A/N: Holaaa! I'm back with a new chapter before I began classes again *sighs* Writing ths chapter was a nightmare, Jesus Christ. It continued to get longer and longer and longer. I'm very happy that I managed to finish it today since I don't know if I'll have much time to write the fourth this week.

Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like me to post miscellaneous things here just as sort of extras or bonus. I mean, I've been doing some crappy edits for this fic and I'm in the process of making a playlist. Also, I've been thingking of creating a side blog in tumblr dedicated to the fic, where I'd be posting too extras, bonuses, edits, updates regarding the fic, meaning if I'll take longer than usual writing a chapter, tentative dates for updates, fragments of chapters, or if you would like to make some fan art you're always welcome as well, and so on. If you're interested in any of this ideas please let me know in the comments 3

Well, with nothing else to say, please read :)

pity not my destiny, no

The wall rose tall in front of everyone gathered around it. A titan of stone separating them from their goal, preventing them from reaching haven. Prompto was among those lost souls waiting to be allowed inside. Currently the gates were closed. Out of nowhere a fleet of people had arrived from everywhere across Eos with a common goal: they were all seeking refuge from the Empire.

It proved for the guards who had been running the checkpoint a hard task to examine every newcomer, especially as the flow of human masses increased at alarming speed. They decided that the best course of action was to move the checkpoint behind the wall, let small groups in, so they could be more efficient doing their work and had the chance to rotate guards if necessary. Prompto at that point had been at the front of the line and was disappointed to have to wait more hours before he was let in. Seeing the gates close in his face felt like an open palmed slap.

He sat against the remains of what had once been the wall of a house-this was not surprising in the slightest. Scattered across the area were ruins of every kind, empty shells and abandoned bones of human civilization. Like him, families huddled close to them or settled on the ground, anywhere with an open space available.

From his safe spot, he watched human nature unfold before his curious gaze. Soon, he discovered that scenes like the one he lived earlier (his hand in the air and the only real thing he had ever known walking away, away) were quite common in this place, and maybe even worse.

Next to him, a woman dressed in dirty rags tried to convince her daughter to go ask for food pretending to be sick. "That way they ought to give you lots of sweets" she gave her a yellowed, dirty smile. On his other side, a man was saying goodbye to his twin sons-they didn't look older than six-, reassuring them about their safety once they were inside Insomnia. The boys stared at him with big puppy eyes and demanded loudly the reason why he was not going in with them. He just shook his head in an exhausted manner. One meter away, a girl who had once been very pretty, Prompto could tell, stared vacant at one point over the horizon, holding a one sided conversation with herself. Her long red hair was made more of wood and dirt than hair; her hands were as bloodied as the long skirt covering her legs, occasionally drops of water would fall on her lap despite her completely blank expression. The couple positioned near the girl threw cautious glances at her from time to time while keeping their children close. "Don't get close to her" he heard one of the moms warn her child. A father soothed his newborn; he sang a lullaby too low to reach Prompto's ears. On and on the carnival of tragedy repeated its cycle: some wept, some cried, some walked around in circles with no direction in mind, some were in groups, some were alone, others argued, others like him kept away from everyone else…

So this was war, the boy mused in mute horror, hugging his knees in a vain attempt to keep his body warm. Locked up as he'd been, he hadn't really known what was going on in the outside world, never cared to know either when he had to fight to maintain consciousness and whatever it was the doctors supplied him with. The only thing that seemed to matter in general, to everybody alike whether they were inside the labs or out and trying to survive, was satisfying basic needs. Food, water, clothes, anything to keep the cold at bay… Which reminded him he was about to become an iceberg. The tips of his fingers and toes were almost numb from the lack of use, he knew the smartest thing was to get up and get his blood running but he was afraid of losing his spot and therefore missing his chance to enter first. But he could stand the cold, he was used to it. From the freezing floors of the laboratories to the nights in the wild Prompto was more than prepared to face low temperatures, that hadn't been an issue to begin with. The real problem was the growing void in his belly, that's what was slowly killing him and forced him into a curled up position with the hope that if he stayed that way for a while the pain would go away.

It didn't.

Prompto swore he felt the stomach juices eating him from the inside, melting the walls of his stomach at a speedy pace. He was aware of the similarities between himself and the skeletons he and the lady-whose name he could not remember, had she even told him?-had stumbled upon on their journey. Easily swept by a breeze, small, thin, hollowed cheeks, eyes that looked bigger in his languid face, bones that threatened to pierce skin in the collarbone, hips and spine areas- he was one step away from becoming a walking corpse if he didn't find something to eat and for everything that was holy and sacred he did not want to cross that line.

He stood up, determination to look for something edible propelling him to move his rigid limbs. What a bother, thinking in hindsight, he realized how utterly stupid he was. If only he had the foresight, no, had been smart enough to get some food when the chance showed up; a committee assigned with the task of bringing food to the pilgrims came out of the walled city around noon and Prompto, distracted doing useless people watching, paid them no mind until it was too late and all the food had already been taken by the hungry hordes. Now thanks to his lack of common sense he was dying of hunger and thirst, alone, surrounded by strangers even more desperate than himself.

Out of pure frustration his eyes began to water. He was a rightful mess. Why did he have to be alone anyway? Why didn't he have a family? He was just a kid, he wasn't made for this, had no idea what to do or how to handle himself on his own. The other human being he had interacted with the most was the lady and why did she leave him too? At least back in Niflheim he hadn't had to do anything on his own, he was ordered and forced but he hadn't had to survive. Being on his own in a suddenly too wide space that wasn't limited to four walls and narrow hallways was the hardest thing he ever faced. Escaping from Niflheim couldn't compare, not really, after all the blonde woman had been the one to plan everything, every choice, every move, to what territory they'd be moving next, where they'd stay for the night, where to hide, where to eat, what to eat, what to wear. She did everything. She knew everything.

And albeit her efforts to teach him what she knew, there he was freaking out. It wasn't even that he hadn't learned, it was just that he didn't know how to apply that knowledge in real life. In the real world. Alone.

Tugging one of his dirty yellow locks to bring himself out of his head and back to the now, he walked to the gates. His worn shoes didn't help the process one bit and he felt the entire magnitude of Lucis's soil on the soles of his feet, pebbles particularly. He didn't know what compelled him to get to the gates but somehow, he could almost hear a faint feminine voice (was it a voice? It was more like pure sound in the form of a melody) telling him to move forward.

Which he did.

His hand grazed the rusted material of the giant door when he reached it, his ivory skin versus the blazing dark material. He felt infinitely insignificant in front of such a thing, as if the wall that contained it wasn't sufficient proof of how small they all really were. As he thought this, suddenly the door moved inwards leaving his appendage touching the empty air. Startled, he took a step back almost tripping over a nearby rock.

Ten guards came outside with their solemn faces and dark uniforms and as soon as they did, a commotion began. People began to agglomerate around them, a million voices drowning the guard's exclamations to keep quiet. Prompto heard something about letting fifty people in; families, sick, injured and children first, but the crowd was getting wilder and he was glad he'd moved close to the gates just in time, otherwise he would have probably died in the middle of the riot. Being stepped on to death was not the way he wanted to go and he shivered because it wasn't such an unlikely scenario at all, especially in the current situation.

The craziness continued for a while until the guards managed to get a hold of the chaos. Prompto's ears still ringed from the loud noises but he was a little calmer now that everyone had backed off except for those who were supposed to enter next. They were told to form a line, flanked by the guards. Most of them the boy recognized since he had been watching them a few hours ago. He tried to turn his head to see if he saw anyone else but the guard at the front of the line, hence in front of him, whispered viciously "Move, kid. We don't have all day"

Well, then.

He wasn't even going to be allowed a moment to feel relief.

Blushing up to his ears due to the scolding, Prompto followed the guard inside and-

Stiffened immediately at the sight that greeted him.

It was not because of the couple miles of greenery-he had seen enough of it-, it was because in the distance stood outlined against the late afternoon sky the silhouette of Insomnia. Beautiful, modern and yet full of something magic, not alike the full on inorganic and cold Niflheim. His jaw opened, his heart sped up with a newfound emotion he could not describe, had not felt before. After many travels and hours and hours of restless waiting there it was. The famous city, the so called haven. Promised Land.

The sound of the gates closing behind him couldn't rattle him then.

Could this be it?

Could this be home?

The guard snapped his fingers at him, impatient, breaking through his reverie and Prompto automatically zeroed his eyes back on him. A side of him was still (amazed) dizzy and he wasn't sure it was consequence of the hunger.

After the extremely rude guard had everyone's attention he finally spoke "Very well, listen to me carefully because I'll say this only once. I don't have time to repeat myself so pay attention" Prompto had to bite his tongue to avoid saying something stupid, like calling him out on his lies since he was clearly repeating stuff "Now, raise your hand those of you who are injured or ill"

Fifteen hands went up in the air. They were told to come forth and were escorted somewhere else. Prompto stared intently at the floor while that happened; he did not want to see anymore blood today, much less suffering people.

"So, the rest of you are going to proceed to the screening phase. First, each of you will be assigned to one of the tents here in camp where you will wait for the respective officer in charge of interrogating you. "

Camp?

Prompto dared to look up and was surprised to discover that yes, they were in a camp, standing in the middle of it actually-tents of all sizes surrounded them, acting like a barricade. Every now and then, men in black went inside them, came out, repeated the process. He had been so focused on the main city he had failed to notice where they were.

"If you pass the interrogation, you'll be then transported to the city where further instructions will be given. Any questions?"

The silence was deafening. Not a soul spoke up, not a noise was heard.

"Perfect" the guard seemed satisfied at not having to deal with them any longer than necessary "Kid, you're up"

The man grabbed him by the arm before Prompto could compute the fact, could order his legs to move, could prepare himself for whatever 'interrogation' was supposed to mean, and in ten seconds they were crossing camp, in one more they were inside a unoccupied tent with poor lighting and in the next he was sitting on a plastic chair, a table across from him and another chair on the other side. The guard had already turned his back on him when he commanded Prompto to not move from his sit and just like that, he was left alone again.

He fidgeted, feeling his excitement slowly yield to a mix of expected fear and anxiety. What was going to happen to him now? He didn't know.

His fingers flew once more to the bandage on his wrist, he touched the border, felt the temptation to slip his pads underneath and trace that small detail that made him different from everybody else. He had forgotten, as preoccupied as he was with surviving and not messing up. It was back though, like an itch that would never cease to be, no matter how hard he scratched it. In this moment, he couldn't think he had ever been more aware of it and with good reason, he was going to be interrogated and if anyone saw his mark… He'd be done for.

"You must not let anyone see this mark"

The boy thought he had been doing a good job but at the same time he knew it only took a distraction, a millisecond for everything to go awry.

He folded his legs on the chair, rested his elbows on his knees. Looked nervously around the space only to find it devoid of any furniture, not counting the two chairs and table. His hands got covered in sweat and he wiped them furiously on his bony thighs.

Twenty minutes of sweating and imagining and wishful thinking passed when at once, the interrogator officer entered his tent. Prompto let his feet touch the floor and peeked at him with a deer-in-the-headlights look. The man ignored this and sat down in his chair, opposite Prompto, pinning him with his own heavy look capable of stopping time. Or at least, it felt like that to Prompto who was thoroughly intimidated and he hadn't said anything yet.

He was not like the other guards, that he could tell. The scarier attitude was not by far the sole hint. The man wore a distinct uniform, same black from head to toe but clearly a variation from the usual guards Prompto had seen up till now. A black jacket, black pants, black boots that barely reached his knees, and what scared Prompto the most was not the long Japanese sword in the man's hand but the fact that he wasn't wearing any protective armor.

The thought 'one-man army' came to his head and he had no idea where he had heard that expression before but it felt appropriate at the moment.

Prompto's legs and arms shook minutely, synchronized with his tear ducts that started to fill up for the second time that day. It became worse as the man posed his hands on the table, leaning forward and Prompto flinched back as if stricken.

Surprised, the man's eyebrows rose up to his hairline.

Prompto trembled and glued his shoulders to the back of the seat.

The man put his hands up, palms open in a placating gesture "I'm sorry" he said in a soft tone, his voice a low baritone "I didn't mean to scare you"

The boy's eyes flew to the sword he had resting against his side, it was a knee jerk reaction. The man followed his gaze.

"Ah, that. As I just said, it wasn't my intention to alter you, kid, and I'm not here to hurt you either. That's a fact. I just have to ask you a few questions and I'll be out of your hair. I promise you won't have to see anymore weird people dressed in black with swords to scare you"

He spoke certain, with a determined weight to his words that added to everything he said an unquestionable feeling of wanting to trust what he was saying. The man gave him a tentative smile that at first looked strange on his tough face, although it didn't diminish the real aspect to it.

And that was enough for Prompto. That it was real.

(Real like the lady's smile. Broken, pained and sad but very much real)

He started to relax and felt he was able to breathe once more.

He nodded in sign of understanding and the man's smile became wider. He extended a hand out to Prompto for him to shake and he only stared at the appendage in a second of hesitation before deciding that it was fine and let his small hand be engulfed in his calloused, warm one. (Was this how a father's touch felt?)

"Guess we started on the wrong foot, little guy. I should have introduced myself. My name is Cor Leonis and I am a member of the Crownsguard-"

"You work for the King?!" Prompto found himself yelling in wonder and winced right after. His throat hurt, his voice filled the air raspy and hoarse from disuse. He hadn't spoken the entire day except to say to the lady he understood, furthermore he had not drunk a drop of water since then. It was no wonder he could not talk without feeling his throat on fire.

The man, no longer a stranger, stood up and walked out of the tent. He returned a minute later with a plastic cup filled to the brim with water and offered it to Prompto who took it most gratefully, drinking it all in one shot. The cold liquid soothed him as if he had taken a potion to heal his abused throat. Finished, he left the empty cup on the table and muttered a low "Thank you", afraid of speaking too loud and hurting himself in the process.

"It was no problem. And to answer your question, yes, I do work for The King so to speak"

"Cool!" he couldn't help but say excitedly "What is it like?"

Cor Leonis chuckled "I would love to tell you but I'm afraid it would take me the rest of the day to explain how it works. Maybe another time. Why don't you better tell me your name so I can stop calling you kid? It bothers you, does it not?"

How could he know? Could he read minds? Displaying this uncanny ability again, the royal guard said "You frowned a bit when I called you kid the first time. That is how I knew"

Oh, okay. Fair enough.

The boy, for what felt like a lifetime, turned up the corners of his lips. "I am Prompto Argentum. Nice to meet you, Mr. Leonis" He smiled.

"Always smile…"

"Nice to meet you too, Prompto-" Mr. Leonis abruptly cut off his sentence. His eyes widened and sharpened at once, as if he was seeing Prompto in a new light. As if he saw something in Prompto he hadn't seen before, alarming enough to put him on edge.

The blond child blinked, confused. His throat was dry again.

"What?"

His mouth opened up like a gaping fish. And closed. And opened. And closed.

Ice cold, biting and piercing "What did you say?" The other stood up and Prompto cowered in his seat, sensing the drastic change in the mood.

"I-ah…I.. P-p-p-promp-to Argen-tum…" He stuttered, wracking his brain, trying to understand what could have possibly gone wrong. His only clue: the code number seared permanently on his skin. He pressed his fingers of the contrary hand to the marked wrist and held on until he could no longer feel the blood flowing. Could it be that…?

"Argentum?" Questioned Cor, loudly. He moved towards him. "Did you say Argentum?"

He nodded frantically "Yes!"

Cor stopped, looked at him as if it was physically painful to.

"No way…" he murmured then raised his voice "But that's not possible! What are you doing here? You are not supposed to be here" Prompto started shaking his head, he didn't know, he didn't know, but Cor seemed possessed and kept firing question after question. "This makes no sense! What is going on? Where is your family? What happened to…"

Prompto thought his head was going to fall off, moving it frenetically from side to side like he was doing but what else was he supposed to do? Family? Sense? His purpose for being there? It would be a blessing to actually know.

"What happened to your mother?! Where is she?!" This Cor asked with desperation. The older man seized him by the shoulders with a strong grip, forcing Prompto's fear right to the surface.

He broke.

He remembered his "training" for the interrogation. The blonde woman sitting across the campfire, asking in a monotone and professional tint about his family. He was to answer: dead. He was alone. The empire invaded his village and killed everyone in it. He managed to escape on his own and had been traveling ever since. Heard from someone in his journey about Insomnia becoming a sanctuary to all. He was eight years old. Would turn nine soon.

But despite all his training and practice, nothing had prepared him to deal with a scenario like this. The rug had been pulled from under his feet and all the words, the truth and lies transformed, joined in a jumbled mess of thoughts that begged to be released. And he couldn't take this anymore.

He was screaming.

"I don't know! I DON'T KNOW" he shrieked, twisting and turning and crying and releasing "I don't have a mother, I don't have a father, I'm alone! Everyone is DEAD. I'm eight years old and I'm ALONE. The Empire KILLED THEM. I have nowhere to go. I don't know what to do and they're dead and I don't know what is real. I can't remember! I CAN'T REMEMBER! I DON'T KNOW!"

He kicked and sobbed until he felt his lungs give up and his vocal chords turn mute. Cor let him go, taking his hands away like he had been burned. He backed away, one step, two steps, three steps, so on to the point his back was to the entrance of the tent and the space separating them felt like a chasm in the middle of the room.

He stared at the screaming boy with fear and things Prompto could still not understand. He realized he hated adults, incredibly. Why did they all look at him as if he had done something wrong? As if he had hurt them? When they were the ones who hurt him and on top of that made him do things he didn't understand?

In the end, he made such a ruckus other guards and officers came running straight for the tent to see what the source of all the noise was. A skinny, blonde boy crying his eyes out, folded over his chair and The Marshal, vulnerable as he had never been in the battlefield, frozen in the spot.

Snapping out of whatever was going through his mind, the man turned to the guards and ordered someone to take care of the boy. He had important calls to make- he said, not looking at anyone. The interrogation was over, he was fit to go- he said. Load him up, I'll take him myself, he said.

Cor left the tent and Prompto saw him leave through his blurry vision.

A female guard strode towards him. She got closer and closer, and Prompto didn't want her or anyone near him. He yelled at her precisely that. She paid it no mind. She wore a kind smile but he didn't trust, couldn't trust so he buried his face in his knees and prayed for everyone to go away. Soon, he felt a soft hand in his hair, another one rubbing his back, the woman saying "Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay…"

But it wasn't okay.

It just wasn't.

He rocked back and forth, back and forth, and tried to think he was somewhere else. Anywhere. He imagined he was on a train, feigning sleep. The pale light of the moon bathing his face that rested against the cold window and the words to a song known by few entering his ears. He focused on that. On the song. Although he could only remember truly a few lines…

Sooner than memories begin to fray
Everything from a past just swept away
Remembering when all who have gone are now lost

What came after remained lurking at the edges of his memory. He held onto those lines, held on for dear life, drowning out the foreign touch of the guard and the other voices. He drowned the voices of the outside world. Slow but sure, he tuned them out; overcome by the lyrics of a song he could not remember entirely…

Prompto passed out.

It was dark. Everywhere he looked there was only darkness. He tried to make out his hands and his feet in the dark. He couldn't see them. He touched his face, his neck, hands traveling over the expanse of his body to check if he was whole. If nothing had been eaten by the abyss.

Click. The sound of a door opening. Prompto turned around fast as lightning and was faced with a big mirror, frame made of gold-the beautiful, smooth glass showed him his own reflection. He wondered how he was able to see the mirror when he wasn't able to do the same for his body.

He stepped close.

Suddenly, fog emerged from what Prompto believed was the ground (wherever his feet were planted) and rose waist high. The fog gave an eerie glow, coiling around the base of the mirror. The blond hoped it was not an ill omen.

Closer.

And closer.

In front of the mirror, he stood. Torn white t-shirt, dirty sweatpants that fell off his hips, mop of blond hair, cracked lips and wide eyed gaze. That was Prompto Argentum at eight years old.

Until he wasn't.

The image turned increasingly hazy, the features he knew by heart morphing into something else. Again, there was Prompto. Eight years old. Still blonde, still blue eyed. But his clothes were different and his complexion healthier. His skin was a rosy color he didn't recall ever having, and it didn't stretch over his bones. He actually had baby fat around his face, his arms and legs looked natural and not like the arms and legs on a corpse.

The other him wore strange clothes. What seemed to be leather bands tied on his biceps, numerous bracelets on both wrists, a weird kind of diadem made of feathers adorning his head, white shirt with tribal themes made of something he could not recognize, white shorts, boots crafted with some random animal's skin. A transparent veil covered half his face, tied to the diadem.

The two Prompto's stared at each other for ages. If one moved a certain way, the other replicated the move perfectly and so on. They observed each other, knowing they were inherently the same.

And then the Prompto from behind the mirror let out a soft gasp. His hand reached out to him. He didn't need to speak, Prompto immediately knew he wanted him to take his hand. When their palms connected, the rarest thing occurred. The other's eyes seemed to center on something beyond, something Prompto could not see and out of nowhere, his eyes turned to a strange shade of yellow.

The blond, the one with the ragged clothes, for some reason, felt his heart bottom out to his stomach and tried to pull away. He couldn't. The other boy's grip was too tight. He tried to speak but sounds wouldn't come out and the only thing left to do was watch the other Prompto moan in pain, that alarming yellow clouding his orbs until he himself, felt an ache deep inside him, so deep within it left him reeling, tired.

Then, a burn in his sclera and the next thing he knew, he was able to see no more.

Kudos to you for getting to the end of this mess (I seem unable to turn off the angst but that will be fixed soon, I promise) Hope you liked it and if you have any thoughts, recommendations, feelings whatever you want to talk about, please leave a comment. Or write to my personal tumblr: thirstyforhughdancy

Thanks and see you on the next level!

(Guess where the title of this chapter came from :D )