Day 4:

She had woken up.

Was this… real?

The cold marble beneath her bare feet felt real. The smooth glass of the mirror felt real. Father had felt real.

But so had everything else. Everything for ten years.

Ten years.

The face staring out at her from the mirror wasn't her. She dragged her hands over her cheeks; she could feel them, see them in the mirror, but it couldn't be her reflection. Her skin was clear and pale, with barely a hint of those twisting scars that had once covered her whole body. Her eyes were blue: true blue, not that ice-whitened blue that they had bleached to. In spite of the four days she had apparently spent unconscious and abed, her face was fresh, her cheeks full, her eyes bright.

Had she ever been so young?

It had been a Dream. It had all been a Dream. Ten years and so many regrets undone. She should have felt happy about it. Instead she felt lost.

She drifted through her shower, hardly feeling the pound of the hot water against her skin. Was it her skin? Was this her body? It was awake—she knew this was awake—but somehow the last ten years seemed more real than the past few days. More real than right now. It couldn't be possible. Father alive. Insomnia saved. Had she truly done all of that?

The face in the mirror looked no more familiar when she wiped a patch clean of fog. A little cleaner, but no more like her than it had before. She wrapped in a towel and left the bathroom for her father's bedroom. It was empty. The door to the lounge was closed, but beyond she could hear voices. Muffled.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows, the sun hung bright over Insomnia. She stopped by the window and pressed her hand to the glass. No buildings had fallen. At least none she could see from this direction. And the sun. When had she last seen it? Four days ago, likely, but those were really just a dream. The real kind, which turned fuzzy and incomprehensible as soon as she woke.

Insomnia. Whole and bright and populated by people—not daemons.

She tore her eyes away. No portrait in memoriam hung over Father's bed. No black and white roses. He was still alive and not some pile of bones in the basement.

The muffled voices outside the door moved closer and farther away. She heard Father and Clarus and Cor.

Cor.

Cor, whom she had once convinced to let her past that stony exterior, and then pushed him away. Cor, whom she had allowed to believe she was controlled by daemons. Cor, whose last words to her had been an apology for failing her, though he had never once done so.

She stepped toward the door but stopped herself. She was wearing only a towel. When she had lived in the Citadel, her rooms had been across the hall from Father's, but hadn't she stayed here? Had she kept clothes in Father's room? She must have.

She crossed to his wardrobe, pulled it open, and found, alongside a row of familiar suits, an array of dresses. Silk and chiffon and satin in black and gold, soft and delicate beneath her fingers, and inlaid with glittering gems. Was this how she had dressed ten years ago?

She backed away, leaving the wardrobe doors open. She couldn't wear those dresses. They belonged to someone else. Whoever she was now, it wasn't the girl who had worn these. She wasn't even the Daemon Queen anymore.

Or was she?

The crimson line of magic still ran from her to Ardyn; the Starscourge still lingered, cold and coiled up inside her, waiting for her to drop her guard so it could take over. Hadn't she commanded the daemons? Hadn't she used them?

But she didn't need to be that person anymore. She didn't need to push everyone away; she didn't need to sacrifice herself; she didn't need to rely on Ardyn's favor.

Then the question remained:

If she wasn't the Daemon Queen and she wasn't Princess Reina...

Who was she?

She was still sitting on his bed, wrapped in a towel, and staring across at the open doors of the wardrobe without truly seeing anything inside, when her father returned.

"Reina?"

She looked up. Father was standing in the doorway, as if no time had passed. It didn't matter that she had seen him an hour ago. She had watched him die so many times in the past ten years; this wasn't real

"You're alive." Her voice cracked.

"Ah, Reina, my little princess." He crossed the room to her in a few steady strides, hardly leaning on his cane, which he tossed onto the bed beside her before sitting down. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. "I am, my dear. Thanks to you."

She clung to his arm, but her eyes remained dry. In all those years she had shed so many tears for him. She had none left. Everything was just cold and confused. Grief, but backwards. Maybe in another ten years, she would be able to believe he was alive even when he left her sight.

He held her for as long as she cared to sit leaning against him. And when, at length, she sat up, he looked on her kindly with a sad smile.

"Feeling better?" He asked.

"I don't know. I don't know what to feel. Relieved, but more confused than I can express."

"Well perhaps you would like to get dressed. I always find that an excellent place to start processing a myriad of impossible questions."

"I don't know what to wear," Reina said.

He should have told her how stupid this was. Instead he sat beside her and joined her in staring at the open doors of the wardrobe.

"It's like trying to put on someone else's skin and pretending to be them," she said.

"And what is it that feels natural?" He asked.

Reina shook her head. Nothing felt natural. The last ten years of her life had never happened.

They sat for a while in silence. He might have been actually looking at the clothes hanging in his wardrobe. She wasn't.

"My dear," he said at length, "I cannot tell you who you are now, but I can tell you that, over the years, I have known many Reinas: the one who frequently fell on her nose in the garden when her feet got away from her; the one who did not know how to tie her shoes and still insisted on doing it herself; the one who became her brother's voice when he refused to speak; the one who was the face of the royal family and ruled half the kingdom on her own—and every single one of them has had some core commonalities."

"What commonalities?"

"All of them have loved their brother and their father—"

"I still love you and Noctis."

"—All of them have loved the rain and had a penchant for playing in puddles—though I believe they all preferred the snow most of all."

Rain. Snow. Those had all ceased over the ten years of darkness. No living plants, save those in the greenhouses. No rainfall. The only precipitation she had seen in eight years had been what she created in the In-Between. She missed the hush of the world in winter, the patter of raindrops, the smell of wet pavement.

"Rain is nice," she said. "Snow is better."

"—All of them have chosen, without contest, a brownie over any other food available."

Food. A concept nearly as unfamiliar as precipitation. Had she eaten a brownie in ten years? Perhaps. There must have been a time when she had eaten readily and without coercion, but she couldn't remember it. And yet, for the first time in all those years, sweets almost sounded appetizing.

"Most of them have wanted to hit Cor with a practice staff at any given time—"

"Only because I hated seeing myself reflected so clearly," Reina said.

He paused, giving her a curious look.

"But I still want to hit him," she said.

He laughed, smoothed his hand over her hair, and pulled her into a sideways hug.

"And all of them have always been willing to fall back on one single clothing staple." He rose and crossed toward the dresser.

"What?"

He pulled something out and threw it at her—a long-sleeved, white T-shirt. The same kind he slept in.

Reina held it up in front of her, pressing the material between her fingers; it was soft and tightly-woven. Familiar and smelling of cedar and clean linen.

This.

This didn't feel like trying to be someone else.

She held it to her chest and smiled up at him. "Thank you."

"My dear, it is quite literally the least I can do. Now—" He moved back across the room and stopped in front of her, though he didn't sit. "—Are you hungry? Would you like to see the others? Cor has been waiting impatiently outside for the better part of an hour, but I fear I do not have a practice glaive on hand with which to strike him."

"I would like to see Cor—and everyone else. And yes, I'm famished."

Which was a strange sensation. Not the physical feeling of hunger, but the mental desire to actually eat.

"The second first: what would you like to eat?" He asked. "Besides a brownie. Or, shall I say, in addition to a brownie. Ah—"

"Curry—"

"Curry," he said at the same time. "See? Some things never change. I will have something brought up—in the meantime, whom, precisely, do you include in 'everyone'?"

"Cor—"

"Already awaiting you."

"Noctis, Ignis, Iris, Prompto, Gladio—Clarus, if he is well enough—and… is Ravus still here?"

"He is. As is Lunafreya."

Oh. Luna. Had she really told everyone that Reina wanted the Astrals dead, or had that been a dream? She owed them so many answers and scarcely knew where to begin.

"Them as well, I suppose."

Had she missed anyone?

Her father cleared his throat. "Your—I know not what to call him—associate? The imperial chancellor—has been haunting the Citadel halls since you fell unconscious. I daresay he has been waiting as well, but it is certifiably impossible to glean any information from him. Quite unsettling."

"Ardyn!"

"If he can be found, I shall have him brought here…?" He made it a question.

"He'll come regardless." He already knew she was awake. When she focused, she could just sense the subtle motion in the line that bound them and the shortening of the ties. "He's already on his way."

She caught the look of confusion on her father's face but he said nothing.

"I will explain everything once everyone is assembled," she said.

"There is no need—if you do not wish to elaborate or if you are not ready to speak of it, no one shall hold that against you," he said gently.

Oh to lock everything away and allow it to pass, unknown. But they deserved to know. What she had done, what she had become—she had thought to die for those sins but instead she had been reborn.

"No," she said. "No, I need to explain everything. I need everyone to know."

He seemed to accept that and left her to get dressed—such as it was—and run a comb through her hair while he stepped outside. When she was feeling a little more comfortable in her skin, she followed.

The councillors and whoever else had been there when Reina had first woken were now all gone. Her father's private lounge now contained only two people: Clarus, sitting in a wheelchair on the far side of the coffee table, and Cor in one of the armchairs.

Cor rose as soon as she entered. "Your Highness—"

"Please don't call me that—it makes me think you're displeased with me," she said.

"Reina," Cor amended.

"Cor," she said.

Cor: years younger than she remembered him and yet exactly the same. He was holding all his weight on his left leg; a crutch leaned against his armchair and he left it there.

Exactly the same.

She took a step forward, then another, until she was half-running to throw her arms around his neck. It took a moment—had she ever hugged him before in this lifetime?—but he did hug her back.

This was what it felt like. This was what it felt like to have someone who would always stand by her. This was what it felt like to have Cor back.

"I missed you so much." A tear streaked down her cheek, against her will, betraying the weakness that she hadn't been letting herself feel for so long.

"I never left," Cor said.

They stood that way until the door opened again. Reina had long since forgotten that Clarus was in the room and that they were waiting for her father to return with the others. And food. She released Cor only reluctantly; her father gave them both a curious look, but ultimately said nothing. It was only the beginning of a long series of reunions.

One by one or two by two the others all arrived. She gave them each a hug; it felt like the first time she had seen them in so long.

Noctis, still just a boy and yet, somehow, more a king than she ever remembered him being before; Reina hugged him tight and fierce, remembering the last time they had been together before—standing on the steps outside the Citadel and saying goodbye for the last time. He had been torn apart to see her make that sacrifice for him; he hadn't understood that she wanted it so much more than anything else.

Ignis, whole and unscarred, exactly the way she remembered him from years ago. It was nearly as strange to stand before him as it was to stand before Cor. At least she had been able to say goodbye to Ignis and know he didn't hate her. But he still deserved better.

She hugged him and stared into his eyes. His eyes. Green instead of grey. And him, still so full of life and light; this was an Ignis who had never questioned his place in the world, never wondered if he would be able to do his duty. That made him feel farther away than he had once. Years ago, they had shared uncertainty. Now he didn't wonder anymore. He never had.

Iris, so bright—brighter than anyone had any right to be—was just a little girl again; Reina hugged her and tried to share a sliver of that light. She wouldn't have to grow up amidst darkness and daemons anymore, but all those nights they had sat on the rooftop of the Leville and just talked—or not—had never happened.

Reina even hugged Gladio and Prompto—it was nice to know she was just Noctis' sister to them again. They had never looked at her sidelong in disgust. They had never wondered whose side she was on.

She did not hug Luna, who regarded her stonily, but, after a long moment of consideration, she did hug Ravus. He had been dead for so long. She had never forgiven herself for not saving him while she had the chance. Once he regained enough of his composure to hug her in return, he patted her back awkwardly.

And then there was Ardyn.

Ardyn, waltzing in without invitation or admission. No one had let him into the upper levels and yet, there he was, all the same, as she had known he would be.

Of everyone, it was strangest to stand before him and know that he had none of the memories of her that she had of him. And it hurt the most. Everyone else had lost more of the bad than the good. But Ardyn…

He had never really cared for her. Not like Ignis had. But he had loved her, in his own way. He was passion and he was hatred, buried deep down beneath the smiles. And she had been there, where no one else ever had. And they had understood each other. For a time. For a time he had been everything she had. More than once he had been the only reason she survived until Noctis' return.

"Ardyn."

"Were you really intending to have a grand reunion without yours truly? How very unkind of you, little Dreamer."

Ardyn, at least, had never changed. "I knew you would come, regardless. You always could find me."

"Yes…" He gave her that curious, searching look—half-intrigued, half-puzzled. "Well you owe me a story, little Dreamer."

She owed everyone a story. It was going to be a very long one.

Before she could begin, Luna stepped forward. "Forgive the interruption, King Regis, Noctis, but you cannot understand whom you have welcomed into your home."

Her eyes fixed on Ardyn, who dropped into an armchair with an impassive smile.

"Reina has requested his presence," Father said. "And so he shall be permitted in our halls, Imperial Chancellor or not."

"Former Imperial Chancellor," Ardyn corrected. "Let's be fair. The little Dreamer has neatly dismantled Niflheim in a single evening. I expect I would find very little to return to, if I were so inclined."

"It is not his imperial allegiance I allude to, Your Majesty," Luna said. "This man is the heart of darkness on Eos. The soul of the Starscourge, and the reason why the plague has continued to persist for two thousand years."

Silence fell at her revelation. A servant crept in to deliver Reina's dinner. Reina sat down, lifting the brimming bowl of vegetable curry and rice, suddenly ravenous for the first time within memory. When had she last eaten, even in this lifetime?

"It is his death that the prophecy spells," Luna continued. "And his destruction that requires the ultimate sacrifice from Noctis. By his very nature, he seeks the death of all Caelums, but most especially of Noctis."

The bowl was too hot to hold in her bare hands. Reina drew the too-long sleeves of her father's shirt up to shield her skin from the heat. She could hardly recall the taste of home-cooked curry, but the smell alone made her mouth water.

"You may recognize him by another name, Your Majesty. In the history of Lucis, he is known as Adagium," Luna said.

"Adagium?" Noctis asked. "What is that, Dad?"

"A legend, nothing more."

"Oh, but I am so much more," Ardyn said.

"You see?" Luna said. "He does not even attempt to deny it. This man is a monster in disguise. The monster Noctis must vanquish if light is ever to come to Eos."

"Reina?" Father called her attention from her bowl of curry. It took her that long to notice everyone in the room was staring at her, waiting for her to deny Lunafreya's accusations. "Is this true?"

She swallowed a mouthful of hot curry—it was good, though not as good as Ignis used to make—and glanced around the room. They wanted her to explain, in a word, whether or not Ardyn was the monster at the heart of the scourge. They wanted her to say no and set all their minds at ease, or say yes and reveal the truths that had taken her years to uncover, understand, and accept. Neither response was true.

Ardyn was smirking at her across the lounge. He was just as curious as the rest about what she would say—though for a different reason. He still had only the vaguest notion how much she knew of him.

"The truth is more complicated," Reina said.

Solheim fell before her eyes. The wicked had wrought the Starscourge, oh yes. If by 'wicked,' they meant 'any who dare defy the Astrals.' That had been centuries before Ardyn's time. And yet they laid that blame at his feet as well. Perhaps Solheim had deserved their punishment, but had the rest of Eos? Had twenty-five hundred years of mortals across the world deserved to be punished for an event they knew nothing of? Solheim had all but passed out of remembrance. It was little more than a few shattered ruins in what was now Lucis and Tenebrae.

"The Astrals themselves made him as he is," Reina said. "They created the scourge."

A collective intake of breath followed her words.

"Impossible," Luna said, though no one paid her much mind.

"The full explanation is knit with my tale, so I would ask for some patience before we reach that point," Reina said.

They seemed to accept this; any objections or questions were tucked away with minimal fuss and everyone was seated in the central lounge. Reina finished off her curry while the others settled. She ended up curled comfortably between her father and Cor.

And she told the story.

They had left Insomnia without returning and so Insomnia had fallen. This was all distant, far enough removed that it no longer hurt to think about. It was more like recounting someone else's tale. And besides, it had all been subverted already. The girl she had been in those days was so different from who she had become that it no longer seemed like she had experienced those things at all.

The situation had changed in Altissia, but she had still been just a little girl trying to take care of Ignis because he reminded her of Father.

Luna had died. Ravus had died. Noctis had been trapped.

And the darkness had begun.

"Father always said a kingdom can't be ruled by only one person and a king can't survive alone. So I tried to build a retinue of my own. First Ignis—"

Even sitting across the lounge he seemed too close for comfort. She could feel the heat of his body, see every detail of his scarred face, taste his lips on hers.

"Who will it be, little Dreamer? The man who knows everything about you—your deepest secrets, your darkest desires—who embraces all of you, who can give you everything you have ever wanted…? Or the man who can't see what's right in front of his nose?"

Reina tore her eyes away from him and stared at her hands. It was only her imagination.

"Then Iris." Her voice trembled. Her eyes were drawn upward. She had to see. She had to know.

"I can't do this anymore, Rei." Iris shook her head. "I can't do it. I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. If you wanna be some daemon queen ruling Lucis from the shadows then… just don't take anyone else with you."

Her breath caught in her chest. She hadn't done that. None of that had happened. It hadn't really happened.

"And Cor," Reina managed.

He was right beside her. He had loved her once, when he had believed she was still herself. Now he stared at her with that harsh, cold look on his face.

"If there is anything left of her inside… you tell her I still love her. And that… I'm sorry I failed her." He turned away, not even looking over his shoulder as he spoke the last words in an undertone, almost to himself: "I should have been stronger."

Hot tears streamed down her face. "It's still me, Cor… I'm still inside."

He never even looked back.

"Reina?"

Cor was in front of her. Too young to be real.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never meant to hurt anyone but myself."

"What?" He asked.

"Reina, my dear, listen to me." Father's hands gripped her shoulders, turned her to face him. "That was not real. I know not what memories plague your mind, but they never occurred."

Father was real, not like he had been in the In-Between. She had always made him to look healthier. She blinked back tears. His thumbs smoothed over her cheeks, drying the ones that had already fallen.

"What—what year is it?" She asked.

His brow furrowed. "Seven fifty-six."

"Seven fifty-six," she repeated.

Seven fifty-six. The year Insomnia had fallen. But it hadn't. She was sitting in the Citadel.

The year was seven fifty-six and Insomnia had never fallen.

She tore her eyes away from her father. The lounge was full and all eyes were trained on her. Iris was only fifteen. Noctis was just a boy. Ignis could see. Cor didn't hate her.

"Perhaps it would be best if we concluded this another time," her father said—not to her, but to the assembled crowd.

Reina couldn't say anything. The whole lounge was overlaid by a foggy world where the sun never broke through the dark and everyone she had loved was dead or gone.

Ignis walked away. Iris walked away. Cor walked away.

"Please don't," she whispered. "Please don't leave."

Father's arms were her only refuge in that nightmare. Just like they had always been.

When she could see the lounge again, it was empty except for Father and Noctis. And it was growing dark outside.

Her eyes caught on the windows: the setting sun and darkening sky. Lights were on across Insomnia, even though they had never run power lines from Lestallum to Cavaugh.

"It's seven fifty-six," she repeated to herself. A mantra. "Insomnia never fell. The sun still shines."

It was harder to believe that last one when blackness was stretching across the sky, swallowing up orange and violet.

"Noctis." Father's voice rumbled in his chest, close and comforting. "Close the blinds and turn on these lights."

She stared at the purple sky until it was gone. Light filled the lounge and poured down the hall, chasing shadows from every corner. It was so bright she could nearly forget the outside world was dark.

"Reina…?"

Father was watching her even as she watched Noctis turning on every light he could find.

"I'm fine." The lie was so automatic. It was part of who she was—or had become.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I believe it is time you were abed again."

Sleep. She craved it so much and couldn't have it. Not yet. Not until Noctis returned.

"Anything else?" Noctis was standing in front of the sofa.

It was seven fifty-six. She could sleep. Not the endless black sleep of death she had craved for so long. Noctis was here. Father was alive. Insomnia hadn't fallen. She didn't want to die.

But she was so tired. Was sleep supposed to fix that?

"I can't sleep," she said.

"You cannot?" Father asked. "Or you could not within your Dream?"

"It's the same thing."

"No, my dear, it is not. This you must see. And if you cannot, then you must learn to." He stood, drawing her along with him. "Come, my dear. To bed. Thank you, Noctis. I believe I shall manage from here."

The lights followed where they went. Down the hall and into Father's chambers, spilling over and illuminating lounge, bedroom, and bathroom all. She was still wearing only his shirt. She had nothing worth changing into even if she had wanted to.

Father pulled back the blankets on his bed. "Climb in, my dear."

"I won't be able to sleep," she said, but she did as he said anyway.

He tucked her in tightly. "Shall I leave the lights on?"

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

"In time." He lifted his eyebrows at her. "Though I thought I might not sleep in my suit tonight."

He withdrew, leaving her with a kiss and the lights all on, and closing the bathroom door behind him. She stared at the ceiling for a time, too tired even to close her eyes. The shower ran in the adjacent room. This was not the In-Between. This was real. This was awake.