Chapter II – Between the Shadow and the Soul

M.E. 725

The lights were down for the night; his cell was mostly dark. But the small, greenish light—an orb of soft, white plastic that activated with a press—provided dim illumination. Enough to see the four, plain walls, the desk on which lay several well-thumbed books, the panelled screen which partitioned off the corner where a toilet and sink now covered the drain, and the bed on which he lay. By the screen there was a waste basket, and in the desk drawer were pens, paper, and a charger for the light.

It was the extent of his world, and had been for what must have been years now. It would make a comfortable prison were it not for his "chores." Chores which shattered his memory anew each time—less a man and more a man-shaped cacophony of places, names, lives, loves, hates, half-remembered dreams, and jumbled shards of trivia. He tried to remember his parents and a thousand different faces swam in his mind. He tried to remember his childhood home and a foggy chimaera structure pieced and unpieced itself as he watched. He held onto his sense of self only by clinging desperately to the sharpest, most painful memories. The day Aera died... The day he first realized he'd contracted the Scourge... His torment on Angelgard... Somnus.

Around those anchors he'd woven a tenuous web of self—memories that connected to those anchors and so must be his. Healing villagers of the Scourge as they writhed and howled. Trailing Aera through ruins. Pointing out constellations to Somnus as they lay in the grass, still just boys. Gilgamesh—his calloused hands, the white plait of his hair, the patterns of raised scars on the deep brown skin of his back, chest, and arms. These were his treasures, and he clutched them with the fervour a starving pauper would a loaf of bread.

Each morning upon waking and each night before sleep, he would lie in his bed and remind himself who he was. For if he could forget his parents' faces, how long would it be before he forgot himself?

"Your name is Ardyn Lucis Caelum. You are the firstborn son of Iovianus and Gwenhwyfar. You are the rightful King of Lucis. The fiancé of Aera Mirus Fleuret." He recited the words into the darkness like a prayer, eyes closing as he pressed his cheek into the thin pillow. "You are a healer. Your Shield's name is Izunia Gilgamesh." He always said 'is' and 'are.' He couldn't bring himself to say 'was' and 'were.' Thinking it was enough.

"Ardyn..."

He whimpered and curled in on himself. Today had been a bad day; he didn't have the strength left to face a flashback.

"This isn't a flashback, Ardyn. I promise."

Ardyn froze, didn't even breathe. He opened one cautious eye and his heart constricted in his chest.

The cell was lit in dazzling white. White that outshone the little light on his desk. White that carried no warmth, only the scent of sylleblossoms. White that emanated from the slender figure standing between his bed and the door.

Aera.

Words dried up in his throat. He pushed himself up until he was crouched on the bed, but it was all he could manage, hands shaking as they were. Aera's hands were clasped before her; she appeared almost embarrassed. But her smile was sad, not sheepish.

"I'm sorry... About before. I shouldn't have tried to use your hallucination to reach you." Aera shuffled her feet. "It was easier for me... But not for you."

The breath that Ardyn forced into his winded lungs stabbed like an icy knife into his heart. He opened his mouth, but before a single word made it past his lips, his throat tightened and the sting of fresh tears seared his eyes. His voice came out half-choked and cracking. "You were real."

"Yes. At least at first."

"How are you here?"

"With great difficulty." He reached for her and she stepped back. "And if you try to touch me I won't be able to maintain this apparition." She shook her head and the light shimmered with her movement.

Every fibre of muscle, every filament of bone, screamed to go to her, to draw her into his arms and never let her go. But Ardyn remained on the bed, shaking as tears dripped from his jaw. "It's been so long..." His voice broke until it was a whisper. "Take me with you."

"I can't." Tears formed in Aera's eyes, too. "I'm sorry, Ardyn. But I can't."

"Why did you want me to blame you? For what happened?"

"Because Verstael was trying to direct blame onto Lucis. He was trying to use you, to use your pain and fashion you into a weapon for his war." Her fingers worried at the sash of her dress. "I thought if I could redirect your anger, I could foil him."

Ardyn met her eyes, managing a stricken half-smile. "I could never blame you."

"I had to try. And I didn't have much time to plan. I was on the spot."

Gods, he wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to run his fingers through that flaxen hair. He could scarcely bring himself to look away from her even to blink. Centuries had passed bereft of her; her voice, her stories, her slender, insistent hands, her soft, round face, her eyes—the colour of a summer sky. To stay his hand from reaching for her was bitter torture. She was real, and solid, and right there. Yet, between them, his immortality was an invisible and uncrossable barricade.

"One day he will succeed," he said, and the horror of those words gnawed at the inside of his chest. "A day will come when I no longer have the strength to resist him. I can't hold on forever, Aera."

"You won't have to." Her hand twitched toward his shoulder before she drew it sharply back. "It's what I came to tell you... Help is on the way." Her eyes dropped to the floor a moment. She pursed her lips, brought her brows together in a determined grimace, and brought her gaze back to Ardyn's eyes. "Promise me you won't turn it away."

Ardyn stared at her. "Why would I do that?"

"You'll understand soon." She held his gaze. "Promise me."

"I promise."

The sadness didn't leave Aera's eyes, but her smile was warm and wide. She stepped to the bedside and leaned in close enough that Ardyn dared no breathe lest the illusion of her presence shatter. "I love you, Ardyn. And I will wait for you... No matter how long." She paused, and her voice grew sombre. "But I have to go now."

"Please stay. Please."

"I wish I could." She looked into his eyes for a few fleeting seconds, then, before Ardyn could protest, she leaned forward and kissed him. He felt the press of her lips an instant before she vanished—her image bursting into a shower of pyreflies and fading light. His broken, inarticulate sound echoed in the empty room. By the time the last of Aera's light faded, Ardyn's eyes were closed. He crumpled, forehead dropped to the sheets before his knees. He wept, though he had no tears left. Wept until he heaved. Until his head ached and he slumped sideways, falling into an uneasy slumber.

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The campfire cracked and snapped on the sappy wood, already climbing high and vigorously sparking. Ardyn drew in a deep breath, savouring the earthy and oddly fragrant smoke, but the breath caught in his chest and his exhale became a wet, wheezing cough. Spatters of black were left on his hand; he wiped it away with a scrap of parchment and threw the scrap on the fire.

"Your cough is getting worse."

Gilgamesh reached into the mostly-erected tent and retrieved a heavy woollen blanket which he promptly wrapped around Ardyn's shoulders. His face was inscrutable, especially in the uneven firelight. He'd been subdued since setting Ardyn's limp and shivering body next to the fire pit. He'd said little; just wrapped Ardyn in blankets, lit a fire, and set up the tent.

"I did a lot of healing today."

With a half-hearted prod at the fire, Gilgamesh sat at Ardyn's side.

"You push yourself too hard."

"I can't turn away the sick just because I'm tired." He was more than tired. For over a year now, a constant ache had sat behind his breastbone. The flesh inside his lungs felt raw; sharp or deep breaths and cold air burned like acid. He lost his wind easily. He'd started wheezing when he laughed. Everything he coughed up was black. It was pneumonic Scourge, and it grew worse with every man, woman, and child he healed.

Ardyn doubted any of this had escaped Gilgamesh's notice. He was an astute man. But he hadn't yet told Somnus, or Aera. He didn't know how.

When Gilgamesh spoke again, his tone was schooled. "If you do not rest, who will heal you when the Scourge takes you?"

And it would, wouldn't it? At some point in the not-too-distant future he'd become one of those sad, shambling creatures his brother put down. Gods, he tried not to think about it.

"I have the power to heal these people... where my brother would kill them. How can I deny them this gift?"

"And if it kills you?"

"There will be thousands who will live on in my stead. There will be children born who would not otherwise be born. Families who will remain whole rather than be torn asunder and left to grieve. Next to that... my life is nothing."

"Not to me." The words were spoken so softly that Ardyn almost missed them. "And not to Aera." His eyes were fixed on the glyph-marked stone beneath him, but Gilgamesh wasn't seeing it. He was staring straight through it.

"Gilly..."

"You're supposed to be king."

Ardyn swallowed. "A good king puts the needs of his people before his own."

"How will you do so if you are dead?"

No retort came to Ardyn's tongue and silence stooped upon them like some enormous lammergeier. Gilgamesh looked exhausted; more so than Ardyn had ever seen. Puffy flesh ringed sunken, hooded eyes. Locks of silver hair had come loose from their ties to drape about his face. Just looking at him like this made Ardyn's heart ache.

"I was given these powers for a reason," he said, low and hoarse. "Surely the gods meant for me to use them."

For the first time since the conversation started, Gilgamesh looked at him. In the dim light, the rich brown of his eyes looked black. "Your people put too much faith in their gods. The Astrals are fickle and capricious." He paused, hesitant in a way distinctly unlike him. "The stories of my people say that the scourge came to our world on the same stones as the Astrals themselves. Who is to say that they did not bring it here? To keep us kneeling at their altars."

"I can't believe that," Ardyn breathed. "I won't believe that."

"I won't ask you to." Gilgamesh reached over and took his hand. "All I ask is that you not be so quick to throw your life on their mercy."

Six, but he remembered this conversation. He remembered being tended by Gilgamesh for the rest of the night and into the next morning. He remembered crying into Gilly's shoulder when reality set in. Of all nights at camp to dream about...

He tried to change the scene to something happier, but despite his awareness that he was dreaming, the landscape of the dream did not obey him. The haven became an endless set of hallways watched by endless swivelling security cameras. Every door led to another hallway. Every window looked out on starless darkness. He was alone, aside from a shadowy presence that was always a few steps behind him. He could have tried waking himself, he supposed, but why bother? At least in his dream he could walk around. And as monotonous as the hallway maze was, it was more interesting than the ceiling of his cell.

Well... Somewhat.

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Weskham hadn't been kidding when he said the van was well hidden. If Regis hadn't warped clean into the side of it, they might never have found it. And they were lucky no patrols had been anywhere in earshot, because the hollow sound of Regis' head striking the bodywork rang like a bell in the night air. Before his ass even hit the forest floor, Weskham and Cid were out of the van, guns raised. When they spotted him, Cid laughed almost as loud, until Weskham clapped a hand over his mouth.

Sitting on the ridgeline, staring through binoculars, Regis' head still throbbed. "This is the place we're supposed to hit?"

"Sure is," Cid replied, chewing on the cigarette Clarus wouldn't let him light. "Exactly where the Oracle said it'd be."

"So what am I looking at?"

"First Magitek Production Facility," Weskham said. "The nerve center of their military research and lair of the one and only Chief Verstael Besithia."

Beside him, Clarus fidgeted. "This is insane. A small base is one thing. Something this size is a task for an army platoon. We can't take the prince in there."

"I'm right here," Regis grumbled. "And yes we can."

"Besithia is one of Aldercapt's inner circle," Clarus snarled. "There's no way the security in there isn't beyond us. We should call in the Crownsguard."

For the first time that evening, Cor spoke up. "After the first attempts to recover Adagium, he likely won't react well to Crownsguard troops. We don't want to fight the guy we're supposed to be rescuing."

"Then we wait for backup from Tenebrae. Isn't Sylva's boyfriend a dragoon?"

Regis scoffed. "What am I? Chopped liver? We don't need backup."

Clarus made a frustrated noise and dropped his forehead to his clenched fists.

"Relax, Clarus," Weskham said. "I haven't spent the last week sitting on my ass in a van. Come and have a look." He shuffled down the ridge and got to his feet, gesturing toward the trees. "I promise security won't be a problem." He started back the way they'd come; Cid and Cor followed. Clarus didn't move, so Regis hung back.

"Come on, Clarus. This isn't the craziest thing we've ever done."

"Yes, it is."

"Hey, if this prophecy is really that important then the gods won't let me die." In the full force of Clarus' glare, Regis felt his bravado wither. "I mean. They can't, right?"

"Don't tempt them." Clarus released a forceful sigh and rose to his feet. "We're already working against them, are we not?"

Fair. Lady Oriana had made it fairly clear that none of this was astral-approved. Dad was probably going to get an earful the next time he went before the crystal. But as far as Regis was concerned, this was a family matter and the big space dragon could butt out.

He was not going to say any of that to Clarus though.

"Let's just go see what Weskham's got in there," Clarus said, resigned.

They returned to the van in silence. Regis resisted the urge to fill that silence; a taciturn Clarus was simply a worried Clarus, after all. And that little scowly face he got was kinda cute.

The back of the van was hardly recognizable as a van. The entire interior was walled in wood panelling that deadened sound. There were two seats, facing a shallow desk and a wall of screens. Each screen showed four separate camera feeds—monochrome and grainy. Behind the seats was a narrow, padded bench with two bunched up sleeping bags tossed on it. There was a sliding door between the rear compartment and the front seats. Next to it, mounted on the panelling, was a black telephone. Surveillance equipment lined every nook and cranny, most of which Regis couldn't have identified.

Weskham sat in the forwardmost seat with his ankle propped up on his knee, pointing with his pen. "Behold a week's work. Through these screens I have eyes on the entire facility. I can see through any camera on any floor, inside or outside, in real time."

"You hacked their CCTV?" Clarus glanced between Weskham and Cid.

"Sure did," Cid said. "And that ain't all."

Weskham patted the side of what looked like a souped-up VHS player. "Turn this baby on and I can put every camera on a two-hour loop simultaneously."

"I thought you said the system was designed to prevent looping," Cor said.

"I did. But Cid and I had a closer look at the alarm system and it turns out those alarms and only tripped if the time-stamp on one camera no longer matches the others."

Cid turned his chair around to face Regis. "Loop one or two cameras, alarms go off. Loop all the cameras..."

Regis grinned. "And they won't know anything's wrong."

"Precisely." Weskham clicked his pen on the desktop.

Clarus remained unimpressed, arms crossed and stone-faced. "Will you still be seeing real-time while the loop is running?"

"Yes. I've got earpieces for all of you, and I'll be guiding you all the way in and out."

"We got all sorts of shit when we got into their computers," Cid said. "They're running on a UNIX system, so it was damned easy to find things. I've got the floorplan, guard rotation schedule, access keys for all the doors. You name it, we got it."

With a sigh, Clarus pushed his hair back from his face. "Okay. Maybe this is doable... Just, let's take it slow and minimize combat. Keep it quiet and contained."

"Understood," Cor replied with a nod.

Regis slapped Clarus on the back. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's see those earpieces."

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"Hold position. You've got two troopers incoming."

Regis ducked in between two support struts. Across the narrow hall, Clarus and Cor did likewise. It was the umpteenth time they'd done it, and Regis idly wondered how long it had taken them to descend the three levels they had. They'd managed fifteen stealth kills and only one out-and-out fight so far. And with all the bodies in the armiger, no alarms had yet been raised. Even Clarus had stopped scowling.

The troopers passed; Regis and Cor stepped out from concealment. Two muffled pops and the soldiers dropped. Regis waved his hand and the bodies vanished in puffs of crystalline shards.

"Nice work, Highness. You're clear ahead."

Cid's voice cut in. "Hang a right at the end of the hall. Then your first left after that. There'll be a set of stairs leading down to the detention level."

"Any trash compactors?" Regis asked and heard Clarus snort.

"'Fraid not. But you can dress up as a Nif to rescue the dude in distress if you like."

"Let's keep moving," Clarus growled. "This isn't playtime."

Despite the empty halls, they moved quietly, checking corners and keeping their weapons drawn. The descent into the dimly lit detention level didn't lessen the feeling of being exposed. The walls were smooth, with no nooks or crannies to duck into should the need arise.

"Okay. Directly ahead there should be a hallway. At the end is a T-junction. The left most door is our guy. But there are four guards and they look like they've got some new kind of armour. Watch yourselves."

"Got it," Regis whispered. "Thanks, Wesk."

"New armour... Those must be the new troops the Field Marshals have been talking about." Clarus shifted uneasily. "They've been shattering our lines."

"How do you want to do this?" Regis asked.

"Hit them from both sides," Cor replied. "Fast and hard. We charge together; you warp to their far side. Make the tight quarters work in our favour."

Clarus nodded, and that was good enough for Regis. With a wave and a burst of crystals, he drew his sword from the armiger. Beside him, Clarus and Cor did the same.

They crept to the T-junction in silence and, on Regis' signal, burst around the corner. Regis tossed his sword, let the world shatter around him, dissolving into cold and blue and weightlessness. Then a tug at his hand, scattering crystal shards, flooring beneath his feet. He spun and cleaved his blade through the armour of the nearest trooper, who fell back with a clatter. Across from him, Clarus hewed another. Cor's blade flashed and hamstrung a third. The fourth crumpled beneath Clarus' greatsword.

So much for those new troops.

The thought hardly had a chance to cross Regis' mind. Before he could say a word, before he could dismiss his weapon, before he could even take another breath, the trooper at his feet stirred. Whirring and clanking filled the hushed passageway. All four troopers rose as one. First their legs, then hips, their torsos hanging behind them, rolling up into standing position joint by joint, like horrific marionettes. They shrieked—high pitched and daemonic—as their heads clicked into place. There was no way there were humans in those suits. There couldn't be.

"Fucking hell," Clarus said.

Regis stared, slack-jawed, until the troopers raised their guns. He snapped his hand up and hexagon domes sprung up in front of him, Clarus, and Cor. The troopers opened fire and it was deafening. Despite the roar, he heard Cid's voice in his earpiece.

"Destroy their Magitek cores."

The gunfire paused, leaving spots on Regis' vision from the muzzle flash. He didn't give the trooper in front of him a chance to reload. He dropped shields and aimed his palm at the trio of glowing red dots on the left of the trooper's breastplate. Lightning jumped the foot between them, blackening armour, turning serge to ashes that drifted to the floor, edges still smouldering. The blazing arcs of electricity struck the Magitek core and, with another unearthly shriek, the trooper fell. Behind it, one of the others took aim at Cor, who crouched low over another, twisting a knife in its chest. Grappling with the fourth trooper, Clarus didn't see it. Regis called the Blade of the Mystic and, in one swift motion, drove it through the trooper's back and into its core. Sparks flew and it collapsed.

The silence that followed made their breaths seem all the louder. The only other sound was the faint hiss of residual sparks. Something thicker and blacker than smoke wafted from the shattered cores.

"What the fuck were those?" Regis asked.

"I don't know," Clarus replied, nearly whispering. "But let's not stick around asking questions. Let's get our guy and get the hell out of here."

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Ardyn was accustomed to noise beyond his door. His may have been a remote corner, but the comings and goings of the facility still reached him. This was not comings and goings. This was metal on metal, gunfire, and the screams of dying MTs.

He wasn't particularly alarmed, mind. If this was another attempt on his life then it would be just that. An attempt. And the thought of being attacked hardly frightened him anymore. His pain threshold was too high for that. If they'd come to take him back to Angelgard he'd go with them gladly. Anything to get away from Besithia. Aera's words from the previous night hovered at the back of his mind but he dared not raise his hopes. Numbness was easier.

So he remained seated on his bed as the door rumbled open. Despite the commotion, he still expected Besithia to stride in, guards in tow. So he was somewhat surprised to see three young men at the threshold.

The tallest had dark hair—long and slicked back—and wore heavy boots, faded jeans, and a brown jacket, open to show a plain grey shirt. The shortest, who appeared no more than a boy, had his hair close-cropped beneath a black cap. His baggy trousers and leather jacket had a military cut to them and his grey top bore a crest that Ardyn didn't recognize. Both were armed, the former with a heavy greatsword and the latter with a thin katana. Between them, the third hardly looked like a man going into battle. His hair was teased up, flopping over his forehead in a manner which hardly seemed practical. He wore shoes, not boots, and jeans that appeared a touch too short. He had the sleeves of his purple plaid shirt rolled above his elbows. Beneath was a plain black shirt.

Ardyn's eyes stopped on the blade in his hand. Somnus' blade...

He snapped his gaze up to the man's face. There was no resemblance to his brother. Only the black hair was the same. "Who are you?" he asked.

The young man stepped into the cell. "I'm Regis Lucis Caelum. I'm here to rescue you."

Lucis Caelum... Ardyn tensed, phantoms of pains past flickered over nerve endings. The urge to call his own blade, to plunge it into this boy's chest before he could do the same to Ardyn, passed through his mind. His palm itched. Fear, and with it rage, flared hot and sharp behind his breastbone. Shattered fragments of a thousand minds not his own howled for violence, for blood, for the head of the Lucian crown prince, for revenge. The Scourge in his veins boiled and he had to force his jaw to unclench.

Promise me you won't turn it away.

The memory of Aera's words cut through the haze of emotion and doused the vengeful flames his sickness was fanning. He dropped his eyes shut and exhaled the tightness in his gut. He would not fail Aera again. And he would not become the monster his brother made him out to be.

In his silence, Regis spoke again. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, and the last time Lucians got near you they tried to kill you, but my father didn't know then what he knows now."

"We shouldn't hang around," the taller man warned. Regis ignored him.

"Please. Come with us." He held out his hand.

Ardyn looked down at Regis' open palm. Hope was dangerous. To have hope in success was to hurt all the worse when failure struck. He'd weaned himself from that sweet poison long ago.

But he had a chance. And he'd made a promise.

He took Regis' hand and rose from his bed. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me til we're out of here."

Ardyn followed Regis out of the cell, stepping over the mangled remains of an MT. He didn't bother looking back. It wasn't as if there was anything in the room that he was loathe to leave behind. Even his books were merely paltry comforts that he would no longer need once he'd shed this place like a skin. There would be other books—books he hadn't read a dozen times over.

Regis touched something in his ear. "Okay, Wesk. We're on our way out."

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Ardyn certainly wasn't what Regis had expected. He'd envisioned some wizened old man or someone more obviously daemonic. Sure he had yellow eyes, but Regis had expected... well, Adagium. Instead, he just looked sad and tired. And he didn't look particularly old either. Just a rugged sort of middle-aged.

They'd made it up a few floors without incident. Ardyn had fallen in with them easily and moved without a sound. Regis had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say, but until they were safely out under the open sky, they had to remain as quiet as possible.

In his ear, Wesk's voice cut in, mid-expletive. "—ck. Heads up. I've lost the computer."

Alarms blared, loud and strident, punctuating Weskham's words. Beside Regis, Ardyn flinched like a hunted animal.

"Smile," Cid said. "You're on candid camera."

"Security's on the move. Get out of there!"

They broke into a run, stealth abandoned. Troops flooded down the stairs in front of them and Clarus charged them, Cor close on his heels. Regis warped to join them, and as he cleaved down one trooper, red crystalline blades speared the soldier next to him. And the three behind him. And the big guy aiming for Cor.

Clarus and Cor turned as the last dead trooper hit the floor. Regis followed their gaze to Ardyn, whose brows rose as if confused by the sudden attention.

"Nice moves."

Ardyn bowed his head at Regis' words, composed despite his shaking hands.

"Bad news," Weskham said over the crackling radio line, sounding out of breath. "Had to ditch the van. They found us. Gonna need to go radio silent. We'll meet you at the backup rendezvous point."

"Gotcha. Watch yourselves."

"Will do, Highness."

Regis took a deep breath. "Cor. What's our closest exit?"

"Loading dock. East end of the complex, one level up." Cor nodded toward the stairs. "Five minutes and we'll be outside."

"Lead the way."

As empty as the halls had been before, they now swarmed with niflar soldiers. From the stairs to the loading dock it was a running battle. Regis tried not to overuse any royal arms, but Ardyn had no such qualms. The perks of being immortal, he supposed. While Regis stuck to his sword and the few guns he had stored in the armiger, Ardyn filled the halls with a flurry of red swords, knives, axes, hammers, and spears. The ozone smell of magic permeated the air, raising the fine hairs on his arms and neck.

The loading dock was cavernous—large enough to park airships in—and cold. The sound of their shoes on the concrete echoed off distant corrugated metal ceilings. It was well-lit, though dim compared to the hall they'd just left. Between them and the exit stood a small army of infantrymen and two Magitek armours. More soldiers lined the gantries overhead, rifles at the ready.

Instinct told him to hang back, strategize, but there was no time. It was run the gauntlet or surrender. And Regis hadn't come here to turn himself over. At his side, Ardyn drew forth a scarlet sword, the Blade of the Mystic's twin in every way save its colour. There was determination on his face now. Freedom was only thirty meters away and he really doubted Ardyn had any intention of going back now.

"Let's show 'em what we got."

Regis flung his sword and warped into the midst of the soldiers ahead. Three fell before they could react; a fourth toppled, howling, his leg severed below the knee. Streaks of red passed him on either side, and over the sound of Magitek servos he heard Clarus roar a challenge. Cor slid past one fire team, his katana carving through tendons. The MAs opened up with machine guns and Regis blocked them with shield spells. Something clipped his arm but he ignored it.

None of them bothered finishing off their opponents. They needed their forward momentum and Regis was damned if he was going to get bogged down now. He warped past a cluster of soldiers straight into the path of one of the MAs. It was big, bigger than those he'd fought in Galahd, but the design was similar. He aimed for the exposed ankle gears and let loose with the strongest lightning he could muster. He kept it arcing, even as Clarus grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him past the paralyzed mech. As Ardyn and Cor cut a path through the last few lines of soldiers. As Cor worked the keypad to open the door of one of the loading bays. The second mech opened fire and only then did Regis switch to shields once more. The door rattled open, agonizingly slow. Cor ducked through first, and Ardyn followed. Clarus yanked Regis through. Bullets peppered the hard pack as they sprinted for the gloom beyond the floodlight's reach. Harsh klaxons split the night air. The perimeter fence was closed and padlocked, but a salvo of Ardyn's armiger sheared a hole through the chain link. They plunged into the darkness beyond and ran.

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Distant shouts rang in the night—some in common, others in niflatunge. Searchlight beams flashed through the trees and dog barks echoed. The footfalls of his rescuers crashed in leaf-litter around him. Their harsh breaths were their only other sounds.

Ardyn's hip ached, his left leg threatened to give out beneath him. The pallid, blue-grey sky overhead promised the agony of daylight, but the pull of freedom burned hotter in his chest than any noonday sun. The smell of trees and soil and recent rainfall filled his nostrils. The air in his lungs was moist and fresh. The trilling of a nightjar sounded somewhere deeper in the trees. It was a tantalizing hint of a world he hadn't heard or felt or tasted in two thousand years.

Down a steep incline, Regis and his retinue slowed. They turned sharply, closely following an exposed rock face down to a gulley, where a small waterfall trickled down the smooth gneiss. Near the bottom, two figures emerged from the undergrowth.

"Reggie?"

"You okay, Cid?"

"Am for now. But I'll be better once we hit the road."

The speaker was a short fellow with long blond hair, wearing denim jeans, a denim jacket, and a shirt emblazoned with 'Van Halen.' Next to him, the other man had his hair tied in tight, braided rows, his patterned shirt and slacks looking far too thin for the chill air.

"Same here," Regis glanced at Ardyn. "Come on. This way."

The distant sounds of the search dogged their steps as they followed a narrow dirt road down the mountainside. The sky turned rosy and birds were starting to sing by the time they reached the parking lot of a tiny rest stop. The Autohof sign flickered pinkish-red over the darkened windows of the shop. A trailer nearby bore the word 'Jägerhaus' in reflective paint. There was no sign of habitation, but they kept their heads down regardless. Regis led them to a dark minivan parked at the edge of the lone floodlight. The doors were only just shut when the engine grumbled to life and they pulled out onto a paved highway.

A few moments passed in breathless silence before Regis laughed, voice high with disbelief. "Holy shit. I can't believe we did that."

"Says the man who thought we didn't need backup," the taller man replied from the driver's seat.

"And we didn't." He slapped the other man's arm. "Come on. Crack a smile. We kicked ass back there." Exhausted half-chuckles filled the van. Regis craned around in his seat, his eyes falling to Ardyn. "Now that we're safe, I think some introductions are in order." He patted his tall friend's shoulder. "This is Clarus Amicitia. He's my shield." He pointed, first to the blond, then to the boy. "That's Cid Sophiar, our mechanic and tech wiz. And that's Cor Leonis. He's with the Crownsguard. And next to you is Weskham Armaugh, our diplomat and computer genius."

They each offered their hands in turn and Ardyn shook them. It was an unfamiliar gesture, but one he had observed often among Besithia's staff.

"Guys, meet my great-great-great... etcetera uncle: Ardyn Lucis Caelum."

Ardyn cleared his throat, his voice coming hoarse from months of minimal use. "Tis my pleasure." More words felt necessary but what to say eluded him. Profuse thanks and words of gratitude hovered in his head but they were far from completely safe, and he didn't want to tempt fate. He would prostrate himself once they were utterly beyond Besithia's reach, but not before. "Forgive my reticence... This all feels very surreal."

"Don't sweat it," Weskham said. "I'd be surprised if you weren't a bit dazed."

"Hell," Cid said. "I'd be certifiable after two days in that little white room o' yours. Can't imagine being there for years."

Ardyn met Regis' eyes. He tried again to see his brother in the young prince, but there was no likeness. There was softness to those eyes—green, Ardyn noted—that Somnus' had never had. A warmth far removed from his brother's flinty chill.

"Don't worry about talking if you're not ready," Regis said. "It's gonna be a long drive, so rest, talk, whatever you need. We've got food and drinks, and there are plenty of rest stops, so if you need a bathroom break, just pipe up."

Ardyn swallowed, hesitant to trust the relief blooming in his chest. "Thank you. All of you." He forced the tension from his shoulders. "Do you have water?"

Cor opened the plastic box near his feet and withdrew a bottle. He handed it over; chilled and slick with condensation. Ardyn gulped it down his parched throat. The water was clear and flavourless, clean as a glacial stream and just as cold. And it was glorious.

Regis grinned and returned to facing front. "We'll be in Tenebrae by evening. Relax and enjoy the ride."

ά/δ/ά/ς/ί/μ/м

It was indeed a long day of driving. For hours they drove through mountains blanketed by pine forest, broken here and there by spectacular lakes. The forest eventually thinned, becoming deciduous woodlands, then shrubby foothills, then grassland. They passed farmland and small towns, remote wood-stave chapels and half-demolished border markers where nations long since absorbed into Niflheim once welcomed travellers. They kept stops to a minimum, and Ardyn only left the van twice, and only to use gas station bathrooms. By evening they were heading back up into mountains and the terrain became familiar.

He knew these mountains, these trees, the smell of the air, the little pink flowers on the roadside. Tenebrae was as familiar to him as the plains of Lucis. It was like coming home. He very nearly wept when they passed the standing stones that stood upon the western border, exactly as they had when he had first travelled here as a young boy.

They had yet to ascend out of the marshy river valley when evening dipped toward dusk.

"We're not going to make it the rest of the way before nightfall," Clarus said. "There's a motel up ahead. I say we call it a day."

Regis yawned and stretched. "Fine by me. My knee's killing me."

The hollow ticking of the turn signal seemed louder now than in daylight as the van slowed and turned into a rutted parking lot. Ardyn ducked his face away from the floodlights as they passed beneath and pulled in to a spot near the check-in.

Clarus and Weskham went in to arrange a room while the rest of them milled, tired and disoriented, around the insect-spattered van. Ardyn felt conspicuous standing on the wet asphalt in his white laboratory clothes, but the only other people around were two young women smoking outside one of the rooms at the far end of the building. He closed his eyes, breathed in the perfumed air, listened to the chittering of bats and the rustle of wind in the canopy, and felt some of his anxiety melt off.

There were two beds and a fold-out couch in their room. Regis and Clarus claimed the bed furthest from the door, and Cor got the couch to himself. Weskham and Cid took turns in the shower, both loudly exclaiming their relief after a week in a surveillance van. Both offered to sleep on the floor or cram in with the prince, but Ardyn was glad for the company. After years alone, the feeling of proximity to another human was a comfort of indescribable proportion.

The sheets were soft, as were the pillows. In his head, Ardyn recited his nightly reminders and fell into a sounder sleep than he'd known in years.