Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ignis Scientia turned up the collar of his coat, bracing himself against the harsh winds of an Insomnian winter.

Ever since the Fall of the royal family and the annexation of Lucis into the Niflheim Empire, the climate in what was once the capital city had changed drastically. Temperate winters gave way to ice storms and an ugly mix of snow and sleet, summer was muggy and brief, and the spring and autumn felt tacked on like an afterthought. Ignis supposed there might be an Astral behind this—A god made furious with the derailment of their chosen prophecy—but he didn’t find much in him to care, these days.

All he really needed right now was a ticket out of the city. He could go back to Tenebrae, where his family had lived before the Fall. Find a small place, settle down with a job in a diner somewhere. A sad state of affairs for a man who had once been raised to be the right hand of the future king, but there was no use complaining. He was lucky that he’d been too young for the Empire to consider him a threat.

The prince had been younger, of course. But royal blood—and a supposed prophecy—outweighed such moral quandaries.

Not that there weren’t rumors that the prince had survived the attack. The people of Insomnia needed something to cling to, some hope to preserve what culture they had left as Niflheim MTs patrolled the city. Ignis couldn’t blame them… and he couldn’t blame himself for encouraging them. A man had to do what he must to survive, and Ignis had a slapdash sort of family of his own to protect.

“Iggy!”

Speak of the devil. Prompto Argentum skidded down the icy sidewalk towards Ignis with all the cheer of a born bastard. He was wearing a tattered red and black kilt over his jeans, thick black gloves, and his jacket was far too thin for the weather. Ignis would have been worried about that, but he knew that Prompto’s body temperature was always slightly higher than that of Insomnian natives.

Prompto was the main reason for this mad venture of theirs. Every day the two of them stayed in Insomnia brought them closer to the day that someone would notice the jerky way Prompto moved, the tattoo on his wrist, the heat of his skin. He was one of the last escaped test subjects of the first wave of MT soldiers, and the Empire would be very interested to learn how he had survived this long, and who had helped him.

As it was, Prompto treated the constant danger with a flippancy that was truly infuriating. He swung an arm around Ignis and nearly sent the two of them toppling into the street.

“Ready for the lineup?” he asked. “I feel good about this one, Iggy. I mean it. I think today’s the day we find our Prince Noctis.”

Ignis snorted. “Or someone who looks enough like him, anyways.”

“No sense of romance in your soul, Iggy.” Prompto grinned up at him and kicked at a snowbank, soaking his own jeans. “We’re doing that Amicitia guy a favor! He’s the one who put up all those wanted ads for the lost prince of Lucis. Do you think he cares if our Noctis is the real one or not?”

“The Astrals would care,” Ignis pointed out. He brushed snow from his pants. “He isn’t a fool, Prompto. I may not have lived at the palace for long before it… before it all happened, but I remember the Amicitias. A powerful family, even after the Fall. We need to do this right.”

“Think there's a risk that they’d remember you?” Prompto asked, hooking his arm around Ignis’ elbow. Ignis looked up at the grey sky over the Citadel and sighed.

“No one ever remembers me,” he said. Prompto shook his head and dragged him forward, towards the warmth of the lower city slums, and Ignis tore his gaze from the spire of the Citadel with a reluctance he couldn’t quite place.

---

Noct collided with a dying lump of sagebrush outside of Hammerhead’s Orphanage Of His Imperial Majesty’s Kindness with a muffled curse.

“We warned you!” the matron said from behind him, in a high, quavering voice. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you, you… daemon!”

“Yeah, fuck you, too, Miss Carmen,” Noct said. His dog, Umbra, gamboled about him, trying to figure out why his owner was lying on his face in the middle of the day.

“You’re too old to stay on, and we can’t abide delinquents,” the matron said. “The Empire took you in out of the goodness of its heart. It just goes to show that Lucian children have casual criminality in their bones.”

Noct scrambled to his feet and made to stride to the gate, but the guards who had unceremoniously thrown him out on his ass stepped forward, blocking his way.

“Not worth my time, anyways,” he said, and spat. “Come on, Umbra.”

As boy and dog stalked away from the imposing building that had been Noct’s lodgings for the past twelve years, Noct couldn’t help but feel the tension start to drain from his bones. Even if it wasn’t the way he wanted it, he was free of that place. Eighteen years old (give or take) and on his own, with nothing but an old ring in his pocket and a few gil in his boots, ready to tackle the greatest mystery of his known life.

Noct pulled out the black ring from his coat pocket and examined it thoughtfully. For all that it was his only real possession of note, he had yet to put it on. It felt wrong, somehow, like there was a magnetic energy in the ring that pulled it away from his fingers, so he kept it looped on a chain for the most part. He slung the chain around his neck now and tucked the ring under his shirt. It was the only link he had to who he’d been before—Before he was deposited on the orphanage doorstep at age six or seven, covered in dried blood and wearing clothes too fine for a typical Lucian orphan. The officials thought he might be a noble, at first, but Noct had proven so belligerent, in the kindest terms, that they gave up on him soon enough.

So did the prospective parents who visited the orphanage year after year. Every one of them.

It didn’t matter. Noct had a plan. He was going to make it to Insomnia, then hitch a boat ride to Accordo. There, in Altissia, he could go through the recovered files from before the Fall of Lucis and see if any of them had a record of the ring, or of him, or of a family to which he might possibly belong.

---

“Clarus Amicitia! It’s me, Prince Noctis!”

Ignis groaned. Prompto grinned. The man on the stage—Dave, if Ignis’ memory was correct—slung down a giant fur coat and threw his arms out awkwardly. His black wig slipped over his eyes, and he hurriedly struggled to replace it, face frozen in a pained grimace.

Prompto applauded.

“Yes,” Ignis said, stiffly. “Well done. We’ll let you know our decision at the end of the week.”

He slumped in his chair as Dave strode off the stage, running back to grab his coat after a few steps.

“This is it, Prompto,” he said, in a low voice. "We might as well walk to Tenebrae." Prompto patted his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That one kid seemed alright.”

“The one with the lisp? His skin was too pale, and his eyes weren’t right.”

Prompto hummed. “I know what’ll cheer you up, old man,” he said, ignoring Ignis’ squawk of outrage. “Let’s go back to the Citadel and scrounge up some bottles of wine from the cellar, and then we can get royally trashed in one of the guest rooms. How would that feel, huh?”

“You’re trying to bribe me,” Ignis said, slumping down further under Prompto’s hand.

“Yeah, but it’s working, right?”

Ignis sighed deeply. “Fine,” he said, and Prompto perked up. “But only because after a day like today, wine is the only thing I can think about keeping down.”

Prompto laughed and bounced to his feet. “That’s the Iggy I know,” he said, with a wicked smile. “Always the optimist.”

---

“Reporting in for a Call 5-T10.”

Noct turned from the ticket teller he was currently chewing out and right into the green mask of a humanoid MagiTech soldier. The soldier was flanked by two more, all of them holding heavy guns in their hands, one hissing slightly as rain landed on an exposed wire. Umbra barked at them, but they made no sign, no reaction to the furious sounds coming from their feet.

“That’s right,” said the teller. “Mr. Thing here is causing a scene.”

“I just need a ticket to the Quay,” Noct said, for what had to be the tenth time that minute.

“And I told you,” the teller said, “That you need to get a visa or a birth certificate.”

“You think I have one?” Noct cried. The teller blanched and glanced over his shoulder, towards the MTs. “What?”

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, turning him back round to face the MT troopers.

“Identification,” the MT said. Noct glanced around. The people in the square around him were starting to back away, gazing at him from the corners of their eyes. That wasn’t a good sign. Noct felt fear stir in his stomach, and the familiar, discomforting buzz that crept over his skin when he needed to escape. He tamped it down and tried for a smile.

“Don’t. Don’t have any,” he said. “I’m from the orphanage in Hammerhead, they—“

“Come with us,” the MT closest to him said, and the grip on his shoulder tightened painfully. Noct squeezed his eyes shut, shuddered, and there was a shush of sound and a flash of blue light as he warped out of the soldier’s hold.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He’d tried, really tried, to hold in whatever weird magic he had that the rest of the kids in the orphanage didn’t—because it was bad enough being the odd one out without drawing that kind of attention. But still, the whispers had followed him. Daemon. Cursed. And here he was, not even a day into his adult life, and he’d slipped up. He stared at the troopers and edged back as their mouths unhinged like snakes, revealing a searing red fire behind their masks.

“KINGSGLAIVE,” they shrieked, in unison. “KINGSGLAIVE SIGHTED.”

Umbra nipped at his heel, startling Noct into action. He pointed down the street and the dog took off, and he staggered into a warp. He couldn’t go far, not without something, anything to throw. He picked up a rock and tossed it at a fountain. He warped after it and landed hard on the stone.

“KINGSGLAIVE,” came cries from down the street. He could hear the stamping of boots, the creak of metal, the shouts of the other pedestrians as they darted into houses and down side alleys.

“I don’t even know what a Kingsglaive is!” Noct shouted, like that would make any difference. He heard a pop. A bullet landed on the cobbles next to him, then another broke off the hand of the fountain statue. Shit. Shit shit shit.

He threw the rock towards the alley where he could hear Umbra barking frantically, and warped again.

---

“Kingsglaive?” Chancellor Ardyn Izunia looked up from his untouched mug of coffee. His mauve hair was dulled in the dim light of Gralea’s Imperial fortress, and when General Ravus rocked back on his heels, he could see what looked like black veins trailing under the skin of his cheeks. “My dear General, there hasn’t been a Kingsglaive soldier in Insomnia in over ten years. Their powers died out with the royal family.”

“Yes, Chancellor Izunia,” Ravus said, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. “But the footage from the square in the city shows something… Interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Ardyn took the tablet that Ravus held in his hands and swiped it on. He stared at it for a long moment, then replayed the video.

Ravus gestured to the screen. “The boy in the video had enough magic to set off MT protocols from over ten years ago. But he’s clearly too young to be a straggling member of the Glaives. And as you said, the Kingsglaive army’s magic died with the king.”

Ardyn set the tablet down gingerly. His gaze was distant, and Ravus felt an inexplicable chill run through him.

“It may be a good idea to double the MT patrols in Insomnia,” Ardyn said. “I fear I must confer with the Emperor.”

“Sir?” Ravus technically had the right to demand clarification, but it was a well-known fact that Ardyn alone had the Emperor’s ear after the Fall of Lucis. No one would dare cross him, not even for something as simple as a casual inquiry.

“It’s nothing, General,” Ardyn said. “Just a wrinkle. A very small, persistent wrinkle. See to your army, there’s a dear.” He rose from his seat and made for the door, and as he passed, Ravus felt as though his skin were on fire. He stared after the Chancellor long after the door had closed behind him, and tried to still the frantic beat of his heart. Behind him, on the table, the video of the young man played again, showing a dark haired boy warping across a plaza in a burst of light and long-dead magic.

Chapter Text

Noct followed Umbra through a hole in what looked like the largest, ugliest building in Insomnia. The Citadel was a ruin—A great gash had been blasted into the side of it, and the spire in the center was tilted at a dangerous angle. Moss grew in the cracks of the stone wall, and when Noct peeled back the boards of the gaping hole under which Umbra had crawled, he could hear skittering sounds in the dark. Hopefully rats. There was no way a daemon could get into a building surrounded by warding lights, surely.

He straightened in what looked like an abandoned pantry. Ahead of him, illuminated by moonlight shining through a hole in the ceiling, Umbra waited.

“You’re creeping me out, boy,” Noct said. It wasn’t just that Umbra had led him on a frenzied chase down side streets and alleys right to the Citadel. It was also that Umbra had known, before even Noct had known, which way the screaming, shuddering MTs were headed. And now he was giving Noct such a deep, intelligent look that the young man almost didn’t want to follow.

He did, anyways. This place was huge—if the MTs found him here, he had plenty of places to hide.

They padded down corridors and up low, wide stairs. He passed frames stacked on the floor, stripped of their paintings. Broken vases littered empty side rooms. There were even old, rusty stains on the carpet and walls, obscured by mold but somehow too sickening for Noct to look at for long. When Umbra led him to a pair of ironwrought doors, he opened them slowly and stepped into a dream.

He felt like he should know this room. The high walls, the marble columns, the decrepit balconies hung with moth-eaten drapes. It was like the old tales, where the hero couldn’t look back until they’d passed through a cave or a tunnel or the underworld. Whatever was tugging at his mind was so tentative, so fragile, that even the slightest nudge or shift of the air could dislodge it. Noct looked up a set of narrow stairs and saw the wreckage of a ruined throne, and bit his cheek so hard it bled.

“Excuse me?”

Noct’s thoughts scattered at the sound of a light, accented voice calling out behind him. He spun, the dark strands of his hair flying about his face in the moonlit dust of the Lucian throne room.

---

Ignis knew he had to be drunk. Of course, he’d only had the two glasses of wine, and he could usually keep the use of his faculties quite well until the fourth, but there was no other reason for him to see what stood before the throne.

“Dude,” Prompto whispered. “Are you seeing this?”

“I’m not sure,” Ignis whispered back.

“Do you guys live here?” The young man on the dais turned dazzling blue eyes to them, swiping his hair off his forehead. He had a grey and white dog with him, and while his chin was a bit too narrow, and his face a little too round, he could almost—almost—pass for a young King Regis.

“Astounding,” Ignis said to himself.

“What?” The man stepped down, the dog following gamely at his heels. “What’s astounding? You guys aren’t like, maintenance people or anything, are you?”

Prompto snorted at the thought. “Yeah, no. We’re, uh… We’re looking for someone, actually.”

“Yeah?” The man stopped, suddenly wary.

“Can you turn around?” Ignis asked. He stepped forward. The man glared at him, and Ignis twirled his finger. “I want to see something.”

“You gonna make sense any time soon, or…?”

“Goodness,” Ignis said. He fought through the haze of alcohol to turn on the charm offensive. “Did you know that you are the spitting image of the late prince of Lucis?”

The man laughed. “Right,” he said. “Why not? That makes sense. Look, I’m up to here with weird shit today, so I’m just gonna go—“

“No!” Prompto lunged forward, and the dog shoved between him and the dark haired man, baring sharp teeth. “Look, we’re serious. Have you heard of the Amicitias?”

The man frowned. “The traitors? I mean, the ones the Empire says are traitors?”

“Sure,” Prompto said. “They’ve been searching for the prince for years. Everyone says he was killed, but they say he wasn’t, and they’d know, right? So we’ve been gathering info… hold on… wait…” He dug in his jacket and pulled out a much-folded photograph. “Look. Just, uh, call off your dog, first.”

The dog in question backed under the man's legs, and Prompto passed the photo over and jumped away. The man took the photo and squinted at it. “It’s a kid,” he said. “So?”

“So,” Ignis said, “Doesn’t he look familiar? His eyes, the hair, the chin?”

The man stared at the photo for a moment longer. “You guys don’t even know me,” he said. “You just met me. And you’re trying to say I might be—“

“Well, who are you, then?” Ignis asked. “What’s your name?”

“Noct.” The two men raised their eyebrows. “It isn’t like that, okay? I picked it. When I was at the, the orphanage, they always talked shit about Lucian kids, so I chose the name that would piss them off the most. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why would you need to pick your name?” Prompto asked.

“I… don’t know what my real one is,” Noct said. "Oh, come on, don't look at me like that."

Ignis had to hold back a laugh. Oh, this was too perfect. At the end of one of the most depressing days of his life, the gods had seen fit to drop an amnesiac urchin with the right bone structure and just enough innocent bewilderment to work. Just long enough to fool the Amicitias, and then Ignis and Prompto would be home free with the reward.

Of course, this young man wasn’t actually the prince. The prince was long dead. The Amicitias were fools for holding out this long, but they were fools with resources, and Ignis had no choice but to take what opportunities came his way.

“I think,” he said, in an arch tone, “that the three of us may need to have a talk.”

---

“I still think this is bullshit,” Noct said, as the three men loaded their belongings into the back of Ignis’ hotwired car. Prompto, who couldn’t spend more than half a minute without calling Umbra over for scratchies, looked up past his twitching ears at Noct and Ignis.

“You don’t have to believe it,” Ignis said, with the slightest aggravated drawl. It was amusing to hear him use that tone on someone other than Prompto, for once. “Just humor us until we get to Altissia. If it turns out that you aren’t the prince, no harm done, you can look for your family in the records there. But if it turns out you are…”

Prompto noted his cue. “Then bam,” he said. “Instant family. Sort of.”

Noct huffed, climbing into the back seat with the dog. “That’ll take some convincing,” he said. “I’m not exactly prince material.”

Prompto jumped into the passenger seat as Ignis started up the ignition. “That,” he said, smugly, “is what we’re here for. We are the guys who are gonna jog that messed-up memory of yours.” He rapped on Noct’s head, and grinned wide when he was rewarded with a smile. “Hey, Iggy, he’s human after all!”

Ignis glanced at Noct through the rearview mirror, but the young man’s smile was already gone. “Of course he’s human, Prompto,” he said. “Whether he can act a prince is another matter entirely.”

“Oh, I can tell you and I are gonna get along great, Specs,” Noct said, laying out on the back seat.

“Like a house on fire,” Ignis said.

“Let’s hope we can survive,” said Prompto, and laughed at Ignis’ exhausted death glare.

---

“Back straight,” Ignis said, for the twenty-third time.

“Oh, fuck that, man,” said Noct, who was currently at swear number forty-six. “This is as straight as it’s gonna go.”

Ignis threw his hands in the air. “Noct,” he said, in the tones of a man on the verge of strangling all would-be princes. “We are going to meet Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. The daughter of the late Queen of Tenebrae, the youngest Oracle in history, and a close personal friend of the late royal family. If she doesn’t believe you to have a drop of royal blood in that bedraggled mess of yours,” here he gestured to Noct’s entire person, “then you can kiss all chance of discovering your lineage goodbye.”

“If I’m not the prince, it’s not gonna matter,” Noct said. Ignis groaned. Prompto made a mark under a list on his notebook titled “Iggy loses his shit,” and turned the page.

Coaching Noct in what he needed to know to pass muster was a mixed bag. Some of it he seemed to like—The information about King Regis, the crystal, the cats that the real prince kept trying to rescue when he was young. The lessons on deportment, the memorization of dates, and the royal manner was a disaster. Noct wasn’t a bad kid—Prompto thought he might like him, actually—but he didn’t have much of a regal bearing. That, and he had a nasty habit of withdrawing whenever Ignis got his back up.

He was withdrawing now, wrapping his arms around his legs as Ignis tried to extol the real-life benefits of knowing who the former treasury official was. When Ignis caught him at it, he leaned down and tapped the young man on the forehead.

“What?” Noct asked, savagely. Ignis blinked in alarm.

“Back straight,” he said, in a quiet voice.

“Fuck you,” said Noct, and got up, trudging off into the underbrush. Ignis turned to Prompto, who was making a whole new list on his notebook.

“What was that about?” Ignis asked.

“Dude, for such a smart guy, you really can be clueless,” said Prompto. “He shuts off when you get all high and mighty.”

Ignis opened his mouth to make a sharp retort, but Prompto shook his head. “No. I love you, bro, you know that, but maybe you don’t know everything. You heard what he said before, about how that place where he grew up talked shit about Lucians? You don’t think maybe that has something to do with his authority issues?”

“So I’m meant to coddle him?” Ignis asked. “We don’t have time, Prompto.”

Prompto shrugged. “Have it your way,” he said. “I mean, hey, what do I know? I’m just an MT. Your meat-suit ways don’t register with me, beep beep.”

Ignis stared at him for a long moment, let out a loud, gusty sigh, and stormed off into the grass after Noct. Prompto looked down at Umbra, who was lying at his side, and scratched the dog behind the ears.

“You and me are the only normal ones in this whole traveling circus,” he said.

Ignis found Noct sitting behind a disused power generator, arms tucked into his leather jacket. Ignis felt a pang of remorse—He’d been so focused on getting to Galdin Quay that he didn’t even look at the man. Now that he did, he saw how gaunt Noct’s cheeks were, how his lips were so chapped that they bled in long painful cracks, and that his capris were just an inch too high on his gangly legs. It made him think of the first time he’d met Prompto, all those years ago. Awkward and wounded, both of them, and Noct with too much pride to beg.

Then Noct spoke, and Ignis’ well of sympathy threatened to dry up immediately.

“Here comes the governess,” Noct said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m not here to chastise you,” Ignis said. Noct raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. “No, I… I apologize, Noct. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, your goal is to turn me into someone I’m not,” Noct said. Ignis sat next to him, stretching out his legs.

“Very well, then,” he said. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know!” Noct ran his hands through his hair. “This is all so confusing. A few months ago, I was an ungrateful drain on society." He said the last words in a mocking sing-song. "Today I’m, what? A prince? Maybe?”

“Who said that?” Ignis asked. “About being an ungrateful—“

“Does it matter?” Noct snapped. “Look, Specs. Sometimes it’s like… I can almost feel it, you know? It’s like having a word on the tip of your tongue, but it’s in a language you never heard of. This whole time, I can tell it’s there, but when I try to reach for it…” He sank his head into his hands.

Ignis shifted uncomfortably. If his and Prompto’s plans went through, they would probably only confuse the poor man more. But it couldn’t be helped. He’d gone this far, Astrals forgive him. He couldn’t back out now. For Prompto’s sake, if not for his own.

He gingerly placed a hand on Noct’s back. “It’s only been two days,” he said, at last. “Imagine what will happen in three, or four. Give yourself time, Noct.”

“Right,” Noct said, and clambered to his feet. “Right. We should go back. It’s getting dark soon. He glanced down at Ignis, who still sat with his hands on his knees, staring up at his dark-haired ticket to freedom. “Hey, Specs.”

“Mm?”

“Back straight.”

Chapter Text

The next leg of the drive to Galdin Quay was almost pleasant, if it weren't for the Astrals-cursed car.

Ignis should have known not to trust Prompto with picking out their getaway vehicle. It was a flashy red and white number, perfect for a self-conscious nineteen-year-old who didn't mind having to stop the car every half mile to lift the hood. Ignis cursed, cajoled, bribed, and threatened the temperamental vehicle with such vehemence that Noct started suggesting new and inventive swears to use. Ignis accepted them with only a little biting sarcasm, a feat of restraint that had Prompto giving him a not-so-subtle thumbs up.

While this went on, Noct found out that Prompto had a hobby for photography, and spent a good two hours going through every photo on his camera, asking questions and commenting on his favorites. Prompto, who Ignis could tell was starting to get the tremors again with the change in temperature, was more animated than his usual self. Ignis found himself checking the two of them in the mirror often, hiding a smile as Noct draped himself over Prompto’s seat to point out landmarks and interesting monsters.

When they stopped the car so Ignis could resist the urge to rip out the engine and kick it into submission, Prompto’s body finally gave out. He collapsed on shaking legs before he could take a step out of the car, and Noct made it to the blonde just a few seconds after Ignis.

“It’s a childhood affliction,” Ignis said quickly, before Noct could touch him. “He’ll be fine.”

Prompto smiled weakly and waved Noct off. “It’s no big,” he said. “Too much blood in my system.” Noct shrugged, but Ignis got the message, and asked the prince in training to take Umbra on a walk alone for a minute. Then he helped Prompto over to the ditch and held back his hair as his friend vomited black, viscous blood onto the dirt.

“Gross,” Prompto rasped. “I think that’s it, Iggy.”

It wasn’t, but Ignis humored him for another few steps. Then he knelt with him again, and held him through the inevitable shakes that came on the heels of this particular episode.

Neither he nor Prompto knew what caused this. It had something to do with the testing Prompto had undergone as a child back in Niflheim, but he’d been too young to remember any of the details. So all either of them could do was weather through the occasional attacks, try to cover it up as best they could, and keep Prompto away from any and all MT patrols.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you, bro,” Prompto gasped, as Ignis helped him clean up.

“Starve, certainly,” Ignis said. “I doubt you could cook for yourself if you tried.”

“Ha. Ha.”

There was a sound of shuffling behind Prompto’s back, and Ignis looked up to see Noct standing a few yards away, gazing at them with an unreadable expression. How much had he seen? What did he suspect? But no, Noct had grown up sheltered, locked away in an orphanage outside of the city. He had no reason to know anything about MTs, or suspect that one of his companions had been scheduled to be made into one of them. And even so, who would he tell?

When they all piled back into the car, Noct dug out a case of mints from the depths of his capris and handed them over to Prompto.

“Thanks, buddy,” Prompto said, smiling like the sun. Noct mumbled something and sat back, looking sheepish.

“Why Noct,” Ignis said, unable to stop himself. “That was almost an act of kindness.”

“Yeah, shocking,” Noct said, and dug his hands into the fur of the dog laying on his legs. Ignis’ eyes crinkled in amusement, and Noct looked up at him through the rear view mirror and risked the smallest, faintest smile in return.

---

When they made it to the Quay, someone was waiting for them.

He was a tall man with a broad jawline and unkempt stubble, and auburn hair that looked almost purple in the fluorescent lighting of the Quay. He tipped his hat to them as they approached the dining area, and his smile was so sincere that the conman in Ignis immediately distrusted it.

“Are you here for the boat to Altissia?” he asked, in a voice smooth as silk. “I’m afraid the last one left an hour ago. You’ll have to wait ‘til morning to embark.”

“That’s… nice to know,” Prompto said, looking at Ignis with clear confusion in his eyes. The blonde jerked his head slightly, and Ignis followed his gaze. Noct stood stock still on the boardwalk a few feet behind them, his tan skin gone deathly grey, knuckles white as he gripped one of their bags in his right hand. His pupils were shot, and he looked like Prompto on the verge of one of his episodes. At his side, Umbra’s teeth were bared, and the dog was growling low in his chest.

The man before them continued on as though unaware of Noct’s condition. “I happen to have missed the boat myself,” he said, “and I must take another avenue to reach my destination. You are welcome to take my lodgings at the inn for tonight,” he said, holding out a gold-edged receipt. “Free of charge.”

Ignis turned his gaze from Noct and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing is free,” he said. “I am sorry to say that we must decline.”

“But I insist!” The man smiled indulgently. “Let an old man be magnanimous for once, my boy.” He pressed the receipt into Ignis’ hand, and saluted him and Prompto with a wink. He started to ease around them when Noct let out a desperate grinding sound in the back of his throat.

“Who… who are you?” he asked the man. He was trembling uncontrollably now, and Ignis wondered if he should go to him. “What are you?”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Oh dear, very impolite, aren't we? As for who…” He reached Noct in two strides, and his fingers brushed the side of Noct’s jaw. Noct remained perfectly still, but Umbra’s teeth snapped in a furious snarl, and the man rocked back with a low-throated laugh.

“A man of no consequence,” he said, and his warm chuckle was carried away by a sharp sea wind as he made his slow, sauntering way down the boardwalk.

“Noct?” Ignis dropped his own bag and ran to him, hardly noticing how Umbra had returned to his calm, gently panting self. “Noct, are you well?”

Noct looked up at Ignis with wide, terrified eyes, and gripped his shoulder hard.

“I don't know who that guy is,” he said, in a harsh voice, “But I've never wanted to kill someone more than I do right now. And I don’t know why.”

“Ah,” Ignis said. “Well. That. Ah…” He looked at Prompto for help, and the blonde jogged over.

“Let’s save the killing for later, yeah?” he said, in a falsely cheerful voice. “And plus side, we can sleep in actual beds tonight!”

Noct swallowed and turned his gaze to the distant horizon.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s do that.”

---

Noct nearly had himself under control by the time Ignis came back from his after dinner excursion. He and Prompto, understandably, had been quick to make excuses to leave. Hardly a shock, really. Noct still didn’t understand how someone could make him react so violently in just under a minute. He’d felt like his head was splitting open the whole time that smarmy asshole was talking to them, and when the man had turned to face him…

Noct shuddered and curled up on the bed, wrapping himself in the blankets despite the heat of the room.

“Rise and shine,” Ignis said, slipping into the room with a box under his arm. “The night is young, Noct.”

“Oh my gods,” Noct moaned. “You’re chipper.”

“Perish the thought.” Noct glanced over as Ignis carefully set the box on the coffee table. “I took the liberty of making use of the kitchen. A present to commemorate the trip, and your new life.”

“Huh,” Noct said, and sat up. He lifted the top of the box to reveal three pastry tarts, brushed with powdered sugar and garnished with slices of strawberry. “Didn't peg you for a baker, Specs.”

Ignis’ cheeks colored. “If you’d rather not, I can always have them mysel—“

“No. Sorry.” Noct smiled ruefully. “I’m shit at gifts. No one’s ever… This is kind of my first one.”

Ignis watched Noct gingerly take a bite, and Noct considered drawing out the suspense just to see how pink his face could go. But no, that would be cruel.

"Fuck," he said. "This is actually good."

"It's nothing special," Ignis said. "Prompto isn't one for sweets, so I don't get the chance to make them often."

"Then have one," Noct said. He picked up one of the tarts and shoved it at the taller man. "Come on, don't leave me hanging."

Ignis sighed and took it from him before he could crush the whole thing over his nose, and Noct smirked. "Look at us, getting along."

"Don't tell Prompto," Ignis said dryly. "He might die of shock."

The two of them ate in companionable silence, dropping an excessive amount of powdered sugar on the bed despite Ignis' best efforts. Noct wasn't sure what had brought this on. Maybe it was a bribe, a plea to Don't act on your brand new homicidal tendencies, Noct, but whatever it was, it felt... nice. Nice in the way Noct had only really felt before when he'd hidden out with Umbra, or got the chance to release the pent-up humming in his skin and watch ice or electricity roll over his knuckles, far from where prying eyes could find him.

That was a thought. "Ignis," he said. "When you talked about the royal family, you said something about them having magic. I think..."

"Oh, we can circumvent that easily enough," said Ignis, brushing his hands over the tray. "But not right now, Noct. It's too nice of a night, and you have lessons."

"Gods, don't tell me," Noct groaned, but he followed the older man out onto the balcony anyways, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat. When they emerged into the open air, Prompto was sitting on the floor with Umbra, hands extended to a cleared-out circle of patio chairs.

“Your dance floor awaits, your highness,” he said. Noct flipped him a rude gesture, and he snickered. Noct let Ignis show him where to stand, and mentally prepared himself for the unholy sounds of “One, two, three, one… Noct, no, put your foot there two thaaughh, try that again…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Prompto said. “Hold up.” He got out his phone and flipped through it, then set it down on top of one of the chairs. He spread his hands out in an arc and whispered, “Ambience.”

Noct let out a bark of laughter, but then music started to play from the phone speakers, Ignis’ hands were on his side and shoulder, and it was becoming strangely hard to breathe. He looked down at his feet as the first chords of the melody rang out.

“Eyes up, Noct.”

“And let me guess; Back straight?" Ignis rolled his eyes, and Noct grinned. "Don’t cry to me when I kick your shins out.” Noct’s cheeks flushed as Ignis laughed, free and light as he was with Prompto, and he stumbled over the taller man’s shoes. Ignis’ lips twitched, and they jerked through the first few movements to the sound of Ignis’ strangled laughter.

“If you think I’m so bad,” Noct said, hotly, “why don’t you—“

And suddenly Noct was being swept back, following Ignis’ flawless steps along the polished boards, feeling like a kite being tugged by the wind.

“Where’d you learn this?” Noct asked, as Ignis gently eased him into a spin.

“There are many empty ballrooms in the Citadel,” Ignis said. “You should try this with Prompto, sometime.”

“I’m fine with you,” Noct said, without thinking. Ignis looked at him oddly, but didn’t comment. They were still dancing, Noct taking the lead again with Ignis’ hand on his back to guide him, when he realized that the music had stopped.

He staggered to a halt, and his nose bumped into Ignis’ collar, dislodging the taller man’s spectacles. He caught them as they fell, and looked up into green eyes that were nearly eclipsed by the wide blackness of Ignis’ pupils.

“Damn, Specs,” he said, in a soft voice. Ignis’ head tilted down half an inch, and Noct could feel the heat of him on his skin. Then long, cool fingers lifted the glasses from his hands, and Ignis stepped back.

“Thank you, Noct,” he said, in his throaty formal voice. He opened his mouth as though to say more, closed it, and then turned to go. Noct watched him pass Prompto, who was sitting there with such a look of deep, visceral melancholy that Noct felt a knot of anxiety form in his throat.

“Oh, Iggy,” Prompto whispered, like a sigh. “I should’ve known.”

Chapter Text

Ignis was eight years old, and his shirt was streaked with blood.

The blood wasn’t his, and he knew that in a dim, faraway manner, as though he were drifting a few inches from his body like a broken marionette. He watched King Regis fall before the throne, saw the splashes of blood that marred the light marble of the dais. The King cried out in a voice that made his ears ring, whether enhanced by magic or by the desperate need of a dying father, Ignis couldn’t tell.

“Clarus! My son!”

There was a low, strangely familiar laugh, and Ignis saw Noct, Clarus, and Gladio running for the far door. They weren’t going to make it. Clarus Amicitia had a long gash running down his arm, and Gladio was still too young to wield his father’s sword—And Noctis, poor Noctis, Ignis’ only friend, was holding the ring of the Lucii in bloody hands and staring back at his father’s body with heartrending loss in his eyes.

Ignis lurched from his hiding place and yanked at Noctis' arm.

“Not that way, Noct!” he said. Clarus looked at him blankly, as always, unable to put a name to Ignis’ face. Ignis didn’t care, not right now. “There’s a window that opens in the side, right there. Noct and I… we use it to sneak out…”

Clarus looked to the window and nodded. “Thank you, son,” he said.

Ignis held the window up for them. When Noctis passed him, he gripped him by the arm and whispered in his ear. Ignis nodded, pushed him on. Noct tried to drag him through after them, but Ignis pried his fingers loose and slammed the window shut. Ignis would only slow them down, and besides, he had an uncle in the palace, somewhere. If he was still alive, Ignis needed to be there to find him. The boy scrambled to the heavy curtains at the end of the east window and crouched behind them, eyes shut tight, hands to his ears, unable to block out the rattling screams of those who lay dying in the room beyond.

In the warm beds of the inn at Galdin Quay, Ignis woke in a cold sweat.

There was a heavy pressure on his legs. Ignis fumbled for the glasses he left on the bedside table and shoved them on, blinking into the eyes of Noct’s grey and white dog. Umbra panted heavily, closed his mouth, and pointed his snout towards the other bed. Ignis followed the dog’s gaze and saw Noctis heading for the door.

“Let him be, Umbra,” Ignis said. The dog whined, and he shushed him, mindful of Prompto sleeping in the spot next to him. That’s when Ignis noticed that Noct was walking…strangely. His hands kept fumbling in the air ahead of him, and his stride was too wide for the cluttered room. He knocked into a chair, smiled fondly at it, and stepped around it lightly.

“Yes, father,” he said, in a slurred voice. “I’m coming. I’m almost… almost there.”

“Noct?” Ignis whispered. Noct didn’t turn. Was he sleepwalking? From where he sat, it seemed as though Noct's eyes were open. Ignis had to admit that he knew little about that phenomenon, only a dim recollection that it wasn’t a good idea to wake a sleepwalker. He glared at Umbra and the dog wriggled off the bed. Ignis followed suit, trailing the younger man out the door and onto the balcony.

When he came in sight of the water, Ignis’ heart twisted in his chest.

Daemons writhed in the dark sea beyond the balcony—great leech-like creatures with wide, round mouths that glowed with rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth. They arched out of the water at Noct’s arrival at the balcony, their eyeless heads craning as Noct laughed and stumbled on the polished deck.

“I’m coming,” Noct said, and grabbed the railing on the edge of the balcony. He lifted a leg to the second rung.

“Noctis!” Ignis called out the name of the long dead prince, and the man in front of him twisted round slowly, his eyes flashing violet. The hairs on the back of Ignis' neck rose as the air grew charged with what felt like the electric field before a lightning strike. Below, the daemons whirled their dark green tails, turning the water into a boiling froth.

Noct fell forward.

Ignis didn’t know how he managed to make it the next two yards. It was as though he blinked and he was there, arms wrapped tight around Noct’s slender waist, hauling him back from the edge and onto the floor of the balcony. There was a cry from inside the room, and he looked up over Noct’s thrashing limbs to see Prompto falling out of bed.

“Noctis,” Ignis cried. “Please, Noctis.” He could feel the anguish in his chest, hot and terrible as it had been that day so many years ago, when another dark-haired charge had held him in blood-slick fingers and whispered in his ear. He pleaded with the ghost of the boy he'd once called his friend, pleaded with himself, with the young man who had taken his friend's name. He pleaded still as he held Noct fast between his legs, as he pressed his hands to the deck to keep them from lashing out. He didn’t know that he was weeping until he tasted the salt on his tongue.

Prompto ran to the edge of the dock, holding a black and silver handgun, and fired into the water. There was a high, keening scream, and a great rush of sound as the daemons descended into the depths.

Noct looked up at Ignis with unfocused, glazed eyes.

“Iggy,” he said. “I’ll come back for you. I’ll find you.”

“No,” Ignis said. “Whatever has you, don’t use his words. Not like this.”

Noct blinked rapidly and stilled, his chest heaving, and squinted his eyes shut.

“Fuck's sake, Specs,” he said, after a minute of silence. “For such a skinny guy, you’re heavy.”

Ignis let out a hysterical laugh, and Prompto looked at him with concern. But it didn’t matter. Ignis leaned down and took the young man in his arms, hot tears stinging his eyes.

“I won’t let it happen again, Noctis,” he said, fiercely. “Not this time.”

“Not with you.”

---

Noct was oddly quiet on the boat ride to Altissia. Any attempt Prompto or Ignis made to glean information regarding his late night walk to the water was met with a sullen glare and the now familiar mantra of “I don’t know.” After an hour of this, Prompto gave up and proceeded to make friends with a group of fellow travelers on the port side of the boat. Ignis had to break up a game of poker before Prompto swindled them out of their life savings—the blonde had an uncanny ability for picking up social cues. It wasn’t cheating, exactly, but Ignis had learned long ago that sore losers didn’t care much for the fine details. He preferred to keep his friends alive, if at all possible.

Leaving Prompto with Umbra to sulk, Ignis made his way to their silent companion. Noct shrugged when Ignis indicated the seat next to him, but he didn’t look away from the water when Ignis sat down.

“Penny for them, Noct.”

Noct huffed and twisted his finger around a silver chain at his neck. Ignis could see the lump of whatever hung from it under his shirt, dragging at the fabric, and wondered—not for the first time—just what it was that the man felt he had to hide.

“What you said on the balcony.” Noct’s gaze fixed on the distant shore. “About it happening again.”

Ignis frowned. “I was in a panic, Noct,” he said.

“You called me Noctis.” The young man turned to him, and Ignis remembered the way the color of his eyes had seemed to change last night, when the tight fist of fear had closed over his heart. “You don’t really think I might be…”

You aren’t, Ignis thought. But I wish you were.

“You never know,” he said out loud. “Stranger things have happened.”

Noct smirked. “Sure have.” He lifted his hand and touched Ignis’ chin, a strangely intimate gesture. “Iggy. I…”

"Don't call me that." Ignis stood, aware by Noct’s crestfallen expression that the look on his face must have been forbidding indeed. “I should check on Prompto."

“Yeah,” said Noct. “Of course. Prompto.”

Ignis picked his way across the deck, and felt the young man’s gaze burning into him. He felt sick, suddenly overfull with all the pain and deception that he'd maintained over the years since the Fall. As a child, he'd been nothing but a glorified clerk to the eyes of the court, a clever boy with a brilliant mind that was to be honed for one purpose: To serve the future king. In the chaos of the Fall, as the remaining members of the Council fled into exile, Ignis had been forgotten. He learned quickly that a brilliant mind meant nothing in an occupied city crawling with enforcers of Imperial will. To survive, you had to make yourself hard, as hard and ruthless as the Empire itself.

But then there'd been Prompto. Ignis looked at him now, watching the idle way his legs dangled over the side of the boat. The sight of his friend, the closest he had to a brother, grounded him. The guard he kept over his heart clicked in place. His purpose was clear again. He couldn’t let himself be distracted by a young man with the eyes of a prince and a mouth like a sailor, not when there was Prompto to protect.

It was such a familiar argument that Ignis could almost convince himself.

Chapter Text

General Ravus stood at the door to Chancellor Izunia’s office, trying to keep his hand from reaching for his sword. After Ravus had delivered the video footage from Insomnia to his desk, the Chancellor had teetered over the edge of mildly unsettling and fallen right into the void of the truly unhinged. Three hours ago, when an officer reported that the man they’d been subtly tracking had safely boarded a ship to Altissia, Ardyn had taken the officer into a side room and emerged smiling, his face thick with dark lines like smoke under his skin. Those who inspected the side room after had reported directly to Ravus, who assigned someone to quickly—and quietly—dispose of the mess. To call what lay within a corpse was too optimistic.

Then there was the state of the capital. Ravus hadn’t seen the Emperor in person in nearly a week. All reports were to be given to Ardyn directly, and the General couldn’t help but notice that there were… sounds… coming from the MT wing that didn’t sound entirely mechanical in nature. The streets of the city were thinning out as well, as citizens fled reports of daemons prowling the edges of Gralea’s fortress and sought safe havens at the border of Tenebrae.

He was starting to wonder what was keeping him here.

Ravus rapped on the door.

“Is that my dear friend Ravus?”

Hells, he was in a mood again. Ravus braced himself and entered the room, but kept his fingers clenched tight on the handle behind him.

“Sir,” he said.

Ardyn leaned back on his chair, flipping through a report. “Upsetting news, General,” he said. “It seems as though we have enemies of the state at large in Altissia.”

“The prince,” Ravus said. “Yes, I can send troops to his location imm—“

“Prince?” Ardyn’s brows raised. “Who said prince?”

Ravus paled. “No one, sir. Please, go on.”

Ardyn smiled wryly. “So polite, Ravus. Just like your sister. How is she, by the by?”

Ah, so it was that game. "She’s quite well, thank you.”

“And long may she remain so, of course. No, for right now, I believe we should let the usual suspect go. Let him come to us.”

Ravus waited for an explanation that didn’t come, and sighed. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Orders? Oh, no, I don’t have the power to order you, dear Ravus. Just a suggestion.” He dropped the file on the table and looked up at the General, and his eyes gleamed with the dark fire of madness.

“What do you know about Ignis Scientia and Prompto Argentum?”

---

“Luna!” Prompto shouted, spreading his skinny arms wide. “There’s the most beautiful pen-pal in the world!”

Lady Lunafreya, daughter of the late Queen of Tenebrae and Oracle to the dead kings of Lucis, clapped her hands in delight as Prompto vaulted her garden fence. She was a well put-together young woman in a white and black pencil skirt with a flowing, semi-sheer top, and she looked so genuinely pleased to see them all that even Noct rose from his perpetual slouch. She laughed and wrapped her arms around Prompto’s shoulders.

“Don’t you flatter me,” she said, in the same lilting accent as Ignis’. “I’m a married woman, now.”

“What?” Prompto released her with exaggerated shock, and grabbed at her hands. “Who took you from me, Lu?”

Luna kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t act surprised. You’re the one who introduced us.” She looked up at Noct and Ignis, who were hanging back in the awkward way of all third wheels, and beckoned to them. “Come in, please. I just made coffee.”

“Coffee would be wonderful, thank you,” Ignis said, and pushed Noct ahead of him as they all filed through the door. Umbra kept trying to lunge between Noct’s legs, and he and Ignis spent a good minute trying to keep him from wriggling past them.

“My apologies,” Ignis said, when Luna saw them standing at the door. “Noct has a dog, and—“

“Oh!” Luna smiled warmly. “So do I. Does yours play well with others?”

“I think so, your, uh, Oracleness,” Noct said, and staggered back as Umbra barreled past him, paws scrabbling on the soft, plush carpet of Luna’s apartment. He tried to grab the dog by the collar, but Umbra danced out of his grasp, slid under a chair, and rocketed into Luna. The Oracle went tipping backwards onto the couch, and Prompto fell over an ottoman in his attempt to catch her.

Ignis made a choking sound.

“Oh, fuck,” Noct said, all of Ignis’ careful training forgotten. He ran to Umbra and knelt, holding his collar as the dog tried to lick at Luna’s shins. “Shit, I’m so sorry, he never does this…”

Luna was silent. Noct looked to Ignis and Prompto in a panic.

“Look, I’ll—I’ll walk him out. I’m sorry, I ruined this. I’m so sorry, Specs.”

“Noctis.” Luna laid a hand on the top of Noct’s head, and he stared up at her. “You are Noctis, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Noct said. “I think.”

Ignis pursed his lips. Not the best response he could have given, but at least Luna hadn't kicked them out yet. She glanced down at Umbra, who was trying his best to rub half his fur onto her legs, and back to Noct.

“I believe,” she said, “that we should all have some coffee, first.”

In the end, it was Ignis who poured the coffee. Luna’s hands kept shaking, and every time she looked at Noct, her face would go pale and she’d lose track of her words. She finally calmed down when they all sat in a loose circle, clutching a motley collection of mugs and cups.

Ignis had to admit that the Oracle’s apartment wasn’t as grand as he expected. It was small, but comfortable, and the décor was an unusual blend of soft pastels and what looked like retro diner signs. There was a toolbox next to one of the doors, and a yellow jumpsuit hanging up on a hook by the entrance to the garden, where Umbra was rolling about with a white, pointy-eared dog that could have been his twin. Luna kept glancing their way as she sipped her coffee, and finally let out a shaky breath and turned to the men in her living room.

“I have good news and bad news,” she said, at last. “The bad news first, dear Prompto. Clarus Amicitia has refused to see anyone claiming to be the prince. He was nearly fooled several times, and I fear he’s given up hope. His son, Gladiolus, is not so hardened, which may be a help, because I…” she turned her gaze to Noct, and held her mug in both hands to steady it. “He does look like the prince.”

“Noctis,” she said, and Noct looked up guiltily. He hadn’t taken a sip of his drink—Ignis suspected that he’d taken the coffee just to be polite. “Are you comfortable answering a few questions?”

“Sure,” he said, and caught Ignis’ disapproving glare. “I mean yes, thank you.”

Luna’s smile was bright, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Very well,” she said.

Noct answered all her questions well enough, even if he did stumble over some of the names. Luna was surprisingly gentle with him, quick to reach out and touch his knee, or his hand, as though she needed a reminder that he was there. That was a comforting thought—Ignis had worried that the debacle with the dog had ruined everything.

Except… it seemed as though it had almost done half the job of convincing Luna. That was unusual. Ignis watched the Oracle thoughtfully, trying to read her as Prompto would, watching for signs of distrust or disbelief. None came.

“One last question,” Luna said. “It may sound like a silly one, but bear with me. How did you know my dog’s name was Umbra?”

There was a stark silence in the Oracle’s living room.

“Pardon?” Ignis said.

“Your dog?” Prompto choked.

“That’s not… that can’t be possible,” Noct said. “I found Umbra when he was a puppy, maybe a year old. He didn’t have a collar—He was trapped in the bushes in the back of the orph—where I lived.”

“I know my messengers,” Luna said, with a finality that had all three men shift in their chairs. “Umbra. Pryna.”

Both dogs padded around the couch, sitting on either side of the Oracle with their tongues lolling. Umbra had grass stains on his fur, but Pryna looked immaculate and commanding.

“But the door’s closed,” Ignis said. “They were just outside, I was watching them.”

Luna nodded. “You know that an Oracle's messengers take many forms, Mr. Scientia. I sent Umbra to find the prince of Lucis eight years ago.”

Ignis’ face drained of all color.

"Wait," Noct interrupted, with the hitching breath that Ignis took as him trying his hardest not to laugh. "My dog's magical?"

"I fed a magical dog beans?" Prompto whispered. Noct glared at him, and he shrugged. "I wanted to see if he liked them, dude!"

“You know,” Noct said to Luna, agreeably, “This is going to sound weird, but now that I think about it… I always wanted a dog. Since before I can remember." He stopped, and squinted at the fireplace, just over Ignis' shoulder. "I think Dad… Dad wouldn’t let me keep pets, so my friend and I used to sneak out the window in the throne room, and cut through the garden…”

At his place by the fire, Ignis sloshed coffee over his hands.

Noct twisted the chain tight. “That’s strange. Why can’t I remember his name? I can swear I can almost see his face. Pale, kind of a nerdy look...“ His smile was faint, and suddenly painfully familiar.

Ignis rose with a clatter of china. Noct, Prompto, and Luna stared at him as he strode to the door, yanked it open, and stepped out into the warm air of an Altissian springtime.

“Might not be feeling so hot,” Prompto said. “I’ll get him.” He pattered after him.

“Noctis,” Luna said, in the careful, tentative manner. “May I see what you have on that necklace?”

“Oh,” Noct said. “I guess.” He pulled out the black ring from its hiding place and lifted it up. The small crystal inlaid in the band winked in the lamplight of Luna’s living room, casting spots on the walls, and Lady Lunafreya dropped her mug of coffee on the clean white floors.

---

“Dude,” Prompto said, grabbing Ignis by the shoulders. “Dude!”

“Let me go, Prompto,” Ignis said. He twisted out of his friend’s enthusiastic grip, but Prompto wasn’t having it. He lunged after the taller man and pulled him back by the suspenders. Ignis squawked at the indignity, but Prompto just grabbed him by the collar and hung on.

“Did you hear that?” he asked. “We never told him about you. So how’d he know?”

Ignis looked askance. “I don’t—It could be a coincidence.”

“A coincidence how? The guy has Luna’s dog, he remembers you, there was that shit at the Quay… Bro. I think we actually found him.”

“I know,” Ignis said. “That’s the problem.”

“Oooh,” Prompto said. “I see what this is.” He smacked Ignis on the shoulder. “You like him."

"No."

"He likes you!"

"No."

"He’s the first guy in the whole fucking Citadel who remembers you, and he—“

“He’s the prince of Lucis,” Ignis snapped, and Prompto deflated at the fury in his voice. “The king of Lucis, I suppose. He has a destiny thousands of years in the making, and I would just be—No. No, it doesn't matter how I feel. He deserves better than this.”

Prompto opened his mouth to protest, but Ignis pushed away from him, not minding the way one of his buttons popped loose under Prompto’s fingers.

“We’ll get him to Clarus,” he said, finally. “We’ll let him go. And then we’ll find our way to Tenebrae. Like we planned, Prompto.”

He squared his shoulders, took a steadying breath, and opened the door to Lunafreya’s apartments again. Prompto watched him go, and dug his hands in the worn pockets of his jeans.

There was a roar overhead as an MT transport carrier darkened the sky, passing over the sloped roofs of Altissia and towards the Imperial base at the edge of the water. Prompto scowled at it, watching its progress for a time, and then turned to follow his friend into the safety of the apartment.

Chapter Text

Luna left the apartment that afternoon, assuring them all that she would be back just after the time arranged for Noct to meet with Clarus and Gladio in the evening. This left all three of them to the tender mercies of her wife: a blonde, blue-eyed mechanic in a fringed, rhinestone-studded jumpsuit and the kind of smile that could start a war.

“I know just what to do with y’all,” she said. She winked at Prompto, who blushed a deep red and opened his mouth like a dying trout.

Cindy proceeded to drag them over half the breadth of Altissia, pointing out famous buildings and art installments with the rapid disinterest of a woman on a mission. Noct started to fall behind, looking dazed, and Prompto coughed meaningly and nudged Ignis with an elbow. Ignis looked away, and Prompto coughed again.

“You doin’ alright, baby?” Cindy asked. Prompto blushed again.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Ignis. Scientia,” he hissed. Ignis rolled his eyes and slowed his pace, falling into step with Noct—with the prince.

“It’s certainly a sight, isn’t it, your highness?” he asked.

“Don’t start calling me that,” Noct said. “Not when I was Hey, You for half my life.”

Ignis couldn’t help but smile a little. “I may know the feeling.” Noct smirked. “No, it’s true. I’ve made a living off of being easily forgettable.”

“That’s hard to believe,” said Noct. Blue eyes met green, and Ignis was paralyzed under the weight of his stare. “You’re a pretty memorable guy.” Noct brushed his hand against Ignis’, and let it slide up his arm slowly, lazily.

“Your highness,” Ignis said, and Noct stepped back. “We should catch up with the others.”

Noct frowned and withdrew his arm, then walked off at a quick trot to draw even with Prompto. The blonde looked back at Ignis with his brows knit tight, but Ignis waved him off. It was better this way, he told himself. Noctis simply didn’t know it yet.

Cindy dipped into her own funds to buy Noct a suit, which made the young man stammer and blush worse than Prompto. It was almost endearing—and it wasn’t until Prompto caught Ignis’ eye that he realized he’d been staring after Noct like a lovestruck fool.

Prompto was starting to tire well before they were to meet the Amicitia’s at the Leville where they were staying, and Ignis insisted that he go back with Cindy to Luna’s. Prompto agreed reluctantly, though he did perk up a little when Cindy assured him that they could stop on the way for a plate of fries. Ignis smiled after them. It really was easy to bring Prompto out of a sulk, at least. He'd be in good hands with Cindy and Luna for the night.

By the time Ignis and Noct made it to the Leville, the prince was noticeably panicking.

“Calm down,” Ignis said. “You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, Specs,” Noct said. He looped an arm around Ignis’ arm again, drawing him in. “I can’t use a ring and a magical dog as proof of royalty. What if I’m not? What if it’s a massive mistake, and I’m back to where I started, and I—“

“It isn’t a mistake,” Ignis said. He smoothed back Noct’s hair, like he would for Prompto, and leaned in. “You’ll see. Just… wait in the reception room while I talk to them, alright?”

“Right,” Noct said. He sighed loudly. “Right. Gods, Specs, I’m glad you’re with me.”

You shouldn’t be, Ignis thought, but he simply smiled and led Noct into the Leville. When Noct was safely pacing in the reception room, Ignis counted under his breath and made to head up the stairs.

Only to be faced with a spectre of his past.

Time had treated Clarus Amicitia well. His head was still shaved—or he’d gone bald in the past decade, Ignis supposed—and his shoulders filled out his silk dress shirt with broad, solid muscle. There were more lines around his eyes and mouth, and the stubble on his cheek was more white than grey, but he could have been the same man Ignis had led out of the throne room that terrible day in Insomnia.

Gladio, at his right, had grown up to be a heavily tattooed, thick-haired foil to his father. He wore leather pants and a cotton tank top, looking more the working man than a retired king’s shield, and there was a glimmer of humor in his eye that Ignis failed to see in Clarus. Ignis moved to the bottom step of the stair.

“Mr. Amicitia,” he said. “A moment of your time.”

Clarus looked him up and down with such exaggerated care that Ignis felt dread begin to build in his throat. “Ah,” he said. “I was warned about you.”

“Warned?” Ignis didn’t like how that sounded. “By Lady Lunafreya?”

“Oh, no,” Clarus said. “Lunafreya had only the best things to say about you, Mister… Shents, was it?”

“Scientia,” Ignis said, through gritted teeth. Gods, he’d saved this man’s life, and even now he couldn’t be bothered to learn his name. “Then, sir, you know that I’m here because—“

“You’re here for your own benefit,” Clarus said. “A very helpful gentleman came by with a wealth of information about you and your… dear colleague, who I see is not with us. Forging, larceny, embezzlement, black market smuggling of royal artifacts, and, ah yes! Now, I believe, you have set your sights to identity theft. How high you have risen.”

“That’s not—That isn’t what I’m here for,” Ignis said.

“You don’t deny the charges?” Clarus said, in an indifferent voice.

“I’ll hardly deny that I did what I must to survive,” Ignis said, “But trust me when I tell you that in that room,” he gestured behind him, “is the last surviving member of the royal family, and he’s gone through hell to get here.”

“In your company, certainly,” said Clarus. Gladio narrowed his eyes, looking from Ignis to his father, and crossed his arms.

“Typical,” Ignis said. “Do you know anything of who I am, that you’re so quick to jump to the conclusions of a stranger? No recollection at all? None? By the Six, the only one of you noble Insomnians who ever treated me as a person was…” Noctis, he thought, and his rage died away in a flood of remorse. After all those years, he’d turned around and treated Noct like a disposable pawn, a stepping stool to something greater. But no. That was behind him. He would do right this time—

“So that’s what this is,” Clarus said, looking down on him with all the disgust normally afforded for vermin. “You felt slighted, so you thought to humiliate what’s left of the Council of Lucis—“

“Damn you, no,” Ignis said. “If you don’t give him a chance, you’ll be making the worst mistake of your—“

“Ignis?”

Ignis turned, jerkily, towards the door. Noct stood there, his cheeks crimson, his eyes overbright, holding the chain at his neck like a lifeline. He’d heard. Gods, how much?

“Noctis,” Ignis said. “It isn’t what you think. It’s true, Noctis, you are—”

“You lied to me.” Noct’s voice was low, but there was a tremor there, and Ignis ached to hear it. “You used me. All of you. None of it was real.” He glanced up at Clarus for the briefest moment, then retreated back into the room, slamming the door behind him. Ignis almost made to follow, but grabbed the rail of the stair to hold himself back.

Behind him, Gladio made a soft clicking sound against his teeth.

“He looked like him, Dad.”

“No,” said Clarus. “The poor boy has clearly suffered enough. It’s a shame,” he said, passing by Ignis as though the man weren’t there, “that there are people in this world who will prey on the vulnerable in such a way.”

Ignis listened to their retreating footsteps, and thought of Noct as he’d been in the throne room, lost and frightened. The way he’d looked as he stepped over the rail of the balcony at Galdin Quay, the helpless smile he’d worn when Ignis and Prompto had told him stories of Regis and the young prince.

“He has the ring.”

The footsteps halted.

“What’s that?” That was Gladio. Ignis turned, still holding onto the rail.

“Noctis,” he said. “He has the ring. The ring of the Lucii. You want to know if it’s really him? Have him put it on.”

Clarus pivoted on his heel, an imposing statue of a man in black silk. “If what you say is true, you must know that the ring will destroy an unworthy host.”

“I know.”

“You are willing to bet that boy’s life on this?”

Ignis’ laugh was harsh and humorless. “I’d bet mine. Just. Just talk to him. Please.”

The silence stretched so long that Ignis almost considered falling to his knees. His life was already in shambles—what dignity did he have left to lose?

“If you won’t do it, I will.” Gladio took a step back from his father and bowed to him shortly. “This guy might be scum,” he said, and Ignis shrugged. Why deny it? “But he ain’t lying. I think he really believes this kid’s the one.”

“Gladiolus,” Clarus snapped, but Gladio was already heading for the door.

Chapter Text

Gladiolus Amicitia walked into the reception room of the Leville to see the scrawny, dark-haired friend of the conman stuck halfway through an upper window. The man had stripped down to his black dress shirt to prevent his jacket from getting scratched on the edge of the window, and had it balled up under one arm. The problem he hadn’t accounted for was that shaving half an inch of fabric did nothing when you weren’t skinny enough to fit through the gap in the first place. His shoulders were firmly wedged against the frame, and his right shoe dangled from his toes as he tried to maneuver himself into a better position. A ring on a chain hung loose at his neck, clinking against the ledge.

“Need any help, there?” Gladio asked.

“You know what, fuck you,” said the man. Gladio laughed.

“For a con artist, you’re kind of terrible at last-minute escapes,” he said. He pulled a chair out from behind a desk and sat down directly in front of the struggling man, watching him with every sign of amusement. “They say you’re our prince Noctis, you know.”

“You got it wrong,” said the impostor prince. “I’m just Noct. And Ignis is the con artist. I’m just the… the sap. I can’t believe they even dragged my dog into this!”

Gladio made a noise of mock sympathy. “My heart bleeds, man. You want me to give you a push?”

Noct glared at him. “No.”

“Just asking.” He crossed his legs and sat back, and the other man let out an aggrieved sigh.

“Is he still out there?” Noct asked.

“What, the Shen-something guy?”

“Scientia.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Noct nodded. “He’s not coming in, if that’s what you’re worried about. Man looks like he’s about to have a breakdown.”

“Good,” said Noct. “He deserves it.”

“Ouch.” Gladio watched him wriggle about for another few seconds, and finally took pity on him. “Look, let me grab your arm and I can—“

“I’m fine!” Noct said. Then there was a building of pressure in the air around them, and he disappeared in a flash of blue light. His shoe landed on the carpet, and there was another flash, and the man was crashing to the floor.

Gladio took a step back.

“Right,” Noct said. “That happened. You didn’t see that, okay?”

“No,” Gladio said, holding out his hands to block the man’s escape. “No, no. I definitely saw that. You warped.”

Noct stared at him with a sullen glare that would have put the collective force of Altissia’s teenagers to shame. “Yeah? So I’m a freak, so what?” He tried to dodge around him, but Gladio matched him step for step. “Love of Shiva, man, what’s your deal?”

“Ok, calm down,” Gladio said, partly to himself. “Right now, there’s a guy hyperventilating on the stairs because he thinks you’re prince Noctis. And you know what?” He squinted at him, examining the line of his face, the shape of his eyes, his delicate cheekbones. “I think he might be right.”

“Well, since you’ve all decided for me—“

Gladio spun the boy around and pushed him into the chair. “Stop being an asshole for a second and listen,” he said. “No one warps anymore. No one uses magic anymore. Not since the Fall. Because the only people with magic were Noctis, Regis, and the Glaives, and the Glaives all lost their skills when the king died. So that leaves one person who could ever do what you just did.”

They stared at each other in silence for a while.

“That ring around your neck,” Gladio said. “You think you can try it on?”

He saw something in the man’s eyes snap. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. It’s probably a fake, though. Just like everything else is, just like Ignis and Prompto. But if you want to know so bad, sure.” He pulled off the necklace and unhooked it, slid out the ring, and shoved it onto the ring finger of his right hand.

An overpowering wave of magic pulsed outward from the ring, sending Gladio to his knees.

Outside, in the entranceway, Ignis and Clarus staggered. The lights of the Leville flickered, and Clarus Amicitia felt the familiar hum of the ring of Lucii’s magic for the first time since the ring, and the prince, had disappeared from his grasp over ten years ago.

“Holy hell,” Gladio said, from his spot on the floor.

The man on the chair in front of him opened eyes that shone a brilliant violet. He lifted his hand wonderingly, tilting the ring so that he could peer through the black clasp that held it, and turned his unsettling gaze to the man at his feet.

“Gladio?” he said. The violet in his eyes faded, and he blinked. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Noct?”

The prince nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah… I… I remember you. What the hell do they feed people in Altissia? Steroids and protein shakes?”

“Come here, you smartmouth piece of—“

Gladio pulled Noct into a crushing embrace, ignoring Noct’s squeak of dismay as his arms were pinned to his sides. He lifted him as he stood, and the two of them went wheeling into a wall, where they fell onto a chaise lounge that hadn’t been made to withstand the force of two bodies striking it at full weight. Its legs collapsed, and so did they.

“How much?” Gladio asked. He kept a hand on Noct’s shoulder, unable to pull away. He felt that if he let go, the prince would disappear again, and none of this would have happened. Noct glanced at his clenching fingers but didn’t comment. “How much do you remember? Why didn’t you find us until now? Where the hell were you?”

“I remember bits and pieces,” Noct said, grinning madly. “I know you looked better without the ponytail.” Gladio scowled. “The rest is… it’s kind of a long story.”

“Yeah, I bet. I’m going to get my dad. Just wait h—no, no, come with me.” He dragged the protesting prince to the door, kicked it open, and yanked him out into the entrance-way.

“Dad!” he shouted, holding out the hand with the ring as though Noct were an unnecessary afterthought. “We got ourselves a prince!”

---

Prompto Argentum was lost. It was his own fault, really. It’s just around the block! he’d said. Who loses their way in half a mile of apartments? he’d said. Well, if Ignis didn’t kill him for staying out after dark in a strange city, Luna would. He peered up at an arching stairway and tried to remember if he’d seen it before. It would help if Altissian architecture made any sense, but that was asking too much of it, really. Still, it did make for some interesting shots.

He swiveled the lens of his camera and backed up, focusing on a spot where a bird’s nest was wedged in the corner of a stair and a lamp-post.

Hopefully Ignis wasn’t fucking this up again. That Noct was the prince wasn’t a concern anymore, but Ignis had a mean streak for self-destruction. Oh, he cared for Prompto well enough—doted on him, if Prompto was being honest—but when it came to his own life? He was a grade-A train wreck in the making.

Prompto moved on, still looking through the camera, and got an eyeful of an almost familiar face. He lowered the camera, blinking into the darkness at the light haired, white-robed man who stepped towards him out of the shadows of an alley.

He had a very… purposeful step. Prompto shivered. He knew what that meant. Trouble.

He didn’t wait to see what the man wanted. One glance at the sword at his side told Prompto all he needed to know, and a life of ducking MT patrols had made him wary. Never hesitate, Iggy had told him, when they were just starving teenagers scraping a living out of the wreckage of the Citadel. Neither will they.

Prompto turned on his heel and ran.

Chapter Text

Noct wasn’t completely sure how he was still standing.

The memories of his life before the Fall were scattered. He knew Clarus Amicitia and Gladio in a vague, haphazard way, going by an abstract feeling rather than true memory. He remembered his father clearly, too clearly, and when he closed his eyes to Clarus’ embrace he could see the blood that ran down his father’s chest and spotted the floor of the throne room black. He remembered the smile of the man who slew him, and the way his hair had seemed almost purple in the flickering light of what had become a killing ground.

And he remembered the boy who had held his hand and told him to run.

“Ignis,” he said, from the depths of his overwhelmed mind. “Ignis.” He twisted in Clarus’ grip, looking to the stair, but the railing where Ignis had stood was empty.

“Strange,” Clarus said. “You’d think he’d want the reward.”

“He needs it,” Noct said. “For him and Prompto. But Clarus, Gladio, it isn’t just that…“ He looked to the glass doors of the Leville, and saw a familiar back disappear around the corner.

“I’m sorry,” he said, extricating himself from their hold. He ran for the door.

Ignis was already several blocks away by the time he made it into the street. “Ignis!” he shouted. The man didn’t respond. “Iggy, wait!”

Ignis’ pace faltered for half a breath, and then he turned down a side street. Noct made to follow, but felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You should let him go, son,” Clarus said, in the low voice that Noct was only now beginning to find familiar. “He’s done his part.”

“That’s the thing,” Noct said. “He has. He’s Ignis.” Clarus looked at him blankly. “He was my friend.”

“I’m sure you thought he was,” said Clarus. “Come with us, prince Noctis. We have much to discuss.”

Noct tore his gaze from the dark street where Ignis had gone, and allowed himself to be towed back into the Leville.

“I know,” he said. “We do.”

---

Ignis made it four blocks before he passed the first MT soldier. The locals stared in polite distaste—MTs were forbidden from setting foot outside of the Imperial fortress in accordance with a treaty that had been signed shortly after the Fall. That they were unused to an MT presence was obvious. Insomnians knew better than to make open eye contact: It was better to let your gaze slide off the troopers, to stay to the shadows and keep your head down. Ignis grimaced at the scandalized gasps and laughter that followed in the MT’s wake—until he saw a second, marching across a bridge.

By the time he spotted a fifth, Ignis’ heart was pounding in his temples. He picked up speed, cutting across open air dining areas and through perfectly cultivated gardens.

When he saw the tenth trooper, Ignis began to run.

He forced himself to go against all instinct and head to where the MT presence was thickest, close to the neighborhood where Cindy and Luna lived. His hands inched to the knife guards he kept strapped under his shirt, and when he saw the bright floodlights of an MT carrier ship, he pulled the blades from their sheaths. He leapt across a gondola dock to the opposing street and nearly slipped into the water, but righted himself just as he heard the crack of a gun.

It wasn’t the stuttering fire of an MT-class weapon. It was the short, contained shot of a handgun. Prompto. He had five bullets after their night at the Quay.

The second went off as Ignis dodged a couple trying to escape the flood of MT soldiers. One of the troopers saw Ignis’ blades and sounded an alarm, but the third shot had just been fired, and all he could hear beyond the resounding echoes of Prompto’s gun was the pulse of blood in his head and the clack of his boots on the street.

There. The fourth shot, and the dreadful rattle of MT gunfire. Ignis felt a burning hand grab at his arm, and he jerked free so forcefully that his sleeve tore under the gauntlet of his attacker. Ten more paces, and then a whistling he’d only heard twice before, and Ignis ducked as an anchor swerved past his ear. It landed on the ground ten feet away and skittered towards him, dragging deep gouges into the street.

The fifth shot fired as Ignis rounded the corner into a street lined by sloping magnolia trees. In the tunnel formed by their branches, he could see a mass of jerking, shuddering MT troopers, slowly parting into two uneven lines. In the opening they made, Ignis could see Prompto—Prompto—trying to rise on violently trembling legs. A man in white stood over him, his blond hair shining in the blazing light of the MT carrier ship at the end of the street.

“Prompto!”

Ignis skidded on a drift of dark leaves. He was close enough now that he could see a wound bleeding sluggishly on the other man’s right arm, and black streaks, like tar or oil, dotting the road. Prompto had been spitting blood, and he still managed to get a shot in. Despite the terror overtaking Ignis’ mind, he couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pride in that.

“Citizen of Niflheim.” The man in white must have been wearing a headset. His voice boomed through the speakers of the carrier ship. Prompto winced—He always was sensitive to noise. “Drop your weapons.”

“Let go of my brother,” Ignis spat. Prompto attempted to rise, and the man before him gently pressed him down with his booted foot. Fury choked Ignis. Desperately, recklessly, he threw one of his knives—the man knocked it idly out of the air. The lines of MT soldiers on either side turned their heads towards Ignis in one motion, their eyes glowing an unearthly red.

“You are mistaken. This is a Class C-7 First Phase Magitech Subject,” the man said, in a cold voice. Ignis jerked as two hands grabbed at his right arm from behind. “And traitor to the Empire.”

---

"I've said it before, but you're kind of terrible at this."

Noct sighed. He was standing on the outside of the balcony railing beyond the Amicitia's rooms at the Leville, caught in the act of judging how far he could warp to the ground without cracking his skull on the street. The warm breeze that drifted over the canals brought the scent of fried dough and cut flowers, and he could hear echoes of laughter far below. Gladio stood framed against the dim light of the room beyond, and he was flanked by Iris, his tiny, dark-haired teenage sister with a handshake that could bend steel. Both of them looked far too amused by his predicament than they had a right to be.

"Tired of us already?" Gladio asked. Noct felt a blush rise to his cheeks.

"No," he said. "It's not that. I'm just gonna be gone a minute. I need to see..."

"Ignis," Iris said.

"We know," said Gladio.

Noct and the Amicitias had spent the last two hours filling each other in while sitting back in the largest living room Noct had seen in his life, over a spread of appetizers that could have fed an army. The others acted as though such excess was perfectly normal, but Noct found himself picking at his plate while he spoke, deeply guilty for piling so much on at once. The decor in their rooms was worse. For the first thirty minutes, Noct was terrified to touch anything for fear he'd break some heirloom or priceless artifact, and it wasn't until Clarus had retired for the night and Gladio and Iris had dragged him into Gladio's much simpler, less intimidating room, that he'd calmed down enough to tell them the truth about Ignis.

Gladio had gone very quiet, then.

Now, Noct let the two of them drag him back over the railing. "We're not gonna stop you," Gladio said, to Noct's surprise. "I get it. You can't let it go like this."

"But we're not letting you go, either," said Iris. "So we're going with you."

And that's how Noct ended up walking hand in hand with Gladio's little sister down the streets of Altissia at midnight, with Gladio a warm presence at his side. It was almost frightening, how quickly he'd grown accustomed to them. Iris' excited chatter reminded him a bit of Prompto, and Gladio spoke to him as though the vast stretch of time between them didn't exist. Twice he had to blink back tears, claiming that the flower stalls scattered throughout Altissia were to blame. By the smug look on her face, he could tell that Iris wasn't convinced.

"They're staying with the Oracle?" she said, as they turned down a street framed by magnolia trees. "I like Luna. If we were still working as Shields, I'd ask to be hers in a heartbeat. Cindy says she wouldn't mind."

"And Dad says no," Gladio said, in a tone that implied that this was a long-standing argument. "She's practically on house arrest these days. If the Empire knew you were—Wait." His voice lowered, and he placed a hand on Noct's chest to stop him. Noct craned around the larger man to follow his gaze, and felt his skin crawl at the sight that greeted them further down the street.

Umbra crouched in the center of the road, muzzle down, slowly dragging what looked like a body along the asphalt. For a moment, Noct couldn't—wouldn't—register what the body was, but his mind eventually picked up on the purple leopard-print dress shirt, the tan suspenders, the gelled-back hair.

"Ignis," he breathed.

Chapter Text

Ignis first met Prompto as he was coming back from the night market of Insomnia, where he paid a guard two-hundred gil a month to set up a blanket and sell what he’d gathered from the Citadel to curious tourists. No one else dared to sneak in to the ruins of the palace, not after the Fall. They said that there were daemons lurking the corridors and ghosts in the ballrooms. Ignis had been all over the Citadel by now, but all he’d found were the spots where bodies had been, back before they’d been dragged away by Niflheim’s “reconstruction team.” He was fine with people staying clear of the Citadel—It meant less competition, and no chance of anyone discovering the set of empty rooms he’d taken as his own.

Niflheim had taken almost everything of importance (Noctis, bleeding and tearful, hands clutching the ring of his father like curling claws), but if Ignis was lucky, he could make just enough to get by. He was eleven, and clever, and above all resourceful.

He was walking down the main street with his hands clenched tight around the night’s earnings when he heard it. A shout, frantic and hoarse. The sound of a child. Instinctively, he ran towards the disturbance, turning down a side street to see a small, blonde haired kid being lifted up by the arm in the gauntleted hand of an MT soldier. His eyelids were drooping shut, and there were trails of blood running down his forehead and cheek, almost black in the dim streetlight.

Ignis glanced around. Pedestrians were passing by the boy and the MT as though they weren’t there, averting their gazes to the busted shop windows and overflowing gutters. A spark of rage fanned in Ignis’ chest—These people would rather pay attention to garbage than help out an injured kid.

“That’s it,” Ignis said. He hadn’t spent three whole months learning the basics of battlefield tactics for nothing, had he? What had the tutors said? Keep to the high ground. He looked up, and saw a fire escape just over the boy’s head. He could reach it, if he jumped.

“Hey!” Ignis picked up a can from the gutter and tossed it at the MT. It bounced harmlessly off of the humanoid soldier’s armor. “Hey, robot!”

Both the boy and MT turned to stare at Ignis. He blanched, but picked up a loose piece of stone from the sidewalk. This one bounced, clattering at the trooper’s feet.

“Get—Get out of our city!” Ignis shouted. “Lucis doesn’t, doesn’t need the Empire!” Gods, what was he doing?

The MT swiveled its head round, dropping the boy back to the pavement.

“That’s right!” Ignis went on, backing away. “We’re gonna… we’re gonna take the city back from you!” He chucked another can at the MT. “And we’re gonna grab the ladder of the fire escape and climb to the roof!”

The blonde blinked at Ignis, dumbstruck.

“I said,” Ignis shouted, desperately retreating from the now oncoming soldier. “We’re gonna grab the ladder over our heads and—“

The boy looked up at last. Finally. He got to his feet, jumped twice, and slowly pulled himself up the ladder. When he was safely climbing to the roof, Ignis bounced on the heels of his feet and took off running.

It took him nearly ten minutes to throw the MT off his trail. He had to take his own advice and scramble up the side of an all-night takeaway, where he was grateful to find that the gap between it and the neighboring rooftop was just narrow enough to jump. He cleared three buildings this way before he heard a hissing noise and stopped.

A blonde mop of hair peeked out of the remains of an abandoned stairwell. “They gone?”

“I think,” Ignis said. He walked over to the boy, who grinned up at him through a mess of dark freckles and blood. “Are you well?”

“They didn’t get me bad,” the boy said. “You’re one weird kid, yellin’ at an MT like that. ‘Specially now.”

“Why now?”

“They’re rounding up all the homeless Lucian kids,” the boy said. “Heard they’re taking ‘em to families in Niflheim.”

“Why?” Ignis asked. He realized that it had been a while since he’d seen another person his age on the street. The thought was troubling. “What’s the point?”

The boy shrugged. “It’s just what I heard.”

“So you’re not safe, either,” Ignis said. His companion shook his head.

“Not Lucian.” He lifted his hand, and pulled up a fuzzy band around his wrist to reveal a tattoo—a serial code, Ignis realized, with horror. “They want me for something else.”

“What for?”

He shrugged again. “Hey!” he said. “You hungry?”

“Always,” Ignis said. The boy laughed.

“Well I know a way to score something nice. Wanna come with? It's on me.” He extended a trembling hand. “Name’s Prompto.”

“Ignis. M-my friends called me Iggy.”

Prompto beamed as Ignis took his hand. “You know what, Iggy?” he said. “I got this feeling. I think this is gonna be the start of something great.”

---

Noct was sitting on Lady Lunafreya’s living room couch, holding Ignis’ head on his lap, when the former advisor-turned-conman awoke. Umbra had refused to leave them, and was curled up on Ignis’ legs, whining softly. Iris and Gladio stood off to the side with Cindy and Luna, and Pryna was shoving her wet nose on Ignis’ calf.

Noct peered down into green eyes gone hazy with pain.

“Hey,” he said, softly. Ignis’ brows snapped together, and he opened his mouth in surprise.

“I hurt too much to be dead,” he said, “but you’re…” He lifted a hand to Noct’s face, and brushed his cheek with calloused fingers. “Why are you here?”

“That’s a dumb question,” Noct said. “I told you I’d come back, right?” He watched Ignis’ expression collapse into something soft and vulnerable, a glimpse of the quiet, world-weary boy he’d known before. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Gods, Noct.” Ignis closed his eyes and let his hand fall. “You can’t just say that and expect me to…” Noct felt his muscles tense under his touch, and his eyes fluttered open. “Prompto. Noctis, they took Prompto.” He twisted in Noct’s lap and cringed at what had to be a spasm of pain. Noct held his shoulders and looked up at the others, who were hovering at the edge of the rug, uncertain.

“Who took Prompto?” Noct asked. “What happened to you?”

Ignis tried to roll off the couch, and Umbra squeaked and jumped off his legs. “No time,” the older man said. He rose to his knees and gripped his forehead with both hands. “Hells. I need my bag.”

He slithered off the couch and tried to drag himself to his feet. Noct grabbed him and slung an arm around his shoulder.

“Explanations first, Iggy.”

“I said there’s no time!” Ignis snapped. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours?”

“Long enough for a carrier to get to Gralea,” Ignis said, in a low tone. “Damn. Damn.”

Noct looked at Gladio and Iris, who shrugged in unison. Luna, however, looked pensive. She brought Ignis’ bag to him herself, and held his hands when he took it from her.

“It was the Empire,” she said. “Wasn’t it?”

The anguish in Ignis’ eyes was confirmation enough. He pushed free from Noct’s hold and straightened, blinking slowly as he swayed on his feet.

“Lady Lunafreya,” he said, with only the slightest slur in his voice. “Your highness. Thank you for your… concern. But I must go.” He made for the door, but Noct followed him, dogging him into the cool air of Lunafreya’s garden. Umbra was pressed to Ignis' other side, pushing him closer to Noct.

“You’re not going alone,” he said. Ignis scowled.

“Noctis,” he said. “You have found your—your people. Stay with them. Let me find mine.”

Noct grabbed his arm as he started to walk off. “You’re my people, too, Specs,” he said. “You’re a stuck-up, arrogant, shady piece of shit—“

“I fail to see how this makes me your—“ Ignis began.

“But you were my friend.” Noct shook Ignis’ arm lightly. “And you still are.”

Ignis looked at him for a long, agonizing moment, and then flexed his arm, parting Noct’s fingers. He slid out of his hold and walked unsteadily to the street.

Noct stayed at his side. He stuck to Ignis like a burr, even when Gladio and Iris ran after them, stumbling over each other to voice fervent objections. He stayed with him as they piled into a gondola to head to the train station, held his elbow and demanded two tickets instead of one at the teller’s booth, and nearly made the both of them fall onto the tracks when Ignis whipped around in his hold and tried to shove him onto the platform.

“I am heading into the heart of the Empire,” Ignis said. “The same Empire that, if you don’t recall, tried to kill you.”

“For once, I’m with the criminal,” Gladio said, at Noct’s back. “You ain’t goin’.”

“I have the ring,” Noct said. “I can help.”

“Yeah?” asked Iris. “You know how to use it?”

Noct clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself to tap into the low, insistent hum of the ring’s magic. He could feel it prodding his mind, pushing open doors to knowledge that sank into him like the press of water on his skin. It was like a whisper, the warmth of a familiar hand in his, gently guiding him.

“Yes,” he said, at last. “I do.”

“Well, you’re too late,” Gladio said. He gestured behind Noct, who turned. Ignis was already boarding the train, and Umbra (the traitor) hopped up after him, plumed tail waving high like a banner. There was a mighty groan of grating metal as the wheels slowly began to turn, and Noct took a deep breath and walked towards the last open door.

“Noctis!” Gladio shouted. “Don’t you dare board that train!”

Noct glanced back at him and smirked. “Yeah?” he said. “Try and stop me.”

He pulled off his right shoe and tossed it experimentally in his hand. Magic flashed in his palm. He threw the shoe into the open doorway. When it clattered onto the carpeted floor of the train, Noct disappeared in a burst of blue light, reappearing just inside the entrance. Gladio and Iris broke into a run, and he slammed the door shut.

He turned, breathing heavily, to see Ignis standing at his side. The man looked entirely poleaxed, staring at Noct with slackjawed horror. Noct scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off briskly.

“Well,” he said, with a mirthless smile. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Chapter Text

The train to Gralea roared through thick pine forests on its way out of Tenebrae. The sleeper cars rocked slightly, and windows were opened to let in the cool air off the foothills beyond. Children draped their arms over the sides as their parents tried to drag them back in, curtains were drawn to block out the bright daemon-repelling lights that hung from the corner of each car, and the scent of smoke and metal lingered in the air long after the train had passed. In one of the very front sleeper cars, a window was shoved open so that a grey-muzzled dog could shove his head through and bark at the passing trees.

Umbra whined, ears back, and wriggled his hindquarters in nervous excitement as he let out another deafening bark. His tail swung like a whip, smacking into the knees of the two men who sat on opposite ends of the car, doing their best to avoid eye contact. The smaller of the two sighed, and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

“So,” Noctis said. Ignis glanced up at him for all of half a second.

“So.”

Noct leaned back. "Prompto doesn't look like an MT."

"He's what you get before you have a MagiTech soldier," Ignis said, testily. "So no, he isn't an MT."

Noct winced. "Sorry, Specs. But you gotta admit, this is looking kind of weird. What are they gonna do to him? Execute him for running away?"

“They won’t just kill him in Gralea,” Ignis said. “They’ll take away what makes him—What makes him Prompto. He’ll be another machine. A daemon.”

“We won’t let them,” Noct said.

Ignis finally met his eyes, and Noct withdrew at the pain he saw there. “They may already have." Ignis' fists were clenched hard on his knees. “Prompto was... All I had, Noct. I tried to get in touch with the Council, to find out if you'd survived, but... There was a directory for lost children from the palace. I went there every day for a year, and after the news of your death, no one even inquired after me.” He ground his teeth and looked away. “It was Prompto and I for the longest time. He was… He’s special, Noctis. He survived a childhood where he was nothing more than a series of numbers, fated to be a mindless monster, and then he ran off to Insomnia and ended up... well, as Prompto. He never let it harden him.”

There was a bitterness to Ignis’ voice at the last, and Noct leaned forward to pry open his left hand. Angry red nailmarks curved on his palm like crescent moons, and Ignis quickly lay his hand flat, hiding them from sight.

Noct opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, no matter how meaningless, only to hear the banging of a door slamming open and low, apologetic voices. Ignis stiffened.

“It’s probably nothing,” Noct said, and stood. He slowly slid open the door to their room, and stuck his head into the hallway.

Iris Amicitia pointed an imperious finger his way.

“Gladdy!” she cried. “We got him.” A large, tattooed figure ducked out of the room next to her just as Noct jerked out of view.

“Shit,” he said. “Change of plans. Time to run.”

“Noct, we’re on a train—”

“Yeah, okay, let’s just wing it, man.” Noct grabbed Ignis by the wrist and whistled for Umbra, but they were several seconds too late. The window of their door was darkened already, and Noct groaned as Gladiolus pushed it open.

“Pretty sure kicking ten kinds of crap out of the future king of Lucis counts as treason,” Gladio said, amicably, “but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“Gladdy, no.” Iris squirmed around him, pressing into the suddenly very crowded room. She turned on Noctis with all the anger a thirteen year old could muster. “What were you thinking?”

“He wasn’t,” said Ignis and Gladio, together. They looked at each other, clearly dismayed to find themselves in agreement. Noct glared at both of them.

“Ignis won’t be able to break out Prompto alone,” Noct said.

“Oh, and one more person makes a hell of a difference,” said Gladio.

From his place at the window, Umbra began to bark again. The others raised their voices to be heard over the din.

“If I’m supposed to be king, why don’t you let me make a decision for myself?” Noct shouted.

“Because it’s a dumbass decision!” Gladio shouted back.

“Language!” Iris cried, and Ignis glanced at her with the faintest tug of amusement at his lips.

Umbra tried to scramble out the window. Noct held the dog by the shoulder, ready to haul him back onto the carpet, when he froze, staring out at the very wide, very dark, landscape beyond.

“Hey, guys…”

“And you!” Gladio turned to Ignis. “Bad enough you yank the kid around, now you’re putting him into danger.”

“Guys, I really think we should…”

“Danger?” Ignis asked. “Like what could have befallen him while you and your father let him rot in an orphanage?”

“What’s that you said to me?” Gladio said, in a deep, dangerous rumble.

“Gladdy!” That was Iris, who had moved to see what was keeping Noctis at the window. The others went silent. Umbra’s barks had settled into a wavering growl, punctuated by cut-off snarls. “Maybe I’m wrong, but shouldn’t the daemon-repelling lights be on?”

The four of them stumbled as the train jerked. A high, keening alarm sounded from the back of the train, and they could hear the slow build of distant screams.

“I don't want to freak anyone out,” said Noct. “But something’s crawled on the roof.”

Gladio went into instant action. Iris and Noct were slung back from the window and tossed roughly onto the bunks. Umbra jumped down himself, and Gladio slammed the window shut.

“Right,” he said. “No weapons. Daemons on the train. Three hours to sunup. All three of you, we’re goin’ to the front car.”

“Why the front?” Noct asked. Ignis pulled him up by the arms and helped him out the door.

“It's where they confiscate the weapons,” said Gladio. “Probably not much, but it’s something. Move.”

It was like herding cats. Noct and Iris kept voicing objections, Umbra was constantly underfoot, and the only person who listened to Gladio’s orders implicitly was Ignis, who seemed to put immediate survival over such petty things as seething personal hatred. Gladio gave him a look of begrudging respect and ordered him to bring up the rear.

They passed the closet where the passengers’ weapons were kept, and Gladio wrestled with the lock for all of thirty seconds before Noct took over.

“I think I got this,” he said. He called on the magic of the ring, now intertwined with his own barely-tapped resources of power, and drew up a fire. Flame burst in a two foot column from his hands, and he jumped back as the lock melted into a puddle at his feet.

“That’s one way to do it,” Gladio conceded. He dug through the closet and grabbed a sword for himself, knives for Ignis, and a polearm for Iris. He looked Noct up and down, then handed him a sword—much shorter than the one Gladio hefted in his own hands.

“I don’t…” Noct let the sword tip fall to the ground, unused to the weight. “I don’t know how to use this.”

“Yeah, you’ll do great at Gralea,” Gladio said. There was a sickening crack, and the four of them turned to see massive, black claws rip away half the roof of the car.

“Ok, now we run,” Gladio said. This time, Iris and Noct obeyed without question.

Noct registered the chase through the train in a jumble of panting breath, legs that burned with the effort of jumping over fallen chairs and dodging round screaming passengers. The strange thing was, if anything could be stranger than what was already happening, when Iris glanced back as they jumped across the connecting line to the next car, the daemon-repelling lights further down the train slowly started to flicker back on.

"The dark is following us!" she shouted, over the whistle and shriek of the wind.

"Less yapping, more running!" bellowed Gladio.

But she was right. No sooner did Noct cross the threshold into the front car, did the lights on either side of them go out.

"This was a mistake," Noct said. Ignis pushed at his shoulder, but he planted his feet firm on the carpet of the aisle. "No, listen. If we keep going, the daemons will fuck up the engine. All those people back there will die."

"We don't have a choice, Noct," Ignis said. Noct squinted into the dark, and went to the side door that was meant to open onto the oncoming platform. "No. Noct, no."

"It's like you said, Iggy," Noct said, kicking open the door. Deep drifts of snow greeted him, shining red with the light of the engine ahead. Above them, he could hear the scrabbling of claws, the leathery flap of wings. "We don't have a choice."

He whistled, and Umbra surged past him, leaping into the open. Noct jumped after him, throwing his sword into the snow, and warped to reach it. He landed hard, sinking nearly two feet before he reached the ground.

Umbra bounded through the snow to lick his hair into an impromptu up-do, and Noct used the sword to lever himself to his feet. Before him, the train, bright with now-functional daemon lights, sped beyond the crest of a hill and towards the lights of a distant city. Noct searched the ground before him, and saw Ignis sputtering and cursing a few yards away, with Iris and Gladio leaning on each other near a copse of trees. All around them, in the dark of the forest bordering Gralea, Noct could hear the hiss and snarl of daemons closing in.

Chapter Text

Ravus Nox Fleuret was alone in the Imperial fortress of Gralea.

No, not entirely alone. Chancellor Ardyn was in the heart of the fortress, staring into the light of Insomnia’s stolen crystal, waiting for the prince. When Ravus arrived to inform Ardyn that Prompto Argentum was secure in one of the holding cells, he found that his tongue lay thick and heavy in his mouth, unable to form the right words. His report was too brief, and the chancellor gave no sign of having heard him. Ravus assumed that Ardyn had every intention of leaving the boy there to slowly starve while the prince and his retinue tried to make it to Gralea in time.

The sound of his breath in the halls of the fortress was unreasonably loud.

There should have been MT patrols, officers coming on and off duty, council members and parliament officials making any amount of progress a matter of swimming upstream against an ongoing current. Ravus touched the hilt of his sword and quickened his pace. There was no other recourse, now: He’d have to find the Emperor himself, protocols be damned.

The entrance to the Emperor’s receiving room was unguarded.

Ravus paused before the door. The wound in his arm—still untreated, now that all the doctors in Gralea seemed to have disappeared—was throbbing with the beat of his heart, and he took a moment to unsheath his sword before keying in the passcode.

The door slid open, and Ravus stood before the empty throne.

There were robes on the floor, white and purple, embroidered with the insignia of Niflheim. Ravus prodded them with his sword, and saw that they had ripped at the seams, and there was a large, ugly gash on the backside, streaked with grey. These were the Emperor’s robes, but… He turned, gaze flitting along the bare floors, and licked dry lips.

“But where’s the Emperor?” he asked aloud.

There was a clicking sound overhead, faint and wetly organic. Ravus braced his feet against the empty throne, held his sword in an unsteady hand, and looked up.

---

“When we get out of this,” Gladiolus Amicitia said, “I am going to kill both of you. Starting with Ignis.”

“Wonderful,” Ignis gasped. “You might need to reanimate me first, but please. Be my guest.”

They were two hours ‘til dawn, running down frozen train tracks miles from Gralea, and the best that Ignis could say was that the daemons at their heels were barely pulling even. Iris and Gladio were the best suited for running in these conditions—Noct was already exhausted, warping every few steps in short bursts, and Ignis was too used to asphalt and concrete. Rocky terrain had never been his strong suit, and even the hissing screech of a Red Giant’s blade cleaving the tracks wasn’t enough to push his overworked legs into action. He stumbled, and Gladio let out a sound that could have been a frustrated scream from a less exalted person. He grabbed Ignis’ wrist in a large, brown hand and yanked him forward.

Noctis took that moment to skid to a halt. Ignis turned to him, and from behind, just for a moment, Noctis did look remarkably like his father.

“Should’ve done this ages ago,” Noct said, and raised his right hand.

Gladio cried out as a white shield rippled up and around Noct’s three companions, trapping them in a dome of power. Iris touched one of the interlocking crystals that made the dome, and jerked her hand back with a yelp.

“Noctis!” Ignis shouted, but his voice was muffled and thin, and Noct did not turn. The daemons approached, a slathering, glowing mass of them, some scrabbling at the snow, others drifting on feelers like fish from the deeps, all of them converging on the young man in black.

The ring on Noctis’ hand pulsed with light. Then the light twisted, forming a spiral around his arm, spreading out to encompass the daemons that were already reaching out to consume him. As the light brushed their flesh, the daemons began to howl and shriek, clawing at the air as they collapsed, limb by limb, into the ever-widening spiral of light. There was another pulse, and even the giant staggered and knelt, its skin hollowing as its life-force was drained by the power of the ring.

At last, it was done, and the prince of Lucis stood alone on the train tracks.

“I’m gonna have nightmares for years," Iris whispered.

Noct turned to them at last, and lowered his hand. The shield collapsed, and Noct fell to his knees.

Ignis was the first to reach him, dropping to his side and lifting him up by the shoulders. Noct’s pupils were wide, his breath short, and his skin was clammy and warm. He looked up at Ignis with a smirk and shrugged his shoulders.

“Guess I’m good for something,” he said, and sank into Ignis’ arms.

Chapter Text

Noctis slept for nearly two hours. By the time Gladio, with the prince draped over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, stepped onto the platform of the last train station outside of Gralea, the buzzing aura of magic surrounding Noct had begun to fade. Iris hung back near Ignis, watching the prince with deep suspicion, and shuffled to the side when Gladio gently set him down on a metal bench. Umbra crouched at Noct's feet, hunched his shoulders, and shook melting snow all over the unconscious prince.

Snow drifted over the abandoned station like lumps of seafoam. Empty ticket booths stood like a row of open mouths against the light grey stone, and an upended cart looked to be drowning in rotting flowers and paste jewelry. The station speakers were a riot of open wires, and when Ignis nudged the door of what had been a food stall with his foot, he heard a rattle of plastic and the unmistakable skitter of rats.

“Cozy,” Gladio said. It was the first thing he’d said to Ignis other than, I’ll carry him, and Let’s keep going. “Think there’s anything left?”

“I’d be surprised if there were,” Ignis said, and wrenched the door open. A few bags of chips fell out, but the rest of the stall was empty. He scooped up the bags and sighed.

“Not your usual fare, I suppose,” he said. Gladio gave him a questioning look. “I imagine you’re used to something a little more sustaining.”

“Sure,” Gladio said. He grabbed two bags and followed Ignis back to the bench. “But it’s not like we’ve been living the high life, you know. The Insomnian dollar means nothing in Altissia, even if you were the Shield of the King.” He frowned. “Maybe especially then.”

“He’s up!” Iris called, from where she stood a good fifteen feet from Noctis. Noct was sitting on the bench, looking a little muzzy but otherwise awake. Gladio threw a bag of chips at Iris and opened his own, and Ignis passed one down to Noct.

“Five star dining, Iggy,” he said. Luckily, his yawn prevented him from seeing the fleeting look of discomfort Ignis tried to suppress at the nickname, which gave the former advisor time to press a hand to his pulse. “Hey!”

Ignis checked his forehead. “Warm, but I don’t believe you have a fever,” he said. “Have you been experiencing any dizziness since you put on the ring? No? Unusual sights? Spells of nausea? Loss of your ability to make rational decisions that don’t leave you at the mercy of a horde of daemons?”

Noct stared at him blankly. “But I killed the dae—“

Ignis pressed his cheeks together with both hands, silencing him. “Amazing thing about daemons, Noct,” he said. “They come back. Humans don’t.”

“Don’t you mean, Thank you, Noct, for saving my pretentious ass?”

Ignis opened his mouth for a sharp retort, and stopped at the sound of an undignified snort behind him. He turned to see Gladio smirking faintly, looking down at them both as though they were actors in a private play.

“What, pray tell,” Ignis said, infusing his voice with as much vitriol as possible, “is so amusing?”

“You,” Gladio said. “Him.” He cocked his head a little, and Noct copied him, lips pressed in a moue under Ignis’ grip. Ignis looked to Noct, who met his gaze steadily. How had he failed to notice how familiar his eyes were? Years of running after him, over a decade searching for someone who looked like him, and he’d forgotten those eyes?

“Right,” Gladio said, and Ignis released Noct with a jerk. Noct was smiling at him, light and knowing and just a little too smug, and Ignis turned from him to face the nearby gates of the city of Gralea. Beyond, amid the grey buildings and flickering streetlights, the soot-blackened towers of the Imperial keep rose like jagged teeth against the sky.

Prompto.

“We mustn’t linger,” he said, and began to hobble his way back to the train tracks, ignoring the shouts of warning behind him.

---

“My name is Prompto Argentum. I live in the Citadel in Insomnia. I’m good at photography. I know how to make people laugh. I can even make Ignis laugh.”

The blonde man strapped to the MT test table jumped in his bonds at the sound of a hollow thump in the walls. He licked dry, cracked lips, and looked up into the pitch darkness outside of his cell, trying to see past the spotlight that shone in his eyes.

His voice was very soft.

“Ignis is gonna find me,” he said, and jumped again as another thump sounded. “Because he’s stubborn and stupid and I’m not an MT. I’m his friend.”

There was a boom, a crack, and the sound of sharp footsteps on ridged metal. Prompto clenched his hands.

“I’m his friend,” he repeated. “I’m Prompto Argentum. I live in the Citadel…” He shivered at the sound of metal scraping on metal, in a long, grating screech. “The Citadel… in Insomnia. I’m. I’m Prompto Argentum, I’m…”

A square of light appeared down the corridor, obscured by the shape of a man with a high collar. He stepped forward, dragging a sword in one hand.

“I’m Prompto,” he whispered, under his breath, as the man approached. “I’m not an MT. I’m an… I’m Prom…”

“Prompto Argentum.” The voice was wry, with none of the deceptive malice as the man who had left him there. (The man with eyes that stank of decay, with skin that oozed the oily residue that clung to Prompto’s teeth after an attack, with hands that left his skin itching and cold.) When the figure moved into the spotlight, Prompto tried to push back against the metal table. It was Ravus, the man who had captured him in the streets of Altissia.

Ravus reached up behind Prompto’s head, and the younger man felt rather than heard the click of a mechanism unlocking. The metal bands around his legs and arms snapped open, and he fell. Ravus tried to catch him, but he landed on the other man’s wounded shoulder, and they both went down.

“We have to hurry,” Ravus said, before Prompto could bring himself to speak. He pulled him up by his filthy collar. “We haven’t much time.”

“No,” said a smooth, cheerful voice, echoing around them like a rumble of thunder. “No, I don’t believe you do.”

Chapter Text

The capital city of Niflheim, while laid bare and lifeless in the grey of morning, held little resemblance to the abandoned train station at its border. The silence in Gralea was not that of absence, but the stillness of nearly three million people holding a collective breath. Windows were shuttered tight, doors plastered with crude markings like the curve of a daemon-warding rune, colorful prayer ribbons hung from lines across houses and scuffed about underfoot. Occasionally, Noct could hear the hiss of a radio or muffled voices behind barred doors, but beyond that, the only sound was the occasional hum of an MT carrier flying high overhead.

"I almost prefer Insomnia," Ignis said. Gladio shushed him, and Noct didn't really blame him for it. There was something wrong about the emptiness of the city, something dangerous, and he found himself checking around each alley as they made their way towards the keep at the end of Main Street.

There should have been a welcome for them. That someone was tracking their progress was obvious; The daemon-warding lights went out too neatly at Noct's approach on the train, and the daemons in the woods had been waiting for him. Prompto had been captured, Ignis injured, Noct plagued by visions and half-real dreams, all to bring him here.

"Ardyn should have met us by now," Noct said, and the others turned to him. "He's been following us since Galdin. Maybe before."

"Galdin?" Ignis asked, then paused, a horrible realization dawning in his eyes. "The man at the Quay, who gave us the tickets. He was..."

Noct didn't reply. It made sense, now, with the ring humming on his finger, tendrils of memory prodding at the gaps that fear and pain had made. He remembered Ardyn, standing in the center of the throne room as Noct's father fell to his knees in the chaos. Ardyn had leaned down to the dying king, his lips moving in a silent whisper, and he drew up his hand, looked directly at Noct...

And tossed him the ring.

"A parting gift," he'd said, but Noct was being grabbed in Clarus' large hand, and the world shrank to focus only on the ring in Noct's palms, the blood that streaked his fingers as it rocked in his hold.

Perhaps Ardyn had meant Noct to live. Perhaps he was just toying with him then as he was now, certain that Noct would be dead long before the ring could be of use.

All he knew was that when they found Prompto, there was a good chance that they'd find Ardyn, too. The man who had arranged the fall of Insomnia, the line of Lucis, and everything Noct had come to know as a family.

Unconsciously, Noct held out a hand towards Ignis. There was a pause, and then long fingers wove through his, careful not to brush the spiky black steel of the ring.

The gates to Zegnautus Keep were open, spilling darkness over the muddy snow in the street. Umbra danced past the group, tongue lolling, and tapped his paws excitedly on the iron walkway leading into the keep itself.

"Something wrong with that dog," Gladio mumbled, and Iris giggled. She still towed her stolen polearm, and Noct saw that she'd hooked her arm around Gladio's, sidling close to her brother. Still, she was probably better prepared than Noct was, under the circumstances. They walked into the keep together, and Noct slipped his hand free of Ignis', holding the ring up for light.

There was a pause.

"You should probably turn the ring off, Noctis," Iris whispered, after a minute.

Noct lowered his hand. On either side of them, held up by wires, metal hooks, and tubes filled with a black, sluggishly moving liquid, were lines and lines of MT soldiers.

"They aren't activated," Ignis said. "They look..."

"This what your friend is supposed to be?" Gladio asked. Ignis turned on him, cheeks flushed, but Noct pressed down hard on his shoulder.

"Not now, Gladio." He stepped forward. Umbra sat before him, head tilted, looking much like he had when Luna called him to her side. "Can you take us to Prompto, boy?"

Umbra rose and shook his head, ears flapping. Then he trotted off into the dark. Noct ran to follow, hearing the crashing footsteps of the others at his heels.

Something hissed overhead, and Iris screamed as an MT fell onto the pathway behind them. Gladio yanked her out of its range, and the four of them kept an eye on the humanoid soldier as it lurched after them, spitting electrical fire from its throat and eyes.

"At last!" Ardyn Izunia's voice boomed out through the hall, as real as though he were standing at Noct's side. "The Chosen King arrives."

"I'm no one's king," Noct said, and followed Umbra around a sharp corner. "And I'm not a chosen anything."

"Certainly not, if you take it literally, my dear one," Ardyn crooned. "How many times were you passed over in adoption proceedings?" There was a sound of paper rustling. "My word, twelve? What a troublesome child you were. How lucky that you were born to rule, rather than elected."

Noct felt heat rising up his neck, aware of the others' gazes on him. It didn't matter anymore. He was wanted, had always been wanted... He just didn't know it 'til now.

Iris placed a hand on his shoulder. "H-hey," she whispered. "We told you before. You're with us."

"Very touching," Ardyn said. "It gets me, right here, where my heart should be. Ah! And then there are those new friends of yours. What loyal companions you choose, Majesty. Though... I do believe I may have broken one of them..."

Ignis made a choking sound, and Noct shook his head.

"Bullshit," he said. "He's fucking with us. Come on, Specs."

They wound through the corridors, ducking into doors to avoid MT patrols, running through clouds of toxic gas, and doubling back past locked doors and broken elevators. Gladio swapped out their stolen weapons for something a little more serviceable from one of the MT dorms, but Noct held the sword he was given like a dead rat, trying not to stare at the shining edge of the blade. He'd been called many things in the course of his life, most of them nothing he could repeat, but "killer" hadn't been one of them. Sure, the MTs they met in the halls didn't seem very human, or even much like the soldiers who patrolled Insomnia, but all Noct could think of when he saw them was Prompto, pale and shaking, heaving into a ditch. They were victims of the Empire just as much as him. What right did Noct have to kill them?

Gladio and Iris made that decision for him. Noct balked at the easy, thoughtless way they sliced through MT armor, and moved closer to Ignis, bumping shoulders in his hurry to avoid the sputtering remains on the floor.

"I'm fine," Ignis whispered. "Prompto's fine."

Right. Prompto. Noct felt like a monster for the bitterness that welled in his throat; Of course, for Ignis, his life would always center around Prompto. There had barely been room for Noct as a gullible mark, let alone as anything more. And gods, was there ever more.

"We'll find him," he said. Ignis didn't respond.

Umbra led them to an empty elevator shaft, which they had to climb down themselves. The dog reappeared at the bottom, panting lightly, and Noct stared at him before gingerly petting him behind the ears.

"At least this explains how you kept stealing shit from the kitchen," he said.

He jumped at a loud crash down the hall, and the cry of voices. Ignis let out a strangled groan and made for the sound, and Gladio had to run after him, grumbling about no good conmen who didn't know how to scout properly. Noct and Iris brought up the rear, and when they made it to a wide, circular room overlooking rows of dangling MTs, they froze.

Prompto was lying against an overturned table, fumbling with the barrel of an MT's gun. Behind him, a man in white and black braced a sword against the claws of a gangly, long-limbed daemon, which hissed and spat in his face as he skidded back on the smooth floor. Prompto clicked the barrel of his gun shut, swung around, and fired four times, in rapid succession, in the daemon's face. Two bullets went through the roof of its mouth, tow others at its neck, and it fell back, shrieking, as the man in white thrust his sword into its chest. The daemon convulsed on the blade, blood dripping onto the face of the man below it, and finally went still. The man heaved his sword to the side, daemon and all, and collapsed to his knees.

"Prompto!"

The blonde looked up, gun cocked, and slumped at the sight of them. Ignis was already staggering forward, skidding to a halt at Prompto's side.

"Hey, Iggy," Prompto said, as Ignis ran his hands over the young man's face, checking for injury. "Missed you, too."

"They didn't..." Ignis squeezed his friend's upper arms, shaking him slightly. "They didn't do anything to you?"

"Knocked me around a bit," Prompto said. "I'm still me, Iggy. Uh. Mostly because of him."

They turned to the man on the ground. He was slowly rising to his feet with the help of Iris, who had a hand under his elbow, and looked up at Ignis with a curious expression as Prompto's companion rose, striding towards him with a purposeful air.

The sound of Ignis' fist connecting with the man's face was one Noct would remember for the rest of his life.

"That's for taking him in the first place," Ignis said, as the man spat blood on the metal floor. Iris looked up at him with something verging on awe. "And thank you. For... changing your mind."

"My pleasure," the man said.

Prompto spoke up, then, and between Ignis running back to fuss over him some more, Gladio helping the strange man back on his feet, and Iris complimenting Ignis on his left hook, none of them noticed Noct crouching down to speak to Umbra. No one heard him whisper into the dog's ear, or set the sword down on the floor, or gently pad after the dog down a small corridor. By the time any of them thought to look for the former prince, he was long gone, disappearing into the bowels of the keep, seeking out the man who had given him his father's ring.

Chapter Text

It took about two minutes for Noct to realize that he might have made a mistake.

“What a noble king,” Ardyn was saying, as Noct jogged after Umbra past a defunct elevator. “Sacrificing himself to spare his loyal subjects.”

“I’m not sacrificing myself,” Noct said. “And I told you, I’m not a king.”

Umbra glanced back at him and whined, and Noct stared at the wide, featureless wall that stretched before him on either side. Ardyn’s laugh echoed in the darkness around him.

“Indeed,” he said. “A prince, then. A poor, lost prince, ready to take revenge on his heartless foe. Yes, I like the sound of that.”

Noct rolled his eyes and started walking along the right hand side of the wall. “Not that way.” He groaned and turned around. At his feet, Umbra whined again and glanced back the way they came.

“No,” Noct said. “You’re not getting them. They need to go home—Umbra. Umbra!” He cursed as the dog scrambled round and took off down the hallway, claws clacking against the raised metal floors. He’d have to hurry, then. He couldn’t risk the others getting hurt on his behalf, not after he dragged them through miles of daemon-infested wasteland just to get to Prompto.

“You know,” Ardyn mused, as Noct ran a hand along the wall. “I almost wanted to let you live. I had plans for you, dear boy. But, alas, they were so very final, and I’ve found, over the years, that I quite enjoy this repellent excuse for a star.”

“Yeah,” Noct said. “I can tell.”

“There was just the matter of ensuring the chosen one—That’s you, my dove—and his wretched family saw a fitting end. But I had to go and make it dramatic. Old habits, you know?”

Noct jumped as the wall under his hand shook violently, and watched it creak to the side to reveal a long hall. At the end of it, a faint red light glimmered, steady as the engine light of an MT transport ship. Noct stepped inside.

“Very good,” Ardyn said, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Noct kept walking, not waiting for his eyes to adjust to the new, strange light that twisted the shadows about him into fluid, ever-shifting forms. Now and then, he caught the shadow of something living: An Iron Giant’s hand raised in a blow, an Imp skittering across the wall, an MT dragging its feet behind his own image. But they remained nothing but tricks of the light, and when Noct raised the glow of the ring to the walls, they fled before him.

That was another thing. The ring on his finger was starting to hurt, tightening at his knuckle the closer he came to the source of the red light. He found his right arm was being dragged back, and it took considerable effort to hold it before him, calling its light down onto the walkway.

Ardyn Izunia stood beside an open flame. He looked nothing like the charming, good-natured man they’d met at Galdin Quay—His bright eyes were shadowed now by what looked like oil stains, making them into black pits in the half-light of the fire. His skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and his clothes didn’t quite fit him, too loose and slightly askew. He stretched out a hand to the fire, and Noct instinctively flinched, bracing for the smell of burning flesh.

It didn’t come.

“Behold,” Ardyn said. “Your birthright.”

Noct stared into the flame, and the ring on his hand trembled and squeezed his dry skin.

It wasn’t a fire. The light at Ardyn’s side came from the heart of a great crystal, almost the size of Noct but shaped like a geode. The red light that pulsed from it extended smoky strands out into the air. When Noct raised the ring for a better look, he saw that the light seemed to be tied to Ardyn somehow, feeding into him. Or feeding from him, Noct realized.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ardyn asked. He held a hand out to the stone, and the red glow deepened. “Once, you would have been able to take its power. You can certainly try now, if you wish, but I have a feeling that it won’t take so kindly to your branch of the Lucian line any longer.”

“The hell did you do to it?” Noct asked. He tried to move closer, but his arm twinged with pain, and he fell back.

“I did nothing, dear boy.” Ardyn caressed the crystal fondly. “It needed a king, and it latched on to what it could find. Not my fault that someone spend most of their days wandering about an orphanage, acting tragic.”

Noct opened his mouth to curse, but was drowned out by the crash of the door bursting open behind him. He risked a glance back, and saw five figures silhouetted against the corridor outside, Umbra behind them.

“Ah,” Ardyn said, as Ignis and Gladio ran for him, followed closely by Prompto, Iris, and Ravus. “The calvalry arrives.”

“Noct!” Ignis shouted, grabbing Gladio’s arm for balance as his still-recovering legs gave out. “Stay b—“

Ardyn tsked and made a wide gesture with one hand, and five bodies collapsed onto the walkway. Noct ran back as Iris rolled dangerously close to the edge, and when he dragged her towards the center of the walk, he saw that a patch of black mist curled up from her chest, chilling the air. When he turned to the others, he saw the same mist obscuring their faces, and he released Iris with hands that shook.

“What did you—“

Ardyn smiled.

Noct clenched the fist that held the ring, dipping into the wide, hazy place in his mind that it occupied, seeking out its magic. It nudged his awareness gently, like Umbra guiding him through the keep, and Noct yielded before it, letting it open a path to what needed to be done.

Stand.

He stood. Before him, the crystal that had once belonged to his family for generations seethed with Ardyn’s toxic magic, hanging in the air with a deadly promise. His right arm tensed as he walked the few steps towards Ardyn, but he grit his teeth through it. The light of his ring flared outward, pushing up against the red glow of the crystal.

“My boy,” Ardyn began, and blinked as the crystal began to shake. Noct kept going, and grimaced as a spike of pain shot through him: There was a sound like thunder that made both Noct and Ardyn stagger, and when they straightened, a wide, heavy crack marred the surface of the crystal.

Ardyn fell to his knees with a howl. Red light poured through his skin, a mirror to the mark on the crystal to which he’d been bound. He looked up at Noct with eyes darkened by rage, but Noct could detect the smallest spark of fear, too, hidden away in his twisted snarl.

“This is for my dad,” Noct said, taking a heavy step forward. The crack along the side of the crystal snapped as it widened, and Ardyn collapsed, clawing at the glowing gash in his flesh.

“This is for Ignis and Prompto,” Noct said, raising his hand as he approached. The ring vibrated on his finger: The bones of his hand ached, and he could feel them trying to twist away from the crystal like opposing magnets wriggling apart. Another crack formed, and dark blood oozed from Ardyn’s eyes, spotting the floor.

He pushed himself the next two steps, and screamed in pain as his fingers bent back under the force of the corrupted crystal’s power. Ardyn was trying to rise, a sword appearing in a flash of red, but Noct grabbed his useless right hand with his left and thrust it directly into the heart of the crystal.

“This, though?” he said, locking eyes with Ardyn. “This is all for me, motherfucker.”

The air around them pulsed and vibrated, drowning out Noct’s thin shout and Ardyn’s roar of fury with a high, mechanical screech. Noct felt the pressure in the center of the crystal burst as the untarnished stone of the ring popped through the crystals protective aura, and the world went white.

Chapter Text

Ignis Scientia was no stranger to terror.

When the quiet, somewhat lonely world of his young life was eclipsed by the sigh of the king’s body collapsing on the floor of the throne room, he learned the taste of fear on his tongue. When the city fell to Niflheim, and wandering Lucian children began to disappear into covered trucks and through orphanage doors, he knew how to keep that fear with him, close and present even in the hideout he shared with Prompto. When Prompto folded up in the throes of an attack, or an MT patrol came too close, he learned how to harness it, to push himself to action.

But when he turned around in the keep at the heart of Niflheim and found that the prince had disappeared, the horror that rose in his chest nearly consumed him.

Then Umbra was there, and Ignis could keep it down, just barely, just enough to keep running despite the ache in his legs and the screaming pain of his feet through worn-out shoes. And there was Noct, standing before the crystal, gone red as an open flame, with Ardyn Izunia smiling down upon him—

Ignis was fairly certain that he’d called out his name.

He woke to a searing flash of white, a roaring, inhuman scream, and a shout of pain so familiar that it brought all of Ignis’ nerves to searing alertness. He struggled to rise—When had he fallen?—and his hand slipped on the metal walkway.

A few yards before him, Noctis fell back, clutching a twisted, bleeding hand to his chest.

The crystal was gone. The air beside the yowling, writhing form of what had been Ardyn Izunia was empty, save for the last lingering glow of the white light that had subsumed it. Ardyn was hardly human any longer, like a finely sculpted figurine cracking apart in the heat of a fire. Light poured from the cracks in his skin, and Ignis saw it coming a moment before it happened, closed his eyes as a warm rush of wind swept over him. When he dared to look again, the walkway was bare but for a few, floating flakes of ash.

At his side, Gladiolus groaned. Ignis dragged himself to his feet and staggered the few steps to Noctis, who was blinking slowly, unseeing, into the dark overhead.

“Noctis,” Ignis said. He cupped the back of his head gingerly, brushing back his soft hair.

“Hey, Specs,” Noct said, in a throaty whisper.

When Ignis spoke again, he was alarmed to find his own voice had gone just as hoarse and strained. “Noct,” he said. “Of all the… all the brash, irresponsible things you could have possibly done, this is the—“

Noct leaned forward, pressing his lips to Ignis’ in a gentle, tentative kiss. Ignis felt the words die on his tongue, and somewhere in the disordered chaos of his mind, a small voice of reason quietly saw itself to the door. His grip tightened on Noct’s hair, and he kissed him back, fierce and deep and just a little too hard.

“Good to know you’re alive, I guess,” said Gladio, beside them. Ignis released Noct, whose head fell to the floor with a thunk.

“Ow.”

“Oh, dear, I’m dreadfully sorry, Noct.” Ignis lifted him into his arms properly—Out of consideration for his injuries, of course, not to let that all-encompassing light pour through his mind as Noct feverishy kissed him—and barely registered the sound of Gladio, Prompto, and Iris’ voices as they all finally came to.

---

Clarus Amicitia stood at the balcony of his rooms at the Leville, staring at a hastily-scrawled note on the back of a napkin. His face had long since gone from mottled red to a greenish, sickly looking grey, and his hands shook as he gripped the balcony rail for support.

“I think it’s almost romantic,” Lunafreya said, looking out over the waters of Altissia. Fireworks filled the sky with smoke, cracking and booming long into the night. This had been going on for nearly a week, now, after the newly-rediscovered prince of Lucis had run off to Niflheim, broken into the keep at Gralea, and single-handedly destroyed most of the military might of the Empire and the man behind the fall of Insomnia. This would have given Clarus every reason to celebrate just as thoroughly as all of Accordo, but at the moment, he could only glower at the napkin in his fist.

“Over a decade of searching,” he said, “and he waltzes in, runs off to Niflheim, saves the gods-blessed world, and now he’s… he’s…”

“Eloping,” Gladio said, emerging from their rooms with two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Luna, who smiled at him in thanks.

“With the conman,” Clarus pointed out.

“I agree with Luna,” Iris said, from where she and Cindy were watching the fireworks. “It really is romantic, if you think about it.”

Prompto, who was sitting with his feet propped up on the railing, raised a glass to the distant lines of gondolas winding their way before the walls of water.

---

On one of those gondolas, Noctis Lucis Caelum rose to his feet. His right arm was still in a cast, making him wobble a little for balance, but he wore a fine black cloak draped over it, with light gold chain dangling down the back. He held out his left hand to Ignis, who smiled and let the soon-to-be king lift him from his seat. The gondolier called out a warning, but they were too lost in each other to notice. Fireworks turned the sky gold and white, illuminating Ignis’ green eyes as Noct kissed him, with the slow deliberation of a man with all the time in the world.

At their feet, Umbra huffed and rolled to the side. The extra weight tipped the gondola dangerously to the left, and while the gondolier floundered to right the boat, Noct slipped on a patch of polished wood, Ignis grabbed his lover’s arm for balance, and the two of them fell into the dark waters of Altissia with an almighty splash.

Not exactly the way Noctis expected his journey to find home would end, but he supposed it would do.