Chapter Five: Convergence
Asking to leave the Citadel wasn't something Gladio had much practice with these days. That wasn't to say that he didn't usually check in with Cor before he went on his way, but there was no permission involved. There was no seeing if he could do anything around the palace or if he was needed in Insomnia; there was no making sure Iris didn't have an errand for him to run. He simply left, letting duty carry him to wherever anybody would have a use for him. Sometimes, that was easier said than done: they had plenty of help now that no one had to worry about turning into a daemon or worse. Fear had dissipated, and in its wake was a sense of courage that Gladio had to call admirable. That was how humanity kept going, how they showed Ardyn that they weren't going to be defeated by the bad hand they'd been dealt. He'd done his best—he'd even had two thousand years to do a hell of a lot better, from what they'd found in Ignis's research—yet he hadn't crushed their spirit entirely. For a few of them, he'd taken their souls away, but everyone else was doing fine.
That was honestly why Gladio coped better around them than at home. Even though he didn't exactly fit in, there was an undeniable relief that accompanied not hanging around people who had gone through the same thing he had. Ignis and Prompto were his best friends; he loved Iris with all his heart. The marshal, in spite of their differing opinions on his choices, remained his rock. Still, they were too close. They'd lost just as much as he had, albeit in other contexts. They didn't need him to talk about it to understand what was going on in his head to some extent, and that was admittedly too much for him to handle most of the time. He couldn't get any privacy in Insomnia, whereas outside the Crown City, he could take a breather instead of being crushed by their stares and the suspicion that there was pity hiding behind their eyes. He didn't need it—he didn't need any of it. Not pity, not sympathy, not whatever other bullshit word they used for it. Gladio purely needed to keep moving.
In this case, it had been a little easier than normal: Ignis and Prompto were on his side for a change, although the former wouldn't let them anywhere near the front door until they told Cor what they were up to.
Sort of.
They played a few cards pretty close to their chests if for no other reason than that they'd either get laughed out of the Citadel or committed until the marshal could figure out what the hell was wrong with them if they didn't. Yeah, he'd grown up with the legends that had surrounded Noct and his family; Cor was the only person Gladio thought might know them better than they did. He wasn't optimistic enough to believe that the marshal would take their word for it without question, though. Magical dogs and books about mythical worlds were the stuff of dreams in the post-Astral world, not reality. They had too much on their plates as it was, yet they were asking to go on a wild chocobo chase to bring back a dead guy because of what they'd read in some ostensible fairy tale? Uh huh. That would go over well.
So, they'd gotten clever about it. Actually, if he wanted to be more accurate, Ignis had gotten clever. It wasn't like he had a shortage of brilliant excuses in that giant brain of his. Plus, he was a professional: he had been trained to weave fact with fiction until there was just enough truth wrapped in an enormous lie to keep the marshal off their backs for a while. And boy, did he pick a doozy.
Bringing the kings of Lucis home to Insomnia. That was what he'd gone with.
Technically, it wasn't totally bogus. After all, they were planning on doing exactly that if they played the Glacian's game right. She hadn't visited again to provide some much-needed validation, but she also hadn't sent any other clues to steer them in a different direction. That had to be a hint that they weren't too far off base, so they were going to run with it while they could. Their story, however, was contingent on the fact that Cor didn't know which king they were going after. As far as he was concerned, they would be making a few rounds from the Crown City to Lestallum and back. The tombs inside Lucian borders had been emptied during the Long Night to keep the memorials safe from the daemons, and the effigies of the former kings were growing mold in the basement of the Leville. That definitely wasn't a burial of honor for the guys that had helped take Ardyn down, right?
Right.
Cor hadn't argued the point, although Gladio was still inwardly cringing at the memory of his obvious suspicion as they hopped into the car and peeled out of the garage beneath the Citadel with a bit more enthusiasm than was probably warranted by the situation. Calling them on their misdirection had been impossible when the marshal didn't have solid proof that they were lying, but it was strange not to give him the information they were harboring regardless. While it didn't always seem like it, they could all tell that he felt equally responsible for what had happened to Noct. In fact, it was a good thing he'd had that final chance to say goodbye before the end: Gladio thought he would have responded to the news a whole lot worse otherwise. That would have been the third king lost on his watch, whether the gods wanted it that way or not, and Gladio comprehended better than anyone the utter failure you endured when you couldn't protect the one person you were supposed to.
Which gave them even more reason not to say a word about where they were really going. Cor already had plenty of guilt to deal with on that front. The last thing he needed was for them to fail after they'd gotten his hopes up. If they were going to screw anybody over, it might as well be themselves.
And hey, they were doing a pretty good job of that. Gladio didn't want to say that there was some spring in their steps for the first time in a year, yet there was no other way to describe how they high-tailed it out of the Crown City, no second glances or second guesses.
What had to be even more impressive than their newfound good mood was that their car decided to throw them a bone and not break down in the process. Even under the circumstances, they couldn't bring themselves to take the Regalia or the Star of Lucis out of cold storage. He'd vacillated over the possibility, as had Ignis and Prompto: as much as they would have liked to deliver Noct home in his dad's car, it simply wasn't worth the risk. The roads weren't as perilous as they used to be, but that didn't mean they were safe either. The animals that had made it through the Long Night were wild and untamed now; they'd gone so long without human interaction that they didn't take kindly to anybody who did tread on their territory in the aftermath. Gladio couldn't blame them there, annoying as it was to have to wipe out a pack of angry voretooths. Everyone had been watching their own back for the last eleven years, so why shouldn't they?
That was why the hunters would never go out of business. Just like they'd accepted responsibility for keeping the outer regions safe since the old wars with Niflheim, they worked overtime to ensure that they didn't have another deadly threat looming when they'd only recently survived the last one. It was their job to subdue the beasts stalking the wilderness, and while they were good at it, you nevertheless caught wind of a tragedy every now and again. A stray tag found in Duscae, an unrecognizable corpse hanging from a nest in Keycatrich, some poor bastard's bones piled up at the foot of Ravatogh—it happened. Not often, but it happened.
Risking the Regalia getting banged up again if a bunch of wild anaks ran across the road? No thanks. He'd rather not court Cid's fury by taking the old girl back to Hammerhead for another full-service, full-body tune-up.
Instead, they made do with one of the Citadel cars that had once carried diplomats on official business around the city. Though its years spent rotting below the palace were fairly obvious when you got a load of the rust peeking out from beneath its scratched paint, it wasn't a bad ride. They had more room inside than they would have in Noct's car or even the Regalia, which was going to come in handy depending on the outcome of this adventure they were embarking on. It was a little spacious for the three of them, but they were expecting another passenger—or two, most likely—who would need some of the limited leg room in back. At least Gladio was no stranger to being cramped, not when he'd spent the last decade bunking wherever there was a spot for him and the months before that stuck in a tent with three other guys. He had no doubt they'd make it work. Somehow.
But he was getting ahead of himself. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand: finding Noct and Lady Lunafreya before the Glacian got tired of waiting for them and rescinded her cryptic offer.
They were operating under the assumption that that was what she meant it to be, in any case. None of them had been able to figure out any other reason for her dropping all those hints besides boredom and a sick sense of humor. No, from the looks of things, she'd actually wanted them to discover that they'd been fooled this whole time, that what they had believed for the last year was a lie. She'd left a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow, all leading to the same undeniable conclusion: Noct and Lady Lunafreya had to be alive and within reach somewhere in the world. The tangible fear that getting to them would be impossible couldn't shake that dangerous faith, not when it had taken root in his mind and refused to let go. Nope. It was a fact. Aggravating or not, they were alive yet asleep, stuck in crystal stasis like the other l'Cie that had been good little chocobos and done what their masters told them to.
At first, that had been the hardest pill to swallow: how the hell had they turned to crystal when they were dead? Ignis had seen Lady Lunafreya's body with his own eyes in Altissia—they all had at the Citadel. Gladio had spent a year trying to forget the grotesque sight of her where she'd hung from the ceiling, Ardyn's twisted marionette alongside the rest of his playthings. What had happened after that was still pretty fuzzy; he'd hit them with a real whammy, that was for sure. Even so, the image was seared into his memory, and it had haunted him those first few weeks when they had done their best to clean up the mess that remained in the throne room.
As for Noct's body… Well, they hadn't found it, but they all knew there was only one way for him to defeat Ardyn. It had been ordained by the Six long before any of them were born; there was no escaping it. That was yet another gift they could thank Ardyn for, given that it was his fault the Astrals had picked Noct to begin with. Gladio was convinced that if it weren't for his arrogance, his disdain for the gods, and his own failure to ascend, then Noct would still be alive. The Astrals wouldn't have had to ensure that they didn't get another botched job choosing the King of Kings or that the new guy didn't get a big head about it. Sure, according to the research they'd done over the years, Ardyn had never actually been selected by the Crystal at all, but he could have been if he'd stopped short of being a complete asshole. Gladio imagined that must have stung, getting rejected for something he likely thought he was destined for, especially when he had always fashioned himself as some kind of beneficent soul every time they'd had to deal with him. If he was anything like that as a young king? Yeah, Gladio could see why the Six didn't want to put all their eggs in Noct's basket just to be safe.
Why they'd used the royal families of Lucis and House Fleuret as the fal'Cie had used their l'Cie slaves, however, he didn't think he'd ever get. Besides the veritable laundry list of reasons for how that was taking things a step too far, it didn't matter whether they'd gotten that bright idea before or after Ardyn double-crossed them—it was messed up, plain and simple. If that had been their plan all along, then what was the point of taking the Chosen King's life in the first place? What was the point of letting the two of them get impaled if the Six were simply going to bring them back later when they proved they wouldn't get power hungry like Noct's predecessor? Was that how the gods got their jollies, or was it nothing more than a pretense to test the King of Kings' true character?
Anymore, neither would have surprised him.
Well, if it was a test, then Noct must have passed. There was never any danger of him turning into a Cie'th like the old l'Cie, but Gladio had a feeling death really would have been waiting for him if he had turned from his divine duties. The permanent kind, anyway.
Because there was no denying that both he and Lady Lunafreya had kicked it. Bodies were all well and good, as were legends and myths, but the fact remained that Ardyn wouldn't be a distant memory if they hadn't. The proof showed itself every morning when the sun rose. As far as they knew (or as far as Ignis was able to explain to them), it wasn't until Noct's soul ascended to Providence within the Star that the Scourge could have been wiped out, so that was exactly what their charge had done a year ago. He'd faced death for the millionth time—allegedly—so that he could purify the Star and see Ardyn vanquished forever. That had happened. It had. The gods playing games with fate didn't change that.
It was the after part where they had to make a few guesses and take a few leaps, though. Luckily for them, Ignis's assumptions were pretty much as good as fact, so they were in decent shape. According to him, the Six must have somehow reconstituted both Noct and Lady Lunafreya when all was said and done. Their bodies had been on Eos, but their souls were in Providence or whatever they wanted to call it. (Gladio couldn't describe it as heaven when no heaven would ever let Noct in without his Shield to have his back.) For the Six, it would probably be easy to put the two back together and stuff them inside a couple of crystals for the rest of forever. After all, wasn't that what they had done with the other Lucian monarchs? It hadn't occurred to Gladio during the Long Night, but those effigies they'd collected didn't contain any bodies, nor had the sepulchers that had protected them all this time. Not one of the former kings of Lucis remained in their tombs, regardless of how long they were said to have been there. They could have chalked it up to the passing decades and decomposition, of course—a few hundred years would do that to a guy. Now that they had a different perspective, however, he doubted it was that simple. Noct and all his ancestors were gone? It was a little too convenient, even for the Six. There was no way it could be pure coincidence.
If that was the case, then the other kings of Lucis had achieved their Focus as well, as had the Oracles. The Crystal had been protected—even if it kind of shattered at the end there—and the Starscourge was gone. Daemons were obliterated, the sun had returned, and Ardyn was a thing of the past. Except for the not so acceptable losses, Gladio called that a job well done, not to mention one that couldn't have been accomplished if they were so much as one king short. As such, it was only fitting that they were all rewarded with eternal life, asleep or otherwise.
That, at least, was what Ignis was thinking. He'd also said it was merely conjecture and that his guesses were simply academic and that he might be entirely mistaken—but Gladio didn't buy it. If he was, then he had no doubt that Gentiana would have visited them by now to put their dumb asses back on the straight and narrow. That was what she'd always done for Noct, so he didn't believe she'd let them stumble around in the dark for long. If nothing else, she'd eventually get bored of watching and give them another clue just to speed them along. It had happened already with the book Gladio was perusing while Prompto drove them ever closer to their destination.
Admittedly, that was yet another guess, this time on his own part. As helpful as the Glacian had been with that text, she was equally silent about where they could find Noct's crystal coffin. Gladio didn't mind that so much, though: there was really only one place where the Six could hide a bunch of dead kings.
Formerly dead. Formerly.
Whatever they were, Gladio was just crossing his fingers that he was right. They weren't exactly swimming in other options, and if this one didn't pan out, then the three of them were up shit creek. That thought alone was enough to set him on edge, but there was no use worrying about it now: they'd figure it out when they got there.
In the meantime…
"Careful, I think you missed one," grunted Gladio, his fingers tightening painfully around the corners of the book as they drove over yet another pothole. That had to be the tenth one in as many minutes—no, probably half that. It was getting pretty hard to tell if Prompto was trying to find them or if it was an accident.
Knew we shouldn't've let him drive.
The latter, of course, didn't see the problem at all. Instead, he huffed indignantly and shot back, "They're all over the place out here!"
"That's generally what happens when maintenance is delayed a decade or so," Ignis observed wryly from the passenger seat.
"See!"
Snorting, Gladio muttered, "Could just drive through the grass. It'd be smoother sailing."
"Hey, if you wanna take over, then be my guest," Prompto offered sarcastically. "I'm sure you'd do a way better job behind the wheel than me."
"Maybe next time."
"What? You scared, big guy?"
Scared? As if that was even a possibility. Gladio didn't care much for driving, but that didn't mean he wasn't just as good at it as anybody else. It wasn't like he walked all over Lucis looking for work, whatever Prompto might think. Still, there was something to be said for the backseat: he had plenty of leg room and the perfect angle if he wanted to whack that little shit upside the head. Yeah, he definitely had the better position right where he was.
But he wasn't about to admit that, so sarcasm was the name of the game this time.
"Nah," he replied with a grin. "I'm pretty busy reading these fairy tales."
"You're never gonna let that go, are you?"
"Nope."
Prompto sighed in frustration, but Ignis didn't give him a chance to come up with a witty reply. Gladio was going to count that as a win for this round.
"And have you found anything of use in that fairy tale?" he inquired calmly, ignoring the fact that they'd been sniping at each other mere seconds earlier. Honestly, Gladio had to hand it to him: when he wanted to get shit done, it got done.
Which was a far cry better than what he could say.
"Not a whole lot. Still not seeing anything about the Six. Just some god called Bhunivelze."
"One of the ancient deities," Ignis mused, nodding to himself. "He was similar in stature to the Draconian: the leader of their order as Bahamut is for the Astrals."
Well, that explained why he was mentioned more than anyone else—and got more than his fair share of the ridicule.
"Doesn't look like the guy who wrote this is a fan," Gladio pointed out. It didn't take a genius to realize that: he was almost positive there was a veiled insult slipped into the text every time the defunct deity was mentioned.
Apparently, that didn't come as much of a surprise to Ignis, who replied, "If I'm remembering correctly, it was his influence that led to the destruction of the old world and the formation of the new. I doubt that endeared him to many of the old population."
"But why would a god destroy their own creation?" asked Prompto, to which Gladio had to agree. It sure didn't seem very godly.
"The ancient deities and ours share a similar characteristic: none of them were capable of getting along," retorted Ignis with a sigh.
"So, they had another war?"
"For lack of better terminology, yes. Their views of humanity differed, and in their disagreement over how the people of the old world should exist, they doomed the planet to oblivion."
Gladio huffed a humorless laugh. "And ended up getting booted off the new one as payback."
"Those that survived the conflict did, namely Bhunivelze." When Ignis turned his head to the side to stare sightlessly back at him, there was a slight smirk on his lips. "I can only assume that would be the reason why the Astrals chose to imitate the fal'Cie rather than the erstwhile gods. Of the two, they might have earned less of the ancients' ire."
Gladio wisely chose not to respond to that. Ordinarily, he would have said that was one of their less idiotic ideas; there was no use in repeating their history when it had ended in such spectacular failure the first time. Given that it had cost them his brother, though, he wasn't about to praise the Six for anything at the moment.
It was a nice distraction from the sudden surge of indignation in the pit of his stomach when Prompto eased over another pothole and inquired, "Okay, so they picked the bad guys but not the bad bad guys. Cool. Still, if the ancients didn't want any more gods or magic around, then how did the Astrals get here anyway?"
Luck. Irony. Spite.
Any one of them was as likely as the others.
Ignis, ever the intellectual, took the less pessimistic approach: "That is what I'm hoping to find out. If there is any mention of them in th—"
"Sorry, Iggy," Gladio preempted him, idly skipping over a few pages. "Whoever wrote this thing must not have known much about 'em."
"Perhaps. That or they may not be referred to by the same name. It does predate their existence."
"Hard to believe," interjected Prompto, his voice lowered in awe that Gladio didn't quite share.
It wasn't that he blamed the Astrals for what had happened. The fault lay with Ardyn—there was no arguing that. Regardless, he couldn't banish the bitter regret that had him wishing the Six had been able to do something more. They were the gods around here; it was their job to watch out for Eos, not Noct's. His Focus had been to protect the Crystal and get rid of the Starscourge, but theirs was to save humanity. At least, it should have been. Instead, they'd left it to one of the peons, albeit one with more royal blood in him than most people could claim. In a way, it was almost enough to shake a guy's confidence in the divine. Noct hadn't let them down—the gods had. Talk about disappointing.
But it wasn't his place to dis the Astrals when they seemed to be making up for lost time, so Gladio merely grunted in acknowledgement while Ignis agreed. They could badmouth the Six when Noct was safely settled back at the Citadel, his fate resting in their hands.
Besides, as the car fell silent and Gladio impatiently flipped to the last page of the book, something else caught his eye. So far, every chapter had been filled with the history of the old world and the gods they'd gotten rid of, not the deities that had made a mess of Eos. He had to admit that, by comparison, the ancient ones made the Six look pretty damn good. Nobody was trying to steal free will or destroy the planet, and they hadn't elected an alleged savior that ended up doing more harm than good half the time. Overall, the Astrals seemed downright organized relative to the sheer stupidity that had governed the old world. It warranted a few grudging points, in Gladio's opinion.
For a bunch of people who had been stomped on by gods all their lives, however, the ending was fairly optimistic. There were no curses or warnings; they hadn't written some treatise on why religion would be the death of them. Beyond the sarcasm and disdain that surrounded their gods, it seemed like they really weren't too concerned with the past anymore. No, the tale of their predecessors closed on a high note, one that Gladio hadn't been expecting.
And one that sounded a little too pointed to be a coincidence. Then again, when the Glacian was involved, there was no such thing.
"Hey, Iggy. Think I've got somethin'."
"What does it say?"
Clearing his throat, Gladio read aloud, "The mighty Bhunivelze, his defeat assured, was lost to the Chaos of the Unseen Realm. In crystal He sleeps, though perhaps not evermore. And thus were human souls Chosen by the Light of the New World to protect it from His return. From the ashes of their Struggles, their all too human failings, was born Hope everlasting for the future. Forever may they serve so that the souls of the living might prosper." He paused for a moment before adding, "That's where it ends."
"With nothing about what that's supposed to mean. Awesome," deadpanned Prompto. Gladio could hear his eyes rolling without having to see his face.
Ignis, on the other hand, looked like his head was about ready to launch from his shoulders. Gladio had caught that expression too many times to interpret it as anything other than a breakthrough on the horizon.
"Actually, that may be what we've been waiting for," he countered. "Gladio, did you bring the Cosmogony?"
"Got it right here," he replied, tossing the ancient tome down to pluck their own divine text off the seat beside him.
Nodding tersely, Ignis instructed, "Turn to the first verse of the first section. What does it say?"
Okay, they both knew damn well that he didn't need to hear it. They'd each learned about the Astrals when they were kids, and Gladio didn't doubt for a second that Ignis had practically memorized the entire Cosmogony from cover to cover. That was his job, after all: being advisor to the king of Lucis meant more than simply telling him where to place an army or how to monopolize a negotiation. When you sat the throne, you had to appease the gods just as much as you had to appease your people; it wasn't about merely doing your duty to the latter given that the former had their own expectations. Unlike Gladio, who only needed to know the bare minimum, it was his responsibility to understand the legends better than anybody—which meant he didn't need it for himself so much as he hoped they'd glean the same thing from it that he had.
Three heads are better than one when you're in uncharted territory, Gladio mused silently. As far as he was concerned, Ignis's opinion was more than enough for him, but it paid to be safe when the alternative involved heading in the wrong direction on limited fuel.
So, flipping open the book, Gladio hunted down the section Ignis was looking for and recited, "Titan, the Archaean, steadfast as stone. Ramuh, the Fulgurian, sharp as lightning. Shiva, the Glacian, gentle as snow. Leviathan, the Hydraean, relentless as tides. Bahamut, the Draconian, unbending as iron. Ifrit, the Infernian, fickle as fire. Since time immemorial, they have watched over Eos."
"That's it!"
"What's what?" demanded Prompto, peering over at Ignis as though he'd lost his mind. It was a testament to how well the latter knew him that he immediately pointed towards the road, not needing sight to predict that Prompto's eyes weren't on it.
"The key to this riddle," he clarified once a muted groan indicated his orders had been followed. "Steadfast, sharp, gentle, relentless, unbending, fickle? Those traits sound particularly human in origin."
Huh. Never thought of it like that.
Frowning pensively, Gladio agreed, "Yeah, not exactly how most people would describe a bunch of gods."
"Not at all. In the Glacian's book, it says that human souls were chosen to protect the new world from Bhunivelze's potential return. If that is indeed the case…"
"Those souls must've gone on to become the Six," he murmured. Suddenly, their attitudes towards everything made a lot more sense: if nothing else, Leviathan's bitchiness had been a pretty huge indication that she was more human than the Cosmogony let on.
"There's no other alternative. The old gods must have intended our Star to be their base of operations, which explains its sentience. It is therefore possible it determined that their absence necessitated the presence of new gods to guard both it and Eos."
"And if the Star chose them like it did Noct," added Prompto with wide eyes, "then that explains how the old world's magic got here too!"
Ignis's smile was both knowing and relieved when he answered, "Those were my thoughts as well. Bhunivelze would have imbued our Star with his power, and when it chose defenders for humanity from amidst the migrating souls, it would have imparted that magic to them."
"Then when the Six made the Crystal, and the Crystal chose Noct…"
"The Star's power got passed on the same way," Gladio finished for him.
"That's how it appears. It's all contingent on the Star," Ignis sighed, leaning his elbow against the doorframe with a thoughtful frown. "That's the bridge that connects our world to the ancients' and our gods to the ones that were overthrown. It even explains why Bhunivelze's strength was divided into six rather than remaining ensconced within one divine being."
"What, the Star didn't want the Astrals getting all high and mighty like he did?"
He shook his head. "If for no other reason than self-preservation, I doubt that it would have seen the ancients' plight reenacted."
"But, wait a sec," Prompto interrupted, sounding more confused now than he had earlier. "If the Star picked human souls so they wouldn't be like the big bad god dude, then how come they're so…uh…not into humans?"
"I assume you mean their penchant for ignoring us rather than offering praise?"
Shrugging, Prompto replied, "Yeah, sure. That. Like, Leviathan and Ifrit? Whew, not really big on people."
"I think it's probably got more to do with their experiences in Eos than where they came from," offered Gladio, glowering down at the Cosmogony. "Not like they didn't have good reason to hate us."
"Countless decades of watching humanity tear itself apart may have contributed to their disdain. Solheim was not the first civilization to fall to the whims of mortals, nor will it be the last," admitted Ignis solemnly.
Prompto hummed, although it wasn't with curiosity. In fact, there was a distinctly melancholy edge to his voice when he muttered, "Guess they've seen enough of people at their worst to get kinda tired of it, huh?"
"That the Six chose to aid in the fight against Ardyn rather than leave it solely to Noct should be considered a blessing, I suppose."
On that one, they'd have to disagree, and Gladio bit back a derisive laugh to avoid that particular argument. Whether they used to be humans or not, whether they liked people or not, it was still the Astrals' duty to protect Eos. That was what they had been chosen for, from the sounds of it; it was why they had survived when the rest of the ancients were doomed to die eventually. If they hadn't been selected for their position by the Star, the seat of divine power at the center of their universe, then they would have died thousands of years ago. They never would have gotten to see the repeated destruction and rebuilding of society, nor would they have had to put up with people being people. In Gladio's opinion, they weren't the ones who should have felt lucky or blessed or whatever you wanted to call it for having earned help from the Six—it was the Six who should have felt lucky they'd lasted this long to provide it.
Yet there was some comfort he could take from the story, if only a little. Thanks to the ancients, the souls of those who should have died were proven to be hanging around well after they should have expired, and not just the divine ones. Six of them were gods now, sure, but the others…
Well, at least that gave him more evidence (and confidence) that they were heading in the right direction.
No coincidences. Not here.
"Allow me to ask you once more: are you sure you're ready to take on the Blademaster?"
"I went up against the high commander and got my ass handed to me. I didn't stand a chance. And I never will unless I get more power."
"Then answer my question: are you ready or not?"
"You think I would've called you here if I weren't?"
"Uh…Gladio? Are you sure this is the right place?"
Gladio blinked, tearing his attention away from worthless memories of the past to see Prompto glancing between him and the dilapidated rest stop beyond the car windows. Now wasn't the time to lose himself, especially not considering what they'd come here to do.
"Yeah," he murmured as he reached for the door handle. "This is it."
"It's…definitely seen better days," was all Prompto said by way of reply, although Gladio could easily read between the lines.
The outpost at Taelpar Crag, after all, looked like it hadn't been occupied in the decade they'd spent in the dark. Someone had gone to the trouble of boarding up all the windows at the Crow's Nest, not that that had helped much. Most of the wood was tattered and shredded by the claws of some ferocious beast Gladio didn't want to think about let alone come into contact with, and the door had long since been torn off its hinges. That, however, might have been done by people instead of the daemons. While the latter wouldn't have any use for stale bread and moldy burgers, humans would have taken anything they could get their hands on once upon a time. In any case, that had to have been a while back. An inch of dust was the sole customer now, which certainly left something to be desired in terms of a health inspection.
Despite all that, the diner had fared a hell of a lot better than the motel next door. Whatever had plowed through that did a good job of tearing half the building down. The proprietor's desk was pristine except for the usual wear and tear of the years, but the rest of the structure was missing. He was going to place his bet on an Iron Giant: few other creatures were capable of knocking down something so big in one swoop. Based on the damage, it appeared that that was all it had taken—one monstrous sword and a lot of oomph behind it. Altogether, it wasn't a pretty sight.
That was fine, though. They weren't here for the rest stop so much as what lay behind it.
"Taelpar hasn't been one of our priorities, given that it holds little strategic value," observed Ignis, stepping out of the car to join them.
Gladio couldn't help chuckling, "Good. That means we won't have an audience."
"Indeed."
Of the three of them, Prompto was the only one who looked a little nervous at the reminder that they were on their own here. Go figure.
"So, uh… How likely is it that this guy is gonna attack you again?" he inquired uneasily. His eyes darted around as if the subject of their hunt would appear out of thin air, and for a minute, Gladio almost resorted to the same teasing he would have a few years back. It was the perfect opportunity and everything.
But he censored himself just this once. They had bigger fish to fry, not to mention a long way to go before they got there. If they did need to prove themselves for some reason, Gladio didn't want to waste all their time and energy talking.
So, aiming a mischievous grin over his shoulder that he didn't really feel, Gladio led the way around the motel with a simple, "Wuss."
"Hey!" exclaimed Prompto, chasing after him with Ignis on his heels. "Just 'cause you're not worried doesn't mean the rest of us aren't, man!"
"There's nothing to be worried about," Gladio scoffed as he hopped over the hood of a car that had been left to rust even before the nights got longer.
"Sure, not for you. You said he's called the Blademaster—as in blades. Swords. I'm more of a gun guy."
"Then I guess you'd better make sure you're locked and loaded, just in case."
"You're killin' me here, dude."
"So you're ready to face death?"
Cor's voice in his head brought Gladio up short, his steps faltering on the dirt path behind the outpost. Regardless of what it had meant for him in the long run, that was a day he attempted not to think about as much as possible. Back then, he'd been offered so many clues that it seemed impossible he hadn't taken any of them to heart. He was too young, too bold, too stupid to think that maybe somebody else knew better than he did about what was going on. He'd listened when it mattered—when he was busy trying to gather power to be the Shield Noct had needed, not the one he'd been given—but the rest had been lost on him. All that stuff about the last king of Lucis needing his Shield? Seriously, how had he missed that? If he'd thought about it then, maybe he would have had more time to prepare for the truth behind the Blademaster's words.
And the lie.
Because when push came to shove, Noct had gone down alone. That farce of a trial had given Gladio the strength to protect him in life, but not the strength to fall before him so that he could continue to do so beyond the grave. See, that was his job as Shield, just like his father. Where he had failed, however, his dad had been successful: once they'd pieced together the stories of what had transpired the day the empire took over Insomnia, Gladio had confirmed his suspicions of what must have happened. It was impossible for King Regis to perish if his dad didn't go first; the fact that nobody else knew anything other than that he'd been pinned to a wall when they found him spoke volumes.
That was the meaning of being a Shield. Gladio had embraced his duty since he was a kid, had accepted its inevitable consequences and the fear that came along with it before Gilgamesh himself.
Yet the line had been drawn, and at the end of the day, he'd failed his final test. While he was worthy of serving Noct when he was alive, he'd been barred from his side anywhere else. Gladio wasn't sure who he blamed more for the bitterness that coursed through his veins at the thought: the gods for taking Noct away or the Blademaster for getting his hopes up. Although Gilgamesh had warned him, he'd done nothing to prepare him for what was to come. Not really.
That was going to change this time. As Gladio nodded resolutely to himself, ignored the concerned glances he was garnering from both Prompto and Ignis (which was a hell of a thing), and continued on his way, he swore it silently to anyone who might be able to hear. They weren't going to fail, not today. And now, he wasn't going to stop until the Blademaster had divulged all his secrets. They'd done their best putting together most of them on their own—he'd fill in the rest, this other soul that had been gifted to stand watch.
Just not over the planet so much as something a lot more precious.
As quick as their good humor at the outpost had arrived, it was gone even sooner. The chill that ran down Gladio's spine the further they climbed towards the rocky outcroppings of Taelpar Crag had nothing to do with the breeze that rustled through the trees or the mud that splashed onto his boots. This was something else, something deeper that reached into his chest and squeezed his heart tight.
It was their last chance, the only one they were going to get since the Six didn't seem so keen on keeping them in the loop, and it all came down to whether Gilgamesh was going to help him one last time. If they were lucky, he'd even do it without them having to best him in battle. Gladio wouldn't shy away from it, but still, that would be a bigger pain in the ass than he really wanted to deal with today. He already had Prompto along for the ride.
Seriously, it was like the guy could read his thoughts sometimes. His shaky chuckle broke the silence, and Gladio glanced around to see him pointing at a sign ahead.
"Scotham Clough… Is that it?"
Pulling in a deep breath, Gladio answered, "Yup. The entrance to the Tempering Grounds."
"It's difficult to believe that it's been here all these years and no one has ever noticed," Ignis remarked, not without a tinge of suspicion. Damn, he was good.
"It's sealed off to anyone who doesn't know how to get in," he replied to the unspoken question at the same time as his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword where he had taken to carrying it at his waist. (That was another side-effect of not having Noct around: no more summoning his blade out of the Armiger rather than hefting it around with him.) This was exactly the kind of place wild animals would love to use as a den, unaware of what lurked on the other side of the cliffs.
"That's why you needed the marshal, right?" asked Prompto, taking the hint and unholstering his gun. Ignis must have heard him, because his daggers were in hand so fast that Gladio almost didn't see him unsheathe them.
"Well, that and he was the only person to ever come back from there alive."
"That's…comforting."
Gladio snorted. Reassurance wasn't really his game, but he gave it his best shot when he retorted, "Don't worry. You get to visit with the only guy who's ever beaten the Blademaster."
"Right," Prompto lilted, "because there's no way he'd hold a grudge. Nope. Not a chance."
"I should hope that he was too impressed by Gladio's impressive show of strength to take it to heart," Ignis interjected with the kind of smirk that spoke more of sarcasm than genuine admiration.
Everybody's a goddamn smart ass.
Rolling his eyes, Gladio didn't bother to comment. He'd get back at them later when he had some free time on his hands and a king at his side who happened to be an expert in retribution for petty slights. At the moment, they had more important things to focus on.
Like the stone crag ahead of them that cut straight into the cliff face.
If he hadn't seen it already, he never would have guessed that it was what they were looking for. The crack blended seamlessly into the rock around it, drenched in shadows and hidden from view unless you recognized the signs. When he'd come here eleven years prior, Cor had been the one to show him: he'd pointed out the slightly darker shade of grey at its center, the jagged line that ran from top to bottom, the impenetrable sturdiness that allowed no one to pass but those deemed worthy of even that much.
Fortunately, Gladio registered it immediately and without trouble—he'd had so many dreams of this place that he couldn't forget. To him, it was obvious, from the absence of anything other than grass to the familiar sight his younger self hadn't truly appreciated in his anxious trepidation.
That being said, he didn't hesitate to lift his sword in front of him, holding it level with his chest in combined offering and request. That was what the Blademaster valued: strength but not stupidity, courage but not foolishness. After all, if there was one thing he'd learned from Gilgamesh, it was that you could have all the strength and courage in the world yet still be afraid. Gladio had experienced that every single day since the fall of Insomnia, and it didn't seem like it was about to let up now.
It was reality. He had accepted that a long time ago, even if his execution left a little to be desired.
That recognition was apparently all he needed to gain entry to the Tempering Grounds. Either Gilgamesh had been able to hear his thoughts from the depths of his lair or he was merely that lucky, but there was a resounding rumble that seemed to emanate from the ground itself. It quaked beneath their feet, not enough to throw them off balance yet unexpected nonetheless. And in that instant, unheard and unseen by anyone but the three of them, the stone gate slid open in wordless welcome.
The quiet that yawned over them from the open passage was deafening compared to the noise that abated as soon as the obstacle was removed from their path, and Gladio was almost glad when Prompto whispered behind him, "I'm guessing that was supposed to happen?"
"If you wanna get in."
"Yeah, see, wanting has nothing to do with it."
"You can always stay with the car if you're too scared."
"I am not too scared!"
"Really? Sure sounds like it."
"I'm certain the Blademaster would rather not be kept waiting while the two of you behave like children," huffed Ignis in exasperation, taking point even though he had no idea where the hell he was going.
Gladio hurried ahead of him while Prompto called from the rear, "He's been hanging around for, like, two thousand years. What's five more minutes?"
Tutting under his breath, Ignis retorted, "The difference between finding Noct and returning to Insomnia empty-handed, perhaps?"
"Ha! No way. If he tries to close the doors, Gladio can just break 'em down! His head's hard enou—what is that?!"
Oh. Right. So, maybe Gladio should have warned them about the bodies.
"Gilgamesh awaits challengers in the deepest recesses of those ruins. It's been thirty years since we uncovered the caves. We've sent countless expeditions, but all of our efforts have afforded us no rewards…and no survivors."
"Except for you. You undertook the trial, and you made it back alive."
"Barely."
"Those're the guys that didn't make it," Gladio replied somberly as they stepped into the cavern, the familiarity and sense of something otherworldly washing over him in waves.
And just like that, they were back to business. It wasn't that they were forgetting why they'd come—not even close. It was… Well, it was the three of them. They were friends and brothers. Their bond had been formed through Noct, yeah, but that didn't make it any less substantial. Ignis had been his closest friend since they were kids, and Prompto? Okay, it had taken him some time to warm up to Noct's weird, goofy little tagalong, but still. Gladio would die for him—for both of them—and was positive they'd do the same for him. They hadn't really worked together in so long that he figured it was only to be expected that they fell back into some semblance of their old habits. Prompto made it too easy to poke fun at him in a pinch; Ignis's dry wit was as sharp as ever. Even though they were on possibly the most important mission they'd ever accepted, they were who they were.
Walking into the Tempering Grounds, however, their humor was stifled. To his two companions, it was a brand new experience, but it was old hat to Gladio. As far as he could tell, everything was exactly as he'd left it: the bodies of the failed competitors for the role of Shield were strewn haphazardly all over the place, their limbs arranged at odd angles and their swords hanging limply at their sides. The unluckiest bastards were impaled by them, the ultimate punishment for wandering in here when they weren't worthy of serving their kings. For these guys, there were no graves; there was no honor in their deaths. They were simply in storage, surrounded by crates and barrels and torches and the kind of detritus that amassed when you were stuck in a cave for a few hundred years.
At least, they had been stuck down here when Gladio had passed through over a decade ago. Turning his back on the light at the end of the tunnel, he edged closer to a few of the stragglers with his sword at the ready—the same sword he'd earned from this trial as a pretty badass souvenir. If the ancient inhabitants of these rotting shells agreed with him, though, they weren't about to say so. Not one of them reanimated like he'd been expecting; those lost souls that had both haunted this sacred ground and sworn their allegiance to their general were nowhere to be found. He hadn't been able to see them the first time either, but this was different. The further Gladio went, the more he came to realize that he couldn't feel their presence. Nobody called out to warn them away from these caves, nor did a sneering voice taunt him about weakness and his inability to measure up to the expectations of a true Shield. No, unlike his last visit, the place seemed well and truly empty.
He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
"That's weird," he murmured, baffled and more than slightly concerned. He'd considered the possibility that Gilgamesh wouldn't be able to help them, of course, but he hadn't taken into account what would happen if he wasn't even here.
"What's wrong?" asked Ignis, drawing his attention from the broken vessels that used to be people.
Shaking his head in confusion, he hesitantly explained, "They're…gone."
"Who's gone?" Prompto cut in. Watching him shy away from the timeless corpses would have been funny under different circumstances.
Right now, though, Gladio thought he might never laugh again. He'd done enough of that on the way here, and this was probably his punishment for it.
Should've kept my damn mouth shut.
"The souls of the old Shields"—and the failed ones, he decided not to add—"were supposed to be right here."
"Perhaps they're waiting further in," suggested Ignis, although he sounded about as sure of that as Gladio.
"Nuh uh. They were here last time, guarding the gates and turning people back."
"True, but the situation has changed," he persevered with the same unfailing logic he always did. "They remained in this place to test potential Shields to the kings of Lucis. Without a king, it's possible that they no longer bar the path into the Tempering Grounds as they once did."
Prompto nodded, seemingly more to convince himself than anything else. "Makes sense. If there aren't any more Shields, then there's no reason to have the trials, right?"
"But if there's no reason to have the trials, then there's no reason for them to be here at all," countered Gladio, his frustration beginning to bleed through despite his best efforts to the contrary.
It didn't bother Ignis, who hesitated for the briefest fraction of a second before admitting, "That…is another possibility."
The silence that fell between them wasn't comfortable like it had been in the car; it wasn't as familiar or companionable as when they were younger. Every ounce of tension they'd felt for the last year without Noct seemed to strangle them—or Gladio, at least. It wrapped around his throat until he couldn't breathe for fear that he'd botched this yet again.
That was the only explanation he could think of for those obnoxious souls not being around anymore. He'd thought it was so simple: if the kings were going to be anywhere, then it would have to be the place where their old Shields and deceased soldiers still hung around. It had been the sole clue they had to work with, especially now that they had confirmation the Six were no more than that themselves—souls, formerly human, that had gotten stuck until their task was complete. For them, it was eternal: there was no finishing the job of protecting Lucis, whether they made their presence known or not. The Shields, on the other hand, didn't have to stay. Like Prompto had said, there were no more candidates, Amicitia or otherwise; they had no one left to test. Unlike the Six, they hadn't been chosen by the Star, nor was it their duty to stand by the people of Eos to see them safely through the darkness. Without the king, the Ring of the Lucii, and the Crystal, there really wasn't any reason for them to stick around. They'd demonstrated their loyalty this long, and they'd earned the right to some rest.
Why wouldn't they ditch this shitty cave as soon as they had the chance?
"So, what do we do?" prodded Prompto, voicing the question they were all thinking. "Go back?"
Gladio didn't answer, glancing to Ignis and waiting for his input. Odds were, he'd agree: there was no use exploring the Crag if they weren't bound to find anything. They'd gone on enough fruitless ventures to last a lifetime; another would be a waste. Their time was better spent figuring out where else they could look, not embarking on a fool's errand.
He expected all that and more, yet Ignis merely hummed noncommittally—suspiciously so.
"It's up to Gladio."
…'Scuse me?
Well, that definitely wasn't like him. Usually, Ignis took charge without a second thought, doling out orders and expecting them to be followed immediately. It had been like that for as long as Gladio could remember: he'd always taken his role in the group seriously, and as such, they'd gotten used to just rolling with the punches. That was why it could be so unnerving to hang around the Citadel some days now that all that was behind them. With the marshal in charge and Ignis acting as no more than any other council member, Gladio couldn't help feeling like the natural order of things had been totally reversed. Deferring to whatever Gladio wanted to do? That was almost unheard of.
Unless he was trying to send him a message.
Come to think of it, he'd said the same thing to Noct when they pulled into one of the countless outposts on their way to wherever they were headed, letting him take point if they didn't have a real strategy. They might grab a bite to eat or ask around to see if there were any hunts available; they'd stock up on curatives and make sure their portable pantry was filled to Ignis's satisfaction. Besides that, though, they weren't doing much more than whiling away the hours, so what they chose to do in the meantime didn't matter. When every option was as good as the others, Ignis would pass the decision off to their future king and hold the rear until it was time for him to offer some advice and move them in the right direction again.
Handing the decision to Gladio meant he hadn't lost hope, not yet. Leaving or going made no difference as long as they did something.
Hey, if he wasn't ready to give up the ghost, then neither would Gladio. It wasn't over until they saw that the Blademaster was gone too. Even then, he might just hunt the bastard down. Not like they had any other ideas after this.
So, shoring up his determination, Gladio sheathed his sword and set a quick pace towards the far end of the chamber and the waterfall that would take them into the trial chambers.
"We keep moving."
That seemed to be the story of their lives these days: keep moving. Keep going. Keep on doing whatever they had to. It was always the same, and Gladio was starting to get pretty sick of it. Where was the payoff? At least when he was a Shield, when he'd had someone to protect, he'd gotten something out of it; the satisfaction of knowing that Noct was alive and well had been more than enough for him. When he'd vanished into the Crystal for ten years, Gladio could take comfort in the fact that he would return. Plus, he'd had some damn good protection until then—couldn't beat a godly retinue, after all. Sure, it wasn't the easiest fate to be separated from his charge and his brother for that long, unable to tell what was going on wherever he was—but they'd made it through. The reward came at the end, and seeing him again had been the best moment of all regardless of what they knew had to come after.
As they slowly made their way through the empty, cavernous Tempering Grounds, it wasn't the same. A year had gone by, and it felt like all they'd done was tread water. Even now, with all the help Gentiana had thrown their way, they had no clue if they were onto something or if this was merely another dead end. Eleven years ago, there had been triumph in crossing those old stone bridges and seeing the glow of the rocky outcroppings that were all that remained of the ancient battle of the Astrals; eleven years ago, he'd gotten a sense of victory out of passing through trial chambers and bypassing stone pillars that looked like they should have fallen centuries ago. The torches were still lit, the refuse of the ages was still amassed wherever it had fallen (or wherever it had landed last time he was here), yet there was no guarantee that this would be any different from the rest of the past year. Hope was hard to find when you'd grown so accustomed to disappointment.
It didn't help that he hadn't felt Noct's presence in days. Ordinarily, he would have welcomed the change, but his heart ached more than usual with the deprivation. Maybe that would have given him a little more confidence, those invisible eyes watching his every move when he kicked aside the remnants of columns he'd broken himself or formed a human barrier between Ignis and the edge of the rotting wooden scaffolding that led into the depths of Taelpar Crag. Then he might have felt like he was doing something worthwhile, not chasing ghosts as if he wasn't one himself.
Then he might have felt justified in moving on even though they met no one along the way.
As he'd suspected, the Tempering Grounds were bereft of the souls that had made them what they'd been for two millennia. The only voices that called out to him now were in his head, unheard by Ignis and Prompto as they followed in his wake yet just as potent as they had been eleven years prior. In their disdain, he could suddenly glean a very different message, one that he hadn't understood back then. It was loud and clear today, though, the maturity of age finally benefiting him as it hadn't in the early months of their journey. Those haughty assurances that he wasn't enough weren't wrong, nor was their certainty that he would die a failure. If they made it to Gilgamesh's private…whatever and didn't find him, then all their prophecies would come true, if not quite in the way they'd meant them. Gladio couldn't speak for Ignis or Prompto, but he was sick of hearing that sort of thing.
That was why he kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward. He'd given the same instructions to Prompto when they were younger, so it was about time he took his own advice. If he was lucky, that would help him get through the potential devastation they were encountering as they passed the last place he'd made camp with Cor and approached the Blademaster's chamber.
"Wow. Definitely cozy in here."
Gladio chuckled darkly at Prompto's sarcastic remark, glancing over his shoulder to joke, "Guess the interior decorator was too expensive for more than one room."
They were doing it again: Prompto answered with the same goofy grin from their old adventures, "Gotta have a really tight budget if he's made it last this long."
"It does beg the question of how great a pension he was afforded in the founder king's day," mused Ignis with a smirk.
That was one question Gladio definitely didn't want to ask. Knowing the Blademaster, he'd probably say that they were unworthy of serving royalty if they were worried about the money. He'd have a point, although there was no denying that a guy had to put food on the table if he was going to serve anyway.
Debating the motives of a loyal retainer, however, wasn't why they'd come. Neither was joking about the dusty red drapes that still hung from the ceiling or the flags from an age long past that fluttered in the breeze. Gladio didn't examine the swords of the fallen as he led them onto the bridge where he'd simultaneously faced his greatest victory and fiercest defeat; he hardly heard Prompto describing it all to Ignis behind him, either. No, his attention was focused solely on the spot where he'd once met the legendary Blademaster, the one and only being that could grant a Shield true and replete power. It was the sole accomplishment he had over his old man, if he could even call it that: Gladio would trade Gilgamesh's vote of confidence and his success in the trial for his charge's life any day.
But he couldn't, so he forced his traitorous thoughts not to go there. He didn't need any distractions beyond the one that was staring him in the face.
Or not staring him in the face, as it happened.
On his last visit, Gilgamesh had been waiting for him, sword in hand and ready to face his young, arrogant contender in battle. His power had emanated from this place, sheathing him in the kind of magic that Gladio had associated with the Crystal before he understood that there were stranger things in this world that had no explanation whatsoever.
Now, the bridge was as empty as the rest of the Tempering Grounds. Abandoned glaives were all that remained of the memory he'd taken from this place, a silent tribute to everyone who had made it this far only to fall when they met their final challenge.
For a minute, Gladio thought that maybe he was one of them. The way his heart seemed to stop in his chest, the way his breath came shallower than before, the way his muscles went taut with uncertainty and despair—they were all signs of the selfsame failure that those guys had suffered long before him. While he'd made it through the trial to become a Shield in more than simply title, he had also undergone the ultimate test and flunked it spectacularly.
Maybe history was doomed to repeat itself, after all. There was nowhere else in Eos that he would have thought might house the crystals encasing the kings of Lucis and, if there was any justice left in the world, the Oracles.
As his anguish reached its zenith, as he struggled not to yank one of those blades out of the ground and throw it as far as his strength would let him, it happened: a subtle shift, a microscopic tilt of the universe just before Prompto exclaimed, "Uh, G-Gladio!"
Whipping around, he wasn't sure whether to breathe a sigh of relief or grab his sword. Either would have been more appropriate than merely standing there, frozen in place while the Blademaster strode calmly towards them, yet that was all Gladio seemed capable of doing. He wasn't gone. He hadn't left.
This was it—this was what they had been gambling on.
Gilgamesh was still here. That had to mean something.
It'd better mean something.
If the Blademaster knew why they'd come, though, he definitely wasn't about to make this easy for them. Instead, he observed them silently—at least, that was Gladio's assumption. It was hard to tell when his face was hidden behind that mask and his armor made it impossible to read his body language. Just like their initial meeting, he exuded an aura of mystery and fathomless ferocity that Gladio had to envy. This was a man who had defied death to protect not solely his own king, but all the others that were to follow. Whether he served the purpose Gladio suspected or he really had simply hung around to test future Shields didn't matter—that he had was admirable, especially when Shields like Gladio couldn't seem to do their damn jobs.
As if reading his mind, Gilgamesh inclined his head and stared straight past the others to greet him, "We meet again, Guardian. Or perhaps you are but Wanderer now, for what is a Shield with no king to safeguard?"
Shit. Leave it to this guy to go right for the jugular.
Ignis must have taken as much offense to it as Gladio was trying not to, because he didn't waste a second in coldly retorting, "A situation we are endeavoring to remedy. By your leave," he added, more of an afterthought than anything. That was probably for the best: they really didn't need the Blademaster to think they were being disrespectful and toss them out on their asses. They hadn't come this far for nothing, oblique insults notwithstanding.
But there was one thing about having Ignis here that Gladio had to be grateful for: Gilgamesh could find fault with anyone for their lack of will or motivation, yet he doubted Ignis had a weak bone in his body for him to sniff out. When the Blademaster's gaze shifted to him, there was no snide remark forthcoming, no casual observation that fear belied his resolve. The terse exchange he had shared with Gladio on their first encounter was noticeably absent, not that that was any a surprise. Here stood the chamberlain and advisor to the last king of Lucis, a blind man who had done the unthinkable and kept going as if he could see. Here stood a retainer so bold, so loyal, so steadfast that he had defied the gods and the kings and everybody else just to see Noct safe—even if it meant he would carry his disability with him for the rest of his days.
Here stood the sort of servant Gladio should have been when it actually mattered.
And it would matter again—he'd make sure of that. This time, he wouldn't fail.
Silently, Gladio added whatever he could to Ignis's wordless show of resolve, although it certainly wasn't necessary. The latter's steady motivation, firm hand, and glaring lack of anything resembling fear seemed to ingratiate him to the Blademaster.
Well, that was what Gladio was going to call it when Gilgamesh merely answered, "Go on."
Good. Foot in the door.
Ignis being Ignis, he took full advantage of it. He didn't give Gladio or Prompto a chance to interject even if they wanted to, immediately explaining, "We seek passage to the realm where the kings of Lucis sleep."
"The realm where the kings of Lucis sleep," echoed the Blademaster, completely toneless. Either he had no idea what they were talking about or he was a damn good liar. Either way, his lack of approval didn't stop Ignis for a second.
"Yes," he replied firmly. "The fate of the kings and Oracles after completing their Focus is well documented. We know of their crystal stasis."
That may have been the biggest lie Gladio had ever heard come out of Ignis's mouth, but he didn't question it. Instead, he watched Gilgamesh for any change—any slight sign that they were on the right track. The only problem was that he had about two thousand years of practice on his side; if he didn't want them to glean what he was thinking, then they wouldn't.
Which had to be why Ignis was trying to trick him.
Well-documented, my ass, Gladio grumbled to himself. Maybe the l'Cie of the old world, but they were working on sheer guesswork and a lot of dumb luck over here.
Gilgamesh didn't point that out, though. He didn't call Ignis's bluff or accuse him of lying the way Gladio would have expected. Of course, he didn't confirm their suppositions either, frustratingly enough. Instead, he took a few measured steps forward and stopped in front of Ignis, no blade in hand but not needing one for as intimidating as he was without it. The sight had Gladio's fingers twitching towards his own, although he restrained himself at the last moment. This wasn't the time for fighting, and so far, the Blademaster hadn't killed them for being here yet. Gladio would give him the benefit of the doubt—for now.
Apparently, he was going to do the same for them. Rather than whip one of the ancient glaives from the ground around them and thrust it through Ignis's chest, he inquired in the same monotone, "For what purpose do you seek the kings of old?"
"Justice," Ignis answered without pause. Gilgamesh was prepared.
"Justice has already been delivered."
"Perhaps to he who wrought devastation upon Eos, but not for the one who ended his reign," argued Ignis. When the Blademaster offered no response, he pressed, "We were given to believe that there was still hope for the last king of Lucis, that he might be spared the fate of his forebears in light of his sacrifice."
Hopefully.
A few seconds passed where nothing but tense silence filled the space around them, unbroken by the steady breeze or their own breathing. Then, contrary to every single appearance that the guy had ever given off, the Blademaster chuckled.
"So, the Six are still incapable of letting matters lie," he mused, seemingly more to himself than to his audience.
The sudden shift in atmosphere must have given Prompto the courage to speak up, because he huffed a tentative laugh and agreed, "When do they ever?"
Gilgamesh's stance didn't relax, nor did he acknowledge Prompto's joke, but the intense edge to his tone bled away when he observed, "None but the Astrals and our lieges have passed to the realm you seek before, nor are they intent on passing through the gates of this world again."
"We are aware of their pilgrimage," Ignis lied through his teeth like the clever bastard he was. It was seriously impressive how he was able to play this game with the fluid professionalism of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and didn't give a shit if it meant getting what he wanted.
There was no way the Blademaster could miss it. There was no way he bought their story or that they knew what the hell he was talking about. Sure, they'd assumed there must be some other realm out there where the Astrals disappeared to whenever they didn't want to hang with humanity. It was pretty much a given when no one had seen hide nor hair of them; they'd vanished before, not that anyone had any idea where they'd been napping until Lady Lunafreya told them to get off their asses and give Noct a hand. Still, they could only guess at where that place was, and this had been their sole conclusion. Whether the Astrals planned to return to Eos again didn't matter; whether they were hiding the crystallized kings behind these scarves or at the bottom of the Crag or anywhere else in or out of Eos didn't matter.
Ignis's lies didn't matter, even if Gilgamesh could tell. Whatever got them to Noct sooner rather than later was just fine by Gladio.
Unfortunately, the Blademaster wasn't merely the master of blades—he was the master of tests too.
"If you claim to know the fate of the kings, then you likewise understand that it is blasphemy to defy the will of the Six by crossing the forbidden border."
Blasphemy? Who cared about blasphemy?
It took every ounce of willpower Gladio possessed not to say as much, although there was no stopping himself from growling, "The Six don't get to decide what happens to our king."
"The decision has been made, whatever the Wanderer's opinion," Gilgamesh reminded him. His calm façade did nothing for Gladio's nerves, nor did it give him any reason to be as respectful as he'd initially thought necessary.
He'd been here before. He'd taken on the Blademaster, and he'd won. It was about time he acted like it.
"Then we'll unmake it for them," he shot back, hand on the hilt of his blade and standing tall. "If there's any chance to bring Noct back alive, we'll take it. That is what a true Shield of the king does."
And you, of all people, should know that.
He may have stopped short of saying it, but Gladio got the impression that Gilgamesh heard it all the same. If he were anybody else, maybe he would have found himself impaled on one of these glaives for his insolence; maybe he would have been thrown off the edge of the bridge to land in a bloody puddle on the bottom of the ravine far below. It would have been a fitting end, considering the circumstances: the Blademaster had seniority here, not to mention the favor of the gods if he was guarding this so-called other realm like they suspected. Winning one battle shouldn't have given Gladio the right to mouth off to a guy like that.
Only he wasn't punished as he half anticipated. There was no pain beyond the one that had been with him every day for the last year, and if Gladio was being honest, he was a bit disappointed. Noct was somewhere without his Shield, and they needed to find him—it would have been nice if the Blademaster could have shown something other than a detached interest.
What he got, however, would have to do.
"That is indeed the mark of a true Shield," agreed Gilgamesh with a slow, steadfast nod of approval, "as it is the mark of any retainer worthy of serving the last king of Lucis."
"Then help us," demanded Gladio, not hesitating to push his luck. Ignis, always the more sensible one, automatically tempered his less than reverent request.
"What must we do to find him?"
To that, the Blademaster gave no response. Well, no verbal response.
Gladio's hand tightened on his sword, drawing it slightly as Gilgamesh raised his fist and a blade appeared in his grasp. The magic, the pure energy Gladio remembered from the day they had stood on opposite sides of the bridge as temporary foes rather than allies, surrounded the Blademaster when he raised his glaive to the sky in silent tribute to something none of them could see.
Until they could.
The ground shook once more, and when Gladio wheeled around, it was to see the tapestries at the other end of the outcropping fluttering aside to reveal…
"A gate?" Prompto wondered aloud, glancing between their key to bringing Noct home and the guy who held it.
Without ceremony, Gilgamesh lowered his blade and confirmed, "The gate to the other world, where the souls of the kings have taken refuge."
"So, that is your true purpose here," deduced Ignis. His expression was clear, and for the first time since they'd left the Citadel, Gladio could tell that he was appeased.
That makes one of us.
"A true Shield is unwavering even in the face of death. To their kings are their existences sworn, our souls destined to watch over them for eternity."
"What a way to go," mumbled Prompto. Gladio doubted it was quiet enough for the Blademaster not to have heard it, but the latter opted not to comment.
"What of yourselves? Do you choose to turn your back on fate and risk your own in pursuit of that which has already been lost?"
What kind of question is that?
"You're damn right we do," replied Gladio, not needing to feign courage this time. On the other side of that gate, their collective heart still beat. As long as that didn't change—or even if it did—Gladio would tell the Six to stuff it.
So would Ignis and Prompto, the latter nodding while the former added, "Always."
For once, that was all they needed. For once, that was enough.
"Then go forth with reckless abandon," the Blademaster announced, echoing words Gladio hadn't heard in a long time, "but be forewarned: should you venture into the realm of the gods, there will be no relief or respite from the dangers that await you. Either you return with your king, or you remain below, forever doomed to the oblivion of eternity. You will have only that which you carry, and none will be permitted entry behind you. None will come to your aid, nor can you expect it from the Six themselves. Should you venture into the realm of the gods, you stand alone."
Gladio nodded impatiently, already whirling on his heel and making his way towards the gate without waiting for him to finish. It wasn't the most cheerful sendoff they could have asked for, but hey, beggars couldn't be choosers.
The satisfying part wasn't the permission, anyway. Not by a long shot.
"No. We don't."
Freezing in place, Gladio paused at the sound of Prompto's surprisingly bold statement and glanced back to see him staring down Gilgamesh with the kind of strength Gladio hoped he'd had when he undertook the trial. His shoulders were set, as was his expression, and it was in that instant that he could see everything Prompto pretended he hadn't become. It was in his stance, in his eyes…
And in his voice when he insisted, "We've got each other."
The Blademaster had no answer, but it didn't look like Prompto needed one. He didn't hesitate, not even to bow or thank the guy or anything. He just turned his back and walked purposefully towards the gate, his head held higher than Gladio had ever seen it. Maybe that was why he felt prouder than ever before.
Not that he was about to admit that out loud.
For now, he'd simply do his best to take a little of that courage for himself. This time, they'd walk tall like Noct had wanted—this time, he'd walk with them.
They just had to find him first.
A/N: You guys have no idea how long I have spent studying the geography of Lucis to make this story work. As such, anything related to locations or movements is absolutely, 100% accurate. I take great pride in that and am also probably very pathetic as a result. xD
As always, thank you so much for reading and feedback! :D I know those first few chapters were pretty tough to get through, so I really do appreciate your support!
