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body and soul born of steel
sharp now for the kill
- Tremonti, “Traipse”
Altissia is a ravaged wasteland—not a soul in sight as Noctis drags himself from the water. The sounds of the tide are all he can hear, when the city should be filled with music, chatter, laughter.
Ahead of him lies what looks like a sword. His eyes struggle to focus as he pulls himself toward it. Will he need protection in this strange new world? Is it a dream, or reality? His fingers slide around the hilt and grasp—and he realizes it is not a sword at all.
It is a trident.
For a moment he is frozen. He stares at the weathered shaft in his hand, unsure what to make of it. When he rises to his feet, the weapon in his hand, he’s shaking all over, but numb. He doesn’t know if he should feel fury or fear, or even if they are within his reach.
Another sound gradually rises to his awareness. He turns, whipping the trident around, and discovers a wave of imperial ships on the horizon. Their steady approach drives fear like a stake into his heart, painfully familiar. Memories flash behind his eyes as he stares down the ships and tries to make a plan. Luna. Pryna. What did he do in that wasted, broken land, surrounded by watching eyes?
Already the world around him feels like a dream wavering at its edges. He clutches the trident, hoping that the feel of it in his hands will ground him somehow.
Pain crashes through him like an icy wave. The trident falls from his hand, and he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing a hand to his forehead. When he blinks again, he can feel a presence awakening within him, carving a path through his heart with its claws. He tries to cry out, but his voice won’t work. His chest seizes up.
Everything fades to black.
Gladiolus is furious.
Something about Altissia is strange and wrong, like a painting that’s gone a few degrees crooked. The imperials are closing on it even now. And they’ve lost Noctis.
The streets are slippery with seawater, and the clouds overhead warn of rain. He can’t even run because he’s carrying the princess of Tenebrae in his arms and they can’t risk losing her too.
“Just hang in there,” he mutters, but he’s not sure if the words are meant for her or for himself.
Minutes ago, Gladio had been in contact with Ignis and Prompto via phone. Now, his phone is silent in his pocket. He finds himself desperately hoping that it means everything is going smoothly on their end and that they haven’t been attacked.
He reaches the door of the Leville, prepared to kick it down if he has to, and catches sight of a white shape in his peripheral vision. When he turns and faces the figure, he almost laughs.
“Huh. Glad you’re still with us, Pryna,” he says.
Rain has begun to spatter the city. Perched on the roof of a building, Ignis shivers.
He’s glad no one is there to see him do it. The Six know the others are going through it right now after what happened to Noctis, and were they here, he would never have shown them weakness. But his shoes are already full of water, his hair in his eyes, glasses missing. He’ll need the extra pair when this is all over.
“Noct, if you can hear me,” Ignis says under his breath, “please, return to us.”
His breath still catches when he thinks about it. Noctis, eyes aglow with unearthly light, face utterly blank as he stood over Luna. He could have killed her. Something about that made Ignis think maybe something else, or someone else, was controlling Noctis. Now, he has to push the image out of his mind before it takes over.
Gladio headed toward the hotel with Luna, hoping to get her to a safe place in case she was gravely injured. Prompto decided to check out the surrounding areas to see where Noctis had gotten to. He looked hopeful when he’d announced the idea, but Ignis wondered if it wasn’t a façade, drummed up to mask the fear and despair they all felt.
The streets began to clear out when the strange storm started. Even now waves still rise up taller than they should and deposit seawater into the city’s walkways and buildings. Ignis suspects it has something to do with the shift in Noctis, but he has no idea where either would have come from. The city is quiet. Unsettling.
The sound of movement has him turning his head toward the source. Two figures are running down the street toward him.
Gladio, Pryna—and Luna.
“Noct?”
In his sleeveless vest and shirt, Prompto is freezing. Altissia is supposed to be beautiful, and he guesses it probably is, when the weather cooperates. But this Altissia is drowning. He rubs his arms, but his skin is damp with rainwater.
He calls out Noct’s name again. Maybe the chill running down to his bones has more to do with the terrible look on his best friend’s face and the glow in his eyes than it does the weather. If they find Noct, will he even recognize them? Or will he have become the shadow they saw earlier?
A voice calls back at him. He’s certain that he heard someone say his name. Does he dare to hope that it was Noct, or should he chalk it up to his imagination? He squeezes his eyes shut a moment and heads in the direction of the voice.
He steps into a wide square on the edge of the city, drenched in seawater. Noctis stands in the middle of the square, facing him. He is shirtless, his movements slow and calculated, his eyes aglow. He holds a trident. Behind him, the storm of oncoming imperial ships looms.
“Noct?” Prompto asks, hoping that his friend can’t hear the tremor in his voice.
“It’s good to see you,” Noctis says, but his voice sounds like it has been flattened to only a couple of pitches—like it is not his own at all.
Prompto is pulling his gun from the Armiger and firing off a warning shot, but Noctis is faster, too fast, and he has no time to react.
Luna, Gladiolus, and Ignis are almost to Noctis when soldiers start dropping out of the sky.
“Lunafreya,” Gladiolus calls over his shoulder at her. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely,” she says. She understands their reluctance to bring her in—she and Noctis have already crossed paths and fiercely, which is why her trident is now with him. She shivers at the memory of his eyes, looking down at her with no mercy.
Gladiolus does not ask again. Ignis glances sideways at her, likely just to make sure she can keep up. But she will not fall behind.
The soldiers are upon them. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Magitek troopers surround them, all jerky movements and unseeing eyes. Gladiolus and Ignis immediately summon their weapons in flashes of blue light and begin to knock them down. Luna stands back and holds her hands close to her chest.
She begins to speak the words of a spell she knows well by now. Light collects between her fingers, and when she finishes the incantation, she feels a rush of ice-cold air behind her. She breathes a sigh of relief. Shiva.
Huge furrows of ice appear over the ground and explode into shards, blasting the Magitek troopers in their paths to pieces. Luna does not look back at Shiva. Her presence is weighty and cold, and they do not need to make eye contact or speak to one another to coordinate. She simply whispers a thank you in her mind as the goddess’s presence begins to fade.
At last the area quiets, the ground littered with the empire’s troopers and pieces of them. Gladiolus calls out, “Let’s go!” and Luna follows them. Her heart pounds as they near more sounds of fighting. They are likely headed for Noctis.
Prompto grabs for a weapon in the armiger. It is not his weapon, and he has to take a moment to figure out what it is, how it weighs in his hand. He has half a heartbeat to glance at it before Noctis rushes at him again and he throws the weapon up to block. It is Noctis’s engine blade.
The sword feels unusual in his hand. That is the thought that comes to the forefront despite everything else. Noctis stands across from him, eyes alight, a royal arm in his hand that Prompto has never seen. How can we be enemies, even for a moment?
“Noct. . . . You don’t really mean to fight me, do you?” He hasn’t put down the sword, and his arms ache with the weight. But he cannot let it go. Little if any of Noctis remains in the figure standing before him. “This—this doesn’t seem like a good idea. I really don’t want to hurt—”
Noctis flies at him, and Prompto rolls out of the way. He comes up against a wall of Magitek troopers, surrounding them like the edge of a ring. The sight of them sends a little jolt through him. He knew they were there, but—but they—
Prompto forces himself to his feet and whirls around just in time for Noctis’s blade to glance off his own. He meets Noctis’s eyes and finds his friend’s face contorted in what looks like rage—is he angry that Prompto escaped him? They’ve sparred hundreds of times now. They each know how the other moves, wields a weapon, telegraphs their next attack like a miniboss in a video game. Of course Prompto knows how to get out of the way.
This only reinforces the idea that whatever he’s facing, it isn’t really Noct.
Wind buffets the two of them, sending Prompto’s bangs into his eyes. At first his eyes flick up to the sky as he expects to see more imperial ships bearing down on them. But the sky directly above and around them is clear. The wind . . . is it coming from Noctis?
He faces Noctis, who has his sword in a white-knuckled death grip. Prompto raises the engine blade. There is no escape. Wind or no wind, and wherever it’s coming from, he has no choice but to fight. To keep fighting.
Ignis rushes ahead of Gladiolus, Luna, and Pryna, sending daggers flying into Magitek troopers in his attempt to get to Noctis and Prompto. He knows it’s dangerous, unwise even, but what if something happens before they arrive? He hears Gladiolus shout his name in warning.
“I know!” he shouts back, but his voice is lost in the wind, which is making the race to Noctis and Prompto even more difficult. Some MT shrapnel comes out of nowhere, given lift by the wind, and hits him in the shoulder. He shuts out the pain and focuses on getting closer.
He’s only made it a few more steps forward when a white blur rockets past his feet, tripping up the MTs in its wake. Pryna. Ignis has no idea what has caught her attention, but he follows. When she breaks through the line of mechanical soldiers ahead of him, she stops and barks once.
Umbra stands on the opposite side of the small open circle left by the troopers, directly across from Pryna. And inside the circle are Noctis and Prompto, both holding weapons.
“Noct, it’s me, it’s us,” Prompto says. “We’re not your enemies. Please, put away the sword.”
Noctis stares back at them. Ignis is frozen, unsure what to do against their prince, who appears to have become something else entirely. He does not wish to hurt Noctis, but he absolutely cannot allow Noctis to hurt Prompto or anyone else in the party.
Umbra echoes Pryna’s single bark, and when Ignis looks up, he sees the sky falling apart like shards of glass. The darkness rains down around them. He feels himself falling, but he doesn’t understand how, not with the ground beneath his feet.
“. . . up. Noct, Noctis. Please wake up.”
Noctis opens his eyes to find himself engulfed in near-complete darkness. He doesn’t even see the source of the voice at first, but then a flash of lightning flickers across the sky and illuminates the surrounding area. Several figures are crowded around him. Noctis scrambles backward. He feels barely awake, like sleep is still tugging at his limbs from all sorts of angles.
“Back with us?” Ignis asks.
“I don’t know about that,” Noctis says, but he hears more than one relieved sigh. He looks around again at the next flash of lightning. How much worse could he have been before he woke?
Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio are definitely at his side. But the flashes of light revealed more figures, he knows, ones he could not immediately identify. He wants to ask, but the words stick in his throat. Another flicker of light passes over the area before he can get them out.
Luna sits with her hand on Pryna’s head, her white dress torn and soiled with dirt and blood. Umbra flanks Pryna like a shadow. Noctis’s breath catches at the sight of the three of them sitting before him alive and well.
“Luna, is—is that—”
The flickering light reveals her soft smile. “Yes, Noctis. It is me.”
Noctis finds himself speechless. Waking up with her trident in his hand had led him to imagine the worst, but the fact that she is here with them now . . .
“We’re happy she was able to make it today, too,” Prompto jokes. Noctis’s chest hurts—hope and fear swell together there, making it difficult to breathe.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“Not really sure,” Gladio begins.
“But it does appear to be related to the Draconian,” Ignis finishes. “The storm, the merciless atmosphere, the crystal, the mountains . . . it evokes Cosmogony.”
Noctis realizes the lightning behind the clouds and the people around him are the only glimpses of the area he has managed. He looks up, and the glimmering light reveals the tips of mountains behind him. Shortly thereafter, the clouds part over the sinking moon, granting them a little more light.
He can see what Ignis meant. The mountains in the distance and the surrounding area appear to be made of rock and stone, tiny bits of crystal scattered in the cracks. He shivers a little and realizes belatedly that his shirt and jacket are missing. His skin is marked with dust and dried blood.
“I can help you with your injuries,” Luna says. Before Noctis can protest, she shifts closer to him and holds her hands over the cuts and bruises that cover his torso. Light emanates from her palms, warm, taking away the residual pain.
I thought your healing was for those with the Starscourge, Noctis thinks, but this does not seem like the time or place for that discussion. Besides, the healing light is such a relief that he doesn’t particularly want to speak at all, just lean into it.
She moves away at last, retreating back toward Pryna and Umbra. Noctis wonders how she can stand to be close to him, or do so without fear. But she seems to trust him inherently. It is trust, Noctis thinks, that he does not deserve. He does not say so. The words weigh too much.
“So . . . do you think the Draconian is behind this?” Noctis asks. He is dismayed to hear the tremor in his own voice. He knows he should have left his fear far behind by now, especially with the six of them here. Still, he can’t forget the feeling of holding Luna’s trident in his hands.
“That may be,” Ignis says. “Perhaps he is testing you. Or perhaps he means to lead you to an unfortunate fate.”
Noctis shakes his head. “That’s not going to happen.” Not with all of you here, he thinks, but he guesses that if he says the words out loud, they will sound stilted, strange. And will they still want to stand beside him after what he might have done? “But before we do anything . . . are you guys sure you want to join me? I don’t even remember . . .”
“You attacked Luna,” Gladio says. “And Prompto.”
Prompto makes a surprised sound. “You didn’t have to be so—so deadpan about that, big guy.”
“He deserves to know.”
Noctis is nodding. “No, I agree. I don’t remember what happened. I need to know.”
“It wasn’t you,” Luna says. Prompto makes a gesture of agreement. “Your eyes . . . they were not the same. Something had hold of you.”
“And that’s exactly why we’ll have your back,” Ignis says. “Whatever is to come.”
Noctis clenches his jaw against a wave of emotion—what exactly the emotion is, he doesn’t know. Maybe there are too many of them to make sense of. “I—thank you,” he whispers, not knowing what else he should say.
“No time for all that yet,” Gladio says, rising to his feet and offering Noctis a hand. “First we gotta take on Bahamut, if he really is the one who orchestrated all this. Then you can thank us.”
Noctis lets Gladio pull him to his feet. The others rise around him, and Noctis sees, all at once, that they are surrounded by predawn light. Even the storm has faded, the clouds backing off to reveal the edges of sunlight on the horizon. The sight gives him hope.
“All right,” he says. “Then we go together.”
He looks at them each in turn, meeting their eyes. There is no trepidation there, he understands, not for any of them.
When he turns to Luna, she is holding the trident. She takes his hand and places it next to hers on the trident’s shaft. He can see, though she does not say it, that it is a gesture of forgiveness. He holds tight, as he will forever.
Noctis takes one last deep breath and looks to the horizon.
“This time I will face the gods.”