The Final Glaive

Myriad shadows writhed in the chill night air of the Citadel courtyard. Enemies were everywhere, but the certain knowledge that he would have to fight the hordes every step of the way elicited neither surprise, nor confusion, nor even the slightest trace of fear.

　Step by step, he descended the great staircase. Gunfire erupted, waves of bullets flying from enemy barrels like swarms of angry insects. He wove his way between them, blade flashing into his hand as other opponents began to rush the stairs. Each clash was over as quickly as it began: one, then another, and another. Steel shrieked, and ash-colored automatons went rolling lifelessly down steps they had just ascended.

　But something was amiss. A person―persons?―who should have been there with him was not.

　Did I always fight alone?

　Just as he felt the memory might be drawing within reach, a bullet grazed his ear, as if bent on preventing him from recollecting. He paid the injury little mind, simply turning to face the next incoming enemy, blade quick to send it flying.

　The initial sense of unease, of dislocation, was growing.

　These things I’m fighting. What are they?

　Their armor was fashioned from some kind of lustrous dark metal. As he continued to cut his way through the endless ranks of empty, soulless suits, it occurred to him that they shared neither hue nor design with the magitek troops he’d known in some distant past. A black haze much like daemonic miasma emanated from their surfaces, an eerie aura like that of some ghostly apparition. Most disconcerting of all was the smell from their weapons, a thick, acrid stench of gunpowder. Niflheim’s infantry had never used weapons like these.

　Members of the horde continued marching up the steps, weapons firing wildly. Over and over again, he dispatched them with warp-strikes, a seemingly endless cycle of attack. He heard the thud of defeated foes falling, as well as the clatter as they tumbled back down the stairs. That, too, was different, not the same sound that defeated MTs made. The only thing these new foes seemed to share with the empire’s automated infantry was an obnoxious degree of persistence.

　A flash of red, then another. Half a moment after he saw the muzzle flashes, the unmistakable report of firearms resounded in his ears. But they were too slow, he thought dismissively, and their lack of aim made them little threat.

　Where the hell am I?

　It looked like the Citadel courtyard, but there were many small differences. The color of the place was wrong, or rather, it didn’t have any color, just cold streaks of monochrome gray. His unease was transforming into alarm, into the distinct sensation that this world was not his own.

　He pivoted on his heel, suddenly determined to confirm his suspicions. A few casual swipes of his weapon downed the enemies behind him, and then he was vaulting back up the steps he’d just managed to descend.

　The memory returned abruptly. Ignis. He was nowhere to be found. Neither was Gladio or Prompto. Why had it taken him so long to mark their absence? That was far too strange. Something definitely wasn’t right about this place.

　He stepped inside the Citadel. It was dark and seemingly empty. He saw no one else. The sense of foreboding grew worse. This was the Citadel he knew, and yet at the same time, it was not.

　He walked to the throne room doors, placed both hands upon the enormous handles, and pushed them open. Inside, he encountered a darkness even more profound, pierced by one faint beam of light that landed on the throne. Noctis was drawn to it. He climbed to the throne and sat.

　This does not belong to me. But neither does it belong to another.

　Straight after he had that thought, a voice boomed in his mind, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. A voice with a force and gravity that were utterly inhuman.

Before the Chosen unfurls one possibility. To mortal mind, a dream.

Though man would choose, he has but one way forward. Ordained above is mortal fate.

To the Crystal, all possibility is memory, and all memory etched within.

　The episode in the courtyard had felt half known to him and half strange. A possibility. A dream. If Noctis were entangled in a dream, that would account for the way the places and events had felt familiar and yet off. It would explain the mysterious absence of his companions.

Behold the heart of the Crystal, wherein lies the soul of the Star. It is in this place that the king will gain the power he needs.

Receive the memories inscribed in the Crystal, that the True King’s calling may be fulfilled.

　The word “calling” stirred something deep in his mind. He cast back through his memories―a place called Gralea, the imperial capital, Zegnautus Keep―and then it all came flooding back. The endless hordes of magitek troopers and daemons. The battle that never seemed to end, no matter how many foes were slain.

　“We’re getting nowhere!” Gladio had shouted.

　Then Prompto: “They just keep coming!”

　“Noct, you must go on alone. If you can obtain the Crystal’s power, we may yet be able to turn the tide. Elsewise, we are all like to perish here.”

　“Iggy’s right. It’s our only chance.”

　“We’ll manage somehow! Just get moving!” With Prompto’s final encouragement, all three were in agreement.

　So Noctis had run. He left his three companions to fight by themselves and made his way to the Crystal alone. He ran until his chest was tight and his legs ached.

　And then he was plunged into an absolute darkness that blotted out all the light of the world. All sound ceased, even that of his own breath. Touch, smell, and taste, too, were gone, and he was left with the solitary sensation that he was falling at an impossibly slow pace.

　Please . . . Help me stop the daemons, he’d pleaded as he stretched out his hand.

　He remembered it all now. This was the heart of the Crystal. He’d been dragged inside by a force that defied all resistance, and the last thing he’d seen before sinking inside was a face whose mere memory sparked rage: that of Ardyn Izunia.

　Ardyn Lucis Caelum is my proper name, the man had said, looking Noctis straight in the eye.

　Lucis Caelum? What could Ardyn have possibly meant by that?

　As if responding to the questions now seething in his mind, the darkness faded and was replaced by the boundless, blinding light of the Crystal. The glittering peaked, then receded, gradually replaced by blue sky and green earth. Noctis found himself overlooking a landscape bearing no resemblance to any place he knew, but he felt a strange certainty that it was Eos of the distant past, in the age when the Crystal was brought to their star.

　He saw a sanctuary in which the Crystal had been enshrined. Surrounding it were scattered homes and fields of wheat. The landscape began to change. Forests fast receded and the wilderness was tamed and tilled. The people grew in number. Noctis could see them, quotidian scenes swirling by at a dizzying pace. He witnessed the countless joys and sorrows of their lives. An inconceivable quantity of information flooded into his mind at once. The fact that he could make clear sense of it had to be thanks to the otherworldly Crystal in which he hung suspended.

　Memories inscribed in the Crystal. That was how the scenes before him had been described. It seemed to have something to do with his calling as king―perhaps he’d need all the information recorded here. Perhaps it was important for him to understand what had happened in the beginning, when the Crystal and the Ring of Light were first brought to the land.

　Two men came into focus, their names familiar. Ardyn. Somnus. Noctis saw that they were brothers, heirs to House Caelum, meant to support each another and rule the land together. To symbolize that bond, they were entrusted by their father and mother with a pair of weapons, two swords that were as one: the Rakshasa Blade and the Blade of the Mystic.

　One parent and then the other departed from the world, and not long after, the two brothers stood in opposition. At its base, it was a matter of ideology. The two differed in opinion as to the proper mindset of a ruler. The younger deceived the older, and the older hated the younger for it.

　Noctis had known nothing of this, and the knowledge stunned him. He had been so sure that Ardyn possessed not a shred of decency, that no matter how much he reviled the man, it would never be enough. Instead, he was now witnessing a man who was utterly selfless, consumed by the constant labor to relieve the suffering of his people.

　Even more disorienting was the discovery that Ardyn had been in love. Her name was Aera Mirus Fleuret. The first Oracle. When the pair were together, talking and laughing, Ardyn was neither savior nor scelerat. He was simply an ordinary man.

　Ordinary, too, were his desires. Oh, Aera. Pray be with me always, Noctis heard the man say. Ardyn dreamed of a simple happiness, one that had nothing to do with either star or god. It was a happiness every person should be able to know―and thus Ardyn had never for a moment thought it might be stolen away from him.

　Was that why Ardyn had killed Luna? Because he knew firsthand the extent to which it would devastate Noctis?

　It was still unforgivable. It didn’t matter that Ardyn had been a savior laboring for his fellow man, and the death of his own love was no excuse. To claim an innocent life simply to see an enemy suffer was an act that lay far beyond the bounds of absolution.

　But if Ardyn was beyond pardon, then so, too, was Somnus for the web of lies he used to ensnare his brother and ensure his own place as founder of the new nation. It was Somnus who had killed Aera and planted the evil seed that would culminate in Lunafreya’s death.

　And what about me? Noctis thought. Don’t I deserve some of the blame, too?

　The covenants had chipped away at Lunafreya’s life. They were forged for Noctis, that the True King might be favored with blessings of the gods, and each one left Lunafreya weaker. Even had Ardyn’s dagger not ended her life, the Oracle’s time in the world would surely not have been much longer. Noctis, too, had played a part in her demise.

　Sacrifice is unavoidable in the pursuit of a strong nation; that was the belief of the younger Caelum brother. If Noctis accepted Lunafreya’s death as a necessary evil to see darkness purged from the Star, would that make him any different from Somnus?

　Did he, then, have any right to condemn the actions of his forebears?

　The memories of the Crystal swirled on, pushing Noctis’s uncertainties aside.

　He saw Ardyn, imprisoned in the depths of Angelgard. He saw Somnus, setting forth to exterminate daemons across the land. The citizens lived in peace and stability, and Lucis continued to grow as a nation.

　Other rulers rose and fell, some more ruthless than Somnus, and others far too gentle. There was one who wore a mask throughout her life and reign. One suffered a tragic loss of the Oracle during his rule, taking up the Trident and duties in her stead. One brought Lucis an extraordinarily long era of peace. One was murdered on the very night of his ascendance to the throne.

　Alongside Lucis rose other new and powerful nations. There was Tenebrae, ruled by House Fleuret, the bloodline of the Oracle and, like House Caelum, heir to powers bestowed by the gods. The Empire of Niflheim donned the mantle of Solheim, seeking to return magitek to the world. The Accordo Protectorate flourished through trade and grew wealthy.

　The people of every nation were alike: they laughed, struggled, fought, and wished for happiness. Noctis saw that throughout the world, just as there were no two individuals exactly alike, neither were there any so different as to set themselves apart from all others. Every person resonated in some respect with every other, and in some respect, every person was unique.

　The time allotted to any human passed swiftly and without mercy. Death came for all, leaving only lifeless husks to pile in the earth. The thoughts each mind held inside were lost forever, gone without a trace. Yet at the same time, the reality that they had once lived and walked among their fellow humans could not be denied.

　A familiar face appeared, like driftwood surfacing in a muddy torrent: some two thousand years after the founding of Lucis, Ardyn was carried from the depths of his island prison. His recovery brought to Niflheim the means to produce their magitek infantry en masse. The empire’s borders surged outward, and as Niflheim grew, Ardyn, too, accumulated power. The one man who controlled daemons ensured the spread of darkness throughout the world.

　When the threat of all-consuming darkness seemed close at hand, Regis was chosen to stand among the ranks of the Kings of Yore. Around the same time, Noctis was born, and the Lucii pronounced him to be the True King.

　Noctis saw his young self sleeping peacefully in his father’s arms, still blissfully unaware of the burden of fate. He saw his father force back tears.

Though man would choose, he has but one way forward. Ordained above is mortal fate.

To the Crystal, all possibility is memory, and all memory etched within.

　Perhaps, if Verstael had failed in his attempt to penetrate the depths of Angelgard, Ardyn would still be hanging from chains in his wretched stone cell. If Ardyn were still captive and the Crystal maintaining the silence of that age-old secret, the time foretold when darkness would cover the Star would still be far off.

　Perhaps Regis would still have had the honor to stand as one of the Kings of Yore, but there would have been no need to name Noctis as the True King. He would have been merely another successor in the long line of Lucis, and his father would have lived free from the grief of knowing his son’s bleak fate.

　But neither, then, would Noctis have encountered the Marilith. There would have been no grave injury in his eighth year, no visit to Tenebrae to recover. No time spent with Lunafreya.

　And that was not all. There would have been no marriage planned, no journey to Accordo with his friends. The nature of his companionship with Ignis and Gladio would have been different. More removed. More distant.

　Without Ardyn, Verstael’s forays into magitek would have been far less successful. No mass production of MTs. And that meant Prompto . . .

　Prompto would not exist at all.

　Queen Sylva Via Fleuret would still be alive and in good health, continuing her duties as Oracle. Her children, Lunafreya and Ravus, would still reside at Fenestala Manor in peace.

Behold the heart of the Crystal, wherein lies the soul of the Star. It is in this place that the king will gain the power he needs.

　Ravus. Noctis had heard the words the high commander had spoken to Ignis.

　“Even in death, the Oracle does not rest. Only once the darkness is dispelled is her calling truly fulfilled. And as in life, I know she will confront that challenge with a smile on her face.”

　They’d stood among the devastation in Altissia. The altar, like everything else in the city, lay crumbling in the wake of the Hydraean’s trial. Between Ignis and Ravus lay Noctis’s own unconscious form, sprawled across the flagstones.

　Lunafreya was there, too. She was dead, yet somehow she arose and proceeded to the water’s edge. As she walked, her feet did not tread upon the earth. To the Oracle, death did not mean dissolution. An Oracle’s soul ascended in holy glory, joining the divine after its passage from the mortal realm. The Oracles received no burial, as they left nothing behind to intern.

　“Oh, Sister . . . Please don’t go.” Ravus pleaded as she floated out over the water.

　Ravus’s words were thick with anguish. For the last remaining member of House Fleuret, this was a parting far more cruel than death. He would not be allowed to weep over his sister’s lifeless form, robbed even of the chance to properly mourn her passing.

　The Crystal swirled on to new memories, and Noctis observed the path that Lunafreya had walked in life. He saw Fenestala Manor in the wake of the occupation, Lunafreya standing before Gentiana with her head bowed.

　“I have been confined to Fenestala and may no longer move about freely,” she said. “But I have not forgot my vow as Oracle to forge a covenant with your mistress, Shiva. I intend to petition for imperial leave to travel, and once it is secure, I assure you I will fulfill my duty. So I would ask that you please entreat the Glacian for patience on my behalf.”

　“The Oracle seeks a covenant with the Frostbearer for the sake of the Crystal’s Chosen, that he might have aid in the time of need soon to come?” Gentiana asked.

　“That is my wish.”

　“Very well.”

　Gentiana’s form began to change. She rose from the ground, arctic light pouring into her body until her skin shone icy blue. Lunafreya’s eyes grew wide.

　Noctis imagined the same look of shock on his face when he, too, had witnessed Gentiana’s transformation.

　“All this time,” Lunafreya whispered, “the Glacian was at my side?”

　Shiva’s voice resounded in gentle proclamation, “Let the covenant be forged.”

　“My gratitude to the compassionate Glacian and the favor she shows mankind,” Lunafreya responded. Noctis saw her cheeks flush with a mix of pride in completing one of her duties as Oracle and joy at knowing she had been watched over so closely since birth by one of the Six.

　Some time later, Lunafreya was able to proceed to Ralmuell, the training ground for the Oracles. Once she had formally inherited the title, her days grew busy with journeys across the land to provide relief to the afflicted and to comfort the bereaved by performing the rites of requiem. It pained Noctis to think of the comfort and leisure in which he’d spent his own days around the same time.

　Then came the fall of Insomnia. Regis entrusted the ring to Lunafreya, asking her to bear it safely to his son, and a certain pair of Glaives saw to the Oracle’s safe evacuation from the city. Flames rose throughout Insomnia as Lunafreya fled, slipping between buildings on verge of collapse, speeding along crumbling roadways, her life ever in peril.

　I’m sorry, Noctis thought. Luna, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.

　After that long, harrowing night, Lunafreya journeyed on all by herself, ultimately making her way toward Accordo.

　Noctis reflected on where he would have been during her struggles. Somewhere along his first journey beyond the walls of Insomnia, staring wide-eyed at the world and its many wonders, in the care of his close companions. When the Regalia had broken down shortly after their journey began, the four of them had taken turns pushing the car to Hammerhead, complaining all the way, but even then they’d still in some sense been enjoying themselves. Things were still lighthearted and fun.

　Now Ravus’s biting sarcasm―the anger he felt toward Noctis―no longer seemed so inexplicable or unwarranted.

　Witness his splendor and glory. All hail the Chosen King, he’d sneered on confronting Noctis at Aracheole.

　Ravus had watched his own flesh and blood dedicate her life to an ungrateful, ignorant child. Lunafreya expended her own existence for the sake of Noctis’s success, and Noctis had regarded her sacrifice as nothing more than her ordained duty. When Ravus looked upon Noctis, he saw not a king but a coward who was undeserving of the title.

　Looking back, he found it hard to imagine himself to be more lacking in understanding or maturity. Noctis had spent so much of his time sulking and moping, stuck in his own self-absorbed world, that he’d been unable to see the hands held out to him or the others supporting him from behind.

　“How long will you remain the protected? The king entrusted the role of protector to you.”

　“Get a grip! Pull your head outta your ass already!”

　He remembered the moments he’d been chastised first by Cor and then Gladio. Each time, he’d felt only defiance: he was trying as best he knew how. What gave them the right to criticize, and why did he have to put up with it?

　In truth, he was running away. When he claimed to be trying his best, it was for his own benefit, to stave off the ugly truth that perhaps he could do better, and that he only wanted to make things easier for himself. His companions must have seen right through him, and still they were kind and patient enough to stand and fight by his side.

　In Altissia, to save Noctis from Ardyn’s malevolence, Ignis had gone so far as to chance the Ring of the Lucii. Noctis watched as the scene unfolded, Ignis declaring, “I swore an oath to stand with Noct and keep him safe. Whatever it takes, I will protect him!” The Kings of Yore descended. They approved of Ignis’s devotion and lent him their power. But in exchange, they took his sight.

　Upon Noctis’s recovery, Ignis had refused to speak of the episode, knowing that it would weigh heavily on the young king’s conscience. The advisor’s lips stayed tightly sealed, enduring a darkened world while Noctis was blind even to his companion’s compassion.

　“Remember―those ain’t your bodyguards, they’re your brothers. Trust in ’em. Always.”

　At Caem, Cid’s words struck him hard. It forced Noctis to think about what his friends were feeling and what they each had sacrificed. Through it all, they continued to hold their hands out to him. To trust his companions meant accepting their help with full knowledge of what it cost them. Accepting help without that regard was not building a relationship of trust. It was the act of a child, still hopelessly dependent on others.

　Up to that point, Noctis had depended on others for nearly everything, and all the while, he’d sulked and complained. What could he offer back to those who had helped him nonetheless? What they had given him was priceless, beyond recompense.

Receive the memories inscribed in the Crystal, that the True King’s calling may be fulfilled.

　The visions spun once more, this time with intense speed. He saw himself in combat with Ardyn, the Accursed’s fall to darkness now complete.

　Was this the future? It had to be. Or at the very least, it was not the past, nor one of the possibilities of the past. Noctis’s own aged appearance suggested this battle was impending, the Crystal hinting at a moment that was yet to come.

　Then after Ardyn’s defeat in Insomnia, Noctis saw himself upon the throne, wielding the Ring of Light and calling forth the Kings of Yore. He would finally destroy the Accursed’s soul in the realm beyond, and Ardyn would perish once and for all.

Gather strength, O Chosen. The fate of this world falls to the King of Kings.

His Providence consecrated in the divine Light of the Crystal. So it is ordained―the revelation of Bahamut.

　But the vision that unfolded alongside the Draconian’s words was hard to accept. The Old Kings arrived, and there, on the throne, it was Noctis’s own life that was ripped away. Blinding light burst forth from the ring, and the Chosen King was torn from his mortal flesh and carried to the Beyond. There, once Ardyn’s end was wrought, Noctis’s soul shattered into countless fragments of light, vanishing without trace.

A power greater than even that of the Six, purifying all by the Light of the Crystal and the glaives of rulers past. Only at the throne can the Chosen receive it, and only at the cost of a life: his own. The King of Kings shall be granted the power to banish the darkness, but the blood price must be paid. To cast out the Usurper and usher in dawn’s light will cost the life of the Chosen. Many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all. Now enter into Reflection, that the Light of Providence shine within.

　When Noctis looked down, he was seated on a throne of kings―not the throne at Insomnia, but one situated here, inside the Crystal.

　So it wasn’t a dream, he thought. He stood and began to walk. His steps felt light and uncertain. How long had the vision lasted? He had no means to gauge time’s passage. It had felt like only a moment, and it might have been so, but within that moment he’d observed two thousand years’ worth of history. He’d watched as more people than he could ever count came into the world, lived their lives, and passed on. He’d known every one of their thoughts. Now all of it was at risk. If darkness shrouded the Star completely, all life would cease. And if the Star itself perished, there would be nothing left of man―not even artifacts or ruins to hint at what had once been.

　I can save the Star . . . if I lay down my life.

　With the darkness driven away and the safety of the Star ensured, the world of man would continue. Countless other joys and sorrows would fill the future. However . . .

　Is that really how it ends for me?

　Noctis brought his hands before his eyes. Use the ring, draw on the Crystal’s power, and receive new strength. Then strike down Ardyn with these same hands. Securing the future was supposed to be as straightforward as that.

　But . . . death. To be erased from the world. That was the fate that awaited him. It was terrifying, more so than he wanted to bear. He wanted to run, to never have to think of it again.

　I can’t. Now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, I’ll never be able to escape that knowledge or my fate.

　He thought again of the endless faces recorded by the Crystal. They brought depth to concepts he’d assumed to be simple before. The Star. Our world. Behind those words stood every day lived by every life that was or had been, as well as every life yet to be.

　If I abandon my calling, all of them will vanish.

　At the same time, he couldn’t help but note that he, too, was one of those lives. He’d been granted time on this star. His parents had eagerly awaited his arrival in the world. And though Noctis had lost his mother while still young, he’d been loved all the more by his deeply caring father. Ignis had been ever at his side, taking care of his every little need. Gladio, constantly honing himself for the day when he would serve as Noctis’s Shield, was stern with him when necessary and at other times protective, like an impenetrable wall keeping Noctis from all harm. Prompto was there as a close friend, plain and simple, providing Noctis with invaluable time when he could forget his title and the burdens it imposed. Their journey together had been cut far too short.

　I’ll lose all of that. It’ll all be gone.

　He couldn’t bear the thought. He did not want to die. He’d looked forward to the day when he could live together with those he cared about in a world that finally knew peace.

　Yet without the True King’s death, Eos had no future. To secure a tomorrow for everyone else, he had to give up his own.

　It’s not fair. I won’t. I refuse!

　The memories from the Crystal―the knowledge of myriad lives and deaths―once again swirled through his mind. He could never escape them. They were too heavy a burden to abandon.

　A light shone as if to soothe his agitation. Noctis glanced up and found a familiar face staring back.

　“Dad?”

　Regis looked the same as he had in the last moment they’d been together, on the steps of the Citadel as he bid Noctis farewell. The king stood with sword in hand. His expression, too, was familiar: gentle, yet with a faint trace of sorrow. It was a sadness that appeared but for an instant, like a cloud momentarily passing across the face of the sun. It was fleeting, yet Noctis had never failed to notice it in days past. Nor did he miss it now.

　“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Noctis asked.

　He recalled the vision shared by the Crystal, of his father on the day Noctis was revealed as the prophesized king.

　“You cared for and looked after me, knowing exactly what my future held in store.”

　Noctis recalled the chiding comments of friends and relatives. You’re too soft on the prince, they’d told Regis. Others questioned the king’s decision to enroll Noctis in ordinary public schools. Unsuitable for a prince’s education, they’d said. The criticism had poured in again from all sides when Regis allowed Noctis to begin living in an apartment on his own.

　To Noctis, too, it had seemed nothing more than a father’s doting on an only child. He’d assumed nothing deeper, certainly not that all those choices were born of a determination that Noctis derive the most joy possible from the short time he had.

　“That was why you tried so hard to smile when you sent me away.”

　At the end, too, Regis’s careful regard was apparent: he had arranged for Noctis to travel by car, to ensure that the journey would take time. The prince had been sent with a minimal retinue of three. The trip was one last chance for Noctis to forget his role as prince, to experience the wide world beyond Insomnia’s walls, and to deepen his bonds of friendship. The smile given from father to son that day was a parting gift: well-wishes for the coming travels. For when they were inevitably over, so, too, would be the life of the traveler.

　“I hated you for it at the time. You sent me away with a smile, and I couldn’t imagine why. I’m sorry. It must have been painful for you.”

　A faint smile crossed Regis’s lips. The late king shook his head, and then finally responded in words, “It is a parent’s duty to feel concern for his child and to worry for his happiness. Those are feelings that needn’t be returned. It is enough for the child to depend on his parents and let himself be treasured. With time, even moments of hardship or frustration are looked back upon fondly.”

　“Dad . . . ”

　“Now you are grown. The time for you to be dependent on others has come to an end. You are a man. A king.”

　His father had always been generous with praise throughout all of Noctis’s childhood, and he’d always felt proud to have his father’s approval. But all of that paled in comparison with the pride he felt now.

　Then the smile faded from Regis’s lips, and his tone grew stern.

　“A king cannot lead by standing still. A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.”

　Regis held out the grip of his glaive.

　“Use it, to protect the one in your heart as well as the ones you love as brothers.”

　Noctis accepted the sword, feeling its weight. Choose, his father seemed to say. Not a choice of whether to yield to the fate placed upon him, but a choice of the future Noctis wished to see.

　His options were by no means great in number. It was possible that, though he could not see it, he had no means to choose at all. But whatever path he walked, his father seemed to want him to walk it decisively and after much careful consideration.

　“I understand,” he said.

　As if satisfied by Noctis’s answer, Regis nodded and began to fade.

　The things Noctis wanted to protect were clear. There were the people he cared about and everything connected to them. There was the kingdom he’d inherited from his father. The people he’d met during his travels, and the lands in which they lived. Everything was essential, and everything was integral. The loss of one brought emptiness and sorrow to others. If everyone and everything was connected in one great puzzle, then no piece could be neglected.

　More than anything else, he did not want Lunafreya’s sacrifice to be in vain. She’d expended her own life for the covenants. It was, he admitted, the one life he cared about above all others. He wished she could live again, but if that were not to be, he would at least see that evidence of her life persisted, that her memory might be carried forward into the future world.

　With his father’s sword in hand, Noctis lowered himself onto the throne in the Crystal and commanded himself to think. Think well, that you might choose well.

By the covenants awakened, the Six have seen the coming of the prophesied hour―a time when the Crystal shall have shed the entirety of its Light unto the ring. Only then, once the sacred ring is replete, can the True King complete his ascension.

Noctis heard the distant roar of thunder. For a moment, he believed he was having a dream about the Stormbringer. He opened his eyes, but the darkness beneath his lids was replaced by a darkness that seemed to envelop everything. Perhaps, he thought, this, too, is a dream.

　As his eyes adjusted and his gaze swept about, Noctis realized he was on Angelgard. He’d seen this ancient stone prison before, in the visions shared by the Crystal. It was here that Ardyn had been sealed away by his brother. The roaring he heard, then, was of surf, not thunder.

　He was not certain how long he’d lain there sleeping. Last he remembered, he was seated on the throne in the heart of the Crystal. Now he was here, seated atop cold stone.

　Noctis stood. It was a strange sensation, as if he were making use of another’s body rather than his own. The feeling lasted only for a moment, and by the time he was out of the cell itself and making his way to the outside, he felt his limbs moving as surely as they had in the past―or in truth, moreso than ever before.

　He found that he knew the tunnel leading to the surface, though he’d never walked it himself. He had the Crystal’s memories of Ardyn being led into his prison and then led back out by Verstael two millennia later. It was a simple, straightforward route, and the memories of the two journeys were more than enough to guide him to the surface.

　Once outside, he was hit with the strong scent of the ocean. The sky was dark. He saw that in his absence, the daemons’ influence had drawn a shroud over the whole world.

　Be calm, he reassured himself. You are the True King, and it is this very darkness you have come to banish.

　He descended the rocky slope down to the island’s single cove. Even at a distance, he could see a ship moored there, as if awaiting the king’s return. Noctis drew nearer and realized it was one he knew well: the royal vessel on which he’d made his journey from Caem to Altissia.

　It felt like a reunion with an old friend. The ship was in good repair; someone, mortal or otherwise, must have kept an eye on it. It was precisely as he remembered it from when Cid’s work was complete and they’d set off across the waves.

　The royal vessel was not the only friend waiting. As Noctis approached the craft, he heard a familiar bark and friendly snuffle.

　“Umbra!”

　The dog seemed to appear from out of nowhere. He sat at Noctis’s feet, and Noctis leaned down to pet the thick fur of his ruff. Umbra shook him away.

　“What’s the matter, boy?”

　With one rear leg, the dog made several swipes at a spot farther back on his neck. Noctis followed the motions, realizing Umbra was carrying something. It was where he and Lunafreya used to tuck the notebook when sending messages back and forth.

　The familiarity of the exchange hit him like an unexpected blow to the chest. The last time Noctis had squatted down like this to take the notebook from Umbra, he’d been at Cape Caem, just before boarding the same ship moored beside him now. Noctis had carefully opened the notebook’s cover and flipped through the pages to Lunafreya’s latest message: Waiting for you in Altissia.

　Back then, he’d been so certain that he and Lunafreya would be reunited soon. No longer would theirs be a relationship confined to written words. They would finally be together in all ways, never to part again.

　He recalled with vivid clarity the way his heart had leapt at the thought. It only made the current sting more painful. He recalled also the morning in Altissia when he realized that the notebook, the arrival of which had always delighted him, would now serve only as a constant reminder of loss.

　Umbra shifted impatiently, unknowing of this inner turmoil. He nuzzled against Noctis’s crouched figure, urging him to accept the delivery.

　“All right, all right, cool it,” Noctis told the dog.

　He pulled the object free, realizing it to be a different, smaller notebook. He flipped it open to the first page, and on scanning it his eyes widened, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding his mind.

　“How is this possible?” he wondered aloud.

　Inside, in the same flowing script of the brief notes he’d seen countless times before, was written page after page crammed with thoughts, letters, and journal entries.

　“Luna? She’s alive?”

　It was hard to believe, and yet the hand was unmistakable. The first message―I’m safe―was written in a hasty scrawl. She must have been in some great hurry as she began. But those were the only words that lacked the care and good form of Lunafreya’s usual impeccable penmanship. Twelve years they’d exchanged messages; Noctis knew the shapes of her letters by heart. Her voice seemed to emanate from the words he read now. The more he read, the more certain he became: the notebook may have been different, but it was, beyond any doubt, something prepared by Lunafreya and meant for him.

　There on the shores of Angelgard, Noctis read. He learned of Lunafreya’s revival and of the new calling bestowed upon her. He learned of the world as it was now, devoid of daylight and uninhabited save for Lestallum and its environs. He read about Lunafreya’s shock and bewilderment on waking into this new world. Of the new, inhuman power she’d gained. Of her travels through former imperial lands, felling daemons along the way. And of her new friend, a young woman named Sol. As Noctis scoured the pages, following every stroke of her pen, his vision began to blur, until finally his eyes were too full of tears to read further.

　“Luna . . . ” He wept. “She’s . . . she’s alive.”

　This whole time, he’d believed her lost. The one life he’d wanted to protect more than any other. When the Crystal had revealed the True King’s calling, one thought had been more devastating than any other: though Noctis could promise a future to the world in exchange for his own life, it would be a future not graced with Lunafreya’s presence.

　But now he held evidence that she was alive.

　“Thank . . . ”

　Thank the gods, he’d wanted to say, but his voice grew hoarse and thick with sobs. He traced a finger over the words of the notebook―the words that she had strung together, true and certain.

　Wiping tears away with the back of his hand, he continued to read. Here and there, he found a date noted in small figures: 766. At first, he thought it was a mistake, but the number appeared over and over. Noctis’s own journey with his friends had begun in M.E. 756. The scenes shared by the Crystal had spanned from ancient times up to that same year, which was to be expected, since Noctis had been drawn inside to learn of the past. The Draconian had shown glimpses of a future in which Noctis defeated Ardyn, but the god had given no hint of the year in which that event might take place.

　“Ten years . . . ” Noctis mumbled to himself.

　He’d not imagined the Crystal might need so much time to pour its energy into the ring. There hadn’t been the slightest notion that his calling might keep his companions waiting so long. Did they still have hope? Were they still awaiting his return?

　If they had indeed waited all these years, then it was crucial that Noctis hurry to find and rejoin them. They would fight side by side as brothers once again, and this time, Noctis would be ready to keep them safe. He would not only save his retainers and Lunafreya―he would see dawn returned to the world for all. Not one life more would be lost.

　Noctis couldn’t bear the thought of any more deaths. And Lunafreya . . . Never again would she have to offer up her own life for the sake of others, her duties as Oracle be damned.

　“No longer will I abide a world in which there is such sacrifice,” he vowed.

　The writings of the notebook did not detail what Lunafreya’s new calling might entail, but if that, too, involved her sacrificing her life, he would do anything and everything to prevent it. From now on, Noctis would see an end to all such things.

　On the final page, he found written, Waiting for you at the Citadel.

　A few pages earlier, there had been another passage that drew his attention. Lunafreya again mentioned the inhuman power she’d been given―a strength not meant for mortal hands―as well as her hesitation to use it. What did she mean? What was this power of which she wrote?

　Thinking to send Umbra with that question, he found an empty space in which to write . . . then realized he had no pen at hand.

　“Just my luck,” he sighed, then realized that there was no need to write. They’d see each other soon. Noctis had his own business at the Citadel.

　“Thanks, Umbra,” he told the dog. “I’ll give this back to Luna myself.”

　Umbra gave a single bark in response, signaling his understanding. After ruffling the thick fur around the dog’s neck again, Noctis urged Umbra aboard the vessel and then hopped on himself.

When they pulled up alongside the pier at Galdin and disembarked, Noctis couldn’t help but voice his surprise aloud.

　“They really are all gone.”

　Not a soul was in sight. In the past, Galdin Quay had been a resort, bustling at all hours with all sorts of people come to enjoy a moment’s respite from the daily grind. During the daytime, the blues of the sea and sky shone so intensely they were almost blinding. At night, dozens of lights lined the walkways and hung from the ceilings to keep the dark ever at bay. It was a place bright to both eyes and spirit.

　Now not a single light was lit. Inky darkness covered everything. The pier stood lonely in the water, no longer host to vacationers enjoying casual spells of fishing. As man and dog walked along its planks, the only sound was of their own footfalls.

　The instant Noctis had emerged from the stone corridors of Angelgard and observed the pervasive darkness that was not night, he’d suspected this world would be far different from the one he remembered. Lunafreya’s account, too, had given warning: uninhabited save for Lestallum.

　He’d grasped the concept intellectually, yet the reality still took him by surprise. The complete absence of people at Galdin Quay left him feeling as if perhaps everyone in the world had vanished, and now he alone was left. Even when he tried to reassure himself that this was not the case, unease still hung heavy upon him. Noctis heard nothing from the world aside from the rolling surf.

　Then, without warning, Umbra was barking. Not a hostile bark, warning of danger, but a bark of recognition. Someone friendly was approaching.

　“Welcome back, Your Majesty.”

　Words spoken aloud. A human voice other than his own. Noctis had to pause to be certain he’d not imagined it. He looked in the direction of the sound and could just make out someone running toward him.

　“I’m not wrong, am I? You are the king, right?”

　The speaker appeared to be a young woman about twenty years of age, more or less. A shotgun was strapped to her back, and Noctis presumed her to be carrying a variety of other armaments: as she drew near, he heard the clinking of a great deal of metal.

　“Huh,” the woman added. “You’re a lot more handsome than I would have expected.”

　She stared at him without any hint of reserve. Noctis began to wonder if she might not be so unknown to him after all.

　“And you might be . . . ?” he ventured.

　“My name’s Sol.”

　His hunch proved correct. So this was the companion of whom Lunafreya had written. The walking armory who was good at cards and bad at cooking.

　“I was wondering how much longer you were going to keep me waiting,” she said.

　“You’ve been waiting here for a while?” Noctis asked.

　He could see that it would take more than a few daemons to faze the young woman, yet it was still hard to fathom anyone waiting long in a place so desolate and devoid of all other souls. Clearly, Galdin was no longer any manner of haven.

　“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I was here twenty-four/seven. But I’ve been coming by two or three times a day to check on the place.”

　She grinned. “Guess I ended up pretty lucky with the timing.”

　But the smile lingered only for a moment. Sol’s next words were solemn.

　“There’s something you need to know,” she began. “Luna’s alive.”

　Had he heard it from Sol’s lips before reading the notebook, it would have been too much to take in. Noctis would have been at a loss for words and quite likely unwilling to believe, his logical mind dismissing the possibility outright. It was fortunate, therefore, that Umbra had reached him first, bearing that small but incontrovertible bit of proof.

　“I know.”

　“You do?” Sol’s surprise was apparent.

　And well should she be surprised. Noctis and Lunafreya had never told anyone else of their quiet correspondence. There had been no explicit promise between the pair to keep the notebook and its contents secret, but as the messages continued, it naturally began to feel like something private, a matter shared only between the two young lovers and Umbra. If anyone else had been aware of it, perhaps Gentiana was the only one, but even of that Noctis wasn’t certain.

　“Talk about a letdown,” Sol mumbled. “I thought you’d be blown away by the news.”

　“Sorry to disappoint you.”

　“Nothing gets past the king, huh?” she said. Then, “Anyway, we got bigger fish to fry. Come on. Car’s this way.”

　Noctis recalled the location of the parking lot. He did not need Sol to lead the way but followed nonetheless. They passed through the quay’s main building and crossed the narrow boardwalk, through drab surroundings of endless gray. The vibrant hues Noctis remembered of Galdin were nowhere to be found.

　As they crossed from boardwalk to shore, Sol said, “You sure are trusting.”

　“Why wouldn’t I be?” Noctis responded, perplexed by the comment.

　Sol made a face, equally perplexed. “I mean, you don’t even know me. You’ve never seen me before in your life.”

　“That doesn’t mean I have any reason to doubt you. You’re a friend of Luna’s, aren’t you?” To Noctis, that alone seemed reason enough to trust her. “Then, I believe you’re here to help me.”

　At some point along the way, he realized Umbra was no longer with them. The dog seemed to have run off or vanished, as if his task was specifically to ensure Noctis’s safe rendezvous with Sol, and now that his task was fulfilled, he was free to return to wherever it was he’d come from. It occurred to Noctis that the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence, and that was exactly why Umbra had come along on the vessel.

　Sol began to speak but was interrupted by her smartphone. The ringtone was a familiar trill. For an instant, it had Noctis remembering an earlier time.

　“Oh come on!” Sol was saying on the phone. “Your timing is almost creepy. How do you always seem to know right when stuff happens?”

　Sol flicked her eyes at Noctis. Once more, Noctis felt a premonition about who was reaching out.

　“That’s right. I’m with him now,” Sol said. “You wanna have a word with him?”

　There could be no doubt now. Ignis, Gladio, or Prompto. So which of the three was holding the phone? Noctis felt certain it had to be one of them, but he couldn’t make out the voice at the other end of the line.

　“Huh? Oh. Yeah. We’ll be there soon,” Sol said, then breathed a small sigh as she slipped the phone back into her pocket.

　“Who was that?” Noctis asked.

　“Gladio. Says he’s got some visitors, so he can’t stay on the phone long. But they’re near Hammerhead. We can meet up with them there.” Sol added, “By ‘visitors,’ he meant they’ve got some daemons to take care of.”

　Noctis gave a small laugh. What a Gladio way to put it. He envisioned his sworn Shield in battle, the man’s greatsword arcing effortlessly through the air. Then an unpleasant thought struck.

　“Are all three of them okay?” Noctis asked.

　Prompto would be at a considerable disadvantage in this new era of darkness, with his strong preference for guns. And if Ignis had not regained his sight, survival in a world overrun with daemons would be no easy feat.

　What if one of them has . . . ?

　Sol’s interruption was merciful. “Of course they are. Could anything kill those three?” she laughed. “Prompto spends most of his time around Hammerhead, trying to impress Cindy. He helps out whenever she needs a little muscle on the road. Ignis hunts, too. Says if anything, he’s more used to the darkness than we are.”

　It seemed clear that Sol was quite close with all three.

　“They’re gonna be real glad to see you. Not just your retainers, either. Everyone’s been anxious for the king to return.”

　So they’d been waiting after all. For ten long years. Everyone in the world had carried on, believing that this day and this hour would come.

　“We oughta hurry, too,” Sol said. “Come on, jump in.”

　Noctis slid into the passenger seat at her urging. No sooner was his door closed than Sol had the vehicle in motion.

As Sol drove, she related the story of her encounter with Lunafreya and their first few days together.

　“There I am, cruising down the highway on my bike, and out of nowhere this woman in white rolls right out onto the road.”

　“She rolled out onto the road?”

　“I know, right? Figure she probably slipped off an embankment up above. She was in a real hurry.” When Sol had slammed on the brakes, Lunafreya had jumped right into the sidecar without a word.

　“She was being chased,” Sol recounted, almost casually. “Apparently, the thing had been after her for a while. But that bike’s an antique, y’know? Doesn’t get the kind of speed you need to outrun a determined daemon. ’Specially not if you’re lugging around extra weight. So I make a point of mentioning it to Luna―as a joke, right?―and guess what she does next.”

　“No idea.”

　“She goes, ‘Right. What should I dump?’ and flings the bag with all my food in it out onto the road.”

　Noctis snorted, at which Sol griped, “It was not funny. Food isn’t easy to come by out in the wastelands. I was so mad I was fightin’ back tears. The next day, we had to go back and pick it all up.”

　Sol began to talk about what a pain it had been, how they’d crawled around in the darkness on their hands and knees, picking up cans one by one. As she recounted the details, she mimicked their actions, stooping low and reaching her arms out to swipe up imaginary cans, not seeming to care that in reality, she was behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. According to Sol, Lunafreya had been much better at finding the cans.

　“That was pretty much how it always went, right from the start. Luna was full of surprises. Same name as the dead Oracle. Then she tells me she is the dead Oracle. And then she turns out to be crazy strong, even though she’s got that dainty little princess figure.”

　“What do you mean by ‘crazy strong’?”

　Lunafreya had mentioned in the journal entries that she was battling daemons alongside Sol. Noctis assumed she would’ve handled herself well enough given her training, but he wouldn’t have expected this “walking armory” to describe the Oracle as an outlier in terms of physical strength.

　“The way she fights, y’know?” Sol responded. “Packs a real punch. Terrible at cards, though. Oh, but there was this other game we played, and she was unbelievable at that one. Five Finger Fillet. You ever heard of it?”

　Noctis had. “The game where you stab a knife between your fingers?”

　It involved spreading one hand palm down against a table, then using the other hand to stab a blade down into the spaces between fingers, moving back and forth as quickly as possible. He’d played it with the guys on a road a few times. Ignis hadn’t approved.

　“It was so frustrating,” Sol continued. “She claimed it was her first time, but she was going faster than me! Apparently, her brother was real good at it. She said she was just copying what she’d seen him do.”

　Noctis was surprised to hear that Ravus had played the game. It seemed the man had another side Noctis had never seen, far removed from the stiff, unapproachable high commander they’d encountered at Aracheole. Maybe Ravus was more easygoing in the presence of those he was close to. Or maybe he’d been another person entirely, before his mother died.

　Sol kept on talking. “But the thing that really floored me was when Luna said she was gonna face off against Ardyn. Claimed it was her ‘calling’ ever since she came back to life.”

　Noctis turned involuntarily to look at Sol. “Did she really say that?”

　The words gave Noctis a start; for a moment, he thought he must have misheard. Was that truly the new calling that Lunafreya had written about? How could she be the one destined to stop Ardyn? That was the True King’s duty, bestowed upon him by the Draconian, inside the Crystal.

　At Noctis’s evident disbelief, Sol scrunched up her nose. “Please. Couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.”

　“Sorry. It just caught me off guard.”

　“Guess I can’t blame you. I felt the same way. Told Luna that was a joke if I’ve ever heard one.”

　It was strange, though. Nowhere in the notebook had Lunafreya clearly spelled out what her new calling was, and she made no mention of going after Ardyn’s life. If anything, she seemed to be suggesting the opposite, writing that she hoped to speak with Ardyn. Her message on the final page also told of the encounter with the soul of the first Oracle at Ralmuell, and of her plea to deliver Ardyn from his suffering.

　He recalled the entry’s words:

　I imagine how painful it must be for you to think back on what Ardyn has done, but I beg for your understanding. I would attempt to speak with him. I think that perhaps . . . No, now is not the time. I shall explain in detail when we are reunited. Waiting for you at the Citadel.

　And there was the question of why Lunafreya was approaching Ardyn at all. This was the man who had stabbed her at the altar in Altissia. Though the covenants she’d forged had already worn her life down to a thin edge, Ardyn had delivered the killing blow. Yet her words seemed to indicate an honest desire to communicate with him, rather than to seek revenge. Something pivotal must have happened for her feel that way.

　If Sol’s claim was correct and Lunafreya had indeed been called to kill Ardyn, the notebook’s message was all the more troubling. It suggested that Lunafreya had turned her back on the gods’ will. For one who had always lived a life of prayer and dedication to the gods, such a decision would not have been made lightly.

　In the Crystal, Noctis had learned that the Ring of the Lucii provided the sole means to destroy the Immortal Accursed. Lunafreya wasn’t in possession of the ring and neither was she a descendant of the Lucis Caelum line, able to wield it. He could see no logic in sending her to confront Ardyn. Why would the Six call on her to do so? Why send two people for a job that required one?

　He then remembered another passage from the notebook, where Luna had mentioned the new, inhuman power she found herself possessing, as well as the disquiet it invited.

　“Tell me,” he asked Sol, “did Luna mention any sort of . . . new power she was able to use?”

　He intentionally omitted the word “inhuman.” Whatever this power was, he was reluctant to describe it the way Lunafreya had.

　Sol stared straight ahead and answered stiffly. “Yeah. She can absorb the scourge.”

　The breath caught in Noctis’s throat. There was only one other person who possessed power like that. And the Crystal had revealed the tragedy it had drawn down on him two thousand years ago.

　“She claimed one of the gods gave it to her so she’d be able to face Ardyn.”

　“Do you know which god? Was it the Draconian?”

　“I dunno. She never said.”

　Regardless of the source, Noctis wanted to know why Lunafreya had been given the power to draw the Starscourge. And why had she been commanded to kill the Accursed with the very same capability he possessed?

　There was also the fact that Lunafreya was worried about using this ability. As Noctis understood it, the power would allow her to absorb the scourge but not to purge it. Each time she did so, the menace to which she was host would surge in strength. The Crystal’s memories had made Ardyn’s agony clear. To think of Lunafreya having to endure the same was intolerable. How could the gods do such a thing? Responsibility for killing Ardyn fell on the shoulders of the True King. Why drag Lunafreya into the equation?

　“How much do you know about it?” Sol asked.

　“About Luna’s power? I guess I’ve got a pretty solid understanding.”

　As solid an understanding as anyone could have. He’d witnessed every detail of Ardyn’s suffering two thousand years ago. Perhaps Noctis had already seen more of what would happen to Lunafreya than she had yet discovered for herself.

　Another thought occurred to him. In the notebook, Lunafreya had mentioned an encounter with the soul of the first Oracle at Ralmuell. Did Aera reveal to her the truth of what had transpired in their time? If so, that would explain Lunafreya’s desire to speak with the Accursed. Ardyn was the only other person on the Star who knew firsthand what she was going through. Maybe now that she was privy to Ardyn’s past, she no longer felt hatred toward the man at whose hands she had perished.

　Or maybe Noctis was just grasping at straws.

　The car came to a sudden stop, and Sol spoke again. “Listen, Your Majesty.” She wore a grave expression. “You say you’ve got a pretty good grasp of what Luna’s capable of. But there’s something else you need to know. About the state she’s in.”

　Noctis nodded for Sol to continue, but he could already imagine what she was going to say. The way she hesitated as she spoke. The fact that this detail was of such import that she felt she had to stop the car.

　When Sol continued to fumble for words, Noctis ventured, “I take it . . . she’s become a daemon?”

　Sol’s chest heaved with a barely contained sob, and she nodded.

　“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s all my fault. She was doing it for me, to save my mom’s life, and . . . all she ever wanted was to see you again. To live by your side. She helped me even though she knew what it would do to her. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

　“It’s not your fault,” Noctis said. “If someone is in need and it’s within Luna’s power to help . . . Well, we both know what kind of person she is. She doesn’t hesitate. She just does it, no matter the consequences.”

　The expression on the young hunter’s face shifted, now closer to surprise than tears.

　“How . . . ?” she mumbled, the word seeming to escape from her throat of its own accord.

　Then after another moment, “That’s exactly how Luna put it. How did you know?”

　“How could I not?”

　After their sudden parting as children, Noctis and Lunafreya had never again spoke face-to-face. Yet a thread of written words had always kept them bonded.

　No. She had kept them bonded. Lunafreya had worked to understand Noctis, and he’d done nothing to reciprocate. In that sense, too, he’d depended on her, as a child would. After he thought she was gone from the world, he’d lived with the regret of never becoming close enough to her to understand her tribulations. He would not make the same mistake again.

　“Sol,” he said, with sudden clarity of mind. “I’m not stopping at Hammerhead. I’m going straight on to the city. Pass the word on to Gladio and the others.”

　“You’re not gonna wait for them? The garage is just up ahead.”

　“You said it yourself. Luna’s anxious to see me. I can’t keep her waiting.”

　Waiting for you. She’d written the same thing back then, as he and his companions prepared to embark for Altissia. She’d waited, but he hadn’t made it in time.

　He wouldn’t make her wait again. This promise was one he would keep.

　“All right, I’ll let the guys know. You can bet good money they’ll be racing after you as soon as they hear.”

　A mountain of problems to which he had no answers still loomed. He didn’t know how he was going to protect Lunafreya. She had already turned. He might not be able to find a means to cure her of the scourge.

　Still, inside the Crystal, he’d sworn that not another life would be lost. The only option was to move forward. He’d have to deal with everything as it came.

　Maybe he was being too optimistic. The gods had always demanded that sacrifices be made. In the distant past, they’d chosen Ardyn, and the man gave his life that he might deliver his people from the Starscourge. Lunafreya had offered up her own to forge the covenants. Noctis, too, was commanded to lay down his life at the throne to deliver the Star from darkness. Yet even their sacrifices brought no certainty that the gods would save everyone. Ardyn had not been able to heal all of his people. Somnus, who refused to accept that some of those infected would be saved when others were not, had deemed it more fair to have everyone touched by the scourge killed. How much suffering could have been averted if the gods had deigned to decide that every life should be spared such a cruel fate?

　By such thoughts, his path became clear. Fulfilling his calling was not enough in itself, and neither was driving away the darkness. Noctis had to see that everyone was delivered from peril, equally and without exception. Not a single life sacrificed. If the gods would not ensure that everyone could be saved, then it was up to him to do so, even as just a mortal king.

　He would go to Insomnia. He would travel the path toward the future he wished to see―the path he’d promised his father he would take.

“I wonder if I might ask for your aid.”

　Lunafreya stared up at Ardyn. That was when she noticed the throne room’s other occupants: several large puppets dangling from chains, each made to resemble some personage of importance to Lucis. A likeness of Regis hung among them. It made Lunafreya’s heart ache. How would Noctis have felt if he’d been the one to encounter this display?

　She resisted the urge to look away and, instead, kept her eyes trained on Ardyn.

　“My aid,” Ardyn drawled, a look of comically exaggerated surprise on his face. Then with a mocking little shrug, “Do you frequently invoke the aid of those whom you’re sent to kill? What a charmingly unique habit.”

　“I have been commanded by the Draconian to confront and to slay you, that much is true. The life and strength I am given now are for that purpose.”

　“Of course they are. You―”

　“However,” she interjected, “I do not wish to kill you.”

　“And defy the duty bestowed upon you by your precious gods? How shocking.” Ardyn pondered for a moment, then added, “Or rather, you would carry out your duty but can’t bear the thought of bloodying your own hands and possibly dying in the attempt. So I am to chivalrously take my own life to spare you such hardships. Really, who knew what dark thoughts lurk behind that innocent countenance.”

　“That is not what I would ask from you. Your death serves only to further the Draconian’s scheme. Please, you must believe me.”

　Ardyn’s lips carried the same hint of a smile they always wore.

　“What’s this? A marionette that takes no joy in its master’s success? I find that hard to fathom. Not that I have the least bit of interest in doing so.”

　“The Bladekeeper aims to purge the darkness and the rest of the Star along with it. Man, daemon, and everything else are all to be destroyed. For that purpose, he sends me to amass the scourge and―”

　“Destroy everything, you say? How delightful! And here I thought I’d have to do everything myself, when it turns out I can just let the sword fanatic handle it for me.”

　“You would perish along with the rest of us.”

　“Your point being?”

　Lunafreya’s pleas landed on deaf ears. This was a complication she had not anticipated, that the difficulty would lie not in convincing Ardyn to help her but in persuading him to listen at all. A whisper of defeat wormed its way through her mind. No words of hers could reach him. No plea would penetrate his resolve.

　Ardyn seemed to tire of the exchange. “Pray remember, Lady Lunafreya, that you call upon me uninvited.”

　“Please, I implore you. Hear my words.”

　“I’m afraid I’m not much for stories.” Ardyn stood. “Now, I think it’s time you take your leave, before my next guest arrives.”

　She saw his right arm rise. Just as it seemed their discussion might break down into violence, a voice echoed through Lunafreya’s mind.

　Please, you must stop Ardyn.

　Aera’s words.

　I beg of you. Deliver him from his long years of anguish.

　She could not give up yet.

　“I am here at the behest of Aera Mirus Fleuret. She has asked me to help you find peace.”

　Ardyn froze. His ever-present smile melted away, and his face grew hard.

　“If that name crosses your tongue again, I shall cut it out.”

　His lilting speech had turned harsh and flat, all traces of mirth now gone. Perhaps this was her chance to get through to him.

　With voice bolder still, Lunafreya proclaimed, “At Ralmuell, I was graced by a visitation from Aera’s spirit. She―”

　“Be silent!”

　Lunafreya had never once heard Ardyn raise his voice in anger. But the rage that twisted his features was a sight well familiar to her.

　“I will not! Know this: Aera continues to suffer, and she continues to mourn for you. If you do not find peace, she will never find hers.”

　“I told you to be silent!”

　They stood with gazes locked. Ardyn’s burned with rage of frightening intensity. But she held firm, refusing to let herself look away. At the slightest sign of weakness, his ears would be closed to her words forevermore. She stared back at him resolutely, allowing her own eyes to pierce into Ardyn’s, forgetting even to blink.

　At long last, their deadlock broke; Ardyn was the one to flinch away. Lunafreya recalled Sol’s comment back at the training grounds. She kinda looks like you. Ardyn likely found it excruciating to keep his eyes fixed on a likeness so close to that of Aera’s.

　His smile returned, though it seemed forced now. “Ifrit! Come!” he called.

　No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a giant hand of flame rose from the ground before Lunafreya. She took an involuntary step back and recalled that among the scenes of the past shown to her by Bahamut, there had been one of Ardyn giving orders to the Infernian, the god’s form marred with scourge.

　“Be so kind as to entertain the Oracle for me. I have other, more pressing matters to attend to.”

　Ifrit’s immense form, wreathed in flames, obstructed Lunafreya’s view of the Usurper, but Ardyn’s blithe tone seemed laced with a hint of vexation. She was uncertain if his smile still remained, but if she had to guess, probably not.

　“If you’d rather not get burned, I suggest you run along home,” he called from his spot near the throne.

　Lunafreya had discovered the one topic that could provoke a response from Ardyn. He’d managed to kill Lunafreya once, in Altissia, but confronted with Aera’s likeness once again, he hesitated. Aera and his memories of her were why Ardyn turned to the captive Pyreburner to drive Lunafreya away―he could not bear to do so himself.

　“I shall remain here until you have listened to all I have to say,” she announced.

　She would not relent. No matter what happened, she would stay firmly planted in the Citadel. If Ardyn set the Infernian upon her, she would simply drive the god away. She reached for the polearm at her back―a weapon brought more out of a sense of precaution than any desire to use it―and readied for battle. She experienced a shiver of discouragement on realizing she’d fight this battle without Sol at her side, but fight she would, nonetheless. She had to.

Sol jumped out of the car at Hammerhead, and Noctis took the wheel, speeding toward Insomnia. The drive was uneventful, and before he knew it, he was outside the checkpoint for the Citadel courtyard. Leaving the vehicle, he approached the gates, found them unlocked, and pushed through.

　This was where his journey had begun, so long ago. He’d passed through these same gates, riding in the Regalia together with Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis. Back then, the checkpoint had still been manned, with soldiers posted in shifts. The day was bright and clear. Blessed weather. His father was alive, and his friends with him. The Citadel and its surrounds were bustling with life as people went about their day.

　It struck Noctis then just how much had been lost over the past ten years. He paused as a new concern pressed upon him, of whether all that had been taken away could ever truly be restored.

　A king cannot lead by standing still. He remembered his father’s words, and heartened, he hurried on through the checkpoint and into the courtyard proper.

　The wide plaza stretched out before him, but the world’s darkness left the place feeling drab, monochrome. Noctis realized he’d seen the courtyard like this once before: the dream in the Crystal, when he was first drawn into it. Endless ranks of unknown foes had filled this space, Noctis standing against them alone.

　Enemies did not throng the courtyard now. Yet it seemed Noctis was still ordained to fight there, just with a different foe: as he traversed the space alone, there was a great clang and tremor of something metallic crashing into the ground. He instinctively dove to one side and flicked a glance back. A sword was lodged in the flagstones where he had just been. A moment later, in flash of blue light, the owner of the blade soared in―warped in, as if this adversary were a member of Noctis’s own line.

　“Great. So now I have to fight the Old Kings, too?” Noctis muttered to himself.

　The warping would have been hint enough, but once Noctis saw the intricate suit of armor, he knew for certain.

　Around the figure’s thick platemail swirled the telltale black particles of miasma. Though once Noctis’s ancestor, now this was also some manner of daemon. His opponent offered no confirmation of its own. It simply lurched forward in silence, bringing its great blade swinging down. Noctis’s own glaive flashed into his hand, but no sooner had he repelled one blow than the next was incoming. The movements were swift, the attacks relentless. The strikes, too, confirmed his opponent’s identity. This was one of the Kings of Yore. Or, more precisely, the soul of a king housed in a stone figure. An enemy far surpassing any of the daemons he’d previously battled, possessing strength and skill of another order.

　When Noctis warped into the air above, the daemon king warped after him to cross swords in midair. If he stayed on the ground, the blows rained down from above, with gravity adding to their force and momentum. Any distance Noctis put between himself and his opponent could be crossed in an instant. Any attack he pressed might find only empty air as his opponent warped away.

　This was what it meant to contend against the power of kings. Noctis gripped his sword, dedicating to the fight every bit of strength and skill he had.

　The worst part of it was the constant awareness that he was alone. No follow-up strikes from Gladio. No supporting fire from Prompto. No on-the-spot strategies from Ignis to turn the tide of battle.

　Now more than ever, he longed to have his companions at his side. Somehow, in the dream shared by the Crystal, he’d been insensate to their absence, but here in the real world, it was at the forefront of his mind. He needed his three friends. They were irreplaceable.

　But as king, there were things he had to face alone, and when that happened, as it did now, he would rise to the call. He could fight and win on his own―the Crystal’s dream had shown him that. He would repel this foe, no longer dependent on others as he was in his youth. And if he fought alongside his companions again, he would guard their backs, not just rely on them to watch his. The dream had shown him he was ready for that, too.

　He parried a blow from a greatsword that was nearly as long as Noctis was tall, then he rushed in at the enemy’s heart, taking advantage of this tiniest gap in defense. He thrust his sword into a thin seam between the plates of armor, driving the blade deep, and then in the next split second, he was away, warping high into the air for another strike, this one from above.

　The shriek of steel on stone filled the courtyard, followed by a cracking sound: fissures formed along the plates of the enemy’s armor, and the daemon king fell to its knees. Noctis still held his weapon at the ready to fend off a counterattack, but his opponent made no attempt to rise back to its feet.

　The contours of the stone figure grew hazy, and then it burst into a multitude of tiny particles dispersing into nothingness. When the ethereal mist cleared, a human form remained. Noctis was taken aback.

　“Somnus Lucis Caelum . . . ” he whispered.

　It was a face he’d seen before, among the memories etched into the Crystal. This was the Founder King of Lucis, and Ardyn’s younger brother. In the years following Somnus’s summoning as part of the Old Wall and his defeat at Ardyn’s hands, Regis had ordered the statue of the Mystic reconstructed. It seemed Ardyn, on taking up residence in Insomnia in this darkened world, had alighted on the absurd notion of infesting the Mystic’s avatar with the scourge. Perhaps he’d been eager to see it spar with the True King, once he finally arrived.

　Somnus looked at Noctis and spoke. “Forgive my brother his sins, O Chosen. Anger and the scourge twist his senses. He thought to revel in the conflict between us, to watch as two so alike clash and inflict pain on one another.”

　“Sounds about right for Ardyn.”

　As Noctis looked into the other man’s face, he had the strange sensation that he was seeing his own image, as in a mirror. Perhaps it wasn’t so strange; they shared the same blood, after all. Ardyn had likely interpreted their similarity as a sign―the True King he longed to vanquish looked just like the brother for whom no amount of loathing would suffice. Thus the convoluted machinations to make them fight.

　Noctis could see the torment filling Somnus’s eyes.

　“It was my own failing that turned my brother into what he is now,” the Founder King said. “Of that, I am well aware. Still, I would beg of you. Stay his hand.

　“Immersed in anger and hatred, he lives on immortal and knows not a moment’s respite. Please, go forth. Restore the Light . . . and free my brother from his eternal curse.”

　Two brothers, as close as could be when children, driven apart by opposing ideals when adults. The relationship between the siblings had deteriorated until finally one died at the other’s hands. Noctis knew that Somnus had regretted that outcome for the rest of his days.

　“I will see it done,” he vowed.

　Somnus nodded. “You have my gratitude.”

　And then, with a faint smile shining through his melancholic expression, Somnus faded away.

　The encounter with the Mystic brought a new question to the fore of Noctis’s mind. The gods had given the power to draw the scourge to Ardyn alone. But why? It wasn’t as if it could be given to only one person at time, or that Ardyn was the only one capable of wielding it. Both points were disproved by the fact that Lunafreya now possessed it as well.

　If, in that age long past, the gods had bestowed such power on Somnus as well, perhaps the two brothers could have greeted the future together, even if their opinions had differed.

　Or perhaps, if the power had been given to someone else entirely, and neither Ardyn nor Somnus wielded it, the outcome could have been different. The deadly struggle might have still claimed Ardyn’s life, but the resulting hatred would not have persisted for millennia. Surely all would have been forgotten once the two men had both passed from the world.

　Two brothers at odds, one with a power the other could never hope to possess. In the end, that was all it boiled down to. That difference between them had ultimately drawn a curtain of darkness across the world. The more Noctis thought it through, the more inept the gods seemed to be. Or perhaps it was simple arrogance: an inability of the Six to admit their own shortsightedness.

　Perhaps Lunafreya was now being led along by that same blind arrogance. Or, more likely, yanked and dragged along, subject to all the accompanying suffering.

　Plagued with doubts about the gods who gave him power, Noctis made haste toward the throne room.

She’d bitten off more than she could chew. Somewhere, in some corner of her mind, she knew that. To assume she might be able to pull every bit of infestation from the daemonified Infernian―it was as rash a plan as could be imagined. Still, she’d told herself she had to try. It was the only real means she had to face the deity.

　“Ardyn!” she shouted, as the streams of scourge poured into her arms, “Is it not the Draconian who truly deserves your hate? Are you content to be but a cog in his machinations?!”

　The words poured out of her in desperation. She had to get through to the man. The darkness was seething inside of her, and each time her mouth opened, she feared it might be the snarls and growls of a beast leaving her throat rather than words.

　“Humanity brought to an end? The Star wiped from existence? How terribly convenient for me. Now if I could only find a way to eliminate that pesky god pulling all the strings. Then my revenge would be complete.”

　She saw the twisted smile on Ardyn’s lips. In her struggle against the Infernian, she’d inadvertently drawn nearer to the throne.

　“The Bladekeeper cannot be slain! He exists not only in our world, but also in the one beyond!”

　Ardyn’s eyes widened just slightly.

　“We cannot hope to kill him,” Lunafreya repeated, “But if we can convince him to cast his spell of destruction, he will be depleted and fall into deep slumber.”

　It would be like the Great War of Old. According to Gentiana, Teraflare could be cast only once. If they managed to survive the initial blast, they would be safe. Humanity would continue on.

　By allowing the Bladekeeper to gather all the darkness into his spell, they could also rid the Star of the scourge. Four of the Six―Shiva, Ramuh, Titan, and Leviathan―had managed to protect Eos from Teraflare in the past. So long as they could manage the same feat again, Teraflare could be the key to ending the darkness.

　“That is why,” Lunafreya said to Ardyn, “I ask that you give to me the scourge that resides within you. I will pretend that I have slain you, appear to carry out the Draconian’s calling . . . and . . . ”

　Lunafreya found herself unable to go on. Her breath caught with pain. Tears blurred her vision. In her warped field of view, she saw the face of the Pyreburner, twisted in similar anguish.

　She remembered Gentiana’s tales, and particularly one quiet story shared after Lunafreya had learned of the Messenger’s true identity. The goddess always chose her words carefully, preferring modest expressions, but behind them was a clear and overflowing affection for humanity. As Lunafreya reviewed the story in her mind, it became clear just how much the members of the Six that resided on the Star shared in common with their mortal charges. Even the anger and hatred they experienced were feelings similar to those of humans.

　At long last, the pain receded from the Infernian’s visage. She seemed to have succeeded in freeing the god from the influence of the scourge. But it came at a cost: the agony burning within Lunafreya had increased several times over.

　The Infernian turned toward Ardyn, who once again sat upon the throne. Anger twisted the god’s features. Clearly, Ifrit was aware of his own loss of autonomy and of the fact that Ardyn had been behind his enslavement.

　“Insolent mortal,” spat the Pyreburner.

　“Wait!” Lunafreya cried, fighting back against the strangling pain. To thwart the Draconian’s plot to incinerate the Star and end all mankind, Ardyn’s cooperation was absolutely essential. She couldn’t afford a conflict between Ardyn and the Infernian. She had to stop them.

　“God of Fire, I beseech you! Enter into covenant that the king might save our star!”

　The fiery fist heading straight for Ardyn froze, and Ifrit turned to face the Oracle. Lunafreya found herself frozen as well, shocked by her own request. She’d been desperate for any means to prevent a fight, but the idea of using the covenant came out of nowhere.

　Still, she continued, “It is I, Lunafreya, blood of the Oracle. In exchange for your release from the bonds of the scourge, lend your power to the Crystal’s Chosen King.”

　It was all she could do to manage to stay on her feet. She forced her eyes wide. Tears were streaming from them now, and she could imagine the inky trails flowing down her cheeks.

　“Let the king have your blessing!”

　She had not previously forged a covenant with the Infernian―her demise in Altissia had come before she’d been able to make any attempt―and she’d always harbored a regret deep down at that failure of duty. Perhaps that was why the idea had come to her now.

　“Please . . . ”

　Ages seemed to pass as she stood on trembling legs, caught between the heat of the flames before her and the agony of the scourge within. A moment in reality was for Lunafreya an eternity of torment.

　The Infernian’s gaze softened.

　“So be it,” he said. A curt answer, but sufficient all the same.

　A chill wind blew through the throne room, and Lunafreya saw that the Infernian had departed.

　She clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to slump to the floor. She knew that if her knees buckled now, she would not stand again, so she held on. Both her legs were nearly numb. The only thing she could feel was the aching of the scourge.

　She heard a pair of hands begin to clap.

　“Quite the show, Lady Lunafreya.” Ardyn was standing again, his hands coming together with slow, dramatic sweeps. No trace remained of the hesitation and doubt she’d glimpsed before.

　“And for your next act, you’ll deceive a god?”

　Lunafreya found it difficult to speak. She nodded instead.

　“You and I shall put on a glorious performance, and when it’s over, I’ll be the one to fall on stage, is that it? A fascinating proposal. But I do have one question.”

　Ardyn’s smile widened. It was an expression that had nothing to do with mirth.

　“You’ve just gone past your limit. Now how will the show go on?”

　And with that, her vision went black. Ardyn and everything else in the throne room disappeared. She heard the howling of a beast, and by the time she recognized it as her own voice, all was drowned in darkness.

Noctis heard a scream like that of a beast in pain. It seemed to be coming from just beyond the doors he sought to open. He flung them wide and rushed into the throne room, only to stop dead in his tracks. Some manner of creature lay writhing on the floor. From its jet-black skin rose the dark miasma of the daemons.

　“I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Ardyn’s voice floated down from on high. “You’ve arrived just a moment too late.”

　“Ardyn!” Noctis growled.

　“She couldn’t wait for you any longer, you see.”

　The creature raised its head, arms and legs still limp on the floor.

　Noctis gasped. “Luna!”

　Lunafreya made no response to Noctis’s voice. Her eyes were vacant. It was impossible to tell what she was looking at, or if she could see anything at all.

　With the scourge’s transformation, she hardly resembled the woman she was before. All the same, Noctis knew immediately that it was her.

　He turned back to Ardyn. “What did you do to her?!”

　“Now why would you think to blame this on me? I’m almost offended.”

　“Enough with the games!”

　“I assure you, this is all of her own doing. She absorbed every last bit of scourge from the Infernian himself.”

　Lunafreya stumbled to her feet. When Noctis tried to rush to her side, she leapt away with inhuman speed, reaching down to snatch up a polearm that had fallen on the ground.

　“Luna . . . ” Noctis watched in disbelief as she leveled her weapon’s blade directly at him. “Please! Stop this!”

　She lunged, offering no word of explanation, or any indication that she’d heard his words, let alone comprehended them. Noctis dodged to the side, barely avoiding her thrust. It was clear her actions were not intended for show. She sought to take his life.

　“Luna!” he shouted. “Can’t you see it’s me?!”

　He’d managed to grab the spear’s haft with one hand, gripping it tight. He needed to get the weapon away from her, before she got hurt.

　But a mere moment after he’d laid his hand on the weapon, the world inverted before his eyes and his back slammed against the ground. He groaned in a mix of pain and disbelief. Somehow, she’d been able to lift and throw Noctis down effortlessly, in a show of overwhelming strength.

　“Please . . . Luna, you have to snap out of it,” he pleaded, rising from the floor and approaching her again.

　Suddenly, a towering blade flew down from above, driven into the ground between them.

The Chosen’s purpose is no more.

　The words of the Draconian boomed throughout the throne room. The Bladekeeper himself made no appearance. There was only the massive blade and the stentorian voice.

Power is granted that darkness be banished and balance returned to the Star.

When mortals grow arrogant, seeking to repeat blasphemies of old, no longer are they worthy wards.

To cleanse the Star, all life must be swept away.

So it is ordained, and so shall it be.

　“All life swept away?” Noctis repeated, uncomprehending. “But I thought you sent me here to . . . ”

　His mind needed time to catch up. Was this not the same deity he’d encountered in the Crystal? Still fresh in mind was his own calling, as delivered by the Draconian. The True King was to rid the Star of darkness at the cost of his own life. Had the Bladekeeper’s intentions changed? If so, why?

　Bahamut continued to speak. It seemed he would not offer answers or even pause to give Noctis time to comprehend.

The time is come. Let the power be unleashed, O Sovereign of the Scourge.

　Lunafreya’s body floated up into the air. That was the last thing Noctis saw, and as his consciousness slipped away, the last thing he felt was a tremendous force hurling him away.

When Ardyn’s eyes reopened, it was to the scourge-darkened sky above. He was no longer in the throne room nor, it seemed, inside the Citadel at all. After another moment, he realized he was sprawled unceremoniously on the ground.

　“Lovely,” he announced dryly.

　He shook his head and stood. He recalled seeing the Oracle release the darkness. He’d been thrown backward by the blast, and after that, he must have blacked out.

　“Well, if nothing else, our dear Lady Lunafreya certainly set her sights high.”

　He looked up to find the Oracle―in Bahamut’s words, the “Sovereign of the Scourge”―suspended high up in the sky. Around her swirled a vortex of black miasma.

　A swarm of creatures flitted about the vortex. Birds or wyverns, he’d have guessed, until on closer inspection he saw that they possessed the same shape as the Bladekeeper himself. Avatars. Closer to the stature of a man than a god, dark in color, and singularly ominous. Dozens of them were circling the Oracle, protecting her, their black and gold coloration a disturbing echo of the royal colors of the hated Lucian line.

　“Behold, the Goddess of Darkness,” Ardyn mused.

　The sky seemed to be darkest directly above the Citadel, right where Lunafreya was. This was the spot where all the Starscourge plaguing the world was to be drawn. All the dark power would be concentrated here for the Draconian’s spell.

　“Teraflare,” Ardyn murmured. “The preparations are already underway.”

　The Draconian’s plan, as relayed by the Oracle, had not come as much of a surprise. This was the type of dramatic solution the God of War was apt to prefer.

　However, it was another of the woman’s statements that bothered him.

　The Bladekeeper cannot be slain! He exists not only in our world, but also in the one beyond!

　That was a distressing revelation. Ardyn, his own soul trapped in the other realm, knew better than any other the truth of that consequent immortality and of the difficulty it would pose for any attempt on the Draconian’s life. One could deal an infinite number of deaths to a foe with a soul stuck in the Beyond, but said foe would always rise again. To worsen matters, the Draconian’s soul, unlike Ardyn’s, was not held captive―the god was as free from restraint there as he was here in the mortal realm.

　In short, a battle with Bahamut would be much harder than one with the Glacian or the Infernian. Neither the daemon-infused creations of the empire nor the hands through which flowed the controlling sting of the scourge would suffice to defeat the Draconian.

　“Thus her proposal. The Bladekeeper casts his Teraflare, expends his energy, and falls into slumber. Ah, but if only it were so simple.”

　Lunafreya’s notion was logical in the sense that history had unfolded in such a manner once before. But there was no guarantee that a reenactment of the War of the Astrals would culminate in the same result. This time, the Draconian’s spell would be charged with all the darkness that now blanketed Eos.

　There was another point to consider. At the conclusion of that ancient war, five of the Six had unquestionably fallen into slumber. Each had collapsed, depleted, somewhere upon the surface of the Star. But it was unclear whether Bahamut had slept. Tales told of him retiring to some place unknown; some posited that he’d been asleep high in the heavens. Of course there was no way to ascertain the truth of any of these claims. For ages, the god had simply been missing, without any clue as to his whereabouts or doings.

　“The Lady Oracle might be willing to gamble, but I’d much rather take the sure bet,” Ardyn mused aloud.

　Put the god to sleep―that was the solution of a gentle soul. However, there were other options. Options that were more decisive. More permanent.

　A violent shaking of the ground interrupted his reverie.

　“Oh dear. What now?”

　The Citadel, already half-destroyed, was quaking along with the earth. No, quaking against the earth, as if struggling to break free of it. Steel split and concrete crumbled. A great roar of wrenching and tearing materials drowned out all other sound. Everything was moving, but the Citadel most of all, in great jagged jerks toward ground and then sky.

　When Ardyn managed to regain his balance, he murmured, “Moving the Crystal beyond the reach of man? Now that’s not very sporting. I would say that I’d expected better of the Bladekeeper, except that would be an utter lie.”

　Dust billowed, and the Citadel in its entirety began rising into the air. The throne room hung in plain sight, its walls and ceiling blown away by the Oracle’s earlier burst of dark energy.

　Fissures tore through the large boulevard leading from the Citadel to downtown Insomnia. The ground shrieked as it ripped apart, and debris flew in all directions. The Citadel continued to rise, its great gates dangling limp, bars twisted like crumpled dollhouse ornaments.

　“I suppose I should be grateful for the free ride. Stick with the throne, stick with the action.”

　A series of phantasmal leaps later, he was aboard the ascending island. So long as this was headed in Lunafreya’s direction, Noctis wouldn’t be far from hand.

　“A family reunion in the sky. You won’t keep me waiting this time, will you, Your Majesty?”

　Ardyn, standing in the Citadel courtyard and staring down at the receding city streets, began to laugh.

Consciousness returned slowly, and for a while, the world was hazy. The ground beneath him was violently shuddering. It reminded him of that day at the Disc of Cauthess―a rumbling that rose from deep in the earth.

　Cauthess. Right. He’d received Titan’s blessing that day, thanks to Luna’s covenant, and . . .

　Luna.

　The preceding moments reeled back through mind. Noctis jolted to his feet.

　“Luna!” he cried, scanning his surroundings.

　He wasn’t in the throne room. In fact, he didn’t seem to be inside the Citadel at all. He looked up to see the skyscraper moving ever higher: the whole structure was rising atop a small island of concrete and asphalt, as if it had been pulled up like a weed by some unseen force. The shaking of the earth he’d felt earlier must have come as the building was ripped from the ground.

　Higher up, he saw a section of sky darker than its surroundings―a concentration of miasma denser than he’d ever seen before. In the center of the onyx circle was a humanlike figure: the daemon Lunafreya that both looked like his love and did not.

　The scourge-tainted Oracle raised both hands high above her head and began to sing. It was a song Noctis had never heard before. Lunafreya had often sung songs of old for him during his recovery at Tenebrae, measures passed down by the people of her homeland, with soothing, simple melodies.

　There was nothing gentle about the song Noctis heard now. The tones were dissonant, harsh, and seemed to cause the very air to tremble, as if her voice might pierce the darkness itself. A moment later, light began to encircle Lunafreya. It was a light similar to that of the Armiger, but pure white and tracing the intricate lines of a casting circle in the space around her body.

　“Is that . . . ?” Noctis said.

　He recalled the words of the Draconian. To cleanse the Star, all life must be swept away. This had to be the beginnings of the Bladekeeper’s spell of destruction absolute. As he stared up at the ominous vision, horror transmuted into urgency.

　“I have to stop it!”

　If the Draconian managed to complete the spell, the chances of recovering Lunafreya safely were slim. Noctis sprinted forward. He had to get up there. He had to stop the spell. The Citadel was gaining altitude. He didn’t have much time.

　He recognized his own unbecoming panic. Any trace of poise or cool was lost. Hours ago, he’d felt collected, ready to return home and fulfill his destiny. The clear and overwhelming images shared by the Crystal told him there was no other choice. He knew what he had to do, and nothing was going to throw him off course.

　And yet here he was, panicking. Staying calm seemed an insurmountable task with Lunafreya’s life once more at stake. He couldn’t lose her. Not again. He remembered the pain in Altissia, when he regained consciousness only to learn of her death. His heart had seemed but a moment away from being ripped from his chest. The prospect of enduring that agony all over again left him terrified.

　He ran with everything he had. A thrown blade and a warp brought him close to the rising Citadel. Next stop was the edge, and then he’d ride up into the sky, heading toward Lunafreya high above. Without other means to fly, it would be the easiest way up.

　Unfortunately, Bahamut seemed to know it, too. As Noctis aimed for the lip of the rising island, he heard the sound of wings diving in. He turned, prepared to face an incoming pack of flying daemons. What he encountered was something quite different.

　“It’s the Draconian,” he gasped.

　Or if not the god himself, something quite similar. There was no mistaking the shape of the incoming assailants; they looked precisely like the god Noctis had observed inside the Crystal. However, they were much smaller in scale, perhaps twice Noctis’s own stature, with splayed swords for wings and flexible tails like the supple leather of a whip. In their hands, they wielded greatswords.

　There were several dozen, arranged in ordered ranks reminiscent of the empire’s automated infantry. Whether these smaller Bladekeepers were incarnations or simply minions, Noctis was not certain, but they were undoubtedly created to execute the Bladekeeper’s will. Avatars, perhaps. At any rate, this was no unordered mob of daemons; these foes behaved intelligently, clearly intending to strike at Noctis with coordinated tactics.

　“Looks like someone doesn’t want me near the Citadel,” he muttered.

　For what the avatars lacked in size compared to their master, they compensated for with speed and ferocity. The Royal Arms flashed into Noctis’s hands. He parried blows and struck back, but it was clear he was at a disadvantage. There would be no swift victory against this many skilled opponents.

　“Damn it!” he cursed, as another avatar swooped in.

　Easily as troublesome as their greatswords were their bodies and wings. The avatars dove and twisted, not at all hesitant to try bodily slamming into Noctis, bladed wings sweeping forward to slice at his arms. He wouldn’t be able to avoid every blow. A sharp pain ran through his biceps. Enough solid contact on his right, and he’d find it hard to wield his glaives to fight back.

　At long last, he managed to fell one. But the rest continued to dive at him. His hard-won victory evaporated like a ladleful of water thrown upon hot coals. The avatars toyed with him, dictating the terms of the fight, and Noctis’s fatigue mounted; despite the fact that he’d managed to slay one, it felt like there were more enemies now than there had been to start with.

　All the while, the Citadel continued to rise. Soon, it would be at too great a distance for Noctis to reach with a warp. He had to cut this encounter short, but the number of opponents, their strength and coordination kept him pinned. He had to think.

　A sudden call came from behind him. “Noct!”

　An avatar’s incoming sword rang with an impact and jerked off course. It took Noctis a moment to comprehend what had happened: a bullseye shot, dead center on the enemy’s blade. Someone was firing at the creatures with a gun, and Noctis realized exactly who it was.

　“Prompto! Glad you could make it!” he shouted in response. Before he could turn to confirm, he heard the whoosh and clang of a greatsword and then a heavy thud as something collapsed to the ground.

　Noctis finally found a moment to shoot a glance over his shoulder. “Gladio! Long time no see!”

　The sworn Shield lifted his massive blade to rest on one shoulder, the avatar that had been bearing down on Noctis’s back now vanquished.

　“Sure took your sweet time showing up,” Gladio grinned.

　“Look who’s talking,” Noctis responded.

　“This is all quite heartwarming, but I’m afraid the happy reunion is going to have to wait,” a third voice chimed in. Ignis.

　The sound of wings slicing through the air reached their ears again. Three more enemies, inbound fast. Ignis was already crouched slightly, polearm held ready for the leap. For the vision he still lacked, his hearing seemed to have grown all the sharper. He was quicker to respond than anyone else.

　“Hey, Ignis, instructions!”

　Same words, same motions. Just like old times.

　“Attack together on my signal,” Ignis replied calmly.

　The advisor had a strategy whipped up almost instantly. Everything flowed without a hitch, as if ten long years hadn’t passed at all. The three companions assumed their formation around Noctis, as if they’d all done the same just days ago.

　No. For Noctis, it seemed like yesterday, but his three retainers had ten years to prepare for this fight. Prompto’s shots came faster and with more precision. Gladio’s blows were more powerful than ever before. Even Ignis’s movements were sharper, notwithstanding his lost eyesight. Noctis didn’t have to ask how they’d spent the time in their king’s absence. Here in battle, it felt like they’d spent every day of that decade right by his side.

　Even so, the situation was growing worse.

　“We’re getting nowhere,” Gladio growled in irritation. Their foes seemed to be growing in number. In all likelihood, the Draconian was summoning reinforcements.

　“And they just keep coming!” came Prompto’s frustrated follow-up.

　“Heh. Talk about déjà vu.”

　“Now that you mention it . . . ”

　The exchange did seem familiar. Back at Zegnautus Keep, when they’d been surrounded by daemons, Ignis had instructed Noctis to go ahead on his own. Noctis had left the other three behind to fight, heading by himself to the chamber where the Crystal was kept.

　Back then, the situation had seemed dire. This time, it seemed even worse. The fact that Lunafreya hung high above him, her life at stake, didn’t make it any easier.

　Suddenly there was a yell coming from loudspeakers above.

　“Everyone! Get down!”

　Sol’s voice. The four men hit the ground as directed, without question or hesitation. An explosion shook the surroundings. They felt the scorching blast wash over their backs and heard the approaching drone of a dropship’s engines.

　“Hurry! Jump in!” Sol barked.

　The dropship made a rapid descent, nearly slamming against the ground in a landing maneuver indicative either of incredible skill or brash disregard. Noctis wasn’t about to complain. The offer to get away and end the stalemate was all too welcome.

　“Just the kind of stunt I’d expect them to pull,” Gladio snorted as he pushed himself to his feet. Apparently, he’d already figured out who was piloting, but there wasn’t time to ask him. The dropship’s hatch yawned open. Sol peeked out from one side.

　“Figured you could use a hand, Your Majesty,” she called, waving a hand to urge them aboard.

　Inside, Noctis was confronted by another familiar face. “Aranea,” he said. “Guess we’ve got you to thank for organizing the lift.”

　“It’s been a while, Pretty Boy. Er, Majesty, I guess. Heard you were keeping an eye on the kid here.”

　Aranea’s gaze shifted to Sol. So this was the “mother” Noctis had heard her mention in the car. And that meant the person Lunafreya had been determined to save―even in the face of her own imminent fall to the scourge―was Aranea.

　Noctis replied, “I’d say Sol was the one keeping an―”

　Eye on me, he’d intended to finish, but Aranea cut in.

　“Let’s save the chitchat. Wouldn’t want you to bite your royal tongue.”

　Noctis soon realized what she meant. The craft climbed steep and fast, slamming backs and heads into seats. Noctis glanced forward at the cockpit and saw two more familiar faces: Wedge at the helm, Biggs sitting copilot.

　“Take ’er to the roof, Wedge! As fast as she’ll go!”

　“On it.”

　The acceleration was so intense Noctis thought for a moment they might be crushed in their seats. A sudden sideways jolt was added to the mix, along with the sound of a violent collision. A shrill alarm rang throughout the craft.

　“A hit,” Wedge announced. “Damage to port.”

　They didn’t bother flicking the display monitors over to the side-mounted cameras. What had happened was obvious enough. Bahamut’s avatars were in close pursuit, and they clearly didn’t have any reservations about ramming themselves against the dropship’s hull. Firing the autocannon was out of the question. Aranea and the rest of the crew seemed to realize it, too. Lunafreya was out there.

　The jolts continued, predictably enough. Every few moments, there was another impact against the hull, sending a shudder through the entire airframe. The attacks were relentless.

　“Can’t take much more of this, Lady A!” Biggs announced.

　Aranea clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Looks like we’re shit out of luck. Better set her down before we lose her.”

　“Over there.” She pointed. The Citadel and its courtyard hung suspended just ahead. The courtyard gates and surrounding walls had fallen away. The once-smooth, stately flagstones were now a jagged mess over warped, uneven ground. But there was enough space for an emergency landing.

　“You really think it’s safe?” Prompto asked. “Putting the ship down th―”

　Prompto cut himself off, hand flying to mouth and face twisting in pained grimace. Aranea’s warning hadn’t been a joke. The unpredictable shakes and jolts of the ship really did pose a threat. Gladio, Ignis, and even Sol sat tight-lipped. Only Aranea, Biggs, and Wedge spoke without concern, a clear indication of their long experience aboard the vessel.

　“Mouths shut, heads back!” Aranea shouted. “This one’s gonna be rough!”

　Biggs’s countdown began as the last word was out of her mouth. “Three . . . two . . . one . . . ”

　The impact of the craft rode a fine line between emergency landing and outright crash, but the dropship finally skidded to a stop. An unpleasant burning smell wafted through the cabin; it seemed like the propulsion system wouldn’t be firing up again anytime soon.

　Aranea sighed and said, “End of the line. Hate to say it, but it looks like you’re on foot from here.”

　“Don’t sweat it. This is a big help already,” Noctis replied.

　Without the dropship, he probably wouldn’t have made it to the Citadel at all―it was already well beyond the range of a ground-based warp. And landing in the courtyard seemed to have brought them some measure of safety. As soon as the dropship slammed down, the flying avatars had ceased their assault. Maybe the Bladekeeper was loath to risk further damage to the Citadel and its precious crystalline cargo.

　“You really saved our asses,” Noctis added. He flicked his gaze to the cockpit’s display. He saw the Citadel dead ahead on one panel, and on another, he could just make out Lunafreya, floating directly above the towers.

　“Bet if we got up to the roof, we could reach her,” Gladio said.

　Prompto chimed in with agreement. “Race you to the top.”

　“In any case, getting into the shelter of the Citadel would seem to be in our best interest,” Ignis said. “The Draconian has paused his assault, but it could resume at any moment.”

　Ignis wouldn’t have seen the monitors―he must have surmised the situation from Gladio and Prompto’s exchange alone. And he was right. If the airborne foes were to strike again, Noctis and party would be at less of a disadvantage in the enclosed space of the Citadel than in the courtyard.

　“As for us, guess we’ll get busy on repairs,” Aranea said and shrugged. Biggs and Wedge headed back toward the engine room.

　Sol opened the hatch. Once they were outside, the extent of the damage to the dropship was obvious. Black smoke poured from the rear. If anything, it was a surprise the ship had held out long enough to save them from a real crash. That they’d managed any sort of emergency landing at all was a small miracle.

　“Sorry, Your Majesty, but this is as far as I go,” Sol said. “I’ve gotta help get the ship back in the air.”

　“Yeah, I figured. Don’t worry. We’ll take it from here.”

　In all likelihood, the Draconian’s only concern was keeping Noctis from Lunafreya. With Noctis away from the ship, Aranea and the others would have the interval they needed to do their repairs and clear out of the area.

　Noctis looked at Sol once more. “Actually, I’ve got a favor to ask. Once you’ve got this thing flying again, I want you to pull back to Lestallum.”

　“Huh? Why?”

　“The people there need to be evacuated. I want you four to see to it.”

　All life must be swept away. Noctis couldn’t shake the Bladekeeper’s words from mind. At this point, it wasn’t hard to imagine some massive blaze tearing across the surface of the Star. And if that did happen, evacuation would be easier said than done.

　“I gotta admit, though, I have no idea where to ask you to take them.”

　To Noctis’s relief, Ignis jumped in. This kind of thing was exactly within the royal advisor’s domain.

　“We’ll be in touch as soon as we have a handle on the situation,” Ignis said. “Until then, get preparations underway. Have the people ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

　At Ignis’s instructions, Sol gave a crisp, “Got it.” Then she turned back to Noctis.

　“Your Majesty, please do whatever it takes. Luna has to make it out of this okay.”

　“I’ll save her. I promise.”

　He had sworn the same to himself countless times already.

Noctis and his companions broke away from the dropship and ran toward the Citadel. So far, their assumption that the Draconian didn’t want any harm to come to the Crystal seemed to be holding up. There was no sign of the avatars.

　But the state of the courtyard itself slowed their progress. It was canted down at a pronounced angle, with piles of debris and deep holes offering plenty of hazards. Further complication came from the fact that the Citadel was still rising, the intermittent jerks and shudders of the moving structure throwing them all off balance.

　“You okay, Specs? I’m not walking too fast, am I?” Noctis asked.

　When Ignis first lost his sight, Noctis had been slow to adapt. Gladio and Prompto had constantly been on Noctis’s case for not accommodating their blinded companion’s slower, less certain pace.

　Noctis’s question seemed to remind Ignis of that time, too. He gave a chuckle, insisting “It’s no problem whatsoever, I assure you.”

　Noctis took a moment to watch his companion’s progress more carefully and realized the rough terrain wasn’t slowing him down at all.

　Ignis hunts, too. Says if anything, he’s more used to the darkness than we are.

　When Sol had mentioned Ignis’s reaction to the world gone dark, Noctis hadn’t thought much of it. It seemed reasonable enough. Only now did it occur to him how much determination and effort must have gone into the smooth, natural gait Ignis walked with now, as well as how much time he must have spent honing his hearing, smell, and other senses to make up for the lost sight.

　“If anything, we should pick up the pace,” the advisor continued. “We must reach Lady―”

　There, his words cut off. Noctis sensed it, too. Footsteps on the long stairway leading up to the Citadel doors. Someone had paused near the top. Noctis looked up. Even through the darkness, there was something about the man’s presence that announced itself plainly for all to know.

　“Oh, Noct . . . How I have waited for this,” came the lilting voice.

　Ardyn slowly made his way down the staircase, both arms flung wide as if to imply the king and his retinue would pass no farther.

　“Out of my way, jester.”

　“Oh? And here I thought you came all this way to see me.”

　Mere hours ago, Ardyn’s presumption would have been accurate. Noctis had been convinced of his calling to bring an end to Ardyn for the sake of the Star. But now the situation had changed.

　Noctis’s tone was cold. “I don’t have time to play games with you.”

　“In a hurry, are we? Don’t tell me. You think you have to go save your damsel in distress.”

　Ardyn pointed a finger toward the sky, at the point above the Citadel where Lunafreya was.

　“Surely you wouldn’t want to interrupt her,” Ardyn continued. “You’d be spoiling her brilliant plan.”

　“What are you talking about?” Noctis grated out.

　“Oh dear. You mean you haven’t heard?”

　Gladio drew his greatsword, clearly ready to pass by force. “Noct, don’t listen to this asshole. Whatever comes out of his mouth is gonna be just another big, fat lie.”

　“Now you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Lady Lunafreya approached me herself, in the hopes that I might aid her. It’s nothing but the truth, cross my heart.”

　“Luna came to you?”

　Time and time again, Noctis had fallen to the Usurper’s deceptions. He knew it, and yet now he still hesitated. What if this time Ardyn was telling the truth? He recalled the notebook sent by Lunafreya. There, on the final page, she’d expressed her hope to speak with Ardyn.

　His frustration boiled over into rage.

　“Then, tell us!” Noctis snarled. “What was she planning?!”

　“Noct, calm down!”

　It was Prompto who reeled him back in―Prompto, who had been the victim of Ardyn’s deceptions on board the train to Tenebrae. Nevermind that Noctis had ultimately been the cause of Prompto’s suffering that day.

　Ardyn obliged Noctis’s question with an answer, seemingly unfazed by his anger. “A spell of ultimate destruction. Teraflare. She would provide the Bladekeeper with enough power to cast it. Look. It’s already beginning.”

　He pointed up again, this time seeming to indicate the lines of the casting circle tracing through the dark sky. Already several massive swords had appeared, radiating from the circle’s edge. The resemblance to Noctis’s own spectral weapons was astonishing, yet they were clearly far more powerful than the arms in his arsenal.

　“Lunafreya believes its casting will exhaust the Bladekeeper and send him off for a nice long nap,” Ardyn explained. “She assumes that he is impervious to death, and that sleep is the best we can hope for in the fight against an opponent that exists both here and in the other world.”

　By “other world,” Ardyn likely was referring to the Beyond. Noctis knew of it from what he’d learned inside the Crystal. Ardyn’s own soul was trapped in that place, bringing him immortality in this world. That must be why Lunafreya thought Bahamut was impervious to death. And unlike Ardyn’s, the Draconian’s soul was likely not captive in the other realm.

　“And so she came to me, asking that I give her the power of the scourge within me.”

　“Surprisingly reckless,” Ignis murmured.

　“Why, that’s exactly what I thought,” Ardyn said, nodding his head in a parody of grave concern. “Truly, I could not be more wholly in agreement. Who’s to say our blade-loving friend will sleep as predicted? Or that we’ll survive his spell at all? Lady Lunafreya claims the other gods will join together to resist the assault as they did long ago, but if you ask me, there’s nothing more fickle than a god. And that is why . . . ” Ardyn’s words had been coming faster and faster, but here, he paused, and a wicked smile spread across his face, “ . . . I think you ought to give me that ring.”

　With a flicker, Ardyn vanished from the top of the stairway.

　“Take cover!” Noctis shouted. His three retainers each leapt off to one side. And no sooner had Noctis warped away than Ardyn reappeared right where they’d been standing, red blade in hand.

　“How delightfully nimble!” Ardyn laughed.

　“Son of a bitch,” Gladio growled, making to rush at Ardyn from the side.

　“Gladio, wait!” called Noctis.

　Time was of the essence. He knew that overwhelming Ardyn as a team would be the swiftest course of action, that they should just force their way past him and continue on toward Lunafreya. But something inside Noctis told him to stay.

　“I’ll put an end to this,” he announced.

　His calling no longer held meaning; there was no reason to kill Ardyn when Bahamut endeavored to destroy all mankind. But calling or not, he had a score to settle. Not just for what Ardyn had done to him, but on behalf of all those whose lives he’d witnessed in the Crystal.

　“This is a battle of kings.” He looked back. Prompto nodded understanding.

　Ignis responded, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

　Ardyn smiled at Noctis. “Me, a king? You do me quite the honor. Are you sure that’s all right?”

　Noctis knew the title had once belonged to Ardyn, and he’d seen how it was stripped away from the other man. Ardyn had gone on to claim countless lives and amass a multitude of sins for which he could never fully atone, but that did not give Noctis any desire to deny the truth. Let Ardyn be known for what he was―a rightful king of Lucis.

　“Let us begin,” Noctis said, calling his blade to hand.

　The shrill cry of steel on steel filled the courtyard. Noctis realized this was the first time he’d exchanged blows with Ardyn face-to-face. The events in Altissia unmasked Ardyn’s malice, but still, king and chancellor had never found a chance to cross swords.

　Though awash with scourge, hatred, and malice, Ardyn was nonetheless of Noctis’s own line. The blood of Lucis flowed through the man’s veins, and thus, as Noctis unleashed hell with the Royal Arms, so, too, did Ardyn.

　Perhaps Ardyn had attempted to steal away the ring on the assumption that anyone of the line of Lucis would be able to draw on its power. If so, he probably intended to travel to the Beyond and slay Bahamut there. Before the fight, he’d mentioned how the Draconian existed in both realms, and that as long as one of the halves persisted, the god would never perish. Only a soul stripped of mortal flesh could enter the Beyond, a feat that could be accomplished by using the Ring of Light while seated on the throne of Lucis.

　Adryn’s soul, too, was in the Beyond, but in all likelihood, that alone would not suffice to contend against the Draconian. Noctis recalled the Crystal’s vision of the future, of the way things were meant to be. In that future, he’d destroyed Ardyn’s soul with one decisive attack. Ardyn had been unable to resist to any meaningful degree.

　With mortal flesh intact, one could not cross over, and so the power of the Lucii was required to leave the body behind. Once crossed over, the soul alone could not properly fight, so again, the power of the Old Kings was needed. No matter which of the two worlds one was in, the power of the Ring of the Lucii would almost certainly be essential.

　As Noctis’s mind whirled, the fight with Ardyn raged on.

　“This is the strength of the True King?” Irritation filled Ardyn’s voice. “This is all the Draconian bestowed?!”

　The course of the battle had shown the two to be almost evenly matched. Ardyn seemed unimpressed, as if the fight were wholly insufficient to appease two thousand years’ worth of animosity.

　“And the god tells me I’m to fall to this pathetic display,” he cried. “What insult!”

　Noctis recalled the Crystal’s final vision of Ardyn, the man yelling with unbridled blood rage.

　You say that I live only to die by the hand of the heir to an ill-gotten throne.

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

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

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

　All that matters is I have my revenge.

　I shall fell the gods.

　Noctis had never seen a face so full of hatred in all his life. Of the two thousand years of history he’d seen within the Crystal, nothing came close.

　“Insolent whelp!” Ardyn growled at Noctis. “You think ten years is a long time?!”

　The fight was tense, and Noctis did not hold back. It wasn’t simply a matter of dispatching his opponent anymore―now he had his own particular goals, which required keeping Ardyn alive. So he’d need to land a carefully targeted hit, one with just enough force to take the fight out of Ardyn.

　“It is nothing to me! I have lived in darkness for ages!” Ardyn continued, his irritation growing hot.

　“Believe me, I know,” came Noctis’s retort. “You’ve lived for two thousand years, every moment of which I’ve seen. I know every detail of your world.”

　With the Crystal’s knowledge, the king was bound to act. The knowledge would weigh him down, end any thought of abandoning his fate, and fuel a sense of duty stronger even than the fear of death. That was why the Draconian had shared the memories recorded in the endless expanse of the Crystal. It was a tactic meant to render Noctis unable to flee his calling as True King. But the gods were gods. They did not know with certainty the mind of man. A burden meant to force one’s actions might, if too overwhelming, compel its bearer to seek a different course. The weight on one’s shoulders could be shifted and become a new source of strength. Such was the potential of human life.

　When Noctis accepted his father’s blade in the Crystal, the great burden he’d felt oppressed by changed. It was now the strength that would allow him to move forward without fear.

　“Tell me,” he asked Ardyn, “do you truly believe the theft of the ring and death of the Draconian will bring you deliverance?”

　“Silence!” Ardyn grimaced. His finesse with the blade was gone, and he threw all his weight into each blow. “To hell with you accursed kings and your conniving gods!”

　Noctis’s comments had touched a nerve. It seemed Ardyn might have had a similar exchange with someone else already. The Accursed’s attacks grew frantic, and his guard was down. When the fight began, Noctis had been pressed to find even the slightest opening. Now, Ardyn’s movements were sloppy, and Noctis found himself with any number of chances to land his perfect blow.

　“Deliverance means nothing to me! I am―!”

　Noctis did not let him finish. Calling the Sword of the Father to hand, he thrust straight and true. When the hit landed, Noctis put all his force into it, hurling Ardyn to the ground. Ardyn lay face up, grip loosening from his own summoned blade.

　“Do you wish to toy with my life? See me suffer?” The Accursed’s voice was hoarse, his breath heavy.

　He stared up at Noctis. “Is that why you do not strike at my heart? Finish this. Fulfill your calling. See? The Old Kings . . . they’re waiting.”

　Noctis glanced up. The souls of the Kings of Yore were there, assembled in the courtyard. They must have appeared during the battle, sensing the ring’s call close at hand.

　Noctis looked back at Ardyn. “Not so long ago, I believed your death would bring an end to the darkness. I set forth to kill you so that dawn might come to the world once more.”

　Coming to terms with the act would have been another matter, but the execution would have been simple enough. Noctis had only to surrender his life. In exchange, both Ardyn’s body and soul would be vanquished finally, and the darkness dispelled. That should have been enough.

　“But I was wrong,” Noctis continued. “The Draconian aims to bring an end to man and to the Star. Killing you won’t change anything.”

　Once he’d realized that the calling bestowed by Bahamut was no longer relevant, Noctis began to focus on the bigger picture. He realized that it was up to him to ensure a future for the world, for the sake of all the things he’d witnessed inside the Crystal: the lives lived, the people inhabiting the world, and the sanctity of existence itself. That was the future Noctis wished to see.

　He tugged his sword free from Ardyn’s body. No black particles swirled from the wound. No sign of the usual rapid healing. Perhaps this was the power of the True King. If Noctis had aimed for his heart, the Ardyn in this world might already lay vanquished.

　Noctis stared into Ardyn’s eyes. “If you’d managed to gain the ring and cross over to the realm beyond, and if you’d managed to defeat the Draconian there, would Eos and its people be safe?”

　Ardyn’s words came between soft groans. “A possibility . . . perhaps. Not that it is any concern of mine.”

　If so, allowing Ardyn to cross over to the Beyond might be for the good of all, even if he were doing it for his own selfish reasons. But there was one problem.

　“I won’t stand for a world whose survival hinges on the sacrifices of others. Not even if that sacrifice is yours,” said Noctis.

　He would always hate Ardyn for killing Lunafreya, and the urge for revenge ran deep. Still, he was loath to use the man to achieve his own goals; the manipulation of others was the very root of the evil against which Noctis rebelled.

　He continued, “Don’t get me wrong. I’ll never forget the things you did to my friends or the agony you caused Luna. I can’t forgive you or let go of my hatred. But I want all the lives on this star to be saved, and you are one part of this world.”

　Ardyn’s clenched jaw quivered. His eyes no longer held a trace of anger or loathing. In them, Noctis saw a flash of something else that was hard to place.

　“And besides that,” Noctis added, “I made a promise to the Mystic. He begged me to find a way to bring you peace.”

　Free my brother from his eternal curse, Somnus had pleaded.

　Hatred and rage were not the only things that chained Ardyn. His undying body had also brought him long years of torment.

　“I don’t want there to be any more sacrifices, but if this will bring you peace, I’ll allow it.”

　Noctis pulled the ring from his finger. Ardyn, face still contorted with pain, sat up. A breath escaped his lips, somewhere between sigh and wry laugh.

　“How very regal you’ve become. A true king, indeed.”

　“Kings of Lucis!” Noctis called out to the specters assembled in the courtyard. “Hear my plea! I hereby entrust the Ring of Light to the man before me. Allow him to use it as you would allow me.”

　The royal souls floated in silence.

　Noctis continued, “I know as do you the blasphemy I suggest. I know that you, whose powers stem from the divine, may be reluctant to do this. For with the ring, this man would endeavor to slay a god. But know this: the Bladekeeper works to bring an end to all mankind. Lucis and all else you labor to protect will be gone forever. Knowing that, would you still waver?!”

　One of the thirteen moved forward.

　“Rulers of House Caelum. Leaders of Lucis. Heed the plea of one brother for sake of another. Accept Ardyn Lucis Caelum as bearer of the ring.”

　The soul of the Mystic shed its great suit of armor. Ardyn’s eyes widened. Among the thirteen, this one now stood not as an ancient king but as the man as he had been in life.

　“Brother, may this serve as a small token of my penance.”

　“Somnus . . . ” Ardyn whispered.

　“I dare not hope to ever have your forgiveness. All the same, I will forever apologize for what I have done.”

　Ardyn’s gaze remained fixed, features unmoving. Noctis had watched as Somnus offered an apology like this once before. Back then, he’d been rebuffed in rage. Ardyn’s silence seemed as much a sign of reconciliation as might ever be hoped for.

　Words from the other kings poured forth, all directed toward Ardyn.

　“Man consumed by scourge is no longer man, and so . . . ”

　“ . . . with our strength imparted . . . ”

　“ . . . thou mayest but crumble to dust . . . ”

　“ . . . or ignite with flame and burn alive . . . ”

　“ . . . or suffer in agony equal to death . . . ”

　“ . . . yet knowing that . . . ”

　“ . . . wouldst thou still seek our power?”

　Ardyn stood, his balance unsteady as he turned to face the Lucii. He spread his arms wide, his taste for theatrics apparently not dulled by his injuries.

　“Crumble to dust, you say? Burn alive? Already have I lived through the worst agony this world has to offer. The pain of which you speak is nothing to me.”

　The thirteen kings glided closer to encircle Ardyn alone.

　“Then so be it . . . ”

　“ . . . thou shalt have our strength . . . ”

　“ . . . to don the ring . . . ”

　“ . . . and ascend the throne . . . ”

　“ . . . where we will await thine arrival.”

　And here, Noctis saw that it was his father’s turn. The thirteenth soul merely nodded without a word, and as if that had been the signal to depart, the Old Kings were gone and the courtyard silent.

　Noctis held the ring out to Ardyn.

　Ardyn grinned, “I must confess, it’s been so long since I’ve been given a gift―almost two thousand years, in fact―that I’ve completely forgotten what to say.” He gave another dramatic shrug, accepted the ring, then swept his arm to one side, inviting Noctis to make his way past.

　“It’s best not to keep a lady waiting, wouldn’t you say?”

　Noctis nodded, and then he was off and running. During the time it took to resolve the situation with Ardyn, the circle around Lunafreya had grown brighter, with more swords arrayed around it.

Inside the Citadel, they saw no trace of the Draconian’s avatars. Perhaps damage to the structure and the Crystal it housed really was a risk that Bahamut could not tolerate. Noctis was thankful for not having to expend further time and stamina in battle, but whatever they had saved of both was quickly consumed by another challenge: movement.

　Unsurprisingly, the Citadel’s power systems were all offline. There were no lights. Doors locked tight by security fail-safes weren’t going to open, so they had to backtrack and search for others that would. Between that and groping their way down dark corridors, the trek through the Citadel took time. And the final time sink quickly outweighed any previous frustration.

　“Can someone remind me why we didn’t just take the elevator?” Prompto let out a heavy sigh as the four trudged up flight after flight of an emergency stairway. “Y’know, instead of trying to climb our way to heaven one step at a time?”

　Even Gladio was breathing hard, though apparently not so much as to forgo baiting Prompto. “Yeah, it’s a damn mystery. Think it has anything to do with the Citadel being turned into a makeshift airship?”

　“Right. Forgot about that,” Prompto replied. Then, “Hey, Iggy, you doin’ all right back there?”

　“Tryin’ to use Ignis to score a break? That’s low.”

　“Am I that easy to read?”

　“Like a billboard.”

　“Whatever. I’m fine. I could keep this up all day.”

　“We’ll see about that. In case you hadn’t noticed, there hasn’t been a day in years.”

　The situation was dire, but on hearing his friends’ banter, Noctis couldn’t help but smile. The sense of urgency and worry did not lift, but they no longer seemed to weigh so heavily against Noctis’s chest.

　Looking back, very little of the journey they’d embarked on had gone as expected, and feelings among the four were hardly in perfect harmony the whole way. There had been disagreements, confrontations, and any number of tense moments. His sense of duty as the king had of course kept Noctis going, but even more important was the fact that he―that all of them―kept the faith that good times would follow bad. However much things hurt today, there would always be a tomorrow for them to heal. No matter how big the fight, they’d always reconcile.

　“Noct.” Ignis’s hand landed lightly on Noctis’s back. “It will be all right. We shall surely make it in time.”

　Just like now. His friends were the ones who helped him see that there was always hope.

　“I know,” he said and patted Ignis’s shoulder in response.

　When they finally reached the uppermost floor of the Citadel and emerged onto the roof, the darkness outside had grown so thick as to be stifling. The concentrated power of the scourge was palpable.

　Lunafreya’s strange song continued uninterrupted. The casting circle had begun to flicker at erratic intervals. It was plain that the spell was nearing completion. Teraflare was almost upon them.

　“Great. We’re here. Now how are we supposed to stop it?” Prompto asked uncertainly.

　“No clue,” responded Gladio. “But we gotta try. I’m guessing we can’t just pick her up and walk on outta here.”

　The words had barely left his mouth when a whistling sound descended, like blades slicing through air. The avatars. It seemed Bahamut deemed the rooftop far enough away from the Crystal to risk a fight―or close enough to Lunafreya that there wasn’t any other choice.

　“Noct, you’ve no time for the riffraff. Leave them to us,” Ignis instructed.

　“Right,” Noctis said, and hurled his sword at one of the foes gliding near. In a flash, he’d reached it and was aiming again. The only way he could get to Lunafreya was through warping, but she was too high above the rooftop to be in direct range. So he would have to go from enemy to enemy, using them like stepping stones through sky. As Noctis streaked from one foe to the next, he felt bladed wings brush against his arms and torso. Pain seared through him, but he did not slow. If he stopped, he would fall.

　“Luna!” he cried. She was close now. But haste made him careless―an enemy he’d thought firmly within his grip suddenly twisted, and Noctis was tumbling through open air. By the time he realized what had happened, the wind was already roaring in his ears.

　He tried to level his aim for another warp-strike but caught only air. He was falling too fast. Bitterness welled up within him. So this was how it ended. What a waste.

　As his heart cried out that it was not ready for the end, a new voice boomed in his ears.

　“Rise, O Chosen. The pact with the Oracle shall be honored.”

　A funnel of flame twisted about Noctis, breaking his fall.

　“The Infernian?” Noctis wondered aloud. “Ifrit offers me aid?”

　Before he could wonder why, a vision played in his mind. It was like the other times he’d received a divine blessing: he saw Lunafreya’s labors as she forged the covenant. This time she stood face-to-face with the God of Fire. Her skin was the same inky black Noctis had seen in the throne room. Although she had already turned physically, at the time of the vision, she still seemed to retain consciousness. Noctis heard her plea, Let the king have your blessing!

　It is I, Lunafreya, blood of the Oracle. In exchange for your release from the bonds of the scourge, lend your power to the Crystal’s Chosen King.

　She shouted it at the top of her lungs, her legs quaking beneath her. She was barely managing to stand. Every bit of strength in her body and soul was gathered tightly and expended for sake of the king, as she had always done. And now once again, as Noctis plummeted through open sky, it was Lunafreya’s action that brought him aid.

　This time, he would not lose her. He swore in his heart that he would see her safe.

　“The revelation of Ifrit is at hand,” the Infernian proclaimed, and Noctis felt himself rising high into the air, buoyed by the god’s roaring flames. He was headed straight toward Lunafreya.

　Noctis glanced down, seeing not only the Infernian below, but also Shiva, the Glacian.

　“The gods have heard the Oracle’s prayer. Let the Promised King receive aid divine,” she announced.

　And then the other gods of the trials appeared: Titan, the Archaean; Ramuh, the Fulgurian; and Leviathan, the Hydraean. The five gods that existed alongside the Star, gathered under darkened sky.

　“Luna! I’m almost there!” Noctis called.

　Another moment and he’d be at her side. Just a little farther . . .

The Darkness waxes full.

　The Draconian’s booming voice shook both heaven and earth. The intricate casting circles around Lunafreya expanded outward to touch the twelve summoned blades. From each of the blades came a blinding flare: each was as the sun at midday, a ball of burning light and heat.

Go forth, O Blades. Wreak destruction upon the foolish insolence below.

　He was too late. Noctis looked on in horror as twelve orbs of fierce incandescence descended upon the land. The orbs grew brighter yet, until Noctis could keep his eyes open no longer.

　“The time is come. Defend the Star!”

　The Glacian’s cry shook the surroundings. Noctis heard the rumble of earth, the crackle of lightning, the roar of waves, and the blaze of hellfire. Even with his eyes closed, bright white light filled his vision. He had no hope of seeing what was going on. He could only hear and feel the clash and collision of massive entities locked in battle.

　Five gods fought against the catastrophe unleashed by the sixth. Though Noctis had been told it would be so, still he was frozen in shock. He hadn’t arrived in time. Grief overcame him. He felt strength leave his limbs and his body fall limp.

　The silence that followed fell suddenly and completely, as if all sound were gone from the world. Slowly, vision returned to Noctis’s eyes. Far in the distance, he saw a crumbled mountain. The glowing red lava flowing around the rubble told him it had once been the Rock of Ravatogh. If so, that meant the vast empty space stretching out before the peak was once the ridged crater of the Disc of Cauthess. No trace of the Disc remained, as if the land there had been scooped away entirely. At the edge of the destruction, he saw the cityscape of Lestallum.

　In the Great War of Old, four of the Six had managed to protect the Star from the threat of Teraflare. This time, five had resisted, and even then their combined power fell short of stopping it. Yet the gods had done well. They had averted complete devastation. That some portion of Eos still suffered was testament to the overwhelming intensity of Teraflare’s power.

　Their five divine saviors lay strewn across the land, facedown, unmoving. The Draconian’s voice came down from on high, mocking their weariness and pain.

Mortal fools shielded by fools divine.

The five on the Star are spent, and to what end?

So be it. Since folly persists, those devoted to it may perish alongside their wards.

　The Draconian’s voice was firm and strong; he seemed untroubled by weakness or fatigue. Lunafreya’s plan had failed. Teraflare had been cast, but the Draconian’s strength had not been sapped. He had not drifted into slumber. The Bladekeeper, it seemed, was not so easily overcome.

　Somehow, Noctis had been returned to the Citadel courtyard.

　“Luna!” he called, scanning the surroundings. “Where are you?!”

　He flicked his gaze up, to the place where the casting circle had been moments before. Lunafreya still hung there, her skin deathly pale, as if all the darkness she’d harbored had been drawn out and consumed by the terrible spell. New worry crept into Noctis’s mind. What if the spell had sapped her vitality as well? Was she still alive? He tried to banish the dire thought from his mind, to focus on the moment.

　Lunafreya’s body lurched to one side.

　“No!” Noctis shouted.

　He ran across the courtyard. She was slipping from the sky, soon to plummet far to the ground below, discarded by the Draconian like garbage; her usefulness for the spell had been expended, and the god had no need of her now. Noctis’s mind flared with anger at the god who allowed her to fall. The Bladekeeper saw them all as nothing more than pawns to be used and thrown away.

　Noctis sprang into the air, leaping up off the edge of the Citadel’s floating island. Please let me catch her, he begged silently, arms outstretched. He felt his fingertips graze Lunafreya’s body and poured all his strength into his arms, reaching desperately to draw her in. Suddenly, her full weight was settled against his chest. He’d caught her. But now both of them were hurtling toward the ground far below.

　Noctis twisted in the air to face the Citadel and flung his blade at it. Without a clear line of sight, he had no sense of where the sword lodged itself and thus no idea where they were warping.

　With Lunafreya still held tight in his arms, he felt himself slam against a mercilessly hard surface. And then the world went dark.

She heard a voice calling her name yet again. Luna.

　It was a voice she could not place at first.

　A field of sylleblossoms extended in every direction, as far as the eye could see. The flowers gently bowed and nodded in the breeze. Lunafreya stood alone.

　The sky was still dim but seemed to be growing brighter, as if dawn approached. But the flowers at her feet were not touched with morning dew, nor could she smell their fragrance. They were simply there in sight, the familiar blossoms fluttering in the wind.

　This is a dream, she thought. I’m almost certain of it.

　The light grew. It reminded her of her beloved, as if his smile had turned to rays of warmth.

　“Noctis!” she cried out.

　“Luna!” she heard him reply, and then she saw the Noctis she had known as a child, when she was twelve and he was eight. She looked down at herself and realized that she, too, was again a child.

　“So you came to see me once more,” she said.

　“Yeah. Just like I said I would,” he replied.

　There was that smile she loved, the one that had been in her heart all these years, giving her strength, always and forever.

　“It was all our friends,” Noctis said. “They brought me to you.”

　He announced it with a hint of pride. You are blessed to be surrounded by such wonderful people, she began to say, when she realized that she, too, was blessed to have such good companions at her side.

　“I . . . ” She hesitated. “I, too, made it here thanks to much help from others.”

　A gust of wind snatched up some of the sylleblossoms, sending petals swirling about. Flower and light filled her vision, and she involuntarily shut her eyes against the glare. The wind stopped. Lunafreya opened her eyes.

　Before her now stood the man. Oh, how she had longed to see him.

　“My dearest Noctis . . . ”

　There was a mountain of things she wanted to tell him. She knew the time they had would not suffice for even a small portion, but she could at least say the most important.

　“As Oracle, I lived bound to my calling before all. But now my eyes are open. In the short time I shared with Sol, I finally learned to value the words in my heart. And that is why . . . ”

　Noctis gave a nod, as if encouraging her to continue.

　“That is why I was finally able to choose freedom, to dedicate my life to my own desires, rather than surrender it to calling or command. I was able to live for me.”

　“Luna . . . ” His voice was soft and gentle.

　Yes. This was Noctis’s voice. This was how he sounded now that he was grown. She’d never had a chance to hear it before, but strangely, she somehow knew it already. Why?

　“This may be our true and final parting, so please, allow me to speak from my heart.”

　It was strange that she should know his voice, but it did not matter. All she cared about was that he was here, before her eyes, and she’d been granted one last chance to tell him how she truly felt. It was all she could ask for.

　“Noctis, would that I could live by your side.”

　The sylleblossoms began to blur, and the petals in the wind seemed to melt and wash away. Lunafreya sank, headed for the ocean floor.

　“Noctis!” she cried, thrusting one hand out.

　It was the moment she had died in Altissia, replaying all over again.

　“Luna!”

　But unlike that day in Altissia, this time she could hear him. His voice reached her with perfect clarity.

　“Then live!” he shouted. “Stay with me forever!”

　Lunafreya’s eyes opened wide. She strained upward, reaching toward him with all her strength. She did not want to be pulled away from him. Not again. Not this time.

　Her outstretched fingers swept through the water.

　She felt them brush against something surprisingly warm.

Then live! Stay with me forever!

　The sound of Noctis’s own shout stirred him awake. He’d been with Lunafreya in a sylleblossom field, and then it had been that terrible day in Altissia, with her body sinking beneath the waves, his hand stretched out toward her.

　Noctis, would that I could live by your side.

　Had he imagined those words? Was it another dream? This time, he thought for certain he’d managed to grab hold of her hand. He remembered the feeling of her soft skin and delicate wrists.

　“Noct, are you all right?”

　He opened his eyes. A concerned-looking Prompto sat on the ground next to him, peering into his face. Beyond Prompto’s shoulders, he saw Gladio and Ignis.

　“I’m fine,” he said, head beginning to clear. “How about you guys? Holding up?”

　His Shield was the one to answer. “Remember who you’re talking to. Who’s gonna stop the three of us?”

　Noctis tried to lift himself upright. That was when he realized he was still holding Lunafreya securely in his arms.

　“Luna?!” he exclaimed in surprise.

　Her eyes were shut, and her face was deathly pale. Noctis pressed his fingers to her neck. Her pulse felt weak and somewhat erratic, but it was there. Lunafreya was unconscious but alive. She was alive.

　Relief swept through Noctis’s body. He’d managed to make it after all. This time, he’d gotten her back.

　“Are you able to stand?” Ignis asked.

　“Yeah.”

　He didn’t have time to be sitting around. He gently laid Lunafreya on the ground beside him, then hauled himself to his feet.

　“Looks like you guys took a beating.”

　All three of his retainers were badly bruised and scratched. On recovering consciousness, Noctis’s first thought had been of their safety. Gladio had brushed off his concern with his usual brazen air, but Noctis wasn’t fooled. Their battle with the avatars wouldn’t have been an easy one.

　“Mind looking after Luna for a bit?” asked Noctis.

　The battle wasn’t over yet. Bahamut had neither fallen into slumber nor depleted his strength. However, it occurred to Noctis that the conspicuous absence of the avatars in the sky suggested that Teraflare had drained the Draconian more than he was letting on.

　It was Prompto who voiced the group’s concern.

　“We’ll take care of her,” he began, but added, “You sure you’re gonna be all right on your own?”

　Noctis needed to take the fight to the sky. To get up there, he’d have to warp. He would’ve preferred to take his companions along, but it wasn’t an option. They’d have to stay behind.

　Noctis gave a decisive nod. “Yeah. I got this.”

　He had a promise to Lunafreya to uphold. One he had made way back when they were kids, sitting beside each other in the manor at Tenebrae. Lunafreya had explained that only the True King, anointed by the Crystal, could purge the Star of its scourge.

　She’d promised to help him see it through, and he’d responded, I won’t let you down.

　When he’d said it, a glow of happiness touched Lunafreya’s cheeks.

　Today, he’d see that promise kept, along with their new promise, to be together forevermore.

　Noctis set his sights on the Bladekeeper, floating proudly in the sky high above.

“Irony. The one thing of which life is never in short supply,” Ardyn grumbled, as he climbed the steps to the Lucian throne.

　He’d never had the honor of sitting the throne. In fact, it was the denial of it that had prompted him to walk the path of darkness, stained red with blood. As he awaited Noctis’s return from the Crystal, he’d established himself in Insomnia, making a point of lounging upon the throne as an affront to all, to emphasize that it was merely a chair like any other. That it was not his place to sit was the sum of its appeal.

　But now he was ascending it in truth.

　“And that the True King would allow it,” he mused. “Even after two thousand years, it seems life can still manage to provide a surprise or two.”

　He settled down onto the seat.

　“He cannot forgive and continues to hate. Yet he would see me find peace. My, how the wayward prince has grown.”

　He recalled Noctis as he had appeared during their first encounter at Galdin. The young prince had been almost an entirely different person.

　I can’t forgive you or let go of my hatred. But I want all the lives on this star to be saved, and you are one part of this world.

　Those words had struck him deeply. Noctis was but a whelp, yet Ardyn, with two millennia at his disposal, had never been able to find it in his heart to offer Lucis quarter despite his hatred. Noctis’s magnanimity seemed only to emphasize Ardyn’s own shortcomings.

　Still, he wasn’t headed to the throne now to anoint himself the hero. Not after all these years. He would use the ring, yes, but not for Noctis or for the world or for anyone else. This was an act taken to fulfill his own selfish ends.

　“My revenge is finally at hand,” he muttered as he slipped the ring upon his finger.

　“Kings of Lucis . . . come to me!”

　He thrust his sword down at his feet. The Lucii appeared, weapons in hand, each in turn charging directly at Ardyn.

　It was like a blue-white flame boring a hole straight through his chest. In the courtyard, he’d claimed to have lived through the worst agony the world had to offer, vainglorious of everything he’d endured. Not a moment of it compared to the pain he suffered now. Not even the false Aera with her false Trident conjured up by the Draconian had managed to impart such torment.

　At each stab from the spectral monarchs, his consciousness very nearly left him. The kings had warned he might crumble to dust, and now Ardyn understood that it was no metaphorical threat.

　Still, he had to endure. He could not faint yet.

　“This . . . will not . . . stay me,” he said through gritted teeth.

　He forced his eyes open against the pain. Above him only the Mystic remained, hovering still.

　“Come at me, Somnus!”

　And then, when the Blade of the Mystic pierced his heart, he heard a faint whisper.

　“Farewell, Brother.”

The sky was still dark, and Noctis was not sure why. Wasn’t all the scourge supposed to have been drawn into Teraflare? Though the spell had been executed, darkness persisted.

　Either the Draconian’s spell hadn’t been fully charged, or the pall cast over the Star was so thick that even the Bladekeeper’s attack could not consume it all.

　As Noctis approached the Bladekeeper, the god’s voice resounded in the dark sky.

Still the mortal fool would persist in his defiance.

A wayward king seeks to turn god-gifted strength against the selfsame god.

Abandon such folly. What can one frail creature hope to do against the divine?

　Noctis tightened his grip on his sword, undeterred by the Bladekeeper’s derision.

　He shouted back, “I do not pretend my power is my own! But it is no gift of yours!”

　In all likelihood, the ring itself had been fashioned by the Draconian. But the power gathered within was of the kings of Lucis. It was a power born of mortal life and death. The ancient monarchs each gathered this strength, honed it, and passed it on from one generation to the next.

　Though not almighty gods, humans were by no means frail. Noctis recalled the many past foes over whom he thought he might never prevail. He had persevered, slowly amassing strength, until each foe that once intimidated him was easily surpassed.

　“Watch as the mortals you mock prove your own undoing. This is one battle I refuse to lose,” Noctis growled. He hurled his blade straight at the Draconian, warping in for a strike. It was similar to his strategy against the Hydraean during the trial in Altissia. Back then, it had been all he could do to cling to the Tidemother’s scales.

　The blade drove deep into the Draconian’s shoulder. Not a moment later, Noctis was knocked away by a force far beyond that of the Hydraean. Bahamut’s strike was too swift and too powerful to phase through or parry.

　Noctis plummeted. Soon he would slam against the ground below. Death’s embrace was at hand, and there was nothing he could do.

　And then, when all seemed lost, his fall was arrested. He hung suspended in the sky.

　Noctis looked down. He saw the Infernian, risen again to stop Noctis’s plunge. The rest of the Six, too, struggled upright to rejoin the fray.

　“Five more are the gods who watch this star,” rumbled the Infernian. “And they abide none who seek to harm the world. Not even the sixth.”

　The five deities were weak from countering Teraflare. Noctis could see that almost all of their strength was spent. Still they stood and continued to lend their aid.

　“Fly, O Chosen,” the Glacian called, her hands spilling waves of countless ice shards across the sky. Noctis warped from one to the next, once more approaching the Draconian to strike.

　It was a pattern he repeated over and over: a strike at the vast deity, a leap back to safety, then up the icy steps again.

　When the Draconian swung one giant arm to knock away the ice, the Hydraean swooped in to carry Noctis back up. When Noctis struck again, his blade found home together with bolts of judgment issued from the Fulgurian’s staff. The Archaean’s great fists served as shields to drive back the Draconian’s counterattacks, and a whirl of hellfire enveloped the Draconian’s lustrous black mail in searing tendrils of flame. The Glacian unleashed a new wave of ice shards for Noctis to climb.

　He attacked relentlessly together with the power of the five gods. Again and again, he executed a sequence of swings, thrusts, and warps. His fatigue mounted, but never did he waver in the assault.

　Everything I have, he told himself, the mantra already repeated in his mind more times than he could count. Nothing would be held back.

　Finally, the Draconian seemed to falter under the incessant assault. There was a loud, sharp sound, and a crack traced its way across the god’s mask. This was their chance.

　“God of Fire and Goddess of Ice,” Noctis called, “Lend my blade fury!”

　Gelid wind and infernal flame wrapped Noctis’s glaive with redoubled power. When the blow connected with the Draconian’s mask, the crack snaked from one edge to the other. Then the mask was broken and falling away with a terrible shrieking noise of rent metal. Noctis saw the face behind it and froze.

　At first, the only word he managed to utter was, “How . . . ?”

　It was a visage he’d not laid eyes upon directly, but the similarity was undeniable. It was like Somnus’s face. It was like Noctis’s own.

　“Was it all planned? From the very beginning?” murmured Noctis.

　Had Somnus been fashioned in the god’s own image to serve as Founder King? Or had it been coincidence? Perhaps the younger brother of House Caelum had simply grown up to look so much like the Bladekeeper as to garner the god’s favor. The workings of the Draconian’s mind were something Noctis might never grasp. Regardless, the resemblance was clear. The countenances of the first and final kings of Lucis were eerily similar to Bahamut’s own.

　Anger at the god swept through Noctis once more. “How long do you expect us to abide the games you play with our lives?!”

　A god who treated the mortals he watched over as merely tools or playthings was not deserving of faith. Someone had to stop the Bladekeeper, and Noctis would be the one to do it, shared likeness be damned. He lifted his glaive high and rushed in.

I know this place, Ardyn thought. He’d seen it once, in the future shared by the Draconian, wherein Ardyn died at Noctis’s hands. But the sense of familiarity didn’t derive from just the vision. Somehow, he’d known this place for ages. He’d not seen it with his eyes, but his soul had been trapped here for millennia.

　He seemed to be gently falling through space but knew not whether the sensation was real or imagined. Before his eyes floated the Draconian―the one that existed here in the world beyond.

Begone. This is no place for the Accursed to tread.

　“Believe me,” said Ardyn, “of that much I am painfully aware.”

　He clenched the hand wearing the ring into a fist, and slowly and deliberately held it forward. The world before his eyes wavered as the thirteen Kings of Yore shimmered into view. Twelve hovered in formation. The last was at Ardyn’s side in a silent gesture of fraternal support.

　“Hmph. Who could have foreseen a day when I’d ask you for aid?” Ardyn said.

　“My sword is yours, Ardyn. Today we fight as brothers.”

　Ardyn.

　They’d still been taking turns at chess when Somnus last called him by name. Two boys so inseparable that a day spent apart invited jests of impending rain from a clear sky. Brothers.

　“Today we fight to end it all.”

　Their childhood rapport. Their contesting ideals. The hatred in the wake of betrayal. All of it would be gone.

　The power of kings flowed into Ardyn via the ring. Then, in a burst of light fierce enough to rend Ardyn’s soul, the thirteen shot forth, converging into a spearpoint thrust, an arrow flying true, a savage bullet lusting for the heart. They ripped into the Draconian’s armored chest with such force that by the time the god flinched, the battle was already won. Perhaps it had all occurred in an instant, too quickly for Bahamut to react. Or perhaps on this side, souls were simply unable to twist and dodge as freely as desired.

Insolent fool. With the death of the Bladekeeper comes the loss of the Crystal. All of the Six shall fall.

Why persist in this fatuity?

　“You ask . . . as if I give a damn,” came Ardyn’s labored response.

　Let the gods perish. Let the iniquitous Crystal break into a million pieces and Ardyn’s soul with it. Naught else mattered.

　“As if . . . this isn’t what I’ve wanted . . . all along.”

　Consciousness was fading along with his soul. Next he would shatter, and soon after, the shards would vanish into nothing. Ardyn knew and welcomed his fate. If every memory of his existence should disappear forever, all the better.

　“Nay, my love. Even if all others forget your name, I will always remember.”

　Ardyn flinched. “Aera? Is it truly you?”

　Another illusion. Surely it had to be. Another product of his wretched imagination. But whether false or true, at least Aera was here before his eyes. He once more admired her golden hair, fluttering in the breeze, and gazed into her eyes the color of the sea, the loveliest color he’d known in all his days.

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

　And in that final moment of existence, as his soul crumbled to dust and began to disperse, Aera spoke, and Ardyn heard her.

The darkness split. Fissures ran through the sky itself, and shards of the heavens began to rain down upon them.

　“What’s happening?!” Noctis cried.

　The Star―their very world―shuddered and screamed. Between the cracks in the sky, something else shone through. It was the color of the deep sea. A color Noctis had seen before.

　“That’s the realm beyond. Why is it . . . ?”

　He could guess one thing with confidence: Ardyn must have managed to defeat the Draconian.

One foolish act trumped by another greater still.

Such havoc serves only to harm those who wreak it.

Without the guidance of the Light, mankind will fail, doomed ever to repeat the cycle of folly.

　The Bladekeeper’s voice resounded with intensity anew. But to Noctis’s ears, it was the obstreperous posturing of one on the verge of death.

Always have mortals lived under patronage divine.

Though guided by the Light, they war among themselves and defile the Star.

How could mortals hope to survive alone in a godless world?

　If divine patronage meant man was subject to destruction at a god’s whim, then they were better off without it. They’d been treated as tools, disposed of once their utility was over. If the gods thought such selfishness to be guidance, it was better for mankind to live on alone.

　Noctis looked upon the Bladekeeper and said, “We may be foolish and repeat our mistakes, but we do not stand still. Mankind is always moving forward.”

　And then he gripped his glaive and yelled a battle cry, sending himself hurtling toward the Bladekeeper with one final warp-strike. He felt the impact shudder down the length of his blade. A crack snaked its way through the god’s armor plating as in the mask before. When the blade was lodged deep, and it felt as though it could go no farther, Noctis leaned into the grip with all his might. A wail of pain erupted from the Bladekeeper. Noctis held the glaive tight as the god thrashed against him.

　And suddenly, the sword was free, and the Bladekeeper was fading, his mammoth form breaking apart into countless tiny fragments. The lustrous black armor fell with an ear-splitting clangor. The deity shuddered and spasmed, as if determined to fight to the bitter end. Finally the thrashing quieted, and the Draconian lay still.

　There was a roaring sound, and Noctis looked up to see all the scourge in the sky and across the world rushing in great, sweeping waves toward the Citadel. They amassed at a point of blinding brightness: the Crystal. As the Crystal drew in the darkness and shed its blue light, the Citadel began to shake violently.

　“The whole thing’s gonna fall,” Noctis muttered.

　The shaking grew more violent still. Noctis saw his companions and Lunafreya down on the jagged expanse of the courtyard. If the Citadel fell, they’d have little chance of survival. Even if the Citadel stayed afloat, the intensity of the vibrations might send them flying off the side.

　He had to act quickly.

　“God of Earth! Lend me your strength!” called Noctis.

　The darkness continued to flood into the Crystal like a foul current. It seemed the stone was intent on consuming every last bit of the Starscourge. It wrenched itself free of the Citadel, shooting through the structure’s walls, then flew high into the air. The darkness followed, still flowing in as the Crystal shed its intense rays of light.

　The light grew and spread, and the darkness steadily shrank away.

　Then at the moment when all darkness and light had become one, the Crystal shattered. Particles of darkness and shards of light scattered together throughout the sky, then melted away into nothingness. The border between this world and the Beyond trembled, grew thin, and then vanished altogether.

　With another great shudder, the Citadel started to crumble. The walls, floors, ceilings, and stairways were being ripped apart into a rain of debris that hurtled toward the earth.

　“Hurry!” Noctis called, as he rode the Archaean’s massive palm to the edge of the courtyard. He jumped down, gathering Lunafreya in his arms and lifting her up to Titan’s palm. Prompto sprang onto Titan’s hand, pulling Ignis up after him. Gladio climbed on next. The courtyard began to wrench apart, and Noctis threw his glaive onto the Archaean’s palm in a warp-strike, the great flagstones falling away not a moment later.

　Titan ferried them safely to the ground. As they were dropped off, they looked to the sky and saw the now abandoned Citadel, a mere husk of its former glory, plummet to the ground.

　For a good while, the narrow escape left them all quiet. Gladio’s lips were pursed tight. Even Prompto’s usual garrulity had vanished; he seemed to have forgotten how to speak at all as he watched the Citadel meet its demise. Ignis, though unable to see the fall, would have known what happened from the rumbling and crashing of the impact. His head was bowed as if in silent prayer.

　Lunafreya still lay unconscious. Dark thoughts reared their ugly heads in Noctis’s mind, whispering that she might never awaken. After all, it was the Draconian who had granted Lunafreya new life. With the god dead, would she not perish, too?

　From behind, he heard the voice of the Glacian. “O Chosen King.”

　He turned to find her in her guise as Messenger.

　“The time for parting is nigh. The world is now in mortal hands. No more gods. No Crystal.”

　“Gentiana . . . ”

　“Under the king’s rule, the Star shall surely . . . ”

　Gentiana trailed off, as if another thought had occurred to her. She turned, lowering one porcelain white hand to brush her fingertips across Lunafreya’s eyelids.

　“A farewell gift, O King. Blessings for a friend.”

　And with those words, Lunafreya’s eyelids twitched ever so gently.

　“Luna!” cried Noctis.

　Lunafreya opened her eyes.

　“Noctis . . . ” she whispered.

　Oh, thank the gods, he tried to say, but found himself unable to speak. He simply held Lunafreya in silence. He thought he heard a whispering voice say, May happiness fill your life together, but when Noctis looked up, Gentiana was already gone.

　In Tenebrae, the Messenger had once told a young Noctis that it was “heartening to see the future king and the Oracle enjoy such familiarity.” The Messenger had smiled as she said the words, and he could still remember her gentle eyes upon him even now.

　“Thanks, Gentiana. For everything.”

　Tears welled up in Lunafreya’s eyes.

　“Oh, dear Gentiana . . . thank you.”

　Gentiana had left them with one last irreplaceable gift. Not as a goddess watching over the Star, but as a friend. Noctis gently held Lunafreya’s hand, vowing in his heart that he would never let her go and never lose her again, come what may.

　Their quiet moment was interrupted by a sudden loud shout from Prompto. “Check it out! Over there!”

　They turned to find him standing nearby, and followed the line of his outstretched arm. Noctis squinted as a bright light struck his eyes. An incandescent strip peeked over the horizon, slowly rising into the arc of a circle that shone ever brighter.

　“Is that . . . ?” Lunafreya asked in a small whisper.

　Noctis turned to look into her eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, only for Gladio to grunt a response from behind. “The dawn.”

　Noctis looked up in surprise, then narrowed his eyes in exaggerated displeasure.

　“Wow. Way to ruin the moment. Pretty sure I was supposed to say that.”

　Ignis chuckled, and then Noctis, Prompto, Gladio, and Lunafreya were laughing, too, a brightness of spirit that filled the air as all welcomed the first morning light to grace the Star in years.

Darkness has departed, and dawn again shines upon the world. The Six and the Crystal are no more. The two realms are become one. And the mysterious powers once bestowed upon mankind have ceased to function.

The once grand expanse of Insomnia is now an immense crater in the ground. The Crown City’s loss is softened, if only slightly, by its long years spent abandoned; no loss of life accompanied the devastation.

　Efforts to rebuild it have yet to materialize, hindered by the city’s remote location and connection to the mainland by means of a single bridge. However, in an era without god or Crystal, the purpose around which Insomnia formed is also gone. For the time being, the recovery of Eos’s other regions is more pressing. It may be decades hence when buildings stand again in Insomnia and people fill its streets. Even then, the shape the city takes will likely bear little resemblance to the Crown City of the Kingdom of Lucis.

　At one edge of Insomnia’s crater are the remains of the Citadel. It has towered there ever since its plummet from on high, visible even across the water in Leide. One is hard-pressed not to see it as a funerary monument for the abandoned city and fallen kingdom.

Across the continent lies Lestallum, a bustling city forced to grow denser still during its time serving as the last bastion of human civilization. Though partially damaged by Teraflare, clever and rapid preparations for evacuation ensured that nearly all its people escaped harm. That the EXINERIS power plant was spared any damage at all ensured the city’s steady recovery following the attack.

The territories of the former Niflheim Empire are now freed from ice and snow, the warming perhaps induced by Teraflare’s immense heat or as a consequence of the Glacian’s departure. The tundra is now a vast wetland, a ready source of fertile ground for the settlers who are sure to surge in number with time.

　

Tenebrae, having escaped the brunt of the world’s destruction, is the city that revived most rapidly and true to its legacy. Care was paid first to the old Fenestala Manor and its surround, a testament to the faith and devotion of the Tenebrean people.

Altissia, the splendid City on the Sea, rises in defiance of its many suffered misfortunes. Already half-destroyed by the Hydraean’s trial and deteriorated from a decade’s abandonment, the city was again ravaged as Teraflare wreaked havoc upon the Star’s tides.

　Despite its catastrophes, Altissia’s recovery has been astonishingly swift. Demolished waterways are reconstructed, damaged buildings repaired, lost structures rebuilt. Perhaps most heartening of all is the restoration of the lovely bridges found throughout the city. The people of Altissia accomplished this in less than a year following dawn’s return to the world.

　Camelia Claustra, the ever capable First Secretary of the Accordo Protectorate, played no small part in that triumph. But another factor of significance may have been at play. In the days before the darkness spread, Altissia had been chosen as the site for the marriage of Noctis Lucis Caelum and Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. A decade later, that dream would finally be realized. Surely awareness of the celebration to come lifted the city’s spirits and bolstered its resolve to see the recovery hastened. Or perhaps such an interpretation is simply the fond delusion of a doting parent.

A new wedding dress was commissioned, its design matching the one of ten years earlier. The patterns for the dress, the legacy of a master dressmaker, were carried personally from Altissia to Lestallum in the evacuation during the years of darkness. They’d been kept safe in the City of Light until the return of the dawn.

　Preparation of the cake was entrusted to Coctura Arlund, head chef at Mother of Pearl in Galdin Quay. She came up with a new recipe for the occasion, splendid in both taste and appearance.

　On the day of the ceremony, crowds thronged outside Palazzo Altemeria. Many were the residents of Altissia in attendance, along with an untold number of travelers from Tenebrae, Gralea, Lestallum, and all manner of places far and wide. Cheers resounded for the newlywed couple, symbol of the peace, on their emergence from the palace.

　Present at the ceremony were the many dear friends and companions of the bride and groom. On the right side of the aisle were many who helped see my son through his long journey from Insomnia to Altissia.

　On the left stood those who had served House Fleuret at Fenestala Manor. Among them was one young woman grown beyond recognition; a decade ago she must have been but a child. Now she stood with tears welling in her eyes and cheeks flushed with pride, as overjoyed by the occasion as the happy bride herself.

　I thought to ask Ravus who the young woman might be, but alas, he was overwhelmed by the occasion and not for words. The sight of his dearest sister walking down the aisle in a dress of pure white doubtlessly affected him greatly. Thus, I have saved my inquiry for a future occasion, of which we are sure to have many.

　That I might see Noctis take Lunafreya’s hand in his and watch as the two of them take their first steps in matrimony was a joy beyond any dream. That joy was redoubled by the sight of so many who wished them well.

I owe all of you my eternal gratitude.

　To Cor, for your long and steadfast watch over the Crown City. It was the labors of the Crownsguard that allowed Insomnia to endure against the daemons until return of her king. I can only imagine your ordeals during the years of night. You forever have my thanks.

　To Cid, for guiding my wayward, untraveled son. I eagerly await the time when we might sit together again, drinking until the dawn. However, I hope that day will not come too soon. Please, if you would, look after my son a while longer.

　To Cindy, for breathing renewed life into the Regalia. Seeing the car again brought Noctis great joy, and though his own appreciation is already effusive, I would offer mine as well.

　To Gladiolus, for the stern discipline you brought to Noctis’s life, patiently bearing his protests and complaints; and to Ignis, for ever and always supporting Noctis as both a friend and an elder brother; and to dear Prompto, for being at Noctis’s side because of the person he is and not his title. To you three, I cannot express thanks enough. You have done more for Noctis and for me than you may ever know.

　To Lunafreya, for seeing the ring to my son, and for standing beside him in the struggle to ensure a future for the world. As I am sure you must also see, the wayward boy has grown into a man of whom I could not be more proud. Please watch over him for me. Now and forevermore.

　And to Noctis, my son, congratulations. May the future you two share be overflowing with joy.