Disclaimer: I do not own FFXV.

Noct shambled out of the crystal room, furious but not afraid. His father knew. Luna knew. The Starscourge that cursed their planet, the ancient relic of a man who probably existed during the dragon era – he was destined to die taking them down, and all because the gods wouldn't get their own hands dirty.

His feet plowed down the familiar path to his room. Noct wasn't dealing with any meetings or social functions tonight. He needed to think. No. Thinking wasn't going to get him anywhere. He needed to do something.

Fingers twitched at his side, itching to reach into his Crystal Sphere and pull out a sword. He was more like Gladio than Ignis when it came to stress – hit something until his outsides felt like his insides. For a moment he considered doing just that, until shards of the vision trickled back through. A grey sky funneled by smoke from a burning city. A flash of blue light. An endless pain until suddenly…nothing.

Noct couldn't beat away this anger. He wasn't even going to try. This called for a different level of temper tantrum.

In the sky above, fractals of dying light glittered like stardust. Over the crystal the sunset glowed as its light caught a glancing angle in the glassy surface. The city was obstructed by the Wall. It was encased in its everlasting protection.

Noct knew the magic – Protect – but never used it. Often Glaives used it in battle, sometimes on the field, showing off their borrowed abilities. Noct refused to do anything remotely resembling his future. He didn't want to be the one sitting on a throne with the life slowly draining from him. But it wouldn't matter now. He was destined to die.

Without thinking, Noct turned the lock on his bedroom. Standing back, he raised his hand and called to the magic within him. It swept through the crystal and burned with a humming warmth in his fingertips. The magic built slowly; he wasn't used to this intricate of a spell. Shards of Protect magic came together, blue light forming solid plates which filled in the spaces he commanded. He had to account for every single hexagon as they formed over the door, across the ceiling, down around the other three walls, and over the balcony.

When the last plate solidified on the floor under his feet, Noct thought he'd try moving.

Bad idea.

The pull from the magic had him stumbling back as he lost balance. The bed cushioned his fall, and he lay where he landed. Noct's fist curled into the sheets.

How did his father do this with an entire city…?

… … … …

When Noct woke the next morning, he was surprised to see the wall still erected around his room. He wasn't known for making the most rational decisions, but as he examined it, a burst of self-satisfaction brought a half-cocked smile to his face.

And then he remembered why it was there.

Scowling, Noct drew the covers back over his head. He hadn't meant to receive the vision. For all he knew, it was an accident on Bahamut's part as well. But with the pull of the magic guiding him through the castle…it had seemed so natural to place his hand on the crystal.

There was a rattling at the door. "Noct, please. Unlock the door. It's time to get up."

Noct peeped out from under his covers, scowling. He was tempted to say something. Maybe, "Go away," or literally anything else childish that still communicated exactly how he felt.

"You have a meeting in an hour; there's no time for sleeping in," Ignis shook the door again. The wall was still there, still holding, and it was so strange…

Warping through the air felt like a burst of pain and magic as his atoms slipped from physical to magical properties and shot through the air. It was exhilarating and painful all at once. Phasing was like that but to a lesser degree. He felt phantom pain as swords bit through the particles of magic he left behind.

The Wall was perhaps more like phasing in this respect. Ignis knocked and rattled at the door handles, fighting to come inside. Noct could feel the hands pressing against his magic, but it was detached. Like a numb limb.

"Highness?"

There it was. The only time Ignis used honorifics was in mocking or sincere concern.

A prickling of guilt tickled his spine. He should take the wall down and let Ignis in so they could get on with the day.

But for what…? Nothing could be the same now that he knew.

Did Ignis know? The heat of the question burned his eyes, and he pillowed his face in the mattress beneath him. Had everyone been preparing him to die, secretly hoping and waiting for that day? He knew he was wrong. It wasn't possible to fake so much affection and care. Ignis had practically raised him after the attack that took his mom…

But it didn't change his fate.

Determination settled in his belly like a fistful of flame. If the gods wanted their savior, they would have to come get him.

And so the siege for the Chosen One's life began.