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Zegnautus Keep was dimly lit at best, pitch black at worst. Noctis was pretty sure that there had been some better lighting system back when the fortress was inhabited by scientists and soldiers of Niflheim, but Ardyn or the demons had done something to the power systems so that only the most rudimentary, mission-essential services were getting power, like doors, elevators, and the occasional fluorescent light. He was grateful that the flashlight clipped to his shirt was as of yet undamaged, but the shadows it cast kept flickering at the corners of his eyes, making him even more jumpy and anxious. He kept retracing his steps, missing crucial resources, or even just absently overlooking active keypads on otherwise inactive consoles.
Ardyn’s laughter continuously set him on edge. The man had taken over the PA system in the building, and Noctis was sure that he was somehow directing the MTs and the demons towards him, as Noctis continually found them leaping out at him from behind boxes and from within service corridors in numbers that challenged but never quite overwhelmed him. Every time he started feeling unable to continue, doors would lock and unlock in his path, leading him to a vending machine or an abandoned dormitory where he could find something to eat and catch a few minutes of rest.
He knew it was a trap--hell, Ardyn had even confirmed it for him several hours (days, maybe?) earlier--but he didn’t know what purpose Ardyn had in this whole charade. Did Ardyn just enjoy tormenting him? Should he stop reacting to the taunts? COULD he even stop reacting to the taunts? Or would that only serve to cause Ardyn to goad him further, perhaps at Prompto’s expense? He didn’t know what choice would give Prompto the best odds of survival, and that made the guilt eating away inside him even more painful.
He wondered where Ignis and Gladio were, whether they too were wandering through the dark halls of Zegnautus Keep or whether they’d managed to evade the hordes of demons that had threatened to overwhelm them after their mad car ride into Gralea. Hopefully they weren’t lost in the maze, constantly attacked by Rogue MT units and being teased by Ardyn. The man wasn’t constantly talking to him, after all, so perhaps during the periods of silence, he was “helping” his friends along.
Ultimately, his biggest question was what Ardyn got out of all of this. Why go through all this effort? He’d been helping them along the way, teasing, prodding, pushing them all this way, getting them to Titan and then to Altissia and then Leviathan, and...Luna. If he’d wanted to truly help, he could’ve just delivered them the Lucian King’s Crystal and been done with it! No, the man wanted something else.
Noctis pushed deeper into the Keep, past strange machines and miles of MT storage racks, eventually reaching an internal security office. He’d been stealing every abandoned access card he could find, reading every conveniently placed document and trying to ignore the way that the piles of empty clothing hinted at the demonic fate of their previous occupants. He let himself in. The room was lit only from the dozens of screens that displayed various security camera feeds. It didn’t escape him that most of them featured Prompto, chained and hanging limply in a Y-frame. With increasing urgency, he tried the various access pads on each console, until he found the one that opened the locked door on the opposite side of the room. Beyond, he saw rows of cells. Success.
He quickly hurried in, peeking into each cell as he went. The prison walkways branched off each side, so Noctis methodically went down each side hallway, checking every cell and praying that he would find his missing friend. Some were locked shut, demons or empty clothing inside. Others were open and empty in the dim red lights of the prison wing. He turned to start down the next hallway, but a flash of light caught his eye. Something had reflected the light from his flashlight. He stepped in, stooping to grab whatever it was before he continued his search, and there was a rattling sound and a sharp clang behind him. The prince whirled, ready to defend himself, but to his horror he realized that it was no enemy barring his path--the cell doors had shut.
“What gives?!” He panicked, grabbing the prison doors to shake them, hoping without hope that they would slide open. Of course they didn’t.
“You’re worse than a Jackdaw, boy.” Ardyn sounded aghast, but the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a malicious grin as he came around the corner to approach the cell where Noctis was now imprisoned. “That’s going to get you into trouble one day. Didn’t your father ever teach you not to take things that aren’t yours?”
“Let me OUT, you bastard!” shouted Noctis, slamming his father’s sword against the door’s frame. It didn’t budge. The reinforced metal of the cell doors extended into a groove in the ceiling and in the floor, hiding both the magnetic lock and the mechanism that allowed it to slide open and closed. Noctis briefly considered trying to pry it open with the blade, but even he knew enough about swords to know that the metal would simply snap off of the hilt. If he had been able to call the royal arms properly, summoning the semi-spirit form, then perhaps he would’ve risked it, but not now.
“It’s almost unimaginable that all I had to do to capture you was simply leave an old green bottle out in the open,” mused Ardyn, stepping backwards until his features were no longer clearly highlighted by Noctis’ flashlight. “I was so sure that it wasn’t going to work. You even took yourself into the cell all on your own, most obliging of you. And to think that you were only a short distance away from rescuing your little gunman! How awful.”
“You leave him alone!” snarled Noctis, shoulders heaving with fury.
“Are you sure?” taunted the Niflheim Chancellor. “I’m afraid he’s in rather bad shape and I don’t know how long he’d last if left in his own devices.” Noctis caught the odd phrasing-- in his own devices--and tried to fight down the wave of fear at the images his mind conjured.
“Let him go,” he amended. “You’ve got me, let him go.”
“Why should I?” asked Ardyn. “When I have you both?”
“What do you want from me, you sick freak?” asked Noctis, twisting the ring behind his back, trying his best to summon its destructive, purifying power without alerting his enemy.
“Nothing yet, Noct ,” said Ardyn. He was barely more than a shadow in the hallway now, but his eyes glinted underneath that ridiculous old hat he wore. Noctis flung his arm forward, the orb of alterna exploding out towards Ardyn, but the man simply vanished, his body dissolving into shadow as if he’d never been there in the first place. An illusion?
The prince stood there, panting, feeling his magic slowly replenish, as the fear quickly overtook his rage. What was he going to do? He started examining the door, the locks, the grooves in the ceiling and floor, the cell furniture--everything he could think of that might help him escape.
That was when the screaming started.
It echoed so much in the cellblock that he could only make out a few words. It began as pleading that escalated quickly into shouting and then highpitched shrieks that set Noctis’ hair on end that punctuated deep, hitching sobs. Noctis wasn’t sure if it was very nearby, or if he was hearing it through the loudspeaker announcement system, but either way, he recognized Prompto’s distinct voice, the way it cracked, the way it shook with pain and fear.
“Leave him alone!” he bellowed down the hall. “PROMPTO!! PROMPTO??” He screamed his friend’s name over and over, trying to drown out the sounds, clinging to the hope that this was just another one of Ardyn’s illusions, just like the figure he’d chased all over Zegnautus and the body that was really just an MT. Finally everything died away into a sudden, awful silence.
Noctis pressed himself against the bars, trying to see down the hallway, hoping to spot anything that might help him get out or might offer a clue as to Prompto’s location and condition, and just at the edge of the light thrown by his flashlight, he spotted another glint as something shiny reflected back at him. Using his father’s sword, he very carefully stuffed his arm through the bars, trying to reach whatever it was. He contorted, shoving his shoulder tightly against the metal to get one more inch, and the tip of the blade hooked it. He dragged it closer until he could reach it, scooping it up to hold where he could see it most brightly.
“What the hell?”
Ardyn’s laughter pealed through the loudspeaker system. Noctis held Prompto’s spiked bracelet. The prince fingered the Lucian skull insignia, remembering when he’d given it to his friend. Prompto had always worn an eclectic bunch of jewelry, switching bracelets and rings to match whatever trend had most recently caught his fancy, but this thing, equal parts punk and symbol of royal favor, had never left his wrist.
“I can’t believe you went after the shiny!” Ardyn howled with laughter, far longer than what Noctis thought was sane. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” He wheezed eventually. “How marvelous.”
“Let us go!” called Noctis, knowing that Ardyn was watching him. “You’ve had your fun.”
“Oh no, Noct, no.” The man’s voice was suddenly dark and foreboding. “The fun is just beginning.”
Noctis didn’t have any way of measuring time exactly, locked in that cell as he was, but he watched the battery indicator on his flashlight slowly die down and knew that at least 2 days had passed since he had last rested and recharged his light in an abandoned dormitory in Zegnautus Keep. Every so often there would be a sharp cry of pain or fear, usually right as Noctis was starting to drift off to sleep. It never lasted long, and there was never any response from Prompto, no matter how much the prince called out to his friend. Ardyn did not appear to Noctis again, although occasionally, small shiny objects appeared outside of his cell door. Noctis always worked hard to drag them closer, even though he knew that it would prompt a cascade of laughter from his captor. But he couldn’t afford to miss even one opportunity, one last item that might make the difference between getting out and staying locked in the prison. He needed the crackers and energy shots that had occasionally appeared near his cell, usually after he fell asleep.
His light was almost dead as day 2 passed and day 3 began, and Noctis was trying hard not to give in to the despair. He’d tried blasting his way out with the ring, but although the light was powerful against demons and magitek, it did nothing against the physical barriers around him. He could wield basic elemancy, of course, and he’d spent many hours trying to summon fire hot enough to melt away a bar and weaken it so that he could break free, but to no avail. The metal glowed red but remained as strong as ever. Ardyn had complimented him on his ingenuity, but chided him on his poor magical control. “I expected better,” echoed through the Prince’s mind long after the PA system went silent.
One last shiny thing sat beyond the cell bars, far out of reach no matter how much Noctis twisted and turned. The prince sat and watched it, becoming more and more convinced that it was the key to his escape. It would be just like Ardyn to leave that there, in sight, but unreachable. Noctis tried several things to get it, but finally a crazy idea occurred to him.
He unlaced his boots and took off his shirt, shivering in the chilly air. Noctis tied the laces together and knotted it around his shirt, hoping that the weight of the garment would drag the mysterious item towards him when the cloth landed upon it. Alas, he still couldn’t reach it. He tied it to the pommel of his sword and removed his socks, wrapping the palms of his hand so that he could grip his father’s weapon without cutting himself. Then gingerly, awkwardly, he flipped his wrist, just as if he were casting with his favorite fishing rod. The wadded shirt plopped solidly on top of the shiny object. Noctis delicately drew it closer and closer to his cell, wincing as it slipped free, but he was patient. It wasn’t like he had any other choice! He carefully cast his makeshift net gain, once more capturing it beneath his black T-Shirt. He scooted the item closer and closer, until he could stretch his fingers through the bars and hold it up in the fading light.
It WAS just what he’d hoped it would be--a keycard. He stood up, fingers shaking with adrenaline. Would it work? Or was it just another way that Ardyn would get his hopes up before crushing them? He scooped up his belongings and shuffled to the bars, gingerly reaching through the door to awkwardly slide it into the card reader on the front. There was a short beep, and the prince jerked his arms free a moment before the door slid smoothly open. The prince almost fell over himself to get out.
“Well done, Noct,” said Ardyn glibly over the PA. “I knew you could do it. Now onward to find your friends!”
Noctis bit his lip to avoid saying something he might regret later. The four days in a cell had done more than killing Luna, blinding Ignis, or even the attack on Insomnia had done. His rage simmered, more deep and murderous than ever, but now there was an equal well of terror beside it. How easily had Ardyn captured him? And now that he was out of that cell, was he any less free? Ardyn could simply seal off a couple of doors, and he would be just as trapped as before. The only hope that he had was the growing conviction that Ardyn wanted something, something very special and specific, from him, and that merely killing him or imprisoning him wasn’t it.
Noctis wanted to vomit at the thought of just going along with that psychopath’s plans, but he didn’t really have any other choice. So he took a few deep breaths as he laced up his boots and put his shirt back on, took up his father’s sword, and set off through the cellblock once more.
Prompto’s cell was at the very back of the area, several rows down. It was larger to hold the broad Y-frame and a long table full of objects that made the prince sick to imagine what they had been used for. His friend hung limply, but as the prince unlocked the cell door with his new keycard, Prompto’s head came up and he struggled weakly in his bonds. Noctis entered the cell (not without a trace of trepidation) and frantically searched for the release latch on the frame’s control panel. He carefully caught his friend as the cuffs and chest bands released with a pneumatic hiss.
Prompto was skin and bones after his weeks of captivity. Noctis steadied him as he slid down to his hands and knees. After a long moment, he pushed himself up to sit on his heels and the prince could finally see the bruises, cuts, and burns that marred his friend's face, extending down his bare arms and probably the rest of his body too, if the way he was moving so gingerly was any indication. Early on, Noctis had imbued a bottle of energy drink with his powers, and now he poured it over his friend, allowing the magic and sticky, carbonated beverage to cascade over the injuries, accelerating weeks’ worth of healing into a single moment. Prompto sighed in substantial relief. It wasn't a perfect solution, but most injuries vanished or faded.
“Thank you, Noct,” he said. Looking up hesitantly, he asked, “Were you worried about me?”
“Of course I was! What kind of question is that?” Noctis protested, but even as it left his lips he remembered the words he had screamed at his friend before throwing him off the train.
“Of course. That’s why you came, like I believed you would.” The words alone sounded like a declaration of faith, but Prompto’s tone of voice made them seem tentative, like he wasn’t convinced. “That’s why I told myself I couldn’t die, not until I could see you and hear you tell me that I’m not a fake, that I’m the real me.”
“I'm sorry.” It was wholly inadequate, but it was the only thing that Noctis could say.
“Don't be. Everything’s alright now.” Prompto’s smile was small, but warm and familiar, and Noctis hoped beyond hope that that was true.
“Come on. Let's go find Ignis and Gladio,” said the prince. “Can you stand?” He looped one hand under Prompt’s arm and pulled.
“Yeah, I'm okay now.” Prompto eased himself to his feet with a groan, but one of reluctance, not pain. “How'd you guys get separated? I'll bet Iggy's going spare.”
“Yeah, probably,” said Noctis, feeling lighter and more hopeful than he had in ages as they began to make their way out of the cellblock. He carefully did not look down the hallway where he had been trapped. Inside the last cell that they passed before they exited the prison, a shiny green glass bottle sat in the middle of the floor. The prince shuddered in spite of himself and hurried past, and Ardyn’s creepy laughter filled the air once more.