When Noctis woke, he felt rested and relaxed in a way he hadn't in over a decade.

It didn't hurt that his senses were currently being bathed in the aromas of yellow curry and fries. Inhaling deeply, he rolled his head to the side. His eyelids didn't want to exert themselves just yet, so he simply laid still, listening as the comfortingly familiar voices of his friends filtered back into his awareness.

"...not my fault you're built like an only slightly miniaturized Emerald Weapon, Gladio, the one lonely little shirt that came in your size is long-sleeved so either you'll have to run around half naked like you always do or get Iggy to do some emergency tailoring surgery—"

"I hardly see why that would be necessary; I'd imagine he'd prefer to simply rip them off with his brutish arms as he usually does—"

"Hey now, these arms have dragged all of your asses out of trouble more times than I can count. Definitely more times than I've been thanked for."

"Thanks, Gladio, for dragging my ass out of trouble more times than I can count. There never would have been a roadtrip without you cuz we probably wouldn't've even made it off the Citadel steps alive. There'd be a crapton more room in the car, though, just saying. And then Noct wouldn't've been squashed back there in the corner and Ignis wouldn't've had to lecture him for sitting on the top of the seatback all the time nearly ending the Lucis Caelum line with low-hanging branches and tunnels and...oh, hey, I think he moved!"

Noctis raised an arm in acknowledgment, trying not to let it flop back onto the quilt like a noodle. "Present," he said, groggily.

"Evening, sunshine," Gladio greeted.

"How are you feeling, Noct?" Ignis asked. His voice was fraught with gentle concern, a very specific brand of it that had some cracked, off-tune alarm bell ringing sluggishly from somewhere in the depths of Noctis' sleep-fogged mind.

Prying his eyes open, Noctis tilted his head, studying his friends suspiciously. Ignis was standing at the caravan's stove, a wooden spoon in hand and a skillet steaming on the burners behind him. Prompto and Gladio sat sprawled on the couch opposite. Surprising absolutely no one, Gladio was both shirtless and pantsless, his long legs angled so that they could stretch down the aisle. All three were watching Noctis as if he were an open-air chandelier on a windy day.

He flopped back against his pillow with a sigh, eyes closing. "I take it you all know."

"For the record, Gentiana first divulged it, not Gladio," Ignis acknowledged matter-of-factly, turning back to the stove. "But yes. Would that you had revealed the truth yourself, and much earlier, but I suppose I can understand your logic in not immediately doing so."

"Yeah, because Bahamut's gonna come after you now," Noctis said, the languid restfulness of only moments before summarily crushed beneath his skyrocketing anxiety. "I've put you all in unconscionable danger."

"Give us a little credit, man," Prompto replied. He stretched his foot across the tiny strip of floor to nudge Noctis' leg. "We've fought off gods before and we can do it again. All we gotta do is find a way to keep you Silenced. Maybe after a while they'll even get tired of looking for you."

Noctis stared at them. After all the deflections, the hiding, the unremitting strain of lying to his friends…he could hardly believe they were suddenly sitting around talking about this so openly. As if it were nothing more than another evening around the campfire, laying the groundwork for problems in need of tackling the next day. His darkest secrets, kept under such close guard, all this time—now laid bare for all to see.

"One can only hope," Ignis was saying. "Gentiana couldn't sense you—thus the reason she came to find us." A sudden thought seemed to occur to him. "Perhaps we should be Silencing ourselves as well..."

"Good idea, Ig, but Prompto's impervious to silence of any kind," Gladio said. "It'll bounce right off."

"I'll show you bouncing right off, big guy." Snatching the salt shaker from the stove, Prompto tossed it at his head. Gladio batted it from the air one-handed, smirking lazily.

"Wait, you spoke to Gentiana?" Noctis asked, as Ignis' words finally began to sink in. He pushed himself up to his elbows. "Did she say anything about Luna?"

"Yeah!" Prompto leaned forward eagerly. "Don't worry, Noct—for all her sometimes unpleasant but weirdly endearing god habits, Genty's got her back. She specifically told us to tell you that Luna says she's all right."

" 'Genty,' huh?" Gladio echoed, his forehead wrinkling.

"—tiiiiiiana. Who said Genty?"

"Has the Draconian contacted you directly, Noct?" Ignis asked. He leaned over the couch, elbowing the two men aside as he dug through the cushions for the salt shaker.

"It's…hard to say," Noctis replied. He stared out the window over his friends' heads and into the dark. "Not since Caem, I don't think, when he was there, in my dream. At least, I think he was. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's him, and which are just the standard-issue nightmares he would've featured in anyway." He laughed bitterly, gazing out through the starlit desert to somewhere much darker and farther away. "Or which of it's just memories, or echoes of his voice. He was always talking, you know. He would talk so damn much…"

Abruptly he shook himself. The others were watching him closely again, and Ignis had put down his spoon. "So yeah," he finished, flashing them an easy smile. "Not since Caem, I don't think."

"So…wait, that ass ratchet creeps around talking to you in your dreams?" Prompto looked sick. "What does he say?"

"Like I said, I can't always remember," Noctis replied, distracted. "Nothing worth repeating, I'm sure." He was deep in thought, now, sitting up with the quilt pooled around his waist. The whole conversation was giving him pause. Could evading Bahamut really be as easy as keeping himself blocked from all magical effects? Gladio had said the Silencing would shield him from the gods, along with the other planet-based spells.

He concentrated, focusing inward. He wasn't surprised to find that the ghosts of his own magic still lingered in his veins, even all these weeks later, trying to delude him into believing that it was just as real and accessible as it had been the night he'd fought Ardyn at the Citadel. More importantly, though, he could detect no signs of Titan's probing, and none of the odd, preternatural sensations that had buzzed through him when Shiva or Ramuh or Leviathan had burst into their battles, indifferently flattening whole swathes of countryside in the pursuit of keeping their pet sacrifice alive. And last night's sleep had been mostly devoid of nightmares, other than the harrowing memories that lived rent-free in his head anyway.

For the first time in a long time, Noctis began to hope. Maybe he could live out a peaceful life after all. Maybe he could begin to make up for those lost years with his friends, against all his expectations.

Alongside this sudden, cautious surge of optimism, another sensation was beginning to make itself known. Noctis clutched at his stomach, dismayed to find it skeletally concave. "Gods, that's dinner, isn't it, Specs. Did I sleep all day?"

"Pretty much," Gladio confirmed. "Your entire caloric intake for the past twenty-four hours has been half a candy bar covered in pocket funk. And you puked up everything you'd eaten before that, so thanks for waking up before we had to force feed you. Iggy here was already starting to scour the drawers for a funnel."

"Codswallop," Ignis sniffed. "I was merely thinking about scouring the drawers for a funnel; it would have been a last resort if the smelling salts didn't work. Now, you may eat after you finish dressing. That goes for you too, Gladio; I won't have half-naked hooligans at the dinner table. Noct, your clothes are there at the foot of the bed."

Blinking in surprise, Noctis belatedly realized he was wearing nothing beneath the quilt but a rumpled towel. He suddenly became aware of the itchiness of his skin, dry and chapped from the cheap caravan soap. Another shower was definitely on the horizon; but in the meantime, he was relatively certain he had about thirty-seven minutes left to live if he didn't get something in his stomach. Scooping up the neatly folded stack of clothing in one hand and holding his towel firmly in place with the other, Noctis launched himself clumsily out of bed and tottered back to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes, two bowls of curry, and half a baking sheet of fries later, Noctis wiped his fingers with a napkin and slumped back into the couch with a contented sigh. Dressed in the utilitarian black and olive hues of a hunter, he felt fully and comfortably clothed for the first time in days. He tugged the quilt up to his chin anyway, the residual chill of the caves seeming to have taken up residence in his bones in spite of their close quarters with Gladio and the stove. Prompto, sitting next to him, glanced his way before grabbing an edge, pulling it tight around them both.

Their shared body heat immediately began sinking into Noctis' skin, a panacea for his lingering aches and pains. He exhaled in quiet relief, his muscles loosening, even as he studied his friend from the corners of his eyes.

Despite Prompto's ever-cheerful demeanor, Noctis sensed a deep disquiet in him. The blond's perpetual optimism was largely authentic, he knew; only those closest to him understood that, at times, it served as nothing more than a smokescreen, conveniently distracting from whatever else he might be feeling.

Coming clean to Gladio had been reckless, irresponsible, and sorely needed. Still, there was something Noctis hated about the thought of spilling the poison of those experiences all over his friends—especially Prompto. Though he knew the blond wasn't the same bright-eyed, bushy-tailed youth of their high school days—not even close, in fact—there was something inside Noctis that wanted to clutch that innocence tight.

He eased himself deeper into the cushions, pulling his arms tight against his body. Before his friends had known the truth, he could maintain the charade that he was the same old Noct. Before they had known the truth, he could lie to himself. Now, it was as if acknowledging those horrors had somehow given them life—pulling them from the realm of comfortable denial to stark reality. As if they now defined him.

Prompto turned to look at him, his expression serious, seeming to sense his thoughts. He scooted closer, draping an arm loosely around Noctis' shoulders.

"I must apologize for the shabbiness of this affair," Ignis was saying, gathering up their empty plates. "As you know, the only groceries I've access to just now are the poor excuses for sustenance offered at the twenty-four-hour shop. Curry and frozen fries were the best we could do, I'm afraid."

Gladio snorted. "Iggy, if you're apologizing for throwing together a restaurant-grade meal on the dusty relics of a gas station's bottom shelves, the rest of us should probably apologize just for existing. It was amazing, as always."

"Yeah it was," Noctis fervently agreed, earning himself a small, appreciative smile from his friend.

"So what's in the books for tomorrow?" Prompto asked as he picked at the crusty remains of the fries at the bottom of the pan. "See if Takka's got any hunts? Doesn't seem like there's much else we can do with the Regalia in the shop. How long did Cindy say it'd be, again?"

"Two or three days to get 'er moving again, if her shop doesn't get hit with anything else," Gladio replied. "Another week at least before you could call her in good shape. In the meantime, I wanna go make sure we didn't leave anything incriminating in the dropship. I think it's pretty well hidden down there in the bandersnatch pit, but you know some bored Niff's bound to stumble across it sooner or later."

"Assuming the bandersnatch doesn't fly off with it," Prompto remarked. "Don't you think we could've stashed it somewhere less…wildlifey? You know, in case we ever feel like using it again?"

"Where were you thinking of hiding a fully functional Magitek Engine, Prompto?" Gladio asked. "Under your pillow?"

"Whatever, man," Prompto said, waving him away. "Dude, Noct, I still can't even believe you stole a Niff ship. That's so badass."

"Yeah, well, the Regalia almost didn't live through it," Noctis replied, yawning as the warmth, combined with his sated stomach, wrapped him in a comfortable sort of drowsiness. "Driving up the arch banged up the undercarriage pretty bad and the landing probably bent the chassis."

"Arch? Landing?" Ignis repeated, a distinctly threatening note brewing in his tone.

"Yeah…" Noctis blinked at him in confusion and some alarm, his drowsiness having fled summarily for the hills. "You know, from when I drove it off the top of an arch and landed it in the cargo bay? Even the Regalia's not gonna like a fifteen foot…um…a fifteen-foot drop like…that…"

Turning suddenly to Gladio, he said, "Wait…did they not know?"

"They do now," Gladio grinned, stretching his legs across the aisle and propping them, uninvited, on Prompto's knees.

"Know what?" Ignis said between gritted teeth. "You told me, Gladio, that Noct wrecked the car in a tense but relatively safe chase through light shrubbery and open roads—after which he discovered a conveniently parked and open dropship sitting comfortably on the ground, puncturing the Regalia's tires in the process of 'rolling over a bit of scattered shrapnel someone left on the floor.'"

"Did I?" Gladio deadpanned. "Passing this one off to you, Noct. Don't say I didn't try."

Noctis quailed as Ignis' glare shot across the aisle, pinning him to the couch back as effectively as a Ronin blade through the ribs. "Uh, sorry, Specs. I promise I'll never drive the Regalia off a hundred-foot landform again…?"

Prompto made a quiet, squeakily alarmed noise beside him as Ignis's gaze positively flared.

"Should Umbra ever come to owe me a favor," Ignis ground, his stare now encompassing all three of them, "I shall politely ask him to carry me back in time—again—where I will vigorously advise Young Ignis to set his sights on becoming an airship captain, steering well clear of any gormless princes and their pudding-headed Shields he may encounter along the way, so that I may still have my sanity and a full head of hair by the age of forty."

The only sounds that could be heard for a time were the crickets out in the sage, their hushed songs accompanied by the snorts of an Iron Giant. Noctis could tell by the way Prompto was twitching that he was weighing the odds of his survival, barefoot and weaponless in the desert, against sticking to the caravan with Ignis.

Noctis cleared his throat. "Prompto, you wanna help me do the dishes?"

"Would I ever!" Prompto exclaimed, his voice cracking.

xxx

Eventually, Ignis calmed down, particularly after the dishes magically came to be cleaned and put away without even a particle of supervision on his part. Aside from that, Noctis knew that his friend would have launched the Regalia off an arch in a second if it had been the only way to save one of them. And Ignis knew that he knew; Noctis could tell by the way he cast him the occasional conciliatory glance. After a few moments, he even joined them at the sink, wordlessly returning dishes to their cupboards as Prompto lined them up on the counter.

Noctis gathered up the last of the scrubbed-down silverware and handed it to the blond, who wiped it dry with a clean dish towel and passed it, in turn, to Ignis. Then he leaned back against the sink to face them.

"I'll take care of the rest of that later, Specs," he said. "Right now I'm hoping I can talk to you guys for a moment."

Ignis raised an eyebrow, but gamely left his post to settle down next to Gladio. The big man leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head, his manner relaxed, but watching Noctis closely. Noctis nudged Prompto and they settled back into their spot. Scooting up against his side, Prompto adjusted the blanket to cover their legs.

"We need to start thinking about the future," Noctis began, looking them each in the eye. "I know you guys still see me as your king, and I appreciate your regard. But I think we all know that's not gonna work on a practical level. Not with the phase effect in play. It's not fair to Cor or Iris or Monica or really anybody else to keep pretending otherwise."

Prompto shifted beside him. "What if there's still a way to counteract it, though?" he suggested. "Or block it. We've figured out how to do it with the gods; why not with the phase effect?"

"There's not," Noctis said quietly. "Umbra was clear on that."

They were all silent, their lack of protest testament to the fact that Noctis hadn't been the only one pondering on this of late.

He continued. "For all intents and purposes, my reign ended with the fulfillment of the prophecy. I think…I think it's better this way, to be honest. Cor can gather up all his influential big shots and start a new government—hopefully one that'll reestablish equal representation across Lucis, maybe even bring back some semblance of national unity. At least long enough to send Niflheim packing. And he's been in far closer contact with our people than I have, anyhow.

"And you guys…you might be able to carry on some sort of limited personal lives after all. My presence tends to drop people after a few minutes—sometimes a few days, if it's Iris. But you're able to go longer. There's a lot you could still do to help Cor, if you're careful about what you say and remember to distance yourselves from time to time."

"And suppose we were to consider pursuing some sort of adjusted form of our old duties," Ignis said, not sounding as if he were considering it at all. "What, pray tell, would you be doing?"

Noctis shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. Fishing. Hunting. Taking out daemons till they're gone. Just because I won't be royalty anymore doesn't mean I can't do any good from behind the scenes. But the important thing is that you guys would be free to pursue your own lives—to live them however you want."

"Yeah, that's where I thought this conversation was going," Gladio said, annoyed. "How many times are we gonna talk about this? I might be coming around to that whole future of Lucis part. But as for the rest…we're with you til the end, Charmless, whether you like it or not. You keep on with this and I might have to think about running your head under a cold shower till you knock that crap off once and for all."

"Spot on, big guy," Prompto said. "I mean, maybe not the cold shower part, cuz we'd just end up destroying the bathroom in the armageddon that's bound to ensue and then we'd owe Takka our souls since we don't have any money. But the rest, totally." He bumped Noctis with his knee, watching him seriously. "Not exactly a newsflash, Noct, cuz like Gladio said, I feel like we've had this conversation before. We've already chosen how we want to live our lives, and most importantly with who. So I think what we should really be talking about right now is where our retirement house is gonna be once you figure out how to abdicate without Cor dropkicking you off a balcony. Galdin? Malmalan? The Vesperpool, so Iggy can do the occasional high-five with his Swampmeister Joe alter ego? Somewhere with a well-stocked pond, I think, or you're gonna be a total crankywagon mcgrumpsky."

Noctis smiled gently. His gaze moved to his oldest friend. "Ignis? What do—"

"If you would like to retire to bed tonight with your feelings whole and unharmed," Ignis interrupted, his voice and eyebrows alike dangerously lowered, "you will drop this line of inquiry at once and never speak on it again."

"Fair enough," Noctis said. A lazy smile crossed his face. "Now that that's settled, I claim first shower."

Standing so quickly he nearly dumped Prompto to the floor, he charged back to the bathroom, kicking the folding door closed behind him. The sound of rushing water started up shortly thereafter.

"Kings," Gladio muttered, shaking his head.

xxx

They took Prompto's suggestion and spent most of the following day hunting, earning enough gil to supplement what remained of Cid's loan to purchase themselves a selection of basic military-grade sleeping bags from the twenty-four-hour shop. Ignis knew they shouldn't risk more than one more night in the caravan; several Imperial convoys had already rumbled past on their way to Insomnia, and a scout vehicle had pulled up to refuel earlier that day. In fact, if they truly wanted to act responsibly, they probably shouldn't venture even the one night—but the little camper had been so cozy, so healing for them—an opportunity to regroup and relax, to sleep and plan and talk. And Ignis had been loath to douse his friends' good cheer so quickly.

And so he found himself making the pavement-enclosed crossing from the shop to the caravan once again, a bag of groceries tucked beneath his arm. The late afternoon sun was glaringly hot against the concrete, even this far into autumn. Energetic, upbeat music blasted from Cindy's garage, accompanied by the cacophonous sounds of air compressors and impact guns. Engines roared and backfired over at the petrol pumps, the evening rush of hunters and ranchers making their way to and from work, respectively. The doors to Takka's diner sat propped open with a dusty chunk of sandstone; just inside, a gaggle of oldtimers were deep into a game of poker, muttering and grumbling to themselves.

Ignis paused beneath the diner's eaves, running through his ever-growing to-do list. With at least two days of repairs left before the Regalia was even driveable, they would soon be venturing perilously close to running the clock out on Noct's Silence. He knew there was no need to panic just yet—like Gladio, he well remembered the pain the magic of the Daurell daemons had wrought on their party, forcing them to burn through their entire stock of status curatives on their very first visit and leaving Prompto Enervated for a full week until they'd finally managed to limp back to civilization for a resupply. But Ignis preferred to stay as prepared as humanly possible, particularly when there were bad-tempered gods involved.

Hitching the bag up into the crook of his elbow, he stepped back out into the sunlight. Those worries were for tomorrow. For now, they'd enjoy one more night in the snug, climate-controlled indoors, resting and relaxing and—most importantly—beginning the process of easing Noct through what was bound to be considerable fallout from his freshly unearthed traumas.

A soft scrape of gravel on pavement sounded from the alleyway behind him. Without even processing the fact that he had moved, Ignis suddenly found his concealed dagger in hand.

"You're a difficult man to get ahold of, Scientia," said a very familiar, very unhappy voice.

Ignis nearly dropped the shopping bag, years of rigorous training in impassivity being all that saved the eggs.

"Cor," he breathed, and quickly gathered himself. Turning, he met the Marshal with a face blank enough to do the old card sharks in the diner proud, tucking the dagger securely back into his sleeve.

Cor's eyes followed the motion, but he left it without comment. "Where's the King?"

Straight to the point. "Ah," Ignis said. "Well. I'm afraid he's not available just now."

Cor studied him for a long moment, something in his bearing changing almost imperceptibly. Ignis knew it wasn't an encouraging change.

"Is there something I need to know?" the Marshal finally asked. His face was a study in stoicism, as always, but his voice had taken on a slightly dangerous edge. "Because the people are beginning to wonder what's happened to their king. I asked you, Amicitia, and Argentum to keep him away from Imperial eyes until we had a chance to establish our base. That's been accomplished, and I think it well past time for him to reemerge and begin the work of reclaiming the kingdom. Wouldn't you agree?"

"In normal circumstances I would," Ignis replied, being sure to keep his tone light. "However, I imagine even you would concur that the threat is far from past. As a retainer, it is my duty to safeguard him until the danger is gone."

Cor's stance relaxed, just a shade, as Ignis knew it would. The man was far from stupid, but even the Marshal nursed his own pet judgments and biases—one of which included Ignis as the talented but fussy attendant. Far from taking offense, Ignis planned to milk all he could out of the assumption. It was a delaying tactic at best, but with any luck, it would keep the man distracted long enough for an emergency discussion with the others on how to proceed.

The Marshal leaned back against the alley wall, folding his arms. "You can't baby him forever, Scientia. It's time for him to step up. There are rumors that he's lost the Lucis Caelum magic, and even that he never had it to begin with. It's destroying morale."

"He has lost it," Ignis said.

Cor looked startled, then dismayed. "It's true, then? How did this happen?"

"Perhaps the shock of his father's death and the invasion of his home triggered a regression, as with the Marilith attack," Ignis lied, schooling his expression into one of credulous concern. "I'm not sure. From all I've observed, though, the effect seems permanent."

Cor studied him, frowning, before letting out a long sigh. Glaring at the ground, he rested his hands on his hips, deep in thought.

"He won't be much good for the kingdom, then. I suppose he'll be useful enough symbolically, and still functional in the political arena. But a strong front is what we need right now: a warrior to lead, and a defender of the people—"

He abruptly broke off at the sound of Ignis' low growl.

"King Noctis has done more for this kingdom," Ignis bit out, all pretense vanished, his voice shaking in outrage— "more for this world—more for humanity—than any of you can or ever will imagine."

Cor watched him closely, obviously taken aback by his sudden fury. He cautiously opened his mouth to reply, but a deep, rumbling voice interrupted.

"Hey Marshal. What brings you here?"

Gladio emerged from around the front of the building, a half-drunk Jetty's in his hand. Glancing Ignis' way—and then taking a second, longer look, he moved in closer, dropping his arms in what Noct had dubbed as his preliminary head-bashing pose. "Everything okay over here, Iggy?"

"I've been speaking to Scientia about King Noctis," Cor brusquely supplied, his eyes flickering to the still-seething Ignis. "We'll need him to begin making public appearances soon, but Scientia doesn't seem to think that's possible."

"Ah," Gladio said easily. "Yeah, you should probably know that Noct won't be doing the whole king thing anymore. He officially abdicates and turns the governing of Insomnia over to you. He hopes you'll unite with the other regions of Lucis in a partnership of equals instead of keeping on with the whole dying single seat of power model, but he leaves it open to your best judgment."

Cor froze, his jaw falling open ever so slightly. It was the most expression Ignis had ever witnessed in the man. But that brief window was all they were given; within seconds, his eyes had narrowed, his gaze turned icy.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

"Sorry, sir, but I'd rather not disclose that," Gladio replied, shifting casually to block the exit.

Without a word, Cor shoved his way forward, his eyes on the caravan. Gladio's shoulders tensed, his legs widening into the stance of a brawler.

"Noctis cannot see you because you will be harmed by his very presence," Ignis abruptly said. "He's come here from a future that was filled with darkness—but for which he gave his life to return to the light. He willingly fulfilled a corrupt and sadistic prophecy—one that you can't remember, because you will never have to live through it—in order to save all of humanity. He gave more, accomplished more, than any king, queen, or ruler has in the history of this star. And now he turns the safekeeping of Lucis over to you.

"Now if you'll let us proceed, sir," Ignis concluded, "we have our king to attend to. The True King, and the final one."

Cor was staring at them, stricken. "You…the prophecy…I remember it…how could I have forgotten? But…the future? How…?"

"You're a good man, Cor," Ignis said softly. "And you'll do good things. Noct's mind will be at ease knowing you're the one at the helm."

Reeling backward, Cor staggered into the alley wall, then slowly slid down it, his eyes vacant.

Pulling his newest phone from his pocket in one hand and hauling Ignis along with the other, Gladio led them to the far side of the parking lot, dialing as they walked.

"Yeah, Cid?" he said into the receiver. "Can you send someone you trust out to the east side of Takka's? We've got a medical emergency and it looks like it involves Cor. …Me? Yeah, sorry, we've got a crisis of our own to take on. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Will do. Thanks a bunch, Cid."

He hung up, then looked pointedly at Ignis. "You did that on purpose."

"Yes," Ignis confirmed. "It was the only way to stop him, other than simply knocking him on the head. And I was in need of a bit of a vent."

"You would be the first person in history to literally weaponize words," Gladio snorted. "You think if we yell 'prophecy' enough times at the Niffs they'll keel over en masse? Send some Glaives in to hogtie and ship 'em back to Gralea and bam—war's won."

"If we devise a way to speak long enough while filled with several pounds of lead, then yes, I suppose that's a viable plan," Ignis replied. More soberly, he noted, "That was a bit different, though, there at the end."

"You mean the part where he almost seemed to understand what we were talking about?" Gladio asked. "Yeah, that was new. Not that it ended up mattering either way."

"No," Ignis sighed. "Ah, well, it appears as if Cid's sent out the rescue party."

"Doesn't look like they're freaking out or anything, so he'll probably be okay. Seems like your righteous fury is still more a deterrent than a death sentence." Despite his flippancy, Ignis noted how Gladio's entire frame wilted in relief.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing more to do but start dinner," Ignis remarked. Glancing down, he was surprised to discover the shopping bag still tucked neatly beneath his arm, the eggs whole and unharmed. "I have the makings here of hamburger soup and pancakes—a rather unconventional combination, admittedly, but with the twenty-four-hour shop's business model obviously built to cater to the tastes of a prepubescent sugar abuser, we're rather limited in our choices at present."

"Well, you had Prompto at 'pancakes,'" Gladio said. "Noct could stand to gain a few pounds, so he'll be eating his share whether he wants to or not. And you know me—I'll just take the serving dish."

"In that case," Ignis said, smiling, "shall we go in?"

"After you," Gladio replied, gesturing him toward the door.

They mounted the caravan stairs to find Noct and Prompto deep in the laziest, most indolent game of spades Ignis had ever witnessed. Prompto lay sprawled nearly upside down on the couch, his bare feet propped on the top of the cushion backs while his head hung awkwardly off the seat, squinting hazily at his hand through watery eyes as all the blood pooled in his face. Noct was stretched flat across the futon, a soda tucked in the crook of his neck, its lightly gnawed straw brushing at the corner of his mouth.

"There you two are." Noct rolled his eyes back just far enough to acknowledge them, exerting the barest amount of effort possible in the process. A bit of soda escaped the straw to dribble down his neck. Unperturbed, he stretched his arm toward the table and tossed a card sloppily onto the deck, which looked more to Ignis like a tiny disaster relief area. "Do anything fun?"

"The True and Final King indeed," Ignis muttered beneath his breath, turning away to unpack the groceries.

"Yeah, we talked to Cor. Make space, knuckleheads." Gladio moved to throw himself on Noct's couch, heedless of whether there was a king in the way or not. Noct scrambled upright, panic on his face as he narrowly missed being flattened by two hundred seventy pounds' worth of muscle. Ignis swooped in to catch his tipping soda, placing it carefully on the counter.

"You saw Cor?" Noct asked, once he had regained control of his heartrate.

"Yep. We told him you're retiring and giving him the keys."

"Wow," Noct said, blinking. "What'd he say?"

"Oh, you know," Gladio replied, his eyes flickering over to Ignis. " 'Over my dead body,' 'Kids these days,' that kind of thing."

"He wasn't very happy about it, so I found it necessary to trigger the phase effect," Ignis explained. "As he most likely won't recall any of our conversation once he recovers, your retirement may become something of a work in progress. It's quite possible that we'll find ourselves attempting to sell him your plan every single time we encounter him."

Noct fell back into the futon, groaning, his hands flopping limply at his sides. Gladio lifted up his flaccid arm to retrieve his forgotten cards, letting it drop back to the cushion once they were in hand. Leaning over the table, he studied the scattered mess before playing Noct's queen of diamonds.

"Maybe we should just fake our own deaths," Prompto suggested. He craned his neck awkwardly to peer up at Gladio's play; selecting a spade, he slapped it on the table, his face bright red from his inverted state but evidently seeing no cause to move.

"Truly, that may be our best option at this point," Ignis agreed, laying out a cutting board and knife. "Regardless, tomorrow morning we should move on. We won't be able to go far until the Regalia's finished, but at the very least we can attempt to keep ourselves out of sight until then. Cotisse Haven just north of here is one possibility."

"That's not far from where we hid the dropship," Gladio said. "Could be either a good or a bad thing."

"Either way, it will only be for a night or two," Ignis replied.

"And then it's back on the road, baby," Prompto sang congestedly. "Wind in our hair, bugs in our teeth, freedom in our future. Where d'you think we should go?"

They were all quiet a moment, considering.

Then Noct said, "Well, I guess we've got a night or two to decide."

xxx

Noctis lies facedown on the sunwarmed deck of the Royal Vessel, lazily watching the prismatic play of light on the waves. His chin is cradled in his arms, his bare feet kicking idly behind him. Only a short drop to the waters below, jewel-toned fish flit about, visible even within the more cavernous depths. For now, they're ignoring his line and the little rainbow-hued sinker at the end—but Noctis doesn't mind. He knows it's only a matter of patience. Everyone is caught in the end.

"Hey Noctinator, get us anything good?" Prompto's voice from beside him draws his attention, but he's so comfortable he can hardly bring himself to move.

"Not yet," he mumbles, the words muffled by his folded arms. The deck is warm and smooth against his cheek.

He hears Prompto settle down beside him. Back in the cabin, Gladio and Ignis are talking—probably about something sports-related, if the agitated cadence of their voices is anything to go by. The radio plays lowly in the background, the newscaster's report an indistinct but comfortable hum of sound.

"Hey Prom," Noctis says, closing his eyes. "You ever think about how different our lives would be if you'd never said hello to me that one time at school?"

"I try not to," Prompto lightly replies. "I'd be old Sally Average working some nine-to-five somewhere while you guys would be bored out of your everloving skulls and/or on the perpetual brink of fratricide."

"Definitely sounds like a recipe for disaster," Noctis says, smiling into the deck.

"Our unlikely marksman saves the world again," Prompto agrees.

They sit quietly for a time, the waves hissing up against the hull. From within the nest of his arms, they sound like static. A cloud passes overhead and a chill gust of wind blows across the bow. Noctis shifts in discomfort, his shoulders tensing as he impatiently awaits the return of the sun.

"Hey Noct," Prompto says into the lull. "You should catch us a king trout."

"Oh yeah?" Noctis asks. "I'm not sure they swim around here."

"Oh, they totes do. They're my favorite. I loooove to roast them alive over the coals. Suffering tends to bring out the flavor in everyone, doncha think?"

Noctis' eyes open.

"One king trout can feed a guy for a long time," Prompto continues.

The broadcaster's voice drifts tinnily across the deck, cutting through Ignis and Gladio's argument.

"...it for Lestallum. Live from Insomnia, now, we've received confirmation of the names of the many who have sacrificed all for the King."

Noctis flies upright. Staring at Prompto, he scrambles backward on all fours until he hits the railing. He gropes behind him until he's clutching it tightly, the metal cold against his cramping fingers, his breath hitching in his chest.

His friend is looking back at him with yellowing eyes, miasma misting from blackened skin. "What's that look for? Something in my teeth?" he asks. "I was gonna see if Iggy'd let me use some of his dental floss but decided it'd be easier to wait till we're back on shore. You know how protective he gets of his hygiene kit."

Noctis' gaze darts back toward Ignis and Gladio, something hysterical bubbling up in his chest. They're still arguing, but their limbs are warped and elongated, their skin melting.

"...must...King sacrifice...for all," the newscaster scolds between bursts of static.

His eyes are so wide they feel as if they're frozen in place, and he can't seem to draw in any air. His head whips back to Prompto.

Except Prompto has been replaced by a monster, and the Royal Vessel has become an empty blue-violet void. The monster is massive, a man in dragon armor or a dragon dressed as a man—he's never quite been able to tell, the incongruent combination bewildering to the eyes. Noctis grows smaller and smaller, falling forever, drowning in the creature's oddly human-but-inhuman stare.

"Hello, little king," Bahamut says.

Noctis takes shallow, panting breaths, small moans tearing from his chest with each one. He knows, with the despairing clarity of a man kneeling at the guillotine, that this is the end. The Draconian has found him, once and for all.

He's been so stupid—so reckless to allow himself the hubris of thinking they were safe. To have the temerity to hope that any of their efforts would save them. To let himself think that he had outsmarted the gods.

As it turns out, it wasn't enough. None of it had ever been enough.

Everyone is caught in the end.

"There is something I have been wondering," Bahamut rumbles, the sound thrumming through the empty blue, lodging deep into Noctis' bones. "Does the king care to know what that is?"

There is a playfulness to his voice. It's somehow far, far worse than the expressionless tones of before.

Noctis trembles. "Yes," he whispers.

"I have been wondering if the king recalls my promise. About certain…consequences, should he ever reveal my nature."

Noctis doesn't reply, his breath straining in his lungs. He is trapped; there is no way out. He has well and truly reached the end.

"These many days the little king assumed he had outwitted me, I have found myself considering how best to destroy those he loves. I believe I have decided. The fair one I will shred into pieces. The large one I will consume slowly. As for the other—I will save him for last, as he arrived into the king's life first. Human flesh is not as savory as a human soul, but it will do."

"Please," Noctis begs. He is shaking uncontrollably. "Please let them live. I'll do anything. Anything."

"Ah. So the king desires to covenant with his gods. Is that correct, little one? Anything?"

Noctis nods mutely. Just one more chance to save them. Please, just one more chance.

Bahamut rears up to his full stature, satisfaction thick in the air. He proclaims, "The King will sacrifice himself on the original altar." His oddly flat eyes swim with sadistic pleasure. "In the original manner. Thereafter to willingly sustain the Draconian until his soul is no more. Let it be done."

Noctis sits slumped on his knees, tears running down his face, staring at his hands.

He takes one long, deliberate breath, then two more.

Scrubbing his arm across his eyes, he nods.

"Let it be done."