Chapter Four: Real or Not?

Where the hell did he go?

Prompto edged towards the far end of the carriage, firearm at the ready as he whipped around the corner and took aim at…

Nothing.

Sighing, he let his weapon fall to his side and shook his head at the sky. What was he even doing out here? He really hadn't thought this one through. Maybe Ardyn had just been luring him away so he could get Noct all by himself—that would make sense, right? Then again, Noct had been alone when Prompto found him; the chancellor would have had plenty of time to move on him if that was his goal. No, there was something else happening here. Prompto just couldn't figure out what.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. That much was for sure even when Ardyn decided he was going to do them a favor.

Could it really be called that, though? Every single time they trusted him for even a second, it backfired on them. When he offered to take them to the Disc of Cauthess, they'd drawn the empire right to the Archaean. When he saved their asses from the exploding fiery pit they were about to get stuck in, he also stole the Regalia. When he ordered Aranea to lead them to the mithril, daemons had mysteriously found their way inside the power plant in Lestallum by the time they got back. When he cleared the base and made that Ravus guy back off, it was with the promise that he'd see them again in Altissia.

Man, don't even get him started on Altissia and what a mess that had been.

With each new so-called favor, things just got worse and Ardyn learned a little more about them. Enough, it seemed, to be pretty dangerous with this new trick of his.

Why can't he be like normal bad guys and just shoot at us? That would be so much easier.

And way simpler to defend against, as well. Prompto almost smiled at the image his mind conjured of Gladio taking Ardyn down, the latter wielding some huge gun while the big guy sliced his arm off to match Ravus. If wars were like that, everything would already be over.

If wars could be like that, Insomnia never would have fallen. They never would have had to leave the city. Noct's dad would still be alive—so would Gladio's. Prompto would know what became of his own parents, poor excuses for guardians as they were…

"Hurts when the people who are supposed to care aren't actually bothered one way or another, doesn't it?"

Prompto hadn't realized he'd been idly leaning up against the side of the carriage, his gun still dangling uselessly at his side, until the familiar yet unfamiliar voice taunted him from a few feet away. In an instant, he had his weapon pointed straight at Noct's—no, not Noct's, not Noct's—face where the latter was sneering at him defiantly. Prompto didn't even have to wonder if this was the real one, not when he was glaring at Prompto as if he were the most disgusting pile of chocobo poop this side of Wiz's post. His Noctis would never do that.

Not when he didn't know he had reason to.

"What are you after, Ardyn?" he growled, sounding more confident than he felt. It was all he could do to keep his finger steady on the trigger without either dropping his gun or accidentally shooting the chancellor's face off. Only one of those things could be forgiven, he supposed, but they'd never find out where the Crystal was if it happened.

Ah, well. Next time.

Noct—Ardyn—waved a hand flippantly to the side, definitely less concerned with Prompto being armed than he would have hoped. He tried not to let that rankle.

"What am I after?" he simpered smoothly in Noct's voice. "I'm here to help, of course."

Snorting, Prompto countered, "Yeah, for a price, I'll bet."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean by that."

"Every time you try to help us, something goes wrong!"

Ardyn tutted in condescension. "Can I really be blamed if you manage to find yourselves in trouble so frequently?"

"Trouble you cause," retorted Prompto under his breath. There was no question that Ardyn heard him—he just didn't care.

"Such atrocious allegations, none of which can be substantiated with evidence, I assume?"

…Okay, he had Prompto on that one, and they both knew it. While he was struggling not to stand there with his mouth opening and closing like one of Noct's fish, Ardyn raised a finger to casually sweep the gun away from where it was still firmly aimed at his forehead. That snapped Prompto out of his stupor; he jerked his weapon back into place and gritted his teeth at the exasperated sigh from Ardyn.

"If you were here to help, then you wouldn't be turning us against each other," he grunted, clenching his fist tighter around the handle. Ardyn raised an eyebrow in an expression of disdain Noct wasn't even capable of much less likely to actually make.

"Turning you against each other?" he inquired. It would have sounded sympathetic if anyone else said it. "My dear Prompto, I assure you, I merely wanted you to understand the gravity of your situation."

Was it possible for his heart to beat faster and go swimming in his stomach at the same time? He was pretty sure it just did.

"W-What situation would that be?" he demanded, inwardly cursing himself for the nervous stutter that would definitely give him away to someone as shrewd and calculating as Ardyn.

The way his smirk widened confirmed it. "Why, the unfortunate truth of your origins."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd practiced that phrase almost his whole life in preparation for this moment: a day when someone accused him of being exactly what he was. It came to him immediately now even though he'd never had use of it before. That was pretty funny, actually—growing up in Lucis, he would have thought for sure that somebody would realize he was different and question him about where he really came from, but it never happened. Well, not never. There had been no point in lying to the Marshal, though; it was sort of hard to when the guy literally had Prompto's entire life in his hands at the time. Now, however, facing down the imperial chancellor of Niflheim from the other end of a loaded gun, the last thing Prompto wanted was to admit that they weren't so different after all.

Whether it was that he said it too quickly or didn't sound sure enough or hell, maybe Ardyn had a file of his own—whatever it was, the chancellor chuckled darkly under his breath as if Prompto was a kid lying about stealing cookies from the kitchen. It made a shiver travel up his spine, and all of a sudden, he had a feeling he knew what it was that caused him to suspect he was being watched earlier.

"What a shame," sighed Ardyn once his amusement apparently wore off. His eyes—Noct's eyes—turned sad, but it wasn't right. When Noct felt bad about something, he wouldn't make eye contact; his gaze would drop to the floor or search here and there for something else to focus on besides the person he was talking to. He'd look at the sky before he stared you in the face for fear of embarrassing either himself or whoever he was trying to fool. Ardyn turned that expression into a mockery, and it lit up Prompto's insides with a powerful hatred he'd never felt for anyone quite the way he did for the chancellor.

Maybe that was why Prompto snorted, "A shame you've been found out, huh?"

"A shame that you've had to hide who you truly are for so long."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Oh?" Ardyn hummed, eyebrows raised. "Perhaps we should have a little chat with Noctis, then? We can clear up any misunderstandings right away."

Prompto knew the instant he lost that fight because his face paled so fast that he could actually feel the blood surging down towards his feet. Obvious as it was to him, his stomach still turned at the sight of Ardyn's triumphant grin.

"So, that would be a no?"

Okay, rule number one when you got stuck alone with an imperial chancellor that happened to control entire armies: maybe don't try to pistol-whip him in the face. Prompto felt like he really should have known that before he tried it, but hey, learning through doing and all that. His gun never made contact with Ardyn's head, though, and Prompto stumbled forward into the empty space the chancellor had vacated.

Vacated was putting it really nicely. Vanished from was a little more accurate.

Since when can he just up and poof away like that!?

"I'm afraid you'll have to be quicker," came the put-out sneer, and Prompto whirled on his heel to fire off a shot at the head that poked over the edge of the carriage roof.

Or…there had been a head there. Maybe. Right?

"Still not quite. Honestly, and they consider you the fast one?"

There! Prompto had to pull a quick one-eighty as Ardyn appeared on the carriage behind him, the world spinning a little as his brain struggled to keep up with his constant turning—and the fact that Ardyn was apparently able to teleport or something, which was just…what!?

Right now, that was the least of his concerns, though. Because Ardyn didn't look like Noct anymore.

Prompto was staring into his own eyes now.

Gladio dove forward and slid along the floor to avoid the slash of the MT assassin's blades. It was so close that he could feel the shifting of the air where it would have beheaded him half a second earlier, but he didn't have time to panic. Instead he shifted to drive his greatsword into the floor and propel himself back onto his feet behind his enemy. Ignis was still on the other side and well within its mechanical sights, dagger at the ready even though he couldn't see what was coming towards him. Maybe they'd test his ability another day when they weren't currently under attack from a literal battalion of MTs, though; for now, they couldn't afford for any of them to get hurt.

So, rotating his grip, Gladio let out a roaring cry as he brought his greatsword around and sliced off the MT's head. As it went rolling across the floor to fall out onto the tracks, the rest of the armor came crashing down to collapse at Gladio's feet.

"Damn," he grumbled, kicking the pile of metal out of the sleeper carriage's broken windows. "How many of these are there?"

"Likely enough to keep us busy so that we can't reach the engine," Ignis guessed, already pressing past Gladio with his cane tapping frantically to keep up with his pace. Never let it be said that Ignis Scientia wasn't dedicated. Reckless at times, sure, but definitely dedicated.

Hurrying to catch up and put himself in front, Gladio hefted his greatsword onto his back in preparation for the next bout. "Let's get a move on, then."

The train was a mess. Every carriage they passed through on their way to the locomotive had felt the attack in some way—either the windows had been blown out or the seats were covered in debris. There were even a couple that looked about as bad as the freight car they'd escaped, with entire walls missing so that there was nothing standing in the way of falling right out onto the tracks.

It seemed like they'd gotten lucky when it came to casualties, though. That was at least a little comforting. Most of the carriages that had been hit hardest were empty, everyone apparently having run for cover in other parts of the train. The sleeper cars were jam-packed with all the passengers that could be crammed into the bunks with enough room to close the doors; that would hopefully keep them from getting impaled by broken glass and stray MTs. Those who weren't as lucky had mostly wedged themselves beneath the benches in the other carriages and were praying for the best.

There weren't any bodies. Not yet.

They just had to keep it that way.

As they sped through each car, growing increasingly uneasy at the sight of the destruction along the way, Gladio and Ignis both shouted for stragglers to get to cover and stay there until the train was back in motion. Most listened, but others were so lost in their panic and shock that they didn't really seem to register anything. They were the ones slowing them down, possibly even more than the MTs they ran into—it meant pausing for Ignis to calmly tell them where they needed to go and how they were going to survive before they got themselves killed. Gladio wished he could say that it was his demeanor that got their attention, but in reality, it was more the unexpected surprise of seeing a blind guy whose face had been half torn off telling them they needed to cool it. That wasn't something Ignis needed to know, though, and Gladio would take that secret all the way to his grave if he had it his way.

Delays and explosions notwithstanding, they almost made it to the front of the train when he paused to get a better idea of what they were dealing with. Shipping containers had blocked their view for most of their mad dash to the engine, but now the space had opened up so that he could see the imperial facility they were stopped in front of.

It really was no wonder there were so many MTs: the place was crawling with them. Gladio could almost fool himself into believing that all this was just a coincidence and that maybe the train was simply being attacked because the empire was full of bastards. That theory just didn't hold water, though, not when he got a good look at what was in the sky.

"Hey, Iggy—looks like we're about to have company."

"What do you see?"

"Magitek engines incoming. A lot of 'em."

A sigh. "This was a trap all along. They must have known the moment we left Accordo."

"You don't think…" Gladio didn't want to believe it, but at this point, he doubted anything would surprise him.

Ignis, it seemed, had been thinking along the same lines even though he ultimately shook his head in denial. "There were numerous opportunities for the First Secretary to betray us well before we left Altissia. I find it hard to believe that she would do so only after we departed."

"Unless she thought it would cause more trouble with Lucis to sell us out in her own damn house."

"Had we arrived a few months ago when King Regis was still on the throne, I would consider it a more likely possibility. As it stands, there is no Lucis anymore, or at least not one she would have need to fear reprisals from."

That was true, much as Gladio hated admitting it. Still, he didn't like the idea that they'd been found out by not being careful enough. They hadn't exactly broadcast who they were, but… Well, that shouting match about kings and rings and Oracles probably didn't help them out. If the wrong person overheard them, that would explain why the might of Niflheim was so heavily focused on one Tenebrae-bound train.

Shaking his head at his own stupid carelessness, Gladio roughly shoved away from the window and stalked onwards. "Come on, we'd better make tracks. A moving target's a lot harder to hit."

How did Prompto always get himself into these messes? First he left Noct, and now this? He was just hoping the train didn't start moving and throw him off the roof he was currently running along in an attempt to catch up with Ardyn.

Himself.

Ardyn. Definitely Ardyn.

This was just getting too weird. The whole thing didn't make sense—not that he expected it to anymore, but it unnerved him that there were still things he hadn't seen yet after all the crazy stuff that had happened. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the idea that Ardyn was now wearing his face. If Noct couldn't tell the difference between them before, what the hell did this mean for what Ardyn could do now? Maybe he was just trying to mess with them; it wouldn't be the first time, after all. Or maybe he was leading Prompto into a trap so that he could get rid of him and take his place.

They'd never fall for that, though…right? Sure, Noct hadn't really been so observant, but that was to be expected the second he saw Ardyn's face instead of Prompto's. The guy had kinda killed his friend-fiancée-thing. And helped piss off Leviathan. …And probably had a hand in bringing down Insomnia.

Yeah, Noct had some serious reasons to hate the dude and not ask questions before trying to kill him.

But this was something totally different. If Ardyn did mean to get rid of him, he'd have to pretend to be Prompto until whatever it was he had planned happened. He'd have to know how to shoot (which Prompto had never seen him do—did the guy even know how to fight?), play King's Knight (which would be tough when he didn't have Prompto's password!), and keep up with the photos documenting their trip (which meant jumping over a pretty high bar, not that he was bragging). There was no way he could pull it off, especially not long-term. If Noct didn't figure it out, Ignis undoubtedly would. It was sorta his job to make sure that Noct saw things clearly, so if anyone was going to be keeping an eye out for threats from within the group, it would be Ignis.

What if he's not fast enough, though? What if Ardyn's just good enough to fool them until he can do…whatever he wants to do?

He couldn't keep dwelling on that. He didn't even know whether that was what Ardyn was after, although he could think of few other reasons for him to disguise himself so effectively. For now, Prompto had to believe the worst and act accordingly—Gladio had taught him that. If things turned out better, awesome. If not, at least he'd be ready.

Now he just had to keep remembering that as he slipped and slid on the slick metal of the carriage roof. Man, he was lucky these things were built wide. Otherwise, he wasn't sure he wouldn't have fallen right off the side; it was bad enough that there was a raised strip in the middle that he could easily lose his footing on.

Which he did. Many, many times.

Of course, Prompto couldn't say that Ardyn's—his own—voice taunting him with each slip-up helped.

It came from behind: "Wow, dude. Way to go."

When he turned to look, there was no one there.

It came from the side: "He's beauty, he's grace, he's…incapable of walking straight. Nice."

There was literally nowhere for someone to be watching him from that direction!

It came from ahead: "Why are you even on this journey, anyway? It seems to me that there must have been far more capable companions for His Highness to have chosen."

That was the one that stung the most. Prompto knew he wasn't the greatest at…well, anything, really. He wasn't smart like Ignis; he wasn't strong like Gladio. Noct was royalty, even if it didn't always seem that way. As his brain eagerly started laying out the various hang-ups that had plagued him for years, it wasn't his mind that spoke to him in that insidious, niggling voice for once.

"When the Crystal is retaken and the new king ascends the throne of Lucis, what will happen to you?" it whispered from no particular direction this time. It was almost like it was inside his head, only he knew deep down that it very much wasn't. "Gladio will be protecting Noctis. Ignis will be at his side, aiding him in ruling the kingdom. He'll have a council, just like his father before him, and attendants to wait on him hand and foot. What place would you have there? What right would you have to be there?"

No… Noct's my friend. I'd do anything for him.

That voice tutted skeptically and, although he knew it was really Ardyn, the words resonated deeply with everything he'd already thought himself. "It won't be enough. You aren't trained to be in the Kingsglaive or Crownsguard, and you don't have the education to be on the council. He'll be too busy ruling his kingdom to even remember the failed experiment that used to be his friend."

Prompto's feet knocked clumsily into each other as he tripped to a halt. "…F-Failed…?"

"That's right," his own voice confirmed, the grin almost audible. "Haven't you ever wondered about that barcode on your wrist?"

"I… I never…"

"Haven't you ever wondered who the real you is?"

"I am the real me!" he shouted, whirling around in an attempt to find the source of that horrible voice that sounded so much like him—that was him—

"Are you certain of that?"

"Y-Yes…"

Of course he was. There could only be one him…right?

Barging into a locomotive shouldn't have been easy. On their way past throngs of MTs and survivors alike, Gladio had been working through how they were going to manage it in the back of his head. They didn't want to waste any time, but it was going to be much harder to get anything done if the engineers thought they were part of the force attacking the train instead of trying to save it. It was a delicate situation, one he thought they'd need to handle with the utmost care.

Boy, had he been wrong.

An engine was supposed to be the most important part of the train. If it broke down, you were stuck; if it went too fast, the rest of the carriages could derail. In Insomnia, the underground railways had a ton of security so that nobody could ever hijack or sabotage one of the lines. The engine was sealed off, and there were guards posted to ensure that no one tried to break in.

Not in the empire, apparently. Gladio and Ignis found their way to the very front of the train unhindered by anyone who would be trying to keep them out. Now, that could have been due to what was happening outside, what with the exploding MTs and swirling blades and all that. Gladio had a hard time believing it, though, especially when he tried the door to find that it slid open easily.

You have got to be kidding me. Seriously, how the hell did the empire get so powerful when they don't even know how to lock their doors?

That was a question for another time, and thankfully, it would be up to someone else to answer it. Gladio's job was to protect a certain prince—king—and the kingdom he would rule once they got the Crystal back home. It was the empire's problem to deal with their shitty excuse for public transportation.

Actually, that description didn't even begin to cover it. Not when Gladio saw the inside of the cab.

If they were stopped in the middle of a warzone, he would have expected to see major damage and someone trying to repair it to get them the hell out of there. Instead, what he found was a pristine engine and a very nervous engineer. Gladio could feel his blood pressure going through the roof as his temper began to simmer beneath the surface.

"The hell's going on here?" he growled, taking a few steps into the carriage with a tight grip on his greatsword.

The engineer staggered to his feet and raised his hands in what was supposed to be a harmless gesture, but it didn't fool Gladio. The guy didn't need to be armed to be dangerous. At least he had the sense to look scared in the face of Gladio's rage—he couldn't be too stupid, then.

"S-Sir, I-I'm afraid y-you'll have to w-wa-wait in your c-carriage," the engineer stammered. So, he was wrong: the bastard actually was stupid.

For each step Gladio took forward, his target retreated until his back was pressed against the wall of the locomotive. This was a dynamic Gladio could deal with—this was what came easiest to him. When he didn't have to worry about appearances or coming down too hard on Noct, it made life so much easier.

Plus, it got the job done.

"Like hell we're waiting out there when you're sitting in here like there's nothing wrong," he countered, stepping right up into the man's personal space. "Or haven't you noticed the whole damn train's under attack?"

The engineer stuttered a few incoherent words, then Gladio felt a gloved hand descend on his shoulder to pointedly tug him backwards. It was all he could do to stifle a sigh of resignation; leave it to Ignis to ruin his fun.

As soon as Gladio reluctantly ceased towering over their cowardly driver, Ignis moved to take his place with a neutral expression that was pretty deceiving if you knew him well. It was easy for Gladio to see that his muscles were bunched beneath his suit, and his fist was clenched harder around his cane than was normal for him. This was an Ignis who wanted to shake the man just as badly as Gladio but knew that it wouldn't get them anywhere any faster.

"We need to return the train to an operational status immediately," explained Ignis coolly, using that talent he had for not making an order sound like one.

Swallowing hard, the engineer ground out, "I—There's no—We can't just—"

"If there has been any damage to the engine, tell us so that we can assist with making the necessary repairs."

"Well, I—There really isn't—"

Tilting his head to the side, Ignis interrupted, "Unless you're saying there is no problem with the engine, in which case I can hardly see any reason to delay our departure any further given the circumstances."

Gladio only had enough patience for two more attempts at stammering out an answer and one distant explosion before he finally snapped. It just went to show how irritated Ignis was that he didn't say a word when Gladio pushed past him, grabbed the engineer by his collar, and hoisted him off his feet.

"You got three seconds to tell me why the hell we ain't movin' before you get to go deal with the MTs yourself," he growled, slamming the engineer up against the wall once for good measure. "One."

"You don't un—"

"Two."

"Please, this isn't wh—"

"Three."

"All right!" he practically screamed just as Gladio started dragging his ass towards the door. "The engine is operational!"

"Then why aren't we moving?" demanded Ignis immediately, pressing their advantage.

"I… I had orders…"

"You had orders to stop the train in the middle of an ambush." It wasn't often that you could tell when Ignis was displeased, he was so good at hiding it, but Gladio was positive his disdain would have dripped right off his tone onto the floor beneath them if it were possible. "You had orders to endanger the lives of everyone on board, including yourself."

Whining low in his throat, the engineer panted past Gladio's stranglehold, "You d-don't understand. We can't operate without authorization—we'd be in deep shit with the empire."

"Looks like you're in pretty deep shit with us," Gladio reminded him with a rough shake. The man cried out—music to his aggravated ears right now.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Tell that to the passengers you betrayed today," Ignis interjected without an ounce of pity.

"Please, I jus—"

Okay, Gladio was getting tired of this. Tightening his grip enough to discourage the engineer from spouting more crap, he brought their faces closer together. "Here's what you're just going to do—you're gonna get back over to that control panel, and you're gonna get us outta here. Or you get to go hang out with the empire's finest since you're such good friends 'n' all."

The engineer's face turned so white that Gladio was worried for a moment that he'd accidentally choked the guy to death. He met the latter's emphatic nod with a warning glare, daring him to try anything funny before unceremoniously dropping him to the floor. It was almost entertaining to see the guy scramble back up to his feet and dart towards buttons and levers Gladio had no idea how to operate—he would have laughed if they weren't in such major trouble.

One glance out the window told him they were running out of time: the magitek dropships were so close that he could make out each blinking light and every bar of metal on the closed entry ramps. The satisfaction he felt when the engine ground into motion and they were advancing once again was nowhere near enough to slow the rapid beating of his heart, not when they were cutting it this close and still didn't know where Noct and Prompto were in this mess.

Those two'd better be all right…

Prompto wasn't sure whether to be relieved or scared as hell when the train jerked forward and started gathering speed. Despite initially losing his balance, he dropped to his knees to avoid falling until they were moving so fast that the scenery was reduced to a blur of green and brown and blue. Someone must have finally figured out that the MTs weren't here to join them for lunch.

About time…

Every ounce of courage was necessary to get him back on his feet and sprinting along the length of the train, which had been difficult enough to cross over when they weren't moving. He'd never really been one for praying to the Six or anything, but he was really hoping that all the karma points he'd been racking up lately would help his case as he silently pleaded with them to not let him fall off. Not when he had Ardyn in his sights just a few carriages away and his firearm clutched tightly in his fist.

Not now—please not now!

Ultimately, it was one of those moments that seemed to take forever and no time at all. Everything happened so fast that even when he looked back on it later, Prompto couldn't be quite sure he wasn't imagining things. That seemed like the only explanation for how he could have gone from feeling on top of the world to…

How he could have been…

He'd been winning, right? Prompto had chased down Ardyn—who looked like Ardyn again—and the guy was at his mercy as much as any imperial goon could be. They were out of room to run, with nothing more than a sharp drop-off to the hard ground far below. Of course, that probably wasn't a big deal for someone who could apparently vanish into thin air and reappear somewhere else when you least expected it. Ardyn didn't do that, though, and Prompto tried not to think too hard about why he'd decided to surrender instead. His hands were up and everything while Prompto kept the barrel of his gun pointed straight at the chancellor's face. This time, he didn't have to fight any nervous tremors; he didn't have to focus so hard on not pulling the trigger. He'd save that for Noct. Well, he'd get some answers and then save it for Noct.

Although his head was clearer than ever now that his own voice wasn't messing with it, so many questions were swirling around just waiting to be asked. The weird little tattoo he'd always wondered about but never bothered with itched beneath his wristbands, as though it knew it had been mentioned and was clawing its way out to be recognized.

How had Ardyn known about that? It wasn't like Prompto flashed it around everywhere—or at all. The only time he ever saw it himself was when he was taking a shower or something. Other than that, it was always covered up. When he was a kid, he'd assumed it was just some sort of Niff tradition, that maybe children with no parents were given codes like that so the government knew who they were. It wasn't something he wanted to learn more about, so he'd chosen the simplest explanation and let it go. Some days, he was even able to forget that it was there—not long enough to keep him from contemplating getting a tattoo to cover it up after he saw just how much ink Gladio had, but for a few minutes.

There was no reason for Ardyn to know about it. There was no reason for him to care if Prompto was from Niflheim or Lucis or Accordo or wherever the man-eating moogle monster lived. He had to know that if it came down to his word versus Prompto's, Noct would never believe the imperial chancellor.

Which would mean lying to him. It wasn't like he hadn't been lying ever since the day they met, but still. Lies of omission didn't feel as icky as direct ones. If he had to, though…

What am I becoming…?

Ardyn's words echoed in his mind—his taunts about the real Prompto when there was no possible way he could be anyone but himself. In spite of all the questions that were just begging to be thrown at the chancellor, Prompto couldn't even speak at first for how difficult it was to decide where to begin. Would it even be worth it when Ardyn was just as likely to lie as tell the truth? Wait a second, that wasn't right—he'd definitely be more likely to lie. This was Ardyn. The guy couldn't tell a straight story if you literally drew arrows for him to follow.

So, what was the point of asking? He wouldn't get anywhere. He'd just get more and more confused—

More and more guilty—

No, it wasn't worth it. But what if…

It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Noct wouldn't care one way or another, and neither should I!

Or would he? If he did believe Ardyn, if Prompto did come clean, who was to say it wouldn't go down exactly like it had earlier with Noct's sword at his throat?

This was insane—why couldn't he just think!?

Then there were the explosions that rattled his brain as much as the train—man, what the hell was going on up there!?

Where were Ignis and Gladio?

Where was Noct?

Why did he have to face this uncertainty alone!?

It doesn't matter, he forced himself to accept. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

There was another explosion, so much closer this time, and then the familiar sound of a warp drew his attention. It was stupid, really. Now wasn't the time to take his eyes off the guy who had been gunning for them ever since they met him in Galdin. He should have known Ardyn would try something the moment he was distracted—in the back of his mind, he did. Prompto thought for a second that that was why Noct was drawing his sword again the moment he landed on top of the train, having just taken down all those imperial ships from the looks of things.

Then Prompto caught the look in his eye, and there was no time to think—no time to react—no time to remind himself that it didn't matter—

Because it wasn't Ardyn he needed to worry about. It wasn't Ardyn that Noct was aiming for.

And as Prompto fell from the train, an involuntary cry of utter betrayal tearing itself from his throat, all he could wonder…was why.