Blood pooled beneath Noctis's fingertips. A horrified face, deathly pale, stared up at him as he pulled his sword away, letting yet another body fall to the floor. Bile rose in his throat. Dead. Another one dead.
He wanted to cry out that he hadn't meant it, that this wasn't what he wanted, but the words were stuck in his throat. And besides, it wasn't like they would hear him. They were already gone.
He stumbled forward, his legs shaking, dragging his sword along the ground behind him as he pushed onwards, one step after another. Slowly, another figure began to rise before him. He wearily lifted his sword again. Would this ever end? Hadn't he done enough yet?
As he drew closer, however, the figure became familiar. Tall, broad, with eagle wings curled in black ink over his arms. Oh no.
"Gladio?" His voice was hoarse and cracked; as though he hadn't used it in a long time.
Gladio turned to face him, and as he did, Noctis saw the bloody hole in his stomach, where he knew a sword had once been lodged.
"You're already dead?"
Gladio glared at him, thick eyebrows twisting into a scowl. "I've gotta hand it to you, didn't expect to die by your hand after everything we'd been through. Feel better now, Your Highness?" He practically spat the words, like they were poison in his mouth. "Finally satisfied your hero complex?"
"That's not what this is about!" cried Noctis, brandishing his sword wildly. "How could you think that I would just—just do this for my own ego?"
"Then why do it?" Gladio snapped. "You killed all of us, and for what? Weren't we happy there?"
"Eos was dead! How could we be happy? All of humanity, gone because—"
"Because you sacrificed us!"
Noctis gave a ragged sigh, screwing his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears beginning to flow. "That's not how it was."
Gladio sneered. "Try and re-write history as much as you want, but in the end you'll always know the truth. That we died in fear and agony. Because of you. It's always because of you."
Noctis plunged his sword deep into Gladio's chest, expecting him to dodge, to try and fight, but...he didn't. He just stood there. Watching. As the light faded out of his eyes.
Noctis stood still in the darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. It wasn't true! The sacrifice—he'd had to make it. For a chance to save them properly, not just let them rot in the afterlife. It was worth it, wasn't it? To see them again...
Another figure was beginning to manifest in front of him. Tall again, but thin—wiry. Ignis looked down at him over his glasses, with no expression on his face.
"Are you going to tell me the same thing?" he spat, pacing up and down, adrenaline still pounding through him. "That I slaughtered you all for nothing? That it's all my fault?"
"No," said Ignis.
Noctis came to a stiff halt. "What?"
Ignis's eyes were cold and sad. "What good would it do either of us? You've already done it."
Noctis shook his head, trying to find the words to fix this. "No, I wouldn't—"
"You did, Noctis. You saw it. You lived it."
"I'm not like him!" Noctis snarled. "I would never do those things, kill you—the Gods—"
"Because you didn't remember?" asked Ignis, his voice cold. "What did you think those nightmares were about? Possibilities? You did those things, Noctis. You killed us, and the others. You left us to rot down here. Haven't you realised that as each world dies, we die too? In a way we're even more doomed than you."
"That isn't right!"
"Your arrogance blinds you to the truth. You know this."
Noctis glowered at him with all his might, little good it did him. "I'm not the same as him."
Ignis gave a mirthless smile. "If you say so."
A swift slice down and he was gone. He hadn't wanted to do it, but he did. And before he even had a chance to think, another figure loomed out of the darkness. He could guess who was coming this time.
Prompto looked at him with tired eyes; not cold, or angry, just tired.
"Why d'you do it?" he asked. "Over and over again? Isn't it enough yet?"
"I don't have a choice," said Noctis, his voice trembling. "Can't you see that? Every time I die it all resets."
"But you still do it all the same again?"
"Not all the same."
"Similar enough, isn't it?" His eyes met Noctis's. "We want to leave too, y'know. Why do you keep doing it wrong?"
Anger began to rise up again. "It's not on purpose—if someone could tell me how to do it right, then that would be great. Believe it or not, I don't like being trapped like this."
"All this time, and nothing's changed," said Prompto, with an empty smile.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer, instead just staring at Noctis pensively.
"I don't want to kill you," said Noctis, his grip so tight around the hilt of the sword he could feel the sweat beneath his fingers.
Prompto stared at him, his expression unchanging. "But you already have."
And with those words, he vanished into dust.
Noctis took a deep, shuddering breath. His back ached. Everything ached. He closed his eyes. The ashen, black scent of death seemed to surround him. He could taste dust on his tongue. Someone else was here.
He opened his eyes again. Luna sat, leaning on her trident, watching him. He made no move to approach her. She made no move to approach him.
"I had to do it," he said, eventually.
"I know," she said.
Noctis couldn't conceal his surprise. "What? No judgement? No asking why I'd do all of this? Keep killing everyone?"
"No," said Luna. "None of that. I knew what you would do when you left us that day."
"And you didn't try to stop me?"
"I didn't see the point. You would have convinced yourself to do it somehow." She smiled. "I know you, Noctis. Once an idea has entered your head, it will take heaven and earth moving in unison to sway you to another course."
He stared at her, uncomprehendingly. "You knew you were going to die."
"I did." Her grip remained strong on the trident. "Life or death—it mattered little to me back then. It matters little now. You look surprised. Don't you feel the same?"
"Well, yes, but..."
She rose to her feet, but remained still in place, staring at him. "Much has already been lost. What's a little more?"
Noctis tried to reply, but he could think of no answer, and before one crawled into his head, she was gone. And he was alone in the darkness again.
He sighed, and took another step forward. On and on with this endless march. Was this hell? Had he died at long last?
As he walked, he saw another figure, sitting in the mist. The final one, he thought.
It sat hunched over, arms stretched out over its knees, eyes on the floor. As Noctis approached, it lifted its head to look at him. His own face stared back at him. It looked older than him, but its eyes were young compared to his own.
Noctis stood, watching himself. The one who'd caused all this.
"You still think you're different from me?" the other-Noctis asked. "Still think you'd never do any of this?"
Noctis stared at him. It felt like there was a leaden weight at the centre of his heart. "No," he said. "I know that was me. It just...doesn't feel like it, I suppose."
"It's hard to look that much death in the eye." The other-Noctis's eyes bored into his own. "I never even had to. One minute I was there in the afterlife, the next I was saving the world again. No grisly burning to death for me."
"They still died," said Noctis, sharply.
"Oh yes." The other-Noctis nodded. "They died alright. Keep on dying. Just like us. And the world gets warped and twisted out of shape, and their memories and deaths are erased, while we live on with the memories. You're quite lucky, y'know. Getting to forget."
"I remember now."
The other-Noctis's smiled narrowly. "And yet, it's the forgetting that will save you."
Noctis scowled at him. "I can't just erase these memories again."
"No, and you won't. But they haven't shaped you, like they have me. I asked if you thought you were like me because you're not. Not because you are. You're very different."
Noctis snorted. "How? My past is still the same, isn't it? I still ended up killing all those people for another chance. And I kept screwing it up."
"You still see them as people," said the other-Noctis. "I lost sight of that a long time ago. They're still real to you. They still matter. They're still worth fighting for. If you can keep hold of that, then you'll find your way out of this. I'm sure of it."
Noctis sighed. "And you still have hope. I don't."
"Hope doesn't matter to us. Didn't you hear Luna before? Once we've decided on something we'll do it. It'll take heaven and earth moving in unison to sway us from our course. You know that."
Somewhere deep down inside, he did. But it didn't make things any easier.
"It's still going to hurt," he muttered.
The other-Noctis looked at him pensively. "Yes. But only once you wake up."
Noctis raised his eyebrow. "Wake up from what?"
"From this, of course."
His eyes snapped open, flicking ceaselessly back and forth, trying to find something to focus on. Eventually, he realised he was staring at a dull, white-washed ceiling, with moonlight glancing in from somewhere to his left.
He was lying in bed. Still at the Leville? Wait...
He tried to push himself upright, but as soon as he did it was as though his limbs turned to lead. He could barely lift his arms; they were so heavy and stiff and painful. He managed to shuffle himself backwards, to prop his head up on his pillow, but a bone-deep ache permeated his entire body. His head pounded horribly as he tried to take in the room.
Eventually his vision resolved itself and he could see that he was in a large, airy room, with green panelling and dark wood. He recognised it. This was where he'd ended up the first time after beating Leviathan—staring at the ceiling, hearing Luna was dead. He felt like he was floating, still somewhere in a dream. He hadn't fallen asleep here, had he? He hadn't imagined it? Was all of that—Luna surviving, speaking with Ravus and Ignis, finding the others—could it all have been a dream? Was he really just here, having failed once more?
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore his headache. No, that couldn't be right. He remembered it all so clearly. And the memories...they were back.
Fire in the sky, smoke in the air, blood pooling around his chest.
Dying then living again.
The metallic cold of Zegnautus.
The Crystal extinguished.
The fiery power burning ever stronger within him.
It was real. All of it was real. Nausea rose in his stomach. Every person still living today was dead—dead because of him. Firstly because he'd failed to save them from the darkness. Secondly because he'd sacrificed all their souls in a fiery, apocalyptic purge—in one last, self-delusional bid to save them in this world. And in every world since, when he inevitably ended his life, they got erased too. A hundred versions of those he loved, all dead to his hand, and his alone.
The grief settled over him like a stone in the pit of his stomach. It was as though there was a hole in his very soul, a gaping wound through which the agony of a hundred lives was burning all at once, choking him, submerging him so deeply he couldn't even cry for the sadness of it. It was too great for his tears. Too great for his mind. His breaths came short and shallow. His heart strained in his chest, struggling to keep beating with the weight pressing down on it. It was like dying again.
He forced himself upright, ignoring the ferocious protests of his weakened limbs, and buried his head in his knees, trying to block out the world outside. The sharp pain that stung his muscles as he stayed there, curled up in spite of their pleas for respite, began to bring him back to earth again. He was still here, somehow. Still able to feel pain. And with that realisation, suddenly the numbness snapped away, and chocking sobs exploded from his chest as it all came crashing down on him with unspeakable force.
He twisted his fingers through his hair as the tears fell thick and warm down his cheeks, his throat closed up entirely, his lungs hitching as he struggled to breathe through the sobs. The hole in his chest turned to blistering pain, and he could almost feel the blood congealing between his fingers—all that blood on his hands...
A voice echoed in his head. You still have a chance to fix this. One last chance...
One last chance. His eyes burned with tears, but he forcibly blinked them away. One. Last. Chance. The sorrow twisted and turned inside him, shifting into something darker. Something far more dangerous. His chest still shook as tears streamed down his cheeks, but it didn't seem to hurt so much anymore. It was all falling away. And anger rose again.
Oh, he knew this feeling. Like a drum pounding endlessly away in the back of his skull, he knew it. The venom. The hatred. Fury at the whims of the Gods—what they'd done to him. Fury at himself, for what he'd become.
He forced himself upright, his elbow on his knees and his head resting on his hand.
It still hurt. He could still feel the aching grief that had beset him before, and he knew it would never truly go away, but he didn't have to face it right now. Not when it was so much easier to be angry. The sorrow hardened in the centre of his chest, numbed by the cold, blistering loathing now surging through him.
So this was his fault. So he'd done all those things—destroyed all that life and light. What was he going to do about it? Mope? No! He couldn't—he couldn't afford to sit and sob over what he'd done. He had to fix it. For all their sakes. Now the question was just: how?
And of course, he could find no answer.
He could barely even move. Pathetic. Pathetic, and worse still, useless. How long had he been unconscious? Days? Weeks? Did he have that kind of time anymore, now his power had been released? For all he'd thought the anger would keep everything else away, panic was rising rapidly in his chest. No! This was the opposite of what he wanted to happen! How would panicking help anything? But although those questions raced around his head—for all he knew it wouldn't help, his chest grew tight, and his breaths shallower and shallower.
Darkness began to creep at the edges of his vision. Was he doomed? Doomed to die even before he could sort any of this? Trapped in an eternity of torment? His blood ran cold, raising goosebumps all along the backs of his arms. Tears were beginning to well up in his eyes again. Six, it was all so hopeless! He couldn't do this! Why would they choose him, someone so utterly helpless...
A weight pressed down on the edge of the bed. Noctis's heart stuttered wildly in his chest.
He slowly lifted his head, terrified of what he might see there. As he saw, his mouth went dry. How was this possible?
"Gentiana?" he whispered, his throat dry, his voice hoarse and hard to listen to.
"The King is melancholy," she said, watching him pensively. As much as she ever watched anyone with her eyes closed.
"I guess," he whispered. "There was a lot there to think about."
"The Messenger fears the Fulgurian was right in his estimation that the information concealed behind the seals would be too much for the King to bear."
"I'm not broken!" he snarled, but it still came out as half a sob. "I'm just..."
What was he, if not broken? Something else. He had to be something else.
"It's like I don't even know who I am anymore," he croaked.
Silence blanketed the room for a moment, and Gentiana didn't move or speak, instead just watching him, her expression unchanged. Did she hate him now, he wondered? He couldn't really blame her if she did. All that death...
"The Messenger is familiar with such feelings," she said, taking Noctis by surprise.
He honestly hadn't thought Gentiana felt at all—let alone anything like him.
"How do you mean?"
"The Messenger's bond with the mind of the Glacian is not a simple one," she said. "It shifts and changes, like the tides of the ocean. In places, she is as the Goddess herself, in others, she could not be more different. Sometimes, their wills split, and pull one another apart."
"You mean, you're not always bound to her?" he asked. This was news to him.
Gentiana shook her head though. "The Messenger is always bound to the Glacian, in one form or another. Their minds, however, are different, similar though they may appear."
"You have free will, is what you're saying."
"A separate consciousness, is what the Messenger has heard it called."
"Right," said Noctis. He'd had some distant understanding of that before, from bits and bobs he'd picked up on speaking with both Luna and Gentiana in the past, but he'd had no idea that Gentiana and Shiva were separate minds entirely. Perhaps she really did know how it felt... "I'm not really separate though," he said aloud. "I still did all the things I remember, but..."
"The King's mind is a different one to that which came before," said Gentiana, her voice becoming powerful and certain again. "Is this perhaps the reason for his distress?"
Noctis frowned. "I don't understand."
"For a time, the King believed himself to have returned only once."
"Yes."
"During this time, the memories he forged created a new mind to that which came before. This is why the memories now recalled create pain, rather than familiarity. Time will be needed for the King to adjust."
Noctis let out a heavy sigh. "I think I know what you mean. I have a new sense of self rather than just being a blank slate."
"Yes."
"Great. Just what I needed. More problems."
"Why is this a problem?"
He stared at her. "Because I feel like I'm going crazy? I killed billions of people! By accident—but still! I killed the Gods! My friends! How do I... I just can't... It's like watching a stranger. Like someone shoved the memories of a monster into my head, and now I'm forced to think that's me. It's not! I wouldn't! But...I know I did. Does any of this make sense?"
Gentiana nodded slowly. "Atrocious things were done. The difference, however, between the King's mind and his memories must be overcome."
"I know," he sighed. "But how? I can't—"
All of a sudden, tears were streaming down his cheeks again, and he could barely breathe. Why was this happening? "I'm sorry," he struggled to say, though sobs, "I'm not even upset...I-I just can't stop it."
Gentiana looked at him with something like sadness. "The Messenger fears it will be like this until the difference is reconciled. Until then, the King may be as a stranger to himself. It will be hard."
Noctis dug his nails deep into his palms in an effort to try and wake himself back up to reality. Slowly, he began to get his breath back. "You know," he said, "I'm beginning to seriously regret letting them get rid of those seals."
Gentiana gave an odd half-smile. "In a time soon approaching, she hopes the King will be incorrect." Her expression turned serious again, and Noctis thought he felt a chill in the air. "In the present hour, however, she fears there is graver news he must concern himself with."
Noctis frowned. "What is it?"
"When the Glacian reached to break the bonds binding the King, she did not realise what was hidden within. As the memories came undone within the King's mind, she and the Fulgurian witnessed them too. They witnessed all the King had done, including him stripping them of their lives, time and time again."
Suddenly the chill in the room turned to ice, and Noctis could feel his heart beat in his chest. "They saw me killing them?"
"Yes."
For a moment he was frozen, as numb and helpless as before. Then panic began to rise in his chest. "They'll kill me," he whispered. "They'll kill me for this."
"No," said Gentiana. Her eyes blinked open, and now she was staring at him properly. "Not yet."
Noctis eyed her suspiciously, panic dying down but only slightly. "Why? What have they decided?"
"As it is, they are afraid, not angry. They have elected to watch the King's every move that they might learn whether he is a threat to them."
Well, that was something, at least. He didn't think he had the mental fortitude to go after them again anyway. Not while he was having an identity crisis like this.
"Right," he muttered. "Better be on my best behaviour then." He frowned, as something occurred to him. "But why are you telling me this? You're still a servant of the Gods, right? I assume they don't want me to know they're possibly planning to kill me."
"No, they don't." If he wasn't mistaken, there was some tension in the way Gentiana sat, as though she wanted to leave. "It is indeed dangerous for the Messenger to be here."
"Dangerous?" asked Noctis, his chest beginning to constrict. "How?"
Gentiana abruptly rose to her feet, her body turned away from him. "If the King would deign to follow the Messenger, she would be grateful."
Changing the subject...that couldn't be a good sign. Still, he'd take anything over having to sit here any longer. He shuffled over to the edge of the bed. His legs still ached terribly.
"Not to be a pain, but if I'm gonna walk I think I'll need help," he said. "I dunno what's wrong with me, but I still feel pretty damned awful."
Gentiana froze in place for a moment, then turned around, and offered her hand. He tentatively took it, and all at once it was like the heaviness coating his body fell away, and he was light again.
He hated how strange it felt to be free of all ailments. As he stood up, a memory came rushing back—stumbling through the dark, Umbra streaking on ahead of him, towards the brilliant lights of a city far in the distance.
"Is this...permanent?" he asked uncertainly, staring down at his now feather-light hands.
"No," said Gentiana, releasing his hand. "This illusion of strength will last only as long as the King is near the Messenger. If he strays too far away, he will return to his true state."
Noctis sighed. "Okay. Lead the way."
As Gentiana walked along ahead of him, Noctis was careful to stay close by her side, but beyond that, he felt barely conscious at all. He scarcely noticed the stairs they walked down to get out of the building, and felt not at all the cold night air on his face as he walked. He wasn't distracted, or caught up in his own thoughts, he just felt...absent. As though his body was moving, but it wasn't him that was moving it. He was just watching, observing a strange man walking down the street behind a strange woman.
Some part of him was aware this wasn't quite right, but no part of him seemed to care enough to jolt him out of it. He wasn't even sure where he was going, or why, but the thought didn't trouble him. Nothing troubled him. He was as a ghost.
Then there was darkness. For how long exactly, he couldn't have said. Then he was standing by the edge of the water, looking out over the lake.
His heartbeat quickened. How had he gotten here? He had no memory of it—nothing at all. He'd been following Gentiana, but where was she now? Had she abandoned him? Had he stopped paying attention and wandered too far? Was his strength suddenly about to leave him?
His breaths were getting shorter and shorter as the worries wound themselves tight as a spring around his chest. But then a cold hand touched his shoulder.
He gasped, and turned to see Gentiana staring at him, her eyebrows drawn together in worry.
"The King is back?" she asked.
He gave a shuddering gasp as the tension unwound itself. "Yes. Yeah. I'm fine, I just... I tuned out for a while there."
He'd done more than tune out—when he tried to think of how he'd gotten there, the last thing he remembered was following Gentiana through the streets—then there was nothing but yawning blackness. Anything could have happened in the intervening time, but he had no concept of it whatsoever. He'd never had anything like this happen before—or at least he didn't think so. Worrying. Was this because he now had his memories back?
Gentiana gave a long pause, which Noctis suspected meant she didn't quite believe him, but thankfully she didn't push it any further.
"If the King might turn his face to the water," she said.
They were by the water's edge, looking out on the ruined buildings beside the lake. The water lapped gently at the stone, a far cry from the fierce waves that had buffeted him mere days ago. It seemed...calm. He knew it shouldn't be so strange, being as he'd seen it so many times before, but Noctis couldn't help but feel that the sight was somehow wrong. Then he began to see what was bugging him, as Gentiana extended her hand out towards the waves.
"The Hydraean sleeps upon the waters," she said. She was right.
Outlined in the moonlight, there was the massive form of Leviathan, dipping in and out of the water, her twisted body curled tightly around her head. It was as though she was some kind of illusion; a trick of the light on the water, but she seemed far too real for that. He thought if he looked closely enough he could see her scales moving as she breathed. It was odd to see her so...peaceful.
"Can only I see this?" he wondered aloud, looking out over the water in a daze.
"Indeed," said Gentiana, turning back to him, her eyes now open again. "It is a sight meant only for the Astrals and their ilk."
"But...I'm not an Astral," said Noctis, so confused and dazed he was starting to feel physically nauseous.
Gentiana stared at him for a long moment.
"Is that so..." she murmured.
He felt so tired right now he wasn't sure he could take much more of this. "Please, it was bad enough remembering all that—don't tell me I'm secretly some sort of demi-god too. You're going to make me sick."
Gentiana sighed and shook her head. "The King has great power. Power beyond that of the Six, granted to him by the Crystal. The power to seal away the darkness blight for eternity, that it might never scourge the star again. Can any being that houses such power be called human?"
Noctis's head was spinning, and a dreadful ache was rising in the back of his skull. "You're saying it's changed me? That I'm like them?"
Gentiana turned back to the water, and Leviathan. "Eos's blood runs through him as surely as it does any of the Six. What he is is impossible to say." She became silent for a moment, leaving Noctis to think. Eos's blood? Like Eos's soul? And the Six had part of it within them as well? What did it all mean?
Finally, Gentiana spoke again. "It is not meant to be like this."
"I know," said Noctis. It was the only thing he knew for sure. "It's all gone wrong. And I still have no idea how to fix it."
"The answers the King seek lie sleeping in the Crystal, along with all that remains of the Draconian."
Noctis felt a very dull sense of satisfaction, like all his emotions had somehow been turned down to the lowest possible setting. "I was right then?" he said, though it took more effort than he'd have liked. "Bahamut is sleeping in the Crystal?"
Gentiana let out something like a sigh. "The Astral War claimed the Draconian's mortal body. All that he is now resides in the Beyond, within the safe confines of the Crystal. None but a select few know of this. As the mightiest of the Six, his weakness must be concealed from the world, lest the people lose faith."
"And the Six," said Noctis, questions still teaming in his head, "you said they have Eos's blood inside them too."
"They do. It is what makes them what they are. The soul of Eos is split. A large part is spread among each of the Six, giving them their ascendency over the star. A small part now rests inside the King, trapped within, unable to escape, leading his death to shatter the world and reset its very being. A smaller part still yet resides within the star, where all is meant to be."
"Meant to be?" asked Noctis, though he was struggling to remain conscious. There was a chill wind in the air, making him shiver. He didn't know why, but its presence made him feel even more uncertain, tipping him further off-balance.
Gentiana continued to look at him, but he now felt she was somehow staring past him. "A power greater than All wishes it so none should house the soul of Eos any longer—magic in the hands of mortals has only caused grief, in Her eyes."
All at once he was snapped back to reality. Her—what he had seen in his memories...did she know?
"You know about 'her'—the greater power?" he asked stumbling over his words they came out so fast. "Who is she? Can she help me?"
"She is already helping him," said Gentiana. "Now it is his task to help Her. Where this power belongs is deep within the earth, away from all such grasping hands. It is only with his help that such a thing can be achieved."
"But...how do I do that?" he asked, already feeling more uncertain. He'd had enough of bargaining with Gods by now. "If I could get rid of it on my own, trust me, I would—it's given me enough trouble."
Gentiana gave something close to a smile. "In order to be returned to the earth, all the disparate parts of Eos's soul must be reunited in one being." Her gaze was unrelenting. And suddenly, he thought he knew why.
"You mean...in me?"
The chill become ferocious, no longer just cold—freezing. He began to shiver uncontrollably, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as the cold pierced his skin like a million tiny blades. Something else was here. Gentiana didn't seem to notice.
"If Eos made whole again, it will release the King from his curse." Gentiana paused.
It was getting colder. Much colder. The pavement was being covered with a thin layer of ice, and the lake began to take on a silvery sheen. Noctis knew with a sense beyond his own that they were running out of time. Gentiana stared at him, and her next words reverberated through his bones, speaking a truth he had known for centuries but never been able to voice.
"Light will bathe the world anew, and the time of Gods and Kings shall be ended."
He could barely breathe—pure ice flowing through his lungs.
"This is the prophecy."
Gentiana's eyes turned white, as the snow pelted down fiercely around him, blocking her from view.
He could barely breathe through the cold, and for a horrifying moment he was sure he was frozen in place, unable to move from where he stood, ice reaching down to his very bones, strangling him. Drowning him. Black dots were beginning to crawl into his vision. He couldn't stand much more of this. Where was Gentiana? Why wasn't she helping him? Help...
Help!
So. A lot's going on this chapter! Noct's finally dealing with all those memories that got projected into his head, and given he dissociates every time he's forced to reach for them now, that doesn't bode well for the future. Then there's the situation with Gentiana—looks like Shiva isn't too thrilled with her telling Noctis about all that stuff. Difficult times all around! As ever, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you to everyone still reading!
