Regis wondered what made a good father.
He watched his eldest throw a dagger at a dummy made of straw and padding, throwing his hand out as if to follow it, but his magic did not answer him.
He wondered at how his own father felt when he trained to wield the magic singing through his blood at the tender age of twelve, despite wanting to wait until he was sixteen.
But war would not wait for wanting.
It had been just after Accordo fell, just after the first magitek weapon was able to disrupt the border of the old, expanded wall. He hadn't known it then, frustrated at himself for his lack of ability, knives and other assorted weaponry all over the floor, but he'd learn.
It would be seven years before he fought his way to Accordo, but his father hadn't known that, standing behind him in a room they and all their forefathers used to learn to wield their magic.
It had the black floors of all other rooms used for training, but the walls were white and resistant to any and all magic, so much so that it was impossible to warp through them.
Some mad combination of what little ancient Lucian scholars and researchers could scavenge from the ruins of Solheim (even then, Niflheim had taken all they could first), and The Mystic's genius, Regis did not pretend to know how it was capable of doing so.
Why was answered by any historical account of the War of the Astrals, even if that technology ultimately failed them.
Noct threw a second dagger with more force, the point hitting its heart even as his magic failed him again. He made an annoyed noise at himself and stared down at his hand, eager to please and show he was capable, and easily frustrated when he couldn't.
That quick to anger attitude, Regis knew, came from him. He hadn't seen it in himself since the day he left Insomnia. He'd argued for hours beforehand for the chance to free Accordo, whether by diplomacy or by force, but had been denied. His father, perhaps, knew he'd fail before he stormed out of the throne room, or was simply trying to protect his headstrong idiot of a son.
Regis would never know which.
"I have every confidence that you will achieve this, Noct, but it will happen no sooner if you lose your focus," Regis told him.
Noct heard him but looked no less frustrated as he went to retake the daggers.
Like father, like son, indeed.
Regis turned his attention to his youngest, unsurprised by the unscarred dummy in front of him, and somehow even less so by the flash of a small dagger as it spun upwards, then was caught by a smaller hand.
It looked far too tiny for it (he was too young for it, for this).
Despite an attempt to persuade him, Arc still seemed far more interested in discovering new ways to test the weight of his blade.
Obstinate, came to Regis first. Not the same stubbornness that drove Noct to silent anger, but one born out of a refusal to follow directions when he knew he could get away with it.
This—this was Aulea.
It was the commoner girl in his elementary class who refused to go easy on him during playtime (she'd pushed him out of a tree in fact, to the horror of everyone around her), who'd taken it upon herself to decide she was his better (and would remind him of that fact when she thought he became too full of himself).
It was her eyes that Arc looked at him with. He used to tell her they looked like limes, and she would refute this by saying they looked like grasshoppers, and then collect them in cups to show him.
Regis felt a bone-deep exhaustion that would only worsen in the years to come, and achingly sad like his father must've been.
You never would've wanted this for them, he thought to Aulea, and would keep thinking until the end of time.
He always intended to honor his father by teaching his sons and daughters to warp at no age younger than sixteen. But his hand was forced, as it always was.
Noct had warped once already during Iedolas' attack. The crownsguard present that night had made similar enough reports to indicate that Arc had at least tapped into his magic.
Regis could only delay for so long with the knowledge that it would only take an accidental, untrained warp for him to lose one or both of his sons.
Still, he hesitated to re-traumatize them.
At twelve, Regis had been groping around in the dark for the power he was born with, searching for his magic without knowing how it felt, or what, exactly, he was looking for.
At nine, Noct met all the requirements for him to, at the very least, be able to use his magic freely, but he couldn't. Regis knew he hadn't tried a single time.
His council had asked why, and Regis feigned not having an answer.
Why, indeed, would a child who'd first warped during the most traumatic moment of his life have trouble doing so again without putting himself back there?
He watched Noct fail a third time, then turned his attention, again, to Prince Ravus sitting awkwardly on the floor, looking for all the world like he had little idea of why he'd been asked to join them.
Regis knew he himself would be of limited help to his sons. His father had been little help to him, seen by his boyish self as a set of expectant eyes, a presence that thought him capable of more, a mouth whose advice seemed to spell out his own inadequacy.
Ravus did not come pre-packaged with expectations, nor was he unable to put himself in Noct's shoes like Gladiolus, or inexperienced like young Ignis.
Ravus had proven himself to be someone his sons trusted with their weaknesses. It was more than telling that neither Noct nor Arc had sought him out before they found themselves in Ravus' room.
Noct agitatedly swiped sweat off his forehead, though it had only been a few minutes since they began.
"Arcturus," Regis finally said, with some authority, because he could only afford to be so soft.
Arc's smile faded. He looked at the dummy, drew his arm back, and threw it so hard his body rocked forward. It lodged in its forehead, but he made no attempt to use it as an anchor.
Regis did not want to break him, haunted as he was by the terror his youngest had held the night of the attack, but neither could he allow him or Noct to bow out of this.
Harden your heart, he heard Clarus discreetly whisper over his shoulder.
Regis moved to clasp Arc's shoulder, only to pause with his hand outstretched as Ravus stood. He looked first at Noct, who was breathing heavily, then he came and crouched in front of Arc, all the while not-so-discreetly ignoring that Regis was there.
Regis let his hand fall away.
"Do you want me to touch you?" Ravus asked.
Arc shook his head and his small shoulders hunched.
Noct's dagger slipped out of his hand as he went to throw it, and his teeth clenched as it hit the ground. He didn't pick it up.
Harden your heart.
How much more would it cost him to keep doing so?
"I don't pretend to understand Caelum magic, more than what I've studied—" Ravus pressed a hand to the floor to keep his balance, finding Arc's arms suddenly around his neck. He hesitated only a moment before patting his back. "I may not understand, but I'll listen if you let me."
Regis barely heard what was said. A whisper of a dark place where there was nothing that made the ring feel uncomfortably warm, mumblings about the Marilith, the deaths of the crownsguard, and terrible sobs as he grasped at Ravus, gasps about never wanting to be there again muffled by his shoulder.
Noct trembled, scrubbing at his eyes with his arm, refusing to make a sound even as Regis pulled him against his side.
It was his duty to ensure they were prepared to face any dangers that might come their way, but it also was his duty to never overburden them and do all he could to understand them.
His own father had watched him leave the throne room without a word and had been similarly silent when he returned, scarred and exhausted and beaten, with only one of the friends he'd left with.
His time in Accordo had broken his will to fight. Weskham had remained unshakable, and so stayed. The decision to pull back the wall had been made during his absence, and the war the Empire waged against the newly unprotected Lucians had brought Cid to tears.
Even Clarus had been shaken by the brutality of it.
Mors had watched him collapse at the bottom of the stairs, and he'd thought that his silence said, I told you so. But now he looked at Noct, found no words to erase what he'd been through, and understood his father.
"The answer, I think, is for you to take me with you," Ravus said.
Arc drew out of his hold, shaking his head and unable to speak.
Ravus stayed on his knees. "If there is something to face, I have little choice but to face it for you, don't I? Or was it a lie when you called me your elder brother?"
Arc shook his head harder. "What if I disappear?"
Regis unconsciously tightened his hold on Noct. His youngest son, and he hadn't known this.
He wondered if his father had ever felt the burden of the crown as he did now. He'd spared all the time he could for his sons, and he hadn't known what one of them was afraid of.
"You won't, because I won't be very kind to your ancestors if they allow it. Noct will save you, or the Lucii. If they refuse, I'll find a way to destroy the ring and them with it," Ravus promised. "You need not worry about being alone, for they will keep you company."
Arc started giggling.
"You don't have any power," Noct said, surprising Regis as he broke away from him. "The Lucii would destroy you, and then I'd have to do everything."
"Yet, if we were to spar, you would lose. Even with all your training and magic," Ravus said.
"I've never used magic against you."
Ravus stood. "Then do so. Warping won't change the outcome."
Noct hesitated, fists clenching at his sides, but Ravus only raised an eyebrow at him.
Harden your heart.
Regis could not.
Noct took a big breath and ran at him. He scooped up a wooden dagger without stopping and threw it at Ravus. Small, blue-white slivers appeared in the air around his fingers as it left his hand, twinkling like crystals, and Noct's wide eyes snapped to them.
Regis turned his attention to Ravus as Noct warped, leaving a blue trail behind him as his hand closed around the handle and he stumbled, shocked, the point close to Ravus' stomach.
Ravus tripped him and Noct went tumbling, gasping as he hit the ground.
"I'm done," Noct decided, flat on his back.
Ravus crouched in front of Arc as he wiped his face with his shirt and held out his hand. "Your turn."
x
x
"So long as you carry the Caelum name, so too will you carry your duty to the crystal," Regis said, guiding his sons further into the room. "It's only through those with magic that the true power of the crystal can be harnessed, and so it befalls on us to keep it from those who would use it to do harm."
Arc held his hand as he approached the artifact at the center of the room, while Noct was ahead, looking at the beam of pure magic that came from the top and made the Wall.
"Which of the old gods of yore entrusted us with this duty in the first place?"
"Bahamut," Arc answered, but sounded small and overwhelmed.
Regis squeezed his hand. "The crystal has a secondary function, one no less important that the first. Do you know what it is?"
"It's a vessel," Noct said. "We can talk to the gods through it."
"Not quite. You may ask for guidance, but they have no obligation to interfere in our world, nor should you expect them to. Any decision you make will be your own, and no council or Astral should be able to change it. That goes for both of you."
Arc seemed more distracted by the magic in the air, and Noct looked away, asking, "Can I touch it?"
Regis dropped a hand on Noct's head. "You may not like my lessons, but they'll serve you well one day."
"It's not that. I've heard them all before."
"And I fear you will hear them again," Regis patted him and turned to the crystal. "Oh, old gods of yore, hear me! I, Regis Lucis Caelum, come not for power, or knowledge, but to present my sons before you, Noctis Lucis Caelum and Arcturus Lucis Caelum. The future is entrusted to them!"
The crystal showed no change, but Regis pressed Noct forward.
"Uh, hi," Noct said awkwardly, hesitating as he went to touch it. "I'm Noct." His hand met the dark blue surface, and it began to glow beneath his fingertips.
"Feels weird," he mumbled. The glow spread as his hand slid up. Bursts of light like lightning raced rapidly across the surface.
Noct looked awed. He slapped both hands to the crystal and it shone brighter, spreading quickly until Noct ducked his head away from the blinding white-blue light.
Arc hid his face in his side, but Regis scarcely noticed. He looked into that brilliant light and saw, for the first time, the truth in the prophecy bestowed upon his eldest son.
He thought suddenly of the praised he'd received, at twelve or thirteen, for the small glowing outline around his hands, the bright sparks.
Mors, as he recalled, had only ever been answered with fleeting sparks.
Regis closed his eyes for a moment and made peace with his future death.
Noct was rubbing his eyes when he opened them again, the crystal dark once more.
"Was that supposed to happen?" Noct asked.
What is ordained is what will be.
Regis patted his head. "It means only that you are acknowledged."
That your magic is strong.
"They didn't have to blind me."
Regis turned to his frightened son, and it occurred to him that he hadn't seen this Arc since Tenebrae fell. Since the day Sylva healed Noct, even.
For a moment, just a moment, Arc was allowing himself to be small, to take solace in him, to be easily scared by sudden movements and bright lights. To be the child who'd dirtied himself trying to catch fireflies in his hands and fell asleep nearly where he stood.
To be a child.
Regis had thought him brave for seeking Ravus out when Noct could not. Brave for pulling Noct out of his shell. Brave for hosting Iris on his own.
It was a quality he'd need, he'd thought, if he outlived Noct.
Or if, that terrible if, he'd need to be when his time came.
Regis thought himself a fool.
His youngest had weaponized his bravery like both a shield and blade, and all the while Regis thought him better for it. It was only in having disarmed himself that Regis saw how he'd been forced to grow.
Who else could have armed him but Sylva?
It was only fitting that her firstborn had done the opposite then. And more egregious, Regis would say, that he hadn't torn the Wall asunder to retrieve Lunafreya.
Returning to the present, Regis only put a comforting hand on Arc's back. "Would you like me to stand with you?"
Arc peeked at Noct, who stood watching them, and deliberately moved away from his side. It was what could only call Sylva's influence that made him shake his head and stand in front of the crystal on his own.
It made him look so small.
"I'm Arc!" he said loudly. He hesitated, tentatively touching the bottom of the crystal.
Regis watched for sparks, or for glowing patches beneath his fingertips, but there was nothing.
Arc, frowning, pushed both hands against the crystal.
And there was still nothing.
Regis took a step closer, not quite understanding what he was seeing, or wasn't seeing.
Why wouldn't the crystal answer him?
Arc slapped his hands higher up on the crystal, but it remained unchanged.
"What's that mean?" Noct asked.
Arc took a step back, raising his hands, and Regis saw ice on his fingers.
His breath came out in cold puffs, but he didn't shiver.
Both his sons looked at him but Regis—
He had no answer for them.