I step outside first, though I'm not met with the stun of sunlight as I previously hoped. Merely the bitter cold bites back at me through the darkness that's completely consumed Gralea. Prompto has the same reaction of wonder, exchanging a look of surprise with me. Gladio grunts, shaking his head and urging us further out of the labyrinthian's exit.
"We're not safe yet," he reminds us, resting a hand on Ignis's shoulder to guide him around a pile of rusted scrap metal.
"Guess you could say we're not totally out of the dark," Prompto quips, forcing a weak laugh. I give him a gentle smile, looking up into the pitch-black sky. Even the moon is obscured by the blackest, most dense clouds I've ever laid eyes on. Only the slimmest sliver of murky light pierces the edges of its dark rival.
"The sun won't be back until Noct is?" I ask, tearing my eyes away from that single gleam of hope.
"It seems so," Ignis sighs. "However, recent reports over the radio advertise open shelters welcoming all from any location to take refuge."
"Dave was inviting 'em all to Lestallum," Gladio nods. "Guess he knew about the $#%^ show out here."
"Won't daemons be out constantly?" I frown, looking around at our temporary refuge amongst the empty shells of train cars. Even as a child, the dark never scared me. But now... There's an eeriness dripping from every corner of Eos and sending sharp prickles down my spine. I refuse to cling to others, and yet, putting all my faith in Noctis is part of my job description. It's not even in the fine print. I've never felt more like an uneasy child in my entire life.
"That's the point of the darkness," Prompto huffs, sitting on the rough steps leading into an engine. "To bring out all the daemons and wash the world over with pure evil. Isn't that all Ardyn wanted?"
"Perhaps," Ignis replies. "But then I must ask why he helped Noct get to the Crystal."
"He's got something else in mind," I grumble, shuddering as his words replay through my mind. His past as a savior, my mother's role... My role. Gods, I don't even know what it is anymore. Gladio glances over my rough and bloodied appearance before tearing his eyes away to look at Ignis.
"Where should we go, Iggy?"
"I suppose we shall ask Aranea where we can find refuge to regroup for now." There's a long pause in conversation as we wait impatiently. I don't want to leave Noctis behind by himself. But... Part of me knows he isn't here anymore. He's becoming the Chosen King. What that entails I don't know. I can only await his return and the cleansing of this darkness I feel lingering from Ardyn's grasp. When did I become so dependent?
"I think I can hear them coming," Prompto says suddenly, jumping to his feet and backing up to search for the Empire's signature engine. Bright red lights flash rhythmically in the distance, the familiar hum of the aircraft reaching my eager ears. We're finally getting out of this living hell. But... We're entering a bigger one with one less member, the most important of us all.
In the long run, it wouldn't matter if I had died in Altissia alongside the image of Arma that Ardyn portrayed. It wouldn't matter if Prompto's heart stopped in Gralea or if Gladio fell trembling at the hands of Gilgamesh or if Ignis's brain had been shredded instead of his brilliant green eyes. All that matters is Noctis and the gods. You'd think we'd serve more purpose than broken-hearted meat shields. That's what I thought, anyway. Looks like I was wrong.
The engine comes to a halted hover over our heads, whipping sharp winds around us that tug my hair every which way. The large black door drops open like a gaping mouth, revealing the figure of Aranea waiting expectantly, hands rested on her hips. Gladio reaches down and helps Ignis off the steps of an empty train car that he was resting on. Aranea waves a hand of dismissal, reaching behind her and throwing down a rope ladder.
"Really high-tech, I know," she calls down, motioning for us to climb on up.
Prompto takes a deep breath, glancing at me with a weak smile before climbing up first. I look back at Ignis and Gladio.
"I think Iggy should go next," I say, cutting off whatever it was Gladio started to demand.
"You sure?" Gladio frowns, looking at my roughed-up appearance once more. I nod.
"Yeah. You two head up and I'll take up the rear." Upon receiving nothing but a scowl and more silence, I add, "I'm fine, really Gladio."
"Let's get a move on, then," Ignis sighs, taking a weary step forward.
Forced to obey, Gladio grumbles something underneath his breath and presses a hand to his friend's back, guiding him to the flimsy ladder and nudging him up. Prompto reaches the top by the time I first step onto the swinging ropes, taking Aranea's helping hand gratefully. Ignis also accepts her help, though a bit unhappily. Once Gladio's up and Aranea gets sick of waiting for someone she can hardly stand, she just pulls the whole ladder into the carrier, taking me with it. I force myself to my feet, brushing off my clothes instinctively. There's no amount of brushing that can save this getup.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in."
I look up sharply to see Signum smiling back at me softly, though there's an undertone of exhaustion in his youthful voice. There's a dirty, bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head, a particularly bloody patch covering his left eye. One hand is buried in the pocket of his once-green sweatshirt, the other hanging down by his side and wrapped up in another dingy bandage.
"I don't appreciate that," Aranea warns, though she's only teasing as she rolls the ladder back into its designated place on the interior of the carrier. Prompto forces a laugh.
"What happened to you?" I ask, watching my younger brother hobble closer.
"Daemons," Biggs answers, saluting beside Wedge. "Got us when we escaped the train."
"One's claws got him good in the eye," Aranea explains, crossing her arms. "Good thing it wasn't both."
"Quite," Ignis replies dryly. I pick up on the slightest bit of bitterness and shudder. He didn't deserve any of this.
"Yeah," Signum sighs, pulling me into a tight hug. "Good thing I had your weirdo imperial friends to help me, huh?" He draws away, looking at the party of disheveled retainers behind me. "Where's...?"
"He's returned to the Crystal," Ignis explains shortly. "Where he will become the Chosen King. His return marks the salvation of Eos. Until then, we should help humanity survive."
"Sounds like a plan," Aranea nods, turning her eyes to mine. She seems to be thinking about something, though she's keeping her mouth shut. I turn back to Signum and force a smile on my face.
"At least you'll look really bad #$ when you're older, hm?"
"Maybe," he huffs. "I'm not gonna be totally blind in that eye, y'know. I can still see."
"I was talking about the scar, moron." I roll my eyes and shove his bony shoulder gently. Finally, Aranea butts in.
"Rayne's got a special guest waiting for her in the sickbay." She straightens, glancing back at Gladio. "We can talk more about the game plan while she's there." Ignoring the fact that she's cutting me out of said "game plan," I frown.
"Special guest?"
"A relative of mine; I'm sure you'll recognize her," she replies, giving a dismissive wave with one gloved hand. "Apparently our world is small enough for everyone to be in one of five family trees."
"You know Aranea's relatives?" Prompto raises an eyebrow. "You're really getting up there in the world, huh?"
"Where are they?" I ask Aranea, turning to look at the small cluster of doors and halls across the steely interior of the aircraft.
"Down the center hallway, third door to the left."
I head off in that direction, ignoring the aching protests of my sore muscles and joints. No real rest for gods know how long does that to you, I guess. I don't think I've had a good rest since... Gods, since I explained the Wyn situation to Gladio. How long ago was that? One tends to lose track of time when they've been locked in a dungeon crafted by the daemon king himself.
The hallway is pristine with white walls and floors and oak doors. I stop by the door Aranea instructed me to go to and take a deep breath. Who on Eos could this possibly be? Some obscure figure we met soon after we left Insomnia? I highly doubt it's Takka or... Gods, I pray it's not Dino. Suppressing a shudder at the thought of the one civil human that makes me want to die, I take the cold doorknob into my hand and turn slowly. The door creaks softly as I push it inward.
The room is hardly a sickbay, more of a small cell or bedroom. There's a narrow bed with white sheets pressed up against the tan wall. Beside it is a small oak table littered with bandage bits, scissors, needles, thread, medication bottles, and a short armchair. The final wall of the confined space is completely covered in white cabinets and countertops, presumably where all the medical supplies came from. I shut the door behind me, cautious as I pad across the dark carpet and sit on the edge of the seat provided.
A young woman lays in the bed, her face covered in stitched cuts and deep blue bruises. The sheets cover her body from her pale shoulders downward. From here, I can see a pair of tall gray boots shoved under the bed. Silvery blonde hair piles across the pearly white pillowcase, falling over the edge of the mattress. Her icy blue eyes flutter open after a moment of silence and she stares at the ceiling.
I study her face quietly, frowning at the stunningly familiar features and trying to land on why I recognize her. Those eyes, the shape of her nose, the sharp edge of her moonlight-pale cheekbones... Kara. Wyn's sister. It makes no sense, though. Why's she here? Wyn was related to Aranea?
She takes a shallow breath through her parted red lips, pressing her elbows into the pristine sheets and forcing herself to sit up a bit more before she looks over at me. Her gaze might normally be perceived as sharp and perceptive, but now it's only a dull surrender to reality. She finally speaks, her voice a raspy shadow of what it might really be. Even her accent is the same, if not a bit rougher and tinged by tougher slang.
"You're Rayne Callen, hm?"
"Yeah," I nod. "And you're Kara Iterum."
"Highwind," she shakes her head, reaching up one muscular arm and pushing her hair up out of her face to reveal the shaved side of her head. "It's a bit complicated."
"Oh." I glance down at the holes in my dirtied leggings, picking at their frayed edges anxiously. How do I talk to a girl whose best friend and brother I inadvertently murdered just over six months ago? I'm broken from my thoughts when I hear a low chuckle, watching her sit up fully with a wince. She leans her back against the wall, letting her pale feet dangle off the edge of the bed.
"I wanted to meet you when he was there, y'know. He made you sound like an angel."
"Welcome to the bitter truth," I huff. She smiles, nodding toward my left side.
"What happened to your arm, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Altissia," I reply, settling back into my seat. "Buildings were crumbling and the chancellor distracted me. The only way to get me out was to cut it off."
"Ouch," she sighs, rubbing her bare arms to warm up a bit in the cool room. There's dark band of inked symbols wrapped around her upper arm. Their twisted figures are only faded by the gentle reflection of her white tank top. There's a long pause as she stares up at the ceiling, searching for words. "So... Wyn and Ravus... They're really dead, then?"
"I guess so," I mutter, feeling the sharp sting of her grieved words in my chest. "At least, I know for a fact that Wyn's gone."
"I know he is," she replies quietly, turning her gaze to the door. "I've known for some time now. And I know Ravus is gone too." She looks down at her hands where her pale fingers are twisting together nervously. "I... killed him." I probably would've too. Then again, Ravus didn't push her around or try to help murder her king. At least, I don't think so. Something tells me they were close. "But it was the best thing I could do for him. Ardyn twisted him so horribly... I couldn't tell if he was a man or a daemon anymore."
"Must've been horrible," I mutter, watching her as she crosses her arms tightly and shrugs, looking up at me.
"Perhaps. How did Wyn...? I don't know the details, only that it was a car crash."
"We were hit head on by one of the cars chasing us. It was instant," I explain in a rushed voice. Right now, death and darkness is not what I want to focus on. Not when there's a figure practically haloed in light. A figure tainted by the darkness I'm trying to desperately to drag myself away from.
"Good," she huffs, nodding firmly. "Thank you. His last days were beautiful because of you." You have no idea how terrified we both were, do you? You don't know the effects of it all.
"No problem, I guess."
"And thank you for coming to see me," she smiles, sliding back under the covers. "I only wanted to meet you before anything happened to either of us." She must see my frown because she continues, shaking her head. "You can't deny it any longer, Rayne. The dark consumed the world a long time ago. The blindfold has lifted from your eyes and you see nothing but the dark." She lays her head back on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling with bleary eyes. "So you'll have to excuse me for being a bit realistic when I say there's a high chance we will never meet again in the land of the living."
"I don't blame you," I nod, getting to my feet and adjusting my ragged, stained clothes, worn by the tribulations of our journey to save Eos. Gods know how much longer I'll be wearing these "in the land of the living." "Bye."
"Goodbye, Rayne," she yawns, shutting her eyes.
