:Prologue:

In the Year of the Goddess 1626

He ran through the gardens, ignoring the freshly manicured pathways, and tore through the rose bushes. Crimson petals flew into the air like droplets of blood, scattering the rich scent of the roses into the crisp, pre-winter air. The bramble of thorns ripped his nightclothes and bit into his porcelain skin. His throat burned and his lungs cried desperately for air, yet he did not stop—could not stop, for to do so would mean the death of his beloved friend.

Noctis stumbled as he reached the small cottage hidden in the foliage at the farthest edge of the garden from the castle. His foot caught on a creeping vine and he fell. Pain tore through his left hand.

Instinctively, he cried out, "Prompto!"

A boy with sun-kissed skin and eyes like moonlight stumbled, half-dressed, out of the cottage. His golden hair trailed behind him in a loose sleeping braid. The boy's eyes immediately found Noctis and narrowed, his pupils morphing into animal-like slivers, at the site of the blood pooling around Noctis's hand.

Noctis shook his head, trying to clear it of the pain. Prompto was more important. "Prompto, you must-"

"You're injured," Prompto interrupted and knelt before Noctis. Carefully he took Noctis's hand and inspected the long cut across the prince's hand.

"It doesn't matter. You must run! My father, the king-"

"You need to get this treated."

"Never mind that! You're in danger. You need to run. Now!"

"The dirt will surly-"

"Listen to me!" Noctis commanded, ripping his bloody hand from Prompto's gentle grasp and cupping the servant's face in both of his hands, forcing Prompto to look at him, and smearing his blood across Prompto's cheek. They didn't have time for this! His father had honoured his late mother's promise to the exiled gardener for but a few years. Now that the gardener was also dead, the king saw no reason to continue. In the king's mind an Ollphéist was an Ollphéist, even if its mother was human, and Ollphéists were a threat. He had sentenced Prompto to death this very night.

"Prompto," Noctis continued, softening his voice. "Your mother is dead. It was not but an hour ago. Father has called for his generals. He's going to kill you."

For a moment neither boy moved. Noctis watched Prompto's silver eyes shifting, processing what he had just said. The gardener had always kept her son's demonic nature in-check, yet still everyone had feared Prompto because he was half-Ollphéist—everyone but Noctis, the kingdom's second prince. Noctis had seen the feral blood stirring beneath the surface, as he did now, but never had he feared the other boy. Prompto was his friend.

Noctis's thumb brushed under Prompto's eye—it was dry, the skin smooth to the touch. Prompto would not cry, despite the pain his heart was feeling. Others would call him heartless and blame it on his Ollphéist blood, but Noctis knew the strength of his friend. Right now the tears would only weaken Prompto and place him in more danger. So Noctis cried for him, allowing his own tears to spill down his cheeks.

"You must go," Noctis whispered gently. "You must run from this place. I do not yet have the power to protect you."

Slowly, Prompto looked at Noctis, his silver eyes strange and ethereal. Noctis could feel the beast behind those eyes, lurking beneath the surface. He could feel the raw power and animalistic hunger deep within Prompto, but all he could see was the gentle human who had those eyes, his best friend who was filled with naïve laughter and a bright view of an otherwise dark and war-torn world.

Wordlessly, Prompto brought Noctis's injured hand to his mouth and gently, as if Noctis's hand was the most precious thing in the world, licked the wound. Noctis gasped, his gaze never leaving Prompto's. His heart fluttered as warmth entered his wounded palm and spread through his body. When Prompto lifted his head, his lips were stained red.

"Will you wait for me?" Prompto asked; his voice shook with loneliness.

"I will," Noctis said without hesitation. "This will always be your home."

Prompto leaned forward and kissed his prince. Shocked, Noctis's heart beat wildly against its cage and then slowed in time with Prompto's. It was only a moment, a mere span of breath, but in that moment Noctis was one with Prompto, nothing separated them. It was as if in that single act of Prompto's lips touching his own that an ancient magick surrounded them, protecting them from the world and unified them. Slowly, Prompto pulled from the kiss and smiled at Noctis, who blushed to match the roses.

"I will return to you, I promise." Prompto stood, releasing Noctis's hand, and ran toward the castle wall.

Noctis watched him effortlessly climb the sturdy wall with his Ollphéist strength and then disappear into the darkness. Tears clouded Noctis's vision, this time for the pain in his own heart. Quickly, he wiped them away and then looked down at his injured hand. The wound had healed, replaced with a soft, silver scar. He smiled and closed his hand tightly as some unknown feeling welled up inside of him. His tears fell more freely. Whatever the Goddess had in store for them in the future, Noctis would protect Prompto with his dying breath.