If anybody had told Ignis, when he was young, that his life of hobnobbing with the royal family would one day bring him to a moment in time where he would find himself trekking through the wilderness in his black flannel pajamas and a pair of borrowed, bright yellow rain boots—accompanied by individuals from one of the most esteemed noble families in Lucis, two of the highest ranking members of the Crownsguard, and his king's high school best friend—the whole lot of whom were also in their pajamas, having recently escaped the wrath of an angry god—he would have nodded and smiled politely and then furtively edged away from an individual who had plainly gone a touch cockeyed.

What's more, the aforementioned high school friend was in a bit of a temper, something of a phenomenon when it came to the Prompto they all knew and loved. Now that they had disembarked from the boat and were finally able to put a few yards of space between themselves and the Caem crowd, Prompto was boiling over with the pressure of having to hold in their newest revelation on Noct.

"So that's why he came out of the crystal looking like a famine victim," Prompto growled, barging irately through a cluster of saplings, "like the rest of us. And totally changed."

"Yes, I believe so," Ignis replied, quickly catching a branch before the blond, occupied by his righteous anger, could let it fly back in his face.

"And why he doesn't remember certain things right away. Because they happened ten years ago. Like, real years, and not sleep ones."

Ignis nodded, thinking back to that odd moment on the Royal Vessel, shortly after Noct had returned to them, when he'd seemingly forgotten all about his penchant for enjoying a good lie-in—a proclivity of his that had been a running joke for most of their teenage years.

"And the salad!" Prompto cried, impatiently batting aside a snarl of vines. "Seriously, we're all idiots for not figuring it out right then. If anything ever screamed 'This man did not just spend ten years in peaceful hibernation,' it was Noct—Noct, of all people—shoving a cherry tomato in his face like it's a godsdamned quadruple bacon cheeseburger."

Ignis glanced up at their somewhat ragged collection of companions. They were clustered together about a hundred yards ahead, trailing Monica as she hacked a path through the dense, spiny underbrush. Even so, he would feel ever so much more comfortable if Prompto remembered to keep his voice down. He told him so.

"Oh yeah. Sorry." Abashed, Prompto redirected his attention to navigating a briar patch whose scale and overall nastiness could give Costlemark a run for its money.

After a few relatively quiet moments, where Ignis managed to both tear open the leg of his pajamas and temporarily lose a boot, Prompto muttered, "And once I saw him mending his shirt."

"Did you?" This was actually a surprise. Despite his not inconsiderable range of talents, Ignis hadn't thought Noct would know a backstitch from a bobbin.

"Gods. When we see them again…well, first of all I'm gonna give both those idiots the biggest hug. Then I'm probably gonna smack Noct upside the head, 'cuz he tried to hide this from us and wade through all his crap by himself, as usual. Then I'm gonna hug him again, because you know he needs about a million of them by now." Prompto whirled around suddenly to face him, ignoring the brambles that clung to his legs. "Six, Ignis, if he wasn't sleeping, what's he even been doing for ten years? Some sort of magical Lucian ninja warrior training? I mean, he came out so powerful, but… Has he been alone the whole time? A prisoner? 'Cause I can't really see Bahamut being the kind of guy who would let him have a few friends over for dinner now and then. Oh wait, there was no dinner because that asshat was obviously starving him to death…"

Ignis remained quiet, letting his friend vent in what he knew was only deeply unsettled worry and frustration. Finding himself impeded by a fresh blockade of thorns, he gingerly began to hack at it with one of his daggers (Prompto wasn't the only one who had learned to sleep with weapons stuffed under his pillow). It was a distasteful use for blades of such quality, but rash times called for rash measures.

Emerging from the brambles at last, they stepped up their pace, the underbrush finally thinning into the sparse forest typical of the banks of the River Wenneth. They had taken the motorboat as far as they could before they'd found themselves barred by waterfalls and rocks. Now on foot, they trudged cross-country into a sunny, autumn-bathed morning, the children keeping up gamely despite their exhausting night.

Prompto lapsed into silence, and for a time all Ignis could hear was the others' murmured conversation, along with the eternal clomping of his borrowed boots.

Then his friend finally asked the question Ignis knew he'd been dancing around for some time, but had been too afraid to ask.

"Ignis…" Prompto said falteringly, his outrage waning to trepidation. "The…thing you said about Noct being scared of Bahamut. What…what do you think happened that made him so afraid?"

Ignis shook his head, the worry that had never quite gone away—not since Noct had first woken on the Royal Vessel—returning in force.

"As I said before, Prompto, I don't actually know anything. I'm simply no longer convinced that Bahamut is as invested in the wellbeing of humanity as I had once been." He shoved a lock of sweaty hair from his face. "And if the Draconian's concern isn't for humanity, then it only goes to figure that he would demonstrate even less concern for Noct. And…I am loathe to consider what ten years as a game piece to a creature that powerful would mean." He hesitated, then finished, "Or worse…a plaything."

Prompto looked sick, his face going a shade paler beneath the soot stains and dirt.

So many questions were still left unanswered, to include Noct's sudden bouts of recklessness, as well as the fact that he eerily seemed to know things he shouldn't. And then there were his nightmares, and even the occasional waking dream. Despite what Ignis had told Gladio after the incident with the Red Giants, he was no longer entirely certain that Noct's flashbacks had been solely related to his death.

But Ignis had no real answers—not for himself, and not for Prompto. Finding them would require prying questions and difficult conversations—essentially, plunging elbow deep into a wound he wasn't convinced Noct was ready to treat.

"Whatcha guys talking about?" Iris asked, materializing from behind a tree.

Prompto leapt several feet in the air, conceivably breaking one of his high school track records in the process. Ignis was sure that his own heart had momentarily stuttered to a halt.

"Uhhhh Iris, hiii!" Prompto crooned, feebly attempting to distract from the age-inappropriate obscenities he'd just shouted. "Haha…didn't see you there…"

"Good thing, cause I came back here to pee," she replied. "Then I saw you guys being all antisocial and thought I would keep you company. Is that okay?"

"Of course," Ignis smoothly returned, every diplomatic trick he had ever learned activating to mask the slightly shrill note in his voice. "Er, we were just discussing how it's Prompto's turn to use the boots."

Iris' gaze flickered to their feet, and particularly the four pairs of Glaive-grade socks Prompto was wearing in place of shoes. Though Dustin and Monica had prepared commendably for the eventuality of flight—having pre-packed, in the boat, everything from med kits to weapons to base layers—they had obviously given minimal thought to footwear. Consequently, Ignis and Prompto had been left to share the sole (no pun intended), slightly squashed pair of galoshes they had discovered crammed beneath the ration boxes, trading every few miles for layers of increasingly battered socks.

Sharing dirty stockings: another item to add to that list of Things Never to Divulge to Young Ignis.

"Oh, that's a good idea!" Iris said, wiggling her toes inside her bedroom slippers. "Then you both get breaks."

"More like crippled," Prompto said. "We believe in being equally incapacitated here. Kudos to Monica and Dustin for their mad prep skills, but footwear obviously wasn't high on their list of priorities. Those two probably sleep in their shoes, don't they."

Iris giggled. "I've seen it."

"Have either of them managed to contact Cor, yet?" Ignis asked.

"Oh! Yeah! We finally got reception—wait, hang on a sec."

Ignis, too, had detected the rustling from a nearby bush, but Iris was already flying through the air. With a shout and a well-placed kick, their would-be attacker—an adolescent mushussu—was sent flying, after which it disconsolately slinked away.

"We're all good here!" Iris called ahead to the others, who had turned to investigate the commotion. Brushing her hands together in satisfaction, she continued, "Rude. Now what was I talking about?"

Prompto gawked at her open-mouthed. "Sometimes I forget you're like this. I mean, young you. I mean you you— Imeanyou'reawesome, Iris!" he finally concluded. He slapped a hand over his mouth in a belated attempt to stem the hemorrhage of words as Ignis shot him a uniquely threatening look.

Iris giggled. "Thanks, I think? So anyway, from what I heard they have a chocobo rendezvous plus a wicked cool armed Crownsguard extraction team coming out this evening, before the daemons roll in. It sounds like they're hoping to smuggle us into Old Lestallum by midnight. Actually, I think they're still on the phone; otherwise Monica would have already come back and told you herself."

Ignis glanced ahead to where Monica did, indeed have a phone to her ear. Ignis, likewise, had attempted to contact Gladio and Noct the moment he noticed the single bar that had flickered to life on his display. Once again, the call had gone to voicemail—this time without even ringing. With a concerted effort, he squashed his growing sense of disquiet, filing that particular worry away to be mulled over at a later time.

Prompto and Iris fell into quiet conversation, Prompto still somewhat close-mouthed after their sobering discussion about Noct. But he gradually perked up as Iris drew him in with lurid tales of Gladio's most ill-advised life decisions. Ignis began to relax as well; once Cor arrived, they would be able to access critical resources in the quest to locate their missing friends. Of course, they would still need to tread carefully, considering Cor's sensitivity to the phase shift effect—but Ignis hoped they could at least establish a starting point before the effects kicked in. Later, the four of them would need to sit down and discuss what their relationship with Cor, Monica, and the rest would look like going forward; but for now, Ignis was content to play the role of dutiful retainer to a newly minted king that Cor expected of him.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, he trailed along in Prompto and Iris' wake, patiently catching the branches they obliviously let spring back into his face.

xxx

Half a day and more miles than what their humble pair of rain boots was ever constructed to endure later, they had nearly reached the rendezvous when Talcott abruptly collapsed. This could have easily been explained away by the boy's traumatizing night, very little sleep, and their subsequent trek through the wilds, except that Monica went down moments later.

Ignis couldn't say he was surprised, what with the night's action bringing them all perilously close to events explainable only in the light of another reality—but he had hoped to at least speak with Cor first. They hurriedly made the two as comfortable as they could, folding up their jackets and tucking them beneath their heads. Then, while Dustin was occupied with the med kit, the two of them crept away into the trees before he could crumple as well.

"Looks like we've worn out our welcome again," Prompto said. They had stopped in a dusklit meadow to regroup, the yellow rain boots clumping out an anxious rhythm as the gunman attempted to pace a rut into the ground. "Ugh, Iris is gonna wanna kill us when she comes back from her water run to find everyone down for the count and us having totally gone and ditched them. I really wish we could pin down how these time shift effect thingies are gonna play out."

"For all intents and purposes, I believe we more or less have," Ignis said. He curled his bare toes into the damp leaf matter that carpeted the ground; now that they were free of those infernal brambles, he'd opted to forego the ragged socks altogether and try his luck with the open air. "Based on the trends we've seen so far, we know that Noct brings it about fastest, and ourselves much slower. Discussing or referencing events that no longer make sense in relation to this timeline triggers it quickly no matter what. And everybody seems to display varying degrees of sensitivity to the effect, with Lady Lunafreya succumbing the fastest we've seen and Iris…well, not at all, just yet; but that will likely change." He shrugged, the gesture heavy with resignation. "Umbra did warn us this would happen."

"Yeah," Prompto glumly replied. "I guess…well, I guess I had just kind of secretly hoped there would be a catch or a twist or something. Mostly for Noct's sake. Cor's gonna start wondering where the hell he's always running off to, if he isn't already. Probably gonna think his retainers kidnapped him or something."

"I confess this concerns me, as well," Ignis admitted. "There may come a time when we'll find it necessary to cut off some of our associations altogether."

In the distance, a pack of havocfangs howled and yipped. They both glanced toward the sound, and Ignis continued, "But, one problem at a time. For now, let's focus on our next step. You recall how, many years ago, the four of us established a meeting place in case we should ever become separated?"

"Uh, yeah, Hammerhead," Prompto said. "That's why we met Noct there after he came out of the crystal—Oh. So that's where we should go now. Duh."

"Quite," Ignis said. "With any luck, Noct and Gladio will be there already; or at least they will have left word with Cindy should the Imperial situation up there prove untenable."

Prompto ran a hand through his soot-streaked hair, the setting sun catching the few lonely, dirt-free strands of gold that remained. "Y'know it's gonna take ages to get there from all the way down here in Cleigne," he said. "Especially now that we'll be ghosting Iris and company, meaning we still have a gajillion acres of wilderness to cross before we even hit a road. And then there're all the Niff blockades that've been popping up in Leide.

"And anyway," he continued, antsily bouncing on the balls of his feet, "if Gladio and Noct were in Hammerhead already, wouldn't they try to call? Plus, Cor's really not gonna love that we've up and disappeared on him before we could tell him where Noct went. Oh gods, Iggy," he exclaimed in sudden realization. "I was sorta kidding before, but he really is going to think we kidnapped him, isn't he?"

"I should think that might be a rather extreme conclusion to jump to at this point in time, but you're correct: he won't be happy," Ignis confirmed. "Unfortunately, I don't see how that can be helped, considering the circumstances.

"Now, as the night isn't getting any younger, and—as you so perceptively pointed out—we still have a significant expanse of mileage to cover, shall we get on with it?"

"Are we really just gonna up and leave the others here?" Prompto asked, peering worriedly back into the trees. "What if the daemons get to them before Cor's people arrive?"

"Never fear, Prompto," Ignis replied, handily ignoring his own. "Dustin is more than capable of defending them—to say nothing of Iris. Additionally, I asked him to contact me the moment they're in safe hands; that way we can remain in the area long enough to turn back if something goes awry." Another thing Ignis liked about Dustin: the man didn't ask questions.

Prompto folded his arms tightly against his chest, the evening breeze raising goosebumps on his skin and sending a few shriveled leaves clattering past their feet. The sun had fallen well below the far-flung rim of the mountains, now, the flat blue of twilight all but blotting it out of existence. Deep in the hills, the havocfangs barked excitedly over a kill.

"Okay, fine," Prompto conceded. He looked less than happy. "One more thing, though, Iggy: we'll be running around after dark, too, in case you haven't noticed. I mean, we'll probably be able to handle anything that comes at us, but we don't know what kind of daemons they've got oozing around out here. What if we run into something like that Melusine up at the Vesperpool? We were so almost pushing up daisies with that one."

"Yes," Ignis said. "In that case, we shall run very, very fast."

"Great. Fantastic. 'Kay, then, let's do this thing already. If we walk all the way there, it'll be another ten years by the time we crawl into Hammerhead but at least I'll finally look my age—"

Prompto cut himself off as something crashed toward them through the woods, its steps drawing rapidly nearer. Snapping up his weapon, he whipped around to face it. Ignis drew his daggers with a harsh scrape of metal.

Iris burst into the meadow, broken twigs sticking out of her hair and resting in the folds of her grimy moogle pajamas. Ignis realized, with a sinking feeling, that he probably would have preferred the Melusine.

"You guys…are leaving?" she panted, shoving back her sweat-plastered bangs. "Bahamut's balls—I'm out filling up our canteens, and when I come back everybody's suddenly either gone or passed out in a heap!"

"Everybody?" Ignis asked, starting forward in alarm.

"Okay, well Dustin is fine, so far," she amended, "but Talcott and Monica, not so much. Looks like maybe they never got over whatever made them sick back at the house the other day? I dunno. They look awful, though."

She peered at them closely, her brows drawing in. "But you already know that, don't you?" Her gaze sharpened. "Why would you guys ditch us now?"

Prompto stood rigid, his expression radiating deep discomfort, while Ignis rubbed at the back of his neck. "Iris, I'm afraid the situation is extremely complicated…" he began.

"Why?" she asked challengingly. "Cuz you guys are from the future?"

The clearing fell silent. Even the wind eased up. Ignis could have counted the members of the havocfang pack by their individual yelps, had his heart not been too busy stuttering to a halt in his chest. Prompto had let his breath out in a whoosh, and seemed to be having trouble pulling it back in again.

Finally the gunman succeeded in huffing out a queasy-sounding laugh. "C'mon Iris, the future? That's not even possible."

Iris rolled her eyes. "Really? It's not all that shocking, y'know; there's like a million movies about it. You think in a world where…where a giant dragon snake god…thing…can just flutter around in the sky dumping magically summoned waves on people that time travel would be impossible?"

She turned to face Ignis, poking an accusing finger into his chest. "You! Your fighting style has totally changed. I might only be sixteen, but I'm not blind. And Prompto!" She whirled on the blond. "Back in Lestallum I watched you smack yourself in the face trying to figure out how to twirl that pistol around your finger; now you're suddenly all confident and composed and out there gunslinging like in those old Chocobo Joe westerns. Dude, seriously, watching you in action is so awesome…"

A light blush streaked her cheeks, and she hurried on. "And Gladdy! The way he looks at me now…it's like he's seeing a picture of someone who died, sometimes." She threw her hands in the air. "And I don't even know where to begin with Noct."

Ignis could do nothing but gape. For the first time in his life, he found himself wholly and utterly speechless.

"It's easiest to see when the four of you are together, you know," she said conversationally, as if they were discussing the Regalia's latest upgrades. "You all cling so tightly to each other, like you're one another's whole world. And you're crazy protective of each other. And even though on the surface you seem like the same old guys, beneath that you're all quiet and changed and you look haunted, like you went through something horrible, and…" Her eyes were brimming with tears now. "And you don't remember things we all did together just a couple months ago. And I want to fix it but I don't know how…and it makes me so scared for the…for the future…"

Iris' voice trailed away oddly. Ignis leaned forward, alarmed, as her eyes went glassy, a few tears escaping to trickle down her cheeks.

Then, with no warning, her legs buckled. Before Ignis had a chance to catch her, she collapsed into the meadow grass.

"Iris!" Prompto shouted. "Shit!" Diving to the ground beside her, he scrambled for her pulse. "It's all…fluttery!" he cried, staring up at Ignis with wide, helpless eyes. "Iggy, what do we do?"

But Ignis was already moving. "We need to get her back to the others," he said, crouching to scoop her up. "Then leave, as fast as we can. Before we do any more harm."

As he lifted the girl into his arms, though, the meadow began to boil.

Prompto came slowly to his feet, backing into him, as two Yojimbo crawled from the ground in viscous curls of miasma. It rose around them like oil spreading in water, evaporating into the twilit sky.

And this, Ignis thought, was a bloody good time for swearing.

Since returning to the past, they had largely avoided any daemons of the Ronin class. More intelligent than the majority of daemonkind, their attacks were fast and fatal. Ignis had never forgotten the first time he'd noticed how they watched. Rather than subsisting purely off instinct, like the others, those soulless gazes—gleaming from within their horrifyingly mouthless faces—would stalk a person across a battlefield, patiently biding their time until an opening should present itself.

And they were adaptive in their tactics. He recalled how, one night, an Aramusha—a foe whose attacks were generally predictable enough, for the Ronin class—had ambushed the four of them from a thicket in an otherwise tranquil countryside, the creature covering twenty feet of distance in less than an eyeblink. It had impaled Noct through the back before any of them had even registered a threat; if Ignis hadn't been right there to hit their sagging king with a phoenix down, the Six's beloved prophecy would have suddenly gotten a whole lot more complicated.

But there were no more phoenix downs. The true life-saving ones, those imbued with Lucian magic, had vanished with the armiger.

Ignis knew they could win this. But they would have to proceed more carefully than any battle they'd ever fought.

"Prompto," he said quietly, slowly setting Iris back down in the grass. "We'll each take one—but I want you to draw yours back toward the trees. I'll attempt to keep mine away from Iris. Whichever of us defeats one first will dash in and convey her back to the others. Be careful; take no risks. Remember its tells, and please, for the love of Shiva—be patient."

They really didn't have time for patience, but Iris was going to be in a far worse spot if the two of them were killed straight off.

Then, with the frightening abruptness that was so characteristic to their kind, the first Yojimbo struck.

Despite his mental preparation, Ignis was barely able to stumble out of the way in time. He screamed through gritted teeth as the blade speared his bicep.

"Ignis!" Prompto shouted. He raised his Death Penalty and unleashed a half dozen rounds into the creature's back. It lurched slightly, but otherwise merely turned its head, its attention honing in on the blond.

"Keep to the plan!" Ignis snapped, clenching his jaw so hard he could feel his teeth creak. The second daemon began advancing on Prompto, graceful and silent. Ignis staggered, crying out, as the first jerked its blade free of his arm.

"Astrals, but this is going well," he growled, gasping through the aftershocks. Rallying his concentration, he ignored the pain—a formidable-sounding skill to the unseasoned, but in reality it was all about the adrenaline. He'd be bloody well feeling it later, no doubt. Assuming there was a later.

Both Yojimbo were now actively stalking Prompto, who had retreated to the edge of the clearing, as far away from Iris as he could get. Gun blazing, he was putting up a solid defense; but Ignis knew the ammunition he'd dug from the motorboat's stores wouldn't last forever.

So, with a shout, Ignis lifted his good arm, flinging one of his two precious daggers at the nearest daemon's back. The weapon lodged deep, just beneath its shoulder blade, buried so far that the tip emerged to protrude, black and oozing, from the front of its ribcage.

That certainly succeeded in attracting its attention. Almost faster than Ignis' eyes could track, it whirled and flew at him across the clearing, striking with such devastating speed that Ignis would have found himself a whole lot shorter if he hadn't already launched himself into a twist over the top of its blade, awkwardly catching himself again in a painful, lopsided handspring.

But his brain was pulling level with his body now, and with it the calculating, tactical part of his mind that dissected puzzles and documented patterns as part of its default running state. And so he recognized the almost imperceptible adjustment of its elbow as it flew past, the minute shift in balance. The daemon's torso would be undefended for a split second at the conclusion of its swing. And Ignis meant to take full advantage of that fact.

So as the blade whistled past, he took the offense. Stepping directly into the Yojimbo's reach, Ignis jammed his remaining dagger into its unprotected ribs, just beneath the armpit. The thing stumbled, miasma leaking from the wound. But it recovered quickly; already, it was flying around for another strike.

Ignis danced back out of range and watched—carefully, patiently. He found himself unexpectedly grateful for his bare feet as he dodged a surprise sideswipe, his toes gripping the earth to allow him to spring back out of its reach. Two could play at these monsters' games; and despite its unusual intelligence, it was still a daemon. They were all creatures of pattern and instinct to one degree or another. Ignis need only wait for his next guaranteed opening.

He glanced at Iris, lying like a discarded doll in the grass. She had been spattered with a bit of his blood, and for a moment he felt irrationally guilty. He couldn't tell if she was still breathing. They had to end this now—but they couldn't even afford to try—

Gritting his teeth, Ignis planted his feet and forced himself to hold off, heartily wishing for a good Flare or two.

The battle proceeded like this for some time—the daemon circling, observing, before flying in for a lightspeed attack; Ignis waiting, waiting, until he was sure of the strike. Occasionally, it would fall into a warrior's form from some lost era, stray echoes of its previous existence trapped somewhere in the miasma, perhaps. At the edge of the woods, he could see Prompto darting from tree to tree. The shattering blasts of his Death Penalty were a welcoming sound, reassuring Ignis that his friend was still alive.

And then, without warning, the daemon went for Iris.

Ignis' eyes widened in horror. Time slowed as its blade streaked toward the girl's heart. He dove for her, heedless of the fact that he couldn't possibly make it in time—that he would be far too late. Partway through his flight, he flung his remaining dagger, desperate to delay, distract, anything to pull it off her. It lodged in the thing's neck, a killing shot for anything living—but not a daemon. Looming, grotesque, it stood over her crumpled form, and all Ignis could think about was how miserably he had failed Gladio, how his friend would never forgive him. Then the monster's blade was driving downward—

—and was suddenly repelled in a flash of steel, striking so quickly it might have been a bolt of Thunder. A katana burst through the creature's chest from behind, disintegrating the purple-veined, pulsing heart of miasma within.

The Yojimbo folded in on itself, crumbling into black mist, revealing the man standing just behind it. At the edge of the woods, Prompto finished off his own daemon with a point-blank blast to the face, having finally found the opening he'd been holding out for.

Ignis brushed past the new arrival to peer down at Iris. Her chest was rising in short, sharp gasps, while her eyes flitted frenetically back and forth behind their lids.

"Please, take care of her," he said, looking up into their benefactor's face.

Then he ran for the woods, grabbing Prompto by the arm as he passed.

Behind them, in the center of the clearing, stood Cor, his pale blue eyes boring into their backs.

xxx

A/N: That pesky phase shift effect, always crashing the party.

P.S. Sorry for the extended cliffhanger re: Noct and Gladio. I promise they won't be forgotten. The next chapter is well under way and will hopefully be out a bit quicker than my usual update cadence.

Additional P.S.: I have a Tumblr (under the username saltymog) that I've started making a concerted effort to post in more than once every six months. Mostly it'll be a home for all the fandom debris rattling around in my head—i.e., FFXV photos, reposts of all the fanart I like (because yeah, I'm so not talented enough to make that stuff myself. Serious kudos to all you artists out there), writing updates, etc. And I do rather enjoy interacting with you lovelies outside just the comment section of this fic—so come on over, if you'd like.