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“I don’t know, Specs,” Noctis sighs, propping his chin up on his palm which is easier said than done. The streets leading up to Gralea are rocky, and with every swerve of the car he bumps into Gladio who barely pays any attention to him at all. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Ignis, next to the driver who’s keeping his eyes on the street—thank the Gods—hums a little. “I know, Noct, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about it.” He riffles through a few papers in his lap, and if it was anyone else, Noctis would have assumed it was to stall for time, but this is Ignis they’re talking about.
Noctis makes a small, dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat and turns his head around to look at the car in the caravan behind them, which, all things considered, should be Lunafreya’s. Before he can catch a glimpse, however, Gladio’s warm hand is on the nape of his neck, turning his head around once again.
“You’ll get to see her soon enough,” Gladio says, eyes still on his book. How he can read in the car is a total mystery to Noctis. Every time they hit a pothole, his head bumps against the car’s ceiling.
“I know,” he snaps back, crossing his arms in front of his chest like a petulant child. Which he isn’t, thank you very much. “I’m just-”
“Worried?” Gladio finishes his sentence before he snorts. “You should be.”
In the front, Ignis clicks his tongue. “Gladio,” he says in a reprimanding tone and, next to Noctis, Gladio rolls his eyes.
“I’m just saying how it is. No point in sugar-coating anything. He’s old enough, Iggy.”
The look Ignis sends them through the rear-view mirror is unreadable. A little disappointed, maybe, but not surprised. “At least try to behave, you two. Please do your best not to bring trouble upon yourselves while we are here.”
Gladio nods half-heartedly as Noctis sighs, leaning his head against the cool windowpane. The buildings that adorn the street are nothing more than a blur of grey, bleak and dreary. This is Gralea, he realizes: the empty heart of an empire that threatens to bring about ruin on the entire world. And he’s supposed to negotiate with them. Sure.
He grinds his teeth together, tugging at the necktie that feels like it’s slowly choking him. But, well, if he doesn’t choke on his own breath now, he’ll surely choke on the pleasantries that they’ll have to exchange later in the day. Just the thought of it fills him with icy dread, colder than the perpetual winter that ravages the icy deserts outside the capital.
Ignis purses his lips in disdain as he tries to run a hand through his hair. “Noct-” he starts, but Noctis cuts him off with a small wave of his hand.
“I know, I know.” He folds his hands in his lap, staring out the window once again. They must be nearing the palace now; not that there’s any distinction in the scenery whatsoever. It’s still as bleak as before. A pale city, consisting of countless looming buildings that seem to bend and sag down like wilting plants, not a touch of colour in sight. Even the white snow blends into grey here. “Who do you reckon’ll greet us first?”
“The guards, I’d assume,” Ignis answers dryly, riffling through his papers once again. “And please, for the love of the Gods, try to remain civilized. No talking back, no unsolicited advice or comments. We are their guests here, not their enemies, and we certainly do not seek confrontation.”
Gladio snorts again, but both of them ignore him. “Gods, I know, Specs. I’m not a child anymore.”
“That seems hard to believe at times,” Ignis says, pushing his glasses up. “Mind your manners. Greet everyone accordingly. Don’t fidget. Talk to us immediately if anything seems… odd to you. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“Alright, alright, I got it.” Closing his eyes for a second, Noctis lets the back of his head meet the headrest. The soft leather feels good, almost like home. A small blessing in this foreign country. “When are we gonna arrive?”
Ignis raises his arm to take a look at his watch, furrowing his brows. “A little less than five minutes, I’d assume.”
He hums accordingly, tilting his head upwards at the overcast sky. Maybe it’d snow later. It had been a long time since he’d last seen snow. “How big is Gralea, anyway? Bigger than Insomnia?”
“Thought that was part of your education,” Gladio grumbles, but Noctis just waves him off again.
In the front, Ignis shakes his head. “It’s smaller, but not by much.”
Noctis sighs again. “Not like it really matters.”
They stay silent after that. Just the rustling of the book whenever Gladio turns a page and the soft roar of the engine.
He exits the car with a groan, stretching his limbs. His back pops softly as he raises his arms over his head. “Gods, how many hours were we cooped up in there?”
“With or without the breaks?” Ignis asks, buttoning up his cufflinks and straightening his collar. “We were on the road for roughly twelve hours, Your Highness.” And there it is, just as expected; as soon as they leave the car, he reverts back to formal business talk.
Noctis rolls his eyes but doesn’t complain otherwise. There’s not real point in doing that after all; instead he turns around and watches as the car that had been behind them in the caravan pulls up. He folds his hands behind his back, trying to suppress the smile that tugs at his lips (because Gladio would surely make fun of him for that if he ever saw it) as someone shuts off the car’s engine and the chauffeur gets out to open the car’s back door.
And still he can’t stop himself from grinning at least a little—ignoring the way Gladio’s elbow digs into his side as he snickers—when Luna exits the car, ever-graceful even in her white fur coat. There’s a soft smile on her face as well when she hurries over to him, closely followed by Crowe as part of her delegation, and he opens his arms before remembering that that is most likely not royal etiquette.
Luna stops in front of him, as giddy as he is, extending her hand which he lightly takes in his before lowering his head and placing a chaste kiss on the back of her glove, lips barely grazing the fabric. She exhales softly, waiting until he’s straightened himself again before she does a small curtsy. “Your Royal Highness, Prince Noctis,” she greets him, and her voice sounds a little breathless.
He grins back, taking her hand fully in his; her fingers are slender and soft, almost like porcelain even through the silk. “Your Royal Highness, Princess Lunafreya,” he greets back, teasingly, and she reciprocates his smile. “It has been a while.”
“It certainly has,” she agrees, and from this close, he can see the way the skin wrinkles around her eyes. She looks different from before—a lot, actually—and way more tired than he remembers her to be, but it’s good seeing her again, still shining like the sun. She squeezes his hand lightly without applying any force whatsoever, and he only averts his eyes when Crowe clears her throat.
“As touching as this reunion is,” she starts, and Noctis notes the fondness in her voice despite her words, “we should not keep them waiting.” She nods towards the palace and the guards stationed at the entrance, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
Luna nods and her fingers grazes his when she pulls her hand out of his grasp, smoothing out the wrinkles in her coat before resuming her place next to Crowe, head held high.
Noctis sighs, taking his place next to Gladio with Ignis on his other side. “I suppose so,” he grumbles. He wishes he could spend more time with Luna, just to catch up, but it seems they’ll have to postpone that, too. There are more pressing matters at hand.
The stairs leading up to the entrance are tall, and they make his knee hurt a little, but he keeps his head held high as well. Showing any sign of weakness in the enemy’s territory (Ignis would surely chew him out if he heard him talk like that) could be a death sentence. Figuratively speaking, of course.
The guards do little more than stare straight ahead when they come to a halt in front of the grand doors that open on their own, silently. The more Noctis stares at them, the more they remind him of the Citadel’s doors back home.
He shields his eyes as he steps into the entrance hall; the chandelier’s light is blinding at first, especially when one is expecting the monotone grey that seems to cover the rest of the city, and he only lowers his hand when someone—once again—clears their throat. It’s neither Ignis nor Crowe this time, however.
There’s two boys standing in front of them, dressed in the colours of Niflheim, one of them—the taller one, although that doesn’t say much—wearing the dark military uniform of some sort of general. His left hand rests on a rapier strapped to his waist, and his eyes narrow when he scrutinizes them. The shorter one, half hidden behind his… friend, wrings his hands in what seems to be nervousness, his skin as pale as his robes.
They just stare at each other for a few seconds before the boy’s (although he’s not really a boy, Noctis notes. His age, perhaps?) manners seem to kick in, and he dons a shaky smile that doesn’t even reach his eyes before stepping forward, holding his hand out for Noctis. “Your Royal Highness, Prince Noctis of Lucis, then, I’d assume,” he presses out between thin lips.
Right as Noctis takes a step forward to shake his hand, Ignis is beside him, whispering something into his ear.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Prompto of Niflheim.”
Noctis thanks him with a curt nod, clasping Prompto’s hand. “Your Royal Highness, Prince Prompto of Niflheim,” he repeats, forcing a smile on his own face. He hadn’t forgotten about the prince, not with all the media coverage and the way he seemed to be basking in the spotlight. “I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance.” The guard behind Prompto sneers before his eyes simply skim over Noctis and fixate on someone behind him.
“As am I,” Prompto assures him. His hand is somewhat slack in Noctis’ grip, and his fingers feel clammy, but Noctis pays it no mind. “And this-” he gestures around with his free hand, pointing at the guard- “this would be Lord Tummelt, Brigadier General and my… my Shield.”
The Lord—Loqi Tummelt, Ignis whispers in his ear, because Ignis knows these things—gives a curt nod as well before refocusing his attention on Gladio once again.
Noctis inwardly sighs. “I am sure you already know of my attendants.” He motions for Gladio to step forward, noting that Gladio’s fists are clenched at his side.
“Gladiolus Amicitia,” he almost hisses, “Shield of the Crown Prince.”
Ignis, swift as ever, replaces Gladio in a second. “Ignis Scientia, advisor to the Crown. It truly is a pleasure to meet you.” He’s the embodiment of calm even in tense situations like that, and as much as Noctis wants to admire him for it, he cannot help but feel a little envious as well.
Prompto nods shortly before loosening their handshake, stepping away to Luna who’d been waiting patiently behind them for quite some time now. “Your Royal Highness, Princess Lunafreya of Tenebrae,” he starts, and if Noctis is not mistaken, there’s a real smile on his face this time, “how good it is to see you again.” He takes her hand in his, lips not quite touching her skin. She must have taken off her gloves, which doesn’t really come as a surprise to him. Even the entrance hall is well-heated, and it smells of scented candles.
She laughs quietly, subdued, and Noctis notices the way Loqi scrunches up his nose but doesn’t say anything. “Your Royal Highness, Prince Prompto of Niflheim,” she greets him back, perhaps like one would greet a long lost friend, “I feel the same. It has been too long, has it not?”
“It truly has.” Prompto seemingly doesn’t want to let her hand go; he keeps gripping it like a lifeline, his skin as pale as hers. “How has your brother, Prince Ravus, been?”
“As good as can be expected under the circumstances,” she deflects, reaching out and placing her slender hand on his arm. It seems to be a reassuring gesture, because Prompto immediately relaxes. “What about your sister, Princess Solara? I heard she has been quite rebellious as of lately?”
Prompto laughs, softly. It’s not for show—neither does he throw his head back, nor does the sound reverberate in the grand hall, no. Instead he just raises his hand and covers his mouth with it, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. “Indeed she has. Not a day goes by where she does not cause mischief. I’m sure she will be delighted to see you, Lady Lunafreya.”
“And I will be delighted to see her.” Luna inclines her head, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. It glitters like gold in the light of the chandelier. “Should we not go meet her?” she asks, turning around to face Crowe. “I think you two might get along well, too.”
Crowe just smiles politely if a little uncertain as Loqi takes a step closer to Prompto, still keeping eye contact with Gladio, and whispers something into his ear. The prince intently listens to it before he nods, his face solemn. “I think an audience with His Imperial Majesty would be advisable, first and foremost. Please, be my guests and follow me.” His robes billow out around him as he turns around, and Noctis finally exchanges a look with Ignis as they fall into step behind Prompto. Everything had been going according to plan until now, even though he really does not like the looks Loqi has been giving them, the barely hidden mistrust and chagrin that paint his otherwise soft features.
It doesn’t really matter, he supposes, as they follow Prompto and Loqi through luxurious hallways, adorned with golden ornaments and crystals he can’t name. Luna is, as always, right beside him, their retainers trailing behind, and their steps echo in the nearly empty halls.
Whereas the Citadel feels open and homely, with huge window facades that look out over the entire city, this palace seems cold, distant, almost like a glorified gilded cage—not even the warm glimmer of the gold or the floral scent of the candles can make this into a home. It seems fitting for the frostiness that permeates all of Niflheim.
They finally come to a halt in front of another archway blocked by guards, and Loqi turns around to them with an expression Noctis can’t quite describe. “I am afraid that we cannot allow you to progress without handing out your weapons first,” he says, and there’s something like gloating in his voice as his fingers around the hilt of his sword tighten. “Just as a safety precaution.”
Prompto, folding his hands in front of his body, nods. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe all the same, I can assure you of that.”
He knows better than to trust a Niff’s word, but still he nods. It’s not like they have a choice either way. “Gladio-” he starts, and his Shield sighs immediately.
“Got it,” he grumbles, unbuckling the sword’s sheath at his side and dropping it into the guard’s awaiting arms. To Noctis’ mirth, the guard buckles a little beneath the weight.
“All of it,” Loqi interrupts his small moment of self-satisfaction, and Noctis watches—still with a hint of amusement—as Gladio starts pulling little daggers and other weapons out of his coat and, last but not least, his boots. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
After Ignis and Crowe have done the same (they don’t necessarily need to know about the weapons in the Armiger) the guards finally step aside, and Noctis follows Loqi and Prompto into the throne room.
It’s a huge, empty hall, a little like the throne room back at home with a winding staircase leading up to the actual throne, carved out of a block of gold. Sitting on it, looking as regal as ever despite his age, is Emperor Iedolas.
Out of the corners of his eyes, Noctis watches as Loqi comes to a halt, holding his arm out to keep Gladio and Ignis back, but when he turns around to ask what that’s all about, Prompto lightly touches his arm, shaking his head in the universal gesture of Not now.
He grits his teeth together as the three of them—Luna, Prompto and Noctis himself—step forward, and he follows Prompto’s movements when he curtsies, placing his right foot behind his left and bowing his head. When he looks up again, Prompto has left his side to ascend the stairs, standing next to the emperor’s throne. He doesn’t look at them, his eyes fixated on a spot somewhere near the ceiling.
“Your Imperial Majesty, Emperor of Niflheim,” he starts, straightening himself as Luna does the same beside him. It’s completely silent for a few seconds until Iedolas inclines his head. His eyes are cold, calculating. Noctis really doesn’t like the look of them.
“Your Royal Highness, Prince Noctis of Lucis and Your Royal Highness, Princess Lunafreya of Tenebrae. I am pleased to see you arrived safely.”
He opens his mouth to answer (Ignis had drilled him about how to respond the first four hours of the drive or so) but Luna beats him to it. “It is a great honour to meet you, Your Radiance,” she says, smoother than anything Noctis could come up with on the spot. All this sweet-talking just makes him want to roll his eyes. “We have come here to-”
“We have received word of your reasoning already, Lady Lunafreya,” he waves her off. Luna acknowledges it with a smile. “It is, I believe, due to the spreading of the Starscourge, is it not?”
“Exactly,” she continues as if he hadn’t just interrupted her. “We received reports from people of note, researchers and scientists alike, that the nights are getting longer and longer. A cause of concern for a lot of our population, as well as yours. We came to ask permission to be able to continue our research in the royal libraries of Niflheim.”
Noctis watches as Iedolas shifts on his throne and as Prompto leans down a little. “I note your concern, Lady Lunafreya. However, I do not see how your study of ancient texts will help to find a solution to our modern problems. Have you tried consulting the Six for advice yet?”
It is a mockery as far as Noctis is concerned, but—even though he can feel the anger bubbling up inside of him—Luna keeps calm, that same old smile still plastered on her face. “I have, Your Radiance. And I believe that the answer lies within the imperial library. It would be in both our best interests to work together regarding this matter.”
Iedolas seems to consider it for a second before he slowly starts to nod; next to him, Prompto seems relieved, running a hand through his hair before catching himself and flattening it again. The motion seems all too familiar. “I will grant you permission to search for what you are looking for. You will, however, operate under my rules and not act on your own.”
Noctis inclines his head in what he hopes is a sign of humility. “Of course, Your Radiance,” he says in Luna’s stead.
“With that said, I do expect to see both you and your…ensemble at the banquet this evening. You will be notified in time.”
He bows again. “Thank you for your time, Your Radiance.” He knows a dismissal when he hears one, and as soon as the emperor raises his hand to wave them away, Luna and he make their way to the archway leading back into the hallway.
Once they’re outside, safely reunited with their retainers, Noctis leans against one of the many pillars that support the ceiling, tapping his foot on the ground. “So what do you want to do now? Check out the library?” he asks her as Crowe and Gladio reclaim their weapons, stowing them away safely.
“As much as I’d love to start right away,” Luna sighs, taking a step closer, “I have to get ready for the banquet, and I believe a short period of rest would not go amiss. If you don’t mind, that is.”
He smiles a little, taking her small hands into his and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Of course. I would not dare to even dream about denying you that. See you at dinner, then?”
Luna nods, raising a hand to his face to cup his cheek. “See you at dinner,” she affirms the plan, her fingers warm on his skin.
Ignis is behind him in the mirror as he tugs at his suit jacket, adjusting the last few details. He looks as immaculate as ever, glasses perched up high on his nose. “Are you ready, Noct?” he asks, exchanging a look with Gladio who’s placing a bookmark between the pages.
“Yeah,” he answers although he doesn’t really feel ready at all. But it is what it is. Time doesn’t stop for anyone after all. Ignis’ reflection nods at him in the mirror.
“Then we should not let our hosts wait.”
The walk to the dining hall isn’t long by any means, but Noctis still has ample time to study his mirror image in the reflective golden walls of the palace, the blurry contours of his retainers trailing behind him. His steps echo as if the building is completely hollow on the inside. Gilded walls that contain nothing of importance, nothing that is worth to protect. A façade for greatness.
As soon as they enter the room with a ceiling that seems as high as the sky itself, he notices the place card with his name on it and, with another reaffirming look from Ignis, comes to a halt behind the chair. He watches as Ignis and Gladio take their positions at the end of the table, next to a furious Loqi.
Prompto and a little girl he guesses must be Solara are already there, with the crown prince leaning down and whispering something into the girl’s ear, which makes her giggle. She covers her mouth with her hand, switching from one foot to the other as if she can’t or doesn’t want to stand still. Before he can inspect the room further, however, Luna appears next to him in an elegant long, white dress and heels that seem like they’re a pain to wear. He winces at the thought of having to run in them.
“Hello,” she greets him, her shoulder bumping into his as they watch Crowe takes her place next to Gladio who moves over for her. She looks tiny next to him, but Noctis knows better than to underestimate her by now.
“Hi,” he greets back, grinning a little when she waves at the little girl across them who waves back excitedly. She looks nothing like Prompto, Noctis notes; her hair is dark, her skin a lot tanner, and her smile seems genuine, as if she’s actually happy to see them.
Their chattering, however, dies down when the door right behind the seat at the end of the table opens and Iedolas steps into the room, his robe billowing out behind him. He greets them with a nod as all of them bow, and the servant behind him pulls the chair back so he can sit. Noctis hates the formality of it all—sure, even back home he had to follow certain protocols, but it was never as bad as this. Silently he wonders if Solara and Prompto have to go through this procedure every day, even without guests of state present.
As soon as the emperor has taken his seat, they draw their own chairs back as well. Luna gathers the fabric of her dress in her hands, and it rustles quietly when she settles on the chair. He waits until Iedolas removes his napkin from his plate and unfolds it in his lap before doing the same.
The first course is—how could it be any other way—a salad; he ignores Ignis’ pained gaze as he picks up the fork to the far left of his plate and stares at the salad for a few seconds, mentally debating whether it is polite to just refuse or not.
Next to him, Luna sends him a knowing smile as she picks up her own fork. “It has been a long time since my last visit,” she remarks to no one in particular, her back straight, “I wonder how much has changed. After all, it seems that the little princess has grown up just fine.”
The girl—Solara—sitting across Luna smiles brightly, pushing her own salad around on her plate. Noctis feels strangely validated. But she seems to rein herself in when her gaze wanders to the emperor, and her smile drops a little when she opens her mouth to answer. “A lot’s changed, Princess Lunafreya. If I had the permission, maybe I could show you around…?” She looks at her grandfather once again.
Iedolas, who’d been invested in his salad until now, seems to consider it for a second. “Maybe some other day, Princess Solara. Our guests must be tired from their cumbersome journey.” And still that calculating look in his eyes.
“Of course,” Noctis answers in Luna’s stead. “Maybe some other day.”
Solara looks like she might be pouting, but another wink from Luna disperses the look on her face. “Naturally,” she agrees amicably, redirecting her attention to the salad once again. “We’ve missed you a lot, Princess Lunafreya.”
He can see Luna’s smile soften, or perhaps he hears it more than he can see it. “I’ve missed you too, Princess Solara. It simply has been too long. I have a little gift for you as well, one that I thought you might enjoy.”
“Really? What is it?” She bobs up and down a little, her fork clinking against the plate. “Can I see it now?”
“After dinner, perhaps,” Luna says teasingly, chuckling when Solara makes a noise of disappointment. Noctis barely notices it when the servants collect their plates and serve the next course; something with meat, finally.
He listens to their small talk with half an ear, and when he looks up from his plate, it’s only by chance that he catches Prompto’s gaze. Their eyes meet barely more than a second before Prompto quickly looks away, as if he’s embarrassed or something like that, and Noctis mentally shrugs to himself, thinking nothing of the encounter.
The dinner proceeds relatively uneventful after that; Iedolas asks him a question that makes Ignis tense up for a second, but Noctis answers it honestly and as good as he can, and the emperor seems contented enough. At the meal’s end they fold their napkins and place them to the left of their place setting. In all honesty, he’s just glad that he’d been able to remember all the steps of how a formal dinner should go, and he’s even gladder that it’s finally over.
Iedolas is the first to rise and, one after another, they excuse themselves to their rooms. Before Luna leaves, however, Noctis catches her wrist. “Still wanna see the city?” he asks, leaning down so only she can hear his words.
“I thought you were tired?” she whispers back but there’s a smile on her face. “How do you plan on doing it?”
“I thought we were just gonna sneak out?” He winks at her, and Luna’s laughter sounds like music to his ears. “I’ll come get you later.”
“Of course,” she chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Gladio whistles, unaware of their schemes, when they make their way back to their quarters.
Luna has donned her coat once again, searching for his hand as they descend into the dark that colours the city first grey, then black. She’s a lone light in the blackness, shining ever so brightly, and Noctis watches her face light up when he entwines her fingers with his own.
Despite the lights of the city, the stars above are perfectly visible, little pinpricks splattered across a blank canvas. Every time they breathe out it forms little misty clouds that evaporate as soon as they appear. “Where are we going?” she asks him, almost a little breathless.
“Wherever you want to go,” he promises her. “I will go wherever you go.”
She laughs again, her voice amber like honey. “Follow me, I know a little spot.”
He trusts Luna, and his thoughts only wander ever so slightly when they leave the courtyard. He wonders when Gladio and Ignis will notice that he’s gone—because they always do. If they will assume the worst. Probably. Maybe he should’ve left a note.
But all of his worries are gone in a second when Luna tugs at his hand and leads him up a silvery staircase, painted by the moonlight, and to a small plateau overlooking the area. The streets are almost empty at this time of day, and the entire city looks like a giant scaffold, glittering in the distance like liquid silver.
Luna’s hand is warm in his when she settles down near the edge of the plateau, tugging her legs beneath her body. With a sigh he unbuckles his own coat and drapes it over her shoulders.
“Won’t you get cold now?” Luna asks, slightly tilting her head upwards when he settles down beside her. Her breath is warm on his cheek, and from this close he can see her dark eyelashes flutter against alabaster skin.
Noctis shakes his head, summoning a small flame in his hand. “Don’t worry about me,” he assures her, extinguishing the flame once again.
She hums, leaning against him and tucking her head underneath his chin. Her hair slightly tickles on his skin but he doesn’t complain about it. It’s just them up here, closer to the stars than he’s ever been. He thinks it’s snowing, somewhere in the distance. It feels like it should be snowing somewhere, and if he closes his eyes and calls to mind how it had felt before, he can almost feel it on his own skin, can taste the cold metal and smell the smoke.
They sit like that for a few more minutes, just savouring each other’s company when Noctis notices the shuffling of footsteps on the plateau beneath them as well as hushed voices; he tenses up immediately, arms tightening around Luna who must’ve noticed as well, because she sucks in a sharp breath.
But the people below them must not have detected their presence yet because now their voices are clearer, if still a little hushed, directly beneath them. They talk as if they don’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.
“And I’m telling you,” one of the participants hisses and—yeah, Noctis recognizes that voice. Or at least he thinks he does. “They’re planning something. They always are.”
“I don’t know, Loqi,” the other one says, and Noctis feels vindicated once again, if a little nervous. It’s probably not a good sign that they’re out here. But Prompto continues, and all he can do is exchange a look with Luna. “He seems… normal, you know?”
Loqi clicks his tongue, and Noctis imagines he’s crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Sure. Normal.”
“I like them,” a smaller, feminine voice speaks up, “he’s a little stuck-up, maybe.”
“Solara,” Prompto says warningly, although there’s a hint of amusement in his voice, “what did I tell you?”
“I know, I know,” she sighs as if she’s heard it a million times already. Which she probably has, because Noctis remembers going through the same scolding over and over again as a child. Not that it had improved his manners or anything.
Agitated footsteps beneath them once again, a fist connecting with metal. Luna flinches. “Why did she even have to come along,” Loqi complains. “She’s just a child.”
Next to him, Luna shakes her head in what seems to be a negation, a small smile gracing her lips despite the chill of the concrete and the fear of getting caught where one should not be.
“I’m not a child!” Solara argues back. “And besides, I know you aren’t allowed to sneak out this late at night.” It almost sounds like gloating to his ears when she adds, “I woulda told grandpa if you’d left me there.” Even Luna has to stifle a chuckle.
Beneath them, Loqi groans again. “We’re getting bossed around by a child.” But there’s no real malice in his words; there’s nothing but soft exasperation and a hint of annoyance. “I really don’t get why we have to help these… these heathens or whatever.”
“They’re not heathens,” Prompto adds, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think so. And I-”
“You what, Prompto?” Loqi interrupts him, sharply. “Don’t fraternize with the enemy. No matter what they do or how good they might seem, they’re only doing this because they think they’re gaining something from it. They’re selfish. That’s all. They’re not here to help us or anything, not that we even need their help.”
Prompto hums in thought. “I don’t know, Loqi…”
“For the Six’s sake, Prompto, you’ve seen him in the news! The guy’s a total slacker, good for nothing. Crown prince, my ass.” And that, that little jab, it genuinely hurts, even though it’s just Loqi. It affirms all the insecurities he’s ever had, lets the pain of old wounds flare up, the taste of disappointment sharp and pungent on his tongue. It’s not like Loqi is wrong, in any case.
Noctis begins to draw back from the edge as quietly as possible, but Luna places her hand on his arm and shakes her head. Not yet, her eyes say. They almost look silver in the moonlight. glittering like fragments of the Crystal. So close, yet so far, unreachable for him.
“But is that so wrong?” Prompto asks, and his voice sounds awfully brittle. “Is it so wrong to want to live like any other person our age? To just want to have fun? Do you think I chose this?” It’s silent for a few seconds, neither of them saying anything. “I think we should go back now. Are you coming, Sol?”
The little girl hums again, her frilly dress rustling quietly. And then it’s just the sound of retreating footsteps.
Luna holds his hand on the way back, her fingers entwined with his own, but she doesn’t say anything. Neither does he.
Above them, the stars shine brilliantly, cold and distant.
Iedolas isn’t at the breakfast table the next morning, so Noctis has no qualms about inviting Ignis to sit next to him, no matter how many death stares Loqi sends his way. He listlessly stares at his still empty plate, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes by blinking as much as humanly possible. Next to him, Luna hides a yawn behind her hand.
Ignis indignantly clears his throat, pushing his own plate—complete with a buttered roll and some cut fruit—over to Noctis and nursing his cup of coffee instead. “Maybe you would not be as tired, Your Highness, if you had taken that impromptu passeggiata at another hour of the day.”
Noctis snorts. “Maybe.” Luna smiles tiredly, her hand grazing his as she leans over to get a cup of coffee as well. How both of them can drink that crap this early in the morning is beyond him.
He’s almost dozing off again when the doors swing open, and he sits up a little straighter before realizing it’s just Solara, bouncing over to where Prompto is sitting. She kisses him on the cheek before climbing onto the chair next to him, her hand flying up to the glittering hair pin at the side of her head as she exchanges a smile with Luna.
“So what are we doing today?” she asks everyone around, tilting her head upwards.
“We,” Loqi starts, “aren’t doing anything.” He’s gripping his own mug so hard that Noctis is afraid it’ll break beneath his fingers. His left eyelid twitches.
Solara furrows her brows, inclining her head. “Why not?” She seems genuinely puzzled, swinging her legs back and forth.
“Because you’re too young and you also have to attend your private lessons, and that’s that.”
She tries to catch her brother’s gaze, but Prompto pointedly looks away, studying the newspaper on the table instead. Noctis can’t read it from here but it doesn’t necessarily look interesting. “But that’s not fair,” she starts, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “that’s not fair! Why do you get to hang out with them?”
“This is a serious matter, Solara,” Prompto finally intervenes. He turns around to his sister, taking her small hands into his. “We don’t have time to play around. You understand that, don’t you?” He waits until she nods before he continues, “We’ll spend time with you after that, alright? When we’re back.”
“When will you be back?”
Prompto gives her an uncertain smile, full of doubt. “I don’t know yet. We will see, I suppose.”
The crease between her brows deepens, and Solara jumps up from her chair. “This is not fair,” she says one last time before disappearing back into the hallways, stomping her little feet.
Noctis watches her go, staring at her retreating form until Prompto’s nervous chuckle rouses him from his reverie. “I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes, “she’s usually more well-behaved.”
“It’s fine, Prompto,” Luna assures him. “She’s just a child.”
Prompto’s smile is wobbly. “She’d hate to hear you call her that, you know?”
Perhaps they know better than he would assume.
The royal libraries are, to be fair, way bigger than Noctis had anticipated they would be.
He has to crane his neck to even be able to see the ceiling, rows upon rows of books and other old texts reaching as far up as he can see. “Where do we even start?” he asks no one in particular. Next to him, Prompto shrugs, running a hand over his face.
Luna sighs, trailing her fingers over the covers of ancient books that neither of them had ever heard of before. Lucian legends, Tenebraean traditions… everything they could wish for; annals of years long past, parts of history they hadn’t even known existed.
Noctis looks back at Ignis—he knows that neither Gladio nor Loqi will be helpful right now. Both of them are sending each other death stares, the tension between them almost palpable; thick, like smoke. Crowe watches them with an amused expression on her face.
Ignis pushes his glasses up. “I believe it is best if we start at the beginning.”
Noctis rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Specs.” He ignores Prompto’s snicker.
Time to get to work.
“I feel like my brain is fried,” he groans, forcing his fingers to turn another page of the book. Ignis sighs beside him.
“Surely you won’t give up that easily, Your Highness,” he says with a smile on his lips before he takes another sip of his Ebony. Noctis doesn’t even want to know how many cans he’s already had.
He groans again, just for good measure. “Of course not.” Lazily, he drapes one arm over his eyes. “I just need a little nap, that’s all.”
He can hear Luna’s chuckle from here. The insides of his eyelids are painted black.
Luna’s sitting on the floor, her dress bunched up around her as she pores over a book.
Noctis leans over her, resting his chin on her head. “You understand hieroglyphs?” He feels her nod more than he sees it.
“Barely,” she says, “I think it’s about Solheim ruins. A power source, maybe?” She turns a page, careful, deliberate, as if the book might fall apart at any given moment. It certainly looks like it.
“That would make sense,” Prompto butts in, popping up from behind another shelf. He’s lost his robe at some point and rolled his sleeves up, and Noctis notices the small holster at his hip, half hidden by layers upon layers of silken fabric. “I think I heard somewhere that the ruins are or at least were powered by the Crystal. We might want to check one out. If you want to, that is.”
Luna nods absentmindedly. “That seems like the most sensible thing to do. I did hear that their technology was advanced, so maybe it will provide some answers. How do we get there in a timely manner, though?”
Noctis lazily turns his head to get a better look at Prompto, whose face brightens immediately. “I think I know of a way,” he starts, excitement in his voice, and before either of them can do anything, he’s gotten a hold of both of their wrists, tugging them upwards and in the direction of the library’s entrance. “C’mon, I want you to meet someone!”
Noctis hopes Gladio and Ignis won’t worry too much if he just disappears like that. Again.
“So you want to go to the ruins,” the woman that Prompto had called Aranea repeats, one eyebrow raised. “And I should help you why, exactly?”
“Because I’m the Crown Prince?” Prompto says experimentally as if he isn’t even sure of that himself.
Aranea hums. “And besides that?”
Luna steps forward at that, her hand coming up to rest on Prompto’s as she lightly pushes him out of the way. “I’m sure we’ll find a suitable compensation,” she says sweetly. Her eyes glimmer like quicksilver in the dim light.
Aranea smiles sharply. “You. I like you.”
As much as Noctis appreciates Aranea’s help, he is also glad to have firm ground beneath his feet again. The air out here is biting cold, nipping at his exposed skin where the collar doesn’t quite cover his neck.
“The ruins should be in that direction,” Prompto says, pointing towards heaps of snow. Everything kind of looks the same out here, if Noctis is being honest. “If I’m not mistaken, that is.” The cold doesn’t seem to bother him, despite the thin coat he is wearing. He must be used to it, Noctis assumes.
“Then what are we standing around for?” he sighs, running a hand through his already frozen hair. Little white snowflakes stick to his lashes and obscure his vision every time he blinks. “Let’s get going.”
The sky is overcast, the taste of cold metal in the air when they start walking.
The doors to what seems to be an ancient temple are, surprisingly enough, open, but Noctis is not going to complain about that. It’s barely any warmer inside, but at least there’s no snow. And what’s even more interesting is the mural that spans the entirety of the eastern wall, reaching up to the ceiling. He stares at it in awe, stepping over a diamond-shaped block in the floor to get a better look at it.
“Another Astral?” Prompto mutters next to him. “But I’ve never…”
Luna shakes her head, trailing her fingers over the old paint coating the wall. It doesn’t peel off beneath her touch; if anything, the colours seem even more saturated than before as if she’d breathed life into them. “There are only six, and I’ve never seen this one before…”
Prompto hums in thought. “What else could it be, then?”
It does look like an Astral, Noctis has to admit. He’s only ever seen depictions of them, sure, but even they had to be based on the truth. His eyes scan the mural for any hint of who it could be.
The depicted person’s face is sharp and rectangular, weathered and old, and he squints a little to make out more details when there’s a sound behind them, footsteps and then a muttered ‘Oh’.
He whirls around, as do Prompto and Luna, staring at the small person standing on the diamond-shaped block Noctis had just passed. Just that it’s glowing orange now, the light flickering ever so slightly. A hair pin glitters in the little girl’s hair. The air hums with electricity.
“Sol!” Prompto yells, lunging forward just as the platform starts to descend. But it’s no use—whatever Solheim technology she had activated, it seemed to work just fine. At least when Solara is involved.
Within a second the room shifts, an orange glow enveloping them, and Noctis blinks against the bright light. He can feel Luna’s hand searching for his own, and he tightly grips it as the ruins start changing in front of their eyes, the walls growing and shrinking at the same time, screeching and moaning beneath their weight.
Something's howling—something far beneath their feet, and Noctis closes his eyes for a second. He can still see the light.
Yeah, that seems about right.