He grips tautly the twin daggers in his hands, holding tightly onto the weapons he named Flash Fenrir as his bangs hang slightly over his eyes. His back hunches over, every fiber in his body giving in to the natural instincts of a hunter, and Noctis could not be more prepared for the five Ursa Grimms in front of him. He glances toward his partner, a brown-haired axe-wielder named Rowen, who looks back at him with a smirk of certainty, before both begin their assault - Noctis slashing with ease and favoring his speed, Rowen using powerful swings and depending on his strength.

Noctis sighs, switching his twin daggers to dual pistols and finishing off the remaining Ursa. His hands move to fit his weapons in his holster before reaching up to readjust the black beanie on his head.

"Poor things. They never had a chance." Rowen grins, fixing the creases of his chestnut-colored trench coat.

The raven-haired hunter shrugs, closing his eyes briefly before opening them to find a familiar figure in the sky. He could barely make out the details of the soaring individual - more like falling, he contemplates - but he is sure of her identity. After all, who could forget the white-haired heiress clad in snow-colored clothes? She is screaming her lungs out, cursing her partner for immaturity and dumb decisions, exhausting the full capacity of her diaphragm as it tries desperately to expand for more air, and Noctis hears all of it, acting solely on his natural instincts as a hunter.

He runs toward her, forcing his legs to sprint faster than the processing of his brain, ignoring his teammate calling out to him. He could feel his aura focusing, surging, spreading through the entirety of his very soul, and he beckons the power of his semblance before feeling his aura answering his will. He teleports, leaving crystals dissolving where he once was - that was his semblance, but the farthest he could travel was twenty feet, and performing his power took so much energy out of him.

He catches her, holding her bridal-style, and his hands cannot help but hold onto her as tightly and strongly as they possibly can. Her hands do the same, clinging onto him as he hangs onto both his life and hers. "Hang on." He mutters loud enough for her to hear.

She shuts her eyes, her grip on him surpassing her fear of death and her pride as an independent huntress, and in her blindness, her other senses heighten. She could hear his uneven breathing - slowly taking in as much air as his lungs and diaphragm would allow and quickly releasing the pent-up breath, the exhalation taking half the time the inhalation is. She could taste the dryness of her lips and the rusty flavor of blood in her mouth somehow seeming sweeter than its usual pungency; she had been biting the side of her cheek and drew blood in anticipation of death. She could smell the faint scent of her savior's cologne or deodorant; she cannot decipher what exactly it is, but she absolutely savors the smell. She could feel his hands loosening their grip on her, while her hands merely cling tighter.

His semblance had helped him land safely on the ground, and he tries desperately to quell the rugged pattern of his breathing, the palpitation of his heart beating faster and faster until his chest succumbs to the pulsing pressure and bursts; his hands tremble and throb and shiver in trepidation, as if his heart anticipates dropping her because more often than not, hands will let things slip through their fingers. But his hands do not let her go. Seeing her in trouble and saving her and holding on so tightly to her are all acts due to his natural instincts as a hunter, he contemplates.

He is acting according to his natural instincts as a hunter, he kids himself.

He must force his fingers to loosen their grip before he sets her on her feet. She opens her eyes, pools of pale blue locking with orbs of obsidian, and both the raven-haired hunter and the snow-clad huntress feel familiarity and nostalgia shake the depths of their minds.

"Noctis! Come on, let's go!" A voice snaps them back into reality, but they let their eyes linger for one moment longer.

"Weiss." She introduces herself properly, muttering a "thanks" before watching her savior smiles and runs off.


A/N: I do not own anything.