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?
[There it is. The voice is like a siren's song in his heart, a drumbeat, an echo of self, though he can't quite decipher it yet. There's something powerful and tangible about that voice in his ears, and he exhales a tremulous breath, one he hadn't realized he was holding. It is so, so familiar.
Is it really you, he is asked, and he wonders about the answer. If even the man who reached out to him is asking, maybe it isn't real after all. Maybe he just imagined a connection, some tether to an ancient lost past. He knows this world, these lands, the gods who rule over him and that humans exist to be loved and protected. He knows that in the past he must have been, perhaps, something like them. That's why this is... familiar.
Right?]
I hoped you would tell me, [he murmurs, his voice quiet and unsure. Still unquestionably Noct's, but carrying something distant and ethereal within it, unnatural, like the glow of his arm and his eye.] Did you call me?
[He needs to get that dagger out, free the man and mend his wounds, but he hesitates to do so immediately. He... can heal, right? He's never done it, but it feels like he ought to be able to. Justice and healing to those who deserve it, that was the gift he'd been given when he was born as a Messenger. Surely the one who called out to him, who stares at him with such strange longing, deserves to be healed.]
[ Ah, there it is. Noctis' voice. All of Ignis' doubts are gone, shattered. He knows now who this is. It's a voice that he hasn't heard in five years, a voice he hears in his dreams, a voice that he can pick out in crowds. Even though, it's different somehow.
I hoped you would tell me.
Something is wrong though about that statement. Very wrong. He can't put his finger on it, what had happened to Noctis? Why is he saying that... ?
At his question, he has to pause. He hadn't spoken out loud, just thought about Noctis, begging for his help. ]
... I did. You... heard my thoughts?
[ Now that the immediate danger is gone, he can breath a bit easier, but he's losing blood. He's still in trouble here, despite being saved. ]
[Noctis furrows his brows. Heard his thoughts...? He didn't know that was possible, but clearly it must be true, because the man had called him and here he was. Another issue to parse later, when there was no risk of anyone dying, maybe.
He moves his hands, one gently bracing against Ignis' collar, the other wrapping around the dagger, and with a murmured apology he slides it free, flinging it aside. His left palm presses immediately against the wound, holding in the blood, and cautiously reaches out to his new magic. Heal, he thinks, focusing intently on the wound, willing himself to knit back together the damaged flesh. The glimmer of blue light and energy he coaxes to life between his fingers is familiar, too- like the energy of the Crystal from years ago, but softer, slower and less abrupt than potions used to be. It likely can't heal everything - he's newly awakened, and holds power enough as it is - but it's sufficient to take one life and save another.]
[ Even with the apology, Ignis lets out a sharp gasp of pain, gritting his teeth as the dagger comes out. His breathing become rigid as the blood begins to pool out quicker, but then there's a hand on his shoulder fairly quickly. Green eyes watch as Noctis heals him. He can feel his wound closing up.
His head though. Ignis isn't aware of the damage that's been done to the back of his head. Blood cakes back there. ]
... My head. [ he murmurs softy, accepting what's happening to him. What Noctis is doing for him. Healing him. ] He hit my head against the wall quite hard.
[Troublemaker. The thought comes to his mind unbidden, and he wonders at it for a long moment before brushing it aside. He moves to sit cross-legged and carefully guides Ignis to turn around, easing him backwards so his head is rested in Noct's lap, where he runs the healing hand soothingly through his hair, seeking wounds, marks, bruises, working to mend whatever he comes across. Bleeding cuts and concussed pain are slowly transformed into tender skin and a headache, at which point Noctis stops, exhaling tiredly. He wants to heal more, a part of him hates the idea of this man being hurt at all, but he can't push himself too hard on the first day. He's meant to last a very, very long time, after all. Most of the others have existed for thousands of years.
Even after he's done, he leaves his hand in the man's hair, his expression thoughtful as he strokes his fingers across unwashed bloody strands of it. He's dirty and wounded, it's not as soft as it should be. He needs a shower. (...how does he know that?)
[ As he's tugged into Noctis' lap, head resting there, he shuts his eyes. He takes in the comfort and safety being in Noct's lap like this. He's safe. He's alive, breathing and well.
Fresh tears prick at his eyes as he's more aware now of what's going on. Noctis is here, helping him, healing him, saving his life. How he doesn't understand still, but that can wait. ]
... I haven't seen you in five years. [ he murmurs softly as Noctis strokes his hair.
He can't bring himself to care that he's tied up still, he's safe. His eyes open to look up at Noctis. ] I've missed you. [ words holding a great deal of weight to them, the pain he suffered from losing Noctis, his love and care, the relief in his tone. ]
[Noctis has no answer that, can only recognize the sharp, resounding sensation that floods his body at those words, knowing the feeling at once for what it is: pain. This man does know him, cares deeply for him. Has held on to the memory of whoever "Noct" used to be for five years.
(he loves, he loves, he loves-)
He swallows hard, hating what he has to do, knowing how much it's clearly going to hurt. He has no idea how to fix this, but he won't be able to lie about it with only that feeling of familiarity to chase. He... needs help. A different sort of help than what he'd been able to offer first.
He hesitates, his fingers curling in the man's hair, and then asks,]
Will you tell me your name?
[Maybe, with enough pieces, he can put himself back together again. But he can't do this alone.]
[ Shock and hurt is clear on Ignis' face at the question. He doesn't remember, it's a fate worse than death. He takes in a deep breath and searches Noctis' face, praying and hoping that it's just a joke. But it isn't.
He doesn't hesitate though. ]
Ignis. You call me Iggy or Specs. [ It's not Noctis' fault, no, he doesn't blame Noctis here. He has to help fix this, somehow. He wants his Noctis back and if there's a way that he can help... ]
... What do you remember? [ Even if it hurts Ignis a bit.
He's fighting hard against his feelings, fighting the itch to break down, but he holds it back. ]
[Ignis. Noctis repeats it, quietly, each one in turn. Ignis. Iggy. Specs. They all feel right, flowing off his tongue so naturally, like breathing or blinking. It's the first time he can remember saying those names, but it feels as if he'd said them a thousand times before.
It helps that Ignis remains calm, though he suspects it requires some effort, judging by the hurt in his gaze. In return, Noctis closes his eyes, focusing on the question so that he might give a decent answer. What does he remember?]
I saw... flashes of light, blades in the darkness. A throne, and a ring of pure light. Everything burned for a while. [A beat, and then-] No, it was me. I was burning, and then I was nothing.
[He lifts the red-veined hand, turning it over carefully to examine both sides. This, too, is familiar. He'd burned this way. Alive, but dead, he'd burned away till not a speck of him was left.]
The Bladekeeper spoke to me. I was... supposed to rest, I think. No, I know it. The world didn't need me. [Until the Six come again-] But then- you did. You needed me, so I came here.
[It's insufficient; it's pitiful. He hadn't even thought about it being a problem until just now, as he's realizing how much he must have lost. Is that truly all there is in his mind, now?
...No. No, there is one thing-]
-The dawn, [he adds abruptly, eyes widening.] You saw the dawn. Right?
.... Yes, I saw the dawn. [ he still sees it, day in and day out.
The way how Noctis' speaks of his own death, gets Ignis to shut his own eyes. ] .... I found you on the throne, dead. We found you that way, Gladio and Prompto.
You died to save the world, Noct. It... was the hardest thing I ever had to do, was let you go.
[ He reopens his eyes and looks up at Noctis once more. ] This isn't the first time you've came to my rescue. You saved me before from a terrifying daemon who almost killed me.
I trust you, Noct.
[ Gods, he wants to hug him, but as he is, he can't. ]
[He feels a strange relief at Ignis' answer, to know that he saw it. He doesn't fully understand that feeling, but he'll remember it, so he can reexamine it later if his true memories return.
He feels his heart rate pick up once again at the other names, repeating them quietly as well. Gladio. Prompto. He died, to save the world? On that throne he can remember only briefly, surrounded by darkness and pain and then, suddenly, a blinding light. There were daemons (he remembers daemons, they were gone now, all the Messengers knew that), and he'd fought them. He'd fought one.
Something inside him twists at the idea of chasing those memories, so instead he shakes it off and carefully lifts Ignis up again, gaining access to the ropes so he can untie the knots holding him hostage, their hands brushing as he worked.]
I'm sorry... I... I know you're important to me. I want to remember... was I not allowed...?
[Were they taken from him, because of what he is now? A Messenger of the gods surely doesn't need human memories to fulfill their duty. But if that were the case, why allow him to come back while those who might know him were still alive?
He wishes there was someone who he could ask, but Messengers were made to convey the word of the Astrals to the people of the world. They weren't around to ask questions of those gods themselves.]
[ He feels a lot better than he was before. No longer at the mercy of that stranger, no longer in danger, his wounds healed. As Noctis starts to work on one of the knots keeping him tied up, he knows that he's going to be fine. ]
... Thank you. [ he whispers quietly. For saving him, to whatever Gods that brought him back to Ignis, for giving Noctis a second chance at life. By some miracle that Noctis had heard him somehow.
He spares a glance at Noctis. ] You're very important to me to, Noct.
I'll help you, in any way that I can. I promise. [ he's determined to help Noctis out now. He spares a breath.
The rope is starting to slack around his wrists, almost there. There's two more knots left to go once Noctis has this one free. One knot on his upper back and the other around his legs. ]
... I promised you that I wouldn't forget you. [ Is that why Noctis has forgotten everything? Cause of Ignis' promise? He frowns a little, but it's a thought to keep in mind. ]
[Noct's tone is musing in a way that sounds more like his old self, smiling faintly as he finishes the second knot and moves to Ignis' legs. It won't take long at all to free him; if he can't untie one of them, he'll just destroy it. He's wary of using that fire so close to Ignis, though, in case his control isn't stellar just yet. Do Messengers have to train their magic? There's no guidebook for this.
Despite his words, he's warmed by the idea that Ignis will help him. Perhaps, if he can stay for a while, whatever's wrong with his mind will fix itself. He'd... really like that. Even just to stay would be enough, memory or no. Ignis makes him feel safe.]
[ That sounds like the Noctis he knows and he can't help but smile. They got to keep talking to coax stuff like this out of him.
Once the last of the ropes are off, he gingerly tests out his limbs, bringing his arms out from behind his back and grimaces a little at the stiffness of them. How long has he been tied up like that? He rubs at one of his arms a bit, trying to get out the kinks.
He reaches out to Noctis though. ] Noct, I'd like to try hugging you. Please. [ his tone almost betraying how desperately he needs it himself. ]
[Are people allowed to hug Messengers...? Is that not a taboo or something? The question brings to mind a brief, flickering thought: the arms of a child wrapped around a dark-furred dog, hugging tightly and crying into its neck, in pain and mourning the loss of a friend.
[ He shifts closer to shut the distance between them and gets his arms wrapped around Noctis, pulling him into a familiar embrace. One that's loving, gentle and caring. One hand idly rubs at Noct's back.
A tear slips down Ignis' cheek, his hands shaking a bit. Gods, it's been five years since he's felt Noctis in his arms like this. Five long, dark years.
He's happy though, safe and warm. But more than that, he's home. Home is where the heart is and he knows all too well where his heart lies. It's still with Noctis. Always Noctis. ]
You saved my life, Noct and I like to help you in return. You sounded like your old self a minute ago. [ there's hope in Ignis, hope that he can get Noctis' memories back. ] Do you trust me?
[The embrace is warm and familiar, and it makes his heart ache all over again, an echo of I know this bouncing around in his head like a reverberating drum. He's felt this before, he knows it immediately. Ignis has held him in the past.
Tentatively his arms rise up and hold the man back, fingers curling in his shirt. This... feels right. It's where he belongs. His mind doesn't remember yet, but his heart does.]
I... trust you, Iggy.
[How could he not? Even the words themselves feel right as they leave his lips, as if there'd be no reason in the world to not trust this man.]
[ He lets the relief that he feels flood through him. He needed to be sure, there was no doubt, but with Noctis' memories being messed up as they are...
He tightens his grip a little, letting himself enjoy the moment. It wasn't until he had Noctis in his arms that it hit him hard that yes, this is real. Noctis is real. He's alive and well somehow, but Ignis isn't going to question it.
He keeps quiet as he struggles to keep his emotions in check, he doesn't want to break down. Not until he's been able to help Noctis. The other man needs him just as much as he needed Noct.
He pulls back after a bit and puts his forehead against Noctis', praying that this too, sparks something in the other man. ]
[This, too, feels like something he's experienced before, and for a long moment he just sits quietly like that, eyes closed, drinking in the presence of the other man and chasing that feeling. The thoughts creep up on him slowly, visions (memories?), or like a dream that he thinks might be real but can't know for certain until he asks. Fleeting ideas, like a lightbulb about to burn out, flickering on, off. On, off. On, off.
His voice is faint as he speaks up again, wary of saying the wrong thing, of being wrong, of hurting this man who wants him to remember so badly.]
Ignis... you've... always been there, haven't you? Always with me. I can't keep it all in my head, but I can see you with me, every time I looked over, in my memories...
[He doesn't like to make promises that he can't guarantee, but... hesitantly he opens his eyes to watch Ignis, tilting his head subtly into the hand on his cheek.]
I... think so. Just- you look different.
[His own hand lifts to trace softly just under the scar over Ignis' eye, examining the shape of his face.]
[Noctis thinks for a long moment, trying to grab onto the tail of at least one memory and rein it in, so the flashes of thought can become more detailed, so faces can become voices can become words can become conversation.
What did he see?]
...We were... cooking. It was quiet, and warm... your hands were on mine. Pastry, and... strawberries. [His eyes close again.] Lestallum...
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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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Is it really you, he is asked, and he wonders about the answer. If even the man who reached out to him is asking, maybe it isn't real after all. Maybe he just imagined a connection, some tether to an ancient lost past. He knows this world, these lands, the gods who rule over him and that humans exist to be loved and protected. He knows that in the past he must have been, perhaps, something like them. That's why this is... familiar.
Right?]
I hoped you would tell me, [he murmurs, his voice quiet and unsure. Still unquestionably Noct's, but carrying something distant and ethereal within it, unnatural, like the glow of his arm and his eye.] Did you call me?
[He needs to get that dagger out, free the man and mend his wounds, but he hesitates to do so immediately. He... can heal, right? He's never done it, but it feels like he ought to be able to. Justice and healing to those who deserve it, that was the gift he'd been given when he was born as a Messenger. Surely the one who called out to him, who stares at him with such strange longing, deserves to be healed.]
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I hoped you would tell me.
Something is wrong though about that statement. Very wrong. He can't put his finger on it, what had happened to Noctis? Why is he saying that... ?
At his question, he has to pause. He hadn't spoken out loud, just thought about Noctis, begging for his help. ]
... I did. You... heard my thoughts?
[ Now that the immediate danger is gone, he can breath a bit easier, but he's losing blood. He's still in trouble here, despite being saved. ]
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[Noctis furrows his brows. Heard his thoughts...? He didn't know that was possible, but clearly it must be true, because the man had called him and here he was. Another issue to parse later, when there was no risk of anyone dying, maybe.
He moves his hands, one gently bracing against Ignis' collar, the other wrapping around the dagger, and with a murmured apology he slides it free, flinging it aside. His left palm presses immediately against the wound, holding in the blood, and cautiously reaches out to his new magic. Heal, he thinks, focusing intently on the wound, willing himself to knit back together the damaged flesh. The glimmer of blue light and energy he coaxes to life between his fingers is familiar, too- like the energy of the Crystal from years ago, but softer, slower and less abrupt than potions used to be. It likely can't heal everything - he's newly awakened, and holds power enough as it is - but it's sufficient to take one life and save another.]
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His head though. Ignis isn't aware of the damage that's been done to the back of his head. Blood cakes back there. ]
... My head. [ he murmurs softy, accepting what's happening to him. What Noctis is doing for him. Healing him. ] He hit my head against the wall quite hard.
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Even after he's done, he leaves his hand in the man's hair, his expression thoughtful as he strokes his fingers across unwashed bloody strands of it. He's dirty and wounded, it's not as soft as it should be. He needs a shower. (...how does he know that?)
Had he... done this before?]
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Fresh tears prick at his eyes as he's more aware now of what's going on. Noctis is here, helping him, healing him, saving his life. How he doesn't understand still, but that can wait. ]
... I haven't seen you in five years. [ he murmurs softly as Noctis strokes his hair.
He can't bring himself to care that he's tied up still, he's safe. His eyes open to look up at Noctis. ] I've missed you. [ words holding a great deal of weight to them, the pain he suffered from losing Noctis, his love and care, the relief in his tone. ]
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(he loves, he loves, he loves-)
He swallows hard, hating what he has to do, knowing how much it's clearly going to hurt. He has no idea how to fix this, but he won't be able to lie about it with only that feeling of familiarity to chase. He... needs help. A different sort of help than what he'd been able to offer first.
He hesitates, his fingers curling in the man's hair, and then asks,]
Will you tell me your name?
[Maybe, with enough pieces, he can put himself back together again. But he can't do this alone.]
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He doesn't hesitate though. ]
Ignis. You call me Iggy or Specs. [ It's not Noctis' fault, no, he doesn't blame Noctis here. He has to help fix this, somehow. He wants his Noctis back and if there's a way that he can help... ]
... What do you remember? [ Even if it hurts Ignis a bit.
He's fighting hard against his feelings, fighting the itch to break down, but he holds it back. ]
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It helps that Ignis remains calm, though he suspects it requires some effort, judging by the hurt in his gaze. In return, Noctis closes his eyes, focusing on the question so that he might give a decent answer. What does he remember?]
I saw... flashes of light, blades in the darkness. A throne, and a ring of pure light. Everything burned for a while. [A beat, and then-] No, it was me. I was burning, and then I was nothing.
[He lifts the red-veined hand, turning it over carefully to examine both sides. This, too, is familiar. He'd burned this way. Alive, but dead, he'd burned away till not a speck of him was left.]
The Bladekeeper spoke to me. I was... supposed to rest, I think. No, I know it. The world didn't need me. [Until the Six come again-] But then- you did. You needed me, so I came here.
[It's insufficient; it's pitiful. He hadn't even thought about it being a problem until just now, as he's realizing how much he must have lost. Is that truly all there is in his mind, now?
...No. No, there is one thing-]
-The dawn, [he adds abruptly, eyes widening.] You saw the dawn. Right?
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The way how Noctis' speaks of his own death, gets Ignis to shut his own eyes. ] .... I found you on the throne, dead. We found you that way, Gladio and Prompto.
You died to save the world, Noct. It... was the hardest thing I ever had to do, was let you go.
[ He reopens his eyes and looks up at Noctis once more. ] This isn't the first time you've came to my rescue. You saved me before from a terrifying daemon who almost killed me.
I trust you, Noct.
[ Gods, he wants to hug him, but as he is, he can't. ]
... Will you untie me?
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He feels his heart rate pick up once again at the other names, repeating them quietly as well. Gladio. Prompto. He died, to save the world? On that throne he can remember only briefly, surrounded by darkness and pain and then, suddenly, a blinding light. There were daemons (he remembers daemons, they were gone now, all the Messengers knew that), and he'd fought them. He'd fought one.
Something inside him twists at the idea of chasing those memories, so instead he shakes it off and carefully lifts Ignis up again, gaining access to the ropes so he can untie the knots holding him hostage, their hands brushing as he worked.]
I'm sorry... I... I know you're important to me. I want to remember... was I not allowed...?
[Were they taken from him, because of what he is now? A Messenger of the gods surely doesn't need human memories to fulfill their duty. But if that were the case, why allow him to come back while those who might know him were still alive?
He wishes there was someone who he could ask, but Messengers were made to convey the word of the Astrals to the people of the world. They weren't around to ask questions of those gods themselves.]
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... Thank you. [ he whispers quietly. For saving him, to whatever Gods that brought him back to Ignis, for giving Noctis a second chance at life. By some miracle that Noctis had heard him somehow.
He spares a glance at Noctis. ] You're very important to me to, Noct.
I'll help you, in any way that I can. I promise. [ he's determined to help Noctis out now. He spares a breath.
The rope is starting to slack around his wrists, almost there. There's two more knots left to go once Noctis has this one free. One knot on his upper back and the other around his legs. ]
... I promised you that I wouldn't forget you. [ Is that why Noctis has forgotten everything? Cause of Ignis' promise? He frowns a little, but it's a thought to keep in mind. ]
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[Noct's tone is musing in a way that sounds more like his old self, smiling faintly as he finishes the second knot and moves to Ignis' legs. It won't take long at all to free him; if he can't untie one of them, he'll just destroy it. He's wary of using that fire so close to Ignis, though, in case his control isn't stellar just yet. Do Messengers have to train their magic? There's no guidebook for this.
Despite his words, he's warmed by the idea that Ignis will help him. Perhaps, if he can stay for a while, whatever's wrong with his mind will fix itself. He'd... really like that. Even just to stay would be enough, memory or no. Ignis makes him feel safe.]
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Once the last of the ropes are off, he gingerly tests out his limbs, bringing his arms out from behind his back and grimaces a little at the stiffness of them. How long has he been tied up like that? He rubs at one of his arms a bit, trying to get out the kinks.
He reaches out to Noctis though. ] Noct, I'd like to try hugging you. Please. [ his tone almost betraying how desperately he needs it himself. ]
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[Are people allowed to hug Messengers...? Is that not a taboo or something? The question brings to mind a brief, flickering thought: the arms of a child wrapped around a dark-furred dog, hugging tightly and crying into its neck, in pain and mourning the loss of a friend.
Umbra...
He shifts a little closer, and spreads his arms.]
I'll let you.
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A tear slips down Ignis' cheek, his hands shaking a bit. Gods, it's been five years since he's felt Noctis in his arms like this. Five long, dark years.
He's happy though, safe and warm. But more than that, he's home. Home is where the heart is and he knows all too well where his heart lies. It's still with Noctis. Always Noctis. ]
You saved my life, Noct and I like to help you in return. You sounded like your old self a minute ago. [ there's hope in Ignis, hope that he can get Noctis' memories back. ] Do you trust me?
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Tentatively his arms rise up and hold the man back, fingers curling in his shirt. This... feels right. It's where he belongs. His mind doesn't remember yet, but his heart does.]
I... trust you, Iggy.
[How could he not? Even the words themselves feel right as they leave his lips, as if there'd be no reason in the world to not trust this man.]
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He tightens his grip a little, letting himself enjoy the moment. It wasn't until he had Noctis in his arms that it hit him hard that yes, this is real. Noctis is real. He's alive and well somehow, but Ignis isn't going to question it.
He keeps quiet as he struggles to keep his emotions in check, he doesn't want to break down. Not until he's been able to help Noctis. The other man needs him just as much as he needed Noct.
He pulls back after a bit and puts his forehead against Noctis', praying that this too, sparks something in the other man. ]
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His voice is faint as he speaks up again, wary of saying the wrong thing, of being wrong, of hurting this man who wants him to remember so badly.]
Ignis... you've... always been there, haven't you? Always with me. I can't keep it all in my head, but I can see you with me, every time I looked over, in my memories...
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I have, we've been through quite the bit together.
[ Remember me.
He pulls his head back a bit this time and he cups Noctis' cheek in his hand. ]
You're starting to remember, aren't you?
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I... think so. Just- you look different.
[His own hand lifts to trace softly just under the scar over Ignis' eye, examining the shape of his face.]
You've changed, but I remember your face.
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Five years will do that, [ he says softly. ] you've changed too, but I knew it was you by the sound of your voice.
[ Progress and he aims to keep at it. ]
What did you see?
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What did he see?]
...We were... cooking. It was quiet, and warm... your hands were on mine. Pastry, and... strawberries. [His eyes close again.] Lestallum...
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/new account hype
eyyyy
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