63

Redde rationem

L.N. 10

I

They reached the West Gate on foot because, they found out – they hadn't come that close to Insomnia since the start of the Long Night, when they had accompanied Silia and the Marshal to see the Wall – time and weather had raged on the Western Bridge that, although it had not collapsed, it threatened to do so at any moment. The fact they had to leave the car behind twelve miles earlier than they had supposed and to proceed with extreme caution, predictably, delayed them, so they arrived at the level crossing at the West Gate at nine twenty.

The structure that had once been one of the only three entrances to the Crown City, a single-floor building where a dozen City Guards rotated at any time of day and night to authorize the – limited – accesses to and from the Capital, was still standing, even if greyed and with peeling plaster. Izunia's Wall began a little further, not far from where once King Mors' first and King Regis' later, stood. They could see it perfectly, a reddish glaze that for ten years had prevented them from accessing precious resources – cars, airplanes, helicopters and machinery, fuel, drugs, information in the laboratories – that could have made the Long Night a little less burdensome.

They hadn't reached the level crossing yet, and Delilah, in full uniform with the exception of the hood, emerged from the entrance of the building. She turned to shout a warning, and seconds later she was joined by her comrades: Luka, Libertus, Miles, Elea, Tabul, the Marshal, and of course Silia. The Kingsglaives lined up in formation, brought their right fist to the left side of their chest, and dropped one knee to the ground. Cor also knelt formally, after performing the salute of the Crownsguard.

Gladio froze on the spot, feeling his heart in his throat. That was the prologue to the final battle. Noctis hesitated for a moment, then left them behind to halt before the Glaives; he aligned his arms at his sides and bent his torso in a bow, as if formally thanking them in turn for that welcome.

A very thin guard accompanied the King of Lucis in the capital of his kingdom; seven Kingsglaives in faded uniforms; the greying Marshal of a Crownsguard that counted even fewer members than the Glaives, sheathed in an ancient uniform no less aged; and finally them, the three members of the King's personal retinue, the youngest, if they were still young, exhausted as the others by a decade of toil and grief.

"I am grateful to you for being here. Thank you, Marshal Leonis, you can't imagine what it means to me, seeing you again, and thank you, again, Kingsglaives. I have told you before, in Angelgard, and then again in Galdin, but I am deeply, deeply grateful to you for having safeguarded the well-being of the inhabitants of Lucis, as well as for the Covenant, of course."

Nobody moved.

"Raise your head. Even though darkness prevailed over the world, you kept the light alive in your hearts. We have all lost friends and loved ones along the way, but the only thing we have never lost is hope. Brothers and sisters, I ask you, not as a king but as your equal, to hold out for one more day and fight by my side... for the light and the future of our world."

Delilah was the first to clap, silently, composedly, and the others followed suit. Cor also started clapping, and he himself, and Ignis, and Prompto, joined in. It had been a heartfelt but brief speech, but it was not the speeches they needed at the moment.

Cor broke the lines and walked over to Noctis. With much less formality than he had greeted him, he placed both hands on his shoulders and smiled. Rarely had Gladio seen that human and moved of an expression on the Marshal's face – never, actually. The Glaives surrounded Noctis, and all started talking together.

Gladio felt the lower part of his face stiffen, and it was almost painful; he had lost count of the forced smiles since Noctis had told them that night that destroying Ardyn Izunia would take his life. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth so much to hold back the tears. He focused his attention on his wife – his wife whom he had not seen or heard for twenty days, his wife who was perhaps no longer his wife, his wife who had brought the Chosen King back to Eos by performing a ritual for which the consequences he did not yet know. When he finally managed to catch her gaze, Silia gave him just a nod and one of her sibylline half smiles, and broke away from the group to join them.

He eyed her carefully as she approached, looking for any traces the ritual might have left on her body. He saw none. She was fatigued, but looked unharmed. Noctis had mentioned her long hair, but now Silia's braid was gone; she must have cut it overnight, or that morning, and her hair was now short again, irregular as when he had first met her.

"You're late," her greeting was.

"Ruined bridge," he replied in kind.

"Yeah, we assumed something like that, so we left Galdin Quay early," she retorted.

Gladio pursed his lips, almost amused despite himself. It sounded like one of those chilly conversations so common between them when they first met. "Well, Boss, we'll sure find some latrines in Insomnia to clean as punishment."

"I'm not your boss anymore," she pointed out. "Are you all fine? Is Hammerhead still standing?"

"Certainly, no thanks to you," Prompto tossed at her, but without anger.

"We are fine," Ignis said. "And things in Hammerhead have been properly arranged, Silia. Iris, Talcott, Cestia, Roth, Jon, Claudio, everyone knows what they have to do."

In case we didn't return, Gladio was about to add, but he didn't. Silia had understood perfectly.

"And you, are you okay?" Ignis asked her again. "Noctis told us everything. I don't know what to say, Silia, except thank you."

Silia smiled. "We did nothing, actually, Iggy, except lending our bodies. Literally. We acted as conductors."

"With what consequences?" Gladio asked, tense.

"We'll find out," she just replied with a shrug.

They looked at each other in silence. At that moment, Gladio would have given anything to have an hour alone with her; not even an hour, he only needed twenty minutes. Ten. A few minutes with his wife, alone, before something irreparable happened to one or the other.

Ignis gave them to him, even though they weren't exactly alone. "Prompto, come on," he said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Perhaps the Marshal has something to tell us before we enter the city."

"Coming," he replied. "Gladio..." he warned him with a vague nod. "Please," he concluded.

There was no need, because Gladio had no intention of quarrelling. "Silia, listen," he began as soon as Ignis and Prompto turned their backs on them, but she put a gloved finger to her lips.

"Not now, Gladio, please," she said, firm.

Gladio shook his head. "Now," he clung on, raising his voice. "You're not a selfish bitch. You're just a goddamn freak that freaks me out too. I didn't want to interfere with your decisions. I just wanted you to share your worries with me. But you always want to do everything by yourself, damn it." He tried to stop, and he couldn't. He would never learn to control himself, he realized. He was worried, he was desperate, and he loved her. "You brought the King back to Eos. Fuck, I don't even know how that's possible. Is that enough for you now, Silia Hartwood?"

Silia's mouth trembled for a moment, and for a moment Gladio feared that they would quarrel indeed, but then, unexpectedly, she smiled at him. Still like when they met, that smile was able to curl up his bowels. "I don't know," she admitted. "I guess not. It was you who said that nothing will ever be enough for me, right?"

Gladio remembered what else he had said to her on that occasion. That perhaps she was looking for a way to die that made sense. He felt himself flush with shame. "I…"

Again, Silia interrupted him, this time rising on tiptoe and placing a finger on his lips. She was so close now that Gladio could see the broken capillaries on her pale face and in her sclera. The signs of an enormous effort. "We'll talk about it when it's all over."

He was about to bend down to kiss her, but he didn't. That was not the time. Instead, he took her wrist and pulled her hand away from his lips so he could speak. "Thanks, Silia. Thank you for bringing the King back."

Silia gratified him with another smile, the most beautiful he had seen in the last several years. She hadn't smiled like that, not even on their wedding day. She took a step away from him and crossed her arms on her chest. "Ball's in your court now, Gladio. Cover His Majesty's back while we cover yours."

"Hartwood, did you finish flirting with your husband at a time like this? Or are you still fighting?"

Regardless of the Marshal's presence, Silia showed her finger to Tabul. "Maynard, have some respect for your Captain, since you insisted so much on naming her."

"Listen to this!" he told her. "Should I call you no longer Boss but Captain, then?"

"It wasn't my idea."

Gladio had no doubts. Silia did not need any other responsibilities, even if everyone insisted on unloading them on her and she, as he had once told her at Cape Caem, ended up picking them up. "Captain Hartwood," he repeated, savoring the sound as they joined the others. "Yes, I like it much more than 'Boss'."

"Shut up."

"Forgive me," Noctis said, composed, and everyone immediately made such a silence that Gladio's blood froze in his veins. "I wish I had more time. More time with my friends, time with Marshal Leonis, but also with you, Kingsglaives. Yesterday I was unable to thank you as I would have liked, and I did not have the chance to tell you everything you need to know. But…" Again, his voice broke. "There's one thing I must do, and it can no longer wait."

Noctis turned away from them, looking at Insomnia. Everyone looked at the capital as well. It was not the city where the Glaives were born, but it was the one they had gone to die for. And it was the city where he, Ignis, Prompto, Cor were born. The one where Noctis was not only born but had been destined to rule. The city that one sad day in May years ago, looking at it from a distance, they had promised to regain.

The True King lifted the Ring of Lucis, an insignificantly small item that now held the full power of the Crystal, and put it on. A flash of white light, so sudden that for a moment Gladio thought he had imagined it, flashed and died out. Silia, a few steps away from him, bent her back and grabbed her own knees, shivering. She was not the only one: Miles fell to his knees. Elea barely held back a groan. Libertus, Tabul, Luka, Delilah, all were shaking, uncertain on their legs.

"Silia, you okay?" he asked, alarmed.

Silia took a deep breath and threw her head back. Her forehead was sweaty, and she was short of breath. "Yeah. It was worse in the Zegnautus Keep. Let's not talk about the Covenant."

Tabul summoned a fire that triggered Prompto into a guard stance. The sphere of flames floated a few inches from his palm. "Woah, be careful, man!" Prompto exclaimed, beside him.

The Glaive laughed. "For the Six, I almost forgot how it felt." The fire extinguished. "Does anyone have wounds to fix?"

"Don't waste mana, you idiot," Elea scolded him. "We're already half drained after that fucking ritual."

"Okay, guys, stop fooling around." Silia stuck the transceiver in her ears and turned it on. "Prepare yourselves properly. The Operation New Dawn is about to start."

"When did you decide on the name of the operation, Captain?" Miles asked.

"Now. If you don't like it, shut the hell up."

The Kingsglaives giggled, but stopped smiling almost immediately and began to prepare. Gladio watched Silia and her companions inspect weapons, cast small spells to heal superficial wounds, readjust wards, and test the transceiver frequencies, fascinated by their sudden and quiet gravity. In those years he had learned not to be surprised by the sudden changes in their demeanor that had so freaked him out when he had met Silia. He had seen them lead difficult and very delicate missions with an enviable coldness, and that same evening get drunk and sing obscene songs. From men and women to war machines in the space of the blink of an eye. And those war machines, now, were led by his wife.

"Do you have a transceiver for me too, Hartwood?"

The Marshal walked up to her with his unsheathed katanas. Both bore the insignia of the Crownsguard: one was his own, the one he had begun to use after Gilgamesh had taken away the Genji Blade – now in Gladio's possession – the other was that of Darius Magnus, which Silia had brought back from Gralea. Again, another time, Gladio was crossed by a very rapid flash of jealousy. He would probably not be at his wife's side in the last battle, but Cor would. It lasted only a moment; as the jealousy passed, he felt relief and gratitude. He knew that Cor, as in Absconditus, would do anything to get her out alive.

"Of course I do," Silia replied. She reached into her pocket and took out another, which she handed to him. "I was going to give it to you. You'll need it to give us instructions, Marshal."

Cor took it from her hand and hooked it to his ears. "No, you don't understand, Hartwood. I will need it to listen to yours."

"But, Marshal..."

"No," he silenced her. "Not today. Today it is the Captain of the Kingsglaives who leads the dance, and there cannot be a Marshal."

Since he had become Marshal of the Crownsguard, Gladio knew, there were only three people from whom Cor Leonis had agreed to take orders. The first was King Mors, then King Regis, the last was Clarus Amicitia. And for ten years none of those people had been alive anymore. Disconcerted, Gladio watched Silia open her mouth to answer him, as disconcerted as he was, and then close it again without doing so.

"Keep yourselves in rearguard position until further order," she said instead, in the clear, firm voice she used when leading operations out of Hammerhead. A firm tone, vaguely gentle, but unequivocally peremptory. "Leave to the King and his retinue whatever attacks from the front. Let's focus on what comes behind us. Is that clear to everyone?" she asked, looking at him too.

"Got it," everyone said, including Noctis.

"Good," Silia approved, and turned to Noctis. "We are ready, Your Majesty. Whatever is in there, go ahead without looking back. The Kingsglaives and the Marshal will have your back. Our lives are at your service." She wore the reinforced hood of the uniform, hiding her head. Gladio had seen her wear it rarely over the years, and the elaborate silver visor that protected her face and part of her neck transformed her into something foreign and almost disturbing.

Noctis didn't answer. He looked at her silently, then bowed his head again in a gesture of deep gratitude. "Thank you. In my name, in my father's name, in the name of the other ancient kings of Lucis. And…" He smiled. "Congratulations on your wedding, Silia. Gladio has chosen very well. I would have liked to be there to celebrate."

Gladio felt a painful lump in his throat. "No, Your Majesty," Silia replied, in the same calm and determined voice with which she had given orders to everyone. "It was me who chose very well. Your Shield has been mine for ten years, and I wouldn't have been able to do everything I did if I couldn't rest in his shelter. But now I'll give him back to you."

II

The Wall around Insomnia had dissolved as if inviting them to pass. Silia had had no doubts about it. They had continued along the road that led to the center of the capital, on foot, because no car would be able to overcome unscathed that wall of daemons.

They were everywhere, of all kinds. More than in Absconditus, if possible, and they were eleven, less than one of the three teams that had entered the Solheim dungeon. But those eleven were, without exception, the best warriors left in Eos, and they had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

The Marshal and the Glaives stood behind the guys and the King, fighting to make their way along the main arterial road that led from the West Gate to the Citadel – and which she had been the last one to travel with Dustin Ackers and the three dead boys they had brought to enter the Royal Library. Silia could not explain where all those daemons came from; the Imperials in flesh and blood left in the city after the fall, she had seen herself, were not many, and the citizens were evacuated. She had the unpleasant impression that that horde had gathered there around its creator. A welcoming committee.

She did not fear for the King's life, not at the moment; in the past Izunia could have killed him over and over again – he could have killed them all, in the Keep – and, as the King himself had told in Galdin, Izunia had intentionally allowed him to be absorbed by the Crystal because he wanted to face him with his full powers; it was them – the Glaives, the Marshal and the King's retinue – who had to fear for their lives. Izunia didn't care if they lived or died, or he would just have to jump to Hammerhead during the Long Night and crush them with his thumb. But he hadn't. Izunia, she had the idea, was not a complete madman, just a being as twisted as the Astrals could be, who did not care at all about the life or death of those who did not fit into his field of interest.

They had rarely talked about him during the Long Night. Since Izunia, Wall around Insomnia aside, had never given any news of himself or any further cause for concern, the EHSO had focused on Plasmodium by acting as if Izunia did not exist, as if it were a bogeyman or a vague and remote danger, not a person in flesh and blood who had in fact caused the apocalypse into which the world had fallen. They themselves – she, Cor, the guys – had ended up relegating him to a sooner or later that was the same one to which the Prince belonged. Sooner or later the Prince would come back, sooner or later they would have to face Izunia, sooner or later he would pay for his sins and the Long Night would be over.

Silia kept herself in front of the rear, often in touch with Prompto, who was always behind the others; she was forced to often warp out of the fray, because she could not only look after her own direct opponents, but had to keep an eye on the general course of the clashes, and make sure that the daemons did not follow the King and the others too closely. She had left the rearmost position to the Marshal, recommending that he always kept himself within reach of protect; he was the only one of them without magical protections. When he had told her she was going to lead, Silia had had a fit of panic that Cor certainly had not missed. Until that moment she had taken it for granted that, despite her companions having made her Captain, in battle they would all listen to the directives of Cor, who had seventeen years more experience than her; she had been a fool: Cor had refused to lead the Glaives ten years ago, precisely because he did not master magic and was unable to lead them into battle. It was up to her, for better or for worse.

They were moving fairly compactly for the time being, and Silia harbored a secret hope that they would all be able to reach the Citadel Square together. She had no idea what would happen then; Izunia would kill them so they wouldn't interfere – it was a risk they had to take – or maybe he would isolate them from the King with a new Wall that they couldn't penetrate. They had talked about it that night and had come to the depressing conclusion that there was nothing in the next day they could foresee. The King will have more powerful allies than us, however, Silia had concluded. This does not exempt us from doing our duty. Tomorrow will be the last battle, but it won't be ours. Still, we are the extension of his arms.

The Citadel, always visible from any distance within the perimeter of Insomnia, was getting closer and closer. The windows of the building were almost completely lighted, and it looked like a huge sparkling lighthouse. No longer an unassailable pillar, a fortress that radiated security, as it had seemed to her and Marius Gaunt when they looked at it at night, eons and eons ago, sitting on a hill in the suburbs smoking a cigarette, but a depressing illusion. That fortress, which had seemed unbreakable to them, had fallen. And now it stood out there, a few miles from them, glistening as if it had been decked out to take the piss out of them. Dressed and packed, because even from there they could see the red halo of another Wall, not unlike the one they had crossed to enter Insomnia.

Without knowing why, a dream came to her mind, as clear as if she had just dreamed it. Or maybe it was some kind of deja vu. She felt the skin rise on her arms. She shot down the Ronin in front of her and lowered her swords, alert. Waiting. Without knowing what.

To her left, a shadow raised behind a two-story building – they had just passed the ring road and had not yet reached the skyscrapers area. Everyone else saw it too, of course, and froze in place, waiting to find out what would attack them. Silia already knew that, she had known even before the weapon disintegrated the building and rose to its full height in front of them like a huge metal crab. It had started to rain, but she could smell the iron scent of millenary joints. Another organic weapon. It could not be said that her life lacked irony.

The Diamond Weapon in front of them was smaller than the ones the Empire had unleashed on Insomnia on the day of the attack and which the Old Kings, who emerged from the Old Wall, had incinerated when Nyx used the power of the Ring. It looked more like the Younger Sister she had faced in Absconditus, albeit bigger. Silia had goosebumps. The red laser flashing in what she could only describe as a head was examining them, probably choosing a target.

"The hell is that?" Elea asked into the transmitter. "Looks like a smaller Diamond Weapon."

"Looks like the weapon we faced in Absconditus." Miles.

"A relic of Solheim," Silia replied into the transceiver.

"What?" multiple voices overlapped.

"I think I dreamed of it once," she heard herself say, and her lips curled into a half smile. "If you want to know my two gils, the Niffs brought it along with the Diamond Weapons on May 756, but they didn't put it into operation."

"And why on earth?" Tabul asked.

To that, Silia had no answer, only assumptions she hoped were wrong, and no time to put them out. She hurried to warp forward, because the King, she had seen, was about to warp in to turn on the weapon, and stopped him. The weapon fired, not on them, but on Delilah and the Marshal, who pulled themselves out of range. The blow left a smoking crater thirty feet in diameter on the road.

"What happens, Silia? If we don't hurry, that thing..."

Silia shook her head. She saw Gladio approach and hoped with all her heart that he would not intrude. "Go ahead, Your Majesty. We'll take care of that."

"But…"

"Please, no time to discuss. One of those weapons has given a hard time to fifty Glaives in Lambert and those released in Insomnia have routed the Crownsguard. It will take hours to get it down," she lied. She wasn't at all sure it could be taken down. She pointed to the Citadel. "And..."

The weapon unloaded the next blow on them. Silia raised her arms and cast a protect large enough to shield her, the King, and Gladio. The wall held, but it sucked from her so much mana that she felt like throwing up.

"Noct," Gladio barely looked at her, and placed a hand on the King's shoulder to lead him away. "C'mon. We must go. Ignis, Prompto!" She saw him gesture to Prompto to go on.

"We'll keep it at bay here," Silia said again, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. That was the man she had fallen in love with. A man who went and do his duty and let her do hers. "We don't want it to finish destroying Insomnia, do we?"

The King looked at her, then looked at Gladio. He hesitated, then nodded. "Let's go on, then. Good luck, Captain."

Silia put her hand to her chest in the Glaives' salute, but at that moment the transceiver activated. "Hartwood, your instructions?" it was the Marshal.

"We take it down, of course," she replied. Prompto and Ignis approached and walked past her, following Noctis. They spelled out a goodbye, to which she replied by raising her hand, though Ignis couldn't see it. "The King and his retinue will continue to the Citadel. Let's keep that thing busy. Avoid its attacks for now. We must first understand how many and what weapons it has at its disposal."

Gladio had held back. He looked at her, not as a husband looks for the last time at his wife whom he hopes to see again, but as an extremely proud man in arms. And she was, in turn, proud of him, honored to have married the Sworn Shield of the Chosen King.

Her husband put his hand to his forehead in the salute of the Crownsguard. Silia replied by repeating the salute of the Kingsglaives.

"Take cover behind the neighboring buildings, but watch out for the lasers," she said, turning. "Push it as hard as you can. Have it take out everything it has in store, hoping it's not programmed to hide the last ace in its sleeve." Her voice trembled for a moment. "Pro aris et focis. For hearth and home."

III

The Diamond Weapon, or whatever it was, didn't follow them. Other daemons followed them, on the other hand, many, but nothing that with their strength and the magic of the Ring, they were not able to counter, even if with difficulty, now that they no longer had the Marshal and the Glaives to cover their back. Every now and then Gladio turned towards the former ring road, believing he had heard an explosion more violent than the last, but perhaps he confused the explosions with thunder, because in the meantime a downpour had unleashed. For the rest, he focused on the ongoing fighting and left Silia out of his mind. He had behaved exactly as she expected him to, even if only the Six knew how much it had cost him, to follow his King and leave his wife behind.

Shortly before arriving at the Citadel Square, Ignis proposed to stop and rest for a few minutes; he would not have wanted, he confessed, because they were almost there, but they did not know what awaited them and it was better to face it with clearness. For the first time since they had entered the city, Gladio allowed himself to look around carefully and recognized where he was; they were near Sotherby's, if there was anything left, because the neighborhood was devastated.

"Follow me," he said with a dim smile. "If we really want to stop, better not do it in the middle of the street."

Sotherby's had not in fact survived the attack on the city; Gladio had supposed it, because it was too close to the Citadel, where the main clashes had taken place. Bombings, fighting between Guards and Imperials and Diamond Weapons had not spared it. He stood looking at the rusty skeletons of the frames that had once enclosed the elegant windows of the entrance. There were no corpses around; shops, bars and restaurants had been closed on the occasion of the signing of the treaty.

Prompto walked past him to enter into what was left of the bar; the building had crumpled in on itself, and the downstairs large room no longer existed, but he bent down to lift a dusty, moldy sofa and moved it to where he found a clear space. Heart swollen with melancholy, Gladio helped him find another sofa.

All four sat down, watching the street to check for daemons. They used some of the healing potions – Gladio had almost forgotten what it felt like, and for a moment he realized how Silia must have felt when she had been again able to use magic – to treat some more annoying wounds; Gladio took the chance to drink and to cleanse himself of his own blood.

"The last time we came here," Ignis said, breaking the heavy silence, "it was to celebrate Prompto's entry into the Crownsguard, right?"

"Yeah," Noctis replied. "I don't remember much, to be honest."

"I bet. You were done for at the first beer, Noct," Gladio recalled with a grin. "Both of you were. Iggy and I brought you home."

"There were some pretty girls at the next table, right? I tried asking them for the number, but they wanted Ignis'," Prompto chuckled.

"We were so excited about leaving." Ignis' voice was a hoarse whisper. "But it's nothing compared to what I feel now at the idea of being back."

Nobody answered him. They stood in silence watching the dark street.

"D'you know, Gladio?" Noctis said out of nowhere. "It only occurred to me now what Silia told me when I woke up. Those were the first words I had heard in ten years."

"You took your time, you asshole?" Gladio forced himself to joke.

Noctis shook his head, smiling. "Not Welcome back, Your Majesty, or Welcome back, Prince Noctis. She told me: Welcome back, my brother."

Gladio lowered his head and rubbed his moistened eyes. "You are, indeed. You're my brother, Noct, and Silia's my wife. So, you're also her brother, even before being her King."

"Try to stay alive, guys," Noctis said seriously. "The three of you. You have people waiting for you."

"You've got them too, Noct," Gladio retorted bitterly.

"No," he contradicted him. "I had people waiting for me. They have done it for ten years, confidently. Now I'm back. I can't escape my fate. I've accepted it, and I embrace it with serenity. That doesn't apply to you. You don't need to die."

"But we haven't accepted it, Noct," Prompto retorted, his voice choked. He rubbed his eyes.

Noctis smiled again. "You have done without me for a very long time. You'll be fine. You'll already have enough hard work to cope with the temper of the women you have chosen. But really, Iggy, Aranea Highwind? Are you all playing a trick on me?"

Ignis smiled. "You know what, Noctis? I am greatly convinced that your company has profoundly affected our interpersonal relationships."

Noctis blinked. "Me? What do you mean, Iggy?"

"Call it a kind of Stockholm Syndrome. All three of us were so used to dealing with an intractable person like you that we have chosen three equally intractable people as partners."

They all laughed. A bitter and sad laugh, because none of them knew if he would see his partner again – least of all Gladio, since his was a few miles behind risking her life like him and more – and because Noctis, who was laughing with them, wouldn't be there to share their joy, if and when they embraced them again.

"If you've rested a bit," Noctis said, getting up, "let's go on."

The Citadel Square was completely deserted; no corpses, no daemons, no enemies in sight, not even Ardyn Izunia. None of them had been there on the day of the fall, and they looked around for a long time, in silence. Although it was impossible, the Citadel seemed unscathed and was lighted – they had already noticed it shortly after entering the city, as had noticed the other Wall – but otherwise the square seemed to have turned into Solheim ruins: lampposts, building facades, cars, flowerbeds and architectural elements had been uprooted and shattered, and mold and weeds that evidently did not feed on light had begun to grow everywhere. There was hardly a piece of intact pavement on which to place their feet. If they had found the roads they had travelled to get there crumbling and depressing, they had not yet seen anything.

Noctis walked silently towards the staircase, his head slightly upwards. Who knows if he was wondering where Izunia was, or if he was remembering the years of his childhood, spent running from one floor of the Citadel to another, chased by Ignis. Who knows if he was wondering where his father's corpse was.

And then, out of nowhere, she was there, as beautiful and elegant as the last time they had seen her, her hair loose in the wind and rain, the Trident tightly in her hand. Gladio stiffened suddenly, arms in hand; this time he had not forgotten the perverse tricks Ardyn Izunia enjoyed using in order to provoke them, upset them, destabilize them.

"Gods above, hear my plea," said Princess Lunafreya, or the apparition shown by Izunia. "Lend the Chosen King your strength. That he may save our Star from darkness' blight!"

At her side, just as suddenly, as if she had always been there, Gentiana appeared. "By the will of the Oracle and the grace of the gods, a path for the King is made."

Gladio did not even have time to open his mouth and shout a warning to his comrades when a silver light emanated from the Glacian. High up, almost on the top floor of the Citadel, Ramuh appeared; the Fulgurian reached out a hand and summoned a blaze of lightning bolts that struck the Wall. Meanwhile, Gladio realized, Gentiana was gone, and five Shivas were circling towards the top of the Citadel to join Ramuh's attack. Izunia's reddish Wall soon turned into a curtain of ice. Terrified, Gladio watched Leviathan emerge from thirty-feet-high waves that originated out of nowhere, and wind her coils around the Citadel until the curtain of ice cracked. It was then the turn of Titan, who shattered it with a powerful punch. And finally came Bahamut – the Draconian, whose alliance Silia and the other Glaives had paid with part of their life, because by now Gladio knew, without anyone having told him, that so it was – who evoked dozens of swords that turned into a ray; Izunia's Wall, before their eyes, disintegrated.

The Citadel went out; that was an illusion of Izunia, indeed, and the Palace returned to its true look, ramshackle and lifeless. None of the fragments of the Wall touched them; they dissolved before they hit the ground.

They were alone with the Oracle now. Noctis stepped forward. None of them could believe any more she was an apparition of Izunia. "Luna..." he said, his voice wet, stopping a few steps away from her. "Thank you."

The Oracle put a hand to her heart and bowed. When she raised his head, Gladio saw that she was smiling. "The fate of our Star rests with you now, my King," she whispered. It was she, this time, who approached Noctis, who held out a hand to her. The Princess held out hers, but disappeared just before they could touch.

Noctis remained silent looking at his hand. His shoulders jerked once, twice, but then he straightened up. "The gods are with us," he said. "And so is Luna. She has always been with us."

There was a loud applause. Gladio looked up suddenly. Ardyn Izunia was coming down the steps of the Citadel, as King Regis had painfully descended ten years earlier, together with Captain Drautos, for what would have been the last farewell to his son. He was applauding, amused. Predictably, unlike them, he hadn't aged a minute.

Izunia theatrically held them out his hands. "Welcome, King of Kings. Or should I say, welcome back? I expected nothing less from you, Noctis Lucis Caelum." He turned to the Citadel, looking upwards. "The Gods did a great job. You could have just knocked, you know? I would have let you pass, as I made you all pass at the entrance to Insomnia. You left part of your retinue behind, I see? Were they... detained?"

"Let's get it over with, Izunia," Noctis said, taking a step forward.

Izunia frowned. "What a hurry, King of Kings. The nearly full pantheon of Astrals has gathered here. Nearly," he repeated. "A member of the family was missing from this affectionate rendezvous... Ifrit, the Infernian. He does not share the Glacian's love for mankind. But you can expect a… warm welcome." He pointed to a spot behind his own back. "See you in the Throne Room, King of Kings. I have arranged a delightful alcove, while I patiently awaited your return."

Before any of them could utter a single word, Izunia disappeared into a hell of flames. It was not an illusion – Gladio could well feel the heat. When the fire cleared enough to show what lay beyond, Izunia was gone. In its place, a giant figure seated on a throne.

It can't be Ifrit, Gladio thought, shielding his face from the heat and intense light his eyes were no longer used to. Not even time to think about it, and the Infernian stretched out a hand to them, releasing a column of fire that hit Noctis in full. Noctis rolled to the ground to put out the flames, and Prompto, the closest, was on him, his jacket in hand, with which he wrapped around him to smother them.

A really bad start. Seeing the next attack coming, Gladio sprinted, grabbed Ignis by his arm, and pushed the other two behind an overturned column, hugging them to protect them. Another burst of flames passed a few inches above his head. Gladio felt his ponytail burn, and when the flame passed, he hastened to put it out with his hands. The flames had just licked them, yet he could feel his lungs burning as if he had inhaled molten lava.

"He's not up to talk, evidently," Ignis observed, his voice cracked by a cough.

"Could this be another trial? Maybe he wants to test Noctis and if he's worthy enough he'll help us against Izunia?" Prompto asked.

"Don't talk bullshit," Gladio said sharply, pointing to the Astral. Now that he could see him well, he wondered how they hadn't noticed it right away. Too focused on avoiding the flames, probably. "Don't you see the Scourge? He has been daemonified!"

"What?!"

"Whatever it is, he's attacking us, and I'm not going to die before I face Izunia."

Noctis warped towards the Astral before Gladio could stop him. The years within the Crystal hadn't changed him so much, after all. The Infernian grabbed him on the fly, blocking the warping, and for a moment Gladio believed that everything was over even before starting; but Ifrit just stared at Noctis bored, before hurling him away.

Gladio was at his side and helped him to his feet. At least he hadn't burned him to the bones. How the fuck is he going to do against Ardyn Izunia, if we can't stand up to Ifrit whom Izunia himself bent over? he asked himself in anguish. Was it all in vain? Those ten years, our sufferings, Noct's inside the Crystal, the efforts of Silia and the other Glaives, the Marshal's strenuous resistance?

Ignis and Prompto, however, had not lost heart, and continued to attack the Astral, who did not even deign to rise from his throne; he sat passively, engulfed in flames, occasionally moving an arm or leg to chase them away like pesky flies.

"Gladio," Noctis said, next to him. "You have defeated Gilgamesh. C'mon."

Gladio was not at all sure that Gilgamesh was stronger than an Astral, but he could not back down; he followed Noctis into the flames, delivering a series of powerful combined attacks with him as he felt his rage build up within. Izunia – who knows how the fuck he had managed to do it – had dared to infect an Astral and was using him against them. Noctis could count on the power of the Ring and the Crystal to its full potential, but he saw he hesitated to do so; not out of fear of the consequences this time, Gladio supposed, but because that power was for Izunia.

And finally, Ifrit rose from his throne. He was at least thirty feet tall, and the sword of flames he wielded against them was three times the height of Gladio. Noctis wisely decided to exploit the power of the ice released by the Ring, which he also infused their weapons with and which he used to generate wall that would protect them from the flames.

At some point, ten minutes or ten hours later, Noctis fell on the ground next to him. Gladio saw the flames coming and was unable to do anything other than throw himself on his friend to protect him from the blow. The attack hit him in full, and he felt an unspeakable burning in his back and arms. He closed his eyes. Someone pulled him up – Prompto, he realized, and he also noticed that Noctis was standing shielding them, unharmed – and smashed a healing potion on him. The pain subsided but did not go away.

As he pulled himself up, freeing himself from what was left of the burnt uniform jacket, he felt a warm wind ruffle his hair and lick his face. He summoned the sword again to protect himself from what he supposed to be another attack from the Infernian.

It wasn't. It was a whirlwind, but not flames. Gladio looked up, and saw a huge sword fall a few feet from Ifrit; the ground trembled, and Gladio rubbed his eyes irritated by the heat and smoke, incredulous; it was a broadsword even higher than the Astral, at least fifty feet, a dark broadsword with a golden edge. The handle was so high up that he could not even see it, in the midst of that hell of flames they were in, but he saw something else: the owner of the sword, colossal, majestic, floating above the Citadel. Bahamut unleashed the same attack with which he had contributed to the destruction of the second Wall: hundreds – thousands – swords rained down from above, none of which touched Noctis and his friends.

The Infernian understood the danger, because he started running around the square to dodge the swords, causing further destruction, and they had to pay attention in turn to avoid him. And then Bahamut himself came down to face him. Ifrit was gigantic, but compared to the Draconian, half as tall as the Citadel, he looked like a child. The sword of the Infernian and that of the Draconian crossed in a titanic block.

As in the final battle of the Astral War, Gladio thought, terrified, and then something happened that he would never have expected; next to him, Noctis warped again against the Infernian, using that standoff to attack him. He fell on him from above, holding, among all, his father's sword.

There was an explosion of light, so intense that Gladio had to cover his eyes. When he could see again, the Infernian was on his knees, his sword on the ground, and Bahamut had disappeared.

It's over, he thought, but Ifrit let out a cry that nearly crushed his brain and scrambled to his feet, again engulfed in flames, and launched himself at Noctis. And again, all four were forced to fight. He couldn't understand why the Draconian hadn't finished him. Were the Six – the Five – playing with them again?

Soon was clear, anyway, that Bahamut's swords had hit the mark and Noctis' blow, Gladio realized, had not been without consequences for the Astral; he was beside himself, it was clear, he was moving in an uncoordinated way now, and his flames, though more intense, if possible, could not hit the target. Even in the midst of the fighting fury, Gladio wondered what had happened to that creature, if he was attacking them of his own volition or if Izunia could somehow control him.

And finally, the mangled and rotting body of the Astral fell to its knees again before their eyes. Before they could give him the coup de grace, Gladio noticed a fifth person next to them. Not Izunia, as he immediately thought, but Gentiana again. Shiva.

She passed them, walking elegantly, and they saw her transform before their eyes into the Glacian, floating up to Ifrit, who was – laboriously – getting back on his feet. And then Shiva, again, multiplied, and there were dozens of beautiful ice women surrounding them and the Astral.

Ifrit charged Noctis. Gladio was next to him, broadsword and Genji well stretched in his hands, to counter him, but it was not necessary, because the apparitions of Shiva began to swirl upwards, generating a tornado of ice that blocked the Infernian.

Only one Shiva was left beside Noctis, and she stepped between them as Ifrit slowly turned to ice, keeping – stubbornly – to try to reach them, or perhaps Shiva was his new target. She caught up with him just as the ice blocked the Infernian completely. To Gladio's surprise, she grabbed his chin with both hands – so small compared to the Infernian's enormous stature – and kissed his lips.

Ifrit fell into a thousand pieces. Shiva floated away, and they never saw her again.

Gladio sat down, panting, on the verge of losing consciousness. It had been a grueling battle, more than the fight with Gilgamesh, more than the daemonified Aldercapt and Ravus Nox Fleuret. He rubbed his eyes, trying not to throw up. He was shirtless, he realized, and his back was burning as if he had been skinned. He looked at his blackened arms, the skin here and there completely scorched.

"Are you fine, Gladio?" Ignis asked, approaching, and broke another healing potion on him.

For a moment he could not answer. "I..." he tried to say. "Fuck. Ifrit. Bahamut. And the Glacian."

"Yeah," Prompto said. "Maybe I'll wake up in my bed shortly and find out I've dreamed it all."

"No." Noctis walked over to them, a hand clenched into a fist resting on his heart. His eyes were red – they all had them – his face streaked with tears and sweat from the smoke and fatigue. "It's not a dream. Or, if it's a dream, it's not ours."

He turned again to the Citadel. "We can't even come close to conceiving them," he said, and to Gladio he seemed hallucinated, far from them. "They are beings from another world. Yet, in a time that must be equal to the blink of an eye for them, they ended up looking like us. To experience feelings of hate, revenge, sadness and… love. They talked to me. Bahamut and Shiva, above all. We are as incomprehensible to Bahamut as they are to us. And Shiva…" He seemed to rouse himself. "Sorry. It's time to go."

Without a word, they followed him through the devastation of the square to the steps of the Citadel. Izunia did not show himself.

"This, I have to do it alone. You can't come with me anymore," Noctis said with a half-smile. "You know that, right?"

Nobody answered him. Everyone knew it. And they also knew that if the second Wall had been broken, if Ifrit had been killed, Noctis owed it to the intervention of the Astrals, not theirs. Who knows why, at such a moment, some of the last words his father had addressed to him came to Gladio's mind.

Protect Prince Noctis, Gladiolus. Protect him not as the next King, but as a comrade and friend.

They hadn't come this far to escort him, they hadn't come there to help him in his last fight, they had come to be close to their fraternal friend in his last, difficult, moments.

"You can't help me," he said again, clenching his fists, without looking them in the face. "Not as you would like. You've already given me all the help you could. It's just..."

"What?" Ignis asked, his voice dead.

"Prompto, yesterday you showed me some pictures on your camera. The one we took at Cape Caem before going to Altissia... You told me you always carry it with you, printed."

"Sure," Prompto confirmed. He opened the jacket of the Crownsguard uniform, ruined and scorched after the fight with Ifrit, and took out his wallet from the inside pocket. They had no more money, since from the beginning of the Long Night they were worth as much waste paper, but Prompto kept inside the photographs he was most attached to, some dating back to before the fall of Insomnia, others more recent. Gladio often teased him, but he had never done so about that, because he religiously held on to the ring he wore on his finger, his new talisman after he had returned the tag to Silia so that they could recognize her corpse if something happened to her.

Prompto took out all the photos and handed Noctis the one taken at Cape Caem. The edges were ruined and the colours faded, but the paper it was printed on was fine and had stood the test of time. Gladio leaned over to look at the photo, even though he knew it very well; they had taken it with the self-timer in the underground docking at Cape Caem just before setting sail with Cid. It portrayed not only the four of them, but also Iris, and Talcott, and Monica, and Cid himself, and Cindy. Even the Marshal, and Silia, who had insisted so much on taking it herself, had at last been persuaded to join the group.

It had been one of their last moments of happiness together, before Princess Lunafreya died and Ignis lost his sight. In the photo, Gladio had a composed smile, but he remembered how euphoric he had been that morning, at the thought of the journey and after that crazy night spent with Silia on the beach.

"Can I take it with me?" Noctis asked.

"Of course," Prompto replied, moved. He wiped his eyes. "Take 'em all, if you want."

"No, this will be enough. Thank you, Prompto," the King smiled. He looked at the photo for a moment and let it slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket. "You're the best, guys," he repeated, as he had done that night. "The best friends a person could want. Go now, without looking back. I won't do it."

Gladio made the Crownsguard salute and bowed. "We are counting on you, Your Majesty." And then said, on the verge of the tears, "Take care, Noct."

Prompto saluted and bowed too, and so did Ignis, though he could not have seen that they did too. "Goodbye," he whispered.

"It is I who count on you. Walk tall, my brothers," Noctis said, and climbed the staircase without turning around again.

Gladio felt the aura of daemons condensing behind their back. The huge arms of two Iron Giants emerged from the chipped pavement of the square. He did not move – and so did his comrades – until Noctis reached the top of the staircase and disappeared beyond the gutted windows that led inside the Citadel.

"And I was almost convinced that we could, dunno, go back to Silia and the Marshal and give 'em a hand," Prompto said with a sigh.

"I dare to assume that we will be too busy," Ignis suggested, next to him, bringing up the spear he had been using for many years now, from when he had reset his fighting style. A gift from Aranea Highwind.

"Let's get rid of them," Gladio said, "then let's go back to the others. I don't want to die here. You heard the King. We are counting on him, and he's counting on us. And we've people awaiting us."