a rush to get here. Or have you just forgotten how to get dressed?”
It’s only then that Noctis realizes he didn’t even bother to change out of his sleepwear when he rushed out of his apartment. No wonder the Crownsguards looked so surprised when the Prince walked into the Citadel wearing a t-shirt, sweatpants, and probably bedhead. He can’t even laugh at himself, though. “I was…in a hurry.”
His father looks unsure but settles him with a small smile. “Apparently so. Not to worry, there should be some spare clothing left in your room…”
Noctis feels as if he’s in a dream as his father leads him down the corridor, one hand walking on his cane and the other placed on Noctis’s back, as if he’s the one the King is worried might collapse. And Noctis feels like he might as he’s steered into one of the old lounge rooms, and of course it looks exactly the same as he remembers, like everything else he’s been shown. He’s no less shocked by it, and he almost hesitates to take his usual seat at a small couch beside the low setting table. He liked sitting there to be able to look out the window at the city when he couldn’t look at his father’s disquieted expressions. Presently, his father offers him a soft smile, as if to placate Noctis before he surprises him by turning to prepare the tea himself, instead of having a servant do it. In fact, Noctis realizes it's just the two of them in the room.
He flexes his fingers against the couch cushions, but can’t quite bring himself to move, still afraid the scene might vanish if he’s not careful. “Do you need help?”
His father answers with a slight shake of his head as he sets Noctis’s cup before him, turning to prepare his own. “I am not such a fragile, old man that I cannot still serve tea to my son and myself. If I was, how can I be expected to serve our nation?” His eyes are full of gentle mirth as he settles himself on the couch adjacent to Noctis’s, taking a quiet first sip of his cup. “Aside, I thought it may be easier for you to speak about what you remember if we were without the presence of Crownsguards.”
Noctis feels his eyebrows draw together. “What I…remember?”
The King’s smile returns to a worried frown. “Is that not why you were in such a hurry to be here? I thought…” He pauses to shake his head slightly, setting his cup down to level his gaze with Noctis. “I suppose I should not rush you, as you have not been…yourself, since we’ve returned you to Insomnia. Do you at least remember that much?”
Noctis blinks rapidly, confusion settling deeper into his gut. “Returned… you mean after we left the city?”
His father seemed fully taken aback by this question. “’We’?”
Noctis swallows and gapes for a second, unsure of how to safely follow up. He finally waves a hand slightly, gaze switching back to the teacup that he hasn’t touched. “Look, the only thing I can remember clearly is waking up this morning. Beyond that, I…” He trails off. He has no idea what details to give.
Regis pauses for some time, then Noctis feels him reach over to place a hand over his arm, a solid presence. Noctis looks up to see his father looking towards the table, but not at it. His troubled expression is halfway covered by his other hand that has come up to fold over his chin in worried consideration.
“Since you went missing from me, my thoughts have only been concerned with you, or with the gods, praying for your safety. I could not for the life of me rationalize why you left the city’s Wall in the first place, but more so I only wished to know that you were safe. And that… that was weeks ago. Once we finally found you again, I was so relieved to have you returned. Under the circumstances, it felt as if it was the gods' blessing. However…” He presses his lips together and looks at Noctis as if for forgiveness. “I was happy that you were safe. I fear I did not pay enough attention to much else, at the time. I am hopeful my negligence for that will not serve you ill in your recollection.”
Noctis quickly shakes his head, and he can’t stop himself from covering his father’s hand with his own in assurance. “I…please don’t blame yourself. We can work together to figure it out, right?” Noctis can’t believe that statement holds much value, but he wants it to.
Regis seems reassured by this and nods. He gives his son’s arm a squeeze before letting go, and Noctis's eyes nearly water at the loss of contact. “You know I will do all that I can to help you, whatever it takes. It is… concerning how little you recall, although given how you’ve been acting recently…” He shakes his head and carries on. “I suppose we should just be grateful that you are safe.”
Noctis leans forward as he listens. “What do you mean about how I’ve been acting, exactly?” He remembers how Monica and Dustin treated him, as if he’d been unwell. But if he were really so sick, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto should be checking on him regularly. Especially if he had been missing . So it couldn’t have been that bad.
Regis looks almost grim at this question. “When you were found again… you were not yourself. You didn’t seem physically harmed, but… you wouldn’t respond to anyone. You had no spirit, as if you were in a trance. You could do very simple movements, but hardly anything beyond that.” He shakes his head, seeming bothered by just the memory of whatever happened. “I wanted to keep you at the Citadel for longer since you were mostly bedridden, but… you insisted on returning to your apartment. It was the most emotion you had shown since we found you. I thought perhaps that might be a sign you were on your way to being yourself, but…I should have kept you here for longer, maybe then you would remember what happened to you.”
Noctis can see the growing guilt in the King’s eyes, so he’s quick to interject.
“Dad, come on. It’s not your fault. I know you did what you could and… I’m grateful for that.” Struggling to put his feelings into words, Noctis bows his head lowly towards his knees. “Really…thank you for keeping me safe.”
When he raises his head, his father is looking at him as if this is the last thing he expected. As if his son has never shown gratitude before, and Noctis hates himself for it. He hates that he didn’t take the chance to show him he was grateful while he still could.
“It is…never your responsibility to thank me for being a parent to you,” Regis says, considering him gently. “It is my greatest wish for you to be happy and well cared for.”
“I am,” Noctis affirms, then clears his throat. He wants to say more, but he needs answers. “So… where did you end up finding me?”
The gentle expression on Regis dissipates. “I was hoping you could explain that. Noctis…do you know of Angelgard?”
Noctis looks bewildered. He remembers reading about the sacred ground ages ago when Ignis used to study him on Lucian history. He had never visited, for obvious sacred reasons, and basically forgot about it after that lesson. “The…island? Was I found near it?”
Regis shakes his head, setting his palms into a steeple. His gaze feels palpable on Noctis’s skin. “You were found on it. We did not find an obvious mean of how you got there.”
Noctis is still for what feels like forever, then a nervous chuckle starts at his throat. “I…isn’t that impossible? The…the guards would have noticed , there’s no way on or off that place without them knowing.”
“So we thought was the case until now,” Regis says, and he’s still regarding Noctis as if for answers. “That is why I thought it was the Astral’s gift by bringing you there, on our sacred ground. But now I’m… unsure.” He leans forward at this, speaking intentionally. “My son…you know that if there is anything you wish to tell me, you can. I will think nothing less of you as to whatever your reasoning is. I only wish that you would be honest.”
Noctis can feel guilt and hope eating at his heart at the same time. He meets his father’s gaze and wants to tell him everything. Wants to tell him everything that’s happened, how confused he is, how badly he wants answers. He wants to trust him.
He thinks of the last thing he remembers. Laying in that train cabin while the ruins of Tenebrae burn around him, left to rot in the wake of rage. He doesn’t know where that version of reality is, but he doubts that it’s just simply gone away. If he reaches out to his father now, he can’t be sure he’ll ever return.
He shakes his head, looking at his hands that are clenched tightly together. “I’m…sorry. That’s as much as I can remember.”
Regis is quiet, his lips pressed into a line that’s not quite a frown. He nods slowly and leans onto his cane to rise from his seat. “It will be alright. We will solve this, eventually. At the very least, I am glad to see you back on your feet again.”
Noctis stares into his untouched cup of tea as he stands and says without much heart, “Yeah. Me too.”
He follows as his father makes his way towards the door. “Let’s get you that change of clothes, now. After that, I want you to take a curative with you and go back to your apartment at once if you’re not staying here. You may be feeling better, but refrain from pushing yourself until you are fully recovered. I want someone else to drive you, as well. I can have Dustin escort you back if Monica hasn’t yet returned…”
Before his father can carry on, he hears from down the corridor, “Your Highness!”
Noctis is already turning heel to see Ignis fast approaching them from the staircase. He looks as if he’s about to keel over, like he had just run across the city to reach them. Noctis is glued in his place as he watches Ignis briskly run to meet them halfway through the corridor. There’s not a single scar on Ignis’s face, only his usual pair of glasses perched before his clear, green eyes.
He can see again , Noctis thinks, and at the same time, I never told him I was sorry .
Ignis has to lean on his knees and take a few breaths once he comes before them, reaching up to adjust his spectacles. Regis looks as if he might offer Ignis his cane.
“I arrived…as soon as I could,” Ignis says between breaths. He looks up at Noctis in a state of pure confoundment, speaking quickly. “I went by your apartment, but you weren’t there. What… what’s going on?”
Relief hits Noctis heavily. He steps towards Ignis and pulls him into a tight embrace.
“Ignis,” he breathes into his shoulder, squeezing him with all the built-up worry that’s happened since he woke up. He still doesn’t know what’s going on or how they got here, but he has Ignis with him now, at least. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I-”
It takes Noctis a second too long to realize that Ignis is most definitely not hugging him back.
“Ah, uuhhm,” Ignis falters, his frame going tense as he blinks down at Noctis owlishly. “You – are you alright, Your Highness…?”
Noctis falters. He doesn’t want to let go of Ignis, but things will be worse if he doesn’t. He tries to laugh as naturally as possible and steps away, awkwardly. “Yeah, yeah, of course, just…glad to see you.”
Ignis looks even more perturbed by this, then slowly his mouth turns downward, as do his eyebrows, as if he’s putting up a serious fight to not scowl. “Yes, and I am glad to see you don’t seem to be in any danger. Your message from this morning strongly suggested otherwise.”
Noctis flinches inwardly. His morning had been so packed with twists and turns that he had almost forgotten about his voicemail. He must have sounded insane to Ignis. Ignis, who evidently is not experiencing the same lost confusion that Noctis is.
Regis steps between them, his eyes flinting from his son and his advisor. “Message?”
Noctis quickly intervenes. “I tried to contact him this morning. When I woke up I was…confused about what happened, so I thought maybe Ignis…” He trails off and gives Ignis a stiff nod. “Sorry to drag you out here. I’m fine now.”
Regis is giving Noctis that look again, like he knows more than he’s letting on. “I see. My deepest apologies for interrupting your day off, Ignis.”
Ignis clears his throat, addressing the King fully as if he would rather pretend Noctis isn’t there. “Nothing to fret about, Your Majesty. I can’t blame the Prince for having side effects in his recovery. I’m glad to see he’s doing better.” He takes a moment to adjust his shirt collar, glancing towards the hallway elevator. “If everything is alright here…”
Regis presses his lips together, glancing between Noctis and Ignis again. “I will send you on your way soon, I promise. But I have another meeting to attend, and I was going to send Noctis to his room for a change of clothes. Might I trouble you to accompany him? I fear if there is a chance he could collapse…”
Noctis stiffens. “Dad, come on, I said I was fine.“
Ignis only smiles tightly and nods once. “Of course, it’s no trouble at all.” He looks to Noctis and his eyes narrow a flicker. “Are you ready now?”
At a loss for other options, Noctis sighs and nods. Regis reaches to pat his shoulder once. “Let me know when you return home. Remember what I said about not driving yourself.”
Noctis feels like a child being left by his parent at daycare for the first time. He nods and gives the hand on his shoulder a farewell squeeze. “I got it. I’ll…talk to you later.”
Regis lingers for just a moment longer, then is leaving towards the Hall. Noctis watches as he and Ignis go the opposite way.
The walk to his room is very tense. Noctis isn’t usually one to break the silence, but the mood is unbearable.
“Hey, I really am sorry for bringing you out on your day off,” he begins as he matches Ignis’s brisk walk. He seems in a hurry to get back to whatever he had been doing before Noctis called him. He’s dressed even more pristine than he usually is, and Noctis can swear he catches a faint hint of cologne, so it must have been important.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Ignis states, though his tone is clipped. “Although, I’m not certain as to why you called me first and not your father. I would think he could have helped you more than I.”
Because my father is supposed to be dead, and you’re supposed to be blind , Noctis thinks, then says, “I guess I was just confused. I don’t remember a lot from before this morning. Why didn’t you call me back, anyway?” He knows he sounds accusatory, but he can’t help it.
At this, Ignis finally spares him a quick glance. “…We were given strict instructions to not contact you during your recovery, only to check on you during our shifts. I was unsure if that command had been altered, so I refrained from making a call. But you certainly seem different. I hope you don’t take offense to this, but some Crownsguards had coined you with the nickname ‘Zombie Prince’ after you were found. You would hardly utter a sentence to anyone.”
Noctis feigns interest in the passing windows of the hallway. “That’s what dad said, but I don’t remember. Must have made your shifts kinda boring without me to talk to, right?”
Ignis doesn’t respond for a beat. Almost uncomfortably, he says, “No need to worry, Your Highness. Nothing has changed drastically.”
At this, Noctis finds himself waiting, but nothing follows the statement. He was expecting a clever quip in response, probably followed by a gentle nag, something to ease Noctis’s worry. But the only thing between them is cold silence.
Ignis must sense that what he said bothered Noctis in some way, because when they arrive at his room he makes his way to the closet himself. “Perhaps you should sit down for a minute.”
Noctis numbly takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He briefly notes that it doesn’t look much different than when he remembers moving out, and he wonders if his father kept it that way on purpose. Before he moved to his apartment, he spent more time out of his room than in it. He took every chance he could to escape out at night and explore what he could on the outskirts of the city, just to get away for a while. In fact, Ignis had gone with him on a lot of those escapades, voluntarily sneaking out despite claiming it was an awful idea. Noctis knows he would have survived those adventures if Ignis wasn’t with him, but he doubts he would have enjoyed them more without the tactician at his side. He watches Ignis’s turned back as he sorts through his closet now. He wants to ask him if he remembers the times they spent together, but he’s afraid of the answer.
He clears his throat, wringing his hands together. “Are you still gonna come over tomorrow?”
Ignis hums vaguely, folding some attire over one arm. “It will be my shift, so yes.”
Noctis rubs his own arms once over. “And what about my training? You know when I can get back to sparring with Gladio?”
Ignis raises one well-groomed eyebrow and steps out of the closet. “Gladiolus? I…suppose that depends on how you are feeling, but I don’t see why you’re keen to rush back into it.”
Noctis stands to take the clothing from him, focusing on his hands rather than his face. “Well, I mean…it’s one of my duties to train, right? Can’t neglect it, especially since I’ve been out of commission for a while.” He hesitates, then turns to go behind the partition in his room that has been completely pointless up until this moment. He’s never felt self-conscious changing in front of Ignis before – being on the road as the four of them made privacy a foreign concept – but it feels strange now. Like their boundaries have been rearranged.
He sets out the clothes over the partition wall. As he starts to strip behind the divide, he hears Ignis hum, uncertainly. “I…suppose. However, you were already taking a break before you went missing. Might not be wise to jump in all at once.” He pauses. “But do as you want. I’m no expert.”
Noctis feels his frown deepen. Ignis may not have as much training as Gladio, but his finesse and talent for strategy is exemplary. Noctis has been cut down by him enough times to know. “Well…guess I can just see what Gladio thinks. He’s around today, right?”
Ignis hums again. “He should be finishing up training as we speak. I’m not sure you’ll catch him before he leaves, however.”
Noctis stops in the middle of taking his shirt off. “He’s not gonna come check on me?”
Another pause. “Do you need him to?”
Noctis discards his shirt and drops it to the ground, feeble with new confusion to add onto what’s already built up. “I guess not.” Another question comes up in his thoughts, but this one makes his hands shake with apprehension. “Do…do you know if Prompto has checked in on me?”
“Prompto…?” Ignis answers after a moment. “I’m…not sure. What’s the last name?”
“Argentum,” Noctis says stiffly.
“Hm. Apologies, Your Highness, but I’m not familiar with the name.” Ignis clears his throat quietly, unaware that Noctis is fighting down the rising panic that’s erupted in his chest. “Almost done? I’ll escort you to the carport if you’re satisfied with your attire.”
Noctis can only manage a muted hum of weak affirmation as he steps back out of the partition, now changed. He steps towards the mirror to look at himself. His eyes are shot, his hair still looks like a mess, one of his friends he’s known his whole life is acting like a total stranger, there’s a chance the other will too, and one of them may not even know him at all.
“Great,” he says, devoid of meaning. Ignis, who had been typing into his phone, looks up and grimaces mildly.
“Ah, the shirt is backwards, Your Highness. Here, hand it over…”
Noctis half-mindedly takes his shirt back off and moves to hand it over to Ignis, then he catches something – or rather, the lack of something – in the mirror. He rushes closer, peering over his shoulder to get a better look at his back’s reflection. There are a few moles he doesn’t recognize, but besides that, his back looks totally bare, it’s not marred in the slightest. He used to hate the way it looked from the base of his spine to just below his right shoulder blade. Used to think the scar across the expanse of his back was ugly, even after it had healed completely. Besides the way it looked, it also proved a hindrance to how much he could use his magic. It was as if the Kings of Yore themselves agreed with Noctis that he wasn’t worthy of the power he wanted to protect his friends with. But there was a sole good thing about the scar, that it stood as a reminder of the one who helped heal it. It brought thoughts of his time in Tenebrae before it was attacked, where some of his dearest memories were created. The sweet blossom of a new friendship that would grow into so much more, one of the only things he allows close to his heart.
Luna.
If the scar was gone, then what else had he lost?
There’s an unsure touch at his shoulder that breaks his thoughts, and Ignis is suddenly above him, looking unsettled. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”
Noctis feels the wetness on his cheeks. He turns away, using his wrist to roughly wipe his eyes. He sounds strangled when he speaks. “I’m fine. Tired.”
Ignis seems to lack a response, so he offers the shirt back, now turned the right way. “Here you are…”
“Thanks,” Noctis says, putting his shirt back on. “I can get to the port myself.”
Ignis hesitates, but steps back. “If you wish. I will see you tomorrow, then.”
Noctis listens to Ignis’s retreating footsteps until he can’t hear them anymore. He listens in hope the sound will reverse, and Ignis will tell him not to worry, that he knows how they’re in this strange other reality, and why there’s a sudden gap in Noctis’s memory of whatever happened.
He doesn’t, so Noctis walks out on his own.
Noctis sees Gladio on the way to the carport. He has just enough restraint not to sprint at him.
“Gladio,” Noctis calls, keeping his gait as casual as he can. Gladio stops his walk towards the main exit to turn to him, and the action is far too relaxed for Noctis to harbor any hope the Shield is in the same lost state as him. Gladio has his giant duffle bag slung over his shoulder, so he must have finished training and is heading home.
He really wasn’t going to check on me today , Noctis thinks. He still can’t quite believe it.
“Prince Noctis,” Gladio greets stiffly, the same way that Ignis had addressed him. “Was actually on the way to your apartment.”
Noctis is betrayed by his own voice as it reveals a tinge of optimism. “You were?”
Gladio nods and sets the duffle bag down, his hand disappearing into it. “Good thing you saved me the trip. Here,” he holds out a single paper bag. Noctis doesn’t do anything besides stare at it, so Gladio clarifies, “The King thought you may forget to take some curatives with you, so he wanted me to deliver some.”
“Oh,” Noctis deflates. His fingers grasp around the bag after a few seconds. “Right. Thanks.”
Gladio nods once and then turns to leave. Noctis has his hand curled around Gladio’s shoulder before he can even think about doing it.
“Um, do we have any protective gear I could take with me, while we’re at it?” Noctis says, knowing it’s a poor excuse to get him to stay, but it’s the only one he can think of.
Gladio gives him a look and leans away from his hold. “Protective gear? King Regis didn’t say to give you any.”
Noctis shrugs in a way that he hopes looks nonchalant. “He doesn’t have to. I just thought…I’m gonna be getting back into training soon, so I should stock up. You’re always saying there’s no point in having an attack if you also don’t have a way to defend yourself, right?”
Gladio has a look similar to the one he gives Prompto when the sharpshooter is going off about techniques in photography. “When have I told you that?”
“Loads of times,” Noctis insists, and he’s starting to sound too desperate for someone just asking for a few protective bangles. “It won’t take long. What kind of Shield are you if you won’t even give me the basic stuff?”
Noctis meant this as a friendly jab, but it clearly wasn’t the right thing to say, going by the way Gladio’s jaw muscles tense. “Fine. Right this way, Your Highness.”
Gladio walks past, almost taking Noctis out with his duffle bag, and heads towards the training grounds without waiting for a response. The lost feeling in Noctis intensifies a little more as he hurries to catch up.
Noctis matches Gladio’s pace, which is too brisk to have any right to be claimed as a walk. He has the same hurried feeling that Ignis had earlier, like the both of them would rather be doing anything other than helping Noctis.
He walks with Gladio in silence for a few hallways before he feels the need to break the tension. “Do you know if Prompto has come by to see me? I don’t remember much before this morning, so I can’t remember if I’ve seen him…” He searches Gladio’s profile for any sign of recognition, since Ignis so deftly lacked one.
Gladio’s eyebrows lower slightly. “Am I supposed to know who that is, Your Highness?”
Noctis bites the inside of his cheek. “Prompto Argentum? Blonde kid, about my height? We…we went to high school together.” Please , he thinks, as if that will help, I can’t be without him, too .
Gladio shakes his head. “Sorry, Prince. Don’t know him.”
Noctis faces forward again. He’s so tense that he feels he might shatter. How could they not know Prompto? He can’t imagine there could ever be a world that he’s not in. He has to be around somewhere – he has to – so why doesn’t anyone else know him?
He does his best to push it into the back of his mind for now. “So…sounds like you kept busy while I was away.”
Gladio makes a noise that is masked to sound interested. “Not any busier than usual.”
Noctis presses his lips together. “You weren’t caught up in trying to find me?”
Gladio shrugs, eyes forward, his large strides not missing a beat. “The search party was mostly left to the more experienced Crownsguards. It’s what the King wanted, so there wasn’t much I could do.”
Noctis is putting up an honest fight not to glower directly at Gladio, so he turns it to the passing walls instead. “Not like it would have hurt for you to try.”
“His Majesty’s word goes against whatever I might ‘try’ to do, Your Highness,” Gladio states, and he says it so blankly he may as well have been talking about the weather. Then he adds, “Besides, they thought it was more likely you would come back on your own if they didn’t find you.”
Noctis stops walking at this, but Gladio is still pushing forward like he didn’t notice. He jogs to catch up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gladio shrugs again. Noctis is beginning to hate how unbothered he makes it look. “Dunno. But whatever your reason for leaving had to eventually lead you back. And as far as the King knew, there’s nowhere else for you to go.”
Noctis feels his face heat up, disbelief taking over. “Yeah, except I didn’t have a reason for leaving, Gladio. I went missing, right?”
Gladio actually snorts in response. “Sure. Look, it won’t be any of my business before too long, so do what you want.” They’ve arrived at the training grounds and Gladio has a hand at the main door to push it open. Noctis steps forward to knock it aside.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I don’t remember what happened. I didn’t plan to leave or come back because I don’t remember disappearing ,” Noctis can feel his voice rising and it might be garnering attention from the guards who walk by them, but he’s only focused on Gladio. He’s staring down at Noctis like he’s just wasting his time, like he’s a little kid arguing pointlessly, and it burns Noctis up. “And what do you mean it’s not your business? Like hell, it isn’t! You’re supposed to protect me, aren’t you?”
Gladio’s downward gaze at Noctis is unwavering. When he speaks, it doesn’t come across as cold or heated. He just sounds fed up. “I’ll protect you as far as my duty calls for me too. If you want to go out on your own to do whatever it is you do, then I can’t do anything to stop you if the King doesn’t permit it. Sorry if you’re the only one who doesn’t get that.” He puts a hand on the door to push it ajar, tilting his head sharply like he’s calling a dog. “Still want that gear?”
Noctis clenches his hands into tight fists. “Yeah,” he bites out, “I’ll obviously need it.”
He follows Gladio through and doesn’t try to break the silence this time. He’s expecting Gladio to berate him for his sullen attitude, but he doesn’t act like he has anything else to say. Part of Noctis doesn’t want to hear anymore. What the hell was he even on about? Since when did he hold anything above his duty as the next Shield? Even when he and Noctis were at their worst with each other, he still stuck to his title.
He still stuck to Noctis. It didn’t feel like anything could change that.
Noctis picks up his pace when he sees the racks where the usual equipment is kept, and the sudden intent in his step makes Gladio step away with a quiet huff. Noctis erratically starts looking for what he needs. He doesn’t even know if this will work, but he has to try. Anything to get out of this reality. He finds the bangle he’s looking for and his fingers grasp around it with heavy anticipation. He thinks that if this does work, he’ll never be as lucky again. But the tradeoff will be worth it.
Gladio raises a brow at his choice. “That one just protects from illusions. Don’t think you’ll need it.”
Noctis ignores him and secures the bangles to his wrist. He closes his eyes as he feels the magical properties adjust to his skin and briefly course through his veins. It’s a familiar feeling he associates with all magical gear. He can recall how Ignis used to drive into his head the use of each gear, the different properties they carry, and how he could use them in battle to protect himself. He knows what each bangle would feel like to put on. There’s no faking the feeling – even with illusionary magic.
He opens his eyes again to see nothing has changed. The Citadel is still standing around him and Gladio is staring at him pointedly.
“That all you need?” Gladio asks, impatiently stepping towards the exit.
Noctis lets out a long breath. The clamor of swords clashing against each other within the training room, the chatter of nearby Crownsguards in training, the hostility he can feel from Gladio’s gaze, he suddenly feels submerged in it all, knowing it’s real.
He has no idea what to try next.
“Yeah. I guess that’s it.”
“Great,” Gladio says and he’s already walking away. “Get Dustin to drive you back home as the King asked.”
Noctis stares down at the useless bangle around his wrist as Gladio leaves, feeling more alone than ever.
Noctis somehow finds himself back in his apartment. He didn’t think he had the strength to get his feet to move, but then he hears Ignis telling him the only way is forward, Gladio telling him he still has work to do, Prompto telling him it’s all going to be okay. They will figure this out.
Well. He will figure this out.
He sits on his couch to steady himself and presses his hands to either side of his head. Come on, think.
He remembers arriving at Tenebrae after the daemon attack. The passengers had made it through safely, but then there was the task of finding everyone shelter since it wasn’t safe for them to continue to Gralea-
Noctis takes deep breaths as he feels pressure start to build from the inside of his head, a dull ache spreading fast from the base of his skull to the center of his forehead. He ignores it and focuses on his thoughts.
-not that it was much safer for the passengers to stay in Tenebrae. Noctis couldn’t even compare that place to the one he remembers visiting when he was younger. The bright sky had been replaced with a murky haze of destruction and peril that felt unrecognizable to his memories. He had thought to himself that at least Luna wasn’t there to see her home reduced to carnage. He’s an idiot to think this thought would console him because if it hadn’t had been for him then maybe Tenebrae wouldn’t have been attacked, at all-
A pained gasp fights its way out of his mouth, and he feels like hurling. He has to hunch over and press his hands against his eyes to keep going.
-but he hadn’t had time to think about that for too long. There were still the passengers to take care of. The only stroke of luck they had all day was that Aranea had been there to help, as she had apparently just resigned from the Empire. Noctis didn’t even know that was possible. He guessed it may as well be since nothing else in his life was making sense. He more or less left the disaster relief to her as he made his way to the manor. He had taken note of the sylleblossoms-
Noctis was nearly hyperventilating at this point, Six, why did it hurt so much-
-which appeared to still be standing strong, regardless of the wasteland that surrounded them. Noctis remembers wanting to find hope within them, that maybe it was a sign that they could all persevere through this. But when the one causing the need for perseverance in the first place is himself, finding hope feels like a selfish act. He’s supposed to be some kind of savior, but if he can’t even protect the ones he loves-
deep breaths, deep breaths, you can do this, you have to fight through
-he remembers speaking to one of the retainers of House Fleuret, even though speaking to anyone seemed like an insurmountable task. But it’s one of his duties as King, so he spoke to her. He at least had to do that much. What…what had she said, again? It was important…it was about Luna, she had asked him if he was delivered the ring, and he had said it had, the feeling of deep pain-
Noctis comes to with carpet smashed into his face. The last effects of the aches still ricochet around the inside of his skull. He weakly tries to grapple at the memories in his head, but it's like trying to scoop up water with a rake. He groans, using his forearms to push himself up.
Deep breaths, dude , he knows Prompto would tell him.
C’mon, off the ground , Gladio would have said. Noctis feels like he can feel his hand at his back, but it must be in his head.
Hm, that didn’t work , he imagines Ignis saying, not quite chiding. Perhaps a recap of today would help.
He winces through the residual aches and digs into a kitchen drawer for a notepad, fumbling for a pen. At the top of the note page, he writes as legibly as he can Things that are different in this world (???) .
- Dad’s alive
- Ignis and Gladio are still with me (but its not the same?)
- Don’t know where Prompto is (no one else does either)
Noctis tries to swallow at the numbness he feels in his throat.
- Can’t remember how I got here, hurts to try (??????)
- Remember Insomnia being attacked (but its like it never happened)
- Scar is gone
His scar is gone. He doesn’t know what that means for Luna. Was she here? Was she safe?
Noctis drops the notepad and bolts to his room, tearing the sheets off his bed frame. The notebook fumbles out, the ring beside it, where he left the two this morning. He recognizes the fancy, swoopy letters of Luna’s handwriting before he snatches the book up, madly flipping through the pages. It’s all here. It’s all still here, every note they’ve ever sent to each other in the past. He doesn’t know why it’s here with him, but he holds it in his hands like it’s his only lifeline.
His eyes shift to the ring. It lays amongst his bedsheets, unassuming, a piece of jewelry. It doesn’t belong in the care of Noctis in this world or otherwise, but it's here, holding unfathomable power that thrives on sacrifice.
He doesn’t want to pick it up, but before he can decide on even that, his phone rings.
He doesn’t hesitate to answer it, despite how tired he feels. “Ah, hey, dad.”
“Noctis,” his dad speaks through the receiver. “How are you feeling? I trust Dustin returned you to your apartment?”
“Yeah,” Noctis says, the notebook still in his hand. He sits at his bed and flips through it as he talks. “I’m okay. I…ran into Gladio on the way. Thanks for the curatives and stuff. I’m feeling great, so I wanna get back into training soon.” He’s not sure if this is possible, given how he left things with Gladio earlier that day, but if it’s the only way he can still see him, he’ll take it.
Regis pauses and sounds uncertain when he speaks. “Training? To fight? Why do you think that necessary at this time?”
Noctis keeps a sigh at bay. Everyone who has ever pushed him to harness his powers is now acting like it’s an unheard of idea. “I just think since it's one of my duties as a sovereign prince to protect the people, I should be practicing it. Don’t you?”
Noctis hears the frown in his father’s voice. “I see. I am sure we can discuss it in the future. I want you to leave the protection of our people in the hands of the Crownsguard for now, my son. Why don’t you focus on our diplomatic matters in the meantime?”
Noctis turns the pages of the notebook, taking comfort in the presence of Luna’s words to keep his frustration from lashing out. “I should be doing both.”
He hears his father sigh at this and it makes his heart feel heavy. “I assure you, there will be time for both. There is no need to rush. Remember that peace is within our horizon. With everything changing, I had assumed you would be more relaxed.”
Noctis pauses between pages and his eyebrows knit together. What did that mean?
“That reminds me,” Regis continues before Noctis can ask, “the capitol was most gracious to accept the cancellation of our trip when you were lost. I have already made arrangements to repay their kindness by making new plans as soon as possible. If you are feeling well enough, I want you to come with me.”
Noctis takes a shaky breath, feeling as if he’s about to be introduced to yet another layer of things he doesn’t understand. “Ah, right. Sorry, what trip again?”
“Niflheim,” Regis says, sounding like a chastising parent. “The treaty, Noctis. Are you to tell me you forgot this, as well?”
Noctis stares down at the notebook. He can see the ring at the corner of his vision. Both hold tales of suffering at the hands of the vast Empire, the reason the wall above him is held up at all. Because of the war that has surrounded him since before he can remember.
“The treaty,” he echoes back.
Regis sighs for the second time, but it sounds more worrying. “Don’t fret about it for tonight. Everything will still go forward as planned. Your absence won’t change that. Focus on resting for now and we can talk about it more tomorrow. Rest well, my son.”
Noctis hears himself tell his father goodbye. He can only hold the notebook, a small account of the terrors the Empire has caused, in his hands, and he can’t tell his father about any of the contents. He doesn’t know of this world’s Niflheim, doesn’t know what’s different, doesn’t know how trustworthy this treaty is. He doesn’t know if this treaty will play out how he thinks it will, with his father’s death, his city’s destruction, his friend’s sacrifice, all of it. If he acts like it is, it will only bring him farther from what’s actually true. He has no choice but to go along with it.
He looks at the ring and can feel his jaw tighten. “You sick son of a bitch,” he speaks into his bedroom space, not knowing if the Chancellor can even hear him. “I swear on my life this will end in your death.”
He hears Ignis tell him not to get ahead of himself. He makes his way to the kitchen to start his coffee machine, as he can hear Gladio tell him he’ll need it for the long night ahead of him. He can feel Prompto at his side as he pulls up his laptop, telling him he’ll stay up with him.
These thoughts of his friends aren’t real, but they bring Noctis comfort as he boots up his internet and begins his attempt to learn the entirety of this world overnight.