Noctis stood blinking tiredly somewhere in the back alleys of Sonelio Plaza, at an hour of the morning typically shared only by drunks, daemons, and Ignises. The pre-dawn gray made it hard to distinguish a duchess from a drug lord, much less any Imperials who might be lurking around, even if the sun had been planning on making an appearance that day. Instead, they found themselves soaking in an unseasonably cold drizzle. The rain was slowly accumulating into pools that collected along the broken paving stones of the back streets, sloshing around their feet and spattering mud halfway up their legs. Noctis supposed the general misery was only fitting for his memories of the place.

He should probably count it as a blessing that, at the very least, he wouldn't be forced to endure the entirety of their Altissia reboot—as Promptly so aptly termed it—in his stuffy formals. The extended immersion in seawater had done his kingly raiment no favors, not to mention the fact that half of it was now at the bottom of the ocean. His worn black fatigues and combat boots weren't likely to make a very favorable impression on Claustra, but at least they were clean. Or they had been before he'd walked into this alley, anyway.

"The coast appears to be clear," Ignis announced, poking his head back into the mouth of the passage where Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto waited. "No Imperial activity that I can make out. All seems just as it was the first time."

"That's not actually very comforting, Igs," Prompto complained. "I'd really kind of prefer if it wasn't anything like the first time." He leaned back against a dried-up wall fountain, its weathered stonework depicting Leviathan in bas-relief. Catching sight of the effigy, he quickly leapt away, brushing his hands frantically on his shirt as he eyeballed it askance.

Noctis felt the now-familiar prickling sensation of unease crawl up his back—the one that had been rapidly growing since he'd first announced his intentions to return to Altissia. Shaking it free, he said, "Let's just go. We don't want to miss Weskham."

The others silently filed in behind him as Noctis broke from the alley and walked purposefully toward a gondolier pulling in to the landing. Weskham would be closing up shop in the wake of the weekend rush, and if they missed him they would be forced to wait around in the city until evening. And Noctis was feeling the increasingly antsy need to get in and back out again as quickly as possible.

They were quiet as the gondola wound its leisurely circuit through the canals, with none of the banter and exuberance he remembered from before. Ignis's fingers were reading the velvety material of the seats as his eyes seemed to look off into nothing. Gladio sat quiet and withdrawn, his gaze cutting a continual circuit from alley to waterway to balcony level and back again. And Prompto was still and watchful beneath his excitable veneer, a certain deadliness lurking in his manner that hadn't been there a decade ago.

At last they pulled up to the floating marketplaces that encircled Maagho. The gondolier offered them a cheery wave as they clambered out, dodging the barflies that tottered over to snap up their seats.

"Sorry, gentlemen, we're closing up," a warm, resonant voice announced from behind the bar. "But you're welcome to return for the freshest and most flavorful seafood this side of the Styrian at dinner."

"Weskham Armaugh," Noctis said, ascending the stairs to the platform. He tipped his head in the stately manner he had been trained in since his earliest days at court. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

The genteel man gathering up glassware at the bar peered at him, tilting his head to one side, then carefully set down the decanter he was holding. "Well, I'll be," he breathed. "Noctis Lucis Caelum…you can't possibly be the little Noctkins I remember, can you?"

Noctis discreetly stepped on Prompto's foot before his friend's soft snicker could carry. "My father's told me stories about you," he replied, smiling warmly. "I hear the two of you were close friends."

Pain flashed briefly through the man's eyes…followed by a sudden and inexplicable sense of distance. "Indeed we were," he confirmed. "I was sorrier than you know to hear about what happened in Insomnia. Well, how can I help Regis' boy this fine day? Fair warning, though: I'm afraid any poor aid I have to offer would be limited to directions and discounted drinks."

Noctis blinked at the courteous brusqueness. This wasn't quite the amicable, welcoming man he remembered from their first visit to Altissia.

"Actually," he said, deciding it might be best to cut to the chase, "I'd hoped you would help set up a meeting with First Secretary Claustra and myself. There are important matters she and I need to discuss."

The atmosphere cooled a few degrees more, even as Weskham's smile grew. "Ah, my boy, I fear you overestimate my importance. I'm but the humble owner of a modestly successful business. Yes, the Secretary makes an appearance from time to time, but mainly for the food, like most everyone else. I'm afraid any appointments would need to be arranged through her staff."

Noctis regarded him steadily. Abruptly, he said, "You and Claustra are good friends, and have been for decades. You could have her here—or me there—before breakfast. But for whatever reason, you won't. Why is that?"

Weskham stared at him. Glancing furtively around the bar, he suddenly leaned in close, grabbing his shirt. Gladio twitched, but Noctis waved him back.

"You put us in a difficult predicament here, Prince," he gritted out, his previously smooth tones turned low and heated. "The Oracle is already proving to be a real problem without the fugitive, unfledged monarch of a conquered nation adding to it. Bottom line is, the Niffs want you dead, and we're not exactly in a position to deny them that. I'm sorry for what happened to your father and your home—truly, I am—but I left that life behind long ago. Accordo is my home now, and the Accordans my family.

"I hold no love for the Empire, believe me," he continued. "But sometimes it's better to just leave them to it. Camelia will do her best to negotiate a positive outcome for the Oracle, but Lady Lunafreya knew what she was getting into when she came here. My advice is to turn around, lie low, and hope for the best while more qualified individuals work these things out."

Obviously deciding his part had been said, Weskham released him and stepped back, pointedly turning his attention to the remainder of the glassware scattered across the bar. It was a clear dismissal.

Noctis didn't move. A humorless smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You really think they'll leave you in peace after they take back Luna?" he said softly.

Weskham refused to look up, but his hand twitched in the motion of wiping up a spill.

"I know you don't believe that, Weskham. 'The Empire's not content ruling all the land—they want the heavens as well.'" Weskham of this timeline hadn't actually said that yet—or at least he hadn't to Noctis' knowledge—but he knew the sentiment was there, barricaded somewhere behind that hard-eyed façade of his.

"They went after Titan and they'll go for your beloved Leviathan next," Noctis continued, "as you well know. Or at least you used to. But by all means, carry on. Keep pretending they'll hold to the promises they've made to you alone when they've betrayed everyone else. As if your nation will somehow be the exception."

Weskham was staring at him openly now. "I…" he said, then winced in discomfort. He pressed two fingers to his temple, as if staving off a headache.

Noctis began to move away, but suddenly stopped. Pulling something out of his pocket, he set it carefully on the bar. "Here," he said. "My dad would've wanted you to have this."

He hesitated, then said, quietly, "I know you're a good man, Weskham."

Catching his friends' eyes, he turned and strode back down the platform stairs, away from the man's thunderstruck expression and his own crushing disappointment. He was relieved at the sight of a gondolier poling past.

After Prompto had flagged it down and they'd all piled in, Ignis murmured, "Are you sure that was wise? Bringing up Titan and Leviathan? Remember, from all accounts nobody of this timeline seems to recall any of that ever happening."

"No, I'm not sure," Noctis sighed, pressing the heel of his hand against his own blooming headache. His eyes burned and stung, the sole hour of sleep he'd managed to snag after the eventful evening of before fogging his brain. He still hadn't quite been able to banish the chill from spending half the night in the ocean from his bones. Absently, he scooted closer to Gladio and his unremitting store of body heat.

"Well I thought it was badass," Prompto declared. "Someone needed to say it. Dude, what was up with him, anyway? Last time he was tripping all over himself offering to help, and this time he could hardly be bothered to give us the time of day. Hey, what'd you give him, there at the end?"

"That group photo of him, my dad, Cid, and Cor that Cid kept framed in the lighthouse basement," Noctis tiredly replied. "Cid moved it into the Royal Vessel at some point, and this morning I had the thought that it might come in handy. So I pocketed it. Cid says he has copies," he said defensively to Prompto's appalled look.

"So what do we do now?" Gladio asked, his fingers flexing against empty air. Noctis knew he was wishing he could still bring his greatsword to hand with nothing more than a thought.

"Let's wait a while and see if he has a change of heart," Noctis replied. "We haven't seen any Niffs yet, so we're probably safe for now. I think he'll come through. We just need to give him some time."

Docking, they trudged back through the alleyways and out into the open boulevards, the cascading petunias and etched glass windows providing bright spritzes of color against the thick, wet gray of the dawn. Prompto stared into the patisseries as they passed, just opening for the day and heavy with the scents of biscuits and tarts. He sighed dolefully.

Ignis, noting his distress, soothed, "Come now, Prompto, all is not lost. Once we've returned to the Royal Vessel I can make your favorite breakfast on the stove."

"Chocolate chip pancakes?" Prompto asked hopefully.

"Of course," Ignis crooned.

Noctis couldn't help but smile as Prompto's expression lit up like the Meteor. Indeed, all wasn't lost. He had his friends, just as his dad had in the photo. More extraordinarily, though, Noctis' had proven loyal beyond the pull of time, distance, and death. If any blood brother could compare, he couldn't fathom how.

Gladio, walking alongside him, noticed his expression and mirrored it back at him. He swung a heavy arm around his shoulder in one of his ambush side-hugs.

"It'll work out, kid," he said, giving Noctis a quick, affectionate squeeze before releasing him to stagger, off-balance, into a wall.

"I know," Noctis said, pushing himself back upright and wiping the dirty film from his arm. "But I'm not a kid."

Gladio smiled, and Noctis again saw that little gleam of pride. "Yeah. I know."

xxx

By lunchtime, Noctis was feeling significantly less optimistic. He had been too unsettled and apprehensive to catch up on any meaningful quantity of sleep, and was feeling tense and snappish as a result. He'd paced the cockpit (where he'd been banished due to his current status of being the most wanted and recognizable man in Lucis) until his friends had run out of patience and sent him summarily to the hold (where he'd been banished due to his current status of being the moodiest person on the boat).

By late afternoon, his bad temper had crystalized into a cold resolve. He stared at where his slightly bedraggled dress blacks hung in a corner, mostly dry now, and deliberated.

Then, decided, he strode forward to pull the garments down.

The pants and shirt were wrinkled and stiff from their saltwater soak, but the mantle covered most of it anyway, its golden ornamentation and heavy ceremonial trappings tending to distract the eye. The shoes were long gone; his combat boots would have to do. Which he should have opted for the first time around, really; battling Ardyn in dress shoes hadn't been his cleverest hour, no matter how expensive and well-constructed they were. (Then again, Ardyn had battled him back in a three-piece suit, two scarves, and bell sleeves, so.)

Noctis quickly changed, then moved to rifle through the contents of a trunk in the corner. Pulling out several heavy stacks of cloth, he tucked them beneath his arm before climbing, one-handed, back up to the deck. Straightening, he marched over to his friends, who were now watching him cautiously, stalled in various states of afternoon chores.

"We're going to see Claustra," he announced, tossing the fabrics at their feet with a muted thud.

"Well, spit it out already," Gladio ordered, halfway through what appeared to be a heaping plate of second lunch. "It's obvious you have a plan, so you can cut the dramatics."

"All right then," Noctis said. "As it seems my faith in Weskham was misplaced, we'll take the oldschool approach. In other words, we're knocking on the front door."

"Erm," Prompto said, cradling an armload of dirty camp dishes on his way to the wash bins, "what makes you think she'll actually want to see us? Can't she just blow us off and, like, not answer?"

"Not if we're there in an official capacity," Ignis said. Despite the affirmation, he looked distinctly unhappy. "She wouldn't dare insult a foreign monarch so publicly, even a vanquished one—no offense intended, Noct. She'd have to see us. The risk, of course, is that the Imperials will most certainly come to know of it as well."

"Meaning we'll have to be in and out quickly," Noctis agreed. "But they're hardly likely to stir up a major diplomatic incident with Accordo over a 'vanquished foreign monarch,' as you say—especially one without a prophecy. We should be okay within the city limits, at least, and it'd likely be another few hours before the Niffs are even alerted. We can be well on our way out with Luna by then."

"And when they receive a description of our vessel from the dozens of eyewitnesses that are bound to come forward, and launch a pursuit?" Ignis asked, the tea he'd been nursing left forgotten on the gunwale. "What then?"

Noctis took a deep breath. "I…know it will be dangerous. I know it's a huge risk." He winced, bracing himself for how the next part would be received. "It's not too late to leave, if you want. I'd negotiate for asylum and try to help Luna from the inside. You all could sneak out on the Vessel, meanwhile, and nobody'd be the wiser."

"I thought we went over this already," Gladio said, his voice a warning growl bordering on a threat.

"Yeah," Noctis said, cringing in anticipation of the verbal mauling that was sure to come. "But it had to be said."

Seconds ticked by, broken only by the sound of Ignis grinding his teeth. Noctis couldn't bring himself to look up, especially as he could already feel the eye-daggers Prompto was firing his way.

Evidently sensing he was needed more as a Shield than a critic just now, Gladio relinquished his own frustration to lean over and retrieve the bundle of cloth near his feet. Shaking it out, his face schooled back into neutrality, he said, "So it's back to our Glaive gear, eh? You did a nice job patching these up, Iggy."

"Yes, well, I figured we may find a use for them again," Ignis replied, the tightness in his face slowly smoothing out. "As it seems Noct has. They should fit the bill in forcing Claustra's people to accept us as both royal and official, at the very least."

"Yeah. And this time, we're not wearing them to escort anyone to their death," Prompto said, catching Noctis' eyes with a complicated mix of frustration, remembered sorrow, and conviction swimming in his own. "This time we get to keep everyone."

Noctis felt both wretched and staggeringly relieved. It wasn't fair of him to keep dragging his friends into danger like this. But the selfish part of him wanted them with him. And unfortunately, the selfish part kept winning.

Pasting on a smile, he nodded his gratitude. "Thanks, guys. Now let's go get Luna."

xxx

Noctis stood, straight-backed and stoic in his finery, staring directly ahead as he waited beneath the massive stone archway at the entrance of the First Secretary's estate. He stood as if impervious to the late afternoon rain, engaging a simple trick his father had taught him for weathering long meetings or tedious speeches or other generally unpleasant circumstances: to imagine he was a boulder in the midst of a stream. The discomforts and distractions of the world would flow around him on all sides, but fail to move him.

Claustra's Guard wasn't faring quite as well, shifting from foot to foot as they nervously fingered their weapons. It was all very different from his previous visit. But then again, that first time he had been accompanied by the Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto of Before—intimidating in their own right, but not nearly to the same degree as the men who safeguarded him now.

Flanking him in a tight, protective semicircle, garbed in the dark, professional grandeur of the King's Glaive, Noctis had to admit that his friends looked positively menacing. Gladio, imposing as ever, had been growing his hair out in a style similar to that of his older self and was looking very close to his real age as a result. Prompto's stony expression created a disquieting contrast to his round face and bright blue eyes. And much of the refined prestige that Ignis and Gladio alike had conveyed so naturally as men raised into nobility had been replaced with the rough, lethal edges seen mostly in veteran hunters (which was saying something, when it came to Ignis). It made for an unsettling effect to the uninitiated. Which currently included just about everyone.

At last, the Captain of the Guard returned, his eyes flitting rapidly between Noctis and his retinue. "First Secretary Camelia Claustra of Altissia will now see His Royal Highness, King Noctis Lucis Caelum of Insomnia," he announced formally. "This way, please."

They were led out of the damp and into a large, patrician antechamber, the thick rugs and drapes conveying an understated style but one of obvious high quality. As with their first visit, the captain steered them up a number of staircases and down several long hallways before ushering them into a lobby the size of a ballroom. One wall was comprised almost entirely of floor-to ceiling windows; these faced the broadside of an immense waterfall, gently illuminated against the approaching evening by rows of underwater lamps.

His friends took up position along the periphery of the room, their eyes flickering briefly to meet Noctis' own as he pushed on ahead into Claustra's chamber. He returned their glances, offering them a small but resolute nod in return.

Then, at last, he was alone and face-to-face with Claustra herself. And she wasn't happy.

"King Noctis," she said, as if stating an unpleasant fact. She sat stiffly upright in her chair, making no move to provide him one, and eyed him up and down. "Weskham told me I might anticipate your unscheduled company tonight. So tell me—what exactly are you doing here in Altissia? Surely not expecting to proceed with that sham of a wedding, I hope."

Noctis blinked, nonplussed. Though she had hardly been tripping over herself to put him at ease before, he had also felt as if they'd shared a certain understanding—as if the fact that they were both working toward the same goal was understood, and everything else was nothing more than a necessary formality. Now he sensed distinct hostility, dressed with only the barest deference toward the customs and courtesies he knew she valued so highly.

He quickly regathered his wits. Claustra obviously wasn't in a pandering mood. Which meant he would simply have to play to her tune.

Feigning surprise, he replied, "Oh, is that on again? Last I heard, my wedding had been canceled. But you know what they say about the king being the last to know."

Her eyes narrowed, before quickly smoothing back into the brusque aloofness of before. "Then I return to the question of why you're in Altissia. If it's asylum, I'm afraid you won't find it here. We harbor very little sympathy for Imperial causes, as I'm sure you well know, but I must choose my battles. What independence we maintain has been won through decades of hard work and sacrifice."

Sacrifice…

[He is standing amongst the ruins of Altissia between its last, bedraggled human holdouts and an immense, unknown breed of daemon that has just lumbered onto shore from the sea. Frail and inconsequential in comparison to its might, Noctis nevertheless forces it back with the most potent Holy he has ever conjured. But the Ring burns him from the inside out, his skin flaking away to ash as he screams, holding the daemon at bay until he's burned away, his last sensation the lurid warmth of Bahamut's satisfaction…]

For a horrifying moment, Noctis thought the hysterical little laugh that bubbled up from his chest would escape out into the room. He clenched his hands into fists, shoving it roughly down, breathing shallowly as he struggled to regain the conversation's thread. Claustra didn't appear to have noticed his lapse; in fact, she was still speaking.

"…some protection for the Oracle, as she is an asset to all of humanity, but at this time I simply cannot afford to jeopardize our neutrality. I hope you can understand, then, why I'm in no position to ally with a fallen kingdom, much less harbor a fugitive monarch," she finished.

Noctis finally regained his mental footing, schooling his face into as bland of an expression as he could manage. What Claustra was declaring was nearly interchangeable with what Weskham had said—if not in word, then sentiment. They thought his purpose here was to beg for aid and allies. And why shouldn't it be? That would be at the top of the to-do list of any vanquished monarch. Any monarch lacking the benefit of direct aid from gods and an Oracle, that is.

An uncomfortable realization had begun tugging at the back of his mind. Without the prophecy, he was little more than a washed-up has-been. An irritant at best, and a death sentence at worst.

Shoving back the mess of complicated emotions that clamored for attention at that thought, Noctis squared his shoulders. His fingers relaxed.

"I'm here for Lady Lunafreya, and Lady Lunafreya alone," he told her quietly. "I ask only for permission to escort her from Altissia. After that, I'll bother you and your people no further."

Claustra's eyebrows rose. "Is that so?" she asked drily. "I would have thought you'd spare some concern for your refugees, at least."

Noctis' breath caught. "…Refugees?"

The look she gave him was less than impressed. "Oh, come now," she said. "Our consulate is at capacity, with many more displaced Insomnians living in shantytowns throughout the warehouse districts. Surely you were aware?"

Noctis swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. It simply settled back to merge with the shame that was suddenly sitting heavy in his gut.

Between their original timeline's campaign to collect the Royal Arms and his preoccupation with reclaiming the crystal, he hadn't ever given much thought to Insomnia's dislocated citizens after its fall. Cor, Monica, Dustin, the Crownsguard, and others had taken care of such concerns. Meanwhile, he had been playing at righteous vengeance. It didn't matter that soon enough the term "refugee" would have included all of humankind, anyway. He could have at least dignified them with a thought.

"How many are there?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Not many," she allowed, her steely tone relenting almost imperceptibly at his obvious distress. "A few hundred at most. I am…willing to sustain them for a time yet. In honor of the goodwill your father once forged between our two nations." Here she paused, and Noctis thought he saw real regret flicker across her face. But it quickly hardened, and she continued, "But they cannot stay forever."

A lifetime of training in protocol, diplomatic maneuvering, and political machinations had taught him never to openly admit to obligation of any kind. He abandoned it all in favor of abruptly reaching across the desk to take her hand. She looked astonished and moved to pull away; but Noctis only squeezed it briefly, a heartfelt expression of gratitude, before releasing her and stepping back.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you. I am in your debt."

"Yes, well…I suppose you're welcome," she replied, appearing simultaneously aggrieved and pacified. She pressed her knuckles absently to her forehead as if warding off sudden pain.

"First Secretary," Noctis said formally, returning the conversation to more comfortable grounds, but retaining his air of sincerity. "You must believe that I'm not here to trouble you with an alliance. I'm only here for Lunafreya. Chancellor Izunia may have masterminded our wedding, but even so, it was an…arrangement…that she and I were both looking forward to, and—"

Claustra snorted what was almost a laugh. "Oh, come now. Aldercapt is many things, but a romantic has never been one of them. Not even in the name of court politics."

Noctis blinked. They hadn't been talking about the Emperor… "Yes. I agree. You and I both know the wedding was a sham, but Ardyn was the one who orchestrated it, all as part of the convoluted games he loved—uh, loves—so much. I doubt the Emperor understood even an inkling of what he was agreeing to when Ardyn began whispering in his ear."

"Yes, I heard you the first time," Claustra said, starting to sound a bit testy. "As I said, I cannot comprehend Emperor Aldercapt concerning himself with weddings, even if the alliance were to be for his own benefit. His lust is for power and immortality, not games."

Noctis' eyebrows drew down. Something was…off; they were talking past each other. The unease he'd been feeling since he'd first decided to return to Altissia surged. An understanding he hadn't realized had been living deep within himself all along began to coalesce.

He was playing with fire. But he had to know.

"First Secretary," he began, proceeding as gingerly as if they were carrying out their negotiations in a minefield. "Do you…know why the Oracle came here? It wasn't for refuge from the Empire."

"Well of course it was," Claustra retorted, frowning and blinking rapidly. "What other reason could she possibly have to be in Altissia?"

"To wake Leviathan," Noctis replied, his eyes never leaving her face. "Luna came here to wake Leviathan, to forge a covenant with her so that I could gain the blessings of the Six on my path to fulfilling the prophecy."

Claustra laughed, harsh and abrupt, before her face creased in sudden pain. She pressed her fingers between her eyes. "I'm not sure what new game you're playing, Your Highness, but one does not covenant…cov…" She stopped, alarmed, and tried again. "Whatever this is about a proph…ecy…"

Claustra's eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped down onto her desk.

Noctis leaped forward, darting around it to bend over the Secretary's prone form. He nudged her shoulder gently out of the way to check her pulse. It was strong, but her eyes were half-open, twitching and unseeing.

Then, as he turned to call for help, she sat up unsteadily.

"I apologize; I must have wandered for a moment." Her tone was its go-to mix of businesslike confidence, but she was looking around as if in a fog. When her eyes landed on Noctis, standing at her elbow, they sharpened. He backed away, but remained within easy reach.

"I'm sorry; of what were we speaking?" she asked. "As I said, I can harbor your refugees for a time yet. But that is a discussion for another day, I'm afraid. You must excuse me, I'm simply not…"

She trailed off, a frown marring her features, and stared at him. Her eyes widened, as if someone had opened a door straight into the abyss of time and space. There she remained, unmoving.

Noctis circled back around the desk and strode to the heavy wooden office door. He shoved it open, startling the captain on the other side.

"The Secretary is unwell," he told the man quietly. "Please attend to her."

As the captain and several of his guard dashed inside, Noctis searched out his friends. A break in the clouds poured gold-burnished sunset out across the city, streaming it through the wide glass windows in a sudden flood of light. He squinted and found Gladio, standing just outside the door where he had left him. Impervious to the glares the Secretary's Guard were casting his way, his Shield was looking toward the far end of the lobby, near the exit, where a small cluster of assorted individuals had converged. Among them were Prompto and Ignis, their attention fixed on an exotic, dark-clad woman, her eyes pressed closed despite the fact that she was walking confidently forward.

No, that was wrong; they weren't watching her—Gentiana—but the presence beside her. A presence that, for as long as Noctis could remember, had always managed to project that unlikely combination of both stillness and command.

They were watching Luna.

xxx

A/N: Aaaand the fallout from Umbra's warning + Noct's time in Reflection starts to rear its ugly head. Ah, consequences.

Next up: Fights and explosions and stuff, obvs.

And to my lovely guest reviewer, since the ol' FF-dot-net won't allow a reply: I fell in love with this game for the same reason. It tickles me endlessly that you can be 200-something hours into it, wandering around in the wilderness, and the bros'll still occasionally say something new. Thanks for the review!