Prompt: # 8 Vision

Summary: Flashbacks, dreams and premonitions.

A/N: This expands the Noctum/Eclipse verse.

Visum is Latin for "vision, view, sight."

Visum

There is a muffled sound somewhere nearby. He is aware of it but all it is too vague and too distant. It takes all his conscious effort to focus on simply inhaling the oxygen that refuses to be taken in. The hollow sounds of his own gasps echo loudly in combination with the rapid beating of his heart. His vision is blurred and every blink of his eyes is an effort to stop the onslaught of tears. His hands are shaking uncontrollably as the feeling of helplessness crashes over him. Despair. The sinking sensation that this was the end. This was the end. The world was coming to an end. His world is ended. The tremble trembling vibrations come from the depths of his very being.

"Bright Star," he chokes with agonized emotion. "Without your light, there is nothing. Without any of you, there is only pain and suffering."

With a howl of agony, he clutches the broken and bloodied body of his wife. Broken sobs escape bleeding lips as he feels the impact of what he has lost. All that he has lost. The sounds around him become no longer vague. His awareness begins to peak. His senses awaken in the face of the danger that is approaching. He knows that it is approaching and it would him no relief. No reprieve. No time to grieve. No reason to live. Those sounds that ring out like a shrieking symphony are screams. They are the sounds of death and fire. For here, amid the rubble of his once prosperous city, he clutches desperately at someone who is no longer there. The spirit behind the shell that he had loved so deeply was gone. Gone forever like the others. Hers is not the only body lying lifeless on the ground. He is now the only one left behind to feel the emptiness of loss. The city had fallen. The dead far outnumbered the living and the city was on fire.

It would be so easy to give in to the despair, but he owes it to all that had fallen to endure. He had not survived thus far to sink away into the abyss of pain. So he makes himself remember. He makes himself see the faces that would no longer exist. The people that would no longer grace this world. This world was not his world any longer. Those living no longer the ones he wished to be with. It is those gone that he wishes to follow. Those gone before their time. Those robbed of the full lives that they deserved. Slowly and then steadily, he feels a better emotion than sadness and the relief is a pulsing energy in his veins. Rage, unlike he has ever known, blends together with the pain of what he has lost. There was nothing else to lose and the man he had been yesterday, was not the being that he was right now.

Laughter rings out, carried along with the stench of burning death in the wind. The screeching sounds of mocking is enough to shatter glass and his teeth clench. A foe that would not die. An enemy that could not be defeated. He may have won an epic battle, but he had always known he could never win the war. Never, never, could he have foreseen how the war would be won though. If he had been given even an idea of this, he would have fought harder. He would have fought dirtier. He would have fought better. Now, it was too late and the amount of tragedy had no bounds. There was no accounting for just how much he had lost. It is only the seething hatred that keeps him from completely tipping over into the void of despair. Disdain, vengeful rage were his only weapons to call on now.

The ear splinting laughter of victory continues and he manages to tighten his features into a mask of blankness as he slowly looks up at the two figures looming over him.

"There now," coos the hated voice. "That is just what I wanted to see, Dear One."

The shudder is hard to suppress at the utterance of that dreadful nickname that she still prefers to refer to him as.

"I was never anything dear to you," he hisses in response.

"Oh but you are," she disagrees with a light clucking sound. "You have always been."

"You have a very funny way of showing it," he retorts, pulling himself up to his full height. He refuses to turn his head to regard the other figure. His emotions are not stable enough yet to.

"You always had to be difficult," she chides with a devious smile. "Had you only accepted me the first time, none of this would have happened."

"I would no more be your puppet than you could die," he spits.

She shoots him an amused glance before turning to the person beside her.

Slowly and very deliberately, he takes a steady breathe into his nose before following her gaze and looks into one so like his own. His anger wavers and the sadness that fills is like a blow to his heart. It hurts so much that there is no further he could fail. Of everyone that he had failed, his wife, his children, his friends and his people, he feels his ultimate failure was staring at him right in the face.

"It was inevitable, Father."

"Was it?" he asks, allowing some of his sadness to show.

His son's poise and calm mirrored his own so closely, he can almost hear Stella's words from so long ago. Their son really was the image of his father. An image that seemed so distorted to the one she had pictured. They share the same features and the same demeanor but he feels the difference and it is a difference that makes his failure complete. The darkness that he had fought so hard to break way from had been embraced by his offspring. He is almost glad that Stella is already dead. Seeing Lunae as he was now would have killed her more painfully.

"Yes," was the curt reply. "You tried to fight something that was undefeatable."

"Does that excuse what you have done?" he growls angrily. "Your mother, your sister, your family are all dead because of what you have done!"

"Eventually, we all die," replies Lunae easily. "You told me that, remember?"

His eyes narrow as he tries to remember saying those words. The memory flashes through him and his eyes widen just a fraction.

"That was what you would dream of in your nightmares?" he asks in stunned surprise.

"Only they were not supposed to be nightmares," Lunae replies with a nod. His red eyes turn to look at Etro with something disturbingly like affection. "I only thought they were because my loyalty was misplaced." He finishes with a snide, haughty look on his face and he shares a smile with Etro.

He can feel his stomach churn and he knows he is going to be sick. The bile rises in his throat and it is almost satisfying to imagine spewing his vomit at these two disgusting figures.

"You deserve each other then," he says, returning the snide look that both figures have upon their faces. Then his focus becomes entirely on Etro. There is one last thing he can use to his advantage. One last move that he can play in his favor. It is the last hope for their world and it is the last thing he will do to save his people. "It is pathetic that you had to settle for a copy instead of winning the original."

Etro narrows her eyes, then giggles before reaching a sickly pale hand to touch the side of Lunae's cheek. It reminds him of how one would stroke a cherished pet.

"I suppose he will have to do," she replies with a longing sigh.

The sudden stiffness in the younger man's shoulders catch his eye as he watches his son turn to look at Etro with a disbelieving stare.

"No matter what, you still lose," he says with a smug smirk. "You may have tainted my son, but you still have failed."

"A worthy substitute," she says flippantly, but the look she gives him gives away her displeasure. "Not as much fun as you though."

"Too easy to corrupt," he finishes her thought for her and he allows another smirk for his son. "A copy, no matter how good, is still just a copy."

Lunae actually cringes at the reminder and he realizes too late where the resentment is rooted. No matter the mask of indifference. This was his son. This was his firstborn. This was his legacy. There was still something inside there that he had power over. No matter what he did, no matter what crimes he committed, no matter the amount of wickedness he unleashed, he was still his son and he was his father. There is a stirring presence within his mind then and then another, more steady presence and he almost gives away his relief. The sigh and brief closing of his eyes is hard to suppress. Perhaps he has not entirely failed afterall. The light would always triumph in the face of darkness. All those things that he had asked and had received no reply, he felt answered now.

"You shall never be able to outrun my shadow," he tells his firstborn. His tone the one of fatherly counsel and he can feel the years that he has aged. How the effects of time had made him older. "Now you condemn yourself to loneliness, resentment and regret. The unfulfilled desire within your heart shall never be satisfied no matter what you do now."

There is that lost look that he remembers on his son's face. The one that he had seen when he had been a child and his heart mourns the loss of that innocence. When had he ignored the change? What had brought out the ugliness of his soul and displayed it upon his son? Why had he become neglectful?

"Never, Father. You never neglected us."

"But I won," growls Lunae angrily. "I showed you and I showed everyone else that I am the stronger. I am the better."

"There is only one thing you can do, Dear One," says Etro, bringing their focuses back to her.

Both men turn to her, one in surprise and the other in wait. The sudden clench of Lunae's jaw tells him that she had never used such an endearment to him.

"You can come to me freely and I shall let him go," she offers.

"What?"

"Another trade," he says flatly. "So soon you forget my last answer to a trade with you."

"Ah, but you forget that I have the advantage this time," she says with a smile that might have been pretty had he not known the figure so well. "You do not possess the powers of the Crystals any longer and you have no weapon to kill yourself again."

"Then why the trade?" he asks, managing to look just a tad gloating. "I would be of no use to you then."

She gives him that knowing smile of hers.

"You know why, Dear One," she answers.

Another shudder is firmly suppressed. To say that Death was a sick and twisted mistress was somewhat trivial and too plain to say, but this seemed just a tad too demented.

Lunae looks between them and he can see the anger rising on his son's face.

"You can wait for all eternity," he growls menacingly. As the two other presences within his mind draw forward, he knows what is to come. His time is over. "But my answer shall always remain the same." His gaze, once settled upon his child, turns mournful and he needs to say this before it is too late. "Forgive me for not being the father you wanted me to be," his tone is gentle and paternal and is filled with so much regret. "No matter what you have done, I shall always love you."

He see the tears brimming at the corners of eyes that mirror his own. Three quick steps bring him close and he pulls his son into one last tight embrace.

"Forgive me, Stella," he whispers, holding onto Lunae even tighter when he feels the resistance begin to build.

Inhaling sharply through his nose, he closes his eyes and focuses his strength.

"Lucis, Lumina, now!" he shouts to the two younger of his children behind them.

Etro's startled cry is cut short by a harsh vibrating sound like a sonic wave as it ripples out, encasing the entire city in fiery light. The bright white rays blind him and he shuts his eyes tightly as he clutches his firstborn to keep in place.

"No!" bellows Etro. "Not again!"

The searing pain as his flesh scorches under the heat of the light chokes a gasp from his lips and he hears the painful scream from the son in his arms.

His strangled cry rings out as he shoots up in remembered pain.

"Noctis!" comes the startled cry of his wife.

Lungfuls of air do not provide the oxygen he needs as his ragged breathing echoes. A warm, soft hand touches his back as a body rises beside his.

"Love, what is it?" she asks. Her other hand touches his cheek to turn his sweaty face to hers.

"Stella," he whispers in a shaky voice, before he clutches her in his arms and buries his face into her neck. "Stella."

"I am here," she reassures with a squeeze of her own around his waist. The reassuring comfort of her hand running through his hair brings out a sigh of relief.

The warmth of her body is a reassurance he needs to let the images float away to a more distant part of his mind. That had been the most vivid of his recent nightmares. The nightmares that had returned shortly after the tenth year of Lunae's birth. The whispers had become incoherent sighs and he can no longer understand the words. The Light above was beginning to flicker in slowly increasing rapidity. Warnings were flashing all around him and he feels helpless in a way he has not felt in a very long time. How does one change an inevitable future? His arms tighten around his wife.

"I cannot say whether it is better to know the future rather than remain ignorant until faced with it," he murmurs, keeping a tight hold of her comforting form.

"That bad?" she asks in that sweet manner of hers and he wishes he could absorb her into his skin.

They sit together, as they are, in a long moment of quiet soothing and he wonders how he shall ever be able to look forward to sleep again.

"Do you win?" she asks suddenly.

His brow crinkles at her question as he thinks it over.

"It does not matter," he whispers in answer.

"Yes it does," she says, pulling back to look into his face. Her hands bar the sides of his face as she gives him a stern look. "Do you win?"

It takes him two breathes before he nods his head and looks away. He could never tell her what he has seen. The knowledge that their son would be responsible for killing them all would kill her in a way that would be worse than death.

"That is all that matters," she says, returning to her previous position against him.

"It is too high a price to pay to consider it a victory," he says.

The visual of him holding her dead body in his arms is too vivid to endure. He needs the comfort that only Stella can give him. So he presses his lips to hers in a kiss full of need. A kiss she responds to as ardently as he gives it. The need to drown in her, to drink into the depths of her is the assurance he needs to remind himself that they were both alive. Tomorrow was still in the future and tonight was the time that he would not waste.

As she pulls him, his hand reaches beneath her shift and slides up against her skin. The soft, yielding flesh under his hand wipes his mind of things he would rather forget. Those extremes that he remembers he is forced to resort to in the future. That he had, had to hold his firstborn to be die with him. Protecting his son from the debilitating guilt that would consume him afterwards. What devastating effects it would cause… that thought gives him a longer pause. Before he even realizes what he is doing, his hand slides upward to gently press against Stella's abdomen. He startles and pulls away from her lips to see the confirmation on her face.

She laughs brightly, happily as she reaches for his face to kiss him again. His eyes remain open as their lips touch and he wonders how he could have missed it before. There is that glow about her again that cannot be mistaken.

"You took away my thunder," she accuses, trying to pout but failing in her joy. She reaches for his hand and repositions it to where another child was forming within her.

"Another?" he asks breathlessly. The shock of this accuracy almost chokes him with his dread at what this means.

"Did you not want another?" she asks, misreading the look that must be on his face.

He sobers with a hard shake of his head and manages an appreciative smile. Lowering again, he kisses her before stroking against her soft skin.

"I am happy either way, Bright Star," he answers truthfully.

She looks up at him with a sidelong glance.

"You knew," she says. "You have dreamt of him too."

"Him?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

The narrowing of her eyes tell him she is not fooled.

"Him," she repeats firmly.

"How do you know it is another son?" he asks.

Her patient sigh lets him know that she will not press for his answer.

"Like I knew I would have Lunae and Lumina," she answers. "I just know it is a boy."

"Did our children ever speak to you while they were in the womb?" he finds himself curious belatedly.

"No," she answers, as her head starts to shake but stops as she rethinks her answer. "I could make out small emotions here and there. Perhaps it is because they do not speak in words, but I could feel them." She looks into his eyes a moment in worry. "Will he be good?"

There are many ways to take that but he discerns that this is not a moment to make a light reply. He looks at her as if surprised and he finds he can answer her truthfully. In all honesty, the son she carried now would save the shattered remains of their world. The downside was that the rest of them would not be alive to see it. Yet, there is consolation in knowing that this little one would have the company of his older sister in the end. What future hopes and dreams would be trampled under the dark path that their firstborn would take? What could he do to prevent it? Could he even try to prevent it?

"Father?" calls a hesitant voice from the doorway.

When he looks at the boy, who in a few years would become a young man, he feels so many deeply cut emotions. The anger and resentment that he had seen in the man he would become were the complete opposite of the trusting, fearful one he was seeing now. Two pairs of red eyes look upon the other and the warring emotions must be evident in their faces and in the tension in their bodies. Stella nudges him so that she can sit upright again.

"What is it, luv?" she asks.

"I do not wish to bother you," Lunae responds hesitantly.

Noctis turns to check the time and mentally thumps himself.

"Forgive me, Lunae," he apologizes. He places a hard, wet kiss upon his wife's lips before leaving the warmth of their bed. "I was not paying a wit of attention to the time."

The appreciative excitement on his son's face makes his heart warm and he wishes he could demand his future self to explain why he had neglected his son in the coming, crucial years.

"Was it today?" groans Stella from the bed.

"Yes, Mother," replies Lunae with a grin. He has his hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth on his feet.

"Worry not, Bright Star," he reassures. "He will be doing wheelies before we know it."

"That is what I am afraid of," comes the grumbling reply.

"Come, young man," he says, reaching out his hand for the boy to take. "Your steed awaits."

The eager impatience radiating out of the little body beside him is infectious and they end up racing each other to the garage despite the lateness of the hour. It was the first official lesson on his miniature Umbra, custom built by his favorite uncle, Sapien. Even though he had given him the option of naming the bike any name he wished, the little one had insisted on naming it Umbra as well. He had found it curious then and he finds it telling now that he had kept the name. There was much that he would have to work on if he could even hope to change the course laid before them. Shaking his head, he puts his focus on where it should be and helps Lunae get onto his bike. Each moment together would be crucial.

"Father," Lunae mutters in a hesitant voice when they have finished his lesson.

"What is it, son?" he asks, turning from where he had been hanging his helmet on a hook.

"Am I meant to be bad?" comes the haunting question.

He closes his eyes briefly to shake the tremor of dread before he turns around and lowers to a crouch to be eye to eye with his boy.

"What do you mean?" he asks softly.

The torn, guilty expression on his young face gives him a strange sense of hope. If he could but keep that feeling there.

"I do not want mother to have another child," he growls, making the resentment clear.

"Can you feel the baby inside your mother, Lunae?" he asks. The answer is obvious but he wants to hear him say it. There had been no surprise in his expression earlier.

Black spiky hair bounces as his small head nods.

"Would it not be grand to have a little brother to play with?"

"No," is the firm reply.

"Why?" he asks patiently.

The question seems to make him hesitate and then his eyes look up at him resolutely.

"You will favor him before he," he says accusingly.

"Lunae," he says reproachfully. "You are my firstborn. It is yours by right to have all that I have. That makes you the one I trust the most."

The boy looks somewhat pacified but still not completely appeased.

"I cannot love you more nor less than your siblings. I love you equally," he says firmly. Already, his attachment and love for the child growing within Stella's body is deep. There is a protectiveness and an excitement in knowing that there would be an addition to their family. "But it is you who I shall leave the burden of the kingdom upon. It should comfort you to know that you shall have the support of your sister and a new little brother."

"I can be a great king all on my own!" he protests, closing his small hands into fists.

He wishes so fervently that he is misreading the beginnings of emotions that would lead to this little one's future ruin. It is a vague hope and he vows not to ignore it.

"No great king can be so without help," he counsels. "What would I do without your mother? Or without your uncles?"

Lunae does not answer but he can see the little mind thinking it through.

"To be a great king, you must be good," he adds.

That statement brings the guilty look back and his eyes fly to meet his uneasily.

"Will I be bad?" his voice sounds small and terrified.

The indulging, reassuring fatherly side of him wants to tell him no, but to start a lie now would be unforgiveable. Lunae might still be young in years but he has always been far more clever than he should be.

"That is not for me to answer," he says honestly. "Only you can answer that."

Lunae throws himself into his father's arms in fear.

"I want to be good," is the entreating reply, but it sounds hesitant and unsure. As if the boy cannot help being what he was. Much like he had felt at so young an age himself.

Placing a soft pat upon the dark head, he tries to be soothing but his thoughts are black as they remember the vision he has seen of the times to come. Faintly, creepily, he hears a faint whisper echo around him.

I wait in slumber but not for much longer. You shall be mine… Dear One.

This is the end of the Lacesco Series.

Woohooo! 50 prompts fulfilled! My challenge has been met! Please check out my Profile for any update information on what I am working on next. I always keep that thing updated and will be revising the entire look of it within the next week. The next project to be worked on is the continuation of the Writer's Choice prompt. Please look for it once it has posted. As noted in my Profile, it will NOT be hidden in obscurity within the Xover section. As there is no Blassreiter section on FFN, I am putting it into the main Versus archive.

Thank you for reading!