Chapter Text
The water is soft as it pitter-patters against Ignis’s shoulders. The crisp scent of the wet grass weighs against his nose.
“Good morning, Noct,” he whispers into the quiet air. “It’s a rainy morning.”
Well, whatever the weather was, he’ll bring flowers every week.
Without fail, without pause, every seven days for the past year.
Other times, it would be Prompto, or Gladiolus. They switched it up every once in a while. This time, it was Ignis’s turn.
The gravestone is dead center in front of him. It’s almost surreal how much time had passed, that he’s memorized where he needs to stand to face the letters that he knows says NOCTIS LUCIS CAELUM CXIV. It’s almost surreal, because it still feels like yesterday when Ignis stood here for the first time, the ground being filled in over the coffin.
It feels like yesterday when they lost him.
The pads of Ignis’s fingers feel dry. He can remember Gladiolus holding them so tight in his own, can remember the shaking of the Shield’s grip.
His shoulder feels stiff. He can remember Prompto pressing his face there, trembling from head to toe, can remember his crying, his tears soaking into Ignis’s uniform.
Ignis remembers everything.
His hands curl around the stems of the flowers gently, before he takes a step forward, and kneels.
“We brought you sylleblossoms. You seem happier whenever we do.”
He takes a deep bow, then straightens up, prepared to put them in the vase by the gravestone’s side. Careful, familiar steps across the grass. Until the wind picks up, and he suddenly loses his balance.
It buffets him, and with a tug on his stomach he’s falling, hurtling towards the ground. On instinct he shoots a hand to steady himself before he makes impact, and he slides out on wet stone- and the feeling of something trapping against his palm.
It was small, slippery under his touch. If someone had all five of their senses they probably would have disregarded whatever the miniscule object was- but not Ignis.
Ignis feels all the senses that he still has left, sometimes so much that they overwhelm him.
And the small object that he reaches for seems to cause a burning sensation when he locates it again, and picks it up.
...actually, he’s felt that before. Years, and years ago - but it’s not something easily forgotten.
Rain, but a different kind of rain. The enraged cry of the Hydrean.
Fire, searing across his face.
Like a chasm opening in his stomach, Ignis is breathless. Then he’s dropping the flowers, and feeling the object in his grasp with both of his hands, running his fingers across the engravings.
Could it- could it be? This wasn’t, this shouldn’t be possible-
But he can recognize the carving beneath his fingertips, the sword noticeable, and recognizable.
The Ring of the Lucii.
Ignis curls his hand into a fist around it, but it was there, it was tangible, it was in his hand, but- how?
No one was able to find it- when they- when they found Noctis, Gladiolus told Ignis there was nothing on the King’s hand, which was hanging limp by his side. They’ve come to the conclusion that maybe it had just faded away, seeing as it wasn’t needed anymore, the prophecy fulfilled, and there wasn’t any point in searching-
But it was here, in Ignis’s grip. But it- is it really it? Ignis knew it was a ring- could feel the air through it, but what if he was wrong? Is there a way to tell if he was?
Maybe- maybe he should bring it back, let someone else look at it, identify it, but-
Put it on, a little voice whispers in the back of Ignis’s head. Put it on and see what happens.
“What?” he murmurs out loud. “Why should I- nothing would happen?”
Put it on, the voice urges. The wind picks up around him, as if to refute the demand, whipping at Ignis’s form and pulling at his coat.
“I-”
The wind howls, long and low, and now Ignis’s heart pounds, a drum in his chest. Put it on! Put it on!
“Alright, alright. ”
His hands were shaking, he realizes. As bad as they were when he was kneeling on that wet stone in Altissia. He braces himself, maneuvers the ring in his grasp, bringing his left hand up, just like before.
He whispers one prayer. Two names.
“Prompto, Gladio.”
Then the cold metal is wrapped around his finger.
At first, nothing happened. The wind continues to blow.
Then the ring burns around Ignis, and he nearly screams, but before he could wrench it off-
The King of-
When darkness-
When darkness veils the- King-
Ignis can see.
He almost doesn’t register it, but he does, he can see everything.
The clouds, the water around him, licking at his ankles. For a moment he can only stare around him, breathless.
Ten years, it’s been ten years-
As he tries to blink, it suddenly all being too bright, the voices-
When darkness veils the world, the King of Light will come.
The prophecy. Ignis tries to locate where it’s coming from, but he’s spinning around in circles, he’s going dizzy-
“What’s your name?”
He freezes.
“My name is Ignis Scientia, Your Highness.”
Familiar, a familiar memory-
“Just call me Noctis.”
Their first meeting-
But- darkness-
But do not fret-
Do not fret-
But do not fret for his safety.
Ignis sees a figure in the distance, standing in the same water as him. Their back to him, dressed in complete black.
Then they turn to him, and Ignis would know those blue eyes anywhere. He’s overwhelmed by seeing them on such a small frame again.
“Noct,” he whispers. “Noct- wait- I’m coming- I’m here-”
But the water turns to ice around him when he tries to move, trapping him, the small prince in the black clothes moves farther- farther away, Ignis screams and reaches out for him.
But then his vision goes dark once more.
The familiar rain against his back. The smell of the grass beneath him.
The vision is over, and Ignis is blind once more.
He breathes heavily, realizing his forehead was pressed against cool stone.
“Noct,” he gasps out, touching the surface. “ Noct, what in the blasted hell just happened?”
No one responds, and Ignis doesn’t know what he was trying to expect. Suddenly, it’s like the whole world is turned over on its side again.
Ignis found the last traces of the Lucis Caelum line on the gravestone of the- the last king of Lucis after sunrises of it being missing, with visions when it’s worn still- what the fuck is going on?
He rips the Ring off of him, its burning sensation etching memories into his wet skin.
And he tells himself to breathe.