Untold Omens
Chapter One: The Missing Act
Winter M.E. 749
The House of Amicitia has served the Lucian Crown for countless generations. Decreed as trusted shields, sons and daughters of the line endure training at a young age in order to fulfill the role of sole protector to the king or queen. With lives devoted entirely to the crown, the Amicitia rely on the Hesters; a line of chamberlain tasked to handle and maintain their daily livelihood.
Jared Hester upheld his position for two generations by the time Clarus Amicitia, Shield to King Regis Lucis Caelum, assumed head of the Amicitia House. Though he intended to carry on for a third generation, when Gladiolus succeeded his father, such faultless dedication proved impossible due to health and age.
Be it fate or luck, the old man had a granddaughter close in age to Gladiolus thus it was decided the successors forge a childhood bond, customary to the current reign of the Lucian Kingdom.
This might have worked under normal circumstances, except… there was nothing normal in regard to sixteen-year-old Aracelis Hester. At a cursory glance, the brunette seemed little more than an ordinary retainer. A guileless, bespectacled young woman in line to a modest house of nobility in service to the crown.
In actuality?
"Ugh, I've reincarnated into an auditing nightmare," mutters Aracelis, dark sable eyes fixed over her grandfather's handwritten ledgers.
By the year 749 of the Modern Era, Aracelis amassed little over a decade of adjusting to her newfound life on Eos.
For the most part, Insomnia resembled any other metropolis of her former memory. Tall buildings, dense population, bureaucracy and of course who could forget good old fashioned bigotry and nepotism. If not for the reigning monarchies and magical walls, she might've presumed to have ended up in some foreign country on earth.
Well… that and the whole going through puberty again bit, mused the brunette. Aracelis brushed a loose strand back, typing away on her laptop with practiced dexterity, albeit the different placement of characters on the Lucian keyboard took some getting used to.
Far from tech savvy, her grandfather registered the Amicitia records in the most archaic manner. Jared's granddaughter remained the sole candidate for the arduous task of scanning and transcribing every file in digital format… not that any of her data entry will matter in six years time.
Who cares about paperwork and numbers when the world is plunged into a decade of endless darkness.
The only reason to bother with the busywork was for the sake of maintaining appearances, complicit with normal expectations.
"Wooh, someone's in trouble!" sang a girlish voice. Aracelis drew her attention to the entrance of her grandfather's office.
"…Iris," Aracelis nudges the glasses up the bridge of her nose. "What are you doing here?"
"Gladdy won't be around at all today!" giggled the small 10-year-old, happy to barge in. The child plops down on a chair across the desk, small hands curl over the seat's edge between her knees. "Which means you can train me today!"
"We spoke about this already Iris," rebuked Aracelis. "The way I fight is not fit for a Lady of the Amicitia family."
"But I've never seen anyone that's not dad beat Gladdy," noted Iris.
In a distant former life, her previously lived identity often sat alone in front of a computer screen, content to practice video game speedruns for days at a time. Not in a position that allowed residence in a safe neighborhood, the scrawny young woman took up Krav Maga as a means of self-defense.
"…Kicking him in the nethers is not exactly a fair fight," retorts the dry older girl. Neither a bodybuilder nor a professional athlete, other disciplines demand years of physical conditioning before useful results. On the other hand, Krav Maga afforded her body type a fighting chance against bigger and stronger assailants.
Despite formal training, if ever faced with more than one opponent at a time Aracelis would have to flee. Unlike the Amicitia, her lithe physique was not built for combat, be it in this life or her last. Unformidable on her own, if the situation arose that called for a weapon, the only logical choice would be firearms.
To her hypothetical misfortune, the Crown City imposed heavy firearm regulation. Permits require one to be at least 18 years of age with extensive background checks, registered members of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive are the primary exception. An attempt to apply to either group would come off as improper and worse, highly suspicious.
"Please Arie! Pretty please! I promise I won't use it on anyone except Gladdy!"
"Pft. Even if I teach you, you're not going to be able to do anything to your big brother until you grow a couple of feet."
"Hmph. You got that right!" A confident voice declared from the doorway.
"Gladdy!" Iris scrambled to sit with courtesy. "I thought you were going to be gone all day?"
"And you are supposed to be studying," retorts Gladdy or more commonly Gladio, arms crossed as he entered the room. "Not bothering Arie to teach you weird stuff."
"As if you don't teach 'weird stuff' yourself, Gladio." Aracelis rolls her eyes. "Shouldn't you be training the prince today?"
"Prince Charmless played hooky."
"…And you're letting him?" Aracelis challenged.
"He wishes," scoffs the young Amicitia. "I need you to access his expense reports and narrow down where the hell he spends his time."
"What makes you think I can do that? I don't have access to royal expense reports. You're looking for a privileged and sheltered 14-year-old boy. Where do you expect him to go? He's probably at the movies with his friends or bombing allowance money at the arcade and—"
A sly grin crossed Gladio's face. Aracelis groaned in realization.
"Let me guess. You need a list of all the theatres and arcades by the prince's school now, don't you?" Her hand slid beneath her glasses to rub her face in annoyance.
Aracelis and Gladio have known one another their entire lives. Between spurious attempts to lord over the Hester girl as her imminent employer, to an unspoken one-sided difference in age and maturity, the pair seldom got along.
If their relationship had to be described in a single word, Aracelis would call it vexing. Not because she hated her childhood friend, far from it. Conflicts often flare due to the simple fact they knew each other too well.
"Yup. I knew you'd figure something out for me." Gladio grins and rests an arm on the doorframe. "You know how to organize the most efficient route to hit all of them in record time."
"Oh yeah?" Aracelis cocks a brow. "Maybe you should do it yourself."
"Come on. Have a heart." He teases, intent to annoy her with mock puppy-eyes.
"Gaah! Arie make him stop!" Iris jumps up and runs behind the older girl. "He's being creepy!"
"Hey!"
"Well you are!" The small girl stuck her tongue out playfully.
"She's got you there," quips Aracelis.
"Whatever, can you get me that list or not?" Gladio grounds, drained of all good humor. "Or just show me how and I'll do it myself."
"Fine, fine," Aracelis resigned. In the long run, it'd be faster to do it herself than to instruct the muscle-headed teen. After all, a knack for pathing is typically honed so speedrunners can optimize time for fastest routes.
Due to past experience with web mapping services, it took no effort to create a markup route of the city center, tagged with all the likely places one might encounter the wayward prince.
"Here, now go away," shooed Aracelis once she handed him the printout.
"Thank you, my faithful chamberlain." Gladio intoned in jest, mood volatile as he glances over the punctuated sheet. "…Got time to come along and help?"
"Look—The prince is your responsibility, not mine."
"You think I don't know that? It'd be faster if you man the car while I get out and search. It's going to be impossible for me to get around with public transportation and all the way back to the Citadel by curfew."
"That sounds like your problem." Aracelis refused, all but done with him. "I'm busy."
Gladio crumpled the sheet in his hand before he turned his heel to leave the room.
"Fine. Be like that," growled the older teen storming away.
"What a grumpy butt!" Iris exclaims. "Come on, Arie. I guess now we can start my training!"
Silent, Aracelis lingers on Gladio's retreating form.
"Arie?" The youngest Amicitia tugs on the older girl's sleeve.
After brief consideration, Aracelis realized it really would take a lot of time with rush hour coming in. Besides, she might as well use this ploy to get out of training Iris Amicitia. Iris received a guilty pat on the head.
"Let's… do a rain check on training today."
"No fair!" Iris objected. "You always say that…"
"We'll train next time, okay?" The older girl offered as she circles around the desk to make her escape out the door.
Bound for the garage in a brisk stride, Gladio studied the sheet then paused when Aracelis drew near. He glanced back with a questioning look. A knowing grin broke on his face as she led the rest of the way.
Though technically underaged, Gladio acquired unique privileges for her to undergo driving exams for her 15th birthday. The black car she used most often belonged to the Amicitia family but between her and Gladio, they conspired to convince Clarus it was a necessity.
Behind the wheel, Aracelis drove from the Amicitia Estates toward the neighboring highway.
"Doesn't the prince have minders?" She asked.
Ironically, in all her time on Eos, Aracelis has yet to make the formal acquaintance of Final Fantasy XV's main character, Noctis.
Holding no clue as to how exactly someone comes to end up in a make-believe fantasy world was bad enough. Worse yet was knowing what's to come. Her grandfather ill fated to a forgettable death on account of his affiliations with the Amicitia family. Nonetheless, if forced to engage further in the prince's life beyond mere association, Aracelis feared how much bigger the target could become on her, and her new family.
As she cannot join the ranks of Crownsguard nor Kingsglaive, it'd be wiser they remain strangers. Even more so now since Noctis entered high school, crucial years he develops his closest bonds with his future retinue. Aracelis must not dare risk any disruption. The fate of the world depended on them after all.
"He gave them the slip," Gladio explained. "Learned how to warp and phase a while ago. Little shit's been using it to escape his guards."
"Sounds like he needs better guards."
"More like a thorough ass whooping." His voice rumbles in annoyance. "He needs to know every action he makes has consequences. He can't just act like a child."
"Ignoring the fact he is a child," retorts Aracelis. "Corporal punishment is rather archaic, don't you think?"
"Sometimes the classics are the best teachers," dismisses the young shield casually, then sits up to tap the dashboard. "Stop here, I think I see him."
Aracelis followed his line of sight. True to his word, they spied the prince clad entirely in black, content to amble down the street as if any other misfit teen. The car was double-parked in haste to allow the Amicitia to fetch the boy.
Noctis answered the sight of his shield with a dark scowl. He shrugged the older teen's hand off his shoulder as the two began a cold exchange.
Her brow knit from a sense of mounting uncertainty.
Something's wrong…
Gladio has not been shy to condemn the prince in the past. Aracelis never gave it much thought, marking away his grievance for exasperated fondness.
From what could be recalled, Noctis and Gladio were prone to butt heads with one another from time to time. Yet, the longer she observed the prince and shield, the more she noted genuine disdain between the two.
Back straight and chin raised, Gladio towered over Noctis in the stance of a seething authoritarian. In turn, the obstinate prince could care less for his shield's existence.
Aracelis frowned as they began to make a scene. The immovable prince locked his knees and unbalanced his weight so the older teen was forced to steer him into the car. Gladio waited just long enough for the younger boy to tuck his knees in before he slammed the door shut and took the passenger side.
"Your highness," Aracelis met Noctis. The raven haired prince snubbed her in favor of resting his chin to his hand, intent to gaze out the window.
"Ignore him." Gladio snarls as he buckled in. "Just head back to the Citadel."
Aracelis spared a glance at the solemn prince once more before she merged back into traffic.
There was something evocative about the way Noctis sat in the backseat, a forlorn gaze cast out the window.
A sense of déjà vu came over her amid the wrongness of it all.
By the time they arrived, dusk had begun to set. A soft orange hue played on the Citadel's stone surface as the sky darkens to night.
"Thank you for the help, Aracelis." Gladio spoke cordially once they exit the car.
This left a bad taste since Gladio never uses her full name unless in formal company. The only other person around now is the prince, but it made no sense for him to act this way around Noctis…
"…Will you need a ride back to the estates later? If the prince requires a ride, I don't mind coming back."
"To where? By the time he's done training, it'll be his curfew. He won't be able to go anywhere." A teasing glint lit the Amicitia's eye. "Unless… you wanna come pick me up."
"Hmm… maybe not," replied Aracelis airily. She enjoyed the confusion on Gladio's face and the prince's hasty attempt to hide a snicker behind a well-timed cough. "I hope you have a good evening, your highness."
"Night." Noctis bid her farewell with a lazy wave as they turned to head into the Citadel.
The car steered through the roundabout and out the front gates. From the looks of things, the prince is still living at the Citadel instead of his own apartment. Not quite a glaring concern, as it is possible he simply moves out at a later date. Yet, the altercation between the shield and prince sullied her peace of mind.
The girl began to tap an irregular beat on her steering wheel. Rather than wait in heavy traffic a moment longer, she tried a quieter path back home.
The street lights were much dimmer on the local streets and when a hapless jogger came across the headlights of her car, she barely managed to slam her foot on the break in time. A look of panic crossed the blond's face before he tripped over his own feet and hit the ground.
"Shit!" whispers Aracelis, her face white with terror as she yanked up her brakes. With the car secured, she kicked her door open and scrambled out. "Hey! You okay!?"
Outlined in powerful, bright light a hefty, blond teenage boy sat barely a foot in front of her car. The wide-eyed young man turned his attention to her, stunned and shaken by the close call. He waved away her concern and attempted to recompose himself.
"I'm fine."
"Thank goodness." She said, relieved to see him get up without any trouble. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. Maybe next time, wear some reflectors if you decide to jog at night."
"Umm… Guess I should've been more careful…"
"Are you going to be alright? I can drive you home or to the hospital."
"Huh? N-No." The younger boy averts his gaze. "You really don't have to. No need to go through the trouble for—"
A resident stuck his head out a nearby window to check on the commotion.
"Is everything all right?" An old man demanded as he eyed the blond, the car and Aracelis in turn.
"Everything's fine. Just a little acci—" The blond bit back his words to change his phrasing. He trailed off, a finger pressed to his chin. "I mean…"
The old man frowns, a scrutinizing eye beset Aracelis and her vehicle once more. "…Are you sure, Prompto?"
"Totally. No need to worry about me, sir."
Any other time, Aracelis would readily dissuade the nosy old man from getting needlessly involved, yet she stood transfixed by the sizable teen she nearly ran over.
The man called him Prompto, the prince's gunslinger high school friend turned Crownsguard. Blond hair, blue eyes and glasses were a bit too general of a description to accurately identify someone, but what were the chances of someone with those identifiers to also be named Prompto? Not to mention, this Prompto seemed like a good 30-40 pounds heavier. Not obese, but not exactly battle ready either.
"Excuse me." Aracelis levied a clumsy inquiry. "If you don't mind my asking, do you happen to attend Mysidia Academy by any chance?"
"…Um, y-yeah." The boy chews on his lip in wary confusion. He tilts his head, then smiles. "Wait! How did you know?"
This kid really is Prompto.
From the looks of things, Prompto isn't friends with the prince yet. The sense of wrongness returned again, this time more daunting than with Gladio and Noctis previous.
"Just a passing curiosity." Aracelis fought back a wave of regret as she undertook her next actions. "Hey listen, I feel really bad for nearly running you over, so…"
She returned to her car to rummage through her bag. While some might call it tacky for someone her age to carry around business cards, she enjoyed the convenience of not having to write down her contact information.
"Here's my number, feel free to call me if you need anything."
"Huh!?" Prompto gaped at her. "Really!?"
"Yes, I insist." Aracelis grabbed hold of his hand and held the card in place until he relented. Judging by his behaviour, she couldn't determine for sure if he would bother, but this gave her an excuse to approach him at a later date if need be.
Something was definitely wrong, and it was up to her to find out what.