21-23 August, 756:

The whole world was dark.

The others said Eos was dark, too. If the sun had risen while they were inside Zegnautus, none of them had caught sight of it. And now, fleeing through the streets of Gralea with daemons on their tail—but fearing worse things behind the daemons—it was, reportedly, still night.

Prompto found a car with the keys still in the ignition. Ignis wasn't much help in the search. He wasn't much help with anything, come to think of it. All he could do was bumble along and hope—pray—that he wasn't holding them back. For all he meant it when he said they should leave him if he fell behind, he wasn't sure that they would.

At least in the car he could forget, for a few hours…

No.

He wasn't even fooling himself, sitting there in the back with his cane between his knees, hunched forward and brooding. They should have left him behind in Zegnautus in the first place; neither Prompto nor Gladio could honestly say he hadn't been slowing them down on their way after Noctis. Maybe if they had left him, maybe if he had been a little faster, maybe if he hadn't been fucking crippled then…

Then what? Then they might have made it in time to say goodbye to Noctis? He knew scant little about what had passed, but he gathered it was unavoidable. And Reina—

Reina.

Reina… hadn't really spoken a word to him since… since he…

Gods, that had been a real thing that had actually happened, hadn't it?

He hadn't expected to live long enough to regret it, but as soon as they stopped running for their lives he certainly did regret it. Like now, sitting beside her in the back of some stolen car, surrounded by nigh-unbearable silence.

He shouldn't have kissed her.

Now she knew everything and, when she needed a friend the most, it would push her away if she didn't feel the same. If she didn't feel the same. As if there was some chance that she did. No, he never had the slightest chance with her. Just her brother's retainer and she was miles above.

If he had been a little bolder, he would have asked her to disregard the whole experience. He might have come up with some plausible excuse—it was, after all, commonly known that pressure did strange things to people and, though he prided himself above such things, evidently he was liable to make mistakes when faced with death.

Mistakes like… kissing his best friend's sister. Who also happened to be the Princess of Lucis.

Gods damn.

He should have been driving. He was always driving; not because he didn't trust the others—though, to be perfectly honest, Noctis' driving was more than a little nerve-wracking—but because driving gave him that necessary extra piece of control. And when one was a perfectionist, one wished to be in charge of ensuring everything was done properly.

Gods knew he could have used some semblance of control over his life at that moment. Illusory though it would have been.

But he wasn't going to get it, was he?

In the dark, he couldn't tell where they were or if they had left the city. It was also difficult to gauge time, with neither natural light nor a clock at his disposal.

They stopped to change drivers. No one mentioned the fact that he was just dead weight. The car started up again.

And so it went. Freezing air blew inside whenever anyone opened a door. He gathered from scattered comments that it had begun to snow. Hard to believe it was still August. Harder, still, to believe that two months ago Ignis had still believed he would one day be the king's adviser. And that he hadn't been useless.

The first dawn they stopped in an abandoned rest stop. No one wondered what had happened to the people. At least, not out-loud. That Niflheim had been using the Starscourge to turn humans into daemons, that the whole city—perhaps the whole empire—had gone under lockdown following an outbreak had been disturbing news, to say the least. But, if nothing else, it did give them some answers. They were short on those, these days.

Gladio guessed they weren't far from Cartanica, which gave Ignis something vaguely resembling bearings. He also knew the sun had finally risen, because everyone had commented to that effect. They were hoping to get enough rest while it was still up. Ignis tried to be optimistic, but he had always been more of a realist.

Their chances of getting out of Niflheim alive were slim.

They only ate cold, canned food that night. He should have been cooking, but he didn't know where to begin. He couldn't read labels. He couldn't search for ingredients. He couldn't find the tools he needed in an unfamiliar space and every space was unfamiliar, now.

He slept, fitfully, trying not to read into the fact that Reina stayed outside of the room all night—day—whatever it was .

When the sun set—it must have been light for no more than six hours—they loaded up the car with whatever food they could salvage, filled the tank, and took to the snowy road once more.

For a few hours they were silent as the road climbed and curved. It was a mournful quiet. A contemplative quiet. They had lost Noctis; it mattered very little that he would return, some day. By now, Ignis was certain, everyone knew what was to come on Noct's return. A few brief moments to say goodbye, before…

And so they mourned. Their king. Their brother. Their best friend. Their linchpin. For what were the four of them without Noctis? He was the center punched out of a wheel. The spokes were never going to hold together without him.

So far as Ignis knew, no one shed a tear for Noct. It hurt too much for that—knowing that they hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye, knowing that they would never be able to lay this to rest until his return, knowing they would spend Gods-knew-how-long waiting for him only to deliver him to his death, knowing that this loss meant the end of everything else…

They would have no more car rides across Lucis or nights spent under the stars. Ignis would never scold Noctis for dumping his vegetables on Reina's plate again. Gladio would never drag Noct out of the tent feet-first for sleeping in too late. There would be no more comfortable meals with raucous laughter. There would be no more comfortable silences.

There would be no more.

It wasn't fair that they were all stuck here in Niflheim, fighting their way back to Lucis just to wait—it wasn't right. They should have been with him. But he would have wanted them to carry on, wouldn't he? He would have wanted them to take care of his kingdom in his absence, as best they were able. If he had been granted a few moments to say something to them it wouldn't have been that, however. It would have been something asinine like—"Hey Prompto, don't get fat while I'm away"—followed by something too serious masquerading as a jest… "Specs, look after Rei, will you? She gets real weird if she spends too much time on her own."

Or maybe that was just Ignis wishing that Noctis had told him to take care of Reina.

Regardless, he was doing none of them any good by sitting around feeling sorry for himself over all the things he couldn't do anymore. Perhaps he couldn't drive and he couldn't fight and he couldn't cook… but he could still think. And what he thought, just now, was:

"There is little chance that we will find passage home in the same manner we arrived. That boat was from Altissia and I daresay they have not waited all this time for us."

"Well then… how do we get back home?" Prompto asked.

"Tenebrae seems our best chance," said Ignis.

In front of him, Gladio made a sound of agreement.

"There may not be many people left in Tenebrae." It was the first time he had heard Reina speak since Zegnautus. Jarring.

"We can only hope that some have survived. It may still serve as a beacon of sorts—the Oracle held back the dark, after all," Ignis said.

"Even if there is organization in Tenebrae, we may not be able to find passage to Lucis," Reina said.

"Shoulda stolen a Magitek engine," Prompto said.

"Those were full of daemons," said Ignis.

"That's all assuming we can even get to Tenebrae," Gladio said. "Snow's only getting thicker and I dunno about you guys, but I got no idea where the hell we're going."

Admittedly, Ignis' knowledge of Niflheim's geography was limited. But he knew Tenebrae was north and east of Gralea. And he knew that was the direction they were going.

"The best we can do is follow the road," he said.

They did, to the best of their ability. Though Ignis could feel the wheels slipping on ice, now and then, and the silence in the car thickened whenever they did. This car wasn't built for such conditions. Nor, it seemed, was the road itself. More than once they pulled over because the road had split and no one could find any signs. Ignis followed when they did this, despite how pointless it was. But freezing with the rest of them—useless though he was—was better than sitting in the car alone.

After each sign was found and their bearings regained, they climbed back inside, brushing off snowflakes and rubbing freezing hands together. No one told Ignis he didn't need to follow them.

Eventually Ignis felt the road shift and turn downward. So far as he could tell, they had been driving for well over ten hours—though it was difficult to say, precisely. But if they were coming out of the mountains, that was good news. Alas—

"We're not gonna make it to Tenebrae unless we find gas, soon," Gladio said.

"Maybe there'll be something at the bottom," Prompto said.

No one contradicted him; it seemed just as well to let the optimism stand for a few more hours.

But of course, when they did reach the bottom—the winding road leveling and straightening—it was only to prove their hopes wrong. Ignis didn't need to see to know there was no gas station.

They managed a little farther before the engine sputtered and died. And they sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating their options.

"So… now what?" Prompto asked, finally.

"We have little choice: we walk. If we find gas within a few miles we'll bring fuel back," said Reina.

No objections came. They filed out of the car and packed up what little food they had left. And they trudged through the thinning snow on foot. At least they had that consolation—whereas at the peak it had been knee high at the lowest points, here it was only a few inches deep. The wind didn't bite so hard, either. They would manage.

But they could only carry on so far on foot before growing tired. In the end, they found some shelter from the wind up against a cliff face and camped for the night. It wasn't cheerful like the camps they used to make in Lucis. It seemed more than two months ago, now; Ignis had never thought he would miss Gladio yelling at Prompto for taking photographs when he was supposed to be helping set up the tent or Noctis complaining about his feet hurting while he laid in the middle of the camp.

He never thought he would have the chance to miss cooking, either.

That had been for Noctis, in the beginning. Now he was gone and it just seemed like so much wasted effort. Who was he really cooking for? Reina? She hadn't enjoyed a meal since King Regis died. He doubted very much that she cared whether or not he cooked.

But Gods damn it, he wasn't just going to sit around and mope about doing nothing, then try to justify it with something besides his own self doubt. To hell with the rest. He was never going to get back on his feet if he didn't try to pull himself up.

So he pulled himself up and went to make dinner. It was easy to find where they had dropped the supplies—if nothing else, he still had his memory. But he hadn't really thought beyond that point and on to how to overcome to the obstacles he had already listed.

Like cans, for instance.

That was most of what they had brought from the rest stop. He found a few bell peppers in the bottom of the box—a little worse for the wear, but probably still salvageable—but short of opening every one of a dozen cans, he was never going to guess what was in each one. He could hold it for as long as he liked, run his fingers along the outside searching for some marking, but it was pointless.

What the hell was he still doing with them? If they ever reached Lucis, they would dump him somewhere to be useless for the rest of his days.

He clenched his fingers on the can and stayed there, kneeling in the dirt while he tried to salvage enough of his pride to admit he couldn't do it.

Behind him, boots crunched on rock, growing closer. He had to stop himself from turning to look—he might as well break that habit now. The footsteps stopped beside him. He wouldn't have known it was her except Gladio breathed more audibly and Prompto couldn't keep his mouth shut for that long. And… it was likely just his imagination, but he thought for a moment he caught a hint of her scent.

She didn't ask if he needed help. She didn't tell him he didn't have to do this. She didn't make any excuses for him or fill the silence with vacuous words.

She just said: "Chocobeans."

For a moment he didn't know what it meant. But then—he was still holding a can. Chocobeans.

He set it down and picked up another.

"Eos Green Peas," Reina said.

With beans, peas, and the mutilated bell peppers, he might just scrape a passable soup, but it would require a can of tomatoes. He might have just asked her if there were any. But he seemed to have misplaced his voice.

He picked up a third can.

"Pickled Sahagin Liver. Ew. Why do we have that?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He set that can pointedly away from the other two. There was every possibility that they would reach a day when their ability to be picky over food choice was stripped away. But it wasn't today. He picked up a fourth can.

He worked his way through the lot of them, that way, and he did find a can of tomatoes. That was enough—he gathered up the cans and the bell peppers, and climbed to his feet—he was past the impossible point, now. Except none of the kitchen was set up and he didn't know where that was. In fact, now that he had picked out ingredients he wasn't sure that they had any kitchen gear, anymore. Yes, they had stopped by the remains of the Regalia to recover whatever they could before leaving her behind for good, but why would anyone have taken the cooking gear?

Reina brushed his arm as she moved past him. She was through with him, now; she was well within her rights to leave him to sort out this mess on his own. He could find a can opener, likely, with a little searching. And then. Well. Perhaps there was a stray pan.

He heard the creak of hinges and the familiar scrap of metal on metal. But that was—why had they brought—?

Reina returned. She took his arm and led him forward, guiding his hand so it hit the little folding table before he did. He traced the edge and found the camp stove precisely where he expected to. He deposited the ingredients as Reina moved away from him, again, her hand lingering on his until the last moment. This time he knew she would return.

It wasn't unlike how they worked together in combat. If he left his hand outstretched, he was always assured she would come back for him.

She did.

She passed him a can opener and moved behind him, her hands just brushing across his back so he knew precisely where she was. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. This. This he could do. When Reina was at his side, filling in every hole left by his sight, he could almost forget he was crippled. He could almost forget—

How much he regretted kissing her in Zegnautus.

Ah.

Perhaps he couldn't. Not now that it had crossed his mind.

"Ignis—"

He lifted his head with a start. She was standing right next to him, giving up her own time to make his own handicap seem less when she didn't even care about dinner, and he was letting self-pity encroach once more. Now she would tell him he didn't have to try, didn't have to strive to fill the place he had—back when he wasn't blind.

But she didn't.

She didn't say another word. She just laid her hand atop his and, against his better judgement, he brushed his thumb over her hand, laced his fingers with hers. She held to him for a moment—so close! Gods, close enough that he could feel her warm against his arm. Was it at all possible that she—?

She lifted their hands, moving his until his palm rested against the handle of a kitchen knife.

Ah. But of course. That was it, after all. It made much more sense, honestly. In fact, it was something of a relief to know that she was only—

No. No it wasn't.

He gripped the knife and sliced the bell pepper in half. She had given him everything he needed, now, and she would leave. That was the only reason she was with him, after all. Just trying to make him feel less worthless—for a moment it had worked.

She didn't leave.

He could feel her at his back, one hand just barely resting near his waist as he worked. She stayed. And she moved when he moved, never in his way, only ever precisely where he needed her to be without any words being exchanged. For the remainder of the evening, they danced around each other: her arm brushed his back; his hand touched hers; their fingers interlaced and Ignis let himself hope, because it was better than misery. He cooked, but she was his eyes.

At the table she sat close enough to him that her leg brushed his and their shoulders bumped between bites. Her fingers grazed his hand when she set her spoon down and reached for her glass.

And when, at last, Ignis climbed into the tent after Gladio and Prompto, grateful to take advantage of the scant daylight hours… Reina followed. She never slept in the tent with them; she had always gone to the Regalia wherever they stopped, or else she had roamed the camp like a restless carnivore. But tonight she set her bed beside his and shifted closer. Close enough that her hand brushed his chest, then closer still until she was curled beside him. And slowly—ever so slowly, giving her ample time to tell him off—he placed his hands on her shoulders and inched them around.

She didn't tell him off. Not even when he had his arms wrapped around her, his head bowed over hers, memorizing her scent and just letting himself believe:

Perhaps it hadn't been a mistake.