A Savior Lost

The flurry of footfalls echoing along the cold catwalk came to an abrupt halt. A momentary shudder passed through the runner, who now stood before the sacred stone, bathed in its icy light. His black hair was shaggy, left to grow in any and every direction at will, and his shoulders hung slightly rounded, as if hinting at some wayward nature. His breathing was labored, heavy after his headlong sprint.

　“Please . . . Help me stop the daemons.” The words seemed wrenched from the boy’s throat, his voice ragged. He reached out to touch the stone, but no sooner were his fingertips upon it than his desperate plea contorted into an astonished cry. The Crystal began to pull him in. His expression was frozen in shock.

　The boy’s observer drew close from behind, struggling to suppress a smile.

　“Unharmed by the Light. The Chosen King, indeed.”

　The young scion was still so lacking. He was little more than a copycat of proper royalty, really. Yet the Crystal did not deny him. It was an irritating reality, further driven home when the boy turned to identify the voice coming from behind him. Oh, how familiar were the contours of that face. His was the very countenance of that ancient false king, never meant for the throne but drawing power from the Crystal nonetheless.

　“Allow me to regale you with a tale,” the observer said, offering a glimpse of history like scraps tossed to a dog. “In an age long past, an incurable scourge ravaged mankind. A tiny menace that twisted men into monsters, the likes of which you’ve seen.”

　The boy’s eyes revealed how little he knew of the world. As the story began, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across them. But they quickly narrowed.

　Good. Let the anger flow. Let it run unchecked. Wrap yourself in rage and gnash your teeth as you learn how powerless you truly are.

　“In Lucis lived a savior that could cure the afflicted. His body would come to host myriad daemons, that countless lives be spared.”

　Thank you!

　Without warning, a long-forgotten voice echoed in the observer’s mind.

　It was joined by another, this one choked with tears.

　Oh, thank the gods. I’m my old self again.

　Then more.

　Lord Caelum, you have saved me!

　Without your mercy, milord, I would have surely remained a hideous monster, struck down by the soldiers of our land.

　It is only because of your kindness that I stand here today!

　The observer shook his head slightly to dispel the flood. He’d presumed such words had been lost to time.

　And what of it? he thought. That chapter has long since drawn to its close. Should remnants linger, they are of no value or meaning to me.

　He smoothly resumed his tale, inner conflict unbetrayed by outward sign. “But a jealous king, one not yet chosen by the Crystal, ostracized and demonized this healer of the people. Making a true monster of him.”

　And here, the observer could no longer suppress his smile. The corners of his mouth curled up of their own accord, curved daggers that pierced through all the insufferable bitterness and aggravation that had plagued his life.

　“I gave you my name earlier, but you should know that it was not the name given to me at birth.”

　All those who knew his true identity had long since departed this world. He was known now as Ardyn Izunia, imperial chancellor of Niflheim.

　“Ardyn Lucis Caelum is my proper name.”

　On speaking his own name for the first time in ages, Ardyn was surprised by the potency of the hatred that surged within him. He’d taken it for granted, numbed to its constant, unwavering presence. Yet there it still writhed, that almost-forgotten intensity blacker than darkness itself.

　Prince Noctis. His lips began to form the boy’s name. He paused, then opted for more familiar address.

　“Noct.”

　The boy’s nickname. Uttering it spread a deliciously sinister warmth through him.

　“Killing you as a mortal will bring me scant satisfaction. Claim the Crystal’s power. Arise as its champion.”

　This was whom the Crystal had chosen, those fifteen years ago. Here was the young king who, with power of stone in hand, assumed the task of banishing darkness as calamity descended upon the world.

　“Only once the Crystal and King are no more . . . can I know redemption.”

　All had been taken from the man they called Adagium. His brother, his own flesh and blood, had snatched away his hopes, his future, and the woman he loved. He’d lost everything, all because of that damn stone and cursed throne.

　Would that it be gone from this world forevermore. Indeed, he would see it destroyed at his own hands. And along with it, everything else: the gods who forsook men without a thought, the Crystal that aided their divine cause, and the whole damn world smeared black with lies.

　Ardyn longed only to see it all crumble. This was his sole remaining desire.

　“Come back soon. I shall keep your friends company until you are ready.”

　Your friends. Noctis’s face twisted as the words left Ardyn’s mouth, his eyes reflecting every single bit of hatred and anger burning within him. And once again Ardyn was struck by a sense of familiarity. He had never experienced the pleasure of seeing such rage in Somnus, but the resemblance really was quite striking. Though his brother and the boy were mirrored in appearance, their personalities and patterns of behavior were night against day, their expressions a study in unending contrast. Still, the resemblance gave rise to a certain yearning in Ardyn: what a delight it would have been to see that duplicitous usurper’s features contorted in torment just as Noctis’s were now. How Ardyn had longed to watch, gaze ripe with malice, as his brother was erased from the world, powerless against fate.

　Yet despite their endless disagreements and confrontations, not once had Ardyn seen his brother’s face like this. The only expressions he remembered were those of annoyance, resignation, and disdain.

　It was odd. Had he merely forgotten the rest? Had his brother’s emotions slipped from his memory with the passage of millennia? Or was there some other explanation?

　Brother.

　From deep in his mind, he heard one more voice call out to him.

Long ago, when the words of the gods resonated in the hearts of men . . . Two thousand years before the reign of the Chosen King . . .

　“You understand nothing, Brother.”

　He’d not heard Somnus’s voice for so long. The words his brother spoke seemed unusually cold.

　“Willfully you disregard the duties of one charged to rule.”

　No, the chill would have been present for some time already. Anything resembling normal conversation between him and his younger brother had ceased long before then. How many years had it been since he last heard Somnus laugh? Ardyn grimly curled his fingers to count.

　As children, they had been close. Between the many hours of study and training, they had enjoyed all manner of diversions together. They were particularly fond of chess. Somnus did not care for the game’s prescribed handicap―one piece removed from the elder player’s side for each year in excess of his opponent’s age. He stubbornly insisted that victory meant nothing if not achieved on equal footing, and no matter how many losses he endured, his resolve never wavered. Ardyn had thought highly of his brother for being so intent, at such a young age, to see justice through.

　And Somnus was always at his brother’s side. No matter where Ardyn went, the younger boy was close behind. So inseparable were the pair that those who encountered either of them on rare days apart would jest that next they should witness rain falling from a clear sky.

　But now . . .

　“No, ‘dear brother.’ You are the one who does not understand.”

　Propriety be damned. He had to stop Somnus, no matter the means.

　“Why do you give your men leave to slaughter?” he challenged. “Those they kill are neither beast nor foe. They are our countrymen.”

　“Countrymen?” Somnus scoffed. “What nonsense is this? They are monsters. Leave them be, and they’ll start a slaughter of their own!”

　“You’re wrong. They are no monsters. The scourge is but a disease. Perhaps a bit vexing to treat, but a disease nonetheless. Though afflicted with the scourge, they are still men inside.”

　The Starscourge was indeed peculiar. Over the past few years, it had begun to spread among the populace. No medical art could cure it, nor could any tonic stem its progress. Those who fell ill were thrust into despair, realizing full well the fate that awaited them. Thus, the scourge was greatly feared among the people. Some declared it a curse; others deemed it punishment from the gods.

　But in truth, it was neither curse nor punishment. It was certainly no retribution from the gods. Of that much Ardyn was certain. It was simply a disease. He knew as much because it could be cured, though not with any herb.

　“Their assaults on others are born from the anguish of their affliction,” he told his brother. “The souls inside remain free from blame. We must simply purge them of this disease before they reach that state. In doing so, we may save those nearby from harm.”

　The scourge brought transformation. The body grew black as jet, and the mind was lost to madness, causing the victim to lash out at anything nearby. Those most firmly in the clutches of the Starscourge were pronounced daemons and restrained before they were beyond control. Daemons were kept apart from the community . . . and eventually killed. Ardyn endeavored to treat the afflicted―to return them to their former selves―before that happened.

　“I see no difference,” Somnus spat.

　“How is it not different?”

　“Whether or not a plague is to blame, the fact remains that you alone are able to heal it. Not even the greatest physicians in our land can hope to imitate whatever it is that you do. Isn’t that right, Brother?”

　It was true. For reasons unknown, the gods had entrusted this healing power to Ardyn alone.

　“Tell me, what can a single man hope to accomplish?” Somnus asked.

　“Every life I touch means another soul delivered from the scourge.”

　“And as you save that one, how many others fall ill?” Somnus seemed to taunt him now. “Five? Ten? Ever will the scourge outpace you, Brother. You labor in vain.”

　“No, that’s . . . ” Ardyn faltered. That’s not true, he’d wanted to say, but his brother’s words stung as such.

　“What will you do for the towns you are too late to save?” Somnus continued. “When the land is full of daemons, will you continue to try to treat them one by one? Better to end them now and stay ahead of the scourge before it brings ruin to us all.”

　“You speak of human lives!”

　But Somnus smiled in triumph. To him, the argument was already won.

　Ardyn continued to plead with Somnus, thinking of the men and women he’d seen struggling to hang on to the minds they felt slipping away, terrified by their own disfigured appearances.

　“They have done nothing wrong!” And they hadn’t. They simply bore the misfortune of some malady that had found its way into their bodies. “How can you strike them down when they are free from trespass?”

　“Ever the dreamer,” his brother sneered. “Sentimental hopes do not foundations form. To stand strong, a nation must be grounded in reality.”

　“And so you would take the easy way? The coward’s path?”

　Somnus’s voice grew as hard as steel. “You try my patience, Brother. Indulge the people if you must, but I cannot allow you to lead them astray. Kin or not, I will not tolerate seeing my name and acts besmirched.”

　Ardyn did not respond. He could not. There was murder in his brother’s eyes, and for the first time, Ardyn felt his own life might be in danger. A small part of him berated his own ignorance; these notions had clearly been brewing within his brother for some time. How could he have missed it? They were siblings. He should have known the man’s mind and temperament better than any other. Somnus would look to any means to achieve his goals. So had he always done. Whatever he set his mind to, he saw it through to the end, no matter the cost.

　Ardyn realized he had to flee, had to hide. He could not die just yet. Too many lives remained in the clutches of the scourge. They needed his help. He had to keep on living, regardless of all else, until the scourge ravaged their people no more. It was his calling to see the world cleansed.

“You look exhausted, my love. Are you all right?”

　Graceful hands cupped his cheeks, as pleasant as the voice that accompanied them. Their touch was sweeter than the wind that combed through the golden wheat, warmer than the sunlight filtering between the green leaves as Ardyn sat in the shade of a great tree, resting against its trunk.

　He spoke her name, eyes still closed. “Aera.”

　He felt his weariness lift. The haze in his mind vanished, like mist dispelled by the morning sun. True, the seeds of worry still lingered; his last conversation with Somnus had ended sourly, and it was possible to imagine that his life might be in danger. But with Aera’s hands upon him, he found the determination to go on. He would hold his head high.

　“Thank you, my love,” he said. “But you needn’t worry.”

　It was strange. Every time he was struck with longing to see her, she found her way to him. Ardyn opened his eyes. Her golden hair fluttered in the breeze, the light reflecting in her eyes. They were the color of the sea, the loveliest color he’d known in all his days.

　“I thought that if I waited here, I might have a chance to see you.”

　“I felt the same.”

　Aera smiled. Seeing that smile was enough to fill his chest with warmth. But he thought also of the lives that had fallen to the scourge. Each of them were meant to know love one day. Each were meant to have a special someone who made their heart leap, whether their paths had crossed already or had yet to do so.

　And what a wonderful feeling it was to stand with the one you loved, to face life together, hand in hand. Everyone should have the chance to know that happiness. It was an irrevocable right of life. That was the purpose of the powers entrusted to the two of them by the gods, her power to hear and his to heal. Together, he and Aera must see that no one lost their chance to know love.

　“The gods blessed me with a power and a purpose: to cure people of what ails them. I must see their will be done.”

　Ardyn looked down at his outstretched hands. Aera laid hers upon them.

　“Your devotion shall not go unnoticed. The gods will doubtless be watching over you.”

　Somnus had asked what one man could hope to accomplish against the Starscourge. But Ardyn was not alone. Aera was with him, and together they would carry on.

　“It seems to me,” Aera ventured, “that the cure for your exhaustion is comprised of two things, one of which is rest.”

　“And the other . . . ?”

　Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and a trace of mischief danced through her eyes.

　“ . . . is me,” she finished.

　Ardyn chuckled, then embraced his love.

　“Oh, Aera,” he said. “Pray be with me always.”

　At her nod, all his fear was gone. No matter what became of his flesh, he would carry out his calling until the end. No matter what Somnus said, he would not relent. If Somnus thought his words could stay Ardyn, he would be sorely disappointed.

“Milord! We have yet to locate your brother. However, we continue to scour the area, and―”

　Somnus waved the man away, interrupting the report. He’d heard enough. Over half a month had passed since his last argument with Ardyn. His brother seemed to have determined that further talk would be fruitless, stealing away to gods knew where.

　Irritation, resignation, scorn―Somnus bitterly recalled the final expressions he’d seen cross his brother’s face. Ardyn was a man beloved by the people. They would have him as their king, leading their newly founded nation with the favor of the gods. Perhaps Ardyn’s anger and frustration were a sign, reflecting feelings hidden in the hearts of the people.

　However, despite the hope placed in him, Ardyn was woefully unsuited to rule. He lacked the ability to see the world for what it was. He was too trusting, not just of his fellow men but of the world itself. His eyes were ever fixed upon the good. Admirable, perhaps, but it kept him blind to less desirable truths.

　Of beauty alone was no man or object sculpted. Kneaded in with the clay were cunning, ugliness, and filth. Was that not why the rule of law was needed? Such dark strains had to be kept in check. Was that not the duty of a king?

　“That’s precisely it,” he muttered to himself. “The quality most needed in a king is a firm hand. To dote upon the people only ensures that the nation shall be forever weak.”

　And a nation had to be strong. It had to be secure. For the sake of its subjects, it had to be ready to repel any incursion. A clan of men gathered in one place did not a country make. But a clan was still all they had, and that under constant threat of these cursed daemons. The promise of safety required troops who were prepared to wipe evil from the world. Somnus was the one to raise those troops. To harden, hone, and lead them.

　“My feckless brother is blind to the truth before his eyes . . . ”

　Ardyn always talked of another soul delivered, saved by his own two hands. But his method would not suffice to save them all. Only some saved meant many more were not, and in the end, Ardyn’s path served only to put the choices of fate in the hands of man. His was the way of one who had never doubted his own position in the eyes of the gods. A man in whom all others placed trust and saw promise. A man chosen for everything. To Ardyn, the thoughts of those who had not been so blessed were and would always be a mystery. He would never know how it felt to be passed over in favor of another. He would never know how the forlorn gazed upon the chosen.

　And so you would take the easy way? The coward’s path?

　Somnus scoffed. Why should ease be equated with cowardice? His was the way most just. He would not choose whom to deliver or cast aside from among those touched by the scourge. He would not foster despair and envy in those condemned to a horrid death. No one would be forced to wonder why they had been abandoned when others were not.

　It was cold, yes. But it was fair.

　Somnus stood to leave.

　“Lord Caelum, shall I accompany you?”

　He did not turn but replied, “Stay. I’ll not need an escort.”

　The woman he sought would be in the sanctuary, the gods’ words perhaps gracing her ears at this very moment. Aera, the Oracle. Aera, the woman of his brother’s heart. Somnus needed to speak with her, and with haste. He had to ascertain the truth and then plot his course.

　Somnus clenched his hands into fists. The thoughts hung heavy in his heart. But there was no other choice. It was something he needed to see through, even if it meant dirtying his own hands.

　“I shall not ask forgiveness,” he vowed to himself. “Nor do I expect to ever receive it.”

Far beyond the fields of wheat rose a column of black smoke. Ardyn looked upon it, his expression strained. It was not hard to imagine what was burning there.

　How could anyone be so callous?

　In truth, he knew the answer to his query all too well. To Somnus, the innocents burning in the distance were no longer people. Perhaps the man even saw Ardyn as one among the monsters now. It would explain how easily he justified sending men to hunt down and kill his own brother.

　The previous day had brought another close call. A single night’s lodging, in a town already cleared of the scourge, and still the soldiers came. Ardyn had underestimated Somnus, and it had almost proved to be his undoing. The younger Caelum seemed to keep watch everywhere. Perhaps no settlement, no matter how small, was safe.

　Fortunately, Ardyn had seen the dust kicked up in the distance by the soldiers’ approach, and he ran. There was no doubt in his mind that had he tarried a moment longer, he would now be in custody, dragged back to the castle like a dog to be thrown at his brother’s feet. It was the people’s regard for him that kept him unharmed; they’d shown him a safe route, and he’d fled deep into the cover of the nearby woods.

　Through the dim light beneath the trees, Ardyn ran like a beast hunted, until at last, when his strength gave out and he was unable to push his legs any farther, he huddled in the hollow trunk of a great sentinel of the forest. There, he waited for his pursuers to abandon their search. It was nearly dawn before he heard the distant piercing cry of a captain’s whistle and the woods were finally free of the soldiers.

　He continued to hide for some time, huddled motionless in his paltry shelter of bark . . . Oh, how weary he felt. The past few days had been spent healing several unfortunates deep in the clutches of the scourge, and that had taken its toll.

　At the root of the plague they knew as the Starscourge was some manner of parasite.

　Somehow, it found its way into hosts, where it wreaked its havoc. Eventually, the hosts lost their minds to the scourge. Those gone that far were pronounced daemons and reviled.

　But thanks to the blessing of the gods, Ardyn’s hands knew how to draw out the root of the scourge. They pulled the darkness from the victim’s body and brought it into Ardyn’s own. Cleared of the disease, the patients regained consciousness. Their skin, once black as jet and exuding the scourge’s dark miasma, would regain its former hue. And Ardyn would carry on, host to another bit of scourge himself.

　He was no stranger to the experience of the disease. In fact, he may have understood it more fully than anyone else. In addition to the ability to absorb it, the gods had given him a mind unaffected by the scourge’s insidious influence. They had not, however, seen fit to bless him also with the power to cleanse himself. The scourge ever remained, never lessened, simply drawn from others and into him. Each time Ardyn saved another soul, he was forced to accept that pain and suffering as his own.

　At first, he’d felt no more than a faint malaise. But with time, it grew to become a most unpleasant sensation and then finally a clear and piercing agony. The larger the swarm of organisms within him, the harder they were to suppress. They thrashed about until he thought they might tear a hole through his skin. They felt alive, like some manner of parasite worming inside him.

　For now, the scourge remained in check. But he knew not whether his body would continue to hold as he drew yet more in.

　What can a single man hope to accomplish? Somnus’s words clawed at his mind. All too well did he know the loneliness of his struggle. How many more victims would he be able to heal before he succumbed? How long would he be able to endure the pain?

　What will you do for the towns you are too late to save? When the land is full of daemons, will you continue to try to treat them one by one?

　Once more, Ardyn cast his gaze across the fields of wheat, at the smoke of countless lives brought to an end for naught more than the misfortune of having known the scourge. First beaten and abused, now they were reduced to ash and scattered to the wind, with no rites spoken over them.

　Ardyn shook his head. Such atrocities must not be allowed to go unanswered. He had to keep moving forward. There were people seeking his help. He was needed at their side.

　He tried to rise and leave the shelter of the forest, determined to continue on his way. But his body, riddled with scourge, would not obey. He pitched forward, unable to throw out a hand in time to arrest his fall. And then he was on the ground, lying with his face in the dirt. No strength came to his limbs. He felt the tiny creatures squirming around beneath his skin. It was hard to draw breath.

　Finally, his vision grew dark. Black. The same color as the daemons themselves . . .

“Stop, Lord Caelum!”

　Somnus did not reply. He shoved the female attendant aside and put a hand on the sanctuary door.

　“The Oracle mustn’t be disturbed! No one must interfere with the ritual!”

　He brushed away another set of grasping hands and pushed his way inside. He knew the precepts. The Oracle was here, listening to the words of the gods in the hour of their people’s need, and she mustn’t be disturbed. He would dare to do so regardless.

　As other lords voiced their support for House Caelum to lead the realm, the gods, too, sought to select a ruler from among the house’s men. An absolute sovereign to sit atop the throne of the world’s first kingdom. There were two candidates.

　“Lord Caelum, please! You mustn’t!”

　Somnus closed the door behind him, shutting out the attendant’s shrill cries. Aera, kneeling in prayer at the altar, lifted her head to see who had entered. Her expression was a mix of surprise and confusion.

　“Hail, Oracle.”

　At seeing Somnus, her features hardened with suspicion.

　Somnus continued, unfazed. “What say the gods?”

　Aera did not answer, so Somnus shifted his approach. “The Crystal, then?”

　“The Crystal has no will of its own,” she finally replied, tone flat.

　Did she intend to evade his questions? Perhaps she could see right through him. Or perhaps the Crystal had provided no answers. It mattered not. Neither would impede his plan.

　“Spare me the nuances of its workings. I only care to hear the message.”

　“ . . . Very well. If you desire it, Somnus, you shall have my trust . . . ”

　Her gaze fell upon him, calm and true. Somnus met her eyes. He would not look away. He would deliver his words with confidence, even if they were riddled with lies.

　“I am to be your brother in marriage. Need I desire to have your trust?”

　Aera’s gaze grew more piercing yet. “I am the Oracle, tasked with making the will of the gods known.”

　She paused, letting him feel the weight of what might transpire. She had a duty to uphold. The truths handed down by the gods were not something to divulge lightly.

　“Of that I am well aware. I am not so bold as to defy the will of the gods. However . . . ”

　Here, Somnus paused, at the point of no return.

　No, he thought. I will not turn back. This is a decision already made.

　“However,” he continued, “my brother’s whereabouts are currently unknown. The rift between us is of my own making, and if I do not see it bridged, the gods’ words shall fail to reach his ears. Surely you see how finding him would aid both my cause and his―as well as your own calling, Oracle.”

　Her gaze had been so sharp, he thought it might bore straight into his skull and see the truth buried there. But his entreaty made it waver and fall. Somnus imagined the nights Area spent without sleep, wracked with worry for her beloved. The brief moment of uncertainty was all he needed.

　“I would send for my brother,” Somnus announced.

　“You know he would not come.”

　“If my envoy bears a message from the gods, he will believe. He will come.”

　Aera’s gaze lowered still farther. After a moment, she looked back up, staring directly into his eyes. She seemed to have reached a decision.

Ardyn awoke. His mind was thick with confusion. He found himself indoors, lying in a bed. The room felt vaguely familiar, and yet not.

　“Oh, thank the gods. Lord Caelum, I’m so glad to see you awake.”

　A young woman peered down at him. Her face, full of concern, jogged his memory. He’d been in this room several days ago. The same woman had lain here, hands and feet bound, growling like a wild animal. She had been badly afflicted with the scourge, and Ardyn had healed her.

　“My father and I,” she said, “found you collapsed on the ground when we were on our way to town. You can imagine our surprise.”

　Ardyn recalled fleeing from the troops sent by Somnus and concealing himself in the forest. But everything beyond that was blank. He must have wandered around blindly during that lost time, ending up near the same town from which he’d fled.

　“You . . . saved me?” he asked.

　“You give us far too much credit, milord. We merely loaded you onto our cart and brought you here. Pray forgive us such a crude means of transporting you.”

　The woman’s shoulders slumped. Her cheeks, now back to their former healthy hue, flushed with embarrassment. Ardyn remembered their pallor after he’d removed the scourge. It had concerned him at the time, and he was glad to see her looking so well now. Back then, pale as she was, her parents’ eyes still had welled up with tears, overflowing with joy when they saw their daughter’s mind restored. That alone had been reward enough. Drawing in the Starscourge was a small price to pay in exchange for a chance to bring such happiness to others.

　“I owe you a great debt for your kindness.”

　“Not at all, milord,” she said with a smile. She’d taught him anew what it meant to help those who suffered. There was no time to laze about in bed. He had to move on. But when Ardyn tried to lift himself up, the world began to spin.

　“Lord Caelum! Please, you mustn’t! You have yet to regain your strength!”

　“There’s no time to wait,” he said. “So many others are out there, still in anguish . . . ”

　“And in such a state, I’m afraid you’ll be of no use to them.”

　“Nevertheless, I must go. I must help the people.”

　The sound of armored boots treading the earth came from outside. The young woman’s parents burst through the door. Ardyn needed only to see the looks on their faces to know whose men were approaching.

　“Hurry, milord!” the mother implored. “You must flee!”

　“Troops from the castle. They’re almost upon us!”

　Somnus’s men yet again. Ardyn managed to steady himself and rise to his feet. He cared not about preserving his own life, except that his death meant an end to the people’s only means of deliverance. He recalled the column of black smoke, and his heart grew heavy once more. He readied himself to face the troops, but the young woman slipped past his side and rushed outside first.

　“What business have you here?” she demanded. “Lord Caelum is ill!”

　She stood braced in the doorway, arms flung wide, showing no trace of fear despite the soldiers now surrounding the building. Her small frame exuded uncanny courage. No one gets past, she seemed to say. Not a step closer to Lord Caelum than where I stand.

　Ardyn placed a hand on her shoulder and drew her back inside. She reminded him of Aera, though physically they did not look the least bit alike. It was the girl’s spirit, so like Aera’s on that day they’d vowed together to deliver the people from the scourge. When he’d seen that resolve in Aera, he’d felt that as long as she were with him, he’d be able to continue, no matter how difficult the journey grew.

　“Lord Caelum?” the young woman asked.

　“Please, that’s enough. You’ve done so much for me already.”

　He would not burden this household any further. He could not bear the thought of their happiness being stripped away again so soon after he’d managed to restore it. They would not suffer on his behalf, even if that choice meant suffering of his own.

　“But, milord!”

　“I will not forget your kindness to me,” he said, and walked through the doorway, each step unsteady.

　Outside, he caught sight of a banner emblazoned with that all-too-familiar crest. Beneath it stood men in armor bearing the same. He could have never imagined the day would come when the symbol of his own house would signify the enemy.

　What order had Somnus issued? Kill on sight? Or perhaps he wanted his brother taken alive, to be brought captive back to the castle?

　The men did neither.

　“Lord Ardyn Lucis Caelum, son of House Caelum!”

　Ardyn could not believe what he was seeing. These were the same men who had chased him through the dark of the woods one night prior. Now they knelt before him.

　“Last night, the word of the gods was heard. Ardyn Lucis Caelum, you have been chosen to serve as king!”

　A cheer rose up around them. Ardyn realized that the villagers had been watching the exchange from afar.

The members of House Caelum and their retinues were gathered in the Crystal’s sanctuary. All were present, from Somnus and Aera down to the lowest-ranked soldier, all in full ceremonial garb.

　“Lord Ardyn Lucis Caelum, son of House Caelum!”

　The ranks lifted their swords in unison. The crowd opened a path for Ardyn as he approached the Crystal’s altar.

　Somnus, kneeling at the forefront, abruptly stood.

　“That will be enough. The charade stops here.”

　Somnus wore a look Ardyn had never seen before―one he would not have believed possible of his stubbornly fair-minded younger brother.

　“I’m ashamed to call you my kin,” Somnus began. “Is there no low to which you will not stoop? You flee and cower in the shadows, then stride back here as if you were a hero. Do you truly covet the throne so desperately?”

　Ardyn was stunned. It was his brother who had sent the men and their message. The same men who had, not a day earlier, been out to take Ardyn’s life. Who was Somnus to speak like this?

　“I was merely on a journey to heal the people,” Ardyn said. “I have no thirst for power. I do not seek control over the land.” Then he added, “Unlike you, ‘dear brother.’”

　Ardyn had not once desired to sit the throne. Such power was only a means to an end. If the title of king bestowed the authority to reach more of the people and end their suffering, if it meant that no one could interfere with his calling, he would take it. That was all. That was why, when told he’d been chosen, he’d returned home.

　“Ever does that mouth of yours twist the truth in your favor,” Somnus spat. A flash of blue, and he stood with sword in hand.

　Ardyn found himself confronted by the gift of blades, as bestowed by the gods upon House Caelum. Weapons summoned at will, now brandished by brother against brother. Ardyn knew he could stay Somnus if he must; the power was split evenly between them.

　“It was me, Brother. I was chosen by the gods!” Somnus raised his sword high and brought it crashing down.

　Ardyn prepared to catch the blade with his own, when another voice rang out.

　“Stop!”

　Aera leapt before him.

　“Aera!” he shouted.

　Her body caught the flash of steel, and she fell. And to Ardyn’s eyes, the whole world was bathed in red.

Cold. Dark. Pain. They were everything. There was nothing else.

　He was in a place deep underground, one never to be graced with the sun’s rays. Thick chains held him fast a dozen times over, allowing him not even the tiniest movement. And beyond the chains, beyond the walls of his stone cell, the sea extended in every direction. There was no escape from this place.

　Angelgard. An island long revered by man. A place where the gods used to gather. The tides and winds pulled strong here, as if they were incorporeal guards stationed to keep mortals away. Days fit for a ship’s landing came but a few times a year, he’d heard. Even if he managed to break the chains and force his way free of the stone, he’d have no means to return to the mainland.

　Why?

　For some time after his imprisonment, it was the only question that ran through his mind.

　Why am I here? Why am I still alive?

　He saw the weapons―spear and sword―still lodged in his flank. As they’d slipped in, red blood gushed out, as it would with any mortal man. But the blood stopped far too quickly, and the wounds closed up. Around the steel still lodged in his body.

　“He’s become the monster I knew he would be . . . ”

　Somnus’s final jeer echoed in his mind.

　No. The daemons were not monsters. They were simply victims afflicted with disease. That they returned to normal when the scourge was lifted from them was proof enough.

　To save them, he’d simply had to remove the scourge residing within them. But what of himself? What of the scourge residing in the man who healed others? Filled with more Starscourge for every soul he saved. What would happen to him?

　Ardyn had felt in some vague way that he’d not be able to contain the scourge within him forever. That if he continued to absorb the darkness from others, he’d eventually lose his mind and lash out at those around him. He, too, would one day be a daemon.

　“Your devotion shall not go unnoticed. The gods will doubtless be watching over you.”

　Yes, Aera. The will of the gods must not be questioned. They work in mysterious ways―ways which our feeble minds could never fathom. So, too, did I believe.

　“Stop!” she had screamed, before the blade ended her life.

　Aera, no! Oh, how foolish you were. Why did you lay down your life to protect me? Me, the monster who can never be struck down.

　Worse still for her to die at the hands of a coward. A man able to raise his sword without a trace of guilt against an opponent unarmed and unaware. How could such a man be allowed to sit the throne?

　Thus was sown the first seed of doubt about the gods and their ways. When Ardyn held Aera as she slipped from the world, as he climbed the altar stairs and reached a hand to the Crystal, he’d felt so certain. A man who slaughtered innocent lives was fit not for ascension to the throne but to be cast down by bolts of judgment.

　Gods, now is the time to deliver thy wrath! Please let us see your true will!

　With all his strength he’d prayed. Surely this sacred stone bestowed by the gods would set everything right. Surely it would light the true path forward. It had to.

　But Ardyn’s wish was rejected. The Crystal’s harsh light knocked both he and Aera away.

　“By the authority of the crown,” Somnus had proclaimed, “I, Somnus of House Caelum, hereby announce the establishment of the new and righteous Kingdom of Lucis. Know ye that henceforth, anyone who turns their sword against Lucis shall not live to see another day!”

　Ardyn lay crumpled on the ground as Somnus, suffused with the pride of victory, struck him with those words. He did not even think to stand. He couldn’t. He lay motionless, with no desire to move.

　If this was the will of the gods, to name a king who massacred his own people at the mere suspicion of scourge, had all Ardyn’s labors meant anything at all?

　“See that this traitor is dealt with at once!”

　“Traitor”? Must you still carry on this charade? It was your plan all along to kill me. So desperate were you to have me draw my sword that you ended Aera’s life.

　Somnus had killed her, their devoted Oracle so attentive to the will of the gods, all to see his own mad ambitions through. And still the gods did not punish him.

　Could the gods truly be so blind? Is the heaven in which I placed all my faith filled with fools? Or was Somnus so cunning that he deceived the gods on high?

　Had Somnus known? Perhaps his grab for the crown preempted the Oracle’s revelation. It seemed ample reason to see her mouth forever silenced. But if he had yet to hear the will of the gods, then why the ruse? Aera surely would have voiced her upset as Somnus arranged the ceremony. Which meant . . . the gods must have chosen Somnus.

　How had Aera felt when she learned of the gods’ will?

　“The gods will doubtless be watching over you.”

　No, Aera. The man the gods chose pays no heed to his people. He thinks not but to sate his own desires. We two will not be watched over. The gods have abandoned us.

　Or perhaps Somnus had no need to deceive the gods, and they simply cared not at all. Why should a god show concern over life and death among men? The fact that one man alone possessed the power to stay the scourge, or that a murderer sat the throne―perhaps all such things were but idle diversions to the gods.

　Was it only for heaven’s amusement then that Somnus had ascended, Aera had died, and Ardyn now spent his days as a monster locked away in darkness? If so, life was a farce. Somnus was out there, his throne more comfortable with each passing year, reveling in his power and doing as he pleased. All the while, his subjects suffered, ignored in the shadows.

　But . . . what of it if they suffered? What made them worthy of care and protection, that Ardyn should lay down his own life to provide for theirs? Somnus’s men had looked upon him with eyes full of fear and disgust. “Monster,” they’d spat, as they thrust their blades in him with no trace of hesitation. Monster, indeed. Doubtlessly even the people whose illness he’d healed would treat him the same once he turned into a daemon. “Ardyn the Savior,” they’d cheered, “Lord Ardyn Lucis Caelum, destined to be our king.” Hands that had once clapped for him would grasp for stones to hurl at him and drive him away. It had been a mistake, perhaps, to try to deliver them from the scourge. Maybe everything he’d known and done, from the very beginning, had been in error.

　Anger festered in him, of a kind different than what had ignited on Aera’s death. This was a quiet rage. It grew bit by bit, threatening to consume him from within, until there came a day when nothing but rage was left.

　Down here, he would have all the time in the world to brood. To foster his hatred.

Ardyn knew not how much time had passed, how many years he’d hung in chains. Decades, perhaps. Surely it couldn’t have been centuries.

　Oh, Aera. I’m so weary. There is nothing here. No windows through which light may shine. No doors opening to the outside world. Only cold walls of stone on every side.

　Once Ardyn had been securely bound in his prison, Somnus had sealed up the only entrance with layers of stone.

　Living on in that empty place, unmoving, merely existing, had grown so tiresome that Ardyn began to yearn for death. It was torture anew―another thing he longed for but would never have.

　Please, my love, do not let melancholy cloud your face . . . Yes. I know, I know. You are but an illusion. It is my mind alone bringing such sorrow to your brow. But I’m afraid there is naught else for me to do here.

　If only you’d lived. If only Somnus’s sword had not found you, and we’d fled to some faraway land to grow old together.

　No, in the end, he’d have suffered all the same. Though she could pass into death, he could not, and the day would still have come when he held her lifeless form, weeping like a fool. Because he chose to absorb the scourge and bring succor to others, now he hung in darkness alone. An endless suffering for he who sought to end suffering. The greatest of ironies, all because of the preposterous power thrust upon him by the gods.

“Forgive me.”

　Aera? Why are you apologizing? You’ve done nothing wrong.

　“Forgive me.”

　No. Stop. You mustn’t say that. Please, my love. I would remember your smiling face. Smile for me, lest I forget that face forevermore.

　“Forgive me.”

　No. Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I call your happiness to mind?

　“That’s hardly a surprise.” Now it was Somnus’s voice. “You’re a monster, Brother. Happiness is beyond you.”

　Curse you, Somnus! Begone! Why do you still plague my mind?

　“Foolish woman.”

　Silence! Enough with your arrogance. Enough with your constant disparagement of those you think beneath you. I know you for what you’ve always been. Do you?

　“And why should a king not look down on those he rules? The quality most needed of a king is the ability to subjugate. To dote upon the people only ensures that the nation shall be forever weak.”

　Begone!

　“I was chosen by the gods, Brother! Me!”

　Why did this specter continue to haunt him? Somnus’s was the face he least wanted to see. Everything in this dark prison was but a figment of his mind. So why would his brother not go away? How did he always manage to return of his own accord?

　“You would turn your blade against the king?”

　Yes, he most certainly would. If the king and the gods that named him could be felled, he would most surely do it. But so many years had passed already.

　Dear brother, he began.

　You are already dead.

He hung for ages in that endless, boring existence. If only someone would come to kill him, to bring an end to this interminable tedium. He craved death’s sweet release. He wished to be gone from the world, to be free from the endless workings of his mind.

　Anyone. I care not who. Please end me. If it can be done, end this entire world.

　I’m so very tired . . .

There was a rasping sound, like steel working against stone. A slight wrinkle formed on Ardyn’s brow. Leave me in peace, he’d meant to mumble, but his throat produced only a hoarse moan.

　The rasping ceased and silence returned, but only for a moment. Next he heard boots marching across the ground. Dozens of them . . . No. Of course there had been no sound, Ardyn chided himself. It was a figment of his imagination, one among the countless that haunted him every day.

　After hanging imprisoned for so long, constantly mulling over the events of the past, imagination and reality had become blurred in his mind, and the line between the two was difficult to draw. On the many occasions he was visited by Aera’s figure and voice, he was certain he felt her breath and the warmth of her body.

　Thus, the footsteps and the voices they carried were easy to dismiss as a fantasy or dream.

　“Good, Brother,” Somnus said. “You know your fate well. No man shall ever set foot in this place. I have decreed it so.”

　Still his brother’s voice came. Still he failed to banish it or drive it away. Nothing vexed him more thoroughly.

　There were more footsteps, closer this time. Shouts accompanied them.

　“Watch it!”

　“This way!”

　“Keep your eyes open!”

　What was all this noise?

　When Ardyn’s gaze drifted upward, lazily, still without any real interest, it was met with a sudden, blinding pain. A stream of searing torture assaulted his eyes.

　Light.

　For the first time in how many hundreds of years―no, much longer still―he was bathed in the uncaring, relentless wash of light. His other senses suggested men present in the cell, surrounding him, but he could not confirm by sight, as his eyes remained squeezed shut against the glare.

　“He’s alive!”

　Ardyn heard a laugh.

　“Just as the ancient texts told!”

　Of what did this man speak? Who was he?

　“Who . . . ?” With great effort, Ardyn forced the one word out. Its tenor was unfamiliar. Either his throat had warped with the long years of silence, or more likely, he’d simply forgotten the sound of his own voice.

　Suddenly, he was falling facedown. The chains and restraints had been severed, and Ardyn, unable to support his own weight, went crashing unceremoniously to the ground. His arms and legs lay limp, unresponsive to his will.

　Then, in another instant, he felt pain in his chest and flank. The weapons embedded there were being pried free. It was a rough, ripping sensation, underscoring the fact that the blades had become one with his flesh as the ancient wounds healed over.

　“Take him away!” The command came from the same man who had laughed earlier. The order―and its tone―made his position in relation to the others clear.

　Ardyn felt his body rise. Hands gripped him from either side.

　“Don’t touch me . . . ” he said.

　He wanted to brush the hands away, but not a one of his fingers would heed his mind’s commands. Concentrating every bit of strength in his body, he could barely manage to raise his head slightly. It was a pathetic display.

　Still, when his eyes finally grew accustomed to the light, the new angle allowed him glimpses of the men who had brought an end to his isolation. The two carrying him seemed to be rank-and-file soldiers. They were clad in curious garb, unlike anything he’d seen before. But they carried themselves in the manner of trained troops. Of that he was sure.

　Somnus would have been long dead. Perhaps the men were under the orders of one of his brother’s heirs.

　From some distance away came another voice, this one strange, somehow inhuman.

　“Status report.” It was accompanied by a crackling noise, like kindling in a growing fire. The noise and the voice’s hollow quality made it difficult to sift out the words.

　“We’ll have the medical team ready as planned. We’re ju―!”

　There was a noise like distant thunder, then silence.

　“Shit. Move!”

　What the cause for upset was, Ardyn could not fathom, but he felt the men at his sides quicken their pace. The edges of the light at his feet began to blur. Cold crept across the uncovered skin of his shoulders and torso. He gathered his strength and lifted his head a bit higher, now able to see almost straight ahead.

　They were headed toward a rectangular opening―it was a door to the outside. The outside. He could see it. New sounds echoed from beyond the doorway. Heavy objects colliding with each other. Shrieks of pain.

　“We knew they’d come. Keep moving forward,” the leader ordered, his voice low.

　Who else was here that this man had expected to encounter?

　The next instant, the world stretched out around him on all sides. The sky was the color of ink swirling its way through a vessel of water. It might have been dawn, or perhaps it was day and the weather harsh. Still, it felt unbearably bright to eyes accustomed to an eternity of darkness.

　A little farther ahead, several figures stood facing them, clad in black, with weapons held at the ready. At their feet lay several men in armor identical to that of the soldiers at Ardyn’s sides.

　Suddenly, the hands were gone, and he was pitching forward again. He heard the men to either side of him groan as they both crumpled to the ground. Their defeat had come so easily, Ardyn wasn’t sure if it was a sign of their weakness or their enemies’ strength. They were enemies . . . weren’t they? Clearly there were two factions at play here, but Ardyn had no idea which was friend and which foe.

　He found the strength to rise from the ground and observe his surroundings, more annoyed than curious. One of the men clad in black barked out, “Adagium sighted!”

　Another word he didn’t understand.

　“Get it back in the cell―no matter what.”

　Ah, they’re speaking of me, he realized. Is that what they call me? “Adagium”?

　“We can’t let that thing off this island!”

　Tiny objects zipped through the air, rushing toward him. Pain streaked through his side.

　“Stop . . . ” he moaned.

　His chest seared with agony. It was some manner of assault he’d not encountered before, but the pain itself was the same as he’d experienced so long ago.

　“Cease this . . . ” he pleaded.

　His flesh tore, his guts spasmed. These were sensations he hadn’t felt in ages. Sensations he’d desperately wanted to banish from memory.

　“Cease this at once!”

　Anger welled up from deep inside him. He felt the fresh wounds closing. A man with short swords clenched in both hands rushed at him, and Ardyn’s arms rose to intercept the blow. It should have been a fruitless defense: Ardyn had no weapon but his bare fists. Instead, he flung his attacker away. The man’s body spiraled through the air, swords spinning away in opposite directions.

　“Unbelievable. He really is a monster . . . ”

　In a flash, Ardyn found himself on top of this other soldier―the one who had called him a monster―and was pummeling him into the ground. He’d heard the insult so many times he ought to have been numb to it, yet at its sound his blood boiled.

　“Who did this to me?” he demanded.

　Why did he have this monstrous strength? He had never wished for such a thing.

　“For what sins must I atone?!”

　Rage filled him, and another man who happened to enter his field of view found himself its target. Ardyn made a fist, into which seemed to flow every bit of anger he possessed. His knuckles drove deep into the man’s body. His bloodcurdling cry echoed in their surroundings.

　Then time stopped.

　To Ardyn alone, the world was frozen. The barren stone landscape of Angelgard was replaced with a new scene, a summer day bright enough to leave him dizzy. Large white boxes were neatly aligned atop gray earth. Pillars in the ground flickered with red and green lights in curious shapes. It was strange. Baffling. And stranger still was the means by which the images came. He saw them not with his eyes: they arrived directly in his mind.

　“These memories are not my own . . . Could they be his?”

　His wife stood beside him, a smile on her face. A small hand clutched his own. He felt another small weight and the warmth it exuded draped across his back. It was his family. It was . . . the family of this man beneath him.

　Other memories came in succession. A deluge of scenes.

　Lucis.

　Insomnia.

　The king.

　“Graaaugh!” Ardyn could do naught but shriek and stare. This man―this soldier―was a subject of the kingdom built by Somnus. The Kingdom of Lucis, now ruled by its 112th king, Mors Lucis Caelum. Descendant of House Caelum. No. Descendant of Somnus. “This man . . . belongs to . . . ”

　Ardyn’s vision shifted once again. The flood of images had stopped, and now, under his gaze, lay the man he’d beaten to the ground. Except he was a man no more. From black sleeves protruded hands equally as black. Diseased skin with which Ardyn was well acquainted, along with the languid black haze he knew it to emit.

　“I didn’t purge him of the scourge; I bestowed it upon him . . . ” he said to himself in disbelief.

　He looked down at his own hands. When he’d driven them into the man’s body, they’d seemed suffused with his anger. He could still feel it. And that concentrated rage seemed to have turned this man into a daemon. His mind reeled at the prospect.

　His entire life, he’d labored to deliver the people from the scourge’s grip. Even if it meant becoming a monster himself, every life touched still meant another soul delivered.

　Now, rather than saving a soul, he’d infected one. Now, his body was a vessel that poured the scourge into another. It was too great a contradiction for his mind to accept.

　“Incredible!”

　Beside him, clapping his hands in a decidedly exaggerated fashion, was the pretentious man who had ordered Ardyn taken from the prison of stone. He seemed to have withdrawn to a safe distance during the scuffle, waiting to see how things unfolded.

　“His power’s unbelievable!”

　Ardyn studied the man more closely. His silver hair was carefully slicked back, and his uniform heavily adorned. He very clearly was of a different pedigree than the men he commanded.

　As the man strolled closer, he threw his arms wide. His features retained a dignified reserve, but his eyes radiated a strange intensity. This was a man to whom morals meant nothing, one of those who dreamt of atrocious schemes and cared not what price they carried. He was a man of Somnus’s ilk, and Ardyn wanted nothing to do with him. Ardyn tried to move away but found his limbs unresponsive once again.

　“Hey!” the man exclaimed as Ardyn fell.

　But his voice was already far away, and blackness closed in on all sides.

His eyes opened to a familiar vista. Ears of wheat gently bowed in the wind, the field extending as far as he could see. Above them stretched the evening sky. Aera stood beneath the outstretched boughs of their tree.

　Oh, Aera, how I longed to see you. The real you. Not the pathetic imitation conjured by my mind. How I begged for one more chance to be with you. Come, let us sit in the shade and talk as we used to do. There is so much I have to tell you.

　But as he ran toward her, she was not smiling as she should have been.

　“Aera!”

　She was somber, gazing at something over his shoulder. Ardyn turned. Somnus was there.

　“Forgive me, Brother. But the throne seats only one!”

　Why do you still go on about the throne? Unless . . . you were never meant to sit there?

　“Stop!”

　A longsword flashed into Somnus’s raised hand, and Aera threw herself in front of the blade as it came crashing down. Crimson welled from the wound. Ardyn stood frozen, unable to do anything at all.

　“Why . . . ?”

　This last whispered word came not from Ardyn’s mouth but Aera’s. It seemed strange. Shouldn’t he be the one to ask why? But he felt certain that back there in the sanctuary, it had been Aera who spoke that word. What had she meant?

　Ah, of course. This is a dream. The same dream as always. I’ve seen it so many times, it’s more vivid than reality. An ancient tale, still unfolding right before my eyes. Her body in my arms, growing cold.

　“Gods, no! Aera . . . !”

　He awoke with a start. A dream that was all too real was now replaced by a reality that could have easily been a dream. The ceiling above him shone with an unnatural luster. The bed in which he lay did not smell like a bed. The room around him was cluttered with furniture. Every object in sight was much too gray and had shapes that were far too straight and uniform.

　Ardyn rose from the bed, but the strange room did not vanish. That alone seemed to prove that this was not a dream. A sigh escaped his lips. Would he never be free from this unfathomable world?

　“Ardyn Izunia.” A metallic voice rang out with such perfect timing, he had to imagine its owner waiting patiently for the sleeping man to wake. Ardyn flicked his gaze about, searching for the speaker, but he was alone. Then he remembered: it was one of this world’s many devices meant to carry voices from afar. The contraptions had been absolutely baffling to him at first, but time saw him develop a modicum of familiarity with them.

　“Chief Besithia would like to see you.”

　What drudgery. Of course Chief Besithia wished to see him. The man always did, and every interaction was a chore. Verstael fancied himself single-handedly responsible for waking the ancient monster sealed at Angelgard and returning it to the modern world. Worse yet, he now assumed his new pet to be at his constant beck and call. From the moment Ardyn had been carried into the facility, the poking, prodding, and questioning had been ceaseless. He’d have refused, had his weary body and mind not deemed resistance the greater nuisance.

　I wish he’d give up, Ardyn thought, and leave me be. There isn’t anyone I wish to speak with. There isn’t anything I wish to do or any place I wish to go. I’d be content enough back in the monotony of that stone prison.

　He did not, however, make any of those thoughts known. Trying to do so would have been a tedium of its own.

　“Might as well head out.”

　Each footfall was accompanied by a faint, hollow tap. He’d somehow managed to accustom himself to the dreadfully uncomfortable shoes everyone wore. But the clothes still irked him. They cinched at his waist, constricting around him in a way quite unlike any other garment he’d known. Any movement of his arms was accompanied by an unpleasant tugging at the shoulders. He felt restrained. Pinned down. As he continued down the hallway, he grumbled to himself, “I daresay this outfit wasn’t tailor-made.”

　He knew that such comments would scarce resolve his complaints. Such garb was common―even expected―by the people of this “year 722 of the Modern Era.” Ardyn passed through a great sliding doorway made of some material even colder than the walls of his ancient stone cell: just one more strange and off-putting experience for him that, to everyone else in this world, was so regular as to pass unnoticed.

　The troopers posted at seemingly every door and in every hallway were all clad in the same uniform, faces indistinguishable under the same masked helmet. It made the people, too, seem strange and unnerving, as if they were not men at all, and this place devoid of all life beyond Ardyn himself. Perhaps that, too, contributed to the ever-present blurring between reality and dream.

　He trudged through a long corridor until he reached the doors at its end. This “research lab” of theirs was a place of simple, straightforward design.

　When he opened the doors, he found a room empty of researchers save Verstael, who sat stiffly in a high-backed chair at a dining room table. The man extended a hand without rising, his movements theatrical as always. Repeated exposure to the man’s mannerisms and speech had not bred familiarity so much as barely suppressed irritation.

　“Come. Have a seat,” Verstael invited.

　The spacious table was laden with a lavish array of dishes. “I thought we might enjoy a nice chat over dinner.”

　Ardyn lowered himself into a seat at Verstael’s urging, but he was uninterested in the food. He’d been served countless meals since his arrival, and as with the garb, he found them strange and unpalatable. The things piled atop each plate looked unapologetically artificial. Bread rolls in a nearby basket were the only items he saw that he felt certain were edible.

　“Are you not going to eat?” Verstael asked.

　When Ardyn didn’t respond, the man continued, unperturbed. “You’ve been asleep for years. Learning to appreciate the waking world again will take time.”

　Ardyn had no appetite. He saw no reason to force himself to consume objectionable food. After all, he did not risk death for lack of it.

　“How long has it been since you brought me here?” he asked.

　“Two hundred and four days,” Verstael responded. “Roughly seven months or so.”

　The revelation surprised him. Had it really been that long? Ardyn reflected on what had happened since his arrival. Aside from periods spent under observation, attached to the strange equipment that filled the facility, he’d spent the majority of his time asleep. Perhaps that was how the days had passed so quickly.

　“Then again,” Verstael mused, “the Lucians had you locked away in that prison for nearly two millennia. I’d be more surprised if you hadn’t lost all concept of time.

　“You must loathe those Lucians for what they did to you,” he added.

　Ardyn gave only an irritated sigh in response.

　It was not that he did not care, but he had little need of a lecture on the subject. Verstael had neither ties to nor understanding of the matter. Ardyn found his smug air distasteful, and he had no desire for the man’s sympathy.

　“Was your examination of me a fruitful one?” he asked.

　Verstael and his researchers had poked and prodded to their heart’s content. Something better have come of it.

　“Oh yes. You’ve proven far more fascinating than expected. No wonder they kept you locked away. To think the powers of a daemon could dwell within the heart of a man. It’s incredible!”

　Verstael was all too excited to explain, as if he’d been waiting desperately for Ardyn to broach the subject.

　“The Starscourge doesn’t sap your life force. It gives you more! Your cells can regenerate themselves, and you can daemonify other life-forms as well. There’s no doubt. You are―”

　“A monster,” Ardyn finished.

　“Not a monster. A marvel.”

　All a matter of wording, Ardyn thought.

　Whatever words were used to describe him, it did not change the fact that Ardyn was something other than human.

　“I can’t wait to unravel all your mysteries,” Verstael continued.

　“What is it you want from me, anyhow? What about me interests you so?” Ardyn asked.

　“We need those powers that you possess. With your strength on our side, we could finally put an end to the gruesome war with Lucis.”

　An end to the war. Put more bluntly, the goal was to see all of Lucis’s lands under the empire’s control. The man never could settle for direct expression.

　“You, too, must desire the fall of the kingdom that cast you into exile?”

　Verstael seemed to peer into his mind as he spoke, and Ardyn found it incredibly disconcerting. He stood from the table and turned his back on the other man.

　“My desires are all in the past.” Ardyn’s reply was curt.

　When he’d first learned how long he’d spent in the depths of Angelgard, he was stunned. It was no longer an issue of whether Somnus was alive or dead; this world wasn’t even aware of what had transpired all those centuries ago. The Kingdom of Lucis had no record of a man named Ardyn Lucis Caelum ever existing. So what did he stand to gain by dredging it all back up? And even if he’d wanted to, what means did he have to take action?

　“The man who wronged you may have died long ago, but his descendants live on to this day. Surely you must bear them some feelings of ill will?” Verstael prodded.

　Ardyn turned to glare at the man and the infuriating smirk he wore.

　“My feelings are none of your concern.”

　He took no care to hide the scorn in his voice, but Verstael seemed unfazed. Quite the opposite, he appeared to believe Ardyn’s response an indication that he’d been right all along.

　“Come along,” Verstael said, rising from the table. “There’s something you should see.”

　Ardyn could have chosen to ignore him. To walk away without another word. He couldn’t imagine a thing in this world now able to catch his interest. Yet he followed obediently as Verstael made his way down the facility’s other hallways.

　“I found something most interesting on the Rock of Ravatogh,” the chief said.

　Something I should see. Something most interesting. The fact that Verstael was able to entice him suggested that, somewhere deep inside, Ardyn still possessed some spark of curiosity. He’d spent two millennia locked away on that lonely island. And though the days outside wore on, for Ardyn time had been at an unchanging standstill. It would have been a lie to claim he had no interest whatsoever in the world’s course over all those centuries.

　“This way.”

　And many of the objects that filled Verstael’s laboratory were admittedly striking. There was a miniature panorama fashioned after the face of the Star itself, a thing quite beyond the drawn atlases Ardyn had known in his own time. Verstael had called it a “model,” describing it as “how the gods must feel, looking down upon our world.” On examining it, Ardyn had found Angelgard. The island where he’d spent two thousand years in captivity was but a speck, hardly larger than a pebble in the grand scale of the world. The mainland shore that had seemed so impossibly far away was now separated from the island by just a thin line of blue. All the lands Ardyn had known in his own time―his entire world―occupied but a fraction of Verstael’s modern map.

　Aside from the model, there were the specimens―daemons harvested for study―and great paintings, stretching from floor to ceiling on the laboratory’s vast walls, that depicted the events of the Cosmogony. The displays were all grand, but they never seemed to have visitors to entertain or enlighten other than Ardyn. They seemed to exist largely for Verstael’s own amusement.

　Soon the corridor narrowed and canted downward at a steep slope. Ardyn felt as if he were walking through a giant, angled tube. It was a strange, unsettling sensation.

　“Right down here,” Verstael coaxed.

　They reached a dead end to the tube, and Verstael placed his hand upon the metal surface with a knowing smile. There was a shriek of shifting metal, and the dead end was no more. It was like no door Ardyn had seen before, but it was a door nonetheless.

　On the other side was a vast, open space. Verstael strode in and stopped, gazing at something beyond and below. Ardyn realized the room was divided in half by a long, transparent wall. He’d seen such partitions in other areas of the facility. Usually they were placed at right angles, forming boxes to house the labs’ many specimens: creatures stripped of their flesh, bare skeletons, and other such oddities.

　This one must have served a similar function on a larger scale. But there was another type of object he’d not encountered before: huge cylinders extended at a downward angle from opposite walls. They each expelled a steady stream of white mist.

　Ardyn drew closer to the partition. Peering in, he discerned a large, humanlike shape lying flat on the ground, shrouded in the mist. The shape may have been human, but he’d known no man even half so large.

　“Is that . . . ?” Ardyn began, only to trail off.

　Verstael grinned. “Ifrit, the Infernian.”

　For a moment, Ardyn thought he’d misheard. The huge figure, however, seemed of a size befitting an Astral. The being that lay there would have had no trouble crushing a man in just one of its enormous fists.

　“You subjugated a god . . . and brought him here?”

　“He was sound asleep, just like the legends said he’d be, so we put him on ice.”

　After the War of the Astrals, the gods, having used up all their strength, were said to have fallen into a deep slumber. The spot where the Goddess of Ice lay became a region of bitter cold; the bed of the Infernian, a mountain spitting fire.

　“Do you think you could turn him?” Verstael asked.

　Ardyn’s eyes widened. Turn a god into a daemon? It was absurd. Beyond fantasy. Something only a madman could conceive of.

　Verstael continued to probe. “You’re able to keep the memories of those you daemonify, yes?”

　At some point during the many hours he’d been under observation, Ardyn had spoken plainly of his experience on Angelgard, when the memories of the daemonified soldier had flooded into his mind. Perhaps it was a detail he should have kept to himself.

　“If you manage to daemonify a deity, you could learn truths no mere mortal could ever dream of knowing. It’s certainly an enticing offer, isn’t it?”

　“How so?” Ardyn asked dryly.

　“You’ll access two thousand years of his memories, and if you can control him, he’ll be a weapon of supreme power. Just think. You could exact sweet revenge through divine retribution!”

　Ardyn cut him off. “How do you know what I want?”

　Revenge? On Somnus’s descendants? The very idea was absurd.

　“I don’t,” Verstael responded. “But I know you have no other options.”

　Ardyn did not care. Anger and hatred still burned within him, as strong as ever. But too many years had passed. He was centuries removed from the age he knew. Nothing he did now would matter.

　“Suit yourself. This was not the only thing I had to share.”

　At Verstael’s urging, Ardyn proceeded down another corridor. Nothing sparked his interest. Everything was gray and bland and devoid of life. All of it had so little to do with himself. Still, this seemed somehow better than returning to his room. He half listened to the scientist’s ramblings as he slowly trailed behind.

　The bottommost level was a large hangar area. From its size, Ardyn guessed it was used not only to store but also to test the weapons and large mechanized suits Verstael adored so much. It stretched on and on, several times the size of the room housing the dormant fire god. The ceiling, too, was several times higher, and in that vast space, Verstael’s animated voice began to echo, much to Ardyn’s annoyance.

　“Do you spend every waking moment thinking about daemons?” he asked the man.

　Ardyn had meant it as a jab, but Verstael responded with a broad smile and deep nod. “Aren’t they wondrous creatures? I adore their strength! So utterly does a daemonified entity surpass the pitiful constraints of a human. I envy you.”

　“You envy me?” Ardyn asked.

　“A human life is too short to truly understand all there is to know about the world. If my time on this star spanned millennia like yours, oh, the things I would do!”

　Ardyn would have gladly handed over the burden of eternity if he could. But scarcely had the thought formed in his mind before it was disrupted by a crashing sound and the sudden sight of several black shapes dropping to the ground. The intruders rose, and Ardyn knew them for what they were: the same forces that had attempted to intercept his extraction from Angelgard. The Lucian Royal Guard. Soon more were arriving in the hangar, warping in one by one from somewhere outside.

　“Lucians! But how?!” Verstael spat, face twisted with malice, but the soldiers ignored him.

　They moved quickly, surrounding Ardyn.

　“So you’ve come to kill me, have you?” he asked. It was a question that hardly needed an answer; he remembered the words of those he’d encountered on the island. Get it back in the cage―no matter what.

　“Or die trying,” a woman’s voice answered all the same. Her features were obscured, and she resembled Somnus not in the slightest, yet suddenly Ardyn found himself staring at Somnus’s face.

　Maybe the association was logical. She was, after all, a Lucian―a subject of the kingdom established by Somnus and watched over by his successors.

　But it was more than that. Though the weapon she brandished was a far cry from a longsword, her movements were strangely familiar. When she rushed in to strike, he saw his brother’s footwork. His brother’s hands. Why? Why did she seem like . . . ?

　“Because it is me, Brother. I’m here, come to kill you.”

　It was Somnus’s voice. Again. The same voice that had taunted and tortured him in the depths of Angelgard.

　“Just as you would kill me. Right, Brother? Well, I’m afraid to say you’ll never know the satisfaction of taking my life.”

　“Silence!” Ardyn screamed.

　He raised his arm to block the incoming blade. Pain ripped its way through his flesh, but he did not care. The wound would close soon enough.

　“I’m already dead, and have been for some time,” Somnus continued.

　With a violent shake, Ardyn dislodged the sword from his arm. It went clattering across the floor―along with its black-clad wielder. She still wore Somnus’s face.

　“Though I may be gone, my legacy lives on in Lucis!” his brother taunted. “It lives on in the minds and hearts of the soldiers before you.”

　“Enough of this! Begone!”

　Ardyn’s red blade flashed into his hand, and he slashed at the soldier. From her chest―from Somnus’s chest―came a fountain of blood, and then she lay in a heap on the ground.

　Another Somnus rushed him from behind.

　“While you were lost in slumber, I was busy building a kingdom! What sort of legacy have you left behind, Brother?”

　“Silence! Away with you!”

　He matched blows with Somnus after Somnus, blade swung with such ferocity that it lodged in the floor at his feet and gouged chunks from the walls. Still his brother would not disappear. “Where’s that backup?!” a voice shouted, far away and faint.

　An explosion roared through the facility. The lights went out, but the darkness was momentary, soon dispelled by the glow of red flames spouting through a great hole in the far wall.

　“Blast! The cooling unit!”

　Light from the flames flickered across Verstael’s anxious expression. His eyes were wide, and for a moment, Ardyn forgot about the soldiers all wearing his brother’s face. He followed the researcher’s gaze.

　There was something unnatural about the flames. Pouring through the gaping rent in the wall, they were now scorching the high ceiling of the hangar. They twisted and writhed as if they possessed a will of their own. The black smoke billowed upward, filling the room, and as the flame and smoke intertwined, they formed the nebulous shape of a giant arm.

　There was a splintering noise, and the fire spread farther. The giant arm broke through more of the wall, and a body wreathed in flames passed through, landing on the floor of the hangar. In its other hand it held a giant, fiery sword.

　“He’s awakened!”

　Ardyn finally understood the reason for Verstael’s panic. The explosion must have been the sound of the cooling unit rupturing. With the ice melted, there was nothing left to restrain the Infernian.

　“We must stop him before he destroys everything!” Verstael yelped.

　There’s little chance of that, thought Ardyn. This was a god. Verstael and the others were now dealing with something quite apart from a once-human monster.

　The Pyreburner spoke, his words strange and haunting. The language was impossible to parse, but the god’s tone was clearly not a friendly one. His giant blade came smashing down, engulfing the floor of the hangar in a sea of flames. In an instant, the Lucians in their black garb were naught but ash.

　Out of the corner of his eye, Ardyn saw Verstael bolting away, a shrill shriek escaping his lungs as he fled. The fact that he was running at all was a testament to the malevolent man’s luck.

　Ardyn stared up at the Infernian, making to neither flee nor fight. Verstael’s earlier words floated to the forefront of his mind.

　Do you think you could turn him? Just think. You could exact sweet revenge through divine retribution!

　With the passing of two millennia, Ardyn had thought his lust for revenge long withered. Somnus was dead. Killing his descendants seemed to serve little purpose.

　But his mind and heart were at odds. The anger and hatred had never left him; still they smoldered deep in his breast. That was why the Somnus of his mind―the illusion that had taunted him―said the things it did. My legacy lives on in Lucis. It lives on in the minds and hearts of the soldiers before you. Somewhere deep inside him, Ardyn longed to see an end to the Lucian line.

　He was so wrapped up in these thoughts that he failed to notice the motion of the god’s flaming hand. It was too late to run. Soon he was in the grip of a fist that could crush a man with no effort. There would be no escape. No matter how much he struggled, he would not break free of this grasp. Ardyn had only one means to resist.

　“Power . . . ”

　He funneled the darkness―the rage―into the palm of his hand.

　“O Infernian, grant me the power to take Somnus, his people, and his cursed kingdom . . . ”

　The same sensation he felt when he’d turned those soldiers into daemons surged through his arm. The Pyreburner’s great frame shook. Soon Ardyn felt his own body ablaze, ignited by the Astral’s unquenchable heat. Yet Ardyn’s hold did not slacken. His fingers dug into the deity’s arm.

　“ . . . and burn them all to the ground!”

　The Infernian fell to his knees. “Fool!”

　The cryptic sounds coming from the Astral’s mouth began to convey meaning. The words of the gods were no longer a mystery to Ardyn.

　The hand clutching him slackened, and he was cast to the floor. No doubt the process would take far more time with a god than it would with a man, but the scourge was beginning to take hold.

　“You dare to subjugate the divine?!”

　Ifrit’s memories flowed into Ardyn’s mind. He witnessed the moment when man was given fire, and the days when civilization enjoyed the Infernian’s patronage. Solheim dawned and flourished, its technology ascendant. Man grew arrogant. Then betrayal. Rage. The Great War of Old. The Six subsiding into slumber.

　Beyond that, there were memories of the Crystal. Ardyn was fascinated to learn that it not only relayed the words of the gods to the Oracle, but also served as means for the sleeping gods to observe the human world. The realization came in bits and pieces, as he observed faint images that could not have been lived by the Infernian himself.

　He saw Aera, kneeling before the Crystal. She wore an expression unlike any he’d known in his countless imaginings at Angelgard. It bothered him that there was any side to her he didn’t know.

　“Aera!” he called, though she could not hear.

　The head bowed in prayer tipped back suddenly, as if with a gasp. Her face seemed to radiate joy. Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks were flushed pink.

　When Ardyn caught the image reflected in her pupils, he was stunned.

　“No . . . How could that be?”

　It was his own face swimming in her eyes. There could be no doubt. Aera was seeing his image in the Crystal. The meaning was clear.

　“I was the one chosen to be king . . . ?”

　The gods had not selected Somnus.

　“Why . . . ?”

　It was the word she’d spoken during that final confrontation in the castle. It had played back endlessly in his mind, a swirling uncertainty that finally made sense. Her final, soft utterance as her life slipped away. The question she’d asked when the Crystal rejected Ardyn’s outstretched hand.

　This was what she’d not been able to understand. Why had the Crystal turned away the man chosen to be the Founder King?

　Two thousand years’ pondering had bestowed on him some clues. Clearly the gods had, at one time, settled on the man who cared for his suffering people. They’d seen him most fit to serve as king. But as he absorbed more and more of the scourge into his body, he became something other than a man. He acquired strength not meant for mortals, a power so unnatural that it offended the Crystal. Or perhaps it was the scourge itself that the Crystal could not suffer.

　In any case, the choice of the gods and approval of the Crystal were in contest. Perhaps it was an oversight on the gods’ part; perhaps they cared so little for man that the error slipped by unnoticed.

　It was a development not likely foreseen by Somnus either. To him, it must have appeared as a great stroke of fortune. Surely the people assembled there saw what transpired and deduced that Ardyn had not been chosen. All that would have remained for Somnus was to silence the only other voice aware of the truth. With the Oracle gone, there would be no one left to convey the knowledge that Somnus had never been granted the gods’ favor.

　The Crystal faded from view, and Ardyn found himself standing amid a vast expanse of flame. If what he’d witnessed was the truth, then that meant . . .

　“It was Somnus’s lie that killed you!”

　Aera floated before his eyes once more. At some point in his cell on Angelgard, he’d lost the ability to envision her smiling. Now, too, her face was clouded with sadness.

　“Forgive me.”

　Why do you apologize? It was all a trap laid by Somnus.

　“I defied the will of the gods and revealed to Somnus you had been chosen to be king.”

　No. It was Somnus’s cunning. His scheming pried the revelation from your lips.

　“It’s my fault. I’m the one who ruined your future!”

　You were deceived! That is all! You’ve no sins to atone for!

　But no matter how strongly he objected, she refused to acknowledge his protests, as if even now, in death, she remained entangled in Somnus’s wiles.

　“In the names of the gods above . . . fulfill your calling, Ardyn, and punish me for my sins! Kill me!”

　Why was she the one to suffer pangs of guilt? The one who must pay was Somnus, not Aera. Somnus was the one who deserved death!

　“Too bad,” his brother announced. “I’m already dead, and have been for some time.”

　Another Somnus appeared before his eyes. Another trick of the mind he could neither kill nor send away. This was the man who had deceived everyone, who had killed Aera and usurped the throne. No number of deaths dealt to him could ever be enough to see justice served. Yet he would never die at Ardyn’s hands. How could such a travesty be allowed to stand?

　“This monster may not be able to destroy you, but I’ll see to it that I destroy everything you built!”

　The nation. The bloodline. He’d destroy it all. Just as the name Ardyn Lucis Caelum had been expunged from history, he’d see to it that Somnus Lucis Caelum and everything connected to him was eradicated.

　In an age past, Ardyn had believed himself called upon by the gods to save the people. Now, he’d have to kill them.

　“Hear me, gods above! No longer shall I supplicate you for pardon.”

　Gone was the obligation to obey the gods who failed to see through Somnus’s deception.

　It was the gods who had allowed Lucis to flourish, who brought no punishment down upon it.

　“No longer shall I sojourn toward the light. Nay . . . the path I intend to tread is paved with blood and darkness.”

　His faith had been unwavering. He’d lived for the people. Now he saw what a fool he’d been. His faith belonged with no one else. He’d seek strength only for himself, labor to see only his own desires filled.

　And the only desire he had was for revenge.

　He would agree to Verstael’s proposition and aid the man with whatever he desired. It would be a means to see the end of the Caelum bloodline and the destruction of the Kingdom of Lucis.

　“No longer shall I seek your guidance. This path is mine to tread alone.”

　As Ardyn thought of Lucis and all the many ways it would be brought to ruin, a great burst of laughter welled forth from deep within him. It was some time before the laughter stopped.

“Verstael, this is the man of whom you spoke?”

　“Yes. Ardyn Izunia, Your Radiance. He has proven to be of vital importance to our technological progress.”

　Ardyn kneeled respectfully, his head bowed. An audience with Iedolas Aldercapt, emperor of Niflheim, was not a thing granted lightly. Yet the emperor’s gaze wandered aimlessly. He seemed to have little interest in his visitors or their news.

　Just a short time ago, the response would have undoubtedly been quite different. House Aldercapt had long aspired to see the glories of Solheim restored to the world, and of all its members who had sat the throne, Iedolas was the most ardent proponent of magitek development. Merely a hint of a plan to speed production of their prized new infantry should have been enough to secure his rapt attention.

　The lukewarm response was likely tied to tragedy: his empress had passed, freed now from the burden of her mortal coil but leaving her husband alone and despondent. They’d had only one child between them―a boy not yet a year in age, and thus much too young to soothe his father’s sorrow.

　Still, in a sense, Iedolas’s despair was quite fortunate for Ardyn. The man was beloved by his people as being both wise and just―perhaps more the former than the latter. He endeavored to rule over the people fairly, but his real talent lay in shrewdly guiding the growth and development of his nation. In other words, he was calm and his decisions were rational. It was a fact that, until now, had been a slight inconvenience to Ardyn.

　But when a man has lost something that cannot be replaced, his judgment tends to suffer. Reason knows no greater enemy than a sense of loss.

　Ardyn wanted desperately for Iedolas to covet more, to greedily grasp for things beyond his means. On that point, he and Verstael were in full accord. The researcher was eager to see more of the empire’s budget dedicated to military expansion, and Ardyn wished the emperor to grow more bold in his conquests―and thereby hasten the downfall of Lucis.

　“The studies we conduct on the daemons bring us great advances in development, Your Radiance. But we are equally indebted to this man for the materials and information he provides.”

　At Verstael’s grand introduction, Iedolas finally deigned to look Ardyn over. However, in all likelihood, he felt less interest in someone of Verstael’s recommendation than annoyance with the researcher’s incessant talk.

　“Your Majesty.” Ardyn stood, interrupting Verstael before he could launch into further address.

　The scientist shot him an irritated look. This is not, he seemed to say, what we agreed upon.

　“Pardon my candor, but I wonder if perhaps Your Majesty might have interest in a way to stave off death?”

　Ardyn was taking a chance by disposing with formality, but he’d decided it was the best way to pique the emperor’s interest. Since his wife’s death, the man had undoubtedly been addressed with the utmost delicacy by all who approached him.

　“Stave off death, you say?” Iedolas raised an eyebrow.

　Hook, line, and sinker. There was nothing more effective than the loss of a loved one to kindle a hatred of death and the desire to cheat it somehow. Wise and just Iedolas might be, but in the end, he was still a man. His loss and yearning would drive him to take action, no matter how rash.

　“Yes, Your Majesty. In truth, study of the daemons and the scourge will open the door to more than just might. It is a key element to discovering the secret to immortality.”

　Ardyn peered into the emperor’s face. He’d dispensed with protocol altogether.

　“Just think,” he continued. “A body that cannot perish. The means to reign for time everlasting. Doesn’t that sound magnificent?”

　In Iedolas’s eyes, until then dull and lifeless, a fire began to burn.

With the prospect of immortality dangled before his eyes, Iedolas agreed to most everything that was proposed. Ardyn found it an almost trivial matter to lead the man around as he wished.

　Ardyn provided the daemons and Verstael conducted the research. The discoveries and inventions were progressing more rapidly than ever before, and soon they were creating myriad new machines of war. Never for a moment did Iedolas doubt that the techniques used to fashion weaponry would one day also pave the way to his fountain of youth. So the money kept flowing, copious, to keep the research moving forward.

　Ardyn had already been installed as chancellor, which brought him freedom to travel both within the empire and without, along with ample amounts of authority.

　He urged the emperor to take an aggressive stance on Lucis. Countless numbers of Niflheim’s magitek creations were sent to the front lines, managing even to take down a portion of the Wall. Lucis was forced to pull the barrier back to Insomnia’s borders, so that the king could see it strong enough to resist further assaults. The empire then moved its forward forces to occupy the lands at Insomnia’s doorstep, and with those new bases as footholds, Ardyn ventured forth, daemonifying the former subjects of Lucis with the scourge and thus adding to his store of knowledge about the kingdom.

　The murder of innocent lives brought him no feelings of guilt. The objections and criticisms he’d once cast at Somnus were gone, along with the self that had voiced them. Now, to kill was an act of no great import.

　He was steadily climbing toward his goal of vengeance, on a stairway built with the blackened bodies of the Lucian people.

His driver was not a particularly talkative man. It struck him as unusual. Most taxi drivers chattered on incessantly from the moment you entered the car, as if afraid to let you get another word in once you’d given your destination. The passenger ended up spending the ride with his mouth shut out of necessity, not volition.

　“In other news . . . ”

　Because this driver was of so few words, Ardyn could hear the radio broadcast in perfect, uninterrupted clarity.

　“ . . . a member of the border patrol has been reported MIA since sometime before dawn this morning.”

　It was a mildly inconvenient time for this particular story to break. Ardyn decided a bit of prudence might be wise. Men with guarded tongues often boasted sharp ears.

　“The missing officer has been identified as twenty-eight-year-old Mars Sapientia.”

　He rubbed at the tiny splatter of blood on the ID badge at his chest. For such men, sometimes it was not only their ears that were sharp. Ardyn briefly considered keeping a hand over the name on his badge for the remainder of the ride. Perhaps he could cross his arms and keep the badge concealed with that casual gesture. In the end, he did not try. A person’s memory was a fickle thing, plagued by uncertainties. Ardyn knew that better than any. A name repeated over the radio would be gone from a listener’s mind in minutes. No, an awkward attempt at concealing the badge would draw more attention than not.

　“Although Officer Sapientia allegedly reported for duty at his appointed time, fellow officers say he disappeared soon after and has not been sighted since.”

　At the reporter’s last line, he wanted to laugh, but carefully held back. The border patrol could search all they wanted. They’d not find their poor officer. The real owner of the guise he now wore had been a daemon for hours. Mars Sapientia no longer existed as a human.

　Ardyn did not remember when he’d found himself capable of this particular trick or how, but over time, adopting the appearance of others had become second nature to him. Maintaining the guise of Officer Sapientia was no particular strain, and it was something he intended to keep up for the duration of the day’s events.

　Should he happen to run into any of the officer’s acquaintances, the knowledge he’d gained from the man as he transferred the scourge would keep the secret safe. Even Mars’s closest friends wouldn’t be able to see through the ruse. Ardyn knew everything about him, down to the tiniest quirks.

　Suddenly there was light, as the car came out of the long tunnel into the sunlit city. Ardyn grimaced slightly and turned away from the window. He normally took great pains to keep the sunlight from his skin, but the typical uniform of the border patrol left his face exposed. Well, that wasn’t quite right―a regulation faceguard would have been standard with the uniform, but it would have seemed a rather conspicuous choice inside the taxi. Ardyn leaned forward, pretending to be absorbed in the sights of Insomnia straight ahead, and in doing so, kept himself that much farther from the window and the rays that streamed in.

　He’d not walked the streets of Insomnia before, but he knew the city well, its layout absorbed bit by bit with each soldier of Lucis who fell at his hands. Most men in the border patrol had set foot here at some point, and among Ardyn’s “informants,” there was even a man who had once been granted an audience with King Mors. Others had fought on the front lines under the command of Crown Prince Regis.

　Or rather, King Regis. Mors had passed some five years ago, and it was Regis who now sat the throne. Ardyn smiled at the irony. He perhaps knew more about the Crown City and its doings than any of the kingdom’s residents.

　“What about you?”

　It was the driver’s voice that interrupted his reverie. The man’s words took a moment to register.

　“Shouldn’t you be lookin’ for your buddy?”

　Of course. The missing soldier. So the driver had been paying attention to the radio broadcast after all. He’d failed, however, to notice the name on Ardyn’s badge. Typical.

　“Oh no,” Ardyn replied casually. “I’m on special assignment.”

　The taxi was already cruising through downtown Insomnia. This seemed as good a spot as any.

　“Pull up over there, if you would.”

　No sooner was the door open than he found himself plunged into the bustle of the city. There was laughter, faint strains of music, the sound of cars rushing this way and that. Ardyn climbed out. The sunlight stung. It was a revoltingly fine day.

　“Home sweet home at last.”

　Two thousand years. Not a trace remained of anything he’d ever known. Gone were the golden fields of wheat, the birdsong, and the smell of soil carried upon the breeze. Instead, he saw skyscrapers and streets of gray, lined by rows of trees spaced with artificial precision. And everywhere the kingdom’s banners flew overhead.

　“So this is the city Somnus built,” he mused to himself.

　People thronged the roads and plazas, eagerly celebrating the founding of his brother’s kingdom.

　“Built on the back of his own flesh and blood.”

　All those around him were caught up in the atmosphere of revelry, spirits high, so oblivious to the truth of their homeland. Everything they knew and cherished was built atop a foundation of lies and betrayal. How little they knew of their history. How little they knew of anything.

　“Just look at them, free of care and unaware of the war beyond their Wall,” he sniffed. “What need is there to worry when brick and mortar blind them to the suffering outside?”

　Surely the residents of the district of Galahd in Cavaugh had once thought the same. Never had they imagined a day might come when their happy home would no longer be protected by the Wall. Yet, nine years ago, the barrier keeping Lucis’s enemies at bay was scaled back to the ramparts of the Crown City, and Galahd enjoyed the protection of the Wall no more. Demise was ever a swift thing. It might arrive without warning, yet even if there were signs, no one ever paid them heed. The creature known as man was all too eager to avert his eyes from the unpleasant.

　“Trapped within these walls, they cannot even see how wide the world truly is.”

　Beneath this sliver of blue crowded by skyscrapers, the citizens of Insomnia chattered away with empty heads. They’d never known hunger. They’d never known cold. They hadn’t even faced the terror of disease. They were fools to the last, and nary a thought had entered their minds beyond where they might turn for their next moment of excitement, their next laugh.

　“What a dismal existence.”

　Amid the laughter and music came the chirp of a loudspeaker. “Welcome to the Founder’s Day Festival. In a moment, the parade will begin making its way through the city.”

　Ardyn smiled. He’d show them something more exciting than rank after rank marching down the streets. Soon the whole city would dance in red. A garland of flames for every man, woman, and child. Together, they would celebrate Insomnia’s demise.

　“Now let the fireworks begin!”

　His right hand shot into the air, to summon forth Ifrit, the God of Fire. Soon fear would fill the city. The Infernian would be a storybook myth no longer. The people would stare upon the god with their own eyes, and then they would tremble and scatter in glorious panic.

　Yet nothing happened. The citizens around him continued their merriment, vapid expressions intact.

　“Oh dear,” Ardyn mumbled.

　In fact, no one had even paid his now-embarrassing display the slightest attention. Well, almost no one. There was a single small child staring at him, a look of confusion on her face as Ardyn stood with arm still upstretched.

　“That’s odd.”

　Ardyn tilted his head, but the mystery was soon solved. A chorus of screams arose―but from a wholly unexpected direction. The ground rumbled in the distance, and he heard the shattering of glass and shriek of twisting metal coming from buildings nearing collapse. From a side street in the distance licked tongues of unearthly flame. And then the Pyreburner was there, on the grand boulevard for all to see, fire curling around his colossal form and the massive blade he wielded in one hand.

　“Oh, cursed be the wavering whims of the gods,” he moaned. Though a daemon under Ardyn’s control, the Astral yet managed to carry out commands only in the ways he saw fit. He refused to come obediently when summoned and seemed always a wild stallion, ready to throw off the reins and run mad at the slightest opportunity.

　“Oops,” Ardyn said, jumping to one side.

　Jagged bits of rubble pierced the spot where he’d just stood. The Infernian continued to attack whatever portion of the city was closest to hand. The daemon god seemed wholly unconcerned as to whether the wreckage would fly in Ardyn’s direction.

　Tides of flame surged across road and plaza, charring black anyone whose flight was not sufficiently swift. Shrieks of panic no longer filled the air. Now Ardyn listened to the agony of death: anyone near enough to hear was either forever silenced or soon to be so.

　“Now, then,” he said. “It would seem the Infernian has things taken care of over here.”

　Ardyn proceeded down the boulevard, opposite the path of the fleeing citizens, mentally listing off the next steps to take. His to-do list distressingly long.

　“Ah. I almost forgot.”

　He turned and caught sight of a stalwart member of the Crownsguard, doing his best to stay his own hysteria and direct the flow of panicked citizens. Ardyn flagged the man down, asking, “Could I borrow that?”

　The man’s look of disbelief was soon replaced with anguish as his body collapsed to the ground in a black haze. Not a soul around seemed to notice. They were all too absorbed in their own flight from the flames to care what happened to anyone else. Ardyn picked up the fallen soldier’s radio and checked to see it was on.

　“Ah, so glad to finally find one,” he mused. Officer Sapientia had, much to Ardyn’s dismay, carried a different model―one not attuned to the frequencies used within the city walls. “Good. It’s all coming in loud and clear.”

　Every channel was a confusion of yelling and barked orders. It grated on his ears and also brought its own delight. Ifrit had only just arrived. It would be a while before anyone grasped the full situation, and longer still until any organized response would form. Confusion among the city’s leadership was patently apparent.

　“Do enjoy yourself, my infernal friend,” he said, waving cordially. “You seem to have everything well in hand here, so I’ll go on ahead to prepare.”

　Phantasmal leaps brought him easily to the top of a nearby building. From that high vantage, the extent of the inferno was easy to see. And what a wonderful sight it was. But he had other business to attend to. The memories of a certain technician, recently deceased, informed him that elevation was key when hijacking a broadcast signal. Gigantic screens mounted throughout the city all showed a close-up of a female news anchor. Her eyes darted about nervously and her mouth was tight as she delivered her report: “Attention, all citizens. An enormous, unidentified life-form has appeared near the Citadel. The creature has begun emitting flames, turning the area around the Citadel to a sea of fire. All citizens must evacuate immediately. I repeat: Attention, all citizens . . . ”

　The screens flickered blank, and then the woman’s words were replaced by another, deeper voice.

　“Testing, one, two, three. Is this thing on?”

　Another flicker, and now it was Officer Mars Sapientia on display throughout the city. Ah, that wasn’t so difficult. Ardyn smiled to himself. It was quite amusing to see himself on-screen, speaking with another’s voice and likeness. It certainly made for a novel experience.

　“Greetings, people of the Kingdom of Lucis! Do forgive me for interrupting the festivities, but I must tell you this day of rapturous revelry shall be your last.”

　He saw one citizen stop, bewildered by these new words, only to be quickly engulfed by the flames around him.

　“Call it ‘divine retribution,’” Ardyn continued. “False kings and fraudulent nations are fated to perish.”

　The Infernian’s great blade sliced through yet another building, and a cascade of rubble crushed several lives below.

　Ardyn smiled. “Sins of the past must not go unpunished. The time of reckoning is at hand!”

　The smell of scorched debris and burning flesh reached him on his high perch. Today marked the final day of the history of Lucis and the first day of his retribution upon the world.

　“Well, time to set to work. I beg you, good king and people: do struggle. It will make this far more satisfying for me.”

　Now they would watch as he undid a nation grown vast in his two-thousand-year absence. And it would take only a single day. Nay, it would take but a few hours.

　The screen flickered again, returning to the female anchor, her face now stricken with astonishment. That, too, would be gone soon. Either the monitors would crack and burn, or the woman herself would be charred black. It was hard to say which might come first, but that knowledge was assuredly only minutes away.

　“Attention, all units. This is your captain speaking. Code red. I repeat, code red. Follow your commanders’ orders and get the situation under control.”

　One clear voice rang out amid the turmoil on the Crownsguard frequencies. The initial confusion seemed to have passed.

　“Every word, clear as day,” Ardyn said, admiring the stolen radio. “The wonders of technology!”

　The radio chirped again. “Clarus here.” Clarus. Ardyn had heard the name somewhere before. No . . . he’d seen it somewhere before, among someone’s stolen memories. This voice must belong to the leader of the Crownsguard, Clarus Amicitia.

　“Have you identified the creature?” Clarus asked.

　A subordinate replied, “Not yet, but we believe it to be daemonic in nature.”

　“A daemon?!” Clarus exclaimed. “But how could it possibly withstand the daylight? Why is it here now?”

　Why? Because I summoned it, Ardyn thought, stifling a laugh.

　“For now, help the citizens evacuate. The Royal Guard will take care of the giant.”

　“Absolutely, sir.”

　He’d wanted to spend a little more time on his perch above the city, looking down on the suffering below, but it seemed he could afford to dawdle no longer.

　“Evacuate? Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?”

　Every last subject of Lucis had to die. There could be no survivors.

　“Yoo-hoo! Oh, Ifrit!”

　The Infernian drew near, and Ardyn dove, plummeting back to ground level. Between the two of them, the Crownsguard mobilizing at their current location wouldn’t have a chance to reach the fleeing civilians. Slay those trained to organize the evacuation, and there wouldn’t be much of an evacuation left to stop.

　The strokes of the Pyreburner’s great blade tore through the guards’ ranks, leaving the better part of their number ablaze.

　“My, but the gods’ might does inspire.” He beamed, as Ifrit continued to ravage soldier and city. “Though I must admit, they’re not much for detail work.”

　A lucky few soldiers managed to avoid each strike, but their luck was short-lived. In the god’s wake came Ardyn, who dispatched the remaining troops one by one, their movements so dull and predictable that to him, they might as well have been standing still.

　“The Crownsguard is almost wiped out, sir. Target is still on the move.”

　“Special forces are on the way. Try to hold out until they arrive!”

　“Special forces” undoubtedly referred to the Royal Guard. He’d encountered them before on Angelgard, and again at Verstael’s facility. Clad in black, with faces obscured, they were also combatants of significantly greater skill than their Crownsguard brethren. Ardyn realized they’d be a bit of a nuisance once they arrived. He was anxious to have the rest of the fodder mopped up before that happened.

　No sooner were the last of the Crownsguard units downed than several black-clad soldiers warped in. A new voice came over the radio. “Engaging the target.”

　At Ardyn’s first blow, the same voice spoke again, its timbre changed. “He’s so strong.” Ardyn heard the words twice, once with a slight delay. He realized the soldier he was hearing on the radio was the same man he was attacking just then.

　“Sending backup!” Clarus barked. “Don’t let him get away!” But by the time the order came, the man was dead.

　“So sorry to disappoint,” Ardyn mused, “but I think I’ve had enough of being restrained for one lifetime.”

　He felt another enemy at his back and dodged the incoming blow without turning. Then he was circling, shadowstepping in a great arc to get behind his assailant. Or rather, assailants. As Ardyn closed in, he realized there were several. Not that it mattered. They’d die all the same.

　“Currently engaging the target,” a reinforcement from the Crownsguard chimed in as he reached the area.

　“Are you quite certain you have time to be talking right now?”

　But the man continued to report as he and Ardyn clashed. “Sir . . . I don’t think he’s one of us!”

　“See? You’re leaving me all kinds of openings.” And then this man, too, was dead.

　Not that it would have mattered if he’d stayed silent and entirely focused on the fight. The outcome would have been the same.

　“Then what the hell is he?” Clarus demanded over the radio.

　What am I? Ardyn thought in response. Why, I’m me! Would it have even been possible to explain? Better to leave simple minds blissfully unaware of the complexities of immortal life.

　Another crackle of static. “Sir, we’ve identified the giant! It’s the Infernian―Ifrit, the Infernian!”

　“An Astral?!”

　“My, does information flow at a leisurely pace in Lucis,” Ardyn quipped. They all fought with movements heavy and cumbersome, like men flailing underwater, and it seemed their minds moved just as slowly.

　“Yes, sir. One of our officers seems to be controlling the Infernian, but we can’t get an ID on him.”

　“What?!” Clarus shouted. “Find out who he is at once!”

　“And to think I wished to savor their struggle,” Ardyn sighed. “Oh well. I suppose I can’t expect a legacy such as my brother’s to produce the greatest minds of the day.”

　He pummeled another man into the ground, then looked up. The battle seemed to be over, all enemy combatants dispatched. What an underwhelming start. He pondered where to go next. Was it better to finish off the other Crownsguard squads doubtlessly mobilizing in sectors all across the city? Or perhaps he ought to let them organize an evacuation after all; let them gather the entire populace in one convenient location for swift and total annihilation.

　Another transmission sounded, this one different from the others.

　“There seems to be some kind of disturbance. What’s going on?”

　Ardyn checked the radio, but it was silent. He shifted to look at another device he’d brought along―an imperial transceiver. Of course. The voice belonged to Verstael, presumably still positioned just beyond the Wall.

　“Why, whatever do you mean?” Ardyn smiled as he responded.

　“Fine, I’ll not ask,” Verstael said. “Now, I need you to locate and destroy the devices amplifying the Wall.”

　“As you wish. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

　If they could manage to bring down the Wall, Ardyn could leave the slaughter of ordinary citizens to the imperial army.

　Hard to argue with efficiency, he thought. Then aloud, “Now, where in the world might those dastardly devices be . . . ?”

　He’d merely been speaking to himself, but Verstael seemed to take the question as addressed to him. “I’ve marked the location of all the devices they’re using to amplify the Wall.”

　The transceiver’s screen displayed an aerial view of the city. Several red circles dotted the map.

　“They seem to be positioned on rooftops around the city. Find them and destroy them.”

　“With pleasure,” Ardyn replied. “I’ll be sure to keep you abreast of my progress.”

　Then, with the transceiver carefully muted this time, he sighed. “No rest for the wicked.”

　He examined the screen, determining the best route to reach the first device. The answer was the rooftops. Up high, he’d be able to avoid the Crownsguard grunts scrambling among the city streets. One less annoyance to deal with. He sighted the tallest building nearby and leapt with phantasmal force to the top.

　As he warped along, he developed a sliver of appreciation for the densely-packed buildings. Down below on the city streets, they had felt cramped and claustrophobic, but now they afforded unexpected freedom and ease in his quest to find the amplifiers.

　As he neared the first marked point, an unusual bit of architecture entered his view. It had to be the structure housing the amplifier. It was of elaborate design, looking somewhat akin to a small temple or pavilion, and nearly every surface was covered with intricately patterned carvings. Inside stood a large stone figure, which seemed to glare from its post as Ardyn drew near. The statue seemed familiar. Ardyn recalled something resembling it in one of his many borrowed memories.

　“The Fierce, is it?” Ardyn chuckled.

　Tonitrus Lucis Caelum. One of the Kings of Yore. As for when, exactly, he was part of his nation’s history, the borrowed memory did not say. Perhaps it was a mystery that would remain ever unsolved.

　“In any case, what terrible taste in headgear.” Ardyn shrugged, then turned to inspect the fixtures positioned at each of the structure’s four corners. They seemed to be some manner of repository meant to channel magical energy. Smashing them would undoubtedly disrupt the amplifier. Ardyn moved in a circle, taking them out one by one, but his destruction of the fourth was met with an unexpected bellow.

　“I have sworn to vanquish all who would besmirch this sacred place.”

　The deep, booming voice came from inside the structure. When Ardyn lifted his eyes, he beheld the speaker: the great stone figure shuddering to life atop its dais, its surface glowing with otherworldly light.

　“Oh dear,” Ardyn sighed. “The kingdom’s defense budget is surely nothing to scoff at.”

　He’d assumed the Wall was designed exclusively to repel external assaults. After all, if no enemy could get inside the city to begin with, why bother mounting more of the Crystal’s defenses on the inside? It seemed a reasonable enough assumption. More importantly, not a single one of the many daemonified soldiers had offered up memories suggesting otherwise. It only served to underscore how uninformed underlings always were. The details of real importance were leagues above their pay grades.

　A lattice of light flashed into place on every side of the rooftop. It was the same hexagonal grid design of the Wall itself, on a miniature scale. Clearly, this was meant to bar the escape of anyone who tampered with the amplifier.

　The stone Guardian lurched forward. It slammed its mace into a portion of rooftop occupied by Ardyn not a split second before. Its weapon was immense―one blow would have sufficed to smash any mere human to a pulp―yet the Guardian’s movements were sluggish. The power of an attack meant nothing if it never connected. Ardyn would soon be victorious, and he wouldn’t even have to break a sweat; all he had to do was devote a fraction of his attention to avoiding the mace.

　Moreover, with the Starscourge able to infect both flesh and stone, his arsenal was as robust as ever. Whether man or statue, the Guardian’s fate at Ardyn’s hands would be the same.

　The battle did not take long. When it was over, the statue fashioned after the Fierce faltered, light fading from its surface, and then the stone itself crumbled and vanished into thin air. The grid of blue light surrounding the rooftop vanished, too, and Ardyn was free to move on.

　As he made his way, he heard more chatter from the Crownsguard radio.

　“Sir! One of the Wall amplifiers has been destroyed!” The young officer’s voice was panicked.

　Clarus’s response came quickly. “But why would he target them? Is this a Niff attack?”

　Goodness, Ardyn thought. You’re still all the way back there? He found it hard to believe that this was the man leading the kingdom’s esteemed Crownsguard. Could he be any more obtuse?

　“We haven’t sighted any imperial soldiers inside or outside the Wall, sir.”

　“Then they must have sent him to do their dirty work,” Clarus replied. “Stop him at once!”

　Ardyn chuckled. At least they seemed to be on the right track. He began heading toward the next marker. There were seven amplifiers in all. But the thought of dancing the same dance six more times seemed a bit wearisome. At least all seven were installed within the relative vicinity of the Citadel. It wouldn’t take long to move from one to the next.

　The next device involved a bit more effort. This time, the stone Guardian was not alone. With it were several of the Royal Guard. They were more nimble than the regular fodder, but their attacks had grown predictable; they engaged him in the exact same manner as when he’d dealt with them on the island and at Verstael’s facility.

　“Oh, how I tire of entertaining you,” he moaned.

　He needn’t fear death at their hands, but the attacks they landed were admittedly painful. And their cries of fear and surprise quickly grew stale―over and over, the same shouts of “Monster!” and “He’s not human!” that he’d heard from countless mouths already. It was a bother he’d have sooner avoided.

　Still, for all the burden they posed, the harvest was great. The Royal Guard represented the best of the best―the information they had access to was far beyond that of the normal troops. A captain among them might even sit in on an occasional briefing about the most sensitive of topics. The memories Ardyn gained this time around included several terms he’d neither read nor heard before.

　“Most interesting. It seems they’ve another line of defense waiting to deploy.”

　The Wall of Lucis and its efficacy at deflecting invasion was known far and wide. This new bit of information seemed to be about another capability. “The Old Wall,” they called it. A wall in name, perhaps, but in function it seemed something else entirely.

　“In times of crisis, they call upon the Kings of Yore to come to their aid.” Ardyn hummed in mock admiration. “Bless their souls.”

　So the ancient kings lay in wait, ready to defend the land. When things looked dire, they’d materialize to drive Lucis’s enemies away. Of course, the information provided by the memory was secondhand. Even the king’s personal guard seemed to know little about the Old Wall, and the now-daemonified soldier hadn’t actually seen it. Perhaps no one had. Perhaps it hadn’t been activated in ages. Still, the information seemed detailed enough to trust.

　“If they summon the Old Wall, perhaps I’ll see that long-lost brother of mine.”

　His body shivered with delight at the unimagined possibility. Somnus was dead. Therefore, there was no hope of confronting him directly. Ardyn had come to accept the destruction of Somnus’s line and nation as a poor consolation, but now . . . This was the chance to get what he truly wanted. If his brother’s spirit could be called forth, it could be crushed. He could crush it. Ardyn looked down at his outstretched hands. With those very hands, he might yet kill Somnus!

　Strength and glee filled his body anew. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, his new objective clear: bring the kingdom to the brink of collapse, and thereby create a crisis ripe for the Old Wall to intervene.

　“He’s going after the Wall amplifiers, sir!”

　“He took out another one?!” Clarus responded. “I’ll station reinforcements around the amplifiers.”

　“Sir!” the underling replied.

　As Ardyn obliterated each subsequent Guardian and operative, the messages between members of the kingdom’s guard continued to flow. Each victory inched him closer to his goal. How many devices were left? While contacting Verstael, he counted out on his fingers the number of towers he’d vanquished thus far.

　“Are you there? Can you hear me?” Ardyn spoke into the transceiver. “Almost done. How does it look?”

　The empire’s plan had been simple: disable the Wall from the inside, then launch a general attack with the imperial infantry. Ardyn’s part seemed to be nearing completion.

　“Quite promising,” Verstael’s response came. “We should be able to break through the barrier with a well-timed assault. You ought to evacuate, lest you get caught in the crossfire.”

　Meanwhile, another statue had lurched to life, and Ardyn was engaged in another fight.

　“Yes, but there’s something I must attend to first,” he said into the transceiver as the combat raged on.

　Once this Guardian was laid to rest, it was time to see the Old Wall summoned. And to do that, he’d need to pay a special visit to someone.

　“I’ve got a king to kill,” he announced to Verstael.

　“What?” the chief’s tone grew shrill. “That wasn’t part of the plan!”

　“I’ve finished my work; now it’s time to play.”

　“But we―”

　Ardyn cut him off. “No ‘buts.’ You just stick to your plan and keep the boys in black busy for me.”

　He cut the transmission and silenced the device. The infantry could manage the destruction of Insomnia and the massacre of its citizens. Ardyn had a new priority.

　“Yes,” he crooned to himself. “It’s time to play.”

　He dove down to the rows of trees lining the roads below, then hopped from one to the next, humming as he went, ripping banners and snapping flagpoles of Founder’s Day decorations he encountered along the way. Rubbish, all of it. A nearby loudspeaker blared a single word, over and over: “Evacuate! Evacuate!” He smashed it to silence its inane parroting.

　His earlier time spent thinning the Crownsguard’s numbers had paid off in spades. There was hardly a soul in sight. No one would challenge him or slow his own little festival of destruction.

　“Such a mess,” he laughed. “Whoever is going to clean it up?”

　The answer, he mused, was “no one.” From this day forth, Insomnia would be a ghost town. There would be nothing left to maintain.

“Oh my. What big walls you have!” Ardyn said, standing at the front gates of the Citadel. “All the better to look down upon his enslaved subjects from.”

　Not a guard was in sight. It would have been unthinkable at any other time but for the chaos. Every free hand, and then some, was needed to attempt to stay the Infernian and organize the civilian evacuation.

　“Priorities, priorities.” Ardyn chuckled. “This is what you get when the men you command can’t even stop to think for themselves.”

　He pushed through the gates and strode into the large, unobstructed courtyard that led up to the Citadel proper. A glance was enough to see that it wasn’t only the gates that were unmanned: the Citadel’s entire guard detail had been dispatched elsewhere.

　“Time to call in a favor with the king and have him summon my beloved brother,” he said, making his way across the courtyard. Just then, someone emerged from the Citadel doors. Ardyn made no effort to turn or flee; he was but a simple soldier on duty. His presence wouldn’t invite the slightest suspicion. Or so he thought.

　“Something wrong, Officer?” The tone was sharp, as was the stare. As the speaker drew close, Ardyn recognized him.

　“Ah, you must be His Majesty.”

　“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” the man replied, but the implication of his tone was clear: I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you.

　Numerous memories had featured this face and the gentle smile it apparently was known to wear. Others showed it bearing a solemn dignity well beyond its years. But not one soldier of the kingdom―or at least none of those into whose minds Ardyn had delved―had been forced to confront the monarch he saw now, a man with a cutting gaze, ready to do away with any opponent.

　“Why are you here?” the king demanded.

　As the 113th of his line, undoubtedly naught but a trace of Somnus’s blood flowed through his veins. Little of him reminded Ardyn of his brother. But details be damned, this man―Regis―was a king of Lucis, and that alone was enough reason for him to die.

　“Why, for you!” Ardyn declared. His crimson Arms flicked through the air, headed straight for Regis. The apparitional arsenal of their shared heritage. This was the proper means to kill a man of Somnus’s line.

　Regis’s own blue blades were instantly summoned forth in response. The two men stood like that for a brief moment, Ardyn’s weapons at Regis’s throat, Regis’s at Ardyn’s.

　“The Royal Arms! Who are you?!”

　The clash had undoubtedly unnerved Regis. Set against the king was his own power―the spectral weapons bestowed by the gods, subject to the command of House Caelum alone. Only those born to the royal family could wield them, or the trusted individuals to whom they imparted a portion of that power. And now here stood a common soldier, unidentified and wielding the Arms of Kings.

　Yet those of the royal house should be at least somewhat aware of the ancient truth they’d carefully wrapped away in lies.

　“You ought to know,” Ardyn taunted, “being a man of royal blood yourself.”

　“Adagium!”

　As Ardyn anticipated, Regis had immediately understood, drawing from memory the name of the monster entombed on Angelgard. There was no one left in the kingdom who knew the name “Ardyn Lucis Caelum,” but “Adagium” they did know. What cruel irony that Niflheim should now stand closer to the truth of that ancient era than Lucis itself.

　Whether or not Lucis knew the truth of its own history, it would suffer all the same. But it would bring Ardyn greater pleasure if they understood by whose hand their end had come.

　“In the flesh,” Ardyn replied with a chuckle. “Here to bring the bloodline of Lucis to an end!”

　“Hear me, Adagium! On my honor as king, I will vanquish you!”

　“Oh dear. What an awful thing to say to your own flesh and blood.”

　The Royal Arms still hung in the air, each set of weapons straining to bite flesh but stayed by the force of the other. Suddenly the arrays of red and blue were dispelled, and the men turned to blade in hand to further the fight. Regis moved with speed and precision, wielding his sword with all the valor Ardyn had observed in his stolen memories. The king’s skill with the blade might have excelled that of Somnus himself. Ardyn could easily imagine Regis on the front lines as Crown Prince, alongside his men in the thick of battle.

　But as the king exchanged blows with Ardyn, his surprise grew apparent.

　“Such power . . . !” he gasped.

　“Yes, I’m afraid that trait seems to have skipped a generation or two.”

　Battling the Royal Guard had been a bore. The Crownsguard foot soldiers were even worse. But Regis put up a proper fight. It was exhilarating. The kingly barrage would have proven fatal had Ardyn been a man of mortal flesh. Still, Regis’s movements lagged just a moment behind those of his undying opponent.

　“This monster must be contained . . . ” the king gasped as the fight raged on. “He’s too dangerous. He must be stopped!”

　“Must I? Really? By whom, may I ask?”

　Ardyn’s body was immortal. Nothing could fell it, not even a king of Lucis. Even if he were stabbed in the chest, or his throat torn out, though blood would gush forth for a moment, the ragged edges of the wounds would quickly knit together, his flesh made smooth and whole once again.

　But for Regis, every nick and scratch would sap his strength. Each blow landed upon him would slow him down, and in the end, no matter how great the power granted to him by the gods, his mortal body would know its limit.

　“What’s the matter?” Ardyn smiled. “Can’t keep up?”

　Ardyn whirled, a circling shadow of miasma, reforming behind the king. He thrust forth his hand. One sure grasp and the scourge would flow. Oh, what a pleasure it would be to turn Regis into a daemon before striking him down. The king was unfortunately swift, however, and Ardyn’s fingers closed on air.

　But though his grab may have missed, his blade struck true. It opened a great gash in Regis’s side, and the fight was over.

　Anguish filled the defeated king’s eyes. “I swore to protect my people . . . ”

　He groaned and pressed one hand to the wound, as if he might stop the flow of blood. He staggered, and although he did not fall, neither did he manage to stand and raise his blade.

　“Done already?” Ardyn taunted. “But the fun’s just begun.”

　Do you hear, dear brother? his mind added. The king of Lucis groans in agony. Do you see? Your scion is a wretch, brought to his knees in disgrace.

　Ardyn towered above Regis and issued his command.

　“Summon the Old Wall.”

　Regis stared up in disbelief. Ardyn kicked him, and the king’s bloodied body tumbled across the flagstones of the courtyard. Regis came to rest faceup, his features contorted with strain, as if he were determined to lift himself back to his feet. If that was indeed his goal, the struggle was in vain: his body remained motionless on the ground.

　“How do you know about that?” Regis’s words came in broken gasps.

　“I’ve heard the souls of kings reside within those statues,” Ardyn said. “Of course, that’s only hearsay. Why not summon the Wall so we can see for ourselves?”

　Regis’s hands trembled. He began to curl one into a grip, but it quickly fell limp again. It seemed the man could not summon forth the Royal Arms.

　“What I wouldn’t give for a chance to speak with the Founder King himself!”

　Ardyn kicked Regis’s bleeding flank once more, then shouted to the sky, “Come out, Somnus! The longer you wait, the longer he’ll suffer!”

　Nothing. Not a trace of the Old Wall. Not a trace of Somnus. Ardyn’s anger turned savage. He kicked the downed king again, driving his heel into the man’s chest. He continued until his ferocious assault had bruised every inch of Regis’s body, then he stepped back.

　Where was Somnus? Why wouldn’t he appear? Was this a game to him? Perhaps he thought he was calling a bluff, certain his brother was incapable of murder. If so, he was wrong. Ardyn was a savior no longer. The kindly Lord Caelum who was beloved by the people of his age was no more.

　“Huh?”

　Regis had stopped moving.

　“Is he dead?” Ardyn wondered aloud. He bent, placing a hand on Regis’s wrist to check for a pulse.

　“Oh dear. Perhaps I don’t know my own strength.”

　And then a blinding light flared from the king’s body. Ardyn stepped back involuntarily. It was the ring. That same ring, now passed through generations of Somnus’s line. The gift from the gods to the rulers of Lucis sat securely on the downed man’s right hand. The ring’s beam widened and began to trace a silhouette in the air. Ardyn’s assault had worked after all. The Old Wall was coming to defend the king.

　“Well?” he drawled. “I’m waiting.”

　The spreading light took on a human shape―a towering giant clad in armor―upon which Ardyn gazed with a triumphant grin.

　A giant voice boomed down at him. “Brother!”

　“Somnus! Haven’t seen you for years,” Ardyn replied. “Two thousand, in fact.”

　The giant manifested by the ring was outfitted not unlike the amplifiers’ Guardians, with thick plates of armor and a giant weapon. In this case, a sword.

　“What’s wrong, ‘dear brother’? Too afraid to put down your expensive toy and face me yourself?” He sneered. His brother acted in death as he did in life. No fair fights. Never relying on his own strength alone. “I won’t let you forget what you did to me.”

　“You were tainted,” Somnus boomed. “Unfit to sit the throne. That is why the Crystal rejected you.”

　The man was a fool if he thought his words would save him.

　“The Crystal. Is that who exiled me as a monster and erased me from the face of history?” Ardyn shouted back.

　“Please, Brother. Return to the darkness from whence you came.”

　“Now? But I’m having so much fun! To think I’d get the pleasure of killing you myself!”

　There was no need for further discussion. Not that there ever had been―Ardyn was not interested in any excuses his brother might wish to provide. Blades summoned forth from the Armiger now rained down on Somnus’s apparition.

　In a distant past, Ardyn had similarly drawn his sword in anger. But back then, his point had faltered, failing to pierce his brother’s heart. He knew not what stayed his hand back then. It was a mistake he’d relived over and over while chained in the darkness. But here, beyond his wildest dreams, was a chance to right it.

　Ardyn slashed again and again at the great stone legs, then warped up high to strike at the giant’s face. Each attack fed his lust.

　A small part of him still yearned to put fist to flesh. Would that he could take out his anger upon Somnus the man, one blow at a time, until his hands were numb with fatigue.

　The giant stepped back in the face of Ardyn’s assault. “This is preposterous . . . How could one so impure possess such power?!”

　Power from impurity? Ardyn mused. Hardly. This strength was born of hatred. What you feel is two thousand years of longing to see you dead by my own two hands.

　“I was right to have sealed you away. You truly are a monster, Brother.”

　“Yes. A monster, indeed.”

　In life, Ardyn had ever yielded to the gods’ commands. He’d been willing to give everything to aid his people. Yet the only fruits of his devotion were this inhuman power and immortal body. And with naught else left to him, those were the tools he would use to exact his revenge.

　Swords alone would not suffice. Let Somnus burn in the fires of retribution. Let him writhe and wail in pain.

　“O Infernian, lend me your strength,” Ardyn intoned. “Help me burn this wretched nation to the ground.”

　Astral hellfire enveloped Somnus. Scorching tongues of flame lapped at the giant stone figure, its limbs cracking and groaning from the sudden heat. Ardyn leapt into the air, concentrating every bit of anger and hatred he’d ever harbored into one final blow.

　“This is where it ends,” he said as steel met stone. And then, at long last, Somnus’s knees buckled, and the giant form was crashing to the ground, its blinding blue light diffused and fading. A great laugh erupted from Ardyn’s lungs. His eyes were squeezed shut in delight. When the laughter finally subsided and his eyes were open again, he saw Somnus was no longer encased in stone. The figure on its knees before him was his brother as he’d known him two thousand years ago.

　“At long last, ‘dear brother,’ vengeance is mine.”

　“The gods blessed you as their chosen,” Somnus began. “The people adored you as their savior. I was neither powerful nor popular . . . just envious, perhaps. I yearned desperately to be special, yet I had nothing to set me apart. Nothing at all!”

　“Until you stole it from me.”

　Somnus lowered his gaze.

　“What I did to you was unforgivable, but I did it for the future of our kingdom―of our people. Our line has done everything in our power to protect our people, just as the gods bade. I was merely fulfilling my calling.”

　“Our line”? I think you meant yours. You and the one hundred and twelve kings who followed. I suppose you think you’ve done a wonderful job carrying out the gods’ bidding.

　He remembered Aera’s words. Your devotion shall not go unnoticed. The gods will doubtless be watching over you. He and Aera had been the ones to abide by the will of the gods. Not Somnus.

　“And here I thought I was the blessed one,” he spat, “but it was you all along.”

　It was not only the throne that had been stolen from him. Not just his future. Somnus had taken all that and more. Ardyn had lost everything he’d ever known.

　His brother’s reply was soft. “I dare not ask for your forgiveness, but I do ask for your understanding.”

　Ardyn’s fury boiled over.

　“What?!” he demanded.

　Did Somnus think he could apologize? That his words could erase the past? That he could change anything at all?

　“You took everything from me―everything―and you ask for my understanding?”

　The humbled request. The lowered gaze. Pathetic gestures acted out for his own sake, just like everything he’d ever done in life. Now he felt remorse for his past crimes? Was he so desperate to erase the guilt that plagued him?

　To hell with him!

　Ardyn grabbed at his brother but caught only air. Somnus’s form began to dissipate as the statue’s had.

　“I pray your soul find repose, Brother.”

　Repose? Repose? How dare he proffer such garbage. He was the one to cause all this!

　He wished to hurl more words of hatred at his brother, but it was too late. Somnus was already gone. Ardyn stood alone in the city.

　His brother’s death was supposed to be the answer. Killing Somnus was supposed to bring the relief he’d craved through centuries spent in solitude. But now that Somnus and his great stone puppet were toppled, Ardyn felt not even a flicker of joy in his heart. All he found inside was grave exhaustion and an unbearable emptiness.

　Why? This wasn’t the ending I imagined to my tale of vengeance.

Ardyn wasn’t certain how or why he had ended up back at the site of the previous battle. His mind was clouded, his body moving of its own volition. But when he looked down, Regis lay at his feet.

　Of course. My revenge is not yet complete. I must end Somnus’s line, destroy his legacy. Perhaps Regis’s death will fill some part of this void in me.

　Ardyn summoned his sword, hand tight on the grip. One quick thrust, straight through the downed man’s heart, and it would be over. The king would lie dead on the stones of the courtyard. Ardyn lifted his sword overhead, poised for the killing blow.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum . . .

　

　An inhuman voice, awful and immense. It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

I command thee to halt and kneel before me.

　Each word was a cacophony that crashed into his mind. Ardyn pitched forward as countless towering blades rained down from above. They drove deep into the flagstones of the courtyard, forming a great circle around Regis’s unconscious form. The intent was clear: no harm would come to the king.

　From high above came a dizzying light, and the world was washed in white. Ardyn looked toward the heavens, squinting through the glare, and beheld something of greater size, strength, and presence than he’d ever known descend upon the earth.

On my honor as the Bladekeeper, Bahamut, I shall not let thee become a slayer of kings.

　The Draconian. The God of War. Bahamut. Whilst the rest of the Six slumbered after the Great War of Old, this god alone vanished to a place unknown.

　“Why . . . ? Why do the gods deny me my revenge?!”

　As Ardyn cried out his dismay, his surroundings shifted without warning. He was no longer in the world but suspended in some strange void. He stood, though not on ground, and in every direction he saw light the color of night sky and ocean depths intermingled. It was a place far removed from reality, so much so that Ardyn could not think to question where he was.

　In that void, he faced the God of War.

Because thou hast been chosen to serve a different purpose. To spread darkness throughout the world is thy true calling.

　Calling. It was a word engraved upon his heart, but one he’d not had in mind for some time. It caught him off guard. All he could manage to do was parrot back a single word. “Darkness?”

Soon, the True King will be born unto Lucis. He shall lead the people as their beacon of hope and drive away the darkness.

In turn, thou shalt be his sacrifice―the limitless shadow that ushers in the light.

　“Why must I continue to suffer? Have I not already sacrificed enough?!”

　Bahamut continued, unfazed and uninterrupted, not seeming to care whether his words were understood or not.

When the True King awakens, summoning the power of his forebears, he shall at last relieve thee of thy suffering.

　It dawned on Ardyn that he had no need to ask. The things of which the Draconian spoke poured into his mind, played out as moving scenes as clear as anything Ardyn had witnessed with his own two eyes.

　The birth of Regis’s son. The child who would be known as Noctis. The Crystal, which would name that child the Chosen King. Ardyn himself crossing swords with the boy grown to a young man. In the same courtyard where he’d clashed with Regis just moments ago, Ardyn would be defeated by Noctis. Noctis would sit on the throne of Lucis and offer up his life, using the power of the ring to open the door to the Beyond.

　The Beyond. It was a mysterious realm linked to their world by way of the Crystal, unreachable by mortal flesh. Two thousand years ago, Ardyn’s soul had become trapped there, separated from his body, when the Crystal cast him away.

　He’d thought his immortality had been granted by the Starscourge that coursed through him. In truth, his spirit was trapped in the Beyond, while his body remained in the mortal realm, soulless and cursed to walk the earth until the True King arrived. And when Noctis was ready, he would cross over to this realm through the power of the ring and put Ardyn to rest once and for all.

　

Then the line of Lucis shall come to an end, and the revenge thou seekest shall finally be found.

So it is ordained, and so it shall be.

　Ardyn would be gone forevermore, as would Noctis, Lucis’s True King and also its last. The line would end with him. And in exchange for Noctis’s sacrifice, the Crystal, now host to all the Starscourge that had plagued the world, would shatter. Eos would be cleansed.

　A glimpse of a world to which light had returned flashed before Ardyn’s eyes. Then it was gone, along with the Bladekeeper’s other visions, and Ardyn was again in the place that was at once like dark sky and deep sea.

　He stared at Bahamut. “You say I am not the savior of man, but his sacrificial lamb. And that I live only to die by the hand of the heir to an ill-gotten throne.”

　Two millennia ago, Ardyn had believed with all his heart that to save others was his calling. He’d been ready to embrace death, if it were in service to others and brought an end to suffering. He’d thought it a mission of which only he was capable, and thus he’d been prepared to sacrifice everything.

　But even at that time, he had not thought to lay down his life without a struggle or fight.

　During his long time on Angelgard, he’d come to think the gods fools. They had bestowed but a single man with the power to stop the scourge. They had failed to imagine the Crystal’s rejection of the one whom they had chosen to be king, and Ardyn had despised them for it. But now, to hear that everything that had occurred was but a means to spawn a monster fit for sacrifice . . . It was a cunning cruelty far beyond that of mortal minds.

　“That is the fate the gods have chosen to bestow upon me?!”

The very same.

Defy thy destiny if thou dare, but know that it would grant thee a life of darkness unending, devoid of death’s reprieve.

What say thee, Adagium?

　

　The war god’s words echoed in his mind, merciless and cruel. Everything that had befallen him had been Somnus’s fault; he’d been so sure of it. It was the crowning achievement of his brother’s cunning, carried on by generations of his successors, a scheme that robbed him and Aera of their happiness and future. It had cheated them of everything―even their purpose in life.

　But now the truth was laid bare. The trap had been set by not Somnus but the Draconian. Lift the lid on the chessmen’s case, and Somnus lay there, too, another pitiful pawn in the gods’ cruel game.

The fate bestowed upon a man cannot be changed.

Now go. Fulfill thy calling.

　“Not once have I begged the gods for such a blessing. And I do not intend to kneel before you now!”

　Ardyn summoned his own blades and flung them at Bahamut. When the weapon points connected with the god’s giant form, Ardyn infused them with daemonic fury. But all his assault managed was a tiny scratch across the giant masked face.

Thine impudence shall prove thine undoing, foolish mortal. Pitiful creature.

　By the time Ardyn was conscious of the counterattack, it had already landed, and his body was hurtling backward. He could not move to retaliate. Pain seared through him as the war god’s great blades lanced deep into his arms and legs.

　It was not a physical pain alone. Ardyn had felt an anguish like this once before, in the sanctuary with Somnus, when his brother and countrymen had thrust their weapons into him. The Draconian’s assault brought those feelings back, this time with a relentless, deep intensity many times beyond what he’d suffered at Somnus’s hands. Each wound burned with agony as it opened in his flesh.

If thou wilt fight against fate, so shall it be.

　His vision blurred with the torment. A pale figure appeared before him. The pure-white, immaculate garments seemed familiar, as did the hair, with its faint gold luster. He then saw that it was Aera and that she bore the Trident in her hands.

　“Ghosts do naught but haunt my tortured soul,” he whispered.

　It was an illusion of the war god’s making. He would not be fooled.

　Once Aera was lost, he’d brought her face to mind again and again, desperate not to lose its details. Every little mannerism. Every movement. Every sound of her voice. He’d recounted every minute thing about her until it was all etched in his memory forever. No illusion could fool him. The woman before him was not Aera.

　“Enough of this,” he gasped between bolts of pain.

　Aera stepped near. The Trident of the Oracle was before him. The woman’s expression was flat.

　The threat was clear. Obey, or lose everything.

　“If this is the fate you thrust upon me, I shall see it back to you,” he said.

　Aera stared at him with cold, unfeeling eyes.

　“I will not yiel―!”

　The Trident pierced his bowels. He screamed as he was visited by agony anew, one that was far greater than any real pain. His breath caught in his throat. Between thrusts, he saw blood black as night dripping from the tines. He knew in his mind that this, too, was an illusion. Aera, the Trident, the spilling blood, and all the agony he felt―they were all conjured by the Draconian. But his mind could not push them away.

　“Pierce my heart if you must, but you will never kill my resolve.”

　He told himself that the pain was nothing. That he would not succumb to the god’s foul tactics. He would no longer be toyed with. What was another eternity in darkness when he’d endured one already?

　“The path men tread was never meant for me,” he growled, and suddenly he was filled with a ferocious strength. He raged like a beast―a monster―and the blades lodged in his limbs snapped and broke to pieces. His spectral Arms again appeared around him, and he cut the false Aera to the ground.

Doth man know no recourse but the blade? Return to thy world. Embrace thy suffering.

　The space at his feet shattered, and he was falling. Falling with no end in sight.

“Where am I?”

　The world was murky and gray. He knew not whether he’d spent only a moment in that strange emptiness, or an eternity.

　“Am I alive? Does it matter? Perhaps not.”

　There was something familiar about the place. When he strained his eyes, he could make out the stone walls. The cramped space. The broken shackles and rent chains on the floor below. It was Angelgard. The cell.

　“Nothing matters―none of it. Not the ‘blessed’ gods above nor the accursed kings below. To hell with them all!”

　He stood. Unlike the day of his discovery by Verstael, his limbs felt strong and sure. The way to the surface still gaped open, and Ardyn’s step did not waver as he made his way out.

　“All that matters is I have my revenge.”

　No longer would he bow to the whims of others. He would be the master, and all others his puppets. He’d toy with them, more cunning and cruel than even the gods.

　“I will spread this scourge across the earth, lure out this ‘King of Light,’ and kill him. Then, the entire world of Eos will be drenched in the darkness of despair for time eternal.”

　It was not enough for Somnus alone to suffer. There were others upon whom vengeance must be wrought.

　“And then, I shall fell the gods.”

　In time, the day would come. He would tear off Bahamut’s mask, break his swords, and see him crawl across the ground in shame. The gods would bear the greatest humiliation they could ever know.

　No matter how many decades or centuries might pass, what eons beyond imagining might be needed to draw his plan together, he would see it done and executed. That alone he vowed to himself.

　And for the first time in two long millennia, Ardyn felt truly fortunate to have a body that would not know death.

Noctis Lucis Caelum is born.

Crown Prince Noctis, heir apparent to the throne of Lucis, is revealed as the True King.

　His is a face known to Ardyn, seen in the vision shared by Bahamut seven years ago in which Regis, to whom the revelation was delivered by the Kings of Yore, holds the small boy in his arms. The child’s face bears an unmistakable similarity to that of Somnus. The same picture-perfect scene is doubtlessly cherished by all throughout the Citadel.

　Regis establishes the Kingsglaive, a reformed Royal Guard to serve under his direct command and ensure the safety of the Chosen King.

　All continues to proceed according to fate―or rather, the will of the Draconian.

Shiva, the Glacian, awakens in Ghorovas Rift, in the region of Vogliupe. She begins an assault on Niflheim, engaging with the imperial forces at their border. Niflheim is ultimately victorious, but at the cost of the greater part of their military forces.

　For Ardyn, the goddess’s attack is an unexpected stroke of providence. He had been gently prodding Verstael along a new line of research, in hopes of creating a new type of daemon-infused magiteknology tailored for engagements against the gods. The encounter with Shiva provides a perfect opportunity to test and confirm the weapons’ efficacy. Whether similar results might be expected against the Draconian, none can say. Still, the progress made is undeniable.

A cease-fire is declared between Niflheim and Lucis. Ardyn visits Lucis personally to negotiate the end to hostilities. The Regis he encounters there, twenty-one years after their last meeting, looks astonishingly haggard and gray for his age. His efforts to stay the imperial incursion by way of sustaining the Wall and the city’s other defenses seem to have taken a great toll upon him.

Insomnia falls.

The Niflheim Empire’s plan goes off without a hitch. The day before the invasion, Ardyn enjoys a first encounter with Prince Noctis at Galdin Quay. Seen in the flesh, the young prince is the spitting image of Somnus. So close is their appearance that Ardyn is filled with zeal anew: he is determined to see the boy suffer in every conceivable manner before his ascension as True King and ultimate demise.

　Later that same year, Noctis is pulled in by the Crystal to begin his awakening as the Chosen King.

The Crown City was shrouded in darkness, covered in night like every other corner of the star.

Oh, how long it had been. And how curious that it should have felt long at all. Thirty-two years since the Draconian’s decree. Thirty-two years since the discovery of that incomprehensible destiny thrust upon him. After two millennia in that cursed stone cell, those years should have felt like a brief moment, passed with hardly a notice. Instead, they had dragged on, a wait of unbearable length.

　Once the day was gone and the world knew only night, the areas surrounding the Citadel were a place where daemons lurked and men dared not draw near. There, upon the throne now claimed as his own, Ardyn waited with singular purpose, ever eager to receive the man bearing the Crystal’s blessing and the title of True King.

　Do hurry, Noct, was his constant wish. I am ever so anxious to see you again.

　Thus Ardyn sat in unwavering desire, waiting for the one fated to approach his throne. When the day finally came, and the doors were pushed wide by hands wearied beyond their years, he knew precisely how he’d begin.

　“I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

　The observation was true not only for the guest but for the speaker, too.

　“The one you hope to see,” Ardyn continued, “is not here.”

　Nor is the one I wish to see, he added, though not aloud.

　The visitor before him was not the one he had long awaited. This was something quite different from the reunion the God of War had promised. A laugh Ardyn could not suppress rose from his chest. It seemed the gods could not dictate the future with the precision that they claimed. Either that, or the fate they decreed had gone off course. It was a reunion that could not be explained in any other way.

　“Ah, but do pardon my surprise,” he said, “at this most unexpected development.”

　There she stood, in defiance of death. A death of which he was certain, for it had come at his own hands, that day in Altissia.

　“How very nice it is to see you again, Lady Lunafreya.”