Honor Bound

by TheAsset6

[Fix-It Fic] It's still hard for Noctis's friends to believe he has been gone for a year. However, when an old ally appears to tell them that what is gone might not be lost after all, that spark of hope they kept alive during their ten years apart is rekindled. Their only question: what will they have to sacrifice this time in order to bring their brother back alive?

10. Apocalypsis Prompto

A/N: Only two chapters left! Just so you guys are aware, the next few weeks are going to be very busy for me irl. As such, I may have to take an extra couple of days here and there to update-no more than that, though, so I won't keep you waiting. Thank you for your patience and, as always, for reading!

Chapter Ten: Apocalypsis Prompto

Thirty-one wasn't old. It wasn't. It was…mature. Yeah, that was it—mature. It was the age where you were old enough to hold down the fort; in a world where things were normal, you'd have your own place and pay your bills and all that boring stuff. Thirty-one was when you started looking more like an adult and less like a kid, even if you still felt like the latter at heart. (Then again, maybe that was just Prompto.) Thirty-one was when you had finally—hopefully—gotten your shit together and were ready to take on the world one step at a time.

Nope, thirty-one wasn't old. But damn, sleeping on solid crystal with nothing but the thin floor of the tent to cushion it was murder on his back.

Don't get him wrong: it was way better than trekking across the kingdom when his feet were killing him and his knees were threatening to rebel. The second they'd reached the haven, he'd thought for sure that he was going to need at least a week to convince them to stop whining at him about how far they had left to go. They should be used to this stuff by now! How often had they gone traipsing through the wilderness on a hunt or just attempting to put some distance between themselves and a few magitek troopers? And that wasn't even counting the years they'd spent with no beds, no havens, and no chance to lay low for a while. All things considered, he simply should have been grateful that they had a tent and food to begin with—which he was.

Still, gratitude and awareness that he was so not as young as he used to be weren't mutually exclusive. He could have slept in any number of awkward positions when he was a kid; spending the night on uneven rock hadn't been too tough on their journey, although it wasn't an ideal scenario regardless. Now, however, his joints popped as he sat up and stretched his arms over his head. The pervasive ache in his muscles had disappeared, which was good since they had a hell of a hike ahead of them, but the rest? He was going to need a professional masseuse when they got back to the real Lucis.

Maybe it was the fact that he'd actually gotten a full whatever-they-wanted-to-call-it of sleep, or maybe a few of his marbles had been shaken loose at Cauthess. Either way, it struck him as sort of funny that he wasn't immediately attacked by the involuntary suspicion that perhaps he should be saying if they made it back to the real Lucis. That was all they'd done for eleven years: whenever they turned around, they had to wonder if it would be the last chance they got. The daemons could have slashed them to bits or the empire might have dropped an airship on their heads or Ardyn could have decided he was bored with them and annoyed them to death—any number of terrible fates could have befallen them, yet here they were. If had never come to pass, and now there was no if to think about for the first time in too long. They were going to find Noct and go home. They were going to succeed even if it was harder than it sounded. They were going to be okay.

They'd never be normal again, though. Just like the muscle spasms that made it difficult for him to stand, there was no returning to the days when that wasn't the case. Training and staying active could only do so much. Eventually, with or without his permission, some stuff was bound to get harder. Today, it was shaking his sore limbs loose from their slumber and shrugging off the incessant pins and needles that erupted in his legs as he put his weight on them. Tomorrow, who knew? They were different people, constantly changing. When they found him, so would Noct. Like Ignis had said yesterday—or earlier today? Whatever—he would be married. They'd all have jobs to do, and not the kind where they could skive off every now and again by faking an exam to study for. That wouldn't leave them much time for reminiscing let alone enjoying the things they used to. As with his physique, it was a fact of life he had no choice but to accept. The past was gone no matter how badly they wanted it back.

But that was a little too heavy for him to be thinking about, right? He was supposed to be happy. He was supposed to be barging out of the tent, wondering what they were going to have for breakfast before he stuffed his feet back in his boots and pretended that they didn't feel ten times too small after all that walking. The depressing stuff wasn't what he needed to be focusing on. Aches and pains would fade; so would the pangs of longing he totally wasn't having. Now was the moment to look on the bright side. He'd slept reasonably well despite the situation, and Gladio's snoring hadn't kept him up for more than a couple of minutes. Ignis's cooking was still fresh in his memory and his breath (apparently the Astrals hadn't considered the noble art of teeth-brushing when they'd sent a divine care package their way), and they were at least a bit closer to their goal than before. This was positive! He could do this!

He thought.

It was a good thing Prompto was talented at rolling with the punches, because they just kept coming.

He'd barely slipped out of the tent, tiptoeing over Gladio where the latter was still asleep, when he registered that something wasn't right. Sure, it could have been the usual weirdness they had discovered was the norm here—the sun remained in the same position as it had been when they'd stopped to rest, and the crystal hadn't changed in the meantime. There was something missing, though, something that was never gone when he first woke up at camp every morning.

"Uh…Iggy?"

Prompto vaguely heard Gladio shift behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for waking the big guy when they were down one member of the party.

That was how it looked, anyway. The campsite was abandoned. Ordinarily, Ignis would have been making breakfast or something; he wasn't the type to sit around and wait until they were awake enough to leave, preferring to be prepared for departure as soon as they were mobile. That being said, it was more than a little disconcerting that he was nowhere to be found. His chair was empty, the stove wasn't running, and all the food the Astrals had left for them was untouched. There were a few more open (and empty) Ebony cans strewn about than earlier, but that was really the only difference as far as he could tell. So, either Ignis had overdosed on caffeine and gone on a walk to burn off some steam, or…

"Hey, Gladio. I think we got a problem out here."

"That's all we ever got is problems," the former Shield grumbled drowsily, joining him outside regardless. "What is it this time?"

"I…think we lost Iggy."

There was a pregnant pause where it appeared that Gladio might just sock him in the jaw, although whether for losing part of their trifecta or making it sound like they'd misplaced a fork, he couldn't tell. Whichever it happened to be, Prompto was inordinately relieved when Gladio's eyes slid past him to the rest of the haven with a frown of confusion.

"Where the hell'd he go?"

Shrugging, Prompto halfheartedly suggested, "Maybe for a walk?"

"Not like him to wander off without saying something."

No, it really wasn't. Then again, was anything normal around here? Getting one of Ignis's signature meals and spending a few hours sleeping in the familiar surroundings of their tent (or a tent that looked just like theirs) didn't mean that things were on the up and up. In fact, Prompto had a feeling that the gods had an ulterior motive in preparing such a nice spot for them. On the one hand, they were being rewarded after Gladio bested Titan like they'd figured; on the other, it was the perfect opportunity to get another of them on their own for more fun.

Somehow, Prompto thought he knew which one it was this time.

"You think we should go look for him?" he asked, already moving towards the edge of the haven. Even from this height, he couldn't quite tell the difference between the rocks jutting out of the ground and the crystal-coated trees that dotted the landscape. Determining which one might be Ignis, if he was upright or even here, would be impossible if they didn't leave the relative safety of their perch.

Gladio must have been thinking along the same lines, because he didn't hesitate for a second in hopping down to the flat ground below and heading towards the Slough. "Ain't gonna do us much good staying put. There's no tellin' how long he's been gone."

"Or if he's by himself," Prompto observed as he trailed along in Gladio's wake. The latter's grunt of affirmation wasn't exactly the most comforting.

"That too."

At this point, Prompto figured the opposite was pretty much a given, not that he was going to say that out loud. Initially, it had seemed like they were on their own path, choosing where they would go and how they would get there and what they would do along the way. Now, however… Well, they clearly weren't as in control of the situation as they'd thought. It was more like those amusement park rides where you got to drive a car, but it was on rails so that you weren't actually doing anything. Sure, you'd tell it to go faster or slower, but ultimately it would follow the designated path until you reached your starting point again.

That was what the Six were doing to them—he could practically guarantee it. They were driving along in their fancy Citadel car and wearing their fancy Crownsguard shoes, but they weren't the ones pulling the strings here. They had assumed they were; they could have stopped and turned around anytime, after all. So long as they chose to continue, though, it was the gods who had taken the wheel. They could either get with that program or go back home without Noct.

So, that decision was obviously made for them.

It probably should have made him feel better to know that things were out of their control; there was something to be said for the unknown, at least to him. If you could keep walking, even though you had no idea what was waiting around every corner, then you'd be fine. Well, maybe not entirely fine—there was always the possibility that you would fall over a cliff or get tossed off a train, but that was neither here nor there. The point was that keeping it cool and putting one foot in front of the other was the best way to press on. It got you to the end of the line, regardless of whether it was an easy road. Ever since he was a kid, he'd figured that he was that sort of person, that it simply came naturally to him. They'd survived so much over the years—stuff that was far worse than waking up to see that Ignis was missing—and he'd bounced back every time. When he was little, he'd basically taken care of himself; as he'd gotten older, he had struck the perfect balance between his responsibilities and hanging out with the sole friend he'd really made throughout their high school career. Their road trip from hell had been slightly different, but the principle was pretty much the same: get there and back again without having a nervous breakdown. He hadn't done such a bad job there, right?

This was more of the same, that was all. It didn't matter which god was waiting to test him or who had claimed Ignis's trial for themselves. It didn't matter if the examination was as physically stressful as Gladio's (he was really hoping not, since he was strong but definitely no Gladio) or mentally taxing as he assumed Ignis's would have to be. None of that was a big deal. He'd be fine. He always was, with or without his friends at his side.

He merely had to remember that as they strode carefully along the grassy strip that ran from the haven down towards the Slough, scanning every inch of the place for a sign that Ignis had come this way. It would have been so much easier if it weren't for the crystal underfoot: in the real Alstor Slough, they would have been able to spot footsteps in the mud. The ground was always squishy and spongy, so it was no hardship to track a hunt or spot where some imperial airships had decided to get up close and personal with the flora. Here, though, they didn't have that option. The hard and unyielding earth beneath them didn't change, not to fossilize a footstep or even to offer them any traction. In the back of Prompto's head, he couldn't help but be grateful that they weren't on a slope—now that would have been a hell of a hike.

Lucky for them, it didn't take long to locate their quarry. They'd barely made it past the outlying pools when they saw a familiar figure silhouetted against the perpetual dawn and, exchanging a glance, broke into a run to reach Ignis before he could once again vanish before their eyes.

Okay, so he hadn't vanished before their eyes last time. Still, they should have heard him leaving—that was totally something they'd hear!

From the looks of it, they weren't the only ones who appeared to need some earwax removal. Their footsteps pounded against the solid ground, but Ignis didn't budge an inch. Actually, it was almost as if he had become part of the crystal himself: he was utterly still where he stood at the edge of the mere, his shoulders rigidly straight and his arms pressed to his sides with his fists clenched. If Prompto didn't know any better, he'd say the guy was about to take a dive into shallow water, he was that steady. It was more than a little weird given that he would have jumped face first into some pretty badass and wholly unbreakable rock. Now was probably a good time to intervene.

"Hey, Iggy!"

Or…not?

He may as well have kept his mouth shut for all the good his greeting had done. Ignis didn't turn to face them, nor did he so much as register their presence. His back remained to them as they slowed to a halt at his rear, Prompto peering around to see what it was he was looking at.

Which was nothing. He was looking at nothing.

This is…weird. Like, super weird.

If Gladio's furrowed eyebrows were any indication, then the latter wasn't feeling a whole lot better about the situation than he was. That didn't stop him from easing forward and reaching out to give Ignis's shoulder a light shove, though.

"Iggy? You with us?"

It was like someone flipped a switch: Ignis immediately reacted, hauling in huge gulps of air as though he had been trapped underwater instead of simply watching it. He wrenched his arm out of Gladio's grasp in a blur of motion, whirling around to stare at them both with a wide and kind of wild-looking eye. Honestly, it was the most disheveled he'd ever seen the guy, which was saying something since they'd been through Altissia and back again.

Altissia… Oh, man…

"Whoa! It's just us," Gladio assured him, taking a step back nevertheless with his hands raised in a show of capitulation. It was a nice gesture, as far as Prompto was concerned, but sort of…what was the word he was looking for? Oh, yeah—pointless. None of them were armed! All that stuff was back at the haven. Where they'd left it. Because they were too worried about Ignis to grab it.

Yeah. They probably should have thought harder about that one. Not that their weapons would do them much good against the Six, but still, it paid to be cautious.

It also paid not to startle Ignis, who was staring at them as if he didn't know them. Well, maybe that was taking it a step too far—there was familiarity in his gaze, albeit the type that you usually saw when someone wasn't happy to see you. That didn't make sense, though. Why wouldn't he be happy to see them? Gladio was pretty quiet about stuff like that, but even he had been visibly relieved when they'd hauled his ass halfway to the haven rather than a giant stone god and his pet rock. Ignis, on the other hand, looked more like he would rather run in the opposite direction.

At least, for a second. Whatever had happened, it wasn't enough to keep the rational part of Ignis's brain from kicking in again. He blinked once—twice—then shook his head before turning to gaze out over the water in silence. If he was hoping to spot something, then he was sorely mistaken: nothing had changed in the last few seconds, and Prompto highly doubted it had in the time he'd been standing there either. However long that had been.

Thankfully, it wasn't his job to call Ignis on it, nor was it Gladio's. Nah, their resident genius was plenty capable of shrugging off an awkward situation. That, after all, was what he'd been trained to do.

"Apologies," he murmured, although he didn't quite meet their eyes as he put the Slough behind him and strode straight towards camp with his head held high. They eyed him and each other warily for a moment before hurriedly following suit.

"That's it?" snorted Gladio as soon as he drew up alongside him and matched his rapid pace. "You're not gonna tell us what the hell that was all about?"

"Certainly, you've already guessed," retorted Ignis brusquely. He had a point there, even if they weren't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"Damn right we did. Was guessing it'd be time to share with the class, too."

"There isn't a great deal to divulge."

This time, it was Prompto who scoffed. "Not much to share? Dude, seriously?"

"Suffice it to say that I passed the trial to their satisfaction," Ignis explained vaguely, waving a hand over his shoulder in obvious dismissal.

Ooh. Must've been bad.

That was the only reason Prompto could think of for why he wasn't more forthcoming with information. Ignis wasn't the emotional type: he got upset about things from time to time, but he tended to shove them aside to deal with later so that he could stay focused on whatever it was they needed to get done. He'd been trying to teach Noct that lesson for just about as long as Prompto had known him, so he was well aware that Ignis had the art of avoidance down to a science. This, however, was going a bit too far even for him. It wasn't like how things had gone after Altissia; it wasn't as though he had gotten quiet and shut himself off from the rest of them until he determined how he was going to handle the loss. That had been dodging, evading, protecting himself from the truth he never would have admitted he wasn't ready to accept back then.

This was pretending that everything was normal. Prompto wasn't sure which was worse.

Gladio, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the same problem. He similarly didn't appear to have any qualms about grabbing Ignis's arm to stop him and insisting, "No, that doesn't suffice. Give it up, Iggy. What'd they want from you?"

A decade ago, Ignis would have shrugged him off and insisted that it wasn't important. A decade ago, he would have said that they were wasting valuable time with superfluous details that they could further discuss on the road if they so chose. A decade ago, he would have turned right back around and gotten breakfast started because that was just what Ignis did.

But this wasn't a decade ago, and Ignis's impeccable posture slumped slightly when he got a load of Gladio's expression. Whether he figured he wasn't getting out of this (which was true) or that it was merely easier to give them what they wanted (which was also true), Prompto couldn't tell. Either way, he heaved a sigh and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose like he always did when he was stressing over something. This time, however, it wasn't anywhere near as benign as which type of fish would be best with whatever sauce he was cooking up.

"It was…rather different from what you described," he deliberately elaborated, his gaze locked on a point somewhere in the distance that neither of them could see. "They did not wish for me to demonstrate my intellect."

"No surprises there," grunted Gladio, to which Ignis nodded absently.

"Indeed."

When he didn't immediately continue, Prompto gently prodded, "Then, uh…what did they want you to do?"

Ignis's wince was almost imperceptible. Almost.

"They wanted me to make a choice."

"What choice?"

For a second, Prompto was positive it would be something terrible. Maybe they'd forced him to choose between saving Noct or someone else he cared about? Or perhaps he'd been made to decide between keeping Noct alive and helping the rest of the world? That sounded like the Astrals, especially recently, and it definitely would have fit with why they were here. The whole point was that they were supposed to forsake the planet for Noct, right? Gods and all that—they didn't matter if the three of them could find a way to make sure Noct was cared for. Gladio had literally dropped half a mountain on one of them, and instead of getting ticked off, they'd given him such a rough pat on the back that they'd knocked the guy out. Prompto wouldn't say it made total sense, but hey, that was the theme of the week.

So was sacrifice, in which case, it wouldn't have surprised him at all if they'd laid that choice before Ignis: Noct or the world.

Pfft, as if he'd say no.

That was one thing Prompto could predict with absolute certainty. Ignis's loyalty and devotion to Noct had never wavered for an instant, not when the chips were down in imperial territory or when Noct refused to eat his vegetables or when he'd insisted on hanging out with some commoner rather than attending to some of his royal duties. Whenever Prompto turned around, it had been to see Ignis doing something for Noct—cooking his meals, cleaning his apartment, mending his clothes, summarizing his meetings, driving him where he wanted to go. The list was so extensive that Prompto didn't think the most dedicated archaeologists would ever find the end of it. The two of them were close, maybe even closer than Prompto or Gladio could claim to be. Yeah, they were all best friends; they loved each other unconditionally and would do anything for one another, whining and teasing notwithstanding. With Ignis and Noct, though, it went a step further. There was simply no accounting for the fact that they'd known each other practically their entire lives. It didn't mean that Prompto or Gladio were any less important to Noct, but it nevertheless spoke volumes about the depth of his relationship with Ignis. If the latter had to decide between Noct and setting the world on fire, then he'd be the one holding the match. Always had been, always would be.

Presumably. So much had changed that Prompto wasn't too sure about how anything would play out when they returned home.

But not Ignis. He was a rock—a sturdier one than Titan, too. He'd take up professional soap carving before he'd let Noct come to harm, and the gods had to know it.

Which they did. Apparently.

"One I never should have lamented making," was all Ignis said by way of response, a slight smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he set off for the haven again.

They didn't get anything else out of him after that. He cooked in silence, ate in silence, indicated that he needed to get some sleep in near silence—he was a closed book. It was only because they knew him well that he and Gladio were able to piece together what must have happened, and considering what they came up with, Prompto couldn't really blame him for wanting to keep it to himself. Ignis had suffered enough after Altissia, and in more ways than one. Having to relive that? Having to come to terms with it again and make the same choice even if it wouldn't change anything? That had to be killer, especially for a guy who prided himself on never making the same mistake twice.

Except the tofu. Prompto would never understand what had possessed him to try that again when they'd all either been sick or gone hungry the first time.

Just like his nastiest culinary creation, Prompto had believed that Ignis's injury would remain in the past, as well. There was no arguing that they'd been shaped by their experiences, of course; that was a given for anyone, not merely the retainers to the last king of Lucis. Even so, none of them were ready to jump in and go through an encore performance. They'd done their time, so there was no reason for them not to put those obstacles behind them and move the hell on.

If they were normal people, that was. Normal people got away with that sort of thing.

Lucky.

The more they learned about these trials, the more obvious it became that the gods seemed to have something else in mind for them. Part of Prompto had to wonder if being a deity meant being trapped in the past, to a certain extent. They never really escaped anything: all their mistakes followed them forever, as did their successes. Spurning Ardyn one year had led to devastation millennia later, not to mention that they were apparently harboring some pretty major bitterness toward the old world given their stupid idea to use the l'Cie as an example instead of a cautionary tale. Yeah, those guys were obsessed with things that had happened rather than the stuff that was going to.

Humanity, at least as Prompto knew it, wasn't like that. Sure, some people got caught up with what they couldn't change; their regrets took over until, eventually, it was too much to stomach. They ditched friends over senseless grudges and built families on the stuff they hadn't gotten when they were kids—but they still moved on. Most of them tried to fashion something better for themselves, whether they actually managed it or not. Sheesh, that was all they'd been doing for the last year, technically longer if they wanted to count the decade they'd spent holding the world together until rebuilding was a possibility. Improvement meant learning from your mistakes and your experiences alike, but the Astrals? They were a bit too into the irony of repetition for Prompto's tastes.

That more than anything else was why he found himself breathing a little quicker and scanning their surroundings more carefully when they left the haven a few hours later, a handful of snacks (and almost a whole case of Ebony) stowed in the packs the Six had left for them while the rest remained behind. Between Gladio's test and now Ignis's, Prompto was really beginning to dread the road ahead, excited though he was to find Noct. Both of them had been transported backwards to their defining moments; both of them had been forced to navigate their pasts a second time, albeit under very different circumstances. All in all, they'd come through in one piece. Actually, Ignis was looking better than he had when they'd gotten here. Strike that—he looked better than he had for eleven years straight. It wasn't like he'd spent that time moping around or anything. Prompto didn't think he would be capable of that even if he got all his limbs cut off and had to go through life being dragged around by a flock of rabid chocobos. Regardless, that didn't mean that he wasn't occasionally prone to the kind of frustration that betrayed emotions he would never mention aloud. Even a saint like Ignis wasn't immune, nor could anyone blame him for it. A lot of people would have given up if they'd lost their sight and then immediately gotten caught up in an apocalypse. Ignis? He made it look easy.

Mostly.

As they continued their pilgrimage east towards the Malacchi Hills, however, there was a spring in his step that Prompto hadn't seen there in years, and it didn't have anything to do with the fact that he could see again. No, when they'd entered the Blademaster's gateway, Ignis had seemed more wary than relieved. Like Prompto and Gladio, he had to know that this arrangement wasn't permanent. What was the point of getting excited when it wouldn't last? If the Astrals hadn't fixed his eyes way back when, then they weren't about to change things up now. The kings had made this decision; they had chosen what Ignis would have to sacrifice in order to use their power since he didn't have a drop of royal blood in him. That didn't appear to disappoint him anymore, though, which was comforting. Ignis was more deserving than most of finding happiness, and the peace that had settled over him in the wake of his trial totally qualified.

It also totally set Prompto on edge. The last time they'd been this close to Fociaugh Hollow, the trees had been enough to do that. They loomed overhead here exactly as they had at home, a dark canopy against even the pink-tinged, Astral-inspired sky above. When he was younger, they'd been far more imposing than the towering skyscrapers he'd grown up with, and he'd wondered on numerous occasions what could possibly be waiting in the undergrowth to jump out and grab them. (Depending on the hour, they ranged from cute to oh god, oh god, get me out of here. What you got was a toss-up in those days.) It never mattered that he had a perfectly good firearm in his arsenal or that he was surrounded by guys who had literally been training their entire lives to defend themselves and their prince—he'd always leapt a few feet in the air and left his skin behind at the tiniest snap of a branch.

Now, that wasn't what had him peering nervously into the shadows that even the Six hadn't been able to banish from their perfect world. Rather, he was busy pondering when he was going to be taken from the others and dropped into his own past so that he could do…something. He had a feeling he already knew what it would be, but he didn't want to commit to the belief lest he end up disappointed—and utterly unprepared.

As if there's any other alternative.

Preparation was for stuff you could see coming. They had prepared for a journey to Altissia; Gladio and Ignis had spent years preparing to serve Noct. King Regis had prepared for Niflheim to take over Lucis, and Ardyn had prepared for his simultaneous victory and defeat at Noct's hands.

This was different. This was so different that Prompto couldn't count the ways.

Rolling with the punches would only get him so far where the Astrals were involved; improvisation could only do so much. After that, he simply had to hope that luck was on his side. It hadn't been for a couple of decades now, but who was to say that he wasn't due for a little visit from the goddess called fortune? Ignis had already danced with the other goddess, so it wasn't like he was entirely out of left field, right?

Man, he sure hoped so.

If he was being honest, it wasn't actually the possibility that he might screw up his test that got to him, not really. Ultimately, the gods were on their side; the Six wanted them to make it to Noct as much as they did. That, at least, was how it looked from the outside. In that case, it wasn't like things could go too badly. His insecurities stemmed instead from the idea that Gladio and Ignis had already won the Astrals' respect while he was mentally scrambling to figure out what the hell his task was going to be. Gladio had gone a few rounds with Titan, and it sounded as though Ignis had appeased Leviathan, which left three gods waiting for him to wrangle some approval from them. Well, that was what he was counting on, anyway. Somehow, he had a feeling that Ifrit wouldn't be hanging around after they showed him what was what. That made him feel better, albeit slightly.

Then he remembered that he would have to face Bahamut, Ramuh, or Shiva and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Odds were, he already had a fairly good idea of who would be coming for him. After all, they had one thing in common: both of them had been personally victimized by Niflheim.

That thought consumed him as Prompto followed along behind Gladio and Ignis, silently wondering what would be waiting for him when he inevitably returned to what Ardyn made out to be his home sweet home. Nothing else would make any sense: that was the sole instance on their journey when he'd been both alone and vulnerable, which fit the trend of their trials so far. Of course, that didn't answer all of his questions, like what they would want to see from him in the empire when he figured he'd already come to terms with all that a long time ago. Gone were the concerns of what the others would think of him if they found out that he was born a Niff; his insecurities about being more a nuisance or a threat to their brotherhood were a thing of the past. He didn't even feel so bad anymore about having shot the guy they'd cloned him from—he'd deserved it! Besides, if it were up to him, Noct would have died and he would have become a god capable of taking down the Six. Maybe they had reason to be leery of the Astrals, but that didn't mean Prompto wanted them out of the picture. They had their moments where they were super useful.

Unlike his…old man.

Ugh, don't even!

It didn't sound right—it had never sounded right. His parents had been Lucian. No, they weren't the greatest people on the planet, not when they certainly hadn't understood how to raise a kid. Years later, Prompto still didn't know what had happened to them; he couldn't even be sure of whether the silence was a sign that they were dead or purely that they didn't care to find him. And that was fine! That bridge had been crossed, and he had no plans to turn back. Whatever they had or hadn't been, though, they had fed him. They'd clothed him. They'd provided a home and everything he could possibly want except the company to go along with it. Prompto had fended for himself much of the time, but he'd managed because they provided the tools he needed to do so. Maybe they weren't the best humanity had to offer—maybe they weren't going to be getting world's best parents gifts from him, like, ever—but they'd done right by him. That was more than he could say for the guy who claimed to be his father eleven years ago.

Prompto had accepted that and was ready to put a few bullets in him again if that was what it took to prove to the Six that he was prepared to set everything aside for Noct. He just… Well, he really didn't want to have to.

And he definitely didn't like having to guess that that was what they wanted in the first place.

"Gonna have to get over it somehow."

Blinking, Prompto shook himself from his reverie to deliver a retort when he realized Gladio wasn't talking to him. He also couldn't read minds, so that was a stupid idea anyway.

Pay attention!

"Climbing is the fastest route," Ignis posited, staring at the dark hills that rose up to meet them and the fence that stood in their way. "If we follow the road in either direction, we'll lose precious time."

Gladio hummed in agreement. "That'd be a waste. Longwythe is just on the other side."

"And from there, it's a simple matter of entering the Crown City."

"Up 'n' over it is, then."

"Uh, guys?" Prompto interjected with a frown as he skeptically surveyed the green barrier. "I don't see anywhere to climb."

That would have been too easy, and far be it from the Astrals to lower the bar. The whole crystal thing was pretty, if a bit old after a while, but there were distinct drawbacks. For one, it was killing his feet: the padding in his boots wasn't designed for this. It was accustomed to dirt roads and uneven, rocky terrain, not hard surfaces with no give whatsoever. For another, the smooth surface was awesome…until you had to find something to hold on to. Then you were in a world of trouble.

Ignis must have realized the same thing, given that his eyes narrowed as he concurred, "It's a bit too steep to ascend without anchorage points."

"Then we'll have to give each other a boost," Gladio shrugged them off carelessly, already leaning against the side of the fence and lacing his fingers so that Ignis could climb up over his shoulders.

"Well, when you're the size of a hill," muttered Prompto.

"Less talking. More hiking."

"Yeah, yeah."

One of these days, they needed to have a serious talk about the difference between normal people and meatheads who spent too much time in the gym.

That wasn't today, though, and Prompto had enough on his mind without the added benefit of Gladio's admittedly handy muscles. Ignis had a point, after all: once they were over the Malacchi Hills, they would pass through Leide and approach Insomnia. They were rapidly running out of time for the gods to accost him, if they were planning on doing it before they arrived at the Citadel, which meant that it could happen anytime now. Maybe when they got to Hammerhead, given that that was where he'd sort of made his second home until Noct got back. Ooh, or the Six were waiting until they moved into the city—it would make sense, considering the fact that the destruction had been caused by a monster that originated from the same creator he had. Oh, man. What if they wanted to test him when they reached the throne room? That would suck. They'd be right there, so close to the end of their road, when bam! He was back in Niflheim, freshly tossed off a train and frozen within an inch of his life.

That would be so like them.

Which was why he was caught completely unawares when Gladio launched him upwards only for him to land somewhere entirely different from the hillside where Ignis was reaching out a hand to catch him.

Uh… What the hell?!

Prompto stumbled forward, his feet weighed down by heavy boots that climbed up his leg to his knees rather than the shorter ones he'd grabbed specifically because they were meant for hiking. These weren't unfamiliar, though—nothing about his situation was unfamiliar. The boots, the long jacket, the ceremonial silver fastenings on his sleeves were all a real blast from the past. It had been a while since he'd had the guts to put on his Kingsglaive attire; there was no point in standing on ceremony without a king, and he was in and out of Insomnia so often that dressing up didn't make much sense. All he'd do was toss the uniform aside and don something more appropriate to his mission when he set out again, so why bother going to the trouble of cleaning the entire ensemble purely so he could strut around in it for a few hours? He had plenty on his plate without adding that into the mix, yet there he was, constrained by the familiar cut of the fabric and standing in a spot where he hadn't ventured in over a year.

He had to hand it to them: the Six were definitely pulling out all the stops on this one. Of all the places in the world where his trial could have occurred, he wouldn't have thought the Citadel would qualify. Niflheim had been the most likely; it was all he'd spared a thought for, really. That was the lowest point in their journey, at least for him. He'd been torn down and built himself back up from the pieces that remained, which had taken a lot of effort and some serious ass-kicking from Aranea to pull off. It would have been so poetically ironic if the Astrals had sent him there to do it all over again like they had Ignis and Gladio.

Instead, they'd brought him to the Citadel, and not the one they were expecting to discover when they reached the Crown City of the divine plane. As far as he could tell, Prompto wasn't even in that weird alternate reality anymore. The crystal that ensconced the world was conspicuously absent, leaving everything the way it always had been rather than an eerie imitation of itself. The shiny floors were waxed within an inch of their marble lives; he could tell from the slight slipperiness beneath the soles of his boots. Sunlight filtered in through the windows at the head of the chamber, the bright illumination of late afternoon a stark contrast to what he'd grown accustomed to in the Astrals' creation. Perhaps the most drastic change, however, was that he wasn't alone here—there were other people all around him. They stood at intervals along the walls, their expressions impassive yet very much alive all the same. It was the sort of thing he was positive they weren't going to find in the other Insomnia, not unless it was part of yet another trial.

He really hoped there wouldn't be another. When his eyes drifted towards the throne that overlooked all of it, he figured he was already going to have a hard enough time getting through this one.

Because Noct was there. Noct was here, seated on the chair that had been passed down through generations of his family and looking every bit the true king he was. It was simultaneously surreal and a punch to the gut that Prompto hadn't anticipated. This was what they'd wanted. This was what they were working towards, what they were hoping to achieve as they approached the crystalline Crown City. Seeing it, though? Having more than a mere vision of it before his eyes? Overwhelming wasn't quite the word for the sensation that assaulted him as he stood in that spot, staring up at his best friend and monarch where the latter's father had addressed them eleven years prior. He'd felt about as prepared then, too, which was saying something since he hadn't been tried and tested at that point. After all that had happened, he should have been able to handle it better. He had proven himself; he'd gone above and beyond to make sure he was the kind of person who could be there for his best friend in spite of his serious lack of training in that department. He should've been able to hold his head high, ignore the fact that this was totally the beginning of the Astrals' test, and ask if there was anything his liege needed.

He didn't. And it wasn't only because his mouth had gone too dry to speak.

The doors at the other end of the throne room chose that moment to open, admitting someone Prompto hadn't expected to see. Well, he hadn't expected any of this, but he was struck dumb anyway.

Lady Lunafreya was as radiant as she had been in the pictures of her that had circulated over the years, practically glowing with a light that he didn't think had anything to do with being the Oracle. It was in her smile when her gaze fell on Noct, and her eyes gleamed with something that at once made Prompto feel like maybe he shouldn't be intruding on a private moment between…between…

Husband and wife.

The golden ring on her finger was unmistakable: Ignis had shown it to him once before they'd left the Citadel, explaining that the king had ordered it for the ceremony he would never have the pleasure of seeing. That none of them would have the pleasure of seeing, because it wasn't destined to happen in their world. Not yet.

Here, however, it looked like they'd already tied the knot. Lady Lunafreya was officially queen of Insomnia and Tenebrae, that ring a match for the familiar crown that poked out from the side of Noct's head. The two of them were here and they were happy…

And Prompto was so in the way.

"I should—Uh, I can go," he offered, pointing towards the door behind Lady Lunafreya as she approached.

It was as if he hadn't said a word: she didn't pause to so much as glance in his direction, nor did Noct acknowledge him or his discomfort. They carried on like he wasn't in the room, the queen brushing past him while the king descended from his throne to meet her on the dais. They didn't say a word, not to each other and definitely not to him, but they didn't really need to. The way they were looking at each other basically said it all.

Oh, yeah. I should go.

"I'll just be outside if you need me," he murmured as he turned to go. His heart dropped into his stomach when there was still no response, and it took every bit of effort he could muster not to be insulted by it. Noct was king, after all—he had tons of retainers and guards, plus a wife he needed to prioritize. He didn't have time to cater to Prompto's irrationally hurt feelings like he had when they were kids.

He shook that thought aside as soon as it occurred to him. What right did he have to be upset? This was how it was always going to go—how it was meant to go. Prompto had known that the day he'd befriended a prince, and he was equally aware of it now.

Admittedly, it was everything he'd ever feared. It had consumed him on occasion when he was younger, long before they'd left for Altissia and again once he had reason to wonder what it would be like when Noct got married. He'd always recognized, of course, that their friendship as he'd known it couldn't last forever. Noct was royalty, and Prompto was a commoner. Eventually, even if he joined the Crownsguard and earned his spot on the team, he would have to take a backseat to other stuff. There were meetings for Noct to attend, diplomatic decisions to be reached, foreign asses to be kissed. Any time he had outside of that, he would probably want for himself. That likely wouldn't happen, not when kings were followed by their retainers night and day, but he would crave the solitude regardless.

And really, Prompto wasn't even the most important of Noct's retainers to defy his wishes. Ignis was his advisor and Gladio his Shield; Cor would be his marshal as with his father before him. He had a whole host of people who had trained their entire lives for this job. If anyone was going to be hanging around after he retired from his duties for the day, it would be them.

Then there was Prompto. Plain, simple, fortunately competent Prompto. He was perfectly capable of doing his duty, but it didn't set him apart the way it did the others. It didn't make him worthy of Noct's attention when he had every right to hoard it for his own privacy and spending time with his wife.

Yeah, Prompto had seen this coming a mile off, yet it hurt nevertheless. Was that what this trial was supposed to be? Was he meant to accept the fact that things weren't going to be the same, that he would be relegated to the shadows and forced to watch his best friend thrive without him? It didn't seem like much of a test, not when there were a million other things the Six could have saddled him with. Reminding him how woefully unprepared he was for the moment when Noct left him behind was pretty mild, especially for them.

Or maybe there was more to it than that.

The strangest part wasn't that he was practically invisible to his best friend. While he hadn't been anticipating that, it also didn't come as any major surprise. No, it got even weirder when he realized that he appeared to be invisible to everyone.

The Kingsglaive had always been professional and had only grown more so under Cor's leadership, but they were still people. Their eyes should have followed him as he approached the doors; the two stationed on the entrance should have opened them for him to pass. Someone should have smirked at the nonverbal slap he'd just gotten for being here when Noct didn't want him around.

None of that happened. The doors remained shut, the gazes remained stationary, and the mood was set by the king and queen rather than his own shame where it stalked him towards the exit.

Frowning, Prompto paused in front of the operative to his left, who stared past him as though he didn't exist. Waving a hand in front of her face or dipping down so that they were looking each other straight in the eye didn't do a damn thing: for all she reacted, he might not even have been there.

Uh…okay? This is weird.

He'd almost decided to bypass her entirely and open the door himself, whether it meant shoving her out of the way or not, when the Glaive finally decided to throw him a bone.

Sort of.

She inclined her head deferentially, as did her partner beside her, and they both stepped aside to pull open the doors so that Noct and Lady Lunafreya could pass. Prompto barely had time to hop out of the way so that they wouldn't walk right into him, not that they noticed. They were too busy talking in hushed voices about what had happened that day—about a meeting with the First Secretary of Accordo and calling it an early night so they could survey some monument being built near the Crown City's ramparts. It was all so normal, how they nodded to their retinue—except him—and strode into the corridor together. It was all so natural, how they spoke as both spouses and best friends.

The sight of their happiness, the feeling it evoked in his chest, left him rooted to the spot. All he could do was watch their retreating backs where they vanished around the corner, a steady stream of Glaives waiting at attention without pursuing them. Inside the Citadel, there was no reason to: it was the safest place on the planet now that the empire and Ardyn were gone. Noct didn't need protection everywhere he went; he didn't need hangers-on to have his back, figuratively or literally. He had earned the right to go about his business and ignore their presence like his father always had. On Prompto's first visits to the palace, it had struck him as odd that King Regis had been able to so aptly pretend that he was alone despite the fact that he was surrounded. There were so many guards that he'd thought for sure it would be like living in a fishbowl, constantly on display and constantly aware of it. Not the king, though: he'd handled the situation with the sort of grace Prompto never could, and Noct had learned from the best. To him, his guards were simply part of the scenery. To him, they were as good as invisible.

How was he supposed to protect his best friend if he was invisible, though? How would he protect Noct when, as Ignis had reminded them at camp mere hours earlier, he wouldn't have the same freedom as he had before, the freedom that had allowed their friendship in the first place?

Whichever god was messing with him now—he was assuming Ramuh, given that that guy had been big on the symbolism—must have been thinking along the same lines, hence his trial taking a turn for the future rather than the past. It would be one thing if Ignis was invisible: he had the brains to keep Noct intact regardless of whether the latter acknowledged it. Gladio, too, had any number of tools in his arsenal. Neither of them had been brought up in the spotlight. Actually, it was the exact opposite. They'd always known that they would play second fiddle to whatever the kingdom prioritized, so this would be no big deal to them. It would be different after all they'd been through, sure, but they'd manage somehow.

Prompto didn't have the same luxury, not even after all he'd done to earn it. If he couldn't be seen, if the Glaives and Crownsguard operatives around him ignored his presence when he trudged into the corridor as though he was less than them, how was he supposed to be the guardian he'd vowed he would be?

Guess that's my trial, he mused silently, his eyes scanning the faces of his disinterested audience in trepidation. That thought, however distant, had remained at the back of his mind. This was a test; of course Ramuh wasn't going to let him off easy. Gladio had traversed uncomfortable terrain, and he didn't want to think about what it had cost Ignis to encounter the events that all of them had believed were long since over.

This was his cross to bear, if he could.

No, not if.

His inadequacies wouldn't hold him back. He hadn't let them in the past, and he wasn't about to start now. Like he'd told Noct years ago, he was simply grateful to have been included in their group for as long as he had. Those moments they'd shared—playing video games and bemoaning their classes and annoying Ignis and taunting Gladio and sitting out under the stars and saying goodbye—meant more to him than life itself. They were the memories he cherished when he woke up panting after those stupid nightmares, wondering whether the sacrifice had been worth it given all that it had cost them for so little apparent gain. They were what he held on to when he was feeling down and the world seemed darker than it should have.

Being invisible wasn't a big deal. He'd been alone before, and he could do it again. He could watch Noct's back from the shadows, just like he had as a kid. Well, okay, that had been more like stalking than anything else, but that wasn't important. The point was that Prompto Argentum had always been there for Noctis Lucis Caelum as his friend and brother, knowing that the end of the line would eventually come for one or both of them.

This test was merely confirming his suspicions, or perhaps playing on them. As much as he wanted to run, as much as he would rather return to the chambers he had claimed for himself (if they were still his in this version of reality) and start over again later, he wouldn't. Prompto had been dropped right smack dab in the center of the throne room for a reason. It must have been his station—must be his station in the future, according to Ramuh. He wouldn't abandon it for anything. The Six wanted to know what he'd do if he couldn't be seen? They wanted proof of what would happen when his personality ceased to make Noct smile and his king's life had to revolve around his marriage rather than his friendships? They wanted the reassurance that he was going to make up for the protection they were stripping from Noct when Prompto was such a worthless speck in the grand scheme of the universe?

Bring it on.

In Niflheim, he had been one of millions.

In Lucis, he had been another face in the crowd.

Prompto was used to being invisible. Maybe that was how he thrived.

So, he didn't give in to the urge to admit defeat. He didn't leave to hunt down Ignis or Gladio and see how their fates had been decided in this trial. Instead, Prompto did as he had always done: he followed in Noct's footsteps.

As far as they would take him, anyway. The elevator doors were already closed when he rounded the corner with renewed determination, but that wasn't what stopped him in his tracks.

When they'd returned to the Citadel and begun putting things back to rights, one of their first orders of business had been rerouting the generators that had kept the Glaive operating in the city to the palace. It was a consideration that Cor and Ignis had agreed on: without the Crystal, they needed contingency plans in the event of an emergency. If the lights went out for some reason, despite daemons not posing much of a threat anymore, they required security measures to ensure that the Citadel remained secure. The process meant a lot of trial and error—it was tough to rig a building that size to a few measly generators until they could stabilize the kingdom enough to make bigger ones—but it eventually worked out. You know, after a few dozen power outages and the most colorful language Prompto had ever heard from the marshal.

Needless to say, it filled him with utter panic when the lights went out and didn't come back on.

The sudden shift in atmosphere finally broke through the Glaives' idle facades, but they didn't automatically spring into action like Prompto would have expected. The waning light filtering in through the windows in the antechamber to the throne room illuminated their expressions just enough for Prompto to see their eyes darting between the elevator and the fluorescents above, their gazes expectant yet uneasy as they shifted nervously from foot to foot.

Rolling his eyes, Prompto gathered every bit of authority he could and ordered, "We need to check the generators!"

Nothing. Either they didn't hear him or they didn't want to, because nobody moved a muscle to reply or recognize that he'd spoken.

Oh, you've gotta be kidding me here!

This was fine—it was going to be okay. They didn't have to listen to him. They just needed to get off their asses and do something.

…Why weren't they doing anything? Why wasn't anybody doing anything?! Why were the guards just standing there? Why weren't they running around, trying to get the power back on? Why weren't they trying their transceivers or signaling to their superiors or something?!

And why the hell was no one considering the fact that Noct and Lady Lunafreya were in that elevator, which must have stopped on its ascent? They were peering through the gloom in that direction, yet their obvious concern wasn't enough for them to lift a finger to help. They were too busy eyeing the lights, waiting for someone else to do their job.

They were busy doing what they had been taught. What their training had dictated was right.

Training that Prompto wasn't obliged to abide by because he didn't have it.

That realization was what made his decision for him. Perhaps he wasn't the best at what he did and never would be; maybe there was no chance that he'd ever amount to what these elite warriors had. He wasn't going to wait to follow their lead, though. Someone had to help Noct, and if that meant his invisible former best friend took the reins on this one, then so be it. Ramuh's version of Cor could chew him out for breaking the chain of command later.

The second he stepped forward, however, everything changed. The motionless Glaives sprang into action, clamoring for the lift with shouted orders to reach their monarchs and find out what was wrong with those generators. They sprinted past him as if he wasn't there; he was like a common kid on the streets rather than someone wearing the same uniform as them. None of them heeded his presence, nor did they ask for his assistance. They were singularly focused on prying open the elevator with their bare hands and, in a few cases, the points of their daggers. It was futile, though: the more they struggled, the more resolved the doors appeared to stay shut.

Which made sense. They were electric. Seriously, these guys weren't thinking straight at all.

Meaning it was up to Prompto, and given that he wasn't getting anywhere near that lift anytime soon, he had to come up with a different plan—and fast. He wasn't sure what was happening or why Ramuh was offering him this scenario, but he didn't like it one bit. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end in apprehension and anticipation of something he couldn't quite decipher. It was a familiar sensation, at least, not to mention one that he had felt on multiple occasions over the years. In some situations, it had left him reeling; in others, he hadn't gotten a chance to panic. This was one of the latter. Hesitating, even for a moment, might indicate to the Six that he wasn't as ready to protect Noct as he needed to be. Pausing to think might be construed as unwillingness to help, which couldn't be further from the truth.

Ignis's trial had been about using his brain. Prompto believed that his was about a different organ.

So he ran, and not in the same direction as his fellow Glaives. Rather, he whirled on his heel and tore through the corridors on his way to the staircase that was their only salvation if there was ever a crisis on the upper levels. No one used it unless they were within a floor or two of their destination; any more than that would have left you too winded to function.

In this case, that was a boon: the gaping chasm that stretched before him when he threw open the door was devoid of anyone that could impede his path to Noct. There was no yelling or pounding footsteps, no crowd of Crownsguard operatives belatedly realizing their charge needed their aid. It was just Prompto, propping open the door to let in whatever minuscule amount of light he could before taking the stairs three at a time in order to reach Noct's level as quickly as possible.

The strain it put on his body was considerable, from his burning lungs to his aching legs to the agonizing cut of his boots into the bone behind his knees. There wasn't time to pause and catch his breath; there wasn't time to loosen his jacket or adjust his obnoxious footwear. He couldn't stop, not in the dark and slightly scary silence and absolutely not when he saw a pair of yellow eyes glaring hungrily at him out of the darkness ahead.

What are daemons doing here?!

It was a question he didn't necessarily want the answer to, although he had a feeling it was more to do with the Six than the actual possibility that they would ever have to deal with daemons again in their lifetime or anyone else's. That didn't stop him from whipping his firearm out of its holster and shooting the damn thing between the eyes or anything, but still, they couldn't be at least a little more creative than that?

On second thought, maybe that was for the best. As he sped up the stairs, counting the floors in his head since he couldn't see the signs by each door, he figured it would have been so much worse if some big nasty was waiting for him that he didn't know how to deal with. Daemons, disgusting and obnoxious as they were, had become manageable over the last decade. They were predictable and, if Prompto was being honest, he'd grown bored of them by about the third year into the Long Night. That wasn't to say that they had ceased to be a threat—that would never happen. Even so, once you learned the nuances of kicking their asses, life got a bit easier.

Too bad this trial wouldn't be the same.

When Prompto burst onto the floor where the royal residences were settled, his chest heaving and his head swimming with mingled distress and breathlessness, he discovered that the handful he'd encountered in the stairwell weren't the only daemons that had made it inside the Citadel. More were battling the Glaives on this level, the goblins joined by imps and hobgoblins; the red-tinged luminescence further down the corridor heralded the bomb daemons long before Prompto saw the flames emanating from their stone cores. And at the center of the chaos was the elevator, closed here as well and without anyone defending it.

The implications of that were terrifying, and before Prompto realized he was moving, he had fired off a few shots at a rampaging snaga and was rapidly approaching the ominously dark lift. If the Glaives weren't guarding the elevator, then they had no idea that Noct and Lady Lunafreya were still inside. The two of them were nowhere to be seen, so it was doubtful that they had already arrived before the power went out. That being said, they didn't have time for the small fries, not when precious cargo was dangling precariously within that elevator shaft. Neither of their monarchs were armed; Noct wouldn't have access to the Armiger anymore, nor would he wield the Crystal or the Ring of the Lucii, which Prompto distantly registered hadn't been on his finger when he'd left the throne room. If something got to them, they'd be trapped and helpless. They needed protection, be it from a Glaive or an invisible former somebody.

Prompto could be that somebody.

No one seemed to notice him attempting to slip his fingers between the doors, too concerned with the onslaught to bother helping him pry them open. It was a good thing that wasn't his plan, because he never would have made it work all by himself. When you were invisible, it paid to go with ingenuity rather than brute force.

Sorry, big guy.

It would have been easier to prop the door open an inch if Gladio were here, but now wasn't the time for that sort of thinking. The metal was pressing painfully into the sides of his boot where he had stuck his foot between the panels for added leverage, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold it for long. Fortunately, he only needed a few seconds to dig a starshell out of his pocket (because he somehow knew it would be there), lodge it into the limited space he'd created, and dive out of the way with a painstakingly aimed shot over his shoulder.

Okay, so he'd planned to blow the doors open. He'd also planned to put the daemons on the defensive, which he sort of had.

He hadn't anticipated blowing half the wall to hell.

Oops.

He'd have the contractors send the bill to Noct. He was good for the gil.

Hopefully, he'd have enough left to fix Prompto after all was said and done, because there was no way he'd be making the jump down to where the elevator car had stopped at least ten floors below without incurring some serious damage. Thirty-one wasn't old, but holy shit, that was a huge drop!

But Noct needed him. Suck it up, Prompto.

It wasn't like falling from the train. There was no confusion, no burst of panic when his feet left solid ground and he found himself airborne. All things considered, it wasn't so bad as he leapt from the shattered edges of the doorframe. This time, it was a choice. This time, it was his choice.

Ramuh and whoever else was watching must have been impressed, because his legs buckled beneath him when he hit the roof of the elevator, and he rolled into the wall with only a bump on the head to show for his trouble. It was so easy to forget that none of this was real in the heat of the moment, but instances like that? Yeah, they brought him right back down to earth, in this case with a deafening crash.

After that, it was all…kind of a blur. Tearing open the emergency hatch, diving into the daemon-infested pit where Noct and Lady Lunafreya were waylaid, firing off a few rounds before the lights flickered back on.

The interminable moment where all the monsters vanished.

The hand on his shoulder. Noct's eyes finding him—seeing him. His smile. The way he opened his mouth, Prompto's name on his lips.

And then it wasn't Noct at all.

"Hey, you with us?" Gladio demanded, shaking him roughly.

"W-Wha…?"

This wasn't the Citadel. This wasn't Insomnia.

It was the Malacchi Hills, and Ignis and Gladio were staring at him as though he'd lost his mind. It didn't help that his first response wasn't an answer to Gladio's question so much as a distant, terrified, "Where'd Noct go?"

A pause. A long pause.

"Prompto," Ignis began cautiously, shooting a warning glance in Gladio's direction. "Noct isn't here."

"He… He's not?"

"No. It's just us."

His head bobbed in what would have been a nod if he wasn't entirely incapable of controlling it. "Just… It's just us."

"Yes. Just us."

That was right. It was just the three of them—Noct and Lady Lunafreya weren't there. They were waiting at the Citadel. The Citadel that the Astrals had created for them. A Citadel encased in crystal and probably full of kings who had been rewarded with eternal life.

Because what he'd seen hadn't been real. It was a test. Only a test.

And Prompto had passed.

He wasn't certain at first, yet as his head began to clear, he realized that he wouldn't have earned Noct's attention in those final moments if he hadn't. He wouldn't be able to breathe easier and set aside a part of him that hadn't known peace since they'd started on this journey to bring their king home for good if he hadn't.

Instead, his chest rose and fell evenly, and it felt like a weight that had been sitting on his shoulders for decades had been lifted. He could sense the distance growing between the kid he used to be and the person he'd become, and for the first time in his life, he recognized that he could finally put that part of him to rest. Gladio could make do without brute strength, and Ignis could give up his sight to avoid bringing Noct an ounce of regret or grief, illogical though it might be.

Prompto could be a Glaive—one of the best—even if he had to sacrifice the relationship he'd had with Noct before. They'd always be friends, Crystal and duty notwithstanding. And Prompto would always be there for him.

That had to be enough.

It was enough. The Six were as sure of it as Prompto.

"True is the heart of the King's Avatar," whispered Gentiana from a place both far off and very near. "He has proven his worth and his devotion to the Chosen King. To him, the path is unbarred."