Day 4:

Though he had made a point to tuck her into bed, by the time he emerged from the other room, Reina was sitting upright in his bed, staring at a phone. His phone, as a matter of fact. Gods only knew what had happened to hers. Likely it was precisely where she had left it when she had been trying to avoid him a few nights before: in her room, which she visited about as often as she left the Citadel. Which was to say, not at all.

Regis sat down on the bed beside her. She held the phone in both hands with the front-facing camera on, using it as a mirror to stare at her own face.

"Have you changed so much that you no longer recognize yourself?" He asked.

"I don't remember ever being so young."

That ten years had aged her sufficiently to call twenty unrecognizably young… Whatever had occurred must have been traumatizing indeed to render her senseless just from speaking Cor's name. She said she had died for Lucis. How many others had she watched die first?

"Have my eyes always been so blue?" She asked.

"Very nearly," Regis said. "Though they were a deeper blue when you were first born. You have your mother's eyes."

"I used to have…" She traced her fingers across her cheek, then looked sharply up at him. "Like you—" And touched his face, tracing the scar that curled around his eye. "But everywhere."

"The power of the ring does not come freely. Not even for a Caelum," he said. He was beginning to understand how those ten years had changed her face. How much had he aged in the first ten years after he had taken the throne from his father?

"I used to wish it would just kill me," she said.

Regis grimaced. "And now?"

"Now I… I have another chance to make things right. But I still can't believe it's real."

At first glance it seemed a non-answer. His phone went dark in her hands but she stared, still, at him.

"I believe I understand," Regis said. "During your Dream you lost all you would live for, and yet you lived on for some time, did you not? The hole inside you became a part of who you are. You have wanted not to live for so long, it now feels inescapable."

"Yes."

"And when you do let go, you wonder who you are without it."

"Yes." Her voice cracked. She looked up at him, a watery smile on her face. "No matter how terrible things became, you were always there when I needed a shoulder."

"How can that be?" Regis' brow furrowed. "If Insomnia fell in your Dream…"

She said nothing, simply held up her hand. On her finger lay the Ring of the Lucii, quietly inert.

But of course. Like every monarch before him, his soul would have been bound to the ring after death. Had he not sought his own father's council since his death? Even so, that was not what she described. He could speak to his father, but the soul was just that: a distant echo of the man that had once been, steadily losing his sense of a mortal life.

"I fear I do not understand. Once I had joined the Lucii, I should have been but a shadow of the father you remembered."

"No." She looked down at the ring. "I held you together. I can manipulate that realm—Noctis could, too, if he thought to learn—and so I made you a body and anchored your soul. You never lost your humanity like the others."

"My dear, that was very dangerous."

She smiled bitterly up at him. "Do you think I cared?"

"I do not mean for you, physically. I mean for your heart. You must have known that to save me as a person and have me at your call would make it impossible for you to let go."

"I knew." She looked away. "And I did it anyway. That's probably where everything went wrong. Or worse than it had been, in any case."

It was impossible to tell from her tone if she regretted that. She had given up her whole life because of his death. He should never have allowed her. Even his spirit after life should have known it was foolish to give her what she so badly wanted.

But could he really have denied her?

"I am so sorry, my dear." Regis he could hardly bring himself to look at her. "I have not been the father to you that you deserved."

It was a confession he had made to her more than once before. Each time she brushed it away. He had done a fine job of parenting her, she would insist, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, and quell his fears. For a little while.

"No," she said. "You haven't."

His heart stopped beating.

"You've looked to Noctis year after year while I followed along in your shadow, begging for your attention. I did everything you ever wanted before you even knew you wanted it. Just so you would smile at me. Oh, you thanked me, but you never stopped taking me for granted. I think, eventually, you realized you had done something wrong. It probably wasn't a good sign that I didn't want any friends except for you, that I never wanted any time for myself, that I didn't even have a single hobby. You knew it wasn't right but not how to fix it or what you had done wrong. But you compared me to Noctis and I looked competent and skilled, And you looked at me and saw me smile—because I never wanted anything except to be seen by you—and so you convinced yourself I was alright. I was happy, wasn't I? But happy doesn't mean healthy. An alcoholic might be happier if you give her a full bottle instead of taking it away, but should you, just because it makes her happy?"

In twenty years she had never spoken to him thus. He had always been perfection in her eyes. He hadn't realized until now how much he relied on her affirmation to convince himself he hadn't gone too badly astray.

He couldn't bear to look at her, but he needed to know what her face looked like.

It wasn't what he had expected. From her words, he would have guessed blame or ire would be on her features. There was none. She was tired and perhaps resigned. But her observations seemed to carry little more emotional weight for her than the fact that water caused plants to grow. Was that better or worse than the alternative? In twenty years she had never been angry with him.

Perhaps she had never been honest with him, either.

"No apology is sufficient," he said. "But you must have known how much I love you."

"I didn't. Not until the end. You always thought I would have a chance at life later and so you never pushed me to experience it early. I think you loved having me stay by your side and couldn't bring yourself to push me away and face losing me. I always told you that you were my best friend. I didn't realize until later that I had become yours. And in the end, when you realized I would trade places with Noctis, I had to beg you to follow through. I think you were ready to face that with Noctis—as ready as you could have been. You had twenty-five years to prepare yourself. But when it was me on that throne instead, you very nearly couldn't do it. Maybe you did love me more than Noctis. I don't know. But you did want me to live more than you wanted him to."

The last nearly pushed his eyes downward once more, but he fought back burning shame and met her gaze.

"You are my best friend, my dear. These days I spend more time with you than anyone else in the kingdom and not once have I come to regret that. If I could choose but one person to stand by my side, it would be you. Unequivocally."

She smiled. She shouldn't have. She should have snapped at him, walled him out, and walked away without looking back. But she smiled.

"I made that choice once, Father. I think it was the wrong one."

"For you it was. You deserve friends who will lift you up instead of dragging you down." It had seemed for a moment in her Dream that she may have had them. He could only guess what had happened, but she now had a second chance. "Friends like Ignis, Iris, and Cor."

Her smile faded. Her face darkened and she started through him rather than at him. "They will never accept me back."

Regis cupped her face in his hands. "My dear, I know not what occurred during your Dream and I am content not knowing if it pains you so. But it was a Dream. While real for you, those memories never occurred for the rest of us. Whatever transgressions you believe you made against your friends, they never occurred. And I know for certain that Ignis, Iris, and Cor would welcome you with open arms."

She managed to look at him, though only with great difficulty, as if tearing her gaze from some compelling sight.

"I'm trying to remember," she said.

"Good. Now I believe it is well past your bedtime."

He took his phone from her and tucked her back in. This time he laid down beside her; she would not wander off before falling asleep tonight. He meant to watch over her until she drifted off.

It did not take much effort for him to remain awake. Her words haunted his thoughts still.