"So what's the plan?" Gladio asked.

"Yeah, give us the lowdown," Prompto said through a mouthful of garula steak. "Seeing as we'll totes be running the bootleg version of Operation Altissia here. What's the game this time—cloak and dagger? Blaze of glory? Holy crap on a cracker, Iggy, I'm so happy this steak is not fish thank you thank you thank you."

"Quite a resounding endorsement," Ignis drily replied.

"Aw, you know I'm mostly kidding, Igster. Considering some of the swill I've put away over the last few years, these past weeks have been nothing short of corn dog heaven. Not literally, of course, as we all know you wouldn't be caught dead with that plebe fare."

"What's a corn dog?" Gladio asked, dumping a third steak onto his plate.

Prompto stared at him with slightly dead eyes. "Serious, dude? N/m, you totally are. Well, seeing as it's something you well-heeled palace dwellers would apparently know nothing about, there's no need to worry your pretty little head about it. In fact, I'll take the hit and eat all of them so you don't have to."

"Yes…well," Ignis said, seemingly at a loss. "If we might return our attention to the original matter at hand, I too would like to solidify tomorrow's strategy. Noct?"

Noctis glanced up from where he'd been soaking up gravy with a forkful of potatoes, delicately seasoned with pepper and Ignis' secret stash of rosemary. "What we discussed this morning, I thought. Stick as close to the events of our original timeline as possible. Talk to Weskham, let him drop a couple of hints about us being in town, get a meeting with the First Secretary. Should be pretty straightforward."

"Yeah, except we won't have access to our weapons this time," Gladio complained.

"You are a weapon, dude," Prompto muttered.

"We didn't need them last time. Not until Leviathan," Noctis reminded them. "And she'll be happily asleep. Happily and indefinitely, if the universe plays nice."

"Are you all forgetting what Cor said?" Ignis asked. "About the Imperials' sudden increased activity in Leide? He believes these are no ordinary troop movements, but rather that they're targeting you specifically, Noct."

Noctis chewed slowly, deliberating. They'd returned to Caem just long enough to clean up, replenish their provisions, and mollify Iris, in Gladio's case. Monica had supplied them with a handful of potions, produce from the garden, and the warning from Cor. Now they sat sheltered among a sprinkling of islets just beyond the outer borders of Altissia, watching the sun set from the Royal Vessel's foredeck while they enjoyed one last dinner on the waves.

"I don't see that it makes a difference," he finally replied, gazing out to sea as the cloud-strewn sky deepened, reds and purples bleeding into the horizon. "Even if it's a result of our timeline alterations, they were hunting us last time, too."

"Ardyn was protecting you last time," Gladio said seriously. "Without him, the Empire has no reason to keep the Lucis Caelum line intact and every reason to end it."

Noctis nodded gravely. "It's a valid concern. But—"

"We know, man, it's something you need to do," Prompto interjected, twirling a cherry tomato around on his fork.

"Yes, but perhaps it's something we could do a little more quietly," Ignis stressed. "We weren't exactly subtle last time. Gladio is right: if it weren't for Ardyn's 'protection,' such as it was, in addition to public sympathy brought about by the 'star-crossed lovers and their foiled wedding' narrative, we would have been apprehended before we'd even set foot in customs."

Noctis glanced at him strangely. "'Narrative,' huh?"

"Speaking strategically, of course," Ignis said placatingly. "We all know your relationship was more than mere political machination. All I meant was that the appeal of your story on its own may not be enough to stave off any chicanery the Empire dreams up this time. In addition to which, it would be extremely preferable that we avoid any sort of recognition to begin with."

"I think you forget Claustra," Noctis said, knowing full well that forgetting anything in relation to politics or international affairs was almost a literal impossibility for Ignis. "She won't stand for them pulling that crap on her turf. And we're taking more precautions this time—Dustin got us the fake registration, we're sleeping on the boat instead of at the Leville, and in my dressed-down regalia I could pass as any senior-ranking diplomat or business exec. You know she's not going to take me seriously otherwise—I'd just be some spoiled princeling so disrespectful of her station that I couldn't even be bothered to dress for the occasion."

"Noct's right," Gladio said. "And that's assuming she decides we're even worth an audience to begin with."

"Yes, I'm aware," Ignis replied, rather testily. Then he sighed. "You make fair points, both of you. We'll proceed as you wish. All I ask is for a bit of caution this time, as well as minimal loitering, if you please. That means no fishing from the canals for sixteen hours like a homeless man, Noct. Or engaging in Totomostro horn-blowing competitions with hooligans you met in a pub, Gladio. Or attempting to juggle all five seasonal flavors of gelato, Prompto."

"Yes, Ignis," they mumbled, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"And finally," he said, looking them each in the eye, "this must be the last risky activity we engage in for a time. Until we're surer on our feet in this new reality, we should adhere to Umbra's warning as if not only our lives—but those of others—depended on it."

"Agreed," Noctis murmured. Beside him, Gladio nodded.

"So that's great and all," Prompto piped up, "but what exactly is that gonna look like? Are we thinking hermits at the top of Ravatogh? Setting up shop in the Three Valleys and hiring ourselves out as sabretooth population control? Sailing endlessly back and forth in front of Caem? These last couple weeks have been nice, don't get me wrong, but there's a reason I never joined the Navy."

"Because we didn't have one?" Gladio asked.

"No! Because I've got lungs not gills…and I don't like confined spaces…and I prefer floors that stay still—"

"We could be hunters for a while," Noctis said. "But real ones. Focus on the daemons. Take 'em on till they're gone."

"Culling them to extinction would be a lifetime endeavor, I'd imagine. Even so, it's worth considering," Ignis said, his tone thoughtful. "Our interactions with others would be minimal, we'd be performing a service for the locals, and may even earn a bit of gil on the side. There's that infestation we've been hearing about on the radio of late over in the Risorath Basin that we could—"

"Now just hold your chocobos, you two," Prompto interrupted. "I know you said something about this before, Iggs, but can you please explain to me again why Noct's prophecy didn't wipe out all the daemons? I thought that was the point what with that whole 'the True King will purge the darkness at the cost of his own life' business. So what, now we find out that Noct paid, but there're still daemons stomping around? Can I demand a refund?"

"We got one," Noctis reminded him mildly. "It's called 'I'm sitting here talking to you on this boat.'"

Before Prompto could argue, Ignis—his eyes alight and thoroughly unperturbed at being forced to explain everything again—said in scholarly tones, "The original prophecy is actually a surprising source of debate. Contrary to general belief, there is no single edition. Several variations were produced by a handful of Oracles scattered across the ages, all of whom claimed to have communed directly with the gods on the subject. However, none were ever made public—and over the centuries they evolved into something more akin to oral tradition. One may only access the original manuscripts now with special permissions from the private collectors who harbor them."

"Which Ignis has," Noctis remarked, starting in on his salad.

"Well of course I do," Ignis replied, evidently affronted at the mere possibility of the question being raised. "Recall that I am more than just your cook and housemaid; before the end of civilization I was, in fact, trained professionally as a scholar, diplomat, and political consultant."

"And how to kill a man fifteen different ways with the contents of his paperclip drawer," Gladio added.

"And how to kill his soul fifteen more with devastatingly executed repartees and thinly veiled disparagements," Prompto agreed.

"Yeah, you have no idea how many douchebag statesmen I've seen roasted in my day," Noctis said, his eyes lighting up. "This one time the High Consul of Ulwaat made some snippy remark about our traditional Commemoration Day décor, so Ignis—"

"Come now Noct perhaps another time you don't want to bore them," Ignis hastily interrupted, his face coloring ever so slightly. "Now as I was saying: after having studied most of the literature on the subject, and having even read through several of the original manuscripts myself, I've come to believe that 'purge' refers to the method of transmission, or the spread itself—in our day, that would have been Ardyn, plus the Imperial experiments." He nudged his glasses higher up his nose. "Seeing as we know daemons manifest in this time, the prophecy apparently did not indicate that every daemon already in existence would expire. For all we know, the millions that were created in our original time—or those that were able to revert to miasma before the first sunrise, that is—are still rampaging about at night, in spite of the fulfillment."

"So we killed the spread but not the daemons," Prompto said. "Well that's really great. Super validating of all our hard work and effort."

"Yes, well, it's only a theory. Either way, we are in far better shape with Ardyn out of the picture. Our greatest threat now becomes the Empire and its experiments." Ignis leaned back, cradling a Jetty's between his hands. "But if my instincts are correct, and some of the more coherent translations are to be believed, they may not find themselves as successful in them as they once were."

"Sure…" Prompto said, sounding anything but. "You know, I'm just gonna take all y'all's word for it. Any way you look at it, we are literally the four most qualified daemon hunters in this world, and…and that makes us…uh…really awesome…" He trailed off distractedly. "Hey, Noct?"

"Yeah?" Noctis said, glancing up from his greens.

"Is that…salad…that you're actually…consuming? Like, swallowing it and everything? Or am I having the most boringly bizarre fever dream ever?"

Noctis paused mid-chew as his friends turned en masse to stare.

"It is," Gladio said in unfeigned awe, reaching out and prodding his cheek to be sure.

Noctis smacked his hand away in irritation. "Yeah, and? Ignis makes good veggies."

"I have never in my life heard you say those four words together," Ignis said, eyes wide with wonder. "Noct, you won't touch vegetables with a ten foot halberd."

Noctis gave them a put-upon look. "C'mon, guys, that was a long time ago." He scraped up the last of his greens, eyeing his friends in a beleaguered manner as he stuffed them into his mouth.

"Not for you," Gladio said.

Noctis froze. Panic flickered to life in his chest as he realized the magnitude of his mistake.

Of course Noct of the Ten Year Sleep would still hate vegetables. Noctis of the Ten Years of Angelgard—of subsisting on canned foods and whatever roots he could scrounge from the dying earth and eventually nothing at all as Bahamut plunged him deeper into the visions—that Noctis found humble lettuce to be nothing short of a divine blessing.

I will destroy all those close to his heart.

He had let his guard down. He had allowed himself to feel comfortable, and relaxed, and loved again. He had let himself try to forget. His friends would figure it out and then Bahamut would find him and would know, and Ignis and Gladio and Prompto would be the ones to pay, just like the god had promised. He had to focus, to rein himself in before—

Someone bumped his knee, ripping Noctis from his terror like a moth from fly tape. He hid his shudder as Prompto regarded him with those bright blue eyes of his, an overly cheery smile parked on his face.

"Hey man, no need to stress. Some days you just wake up and want a salad. Right guys? Oi, I know it's my night for dishes, but who's gonna take pity and help? G-man? I'll give you half my dessert…"

Noctis set his plate down, no longer hungry, trying to ignore the glances his friends cast his way.

xxx

Later that night, Noctis found himself standing on the breezy foredeck in his dress blacks, minus the mantle. Ignis had stowed the heavy cape with all its ornamentation in the hold, leaving him in the fitted black suit he typically wore beneath.

He fingered the fine material of the shirt that rested against his breastbone. Ignis' stitches were so even and minute, he could hardly tell there had been a four-inch slice in the fabric there, with one on the back to match. And it had been cleaned so immaculately nobody would ever believe it had once been soaked in blood.

"That should do, Noct; no alterations appear to be needed," Ignis said, brushing a few specks of imaginary dust from the sleeves. "I do seem to have missed this loose stitching on your cuff, however; hold tight while I fetch my kit, if you please."

Prompto leaned into the rail of the bow, watching. His stance was that of the casually observant; Noctis knew he was mentally framing the photogenic moments, despite his lack of a camera. In his signature way, Prompto had managed to coax Noctis out of his anxiety at dinner. However, a vague unease had lingered, tainting his thoughts like oil in water.

"Guess we'll never get a chance to give Luna those pics," Prompto remarked.

"Hmm?" Noctis replied, frowning as he fiddled with a button.

"You know, the ones we took at Spelcray Haven down near Caem right before Gladio left and douchcanoe Ardyn had us wading through swamps and everything went to hell at Altissia? C'mon, dude, don't tell me you forgot!" Prompto exclaimed, looking wounded.

Noctis wracked his memory, feeling the panic flaring back to life. Then, abruptly, his brain seized on an old, partially buried recollection: standing on a dock west of Caem at some obscene hour of the morning, feeling severely uncomfortable as Prompto made him the subject (victim) of one of his photoshoots, right before offering (threatening) to give them all to Luna.

Noctis shuddered. "Uh, yeah. Guess you lost those to the armiger. Sorry, man," he lied.

Prompto shrugged it off. "Eh, no big. We can always do it again. Why not here? If all goes well you'll be seeing her tomorrow, and nothing's more romantic than this sweet Accordan seascape!"

"You don't have a camera," Noctis reminded him, trying not to sound too cheerful.

"Details," Prompto shrugged it away. "We'll come up with something. You nervous, buddy?"

"About seeing Luna?" he asked slowly, the sudden change in tone taking him aback. He stepped up alongside his friend, then leaned into the rail to stare out over the moonlit isles. "I…don't know. There hasn't been much time to think about…anything, really. I've changed, and she…she's so incredible, Prompto. But she hasn't seen what we have. How do you…continue…after that?"

Prompto watched him from the corner of his eye, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He spontaneously reached out and draped his arm across Noctis' shoulders, letting the silence simply exist.

When he spoke again, his playful tone contradicted the somber moment. "Well, you know there's nothing like the gift of memories to break the ice. Hey, if all goes well with you two and I manage to swing a camera somewhere in Altissia, what say we go ahead and try again with another shoot—what do you think, next spectacular sunset? My skills have totally leveled up since you saw them last, Noct. She'll take one look at those pics of you and be downright dazzled."

Noctis knew Prompto was trying to cheer him up, and appreciated him for it. Even so…

"Yeah, dazzled with a crapload of sudden misgivings. I know your skills are great, Prom, but I'd really rather not blow this timeline by putting her off first thing." He looked down at his hands. "Besides, you know we probably can't even be together. Umbra said so."

"Cheer up, Noct," Prompto said, bumping him with his hip. "We don't even know for sure sure what he meant by that. Like you said the other day, everything's been fine with Iris and Talcott and company so far. As for the pics, all you have to do is stick to your Ultimate Pose. You remember that one, right? Adorbs!"

Noctis glared. "Ugh, no! You told me it was 'winsomely dashing.' I saw one later, and I looked more like I was about to be flattened by a catoblepas. OH WAIT, I WAS."

Prompto removed his arm to turn and face him, leaning into the rail as he grinned. "C'mon, Noct, no need to be so humble. Luna would think they're smoking. And if you guys end up getting too busy again to, like, date and stuff, or if Ignis gets all bent out of shape about timeline interaction, you can totally just whip out your old notebook, print 'em out, stick 'em in and send them over. Umbra still delivers, right? No boudoir shoots, though, that's where I draw the line—"

"Prompto," Noctis groaned, his face coloring slightly. "I wouldn't do that anyway, our relationship wasn't like that—"

"Yet," Prompto emphasized. "Just give it a minute. Probably for the best for now, though—Umbra most likely wouldn't appreciate you trying to use his godliness as a sexy texts service just because you're too broke to own a phone anymore. Our time travel clearances would be instantly revoked, and then Luna would never get to see—"

xxx

A shout echoed through the night air. At the stern, Ignis and Gladio glanced up in time to see Noct attempt to drown his best friend.

"Don't you dare ruin that kingly raiment!" Ignis hollered. Lowering his voice, he said to Gladio, "Now there's a sight I haven't seen in a while."

"Noct and Prompto trying to kill each other? Ah, yes, the memories," Gladio replied in rather dusty tones.

"No, Gladio, the two of them having fun. Engaging in honest horseplay. It's something we haven't witnessed in either of them for quite some time."

"Yuh huh," Gladio replied, but a small smile had softened his face.

"In all honesty, I feared the Darkness had killed those qualities for good," Ignis quietly confessed.

Gladio's smile melted away as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm worried about him. Noct. I think there's something he isn't telling us."

"There's much he isn't telling us," Ignis agreed, keeping his tone neutral. "For example, he hasn't said a word about his battle with Ardyn in the Beyond, other than the fact that it happened. I don't suppose that was an experience one can easily dismiss, and yet he'd obviously prefer to carry on as if it had never occurred. I can only imagine what he's had to process between suddenly waking to a world that was essentially ten years in his future, communing with the gods, dying, and waking up again in the past. All things considered, I'd say he's handled it rather well."

"Yeah. But there's something more," Gladio said. "Sometimes I catch him staring at me like…like he's looking at a ghost, or reliving a gruesome accident, or something."

Ignis watched Gladio for a long moment, his eyes tracing the lines of his scars. Technically they were years old; in this timeline, they still looked relatively fresh. Ignis had never actually seen any of his friends at their true ages—had never visibly perceived the telltale signs of time's passage to which their bodies no longer corresponded. But through the years of the Long Night he had learned to rely on sounds, smells, and the slightest differences in pressure against his skin. Periodically, he would request his friends' permission to feel out their features—his fingertips memorizing them all over again, and sometimes even learning them anew. The deepening lines and taut musculature of Prompto's face had spoken of a man who had grown in confidence, but who had also hardened. The tightness around Gladio's eyes told him his friend had…retreated, the brashness of his youth withdrawn into itself. And Noct…

Noct had been an enigma from the moment he'd returned. His physical form—the beard, the exhaustion, the premature lines—was now nothing more than a ghost, a memory, or perhaps was yet to be. But even today, even back in the body Ignis knew so well, he wasn't as Ignis remembered. This Noct was poorly fit to the young frame. This Noct was an old soul looking out—far older than he had any right to be.

And Ignis too, had been on the receiving end of Noct's thousand-mile stares. Usually they were gone so quickly he found them easy to dismiss, but on one or two occasions he, like Gladio, had been left feeling almost as if he were a living embodiment of his friend's nightmares.

"I know," he told Gladio. He brushed his friend's elbow out of long habit, blindness having made him necessarily tactile. "I'm worried too. We all came away changed, but Noct…" He trailed off, at a loss. "I agree. There's something we've missed."

"I don't know how to protect him anymore, Ig," Gladio said. "I haven't known in over ten damn years."

Ignis thought of going blind—suddenly obsolete—left behind.

"I know," he softly replied.

xxx

Noctis was back in his favorite spot on the Royal Vessel, sitting balanced on the prow in a manner that would undoubtedly give Ignis a stroke should he happen to glance over. From his perch on the railing, he examined the immaculate repair job his friend had just completed on his cuff. The man was a wonder, no doubt about it. Noctis still marveled over his ability to go from slipping someone into a sleeper hold one moment to blind-stitching a hem in the next. Probably simultaneously, knowing Ignis, and quite literally with his eyes closed.

After declaring a ceasefire from all efforts to "encourage more frequent bathing," as Prompto euphemized their attempts to drown each other—and which in reality had only been successful due to their mutual fear of Ignis' wrath—Prompto had taken up residence in the living area and now appeared to be goading Gladio into an extremely ill-conceived round of Bloody Knuckles. Bereft of his friend's bright cheer, Noctis felt the apprehension begin to creep back in.

The last time he had seen Luna—this Luna, not the manufactured doppelganger of Bahamut's realm or the knowing, otherworldly apparition that had appeared to them so briefly at the eve of the Dawn—was on the day they were supposed to have wed, over ten years ago. Of course, events had evolved so rapidly at the time that he didn't think either of them had believed it would ever actually happen—not truly. One day his dad had informed him he was engaged, the next he was enroute to the wedding, and by the third he was homeless, his father murdered, and both bride and groom declared dead. No, there hadn't been much opportunity in there to consider a future together, despite Prompto's enduring optimism.

But had he wanted that future? He had loved Luna, and she'd loved him—of that, there was no doubt. Whether or not they were in love had been a moot point; with their upbringings, neither had expected to get a choice in the matter to begin with. To experience sincere affection—much less love—for one's spouse, in their worlds, was something of a luxury. So after his father had raised the possibility of such a future—an unexpectedly sunny one, all things considered—Noctis had simply ceased to contemplate anybody else. And the decade of torment following her death hadn't exactly fostered any further deliberation on the subject.

And now here he was, ignoring Umbra's warnings, engaging in reckless acts that could attract Bahamut's tender attentions. Here he was, six years older than her now, a quietly shattered man hauling around Lucis' weight in baggage, having lived a future she'd never see, bursting back into her life, hoping it could somehow all be different. Another person for Bahamut to use against him.

He should turn the boat around, right now.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to abandon her.

Savior complex, he thought, bitterly laughing to himself. Bahamut drilled that one into you really well, didn't he?

With a frustrated exhale, Noctis pushed himself off the rail and headed aft. He needed to change and get to bed; another sleepless night would lead to an undoubtedly dismal performance with Claustra, and then their trip would really be in vain. Rounding the cockpit, he crowded between Gladio and Prompto's shoving and scuffling and was reaching for his duffel when something caught his eye.

He frowned. Dropping the strap of his bag, Noctis straightened, squinting out into the darkness.

The rising moon still hung relatively low in the sky, washing out much of the starfield in gray—so it was surprising to catch sight of what seemed to be an odd, bright star hovering at its edge. What's more, it was rapidly growing in size, stacks of glowing red arrayed symmetrically to either side.

So, not a star, but an aircraft, and heading their way. Noctis tensed—but they weren't the boxy lines of a standard dropship. And besides, those never came out to sea. That didn't leave many options, and the only sorts Noctis could really imagine having any interest in prowling around these parts were—

"Dreadnought," he gasped. He whirled to face his friends, who were now all staring at him. "Ignis! Imperial dreadnought!"

Ignis flew to his feet and began to bark orders. "Prompto! Get down to the hold and hide the weapons, now! Noct, Gladio, get off this boat—"

But Noctis was already sprinting for the rail, yanking Gladio along with him. He cleared it with one leap and plunged into the blackness of the sea, his Shield landing inelegantly beside him.

Noctis fought for the surface, the tumbling of the waves disorienting him in the darkness. Finally he broke free, breathing raggedly, the night air cold against his face. Blinking salt water from his eyes, he stared frantically around. The dreadnought was bearing straight for them, and hard.

Noctis hesitated. If the Imperials were already aware of who they were, there was no way he was slinking away to leave Ignis and Prompto to fend for themselves. He'd fight to the death a thousand times over first. But if it was nothing more than a detour of curiosity…

Gladio's powerful hand clamped around his arm, towing Noctis around to face him. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his breath fogged slightly in the air. "We've got about thirty seconds before their floodlight's on us. Head for the rock outcropping at your ten o'clock. Stay underwater as long as you can." His eyes bore into Noctis', searching for comprehension. "Understand?"

Noctis nodded, focusing on the rocks, blocking everything else from his mind. "Yeah."

"Good." Gladio nodded, short and sharp. "Ready? Dive."

Noctis drew in a couple of quick, measured breaths, followed by a long deep one, and did as he was told.

Swimming hadn't ever been his strongest suit, but he could get by in a pinch. As this situation certifiably qualified as such, he began to flail along beneath the surface, mentally reviewing every stroke his instructors had ever taught him. He strained to control his movements, to streamline his form, but with the waves, the darkness, and the oppressive weight of his formals it was difficult to tell if he was progressing through the water at all, much less in the right direction. But he forced himself on, driving his arms and legs and body until finally his options had been whittled down into two very simple choices: emerge or die.

Instead, he plowed headfirst into a rock. Pain shot through his skull, and he thrashed for the surface. Rather than air, however, his hands found nothing but a wall, stony and rough and unforgiving. Noctis panicked.

Then a familiar arm wrapped around his waist from behind, anchoring him, and he was hauled upward. His face broke free into chill night air.

"Easy," Gladio murmured quietly as Noctis finally breathed, gasping and sputtering. He struggled not to inhale lungfuls of seawater as waves sloshed closely around his face. "There's air here. Just relax and focus on breathing."

Leaning into that familiar mantra—one that had so often accompanied the close of their more grueling training days—Noctis forced himself still, calming his erratic gasps as Gladio helped him remove the newly repaired jacket and shoes that weighed him down. Ignis would be dismayed, but probably not as much as if he had been done in by his own dress uniform. Newly unburdened, he blinked water from his stinging eyes and looked around as best he could with his head brushing the ceiling and waves slapping him repeatedly in the face. It turned out to be a futile effort, as the night seemed to have gone from dark to impermeable, so he freed a hand from Gladio's bear hug to send his fingertips questing along the stone.

They had successfully reached the outcropping, it seemed—or to be more specific, the area that lay beneath it. The rock here curved up and back to form a cramped, underwater dugout of sorts, allowing them less than a foot of air between the ceiling and the water's surface. If they kept their heads tilted back and pressed close to the stone, they should have enough space to breathe. When the bobbing of the waves wasn't obliterating it, anyway.

Noctis scrabbled for purchase against the stone into which he'd plowed, eventually discovering a divet for one hand and a knob for the other. They weren't much, but they were enough to reclaim most of his weight from Gladio. Reprieved, the big man ferreted out his own handholds, treading water with long, sweeping motions of his legs.

Now that he had finally regained some control over his evening, Noctis became attuned to the fact that he could hear voices. It also appeared as if their little den wasn't quite as light-proof as he'd initially thought—a small crack close to the waterline let them see a sliver of the Royal Vessel's aft deck. And the squad of human Imperial troopers, plus their commander, who now occupied it.

Dismayed, he glanced over at Gladio, made visible only by the barest ghost of moonlight reflecting from his eyes. The big man minutely shook his head, placing a finger to his lips. Any noise they made would carry clearly across the water, and it wouldn't require any great intellectual capabilities on the Imperial commander's part to puzzle out where a fugitive or two might be hiding away.

"State your purpose in these waters, sailors," the commander said, her voice ringing authoritatively over the distance. The order sounded neither harsh nor hostile, but carried an unmistakable air of no-nonsense competence.

"Ah, yes ma'am," an unfamiliar voice replied, its owner obscured from view by their rocky overhang. Colored by the timbre and intonations of Cleigne's deep north, Noctis found the speaker's accent rather reminiscent of Navyth. He looked over at Gladio—as best he could, anyway, with both their faces pressed up against the ceiling—but his Shield seemed just as bemused as he.

"My brother and I were just out here engaging in some night fishing, see, hoping to snag the legendary mummyfish," the strange man continued. "Don't s'pose you got any tips? Cause so far, we ain't finding squat."

Noctis glanced at Gladio again, just in time to see the man's jaw drop in sudden revelation. "No…" he whispered.

Noctis kicked his Shield feebly beneath the water. What? he mouthed as the big man looked his way. Gladio made a shushing motion and nodded energetically back toward the scene outside.

Disgruntled, Noctis resumed his eavesdropping.

"…just that Gram always told me it's powerfully flavorful and I'd hoped to use it in a new recipeh…"

Noctis felt suddenly faint. Gladio flicked his ear. With an effort, he pulled his face back out of the water.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there," the commander was saying. "However, perhaps you can help me by answering a few questions."

"Anything for you, ma'am," Ignis-as-swamp-denizen-Navyth was saying.

"Let's begin with where you got the boat," she said, without equivocation.

"You like it? Mighty fine of you to notice. Sad to say it 'ent mine, though. Belongs to my brother—a different brother, that is—who inherited the family business from the folks. He's got about half a dozen of 'em back home. This one here's Crown City manufactured—a '25, if I'm not mistaken. Real top-notch back in its day. Some fellers get all the luck, eh? 'Least he likes us poor younger siblings good enough to let us take it for a spin."

A crewman handed the commander a small sheaf of paperwork, presumably the fake registration. She rifled through it for a moment, then looked up.

"And this brother here," Noctis could see her nodding toward someone out of sight—Prompto, no doubt. "He mute?"

"No ma'am, just shy," possibly-possessed-Ignis replied.

"Mmm, I see. Mind if I glance around the hold?"

It was a polite enough question, but everyone present knew there was only one answer.

"Course not, but I don't know what you're expectin' ta find. Like I said, we've been left high and dry this trip, so if it's a nice fish yer hankering for, I'm afraid we won't be much help."

The commander smiled blandly. She gestured her troops down into the hold, then followed closely on their heels. Anxiety roiled in Noctis' gut, and he felt Gladio tense beside him.

But they reappeared a moment later, the commander's face a blank slate. Noctis heard the "clear" calls echoed between the officers, and the tension in his shoulders released so suddenly he nearly dipped beneath the water again. Never had he been so glad to have left the Regalia at Caem.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but certain political disturbances have been the cause of much civil unrest in Lucis and Accordo of late," the commander said. "The Empire collaborates with Accordo to keep these waters as safe as possible, but even so, there have been reports of increased lawlessness in the area. A humble fisherman like yourself certainly wouldn't want to get mixed up in the wrong crowd. Not if he values his life and freedom, anyway."

She offered Ignis a clipped smile. It held no apparent hostility, but no warmth either.

"Roger that, ma'am," Ignis replied. "We may be unsuccessful in lookin' for fish, but we also ain't lookin' for trouble. We'll likely just pop on into Altissia to refuel in the morn, then head on home."

The commander nodded curtly, then spoke into a handheld radio. Seconds later, the dreadnought dipped, descending far enough to crater the water and flatten the hair and clothing of all below. An array of flexible nylon ladders dropped to the deck. The commander and her troops boarded, and soon the ship had droned away, its red afterburners flaring in the moonlight.

Noctis let out a trembling breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It hadn't dawned on him how utterly helpless he was until he'd found himself trapped by stone, encased in water, weaponless, and forced to watch from afar. He had fled the boat to protect his friends—but if things had gone south for them, what would he have done? His link to the crystal was gone—other than the phantom itch that still remained, always reminding him of what he had lost. He couldn't so much as frost a window anymore, much less Blizzaga his foes into oblivion. If push had come to shove and his friends had needed him, he wouldn't have been able to do a thing. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

By his expression, Noctis judged Gladio was grappling with similar thoughts. Only, this sort of thing had described much of his Shield's life—to watch as his charge zipped away on trails of magic into the thick of battle, while he remained confined to the power of his body alone—hoping it would be enough as he pounded along in his prince's wake. Trained to choose Noctis' life over anybody else's, including (especially) his own.

"Sorry," Noctis whispered.

Chin deep in seawater, Gladio looked at him strangely. "What?"

"Never mind."

Readjusting his stiffening hold on the rock, Noctis settled in for a lengthy wait. They both understood protocol in a situation like this. Beside him, Gladio closed his eyes and began taking deep, even breaths. Noctis recognized it as an energy conservation technique and attempted to follow suit.

It worked for about as long as it took the cold to finally seep all the way to his bones, after which he lost the majority of his focus. The waves slapped incessantly against his face, forcing him to time his breath in between the crests. It was exhausting, and more than once he inhaled a good draught of seawater into his lungs.

Shivering, he eventually left the wall and began to tread water, hoping to keep his blood flowing. That sustained him somewhat longer, but eventually his limbs, already weakened and rubbery from exertion, began to flag. Back on the boat, they could hear the occasional heavily accented exclamation as Ignis-as-Navyth apparently began conversing with some fish. The only blessing Noctis could think to count in his increasingly frigid state was that at least the tide was now going out and they no longer had to hug the ceiling.

At last, long after time had melted into meaninglessness, a soft "all clear" floated across the waves.

Gladio let out an explosive exhale. Noctis pushed himself stiffly away from the rock and began a slow, awkward paddle back toward the boat, Gladio following close behind. Waves and darkness and cold blurred together until finally, at long last, he found himself bumping into something solid—not a rock this time, but the extraordinarily beautiful hull of the Royal Vessel. He'd managed to get half his body flopped gracelessly across the transom when Ignis and Prompto grabbed an arm each, dragging him onboard like a washed-up salmon.

"Clothes off, both of you," Ignis ordered, thankfully in his native accent. "Prompto, grab the blankets."

"Noct's near hypothermic," Gladio said, stripping off his already minimal coverage and leaving it in a sopping pile on the deck.

"So are you," Noctis retorted, scowling when it turned out he couldn't actually form any words due to his body's violent shivering.

Ignis batted his fumbling hands out of the way and began to unbutton his shirt. Accepting defeat, Noctis stood still and tried not to hunch his shoulders over-much as his body attempted to convulse itself into a knot. As his shirt came off, Prompto draped a blanket around his shoulders and shoved a mug of something warm into his hands, quickly diving back in to help hold them steady as Noctis sloshed it all over the deck.

"Can I talk now?" Prompto griped, interrupting himself with a startled "hey!" as Noctis abruptly shoved them both away to clumsily peel off the rest of his clothes himself. "Scratch that, I'll happily trade in talking for someone explaining to me why, by Ifrit's ass's fiery emissions, Noct and Gladio decided to extend free swim by over an hour in the worst pool conditions ever while Ignis made the rest of us play Swamp Ranger Joe."

"It's very simple, Prompto," Ignis replied, obviously having to take a moment to soothe his strained patience as he eyeballed Noctis in exasperation. Leaving their king to his own stubborn devices, he handed a second mug to Gladio. "I had to ensure our Imperial friends hadn't 'mistakenly' left any surveillance devices lying about. It wasn't exactly a quick run to the corner store."

"Oh," Prompto said. "So then, why'd Gladio and Noct both tear out of here like Ardyn from a Dress for Success class? Seems like it would've been smarter to boot me out and leave our muscle here to do the head bashing if the Niffs got too excited. There's only so much I can do close-range, especially when my weapon's camping out in a storage compartment covered by a carpet down in the hold."

"I show up in almost every news broadcast and media piece that Noct does," Gladio explained, unconcerned. He took a long swallow of tea. "Shields' faces are well-known. If that commander is as up with things as I think she is, she would've recognized me right away. Iggy, on the other hand, was always more of a behind-the-scenes guy."

"Huh." Prompto was silent a moment, then said, "Man, you retainer types really had your crap all figured out, didn't you?"

"Of course we did," Ignis replied loftily. "And do. As do you. Royalty is a professional operation, you know."

"Don't tell Gladio's nonexistent shirts that. Or Noct's cat jammies. Speaking of—Noct, dude, you look like a depressed marshmallow. Do you need hugs? They're not free but I am offering an exclusive seventy-five-percent-off deal for the next twenty minutes only. You really look like you could use a good cuddle."

Noctis sat huddled miserably against the gunwale, blankets cinched up around his head and completely enveloping his body. From deep within that bundle, a single finger emerged.

Prompto grinned brightly, unfazed. Gladio, rolling his eyes, stood, crossed the deck, and dropped down next to the shivering heap, his own blankets already drooping about his elbows in neglect. Despite himself, Noctis found himself leaning toward Gladio's freakish body heat like a flower to the sun.

"So do you think we really got away with it?" Prompto asked, his voice turned serious. "That commander seemed pretty reasonable. Creepily so, if I'm being honest, but then most of my Imperial interactions up to this point have been mad scientists and Ardyn, sooo…"

Ignis was pouring his own mug of tea, his brow scrunched with worry. "I am a bit shocked at how relatively uneventful it all was. I rather thought we'd reached our end when they entered the hold where Noct's royal trappings still hung, but either they missed their significance or they missed them altogether. Perhaps the older, more weathered nature of the Royal Vessel played a part in throwing them off the scent."

"Yeah, who knew those ugly rust stains from all those years of abandonment would come in handy some day?" Prompto mused. "Guess I'll stop complaining about all the random spare parts and crap your guys' old men kept hoarded in the compartments. I pulled a couple of muscles and broke at least one smuggling speed record trying to switch them out for our weapons before tonight's boarding festivities kicked off, but at least it added to that whole 'This place is way too uncouth for a king, try again' vibe we were going for."

"Lucky we decided not to bring the Regalia," Gladio remarked, echoing Noctis' earlier thoughts.

They lapsed into desultory conversation, musing on their close shave. All except Noctis, who was eyeing them from deep within his blanket burrow, wearing a rather grim expression.

Ignis finally sighed and put down his tea. "Something you wanted to say, Noct?"

"Yeah, there is," Noctis said, straightening with sudden gravity. "I've decided I'm going into Altissia alone."

Before they could protest, he surged ahead. "You're already taking a risk for me coming here at all; now we've got Imperials prowling around who'll recognize you on sight. I've put you three in enough danger as is. You don't have to keep doing that, you know—forfeiting your lives for mine. The prophecy's been fulfilled; you don't need to save me for the end of times anymore."

He straightened even further and plowed on, forestalling the inevitable arguments. "If there's some sort of duty you feel you'd be betraying by staying out of harm's way, don't. As king, I officially release you from that obligation."

Lecture complete, Noctis sat back, fully prepared to stare his friends down for what little remained of the night.

He wasn't quite as prepared for the identical looks of pissed-off incredulity he received in return.

"…As I was saying, Prompto," Ignis enunciated in clipped tones, pointedly ignoring his declaration as if it were nothing more than an outburst from an overwrought child. "Only a handful of the gondolas even run that early, so we may in fact be better off waiting for the regular breakfast hours—"

"I'm serious, guys," Noctis said, rising to his feet and bringing the blankets with him. "Look, I'm not asking you to abandon your honor or whatever, just—"

"Noct," Gladio interrupted from beside him. "I'm gonna remind you of the best advice I've ever given you: that there are times when it's best just to shut the hell up. Guess what? Now is one of them." Levering himself upright, the big man started for the hatch that led down below. "Hey Iggy, after I dig up some dry clothes I can stack those boxes Prompto uprooted, if you just show me where you want 'em…"

Noctis glowered at their backs as they disappeared into the hold, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

An arm linked through his own; Noctis glanced over to find Prompto slipping up alongside him.

He sighed and regarded his friend ruefully. "So much for the whole king thing. Apparently orders only work when it's convenient for the retainers."

"Cheer up, man," Prompto replied, his smile roguish. "Sometimes we let you pick dessert."

Noctis scowled and made to stalk halfheartedly off into the cockpit.

But Prompto held fast to his arm. Looking back at him in surprise, Noctis was thrown by the sudden, flinty intensity overshadowing his friend's historically exuberant countenance.

"And Noct." Prompto's voice was hard. "Do me a favor. How 'bout you don't bring up this crap about leaving us behind ever again, 'kay?"

He began to pull away, but abruptly turned back, simmering with anger and hurt. "None of us were ever just 'saving you for the end of times.'"

Releasing him, Prompto lifted the hatch and disappeared into the hold after Ignis and Gladio. Noctis stared at his disappearing back.

xxx

A/N: Ugh, you guys. It's been a miserable couple of weeks. A bit later on the update than intended, here.

That being said, sorry about Ignis...

But as we know, Ignis is all business.

Also, Noct is such an innocent.