Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just a fucking nerd trying to calm my nerves during this trash fire of a year. So, y'know, don't sue me. I don't have any money.
Ashes of Lucis
Chapter 12: Hollow, Hollow
Note: A heads-up that there is a big, lengthy explanation in the latter part of the chapter, but it's relevant to where I'm going with this story. So, grin and bear it, I guess.
"Intriguing, is it not?"
He likes that open venom in His Majesty's eyes very much. Perhaps too much, by the way he's smiling, seated upright in his chair to down the remainder of his glass. The taste is as it should be: that of yet another sweet victory over the eagle-eyed king. A shame, though, that dear Regis had not evaluated the Emperor's alleged offer with more caution. Ardyn would have preferred a bit more of a challenge upon entering Insomnia, but alas. One cannot always get what one wants. Sometimes, one gets what they need. Best, after all, not to look a gift chocobo in the mouth.
The device in his hand is rather small, no bigger than the brick of a mobile charger, translucent and flashing a dull red color with each consecutive pulse. It almost hums as its inner workings shift, the gentle vibrations lingering in the chancellor's grasp even as he places it again inside the pocket of his coat. The king appears perplexed for but a moment, and Ardyn sets the empty wine glass on the edge of the table as he stands, fingers dancing along the lip.
"It certainly doesn't look like much, and I myself find the name to be quite the mouthful," he flicks his eyes up to meet those of the king, "but the wallbreaker wave device certainly exceeds any and all expectation."
Verstael himself has spent years working on the project — upwards of thirty or so by the chancellor's count, for it was shortly following his first visit to Insomnia that the researcher had thrown his team headlong into researching the Crown City's wall, and a means by which to break through it. In the man's own words, the Insomnian defense forces would be as threatening as wet tissue paper once the device was completed. A nice little bonus, of course, being that it served to seal both the powers of the ring and its wielding monarch.
Ardyn sighs thoughtfully, still tracing the lip of the glass, albeit with a fond smile.
"At the very least, I do owe you an apology, Majesty. Truly. For a great many things; the most pertinent of which, perhaps, being the... abduction of your son." Regis' eyes narrow at that, and the gnarled fist at his side trembles with a righteous fury. Would that he could, the man would surely strike Ardyn down and revel in it. "He's such a good boy, you know. And, dare I say, he's done a miraculous job of serving my needs within the Empire. You should be so proud."
The chancellor turns away, and gravity takes its chance to seize the glass, bringing it quickly to the floor where it shatters. The pieces skitter across the tiles, crunching into dust beneath the soles of his boots, Ardyn's pace slow and lazy as he circles the king with hungry eyes.
He can taste the blood in the water, even now.
It's almost too much, the overwhelming victory that he again has chance to take pleasure in. The first had been quickly and easily tainted by the appearance of the Bladekeeper, and while he's not the least bit fond of the sword-slinging bastard, he's just a mite grateful that the Draconian had sought to stay his hand. In doing so, the gods have presented him with a series of outstanding opportunities, the greatest of which being the chance to steal away to Niflheim with the Crown Prince and mold him in the Accursed's own image. Perhaps, he thinks, that will teach the would-be gods to trifle in the affairs of man.
A hand rests atop the pauldron of the king's shoulder, and the man visibly tenses. He knows better than to lash out the way he wants to, for his present subjects, be they loyal or not, are certain to pay the price. If nothing else, Regis is a kind man, careful and considerate in his rule of Lucis, and it is that which makes the chancellor's victory so much sweeter.
"You gave up the chase much too soon, Majesty," Ardyn purrs, and he can see the color of anger bloom across the face of the king's Shield in his peripheral. "Dear Noctis held fast to the hope that you might continue your search, but, alas, you let the poor boy down. He was utterly devastated when news of his death reached Gralea. I can't tell you how many nights I sat awake drying his–"
"Majesty!"
It isn't pain that greets Ardyn when the king plows a fist – and that bearing the ring, no less – into his jaw. It is more a feeling of surprise, even as his skin flushes red and blood drips from a clean split in his lip. He rights himself, swiping at his mouth with but a finger, and Regis stands prepared to strike again if need be.
Whatever tension had lingered prior has only increased tenfold, the other occupants of the chamber breathing in silent, shallow gasps – assuming any of them are breathing at all. As if on cue, the doors part once more, a great man clad in fearsome magitek armor casting his shadow across the tile floor, blade held fast in hand.
"That was hardly sporting, Your Majesty." Ardyn snorts, turning to regard the armored man. "Lovely of you to join us, General. And, now that our party is complete, we can continue."
The sound of receding steps are swallowed whole by the hum of Crystal, his heart hammering away against a ribcage still aching from tumbling down several flights of stairs. Everything in him – everything that he has learned from his life in Gralea – screams at him to move, place a thorough amount of distance between himself and the stone which seeks to blind him. But it is the sight of this woman, manifested from out of nowhere, who forces him to remain. She is but an arm's length away, and even with the steady throb of a broken wrist against his chest, Noctis finds himself longing to reach out to her.
With his good hand, he swipes haphazardly at his tainted eyes, ignoring the ink-like stains that drip down the lengths of his fingers. The woman smiles, slow and sad but warm all the same, and it is with a trembling step forward that Noctis extends his arm. Her movements are slow, mirroring his own, and it is a spark of warmth that rushes up his arm and throughout the inside of Noctis' chest as their fingertips touch. In that moment, he finds himself a child again, barely high enough to see over the conference tables at Zegnautus, wishing very much to be wrapped in someone's arms.
"Who are you...?" The query is barely audible, hardly above a whisper, but she seems to hear him all the same. "I don't... understand. What is this place?"
As if in answer, she inclines her head to the Crystal suspended just over her shoulder, and Noctis feels another sharp sting as the light stabs again at the space behind his eyes.
"Long ago, before the modern era came to light, there lived two brothers. It was only by the grace of the gods that their family line was blessed with the powers and strengths of magic that they might seek to benefit their people. One of the brothers, the elder, was revered throughout the land, beloved as a kind man and healer of maladies. The younger was a pragmatic, tempestuous man and a soldier, seeking to place righteous justice above all else. These men were the first of what would rise to become the Blood Royal of Lucis."
Noctis furrows his brow. She's yet to answer his question, and he can only wonder why it is that this possible apparition, perhaps a spirit conjured by the Crystal, has sought to delve into the history of ancient Lucis. What he finds terribly off, however, is this the claim that there were two men rather than the lone king around whom most Lucian lore is centered.
"Two," he mimics, more in confusion than mockery of her words. "Are you... speaking of the Founder King? There weren't two; Somnus was the only heir."
As she regards him, a low shadow crosses her face, betraying in those vivid blue eyes a touch of mourning. "He was not. There was another."
The light again assails Noctis' senses, overtaking him with a ferocity that he fears may serve to rend him in two. On all sides, he finds himself aching, burning, swallowed whole by a sensation of weightlessness and warmth the likes of which ought to be wholly impossible even with his powers. He finds himself falling, stuck in limbo, blinded to his surroundings by the white-hot intensity of what can only be the Crystal's strength. It is only when Noctis strikes solid ground and breathes in the familiar bite of rising dust that the world around him comes into focus, a city of another time laid out before his eyes.
Wrist still held to his chest, he pushes to his feet, clothing inundated with dirt, the woman of the Crystal standing beside him with her hands folded reverently in her lap.
"As the two flourished," the sprawling city itself begins to shift, the span of years passing in a matter of mere seconds, "their people safe and content, an illness spread throughout the world, terrorizing the citizenry, twisting men into monsters, and it was so that the brothers sought to repair the damage done."
The night falls and throngs of people linger in the streets, several sinking to the ground to twist and writhe in agony, clothing rent into pieces as the shapes of daemons overtake their forms. Noctis shudders. He has seen daemons, hunted them, witnessed their raw power within the Empire's magitek infantry, but never has he witnessed a human life be changed with such ferocious violence. Their faces contorted in screams, giving way to rows of jagged teeth, horns; limbs elongated and producing claws; the sickening pop and crack of bones that break and bend and bleed, giving way to unnatural skeletal structures...
He feels abruptly nauseous having watched the transformation, but it is a soothing hand atop Noctis' shoulder that ushers it all away.
"The gentle elder, believing mankind to be worth saving, elected to heal those afflicted with this scourge, drawing the darkness into his own body." Another pair of figures appear, two men — draped in white and black, respectively — though Noctis cannot catch glimpse of their faces as the sun rises, the daemons falling prey to the strength of its holy light. Only one of them bears a weapon. "The younger brother, steadfast and noteworthy in his resolve, took a drastically different approach and sought to PURGE the sickness from the land with fire and blade in hand."
The words are but a whisper on the wind, an afterthought amidst a roar of fire that engulfs the city, swallowing men and daemons whole with a fury that does not discriminate.
"The gods, having long since deemed the brothers' bloodline worthy of their grace, made a choice to bestow upon but one of them the rights to a sacred ring and keys to Eos: the Crystal, spirit of the Star itself." As if the unseen puppet master behind this whole charade, the Crystal shows itself then, burning too an image of an ornate ring into the inside of Noctis' skull. He ventures a step forward to touch the stone, breath caught hard in his throat as the landscape changes to that of Tenebrae, the sylleblossom fields in full bloom as a young woman in white robes ventures past him.
"Is that..."
The Lady Lunafreya?
"By way of the Oracle of Tenebrae, emissary of the divine and betrothed to the healer, the gods made known their decision, electing the elder brother to serve them as the first King of Lucis."
Elder brother. Chosen, she says, and Noctis grits his teeth. While Lucian by birth, his loyalties lie wholly with Niflheim — with Ardyn — and he turns to the figure of this woman with a sneer mimicking that of the chancellor, fist trembling as she regards him with a placid expression.
"I know their history!" he snaps, waving his hand as if to dismiss the whole of what he's seen. "As I've told you, there was no other heir to choose from! The Founder King of Lucis—"
The woman, whose name Noctis still has not yet determined, lifts a finger to point over his shoulder, that same look of melancholy overtaking her once more.
"No," she says simply, and it is with wide amber eyes that the once-prince follows the trajectory of her finger, startled to see the woman in white join hands with a man Noctis has seen every day for years.
Ardyn.
Be this a vision of truth or but a trick of the Crystal's light, Noctis does not know. But it is in that moment that his resolve is shaken to gravel, gaze cemented upon a face that appears as but a caricature of the man who raised him. The angles of his face are gentler, eyes a radiant blue, the smile he bears that of genuine warmth and affection as opposed to the mocking sneer of the chancellor. This man is both Ardyn and not all at once, but it is the familiarity unfolding in Noctis' chest — the memory of comfort and safety, his small and weakened body held firm in his uncle's arms — that drives the nail home.
Noctis' good hand rises to tangle in the mess of his dark hair, palm obscuring one eye as the blackness fades away, leaving only stark golden shock behind.
"What are you saying? A-Are you telling me, that—"
"Ardyn Lucis Caelum," she says, and the echo twists his stomach into knots innumerable. "He alone was chosen by the gods to be the Founder King of Lucis."