Chapter Six: Wanderlust

There were two dimensions of blindness that Ignis was perpetually—and painfully—aware of.

The first was strictly professional: to put it plainly, there were a number of tasks he would never be able to perform under the constraints of his disability. Documents were worthless without an assistant reading them to him; photographs, the same. If there was a need to travel outside the city, another retainer would be selected so that they could more adequately gather whatever intelligence was required—never Ignis. It was maddening, that constant sense of insufficiency that reminded him why he was always within the Citadel while others carried on elsewhere. Admittedly, part of that decision was owed to his personal preference as well: having spent so long away from home, it was comfortable to sleep in his own bed in the apartment he hadn't thought he was abandoning when they had departed all those years ago. Considering the alternative—a dusty tent or, if luck were on his side, a meager cot in some distant locale—he did not regret that for an instant. Even so, there was an underlying acknowledgement of the fact that he would not be the one who was sent out as a matter of duty, that he would not be the one who left the Citadel on orders rather than of his own volition. The marshal, utilitarian and realistic to a fault, would never think to deploy him on a mission of any particular importance when he could not deliver visible confirmation of his discoveries.

In his weaker moments, it was enough to draw a drop of bitterness from the pit of his stomach that lodged in his throat where it could further harass him on the worst possible occasions. Seated at a council meeting, attending the marshal's summons, organizing relief efforts with whoever else might be present—that feeble trick of the mind did not discriminate. Any time was fair game to plague him, and when he least expected it, Ignis would swallow the sudden and inexplicable indignation that had him mentally cursing what had befallen him in Altissia.

By his own hand. He would not and could not deny that part of the story. His own will and determination to protect Noct had resulted in a sacrifice that paled in comparison to the latter's, yet Ignis lived with his every day alongside the understanding that things would never be the same.

Indeed, there came a time after they had returned to Insomnia for good when he'd fully realized the position in which he had placed himself. If he weren't who he had been for thirty-two years at that point, if he hadn't proven capable and competent to King Regis prior to his premature demise, Ignis might not have been worth his station anymore. Lucis needed volunteers who were capable and competent now, not before the Long Night—who they had been in a less difficult decade was as irrelevant as it was distant. As such, Ignis was uncomfortably certain that his former abilities had been prominent in the marshal's decision to keep him on at the Citadel. While he would never say so, there was no arguing that employing a blind man in moments of hardship wasn't the most prudent course of action. Rebuilding required those who maintained use of all their faculties, and Ignis… Well, that did not describe him. Not anymore.

To his credit, however, he had done his best to pull his weight without aid. What he could not do physically, he hoped he made up for in intellectual pursuits, and he worked tirelessly to that end. When his needs were accommodated, he could deliver strategic plans and detailed analyses of the situations in which they were operating equal to those he had concocted in a bygone age; with the right technology, he could compensate for his lack of sight with insight, by far a more valuable resource. The shadow of his disability followed him wherever he went, ever at his side like the lingering ghost of the past that it was, yet he pressed on. That was, after all, the mindset that had been instilled in him by his instructors for longer than he could remember. They were gone now, casualties of the war that had stolen everything from them and still asked for more; their voices nevertheless remained in his head, a frequent and spellbinding reminder that he was only as good as his own accomplishments.

He was only as good as his next endeavor, and he strove to ensure that failure was not an option.

The second dimension, on the other hand, was not so easily bypassed by resolve or merely ignoring the facts. It was neither avoided nor justified as being contingent on his own attitude. In his duties as former chamberlain to the last king of Lucis and current advisor to the leader of their new order, Ignis could convince himself that he was doing his best. So long as he remained focused and did not lose motivation to do all that he could, there was a place for him in the government they were hoping to create—or had been hoping to create before their latest realization that perhaps the monarchy could be restored. Ultimately, duty was as it always had been: a responsibility, and not one that he could shirk. Hard work wouldn't heal his wounds, but it would allow him to face them another day.

There was no circumventing his personal dissatisfaction with his lot, though, hard as he tried to do so. There was no pretending that his hearing fully made up for the sight he would never regain, just as there was no thinking of the future without longing for the past. In his childhood and the early years of his adult life, he had been able to see everything with stark precision that his friends frequently ridiculed, if in jest rather than malice. They had operated under the assumption that his spectacles had been a pretext, a tool that cleared up blurred edges purely so that he could claim the perfection his genetics had not granted him. In some ways, they were correct: his duty to Noct meant that it was imperative he view the world without ambiguity, so it was his mission to ensure that he registered the complete vibrancy of his surroundings for his prince's benefit.

But Ignis, for as much as he imitated the opposite, was no machine. His emotions ran just as deeply as Noct's had, although he had been more careful to hide them from public scrutiny. It was not his place to speak out of turn, whether he was frustrated or upset or excited; his lot in life was to provide support, both to Noct and to his fellows, and he could not do that if his own feelings got the better of him.

They had in the wake of the Tidemother's wrath. Ignis was still appalled with his own behavior in the aftermath, his silence when he should have spoken and his irritation when he should have been grateful. If the decision had been placed before him, he would have given his life to save Noct's, even if his brother was allegedly destined to lose it later. He was fortunate, then, that all he had endured was the absence of his most trusted sense. He was fortunate that he had walked away from the interaction with Ardyn at all, in spite of his occasional doubts as to whether he could have done something differently.

In those first days, he had nevertheless mourned his loss rather than remaining focused on what Noct had been deprived of. Even now, over a decade later, he was not immune to the odd bout of the doldrums that reminded him of what he would never have. The mental images of his friends would never be updated with their undoubtedly changing appearances as they aged; the memories of their journey would forever be all he had of the world, regardless of the ways in which it was altered. It was a facet of his reality that Ignis had grown accustomed to, existing in twilight and frozen in time as he seemed to be. No, it was not what he would have liked for himself, but there was no use dwelling on the inevitable.

Again, duty was easier to uphold. The voice inside that cried out for relief was better left alone. That, in any case, was what Ignis had tried to do, albeit with limited success at times.

It was also why he stopped dead on the other side of the Blademaster's gate, his breath suddenly quickening and his eyes watering in mingled grief and ecstasy.

For in passing the gateway, they entered a world he scarcely could have imagined. It was as though they had stepped through a downpour, the dark rain clouds that had obscured his vision dissipating and the silver curtain of moisture that dotted the landscape of his personal abyss drawing to the side. Beyond, they entered a world of light and potent color that utterly defied description.

Luckily, he required none, for he could somehow see it for himself.

"Damn," breathed Gladio in awe that he had been lacking of late. "Would you get a load of that."

Nodding slowly, Prompto agreed just as quietly, "Y-Yeah. It's…amazing."

Ignis would have echoed the sentiment if he could, yet he found that his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, effectively silencing him. Perhaps that was for the best: vague notions of grandeur and average words of praise were in no way accurate for the view that unfolded before them—or, at the very least, his perception of it. That voice, the one he chose to ignore more often than not, whispered that this could not be real. The rest of him, admittedly, was too frightened to argue lest he get his hopes up for some unattainable ideal that would be snatched away the moment he reached for it.

But he had to know. He had to know.

With trembling fingers, he raised a hand to his face and pulled his visor from its perch in fathomless trepidation. In that instant, logic failed him, and he could not dispel the belief that he was imagining this—the scene had to be painted on the inside of the shield that concealed his scars—there was no possible chance that he was truly—that he could—that this

Only there was.

Uninhibited by the screen that had served as both hiding place and armor for his wounds, there was no change: the world around him came into sharp, brilliant focus as though he had never experienced the opposite. That wasn't to say that his vision was healed, of course—his left eye was still fused shut, and he was aware of the scarring around it despite his lack of embarrassment at displaying it so openly. His other eye, however, more than made up for its inadequacy.

Not even as a child had Ignis been able to see with such startling clarity as he could when he absorbed their surroundings, simultaneously impressive and daunting in their scale. The scenery was not unfamiliar, and if Ignis didn't know any better, he would have said that they were right back where they began in Cleigne. There was simply no mistaking the towering pines, the blossoming shrubbery, the aged silos in the distance ahead—none of it was a major departure from what they had been accustomed to encountering on their long journey to Cape Caem. Under different circumstances, Ignis would have questioned whether the Blademaster had indeed been telling the truth. It was always possible that he had merely shown them through the back door, as it were, a hidden passage that would leave them wandering the wilds in exchange for their questions.

Yet these weren't different circumstances, and there were two rather glaring aspects of their latest discovery that could not be discounted. One was the unexpected return of his sight, which was a mite unnerving, though he would not complain of it for a moment.

The other was the plain truth that the world, for whatever reason, was bathed in crystal.

It didn't resemble the divine stone they had grown up protecting in the slightest. Ignis had only seen it once, on an occasion when the king had shown him what it was that he would be safeguarding by remaining at Noct's side, but it had left an impression on him nevertheless. As such, the differences between the Crystal they had given almost everything to defend and the sheet that spread as far as the eye could see were startling: there was no volcanic rock on the outside, no stray shards sticking up out of the ground. If anything, it appeared expertly sculpted by the Six themselves; indeed, he had no doubt that that had to be the case. While the Crystal had appeared as little more than a rock in its prime, coarse and even ugly on the outside to hide the masterpiece glimmering within, Ignis couldn't claim to have witnessed anything akin to this in his lifetime. Hard and unbreakable, it seemed a bit like glass, coating everything from the trees to the grass to the boulders looming behind them in place of the exit they must have emerged through. Beneath his feet, the smooth surface was almost slick in its perfection, and he knew without experimenting that he would not be able to feel the texture of the leafy shrubs surrounding them on all sides if he reached out to them. Jagged stones poked their heads out of the ground here and there, yet they were no different from the rest: they had been equally encased in the transparent mineral that lay over all else as though it belonged there.

The effect was, in no uncertain terms, utterly breathtaking. Sunlight glittered in the earth's crystal sheath, reflecting and refracting so that tiny rainbows littered the landscape in absence of any rain. Not a cloud marred the blue sky overhead, and Ignis was positive that if he had ever considered what the heavens were like, his wildest imaginings could not have approached the beauty and majesty evident in this place—this world that was not their own.

What a fitting final haven for the kings and Oracles who had sacrificed so much in the name of humanity.

Allegedly final.

As though sensing his thoughts or merely sharing them, Prompto whistled low through his teeth and mused, "Man… Guess the Astrals never do anything halfway, huh?"

"Not at all," Ignis agreed as he forced aside his awe and the elation at his ability to appreciate it in its entirety. Clearing his throat, he added, "It is a singularly magnificent sight to behold."

A second passed in silence—another—another—

"The hell?"

Ah, there it was: the realization Ignis had been waiting for. Gladio and Prompto had been so absorbed in the atmosphere—and rightfully so—that they must not have noticed the change he had undergone. Ignis supposed it was an easy thing to miss, what with the still rather prominent marks on his face to indicate that he was as he had been these last eleven years. Scarred. Deformed. Damaged.

But not broken. Never broken.

"Whoa… Iggy, you can see?!" exclaimed Prompto, darting forward to wave a hand in Ignis's face as if that served as an adequate test of his visual impairment—or lack thereof.

Brushing it out of the way in equal parts exasperation and appreciation for his show of enthusiasm, Ignis replied as evenly as he could manage, "So it would seem."

Gladio, on the other hand, appeared to be losing the battle between his will to remain as stoic as ever and his desire to celebrate as Prompto was. The result was quirked lips, furrowed brows, and a bemused, "Guess we're not in Lucis anymore."

Ignis nodded. "That also seems quite likely."

Groaning hyperbolically, Prompto whined, "Dude, how can you guys be so calm about this?! This is huge! It's—"

"Life-changing," deadpanned Gladio. "Yeah, we know."

"So not what I was gonna say!"

"Huge or not, this is a little too weird."

"Uh…why?" Prompto inquired skeptically. "Iggy can see again. That's good."

"Hate to put a damper on things, but I'm more interested in the why, not the what."

Admittedly, Ignis had to agree, and not even Prompto's fervor was immune to the oddness of the situation. His grin melted as quickly as it had arrived, replaced quite suddenly with a frown of confusion that matched Gladio's expression almost exactly.

Which he could see. It was more than a dream come true, not that he would ever tell his companions. Some things, some weaknesses, were best left unmentioned. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more Ignis realized that he shouldn't allow himself to grow attached to his present condition. It would only hurt more when he had to go back to the dark, his friends lost from view until they had earned their own places in the Astrals' care.

But that was a matter to be pondered later. For now, he relished in subtly examining and memorizing the changes time had wrought in his companions, from the length of Gladio's hair to the absence of it on Prompto's face. (Years of listening to the two of them squabble over his apparently pitiful excuse for a beard had eventually resulted in a shave, and Ignis couldn't say he was disappointed. From the sound of it, the attempt had been positively frightening.) He absorbed how there were slight creases underneath Prompto's eyes that hadn't been there when he was younger, not to mention the noticeably altered texture of his hair now that age had set in. Gladio had developed similarly, although Ignis couldn't help recognizing how different a figure he struck compared with that of his father. Where Master Clarus had been a pillar of strength, weathering storm after political storm with grace and dignity befitting one of his station, Gladio simply looked…sad. Both had served admirably, and both had led the Crownsguard (albeit for longer in the senior's case), yet only Gladio had a distance in his gaze that spoke of grief Master Clarus had not been required to shoulder. Ignis read it in the tension around his eyes, the stiffness in his spine, and the total absence of anything remotely resembling a strut.

That more than anything else indicated the years that had passed since they were truly young men. They were by no means old, not yet, but they hadn't been able to preserve their erstwhile innocence through the Long Night either. They were changed, forever transformed by their circumstances and what they'd had to do to survive. Prompto had shed the persona he had embodied since his days of conspicuously shadowing a prince, coming into his own and bearing burdens that no civilian should have had to. Gladio had tempered his exuberance, his borderline hubris, to stand as an imposing role model for those in need of guidance into the future they were attempting to build.

Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Ignis was instantly glad that there was no mirror around in which to study himself the way he was his friends. Yes, he was well aware that there was tautness to his skin that hadn't existed years ago; he knew his hair had changed, better suited to styling backwards rather than upwards. Those were developments that he could document without need for sight. The rest, however, what he would never be able to discern from his own voice or the inescapable sense of passing time… He was content to ignore that.

What couldn't—or, rather, wouldn't—be ignored was the gravity of the situation. Gladio was right: that he could see wasn't important, much as his emotions deigned to disagree with him. No, it was why he could that was the more pressing concern.

"I can only assume our divine hosts have something to do with it," he guessed aloud, drinking in the image of Prompto's head tilting curiously to the side and Gladio's lips turning down in puzzled distaste. Eleven years later, and he could still interpret their expressions with ease.

Miracles were possible.

"How come they didn't let you see before, though?" asked Prompto. "Would've really helped out back in the empire and all."

Gladio shook his head. "Got a feeling it's not that easy. It ain't like they did much about anything, not just Iggy's eyes."

"Some matters were beyond the—" began Ignis only for Gladio to cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Point is, I don't think they could've fixed this back home."

For a moment, Ignis considered pursuing the subject before deciding against it. If they managed to find Noct in this strange new world, perhaps that would be evidence enough to change Gladio's mind about the Six. There was no denying the fact that Ignis experienced the same sense of indignation at the thought of them on occasion, the same terrible doubt that their deities were indeed as powerful as they seemed when they couldn't save the one life that mattered more to them than any other, but he also strove to be realistic. The prophecy of Bahamut had been made long ago, just as the fate of the Chosen King had been sealed. Their heartache would not change that, nor would it assist them in this venture—yet Gladio had a right to his grief, whether it colored his judgment or not. Either way, wasn't it Ignis's duty to ensure that everyone remembered why they were here?

As ever.

He didn't take it for granted, though. Rather, he embraced the feeling of usefulness that had been severely lacking of late and followed the logical train of Gladio's thought.

"You may be right. The Blademaster implied that this world is one created by the Astrals, not the ancient gods of lore. In that case, their will must be supreme here."

"More than in Eos, you mean," clarified Prompto.

"Quite. There is no magic in our world now that the Crystal has been destroyed and the line of kings is broken."

"And Oracles," interjected Gladio, to which Ignis nodded.

"Of course. If this is the world they fashioned for themselves, then it stands to reason that the same limitations cannot be applied here."

"So, they're throwing us a bone while we're visiting."

"They may believe it's necessary in order for us to locate Noct."

Gladio's smirk returned, and there was a touch of humor in his tone when he remarked, "Guess they don't trust me and Prompto to figure it out on our own."

"Hey, they're not the only ones," retorted Prompto good-naturedly, although he certainly didn't seem to be joking. The sight of his confident and trusting smile bolstered the minuscule corner of Ignis's heart where he usually locked his treacherous insecurities away from the rest of the world.

He couldn't seem to find the words to tell him so, however, so he settled with a modest, "I'm sure you two would have managed."

"Yeah," snorted Gladio, rolling his eyes. "You keep tellin' yourself that. Anyway, we should probably take a look around. I don't know about you guys, but I got a feeling the Six didn't let us in just so we could stand around yapping."

"And if they're the ones who make the rules around here…" Prompto trailed off with an unmistakable shudder. The implications of his unfinished statement, however, were obvious: it wouldn't do to anger the Astrals when they couldn't be certain of how their powers worked in this realm, as the Blademaster had called it.

Better safe than sorry.

Even if they didn't care for their own safety, they wouldn't jeopardize their chances of bringing Noct home. Not now or ever.

So, Ignis didn't hesitate to follow when Gladio set a brisk pace down a steady incline towards the silos he had spotted when they first stepped through the gateway. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he drank in the sight of their surroundings for a rather different purpose—namely, determining where they were. It all looked familiar beyond merely the similarities it bore to their own world, yet Ignis couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd seen it before. If he'd seen it before, that was. They had traveled off the beaten path in those first weeks after the fall of Insomnia, but he couldn't say he had singled out any of their journeys through the wilderness as particularly unique. With all the hunts they had taken for the local townsfolk and the exploring they had done in the line of their duty, it seemed that they had examined every corner of Lucis and then some. That being said, they could just as easily have been in a crystallized version of Wiz's chocobo ranch as the remote plains of Duscae or the random concoction of the Astrals' imaginations.

That was originally his assumption, at least. As they bypassed the storage towers and trailed along a hardened dirt road towards what appeared to be an abandoned parking lot, Ignis realized something that had him freezing in place. Like the Glacian's message, like Pryna's guidance, like the Blademaster's warnings, like the world itself—it seemed truly impossible…

Yet he did know this place.

"This is Secullam Pass," he murmured in awe, scanning the area for any sign that he was indeed losing what remained of his sanity.

He wasn't certain if it was fortunate for him that there wasn't any.

Ignis did, however, consider himself lucky when Gladio glared around the vacant lot and concurred, "Sure does seem that way."

"But how?" blurted out Prompto. "Everything's all…"

Although he didn't finish his sentence once again, Ignis thought he knew what he wanted to say. After all, it was rather difficult to miss the substantial differences between this realm they had arrived in and the home they had left behind in the process. Wandering further from the entrance hadn't changed the landscape: the ground was still a continuous sheet of sparkling crystal, regardless of whether the paved street they stood on gave way to grass and dirt on the other side of the road. Combined with the absence of the rusting heaps of glorified scrap metal that had been there last time they had visited and had remained for the eleven intervening years, the sight was actually more pleasant, if unsettling in its utter silence. Ignis had gotten used to navigating on the basis of sound, utilizing it to determine where he was and what obstacles he might encounter. The return of his sight hadn't cured him of that habit, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he waited in vain for anything to break the hush that seemed to blanket them on all sides. In the same spot, they had formerly heard the chirping of birds and distant sounds of traffic; they had listened to the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the roars of beasts not far off. Of course, there had also been magitek troopers scouting the forest looking for Noct, but they were easily dispatched. At any rate, the noise they provided had eventually added to the backdrop of the scenery, much as they would have preferred the opposite.

Here, there was no noise. There were no sounds of others in the area, human or otherwise, nor could Ignis catch the slightest glimpse of movement beyond where they stood. The plants were still with no wind to move them and glasslike rock holding them upright; in a world of gods, there would be no place for people to roam the lands as they did in the Lucis they'd come from. It wasn't such a hardship, of course: the only ones they were hoping to find were Noct and Lady Lunafreya. Even so, Ignis doubted that it would be as simple as happening across them in a forest somewhere.

Somewhere that both was and was not home.

"It appears that the Six chose to mold this realm in the image of our own," Ignis ventured, realization beginning to dawn on him. "Perhaps this is what they had hoped to create when Eos was formed."

Prompto blinked, his expression awed yet uncomfortable when he replied, "Well, uh… They definitely had an…interesting idea about that."

"You say interesting. I say creepy," muttered Gladio. Unlike Ignis, who could appreciate the sights in spite of his misgivings, he folded his arms over his chest and glared around them as though this world's mere existence personally affronted him. "It's too quiet."

"Some might call that peaceful, Gladio," countered Ignis, not entirely convinced that he didn't feel the same. After all, peace and quiet wasn't always an accurate depiction of the latter.

Gladio must have been able to tell that he was less than certain, because the only response Ignis garnered was a raised eyebrow and a skeptical, "Yeah, sure."

Fortunately, Prompto had enough enthusiasm for both of them—or, more accurately, he put on a good show. He immediately turned their course along the road, calling over his shoulder, "Oooooookay, on our way! To…where?"

Ah. Yes. That was the other problem, silence and stillness aside.

"If I'm not mistaken, we should be just south of the Tomb of the Just," Ignis pondered aloud, frowning indecisively down the street in both directions. It was odd to speak of this place as if it were the same as their home, which couldn't be further from the truth, yet there was simultaneously no arguing that it didn't put them at something of an advantage. Familiar territory meant less confusion; less confusion, a swifter path to Noct.

Even so, as he mentally calculated their location as slightly north of where they had gone into the Tempering Grounds, Ignis couldn't help hesitating. It would be pointless to return to the Taelpar rest area: there would be nothing there waiting for them. At least, that was the logical assessment when it appeared that the rest of this version of Lucis was devoid of life besides themselves. They would waste precious time going out of their way, especially when he could think of no reason for Noct's crystal to be hidden anywhere in the vicinity.

Into the heart of the kingdom it was, then.

So, taking a deep breath, Ignis fortified his surety and set his sights to the north. "We can follow the road and regroup at the Coernix Station near Cauthess."

"Guess there's no point doubling back for the car, huh?" chuckled Prompto, the longing in his voice belying his casual demeanor.

Gladio, of course, picked up on it right away and replied, "Nope. Doubt the Six are gonna help us out that much. Looks like we're hoofin' it, fellas."

"It's a good day for walking," Ignis observed with a smirk in Prompto's direction as Gladio set off at a good clip, expecting the two of them to follow. "Aren't we lucky?"

The allusion to the first days of their journey didn't fall on deaf ears, and Prompto's embarrassed groan could very likely be heard on the other side of the kingdom—if there were anyone to hear it, of course.

"That was years ago! When are we gonna let that go?"

"Never," Gladio shot back, much to his chagrin.

Ignis, conversely, took the less antagonistic approach: "Come now, Prompto. It's impossible to appreciate where you've ended up when you don't remember where you began."

"See, you say that, but…"

"But nope, never letting it go."

"And there you have it," grumbled Prompto with a long-suffering sigh at Gladio's candor. The twinkle in his eye, however, spoke of contentment more than irritation. That was why it was such a shame when it faded away to be replaced by a perplexed frown as he continued, "Speaking of where we end up, where are we supposed to find Noct? Not like Lucis is a tiny place or anything."

Humming under his breath, Gladio paused to regain his footing on the slope towards the main road before he admitted, "It'll be like lookin' for a needle in a haystack."

"So much for the Blademaster."

"Hey, he got us this far," he pointed out, his frustration seeming split between Prompto and their situation. "Getting in was the hard part. Now…"

"Now, we just have to get to Noct. Somewhere," huffed Prompto, although he didn't have much opportunity to lament their mission. As soon as the words left his mouth, the landscape opened up around them to reveal more of the same: the stone archways they had found so spectacular years ago glittered in their crystal encasement, and the hills of Cleigne rose up to meet them in unbreakable waves.

Beautiful. Simply magnificent.

To him, in any case. Gladio must have grown bored of their surroundings, because he hardly afforded them a second glance. Rather, he continued down the road at a pace that would have winded anyone less thoroughly trained than themselves.

"What d'you think, Iggy?" he asked, eyes on the path laid before them. "Any bright ideas?"

"A few," he answered with some confidence in spite of the unexpected nature of their arrival. "Just because the Shields of old guard the entrance to this realm does not mean that the kings remain as close to the gate as we expected."

"So, needle in a haystack," repeated Gladio sourly.

"Now now, I doubt it will come to that. We do, after all, have one advantage on our side."

Prompto turned to stare at him, his eyebrows furrowed. "Like what?"

…Well, perhaps he had been right earlier about them not finding their way. Ignis had faith in them, yet it was in moments like these that he took solace in his usefulness to the collective. With or without his sight, they hadn't come to the conclusion that grew increasingly predominant in his mind with every step they took. That was as comforting as it was irritating.

"We know where Noct was last seen," Ignis reminded them, nodding pointedly towards the horizon.

Gladio inferred his meaning immediately and guessed, "You're saying we'll find him on the throne."

"Possibly. If we don't, it's at least a place to start."

"That's gotta be it, though, right?" interjected Prompto before they could tread any further down that depressing trail of thought. "Where else are they gonna put a King of Kings?"

Grunting in acknowledgement, Gladio nevertheless reminded him, "Yeah, well, he ain't the only king here."

"Right. So, wherever they are, there's gotta be enough room for—what? A hundred fourteen of them?"

"Quite right. It's unlikely that they would all fit into one seat," Ignis retorted wryly. His humor vanished a moment later, though. "Still, Prompto has a point. If any of them would sit the throne, it would be Noct."

That much, he thought, was obvious. Ignis didn't entirely concur with Gladio's opinion of the Six: they had been dealt a hand that offered them little in the way of choices, and he was realistic enough to accept that that meant making a few sacrifices. That it was their brother they had chosen was unfortunate, and on a personal level, Ignis would rail against it for the rest of his life. Regardless, when he took a professional standpoint and held the issue at arm's length, he understood that tossing two families to the daemons to save countless others was the more palatable option.

Yet in this instance, they were in complete agreement: the Astrals owed Noct the throne they had stolen from him before he'd had a chance to ascend to it.

His conscience refused to let him say what his bitterness had given rise to, however, and Ignis was grateful for that. They had more pressing matters to manage than their own grief, especially when there was no telling what would stand between them and the undoubtedly crystalline Crown City.

Because when had it ever been as easy as a simple road trip?

"All right," announced Gladio, stretching his arms over his head as he walked. "Looks like we're heading to Insomnia, then."

The noise Prompto made in response was somewhere between another groan and a sigh. "Greeeeeeat. Definitely gonna burn off my lunch with all that walking."

"Just pretend you're walking to the car," rejoined Ignis with a roll of his eyes.

That would be wishful thinking indeed. Although the world they had entered through the gate in the Tempering Grounds was nearly identical to their own, Ignis was cataloging the various alterations the Astrals had made as they walked. The landscape certainly was similar, from the fauna to the buildings that dotted the horizon. Where there had been an abandoned shack or an aging farm in their version of Eos, its twin existed here; to their left was an incline made of volcanic dust that must have blown in from Ravatogh, and Saxham Outpost lay vacant to their right. It was all where it had been when they were younger, in the years when Ignis had been able to see it and the Long Night hadn't obscured it from everyone else's view. Despite all that, however, there was nothing functioning here. There was nothing that moved, nothing that breathed, nothing that showed any signs of animation in the slightest. While it shouldn't have mattered to him, Ignis had to admit that it was unnerving: he had grown accustomed to listening for movement and acting accordingly, yet the silence was increasingly deafening here.

A part of him tried not to think anything of it: what use would the Six have for vehicles and the like, particularly in a place of this caliber? They could get around at will in the original Eos, which left little doubt that they could manage the same in a world of their own creation. They didn't need the plants that should have popped out from beneath the solid crystal, nor was their survival contingent on being able to scoop water from the small, hardened lakes they passed. Even the sun didn't appear to be moving in the sky, hovering in the same position at the eastern horizon as though a perpetual dawn blessed this Eos as a recurring one graced theirs. Function had been laid to waste; fashion, it seemed, had guided the construction of this world.

Beautiful, yes. Impressive, of course.

But empty. So very empty.

Ignis was beginning to reevaluate his initial assessment that this was a fine place for Noct to rest. No fishing, no food, no naps in the backseat of a car? It would have driven him mad if he could see it.

That was how Ignis knew that this wasn't the Providence spoken of in legend. It was used in a number of contexts, and on an academic note, it was fascinating to guess at what it really meant. Some said it was the blessings of the gods inherent in the Crystal; others, that it represented the light of their Star and, therefore, the place where all souls would convene when they departed their earthly vessels. There was no telling, which was fine with Ignis. Although he preferred clarity over ambiguity, there were some things it was better not to know.

If the masses were correct and Providence referred to the latter, though, then Ignis couldn't help the twinge of confusion that had him frowning out over the lush green grass interred beneath its crystal blanket. Noct had more than earned his place amongst the stars, hadn't he? He had sacrificed himself and a third of the meager excuse for a life he had been allowed in order to see the world put to rights. Thirty years old—that was when the Six and Ardyn had seen fit to take him away from them, though in so many ways he had still been the same prince Ignis had seen from Insomnia to Gralea mere months after he had come of age. Wisdom had taken root in his mind, as had the burden of responsibility he hadn't been prepared for ten years prior, yet the darkness hadn't settled in his voice the way it had for the rest of them. It hadn't infected his soul until it was difficult to remain positive or keep the shadows at bay.

Ignis hadn't for an instant considered giving up during the Long Night—he hadn't even entertained the notion, knowing that there was work to be done and that Noct would need him—but he would be lying if he said that it had been a simple matter of remembering that his king would return that urged him ever onward. After all, for every memory of Noct that filtered through his mind from when they were young and naïve and happy, there were just as many instances where his thoughts drifted back to the vision Pryna had bestowed upon him in her last moments. He would never learn whether the Oracle's canine companion had predicted what was going to happen to his sight and that he would never see Noct as the king he was destined to become or if she had merely wished to warn someone before her own time came. (When the alternative was Ravus, who Ignis suspected had already known, then it was no wonder she had chosen Ignis.) Regardless, fate was so cruel as to force one of the final images of Noct he could take with him to be his sacrifice on the throne. At the time, he hadn't fully comprehended that that was what it was—not entirely, in any case, but it hadn't taken long to decipher. For ten years, he had anticipated and dreaded Noct's return in equal measures because of the echoes of his pain that erupted in Ignis's head when he least expected it; in the aftermath, it seemed to taunt him with the constant reminder that no one had been there to bear witness and stand at their brother's side so that he did not go alone.

There was no avoiding it, the ugly display of his death that had etched itself into Ignis's memory, and he couldn't help a brief surge of bitterness that Noct had not been offered passage to the same paradise that they would hopefully adjourn to when their lives came to a close. It was only fitting, wasn't it? That was what had kept them going for the last year: the idea that when they did pass, when their time did come, they would leave the face of Eos and reclaim their places at Noct's side. It wouldn't be the same, of course, nor was there any way of truly anticipating what awaited them after the end no matter how hard they looked for answers in the Cosmogony. Still, Ignis preferred to believe that there was more than this one life, that he would be able to serve Noct again when he found out what exactly that was.

To discover that he was actually here, in this cold and barren wasteland whose beauty was outweighed by its emptiness? It was nearly more than Ignis could take, and he tamped down on his frustration as they wandered north past Thommels Glade and the Tomb of the Just on their way towards the outpost he assumed would still be there. No animals, no beasts, no people… There was no life in this world, and if Noct deserved anything for all he'd suffered in the name of the Six, it was eternal life. He undoubtedly would have enjoyed the idea of eternal sleep, being who he was, but he should have had better than this.

Perhaps, Ignis mused, that was something that their gods didn't quite understand. If they had come to the right conclusion and the Six had been human in the distant past, then they must have forgotten how unsettling something like this would be to mere mortals. They must have seen this as the highest of honors, being turned to Crystal and granted an allegedly peaceful existence away from all that had wrought so much harm on both the world and its Chosen King. It was possible that they saw it as a holiday of sorts: Noct would never be alone here if he was not aware of his solitude.

But Ignis was, and Noct had been alone enough in life that he refused to let that stand now. The Blademaster had made it sound as though it would behoove them not to become trapped in this place, but if that was the difference between Noct having company and spending eternity alone, then Ignis would gladly stay. He would happily become the only animate creature on this farce of a planet, forsaking humanity and the reconstruction effort to ensure that Noct received that which he deserved. That was, after all, what he had been selected to do from the time he was six years old.

Those thoughts were better left for later, however, so he pushed them to the back of his mind where they could fester in silence. Everything seemed calm, yes, but there was no telling how long it would remain so. Gilgamesh had also been certain that this would not be a pleasant voyage, that the Astrals would seek to disrupt their course as much as encourage it. As such, they couldn't be certain of what challenges they would meet on their way to the Citadel this time, and it did them no good to be distracted by things he had absolutely no control over—yet. If all went according to plan and they found a way to wake Noct, then that would be very different.

For now, they had other priorities that needed attending to, how they were to reach Insomnia without transportation chief among them.

The journey to the station outside Cauthess was a far less substantial endeavor, and they made it in what Ignis estimated as approximately an hour—their phones had gone dead once they'd passed through the gateway, so he had no method of gauging the passage of time. A meager distance or not, however, it was clear that they had made the right decision in stopping here: Prompto was lagging behind, wobbling awkwardly on sore feet, and even Gladio looked like each step cost him something as he led the way through the parking lot towards the lodgings on the opposite side of the Coernix Station. Ignis wasn't immune, although he had been so lost in his own thoughts and enamored with his newfound—and undoubtedly temporary—ability to see again that he had done his best not to dwell on it. That didn't stop him from dropping into one of the plastic chairs outside the caravan to offer his legs a much-needed reprieve, though.

"Ugh, finally," moaned Prompto, collapsing across the table from him and hanging his head over the back of his seat.

Gladio was a bit more refined about his approach to the situation, though Ignis could hear a distinctive edge of frustration when he asserted, "This ain't gonna work."

No, it wouldn't. Ignis hated to admit it, but he wasn't in the sort of shape he had been a year ago. For the last few months, the most aggressive physical activity he'd undergone was making his way from his chambers to the council meetings and back; there wasn't much else to be done when he wasn't of use otherwise. As such, he was trying to ignore the way his chest was pulling slightly against his every attempt to breathe and his legs were already stiff from the constant motion. He was by no means in poor condition; that was impossible when he maintained a reasonable diet and still ventured down to the training rooms when he had a chance. Even so, he had regrettably let himself rest on his laurels, and this was the logical outcome.

That wasn't enough for him to agree, however, and he immediately countered, "We have no other choice, unless you two have a better way of reaching Insomnia?"

Neither said a word, which was answer enough in itself.

"Our only solution," he continued in the ensuing irritable silence, "is to move in as straight a line as possible. Following the road will take us miles out of our way."

And waste hours of time that they couldn't be sure they had. Ignis didn't bother reminding them, though; they had to be as intimately aware of their plight as he was.

Indeed, Gladio grunted in approval when Prompto replied, "Off-roading sounds good to me. Gonna have to go through that, though…"

Oh, how quickly they fell into old habits. Mere hours ago, he would have spelled out what he meant with such painstaking—and often aggravating—care for Ignis's benefit. Now, he didn't appear to think twice about simply pointing over Gladio's shoulder towards the distant outline of Cauthess where the stones that had been uprooted by the Meteor still reached for the sky. Well, the stones that would have been uprooted by the Meteor if this were truly Eos. But it wasn't, and Ignis doubted the Astrals would replay one of the most dangerous natural disasters in history purely for aesthetic purposes. No, it was but another parody of the world they lived in, this time admittedly less convenient than before.

"I suppose we'll simply have to go around," Ignis observed with a one-shouldered shrug. So much, then, for his plan.

"Yeah, it'll just take longer if we don't," agreed Gladio, folding his arms and surveying the landscape through narrowed eyes. "So, question is which way we wanna go."

"You don't think they're still selling maps here, do you?" joked Prompto.

Scoffing, Ignis eyed him with thinly veiled exasperation. "Perhaps if you had studied for those geography exams…"

That had him grimacing, and he hastened to argue, "Hey, how was I supposed to know it was gonna come in handy someday?"

"Yes, how very unlikely it was that you would ever move around the country you live in."

"Uh, Wall, dude. Wall."

"Anyway," interjected Gladio, pointedly rolling his eyes, "not like we need a map with you around, Iggy."

"Pfft, yeah!" Prompto latched onto the vague compliment immediately. "Why memorize some dumb piece of paper when we've got you? You're so much better than a map."

Any other day, Ignis would have gone to the effort of constructing a sarcastic and likely scathing response. Leave it to Prompto to attribute Ignis's intelligence to his own lack of motivation. Still, he couldn't deny that it was bolstering to know that they trusted his insight in more than merely advisement. After all, it had been a long time since he had been able to look at a diagram of their world; most people would have forgotten a good bit of it, especially when so much had changed during the Long Night. Not Ignis, though. He remembered every landmark, every outpost, every characteristic as though he had just pored over them the night before. They had been lodged in his head since he was a child, and he doubted that anything so trite as blindness was going to eradicate them in the near future.

With two pairs of eyes on him, waiting for his input… This was the way it should be.

So, rather than comment on Prompto's obvious evasion, Ignis cleared his throat and pulled up the mental image that was inescapably seared on the inside of his eyelids. He could do this. Noct was counting on him to do this.

"If we're taking the shortest route," he began thoughtfully, staring out towards Cauthess as if he would be able to see the Citadel on the other side, "then our best option is to turn north. We can follow the road towards Lestallum and then divert onto the Mencemoor."

"It'll be rough goin' down there," warned Gladio, though he didn't sound at all averse to the idea.

"Indeed, but there won't be any creatures standing in our way," observed Ignis. It was a necessary trade-off, and they all recognized it.

"Can stick a little closer to the edge of the Disc so we don't go too far out of our way."

"Agreed. From there, we'll move through the Nebulawood south of Alstor Slough. If we cross over the Malacchi Hills from there rather than going around, it should save us a good bit of time."

"If we can even climb that high with all the crystal," Prompto cut him off. The trepidation that would have been written into every line of his face a decade earlier was conspicuously absent, as was his reluctance for the strenuous physical activity they were about to engage in. His point was a logical one, plain and simple. Ignis had to be proud of that.

So was Gladio, if his nod of approbation was any indication. "Probably. We can figure it out when we get there. It's slick, but as long as we can find some footholds, we should be good."

"The results will be well worth the effort," Ignis added, to which Prompto merely shrugged.

"Guess we'll find out. So, what—after that, it's just Longwythe?"

"Yes. We can take the path through the Three Valleys, regroup at Hammerhead, and then approach Insomnia from the south."

"Sounds easy enough," mused Gladio, his gaze on the horizon. It already looked like he was itching to depart, and Ignis could hardly blame him: the sooner they got going, the sooner they would be at Noct's side.

But that part wasn't so simple. The outpost itself was proof that they needed to pace themselves. In this world of the Astrals and their entombed servants, they would find no food or comfortable lodgings, as far as he could tell. As such, they couldn't plow through their mission the way Gladio was wont to.

Prompto was either of the same mind or intent on proving him wrong about his lack of complaints, because he sighed a sarcastic, "Yeah, except the whole…walking part. Don't know about you guys, but hoofing it across the country? Not something I ever really wanted to do."

Snorting, Gladio pointed out, "Not like we haven't before."

"At least we don't have a bounty on our heads this time," Ignis agreed, albeit not entirely without pause. "But don't forget: the condition of our footwear isn't our foremost concern. The Blademaster was quite clear in his instructions. Wherever our path may lead, we aren't the only ones here."

At that, Prompto shifted uncomfortable in his seat and murmured, "I, uh…thought he was just trying to freak us out, y'know? All that blasphemy against the Astrals stuff," he added in an exaggerated and not at all accurate imitation of Gilgamesh's cadence.

"Does the Blademaster seem like the kinda guy who just freaks people out on a whim?" scoffed Gladio, an eyebrow quirked in disbelief.

"I dunno. If I were stuck down there with a bunch of moldy old corpses for a few hundred years? Gotta do something for fun."

"Yeah, like terrorize any sissy that comes your way. You got a point."

"Hey, who're you calling a sissy?!"

"If you two are quite finished," sighed Ignis, waiting for them to cease their childish bickering before he continued. "Gladio is right—it isn't likely that the Blademaster sought to lead us astray. If anything, his advice should inform us that that is someone else's task."

As though to cover his quite perceptible shudder, Prompto chuckled nervously and countered, "Okay, so? It's us! We got this."

"You sure about that?" Gladio asked, only half joking. Perhaps that was what reinforced Prompto's resolve, for his apprehension melted away immediately, self-assurance taking its place.

"Dude. It's us."

Indeed, it was, and in a way that Ignis hadn't heard for quite some time. It was encouraging, the gentle back and forth between Prompto's grievances and Gladio's barbless taunts, and he allowed it to wash over him as they tightened their shoes and ranks to depart. For so long now, their interactions had been overshadowed by their loss. Not having Noct around to interject with his witty remarks had left them reeling, their dynamic forever altered. Although they had gotten used to his absence during the Long Night, they had still lived with the promise that he would return; that was what made all the difference. It was why they had been able to work together, even if it hurt. They'd done their best to retain some semblance of normality, but when their king had fallen off the edge of the board, everything had changed despite their efforts.

This was their chance to set things right. This was their only opportunity to find who they were again, all thanks to Gentiana's interference and the intoxicating hope she had injected into their humdrum existence.

This was their redemption.

So, as they set out from the station and leapt over the guardrail separating them from the Mencemoor, Ignis looked to the distance and made his silent vow—to Gladio, to Prompto, to the marshal.

To Noct.

We're coming.