Disclaimer: I'm just a fucking nerd trying to calm my nerves during this decade. So, y'know, don't sue me. I don't have any money.
Ashes of Lucis
Chapter 26: Alone
Note(s): Apologies for the wait and my deepest appreciation to those of you who are still here and reading. As I've mentioned a time or two prior, things are very difficult of late, and I've added an update to my AO3 profile with a brief explanation as to why the bulk of my projects may take a bit more time before being published.
Please take a look when you get a minute, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. I will begin work on the next one as soon as I am able. I appreciate your support and patience!
Under any other set of circumstances, the crisp seaside breeze might have been refreshing. But, as she looks on, Aranea feels only a distinct sense of dread. Gulls congregate on the warm sands and rocks below the cliff face, quarreling over fish thrown up on shore and scraps left behind by careless passersby. It should be a calming sight, but the rushing sound of waves moving forward and back is but a very vivid reminder of all the things going horribly wrong, and the longer she stares out across the horizon, the more convinced Aranea becomes that something — more than usual — is incredibly off.
Here they are, nine days into the assignment, lingering at the seaside to the east of Cape Caem, and there has been nary a whisper of the chancellor's prized runaway. One would imagine that someone might have caught wind of a man with a penchant for picking off Lucian soldiers. It was widely believed among the commodore's company that, by now, they'd have honed in on some manner of lead. Perhaps some local run-of-the-mill farmer who had noticed a few missing sheep or a significant theft in stored rations attributed to the arrival of a newcomer of a dubious origin. But they had not been yet so fortunate, and that fact does little to bolster Aranea's confidence as she lingers in the shade of her ship's great shadow.
However this pans out, she's not overly worried about the chancellor or his reaction. Aranea has reason enough to believe that, while he may end up disappointed with news of failure, Ardyn will undoubtedly come up with another means for her to pay off her debt. It's rather unlikely that he'll bother mentioning her newly acquired dropship, let alone seek to confiscate it.
That would be too much work for him.
A scowl creases her brow, the back of a hand swiping the sheen of sweat from out of green eyes. It's tracking beasts and daemons that Aranea takes to like water, for they are both predictable and wild, far less calculating than men, and she is damn good at it. Hunting down beasts is child's play, if she is permitted to be both frank and confident in her abilities. It isn't hubris if it's true, and while Aranea's track record and her motley crew will speak for her, so too does her temperament on this blistering day where she threatens to cast her white-hot anger directly into the sun itself.
Out of all of them, Biggs and Wedge are the best at mingling with locals, and so she leaves casual interrogations to the pair of them, staying far enough removed that her questionable temper won't upset the citizenry. As it is, they already seem relatively wary about answering questions posed by a group of imperial mercenaries. No need for her to further sully the waters.
"Any luck?" she chimes, naïvely hopeful when at last they wander her way. It's difficult to tell from this distance. Wedge is a man of few words and even fewer expressions, and Biggs has made it a habit of smiling ear to ear in even the most dour of circumstances.
"'fraid not," is the reply, a vain attempt to quickly tear the metaphorical bandage from skin. Bless them, but it doesn't work, the sting striking her square in the chest, adding fuel to the fire of the commodore's discontentment. "Few stray thefts from locals 'ere 'n there, but not a one of 'em matchin' our quarry's description."
Her back cracks as she stands to stretch, stiffness still lingering as Aranea turns away to stride into the belly of the ship, motioning that they follow.
"Something's off," she says once the three of them are alone, though a watchful eye remains on the open hatch below.
Neither man presses her for clarification. They've been doing this kind of work together long enough to know what does and does not raise the flags of alarm. In this case, it's obvious, and Aranea's disdain for the chancellor had been on full display as soon as they had left imperial airspace.
She's grateful for the silence and the lack of questions, content to just mutter aloud and have someone understand precisely why without getting in the way. It goes on for some time, the commodore rattling off what does and doesn't make sense about the situation, wondering why there hadn't been any pushback when she had extended to Ardyn her terms in exchange for this little favor of his. Half a million gil and a new drop ship straight off the assembly line isn't exactly a small ask, let alone something to scoff at, but Ardyn had made it out to be nothing at all. In fact, he seemed to have expected it.
Her motions are slow and fluid as she turns back over a shoulder to face her men, the pair of them returning her stare with an expectant one of their own. Aranea shakes her head with a half-laugh, bites hard into her bottom lip until it threatens to break.
"Sneaky bastard," she hisses. "He's not expecting us to find Noctis. He's just trying to keep us out of the way."
There had been little reason for Noctis to doubt the kindly chocobo farmer, but with the goings-on of late, some skepticism had still managed to creep in. One of Ardyn's many teachings, no doubt. He lingers under a tented outcropping formed of aged stone, hoping to see sunshine peek through the dark curtain of clouds that stretches miles in every direction.
It never comes.
"Fuck..."
As time wears on, a part of Noctis doubts himself, thinks that perhaps he had been too hasty in leaving Niflheim based on something so paltry as a disagreement with Ardyn. On the other hand, his uncle had made quite the name for himself over the years as a viper of sorts, and there's nothing to suggest that the chancellor is above sending a hunting party to fetch him, even an ocean away.
No, he made the right choice, but there are sure to be unintended consequences on the horizon.
The thought is unsettling at best, and Noctis takes to rummaging through the bag slung about his shoulder, seeking a distraction. It works, his attention quickly honing in on the fact that the length of this trip was drastically underestimated, for he finds himself down to a couple packs of ramen and some dried bread in an airtight pouch. The strap is quickly pulled over his head and the bag tossed to one side of the small shelter in a fit of anger. Really, he should have thought this out quite a bit more.
Through the wide opening in the stone, cold from the new rain comes to bite hard at his fingertips. Noctis growls, zips his coat as high as it will go and pulls his arms back through the sleeves, struggling for warmth. While the storm may well end within the hour, absent the proper supplies or anything to occupy the mind, he tucks himself into a ball near the distant end of the small outcropping, and urges himself to try and sleep.
The next several days, he thinks, are going to be long and difficult.
"You are wasting everyone's time with your games."
He shrugs lazily, ignoring Verstael's sour disposition in favor of the ancient scripture, too amused by the number of holes he's poked in alleged revelation to bother taking his companion seriously.
"Need I remind you that I have the time to waste?" Ardyn says after a long minute, at last lifting his eyes from the page. "You sound so very disappointed. Or... is that envy I hear?"
Verstael snorts his disapproval, returning to the scribbled notes he had abandoned in favor of chastising the chancellor.
He's been on edge far more than usual, and while there is great fun to be found in needling the man from time to time, Ardyn decides that he is gracious enough to grant the old fellow a bit of a reprieve for the day.
The other doesn't seem to notice, throwing himself headlong into his work as always, the gravelly sound of his voice quickly swallowed up into the small recorder he clasps in a gloved hand. Even with modern technology at his fingertips, Verstael seems to have some sentimental attachment to the idea of old tapes. Or perhaps he's simply hesitant to alter his approach after all these years. Yes, that strikes the chancellor as a much more valid explanation than anything else, for Verstael has never been a man to shy away from progress.
Old habits die hard, and all that. He would know.
A page turns in the Cosmogony to give way to a stunning two-page spread, the very same as the prophetic painting framed and illuminated at the other end of the vast study. The details are significantly diminished in comparison, but the overarching theme is the same: In the end days, the gods will place their trust in the Chosen children of man, and with the strength of both Crystal and the Six, the blight sweeping the land will be laid to rest, and the sun shall rise once more. How convenient, he thinks, that the prophecy is so vague as this; that the true end for Lucis' Chosen Son is the same which is said to meet the daemons at the end of the Long Night.
Though he has no sympathy for his brother's lineage, he does understand the desperate need for secrecy. What use would Somnus have had for Angelgard, otherwise?
"It isn't going to make a difference," Ardyn chimes with a wistful sigh, and he is met with the distinct sound of the researcher's fist slamming against the desk.
Bothered as he may be by yet another interruption, Verstael takes the bait all the same.
"What isn't?"
"Time," the chancellor says, tossing the Cosmogony across the table, more amused than he should be by the fact that it tumbles onto the floor. "They've had two thousand years to avert this reckoning." He smiles, all teeth, a venomous light emerging from behind those unnatural eyes. "Yet, still, they elect to place the fate of Eos in the hands of a child."
"Do you think he's okay?"
"Am I okay?!" Noctis finds an opening to pause and sneers at the sky, an electric chill winding its way up his arm, blinding him but a moment as the blackness seeps into an eye. "What about this seems okay to you?!"
His vision returns not a moment too soon, body phasing quickly to the top of a jagged stone several meters to the right. The earth that had served as a foothold only seconds before erupts in a cloud of dust and poison bile, the whip-like tail of a cockatrice having barely missed him. Handy as the Starscourge can be in a pinch, Noctis has also found that using it leaves several openings in his defenses.
Perhaps this had been what Ardyn meant by "teaching him to use it properly."
Well, to hell with that noise.
The hilt of his sword is held tight in one hand, the other balled into a fist as elemancy cracks between his fingers. The great crested bird looks up at him, clearly riled, feathers on end as it charges Noctis' perch with full force. He moves again, little flickers of light trailing behind him as the cockatrice slams its head against the stone. Debris begins to fly upon impact, the debris obscuring the creature's view and allowing him an opening.
There!
A shrill screech punctures the air as the blade cuts through the backs of the bird's legs, blood spraying both Noctis and the ground as he leaps back to avoid being struck by outstretched wings. The warmth of the spray lasts but a second, traveling only so far up his arm until the air around them absorbs the heat.
Even from a distance, and with his enemy seemingly incapacitated, Noctis keeps up his guard, tossing a lightning spell upon swampy ground and taking to a nearby tree. Electricity crackles, thrumming through the cockatrice's bulk, coaching another cry from its break as he observes from above.
Noctis waves a hand, his weapon vanishing into the ether, and the great bird at last draws its final breath. He waits several minutes, watches sparks dart between bloody feathers before chancing a step on the ground again.
"Didn't answer my question."
He huffs in the approach, the toe of a boot nudging the bright red crest atop its head. There is no sign of life in the beast now, a clear indicator that the breast of the carcass is primed to be taken and cooked, for the remainder of it shall attract daemons and additional wildlife come dusk. Calling a dagger to his hand, Noctis steps over the bird's long neck, drops into a crouch at the base of its throat. A glance is spared to the steadily setting sun in the distance. He'd best be quick with this, then.
With weapon poised to collect his kill, a scathing heat runs through his skull, rendering Noctis immobile. Teeth clench, grinding against one another as the dagger falls from his hand into the dirt, a pained hiss escaping him.
"Don't ya think he looks kinda... y'know, dead?"
"Can't be dead, bonehead. See that? He's still breathing."
"Point made. Now, if we could just get there without the name-calling, we would all be in excellent shape."
"Yeah, dumbass. You heard the man."
"Uh, he was talkin' to you, too."
The voice from before returns, the one Noctis thought himself to have imagined, now accompanied by others just as strange and... familiar?
Through sheer force of will, he turns to look over a shoulder and back to the cockatrice at his feet, catching sight of nothing and no one.
"Where are you...?" he manages to choke, turning back once again. His balance falters this time, leaves him struggling for breath against the ground and grasping at bloody feathers as he stares up at a black sky filled with stars. "Why can't I–?"
"Why? Oh, Noctis, you foolish thing. you know precisely why."
Golden eyes widen with shock and anger, searching for any sign of that smug bastard. Had Ardyn followed him all this way? Had he been on his heels the whole of this journey? Then why say something now? Why wait until he's unable to take to his feet to start with his insufferable mockery?
As if to further make a fool of him, hungry and alone in the Lucian wilds, the stars begin to drift toward his stagnant form all at once, surely leaving long trails of light in their wake. As they draw closer, the heat again begins to rise, scorching his skin and blinding him in a way the Starscourge never could.
With his last bit of strength, Noctis raises both hands to shield his face, all the while cursing the chancellor's name.
"Goddammit, Ardyn..."
In an instant, all he sees is nothingness and light.
"Hey, guys! Look! I think he's waking up!"
A few tidbits here and there: In the last chapter, when Noctis caught a ride to the Vesperpool with Wiz, the chocobo farmer was on the lookout for the rumored black chocobo egg that makes an appearance in the game. Naturally, a stranger on the side of the road could well be the sort willing to do nefarious things with such a rare find, so Wiz kept that bit of information to himself.
Remember the save point in Verstael's laboratory where you can finally allow Ardyn to rest before jumping right into his psychological breakdown? That's where he's hanging out. I thought it would be a fun Easter Egg to throw in there as a direct nod to Episode Ardyn, as well as that of the famed prophetic painting. I have a copy of it on my bookshelf, too.
