For the first time in recent memory, Ravus wasn't being watched. Ever since he was sixteen years old, he'd been kept a very close eye on—which even Ravus could admit had been a most prudent practice. Eager to utilize the rare power with which he'd been granted after his only hope for assistance ran away in fear, the Empire had made him an offer he couldn't refuse—join the ranks of the Empire, and they would spare his and Lunafreya's lives.
He had agreed, and not to spare his own life.
That strange sensation of freedom only fueled the oozing rush of satisfaction as he thrust his sword deeper through the vile imbecile's belly. Ravus slowly withdrew his blade, allowing Caligo's nerves to twist and jerk along its sharp edges as he danced like a puppet from the agony of his death throes. With a final, vicious yank, Ravus pulled his sword free as Caligo cried out, and he casually flicked the point against the man's armor, sending him flying back with a final grunt.
He allowed himself the indulgence to stand over the dead man for only a moment. How many times had Caligo towered over Lunafreya's cowering form as she huddled on the floor in an effort to protect herself from his meaty fists? How many times had Ravus not been there to protect her from a man four times her size? And for all that he had taught her to defend herself, it seemed the escalation of violence coupled with the need to appear cooperative meant that she would always suffer at someone's twisted mercy.
Though she had long-since ceased fearing the Commander, it would be one of Ravus's highest honors to inform his sister that at least one source of her torment had been removed from the land of the living by his very hands.
His conscription had perhaps been fortuitous, as from the very day his dear sister had been named Chosen Oracle, he'd known that her serving the lazy, ineffectual King, who spared nary a care for the people and lands beyond his own, would take her life one day. The ancient pact between the gods, the forebears of House Fleuret, and House Lucis Caelum had always, at least in Ravus's opinion, been a one-sided affair, with House Fleuret suffering most of the burden while the Kings sat back on their comfortable throne in their walled city.
Ravus had named himself Lunafreya's sole protector the day their mother had been murdered, and to protect the Chosen Oracle, Ravus would need power, an abundance of it. If she were to survive her duty, Lucis would need a new Chosen King, and Ravus would need to toil his way up the ranks of the Empire so that he might one day be in the position to put on that Ring, cite his noble blood, and prove that no one was more worthy than he to bear the mantle to protect his sister.
It hadn't worked out as he'd imagined, of course.
With shrewd, assessing eyes, Ravus turned to the Lucian boy—yet another wasted specimen of spoiled, cowardly Lucian nobility, as they all were. Given the cowardice of their king, how could they possibly be anything else? Still, he'd managed to get further than Ravus had expected, to defeat Caligo's armor singlehandedly, but then he supposed anyone likely could, with such an incompetent moron at the helm.
"Ravus," Ignis said in a low voice, but Ravus took note of the boy's own intense, assessing gaze. Though his hands were ready to summon a weapon, he hadn't yet pulled a blade, instead leaving his options open in case diplomacy were an option.
Intelligence, caution, perhaps talent? Possibly, he'd been incorrect about all Lucian nobility. Though he could freely traverse the city to the altar on his own, perhaps he should join forces with this child, learn more about the people his sister seemed so eager to marry into, even if he still believed she was throwing her life away for naught. If he were to do this, however, the boy would have to prove himself immediately, as word of Ravus's defection would quickly spread if even one of the soldiers currently rushing into the square to surround them escaped to tell the tale.
His decision was made the moment an armored axeman lifted his weapon to split Ignis in two, but as he lunged forward, Ignis seemed to already be aware of the MT behind him, summoning his daggers and twisting to the side faster than Ravus's eyes could focus. Judging Ignis's previously demonstrated caution, Ravus allowed himself to lose sight of the potential enemy as he drove his blade through the Magitek core of the axeman, dropping it to the courtyard pavement in an arc of scarlet electric currents.
He took a few steps back, where he could see from the corner of his eye Ignis standing at the ready.
"I've no quarrel with you, boy," Ravus informed him. "Join me. I can secure us a way to the King and the Oracle."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"Have you any other options?" he spat impatiently. They needed to secure their tentative alliance before one of these damnable soldiers alerted anyone.
There was a moment of silence before he replied, "You have a point," and Ravus heard the clank of metal, what sounded like the body of an MT crashing to the stone, and the metallic tinkling of summoning. At the very least, the boy would make an interesting companion on this mission.
"Then it's settled."
As Ravus spun to catch the neck of the nearest soldier, his white coat whipping up in the momentum, he heard Ignis say urgently, "We must be quick."
"You needn't remind me," he growled back. He was not a simpleton, and he was well aware of the consequences—far more than the boy, after all.
Concentrating on his work as he was, Ravus didn't take note of the advisor's skill until only two soldiers were left. Flickering lightning seemed to shrink back into his hands as Ignis flashed toward the bannerman, who Ravus knew by his status alone would be hopeless with any weapon. It was why such men were given the vulnerable position of holding something as useless as a banner in the middle of a battle—steel fodder for the other side while the more skilled took them out. Flipping into the air, Ignis came to balance on top of the crossbar of the soldier's banner before allowing his daggers to lengthen into pointed icicles with a flick of his wrists. He leapt high with a somersault, coming down blades-first and cleaving the frantic soldier's helm in two before landing lightly on his feet.
Ravus was familiar with the second man by his moves alone—Jason Bormundr—a decent, if middling swordsman, overly eager to bring honor to his house and family. Ravus stood back and watched, appraising Ignis's bladework in curiosity as he allowed the icicles to melt from his blades, switching to fire as he ducked the soldier's swift blow as though the man had been moving in slow motion. Ignis seemed not to even need to think as he effortlessly flipped his hold on the dagger and stabbed down into the collar, an unfortunate weak spot for an imperial rifleman. Taking several steps back, he tossed one of his flaming daggers, sending it spinning with the precision of an archer through the flailing man's helm directly into his eye.
"The Power of the Storm, Ice, and the Inferno," Ravus remarked, raising an eyebrow as Ignis dismissed his blades, his chest heaving with effort. "You've been blessed by the gods."
The advisor pulled himself straight, attempting to hide the fact that he was out of breath as he used his middle finger to push his glasses further up onto his nose. An insolent smirk spread across his lips as he said enigmatically, "Hardly. Just the one, but she's more than enough."
The Glacian, then, as the Tidemother never gave her favor to mortals. The advisor's flippant explanation didn't account for how he'd managed to master the elements outside Her purview. However, it mattered not; the gods' favor was hardly worth much. His own sister had been followed much of her life by three Messengers, and yet they'd done little but further endanger her life, conveniently going missing whenever she was in danger and assisting her in passing secret messages back and forth as though the enemy Prince were nothing more than a childhood pen pal.
But Ignis's explanation also gave him pause. His own Power of the Storm manifested itself differently and came at a higher cost to wield, which was why he did so infrequently. Even if Ignis's power was not as strong as Ravus's and obviously came at a lower cost, this man was no mere Glaive. His use of elements was too versatile, the way he moved bordering on inhuman. There were only two families capable of such power, and only one Blessed.
"What is your connection to House Fleuret?" he demanded, and the advisor's brow shot up, his eyes widening.
"None, that I'm aware, though I'm told my father did hail from Tenebrae."
"His name."
His brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing in suspicion as he replied, "Venetus. I'm afraid I never learned of his bachelor's name. Scientia was the name that had to be carried on in Lucis."
Venetus—named in the style of the noble families of Tenebrae, so it was almost certain they were somehow related, even if distantly. The stripping of Ignis's name, of his heritage, of the one thing that could possibly redeem him in Ravus's eyes, however, was a crime typical of those arrogant Insomnians.
"Lucians," he sneered. "Xenophobic, the lot of you, even to your own allies."
"It wasn't a question of origin," Ignis replied calmly, though his jaw tightened at his words. "My family has carried the name 'Scientia' since it was given to our founding ancestor by Ifrit himself in the founding of Solheim. It might behoove you to realize that not all of us conform to your narrow-minded view of the world."
So, the boy had auspicious origins on both sides of his bloodline, gave off at least the impressions of intelligence, and wasn't completely hopeless with a blade.
"You might be of some use after all," he remarked, turning to head up the stone steps that would lead them toward the altar. Calling on the Power of Earth, Ravus raised a foot and casually kicked down the door that would lead them from the Padore District, and upon seeing the street before them, with its every building knocked to the side or reduced to rubble, Ignis's eyes grew pained.
Green—the boy may have had potential, but he was as sheltered and inexperienced as Ravus had initially believed. But Ravus had seen the look in his eyes as he'd stood fearlessly at the ready between the little princeling and a hopelessly superior foe back in Aracheole—the expression of devotion that went far beyond that of duty. He was well-familiar with that desperate longing, that wild, reckless willingness to throw one's life away to protect a loved one.
These past twelve years, Ravus had fully devoted the full measure of his existence to ensuring Lunafreya would survive her role—there was nothing else left in this wretched world for him to live for. Try as he did, he couldn't see the world or a future through his sister's eyes, a future brimming with light and love and goodness. Her view stemmed from the naiveté and idealism of youth, of having not yet been fully beaten down as Ravus had, which signified at least that he'd managed to somewhat succeed in protecting her as she piece by piece sacrificed herself to a ravenous, greedy, and uncaring people.
Ravus's undying love for his sister had been the only reason he'd allowed her to pursue her feelings for that dishrag of a boy despite his better judgment. He knew from experience that not having the freedom to make one's own way in life was no life at all, so he'd allowed her to make her choices, even if he thought them foolish.
Ravus wondered how much of this Ignis had endured with Noctis.
"Magitek armor," Ignis spat like a curse under his breath as they reached the edge of the balcony to fully view what was left of the street. From their vantage point, two armors patrolled the deserted rubble, keeping the area free of civilians and under Empire control.
"You needn't waste your time," Ravus informed him before he could leap out of their relatively sheltered hiding place. "I've ordered a full retreat. They'll be gone soon enough."
As Ignis came to kneel beside him, his eyes hardened, glittering with distrust, and Ravus wondered at the cause for him to suddenly doubt his word.
"Not according to my intelligence," Ignis shot back. "Even in this very moment, troops are landing in the Erteno Residential District, pulling innocent civilians from their hiding places and slaughtering them, bombing occupied buildings, and setting fire to the bridges to cut off any escape."
Ravus's eyes flashed to Ignis's ears to see that there were no communication devices on his person. "From where do you receive your intelligence?"
"Not that it matters, but I have my ways. The point is that I speak the truth, and I should like an explanation before I throw in my lot with the likes of a man capable of such malice."
"I have none," Ravus ground out in frustration. "Except perhaps Ardyn. For weeks now, my orders have been undermined by that overreaching diplomat. Doubtless he suspects my motivations."
Ignis looked up sharply at the Magitek engine coming in for a landing overhead to load the armor waiting in what had once been a decorated courtyard. Seeing for himself that Ravus's word was true, the advisor seemed to relax somewhat as he turned back to Ravus.
"Why turn against the Empire? Why now?"
How disappointing—such an obvious question. Beginning to rethink the boy's intelligence, he said impatiently, "My sister's life is at stake. Is that not reason enough?" Ignis scoffed, lowering his eyes to his boots and shaking his head in disbelief, and Ravus, beginning to understand the motivations behind such blunt words, hastened to explain. "The paths we tread may differ, but the blood coursing through our veins is one. So, too, is our calling. I must protect her."
At his words, Ignis's gaze met his in understanding. So, Ravus had been right about the boy's love, whether romantic or familial, but unlike Ravus, the advisor had gone too far in protecting the Prince, spoiling him, rotting him, raising him as a useless, pathetic waste of dull and sleepy nobility—just like his father.
"Is it safe to assume this means you'll lend Noct a hand?" he asked with a disbelieving air.
"Don't be asinine," Ravus cut off the end of his words. "Our interests may have aligned in this moment, but I have not allied myself with him."
Ravus also recognized well that slightly manic, desperate light in the boy's eyes now—that edge of madness should the worst happen and his charge be lost to the darkness the Prince so thoughtlessly hurled himself into without regard for those who looked after him. The very same edge of the abyss seemed to haunt Ravus daily, as there would be nothing left in this world for him—no dawn, no hope, no future, no world at all if his lifetime of diligent care and commitment were all for naught. If Lunafreya were not worthy of the bright future which she envisioned and fought for, no one was. This brutal heartless world was undeserving of saving at the expense of her bright, sweet, selfless soul.
Ignis's eyes drifted from Ravus's own gaze down to linger on his Magitek arm, his lips tightening and chin tilting in thought. After several weeks of receiving such stares, Ravus had grown used to them, but he was curious to know the boy's thoughts on the subject. It was common knowledge that he'd lost his arm in the invasion, though the stories as to the reason varied greatly from truth to the ridiculous.
"What of it?"
"I have doubts that you were born with a prosthetic," he remarked in a dry tone, his intonation rising as though he were asking a question yet giving nothing away. Ravus recognized this as an interrogation tactic to encourage the subject to make an assumption as to the knowledge desired, the most important and relevant information. However, Ravus had nothing to hide.
"Your doubts are correct. I once believed it was I who was destined to dispel the darkness. This is proof I was wrong," he answered, examining his mechanical hand as he clenched it into a fist.
Though the foreign apparatus obeyed his command as precisely and efficiently as the one with which he'd been born, it was without feeling, without the organic power that coursed through his veins or the warmth of his blood. There was something treasonous about this arm, and not simply because the loss of his original one was the very same that had been sliced open the day his mother had been murdered. It was as though this thing had its own soul, maliciously lingering inside him in a way that made his blood run cold, but there was nothing that could be done about it now. What was done was done; he merely had to wait for the consequences of his actions.
Ravus's very last hope for saving Lunafreya had been extinguished that day, as a carefully maintained candle of vigil is extinguished against the unforgiving winds of a mighty hurricane. He'd believed that of all those walking this world, there had been no man worthier than he of noble blood to wield the Power of Kings and assist his sister in her calling. Upon their refusal, their insistence that Noctis, the inutile child was to be their ignorant sacrifice, Ravus finally let go of his life's ambitions.
He still had his doubts about the child's ability to succeed; he still begged his beloved sister to hold at least something back of herself in these damnable covenants so that she would live to see the future she believed in. But despite the futility of her toils, she continued to love the spineless cur that was so unworthy of her sacrifice, and he couldn't deny her the one source of happiness she'd created for herself. When she'd faltered and attempted to pass on her calling, he'd encouraged her to show the Prince the truth of her heart, to inspire him to succeed and see her vision of a bright future, because Ravus certainly would not have found the empty words to do so, faithless as he was in both the boy and the future.
"We haven't much time," Ravus said, standing. Apparently, even the armors in this area had chosen to disobey his orders and continue their sweep of the area. They would have to take them down together by stealth if they were to reach the altar.
"I'm aware," Ignis replied in a sarcastic, lilting tone, crouching low and ducking behind a shot-up Gelati Galigione cart.
As they approached the MA Veles, Ravus, doubting the boy's ability to handle such an operation at his level of skill, called over his shoulder, "Keep up."
But the advisor had already flitted past, summoning his daggers as he nimbly sliced through the foot joints—as effectively as though he'd been the one to design and assemble the machine himself. With a powerful kick, he sent the armor tumbling before sliding out of the way of its descent. But for the boy's expertise, he wasn't quite as effective as Ravus at taking the apparatus down; the core was still operative. Ravus leapt high in the air, grabbing hold of the body for support as he landed, and twisted his sword with a violent jerk into the port of the MA Veles's arm. Before it could fall to the stone with a ground-shattering clash, Ravus leapt off its back and landed lightly in front of Ignis, raising his eyebrow in a challenge.
"Ready?" Ignis asked.
Ravus rolled his eyes. Honestly, he wasn't one of the child's road trip pals. "Do you have to ask?"
They had just taken down another armor in tandem, with Ravus piercing the core as he had before, when he heard the roaring buzz of another Veles on the roof. Whirling to spot the source, Ravus found he had to take a step back as Ignis leapt in front of him, hurling a polearm with deadly speed and fluid accuracy into its inner workings, his body following through with the movement as though he were dancing. Clearly, the child hadn't been trained by the ineffectual Crownsguard, not even with the dullard of brutish strength that was the Shield's claim to fame. He'd gone beyond the standard sources to acquire his skill, and even Ravus could hold a grudging appreciation for that sort of dedication.
Somewhat taken aback at being caught off guard and saved by a Lucian noble, of all people, he warned, "Don't get in my way."
"So long as you stay out of mine," he snapped back before leaping on the walkway that would lead them to the Pitra District.
As much as it pained him to admit it, even to himself, the child was beginning to earn his respect. Green and still a bit naïve though he was, Ignis Scientia was resilient, cunning, and ruthless when it came to protecting those he loved, not unlike Ravus himself. Ravus could hardly imagine such a man pledging his undying allegiance to a spoiled brat of a Prince. Was it at all possible that Ravus had been mistaken about the boy? He doubted it, but he needed to ask if he was to be certain the child was worthy of receiving his father's glaive.
"Tell me," he said quietly as they darted across the smoky courtyard, hopping over piles of rubble and jumping over great tears in the paving stones left by hurled Magitek engines. "Do you truly believe Noctis is the one True King?"
"I believe that goes without saying."
"If he is, he still has much to prove. The darkness will not wait for his ascent. It will consume our star and all upon it."
"I know," Ignis admitted. "He may not yet grasp the gravity of his calling, but once he does, he will rise to the occasion and fulfill his destiny."
White his conviction was admirable, Ravus had seen far too much evidence of the boy's weakness. He would need something more if he was to hand over King Regis's sword—one solid piece of evidence beyond this boy's blind faith.
"One can only hope you're right."
Hope—it wouldn't be enough.
