Chapter Two: Keep Faith and Endure

See, it was days like today that made Cid wonder why the hell he was still alive.

Every time he thought getting old couldn't get any worse, his body seemed bound and determined to prove him wrong. The ache in his back was nothing new; he'd been dealing with that for so long he could almost forget about it. Till he couldn't, of course, but no use dwelling on the obvious. As the years passed, though, more of his limbs decided his spine had the right idea—that was the annoying part. Sometimes his left elbow would up and quit on him, usually when he was holding something because it was a right son of a bitch. Every winter, when the only way to tell the season was how goddamn cold it was, his knees barely got him from his bed to the kitchen and back. Those were the times when he didn't mind living with half the Crownsguard: there was always somebody hanging around to give an old man a hand.

Unless it was that Talcott boy, though. That kid was too enthusiastic for his own damn good.

The last few days had been a little easier to put up with, even if all his limbs felt like they'd finally decided he wasn't worth the effort. Cindy always brought him a special kind of sunlight whenever she visited.

Not having the garage to look after was driving him crazier than the hell he woke up to each morning. Cid wasn't ashamed to admit it neither. How the hell did anyone expect him to just leave everything behind without putting up a fuss? It wasn't like nobody needed him round here. Sure, every now and again there would be a hunter who popped by with a sword that needed fixing—or, if he was real lucky, some major upgrading—and he'd designed a hell of a setup for Ignis to cook with when he was in town. Other than that, though, he spent most of his days just taking up space and thinking.

That was always the trap—thinking. Back when he was a young'un, he remembered his old man pissing and moaning over all the stuff he missed. If he heard that his daddy's childhood used to be so much better one more time, he thought he was gonna snap. Now that he was in the same spot, even a few years past when his old man kicked the bucket, Cid had a whole new appreciation for what he'd been talking about. Days came when he couldn't make this bag of bones sit up straight, so he'd just stare at the ceiling and remember all the good things he missed.

Sitting outside the garage in his chair. Smiling while Cindy handled things and offering up some advice to their customers—always well-intentioned, of course.

Jawing with Weskham at that fancy-pants restaurant of his. Telling off the people who looked at him funny for his baggy jeans and grease-stained jacket. (Bunch'a blue-blooded stuffed shirts.)

Watching the sun rise. Watching it set.

Wondering whether he should get his ass outta that chair and go see Reggie before he didn't have any more chances left.

Yeah, getting old was a right bitch. If it weren't for Cindy and the few people who would actually care that he wasn't around, he'd've been hoping for the end a hell of a lot sooner. But his grease-monkey granddaughter had already lost enough in life, and those hunters still needed their weapons seen to, so he'd stick around for a spell. Not like he had a whole lot of other options to choose from.

"Paw-paw? You up?"

And speaking of the little spitfire—although she wasn't so little no more—there she was, all ready to greet the day when Cid would've preferred to roll back over and fall asleep again. If the nerve in his right leg wasn't pinching too much to let him, that was.

Ain't I a sight?

"Quit'cher shoutin'," he grumbled as Cindy opened the door and popped her head in with that smile he pretended didn't affect him as much as it did. "I'm up."

Nodding in a satisfied sort of way, his granddaughter bounced in and made herself at home at the foot of his bed. "Good. Got some fellas outside lookin' to upgrade, and I didn't wanna tell 'em the best mechanic this side'a Cauthess wasn't up to it."

Now that made Cid laugh. He could hide his grimace at the sharp pain that shot up his knee to places he didn't talk about in polite company.

"Don't need to smooth talk me. We both know I ain't been the best mechanic this side'a anything in years. I think that title goes to you now."

"Aw, that ain't true," Cindy argued, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. There was a wicked gleam them when she looked back at him and added, "Now, if we're talkin' 'bout cars…"

"Yeah, yeah," Cid guffawed with a dismissive wave of his hand and a cough that never seemed to quit these days. "Y'already got my compliment. Diggin' for more ain't gonna get you nowhere."

Sighing in mock disappointment, his best girl hopped back to her feet and headed for the window. "Darn. A girl can't catch a break 'round these parts."

A break, no, but there were a lotta other things Cid was pretty sure she could have if she put her mind to it. Even with all the refugees piled in from who the hell knew where, pickings were slim. It had been a running joke between them that one of these young fellas would sweep her off her feet and her old man would be forgotten. Maybe it was a bit more than a joke on his side, but it made Cindy laugh and promise him that no boy would ever get in the way of her seeing him. Cid remembered saying the same thing about a fine young lady to his mother back in the day, and he'd been just as wrong as he knew Cindy was, too.

But he could keep fooling himself into believing her for now. So far, nobody had caught her eye; she was too focused on that garage to be looking at anyone who showed any interest. Hell, that blond kid who used to tag along with Reggie's boy would've done anything to get her attention away from the Regalia for a hot minute. Never worked, poor young'un. Cid had to get a kick out of it, though.

From the looks of things, he wasn't going to find today anywhere near as funny. Cindy was already reaching for the heavy curtains they'd put up to block out the city lights at night and pulling them back, so trying to get a few more minutes of shut-eye apparently wasn't on the menu. Cid couldn't be too turned off the idea, though; it'd give him something to do with his hands and hopefully shut his brain up at the same time. It was worth a shot, anyway.

"Guess we'd better get this show on the road," he grunted, stretching out his legs and silently ordering them to pull their shit together. "These fellas say what it is they wanna fix up?"

Cindy didn't answer—hell, it didn't look like she'd even heard him. He counted that as a blessing a few seconds later when he swung his legs over the side of the bed only to whine at the way his back seemed to rip in half. What he wouldn't give for some of those fancy surgeons with their weird tools, the kind you only found in Insomnia back when the place wasn't a cesspit for daemons. Cid would never say it in front of Cindy, knowing she'd only worry about him, but it was getting to the point where he wondered just how much longer he could keep up his tinkering. Not long, if he had to guess.

Usually, the tiniest noise from him over his back or his legs or his life had Cindy running to help. This time, all he had to look at was her back where she was frozen in the window with the curtain held aside a couple inches. It wasn't enough space for Cid to see out, but he was getting the feeling he probably didn't want to know what she was looking at.

"Hey," he barked to draw her away from whatever it was that had her so spooked. "Thought you said we didn't wanna keep these fellas waitin'?"

"P-Paw-paw…"

Uh oh. He knew that tone. It was never good.

Groaning with the effort (and pain, dammit) of hauling his ass onto his feet and making them hold it, Cid staggered forward a few steps and grunted, "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothin'," Cindy breathed so quietly his old ears almost didn't catch it. "Nothing's wrong."

"The hell you starin' at, then?"

Whatever it was stole the words right off Cindy's tongue. All she seemed able to do was shake her head with a hand over her mouth. That didn't sit right with Cid at all—he hated when there was something he couldn't fix. And even though she said nothing was wrong, it was pretty damn clear something needed fixing.

So, Cid reached forward and yanked back the curtains, expecting to see the usual stupid shit going on out there. Some of the little thugs that didn't get how important it was to be nice when everyone was stuck in one place would sometimes pick a fight they couldn't win and end up chucking their lunch in a back alley. It was probably something like that, in which case Cid would be happy to tell them to get their no-good asses off his street. They could take that nonsense someplace else.

That wasn't what waited outside that window, though.

"Paw-paw, that's—"

"I see it."

The sun was peeking over the distant horizon with the hangdog look of someone who knew they were late to the party, and for the first time in ten years, Cid felt young again.

"Biggs. Wedge. How're we coming, boys?"

"Just about ready to shove off, Lady A. We'll give you a holler as soon as the rest of 'em are on board."

Shaking her head, Aranea disconnected the radio and turned back towards the windshield of her red transport. This rescue op was taking longer than she'd originally anticipated, and that was never a good thing.

Why did it always have to be that idiot Dave? He was one more screw-up away from her telling the guy he wasn't allowed to leave Lestallum anymore at this rate. It felt like every other week that she and her men got called out to pick up whatever group of poor saps decided they would follow Dave out to take down some daemon infestation or other. His heart was in the right place, but he was a few gysahl greens short of a salad. That sort of harmless incompetence was fine under normal circumstances. In the long night? It was more likely to get you killed.

Well, you or whoever was unlucky enough to drag your ass out of trouble.

They'd come to Dave's rescue approximately two hundred thirty-seven times in the last ten years. Not that Aranea was counting. She wasn't—she simply marked a tally on the wall in permanent marker. Why waste the words when she could yank the hunter in here and just point? That usually bought them a month or two before he started thinking about going out again, at least.

Then again, maybe she shouldn't be complaining. As the years wore on and the people in outlying areas either found their way to an outpost or died trying, there wasn't enough business to keep a search and rescue operation running. Those first few months of darkness had been more demanding than all her years as a mercenary combined. She'd lost count of how many people they ferried from all over Eos to what had quickly become the most densely populated city in the world. Accordo had been a mess after that Leviathan debacle, and evacuation became their first priority when the daemons came out to play. Aranea couldn't exactly say that living on an island struck her as a good idea, not after seeing just how many people didn't make it and chose to drown as a viable alternative to getting their insides torn out by literal monsters. If she wasn't perfectly capable of fighting off the hordes on her own, she probably would have done the same.

Niflheim was practically a lost cause. Most of the civilians who were left after Zegnautus went to hell were either infected with the Starscourge or already dead. That didn't mean she hadn't given it her all, however; along with Biggs and Wedge, plus a few hunters who didn't hold a grudge, they'd spent weeks sifting through the residential areas picking up stragglers. The results had been pretty depressing, but it was something.

If there was one thing Aranea didn't bother doing, it was counting how many people they saved. Nobody needed that information, not when it would just go to your head. It was far more useful to remind herself—and Biggs and Wedge when they got a little too big for their britches—that the ones they couldn't get to in time far outnumbered the ones they could.

They were just lucky today. Eventually, they probably wouldn't be, and Dave would be shit out of luck.

The heavy clanking of boots against metal grating announced Biggs and Wedge's arrival, and they appeared a moment later with the same put-upon expressions they usually wore whenever they went on a wild Dave chase.

"We all set?" she asked wryly, not bothering to comment. They could hurl verbal abuses later over a few drinks.

"Ready to depart," confirmed Biggs as he settled into the pilot's seat. "Had a pretty big crowd waiting for us down there."

Snorting lightly, Aranea murmured, "Go figure."

"Noticed something strange down on the ground, though," Wedge cut in.

Unlike Biggs, he didn't look annoyed. That automatically set Aranea on edge. It wasn't that those two were predictable—actually, no, that was exactly how it was. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought they were twins or something. Whatever one felt, the other usually wasn't far off.

"Go on," she prompted him, folding her arms over her chest expectantly.

Wedge shrugged. "No daemons."

That could be called strange, she supposed, if you didn't count the fact that there was apparently a big group of hunters on the ground. They'd called for aid because they ran out of gas; they hadn't said anything about being under attack.

Before Aranea had a chance to point out that little detail, Biggs glanced up from the controls to add, "Not a one as far as the eye can see."

…Okay, now that sounded suspicious.

"Let's get airborne," she ordered immediately.

Biggs and Wedge were instantly in motion, not daring to disobey a direct command from their commodore. It didn't seem to matter how long they were out of the military; they still saw her as a superior officer. They even controlled their own small armies of hunters now. If anything, they were the ones in charge. It wasn't often that they went on these operations together. They just happened to be in the same place at the same time to answer the call on this particular occasion.

Aranea couldn't say she was complaining about their complete subjugation, though. They were their own commanders now, and it wasn't like she was a commodore anymore with no empire to fight for. Still, they fell into a familiar routine that was eons more comfortable than three equally ranked officers vying for control. That tiny part of her that was capable of feeling nostalgic—the one she never told anyone about because it wasn't any of their damn business—missed the old days.

It was a real blast from the past when Biggs and Wedge issued their usual announcements to the passengers over the intercom (something to the effect of hanging on to your ass and staying the hell away from the loading bay in case this ancient rust bucket decided it didn't want to stay closed anymore), and then they were soaring straight up into the air.

If it took five whole seconds for them to come to terms with what they were seeing, Aranea would retire.

Just like they'd said, there wasn't a daemon to be found anywhere. She hadn't noticed when they landed, but the area beneath them was completely dark. Everything was dark, of course; this was different, though. There weren't any bombs glowing from the shadows or flaming swords where Red Giants were lumbering around. Even the snaga daemons—those obnoxious little bastards—couldn't be seen by their glowing purple attacks. This was a deeper darkness, uninhabited and unbroken.

Because shadows were always the darkest before the dawn, and the pink glow on the horizon was heralding in a new one.

"You getting a look at this?" gasped Biggs, leaning over the console to squint at the obvious sunrise as if he might be imagining it. Ten years without one kept Aranea from coming up with a sarcastic remark. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't just as awestruck, after all.

Yeah, she was getting a good look, all right. A damn good look. From the muffled shouts below deck, she'd say everyone else was, too.

A brilliant sunrise amidst a sea of fluffy white clouds. That's what they could see from where they were hovering above the rapidly lightening ground. Trees came into view, towering over grass that looked green instead of the strange, dull shade of grey that everything seemed to be painted in these days. The pillar of rock that was all that remained of the Disc of Cauthess stood like a sentinel, its peak splitting the light so that it shone in every direction. Distant towns—or what remained of them—were illuminated; Aranea could even make out the spire of the power plant in Lestallum, which you could rarely see through the haze of photophilic particles that constantly clouded the air.

That used to constantly cloud the air.

"Well, what do you know?" she mused with a smile, more to herself than her men. They were too busy hugging it out to listen, anyway. "They actually did it."

Hammerhead was buzzing with activity for the first time in…well, as long as Talcott could remember. It was only ever this busy when daemons were spotted too close to the fence, and even then the air was filled with more of a charged tension than anything else. This was totally different. This was the culmination of a decade's worth of pain and suffering finally finding release.

This was the sunrise.

Talcott wished he'd been the first to notice. Instead he'd been hunting here and there for Umbra, who His Majesty had entrusted to his care until he returned from Insomnia. If it were possible, he'd think that dog was pure magic; that seemed like the only explanation for how he'd gone from resting placidly at Talcott's feet one moment to completely vanishing the next. He'd searched everywhere—the garage, Takka's, the store, even out back where there were guard posts and absolutely no food to entice a canine—but it was like Umbra was just…gone.

Then the shouting had started, and for a split second, he was convinced that he messed up. The worst scenario played out before his mind's eye: running back around to find one of the outbound hunter's vehicles had run over King Noctis's dog or the like. Wouldn't that be the perfect way to show His Majesty that Talcott was worth just as much as his grandfather had hoped he would be? All that work, all that training with the Marshall—all so that he could totally screw up at the first opportunity.

When he trudged back towards the front gates, taking his time so he could put off the inevitable for as long as possible, it was to find that the yelling wasn't about a dead dog. Hunters were rushing out of buildings and trucks, pointing at the sky like they'd never seen it before.

And they hadn't, not in so long that they could hardly remember the warmth of the sun on their skin or the way it lit everything in hues of orange and pink when it first appeared in the morning. But that was what was happening right here, right now: a friendly golden face had ascended above the distant mountains, casting shadows that were nothing compared to what they'd been living in all this time. Just like that, the world exploded into colors that were vibrant enough to have Talcott's eyes tearing up—not that that was the only reason.

It was more than just him, although he definitely held it together better than some of the others. Maybe it was because he'd only been a kid when the world went dark and had spent just about half his life in endless night, but the older hunters were a mess of emotions. Some of the toughest, strongest men were on their knees, sobbing openly because they were too afraid to cover their eyes for fear that the sun would disappear again. Total strangers were patting each other on the back and holding on for dear life; praises to the Six that had never been said issued from more than one person's mouth.

That part was something Talcott couldn't really get behind. Sure, the Six had helped, but it was King Noctis who'd done all the legwork. He'd learned about the prophecy in his excursions with Ignis; this sunrise was because His Majesty had returned to save them from the hell they'd been living in.

No one cried out his name. Nobody even knew he was back.

But they would. Soon enough, the rumors would spread and people would start moving into the Crown City. Lucis would be rebuilt, greater and more powerful than before now that there was no evil empire to hold them back. Everything would return to the way it should have been in the first place, with King Noctis on the throne and light restored to the world. Maybe they wouldn't even need the Wall anymore. Talcott had to admit that the idea of remaining inside Insomnia now that they knew what the rest of Lucis was like would be pretty stifling; that was something he'd need to speak with His Majesty about, although he was almost positive that the king would agree with him.

Already, Talcott was thinking of the ways in which he could be of service. The daemons that had surrounded Hammerhead for years were gone, vanishing before the sun had even begun to rise. If there was no need for daemon hunters anymore, maybe there were other jobs he could do. Parts of the kingdom would have to be rebuilt and homes found for those with nowhere else to go; Lestallum couldn't hold the majority of the population forever. Then there was Accordo and what remained of Niflheim, getting their citizens back home to oversee reconstruction in their own right…

But he was getting ahead of himself. For now, he had one simple job to do for his king. The rest could be dealt with once next steps were decided.

Talcott kept his eyes skyward as he retreated through the throng of people who had come out to gaze upon the brilliant sunrise, glancing down every now and again for a grey-and-white ball of fluff. There were so many pairs of legs obstructing his view that he wondered if he'd be able to spot Umbra between them anyway. The endeavor was starting to feel futile after a few minutes had passed with no success; that niggling sensation of failure sprung up in his chest again at the idea that his first words to his king would be that he'd lost his dog. Umbra was pretty big, though. Surely, someone would have spotted him somewhere, right?

Just as he resolved to ask around rather than continue the search on his own, the sound of a canine's whine drifted to him on the breeze. For a second, he thought he had to be imagining it; no one else seemed to notice or look around, and it sounded too far away for him to have heard over the din. Still, he pushed through the crowd with a few muttered apologies until he was finally free, emerging in the space between Takka's and the caravan. Never let anyone say that he wasn't willing to take a chance!

One that he wished he hadn't, after all.

As he rounded the corner and the area behind the caravan came into view, Talcott broke into a run with Umbra's name on his lips. King Noctis's dog was collapsed sideways on the ground, his legs flung out at an awkward angle even for a sleeping pet. Something in the back of his mind whispered words to him that he didn't want to listen to—that he refused to believe.

"Umbra?" he called quietly as he fell to his knees beside the dog. "Hey, come on, boy. Time to wake up."

Nothing.

"C'mon, Umbra! Y-You've… You've gotta get up. King Noctis will be back soon, and he'll be so happy to see you. But you've gotta get up!"

His increasing desperation had no effect whatsoever; burying his hands in the dog's fur and shaking hard didn't rouse him. Umbra lay just as still as when he'd first caught sight of his prone form.

Talcott didn't give up right away. He shook and he called and he even cried a little bit—but it was no use. There was no ignoring the way Umbra's chest didn't rise and fall or the lack of a pulse when he pressed his fingers to the spot near the dog's elbow where he should have felt a heartbeat. As his tears of grief began to flow faster and he hugged Umbra's body—still warm—tightly to his chest, all he could think was that he had failed his king.

Umbra was dead. The one thing he had been trusted to protect was gone. His Majesty's dog had faded away with the coming of the dawn, waiting for the master he would never see to return for him.

Thirty years ago, a baby was born. They named him for the night, but Cor knew that he shone brighter than the sun in his parents' eyes. That tiny boy, with his piercing blue eyes and little tuft of black hair, was destined to ascend the throne of Lucis just as generations of his ancestors had done before him.

Twenty-five years ago, the unthinkable had happened.

The prophecy foretelling of the King of Light's ascension was known throughout the kingdom, not simply within the confines of the royal family. It spoke of a plague, an insatiable malice that would thrive and bring the world to ruin. When that happened and everything fell to darkness, the ancient words decreed that the king would rise to bring back the light. For centuries, the story was told and retold until most of Lucis knew it by heart; even those in neighboring kingdoms were cognizant of its meaning. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why the empire had taken particular care to destroy Lucis as thoroughly as they possibly could: it may very well have been their hope that the King of Kings would never come to power. Who else would then be able to stop them from creating the abominations they dubbed technology?

Although the people rejoiced and kept faith in the idea that a savior would one day appear to deliver them from the dangers that lurked in the shadows, they had no idea that such salvation came at a price. Only the royal family and their most trusted retainers were aware of the cost; the lore was passed down verbally, never written lest it fall into the wrong hands.

For a while, it didn't seem to matter. Cor was fortunate to have served two noble rulers, both of whom were tasked with defending their kingdom so that the prophesied king would have something to save. The majority of his life was spent in their company, climbing through the ranks until he could ascend no higher. It was at that time, when he had finally gained the implicit trust of his monarch—both of them—that he learned the truth.

He had stood atop the Citadel steps that morning, watching as the king held his too young son in his arms and wept. It appeared as if he would never move from the spot where he leaned up against the Regalia like his legs wouldn't hold his weight with Noctis asleep against his chest. When he finally did, it was with a burden heavier than even the Wall bearing down upon his steps. Cor had asked, and King Regis had answered.

Noctis, the light of the king's soul, was destined to be the Chosen King of legend.

Doomed was the more accurate description.

It was a well-kept secret, one that the monarchs of Lucis had played close to their chests, that the King of Kings would never rule. The Astrals and their Crystal had decreed that only through sacrifice would humanity know peace. At first, that was hardly a surprise: Cor had been there to watch as the Ring of the Lucii and the Wall drained two kings of their lives, their vitality. That, he had thought, was the ultimate sacrifice—to die a slow and painful death for the sake of protecting one's kingdom.

Then he looked upon this bright and smiling boy who knew not what lay ahead of him in life and realized that he was a fool. King Regis, and King Mors before him, had gotten to live. Even if only for a short while, their existence had meaning.

What meaning was there in cursing a child to die?

Twenty-two years ago, he very nearly had, and it was neither in service to his people nor to bring back some lost light. It was but more senseless bloodshed, this time with Noctis caught in the middle. King Regis had been devastated; the entire Citadel was in an uproar with the terrifying prospect of the heir to the throne of Lucis preceding his father into death the way no child should. Those months had been difficult, and Cor did what he could to support both king and prince to the fullest extent of his power. But the niggling thought remained in the back of his head—they were healing the prince to do what? Send him off to the slaughter but a few years later? It felt like preserving a cherished pet despite the knowledge that his suffering would be tenfold.

For twelve years, however, Cor held his tongue and did his duty to both king and country. He oversaw Noctis's training, as well as countless others who would be tasked with serving him. It was Cor who helped Clarus shape Gladio into a worthy Shield; it was Cor who trained Ignis when a boy destined to be but an advisor decided that that was hardly enough. Cor had been there when Prompto came bumbling in, bringing with him no particular talent besides that which he learned from video games but determined to protect his friend and liege regardless.

It was Cor who had stepped forward when the king's legs were cut out from under him by a traitor to guide his son to his death. And what a fine job he had done.

For the past ten years, all that was left was to prepare for what was to come after—after the sun returned, after humanity could come out of hiding, after the daemons were eradicated. After there was no longer anyone to sit upon the throne of Lucis.

That time was not spent in idle contemplation of his role in the king's demise, much as a lesser man would have been tempted to do so. He had not earned his epithet by resting on his laurels. Someone had to lead, and with the king's retinue grieving his absence, that burden fell to another. So, Cor had been busy: educating Talcott, assisting Ignis in relearning what had once been second nature, aiding Iris in becoming the daemon slayer she'd always been beneath the frills of youth. He'd lost track of how many sleepless nights he'd spent conferring with the former mercenary who had once been as feared as she was now loved, organizing the hunters into something resembling a functional military to protect the civilians who could not do it themselves.

All things considered, he thought they'd been as successful as anyone could hope for. Thousands, perhaps millions, had been rescued around the world and brought to Lestallum to wait out the long night. The few remaining members of the Crownsguard who had not perished in the process saw to it that homes were provided, food ensured, and all the comforts that could be afforded were.

Cor had been blessed with the time to watch the children he had once supervised outgrow their need for him. Talcott, young but wise beyond his years, had dedicated his life to the study of Lucis and making it a kingdom that Jared would be proud of. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto were more than worthy of their titles and the duties they would be expected to uphold. Iris had grown into a fine woman, capable of hunting with greater might than the most powerful hunters. (There were some things that did not change, however, like Gladio's insistence that defeating the Blademaster made him a step above the rest and his sister daring him to a duel. It warmed his heart to see.)

Thirty years had passed, three decades of suffering and perseverance in the hopes of creating a brighter future. Thirty years had passed, plenty of time for him to prepare for the unimaginable.

And yet, when the daemons vanished and Iris pointed towards the horizon with tears in her eyes that he simply could not shed, it felt as though no time had passed at all. Cor was still that young man, eager to fight and still so naïve. He was not ready. He would never be ready.

With a deep breath and a heavy heart, Cor turned to watch as the sun rose into its own throne and set on the one who must have done so during the night. His eyes narrowed at the sudden luminescence, unaccustomed to the once commonplace sight of their salvation. And as he stood there to witness the dawn ushering in a new era of the world, he prepared to mourn yet another king he could not save.

A/N: In the game, if you speak to Maria in Tenebrae, she says that Pryna died with Luna. I thought that if that were the case, and given that Umbra shows up in the afterlife with Noctis at the end, he probably died as well.