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IT HAD BECOME DIFFICULT TO TELL WHAT TIME IT WAS ever since Ignis had lost his sight. His only way was by the rhythm of Prompto and Gladio coming and going. By the doctors, too. Every visit cemented this new reality further—his sight would not recover. Additional to this truth which on its own was already hard to swallow, Noctis didn’t wake. There was no change in his state for so long that in the quiet hours of what Ignis suspected to be night his mind went to even darker places than his reality.
What if Noctis never woke again? What if it would take years? What if this whole prophecy about the Chosen King was wrong, after all?
Ignis had heard others talk about the days growing ever shorter and sensed the slight unease accompanying those discussions. He had heard Gladio and Prompto talk about it in hushed tones as if hoping he wouldn’t overhear. Oftentimes he had pretended to be asleep, so they would continue their conversation. At least with his eyes failing him, his hearing quickly adjusted and was already growing more sensitive to even the quietest of sounds. Ignis was certain if his sight were intact not only would he be part of this conversation, but also would he not have to listen in like a useless addition to their group. That growing sense of uselessness was yet another new weight settling on Ignis’ shoulders as if there to stay. It mixed with the sorrow of what would become of him and how he would even be able to serve Noctis in the future. That jumble of emotions resulted in nightmares so vivid it made Ignis feel like losing his sight all over again whenever he woke. No matter how much horror the dreams held, it was never comparable to the terror of realizing over and over again that he was, indeed, blind now.
Despite this easily being the hardest time of Ignis’ young life—not even the pain from the slowly healing wounds, but the realization that he would never see Noctis grow into the King he was destined to be—, he would do it all over again if it meant that Ardyn wouldn’t get his hands on Noctis. Ignis would suffer through this all over again if it meant Noctis was safe.
Now Noctis only needed to wake up. Perhaps then Ignis would be able to sleep calmer again.
***
“This smells like herbal tea,” Ignis said. Prompto had brought him a hot drink, and Ignis had highly expected it to be his beloved Ebony. Just—it apparently wasn’t.
Prompto shuffled on the seat next to Ignis. From what Ignis knew about the hotel room he currently stayed in, it had a bed and a round table with a few armchairs around in it. That’s where they sat now. “I thought you might be able to sleep better after a nice cup of tea. Here’s honey, too, if it’s too bitter.”
“Why would you decide for me what kind of drink I can have?” Ignis asked. “I am not a child, Prompto.”
“No, but—”
“No buts. While I am aware you mean well, I ask of you to not decide things for me.”
“You would’ve said you want coffee. And it’s already late. And you need sleep.”
Ignis let out a long sigh. “I do sleep. I also do believe we all don’t sleep too well lately.”
“You need rest to properly recover.” Prompto sounded so small, so unsure, that it tugged at Ignis’ heartstrings.
“Nothing will get better as it is now, Prompto,” Ignis said, very quietly. It was a truth he had heard being whispered into the darkness surrounding him. A truth that he never dared to say out loud as to not speak it into existence. And yet here they were, the words he needed to speak. “My sight will not recover.”
The silence that followed was ever worse with Ignis knowing that Prompto was there. If he still had his sight he would be able to tell what was going on. Before he could get lost in the despair of what he could no longer do, he clung to what he could. He listened.
Prompto sat to Ignis’ left. Now that Ignis was paying attention he heard his shaky intakes of breath, small, shallow, as if Prompto tried very hard to not make a sound so that Ignis wouldn’t know he was crying.
“Prompto?” Ignis said. “Is it all right to touch you?”
The next inhale got stuck, and a sob broke free. Next Prompto grabbed Ignis’ hand. “I am h-here.”
Ignis moved closer to the younger man, and pulled him into a hug. “It won’t always feel like this,” he whispered into the space between his lips and Prompto’s ear, and Prompto just clung harder to Ignis, to the offered comfort of an embrace. It wasn’t only Prompto who cried.
***
The days continued to bleed into each other. It was always the same rhythm to them which made it easier for Ignis to tell what time of day it even was. Not always accurate, but close enough for now. Especially when all they could do was wait for Noctis to wake up, time seemed to slow down. Ignis felt its passing with the closing of his wounds and his slow adjustment to living without his sight, though he was a far cry from who and how he used to be. Altissia had changed them all, shook their group and the world with not only Lunafreya’s passing. Ignis wasn’t looking forward to break those news to Noctis, even though it would mean he was awake. The longer Noctis remained in this state, the more time all of them had to worry about the what-if’s. If—when—Noctis woke, would he remember his fight? How would he be feeling? How would he handle the devastating weight of the truth? What if Noctis had taken damage unseen until now, hidden in his unconscious mind? What if the world hadn’t only lost its Oracle but also the Chosen King who was supposed to bring back the light as well?
Ignis sat in one of the armchairs in Noctis’ room, none of these thoughts new to him. None of these worries was new. He had no way of telling if the doctors missed something, an injury on a level deeper than the surface. What if this was the reason Noctis didn’t wake and not only the exhaustion from battling Leviathan?
When Ignis heard movement from Noctis’ bed he thought at first it was a mere trick of his imagination. His wishful thinking taking form. Then he heard it again accompanied by a change in Noctis’ breathing pattern. Ignis didn’t dare speak nor move, just sat there with his back to the man he wanted to see so much it hurt.
“Specs?” Noctis sounded groggy, but at least he didn’t seem to have forgotten Ignis. “Where am I? What happened?”
Ignis swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. How often had he had this conversation in his mind, had tried different approaches to break those devastating news to Noctis? Lying was no option, so he had to tread carefully while simultaneously dealing a blow that would feel fatal to Noctis. Lunafreya and he had known each other since they had been children. Since Ignis had been a child himself. As far as arranged marriages go, this match had been well received all around, and Ignis knew there had been love between those two, too. “Noct,” Ignis said. “You are at the Leville.” That was the easy part. “You’ve been here ever since the battle against Leviathan. Do you remember that?”
Noctis was quiet for a few moments. “I remember that fight … What about Luna? Is she here, too?”
Ignis got up from the chair he had been sitting in, ready to head for the door to call for the others and a doctor. He readied himself to speak, when Noctis continued:
“You’re hurt!”
Ignis stiffened, and then steeled himself. “It’s just a small sacrifice in the greater battle.” His own injury—a living proof of what he had done—, was yet another topic he’d rather not talk about. Very much like the following, though he knew it needed to be said. “I’m afraid I have to tell you that Lady Lunafreya has passed. My deepest—”
“No,” Noctis said. “She can’t! No!”
“I am very sorry, Your Highness.”
Noctis snorted. Ignis didn’t need to be able to see to know he was crying. Who wouldn’t be after hearing such news?
“I will call for the others and a doctor.” Ignis was out of the door before Noctis said anything more. The Prince sure needed a moment to process everything. Waking up to a world that had so thoroughly changed was something Ignis could somewhat relate to. Noctis had lost a loved one, Ignis’ world had turned dark for a different reason. There was no relief about Noctis being awake and aware, only grief so heavy Ignis felt his legs go weak with it.
***
Ignis couldn’t quite tell what woke him. One second he was trapped in a dream about rising waters and fire in his veins, and the next he lay awake, eyes open, yet unseeing. His breath came in ragged gasps of air, and for a moment that was all Ignis could hear.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Noctis’ voice came from the left side of the bed.
Ignis turned his head in the direction of it, frowning. “Do you need anything? Did I oversleep?” He was fairly certain someone would have woken him if that were the case, but why was Noctis here, then?
“No,” Noctis said quietly. “It’s night. You … you really cannot see anything anymore, can you?”
“Are you here because you want to tell me my services are no longer needed?” Ignis’ voice had gone a few degrees colder. He sat up to feel a little more in control. This wasn’t a conversation to be had while lying down.
“That’s not …Why would you think that?” asked Noctis. “I wanted to see you.”
Ignis tilted his head. “You see me every day. What made you come to my room during nighttime?”
“Can I … can I try to … help?” Noctis’ voice was small, unsure. He should never sound like this ever.
“How?” Ignis asked on a breath. His hands tightened around the sheets he hadn’t even noticed he grabbed in the first place.
Noctis moved closer, the mattress dipping with his weight. “Can I touch you?”
Ignis didn’t dare speak, only nodded. Despite being prepared his breath caught when Noctis’ fingers brushed his skin, right next to the scars that Ignis knew were there. “Does it hurt?” Just like his touch Noctis’ words were careful.
“Not much anymore,” Ignis said.
“Tell me if that changes.” Noctis hands trailed over the scar tissue on Ignis’ face, rested over his ruined eyes. There was a prickle, a shiver that started where Noctis touched him. Ignis held his breath, his grip on the sheets ever tightening, when a slight burn crept into his skin that had him gasp. It wasn’t painful, not quite, but uncomfortable. That sensation faded soon after, and then it was just Noctis holding Ignis’ face in his hands as if he were something worth being treasured. “It’s not working.” It sounded so desperate, so broken, that hearing those words hurt Ignis even more than the truth he had already known—it was too late for Noctis’ magic.
“Noct,” Ignis said, covering Noctis’ hands with his own. “It is all right. The wounds are too old to be healed.”
Noctis took a shuddering breath. “What good does my magic do then, when I can’t even heal someone I love? If I hadn’t been unconscious—”
“None of that!” Ignis sternly interrupted. “You might not have been physically hurt, but your body needed recovery just as much. You could have very well died out there.”
“You, too! Prompto said you almost did. I heard him and Gladio talk about it.” Noctis was right-out sniffling now.
“What matters is that we are here, Noctis. We are alive. You are alive.” Ignis’ thumbs rubbed in circles over Noctis’ hands.
“But you are blind, Ignis.”
“I’ve noticed,” Ignis dryly said. Noctis’ next exhale ended in a sob. Maybe it was too early for that kind of reaction. Ignis moved to pull the younger man closer, having Noctis’ head rest on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Noct. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but it won’t feel like this forever,” he repeated what he had said to Prompto not so long ago.
Noctis’ clung to Ignis and just cried. Ignis held him and wondered just how much overdue it was for Noctis to let his emotions out like this. They all were suffering in the aftermath of what happened in Altissia, but Ignis believed his words. It wouldn’t feel like this forever.
For now that had to be enough.