In the end, many had returned to their worlds, and some, those who enjoyed their lives here or had none to return to, had stayed. Stella, belonging to the latter, saw her family off while barely holding herself together. She was, at least, able to do so with a smile. No matter how faked it was, she was a master of it.
She may never see them again, but at least they were going to live the life they wanted.
It was tempting to go back herself, to finally rest for good, but... no. Not when there was a life here. Not when there were at least a few people she had to stay alive for. Not when, even with her family gone, she still had a semblance of happiness. And... perhaps, a chance for more.
She gave it a week, for everyone to recover from the loss, to adjust to life with a big portion of the population gone. Once that passed, she found herself in front of the door of Asch's house. Normally, she wouldn't hesitate, but what she had in mind... it might change things. No, it would change things. Whether it was for better or worse was what gave her pause.
Shutting her eyes and taking in a deep breath, Stella took a step forward and knocked on the door.]
Edited 2019-04-11 02:34 (UTC)
i made an unholy noise also i am so out of practice
[The sudden, strange quietness of the village over the last week has made Asch consider more than once that maybe he should have returned to his world, after all. It's not like he's suicidal, and it's not that he hated the quiet; more often than not he thrives in it, something he's always known. That isn't the problem. It's the sharp, unexpected loneliness that bothers him, the recognition that yes, he avoided people, but the choice to do so was important to him. He liked having... options. He's had so few choices that he could make for himself, his whole life. For a while, this place changed that.
Even Star's gone back. The house is too quiet. So many of the houses are quiet, these days.
That's what makes the knock so startling, and it only takes a few moments for him to open it, puzzled that he of all people might find himself with a visitor. The confusion fades, however, as soon as he sees who it is.]
Stella...
[And now he feels like an idiot for just sitting here feeling sorry for himself- she must feel much the same way, these days.]
[Of course she does, especially when the house she was in was so large. Everyone who lived there, other than her, had gone. Stella couldn't take it; she had to move, find some other house that was closer to the center of the village.
Luceti itself... seemed too big now for the population it currently had.
But that wasn't important right now. Though she worried all the way here, seeing Asch melted some of it away, and she can't help the smile that comes up - a genuine one this time.]
Hello, Asch.
[She tilts her head a bit,] Can I come in? Or we could talk in the doorway.
[He does nothing but stare for a couple of seconds, as if her very existence is suddenly a mystery to him, but quickly it fades and he shakes his head- then corrects to a nod, stepping aside to let her in.]
No, uh- that would be ridiculous. You want some tea?
Ignis knows what's to come and he doesn't like it one bit. His heart hurts and swells at the same time. Ignis is generally touched by those simple words. Yes, there had been days where it was frustrating taking care of the prince, no King, that's standing before him, but he wouldn't change a thing.
He can't help but let the tears roll down his cheeks, a small smile on his face. It's sad.
So much has changed in the past ten years. Ignis had found his footing in battles and cooking again. He waited for the day for Noctis to come out of the crystal, but while he knew he'll get to say hello, but he had to also say good-bye. He doesn't want to say good-bye to his dearest friend.
Sometimes he curses that vision he had gotten. There were times where he didn't want to know this. Noctis' fate. It's been ten years since then and he still hasn't accepted it. He tried to find a way to save both Noctis and the world, but he'd failed. Now that the final night is here, he can't help but feel like a failure in that regard. His sworn duty was -is- to protect Noctis and he took that role seriously. Perhaps a bit too seriously. He's a failure.
He exhales a breath as if to calm himself, but it doesn't work. Another tear runs down his face.
He cares very, very deeply for Noctis. His whole life has been wrapped up in Noctis that it's just hard for him to accept a life without him. He can't do it. As both of Noctis' hands clutch his own, he's taken back to the first day they met. Ignis was only six years old, Noctis a fair bit younger. Ignis squeezes one of Noctis' hands in his own. ]
... Noct. [ voice almost a whisper, cracking at the edges. His own voice betraying the way how he feels right in this moment. He can't think of anything else to say. Noctis doesn't know that he knows what's to happen to his friend. No, brother. Six, he can't do this. He needs Noctis' strength if he's going to be able to move on.
Gladio and Prompto had protested when Ignis had gotten up, but he ignored them. They didn't put up too much of a fight when Ignis made his way to where Noctis was standing.
Ten years without Noctis at his side, he buried himself in hunts, cooked for Cid and did other things to try to make time fly faster when he wasn't looking into saving Noctis.
"Looking." He still can't see, it's a price that he had paid in Altissia all of those years ago. Noctis still doesn't know about that one either. So much that he's keeping from Noctis....
Another sharp breath escapes him. He knows Noctis is ten years older now, but he can't help but see him as the twenty year old from years ago. He wishes he could see his brother one last time. But this will have to do.
Ignis stands before Noctis, trying to put on a brave face, but failing. Tone of voice and tears giving him away. ]
[It's hard to watch Ignis cry. He can probably count the number of times he's seen it happen in their lifetime on one hand; Ignis was never fond of showing his pain like that, wanting to be the strong and stalwart supporter of his charge, even when they were both still children. He was just... Iggy, always Iggy. Supportive to a fault, indulgent without being unreasonable. They didn't always get along flawlessly, they had plenty of differing priorities, but no one knew him like Ignis. He'd been there for everything.
Quietly, he's glad that Ignis can't see him like this. He'd only seen himself in the mirror at Hammerhead briefly, when he'd been given one last chance to clean up and make himself presentable before he marched himself towards the end. Poke at the beard he doesn't remember growing, brush the hair that falls past his shoulders in strange waves, study the tired lines of aging beyond his years the way his father did as the ring sapped his strength. He envies the others a little, for getting the chance to grow slowly and witness their changes over time, even if it all occurred in a horrible hellscape of a world. His father used to joke that he grew up too quickly, in a voice fond and sad in ways that Noctis didn't understand. Staring into the mirror and seeing a stranger stare back at him with only ghosts of familiar features... it's ironic in retrospect, with a painful little twinge in his heart. Ten years had come and gone in a fraction of time for him, too fast, with little time to reflect on everything he's missed: a full third of the lives of his dearest friends, probably half-forgotten by the people he was meant to protect, a king in name only. Stretched to fit into a body he no longer knows, a face he barely recognizes. The whole thing felt like overnight while at the same time an eternity, but here he is at the end of it all.
Ignis didn't get to see himself grow, either. But it means that in their hearts they can still be as they were- young, and wild, and stupid in ways that no one else understood. And it's only the end for him- he's here to make sure that everyone else has a future.
He doesn't acknowledge the tears, but he doesn't let go of Ignis' hand right away, either. Letting go means that this moment is over, and he's not sure if he's ready for that yet. His feelings on what's to come are... complicated, understandably. He's made his peace, but that only means he'll follow through with his duty, as he always has despite complaints or the grief that made him falter at times, despite how it has never once brought him joy. He'd also said he had no regrets; that's true, but only because he'd been forced to let them go, lest they overwhelm him and make him falter. That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt to think about everything he's about to lose. The brothers who gather around him here and now, Ignis at his side, Gladio and Prompto at camp giving them some space. His life, any chance he might have at being a proper king. Any adventures they might have together, exploring the world, helping people, discovering incredible new places none of them could have ever imagined. The love he carries for this world and everything in it.
He'll let the last of those regrets go, before it's over. But... right now... he doesn't want to move forward. Just a little longer. They've waited ten years- just a little longer-]
[ The sound of Noctis' voice snaps him out of his grief for a second. He's a bit surprised at the request, but he doesn't mind. Hell, Ignis wants to be selfish and spend time with Noctis as much as he can. ]
O-of course. [ His tone is still betraying his emotions, always a deep sadness hidden there. ] Away from the others.
[ Ignis has gotten good at walking around, a skilled hunter to where he doesn't need a cane anymore. He's long since trashed it. Still, he'll let Noctis lead the way. Always following and loyal to a fault. ]
[Noctis leads them a little bit away, not quite beyond the safety of the firelight, or so far that he's likely to stumble on his way back - unused to the dark, unlike Ignis - but just far enough that their voices won't echo as easily back to camp, and so he can feel the dark around him, a slice of what Ignis must experience every day. They're by the edge of the cliff overlooking the bay of water near Insomnia's highway; he can see a dim glow of the city in the far distance, reminding him of the now-lost Crystal and the way the Citadel always glowed, like their home's perpetual nightlight that held at bay all the monsters of the dark. It's weird to hear only silence, now. It was always noisy, even at night.
He murmurs to Ignis where the edge is and sits down carefully with him, only loosening his grip once they're settled. He shuffles forward just enough to let his legs dangle, as he was so often fond of doing on roofs and balconies, half because he liked it and half to make Ignis sigh about perceived dangers. Though it would be ironic to endure everything for so long only to die from falling off a cliff right at the finish line. Thank the gods for the power to warp.]
I missed so much... what about you? Got one more lecture for me? Anything you'll regret, if you don't take care of it tonight?
[A kinder way to say any last words, he hopes. It's not as if they'll get another chance to talk privately after this.]
That's not what he wanted to say at all. Not after what they went through in the short amount of time they had together. The night and the dream. Ignis sighs at his desk and looks over the paperwork for Noctis' funeral. It's only been a month since he died.
His final gift to Ignis, was his eyesight back. He can see again. He rubs at his temples and lets out an annoyed frustrated sigh. This shouldn't be so difficult to get the arrangements set up, but Ignis is being picky about it all. Noctis deserves something special.
Seeing how he's not getting any more work done, he snaps the files shut and leaves his office, shutting the light off. The Citadel is home, but he stays clear of the throne room. He doesn't want to remember seeing Noctis that way, slumped over his chair like that.
Fresh tears prick at his eyes, but he blinks them away. He hastily leaves for home, murmuring good nights to the guards.
One Year Later (Post-Noctis Death)
He kept his promise. Ignis sits at the final campsite, looking over the stars in the night sky. One year to the day since they had shared their final night here.
He's crying quietly, god, his heart aches. It had been so hard for him to let go like that. He'd tried to find a way to save Noctis, but he'd failed there too. He'd lost. A piece of himself is flat out missing and he can't deal with it or anyone else right now. He'd taken a personal day off from his duties.
I love you. In love, even. He's still in love with Noctis and he knows that deep down that no one can ever replace him. He has to try at least, but that day is not today.
Noctis' funeral had been something special alright. It went off without a hitch, it was small at first for personal friends and family. But it'd opened up to the general public later. They mourned their fallen king too, but no one grieved harder than himself, Gladio or Prompto did.
Both of them are doing well, he supposes. Prompto making it big with his photos and Gladio got married to the girl he'd fallen in love with. He still trains people.
Ignis sighs and lays back and recalls Noctis rescuing him. It had been a strange feeling to be the one in trouble.
You better not pull anything like that again, you hear? I need you with me. He'd gotten scolded for it, only because Noctis had been worried sick. His own foolishness had gotten him into that mess.
He looks to the night sky again and lets his tears fall off his face, not caring about the harsh sobs threatening to come out.
Four Years Later (Post-Noctis Death)
He just wasn't interested. In dating, that is. He had tried, but no one could compare to Noctis. Gladio had tried setting him up, and while he was friendly with those people, he just couldn't connect. Soon, he started to dodge everyone that shot him longing looks.
The new dawn is breaking out soon, the celebrations beginning. Four years since the sun first set after a ten year long night. People celebrated with a festive, but Ignis stayed inside. To them, it was a holiday and to Ignis, it was just a reminder of what he lost. The world is saved, but at a hefty price.
A price he wasn't willing to pay, but what else could he do?
Ignis groans and shakes his head, not paying attention enough to where he's going. He stops dead in his tracks at the throne room, legs buckling and he takes a deep breath, then a mad dash away from there. How'd he end up here? Perhaps because he was distracted by the outside world noise that he'd forgotten to pay attention.
He immediately runs upstairs to his office and slams the door shut. With a frustrated cry, he slams his hand into the wall. Breathe, he needs to breathe. It takes him a minute to calm down with shaky breaths as he makes his way over to his desk. He flops down into the chair, then lets his face fall flat into his hands.
He's had good days in the past four years. Days where he thinks he's getting better, when the grief isn't raw. This isn't one of those days, it's a bad day for him. Grief is rearing it's ugly head again and he feels like he's been punched in the gut. Hard. Tears leak through his fingers. He's surprised at the tears, he'd thought he'd ran out, but when it comes to Noctis, there's never enough of them.
He doesn't regret a thing about their final night together. While it had made it that much more harder to say goodbye, he also didn't want to live with regrets at all. If he'd let Noctis go without telling him how he felt, he didn't think he would be able to live with it.
Ignis grabs a tissue and wipes at the stubborn tears off his face, he knew that today was going to be difficult. It always is on this day. Ignis had just come back from the campsite, a tradition for him the day before. He catches the picture of him and Noctis on his desk, a gift from Prompto - the blond had snuck it in one day while Ignis was out. Who else would it be but Prompto? It was a photo of him and Noctis holding each other by the campfire on their final night. He wasn't aware of the camera going off.
Fireworks start to go off outside and all he can do is stare at the photo, lost in his own memories once more.
Five Years Later (Post-Noctis Death)
He hated crowds, why in the world he agreed to come to this social thing is beyond him. Politics, of course, so his presence was requested. He made the idle chatter that he needed to do, but he just wanted to go home.
A drink is offered to him, but he thinks nothing of it when he takes it. Out on the balcony, at least he can get some peace so he goes there now. He twirls the drink in his hand for a moment before he downs it. He's not a drinker by any means, so he was surprised at himself.
He spends a few minutes outside before he starts to feel... out of it. A hand rubs at his temple and he suspects that his drink had been spiked, this is why he shouldn't have accepted it. He glances at the night sky once more before he shuffles back inside and hurries away from the party and back to his room. He flicks on the light and flops on the bed, passing out cold.
-------
The first thing that he's aware of, is that he's not in his room anymore. It's dark, but he quickly realizes that he's blindfolded. What the? Ropes are pining his upper arms to his sides, lower arms and wrists behind his back and legs tight together. He struggles against it, but he can't get loose.
Who? He strains to hear his kidnappers, but he hears nothing. Is he alone?
For now, he guesses. Since he can't see, he doesn't know where he's at either. If he's even in the Citadel at all, or even in Insomnia. How long was he out for? How did his kidnappers get past his guards? He knows that the drink knocked him out good so that's one piece of the puzzle slipping into place.
But who has him as a hostage and why? He frowns a little. He gives the ropes a tug again, but to no avail. At least he can talk if he wants to, but he decides to keep his mouth shut in this instance.
He's not in immediate danger at least, for now. But he's in trouble again, this time Noctis isn't around to rescue him. He's not even sure if anyone knows that he's missing.
All he can do is wait.
He's not kept waiting too long, as he hears footfalls entering whatever room that he's in. He keeps quiet and prays that he can trick the person that he's still asleep, but it doesn't work.
Ignis finds himself being hauled up and thrown against the wall, back against it. His kidnapper punches him in the face then promptly smashes Ignis' head against the wall. He lets out a hiss of pain then he's thrown to the floor, hitting the wall and sliding down it.
He's trying to roll out of the way, but there's a hand on his shoulder, pining him back against the wall yet again, then something sharp cuts through his shoulder. He yelps out in surprise, his breathing getting rigid. The dagger is stuck in his shoulder and horrifying, he heard a thunk as it's stuck to the wall, keeping him trapped there.
The blindfold comes off him then. Green eyes look up and he immediately recognizes the person before him. It was the guy who given him the drink, and now that he thinks about it. This man had been pursing Ignis for a few weeks, begging for a date or a one night stand, but he refused to.
You. But he doesn't speak, letting the man above him study the situation. Ignis knows that he's in danger - mortal danger here. He tries to keep his breathing still, not wanting to give the man of pleasure that he'd hurt Ignis. Fresh tears prick at his eyes from the pain, but he blinks them away. Sweat cakes his forehead and blood is slowly pooling out from his shoulder. His head pounds from when he'd gotten hit. His jaw hurts a bit too.
He's had worse. Doesn't mean that he isn't afraid, no, he'll be lying to himself. He's terrified for his life. He doesn't want to die here, at the mercy of some strange man. No, he'd rather go out on his own terms. Just as he'd promised Noctis.
Noctis... his heart hurts thinking of him now. As much as he'd like to join him, wherever he is, he can't right now.
I'm sorry, Noct.
Something cold and threatening hits his forehead and terror sinks in, a gun. The barrel of a gun is being pushed against his head. One wrong move and he's done for.
Stuck to the wall, terrified, tied up, sweat beating into his eyes, all he can do is wait on the bullet to pierce his skull. All he can hope for is a quick end.
Noct... help. Please. Stupid to beg for Noctis' help when he's dead. Noctis can't hear his thoughts. But he does so anyway as a comfort to himself. Help me, please.... ]
All the warnings and prophecies and visions in the world could not have prepared Noctis for what it would feel like to die. Every blow was painful, more than anything else he'd experienced over the course of his journey, perhaps even his entire life. The Marilith attack had hurt him terribly, rehab and recovery moreso. Still, it was nothing like this. The love and friendship of his family held him steady, even though they were far from his side; he couldn't see or hear them, but he felt their presence, keeping him grounded, and he felt their hands at his back just as surely as the throne on which he sat. He took the punishment, all of it, held on until the very last breath as his father's sword plunged through his heart. He found Ardyn Izunia in the world beyond life and death, called upon the power of light, the Crystal, the ring, and all of his ancestors, and two souls were destroyed in their entirety. His last thought, it's finally over, is hardly a fractional expression of how tired he is. Ten years in the Crystal asleep and even now all he wants to do is rest.
(At the same time, he feels loss, an ache, a longing for more. To go home. To live. To see his friends again. To experience love.)
Oblivion rises up to claim him, his whole being scattered into empty ashes, and he welcomes death without a fight.
-------
He dreams of Luna.
He finds her in the Citadel, waiting for him, dressed in the wedding gown that had been on display in Altissia. She smiles at him and takes his hand. "Show me your home, dear Noctis," she murmurs, and he obliges. He guides her down long, echoing hallways, into the elaborate ancient rooms of what was once a castle, through the gardens he used to hide and play in as a child. They share a dance in a grand ballroom, slow and romantic to the song in their hearts, and she smiles as he stumbles in his steps but does not laugh, only guides him back into position, eternally patient. He spins her about and delights at the click of her heels over the patterned tiles of his family's emblems. The Citadel is empty save for them, but somehow he can still hear the echoes of everyone who once lived here, who shared this life with him. His father's booming confidence, the calm protective nature of Clarus, Cor's calculating glances, Gladio's smirk, Prompto's laughter. Ignis, always watching, understanding in his eyes behind his glasses.
This is what their wedding should have been like, he thinks. Warm and fun and attended by all of their dearest friends and family. A celebration of life, one they hadn't chosen but could have, someday, if the world had let them.
He tells her about his adventures, about the harrowing but exciting journey through Lucis. He does not speak of anything beyond Altissia, when the joy ended and everything fell apart. Instead: reeling in enormous fishes, rising the hunter ranks, battling against and alongside the Astrals, leading the Imperials on wild chases across the continent. Of his friends, of the steadfast support they'd always offered him. Of how the thought of seeing her again at long last had kept him strong, kept him going. He'd hoped it had been the same for her.
With her supporting hand, he finds the courage to walk up those steps again, sit at the throne where he'd died. He finds his chosen photo there, and offers it out to her: a picture of the four of them, his family, and now those he loves most are in the world all together again, them and her. His father's presence is residual, always felt strongest at the throne, so King Regis too is with him. It's... not lonely, not at all. He'd been so afraid of feeling lonely. This isn't the perfect ending he'd prayed for growing up, but Luna's hand is warm between his fingers, and the memory of his beloved friends soothes his restless heart. He draws her close and kisses her, imagining once more a wedding that will never be; he can practically hear the bells, as she moves closer to him, settling her head on his shoulder.
"Rest, my love," she whispers. "We've earned our rest. The world no longer needs us here."
I've loved two people, he thinks idly, his cheek pillowed against her silken hair, feeling content, feeling happy, but feeling... incomplete, at the same time. He's so glad to be here with her, and he's still so tired. He closes his eyes, ready to sleep, to let himself pass on. He doesn't have to stay.
(he wants to stay.)
He's allowed to sleep forever.
(the world is out there, waiting.)
It isn't his choice to make.
(if he had a choice, though--)
"Rest," Luna says again, gentle, understanding his conflict and longing to grant him the peace she felt, here together in this oblivion. Her soul beckons to what is left of his, after the Crystal left him fragmented, and he follows her. He rests.
-------
ARISE, O CHOSEN
THY NUMBER MUST BE TWENTY-FOUR
UNTIL THY NAME IS CALLED, UNTIL THE SIX COME AGAIN UNTO THIS WORLD
THY REWARD IS REST
-------
He rests.
He rests.
He rests.
He rests.
He-
-------
Help me, please--
-wakes up.
The experience of reversing death is decidedly jarring, and for a long moment afterwards, as Noctis sits up in the sand, he can only stare out at his surroundings and try to parse what it means to exist after so long of the opposite. He looks down at his hands - hands? is that normal? did he ever have hands before? - his eyes roving over the angry red lines tracing pathways up the arm of the right, each one pulsing softly like a heartbeat. (did he have a heartbeat? what even is a heartbeat?) The other arm is soft and pale, almost like it belongs on someone else's body, though he recognizes it as his own, familiar calloused fingers that should be holding a sword. His veins are blue, and would seem almost normal if not for the silver-blue glimmer he can feel underneath the skin, ready to seep from his fingertips when he needs to call on it. The power to burn, and the power to heal. His new calling. He'd been summoned, pulled out of his sleep, by-
help me, noct
That's me, he thinks. He thinks, but he isn't sure. It sounds right, as he rolls it over his tongue. It had sounded more right when spoken by the voice he'd heard calling out to him, a voice so familiar that it made his heart ache. His beating heart. That... he had, now. Again. (again?) It wasn't the voice of his god, his patron, or of any of the Six. Not one of the other Messengers either. Why does he know it, if not one of those? He should know no other.
The voice calls him again, desperate and frightened, and he pushes aside all of his thoughts aside from one: save him. help him. find him. He follows the call to the shack behind him, a pitiful looking thing that seems abandoned besides the angry noises he can hear just inside the door. Without a single moment of hesitation he pushes against the door and forces his way inside, letting it slam against the wall and make the whole place tremble. Inside, there is a man pinned against a wall, while another holds a gun to his head. The gun wielder is not who called to him; he is irrelevant, an empty vessel of violence and lust, already twisting to face the intruder, gun lifted, shouting at him to stop. Noct's eyes shift to the one below, the man restrained and wounded. Something in his heart twists, and he remembers the voice that had called to him, had woken him up.
save him, save him.
He does not heed the aggressor's warning- he takes a step forward, intent on reaching the wounded man. The gun goes off, and without thinking he lifts his right hand, intent on catching the bullet with his palm rather than take the damage somewhere more critical; Messengers were fragments of their aligned gods, but they were not entirely immortal. While he might have existed as a spirit afterward, he'd only just gotten this body, and he sort of wants to keep it. Rather than take the damage, however, the second that bullet hits his palm it burns, melting and disintegrating into dust. The man gapes at him, horrified, and begins to fire wildly, suddenly enraged and desperate to save himself. None of the bullets stop Noct's approach, and the noise of gunfire is replaced by the agonized shrieking of a dying animal as the hand of Bahamut's chosen Messenger touches human flesh and incinerating fire spreads all across his body, lighting him up as surely as if he'd been hit by a full spell flask at point-blank range. He scrabbles against the fingers curled around his wrist, flailing and beating at wherever he could reach, but Noctis does not release him. This isn't a human, he can only think, absent and unmoved by the creature's pain. This is a monster, unfit for life. Consumed by a burning greed so powerful it can only think to hurt others. The justice of the Bladekeeper would not harm an innocent. How many had it already killed, following such pursuits?
save him, save him.
When the man stops screaming, burned halfways to oblivion and unrecognizable, Noctis releases him, letting the body slump lifeless to the floor. Taking a human life might be shameful, were he one himself, but he's not. Neither of them are, in truth. A Messenger killed a monster, and the life of a human has been saved. The Glacian would praise him. Perhaps she'd been the one to allow his awakening, understanding the value of human life. Understanding... love?
He frowns as the word flits into his consciousness, and he shakes the ashes off of his hand and moves in front of the man on the floor, crouching down so they can be eye to eye. He reaches his right hand up to brush gently over the man's jaw, tracing the line of it. Familiar.
Why is this familiar? Why is he familiar?
He wrestles for his own voice, but he can't find it. He can't remember what he sounds like, how to speak to this man who is so familiar to him that it hurts to look at him. So he stares into green eyes that he should know, he should absolutely know, his own eyes discoloured, one the same deep blue as he'd had in life while the other the vibrant fuschia of his new, divine connection. He stares and quietly pleads for a place to start, something to latch on. For the man's voice, again.
[ He's dead, he's dead. That's all he can thinks and he shuts his eyes. He doesn't want his last vision to be of that man. He takes in a deep breath, clinging to thoughts of Noctis now. His eyes, face, the way how he smiles.
Noctis. The man who he had fallen in love with all of those years ago and still loves to this day.
His heart beat picks up, any second now - any second and he'll be dead --
-- The sudden noise of the door slamming and his kidnappers voice start him. He jerks in surprise, causing his shoulder to whine in pain. He cries out in pain from the movement. As the scene unfolds in front of him, the gun going off and the newcomer catching the bullet in his hand, Ignis gets a familiar feeling from his savior.
His ears are ringing from the loud gunshot, but he watches as the newcomer burns his kidnapper to death. Green eyes watch as the person who saved him crouches down next to him. A hand traces his jawline, hand so familiar to him. He hadn't felt this touch in five years, not since the shared dream that he and Noctis had together. This touch is so familiar to Ignis, but he doesn't want to believe. Noctis is dead, so who is still strange person?
Green eyes study the man looking into his own. His heart skips a beat at seeing the the blue eye watching his. He knows that shade of blue anywhere.
Noctis. Noct. His Noctis.
He can't find his own voice, just studying the person for a moment. It's been five years, there's no way that he's alive... There's no way. He had seen Noctis' form in the throne room, slumped and dead. He'd done it, saved the world and brought back the light and the stars.
... Noct. You're dead.
Tears prick at his eyes, unbelieving, but desperately wanting to believe. He's lost Noctis twice already, once to the Crystal and once to death, saving the world. Gods, it was the hardest thing he had to do, was letting Noctis go like that.
Who are you? But he knows deep down who this is. The look has changed, but that blue eye, his touch. Please, let it be him. He doesn't care how he's back. A part of him is telling him to be rational, but the love he has for Noctis just doesn't care. Ignis pushes that rational side of himself to the side.
Believe. Skeptical. Believe. His emotions are betraying him. He's forgotten about the predicament that he's still in for the moment. Ignis is still, letting his savior study him. ]
.... Noct? [ voice hoarse, a whisper, pleading, disbelief, wanting to believe in this miracle. ] ... Is it really you?
[Surprisingly, considering how harrowing the last several days had been, their journey from Hammerhead to Lestallum was astonishingly free of further incident. The following day, Ignis was in better state to finish off the hunt, and they somehow managed to locate Ignis' other dagger in the process. Once they'd handed in the hunt, the extra funds were able to cover a fresh tank of gas and give them an extra stockpile for supplies in Lestallum, as well as a nice hotel stay. Plus they scored some fresh anak meat, which made for a lovely lunch at camp after the fact.
(Mid-meal Noctis had suddenly recalled a dream where he'd turned into an anak, back when he was a child, so that was a fun surprise too. He used to love anak, though he can't remember that, yet.)
On one of the dusty, less-traveled roads along the way, he'd attempted to drive the Regalia, but the experience had been brief and kind of mediocre, nearly steering them into a dualhorn herd somehow. Ignis had done the bulk of driving after that, and while Noctis was apologetic, he couldn't deny that he'd felt relieved. Ignis looked super out of place in the passenger seat, and even if he had remembered how to drive, Noctis couldn't help feeling some anxiety about his... less-human side being the one Ignis had in his peripheral, even with the jacket and his hair to hide most of it. The sooner they reached the city and he could cover up, the better he'd feel about everything.
They were still careful, of course. They didn't know how many people were following them, and how far they'd go for vengeance. But the more distance they placed between themselves and Insomnia, the more relaxing it all felt. There was an undeniable nostalgia to the journey, the equivalent of meeting with an old friend after a long absence- which, in a sense, is exactly what this is. Memories come in flickers and flashes, idle comments as the scenery flies by and remnants of the last or first time they'd passed through here together rise to the forefront of Noct's mind. Things like, "didn't we watch that one Imperial guy blow up for the third time in there?" as they drove by the abandoned remains of Formouth, or "I think Prompto almost fed me to one of those things," as they watched a pair of catoblepas in Alstor Slough, or "can we pull over for a sec? My head hurts," as they approached the Disc of Cauthess. None of them significant moments, but tiny hints that offered some encouragement that they were on the right path. By the time they crossed the bridge towards Lestallum, Noctis was in good spirits, sitting up and leaning over the edge of the car to stare at the vast stretch of Taelpar below ("do you think Gilgamesh is still down there?"). The tunnel leading into the city proper is a warm, encouraging sight, and although Noctis is tempted to shrink down into his seat at the sight of so many people milling about after such a long stretch of isolation, he resists the urge in favour of taking in the sights. It won't be long now before he can walk around without feeling so self-conscious.
Their shared dream gives him the memories of Lestallum enough to navigate parts of the city, carrying them to the marketplace and to a general supplies store, where he's able to procure a sturdy pair of combat-ready gloves and coloured contacts as well as any supplies needed for their maintenance. The whole set-up looks alien to him, but he's committed to it, and they come with instructions, so... it can't be that hard, right?
Evidently it can, he finds out later that night, once they've checked into the Leville and he's on minute twenty-three of trying to get a single contact into the glowing Astral eye he's been so desperate to cover since they left the garage. He told himself he'd get it in before dinner, but cursing, squinting, and glaring at his reflection in the mirror has gotten him no closer. The pale blue contact stares back at him on the tip of his finger, coated in contact solution and ready to claim victory of round 10. Noctis is not impressed.]
I wish I'd asked Prompto for tips on how to put contacts in. [A pause, and then,] Hey, Iggy? Prompto wore contacts. I remember that too, now.
[Another little memory, which is nice, but it doesn't help with the current problem. Maybe he should just try again in the morning...]
[ The hunt went off without any issues, especially after he'd found his other dagger on the ground, this time, he'd stuck to Noctis' side and it felt like the old days. He was taken back to fifteen years ago, fighting along with Noctis like it was natural. He put the anak mean with the supplies then they had made their way towards Hammerhead, Ignis had wanted to keep it short and brief, quick in and out of Takka's diner, then fill up the gas tank, Ignis completely forgetting to get a can of Ebony.
He couldn't relax at first, tense as they got on the road considering the second terrorist had tracked them from Hammerhead, but he wasn't noticing any cars following them this time. After he and Noctis switched places, Ignis felt more in his element being behind the wheel and he kept glancing over at him out of the corner of his eye, noticing him relaxing. Ignis tried to follow suit, but seeing Noctis relax helped him out greatly and by the time they reached Lestallum, Ignis felt better. During the drive, he'd notice Noctis making small comments here and there, like he was recalling small things - though he did raise an eyebrow at Noctis saying that Prompto nearly feeding him to a catoblepas, he hadn't heard about that one. He didn't ask about it, but mentally filed it away for later once Noctis had gotten his memories back or to ask Prompto about it next time he saw him.
In Lestallum, he was taken back to their shared dream and that must have helped Noctis out finding stores that he needed to get a pair of gloves and contacts. Even though the crowd was quite large, a ping of worry was creeping into the back of mind of someone might be watching them, but he pushed it aside. No one would be dumb enough to try anything in a city this crowded. It was only once in the Leville that Ignis was able to fully relax, though tired from their journey - the lack of Ebony doesn't help there either.
He's leaning against the bathroom's doorway, a look of amusement on his face as he watches Noctis struggle to get the contacts in. He's been at it for a good twenty minutes or more. Contacts aren't his thing personally, Ignis has always been a glasses guy, but he isn't wearing them now.
He slips behind Noctis and just like in their shared dream, he wraps an arm around his, carefully slipping his hand on the back of Noctis'. He can tell that Noct is getting frustrated with getting the contacts in so he's hoping that this relaxes him a bit and this might be his way of trolling Noctis a bit. He's missed fun, especially after the past few days. ]
Don't tell me that you're going to let a contact beat you. [ His tone playful yet challenging - he hadn't meant to challenge Noctis when he drank half a can of Ebony in the shared dream, but now he is, hoping that helps as well. He knows that Noctis wants to hide his eye from people and blend in better, Ignis jacket has been helping wonders with that. ]
You have this, Noct. [ Then he release Noct's arm and steps back, releaning against the doors frame and just watching. ]
[Noctis makes an annoyed noise, though he does tilt a little in Ignis' direction as he pulls away, drawn like a magnet for a moment before he can refocus. Ignis is right. It's a contact, which means it's stupid and inanimate and he's fought more dangerous things before. Terrorists and giant beasts and daemons. He saved the world. He can put a piece of plastic against his eyeball.]
Yeah, I got it. Just gotta... angle it, I guess. ...Ugh.
[This is so ridiculous. Why couldn't the gods have given him normal eyes? Maybe he could just wear tinted glasses all the time... though that, too, would be admitting defeat. He won't have that now. With a sigh and a scowl, he gives it another go.
It takes a few more failed attempts and extra cursing, but at last he manages to wiggle it into position, squinting and blinking repeatedly as he adjusts to the feel of it before pausing and scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror.]
...So... what do you think?
[The colour is a little mismatched between the two eyes, if one looks closely, but in the dim interior light it's not immediately noticeable that one is a coloured contact instead of a natural shade. At the very least it's far less noticeable than the gleaming amethyst it'd been when left uncovered. When they're out and about, he shouldn't stand out nearly as much between that and his new attire. And more importantly, he looks a little more like himself, which he hopes will help Ignis feel safer.]
[I love you, Ignis says before they sleep. He's out before Noctis can respond in kind, but he thinks it, and he hopes Ignis remembers what he feels tomorrow and on all the grim days that are likely to follow. He can't, and won't, promise that he won't feel this gloominess again. In some ways it's the most himself he's been since his revival. In his heart he is happy too, though. He's found happiness here. As hard as it can be sometimes, there is plenty of joy to find in this life, and he feels it strong enough to bursting in moments where he can forget about everything except the world that awaits them and Ignis' hand in his.
Of course, that's always the perfect time for fate to intervene and ruin things; such is the way of Noctis Lucis Caelum.
He feels it the moment he awakens, that soft but irresistable tug on his soul. The Astral's call. It doesn't feel like Bahamut, though with the powers he'd been granted, he assumed he was a Messenger for the Draconian. It feels kinder, more patient. Almost... apologetic.
He knows he can't escape it, but still, he fights that pull. Some time in the night he'd turned around so he was face to face with Ignis, and watching him sleep like this, arms around one another... he doesn't want to go. Don't make me leave, please, he thinks back to the voice calling him. Don't make me say goodbye again. He'd dreaded it of course, a day when he'd be called back, but... what reason is there for a Messenger in the world? The Chosen is gone, the Crystal is gone, the Oracles are long dead. The gods have gone back to sleep. Why was he sent back if not to be free, just for a while?
The voice tugs again, a noose around his neck. Less gentle. You will come. A pause, and then softly again, He will see your face again before the end, O Fragment of the Light.
He doesn't particularly like the sound of that- the phrasing, or the butchered title, but he can resist no longer. A Messenger is ever at the beck and call of the Astrals who created him. So Noctis closes his eyes, leans in to kiss Ignis on the forehead while he still sleeps, and vanishes from within his arms, leaving him alone on the bed. He follows the call.
He is summoned to the peaks beyond Lestallum's power plant, a cliff overlooking the meteor fragments and the city built up around it, gleaming in greys and silvers in the morning light. From above he can see the damage it must have endured for 10 years in the dark, much improved but still limping along in the recovery process. The dawn may have come, but all it did was shine a light on all the scars it had gained.
"Even were the dawn to break now... it would only bring the horrors to light!"
He blinks at the unexpected thought flitting through his mind, but before he can chase it, a voice calls him from behind.]
"Glad I am to see you whole and well." [He turns to find Gentiana there, smiling calmly in the way he somehow remembers she always did.] "Has our gift been to your satisfaction?"
[His brows furrow.] Gift... I guess. Why did you bring me back, though? Am I supposed to have some kind of mission again?
"A new mission for the Fragment of the Light..." [Gentiana hums at the question, beginning to walk. He moves to follow.] "We Six have decided. Now that the Calling has been fulfilled, until a new calamity falls upon the world, the Messengers shall live freely."
...Are... we expecting a new Calamity? [Gentiana smiles at that, and it just makes Noctis feel more nervous.] Hey, come on.
"The prophecy is complete. Whatever fate befalls the Star, it is in the hands of men now, not gods."
[It isn't reassuring, but neither is it damning. Like always, the Astrals are obtuse at the best of times.] Okay, so... I can live free. Cool. But why did you bring me back? I thought... [He winces, looking down.] I thought I was supposed to die.
[Gentiana pauses in her walk.] "...The King of Light fulfilled his calling, and made the sacrifice required for the world. He died, and so was meant to remain as dust. Like many who came before him, he earned the right to rest at last. But rest... did not come for him. He lingered in the dark, broken by all he had lost. In the place beyond the Crystal, his soul lay shattered, in pieces, and could not move on. Such a tragic end could not be allowed for a champion of the gods."
[Noctis listens quietly, his gaze shifting to the grass beneath their feet. So... what, he'd been too sad and broken to pass on gracefully? Or had something gone wrong with his sacrifice, and he'd never made it to whatever afterlife existed after his death? Either way... that sounded like such a pitiful existence. He's glad he doesn't remember five years of that.]
"A promise was made to the Accursed, and so too it was made, unspoken, to the Chosen who opposed him: that which is dead shall not linger for eternity. His soul found peace by the hand of the King of Light." [Gentiana continues, ignoring his racing thoughts.] "Together we gathered up the fragments of the king's soul, and bound them together as one of our own, so that peace can be found in a new life, as it was not found in death."
A new life... [He echoes quietly.] Is... that why I can't remember? I'm not meant to have my old life anymore? Do I have to start over?
[Her smile softens, and she reaches out a hand, fingers gracing softly across his forehead.] "We could not complete our work. Some pieces were destroyed in the dark, others were lost. The Six cannot promise that your life will fully return to you, but it was your choice to leave before you were ready."
My choice? Why would I-
"The Fragment of Light still carries enough of the king that was lost in his heart to do as he did in years past," [she answers, and there is amusement in her eyes.] "He protected that which he loves."
[It takes a second to click. He blinks at her, confused and puzzled, until the final piece of understanding sinks into place, and- oh. Oh, shit.] I chose to forget... so I could go save Ignis. [She smiles again, all the answer he needs to stumble back, both palms pressed up against his face.] Oh my god, I really did that. I've been freaking out this whole time, and it was my own damn fault.
[He kind of wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He doesn't regret- can't regret, not really. Not now that he knows. Remembering everything would be pointless, worthless, if he was alone with his memories. Ignis is alive because he threw away what wasn't important, compared to the safety of the one he loves. He can make new memories from now on. They can make new memories, together.
She begins to walk again, and he picks up the pace to walk beside her, asking more questions, some of which are answered and others not. Why he has powers (a gift to him, and to the world), what he's meant to do next (whatever he wants), can he get more memories back over time (perhaps), are the gods active (they're napping again), why are assassins absolute bastards (she did not answer that one). He quickly loses track of time, at first desperate for answers, but as the conversation carries on and he learns that for the most part, the expectations of what he's meant to do are basically nothing, he feels... so much lighter. The future is free and open, the world is waiting for him, and his calling is clear. It's over.
[ Ignis is worried, understandably so. He'd woken up to an empty bed, confused and puzzled. It taken him a second to glance over at the bathroom, but nothing. He'd checked their hotel room to a Noctis missing and he's cleared out Lestallum itself, even going as far as checking their hotel room again, but empty.
He has a choice, to head north or south, it only takes him a moment to make his decision to run towards the tunnel that leads to the Hunter's HQ, which is still standing, even after the long lasting night.
He'd though about grabbing a chocobo but decided against it in the end, not wanting to cause too much noise. The less noise he makes the better. Once he's clear from the tunnel, he uses the trees as cover to try to hide in the shadows. He keeps his flashlight dim, but bright enough for him to see. He's urgently calling out Noct's name, in a whisper, afraid that might alert a terrorist.
Ignis keeps moving, debating in his mind whether to keep looking or to head back, absolutely torn on what to do. Maybe he's worrying over nothing? No, what if Noctis is in trouble? He has to keep searching. It's stupid of him to be out like this without backup, but he can't bring himself to care; if Noct is in danger then he needs to find him. Now.
A hand is pressed against a tree, he's a little past the farm. He'd been surprised to see it alive and well, but it made sense. Where else would the food have come from during the ten years? He exhales a breath. He looks up at the night sky for a moment then starts to move again when something hits the back of his head.
Ignis stumbles a step and before he gets a chance to look behind him, he's out cold.
--------
They got him, the terrorists that is. They dragged him off to an empty building that's long since been abandoned. They get Ignis situated in the middle of the first room, turning his head to look away from the door. They debate on restraining him, but they decide against it. At first glance from afar, he appears to be dead.
They hide after that, waiting on the one who keeps saving him and killing off their men. They've lost two so far, surely the one will come and walk straight into this trap. ]
[When he at last parts from Gentiana, Noctis is smiling, still riding that confused high of having zero expectations or direction, something he's fairly certain he's never felt in his life, even without memories. He returns to the hotel room ready to wake Ignis and share the good news, but instead he finds it empty. He can see the frenetic energy left behind; the haphazard way the place has been searched, the signs that Ignis made a hasty exit. Of course... he'd been gone too long, and Ignis went looking for him. Idiot, he really should have left a note, but the call had been so intense that he hadn't had even a few moments to resist.]
You could have given me that much, Gentiana... come on.
[He grumbles to the empty space, trying to stamp down a wave of worry before it grows too strong. He's... fine, probably. He's just searching the city for Noctis. It should be a simple thing to track him down, ease his worries, and then they can grab breakfast and be on their way. No big deal at all. The worry grows as he sits on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes and focusing on searching for his quarry. Like before, that first time, finding him in the desert... and then after, beyond the hunt... find him, find him.
That worry only grows as he feels a certain... weakness to his destination. A familiar one. Pain.
Standing abruptly, he grabs his sword, focuses intently on the location where he'd felt it, and with a blur of energy gifted to him by the gods, he's there. An unfamiliar building, a seemingly empty room, and right there, slumped over like he's- NO-]
Ignis! [he cries out at the sight as soon as his eyes rest upon it, terror surging through him. He sees nothing else in that moment, his hand reaching, taking a step forward. He can barely make two steps before someone shouts at his back, an explosion rings through the air, and something hits him right in the small of his back. He stumbles, lunging forward to draw his sword and cover Ignis in one swift motion, tongues of flame licking their way up his arm; he'd left without putting in his contacts, so his eyes glow an otherworldly blue and red as he snarls at the men suddenly crawling out of the woodwork in the room around them. Just a handful of them, but enough to challenge him, especially if they're as skilled as the ones who came before. Carrying swords, knives, guns...
He doesn't think, only moves as quickly as his legs can carry him towards the first man, not giving them time to regain their courage against what is probably the first sign of magic in fifteen years, if they'd ever seen it at all. He has few advantages in this room, so he'll take what he can get. He found new purpose this morning, gained his freedom, and he is not losing his life or Ignis' to these terrorists, too blind and stupid to move on in the fresh chance at life they'd been given when the dawn rose. He'd died for men like them, and they can only think to waste it.
He doesn't stab, though such strikes would be more deadly. He can't risk getting his blade stuck in a body, wasting precious seconds. He slashes and he burns, twisting and spinning his way through the men with a ferocity he's never felt before. The other men had made him angry, yes, but he'd been fighting only for Ignis' sake back then, mindless to his own needs, expecting to live beyond the fight in some manner or other, the way Messengers often do. This time, though- this time, he's fighting for the both of them, for the gift of life he'd been handed by a goddess mere minutes ago. He dances through the ranks, batting their blades away, deflecting gunshots with fire and burning those foolish enough to give him the time to ignite flames beyond his defensive circle. One man goes down, then another. A third falls, but one rises again, not yet dead. He has no idea how long he fights, only that he will not stop-
-until suddenly, he does. Something impacts him from behind again, this time grazing his head enough to make him stumble, and that's all the men need to close ranks and knock him down. His sword is ripped away from his hand, kicked out of his reach, and two men pin him one on each arm, forcing him against the floor. A third moves in and kicks him in the gut, once, twice. He gasps for air, his head slumped back, trying to see Ignis, but they've blocked his view. I have to find him. I was- I was going to save him, I want-
The men don't care what he wants, though. They crowd around him, trying to crush his limbs so he can't fight, pressing down on his wounds so they bleed out. The leader stabs his knife into Noct's shoulder, blade twisting, and he screams, unable to help himself. Revenge, they say, for their fallen comrades. For the night of sin they lost. They'll kill him first, nice and slow to punish him, snuff out whatever corruption is inside him that made him like this, and then they'll move on to the others.
"You've been a thorn in our side, delaying our mission," the man above him is saying, angered, holding a knife smeared with blood. (His blood?) He keeps talking, but Noctis isn't listening. He's still trying to find Ignis. Ignis who he now thinks might be alive, but for how long?
I need to heal him, he thinks desperately, eyes darting back and forth, the enraged gleam in them growing clouded over with pain and fear. I can't let him die, I can't, I don't want to die without him-
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calling the bibblybap
Hey you <3
Guess where I am
right around the flippityflap
do I get a hint?
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Out of the country?
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whaaaat? you're traveling without me!?
you're not in space are you
you're so couched if you went to space
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I'm kind of sick of space rn
[You know, getting kidnapped for the nth time, being crowned king of space, Billy getting an Eldritch abomination virus from it, yadda yadda yadda]
besides, I wouldn't go without you <3
i wanted to scope out some sweet vacation spots
[Or maybe, honeymoon spots? For later?]
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how dare you tag me while i leave for work
im like that
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asch ketchum (let's make this official and not handwaved)
In the end, many had returned to their worlds, and some, those who enjoyed their lives here or had none to return to, had stayed. Stella, belonging to the latter, saw her family off while barely holding herself together. She was, at least, able to do so with a smile. No matter how faked it was, she was a master of it.
She may never see them again, but at least they were going to live the life they wanted.
It was tempting to go back herself, to finally rest for good, but... no. Not when there was a life here. Not when there were at least a few people she had to stay alive for. Not when, even with her family gone, she still had a semblance of happiness. And... perhaps, a chance for more.
She gave it a week, for everyone to recover from the loss, to adjust to life with a big portion of the population gone. Once that passed, she found herself in front of the door of Asch's house. Normally, she wouldn't hesitate, but what she had in mind... it might change things. No, it would change things. Whether it was for better or worse was what gave her pause.
Shutting her eyes and taking in a deep breath, Stella took a step forward and knocked on the door.]
i made an unholy noise also i am so out of practice
Even Star's gone back. The house is too quiet. So many of the houses are quiet, these days.
That's what makes the knock so startling, and it only takes a few moments for him to open it, puzzled that he of all people might find himself with a visitor. The confusion fades, however, as soon as he sees who it is.]
Stella...
[And now he feels like an idiot for just sitting here feeling sorry for himself- she must feel much the same way, these days.]
it's okay i am too
Luceti itself... seemed too big now for the population it currently had.
But that wasn't important right now. Though she worried all the way here, seeing Asch melted some of it away, and she can't help the smile that comes up - a genuine one this time.]
Hello, Asch.
[She tilts her head a bit,] Can I come in? Or we could talk in the doorway.
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No, uh- that would be ridiculous. You want some tea?
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For Noctis;
Ignis knows what's to come and he doesn't like it one bit. His heart hurts and swells at the same time. Ignis is generally touched by those simple words. Yes, there had been days where it was frustrating taking care of the prince, no King, that's standing before him, but he wouldn't change a thing.
He can't help but let the tears roll down his cheeks, a small smile on his face. It's sad.
So much has changed in the past ten years. Ignis had found his footing in battles and cooking again. He waited for the day for Noctis to come out of the crystal, but while he knew he'll get to say hello, but he had to also say good-bye. He doesn't want to say good-bye to his dearest friend.
Sometimes he curses that vision he had gotten. There were times where he didn't want to know this. Noctis' fate. It's been ten years since then and he still hasn't accepted it. He tried to find a way to save both Noctis and the world, but he'd failed. Now that the final night is here, he can't help but feel like a failure in that regard. His sworn duty was -is- to protect Noctis and he took that role seriously. Perhaps a bit too seriously. He's a failure.
He exhales a breath as if to calm himself, but it doesn't work. Another tear runs down his face.
He cares very, very deeply for Noctis. His whole life has been wrapped up in Noctis that it's just hard for him to accept a life without him. He can't do it. As both of Noctis' hands clutch his own, he's taken back to the first day they met. Ignis was only six years old, Noctis a fair bit younger. Ignis squeezes one of Noctis' hands in his own. ]
... Noct. [ voice almost a whisper, cracking at the edges. His own voice betraying the way how he feels right in this moment. He can't think of anything else to say. Noctis doesn't know that he knows what's to happen to his friend. No, brother. Six, he can't do this. He needs Noctis' strength if he's going to be able to move on.
Gladio and Prompto had protested when Ignis had gotten up, but he ignored them. They didn't put up too much of a fight when Ignis made his way to where Noctis was standing.
Ten years without Noctis at his side, he buried himself in hunts, cooked for Cid and did other things to try to make time fly faster when he wasn't looking into saving Noctis.
"Looking." He still can't see, it's a price that he had paid in Altissia all of those years ago. Noctis still doesn't know about that one either. So much that he's keeping from Noctis....
Another sharp breath escapes him. He knows Noctis is ten years older now, but he can't help but see him as the twenty year old from years ago. He wishes he could see his brother one last time. But this will have to do.
Ignis stands before Noctis, trying to put on a brave face, but failing. Tone of voice and tears giving him away. ]
time 2 sad
Quietly, he's glad that Ignis can't see him like this. He'd only seen himself in the mirror at Hammerhead briefly, when he'd been given one last chance to clean up and make himself presentable before he marched himself towards the end. Poke at the beard he doesn't remember growing, brush the hair that falls past his shoulders in strange waves, study the tired lines of aging beyond his years the way his father did as the ring sapped his strength. He envies the others a little, for getting the chance to grow slowly and witness their changes over time, even if it all occurred in a horrible hellscape of a world. His father used to joke that he grew up too quickly, in a voice fond and sad in ways that Noctis didn't understand. Staring into the mirror and seeing a stranger stare back at him with only ghosts of familiar features... it's ironic in retrospect, with a painful little twinge in his heart. Ten years had come and gone in a fraction of time for him, too fast, with little time to reflect on everything he's missed: a full third of the lives of his dearest friends, probably half-forgotten by the people he was meant to protect, a king in name only. Stretched to fit into a body he no longer knows, a face he barely recognizes. The whole thing felt like overnight while at the same time an eternity, but here he is at the end of it all.
Ignis didn't get to see himself grow, either. But it means that in their hearts they can still be as they were- young, and wild, and stupid in ways that no one else understood. And it's only the end for him- he's here to make sure that everyone else has a future.
He doesn't acknowledge the tears, but he doesn't let go of Ignis' hand right away, either. Letting go means that this moment is over, and he's not sure if he's ready for that yet. His feelings on what's to come are... complicated, understandably. He's made his peace, but that only means he'll follow through with his duty, as he always has despite complaints or the grief that made him falter at times, despite how it has never once brought him joy. He'd also said he had no regrets; that's true, but only because he'd been forced to let them go, lest they overwhelm him and make him falter. That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt to think about everything he's about to lose. The brothers who gather around him here and now, Ignis at his side, Gladio and Prompto at camp giving them some space. His life, any chance he might have at being a proper king. Any adventures they might have together, exploring the world, helping people, discovering incredible new places none of them could have ever imagined. The love he carries for this world and everything in it.
He'll let the last of those regrets go, before it's over. But... right now... he doesn't want to move forward. Just a little longer. They've waited ten years- just a little longer-]
Ignis... sit with me for a while?
*signs up for fields trip*
O-of course. [ His tone is still betraying his emotions, always a deep sadness hidden there. ] Away from the others.
[ Ignis has gotten good at walking around, a skilled hunter to where he doesn't need a cane anymore. He's long since trashed it. Still, he'll let Noctis lead the way. Always following and loyal to a fault. ]
*feels trip
He murmurs to Ignis where the edge is and sits down carefully with him, only loosening his grip once they're settled. He shuffles forward just enough to let his legs dangle, as he was so often fond of doing on roofs and balconies, half because he liked it and half to make Ignis sigh about perceived dangers. Though it would be ironic to endure everything for so long only to die from falling off a cliff right at the finish line. Thank the gods for the power to warp.]
I missed so much... what about you? Got one more lecture for me? Anything you'll regret, if you don't take care of it tonight?
[A kinder way to say any last words, he hopes. It's not as if they'll get another chance to talk privately after this.]
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That's not what he wanted to say at all. Not after what they went through in the short amount of time they had together. The night and the dream. Ignis sighs at his desk and looks over the paperwork for Noctis' funeral. It's only been a month since he died.
His final gift to Ignis, was his eyesight back. He can see again. He rubs at his temples and lets out an annoyed frustrated sigh. This shouldn't be so difficult to get the arrangements set up, but Ignis is being picky about it all. Noctis deserves something special.
Seeing how he's not getting any more work done, he snaps the files shut and leaves his office, shutting the light off. The Citadel is home, but he stays clear of the throne room. He doesn't want to remember seeing Noctis that way, slumped over his chair like that.
Fresh tears prick at his eyes, but he blinks them away. He hastily leaves for home, murmuring good nights to the guards.
One Year Later (Post-Noctis Death)
He kept his promise. Ignis sits at the final campsite, looking over the stars in the night sky. One year to the day since they had shared their final night here.
He's crying quietly, god, his heart aches. It had been so hard for him to let go like that. He'd tried to find a way to save Noctis, but he'd failed there too. He'd lost. A piece of himself is flat out missing and he can't deal with it or anyone else right now. He'd taken a personal day off from his duties.
I love you. In love, even. He's still in love with Noctis and he knows that deep down that no one can ever replace him. He has to try at least, but that day is not today.
Noctis' funeral had been something special alright. It went off without a hitch, it was small at first for personal friends and family. But it'd opened up to the general public later. They mourned their fallen king too, but no one grieved harder than himself, Gladio or Prompto did.
Both of them are doing well, he supposes. Prompto making it big with his photos and Gladio got married to the girl he'd fallen in love with. He still trains people.
Ignis sighs and lays back and recalls Noctis rescuing him. It had been a strange feeling to be the one in trouble.
You better not pull anything like that again, you hear? I need you with me. He'd gotten scolded for it, only because Noctis had been worried sick. His own foolishness had gotten him into that mess.
He looks to the night sky again and lets his tears fall off his face, not caring about the harsh sobs threatening to come out.
Four Years Later (Post-Noctis Death)
He just wasn't interested. In dating, that is. He had tried, but no one could compare to Noctis. Gladio had tried setting him up, and while he was friendly with those people, he just couldn't connect. Soon, he started to dodge everyone that shot him longing looks.
The new dawn is breaking out soon, the celebrations beginning. Four years since the sun first set after a ten year long night. People celebrated with a festive, but Ignis stayed inside. To them, it was a holiday and to Ignis, it was just a reminder of what he lost. The world is saved, but at a hefty price.
A price he wasn't willing to pay, but what else could he do?
Ignis groans and shakes his head, not paying attention enough to where he's going. He stops dead in his tracks at the throne room, legs buckling and he takes a deep breath, then a mad dash away from there. How'd he end up here? Perhaps because he was distracted by the outside world noise that he'd forgotten to pay attention.
He immediately runs upstairs to his office and slams the door shut. With a frustrated cry, he slams his hand into the wall. Breathe, he needs to breathe. It takes him a minute to calm down with shaky breaths as he makes his way over to his desk. He flops down into the chair, then lets his face fall flat into his hands.
He's had good days in the past four years. Days where he thinks he's getting better, when the grief isn't raw. This isn't one of those days, it's a bad day for him. Grief is rearing it's ugly head again and he feels like he's been punched in the gut. Hard. Tears leak through his fingers. He's surprised at the tears, he'd thought he'd ran out, but when it comes to Noctis, there's never enough of them.
He doesn't regret a thing about their final night together. While it had made it that much more harder to say goodbye, he also didn't want to live with regrets at all. If he'd let Noctis go without telling him how he felt, he didn't think he would be able to live with it.
Ignis grabs a tissue and wipes at the stubborn tears off his face, he knew that today was going to be difficult. It always is on this day. Ignis had just come back from the campsite, a tradition for him the day before. He catches the picture of him and Noctis on his desk, a gift from Prompto - the blond had snuck it in one day while Ignis was out. Who else would it be but Prompto? It was a photo of him and Noctis holding each other by the campfire on their final night. He wasn't aware of the camera going off.
Fireworks start to go off outside and all he can do is stare at the photo, lost in his own memories once more.
Five Years Later (Post-Noctis Death)
He hated crowds, why in the world he agreed to come to this social thing is beyond him. Politics, of course, so his presence was requested. He made the idle chatter that he needed to do, but he just wanted to go home.
A drink is offered to him, but he thinks nothing of it when he takes it. Out on the balcony, at least he can get some peace so he goes there now. He twirls the drink in his hand for a moment before he downs it. He's not a drinker by any means, so he was surprised at himself.
He spends a few minutes outside before he starts to feel... out of it. A hand rubs at his temple and he suspects that his drink had been spiked, this is why he shouldn't have accepted it. He glances at the night sky once more before he shuffles back inside and hurries away from the party and back to his room. He flicks on the light and flops on the bed, passing out cold.
-------
The first thing that he's aware of, is that he's not in his room anymore. It's dark, but he quickly realizes that he's blindfolded. What the? Ropes are pining his upper arms to his sides, lower arms and wrists behind his back and legs tight together. He struggles against it, but he can't get loose.
Who? He strains to hear his kidnappers, but he hears nothing. Is he alone?
For now, he guesses. Since he can't see, he doesn't know where he's at either. If he's even in the Citadel at all, or even in Insomnia. How long was he out for? How did his kidnappers get past his guards? He knows that the drink knocked him out good so that's one piece of the puzzle slipping into place.
But who has him as a hostage and why? He frowns a little. He gives the ropes a tug again, but to no avail. At least he can talk if he wants to, but he decides to keep his mouth shut in this instance.
He's not in immediate danger at least, for now. But he's in trouble again, this time Noctis isn't around to rescue him. He's not even sure if anyone knows that he's missing.
All he can do is wait.
He's not kept waiting too long, as he hears footfalls entering whatever room that he's in. He keeps quiet and prays that he can trick the person that he's still asleep, but it doesn't work.
Ignis finds himself being hauled up and thrown against the wall, back against it. His kidnapper punches him in the face then promptly smashes Ignis' head against the wall. He lets out a hiss of pain then he's thrown to the floor, hitting the wall and sliding down it.
He's trying to roll out of the way, but there's a hand on his shoulder, pining him back against the wall yet again, then something sharp cuts through his shoulder. He yelps out in surprise, his breathing getting rigid. The dagger is stuck in his shoulder and horrifying, he heard a thunk as it's stuck to the wall, keeping him trapped there.
The blindfold comes off him then. Green eyes look up and he immediately recognizes the person before him. It was the guy who given him the drink, and now that he thinks about it. This man had been pursing Ignis for a few weeks, begging for a date or a one night stand, but he refused to.
You. But he doesn't speak, letting the man above him study the situation. Ignis knows that he's in danger - mortal danger here. He tries to keep his breathing still, not wanting to give the man of pleasure that he'd hurt Ignis. Fresh tears prick at his eyes from the pain, but he blinks them away. Sweat cakes his forehead and blood is slowly pooling out from his shoulder. His head pounds from when he'd gotten hit. His jaw hurts a bit too.
He's had worse. Doesn't mean that he isn't afraid, no, he'll be lying to himself. He's terrified for his life. He doesn't want to die here, at the mercy of some strange man. No, he'd rather go out on his own terms. Just as he'd promised Noctis.
Noctis... his heart hurts thinking of him now. As much as he'd like to join him, wherever he is, he can't right now.
I'm sorry, Noct.
Something cold and threatening hits his forehead and terror sinks in, a gun. The barrel of a gun is being pushed against his head. One wrong move and he's done for.
Stuck to the wall, terrified, tied up, sweat beating into his eyes, all he can do is wait on the bullet to pierce his skull. All he can hope for is a quick end.
Noct... help. Please. Stupid to beg for Noctis' help when he's dead. Noctis can't hear his thoughts. But he does so anyway as a comfort to himself. Help me, please.... ]
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(At the same time, he feels loss, an ache, a longing for more. To go home. To live. To see his friends again. To experience love.)
Oblivion rises up to claim him, his whole being scattered into empty ashes, and he welcomes death without a fight.
-------
He dreams of Luna.
He finds her in the Citadel, waiting for him, dressed in the wedding gown that had been on display in Altissia. She smiles at him and takes his hand. "Show me your home, dear Noctis," she murmurs, and he obliges. He guides her down long, echoing hallways, into the elaborate ancient rooms of what was once a castle, through the gardens he used to hide and play in as a child. They share a dance in a grand ballroom, slow and romantic to the song in their hearts, and she smiles as he stumbles in his steps but does not laugh, only guides him back into position, eternally patient. He spins her about and delights at the click of her heels over the patterned tiles of his family's emblems. The Citadel is empty save for them, but somehow he can still hear the echoes of everyone who once lived here, who shared this life with him. His father's booming confidence, the calm protective nature of Clarus, Cor's calculating glances, Gladio's smirk, Prompto's laughter. Ignis, always watching, understanding in his eyes behind his glasses.
This is what their wedding should have been like, he thinks. Warm and fun and attended by all of their dearest friends and family. A celebration of life, one they hadn't chosen but could have, someday, if the world had let them.
He tells her about his adventures, about the harrowing but exciting journey through Lucis. He does not speak of anything beyond Altissia, when the joy ended and everything fell apart. Instead: reeling in enormous fishes, rising the hunter ranks, battling against and alongside the Astrals, leading the Imperials on wild chases across the continent. Of his friends, of the steadfast support they'd always offered him. Of how the thought of seeing her again at long last had kept him strong, kept him going. He'd hoped it had been the same for her.
With her supporting hand, he finds the courage to walk up those steps again, sit at the throne where he'd died. He finds his chosen photo there, and offers it out to her: a picture of the four of them, his family, and now those he loves most are in the world all together again, them and her. His father's presence is residual, always felt strongest at the throne, so King Regis too is with him. It's... not lonely, not at all. He'd been so afraid of feeling lonely. This isn't the perfect ending he'd prayed for growing up, but Luna's hand is warm between his fingers, and the memory of his beloved friends soothes his restless heart. He draws her close and kisses her, imagining once more a wedding that will never be; he can practically hear the bells, as she moves closer to him, settling her head on his shoulder.
"Rest, my love," she whispers. "We've earned our rest. The world no longer needs us here."
I've loved two people, he thinks idly, his cheek pillowed against her silken hair, feeling content, feeling happy, but feeling... incomplete, at the same time. He's so glad to be here with her, and he's still so tired. He closes his eyes, ready to sleep, to let himself pass on. He doesn't have to stay.
(he wants to stay.)
He's allowed to sleep forever.
(the world is out there, waiting.)
It isn't his choice to make.
(if he had a choice, though--)
"Rest," Luna says again, gentle, understanding his conflict and longing to grant him the peace she felt, here together in this oblivion. Her soul beckons to what is left of his, after the Crystal left him fragmented, and he follows her. He rests.
-------
ARISE, O CHOSEN
THY NUMBER MUST BE TWENTY-FOUR
UNTIL THY NAME IS CALLED, UNTIL THE SIX COME AGAIN UNTO THIS WORLD
THY REWARD IS REST
-------
He rests.
He rests.
He rests.
He rests.
He-
-------
Help me, please--
-wakes up.
The experience of reversing death is decidedly jarring, and for a long moment afterwards, as Noctis sits up in the sand, he can only stare out at his surroundings and try to parse what it means to exist after so long of the opposite. He looks down at his hands - hands? is that normal? did he ever have hands before? - his eyes roving over the angry red lines tracing pathways up the arm of the right, each one pulsing softly like a heartbeat. (did he have a heartbeat? what even is a heartbeat?) The other arm is soft and pale, almost like it belongs on someone else's body, though he recognizes it as his own, familiar calloused fingers that should be holding a sword. His veins are blue, and would seem almost normal if not for the silver-blue glimmer he can feel underneath the skin, ready to seep from his fingertips when he needs to call on it. The power to burn, and the power to heal. His new calling. He'd been summoned, pulled out of his sleep, by-
help me, noct
That's me, he thinks. He thinks, but he isn't sure. It sounds right, as he rolls it over his tongue. It had sounded more right when spoken by the voice he'd heard calling out to him, a voice so familiar that it made his heart ache. His beating heart. That... he had, now. Again. (again?) It wasn't the voice of his god, his patron, or of any of the Six. Not one of the other Messengers either. Why does he know it, if not one of those? He should know no other.
The voice calls him again, desperate and frightened, and he pushes aside all of his thoughts aside from one: save him. help him. find him. He follows the call to the shack behind him, a pitiful looking thing that seems abandoned besides the angry noises he can hear just inside the door. Without a single moment of hesitation he pushes against the door and forces his way inside, letting it slam against the wall and make the whole place tremble. Inside, there is a man pinned against a wall, while another holds a gun to his head. The gun wielder is not who called to him; he is irrelevant, an empty vessel of violence and lust, already twisting to face the intruder, gun lifted, shouting at him to stop. Noct's eyes shift to the one below, the man restrained and wounded. Something in his heart twists, and he remembers the voice that had called to him, had woken him up.
save him, save him.
He does not heed the aggressor's warning- he takes a step forward, intent on reaching the wounded man. The gun goes off, and without thinking he lifts his right hand, intent on catching the bullet with his palm rather than take the damage somewhere more critical; Messengers were fragments of their aligned gods, but they were not entirely immortal. While he might have existed as a spirit afterward, he'd only just gotten this body, and he sort of wants to keep it. Rather than take the damage, however, the second that bullet hits his palm it burns, melting and disintegrating into dust. The man gapes at him, horrified, and begins to fire wildly, suddenly enraged and desperate to save himself. None of the bullets stop Noct's approach, and the noise of gunfire is replaced by the agonized shrieking of a dying animal as the hand of Bahamut's chosen Messenger touches human flesh and incinerating fire spreads all across his body, lighting him up as surely as if he'd been hit by a full spell flask at point-blank range. He scrabbles against the fingers curled around his wrist, flailing and beating at wherever he could reach, but Noctis does not release him. This isn't a human, he can only think, absent and unmoved by the creature's pain. This is a monster, unfit for life. Consumed by a burning greed so powerful it can only think to hurt others. The justice of the Bladekeeper would not harm an innocent. How many had it already killed, following such pursuits?
save him, save him.
When the man stops screaming, burned halfways to oblivion and unrecognizable, Noctis releases him, letting the body slump lifeless to the floor. Taking a human life might be shameful, were he one himself, but he's not. Neither of them are, in truth. A Messenger killed a monster, and the life of a human has been saved. The Glacian would praise him. Perhaps she'd been the one to allow his awakening, understanding the value of human life. Understanding... love?
He frowns as the word flits into his consciousness, and he shakes the ashes off of his hand and moves in front of the man on the floor, crouching down so they can be eye to eye. He reaches his right hand up to brush gently over the man's jaw, tracing the line of it. Familiar.
Why is this familiar? Why is he familiar?
He wrestles for his own voice, but he can't find it. He can't remember what he sounds like, how to speak to this man who is so familiar to him that it hurts to look at him. So he stares into green eyes that he should know, he should absolutely know, his own eyes discoloured, one the same deep blue as he'd had in life while the other the vibrant fuschia of his new, divine connection. He stares and quietly pleads for a place to start, something to latch on. For the man's voice, again.
I saved you. Who are you? Why did you call me?
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Noctis. The man who he had fallen in love with all of those years ago and still loves to this day.
His heart beat picks up, any second now - any second and he'll be dead --
-- The sudden noise of the door slamming and his kidnappers voice start him. He jerks in surprise, causing his shoulder to whine in pain. He cries out in pain from the movement. As the scene unfolds in front of him, the gun going off and the newcomer catching the bullet in his hand, Ignis gets a familiar feeling from his savior.
His ears are ringing from the loud gunshot, but he watches as the newcomer burns his kidnapper to death. Green eyes watch as the person who saved him crouches down next to him. A hand traces his jawline, hand so familiar to him. He hadn't felt this touch in five years, not since the shared dream that he and Noctis had together. This touch is so familiar to Ignis, but he doesn't want to believe. Noctis is dead, so who is still strange person?
Green eyes study the man looking into his own. His heart skips a beat at seeing the the blue eye watching his. He knows that shade of blue anywhere.
Noctis. Noct. His Noctis.
He can't find his own voice, just studying the person for a moment. It's been five years, there's no way that he's alive... There's no way. He had seen Noctis' form in the throne room, slumped and dead. He'd done it, saved the world and brought back the light and the stars.
... Noct. You're dead.
Tears prick at his eyes, unbelieving, but desperately wanting to believe. He's lost Noctis twice already, once to the Crystal and once to death, saving the world. Gods, it was the hardest thing he had to do, was letting Noctis go like that.
Who are you? But he knows deep down who this is. The look has changed, but that blue eye, his touch. Please, let it be him. He doesn't care how he's back. A part of him is telling him to be rational, but the love he has for Noctis just doesn't care. Ignis pushes that rational side of himself to the side.
Believe. Skeptical. Believe. His emotions are betraying him. He's forgotten about the predicament that he's still in for the moment. Ignis is still, letting his savior study him. ]
.... Noct? [ voice hoarse, a whisper, pleading, disbelief, wanting to believe in this miracle. ] ... Is it really you?
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(Mid-meal Noctis had suddenly recalled a dream where he'd turned into an anak, back when he was a child, so that was a fun surprise too. He used to love anak, though he can't remember that, yet.)
On one of the dusty, less-traveled roads along the way, he'd attempted to drive the Regalia, but the experience had been brief and kind of mediocre, nearly steering them into a dualhorn herd somehow. Ignis had done the bulk of driving after that, and while Noctis was apologetic, he couldn't deny that he'd felt relieved. Ignis looked super out of place in the passenger seat, and even if he had remembered how to drive, Noctis couldn't help feeling some anxiety about his... less-human side being the one Ignis had in his peripheral, even with the jacket and his hair to hide most of it. The sooner they reached the city and he could cover up, the better he'd feel about everything.
They were still careful, of course. They didn't know how many people were following them, and how far they'd go for vengeance. But the more distance they placed between themselves and Insomnia, the more relaxing it all felt. There was an undeniable nostalgia to the journey, the equivalent of meeting with an old friend after a long absence- which, in a sense, is exactly what this is. Memories come in flickers and flashes, idle comments as the scenery flies by and remnants of the last or first time they'd passed through here together rise to the forefront of Noct's mind. Things like, "didn't we watch that one Imperial guy blow up for the third time in there?" as they drove by the abandoned remains of Formouth, or "I think Prompto almost fed me to one of those things," as they watched a pair of catoblepas in Alstor Slough, or "can we pull over for a sec? My head hurts," as they approached the Disc of Cauthess. None of them significant moments, but tiny hints that offered some encouragement that they were on the right path. By the time they crossed the bridge towards Lestallum, Noctis was in good spirits, sitting up and leaning over the edge of the car to stare at the vast stretch of Taelpar below ("do you think Gilgamesh is still down there?"). The tunnel leading into the city proper is a warm, encouraging sight, and although Noctis is tempted to shrink down into his seat at the sight of so many people milling about after such a long stretch of isolation, he resists the urge in favour of taking in the sights. It won't be long now before he can walk around without feeling so self-conscious.
Their shared dream gives him the memories of Lestallum enough to navigate parts of the city, carrying them to the marketplace and to a general supplies store, where he's able to procure a sturdy pair of combat-ready gloves and coloured contacts as well as any supplies needed for their maintenance. The whole set-up looks alien to him, but he's committed to it, and they come with instructions, so... it can't be that hard, right?
Evidently it can, he finds out later that night, once they've checked into the Leville and he's on minute twenty-three of trying to get a single contact into the glowing Astral eye he's been so desperate to cover since they left the garage. He told himself he'd get it in before dinner, but cursing, squinting, and glaring at his reflection in the mirror has gotten him no closer. The pale blue contact stares back at him on the tip of his finger, coated in contact solution and ready to claim victory of round 10. Noctis is not impressed.]
I wish I'd asked Prompto for tips on how to put contacts in. [A pause, and then,] Hey, Iggy? Prompto wore contacts. I remember that too, now.
[Another little memory, which is nice, but it doesn't help with the current problem. Maybe he should just try again in the morning...]
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He couldn't relax at first, tense as they got on the road considering the second terrorist had tracked them from Hammerhead, but he wasn't noticing any cars following them this time. After he and Noctis switched places, Ignis felt more in his element being behind the wheel and he kept glancing over at him out of the corner of his eye, noticing him relaxing. Ignis tried to follow suit, but seeing Noctis relax helped him out greatly and by the time they reached Lestallum, Ignis felt better. During the drive, he'd notice Noctis making small comments here and there, like he was recalling small things - though he did raise an eyebrow at Noctis saying that Prompto nearly feeding him to a catoblepas, he hadn't heard about that one. He didn't ask about it, but mentally filed it away for later once Noctis had gotten his memories back or to ask Prompto about it next time he saw him.
In Lestallum, he was taken back to their shared dream and that must have helped Noctis out finding stores that he needed to get a pair of gloves and contacts. Even though the crowd was quite large, a ping of worry was creeping into the back of mind of someone might be watching them, but he pushed it aside. No one would be dumb enough to try anything in a city this crowded. It was only once in the Leville that Ignis was able to fully relax, though tired from their journey - the lack of Ebony doesn't help there either.
He's leaning against the bathroom's doorway, a look of amusement on his face as he watches Noctis struggle to get the contacts in. He's been at it for a good twenty minutes or more. Contacts aren't his thing personally, Ignis has always been a glasses guy, but he isn't wearing them now.
He slips behind Noctis and just like in their shared dream, he wraps an arm around his, carefully slipping his hand on the back of Noctis'. He can tell that Noct is getting frustrated with getting the contacts in so he's hoping that this relaxes him a bit and this might be his way of trolling Noctis a bit. He's missed fun, especially after the past few days. ]
Don't tell me that you're going to let a contact beat you. [ His tone playful yet challenging - he hadn't meant to challenge Noctis when he drank half a can of Ebony in the shared dream, but now he is, hoping that helps as well. He knows that Noctis wants to hide his eye from people and blend in better, Ignis jacket has been helping wonders with that. ]
You have this, Noct. [ Then he release Noct's arm and steps back, releaning against the doors frame and just watching. ]
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Yeah, I got it. Just gotta... angle it, I guess. ...Ugh.
[This is so ridiculous. Why couldn't the gods have given him normal eyes? Maybe he could just wear tinted glasses all the time... though that, too, would be admitting defeat. He won't have that now. With a sigh and a scowl, he gives it another go.
It takes a few more failed attempts and extra cursing, but at last he manages to wiggle it into position, squinting and blinking repeatedly as he adjusts to the feel of it before pausing and scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror.]
...So... what do you think?
[The colour is a little mismatched between the two eyes, if one looks closely, but in the dim interior light it's not immediately noticeable that one is a coloured contact instead of a natural shade. At the very least it's far less noticeable than the gleaming amethyst it'd been when left uncovered. When they're out and about, he shouldn't stand out nearly as much between that and his new attire. And more importantly, he looks a little more like himself, which he hopes will help Ignis feel safer.]
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Of course, that's always the perfect time for fate to intervene and ruin things; such is the way of Noctis Lucis Caelum.
He feels it the moment he awakens, that soft but irresistable tug on his soul. The Astral's call. It doesn't feel like Bahamut, though with the powers he'd been granted, he assumed he was a Messenger for the Draconian. It feels kinder, more patient. Almost... apologetic.
He knows he can't escape it, but still, he fights that pull. Some time in the night he'd turned around so he was face to face with Ignis, and watching him sleep like this, arms around one another... he doesn't want to go. Don't make me leave, please, he thinks back to the voice calling him. Don't make me say goodbye again. He'd dreaded it of course, a day when he'd be called back, but... what reason is there for a Messenger in the world? The Chosen is gone, the Crystal is gone, the Oracles are long dead. The gods have gone back to sleep. Why was he sent back if not to be free, just for a while?
The voice tugs again, a noose around his neck. Less gentle. You will come. A pause, and then softly again, He will see your face again before the end, O Fragment of the Light.
He doesn't particularly like the sound of that- the phrasing, or the butchered title, but he can resist no longer. A Messenger is ever at the beck and call of the Astrals who created him. So Noctis closes his eyes, leans in to kiss Ignis on the forehead while he still sleeps, and vanishes from within his arms, leaving him alone on the bed. He follows the call.
He is summoned to the peaks beyond Lestallum's power plant, a cliff overlooking the meteor fragments and the city built up around it, gleaming in greys and silvers in the morning light. From above he can see the damage it must have endured for 10 years in the dark, much improved but still limping along in the recovery process. The dawn may have come, but all it did was shine a light on all the scars it had gained.
"Even were the dawn to break now... it would only bring the horrors to light!"
He blinks at the unexpected thought flitting through his mind, but before he can chase it, a voice calls him from behind.]
"Glad I am to see you whole and well." [He turns to find Gentiana there, smiling calmly in the way he somehow remembers she always did.] "Has our gift been to your satisfaction?"
[His brows furrow.] Gift... I guess. Why did you bring me back, though? Am I supposed to have some kind of mission again?
"A new mission for the Fragment of the Light..." [Gentiana hums at the question, beginning to walk. He moves to follow.] "We Six have decided. Now that the Calling has been fulfilled, until a new calamity falls upon the world, the Messengers shall live freely."
...Are... we expecting a new Calamity? [Gentiana smiles at that, and it just makes Noctis feel more nervous.] Hey, come on.
"The prophecy is complete. Whatever fate befalls the Star, it is in the hands of men now, not gods."
[It isn't reassuring, but neither is it damning. Like always, the Astrals are obtuse at the best of times.] Okay, so... I can live free. Cool. But why did you bring me back? I thought... [He winces, looking down.] I thought I was supposed to die.
[Gentiana pauses in her walk.] "...The King of Light fulfilled his calling, and made the sacrifice required for the world. He died, and so was meant to remain as dust. Like many who came before him, he earned the right to rest at last. But rest... did not come for him. He lingered in the dark, broken by all he had lost. In the place beyond the Crystal, his soul lay shattered, in pieces, and could not move on. Such a tragic end could not be allowed for a champion of the gods."
[Noctis listens quietly, his gaze shifting to the grass beneath their feet. So... what, he'd been too sad and broken to pass on gracefully? Or had something gone wrong with his sacrifice, and he'd never made it to whatever afterlife existed after his death? Either way... that sounded like such a pitiful existence. He's glad he doesn't remember five years of that.]
"A promise was made to the Accursed, and so too it was made, unspoken, to the Chosen who opposed him: that which is dead shall not linger for eternity. His soul found peace by the hand of the King of Light." [Gentiana continues, ignoring his racing thoughts.] "Together we gathered up the fragments of the king's soul, and bound them together as one of our own, so that peace can be found in a new life, as it was not found in death."
A new life... [He echoes quietly.] Is... that why I can't remember? I'm not meant to have my old life anymore? Do I have to start over?
[Her smile softens, and she reaches out a hand, fingers gracing softly across his forehead.] "We could not complete our work. Some pieces were destroyed in the dark, others were lost. The Six cannot promise that your life will fully return to you, but it was your choice to leave before you were ready."
My choice? Why would I-
"The Fragment of Light still carries enough of the king that was lost in his heart to do as he did in years past," [she answers, and there is amusement in her eyes.] "He protected that which he loves."
[It takes a second to click. He blinks at her, confused and puzzled, until the final piece of understanding sinks into place, and- oh. Oh, shit.] I chose to forget... so I could go save Ignis. [She smiles again, all the answer he needs to stumble back, both palms pressed up against his face.] Oh my god, I really did that. I've been freaking out this whole time, and it was my own damn fault.
[He kind of wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He doesn't regret- can't regret, not really. Not now that he knows. Remembering everything would be pointless, worthless, if he was alone with his memories. Ignis is alive because he threw away what wasn't important, compared to the safety of the one he loves. He can make new memories from now on. They can make new memories, together.
She begins to walk again, and he picks up the pace to walk beside her, asking more questions, some of which are answered and others not. Why he has powers (a gift to him, and to the world), what he's meant to do next (whatever he wants), can he get more memories back over time (perhaps), are the gods active (they're napping again), why are assassins absolute bastards (she did not answer that one). He quickly loses track of time, at first desperate for answers, but as the conversation carries on and he learns that for the most part, the expectations of what he's meant to do are basically nothing, he feels... so much lighter. The future is free and open, the world is waiting for him, and his calling is clear. It's over.
He can't wait to tell Ignis.]
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He has a choice, to head north or south, it only takes him a moment to make his decision to run towards the tunnel that leads to the Hunter's HQ, which is still standing, even after the long lasting night.
He'd though about grabbing a chocobo but decided against it in the end, not wanting to cause too much noise. The less noise he makes the better. Once he's clear from the tunnel, he uses the trees as cover to try to hide in the shadows. He keeps his flashlight dim, but bright enough for him to see. He's urgently calling out Noct's name, in a whisper, afraid that might alert a terrorist.
Ignis keeps moving, debating in his mind whether to keep looking or to head back, absolutely torn on what to do. Maybe he's worrying over nothing? No, what if Noctis is in trouble? He has to keep searching. It's stupid of him to be out like this without backup, but he can't bring himself to care; if Noct is in danger then he needs to find him. Now.
A hand is pressed against a tree, he's a little past the farm. He'd been surprised to see it alive and well, but it made sense. Where else would the food have come from during the ten years? He exhales a breath. He looks up at the night sky for a moment then starts to move again when something hits the back of his head.
Ignis stumbles a step and before he gets a chance to look behind him, he's out cold.
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They got him, the terrorists that is. They dragged him off to an empty building that's long since been abandoned. They get Ignis situated in the middle of the first room, turning his head to look away from the door. They debate on restraining him, but they decide against it. At first glance from afar, he appears to be dead.
They hide after that, waiting on the one who keeps saving him and killing off their men. They've lost two so far, surely the one will come and walk straight into this trap. ]
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You could have given me that much, Gentiana... come on.
[He grumbles to the empty space, trying to stamp down a wave of worry before it grows too strong. He's... fine, probably. He's just searching the city for Noctis. It should be a simple thing to track him down, ease his worries, and then they can grab breakfast and be on their way. No big deal at all. The worry grows as he sits on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes and focusing on searching for his quarry. Like before, that first time, finding him in the desert... and then after, beyond the hunt... find him, find him.
That worry only grows as he feels a certain... weakness to his destination. A familiar one. Pain.
Standing abruptly, he grabs his sword, focuses intently on the location where he'd felt it, and with a blur of energy gifted to him by the gods, he's there. An unfamiliar building, a seemingly empty room, and right there, slumped over like he's- NO-]
Ignis! [he cries out at the sight as soon as his eyes rest upon it, terror surging through him. He sees nothing else in that moment, his hand reaching, taking a step forward. He can barely make two steps before someone shouts at his back, an explosion rings through the air, and something hits him right in the small of his back. He stumbles, lunging forward to draw his sword and cover Ignis in one swift motion, tongues of flame licking their way up his arm; he'd left without putting in his contacts, so his eyes glow an otherworldly blue and red as he snarls at the men suddenly crawling out of the woodwork in the room around them. Just a handful of them, but enough to challenge him, especially if they're as skilled as the ones who came before. Carrying swords, knives, guns...
He doesn't think, only moves as quickly as his legs can carry him towards the first man, not giving them time to regain their courage against what is probably the first sign of magic in fifteen years, if they'd ever seen it at all. He has few advantages in this room, so he'll take what he can get. He found new purpose this morning, gained his freedom, and he is not losing his life or Ignis' to these terrorists, too blind and stupid to move on in the fresh chance at life they'd been given when the dawn rose. He'd died for men like them, and they can only think to waste it.
He doesn't stab, though such strikes would be more deadly. He can't risk getting his blade stuck in a body, wasting precious seconds. He slashes and he burns, twisting and spinning his way through the men with a ferocity he's never felt before. The other men had made him angry, yes, but he'd been fighting only for Ignis' sake back then, mindless to his own needs, expecting to live beyond the fight in some manner or other, the way Messengers often do. This time, though- this time, he's fighting for the both of them, for the gift of life he'd been handed by a goddess mere minutes ago. He dances through the ranks, batting their blades away, deflecting gunshots with fire and burning those foolish enough to give him the time to ignite flames beyond his defensive circle. One man goes down, then another. A third falls, but one rises again, not yet dead. He has no idea how long he fights, only that he will not stop-
-until suddenly, he does. Something impacts him from behind again, this time grazing his head enough to make him stumble, and that's all the men need to close ranks and knock him down. His sword is ripped away from his hand, kicked out of his reach, and two men pin him one on each arm, forcing him against the floor. A third moves in and kicks him in the gut, once, twice. He gasps for air, his head slumped back, trying to see Ignis, but they've blocked his view. I have to find him. I was- I was going to save him, I want-
The men don't care what he wants, though. They crowd around him, trying to crush his limbs so he can't fight, pressing down on his wounds so they bleed out. The leader stabs his knife into Noct's shoulder, blade twisting, and he screams, unable to help himself. Revenge, they say, for their fallen comrades. For the night of sin they lost. They'll kill him first, nice and slow to punish him, snuff out whatever corruption is inside him that made him like this, and then they'll move on to the others.
"You've been a thorn in our side, delaying our mission," the man above him is saying, angered, holding a knife smeared with blood. (His blood?) He keeps talking, but Noctis isn't listening. He's still trying to find Ignis. Ignis who he now thinks might be alive, but for how long?
I need to heal him, he thinks desperately, eyes darting back and forth, the enraged gleam in them growing clouded over with pain and fear. I can't let him die, I can't, I don't want to die without him-
not again-]
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