Light was shining into Noctis's eyes, and even under his eyelids he could identify the obnoxious brightness of daylight. Had it worked? Had he really gone an entire night without any nightmares? He cracked one eyelid open. No such luck.

There was grass in front of him, so unless someone had dumped him in a garden he was probably still asleep. The soil was cool and wet beneath his fingers, but the sun shining down from above negated the cold. The air was fresh and sweet, a gentle breeze blowing over him. It was...peaceful. He pushed himself up onto his arms, and was surprised to see they were slightly more muscular than usual. All of this was strange. He'd never had a nightmare where the sun was shining before.

He felt...stronger, somehow. When he was awake or asleep he usually found himself plagued by aches and pains of one kind or another, partially from the Starscourge, yes, but more and more he was beginning to suspect the state of his body was largely down to stress. There were no such pains now, except in his leg, which was always awkward. He felt lighter. Calmer. More at peace than ever before. And it unnerved him how wrong it felt.

He lifted a hand to brush over his face, and sure enough it as he suspected. It felt different to when he was awake, longer and sharper, age having worn away his baby fat—he was thirty, not twenty. Curiouser and curiouser. Despite having many dreams about the endless darkness, he had been quite sure he was younger in them. Yet now, this first dream of the waking world, he was older.

He pushed himself to his feet, to get a better idea of his surroundings. He was standing in a square...or, no, this was very strange. He had been lying unconscious in a circular patch of grass, surrounded by a much larger circle of cobblestone pavement. Then, beyond that, stretched a green field which seemed to go on forever. Why on earth would there be a stone plateau in the middle of nowhere like this?

He turned around, just to make sure he wasn't missing something, only to come face to face with something even stranger. Behind him, the stone circle converged into a path, leading up to a large, incredibly old-fashioned temple. It wasn't nearly so grand as Steyliff or Pitioss or Costlemark, but there was a distinct element of Solheim in its construction that Noctis couldn't quite place. Huge white columns extended upwards to a distinct, triangular roof.

Something inside him was irrevocably drawn to the structure, so much so that he almost missed the faint alarm bells of familiarity ringing in the back of his mind. He knew this place, he was sure he did, and yet he couldn't recall ever having laid eyes on it before. Perhaps that didn't matter though. He just wanted to look inside.

He started walking towards the temple, and it was odd how easy it was. All he had to do was put one foot in front of the other, and his feet were lighter than air. The sun was warm and comforting. The weather was like something from a dream.

So why, as he got closer and closer, did he feel so unspeakably sad?

Step by step, a grief began to manifest itself in his heart—cold and hard and unshakable. He paused for a moment, stopping to stand and stare at the temple. His thoughts no longer felt as his own. A memory of sorts was pressing down in him, trying to remind him of something. What was it about seeing this place that made him so...miserable?

He began walking towards the temple again—perhaps answers for him would lie within? But as he began to move again, he found his steps were much heavier than before. He needed to get inside, he knew that, but it was like every cell in his body was rebelling against the idea. He forced himself forward. Hope waited for him within, he was sure of it.

But with each step, it got harder and harder to keep going. By the time he reached the inside of the temple he was falling to his knees, the sheer effort of the thing almost too hard to bear.

It was cool inside the temple, the white stone providing shade from the relentless sun blazing overhead. Huge statues lined the inside, creating a circle around the very centre of the temple, where the sun shone down through a hole in the roof, illuminating an altar Noctis hadn't noticed before.

It was as grand as the rest of the temple, at least as long as Noctis was tall, and it exuded such a sense of power that he could barely make himself look at it.

Though his eyes were painful to keep open, he looked out, to the vast field surrounding the temple, and saw in the distance, rolling across the grass with the ferocity of a thunderstorm breaking over the horizon, the black fog. It extinguished everything, even the sun shining overhead as it grew closer and closer.

He had almost beaten it this time, he was sure of it. Next time, he wouldn't let it win.

Then the unstoppable wave washed him away, into the darkness once more.

Noctis awoke to someone with their hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

"Noct!" whispered Prompto, probably as loudly as he dared in the near-total silence of the room. "Noct," he repeated, apparently noticing Noctis had woken up, putting his hand on his cheek. "You okay, buddy?"

Noctis grasped Prompto's wrist, just to reassure himself he was really there, not just an extension of the nightmare. He sighed deeply, trying vainly to slow his shuddering.

"It's fine, just the usual," he murmured, guessing Gladio and Ignis were still asleep. "Horrible nightmares, no damn sleep."

"D'you think it's something to do with the time travel?" asked Prompto a small frown crossing his face.

"Yeah," sighed Noctis, rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. "I never had anything like this before. The occasional nightmare, sure, but not every single night. And not so weird either."

"Are you gonna be okay, dude?" asked Prompto, and Noctis could tell by the way he said it that he meant it in more than an immediate sense. "I mean, you haven't actually had a full night's sleep for...what, two months now?"

"Hey, do I look okay?" asked Noctis, in a mostly joking tone.

"Actually you look kinda like a zombie," chuckled Prompto, sadly. Noctis made a face. "What? It's true! You're pale, thin and your eyebags are so dark you look like someone's decked you in both eyes."

"You know pale, thin and eerie is usually used to describe vampires, not zombies, right?"

"Whatever. Either way you're a walking corpse, dude."

"Great, I'm glad you think so highly of my appearance," huffed Noctis, turning over so he wasn't facing Prompto anymore.

He heard Prompto sit up next to him, and then a cold hand clasped his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm just telling you the truth," said Prompto, and Noctis could hear the smile in his voice. "And Aranea thinks you're pretty, if that's any consolation."

"It's not."

"You just can't take a compliment from a pretty woman, huh?"

"Aranea's like ten years older than me, Prompto. Also I'm engaged."

"Oh, so the engagement only matters when it's convenient to you, huh?" said Prompto, suddenly applying pressure to his shoulder and pushing him back onto his back. "And technically, you'd be the same age as Aranea now."

"Oh Gods, don't tell her that," said Noctis, covering his face with his hands.

"Seriously though, what's up with you and Luna?" asked Prompto lying back down, and Noctis turned back around to face him. "You do like her, right?"

"Luna's amazing," said Noctis, completely sincerely. "I've looked up to her ever since I was little, but, I always thought of her as a big sister rather than...I dunno, a potential girlfriend. You know, when I was visiting I really hoped my dad would marry her mom so I could stay there? It's kind of embarrassing now, but...yeah, that's how I feel about her, I guess. I do love her, just not that way."

"That makes sense," said Prompto, looking at him with large blue eyes. "Luna does kind of give off that 'big sister' vibe. You really did just want to marry her to help her out, huh?"

"Yeah, the ultimate marriage of convenience. That sounds horrible—I mean, platonic marriage."

"It's okay, dude," chuckled Prompto, "I get you. Though you two do make a cute couple."

Noctis made another face.

"What, she's pretty!"

"Big sister, remember?"

"But not like, by blood or anything."

"Still gross."

"Whatever you say, dude," said Prompto, turning onto his back and rolling his eyes. "You're no fun to talk about girls with, you know? At least Gladio gets it."

"Yeah, well, just never been interested. And that was before knowing I was fated to die young and everything."

Prompto tensed up at that, his arms going rigid, and his hands clenching up.

"Yeah," he said, his voice now a little strained. "Kind of puts a downer on things, huh?"

"Well nobody wants to get invested in someone who's gonna be dead in a few months, which, by the way, was part of why I didn't want to tell you guys about what I knew. Hypocritical of me, I guess, with me being angry at everyone who kept my death from me, but I suppose I wanted to spare you all the pain—if only for a little while."

Prompto stayed quiet for a while, and the silence blanketed the room uncomfortably. Noctis suspected Prompto hadn't exactly come to terms with his death yet. Eventually Prompto reached out, without looking at him, his hand coming to rest on Noctis's shoulder, then sliding down his arm until he found his hand, holding it tight.

"I don't want you to die," he said, so quietly Noctis almost couldn't hear him.

Oh. Well. He wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. He hadn't really thought about it—well he had, but it had seemed all a bit pointless. He could live. Theoretically. But it would mean everyone else dying sooner or later. And then him dying anyway. He was of the opinion the world deserved better than that.

He had always been aware that his sudden death would likely upset his friends, but never been confronted by the idea so directly before. How would they cope after he was gone? They'd done it just fine last time, but then, last time they'd had about ten years to adjust to him not being around. This time he was still Prompto's best—maybe his only friend. He hadn't had time to learn to stand on his own, or cope with the idea Noctis might be leaving and not coming back. It was...hard.

Noctis squeezed his hand, hoping the gesture would be of some comfort.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and really, what else could he say?

"Is that it?" asked Prompto, with a hollow laugh. "You're not even gonna try and fight it?"

"How can I?" asked Noctis, now genuinely confused. "The world will die if I don't."

"Maybe the world doesn't matter!" cried Prompto, suddenly turning back onto his side to face him, reaching out to take Noctis's face in an almost feverish grip.

There was a look of pure desperation in his eyes as he looked at Noctis, and Noctis knew he wanted him to contradict him, to tell him he would survive after all. But Noctis remained solemn and still. He couldn't give Prompto false hope, not now, that would only be cruel.

Eventually, seeing that Noctis wasn't going to answer him, Prompto's face crumpled and it was clear he was close to tears. Noctis wanted nothing more than to smile and tell him it would be alright, but he knew it wasn't true, even if he himself wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. When he heard Prompto begin quietly crying though, he couldn't just sit there and do nothing, so he pulled him into a hug, and Prompto hugged him back fiercely, almost as though he feared letting go.

"Why did it have to be you?" he whispered, as he cried quietly onto Noctis's shoulder. "It isn't fair—why should I have to lose you and everyone else gets to be okay?"

"I don't know," said Noctis.

He did know, in a way. It was part of some complex plan of the Astrals involving fate, destiny and the sins of his long-dead ancestors, but in a more real sense, none of that mattered. Because there really was no reason it had to be him that died. It was all arbitrary, all designed on the whims of the Gods. None of it was fair. But then, fate never was. That was why it was fate.

The room remained incredibly quiet, even as Prompto sobbed silently into his shirt. But Noctis honestly didn't know how else to try and comfort him. He couldn't tell him it would be alright, it wouldn't, he knew it wouldn't. But he couldn't just fast forward Prompto's grieving process. He needed time, time to get over it, time to understand what Noctis dying really meant. So he just lay there, letting Prompto cry, and staying quiet and still.

Eventually, Prompto stopped crying, and instead just clung tight to Noctis, breathing heavily. Noctis tentatively rubbed his hand over his back, hoping it might be of some sort of comfort.

"I'm sorry," Prompto whispered quietly, "I know there's nothing you can do, I just…"

"It's okay, Prompto," said Noctis. "It will take time. I'm sorry I can't say anything else to make you feel better, it's all—just, pretty incomprehensible."

"Yeah," whispered Prompto, pulling away and wiping his eyes.

"You're gonna be okay though," said Noctis, smiling and hoping Prompto would see it in the darkness. "I know it."

"If you say so," said Prompto, with a quiet chuckle. "Guess we should try to get back to sleep, huh?"

"Still dark out," said Noctis, though that didn't mean much with how the nights were drawing in.

"Yeah," said Prompto, laying his head down and closing his eyes.

Noctis sat in the darkness and listened as Prompto's breathing got slower and deeper, until Noctis was sure he was asleep. Noctis would not be sleeping anymore tonight. He couldn't take another nightmare. It was going to break him sooner or later. Slowly and carefully, so as not to rouse Prompto again, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. The twinge of dull, aching pain that shot through them told him he wouldn't be able to walk far.

Clutching the edge of the bed tightly, he pushed himself up, onto his feet, trying not to wince as pain went bolting up his legs. Moving slowly and clumsily, he staggered over to the small table on the other side of the room, surrounded by chairs, and all but tripped into one. His legs hurt like he had broken them, and he swung them up next to him almost on instinct, trying to take some of the pressure off. Mercifully, as he lifted his legs, he got a small relief from the bone-deep ache now charging through them. He sighed as he wiped at the tears forming in his eyes.

He wasn't exactly sure what he planned to do now he was in the chair, but he knew he'd at least be less likely to fall asleep than if he was lying in bed. He didn't know what had caused the nightmares, but whatever it was it was a massive pain. Then a thought occurred to him. He reached into the Armiger and whipped out his 'future' notebook almost without thinking, which was a less than smart thing to have done, because it sent his right hand buzzing with residual pain.

Internally cursing himself, he opened the notebook with his left hand, and began to tentatively write with it. His handwriting was atrocious, but at least it was legible by the light of his phone.

The nightmares might not go away, but at least if I write something down I may remember. They've been going on since I went back in time—that's important, I think. Could it be something to do with time travel? It must be. But what?

He thought about it for a moment. No answers appeared.

I should think about what's always the same: the endings. I always die in my dreams. Is that some sort of metaphor? No, that would be stupid. But it's always the same way. Some black fog chokes me. Drowns me. But that doesn't make sense, does it? Fog can't choke you. So perhaps it's something else?

Whenever I'm in those dreams I feel as though I'm on the verge of remembering something.

That was it. He'd found it, the thing he kept missing—the knowledge voided from his mind.

There's something I've forgotten.

Noctis had to take a moment to pause and clear his thoughts, because even writing about his dreams made that terrible mental block come back. He had to fight through it though, to get the truth down on paper, that way he wouldn't keep forgetting.

It's something important, I know this. His brain ached like someone was setting it on fire. Something to do with my death. With everyone's deaths. But who is everyone?

Black dots were starting to swarm his vision and he almost threw the notebook away from him as his head felt like it was splitting in two. He tried to choke down sobs as he dug his fingers into his hair in a vain effort to get the pain to stop. But it was broken now, flooding through—he'd hit a wall he couldn't pass with mere thinking. It might kill him to try and go any further. The tears only came faster as he cried out of both frustration and agony. Something important was being hidden from him, but he didn't know what and he couldn't fix it.

By the time he managed to calm himself down his whole body was shaking. It wasn't from pure stress though, not anymore. No, now his overwhelming feeling was anger. He knew, in that same way he knew his friends' deaths were more than his imagination, that all of this was somehow the Astrals' fault. This was their hubris, reflected a thousand times onto him, so he suffered in their place.

"Was it always like this?" he whispered into the air as loudly as he dared, though his words were of pure venom. "Are we all just a tiny game to you? Did you always plan it to be this way, or was it just a last-minute decision that wrecked the entire star?"

He stopped to breathe. The room remained silent.

"I don't know what I expected," he murmured, the fight suddenly leaving him like all his soul had vanished at once, to be replaced by a bone-deep tiredness. "You never talk to me anyway. That's for other, more worthy people, isn't it?"

Silence was his only answer. Of course it was.

Noctis pulled his legs close to him in a near foetal position and just stared blankly across the room. After so many emotions in such a short space of time, he just felt...drained. He didn't doze or catnap, he just sat and stared, and everything became dim and unimportant, blending into one long, unending picture of monotony.

He didn't know how long he sat like that, just sitting and staring at the wall, but he knew that by the time he came back to himself, dawn was beginning to break outside, and he was dreadfully tired. He half-heartedly retrieved his notebook, and pushed it back into his Armiger with his stronger arm. Then he stumbled back over to the bed, his legs still hardly in a fit state for walking, and collapsed into it, no longer caring if he woke Prompto. He needn't have bothered. His companion stirred not at all. He looked blankly up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes, knowing full well he wouldn't fall asleep.

He kept his eyes closed as the others began to wake around him, and they remained closed even as they began to wonder whether or not he was awake. The world seemed grey and monochrome. The dawn had come.

Ouch. This is a nasty chapter—firstly because more nightmares, and nightmares are always bad, and secondly because now Noctis has got to confront some of the fallout of his confession—now the others know he's destined to die. He's struggling, of course, because they obviously want to fight for him to live, but he can barely muster the will to live in the first place. Like Gladio said—once you die for something, you really don't want it to turn out to have been for nothing.

Then of course we're delving a bit into the B-Plot, as it were: what the heck's going on with those nightmares? Noct has definitely come closer to acknowledging the answer than ever before, but unfortunately that also means the nightmares are a lot more dangerous to him now. Fun times all around!

Finally, thank you to everyone reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!