Ten years.

It had been ten years since Noctis stood within the Throne Room. The last time had been so long ago and yet he could remember that early summer morning clear as day. The feeling of the sun breaking through the windows still felt warm on his cheek. It would have been comical, if not for how serious it was... the sun.

Ignis had told him that the dawn and the sun had faded like a distant dream over the ten years; the only thing keeping Eos from dying was the warmth that occasionally cracked through the black scourge like the sun playing peekaboo through thick storm clouds.

The rest… the rest came from artificial light and prayers to Gods that did not listen.

Noctis's knee ached and his hand throbbed with every heartbeat. Yet the pain… the pain was excruciating, yes, but it wasn't as bad as the fear. He could feel it on him like a slick grease that made his stomach churn. His father had told him that day to walk tall… to walk tall.

What kind of request was that?

Noctis had pondered it the entire summer, tried to understand the hidden depth to his father's last words. Had he ever been a coward? Had he ever shown himself as unwilling to do what was needed?

Had he not been willing to go through with the sham of a marriage to appease the Empire? Had he not given and given and given? What else did he have to offer them, what more could they take? He had been born with the magic in his veins, the magic that would take more than it could ever give. Ignis had been right in giving the magic back to the Crystal. He has always been right.

Noctis closed his eyes and thought back to the time before… the time before he said goodbye to his father.

Blood. Blood washed across the floor, the smell of death permeating through the air. Ignis… his broken Ignis.

The magic had taken what it wanted, and now... now it would take its last sacrificial lamb.

They never had the time to heal, not completely. That night where they clung to one another, wishing for the sun to never rise, had been the beginning of the spiral down into the abyss. Had they known, had Noctis the foggiest of what would happen in the coming weeks-the fall of Insomnia, the Covenants, Altissia, Gralea… Noctis would have clung to Ignis in their bed for longer. He would have kissed harder. He would have remembered to tell Ignis a thousand times that he loved him. He would have told him that they could die and return and die again a thousand times and every time Noctis would find him.

Soulmates.

The thought had crossed his mind more than once...It was something he hadn't dared believe in, but he yearned for it like a man dying wished for just a moment more. Just one last goodbye, one last sunrise.

A sunrise he and Ignis would never get to see.

Noctis swallowed down the building fear as he slowly allowed his feet to carry him forward. He could hear the fighting outside, knew that Gladio, Prompto, and—Noctis's breath caught in his throat—Ignis, would be there. Though the walls of the Throne Room cradled him, he knew where his heart was. He knew that this duty, this sacrifice, would keep them safe.

It would keep him safe.

Maybe in another life they would be born without the ties between their blood, but maybe not. It didn't matter in the end because it had always been Ignis and would always be Ignis. That was what a soul mate was, wasn't it? It didn't matter; none of it had mattered in the end.

His—no. Their father… their father had been just a man, a man who had broken a vow to his Queen and sired a child with another. He had never forgiven himself and in life, Noctis had never forgiven him either. And in death...

Noctis was tired. He could feel it like the cold in his bones as we slowly made wis way forward and onto the dais. When he had been a little boy, he and Ignis would play on the steps in the Throne Room. The scuffs on the floor, the harried looks of the maids and councillors who were tasked with avoiding the Prince and his Chamberlain—his father staring down at them with a fond, sad smile.

Noctis closed his eyes as he slowly climbed towards the top, feeling something press against his head like a crown of thorns. He could almost hear the whisper of his father's voice against his ear, telling him a story he had loved to whisper to him and Ignis when the Throne Room had emptied and they would take a rare lunch in the gardens. Noctis would always find himself curled up next to Ignis, unable to keep his eyes open after playing and eating and enjoying the day. But he would listen to the story his father told him.

It was their story, the one thing the three of them had. It was something that not even the truth could destroy.

When he finally stood in front of the throne, Noctis slowly sunk down into the velvet. He closed his eyes again and could hear the whisper of his father's low tenor voice.

"Once... upon a time... there was a prince and his beloved who lived in a beautiful castle in a far away land. They were happy there, surrounded by the sun. But on a nearby hill a daemon hid, biding his time to steal the lives of all the children of the kingdom..."

Noctis felt the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. "D—dad?" Noctis opened his eyes and saw him standing in his perfectly pressed suit and raiment, just as he had worn that summer day so long ago.

Regis did not look at him.

"But the young Prince and his beloved, with their swords and magic, fought against the daemon. It was a hard battle, blood and spells seeping into the grass, but they fought well. The daemon, unable to deny the light of the good Prince, was struck down..."

Noctis could feel the air moving around him and he drove his father's sword into the dais, holding onto it with all of his strength. He could see his father's ghost, like a faded memory, in the corner of his eye and it hurt.

Everything was red and pain and Gods—Noctis bit down on his tongue and pressed his fingers harder into the pommel of his father's sword to keep from screaming—

"But the prince... the prince was felled by the daemon... Oh, Noctis."

Noctis could feel the blood dripping between his fingers as he pulled out the sword, hands shaking.

"Trust in me..." His mouth bled, his cheeks sore, his body on fire and yet... this was his destiny.

This would give Ignis the dawn.

"Please... dad. Trust in me." His father had never believed in him, had thought him a coward... but this was his last chance. This was his last moment.

Something brushed against his forehead—just like the kiss his father would lay against his head those days in the gardens. If he tried, Noctis wondered, would he be able to feel Ignis's heartbeat against his cheek?

"I have always trusted you, Noctis. Please, forgive me. I have failed you... I have always failed you."

The pain did not blossom like a rose, though the blood and bile that made its way up his throat splattered across the black and gold marble in a caricature of beauty. No, the pain was not beautiful at all. It was the sound of metal scraping against his spine and smashing into the velvet and wood behind him. It was the explosion of white as the ring shattered into dust. It was the igniting of every blood vessel and every nerve, begging for the end.

It was nothing but pain, nothing but agonizing pain.

And then... nothing—for there was never anything beautiful in death.

There was only beauty in life… a life Noctis had never been given.

It was done.

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