A thin mist swirled about the vast, white expanse stretching out endlessly in all directions. In some places it became so thick it could almost be considered fog, in others, it could barely be seen at all. The place where Noctis was standing was one where the mist was barely present, only providing an odd haziness to the endless plain of nothingness.
He wasn't sure when he had gotten there exactly, or even if he had ever been anywhere else, but whatever the case, the place felt oddly familiar.
Around him, shimmering dimly in the haze, six colossal figures towered over him. Despite being of a similar size, they were all quite different shapes, and two appeared almost entirely obscured by the fog, so Noctis could barely make them out at all. As he slowly came back to himself, his mind beginning to function properly once more, he found the figures were familiar to him.
Yes, he was sure of it now. The Hexatheon stood before him.
Bitterness burned in his throat as he realised. That resentment that he could never quite place was now almost overpowering. He scowled, trying to get his temper under control, but it wasn't working—nausea was turning his stomach far too much for him to calm down.
As he stood there, unmoving, he thought he heard voices, far in the distance. From the Six? Who else could they be from? And yet…
"The boy will die." The voice was cold, unmoved by the plight of the mortal it was speaking of. "The power is too much."
"These chains," said another, older sounding voice, "they are the work of the Six."
"How is that possible? The Glacian does not recall doing such a thing."
"Yet the truth is clear before them: this is their work, their bonds. In releasing them, the prophecy might yet be salvaged."
"This may be true, indeed, but what—"
"Hello?" Noctis called out, his voice coming out muffled by the mist. Surely they had to know he could hear them? Two of the figures before him moved, one retreating, the other stepping closer.
"King of Light," said the younger, closer voice. "His mind is still intact despite his body's decline. A hopeful sign indeed."
"What's going on?" he asked. "What's wrong with my body?"
He didn't see anything wrong with himself, of course, but he knew well enough that none of this was real, and outside this prison within his mind he could easily be bleeding slowly to death from some injury he hadn't noticed.
"Power burns within the King's body beyond what a mere mortal could comprehend. It cracks and bends his flesh, held in place by a mesh of magic around his mind. The Six know not what lies within. If the bonds containing this power are not broken then the King shall surely die, and with him, all hope for this star."
"Well if it's that easy, why not just break them?" asked Noctis, frustrated by their apparent obtuseness. "Whatever this 'power' is, it can't be worse than me dying, right?"
The being said nothing, just standing high above him, watching him. Then the older voice spoke. "The knowledge being concealed within the King's mind must be great indeed for such a seal to be put in place," it said. "The King must know, if his chains are broken, he may perish all the same. A short time from now, or long, a power so immense cannot be contained by a mortal body forever."
Noctis massaged his face with his hands, trying to ward off the headache he could feel building in his temples. "I already know I have to die, alright? Does it really matter when it happens? So I've got one more risk on my hands—again, better than dying right now."
For a moment the two beings said nothing, but Noctis could sense a communication passing between them. Eventually, the younger one spoke again. "It shall be as you say, King of Light. The bonds will be broken. Now, be still."
The being extended its arm, reaching down to him with long, graceful fingers.
The moment one of those fingers touched his forehead, the plateau he'd been standing on abruptly vanished. Then an explosion of information blared to life in his mind, so fast and so intense he could scarcely tell where he was, what was happening.
"His mind is breaking." A deep voice echoed overhead. "The power must be released slowly."
"As you say, Fulgurian," said the voice from before.
Then Noctis was somewhere else again.
An almost entirely clouded expanse extended out before him, but not the same one he had been in before. This one seemed lighter, less ancient somehow, and within were two burning presences he thought he recognised, though there were no physical features to identify them. One seemed upset, maybe even angry, flickering and shaking, panic shooting off them like lightning bolts. The other was calmer and quieter, but still quite clearly sad.
"Why are they dying?" hissed the angry presence, their voice shaking almost as much as their body. "It isn't supposed to be like this! Why didn't it work?"
"The sun has risen," said the other voice, it's soft, sad tones somehow immensely familiar to Noctis. Then it said something that sent his head spinning. "You can't save everyone, Noctis. Perhaps they simply died?"
Noctis? One of those strange beings was...him? Now he looked closer some things seemed familiar, but others remained impossibly alien—where was he, and who was talking to him? How could he see this at all? Was he watching one of his memories? It was all so confusing…
"Then why won't they tell me how it happened?" cried the other voice...his voice, and now Noctis realised he'd mistaken the voice's tone—it was distressed, not angry. "They at least owe me that much. If I haven't even created peace for my best friends then what sort of world is it down there? I just—I just want to know why!"
"I know, Noctis," said the other voice, and Noctis thought he saw them reach a spectral hand out towards his other-self. "I'm so sorry they died before their time."
"Thanks, Luna," said the other Noctis, his voice still cracked with sorrow. Of course the other form was Luna. Now he knew, he wasn't sure how he could have missed it. "I'll go talk to them soon, it's just...I don't want it all to have been for nothing, you know?"
"Nobody wants that, Noctis."
"No, I suppose not."
The clouded plateau faded, and Noctis was left in darkness for a moment, pondering over what he'd seen. The place had been nowhere in the real world, that much was certain, and with what he had heard he half-thought he must have been seeing the world beyond that which existed on the mortal plane. That would explain the strangeness of that other him, and the other Luna. It would also explain their talk about dying.
It had sounded like his friends had died young, that he was upset about it—he could understand perfectly well why, of course. He'd have been devastated to find out any of them died before their time after all he'd done to save them. But if this was what had happened just after he died, why didn't he remember it? Something was off.
He didn't have any time to reflect on that thought though, because once again he was cast sprawling into another place.
This time, he had a vague idea where he was. An endless grassy field spread out in front of him, and he was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to a small, white stone temple. This was where his last nightmare had taken him. He heard a voice behind him, and spun around, moving quickly up the stairs to see who it was.
He recognised himself this time. A thin, darkly-clothed man was leaning on the altar, both hands stretched out in front of him, staring at it unblinking. He looked upset, though Noctis couldn't quite tell if he was angry or merely distraught. After a moment he pushed himself upright, standing up straight and staring dead ahead.
"How do I fix this?" he whispered, and Noctis noticed immediately how hoarse and weak his voice was. It was obvious his other self had been crying.
The temple lay silent. Noctis wasn't entirely sure who he was talking to—he wasn't looking anywhere in particular.
"I know you're here!" he cried abruptly, turning around in a circle, and as Noctis watched him he looked at each of the six statues inside the temple in turn. "I know you can hear me! Why won't you speak to me?"
"What is it the Chosen King wishes to fix?" asked a deep, warped voice, that Noctis instantly recognised as Bahamut.
"Isn't it obvious?" snorted the other Noctis, and for all his bravado, Noctis could see he was crying, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. "I want to stop them all from dying. I thought I was supposed to be saving the world, not letting it be doomed to destruction while I was sleeping in the crystal! What was the point of me sacrificing myself for my people if every last one of them ended up dying anyway?"
There was a long silence after that, and if Noctis wasn't very much mistaken, Bahamut was trying to think of a way to respond. It was just as well, because Noctis needed to think too.
It couldn't be true, could it? They couldn't all have died. And why, if the sun had risen again? Perhaps the world had been too damaged by the Starscourge to hope for recovery. But even if it wasn't true, there was no denying that his other self, his...past self? Believed it was. He was sure of humanity's extinction.
Noctis didn't know what to think. If they had all died, what did that mean for him? That the prophecy was worthless? That all that death, all that sacrifice, had in the end been for nothing? That he might be doomed no matter what he did? No—he couldn't think that way. He wouldn't. He needed proof this had happened, in more than half-remembered memories. If these even were his memories. He couldn't explain it, but he felt sure, watching it, that all of this had happened a long time ago, far longer than the few months he'd re-lived so far. This couldn't have been what happened when he died. He was sure of it.
A warm breeze was blowing through the temple, in sharp contrast to the icy atmosphere within. By this point his other self had turned to glare at one of the statues, clearly intended to represent Bahamut. Noctis watched with curiosity. There had been a long silence, but he hadn't been thrown out of the memory yet, meaning there must surely be more.
"The prophecy is fulfilled," boomed Bahamut, finally finding the words he'd been searching for.
"But humanity is dead," hissed the other Noctis.
"Humanity's survival was not a provision of the prophecy," said Bahamut, and if Noctis wasn't mistaken the stone that made up his huge statue was shaking. "The Chosen King wishes to change this?"
"Of course I do!" he yelled, and his voice shook terribly with each word. "Of course I want to save them! How? How can I change it?"
There was a great whooshing sound, that had Noctis not known better, he'd have assumed was Bahamut sighing.
"It is within the power of the Hexatheon to restore the Chosen King to a different time." Noctis could tell just by the look on his older, more weary face that he was thrilled by the option. "There will, however, be a sacrifice." Noctis saw his face fall.
"What kind of sacrifice?" asked the other Noctis, his eyes narrowed. "If it's just me, then trust me, I'm fine with that, but…"
"In order to send the True King to another world, one must be sacrificed in its place," said Bahamut, now cold and unflinching once more. "And with it, the lives that were its product."
That...did not sound good.
"What does that mean?" asked his other-self.
"The world the King once knew will be sacrificed in flame, the souls of its inhabitants fuel for his journey, the lives of the Gods themselves forfeit in the destruction. A great price must be paid for such meddling in time. It is the only way."
"No!" he cried, and he wasn't sure which of them said it.
"No," said the other Noctis, more quietly now. "I've already killed them once, I can't do it again. Are you sure there's no other way?"
"None," said Bahamut. "This is the sacrifice. If the True King succeeds in his mission and saves the mortal world, then their souls will live on into eternity, but all trace of the world which he produced here will be lost, save in his memories. He has a choice."
The other Noctis laughed bitterly, but Noctis himself just wanted to scream, because he was here, which meant only one thing. He hoped it hadn't happened. He prayed it hadn't. But in his soul, he knew what the scared, broken man in front of him would do, and in that moment, he hated him for it.
"I can't kill them," said the other Noctis, quietly.
"But you will," muttered Noctis, glaring at himself and wondering whether or not it was possible to hurt him through whatever lens he was seeing this through.
"The choice can be made now, or one thousand years hence," said Bahamut, impassively. "It is only the sacrifice that matters."
"Right," hissed the other Noctis. "I guess this is where I say goodbye then."
Bahamut remained silent. Noctis stormed out of the temple, his cloak flapping in the breeze as he walked out, past the circular courtyard and off into the distance, and as he did, they both faded away.
When his vision returned, Noctis was surprised to see he was in the same place he had been before. The small temple was unchanged, its stones white and unblemished, the grassy field expanding far into the distance. But something had changed.
The sky was orange and red, dotted with grey, wispy clouds, and in the distance, the horizon was a brilliant yellow, the sunset dyeing the world in crimson. It was almost as though, far in the distance, a fire was burning on the edges of the world, slowly converging on the temple. The wind swept by ferociously, and Noctis had to retreat into the temple proper for shelter from its icy blast.
The inside of the temple was also different.
Where before it had felt airy and light, now there was a pervasive sense of darkness on all sides. The statues had moved from where they were stood against the walls, and were now all surrounding the altar, each frozen in a pose of action, as though they had been turned into statues just as they were about to strike. They cast long shadows over the temple floor.
And, in the very centre, standing in front of the altar, was Noctis. He wasn't leaning on it like last time, but staring within, almost as though trying to see the bottom of the world through the stone.
"The covenant has been made," boomed Bahamut, and this time Noctis was sure the voice was coming from the huge, terrifying statue standing before him.
The other Noctis snapped his head up, as though he had been waiting for a voice to bring him to life. Noctis couldn't read the expression on his face. The wind was blowing into the temple now, he could feel it. And the smell on the air...was that smoke?
Noctis spun around to look back at the horizon, and he now realised that brilliant glow he'd assumed to be the sun was exactly what he had feared—fire, burning the field all around, the grey mass of clouds really smoke from the flames. They were trapped. He felt himself begin to shake, though he knew he wasn't in any danger merely watching his own memories. But there was something terrifying about the fire. Something powerful. Something…otherworldly.
It was the statue of Titan that began moving first.
Slowly, with the sound of stone screeching upon stone and masses of dust as the structure bent itself out of position, Titan moved towards the altar, and grasped the stone top. The other Noctis remained stock still throughout this, and Noctis himself moved around to check on him, half hoping there would be an expression of guilt on his face. But there was nothing there. Nothing at all. No grief, no anger, no guilt, no nothing. It was almost like he was a statue himself.
Once he had a strong grasp on the top of the altar, Titan pulled up with a large heaving motion and it came away without any resistance. Underneath was a basin filled with water. It glistened and shone in the light lancing in from overhead.
"The sacrifice has been made," said Bahamut, and Noctis saw his other self clench his fists, but his expression remained unchanged, with no feeling at all. It was like the enormity of the blood price had severed him of emotion entirely.
It was Shiva who moved next. Though she too was made of unmalleable stone, her movements were more graceful than that of Titan, and had that horrible screeching noise not accompanied each one Noctis would have believed it wasn't troubling her at all. She extended her arm over the basin, and the water within slowly began to move, to swirl upwards in a strange spiral, until a large body of water was gathered over the basin, splitting off from that below, forming an oval. Frosty tendrils expanded through the water, until it was entirely frozen, making it look like an odd mirror.
The other Noctis's face was reflected within, more worn, and sharper, but somehow younger than his own.
The flames were obvious now, on the horizon, and the air getting harder to breathe as the smoke got thicker. The clouds were beginning to obscure the reddening sky.
"The time has been chosen," said Bahamut, his voice growing slowly more warped with each sentence he uttered.
It was Ramuh who moved this time, raising his huge staff over his head, then bringing it down with an almighty crash, as lightning crackled down from the clouds above, splitting the sky in two. The mirror reflected the glow so clearly it was like it itself had been torn asunder. Then an image appeared within.
It was orange, and dusty, but with the distinct glimmer of metal. Leide. When the car had broken down. That was where they had sent him back.
As step by step of his destruction was assembled, Noctis wanted to scream at his other self, standing and doing nothing in the face of all this devastation, waiting for destiny to save him as it had always done, not realising it would only destroy everything he held dear.
The lightning didn't stop raining down on the field outside, and smaller, weaker fires were springing up all around the temple, even as the one in the distance burned ever faster towards them. Noctis found himself coughing in all the smoke, though the other him didn't seem affected at all.
"Humanity is given a second chance."
Ifrit shook his massive head, sending dust flying everywhere as he reached out to the mirror and gripped it hard in his huge hands, holding tighter and tighter, making lines of pure heat surge through the structure until it crumbled beneath his fingers into the basin below—the picture of Leide now appearing clearly on the surface. Noctis could barely breathe for the fire and the smoke all around, the blazing heat nearly scorching his skin.
"Does the King accept his new fate?"
With that question Leviathan broke from her stony facade, and coiled herself around and around the altar, until her head met her tail. The water within began swirling, creating a deep whirlpool, far deeper than the altar itself, spiralling down into another world.
The other Noctis blinked, as though he had just woken up from a dream. Noctis tried to shake him, to knock him out of this madness while there was still time, but his hands passed hopelessly through the other Noctis's shoulder, again and again. His face set in a grim line. Noctis could see into his eyes. He was determined, unyielding and above all...hopeful. There was no saving him now.
He looked up at Bahamut, and gave a small, distant smile.
"Yes."
A field of fire surrounded the temple, as lightning struck the ground again and again in a ceaseless attack. Smoke clotted the air, and ashes choked the sky. The very earth was shaking as the elements tore the world apart. Death had taken paradise.
Bahamut stood behind him now, tall and imposing. There was a silver blade in his hand. Noctis hadn't seen it appear, but now Bahamut was raising into the air, almost as if in slow motion. It glinted in the fire-light, pausing for just a second before falling—towards his chest—towards his heart.
Noctis watched as the life drained out of his eyes in an instant. The final sacrifice had been made.
Blood pooled around his chest, dripping into the basin, turning it a sickly red as Noctis's legs collapsed under him. His eyes were wide and unseeing as he fell forward, into the pool.
Into the past.
Into another life.
The next few memories passed in a blur, as Noctis watched himself make his way through another life. This Noctis wasn't him though, not yet. He was worried, yes, made some bad decisions, absolutely, but he didn't do what Noctis had done this time. He seemed more confident, more in control, more...driven, than he had ever felt.
He didn't contract the Starscourge and he didn't try to kill Ardyn at every opportunity—evidently his forgiveness had lasted longer than Noctis's had. He went through it all, not perfect, but close to it, saving Luna, saving Ignis. In the end he finally confronted Ardyn back in Lucis, never heading towards Gralea, and killing him there, out on the plains. Then, because blood sacrifice was blood sacrifice, he killed himself, and then both of them perished in the Beyond.
All throughout these flickering memories Noctis felt that something undeniably wrong. These weren't his memories, not of the world he was currently in, anyway. So what were they? If this Noctis had succeeded, then what had happened that left him where he was right now?
The answer came a few seconds after he killed Ardyn, and faded into the darkness.
At first it was just a light, glowing in the distance, and Noctis half-thought he might be seeing himself re-entering the place beyond the end. But then, something changed. Where the light was once cold and blue, it suddenly became orange and warm, and although he wasn't there himself, Noctis was sure he heard—or felt—something shattering as he was shunted headlong through space.
Then the world was spinning wildly, too fast for him to get a grip on where he was, and then...a cloudless blue sky above him, and a plain dusty road below. His heart almost stopped. Where was this? It couldn't be…
But it was.
The blazing sun above Leide pounded down on their heads, and the other Noctis was lying flat on the floor. Noctis didn't feel quite so different to him anymore though, and as he pushed himself upright, he could practically feel his muscles straining, hear his thoughts.
What was happening? Why was he back here? He was supposed to have fixed this—it had worked...hadn't it? He'd done everything right, rescued Luna, stopped the darkness before it began, everything! So why…?
He groggily pushed himself up, off the ground, looking around with sheer panic. No, it was all there, they were all there, it was real. But it couldn't be!
"You okay, Noct?" Gladio was frowning at him from the side of the car, where he'd stopped to take a break. "That's quite the colour you've gone there. You want some water?"
Noctis noticed he was shaking.
"Yeah," he whispered. He couldn't say more. This was all so wrong.
He wanted to scream. Why hadn't it worked? Had what happened to his old world happened again? Why wasn't he dead? Was he...trapped here? He was crying now, tears dripping down his cheeks. Prompto was at his side in seconds.
"Hey, buddy, what's up?" he asked, putting his hands on Noctis's arms and looking at him with wide, worried eyes. "This isn't about the wedding, is it?"
It was about so much more than the wedding. It was about his death—everyone's death—the fate of the world itself! But he couldn't say that, so he just tried to choke back his tears and seem a little more normal. What could have happened... Maybe this was all just a strange illusion, one final test before entering the Beyond properly. That had to be it.
As Gladio gave him the water with a very concerned look, Noctis made a point of wiping his eyes and trying to shrug off his grief. None of this was real. It couldn't be. He was going to be alright.
He stayed quiet and still on the journey to Hammerhead, and became even quieter after they left, withdrawing into his own head almost entirely. There was no point talking to his friends right now. They would meet him again in another life. And besides, they were all illusions anyway.
Noctis maintained his calm all the way until they reached Gladin. And Ardyn. For some reason, seeing him just made Noctis snap. It was his fault after all, all of it, him being trapped here, the world needing to be repaired—it was all his damned fault. He wouldn't let him get away with it. So that was why he made no sign he was going to attack until he was right next to Ardyn, and had driven the Engine Blade deep into his stomach. The look of sheer surprise on his face as Noctis stabbed him was almost photograph worthy. But of course, he couldn't stick around to appreciate it.
The others were screaming at him now, probably because they didn't realise who Ardyn was, and why he had to die, but Noctis didn't care to stay around to hear the criticisms of his nightmares. He needed to get out of here. Out of this life. So with one swift motion, he withdrew the blade from Ardyn's motionless body, and stabbed himself.
The confrontation in the Beyond was a little different this time. Ardyn seemed confused, maybe even scared, and killing him properly didn't feel nearly as good as it had last time. In fact, it almost felt...unfair. Noctis tried to shrug that thought off as quickly as possible. Even if Ardyn hadn't done anything to him personally in that life, he would have done, and he had already been responsible for much of Luna's suffering. He definitely deserved to die. And besides, the Gods wanted it, didn't they?
It was with that thought that Noctis finally felt himself become separated from his other-self. Why the hell should he care what the Gods wanted? All of this was their fault. He was beginning to feel a distinct sense of nausea in his abdomen, because, for all of his other self's certainty in that other reality, Noctis suspected all was not as it seemed. That he was there at all was proof of that. And further proof was provided when the light shone once more, and the blue turned to orange, and the heat pounded down on him.
This time, the reality hit him hard. He was trapped. Trapped in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, unable to be freed by conventional means—for when had anything like this ever happened before?
There was only one explanation for this madness. The ritual had gone wrong somehow. The Astrals had miscalculated when they were sending him back, and somewhere along the line, some part of him had been trapped, unable to pass on, instead just wandering endlessly in circles, doomed to be reborn each time he sacrificed his life for the star.
So. That was where that resentment came from.
For a while he simply wandered around in a panic, wondering how on earth it had happened, and trying desperately to think of some way out. There was no easy answer, that much was obvious. He'd heard of immortality before, but never this strange cycle he'd been caught up in. But perhaps learning a little more about immortality might help? After all, it wasn't like he could die…
Noctis jumped down from the bridge into the pit below, relying on his warp power to stop himself being crushed on impact. Gilgamesh was sitting just a few feet away, and didn't look up as he landed. The cold light of dawn was rising over the horizon, casting a faint glow over the sky. Noctis tried to push from his mind the thought it wouldn't last much longer.
He walked over to Gilgamesh, coming right up to his side, but he remained seated, cross-legged, showing no sign of acknowledgement. With how still and silent he was Noctis half-thought he must be a statue.
"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked, and Gilgamesh finally tilted his head to look at him.
"No," he said.
Noctis waited for him to say more, but he was apparently a man of few words. Clearly Noctis would have to bear the brunt of this conversation.
"I need to know about immortality," he said, watching Gilgamesh carefully.
His shoulders seemed to tense up slightly as Noctis said it.
"Does the Chosen King seek to be immortal?" asked Gilgamesh, and though Noctis couldn't see his face, he could tell just by the tone of his voice that he was raising his eyebrows.
Noctis sighed a little, then took a seat next to Gilgamesh when it became clear he wasn't going to move.
"No," he said, "as I understand it, that's the opposite of what I need to be. I'm just interested in how you became immortal. It's not exactly an everyday sort of thing." Something occurred to him then. "Are you a daemon?"
"No," growled Gilgamesh. He sounded a little offended.
"What are you then?"
"I am not here to answer the pointless questions of a wayward King."
Ouch. Clearly the guy liked his solitude.
"And how do you know they're pointless?"
"They have nothing to do with conquering the darkness. And besides, you are wasting time here."
"Ah, but perhaps I already know how to conquer the darkness?" said Noctis, smiling in spite of himself. Gilgamesh's mask revealed no aspect of his face, but Noctis could tell just by his shoulders that he was scowling. "I think it's important. Isn't that enough?"
"You are arrogant," hissed Gilgamesh.
"I guess you could say that, if you particularly wanted to be rude. Is it personal or something?"
"I have spent almost my entire life here," said Gilgamesh, still not moving, "you could say it was personal."
"So is your soul trapped here or something?"
Gilgamesh gave a tired-sounding sigh. "Are you familiar with the tales of the Astrals?"
"Some of them, yeah."
"You will not be familiar with this one."
Interesting. He thought he must have heard most of them by now.
"Each of the Six are blessed with a power over the star, which they use to keep it in harmony, so it can support life. For a long time, things remained peaceful—the humans were small, and worshipped their deities, and the Astrals were kind and forgiving. This changed when humanity decided to challenge the Gods."
"I am familiar with the Astral War, y'know," said Noctis, deciding to interject lest he be bored to tears. "Like, painfully familiar."
Gilgamesh turned his massive head towards Noctis, and the look in his eyes seemed to say that if Noctis interrupted again, he would kill him.
"In any case," he growled, "there were centuries of chaos. It was in the aftermath of this desolation that a sickness began to grow in the peoples of Eos. You would know it as the Starscourge."
Noctis nodded silently. Gilgamesh sighed, but it seemed more out of sadness than disappointment this time.
"It devastated our world, tearing apart all that was left of the crumbling nations. Amongst this ruin, two brothers sought different ways to combat the Blight. One was blessed with a power to absorb the sickness, though he could help only one person at a time, and his power cursed him with the sickness he claimed to cure. The other took the daemons and the ill, and killed them, so they would not spread the disease to others. Neither solutions were ideal, and many people died all the same."
Gilgamesh went silent for a moment then. His voice was quieter when he continued.
"Behind one of the brothers stood a bodyguard, a helper of sorts, and with his assistance a lie was woven for the other. The brother who saw the slaughter as necessary resented the attempts of his sibling to cure the Scourge, thinking it weakened the resolve of the people to make the sacrifices they needed to. He was also powerfully jealous, as calls throughout the land came for his brother to be crowned as king. Together, the brother and the bodyguard hatched a plan to entrap the would-be king, so he might never claim the throne.
"It was in this act of betrayal that the brother who claimed to heal the Scourge revealed himself for the monster he truly was, warped by the sickness within him, and was cast forever from the light. Afterwards, a prophecy was made, foretelling the fate of the Chosen King who would at last end the darkness."
At this point Gilgamesh gave Noctis a very pointed look, and, not knowing quite how to react to that, Noctis just nodded.
"By then it was known that the monstrous brother could not die, and would live on to torment the Chosen King when the time came for him to lift the darkness. The other brother had given his life to the crown, and so it was decided that the bodyguard should stay and await the coming of the Chosen King, to test his strength to fight off the darkness. The Draconian, the forger of the Crystal and guardian of passage to the Beyond, blessed the bodyguard with undying strength and power, allowing him to live on through the ages to await the coming of the Chosen King."
"And here we are, then," said Noctis. "So that's how you and Ardyn and Somnus all were back then, huh? You know the official histories leave out the mass slaughter and the betrayal and stuff."
Gilgamesh chuckled.
"I wish that information surprised me," he said, shaking his head, and appearing more human than ever before.
"So it's been Bahamut keeping you alive all this time, then?" asked Noctis.
If it was some sort of mix up with Bahamut then he'd need to find a way of speaking with him again, because Noctis couldn't summon him like he could the other Astrals.
"Bahamut has the power to refuse people entry into the Beyond," said Gilgamesh, becoming deadly serious once more. "He is not so much extending my life as preventing me from dying by mortal means. He extends the same power to the Accursed, though for different reasons."
And possibly also Noctis himself. For...mistaken reasons? Hopefully. He really hoped this seemingly unbreakable cycle was a mistake on the part of the Gods, because if it wasn't...well, that hardly bore thinking about.
"Thank you for telling me," said Noctis, rising to his feet once more.
As he did, Gilgamesh rose too, and for the first time Noctis realised just how tall he was, and how he seemed to have an awful lot of swords at his disposal. Of course, Noctis wasn't really afraid of dying anymore, but still. It was worrying.
"I pray you find use for my story when you cleanse this world of darkness," said Gilgamesh, and Noctis really couldn't tell whether or not he was being sarcastic.
"Don't worry: if I do, you definitely won't find out." Noctis was pretty sure Gilgamesh was frowning at him. "You know, because I'll be dead. Yay."
"You have a very strange sense of humour," said Gilgamesh, his eyes still narrowed through his mask.
"Hey, I need some way to cope with this existential nonsense."
"I suppose that is true."
"Also, could you maybe not give my Shield another scar when he comes around? I mean, if he comes around—he will not stop bragging about it, I'm not kidding."
Gilgamesh just gave another rumbling laugh.
"I am here to test the strength of any warrior who wishes to challenge me. I am not in the business of letting them off with mere scars if they do. This Shield of yours would need to be strong indeed to get away with his life, let alone a scar for his troubles."
"Alright, maybe I'll just tell him to give it a pass then," said Noctis, beginning to head back to the bridge which would take him out of Gilgamesh's lair.
"It was good to meet the Chosen King before all is ended," said Gilgamesh, his voice echoing behind Noctis.
"Likewise," called out Noctis, and then he was gone.
It wasn't for another six cycles that Noctis got close to finally meeting with Bahamut. Between his behaviour growing further and further from that on his original journey and the unpredictable consequences thereof, he'd been lured into a fight to the death with Ardyn well before Gralea on several occasions now. Honestly he was beginning to see the man as a nuisance, now that dying didn't carry nearly the same weight it had before. And really, for some who had claimed to want death, he did insist on dragging the process out.
It was only by realising that it was his more in-control persona that was stopping him from reaching the capital that Noctis finally found a way to get around that little issue, namely by acting like he had done the first time, or at least, to the best of his memory, which was getting terribly hazy these days. So he'd gone through the motions, with the exception of letting Luna die, because he'd be damned if he'd just stand by and watch it happen in any universe, and found himself once again trapped in Zegnautus Keep.
It unnerved him how little he cared about it now. The first time, being separated from his friends had been devastating, he had felt so panicked and alone it was almost unbearable, not to mention being stripped of his powers. Now he was just...indifferent. He did care about his friends, he loved them dearly, but he'd felt separated from them for several years worth of time now, so it didn't hurt quite as much as he'd thought it would. And as for his powers...well he'd grown used to the Ring, by now.
He fought his way through the Keep in a kind of dim haze, not bothering to hide or even pretend to panic now he was close to his goal. All of it passed him by with little meaning, the only time he felt like things really mattered was when they were reunited, and even then, his emotions felt oddly distant, and he was strangely numb to it all. He didn't like the sensation, but even though he tried desperately to pretend everything was alright, he found he couldn't make himself feel any different. It frightened him.
It frightened him even more when he left his friends behind and it barely left a jolt because he already knew they'd survive. Obviously that was a good thing, but the fact he was finding it so hard to feel things...that didn't seem right.
He pondered this as he wandered up to the Crystal, and it was only when he touched it and quite quickly found that he was not being drawn into it, that he realised something was more seriously wrong than he'd anticipated. Just to make sure he wasn't imagining it (though he wasn't sure how he could) he touched it again, but still nothing happened.
This was very bad.
Bahamut was in the Crystal, but if he couldn't get inside he had no way of talking to him. And now he looked at it he saw that the Crystal itself seemed dim, like it had had the life sucked out of it.
Was that him? Or was it something worse?
"Well aren't you just a bundle of surprises," said an oily voice from behind him.
"Is that your fault?" he asked, turning to face Ardyn and pointing back at the Crystal. "Because if it is, I'm gonna be very mad at you."
"Nothing to do with me!" said Ardyn, raising his hands in mock surrender. "The poor thing's life energy simply vanished a few short months ago. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's you who's the problem here."
Noctis glowered at him. Though Ardyn never really sounded sincere, Noctis had gotten pretty good at guessing when he was telling the truth, and this unfortunately seemed to be one of those occasions. Which meant he had no real way of knowing why the Crystal wasn't working. Dammit.
"Well that makes a nice change then, doesn't it?" snarled Noctis, not particularly angry at Ardyn, but more at life in general.
He began pacing back and forth, electing to use his last moments in this life to put in some decent thinking. Or he would have, if Ardyn didn't insist on being so insufferable.
"Tell me, you are aware you have a job still to do here, aren't you?"
"If you mean dismembering you, I was going to get to it in a moment," said Noctis, now directing his glare back at the Crystal. Why did nothing ever go to plan in his life?
"Such a cavalier threat from one so young!" said Ardyn, smirking unpleasantly and drawing a blade from his Armiger. "How about you 'get to it' now?"
"Okay, I guess I'll put off guessing why the soul of the world is dead until next time," he sighed, seeing no point being obtuse given he was going to die in a few minutes.
"Oh, there won't be a next time, dear Noct," smiled Ardyn, with that hideous smile of his.
"Perhaps not for you," muttered Noctis under his breath, and then the fight began in earnest.
After the now very familiar procedure of killing Ardyn, committing suicide, killing Ardyn and himself again just to make absolutely sure, and then everything going kind of sideways as he woke up in Leide, he considered what exactly the hell had gone wrong. Not only was he trapped in an eternal cycle of un-death, but the soul of Eos that usually resided in the Crystal seemed to have gone missing. And that was never a good thing.
Given all the evidence at his fingertips, Noctis had no real way of denying that the situation with the Crystal and the situation with his being unable to pass on correctly were probably linked. But without an easy way to talk to Bahamut, he was going to have a hell of a time trying to figure out why.
Pushing the Regalia all the way to Hammerhead gave him quite a long time to think in relative peace and quiet though. Eventually he came to the conclusion that, painful as it was increasingly getting to talk to the Astrals these days, he'd need to ask one of them for help in speaking to Bahamut.
It was in pursuing this line of thought that, in that particular cycle, Shiva stabbed him.
He was able to conclude, by piecing together the fragments in the cycle after that, that the only way to reliably speak to Bahamut outside the Crystal was to die when you weren't supposed to. Shiva had not adequately explained this before stabbing him through the chest with her trident though, so he'd been very angry, very confused, and above all feeling very, very ill when he finally met Bahamut again.
"What. The hell. Was that?" he gasped, as he tried to get his bearings in the Beyond.
"The Chosen King wished to speak with me," boomed Bahamut, as infuriatingly impenetrable as ever.
Noctis had to take a moment to get his emotions back under control. Yes, he was angry—no—furious at being stabbed by an Astral he actually trusted, but he needed to concentrate on the present. He needed to find out how to get out of this mess and he needed to do it quickly. Before he completely and utterly lost his mind to this insanity.
It was hard to concentrate when his chest ached so badly.
"You're the one I should talk to about dying, right?" he said, finally able to piece together a sentence that wasn't just him screaming about fate.
"The Chosen King will not be allowed to pass on until he has defeated the Accursed," said Bahamut, in a low, severe voice. "It is ordained."
"I know about that," said Noctis, wiping his hair back from his eyes and sighing deeply. Oh boy, did he know about that. "But, let's say, hypothetically, that wasn't happening."
"Explain."
Bahamut did not seem pleased. Noctis swallowed the nervous tension building in his chest.
"Let's say that, instead of dying when he defeats the Accursed, the Chosen King just kind of...gets sent back to the same place in time again, and has to defeat the Accursed over and over again in a kind of endless, twisted cycle. Or something."
"Has what the King describes come to pass?" asked Bahamut, and though his voice never became less monotone, Noctis thought he sounded curious.
"Yes," breathed Noctis. Tears began pricking at his eyes from the sheer relief of telling someone. "Yes, exactly like I said. Can you...can you fix it?"
Bahamut was silent for a long moment, and the longer he didn't speak the more the hope that had been blooming in Noctis's heart began to wither.
"The power of the Chosen is...confused," said Bahamut. "He has the power of Providence already within him, but this is wrong. He has not paid the blood price."
"Yes I have!" shouted Noctis, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "I've paid it so many times now, I just—"
He cut himself off mid-sentence because he didn't like how he was going to end it.
I just want to die!
Did he? Had he really become so...hopeless? But there was no other way out now. He couldn't live, he couldn't die, he was just...stuck. At least dying would be a release.
"I just want to end this. Properly," he said, trying to make it sound less terrible but not quite succeeding.
As he said this, Bahamut began moving his other, huge hand over Noctis's head, and for a moment Noctis was afraid he was going to crush him, but instead he curled his hand into a fist, and extended one long finger, gently reaching out to touch Noctis's forehead. It seemed strange, the odd care he took not to hurt him, tiny as he was. Then, as Bahamut's finger stayed there, Noctis felt an immense power rush through his body, almost like that he felt when using the Armiger, but many times greater. Then Bahamut pulled away, and he could breathe again.
"Each time the King dies, his power is multiplied, entangled with that of the star," said Bahamut, and his voice was now intensely grave. "The power of Providence should not lie in mortal hands. It should be granted only after death, so that the soul may pass on, untainted. His body now carries the soul of Eos. He cannot die."
"What?"
He couldn't be hearing that right, could he? He had not been cursed to eternal undeath by the Astrals. They wouldn't do that to him; they wanted Eos to live as much as he did. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
"To allow the True King to pass on as he is would destroy all life on the star, more surely than the darkness eternal. The Draconian cannot allow this, as it is his task to safeguard the star."
"Then…" The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. "Then it's you who's been sending me back, all this time?"
"No," said Bahamut, and his tone was final. "The Draconian does not wield such power—to do such a thing would require the sacrifice of all lives and souls, both on Eos and in the Beyond."
A terrible thought came to Noctis. "But what if that is what's been happening? What if, every time I come back everyone dies?"
Bahamut was silent for a long moment. Panic was rising in Noctis's chest like a tidal wave, until—
"No." What? "The Draconian recognises this power. It is that of one greater than the Six; their very progenitor, the will of All. This power is Hers."
"Who's?" This was the first he'd ever heard of something greater than the Six. What was Bahamut talking about?
"This is not for mortal knowledge," said Bahamut, suddenly becoming severe again. "The prophecy has changed, both by the actions of the Hexatheon and a greater power. Until its conditions are fulfilled, the King cannot die, or the life of the star itself is forfeit."
"Then you can't...fix it?"
Sheer panic was now running through him. He could barely even think.
"Unless the conditions of the prophecy are fulfilled, it cannot be fixed."
"But what are the conditions?" cried Noctis, now brimming with desperation. "I saved them all last time! I've been saving them all along, what else do I need to do? Who else changed this?"
But Bahamut remained silent.
Noctis realised he was slowly slipping away from the Beyond, back to the mortal world again, as his death was reversed like it had been done so many times before.
When he came back to himself he realised that, for the first time in his life, he was really, truly, alone.
The next ten or so cycles passed by in a blur, as Noctis tried to reconcile what he had been told. He'd never been any good at processing that sort of thing in anything like a timely manner, so he just kept very quiet for those times, trying to reason his way out of it, and finding no end.
The others got worried about him, of course, but that was hardly anything new anymore. Had it merely been oversight the first time, that he hadn't noticed what mother hens they all were? Or had his behaviour really changed that much? He was getting on for forty now, instead of the twenty-year old he was pretending to be. Of course it didn't help that a lot of the time he was living a lie.
He generally died fairly early on in those cycles where he was considering something. He'd realised by now that being quiet and withdrawn tended to attract unwanted attention on the part of both him and his companions, which inevitably meant Ardyn would find them faster, and worse, that Ardyn would realise the truth faster—that Noctis could really kill him at any time. On the contrary, the cycles where he took control and actually tried to push along with things almost always ended up dragging them out, because Ardyn seemed to take him more seriously as a threat, and let him get quite a lot further before facing him.
The only exception to the rule was when he killed Ardyn at Galdin. He'd gotten it down to an art form by now. He avoided it since getting the news from Bahamut that every time he died he got further away from finding a viable solution to his problem, but he still occasionally did it when he needed more time to just sit and think about things without exciting comment from all and sundry. Apparently exhibiting all the signs of depression for a couple of days before your wedding was just fine, but experiencing them after your kingdom falls and your Dad dies is worrying or something. Noctis had given up trying to figure that one out and instead decided to just use it to his advantage instead.
He was about thirty cycles in, and beginning to think that all grip on his moral compass was going as people seemed less like people and more like puppets he could manipulate to act like he wanted them to, when he had the idea to actually tell someone about his predicament. He could admit, by that point, that at least part of it was a twisted thought experiment in wondering if anything could actually surprise him anymore, and that the other, only slightly more moral motivation, was seeing if other people knowing about his time travel was one of the conditions he needed to fulfil to be freed.
The first person he tried to tell was Luna.
"Luna," he said, the bright lights of Lestallum flickering overhead. "There's something I need to talk to you about."
"What is it, Noctis?" she asked, looking at him with mild curiosity.
"I think... I think I might have time travelled."
There was silence for a moment. How was she taking it? Would she think he was insane? Was this all a mistake?
A frown crossed her face. "Would you mind explaining a little further?"
Well at least she seemed willing to listen.
"Well, when I say I think I've time travelled, I kind of actually know. I've actually done this a lot of times now. Whenever I die I wake up as we're just leaving Insomnia to find you."
"Noctis, that's horrible," said Luna, her eyes widening. "Is there any way to stop it?"
"Not that I know of. I'd never thought to tell anyone else before though, and I figured maybe doing that might help set me free or something,"
"Do you feel any different, now you've told me?"
Noctis thought about it. Not really. Though he was a little lighter, perhaps.
"I guess I feel kind of relieved," he chuckled. "But not much else."
Luna frowned, but nodded. "I suppose if it was as easy as that you would have done it sooner."
"Yeah, probably."
"Well, thank you for telling me, Noctis. I am honoured you trusted me enough to say something, even if for the time being there is nothing we can do. I would be curious to hear of this should you time travel again, you know."
"I'll keep that in mind," said Noctis, with a smile.
At least it had gone well, this time, though he'd suspected it would. Luna had never been one to overreact to things. His friends, on the other hand...
Well, perhaps he could hint, if not tell them completely. Just ease into it. Perhaps that would be alright...
"How does it even feel, having them go through you like that?" Prompto asked.
They'd just collected the Star of the Rogue from Myrlwood, and when the shuriken had impaled him, an odd white light had gone pulsing through his body. It was painless, but it had been happening more and more recently. Noctis would have taken notes, but his notebook was one of the few things that did not come with him through time. That would have been far too easy.
"A little bit weird," he said. "But you get used to it."
He noticed Ignis tense up a little as he said this. He'd been doing that in quite a few of the cycles recently. Prompto avoided his eyes when he turned back to him.
"There something you guys want to talk to me about?" he asked.
Prompto glanced over at Ignis, who was walking just ahead of them.
"Not right now, Noct," he said.
Well, that hardly mattered then. He'd be back here again soon enough.
It took coming back there three cycles in a row for Ignis to actually say what was on his mind.
"Are you quite alright, Noct?"
Noctis bit back a sigh. Those were his least favourite words by now. Six, they were all such worrywarts.
"You mean apart from almost everyone I know and love having been killed a few weeks ago? Yeah, I'm good."
He wasn't referring to Insomnia, but they didn't have to know that.
"You just...forgive me for saying so, but you don't appear to be very upset about it," said Ignis.
Noctis had to do a bit of a double take. Ignis, master of tact and repeated lecturer on politeness, asking him why he wasn't upset his dad was dead? The nerve!
But before he snapped something to the effect of 'mind your own damned business,' he stopped. Something must be wrong here, especially since this worry of Ignis's had carried through several cycles. He must be doing something obviously wrong if he kept on alerting their suspicions like that. Perhaps it would be wiser to keep calm in this particular instance.
"Something you wanna say?" he asked, unable to keep some of the bitterness out of his voice.
Prompto's eyes flicked nervously over to Ignis as Noctis said this, and Gladio gave him a hard look too. So, not everyone was on board with this. Interesting.
"You've been different since Hammerhead."
"And?"
"Are you... Is this truly Noctis we're speaking to?"
Gladio's mild glare in Ignis's direction turned into a full-on scowl. Okay, he was not expecting that.
"Are you seriously asking me if I'm a shapeshifter or something," asked Noctis, raising an eyebrow.
Of course, he knew that there did exist people who could do such things, but Ignis certainly didn't.
"No, I'm asking if you're the Noctis we left Insomnia with. I think that's quite a different question, don't you?"
Alright, if they were going to try and play games around this, then Noctis was having exactly none of it.
"No, I'm not," he said, now glaring at Ignis himself. "But since you know so much already, why don't you tell me what's going on?"
Ignis sighed deeply. Noctis pulled back the urge to punch him. "Am I right in thinking you've done this before, Noct?"
Something deflated inside Noctis slightly. He hadn't expected him to actually get it.
"Yeah," he muttered, suddenly no longer having the energy to be angry.
"Wait, so, we were right?" burst out Prompto. "You time traveled? You're a time traveller?"
"That makes it sound like I have so much more control than I actually do," he sighed, before realising what Prompto just said, and turning his glare on him. "Wait, what do you mean 'we?'"
Prompto flushed slightly. "Well, um..."
"Iggy's the one who guessed it," said Gladio, who seemed a little deflated. "Though I guess we were all kind of worried about you."
"How..." Noctis began, then thought better of it. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I suppose I just gave it all away there anyway."
"Pretty much," Gladio chuckled.
"So what's going on?" asked Prompto, eagerly. "How d'you do it?"
Ah.
"You're probably not gonna like the answer to that."
They didn't. But, since there was nothing they could do about it, they got over it. Eventually. Unfortunately, he didn't die properly in that cycle either, so it was back to the drawing board.
He did stop worrying so much after that though—after all, they'd probably guessed it before, and what business was it of his if they did it again? Sometimes he even told them, if he suspected they were getting close to the truth, and each time it became harder to see them as individuals, and not just continuations of the friends he'd known so long ago.
It was close to midnight at their campsite, and the moon was high in the sky above them, its light illuminating the haven eerily against the darkness all around. Noctis was surprised when Prompto came out to join him. For some reason he'd been oddly distant in this cycle, and a few of the last ones. Noctis wasn't sure exactly what he was doing wrong, but he was willing to wait to find out. He had all the time in the world, after all.
"Is this all some sort of game to you?" Prompto asked suddenly, making Noctis jump a little.
It was very rare he'd managed to do something to actually annoy Prompto, but there was no mistaking the accusatory tone to his voice just then.
"What do you mean?" he asked, drawing his legs a little closer to himself, and trying not to look too offended.
"The way you act around us sometimes, what you told us about your other lives, the other...versions of us… I don't know, it's like you think you know everything. Like you know us better than we do. Like, all of this; the journey, us being there with you, it's all just pointless filler on 'your greater path to enlightenment' or whatever. I mean, why are you even sticking around here if you already know what you've got to do?"
Noctis had been about to snap that it was nothing like that, and they should be grateful he was sticking around to keep saving their godsdammed lives, but even as the venomous words came to the top of his tongue, he swallowed them. Because he didn't know why he was still there, honestly. He could probably do it all himself. And...it must hurt them to see him dying every time. Could he perhaps save them some suffering by just...leaving?
"I'm sorry that I made you feel that way, Prompto," he said, slowly and quietly, and he hated that part of him knew it was only for show, so he wouldn't ask a complex question like that again, and make him think about things. "I do care about you, all of you. So I'll try not to be such an ass about it, I guess."
Prompto chuckled, but he still didn't sound happy.
"Yeah well, maybe give us an easier time of it next time, huh?"
"Of course," said Noctis, and he returned his gaze to the moon as Prompto got up and returned to his tent.
The next cycle, he snuck away from them soon after Hammerhead and very quickly realised what a pain it was trying to travel without a car. It was even harder when you were trying to avoid the notice of your three very persistent, very worried friends. Noctis began to think that actually leaving to go solo was probably not what Prompto had meant when he'd asked him to give them an easier time of it.
In hindsight, this probably wasn't any easier for them than knowing their king might be an egotistical nutcase in disguise.
He did not try that tactic again.
Well, not right away anyway.
He elected to keep his many lives a secret from then on. He was only burdening them with troubles that weren't theirs to bear, and it was better for them, in the end, to think that all of this was going to actually work out after all.
In his preoccupation with the various repeated disasters in his social life, he'd begun to lose track a little of his overall goal. Namely, escaping this hell cycle he'd been trapped in. He had yet to mention the thing to Ardyn because he was half-afraid that, against all logic, the man would somehow remember across timelines just because of how insanely ironic he'd probably find it. And by this time, Noctis was in no mood whatsoever to give Ardyn any kind of entertainment.
Because of all this distraction, however, it wasn't until he was well into one of his hundredth cycles that he began to realise that something to do with his powers had gone very wrong, and he had no idea how to fix it.
Noctis had been taking it slow this cycle. In the last one he'd met his end blowing up an Imperial Base with himself and Ardyn still inside, and he felt he needed some calm in his life before he tried anything like that again. He thought he could still feel some of the residual adrenaline in his limbs when he woke up on the pavement.
So he'd been doing more or less whatever his friends wanted, returning to the gate that cut them off from Insomnia, going to see Cor, all of it.
He was standing in front of the Tomb of the Wise, trying not to look too bored out of his mind as Cor explained about the Royal Arm within. He was very familiar with the Royal Arms by now.
"Are you already familiar with the Arms, Noctis?" asked Cor, in a warning sort of voice that made Noctis snap his head up.
"Well, sort of," he said.
"Then pay closer attention so you know properly."
'Sort of' was evidently not enough in Cor's book. Noted.
Eventually the lecture ended and they were finally allowed into the tomb itself. Noctis knew what to do practically by instinct at that point, and extended his arm out, feeling for the familiar pulse of magic that meant the sword was there. He felt it, but as he did, something about it was...off. It was sharper than usual, brighter—but before he had time to process any of that, the sword was crashing down towards him—and all at once everything was knocked out of him.
Terrible pain was exploding in his chest, the sword's sharp edges slicing through flesh, through bone.
This shouldn't be happening yet! It was only when Ardyn was dead, only then that the swords could kill him. Wasn't it?
"Noctis!" Cor was by his side, leaning over him in a second. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Noctis thought it should be pretty obvious what was wrong, but glanced down at his chest anyway—only to find that, despite the terrible pain, there was no blood or wound of any kind, and the sword itself had vanished. He very carefully felt for it in the void, and it's handle hovered at his fingertips. Alright. This was new.
"Felt like it was stabbing me," he gasped, willing his heart to stop racing as the pain slowly faded away.
"What?" said Cor. "That's not supposed to happen."
Noctis frowned as though he didn't know that. None of it made sense.
He'd had localised aches and pains to do with the Royal Arms before, but not consistently, and never as bad as this. Perhaps it was just a one off thing, a fluke? He'd need to test it.
"I can't let you collect any more until we know what caused this," Cor was saying as he tuned back in. Okay, just not in front of the others then.
He left the others sleeping in the caravan at the Cauthess Outpost and called a chocobo to him as silently as he could. He got a few odd looks as he rode away from the outpost, but this was his best shot at figuring out what was going on. The Tomb of the Just wasn't in a dungeon, or surrounded by monsters, or anything else that might make the trip a long diversion. He could do this and be back by morning. Or at least, he certainly hoped so.
Terry, his favourite chocobo and the one he'd chosen almost every cycle, carried him tirelessly on towards Thommel's Glade, not pausing once. When they finally reached the tomb, moonlight was shining down through the trees, and the forest was quiet and still.
"Go and wait for me in the light, where the daemons can't get you," said Noctis.
Terry gave a quiet squawk Noctis took to mean 'sure'. He let go of the reigns and Terry went bounding off into the night. Hopefully he'd understood him.
The stone tomb stood before him, a simple affair, compared to some of the others he'd come across. A tall stone archway rose just ahead of him.
He walked under it with the sensation of slowly mounting trepidation. If he was right, this would only be a small diversion. He'd get the shield and stop worrying—but the pain had felt so vivid, so real. What if it was more?
He mounted the steps that led up to the altar the tomb was positioned on. Well, this felt eerily familiar.
Extending his hand out, over the tomb, he grasped for the magic he knew would lie waiting for him, and sure enough there it was, crackling away beneath his fingertips. It had the same odd sharpness to it the Sword of the Wise had had. Was this a mistake?
He took a deep breath. No time for doubt now. He had to see this through.
His fingers clenched around the spectral edge of the shield, drawing up, out of the tomb, circling in front of him. He tensed up as it swung upwards. It was going to hit him. What if he was wrong—
—Burning pain exploded in his abdomen as the sharp edge of the shield went crashing into him.
He gasped desperately for breath, falling to his knees, clinging to the top of the tomb. This was wrong, this was all wrong! He squeezed his eyes together, hissing as the pain slowly began to fade again. Why would it hurt? He slumped over as the pain finally vanished, resting his head against the cold stone of the tomb.
Calm, that's what he needed. Calm thoughts. Stability.
So, the Royal Arms were hurting him now. He wasn't sure this was a problem he could deal with on his own, though he was loathe to ask the Gods for help again. One more cycle. If he was still in pain by then, he'd know it was permanent. Just one more cycle...
He'd waited more than one cycle.
Perhaps it was all the petty hubris left in him that he refused to just talk to them, but he denied the pain as long as he possibly could. But there was no denying it anymore.
Gentiana appeared right where he expected her to, on the edge of the forest, just past the tree-line, where no one looking from outside would see her. Noctis stood trembling before her. Everything hurt now.
It had started with pain only when he got his Royal Arms or held the ring, but now it just hurt. It was only a dim pain, but he knew it would get worse with each successive cycle. Something was wrong with him, with his powers, and somehow he was sure it was the Astrals' fault.
"What," he asked, his voice shaking with fury, "is wrong with me?"
Gentiana frowned. She didn't like being questioned so directly or disrespectfully, he knew that. But he didn't care.
"What does the Chosen King refer to?" she asked, her voice icy cold.
"How about how every time I get one of the Royal Arms, I feel like someone's literally impaled me?" asked Noctis, almost spitting the words. "How about how every time I use my magic, it's like my muscles all seize up at once? Something is wrong with my powers, and since you're the ones who cursed me with them, I was hoping you'd know what was wrong."
Gentiana was still frowning, but now Noctis thought it was a combination of disapproval and concern. She glided over to him, and raised her hand, touching his forehead, like Bahamut had done so many years ago. They stayed like that for a moment, and Noctis tried his best to still his trembling body. It wasn't entirely working.
Gentiana flinched away from him, as though she'd been stung, and now her eyes were open, looking at him with alarm.
"Where did the King obtain this power?" she asked, her voice no longer the cool monotone it usually was.
"Well, that's kind of a long story," sighed Noctis, scratching the back of his head. And more importantly one he didn't really want to tell Gentiana. "But the simplified version is by dying. A lot."
"The power grows with each successive death," said Gentiana, shaking her head and looking more frightened and...well, human than he'd ever seen her before. "It is beyond the strength of the Astrals."
"Wait, you mean it's my 'power', Providence that's doing this to me?"
The panic he felt when Bahamut first told him the true nature of his entrapment was beginning to take hold again.
"The power of Providence far surpasses that of the Six," said Gentiana, her voice very quiet. "It was never meant to be concentrated in the body of a mortal, it was intended to reside only within his immortal soul. Its presence in the King's body will tear both him and the very fabric of this world apart unless severed."
Noctis could taste bile in his mouth as the true implication set in. They still couldn't fix it. He'd been doomed the moment they sent him back. This was so much worse than death.
"But what about the prophecy?" he asked, trying to cling to one last grain of hope. "He said if I fulfil the prophecy, I'll be able to die and none of this has to happen. How do I do that?"
He'd already died so many times, after all.
"I don't know," said Gentiana, and now she looked truly human, almost as lost and hopeless as he was.
She was only a Messenger, after all.
There was nothing she could do.
"Right," he said. "I guess it was too much to hope they could save me."
All hope seemed to have faded away. The world was swept into a confusion of colour and light and darkness as on the inside, the fire burning away within his soul grew ever brighter and more uncontrollable.
At first he tried very, very hard to ignore it. He'd been though plenty of pain before, so surely he could survive this? Again and again he collected the Royal Arms, pretending they weren't agony, pretending his body wasn't pulsing with searing pain every time he reached into his Armiger. But that only worked for so long.
He'd skipped the first two swords this time, and the third, but Cor had caught up with them eventually, and now he was marching them into the Disc of Cauthess, not giving Ardyn the time of day. Noctis was not looking forward to what was coming.
Generally he tried to avoid having Cor present when he collected the Royal Arms these days, purely because he was the one most likely to notice something was actually wrong. Looked like this time he wouldn't be able to avoid it though, so he faced the tomb with a growing sensation of dread.
"All that aside," said Cor, finally finishing up on his lecture about Noctis not picking up his phone, "I'm sure you know what to do. Well then, Noctis?"
Noctis tried to take another step towards the altar, but something was rooting him to the spot. He shook himself. He'd had to deal with this plenty of times before, there was no use getting worked up about it now.
He held his hand over the tomb. The sword was like lightning beneath his fingers. He almost missed the time when his blades had just been slightly sharper than usual. He was very careful not to burn himself on the magic as he extracted the sword from the tomb, his back already tensing up automatically. This had to count as a form of torture, right? That he was being forced to do this, knowing how it would feel?
White-hot, blazing fire spread through his stomach as the blade connected, and Noctis dropped to his knees, already breathing slower, trying to calm himself down.
But then, he heard something, above the blood rushing in his ears. Someone was screaming? Why? They didn't know immediately—
His thoughts ground to a halt as he looked down and saw a bright white blade buried in his stomach.
It was real. The pain was real. That was real blood pooling around his wound. Oh Six.
A warm hand clasped his shoulder. "Noctis...look...me..."
He glanced up to see Cor standing over him, his face almost white with shock. He was saying something else but Noctis couldn't hear him over the deafening ringing in his ears. Everything was fading, his vision becoming dim and blurry. So, this was how he died this time.
How fucking dare they.
It was dark for a long time after that, so long he began to think something else had gone wrong, and he hadn't been able to pass on, instead trapped in this darkness forever.
It took him longer than he'd like to admit to realise he was probably still unconscious, comatose in the 'real world'. There were no dreams here, no light of any kind. Just darkness. Endless darkness. And in the everlasting blankness of it all, his thoughts turned to darkness too.
Damn the Gods.
It was they who were responsible for this, for causing him so much suffering. First letting humanity die, then sacrificing all that was left of him to save them—well, half-save them. Noctis was pretty sure the rest of humanity was in the same strange limbo he was, conjured into eternal death and rebirth as a result of the prophecy gone wrong.
What were they thinking, changing it and not telling him? What on earth had he not done by this point, after almost two hundred and fifty lives? There couldn't be much left for him to try.
When would this darkness end?
Why hadn't someone just ended his misery and killed him already? At least then he'd be able to try this again. Only avoiding the Royal Arms because something was wrong and none of them could damn well fix it.
...There was that thought of course.
He'd neglected to consider it before, thinking it foolish given the punishment Ardyn got for a much lesser sin, but what did he have to lose at this point? His life?
The Gods were going to pay for what they'd done. It was the least they deserved given it wouldn't even last once he was dead. Just one time, just one cycle, he wanted vengeance for all this suffering and misery they'd brought upon him.
Had it just been eternal undeath he might have been able to handle it. But eternal torture at the mercy of his own powers—there was no coming back from that. And Noctis didn't intend to.
It was so dark when he awoke it took him a while to realise he was even conscious at all. He was lying on a cold, hard bed, staring at a featureless ceiling. The room he was in was pretty featureless too. A spindly wooden chair, broken windows… Where was he? Was this the real world again?
He glanced down at his chest. There was no sign of a wound anymore. Interesting.
But he couldn't let all that distract him from what he was here to do. It didn't matter where he was—rage was still burning through him, all the more violently now he was awake. It was time for payback. Time someone finally put the Gods in their place.
Daemons were waiting for him outside. Huge lumbering shadows blocked out what little light still came from the sky, and as he set foot on the ravaged field, hordes of imps came to greet him. Killing them was as easy as blowing out a candle. He was powerful now, more powerful than ever before, the light of Providence blazing dark and brilliant in his soul, reaching out to consume all that was left of Eos.
Vengeance was all that mattered now.
A broken, twisted body lay in the centre of the crater, slow heaving breaths the only sign of life from Titan, weakest of the Astrals. He was the one who'd begun all this. If he'd just told him, told him at the very start, when something could still be done, none of this mess would have happened. He could have prevented this. But he didn't.
So really, he deserved to die.
There was a twinge in Noctis's side from one of his wounds. The pain only made the anger burn brighter—he didn't have time to stand here thinking.
He flung his blade into the air with wrathful force, watching as it went spinning down towards Titan, warping to it only as it sank deep into the God's flesh. Titan screamed in pain, the Starscourge choking his voice.
Time for payback.
He hacked and slashed with the blade, ignoring the screams, ignoring the pain, inside and out. He'd already gone through so much pain. What was a little more?
Distantly, as Titan began to try and retreat from him, Noctis was aware of the sky becoming blacker, and more angry than before. Oily rain pouring down on his head from above, blue lightning streaking through the clouds. All of it was far away compared to the blood between his fingers.
Then he felt as though he'd been set on fire.
Staring above, he saw nothing but white light. Lightning? Had it struck him?
A ghastly, wispy figure floating in the sky. So, his second enemy had come for punishment, had he? As Noctis threw himself into the sky, he saw the ichor leaking from Ramuh's eyes, his mouth. Good. He wanted them to hurt.
Finally, the bodies of Titan and Ramuh had descended back into the earth and sky, twisting and warping as the Starscourge claimed their souls. At least it was peaceful.
An inhuman, bestial rage had claimed him, clouding his vision, consuming his mind. He tried to think straight but nothing made sense anymore. It hurt so much—why wouldn't it just stop? The sickening lurch in his chest had to go out, he needed to run, to consume, to destroy.
Everything was broken, all gone. Shatter it into pieces so the pain would break too.
Then there would be nothing.
A smooth, still expanse lay before him, all the more hateful for its calm. Nothing should be calm—nothing! The world was gone, and yet the lake was still. Insufferable insolence! All the world should be chaos—nothing good could ever exist in this terrible darkness, in this churning whirlpool of sin that was his own creation—hubris for his first, dreadful mistake.
It must be destroyed.
His body shattered the still surface of the lake, and the water choked him as he swam deeper. The water dimmed the light from his scars, made everything so far away, and distant. Even his own thoughts were quiet in this thick blackness. But there, in the depths—glowing orbs of light!
Eyes.
Leviathan gave a guttural scream that broke even the calm under the water. The surface began roiling and rolling into waves, the very space around them bending and contorting as the Tidemother woke, enraged. The burning in his chest screeched out in anguished fury. Death would bring peace again, but not for long.
Ice froze the surface of the water, almost drowning him as Levithan's corpse dissolved beneath him.
No—how dare they! He couldn't die now! Not yet!
He clawed his way to the surface, scratching at the ice, punching it, stabbing it, blow after blow after blow until he was free. Until he could breathe.
"Please, stop this madness!"
Shiva's cold presence might have been soothing before, but nothing could calm him now. He tried to speak, but all that escaped was a guttural scream. There were no words left. Just pain.
So much pain.
Ifrit was the only one left
to destroy.
The Great One could only be reached afterwards.
His body was almost gone now, something else streaking over the plains, light—as fast as light.
A thing—a body rushed in, trying to push against him, arms reaching out—
Fire
burnt.
An ashen presence dropped to the floor. There was a golden halo around its head. Or was that hair?
Destroy.
"You really have gone mad haven't you?"
Ardyn.
The blade sunk deep into the flesh, but then—then—
The sun shone hot onto the dusty plains of Leide, and Noctis's head ached like someone had split his skull in two. He shook his head, his arms. He was...alive? It was over... It had seemed like it would last forever—some dark, twisted nightmare he was trapped in for eternity. He twisted his hand, feeling for his magic. The pain was still there, but it wasn't anything like before. Oh, thank the Six. He could never let that happen again. Never.
It did though.
After it had happened once, it was bound to happen again some time. And it did. Too many times. The memory of it clung to his mind like a curse. He felt corrupted, unclean. Rendered irredeemable by the awful things he'd done in that terrible cycle. And after all, if he couldn't be saved now, then there was no harm in doing it again.
Once something tipped him over that edge, it was like the irresistible force of gravity took hold, dragging him down into blood and violence and death. He tended to die pretty quickly in those cycles. His friends noticed too, though not much. Or, less than he expected them to, at least. It was probably a statement to how messed up his state of mind was that being tipped over into homicidal insanity wasn't that much of a leap.
But he felt like something had broken, at least. He tried to hold onto that feeling.
He got the uncomfortable sense it was the only thing keeping him human.
It was his three hundred and thirty-third cycle. Light was blistering through the scars up his arms and on his face like there was a miniature sun where his bones ought to be. It felt like it too; a sharp, boiling, shredding pain under his skin.
"You look kinda sick, Noct," said Gladio, peering at him.
"No fucking kidding," he said.
In fact, neither Gladio nor any of the others would be able to see what was happening to him at that moment, not unless they tried really hard, anyway, so he probably shouldn't get so angry about it. It was hard to keep your temper under control when you felt like someone was burning you alive though.
He gave a massive sigh, almost wishing his life would rush out of him like the air from his lungs.
"Let's get going."
This was getting out of control.
The tipping point had gotten less and less significant as time stretched mercilessly on, showing no sign of ceasing. Sometimes all it took was too sharp a word to send him over into darkness. Those were the truly bad days.
He knew he was making things worse but he couldn't care enough to stop anymore. His body was broken, his mind was broken—everything was broken, and he couldn't even think to fix it anymore.
"Noctis," said Ignis. He looked nervous. About a hundred years ago Noctis would have thought it strange to see Ignis look afraid to speak to him, but now it happened more often than not.
"What?" he asked.
He was having a particularly bad day today. He didn't want to go over the edge, but he could feel himself being dragged slowly down the cliff-face. He hated feeling like this.
"Have you considered something might be wrong with your powers?"
Noctis had more than considered it, but pushed his snappy response down. At least he still had enough sense in his head to do that.
"Sometimes. Why?"
"If you could observe that waterfall..."
Noctis turned his head to the waterfall he was sitting next to. Had he accidentally frozen it again?
His heart jittered in his chest. This was much worse.
The water was flowing up, exploding at the top of the falls and raining down onto the lake behind him. He hadn't even heard it over his own vengeful thoughts. This hadn't happened before.
Even as he looked at it though, the water seemed to realise he was watching, and the flow righted itself, almost as though there had been no warping of nature at all. The clearing was still again. Ignis cleared his throat behind him.
"Perhaps you should speak to Gentiana of this?"
Noctis pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I'll do that."
He didn't.
"I'll be five minutes," he said, rising from his seat.
He was rather proud of himself. He'd made it all the way to the train this time. That had to be some sort of record.
He just wanted to scout around for some newspapers—he wasn't sure what was going on in the wider world this cycle but it couldn't hurt to find out. He was about to step through the door when...when something fell out of place.
His heart skipped a beat, the world becoming silent and still. He could hear everything and nothing. The burning got worse. Then it passed.
A powerful hand grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. "Where have you been?" snarled Gladio.
"I haven't gone anywhere," said Noctis, keeping his temper under control. He'd been doing so well so far.
"You've been gone for an hour!"
Then that feeling was... Oh no.
"I think we have a bigger problem than that."
It kept happening. As the pain got worse, his powers grew more out of control. Backwards, forwards through time. Water contorting. Things bursting into flame. Then it grew truly unmanageable.
"We'll just stop here, we won't be long," said Ignis stopping the car outside the Cauthess Outpost.
"Finally, a bed," sighed Prompto.
Noctis didn't say anything. He was too tired to say anything. But then he noticed Prompto had left his camera behind in the car and sighed as he realised he really ought to say something.
"Hey Prompto—"
His voice caught in his throat as the sensation began. He was familiar with it now, but that didn't ease the sense of dread that came with it. How far forward would he go this time? Would he accidentally blow up the gas station? What—
...What?
Everything had solidified back into place, only, it wasn't the Cauthess Rest Area. He was underground. No, on a cliff-face, there was the sun, rising on the horizon.
"Who are you?" came a deep, powerful voice from behind him.
Gilgamesh was standing there, staring at him.
Noctis's head was threatening to explode.
"This might sound like a weird question, but do you know what date it is today?" he asked, desperately hoping what he suspected wasn't true.
"No," said Gilgamesh. "But it appears to me to be late spring, if that is the answer you seek."
Late spring. So, around May. And definitely not August where he left his friends.
Oh Six.
For the first time in a long time he felt a bit more sober. He had the feeling he was going to die properly soon, one way or another. A kind of numb calm settled over him.
But, as he died over and over again, sometimes due to his own actions, sometimes due to his powers just killing him outright, the calm began to fade. He became…afraid. A deep, raw panic penetrated his soul, and this time, he had no escape.
He still hadn't completed the prophecy. What if he was doomed to stay like this?
What if this was finally the end?
It had been three hundred and ninety eight cycles since that first, fateful time he had awoken in Leide after certain death. Noctis estimated he was somewhere around two hundred and ninety years old, though he had lost track some time ago. He was standing on the altar before Leviathan, and to all outward appearances, he was exploding.
The light that had been coursing under his flesh for close upon a century now had finally claimed him, delayed though the process had been. And yet, as he stood there, in front of the Tidemother, he found he could think more clearly than he had in decades.
Time had been stopped, that much was obvious. Leviathan's massive form was stock-still, unbreathing in front of him, and the waves were paused as they crashed upon the stone. This was a power far greater than Ardyn's illusions, or his own, for that matter. A God was standing without, watching him. He wasn't surprised when Bahamut's low, mechanical voice boomed over the lake.
"This is wrong," he declared, as though that needed stating. Obviously it was wrong. It had been for about two hundred and ninety years. "The Chosen's soul has been warped by his power. This cannot be allowed to continue."
"Well it took you fucking long enough to notice," spat Noctis. He wasn't going to kill Bahamut (not yet anyway) but that didn't mean he was any less angry. "And I appreciate the gesture but there's really nothing you can do. You might have noticed that this power is well beyond yours to fix. Unless you assholes have just been lying to me about that this entire damned time."
"No," said Bahamut, and Noctis decided to remain calm in the face of that infuriatingly vague statement, and listen to the explanation. "This power is as the King has determined, it is beyond the capacity of the Six to fix. However, there is something that can be done."
Noctis was still furious. Less furious than he might have been if Bahamut had told him there had been a solution all along, but still absolutely furious.
"And you didn't think to mention that sooner?" he yelled. "I have been dying repeatedly, under horrible, horrible circumstances, breaking the entire fucking world around me, basically losing all that was left of my sanity, and it's only now you think to mention this 'solution'?"
"It is not a solution," said Bahamut.
Now Noctis noticed that all of the Six were gathered around him, including Leviathan—which was strange because she was also right in front of him. But then, it was hardly news that the Astrals had souls which resided outside their mortal bodies.
"Then what is it?" he asked.
"It is…a compromise." Noctis glared at Bahamut. He was going to need more information than that. Apparently sensing his anger, Bahamut continued. "The power existing within the Chosen's soul cannot be severed without the death of the star. Yet there exists a power that may subdue it. Such a power is not obtained lightly, little king. Much would be sacrificed to obtain it."
"Oh yeah?" asked Noctis, raising an eyebrow. They had a lot of nerve talking to him about sacrifice. "Like what, my life?"
"All lives."
Noctis narrowed his eyes. He'd heard of this deal before. "All of humanity?" he asked. "No. I can't do that. Not for myself."
"If the King does not do this then they shall perish all the same," boomed Bahamut. "And there is yet another sacrifice that must be made. The power burning within the Chosen can be bound, but should he choose to wield it, such bonds would break in an instant. To keep the power at bay, there must be no way he can utilise it."
Noctis frowned. "What are you suggesting? It's not like I can just forget I can destroy the world."
Bahamut was oddly silent for a moment. Wait, was it possible that… "There is a way. If he allows it."
"You could…make me forget?" he asked, heart racing in his chest. Then a familiar anger began to boil within him as the implications set in. "But then—if this will work, why not do it before?"
"There are forces that govern the star greater than the power of the Six." Despite his voice not changing even slightly from it's usual monotone, Noctis could sense the discomfort in Bahamut's words. "The sacrifice required for such a curse is great indeed, and would require the sanction of the highest Power. Only the most desperate of circumstances would warrant such a tribute."
"And you've only considered that just now, have you?" asked Noctis, anger only rising further.
"It was She that revealed the King's true plight to the eyes of the Six!" Bahamut sounded...angry. That couldn't be right, he never got angry...did he? "He should be scraping on his knees before Her might!"
Ramuh suddenly sent a glare in Bahamut's direction, and immediately his usual steely calm was back. But what was that? For a second there Noctis thought Bahamut might kill him on the spot. Who was 'she'? A power higher than the Six? He'd never heard of such a being—or wait. Had he? The first time he asked Bahamut for help, he mentioned something like this...
"It is the duty of the Hexatheon to safeguard Eos," said Bahamut, his voice an intimidating monotone again. "They would sacrifice All to fulfil that duty. The King's power, however accidentally he attained it, threatens to destroy the star. The sacrifice must be made."
"So I get no choice in this then, huh?" said Noctis. "I don't know why I'm surprised."
"Unless the King would rather be responsible for the death of all worlds, of all life?"
This was not like Bahamut at all—at least not what he remembered.
"I don't want more people to die for me. But it doesn't sound like I get much say in that anyway."
"There is a choice." Bahamut's voice seemed to rattle his very bones. "Without the King's assent the Six cannot make it so."
So, this was all going to be on him no matter what. Oh well. He'd come back to save the star, and if he didn't do this it was going to die. He knew what his answer would be.
"Fine. Tell me what's going to happen then."
"The King must understand, if the sacrifice is made, his memories of all that came before are forfeit, for if he remembers, the binds restoring his soul will break, as the memories become true and his power becomes unstoppable. If for any reason these blocks are broken, it will be only a matter of time before his power is restored to its apex, and all worlds are doomed once more. Successive sacrifices could be made, but none would ever suffice to save him."
Noctis gave a deep, shuddering sigh. He was so tired. The idea of going back in time without even his memories to guide him sounded excruciating, but what choice did he have? If he didn't he'd just be stuck between worlds forever, always exploding, destroying a million worlds in a minute, never able to live again.
Worse still, he didn't know exactly who had given him this clemency. He felt he should have learnt not to trust strange forces offering him mercy by now—it had never worked out well for him, but this was his only option. His only way out.
"I'll do it," he said, feeling as though he had just brought an ancient curse down on his head, "but before that, there are things I need to know. Answers. Otherwise I might not succeed at all."
Silence settled over the altar, as thick and present as a blanket of snow. Noctis could sense the unrest of the Six, and took a dim pleasure in making them uneasy.
"What is it the King wishes to know?" Bahamut's voice would have been quiet, had it not seemed to be coming from every direction.
"What is this 'power' you have to petition to do this? You didn't tell me what it was. Is there really something greater than you? Why hasn't it done anything before? Does it not protect Eos?"
The silence after his questions was almost suffocating in a way Noctis had never felt before. It was as though the very air was trying to choke him, the Gods around him consuming him with their sheer presence. Then, all at once, it abated.
"It does not protect Eos. It—"
Black.
White.
Choking.
Drowning.
Dying.
A cold hand touched his shoulder.
"Some memories are best left buried," said a low, quiet voice in his ear.
Then he woke up.
Fun fact: this is the longest chapter of anything I've ever written. Go me? In fairness, we're dealing with a lot here. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
