Chapter Twenty-Six: Shattered Bonds

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

The worst part wasn't the pain so much as the fact that Noctis couldn't do anything about it. There was no getting comfortable, no running from the sensation that he was being torn to shreds by a million invisible claws. There was only holding his breath and taking it until the next time he could drift away, however short that might be.

He'd long since given up believing that if he told himself the monsters weren't real, then they wouldn't bother him anymore. Their voices had laughed at him too often, reminding him that they were here when no one else was. And…well, they had a point. As Noctis floated through the darkness, consciousness coming in spurts that he could only half-remember the next time his awareness returned, it always struck him that it would have been just him if it weren't for the shadows. They spoke to him, they followed him, they kept him company. It was a feeble comfort, and there were definitely moments when he wished that they would simply leave him alone, but he also hated to admit that he didn't mind them as much when the oblivion he equally craved was the only alternative.

Then something sharp would dig into his chest, reiterating that they weren't his friends, and the vicious cycle began again.

Because his friends were the worst offenders. The people who had called themselves his family and said they loved him ripped into him the most. They grabbed his limbs and pulled him in every direction; they tore at his heart and mind and body until he was raw with sensations and emotions that he didn't want to feel. The monsters hurt him, but they weren't the ones destroying him from the inside out.

They spoke from the shadows, those voices that sounded so much like the friends he'd lost. Now that the floodgates of his memory had been tossed open, there was no closing them again. He could mentally throw himself against the doors, pounding and shoving and screaming at them to shut out all the things he desperately wanted to forget, but they remained stubbornly ajar. Through that broken window to his own soul, the people he'd once cared about whispered truths and what he futilely wished were lies.

They scoffed at the idea that Cid Sophiar, one of the most renowned mechanics in Lucis and a technological prodigy, would ever willingly take him in without compensation from the king. They rolled their invisible eyes in vile amusement that he'd ever thought Nyx was his friend, his brother, when he'd been exiled from his own home purely to keep Noctis safe. They sneered in condescension that he could expect more from anyone who was bound to him by duty, by necessity, by loyalty to a family he had never met.

They reminded him that Ignis had been nothing more than his babysitter, his royal caretaker to teach and coddle him.

That Gladio was just his bodyguard, the one tasked with his protection no matter what.

That Prompto, for as innocent as he'd seemed, was a spy sent to hurt him—to keep tabs on him—to let the king's enemies know when was the proper time to strike.

With each new voice, with every one he'd thought cared about him once upon a time, it was always the same—Uncle Cid, Nyx, Crowe, the king, the guys. None of them had been there for him, they said. There was work to do, they said. It was simply necessary, they said.

It had all been a lie, they said.

And how could he argue as he drifted through the abyss? How could he deny that Ignis had spent years guiding him in more ways than any friend should have had the patience for? How could he ignore that Gladio had put teaching him how to defend himself above any of the other things Noctis would rather have done as a kid, even in spite of his distaste for fighting? How could he claim to know where Prompto's innumerable photographs had gone when they left Hammerhead or that his mysterious past was nothing to fear?

Teachers and guards and hidden puppeteers that pulled his strings when he'd thought his decisions were his own—that was all they were. Every single one of them had been leading him towards a destiny he could not comprehend, an end that he wasn't sure he wanted. They'd stolen his life, and instead of admitting their crimes, they'd smiled and acted as though nothing was wrong.

Everything was wrong. Noctis could feel it in his bones, in the ache of his muscles, in the way his heart seemed to lag behind with the knowledge that beating would only prolong this festival of torment. For all he knew, there was still more waiting to burst forth from the shadows. After all, he'd believed that he'd discovered all his friends' secrets, but now there was Prompto. The last person he thought had been honest with him was just like the rest—worse, even.

The monsters were better. They'd never meant anything to him. They'd never smiled at him and made him think they gave a damn. They'd never made him…

No. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Just the pain.

It was the only constant, and that was more comforting than he knew it should be. But if he couldn't drift away, if the monsters wouldn't just let him die already, then he had to take it where he could find it. Otherwise, he'd go insane on top of everything else.

In fact, he probably already was. Maybe he'd been in the darkness so long that his mind was playing tricks on him, or perhaps it was simply wishful thinking letting him have his way when there was no chance of it happening. Whichever it was, he could think of no other explanation for the soft breeze that suddenly ruffled his hair or the prickling tickle of grass against his cheek making his nose itch. There was no other reason why he'd see light on the other side of his closed eyelids, tantalizing and enticing and forbidding all at once. There was nothing else that could silence the monsters and his former friends alike, leaving him surrounded by agonizingly blissful silence.

And it didn't hurt. In spite of the residual ache in his chest, in spite of his ragged breathing and the stinging pain that was only just starting to recede from his muscles, it didn't hurt.

If this was what it felt like to go crazy, then it wasn't so bad at all. If this was what it felt like to go crazy, then maybe he wouldn't mind staying here awhile…

Breathing a sigh of relief, Noctis turned his face towards the soft cushion of dirt and tucked his legs beneath him. It was a terrible idea—one of his worst, as a matter of fact—but he couldn't help allowing himself to pretend that he was curled up under the covers in his bed at home. It was warm there, too, and the air was as familiar to him as what he was breathing right now. He could almost picture it: rolling over to see the sun beginning to rise over Longwythe Peak in the distance, the dawn drowning out the patterns that a painted headlight threw against the walls…

Carbuncle was even there, a fluffy ball of synthetic fur cuddled close to his chest as he slept to keep the bad dreams at bay.

…Wait…

Just as the picture seemed to complete itself in his mind's eye, it was shattered by a soft squeal and sudden wriggle of movement beneath his arm. Groaning, Noctis desperately reached for his memories where they floated beyond his grasp, a distant yet sharp pain stabbing him in the chest—

Then a warm little nose poked into the side of his cheek.

Noctis gasped, his eyes flying open as he scrambled upright. It was like waking from a nightmare, and for a moment, he stared sightlessly at his surroundings without comprehending where he was. That place in his head had seemed so real—was so real—yet there was no getting there. As his consciousness slowly returned to him, it was with a pang of loss that he recalled there was no going back. Hammerhead was far off from him, his childhood home stripped away as a new and terrifying future loomed ahead. Everything he'd known had been left behind, replaced by a stranger who said he loved him and friends who weren't what he'd thought. All he knew, all he had, all he was—everything had changed until he was as sure of himself as he was of the place he'd ended up in.

A glade full of blue flowers, surrounded by ruins that he couldn't quite see through the mist that obstructed the horizon from view. It seemed familiar, yet at the same time, Noctis knew he'd never been here before. In a sense, it was the same as that vision of home: close enough to touch, but too far distant to ever truly reach.

But he wasn't alone. Unlike the cold palace he'd been taken to—when had he been there again?—he had company here. Warm eyes stared at him from a white, furry face, and Noctis found himself extending a hand to pet the creature before he'd even decided to move.

"Carbuncle?" he murmured, blinking in confusion. This couldn't be right: he'd only ever seen the real Dream Guardian, the one that practically purred at his touch and leapt into his lap, when he was asleep. But he wasn't sleeping…was he?

If Carbuncle noticed his unease, he didn't comment on it. Rather, he propped his front paws on Noctis's chest and exclaimed in that familiar, high-pitched voice of his, "You remember me this time!"

"I…" Shaking his head, Noctis frowned and hesitantly inquired, "This…time?"

"Yup! You've been here before. Remember?"

For a second, Noctis contemplated telling him that he didn't, that this place was as strange to him as the monsters that had plagued him for…however long he'd been floating through the void. The moment he opened his mouth, however, the words died in his throat because…they weren't true. They couldn't be. The blue of the flowers, the green of the grass, the impossible whiteness—he did know it, although he couldn't place where he'd seen it before. He had no memory of having been here in the past, yet it was familiar to him all the same.

His puzzlement must not have been as subtle as he thought, because Noctis's attention was drawn back to Carbuncle a few seconds later when the latter wriggled around in his lap and bumped a horned head against his chin.

"It's okay, Noct! You can just remember it this time instead."

"Yeah, I guess. But…" He trailed off sheepishly, raising a hand to absentmindedly mess with his hair. "Where…are we, anyway?"

"This is the world of your dreams," Carbuncle explained, tilting his head to the side when Noctis turned to stare at him.

"So…I'm asleep?"

"That's right. But you didn't just doze off—you're out cold."

Noctis narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

There was a pause where, if he didn't know any better, he'd say that Carbuncle was trying to find a way not to answer. That didn't make sense, though: not once in all the years he'd been saving Noctis from his nightmares had he neglected to respond to a question. He didn't always understand what the Dream Guardian told him, of course, and there were times when Carbuncle flat out admitted that he had no idea himself. Still, he always said something; he didn't leave Noctis guessing, not if he could help it. Whatever he knew that Noctis didn't must have been pretty bad, because it looked like he might break their unspoken agreement in this instance. That wasn't going to fly, though: Noctis wanted those answers now more than ever, and since he could currently think straight without that increasingly familiar haze of pain stealing his ability to focus, he wasn't about to let this go.

Just when he was considering asking again, however, the Dream Guardian hopped down from his perch and circled around to eye him with an unbelievably serious gaze for an… Would it be wrong to call him an animal? He'd never gotten around to asking Ignis what exactly Carbuncle was, if there was any way of describing him at all, but it just seemed wrong to use that particular word in connection with a creature of his talents.

Noctis shook that realization from his mind before it could go any further. He didn't need to know, just like he didn't need to think about Ignis or Gladio or Prompto or anyone else. Doing so left a bad taste in his mouth that almost matched the twinge of pain that shot through him once again, a warning as much as a symptom. It was easier to focus his attention back on Carbuncle, who was watching him with his head bowed low and an oddly pitying expression on his face. In spite of the uncanny ability he'd always had to read Noctis's thoughts, however, he didn't say anything about the direction he had to know they'd taken. Instead, he belatedly offered the explanation Noctis had been waiting for.

And it wasn't what he'd anticipated, not that he'd known what to expect in the first place.

"You've been asleep for a few days now."

"Wait—days?!" exclaimed Noctis, leaning forward until their noses were only a few inches apart. To his credit, Carbuncle didn't even flinch at his outburst. He stood his ground, even going so far as to plop himself down in the grass as if he planned to have one hell of a long, exhausting conversation. If this was how they were going to start, Noctis figured that wasn't too far off the truth.

"That's right. You've always been a real sleepyhead, but this is different."

You can say that again.

Never mind the fact that Noctis didn't even remember falling asleep in the first place—how had he slept for days? The last time he'd done that was… Well, he didn't like thinking about that, even now. It wasn't a pleasant memory: lying in bed, alternating between the shadows of his nightmares and the ones that stared back at him from the corners of his room as though they might snatch him out of his bed when he least expected it. Yeah, he'd always valued a good nap; he'd been on the receiving end of more than one reprimand for shirking his responsibilities to grab a few winks in the past. Even so, even despite the holes in his memory that were yearning to be filled, he could say with almost absolute certainty that he hadn't been sick or injured or anything else that would excuse him from existing for a few days.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. If it came down to an extended nap or dealing with stuff that he definitely wasn't ready for, then he knew which one he'd prefer. Now if only the invisible monsters and creepy dreamscapes didn't come with the territory…

Rather than voicing his thoughts, Noctis tried to concentrate on what was really important: namely, figuring out what the hell was going on before he inevitably got swept back into the darkness. Carbuncle was powerful, but whatever lived down there, whatever those monsters were… Noctis had never felt anything like it.

So, he pushed aside the gnawing bitterness that still festered inside him to ask, "Why doesn't anybody just…wake me up?"

The question sounded even dumber than he'd anticipated when he put it into words, but Carbuncle didn't hold it against him. Actually, he didn't say anything at all for a second, obviously trying to put together a reasonable response.

But Noctis didn't want reasonable. He didn't want more of the hesitant, careful bullshit that he'd been hearing lately. He didn't want to be spoon-fed gentle platitudes that were supposed to make him feel better without actually solving anything. He wanted the truth, and he wanted it before their time was up.

"Seriously, what the hell is going on?" he demanded, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as he surveyed their surroundings through more skeptical eyes. "If this is my dream, then how come I don't know where we are? Why haven't I woken up yet?"

"It's not that easy," Carbuncle replied with a low sound in his throat. His look of remorse wasn't enough this time, however.

"Then, why can't you get us out of here? It's not like you haven't done it before."

The Dream Guardian faltered, glancing away for a second before slowly explaining, "Mages can't break another mage's spell. I can come see you, but I can't do more than that."

Blinking uncomprehendingly, Noctis hugged his knees a little tighter as something cold seemed to settle deep inside his chest. His voice lost a lot of the fire he'd managed to conjure when he tentatively inquired, "What do you mean? I'm under some kind of spell?"

"That's why King Regis sent you to live in Hammerhead," Carbuncle confirmed gently. Now that he'd found the words, it looked like there was no stopping him no matter how Noctis increasingly wished he could. "The fourth mage cursed you when you were still little. The king sent you away to keep you safe."

Safe? Are you kidding me right now?

Hadn't they been down this road before? There were so many parts of Carbuncle's story—if it could be called a story—that needed further explanation, but all Noctis could register was the fact that there were still more lies waiting to be uncovered. He'd thought that he knew everything, that the king had told him all that there was to know about why he had chosen to give up his child instead of being there for him the way a father was supposed to. He'd thought that at the very least, he had a good handle on that situation, even if the rest was up in the air.

He'd been wrong. Again.

Carbuncle must have sensed his disappointment, because he yelped quietly before easing closer to press against the side of Noctis's legs in his best imitation of a hug. If this were any other dream, he would have appreciated it more than he did now. Instead, he merely felt numb; his companion's warmth seeped into his skin, but it didn't make a dent in the chill that descended on every other part of him.

When would all the secrets finally be revealed? When would he finally be able to take two steps without realizing that there was even more in his life that he hadn't been made aware of? For as much as he had felt like he was drifting in Hammerhead, not sure of where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, it was nothing compared to this. All of a sudden, he was supposed to be a king someday and had been cursed to…

Sleep? What kind of curse was that?

At this point, Noctis didn't even want to know. Odds were, it was a lot more complicated than he could handle right now. Besides, the effects of the curse didn't worry him nearly as much as who had cast it in the first place. Was theirs the voice that had been speaking to him all this time? Were they the one who controlled the monsters?

"I didn't even know there was a fourth mage," mumbled Noctis to his knees, raising his eyebrows at the way Carbuncle's ears angled back like Umbra's did if something irritated him.

"Lots of people don't."

"Why not?"

Squirming uncomfortably, Carbuncle made an angry sound deep in his throat, but another voice replied, "He turned his back on the Six and was cast out by the gods."

The speed at which Noctis whipped his head around was painful, and he rubbed his neck with a wince when he saw that they weren't alone after all. A woman in white stood not far off, watching them with her hands clasped in front of her and a serene smile on her face as her blue eyes met Noctis's. For a fleeting moment, he couldn't place the twinge of familiarity that tickled the depths of his mind; he couldn't make sense of the feeling of déjà vu that swept over him, telling him that they had been in this position before.

And they had, he realized. When she took a few steps towards him, her gait as steady and unwavering as her gaze, it was like the fog had lifted so that he could see another girl—another time—another him—

"Luna?" he asked uncertainly, not sure why that name sat on the tip of his tongue.

It wasn't wrong, though: their newest arrival nodded in confirmation, her smile widening as she lowered herself to the ground beside him. Noctis wanted to warn her not to, that her dress would get dirty if she sat in the grass, but she didn't seem to care. If anything, she appeared perfectly at ease with the idea and held up a hand to stop him when he moved to stand.

"Noctis," she greeted him in kind, reaching out to stroke Carbuncle's fur as though they weren't in the middle of his dreams talking about some mage that had apparently decided to give the gods the finger.

And speaking of…

"What do you mean, he turned his back on them?"

Sighing deeply, Luna's smile faded slightly as she elaborated, "Ardyn Izunia was once on the side of the light, but his impurities made him greedy for power. Now, he is in thrall to darkness, wreaking havoc and spreading his scourge across Eos unchecked."

"You…" Noctis trailed off, swallowing hard and forcing himself to grind out, "You mean the daemons?"

"Yes. They are more than merely his servants and spies: they are a part of him. In so many ways, he has become one with the darkness he wields."

"But what could someone like that want with me?" he blurted out, utterly baffled. When Luna glanced away, her expression falling, Noctis pressed, "Why does he care about some random…prince?"

For a moment, he'd been about to say kid. After all, that was still how he saw himself. The idea that he was royalty lingered in the back of his mind like some sort of surreal daydream, and it took more effort than he would have thought possible to alter his words at the last moment. If Luna noticed his hesitation, however, she didn't call him on it or ask what was wrong. Rather, she took a deep breath before looking up at him again, her expression grim even though there was a light in her eyes that spoke of gentle determination.

"King Regis would not stand by and allow him to destroy the kingdom of Lucis in pursuit of his own ends. He sought to protect his people from the Accursed's blight, and in so doing, he invited retribution of a sort that only Ardyn was capable," she told him, her tone full of approbation that Noctis wished he could share.

There was no pride in his chest, though, no righteous approval for King Regis's actions. Was fighting back the right thing to do? Yes. Was it necessary to protect his people, if Luna was to be believed? So it seemed. Still, a small, embarrassingly selfish part of himself couldn't help the injustice that welled up inside him at the idea that fighting some mage he never had any chance against was more important to the king than his own son. Sure, he'd done what he could to protect Noctis by sending him away; he couldn't deny that no matter how much he would have liked to. But he was left feeling the same as when he'd finished speaking with the man who should have been his father regardless: defeated, confused, and so very much alone.

Whether it was the obvious slump of his shoulders or the way he dropped his chin onto his knees as though the effort of holding his head up was too much for him, Luna smiled sympathetically in the same moment that Carbuncle let out a little yelp of concern.

"You think him foolish?" she inquired, soft and not at all as judgmental as he knew she should be.

Shrugging a shoulder halfheartedly, Noctis racked his brains for an answer only to settle for, "I…don't really know what I think anymore."

That was true enough. At this point, he could hardly tell up from down let alone make sense of the cacophony of thoughts that swirled through his head with no rhyme or reason. Every time he turned around, it seemed like he was losing something else. Whether it was the people he'd grown to see as his family or just the sense of security that came from being surrounded by those who gave a damn about him, his coming of age had stripped him of everything that he thought he knew and left an abyss within him that ran deeper than the one he lived in now—the one this Ardyn Izunia had laid out as a trap. And all for what? Revenge on the king for getting in his way? Whatever he'd done clearly hadn't worked, so what was the point? The guy sounded like a powerhouse: Noctis didn't remember the daemon that had attacked him very well, but the utter dread and terror that the memory of its mere presence evoked in him even now was enough to make him hope that he never had to deal with its master. That the king had been brave enough to do so was admirable, he guessed.

It was also stupid. It was also the reason he was in this mess, unsure of how to escape or if he wanted to when it wasn't like there was anything in his life worth returning for. At least the shadows that surrounded him in oblivion were honest; at least they didn't lie to him the way everyone else had.

Everyone but Carbuncle and Luna.

Frowning, Noctis peered at her out of the corner of his eye. This was the second time that Luna had spoken to him in his dreams, but there was no way that that should have been possible. Carbuncle was the Dream Guardian: it made sense that he would be able to find Noctis, even in the deepest darkness. Luna, on the other hand, didn't have that power.

Unless…

"You're the Oracle, aren't you?" he guessed. His confusion only deepened when she nodded.

"I, too, have been blessed by the grace of the Six."

It was hard to believe when she barely looked older than he was, but Noctis didn't argue. Aside from the fact that he was hoping to draw them away from a conversation he definitely wanted to avoid for as long as possible, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret had been under imperial watch ever since Niflheim took over Tenebrae when he was a kid. If there was one thing she didn't deserve, it was sarcastic comments.

That realization didn't sate his curiosity, though, so he tentatively continued, "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but isn't the Oracle supposed to…heal people or something?"

"That is indeed my calling," she confirmed, her eyebrows drawing together as she surveyed him perplexedly. Okay, apparently he was going to have to go there.

"Then…how come you're here? Not that I'm not grateful!" he hurried to reassure her. The way her pleasant smile never faltered for an instant was more unnerving than anything, and Noctis found himself sheepishly murmuring, "I just…would've thought you had people who needed your help."

For a second, Luna didn't answer, although her gaze was heavy enough that Noctis could practically feel it crushing him where he sat. There was no reason for it: her eyes were clear of any judgment, and it wasn't like she'd reamed him for accusing her of not doing her duty. Far from it, actually. The warmth in her expression only grew, and Noctis could swear that it flowed from her fingers into his very soul when she laid her hand gently against his forearm.

"Not all wounds can be seen," she said by way of explanation. Noctis could tell that she meant her answer to be comforting, but all it did was yank the bottom out of his stomach.

"You know the way out of here?" he inquired reluctantly, not sure whether he really wanted the answer or not. After all, the Oracle returning him to wherever it was he had fallen asleep meant having to face reality—he didn't know if he was ready for that.

Fortunately, he was proven wrong a moment later when Luna shook her head. It wasn't the most uplifting thought, not when the sharp pain in his chest that accompanied the idea of waking up reminded him of what awaited him if he stayed. Still, putting off the time when he would have to deal with everything that had happened… Yeah, he was okay with that.

Unfortunately, it looked like that wasn't going to be in the cards.

"Your friends fight for you as we speak," Luna assured him as though that was supposed to make him feel better. "They are doing all they can to bring you home."

Maybe it wasn't the politest response to scoff skeptically—after all, she was both a mage and a princess. Then again, he was supposed to be royalty as well, so there had to be some perks of the job.

"Of course they are," he muttered, more to himself than Luna.

"You did not believe that they would?" she replied regardless.

Taking a deep breath, Noctis let his knees drop and leaned forward onto his elbows, tearing a few blades of grass out of the ground as he retorted, "Isn't that their job? To watch over the prince and keep him safe?"

"The duties they are honor bound to uphold are not the same as devotion to one who has earned it," she pointed out, "just as loyalty to their prince does not mean they do not also care for you as their friend."

"They sure have a funny way of showing it."

"How do you mean?"

"All the lies?" he burst out, shaking his head and keeping his gaze resolutely set on the ground in front of him. "All the secrets? They had so many chances to tell me who they were—who I was—but they didn't."

He saw Luna shift closer in the periphery of his vision, but he didn't look up. It was too humiliating, admitting these things to someone he barely knew—someone he technically didn't know, who had invaded his dreams to heal him of…what? The anger? The disappointment? The gnawing emptiness inside him at the mere thought of the people who used to be his friends? There was no way to fill that gap, at least none that involved Luna, and at this point he doubted whether anything could. It seemed to yawn within him: a chasm so deep there was no end, a longing so ingrained that it had wrapped itself around every bone and muscle until it was impossible to separate from himself. Every time he tried, it seemed to latch on tighter, digging into every inch of his body and threatening to strangle him.

There was no healing that. There didn't seem to be any surviving it either.

But Luna was apparently as determined as Carbuncle not to let him sink into the darkness and just cease to exist the way he suddenly, desperately wanted to.

"It makes no difference that they wished only to protect you?" she asked quietly, not at all put off by his now sour mood.

"How was it protecting me to not tell me what was going on? I may not be as strong as Gladio, but I can take care of myself."

Admittedly, that was a bit of an understatement—he wasn't anywhere near as strong as Gladio always had been. From the time they met, his former friend had oozed aggression and capability in a way Noctis never could. And that was fine by him: he didn't want that, not even when he was a kid. He'd always admired how Gladio could weather anything without batting an eye, how he could hear the worst sort of news and keep going as if nothing had happened—but he'd never wanted to be Gladio. There was no chance that he'd ever be able to measure up to that no matter how hard he tried, so it wasn't even worth attempting. Most days, he hardly understood how the guy who was apparently supposed to be his bodyguard could stand to be around someone as lacking as himself. He'd never say as much, especially not when he knew it would only end in assurances that he neither needed nor wanted, but the fact remained that he was far from the strong leader he was ostensibly destined to become.

Seeming to sense his thoughts, Luna's demeanor shifted from understanding to skepticism as she inquired, "Do you truly believe that Gladiolus would spend so much time with someone he deemed weak?"

A beat of silence, then, "If it was his duty, yeah."

She didn't have an answer prepared for that, although that came as no surprise to Noctis. He couldn't bear to ask how she knew his former friends—he couldn't bear the thought that she might actually have known them better all these years than he did. Of course, it didn't seem like that was very hard these days, but that was a given at this point. Regardless of his own feelings on the matter or how familiar she was with them, there was no denying that where Gladio was concerned, his duty came before anything else. How many times had Noctis called him only to have to leave a voicemail because he was too busy doing his job? How many times had Gladio forced the issue when Noctis didn't want to train—didn't want to fight—didn't want to try to hurt someone he saw as a friend and brother? When Gladio first started working (he assumed that the timing hadn't been a lie, even if the Crownsguard was a far cry from the police force he'd described), it was all he'd talked about for months.

Noctis couldn't even blame him: he'd been training since he was a kid for that moment. It made total sense that his life would revolve around his work.

Just like it used to revolve around Noctis when they were little. Just like it still apparently revolved around Noctis, only this time, he didn't doubt for a second that the reason was very different. The moment he set foot in the Citadel, the moment he was reintroduced to his former friend as his Shield instead, that had all changed. Noctis was now his job, even more so than he had been before, and he knew that Gladio would be there for him if for no other reason than to uphold his end of the deal he'd made with the king long ago. That was who he had always been, and while Noctis couldn't fault him for it, he also wouldn't allow himself to buy into Luna's brittle assurances. Of course Gladio was going to try to help him; of course he'd be willing to keep so many secrets in the name of protecting him. Not doing so would mean failing in his duties, and Gladio would accept defeat when Altissia dried up.

He could say the same for all of them. Ignis, with his devotion to perfection in everything he did; Nyx, with his carefully doctored stories and undoubtedly elite training. Even Prompto, that little voice in his head reminded him with a sneer, was not immune. His purpose might have been different, but as with the rest, Noctis was very much his job. Always had been. Always would be.

Which was why he couldn't help disdainfully shaking his head when Carbuncle interrupted his thoughts to say, "You should have more faith in your friends."

"What friends?" he groused, his eyes resolutely focused on the blade of grass he was weaving between his fingers as he shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't even know them."

"That's not true!"

"Everything they've ever told me was a lie. How am I supposed to believe that they really are the same people?"

"By remembering that loyalty is not exclusive to duty," Luna calmly interjected. The evenness of her tone was soothing, and Noctis found himself reluctantly glancing up at her as she continued, "Whatever their faults, surely you do not believe that the actions they took were meant to cause you pain."

It took everything Noctis had not to tell her that that didn't matter—they'd managed that regardless of what they meant to do. When he was a kid and knocked a headlight off Uncle Cid's workbench, it hadn't mattered at all that he didn't mean to do it; his lack of intent may have saved him from punishment, but he'd still earned one hell of a lecture about running in the garage. This was no different, albeit greater in scale: was he supposed to look the other way and say it was fine that the people he'd considered his closest friends had lied through their teeth every second they'd known each other?

He couldn't. He wouldn't.

He wasn't the one at fault here. He wasn't the one who'd pretended to be a different person, all to keep someone else from finding out his true identity. He wasn't the one who had spent twenty years telling someone he cared only to later admit that it was all a sham, an imitation of reality that would disappear forever in the blink of an eye. That wasn't on him, and he saw no reason why he should let it go just because they hadn't meant to upset him.

They had, more than words could say. And that pain, that agonizing loneliness, colored everything from the tone of his own thoughts to the sharp, stabbing pain that erupted in his chest with every breath he took. Thinking about them made it worse; reflecting on what he'd lost merely intensified everything he didn't want to feel. It would have been so much easier to sleep—really sleep, not this crap that the king's enemy had bestowed on him. In sleep, he could escape all these complicated, oftentimes traitorous feelings. In sleep, he wouldn't have to feel at all.

In sleep, he didn't have to hold conversations like this where someone tried to tell him he should forgive and forget as if their betrayals meant nothing.

Noctis didn't realize his eyes had slipped shut and he was beginning to drift off until a hand closed firmly around his wrist, almost pulling him over as it tugged him to the side. Blinking rapidly, he clumsily reached out to steady himself only to realize with a jolt that the ground wasn't there—it was amorphous and cold, oozing between his fingers and threatening to drag him back into the void with the voices that haunted him—

But it didn't. The dirt solidified beneath him once again, unyielding when his fingers dug into the soil to convince himself that he was still here for now. It took a few seconds for that to sink in, and when it did, Noctis felt his face flushing in embarrassment. The hand that still clutched his arm tightly reminded him that he had an audience; no matter how safe he felt with Carbuncle and Luna, that didn't mean he wanted them seeing him at his lowest. It was bad enough that they had to be here, witnessing the messy flow of his thoughts and emotions as he unloaded it all onto them like a stupid, spoiled kid. It was bad enough that he'd spurned their attempts to comfort him when it was his fault they were wasting their time trying to reach him in the first place.

If they held it against him, though, they definitely weren't saying so. In fact, when he mustered the courage to hazard a glance at them, it was to find something that he hadn't expected.

Where Luna's fingers circled his wrist, it was like staring into the sun. They were encompassed by a bright, warm glow that seemed to be doing its best to keep the shadows away from even the darkest corners of his own consciousness. It seeped into Noctis's muscles, relaxing the tense set of his shoulders until he gradually lowered them from where they'd been hovering protectively around his ears. Even the sharp pains that he hadn't realized were coursing through his veins—he was so used to them by now that they hardly registered—couldn't stand up to its heat. In that instant, it was like Luna was trying to burn all the grief out of him, all the betrayal and disappointment and anger.

He almost wished it worked.

Instead, it only made him feel worse to raise his eyes to hers and be met with a solemn yet sympathetic gaze.

"You mustn't be afraid," she murmured, slowly releasing his arm. Almost immediately, the light evaporated and took the warmth right along with it. "The daemons prey on it."

"I'm not afraid," replied Noctis automatically. Besides an almost imperceptible twitch of her eyebrow, Luna offered no indication that she was going to call him on his lie. Well, not until she pulled a small notebook from… Wait, had she been carrying that before?

He didn't get a chance to ponder it when, in the next second, Luna carefully deposited the journal into his lap as though it were more valuable than all the jewels and gil in Eos. By all accounts, it didn't look that special: its battered cover was bent at the corners, and there was some wear along the leather seams. In spite of its weathered (well loved?) appearance, however, the gold ornamentation on the front was flawless in its depiction of a bird soaring high over the same flowers that blossomed around them.

"What's this?" he asked, turning the notebook over in his hands with a frown.

Luna didn't answer until he turned towards her, a sad smile twitching at the corners of her lips as she explained, "You fear to open your heart to those who care for you in the hopes of protecting yourself from them. The Accursed's darkness has fed on that fear, blinding you to the truth and imprisoning you in your own despair."

Flinching, Noctis ducked his head, but she wasn't finished.

"Your friends fight for you, but they cannot break through the shadows. Only you can do that, Noctis."

"How?" he whispered in spite of himself—in spite of the shameful, cowardly fact that he hadn't even decided whether he wanted to break through them yet.

When Luna tenderly laid a hand on his arm again, he could tell that she knew what he was thinking. Maybe she didn't get all the details, but it was obvious that she was able to sense the indecision pouring off of him in waves. After all, it wasn't like he was trying to hide it: not putting his thoughts into words didn't make him any less transparent. If his mind wasn't twisted and tied in knots, if it wasn't torn between wanting to wake up and wanting to run from reality forever, then he wouldn't have sat there in silence, fiddling with the corner of the journal to avoid meeting his companions' eyes.

This time, she didn't try to force him. She simply nodded towards the notebook and murmured, "Perhaps you should see for yourself."

For myself… Right…

Taking a deep breath, Noctis clutched the book so hard that it hurt. Whatever was inside… Well, he wasn't positive that he wanted to see it. He could already feel the ghostly pain that came from remembering his friends and all they had done beginning to creep back into his chest; he could already hear that voice—Ardyn, he guessed—taunting him for believing that they could ever care about him as much as he'd fooled himself into thinking they had. It hurt, and he was so tired of hurting—he was so tired in general…

But Luna was waiting. Carbuncle was waiting. They'd both come here to help him, and it would be beyond ungrateful of him not to at least take a look at what she was offering. If he didn't want it and chose to let the darkness take him, then at least they wouldn't be able to blame themselves for it. That would be his choice, for better or worse.

So, taking a deep breath, Noctis steeled himself before opening the front cover of the notebook and flipping to the first page.

"What the hell?!" he gasped, bringing it up to his face as though getting a closer look would help him understand how in the world he was seeing…

Himself. A way smaller version, but himself nonetheless.

It was a photograph, one that he was positive had never actually been taken: it was too crisp and clear even though half of Uncle Cid's rushed pictures ended up a little blurred at the edges. Besides, the memory itself was as fresh in his mind as though it had happened yesterday, and he knew for a fact that his uncle hadn't been there. He'd been down in the garage, as usual, working on cars with Cindy while Noctis played upstairs with Ignis and Gladio. He called it playing, anyway, but this visit had been different from the others.

He must have been about six years old—old enough that he'd been friends with them for a few months, but not too old to sit in Gladio's lap while Ignis meticulously sewed a split seam back together on his stuffed Carbuncle's tail. That hadn't been the plan for the day; in fact, they hadn't known that his oldest friend was hurt at all when they arrived. Noctis hadn't had a chance to tell them, nor would he have been able to find the words at that age. It was difficult enough when he'd woken up a few mornings prior and run to Uncle Cid in tears because the stuffing was falling out—Carbuncle was bleeding to death in the only way a toy could. His uncle had never been great with things like that, though; if Noctis found a hole in his clothes, Uncle Cid would simply order him something new. But there was no replacing Carbuncle, so the best he could manage was wrapping a bandage around the site of the damage as though that was going to help.

When Ignis got there, he hadn't waited. He hadn't asked. He'd simply taken Carbuncle from him while he was napping on the couch and gotten straight to work.

Noctis remembered waking up in a bleary panic, irrationally fearing that someone had thrown his first friend away because that was what you did with old, broken toys. It wasn't until Gladio had practically sat on him and muttered that Ignis was trying to fix him that Noctis had caught sight of his other friend, cross-legged on the floor with Carbuncle in his lap and his tongue poking out from between his teeth as he put his fancypants training to good use.

As a kid, it seemed to take forever for him to finish, and Gladio kept pulling him back to sit in his lap with a gruff, "He can't finish with you hangin' on 'im."

Huffing a laugh at the memory, Noctis shook his head in confusion. He hadn't thought about that in so long—he hadn't needed to when he had Ignis and Gladio by his side. Now, however, there were tears welling in his eyes at the sight of them the way they used to be: brothers, just as Gladio had promised not long after they met. The lies had been there, as had the secrets, but they were far away. He hadn't been lonely; he hadn't been clinging to Carbuncle for companionship so much as mere comfort anymore. In that moment, with his thumb edging dangerously close to his mouth in his six-year-old anxiety and Ignis's clear dedication to getting his task right, he'd thought that no one else in the world could have it better than he did.

What he wouldn't have given to go back to those days of blissful ignorance.

He couldn't, though, and he didn't want to cry about it in front of Luna and Carbuncle. Blinking back his tears, he tried to ignore the way his voice cracked when he inquired, "How did you get this?"

"I didn't," she replied serenely, her smile unwavering when he turned a baffled frown on her.

"They're your memories," interjected Carbuncle before he had a chance to ask what she meant. When Noctis glanced down at him, he propped his front paws on Noctis's knee and elucidated, "This is the world of your dreams, remember?"

"Uh…yeah?" It was kind of hard to forget that, all things considered.

"This journal is full of your most special memories, the ones deep down inside that mean more than anything to you."

Nodding, Luna added, "Neither of us can see what you do, Noctis. To us, the pages are blank."

The sense of relief Noctis felt at that was quickly eclipsed by the idea that this was what his heart wanted him to see. Hadn't it learned its lesson? Hadn't it figured out that it was right all those years ago, when he'd told himself that making friends was a terrible idea since he was bound to lose them someday? Yeah, Luna had a point: he was afraid. Opening his heart had never worked out for him in the past; he'd thought things were different with Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto only to discover that he'd been wrong. No matter how long it took, no matter how at ease he allowed himself to become, the truth always reared its ugly head and reminded him that those moments of camaraderie were fleeting. In the end, he had no one to trust but himself and the stuffed animal in the picture. That Carbuncle had never lied to him or failed to be there when Noctis needed him.

The other two people in the photo had.

But he didn't have to do that, whispered the little voice in the back of his head that had always sounded a lot like Ignis.

Running a finger over the picture that only he could see, Noctis had to admit that that was true, albeit grudgingly. Now that he knew who they really were, he supposed that this scene never had to take place. Uncle Cid could have made a call to the king to ask for another Carbuncle to replace the one he'd had since he was born; Ignis and Gladio could have delivered it as a gift or simply said nothing at all. They didn't need to go to the trouble of fixing it, which was definitely the more difficult task for an eight-year-old. Gladio didn't need to sit with him and try to keep him occupied so that he wasn't constantly fretting over whether the stitches looked right or if Carbuncle was in pain.

He had, though. They had. Whatever lies they'd been telling him at the time, it didn't change the fact that they had gone out of their way for him in a manner that he doubted simple retainers would—not at that age.

Not that that changed anything. They weren't those little kids anymore. Time had stolen that from them, along with his confidence in their brotherhood. The Ignis he'd met at the Citadel? He would have ordered a new Carbuncle. He would have seen fixing a twenty-year-old toy as a waste of a prince's time, as well as that of his chamberlain. Probably.

Noctis couldn't bear to follow that line of thought any further than he already had, so he distracted himself by flipping the page with trembling fingers. This picture was a little more painful to see, but it brought a smile to his face all the same.

When it came to photographs of his makeshift training sessions with Gladio, it was always difficult to tell how old they were. It felt like every time they visited, Gladio would drag him out behind the garage and try to teach him something new, usually with no real progress. It wasn't that Noctis was bad at fighting, per se: he just didn't see a need for it. Never had, never would. Well, now he did—being a prince sort of changed his perspective on that. Still, when he was living in Hammerhead (which Ignis called the land of the insufferably boring when he thought he wouldn't be overheard by Uncle Cid), there was no reason for that sort of thing. No one had ever tried to attack him at the outpost; he'd always been safe as long as he remained inside its borders. So, he'd never understood why Gladio was so adamant about teaching him how to swing a fake sword or dodge a blow the way he did whenever they saw each other.

This picture, however, was different. Noctis knew exactly when this was, even though no photos had been taken at the time. Six months after his injury, six months after he'd wandered off on his own and discovered what the shadows looked like in the real world, Gladio had tentatively suggested that they needed to get back into the swing of things again. No amount of pleading and digging his heels in had been enough to convince him that that wasn't necessary; no length of tense silence was able to communicate that picking up a stick only reminded him of how he'd tried to fight back against the daemon and lost. Appealing to Ignis was useless: he'd pursed his lips with a remorseful grimace and sighed that it would do him some good to get exercise after spending months mostly holed up inside.

At the very least, they'd tried to make him as comfortable as possible. They'd chosen the brightest and warmest hour of the day to go out, and Ignis had insisted on bundling him in two jackets to stave off the chills that always ran up his spine when he had to leave the apartment in those days. They'd started off small—blocking punches. It was almost comical, looking back on it: Gladio had been moving so slowly in an effort not to hurt him that Noctis had almost felt irritated at being treated like he was a baby. He didn't want to learn to fight, but if they were going to do this, then he didn't want them acting as though he'd break if he missed a fist.

Which he didn't. Because Gladio had taught him well, reluctant as he'd been to learn.

It wasn't until they switched to those stupid sticks that his brain turned on him, transforming his future Shield into a towering monster in the blink of an eye. The next thing Noctis knew, he'd been sitting on the ground, sobbing into strong, familiar arms.

Gladio wasn't a hugger—he wasn't even a toucher most of the time—but he'd sat there and held onto him until he came back to himself enough to realize that the daemons weren't coming, that the monsters hadn't returned to get him, that he wasn't there anymore. And yeah, he'd been pretty embarrassed about it later; he'd cleared his throat gruffly and suggested that they hold off on the training for a while before disappearing to allegedly pick up lunch from Takka's. He'd still been there, though.

He didn't have to be.

He's my Shield. He's supposed to be there to protect me, he reminded himself sternly.

Did that extend to his emotions? After all, that had always been more Ignis's area of expertise, which made sense if he was going to advise him for the rest of his life. Gladio, on the other hand, was meant to be the brick wall that stood between him and a gun if he was remembering his lessons correctly. There was no reason for him to do that, no reason for him to sit on the hard ground and let Noctis cry into his shirt. That wasn't his job—it wasn't his duty. It was, however, the sort of thing a brother did.

Noctis shook that thought aside, hissing at the discomfort in his chest. He couldn't think like that: it wouldn't do him any good. Gladio wasn't like that anymore. He was the person who'd stood in front of him and shot his hopes at point-blank range; he was the person who'd told him to get over his feelings because they were just doing their jobs. Whatever had made him comfort Noctis that day had long since been beaten out of him by duty, and there was no getting it back.

So why was his heart still aching? Why was it still betraying him with pictures of memories he wished would simply disappear? Page after page showed him more of the same—Ignis sneaking vegetables into his food when he should have left them out in deference to his tastes, Gladio helping him wash cars when it would have built more muscle to make him do it himself, sitting at the table while Ignis helped him with homework that a prince should have been able to figure out on his own, laughing while Gladio tried to explain why Noctis should read more than play video games even though the latter would have been better for his physical coordination. With every photo came a wave of comfort that Noctis desperately tried to tamp down before it gave way to the darker thoughts, the ones that reminded him that the Ignis and Gladio he'd known when he was a kid had grown up into the retainers that Noctis had no business socializing with. The ones that delineated between himself and the prince he was supposed to be, forcing him to admit that they were two different people that couldn't exist simultaneously.

It shattered him every time, because as much as he wanted to hate them—as much as he never wanted to see them again for fear that he would stop cherishing the people they used to be and betray their memories—it would be a lie to say that he didn't miss them. He couldn't honestly tell himself that he didn't long for those monthly visits, for those occasions when there was only hanging out with his friends and not worrying that they were secretly fulfilling some sort of obligation by merely being around him. He couldn't pretend that the ghosts of those hugs and hair-rufflings and shoulder-punchings didn't make his skin tingle and his heart split in two because he would never feel them again even if he did wake up.

All the while, through each and every wrenching memory, Luna and Carbuncle were there. They didn't speak; they didn't try to get him to tell them what he was seeing. Instead, they sat in silent solidarity with him as he willingly broke his heart over and over and over again. There was no warmth anymore in the way Luna's hand rested on his arm, nor did he find solace in Carbuncle's weight when he curled up in his lap like a cat. There was only emptiness and pain that he hadn't thought he could feel in this place, so far from the shadows while altogether nowhere near far enough.

Eventually, when Noctis didn't think he could take anymore lest he tear the journal in half and throw it into the mist, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn't handle any more happiness. He couldn't bear the sight of himself, so content with the people he thought he knew and never once wondering whether they were hiding anything from him. He couldn't stand remembering that there was no going back to who they'd been, to the illusions they had built around him until he couldn't see through them. All he could do was sit there, breathing deeply and trying to hold the devastatingly all-encompassing agony at bay as it threatened to sweep him right back into oblivion where he was beginning to believe he belonged.

There was no place in the world for him, only for the prince he had been at birth. The Noctis that existed in Hammerhead couldn't survive anywhere else. In fact, maybe he'd had it wrong from the start: maybe he was the illusion, railing against reality as though he had a right to be angry when fate had already dictated his necessary demise.

He tried to say as much, to tell his companions that there was no hope in waking him up when he would cease to exist regardless of where his doom was decided. When he attempted to voice his thoughts, however, the words wouldn't come.

Despite the fact that they didn't really know each other, Luna seemed to hear them anyway.

"These wounds can heal," she told him with quiet resolve, her grip on his arm tightening. "There are so many who only wish to see you whole."

"As a prince," he retorted in hardly more than a whisper.

"Is he so different from you?"

"I don't even know who he is."

It didn't occur to him until after the words left his mouth that she could never understand what he meant by that: she'd grown up in her position, as both Oracle and princess of Tenebrae. She didn't have to relearn who she was supposed to be or redefine herself based on the role she would play in the world. From the time she was born, she knew her destiny, which was a hell of a lot more than he could say for himself.

That chasm between their experiences wasn't enough to make her reassurances less consoling when she pointed out, "The measure of our mettle lies in the strength of our hearts, not the positions we hold. A prince or a boy from Hammerhead, it doesn't matter. I believe you'll find that both are capable of great things, just as your friends do."

Noctis shifted uncomfortably, deciding not to respond to that. There wasn't any strength left in his heart; he'd used it all up on believing in people he shouldn't have. So, rather than get into that debate, he glanced back down at the notebook and muttered, "You sure do have a lot of faith in them."

"It's not difficult when they have so much in you."

"Even Prompto?" he shot back, suddenly realizing that there was one person he hadn't seen in the journal. Noctis couldn't help the savage bit of satisfaction he felt when Luna didn't immediately answer, her expression dimming at the mention of his third friend—or so he'd once considered him. To see her reaction essentially confirmed what the monsters had told him, and the jagged edges of his heart seemed to cut into his lungs as he huffed humorlessly, "So, that was true. He really was a spy."

His words seemed to loosen Luna's tongue, and she quickly—if tentatively—sought to assure him, "Many were turned to darkness in lieu of other paths they might have taken."

"Which means yes."

"That doesn't mean he was never your friend!" Carbuncle chimed in with a chastising edge to his tiny voice.

Scoffing, Noctis shook his head. "If the only reason he was around was to keep an eye on me, then that pretty much says it all, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps at first," agreed Luna, although he could tell from the crease between her eyebrows that that wasn't all she had to say about the subject. Unfortunately, he was beginning to recognize when she was about to get all optimistic on him and beat her to the punch.

"Let me guess," he sighed sarcastically, "eventually, he started caring about me too."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Just seems a little unlikely."

That was putting it mildly, but he could tell from the offended squeak Carbuncle uttered that he was erring dangerously close to disrespecting them when they were only trying to help. It wasn't that he meant to, not really, but he couldn't deny that it was grating on his nerves to be patronized like this. He wasn't a kid—he knew what people were like and could see who they were for himself. Ignis and Gladio? If nothing else, he could give them credit for sticking around this long. Whether it was in his moments of weakness or ignorance or stubbornness or whatever, they had always stood by him. That was their job, yeah, but it took a lot of effort for them to take that and turn it into the illusion of affection they'd been plying him with for years.

Prompto was an entirely different matter: he'd been lying from the beginning, too, but at least the others hadn't wanted to hurt him. At least the others hadn't been working for an enemy that only wanted to see him dead.

If Luna sensed his irritation, then she casually ignored it to argue, "Sometimes, finding a kindred spirit is all it takes. Your friend's heart was steeped in darkness, but the light of your own gave him reason to cast that part of himself aside. You claimed not to know who the prince of Lucis is meant to be, but is there any more royal a quality than inspiring such loyalty in those around you?"

This time, it was Noctis who didn't have an answer. It wasn't that he couldn't think of one; there were already about ten different responses on the tip of his tongue, each making it pretty damn obvious that that wasn't enough. Who cared if he inspired loyalty? Who cared if he was able to turn someone's life around with a few video games and some heartfelt conversations? That didn't put a dent in the lies Prompto had told or the sheer number of photographs that sinister voice told him had been sent to Niflheim, cataloging his daily life for those who meant him harm. Maybe Prompto hadn't had the guts to pull a trigger himself; maybe he'd taken the coward's route just like Noctis was doing in considering remaining here in the darkness. Even so, it all came down to the fact that he had done those things, and not once had he come clean about them. It wasn't fair that Noctis was only finding out now; it wasn't fair that he couldn't give Prompto a piece of his mind as he'd done with Ignis and Gladio. None of it was fair, but the bullshit assurance that he was the one who had somehow saved his erstwhile friend from becoming like every other Niff?

It wasn't enough.

Noctis had to keep telling himself that when, with narrowed eyes, he glanced down to see that the empty page he'd been staring at earlier was suddenly occupied by yet another photograph. This one, however, he knew existed in the real world—because Prompto had taken it himself. Noctis had had to beg him for a copy, and even then it had taken some real arm-pulling to get what he wanted, but there was a tattered and folded picture in the bottom of his duffel bag that looked just like it.

Seeing it now didn't provide him with the same solace it had before he left Hammerhead for Insomnia, though. Seeing it now, he couldn't help cringing at the sappy smile he had on his face. He couldn't even make the excuse that he had been young and stupid and unable to see what was right in front of him, not when this photo was only a few years old. There were no stuffed Carbuncles or tears being shed—there were just four teenagers grinning at the camera after what Noctis still remembered thinking was the perfect day he'd ever spent.

Honestly, they hadn't done anything special. It was merely an ordinary day where he didn't have to work and Ignis and Gladio were at the outpost. They'd walked around for a while just talking and catching up even though Noctis had spoken to both of his absent friends every day that week over the phone; they'd gotten lunch at the diner and wasted a couple of hours playing video games. Then they'd gone back to the apartment, where they sat around in the living room doing…nothing. Seriously, that was all. Noctis had lounged on the couch with his head on Ignis's shoulder, trying not to fall asleep as he watched the latter scroll through new recipes that he wanted to try on his phone; Gladio and Prompto had been sitting on the floor in front of them playing some card game Noctis never could remember the name of.

And it struck him, in that instant, how happy he was. How normal this seemed. How he hadn't needed any more than that to be content with his life. Even when his head was still swimming with thoughts of the future and the decisions he'd thought he needed to make as he approached adulthood, he could set it all aside and just be grateful that he had friends like them—old and new.

His brothers.

His everything.

He hadn't complained when Prompto dragged him down onto the floor, messing up his hair in the process as he insisted that they all get a picture together for a change. Instead, he'd worn that goofy, stupid, happy smile that was somehow mirrored on all of his friends' faces.

Even now, as drops of wetness splashed against the page, he could see through his tears that there were no lies in their eyes. There was no imitating people who gave a damn—there was no exasperation that this was what it took to keep him happy so that they could do their jobs, whatever those happened to be.

There was only…

Only…

"Why are you showing me these?" he whispered brokenly, unable to take his eyes off the image even as he longed to snap the journal shut and throw it as far from him as possible.

"They love you deeply, Noctis," answered Luna just as quietly. Her hand was warm as it covered his own, and it took everything in him not to clasp it tightly when she continued, "Only by opening your heart and learning to trust them again can you hope to keep the shadows at bay."

Trust them? Oh, how he wanted to—how he had trusted the people smiling up at him as though they could save him with a grin. How he had trusted the Ignis that fixed Carbuncle and baked him pastries that settled his stomach when he'd thought he might never feel normal again—the Gladio who pushed his buttons out of jest and not because he was the biggest bully on the planet—the Prompto who was just looking for a place to belong, the same as Noctis…

He'd trusted them all, but they didn't exist anymore. How could he trust what wasn't there?

Shaking his head, Noctis gently slipped his hand out of Luna's grasp and closed the journal as he turned to look at her. He didn't bother hiding his tears: they were the evidence that there was no fixing this. He wasn't a stuffed Carbuncle; needles and thread couldn't sew the shattered remains of his heart back together again.

So he swallowed hard and replied to her dangerous hope with a question: "What if I can't?"

And for the first time since they'd pulled him from the darkness, neither Luna nor Carbuncle had an answer for him.