Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It takes four steps for Regis to register the missing feeling of the soft fingers against his palm. Immediately stumbles to halt and turns around.

Lunafreya stands back straight and chin-high, a few feet behind. Behind her, a horde of Magitek marches forward – close enough that they will soon reach the child if she doesn't quickly start to run again.

Except that she won't, Regis realises.

Lunafreya is young but even she probably understands that the troops will either trample her to death or shoot her as soon as she’s within range. Magitech are unthinking killing machines and she might be lucky enough to only be taken hostage if there’s a human General around to give that specific order.

She understands. Yet, she chooses to remain here:  on the land she loves and she's always lived.

What triggers Regis to act is her eyes.

Full of resolution and sorrows: she understands very much what's ahead of her indeed, but she doesn't quiver the way any grown adult would in her stand. The way she watches him go feels like a heartbroken goodbye.

She is way, way too young to harbour such eyes.

Regis's hold on his precious son tightens and, with a war cry, he sends a cloud of ghostly swords towards the swarm of killing machines that threatens to get hold of her.

Now, this is the part where Regis's memory starts to blur.

He remembers how the weapons of his ancestors went through the princess without hurting her and how they tore through the metal of the Magitek. How they spilt the blood of the human troops marching right behind the Magitek soldiers.

He remembers how he had rushed to Silvia's side, pushed his hand right through the gaping hole in her chest and summoned every single ounce of the crystal power to heal his oldest friend. How she had grasped at his clothes when she had gasped back to life. How despaired the cries of her children had rung through the Silverblossom meadow. 

How Regis’s heart had screamed in mourning, knowing Lunafreya, Ravus and Noctis would never be the same innocent and care-free children after this.

He vaguely remembers having pushed Noctis into Ravus and Lunefreya's arms, instructing  them all to hide in the forest while he had rushed to another wave of enemy.

The saddest thing was that Regis couldn't remember what his and Noctis's last words were. Perhaps Regias had been instructed to stay hidden and follow the princess, or perhaps he had spared a few words of comfort to his own six-year-old son. Perhaps not.

The victory, Regis couldn't remember at all.

His only clear memory is of the aftermath: Lunafreya and Ravus clutching at their mother's robe, bloody and bruised, with no Noctis in sight.

And forever engraved on his very soul, clear as day, Regis remembers how he had carefully placed a Carbuncle-shaped plushie into an empty casket a few weeks later.

***

Chapter Text

Noct's day hasn't started well.

Nightly shifts at the grocery store are usually his favourite. His boss Harvoc is at home sleeping, which means no one is around to yell or throw thinly veiled insults at every chance they get. For Noct, it means peacefully filling the shelves and cleaning the store spotlessly with the occasional wild hound chase when he spots them digging in the trash bins outside on the security screens. Sure, mopping isn’t Noct’s favourite hobby but he makes the tasks more fun by blasting his own playlist on the store’s speakers and he gets to browse the newest issue of the fishing magazine while the floor dries.

Really, the hardest part of the night’s shift hits when five when Joe's truck stops by to deliver the supplies coming from Lestallum - mostly because Harvoc always begins his own day at that time. Noct suspects the man enjoys supervising Joe and Noct unloading the goods while sipping the terrible excuse for coffee he likes to brew with the antique machine in his office.

Once the delivery truck rears into gear, Noct’s usually free to go home: opening the boxes and sorting the goods to their proper racks in the warehouse is a Day Employee’s problem.

Except today Noct drops a box. Of course, it carries some nice, expensive seasonal tea sets Harvoc hoped to sell at twice their prices. It’s not the first time either: Noct’s bad knee tends to act up whenever Noct lifts heavy things. For the last years Harvoc has taken money out of Noct’s pay for the various items he’d dropped and used this as an excuse to assign Noct to the most thankless tasks of the job.

But today Harvoc’s yelling and flows of insults reach a new high - even Joe cautiously steps back and shoots Noct a worried glance before he sneaks back to his truck and flees the scene. Once Harvoc storms off to terrorise the Day employees who have just arrived, Noct isn’t sure he will still have his job the next time he tries to clock in.

.

Which...sucks. Despite the terrible management and the odd hours, this place pays good money. In a small town like theirs and Noct’s educational level being as it is,  Noct can’t hardly hope to find a better position elsewhere.

After his night shift at the grocery store comes his day shift at the local diner. Daisy never pries too early in the mornings so he should be safe until she has three cups of coffee. Although by the way her perfectly trimmed eyebrow pinches together Noct can tell she’s noticed his terrible mood. He ducks behind the counter to escape her inquisitive gaze.

Thankfully, Noct finds his hands full until the midday rush hits, keeping his head blissfully empty. It’s only a matter of minutes before the clock sets Noct free that his day takes a turn from ‘downright bad’ to ‘extremely weird’ .

"Love! Love, come' here,” Daisy calls from the front.

Sensing the barely hidden urgency in her voice, Noct lets the place he’s been washing gently sink back into the soapy water. He turns to Lucienne for answers but the older woman simply shrugs.

"It's probably fo’ ya, kiddo. I have’ set my feet out ‘of this room yet."

"Noct, love." This time Daisy actually  pokes her head through the kitchen doors and gestures at Noct to come closer. She’s doing her best to be discreet - bless her gentle soul - yet Noct has no doubt half the patrons heard her clear as day.

"Do you know gentlemen from the city? There are two Crownsguards asking for you."

The question catches him off guard. The plate leisurely hits the bottom of the sink.

"What?" 

"Two Crownsguard," Daisy repeats, getting agitated. "Are ya into trouble my boy?"

Noct isn't -  shouldn't - be in trouble. He's a nineteen-year-old who needs two jobs to pay rent and spends his leisure time gaming and fishing. He doesn't even go drinking with other people his age at the pub because it requires talking and having friends - both things Noct doesn't exactly excel at.

"No? No, I- no I don't think so..."

There's no reason for Crownsguards to...

Oh .

' That could be the reason' , Noctis thinks bitterly. His thought must translate on his face because Daisy's worried expression turns into something akin to barely contained fear.

Noct has met the Crownsguards. Multiple times, in fact. And, contrary to whatever fantasy must have been running through Daisy’s mind right now, it didn’t involve any kind of crimes against the Crown.

His childhood had been a mess, which had become even messier when his legal guardian started suspecting him to be the long-lost prince and called the rightful authorities. From there and during the following months, Noct’s life turned into an unwelcome roller coaster.

What kind of higher-up in the big city decided that the nonsense of some random old lady living in Edge, a quiet town at the opposite side of the freaking kingdom, was worth the investigation? 

That , to Noct, would always remain the biggest mystery of all.

Truth be told, Noct couldn't fault the Crownsguards for trying their luck. His sob story could have come right out of a fairy tale: found wandering in the plains and saved in extremis by the local hunters from being devoured by wild hounds, Noct had no memory whatsoever. He couldn’t tell his saviour his name or his age because he didn’t know what those were. Until the local doctor had examined him and understood the severity of his amnesia, the hunter had believed him mute. He had to learn everything back, including basic skills.

All Noct remembers from that time is falling asleep all the time and hearing voices without comprehending that it was people talking to him. Remembers that, when he was awake, he was asked what he wanted to eat and was unable to answer because he had no memory of what ‘rice’ and ‘apple’ or ‘chicken’ were. It took an awfully long time and a lot of patience to live somewhat normally again. His memories never returned.  By the time he was deemed good enough to be sent to school, Noct’s capacity to focus was still feeble and he’d never been able to stay awake for a full period.

The mayor had decided on the name 'Noct', which they’d found scribbled on the first page of a little notepad in one of his pockets. Given his dentition, the local doctor estimated his age to be around eight and the head of the orphanage chose the day they found him as his birthday. Like every single orphan placed under the tutelage of the Crown, Stella became his family name.

This is how Noct Stella came to be. 

An identity built from scratch.

Yet, years later, it made some people wonder if, perhaps, he could be the long lost Noctis Lucis Caelum.

At first, Noct hadn't believed his luck. Yet, the people around him suddenly sounded so certain he was the lost prince –  even the Crownsguards who took his blood to test his DNA had kept repeating it was only a matter of procedure and that he would be reunited with his father soon – had kept saying how the King had never lost hope and how happy he would be to see him again.

Noctis had believed them. Filled with hope that somewhere, someone who was family would love him. That someone missed him even though Noct’s mind was unable to conjure their faces and voices.

The DNA results had come back negative and all the adults had departed Noct's life just as abruptly as they'd come.

He's surprised they're back.

‘What do they want this time?’

He’s already feeling exhausted by his day and frustrated by the people in uniform who seem to inevitably materialise in his life and make a mess of things.

Noctis pokes his head through the door, ignoring Daisy's concerned hushes.

There's indeed a gentleman with sunglasses standing behind the counter pretending to be reading the menu on the wall -- Noct is certain the guy is just eavesdropping. The other man looks like he came straight up from a military recruitment poster. Surprisingly, both look barely older than Noct and somehow that fact subdues his simmering anger: if they're not the same people, perhaps Noct won't be told another lie.

"Hey!" he hollers, effectively catching the attention of the two Crownsguards and a few patrons. "My shift's over in twenty. Mind waiting for a bit?"

Gentleman appears startled to be called out this way but easily answers.

"But of course. Would you mind if we wait inside?"

"Make sure to buy something. I'll meet you at your table when I'm done."

With his part said, Noct scurries back to the kitchen. He hates to see Daisy so worried and, frankly, he doesn't need bad rumours to make him lose his job.  Luckily, Daisy is quick to remember the story of the kid who was believed to be the prince when Noct tells her about it – the news had spread on the front pages of every city nearby, after all – and it's enough to bring back her old, caring self.

"You worry not, hun."There's only a bit of dish-washing', I can do it on my own,” Lucienne, the other kitchen employee, tells him after he explains the ruckus. 

"It's fine. It will probably be a five-minute talk and they'll be on their way," Noct says.

The way Lucienne pats comfortingly on his forearm, he probably doesn't sound as confident as he wishes he were.

~~oOo~~

The gentleman, Noct learn, is called Ignis Scientia. He speaks with a very posh accent. Poster boy is introduced as Gladiolus Almiticia. The name cracks a spark of recognition in some deep part of Noct’s brain, like a match pulled roughly against its box. Back to the brief time he’d thought himself to be a prince, Noct had gobbled up any information he could find of the royal family. The Almiticia name had popped up enough times to stick, although Noct can’t remember what kind of position they hold. Shield? Advisor? Or maybe it’s those weirdos holding the record of the biggest royal family merch…

"I must apologise for troubling you at your workplace. We tried to obtain your contacts through the usual channel but it appears the City Hall was unable to provide your current residence or your phone number," Scientia says once they’re situated in a booth and their respective introductions are over. He looks genuinely apologetic about the disturbance on Noct’s day.

He sounds so much like a city boy.  And City Hall ? Really? That's a generous way to describe the communal room above the pub where the town officiates weddings. 

Besides there's no internet connection nor any computer in Edge. People here use satellite mobile phones to connect to the Mogglenet even if they're expensive because that's the only way they can access it. Contracts are typed or written manually with physical copies kept by the concerned parties.  Noct is keenly aware that Edge's lives decades behind cities like Lestallum or Insomnia.

"Not surprised. Hey, you don't mind if I eat, do you?' Noct grabs a couple of fries from the plate he brought without waiting for an answer – he usually snacks in the kitchen while he works but the prospect of having this conversation without something to keep his hands and mouth busy had sounded dreadful.

"So, whaddaya want? I guess this is related to the fact that a bunch of your people thought I was a prince when I was a kid."

Almiticia barks a surprised laugh.

"Straightforward, huh?” He leans over the table towards Noct and shoots him a smile full of teeth.  “I like it. I'll save us time."

"Gladio," Scientia scolds, which does nothing to stop the other man’s amusement.  "My apologies M. Stella but, yes indeed, today's matter is of the same nature. Could we discuss this somewhere more...private?"

"No." Nocti refuses instinctively. Shoves another fry in his mouth with a scowl.

He doesn't trust these people into his home.

Daisy and Lucienne are busy in the kitchen. Music has been on full blast since the beginning of the rush hour and nobody has bothered to lower the volume since then. The only remaining patrons are a bunch of teenagers getting rowdy and making enough noise to give Noct a headache. That's enough to cover any prying ears in Noct’s opinion. 

"I have roommates: that's the most private we will be able to get,” he lies.

"Fair enough," Scientia sighs dejectedly, caving almost immediately.

Satisfaction bursts on Noct’s tongue – his own smugness taking him by surprise. Having the upper hand in the negotiation with the Crown representatives makes his blood sing. He hasn’t had the mind to play hard to get just for the sake of getting petty revenge. Rather, setting boundaries now will help in preventing the Crown from being more involved in his life than he wants to. 

Still…it feels awfully empowering to shut Scientia down.

Noct is quick to internally shove that smug satisfaction down before the grin on his face stretches too wide and forces his expression into something more neutral. While Insomnia is a long way out the power the representatives of the Crown hold remains very real. Who knows how these two can make his life more miserable than it is if he pushes his luck too far? Noct isn’t keen to find out.

A quick exchange of ID and badges later  –  for the two parties to ensure the veracity of each other's identities – then, without much surprise, Scientia starts questioning Noct about the event ten years prior. Noct answers them truthfully. As he does, Scientia annotates what looks like a report. Almaticia remains silent, simply nodding along while he observes the room and Noct has the distinct feeling the bulky man is far too intelligent to be the ‘all muscles-no-brain’ bodyguard he plays to be.

Perhaps that’s what strikes him the most: how different Scientia and Almaticia are compared to the people Noct met a decade ago. 

He remembers how ...ruffians some of them had looked. They'd been regular soldiers – Kingsglaives – dispatched from a nearby area. None of them had looked certain of what they were looking for, asking a lot of time the same questions until Matron got frustrated and started arguing – Noct remembers vividly how one of them was constantly on the phone with some higher-up. It was only after the platoon’s superior had joined them that things moved forward and the adults started talking about DNA tests. Or was that just that Noct was too young to understand it all so he remembered it that way?

"I see. Well, I'm afraid your recalling only confirms the theory we had, which brings me to the reason for our visit today: we believe the previous investigation has been misconducted and suspect the results might have been tampered with,” Scientia says.

'Tampered...'

"Oh...that sucks?"

Noct surprises himself by his own lack of feelings about the revelation.

Fries forgotten, he thinks back to his twelve-year-old self making the same discovery. How much hope he would have had, how ecstatic he would have been to have the slightest chance to be the lost prince – again.

But it can't be him. He's just one of those average people living in a kinda mediocre backwater village. He'll find a real, stable manual job someday – if he's lucky – and perhaps he'll marry a girl from one of the villages nearby. Someone who lived a similar life in a place just as forgotten as Edge. They will raise a kid or two if they can afford it and – hopefully – their own children will be able to build a better life outside this shitty hole. The same kind of boring, quiet life everyone in the area is living.

It's not like Noct hates it here. He's living comfortably enough according to his own standard and there are plenty of places to fish around. Sure, he'd appreciate a better Mooglenet connection and more entertainment overall but he would survive without.

Noct knows he's not the person the Crown is looking for. The poor kid probably died ages ago. It's a waste of time to keep searching for him.

"So..."

"The Crown would like to run a new investigation," Ignis adds, obviously weighing his words. His eyes never leave Noct’s face as he continues:

"That means running another DNA test first and if these come out positive, then we would run a full investigation back from square one to determine the events that led you to arrive here. I understand that you lost all of your memories from early childhood, yes?”

"Hum. Can't remember anything solid,” Noct nods.

Except for the tall towers glistening in the sunlight and the smell of a car backseat's leather – but Scientia has probably read it all in a report, he supposes. 

"Just to be clear: if the tests are negative, the investigation stops there, right? No questioning or anything?" he asks.

"As far as you are concerned, yes," Scientia promises with a small smile.

"There is no need to give us an answer right away," he adds, probably sensing Noct's hesitation. "Please take your time to consider. Allow me to explain what it would entail for you so you can make an enlightened decision."

When Noct battles to open his uncooperative front door two good hours past the usual time, he comes home it’s with a heavy folder under his arm. Scientia has kindly summarised the legal part of it before making him sign a non-disclosure agreement. There’s also a written plan for how things would pan out if Noct’s affiliation to the king is confirmed (which, they’re not ) and whether Noct agrees to stay in touch or refuse any sort of contact.

It's such a bigger operation than Noct thought it would be.

Insomnia. Noct could actually go to Insomnia . For free. What the Crown offers is basically a huge all-included holiday. All Noct has to do is to follow Scientia to the appointed doctor there, give a little bit of blood for them to test on and and enjoy the city while they wait on the results.

It feels like a scam. It should be a scam.

Of course there's no way for Noct to check if Scientia and Almaticia  are legit Crownsguards. Unless he could call...

Yes, the hunters would be able to tell. They could ring whatever official office in the big city their post reports to and get confirmation that Scientia and Almiticia are registered as civil servants. Noct asks the hunters tomorrow. He can…

But it feels wrong to accept. He's not the prince.

He's saved a little bit of money, though. And he's always dreamt of visiting Insomnia! He could admire with his very own eyes the skyscrapers he's only seen in his dreams. Could finally get an X-ray for that stupid leg that never worked quite right despite all the therapy and all the visits to the chiropractor. He'd heard of a few fishing spots right outside the walls, too...

No, no, nononono.

No .

He isn't Prince Noctis. 

Besides, how cruel would it be to the King? Even rich people suffered from the loss of their child. To have his hopes crushed again...certainly Noct could spare him that kind of hurt –  he knows better than anyone else that particular brand of pain.

He puts the small, black card where Ignis Scientia's contacts shine in golden letters on the table and starts rummaging through the fridge for some root beer.

'Tomorrow' , Noct vows, 'I'll tell them no.'

~~0~~

What should have been a simple “Let's-do-it-and-never-talk-about-it-again”-kind of business turns into a full life-turnaround moment.

The grocery store manager fires him the moment Noct shows up for his shift, claiming he's done with Noct's incompetence. Noct's last paycheck is slammed on the counter, envelope only half full because of the deduction from the merchandise he'd dropped or damaged that week. Noct is used to the boss's antics: it's not the first time Harvic has tried to make his employees pay for losses caused by clumsy customers or during shipment. Except this time,  even a shouting match and the threat of dragging him to court aren't enough for him to backpedal.

Noct storms out of the store, fuming, with no idea of how he's going to pay for this month's rent.

He drops by the diner to ask Daisy for more shifts. He's not surprised to be denied. Daisy’s nephew has recently started working with them as an extra after he dropped out of school. Daisy is too kind and too loyal to her own staff to fire anyone just to give their job to a member of a family, but the dinner isn't so lucrative for her to keep everyone permanently. Sooner or later, she will have to choose who stays and who has to leave – and Noct has learned that blood is thicker than water when it comes to money.

Edge is a small town. It doesn’t have many opportunities to begin with and now…

He ponders that fact over when he gets back to his apartment.

His education is...subpar. A farmer once taught Noct to drive but he's never had enough money aside to pay for his driving license, even less a car. The most expensive thing he owns is fishing material – he hasn’t even invested in furniture for his apartment, making do with the little equipment already furnished. 

His whole life could be easily packed in a few bags…

He takes his shoes off and throws his jacket on the chair, padding to the bedroom and dropping onto the bed. 

Like any kid in town, he’s dreamed of packing his things and leaving for Insomnia. Dreamt of becoming someone important who could come back home with stylish clothes, a brand new car and the latest smartphone

And like any other kid, the dream faded when he grew up and had to face the real world.

Nice huffs on the pillow. He’s being ridiculous. Thinking about his childhood dream again, now of all times.

However, instead of pushing the idea down the drain, his mind supplies arguments to support it.

The capital city is bound to be expensive but he has a little bit of savings. He's watched documentaries before, he knows the number of restaurants per square meters in Insomnia is insane - - surely one of them requires a waiter. People deliver food on bicycles now, he's heard. He wouldn't need a driving licence. 

It would probably make more sense to settle for a smaller city like Lestallum, where the cost of living is cheaper but Noct has a free, one-way ticket to Insomnia. Why waste it? The two Crowsguards are around his age and they looked like decent people. Noct could ask them for some pointers for housing or places that hire all year-round. If he succeeds he may even find a doctor that could do something about his stupid, limp leg he's had since forever because – as sure as Ravatog's fire is hell – no physical therapist will ever set foot in a backwater town like Edge.

And if he fails? Well, Lestallum isn't that far away. Walkable in less than a week, he's heard. Noct is a fair hunter and not afraid to camp out in havens.

He pats his pockets, gets his phone out. Pretends to talk himself out of the idea, only for the idea to root even deeper and bloom into a full decision. He's fed up with Havoc getting away with taking advantage of him, of barely making it above the poverty line, of living in a small town where people his age are either actively avoiding him or fled the place a long time ago.

Naturally, Noct's things don't fit in a single suitcase so the only way to get them in Insomnia is to have them shipped (and Mooglenet is quick to inform him how expensive that would be) or to bring them with him.

Deciding that it's time to push his luck, Noct dials Ignis's Scientia number.

"Scientia speaking?"

"Hello, this is Noct Stella. Do you have a moment?"

Maybe Noct hadn't sounded that eager during their first meeting because Scientia sounds surprised – in a very professional way – that Noct is willing to go all the way to the capital.

King or not, there's a man out there hoping to find his child and Noct isn't cruel enough to leave him rotting in doubt forever. He would rather spare the poor man festering in those false hopes, because hope is a knife that cuts deep and the wounds it gives are not clean. Closure is the best remedy.

 Not that he will tell the Crownsguards that. 

The story he tells instead is that he’s been fired. He needs an out. Could he ask for a favour? Just extra luggage. Two or three suitcases max. Advice on how not to be scammed in the big city if Scientia can spare them but, really, Noct will be out of their hair as soon as the results of the paternity test are out.

While all of it is true – it doesn’t stop him from sweating bullets and feeling like he’s bargaining with the devil.

Scientia hums at all appropriate times and has a few questions but otherwise listens to Noct's little speech.

"Alright. I will see what I can do."

~~0~~

Noct is ill-equipped to host guests. He hardly drinks tea or coffee but luckily he has some Ebony lying around and manages to find some ginger tea he'd bought the last time he had fallen sick.

He'd even succeeded in tidying the room so that his only two chairs will be free to sit on. 

When Almaticia and Scientia arrive at eleven sharp they actually have somewhere to sit like civilised people.

Feeling awkward now that beverages are on the table and he has nothing else to do, Noct sits stiffly on a stool at the other side of the table.

"Sorry for the mess," he apologises. "But, I, er…I figured it might be better to have this kind of conversation in private."

Thankfully, Scientia seems to take this as his cue to lead the conversation and is already taking out some documents and other things from his satchel. Noct eyes the tablet with round eyes, brimming with interest. While the newest technology may spread on Lucis, it never reaches Edge.

"It is indeed much more convenient, thank you. I suggest we first go over the steps of our operations in detail and, if you are still willing to proceed by the end of it, we will make the arrangements."

"I said I would do it,” Noct reminds him – hasn’t he been clear enough last time they spoke?

"While I’m glad to hear it, an enlightened decision is always best." Ignis gently brushes him off. "Please feel free to ask me any questions or raise any concerns you may have. We're willing to make accommodations if something doesn’t suit you."

"The Crown will arrange your transportation and the transportation of the agreed luggages to the housing allocated by the Crown for the seven days it will take to proceed with the paternity test”, Scientia reads. “From the beginning of the transit and for the whole duration of the investigation, the Crown will pay for all your food and housing expenses, as well as any amenities deemed necessary. Naturally,” he adds, looking over his tablet”, this covers eventual emergency medical care."

He stops then, waiting ominously. Not knowing what’s expected of him, Noct simply nods. That silent sign of agreement seems enough for Scientia, who continues:

"Initially, the Crown had planned to cover the trip back as well. Since you requested to stay in Insomnia, the Crown will cover for taxi expensivexpenseshousing you will have found by the end of the week. I must warn you that a week might be too short to find an apartment to rent. In this case, you will be driven to the hotel of your choice but the Crown will not cover any  expenses further than that."

"Didn't expect them to", Noct blurts out.

"Please don't take offence. No one here is making any assumptions. However, it is my duty to state the Crown's commitments clearly to prevent any form of misunderstanding.  I’m simply a procedure."

It doesn't sound  like a simple procedure . Yet Noct can't deny it's fair play: he imagines quite well how some people might take advantage of the situation and, considering the Crown is making the laws, the legal frame of getting Noct to Insomnia had probably been looked over by a bunch of stiff lawyers.

"The housing is situated on the Citadel’s ground, which means you will have to submit to a full pat-down at the entry of said grounds and another one at arrival at the lodging. Furthermore,  all of your luggage will be inspected. This will also happen at the checkpoint gates before we enter the Capital. My present colleague and I will be responsible for your protection and your welfare during this trip. While we will remain your point of contact with the Crown while in Insomnia,  your security will be handled by the Crownsguards once we reach your lodging so you may be assigned to a different unit.”

“The morning following our arrival you will be brought to the Crown's military hospital where your blood will be sampled. The samples will be tested both at our Military laboratory and will also be sent anonymously to one of the city's civilian laboratories to ensure the reliability of the results. The Crown will not request any of your time once this task is done. You will be free to come and go from your assigned lodging as you wish but you will be submitted to the same restrictions of the remaining part of the Citadel like any other civilians and a team of two people will be assigned to follow your travels. Naturally, they will be incognito and remain at a fair distance to ensure your privacy as much as possible."

"I'll be followed?"

"Until the results are communicated, yes."

Noct is...not sure how he feels about that. Some part of him wants to be angry. Most of him just feels awkward. It's best to ignore this for the moment so he waves at Scientia to keep going.

"Should the results be available in time, we will receive them on the seventh day. The results will be retrieved by a trusted Crownsguard in two envelopes –  one for you and one for the King. Then, the King will grant you an audience."

"What?"

"Well, I believe you might want to speak with the King if he proves to be your father?"

"He's not my father, "Noct groans. "I don't have to see him if the results are negative, right?"

The way Scientia makes a pause fills Noc’s stomach with dread..

"The King requested the audience whatever the results were," he tentatively replies. "Do I understand that you would rather not attend?"

He doesn't. Definitely not. How awkward would that be?

"If there's a polite, non-offensive way to refuse the invitation...yeah. I mean, what would we even talk about?"

"I believe the King would like to thank you personally for the trouble you went through to accommodate his request. However, I’m certain he will be understanding if you'd rather not."

"Please," he begs.

"Duly noted," Scientia notes as if Noct hasn't asked him to tell the King of the country 'no' on his behalf.

Maybe it's not that big of a deal for him. Or maybe the King has just extended the invitation to be polite and it will be a relief for them both not having to meet each other. 

Noct relaxes at that thought.

"Now, on the privacy: while it's not a secret that the crown has been looking for the Crown Prince, we will request that you do not reveal the reason for your trip to Insomnia to any third party until the Crown has made any official statement. We will appreciate your discretion about this matter as well once the official statement is published. I'm legally bound to add that the Crown will bring you to justice should you sell any information to any third party for profit or publicity, or should you use this as an opportunity to proclaim libellous statements about the Crown."

That isn't a surprise considering the requirements were similar ten years ago. Noct had been way too focused on the very idea he could have a dad that he hadn't paid much attention to the whole legal ordeal but he remembers how Matron had sat him down to explain all the papers and how the staff from the Crown had made sure he understood every single single before he signed. Not that it had actually mattered because Noct had been underage, and Matron was the one who took the responsibility of it; she still made sure he fully understood how telling the newspaper his story for money could bring him to jail.

"Sure. I didn't brag about it the first time and I don't plan to do it this time either. Just a question though:  that official statement thing..."

"Yes?"

"Do...You really need to make one? I mean...what will it say? How will it go, I guess?"

Scientia sets his tablet aside and takes a sip of his tepid tea.

"The Crown will save an internal record of the operation and its results. In the case the test is positive, you will be officially recorded as the Crown Prince and the Crown's Intelligence will be made aware of this.  Deciding if the public should be made aware of your existence and what information must be divulged is are matter to be discussed at a later stage. Rest assured: we won't divulge anything without your consent beforehand and if you wish to remain anonymous and resume your life as it was, then we will make sure it happens that way."

Noct’s breathing a little easier at the news.

"So if it's negative, it won't be public information right?" he still asks.

"No. For that matter, the Crown is only obligated to provide a status of their investigation if the Council or a public referendum requests it. In this case, the only information they will be provided is that a civilian was assumed to be the prince and that our investigation brought a negative conclusion. Your anonymity will be preserved."

"That's great to hear, actually.”

“Wonderful. Let’s tackle the details and the paperwork then. “ And just as he cheerfully says so, he’s pushing a stock of documents that Noct swears Scientia must have conjured into existence.

When he groans at the size of the stack, even Almaticia spares an amused snort.

***

Chapter Text

A week later, Noct finds himself standing outside Insomnia's checkpoint, nose up and mouth agape.

Noct can’t make out Gladio’s words over his own state of amazement. The teasing is harmless and well-meaning, just like the friendly tap on his upper back that almost sends Noct toppling over. He reminds Noct of those farm dogs that are quick to bark but ever so rarely bite, but would throw themselves in front of the danger without a single second's thought. Like the yang to his yin, Ignis tends to give Noct more leeway – yet Noct fears his wrath the most, shrinking on himself when Ignis glares at him with one of his patented Disappointed Scowls.

It makes Noct wonder if that is what having an older sibling feels like.

Perhaps it’s because they’re both genuine or perhaps it’s because Noct hasn’t gotten along with people his age for a very long time but Noct is already dreading the time they will need to part ways. The bravest part of him is already planning to ask them to stay in touch.

That is a concern for later. For now, his luggage is undergoing the first inspection before it passes the checkpoint.

Noct can't be bothered.

He's too busy marvelling at The Walls.

Gladio is still snickering next to him, making fun of Noct for acting like a dumb tourist, no doubt.

The Walls.

Noct has seen them on TV plenty of times before. It doesn't compare an iota to the reality of pure magic dazzling under the sun. It’s more a shimmering dome rather than Walls, although the naming might be more a reference to the use of this divine protection in a time of war. Noct barely listens to Ignis explaining how the Walls are scarcely noticeable once one walks under them, too mesmerised by the colours dancing on the magical shields when the sunbeams hit them. 

What the TV never mentioned is that the Walls sing too:  low, harmonised tunes. Something between a buzz and a humming voice – the echoes of a faint divine prayer that merges and becomes one with the city noises.

It's beautiful. Noct can’t shift his gaze away and remains unmoving until Ignis does nothing but drag him back to the car.

Twenty minutes later, Noct is going through yet another pat-down search and three different metal detectors before Ignis leads them inside the most elegant manor Noct has ever seen in his life.

"In ancient times, these were the stables", Ignis explains. "They've been renovated into apartments to accommodate the staff of visiting dignitaries when they can't be lodged at the Citadel itself. After you," he adds, steering Noct inside by his shoulder.

The place is huge and furnished in a modern, fancy style that Noct has only seen on TV series and magazines. The couch can sit five people and is shaped in an L so one person can actually sleep lying down. Even the fridge has already been filled with the list of fresh produce Ignis mailed before their arrival.

After so many hours spent in the car, Noct wishes he could just drop onto the couch and sleep for five hours. He's excited, too. Like a kid at Yule with brand new toys, Noct wants to check all the TV channels and go out exploring the city.

This isn’t a vacation, ’ a little voice in his head reminds him.

"We're rooming, by the way," Gladio cuts in, gesturing at the doors on the other side of the room. "Iggy and I will share the apartments with you while you're here."

"Really? You're not going back home?"

"Not until our mission is over, no."

"Kinda sucks. I hope your family won't be too upset."

Gladio shrugs, commenting that his family is used to it. Noct drops the subject: it's not like he can judge what's normal or not, never having a family to go back to. Spending several days away from home must be common for Crownsguards, he supposes.

Ignis cooks them a pasta dish for dinner, and Noct can't help but marvel at what this guy can achieve when given access to proper kitchen equipment and not just a tiny stove. There's no way vegetables can make pasta taste better. Noct suspects actual witchcraft.

"Why don't you open a restaurant, seriously? Feels like you're wasting your true talent here."

"I've been saying this for years but our Ignis has decided to drop his dreams for love ,” Gladio complains while draping his taller frame over his friend's back.

" Gladiolus, " Ignis growls in warning, shoving him away with little effort, earning himself a laugh.

"What, really?" Noct sputters. "Well, I mean, good for you, I guess?" He adds after Ignis shoots him a scary scowl.

"My family has always been involved in politics and worked in the highest position of the administration," Ignis replies a bit forcefully, glancing dangerously at Gladio. "I was bound to end there myself, eventually. She isn’t the only reason I do what I do.”

"You say that but I don't think you would have worked that hard if your other half weren't in politics herself."

"Darn, and here I thought you didn't need any skill to be an arm-candy,” Noct sneers.

Gladio chokes on his water before Noct's brain reminds his sense of humour might be a tad rude for refined people he's known for barely over a week. Fortunately, Gladio's cough is followed by a howling laughter and, more surprisingly, even Ignis graces them with an amused huffing.

"I'll have to repeat your words to my partner. Your brand of humour is right up her alley.”

Noct isn't an early riser by choice. Coupled to that fact, it seems that the mattress in his room has been waived from clouds from the heaven itself so it’s surprise to no one when he emerges late and still half-asleep from his bedroom with minutes to spare before he's dragged to the military clinic on the Citadel grounds where it seems half the Kingsglaives have been dispatched to guard the room where a nurse take a few samples of his blood. The other half of the Kingsglaives seem to have been posted all around the building as if the clinic wasn’t part of one of the most secure areas of the country.

"We want to prevent any incident," Ignis explains when Noct voices his curiosity.

"You said that also the first time we met. What do you mean?"

"We don't want anyone or anything to interfere with the results," Ignis replies.

 Noct swallows the ‘Who would?’ that burns on his tongue.

He had dared to ask the first day they’d hit the road. Gladio had grumbled – unusually sombre – that some people didn’t agree with the choices the King made. 

A quick search on the Mooglenet had shed some light on the complex issues of refugees in
Insomnia. Like, how Glaladhian refugees had been torn between the factions accusing Lucis of having abandoned their countries to Niflheim, and the community supporting Lucis’s army on the front lines until the end of the war had brought everyone back together.

Like many other things, political issues like these didn’t travel up to Edge.

Noct could hardly picture a regular refugee randomly getting his hands on blood samples, though. 

Obviously, there are more than mere suspicions about the original samples of Noct’s blood being tampered with. Getting the truth out of his two guardians is a lost cause, especially when they’re lying about not having the level of clearance to know what happened. Noct knows they know, although he supposes neither of them will spill the beans until it’s proven that Noct is the person the Crown is looking for.

And Noct hates that. Hates that everyone around him has been taught this secret and Noct is not deemed worthy of the information. 

Just like his child self hadn’t been deemed worthy of attention as soon as it was proven he wasn’t of royal blood anymore. As if crushing a child's hope of finding his parents hadn't mattered the slightest. As if he hadn’t deserved something more than a ‘sorry, it’s not you’ before the investigators vanished and the whole village grew bored of his very existence.

Chasing the thought away, he tries to focus on the present and brighter things.

"As I explained yesterday, you are free to spend today at your leisure," Ignis keeps on. "Gladio and I have commitments to attend -"

"- He means we have a shiton of work to do," Gladio helpfully cuts in.

"- you can stay at the apartment or explore the city at your leisure.”, Ignis continues without skipping a beat. “The Crown is only requesting your discretion about the real reason for your stay in the capital and, of course, that you remain respectful of the law. Besides that, I must inform you that one Kingglaives and one Crownsguards are in charge of your safety and will be monitoring whenever you leave the premises. They will be following you incognito and will only interact with you should you find yourself in a dangerous situation. You are, of course, free to call them with this device," he adds, handing Noct a brand new smartphone. 

"My number and Gladio's are also saved in case you need us. I must also add that this device has a tracker that can be checked any time by the authorities, Gladiolus and myself included."

"I got it," Noct says, pocketing the phone. 

It's nothing more than what Ignis has already explained the night before. Noct wants to explore the city as much as possible before he actually has to look for a job and a place to stay. Which he had planned to do on the first day, but Ignis had promised to help him later so today Noct can just play tourist.

He pockets the ‘for emergencies’ debit cards with more reluctance. 

What emergency, though?  Either the Crown is trying to butter him up with cash, or they're hiding how dangerous living in the city might be. None of it sits well with Noct.

Or are they testing his honesty?  They're in for disappointment: Noct's not gonna use a single cent of something he hasn’t earned for himself.

By lunchtime, Noct is exhausted. Exhausted and exhilarated . Gladio has dropped him at the Citadel's subway station with a brief explanation on how to use the monthly pass Ignis provided him, and Noct’s heart has been chanting and fluttering ever since.

The city is amazing. Noct feels incredibly at home in the jungle of skyscrapers and historical monuments, yet everything feels new and foreign. Fortunately, the city's transport network app has already been downloaded on his phone so Noct manages to find his way around without resorting to calling his incognito bodyguards for help at every crosswalk.

He goes to the First King's Place, wanders in the touristic areas and makes plans to investigate the 'gaming street' people are raging on and about on the Mooglenet later in the afternoon.

No curfew had been spoken of, but Noct imagines people won't be happy if he stays out too late. Still, can he stay long enough for the night to fall? He yearns to see what the city looks like only coloured with its night lights. He remembers seeing them through the car windows as a kid – Matron had always told him it was probably just a recurring dream he had but Noctis knows it's a real memory. 

He’s been plagued by the fuzzy memories of building way too modern and way too high to be simple memories of Lestallum.

That, and the distinctive smell of a new car,  notes of the scent of leather and plastic so heavy that he can almost taste it on his tongue.

Maybe Matron was right and it wasn't in Lucis. Noct doesn't care much - he wants to see these lights and bask in the comforting feeling of utter safety they never fail to bring when he dreams of them.

But before he has to get lunch. Preferably not in the city center. Everything is so expensive .

Noct physically recoils from the menu of the coffee shop he's been eyeing. Five hundred crowns for a bagel that's... what, eight hundred gils? That's more what Daisy asked for a full course at the dinner, beverage included. And everywhere is the same! The Burger chain across the street doesn't have a menu under sixteen hundred crowns. It's ridiculous. Noct doesn't have that kind of money. And he's starving. And the poor bodyguards must be starting to get hungry too, or perhaps the lucky bastards have already picked up lunch while Noctis was....

Well, that's a thought.

Looking around, Noct scans the crowd until he spots what looks like a familiar silhouette.

The pedestrian-only area he's currently in revolves around a small park. On the closest bench sits a man Noct swore he had already seen in the subway and outside the game shop.

Praying not to be wrong, he marches forward.

Is he allowed to talk to the security following him? Ignis didn't specify. Noct feels stupid for wondering. And nervous. He doesn't want to be in trouble but asking for help from a stranger wouldn't be suspicious, right? Plenty of tourists must do it. 

Hunger has rendered him stupid, he concludes. Real food is highly due before his last brain cells eat themselves.

"Hey.” He tries. “ Hum... By any chance, are you...err. Ignis's friend?"

"Sure," the man replies amicably enough.

Relief washes over Noctis.

"Great. Any idea where I can eat and not have to sell a kidney to pay the bill?"

The man grins dangerously.

"I know a place. It’ll be the best food you'll ever have. Name's Nyx, by the way."

~~oOo~~

Glaharians food is spicy. Super spicy. Spicy and delicious. 

Has Noct mentioned how spicy it is?

That's because it's authentic food from Galahd, according to Nyx, and not the 'diminished version' they feed to the locals who can handle their spices. Noctis may be Lucian through and through (at least on paper) but he's from beyond the Walls, and that fact alone seems enough for the people of Little Galahd to take a liking to him. Nyx even teases him, joking about his backwater accent being a dead giveaway.

Noct suspects Nyx taking a liking to him is mostly due to Noct salivating as soon as he saw the food carts and claiming he needed to try them all.

This part of the city is made of damaged pavement, and most buildings could use renovations despite being newer than the historical landmarks scattered all around the city centre. People here are more tanned, with lots of tattoos or braided hair and some kind of ethnical clothes. Noct has never had the chance to observe before. People of all horizons have seemingly gathered in one place, and the streets are traces of their culture, mixing all over them.

Noct finds the resulting atmosphere cosier than the ‘Lucian’ part of the capital. Somehow, it reminds him of Edge, where everyone knew everyone. Definitely less swanky. 

And thankfully, it's a place where people will feed you a real meal for a decent price. With tons of meat.

"What's that," he asks, mouth full, selecting a skewer from a plate.

"Wolf."

"Really?" He chews a piece. The meat tastes leaner than what he's used to, and the spices cover well the earthy taste that inevitably comes from wild animals.

"Atta boy!" Nyx laughed, looking oddly proud. "If I had any doubt you came from outside the Walls, that would have killed it.”

"What?”, “Noct sputters, baffled. “Why?"

“Insomnian don't eat wolf. It's a wild animal. They think it's dirty or something."

"Seriously? Where I come from, we eat wolf in stew. And Sahagins, too. This is better, by the way," he adds because, well, it’s the truth. Even Daisy’s best dishes can’t compare to these juicy, flavourful skewers.

"People here never got hungry, ha!" the cook from the stall interjects, startling Noct. He then adds something in a foreign language that sounds a bit harsh but nostalgic at the same time,  to which Nyx nods solemnly. While they exchange another few words, Noct cleans the plate off the remaining skewers and a few slices of the strange-but-tasty crepe-like bread.

"What's that called?" he asks his companion once the conversation stops.

"Pita," Nyx replies. Then, with a smile: "Not a fan of vegetables?"

"I only eat them if I'm sick, and sick I'm not. Help yourself."

Nyx has cleaned a few plates on his own. He grabs a pita and dips it in the veggie sauce before eating the whole piece in one go.

"Should we grab something for your colleague? Kinda feels bad he has to skip lunch to babysit me."

Nyx snorts as if Noct has said something particularly funny.

"Nah, don't worry. I told Cor to grab something when we left the Plaza. And I doubt he can stomach spicy food either way."

~~0~~

The results are harder to read than Noct anticipated.

It's a bunch of statistics and words of 'inclusion' and 'exception', a chart that Noct couldn't read if his life depended on it – which it kind of is –  and then a bunch of pages full of extra information on how the tests were conducted and he’s supposed to read the results. Noct keeps reading them over and over. His eyes read, yet his brain can't seem to process any of the information, even when Noct pushes himself to read it all aloud in the flimsy hope that comprehension will come to him on the fifth round.

Printed in bold, right in the middle of the very first page, the words 'probability 99.99%' seem to mock him.

‘The subject is not excluded as to be the genetic parent.’

The words blur. When Noct squints and fails to follow the small printed lines, he realises it's because the paper is shaking.

His hands are trembling.

He sets the papers down on the bed. Exhale a deep breath – his respiration staggers, too. Why does it feel like his chest is compressed under something heavy, and why can't he regulate it at all?

He shuts his eyes. The world turns for a spin even in the dark.

‘ ...not excluded as the genetic…’

His forehead meets the plush cover. He hadn't noticed how he was bending over, nor how his hands had gripped the front of his shirt as if to tear the crushing weight away from his chest until his brain registers the softness of the covers and the warmth of his own breath bouncing back to his face. The idea to curl up on the bed suddenly seems like the best, most comforting idea ever.  As if in a trance, he takes off his shoes and folds his legs under his torso.

The position does little to help alleviate the pain in his abdomen. What it does, though, is bring a sense of clarity. The printed statistics that have short-circuited his mind start to take shape into something understandable but no less terrifying.

‘ ...not excluded…’

The painful wave rises against his ribcage. 

Once.

Twice.

Thrice. 

Each time his breath staggers and his whole body shudders, threatening to spill something full of thorns.

On the third time, the tides crash and break the dam.

A sob clutters out of his throat. Noct is too deaf from the pain to register the animalistic sounds that ricochet against the quilt. His eyes open to only catch the vermilion colour of the fabric in a blur.

While the tears burn, they also bring their own form of salvation. As they roll from the edges of Noct's nose to fall below, the fog clears. Soft sobs erupt periodically from his mouth. His arms hurt from being pressed between his thighs and his ribcage and from having the blood circulation cut off. His whole body protests the uncomfortable position.

‘...genetic parent…’

Even if his crying sounds loud to his own ears, it's probably not that loud to be heard from the outside. At least Noct hopes they’re not.

Or perhaps he hopes, after all. Hopes that someone will hear him and offer comforting words -- maybe spare some wisdom. Astrals know Noct could use them right now. Ignis would probably be good at advising on this situation. The brief thought of Ignis crossing the threshold and sitting at the edge of the bed like an older sibling has Noct filled with such sudden, burning hope that it feels like it’s tearing his lungs in half.  He would gladly endure the mortification of being seen this vulnerable if…

No.

No. He isn't ready to lower those walls.

It couldn't have been more than a minute or two when Noct unfurls from his position and inhales, the world shifting back into crystal clear focus.

His bedroom is quiet. It's only a few pieces of paper and him -- somehow he had the mind to shove the results away before his breakdown to not to crumple them. 

It’s just him and his own conscience to decide what’s best for him.

Noct's been in this situation on many occasions before. In the end it's no different than the time he pondered whether to take a loan to pursue studies or go straight to get a job. There's no adult guidance to help – but there's never been an adult to offer any advice in Noct's life the moment he was considered an adult himself. In the end, the only person with his best interests at heart is himself.

'Or maybe not just myself ', he thinks, eyeing the sheets of paper.

The King had arranged so that Noct would know the results first, after all. It provided an escape route and the chance for Noct to choose whether or not he wants to acknowledge their relationship at all.

It’s a small kindness.

Yet that small kindness means for the King to step down from his position. To remove all social standing and acknowledge Noct and himself as who they are: a child who once had hopes that were brutally shattered, and a man desperate to find the family he had long lost.

Slowly, Noct rises from his seat. He fumbles through his things to get tissues and blows his nose, then grabs a small bottle of water from the mini-fridge that he chugs down like a parched man before he wipes his cheeks dry.

He should be worried about calling Ignis and inquiring what the next steps would be. 

Instead, he wonders if the King knows stories from Noct’s childhood. 

Times Noct did something funny or naughty, perhaps? Does he know why Noct's leg is crippled with remnants of the starscourge? Does he remember if Noct cried the first time he went to school?

Because now there's someone in this world who knows the Noct’s memories were burned to ashes. Someone who remembers what Noct's life was like before Noct was ten and stranded. Someone who has photos -- Oh, Astral, there must be plenty of photographs of him, right? Surely, with the press and stuff…

Noct needs some fresh air.

No one attempts to stop Noct from leaving the premises. He catches sight of Ignis across the hall when he waits for the elevator; the Crownsguard looks like he's about to call for him, then shakes himself off the thought.

Noct rides the elevator alone.

He only notices he's forgotten about the tracked phone when he pats his pocket for his subway pass, which he failed to take with him, too. He buys a single ticket instead of making the way back. Noct finds Nyx's face in the crowd of the subway, and the reflection of the usual, silent guy graces him in the glass windows of the train. Noct figures that if none of them have attempted to stop him means they won't be too mad that he broke the 'always keep the phone on your person' rule. Nyx also keeps his distance, as if he’s aware that  Noct's not up for a chat today, for which Noct feels grateful.

For once, he doesn't avoid the tourist area and buys a set of chicken nuggets and fries to go on the first Kenny Crow he finds –  doesn't even bat an eye at the ridiculous prices –  then sits on a bench in a small park nearby. The night is already falling. Soon, darkness veils the city, and the city fights back with a flurry of colourful lights. The Walls remain hidden in the dark as if they don't exist at all. Even for Noct, who's been raised in the countryside and has witnessed the beauty of a true celestial night sky, the illuminated city still has a charm of its own. It's certainly not peaceful like his hometown used to be but it feels safe here under the magical dome  – as if they're all parked in a glass ball, only to be gently touched by a drizzle of glitter and swirling snowflakes. 

He gives up eating. His comfort food won't help today.

The chicken nuggets grow cold, untouched.

He remains here for a long time too, allowing the cold to seep through his too-light jacket and into his bones.

***

Chapter Text

"Your Highness," Ignis bows. "Marchal."

"Hello, Ignis,"  Cor greets.

Without a word, Ignis steps into the room. Despite it being early spring, Regis has asked for a fire to be lit. The atmosphere brings him a strange comfort and the warmth eases the pains his ligaments sustained from the strains of keeping the Walls up during the war. Now that he doesn't have to pour endless energy into the Arminger for the Kingsglaives fighting on the front, the Wall barely makes a dent in his magical reserves, and the dramatic fast ageing of his body has stopped. Regis will always be grateful that he can now hope to live longer than his own father, even if his body will not allow him the same freedom other men his age have.

All Regis needs is time .

He senses Ignis’s curiosity at the unopened envelope lying on the coffee table. The boy is too professional to question it in front of his king.

Regis hasn't broken the seal on the envelope yet. It's unnecessary. He already knows the results.

Noct Stella is his son. His beloved Noctis.

Any doubt was evicted as soon as Gladiolus mentioned Noct's comments about the Walls singing.

Anyone with a strong compatibility with the crystal's magic is able to perceive the sounds of magic. The Glaives, in particular, are well known for their capacity to detect a spell being cast before it materialises to existence, thanks to the fizzling sounds the magic makes when it's brought to existence. But to describe it like Noct Stella did? Only the descendants of the Lucis Caelum line possess such a keen ear. Their blood, after all, is bound to the Crystal.

There isn't a day when Regis doesn't curse Drautos for his betrayal. If he had sent anyone else, Regis could have had his son back ten years ago. Instead, he had tried to keep his distance from the investigation to protect himself and believed his general when presented with the results. If Drautos hadn't tried his coup two years ago, Regis wouldn't have suspected a thing.

It's useless to ponder these things now. One couldn't move time backwards.

Ignis silently sets a few items on Cor's desk. A phone, which Regis assumes is the trackable phone they'd given Noct, and a few cards.

He closes his eyes as they burn, refusing to shed tears. It doesn't stop the lump in his throat from being impossible to swallow.

"Mr. Stella has asked to leave the premises immediately."

The Crown has signed the contract stating that it could. Regis has promised he wouldn't force a meeting. Despite having foreseen how difficult it would be to hold on to that promise,  Regis still struggles to keep his body rooted in his seat and not to run to and beg Noctis to let him see him.

Regis hasn't held his child in years.

Depending on how he handles the matter, he might never get the chance to.

"He will come around," Cor says for his benefit. Regis wants to believe him -- part of him does. Cor is an excellent judge of character. He has also volunteered to be one of Noctis’s shadows during his city escapades and got a fair glimpse at Noctis’s character. Cor wouldn't say this if he didn't truly believe Noctis could ever forgive Regis.

Regis wants to be forgiven so badly it hurts .

"He has agreed to keep in touch. I'm afraid he is a bit too raw at the moment for us to request more–"

"It is for the best not to force it, " Regis cuts in. "Breaking his trust will not help the situation. Knowing he is alive and well is already more than I could have ever hoped."

Naturally, it's a lie. Regis would do anything to speak with his son. While Cor isn't fooled by his poker face, Regis hopes it’s enough to convince Ignis.

The rejection stings but hardly abates the euphoria that’s been inhabiting him since Regis’s got the knowledge that his son has survived. Besides,  Noct is planning to remain in Insomnia. Even without the help of the Crown’s intelligence services, it will be easy to have news of his well-being.

Noct will probably attend the same Yule's market where Regis will give his holiday speech. 

When the cherry trees blossom in the capital, Noctis will see them too. 

Regis will not have to mourn over a too-small, empty grave when Remembrance Day comes, knowing that his son will probably be enjoying the day off somewhere in the city.

"I will drive him to the hotel."

"Let us know when he's set," Cor orders.

"Of course. Cor. Your Majesty," Ignis bows.

"He will come around," Cor repeats once they're alone. His tone is gentle, like he’s making a promise. "You'll see."

Regis doesn’t bother to reply.

Instead, he opens the envelope to read the results he already knows, then tucks it in the little pocket inside his raiment like a precious treasure.

~~0~~

"--And then the bird went straight to my face, right when I was about to take the shot! Oh, is that yours? Or mine?"

"Wait," Noct pats his pocket and, sure thing, his screen has brightened with a new notification.'t's mine."

Insomnia, Noct has learned, is worthy of its name: it never sleeps. And Noct will never, ever assume that night shifts in the capital are slower. In a place like the Crow's Nest, the nights are busy and it seems that the vintage vibes of the burger chain have turned it into a hot spot for the young hipsters. Which blows Noct's mind. There are so many incredible food chains all over the city. Why do people want to eat in a place with uncomfortable plastic chairs and a creepy duck mascot, anyway?

Yes, he has learned his lesson: early afternoons are the best part of the day for lazy employees like himself.

Afternoon shifts also brought him to meet Prompto, the 'one sugar-free lemonade and salmon-pasta' regular who Noct had to run after twice this week alone because Prompto keeps forgetting something in the booth when he leaves. His key. His tote bag. His very expensive camera.

Prompto, who introduced him to photography and with whom Noct hung around last Wednesday because he's a cool nerd who also likes King's Knight.

"Uh? Someone commented on one of my pictures."

"Really? Show me, show me!" Prompto bends over the counter, tipping the screen towards himself. "No way!"

[A very impressive specimen. It is usually rare to catch them at night like you did, as they usually get out when dawn rises.]

"I can't believe someone likes your fish pictures!"

"Hey--!" Noct gasps, outraged, but Prompto keeps on.

"Old ones, too. Have you ever gone fishing since you moved? And isn't that the same guy who liked all of your posts?"

"Not all of them. And some cultured people understand the art of fishing, unlike you," Noct huffs, feeling his ears warm up.  He refuses to be embarrassed about his hobby, even if everyone his age considers fishing only as an activity for retired people to pass the time. Prompto might not understand but at least he's nice about it – nice, but not above teasing Noct mercilessly.

" And I'm going to Crestholm reservoir on my day off next week. I'll post pictures of what I catch. You can still come, you know?"

Prompto grimaces in a way that Noct knows he's going to be refused once more. He tries to ignore the sting of disappointment stirring his chest.

"Sorry dude. I've got that baby shooting Saturday and I'm honestly not keen on spending my Sunday at the reservoir . Maybe when you decide to catch something in an interesting place that’s not filled with mosquitoes, I’ll go," he jokes.

[Ever caught one? Sounds like you did]

[Not myself but a friend of mine did. We went fishing at night once and one red fan bluegill took the bait while we were about to pack our equipment. He was quite lucky.]

"You should DM him."

"Who?"

"Mysterious fishman," Prompto replies, tapping Noct's screen for emphasis. "You might make a new friend, who knows?"

Noct shrugs off, mutters a 'maybe' while Prompto is half-jokingly making Noct swear to text him the person's face and name if he ever decides to meet them in real life.

Despite his reluctance, Noct’s thumb hovers over the DM button, seriously considering the idea of making first contact with this stranger. Their icon looks innocent enough: a vase of silverblossom perched on a windowsill, the shadow of the sun rising behind the glass. Their username, CXIII, however, has intrigued Noct from the very first time it popped up on the screen after CXIII subscribed to his account. Which, coincidentally, happened the very next day Noct plucked the courage to answer the message he's been pretending not to have noticed from Ignis and gave the Crownsguard his consent for the King to contact him.

Noct could be very wrong. Maybe CXIII is something completely random and not hinting at King Regis’s regnal number. Maybe CXIII just has an expensive taste in home decoration and silverblossom is his favourite flower. Maybe they're just one of these fanatics of the royal families who collect all special Yule’s editions of the royal teacup collection every year. Astral, the king is more likely to send him an email or a letter rather than contact him anonymously through social media. Noct ‘s probably overthinking.

In any case, he will not go to the rabbit hole of explaining to Prompto that he is more worried about discovering he’s been gushing about fish to the King than having to face a potential serial killer.

Prompto doesn't know his story, for starters. While Noct really appreciates his new friend, his complicated family history isn't something he wants to disclose.

Hesitation lingers in the back of his mind until the week finally ends and comes the day Noct's been desperately waiting for.

His fishing trip day.

It's the first time Noct has gone outside the Wall since he moved in. Almost immediately, the ever-consistent, muted tingling lingering at the back of his mind becomes a crispy kind of buzzing. From the outside, the magic of the Wall buzzes and crackles above the city. Noct wonders how the soldiers stationed at the gate don't go crazy hearing the sound nonstop.

He's quickly distracted by the prospect of fishing. The waters of the reservoir are darker than the bodies of water Noct's used to fish before and the novelty of it brings a wave of excitement that soon washes away all worries. He texts Prompto pictures of his wins a few times with no replies. Noct's been expecting it considering Prompto is busy the whole day.

Half the day passes in the blink of an eye. While the scenery can’t compare with the green lake near Noct's hometown, the shadows of Hammerhead's desert are painting the horizon with a golden hue that proves to be an incredible sight on its own and the breeze feels warm on his forearms. Besides,  thanks to the reservoir being stuck against the city walls, the connection is just as good as in the city itself and for the first time in his life, Noct can enjoy a podcast from one of his favourite Mooglers while he keeps his eyes on the lure.

Fishing has this strange dual effect on him. Although his focus is on the waters and what moves underneath, his mind wanders. Like a kite that is bound to Eos by its string, it flies highs and lows, makes loops in the clouds. Back in his teenage years, anger used to brew inside his lungs and taint his whole body stale smell. But whenever he went fishing? All of his bottled-up feelings and reminiscing thoughts flickered back to the front of his mind with distance and clarity. It felt like watching a movie about someone else's life. Then, Noct could think back on whatever he’d experienced.  Could untie the knots in his feelings. Work out the steps to move forward.

Like magic, all the turbulence of his life evaporated in the air.

Perhaps that's why his first thought after he snaps a picture of his very first catch of the day – an Alstor bass of a very decent size – is to send it not to Prompto, but to CXIII.

He hesitates only a moment, then throws caution away, heart pounding.

[Went for my first fishing trip since I moved. It's a good one.]

The answer won't be immediate, Noct knows. CXIII usually comments during the early mornings or middays so it's likely he won't see Noct's DM before the next day now.

Maybe CXIII is King Regis --  no, his father. Maybe he's not. Maybe he's a retired old man who will grow bored of talking about lures and rods soon.

 Worst of all, he's another fishing nerd like Noct.

For once in his whole life, all of the possible outcomes don't sound so bad.

~~0~~

CXIII replies with heartfelt congratulations. The wording is so overly polite that it makes Noct snort over his bowl of cereal. CXIII never forgets punctuation, nor does he misspell anything. The only emojis he knows how to use are the thumbs-up. If CXIII isn't a man past his fifty, then Noct swears he will eat the salad and tomatoes in his sandwiches for the rest of his life.

CXIII never confirms what he does for a living – just that he's well-travelled, even if he has mostly lived in Insomnia. Going off-track from fishing discussions, Noct shares what it's like living out there, careful to always remain vague about his actual whereabouts. Most of CXIII ‘s questions are worded in a way to leave Noct the possibility of not answering. It's funny how Noct finds himself even more willing to provide a piece of himself in return.

At some point in the following weeks after they keep trading snippets of each other's lives, they reach a point where CXIII doesn't bother to hide his identity anymore. When CXIII shares a few pictures of himself and his friends with a huge rainbow salmon, Noct gets all the confirmation he needs: it’s painfully oblivious that the young man smiling in the photograph is Prince Regis (can he call the man Regis? True, it's just in his mind...and he can't really call his blood father by a title , can he?).  

What kind of reaction is Regis expecting? Noct wonders. His mind darts from Regis's young face to his own reflection in the mirror: he is a carbon copy of his father's youngest self. No surprise that the Matron immediately thought of the lost prince when she rescued him.

It's kind of funny. Funny, heart-warming and scary, too. Noct would never have thought he could find similarities of his eyes's shape on someone else's face. To be able to point out his own features, and be able to tell if they came from his mother or his father. His hair and his eyes are the same as Regis’s but the mirror reveals Noct can thank his mother for his nose and rounder cheeks.

He traces the shape of his cheekbones, the corners of his eyebrows. As if seeing himself for the first time.

Regis’s picture remains a long time unanswered before Noct dares to reply.

[So there is some hope to grow a beard someday. Good to know. Nice catch by the way. Where did you fish this one?]

~~0~~

"This café is lovely," Ignis comments, looking around appreciatively. "I've never heard of this place before."

"See? I told you it would be a good surprise," Noct boasts.

"What I’m surprised about is how you managed to find this place in the first place. I  mean no offence but I believe you might not appreciate something this...fancy, for lack of a better term," he adds.

It's clear by the slight upturn of his lips that Ignis is only teasing so Noct lets the joke slide with an exaggerated pout. Of course, he can't compete with Ignis's perfect poker face and cracks up first, which earns him a genuine smile.

Noct wouldn't have blamed Ignis if he had genuinely surprised. Real hardwood stretches on the floor of the café and fine porcelain tea sets and figurines decorate various shelves. A light-coloured wallpaper with intricate lily-shaped vines and stripes running along the walls, perfecting the resemblance with rooms of the Tenebrean palaces displayed in Lucis’s national museum. A faint piano sings in the background, filling the room when patrons' discussions die down. Noct knows the owner of the place likes to play jazz when the day is quiet.

For sure, it's not the kind of place Noct would have looked up on his own. Only Prompto had bragged and bragged about the pastries they sold at his part-time job so Noct had decided to check it out for himself after his morning shift. The café had been empty at that time, so Noct hadn't felt awkward to stand in front of the counter with his grease-smelling clothes and purchase an ulwaat-berry tart.

A pastry he's been obsessed with since then.

"My friend Prompto works here sometimes," he says instead of an explanation. "Their pastries are great."

"I see.", Ignis muses. "It's good to see that you acclimated well to the capital," he adds, voice filled with warmth.

Embarrassed and oddly proud at the comment, Noct fails to form any sort of intelligible response while Ignis scans the menu. Even if Noct had gone to work at a young age –  and before he was legally allowed to—in order to be able to support himself, never had an adult complimented the fact that Noct has always managed to be employed and financially stable. They only saw the orphan who had dropped out of school, the guy who worked two jobs and shopped at the thrift store.

It feels nice to receive the approval from someone like Ignis, whom Noct looks up to.  

"How's Gladio?" Noct asked once they had ordered.

"He's doing well, thank you. He would have come along but work is keeping him busy. There's a commemoration coming up soon and he will be part of the main security team this year."

"Really?" Noct perked up. "Good for him."

If anything, Noct had learned during his long trip to Insomnia and his stay at the Citadel is that Gladio lives for his job. Noct finds it absolutely fascinating to see someone passionate about work. In a way, Ignis must have been, too. No one could be so diligent and hardworking for the most boring of the administrative tasks if they didn't enjoy it at least a little. It hadn't been part of Ignis's job to help Noct navigate the administrative labyrinth, but he had. Noct wouldn't have been able to afford his current flat without the financial support Ignis's had made him apply to, and it would have certainly taken him much longer to get his yen's bank account open. 

"What's the big commemoration about? Didn't have it where I'm from."

"The Remembrance Day celebrates the day we butted the Empire out of this part of the region. It coincides with the date King Mors first raised the Walls, so it became a Holiday. It's the day we celebrate victory, but more importantly, the people who fell defending our nation and mourn our dead."

Despite the casualness of his words, something tightened in Noct's chest. Nervously fidgeting with the menu on the table, he waits for Ignis's next words to come but his friend doesn't say anything more, leisurely gazing at the decor instead.

"I bet you're busy too. The King must be attending a shit ton of ceremonies."

"Oh, I'm not attending the King."

"Ah-uh, what?" Noct baffles.

"I'm not attending the King. Oh, " Ignis straightens back. "I see where the confusion comes from. Noct, Gladio and I were assigned to the task of bringing you back but neither he nor I are personally attending the King. His Majesty already has Lord Amilticia as his shield and a chamberlain of his own."

"Sorry. You seemed..."

"Close?" Ignis suggests, visibly amused. "My uncle has worked for the royal family for a long time and my parents themselves were ambassadors before the war took them. I met His Majesty at many social events during my childhood and had the chance to work directly under him on several occasions, so his presence isn't as intimidating as it used to be. Ah, I think these are ours."

Right on cue the waitress approaches.

As soon as she leaves, Ignis scrutinises Noct's tart with undisguised curiosity:

"It is a genuine Ulwaat-berry tart," he finally states with wonder.

"Prompto -- that's my friend who works here -- he told me that it's not a common dessert in Insomnia but I swear the taste is familiar."

"How sure are you about this?" Ignis asks, obviously amused by Noct's sudden enthusiasm for the subject.

"80%? I swear, this is really familiar. I just can't remember where I ate some. I'm pretty sure it wasn't in Edge or it would have been in the first days I was there and that doesn't make any sense. So I kinda assumed it was before. Don't you have those in the palace?"

“ There is indeed a pastry chef who came from Tenebrae when their Highnesses moved to Insomnia so we happen to have these tarts served from time to time. However, I’m afraid the timeline doesn’t match since they could only be welcomed after the liberation of Tenebrae, so I doubt you would have tasted them at the palace itself. I will still ask around, if you'd like."

"'t's fine", Noct deflects, biting into his pastry.

Because Noct can get the information straight from the source, can he not? He pats absent-mindedly his pockets and gets his phone out. Unlocks the screen and hesitates. Is Ignis aware that the King is using an anonymous social account to chat with Noct about his fishing? Or is that a super secret of the State?

CXIII would be able to confirm whether or not Noct ate this dessert before. 

Come to think of it, CXIII is the only person who's able to answer most of the questions Noct ever had about his childhood…

It's not the first time Noct’s mind follows that trail of thoughts. Even if he'd kind of denied his affiliation when it was confirmed and has been refusing to talk about anything related to it for weeks, Noct is still curious about a few things. The reason for his bad leg, for instance. No one had been able to clarify exactly what had happened to him but at least he had confirmation the injury was sustained after his kidnapping by the Empire. Whether it was inflicted while he was being held hostage or after the time he escaped, no one could say. He has yet to take Ignis's offer of assistance to book an appointment and have it examined by a specialist, partly because he felt too overwhelmed by the news to want anything to do with the Crown, partly because the only Scourge specialist he knows is the Oracle herself -- and if there's someone Noct was clearly not ready to meet in person besides the King, it's Lady Lunafreya.

However, now it hits him CXIII -- King Regis -- holds all the answers to the various small things Noct pondered in his life. Is this distaste for vegetables something he grew into after his amnesia or has he always disliked them? Was he the kind of raucous kid running his mouth and running around everywhere or was he the model, timid child the media loved marvelling about?

With no hope of ever getting his memories back, Noct had to shape himself anew. Rather than knowing who Noctis was, he's curious to know if his amnesia has changed his personality.

Does King Regis understand he will never get back the child he has? Does he truly comprehend that the kid is forever gone and, even if Noct had the desire to play the part -- which he doesn't -- he won't be able to?  They won't be able to share fond memories. Ever. Because Regis will only meet a stranger, just like eight-year-old Noct did when the doctor placed a mirror in front of him, hoping his reflection would trigger some memories back.

"Noct?" Ignis calls softly, sounding slightly worried.

"Sorry, kinda zoned out. So, how's the --the thing?"

"The mille-feuilles. And it's exquisite. This café is a nice discovery."

Even if they regularly exchange text messages, two hours are hardly enough to catch up on everything they meant to. Noct already has ten different stories about crazy customers lined up when Ignis inquires if he has acclimated well to his new job. Those easily trigger a few unceremonious snorts for Noct’s ever professional friend, who has his own share of anecdotes to share: it seems like the preparation of the Commemoration Day has nothing to be envious of customer service in terms of human stupidity.  For once, Ignis even talks a little bit about his mysterious girlfriend, for whom Ignis even orders another ulwaat-berry tart to go. 

Finally, Ignis has to return to his ever busy schedule and Noct has successfully fought to pay the bill ('It's too thank you for helping me out Specs. Yes I'll let you pay next time, now gimme back that check') and they step out back to the busy streets, making their way towards the train station.

"There's a question I meant to ask,” Ignis starts, breaking the comfortable silence that came with two full stomachs. “Since it's quite a sensitive subject, please feel free not to answer me." 

Noctis watches, a bit bemused, as Ignis is hesitant for the first time he's ever known him.

"When you left the Citadel, you gave your consent for His Majesty to contact you." Noct startles at the sudden subject and quickly looks around but the street is empty. Unbeknownst to him, Ignis has steered them from the main avenue through back alleys.

"Frankly, I was very surprised by your decision. You seemed...quite upset, to me, to find out your affiliation with him to be true. I meant not to pry but I must ask: has he attempted to contact you?"

Noct wordlessly pulls out his phone and opens the Instacactuar app, pulls up CXIII’s profile and hands the device to his friend. Ignis gently selects the phone to stare at the screen, deep in thought. Leaning over, Noct opens his and CXIII's private message exchange and silently scrolls back in the conversation until he reaches the old picture CXIII sent.

"So it is him," Ignis hums. He doesn’t sound surprised and more pensive, confirming once and for all Noct’s suspicions.

"Yeah. Not a bad move by the way. I think I would have freaked out if he'd tried to call me directly."

"Social media was indeed the best option," Ignis nods. "It allowed you to keep control of your interactions. Even now, you could still block him if you wished so. Although, Noct, I must say: now that you know who's behind this profile, you must not feel pressured to answer."

"What?"

" I say this because I worry that you're allowing the contact out of obligation. While the Citadel's staff have the best intentions in mind, your reaction reminded us all that you clearly have never hoped for a positive result from this test. The whole ordeal must have been overwhelming to you. I know it's too late to say this, but I'm sorry we didn’t provide the support you needed. His Majesty has always been adamant that your comfort was the priority and yet we failed to meet both your needs and his instructions.”

"Specs," Noct tries to interject, then fails to say anything else.

Ignis has always been straightforward with Noct.  Back in Edge, he never lied to Noct or tried to sugarcoat the process to convince Noct to cross the country and accept the new investigation. And thus, even when it was in the Crown’s best interest for the Crownsguard to do so.

"What I'm trying to say, Noct, is that I won’t repeat this mistake twice. If you wish for His Majesty to stop the contact now, just say the word. I might not work under him directly, but it's no trouble to reach him and let him know. He will understand. I will make sure he does."

The words make Noct want to hide his face in his jacket and for the ground to swallow him whole. It takes everything in him not to shy away from them, to give Ignis's honesty the respect it deserves. Because those words fill him with a strange kind of embarrassing warmth. It's not something Noct is used – to having someone solely on his side.

"You don't have to. Really, Ignis, you don't. I just...needed space, I guess. I don't think we can have a father-and-son relationship, but...I'm kinda glad to know he's out there. It's just kinda scary, you know. He's literally the leader of an entire continent. I'm just a guy who works part-time jobs. Fuck, I don't even have my high-school degree."

"It doesn't matter, Noct,” Ignis vows, allowing an unusual pass on the swearing.

"Maybe. But that makes it hard for me to look at him and think 'This is my dad'", Noct counters. "It's difficult to navigate, okay? But I'm gonna do it. Meet him, I mean. I want to talk to him at least once. But...thanks, I guess. For the offer."

"You're welcome, Noct."

"Now stop being all mushy and go catch your train before you're late.”  Noct forcibly says, effectively breaking the moment as he nudges Ignis away. 

 “And tell Gladio to stop by so I can keep true to my words and get him a free slushie!"

***

Chapter Text

Noct is only slightly worried when he reads Prompto's message. A single 'help' , all caps, with three exclamation points and no further context whatsoever. It's only luck that Noct is already up at such an hour. Or –  to be more accurate –  that he hasn't got to bed yet: the new King's Night’s extension went live the day before and Noct has strategically placed his day off today so he could attend the nocturne event at the Kupo arcade. 

After spending the day working and the whole night playing to his heart's content, Noct's eyes hurt and his limbs weight heavier than lead. He almost gives up the idea of breakfast, then remembers hunger will wake him up mid-nap if he doesn't feed his stomach something more substantial than energy drinks. Prompto's ominous message is spooking him a little, so he keeps checking for any follow-up while he eats his bowl of cereal. It’s now been eight minutes that chronically-online-Prompto has read Noct's series of interrogation points, and he has yet to respond. Unwilling to wait any longer, Noct has tapped the 'call' button.

"Hold on!" Prompto's frantic voice says as soon as the line picks up. 

There's some rushing steps echoing, some rummaging, and something that suspiciously sounds like weak yapping in the background.

"You alright there, Prom?"

"Yeah! Err, I mean, no?" More suspicious rummaging and whining.

"What's that?" he asks.

"Dude, save me. I found a hurt puppy in my backyard, and I don't know what to do! I tried to look on Mogglenet but -- oh no, sweetheart, don't chew on that!"

"Oh..." The whining suddenly makes more sense. "How badly is it hurt? Shouldn't you bring it to the vet if it's serious?"

"She hurt her paw. She must have been attacked by something. I'm not sure if it's serious enough for a vet but at the same time I can't afford a vet, so I figured I should bandage it, and then I remembered you worked as a farmer before, so I thought--You know how to take care of animals, right?"

Well, Noct had worked on farms before. It wasn't uncommon for him to be hired for a few tasks to support the staff during the busiest seasons, ranging from taking care of cows and calves to helping during the harvests. It was quite the trek to reach the closest farm to Edge, so working there meant being hosted by the owner’s family for weeks with the other seasonal staff, with no privacy and no entertainment except a shared radio and card games. It hardly made Noct an expert on animal care, especially when wounded pets were concerned.

Still, he'd noticed how common knowledge of animals and nature seemed to vanish once one passed the Walls. Born and raised city people were truly clueless about simple things like growing vegetables and handling a stray animal, Noct had noticed. So that made him an expert in Prompto's mind.

"Not sure if I can do something about it, but you know what? I'm coming. "

An energy drink and five subway stations later, Noct finds himself in front of a dishevelled (and slightly less panicked) Prompto.

The puppy is lying on a bunch of towels, bandages loopily wrapped around one of its paws. Luckily, the local drugstore is selling the same disinfectant Noct knows Edges's farmers used on their own pets and cows, which, while made for human use, won't poison the dog if he licks its wound after it's been cleaned. He reassures Prompto as such while he undoes the wrapping and cleans the wounds: the cuts are big but don't look deep to warrant a vet trip (not that he actually knows, but at the same time, people in the countryside didn't really bring pets to the vet either, so...)

"It looks like a shina-inu, "Noct says while they boil some chicken breasts to feed their little rescue. "How did it end up in your backyard?"

"Bites me," Prompto shrugs, much more relaxed now that he puppy has been treated. "Wow, Mogglenet says they're super expensive bread."

"Must be someone's pet then. Maybe he escaped, or something."  

Prompto laughs when Noct yawns for the thousandth time and gently pushes him away from the counter.

"Seriously, dude, you're the best for coming to my rescue. Why don't you take a nap on the couch? I'll feed Tiny and call the vet and the rescue centre. Maybe someone is looking for her."

"Tiny? Seriously?"

"What? It's cute! And she is tiny, so that works!"

Noct snorts, refusing to comment.

Prompto's house is exactly what Noct expected, down to the point where it's almost bizarre. May it be the neighbourhood, the seasonal decoration on the windowstill bystanders can see from the sidewalk or the actual layout of the house, all of it matches the average-middle-range salary-owner housing displayed in TV series and movies. Rows of the very same house extend in the whole neighbourhood, burrowed between two malls and a business district. Trying to locate Prompto's had felt eerie.

The living room looks somewhat empty despite the large, white couch sitting in the middle of it. Noct removes his shoes and lets himself crash on it with a sigh of satisfaction. 

Perhaps it's because of the cloudy weather and the grey painting light grey painting the walls that the room feels bleak. The few paintings on the walls barely bring any life to the place. Somehow, it's strange to imagine bright, blabbering Prompto living in such place.

Lifeless. Now that Noct can pinpoint the feeling, he has a hard time dismissing it. Except for a few magazines littering the coffee table and the lone controller sitting next to them, it doesn't look like anyone has used the room in a month.  All Noct had ever known were lived-in places: with several small kids and only one adult to care for the lot of them, the orphanage was always messy. There were always toys or books on the table, even when they ate, mud tracks on the old hardwood whenever it rained and clothes drying on some racks. Even after he got a place to call his own, Noct had never been the best at keeping things tidy.

Noct isn't surprised by the tidiness, but rather by how impersonal the space feels. For a family that claimed to love photography --  Prompto has mentioned how his love for art came from the numerous exhibitions his parents brought him to -- Noct can only point to two small frames next to the TV.
One of them is a wedding portrait, which Noct assumes are Prompto's parents, and the other one is the same, older couple standing in front of a primary school, holding the hand of a very blond child whose smile is missing a tooth. 

It's only much later that Noct will wake up to the sound of cooing. Prompto will be sitting cross-legged on the floor, taking close shots of the puppy yapping in front of the lens.  

When questioned about his parents's whereabouts, Prompto will mention he hasn't seen them in months. That they started working for a charity outside the walls a little bit after Pormpto started primary school and had to spend long weeks away from home. Separately, at first. Then, together, when Prompto was older. Now, he's lucky to see them twice a year. Prompto shows absolutely no sign of sadness when he narrates it all, but it still leaves a sour taste in Noct's mouth. Even as an orphan, he was never left alone. Matron had always made sure to celebrate all of the kids' birthdays. Even after she grew too old to run the orphanage and the mayor shut it down, the kids who were still in touch with her were always invited for dinner on their birthday, and thus until she passed away.

"We call each other once a month, so I'm good. Sometimes I missed them, though," Prompto admits, almost shy. "It didn't bother me much before, but now I see them growing old, you know? Like, they used to be invincible to me but last Yule...My dad, he looked so tired. And he can't move like he used to. Mom is fine, though, so I think they will still be on and about in the wilds for a while."

"Yeah...I remember thinking Matron was so tall when I was a kid, but when I visited her the first time at her hospice home, she looked really frail.  Can't really help it, but it sucks."

"Yeah... Dad and Mom mentioned that maybe they will start spending the winters in the city. Apparently, they are way harsher outside - "

"Dude, you don't imagine how much snow the sky can piss. "

"I bet it's so pretty!"

"It isn't when you fell on your ass because all the roads turned into ice."

"Awww, but I bet it's worth it! Just imagine the pictures I could take!" Prompto beams, mimicking taking the shot with his camera, only to take one for real at Tiny when the puppy starts to lick excitedly at his fingers.

"Sooo cute! Oh, you know what? Someday we will take a vacation and you will show me your place. Then I can judge if the weather is as bad as you make it sound."

Noct sorts. Prompto would probably find Edge dilightfully rustic.

Yes, he would find the town charming in its own right. Noct can already hear Prompto delight in front of a vintage diner and the hordes of stray cats littering the streets. 

He finds it a little bit sad that Prompto's parents never proposed to their son that he join them on their journey. Noct refused to believe it was because they didn't want Prompo tagging along.  Perhaps they were so used to going by their own that they didn't think of the possibility. Or maybe they were afraid to disturb Prompto's life in the city. 

It is rather sad that they will probably never be travelling as a family. It's probably too late by the sound of it. Even if Prompto were to join them now, they would probably not be able to climb the Ravatogh -- Prompto's dream pic spot -- all together, nor would they be able to trek. 

He listens as Prompto skims over the lists of all the places his parents have been – a list he plans to follow during a road trip, someday, when he will be able to afford it. 

And Noct wonder if he, too, will also carry the same air of soft regret whenever he speaks about Regis. If he, too, will reminisce about chances he’s missed while he skims over a picture album where child and parents never figure in the same photograph together. 

On the trip back, Noct sends CXIII a picture of the blueberry tart.

[Hey. Wondered if I ever ate this before because it tasted familiar but I don’t remember]

[it’s ulberry tart btw]

As it usually does, the response comes in the evening while Noct is going through the numerous pictures of Tiny Pormpto sent over the last hours.

[Good evening. To answer your question, yes, you did. You tried it during the greeting ceremony during our diplomatic visit at Tenebrae and liked it so much that the royal pastry chef always made some for the tea time.]

[I used to bribe you with these tarts to make sure you ate all your vegetables at the diplomatic dinners.]

Noct snorts because, yeah, that sounds like him, alright.

[Thanks. It kept bugging me, I’m glad it wasn’t just my imagination]

Curiously, it takes Regis a long time to respond. Noct watches as the three dots of the upcoming answer keep popping up, wondering if CXIII simply was interrupted mid-typing or if he’s about to launch himself into a story about Noct’s childhood (that would be a first, and Noct finds himself surprisingly excited about the prospect) until the reply arrives.

[If you ever have similar questions, or if you wish to know more about your childhood, I would be more than happy to provide.]

[Of course, only if you wish to. If you are not comfortable with the idea, please pay it no mind.]

[I wouldn’t mind hearing about a story or two. Think you share some over tea, sometime?]

~~oOo~~

Noct shifts in the leather couch, nervously dusting non-existent fuzz off his pressed slacks for what seems to be the thousandth time. He watches as the Leviathan trout lazily swim among a flock of smaller fishes, marvelling at how close they get to the glass near him before swimming towards the bottom of the gigantic aquarium. If he bends low enough, he can spot the lounge on the floor below through the water.

Hotel Debord is a sight in itself and Noct wouldn't have dreamed of being a guest. Yet, he's been smuggled here along with the rest of the Crown's staff and the caterer for tonight's diplomatic conference. With his nice slack pants, his pressed polo shirt and his pristine white sneakers, he's looking the part, too. As Gladio had half-jokingly predicted, no one paid attention to him and even assumed he was Ignis's assistant.

Being dressed nicely only barely assuaged his nervousness. He's going to meet the King. He's going to meet his father . Both options are terrifying in their own right so Noct isn't exactly sure which option is the worst.

Knowing Regis and CXIII are the same person helps a little. It's CXIII who suggested the venue and the time when Noct voiced his wish to meet him properly and Noct isn't blind to the fact that Regis chose not only a neutral place, but also made sure there would be an official timeframe to end their encounter. The King still has to attend tonight's event no matter which direction their meeting goes. He's been going as far as to request that part of the reception to me reserved for the two of them only.

Noct's heart leaps in his throat when Gladio waves at him for attention and loudly announces the arrival of the King.

Gladio opens the door and bows. Noct jumps to his feet.

The King strides in confidently until he's barely a few steps away from Noct, where he stops there. Panic flares in Noct's chest when the King visibly sways before he seems to catch his breath -- and then Noct finds himself mimicking him, distantly noticing how he'd stopped breathing himself -- and just like that, the moment shatters. The King closes the distance, a warm smile on his lips, and Noct wonders if he's just imagined what had happened.

"Good morning. It is good to see you."

Noct knows he should curtsy. Ignis has given him a crash-course in the proper etiquette for today's encounter and, even if Noct remembers it all, and finds himself unable to follow the proper procedure.  Still, he awkwardly bends in a semi-proper bow.

"Good morning. Thank you for having me".

The king doesn't look offended by his lack of manners, shaking the hand Noct puts forward. His fingers are rough but warm, his grasp gentle despite his firmness.  The handshake lasts a moment too long, yet Noct doesn't mind.

"It is very good to see you", the King repeats. "Let us have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

Noct stutters that tea is fine and watches Regis wave at a middle-aged woman standing near the elevator doors. He's leaning towards her when he requests refreshments to be brought, hands firmly set at the top of the can he's still holding. He only puts it aside after the woman is gone, attention back on Noctis.

"If you don't mind, before we start," Noct dares to ask before he can chicken out, "what should I call you?"

"I'm afraid you will need to refer to me as 'Your Majesty' when we are in the company of others, otherwise it may raise suspicion and all of our discretion will be for nought. I would like you to call me by my first name when we are alone, if you are comfortable with that," Regis answers easily.

Noct nods, feeling some of the tension leave his body. Calling someone 'Your Majesty' while having the most vulnerable conversation of his life? He doesn't think he could survive it.

"And how should I call you?" Regis asks.

"Noct", biting his lips shut as soon as the reply leaves his mouth.

Of course, the king thinks of him as 'Noctis', he belatedly realises. He thinks of backtracking, telling the king it's ok to call him 'Noctis', only to feel himself souring at the idea. He's been Noct longer in his life than he's been Noctis. Astrals, he knows less about Noctis than the king does, having only information from the press as sources. He doesn't remember this past life and it would be a disservice to pretend that he does now.

"Very well, Noct." As if sensing Noct's trail of thought, Regis adds: "It is quite fitting that would go by that name: it used to be your favourite nickname. You used to say it sounded cooler. You didn't like traditional names much when you were young."

"Really? Just by you or...?"

"By myself, and by a few people from the staff taking care of you. My Shield and his child, for instance. Oh...is that...?"

"It's where they got my name from," Nocts waves the small notebook, sliding it over the table so the Regis can get a proper look.

There is no decoration on the beige covers except for the silver blossom embedded on the front. The pages are blue, which Noct had found the be the coolest feature as a child. His matron had always assumed it must have come from a souvenir shop from Tenebrae but Noct had always argued in return that it was too special and him never been able to find something similar online as an adult had only served to prove his point. He pats himself on the back for having the forethought to remove the pages with his childish scribbling because the king skimmed through it almost reverently.

"Lady Lunafreya gifted you this," Regis comments, surprising Noct with this new information. "Surely you've read about the incident where you were lost? Well," he adds after Noct nods, "this was her welcoming present to you, along with a writing set the day we arrived at Fenestala Manor. You two went along like a wildfire."

He stops at the first page where Noct's name is scribbled in his childish script. Noct watches, horrified, as the king starts to tear up.

Luckily he's rescued by the refreshment being brought. The time it takes for the tea to be poured and for someone to place the cup in Noct's hands, the king has taken hold of his emotions and Noct's heart has stopped pounding in his ear like a war drum.

Following the numerous advice he scrolled on the Mogglenet for 'Meeting estranged family', Noct tries to set the boundaries. He doesn't want to know what happened for him to be lost -- not today. Regis complies, unfazed by the formality of Noct's request. He's probably more used than Noct to handling awkward situations like these and Noct feels grateful he can take the lead.

(Bonus point:+1. Regis is off to a good start.)

Their conversation switched to lighter topics after that.

Regis asks about his job and how Noct finds life in the city. It's easy to talk about the random customers and the bizarre requests Noct sometimes gets, even easier to talk about his new friend Prompto. He makes Regis laugh when he inquires if a king can have hobbies, feeling silly because they should but when do they get the time? . Not only does he learns that Regis is fond of science-fiction novels, but apparently Noct had asked him the very same question when he was six years old and Regis finds it immensely funny that Noct gets worried about the king not having any spare time to spend on puzzles and books.

"Oh, so I was a weird kid."

"Hardly so. You were mostly well-behaved when you weren't set on exploring. You had quite a talent for sneaking past your tutor and your nanny. Once, you even spent two hours sneaking under the table in the Council Chambers while it was in session.  I only found out when you fell asleep against my leg. The staff was beside themselves."

"Really? Darn, I was good ."

"You were somehow convinced the Council would allow you to get the magic from the crystal so you were determined to attend."

"But the magic --"

"--is only transferred through a ceremony led by the Oracle, yes. You don't have to worry about waking up with unexpected super-powers. "Regis winks.

"Too bad, that would have been cool," Noct jokes, although he is relieved he doesn't need to worry about extraordinary mayhem wrecking his quiet life -- his newfound family has shaken him up enough.

"That being said, our family has affinities with magic. You must have noticed the Walls are rather noisy."

"So I wasn't crazy ! They are singing!"

Regis chuckles and his eyes almost look like they're sparkling when he tells Noct about his very first adventure out of the Walls. How he'd argued endlessly about the matter with his retainer, who accused Regis of making things up, until Cor the Immortal joined their little group and confirmed he, too, could hear the magic's humming.

At some point, the same lady from before comes by and brings another pot of tea with a plate of assorted snacks. Then, Noct goes through all of the 'recurring dreams'  he's ever had and together he and Regis are picking apart what might be actual memories from Noct's childhood and what is probably the fruit of a child’s imagination. 

The sight of skyscrapers is, without a doubt, a fragment of Noct's past, as Regis reckons they often drove through the city together. Noct feels silly to mention the leathery scent of new upholstery that he had never smelled anywhere else but in the car of his dream until Regis suggests it may be a memory from the Regalia, his personal car. 

Noct doesn't know what pushes him to joke about the king hiding chocolate in the glove compartment. Perhaps it’s the blurry remnants of those recurrent dreams of his smaller hands opening the compartment and the inherent feeling of excitement inhabiting those visions. Until then, he’d blamed the midnight cravings for those dreams. 

Turns out that Regis does hide his secret snacks there and that Noct used to beg for a piece of candy every time the king had cleared his schedule to make a father-and-son drive through the city.

Regis clear eyes turn darker, whirling in a sadness that makes Noct wants to bolt out of his seats and dash out of the building, decorum be damned. It feels like something inside him is screaming to move – although Noct is unsure what he could do to prevent the tears Regis is pretending aren’t running along his nose as the king leans over the table and pours himself another cup of tea. The overpowering feeling of helplessness grounds Noct in his seat while his mind panics, spiralling in its search to find words that could soothe the king’s obvious pain.

Their meeting should be celebratory. Noct is here, and by being present he gave Regis his son back. 

But at the same time, Regis's son never came home. The man sitting in front of the king shares none of the memories the king remembers.

 And Noct is clueless about how to fix this.

As if sensing his misery, the Kind straightens and selects two sugar cubes to ass to his cup of tea to and asks when Noct's next fishing trip is due.

Before Noct notices it, the four allotted hours to their meeting have passed and the same woman as before comes by to gently remind the King that he is awaited elsewhere.

"Thank you for making time to meet me, " Regis declares as he stands in front of Noct, thanking him as if Regis wasn’t the one who had to fight against a very packed schedule to make it. 

"I'm glad we could meet", Noct replies, extending a hand that Regis is quick to shake. He feels Regis's other hand affectionately pressing his shoulder and suddenly it’s Noct’s turn to feel his throat tightening and his eyes burning. 

Great, his body decides now is the best time to get emotional. Not at the first sight of his father, when one could expect some emotion to bleed through. No, simple goodbyes seem to be the trick to inexplicably squeeze his heart.

"Next time, "he adds before his throat closes for good and the words get stuck: "you can tell me what happened and I can tell you about my childhood. I'm glad we could talk about the good things first."

Noct clasps both his hands around Regis’s. 

To remind his father that  Noct's real and not going anywhere. To remind himself that the family he yearned for as a child has finally found him and won't let him go astray again.

The warmth of his father’s hand seeps into his palms. 

"Think you can clear your schedule to spend some time with your wayward son sometime next month? We can make it a thing. If it's ok with you."

Regis's grip tightens on his shoulder in an almost painful way. For a moment, it almost looks like Regis is about to pull him into a hug. That he will finally cling close to the son he hasn't been allowed to hold in his arms for more than a decade. Noct wishes he could grant Rgis his wish, awkwardness be damned, but his feet remain rooted in the expensive marble mosaic. 

Instead, he watches how Regis restrains himself to a wholehearted smile. And Noct immediately regrets not being brave enough to wrap his arms around Regis.

Secretly, he vows not to be such a coward at their next encounter.

"Let me know what date is most suitable for you. I will make sure to clear my agenda, “Regis promises, clearly overjoyed at the proposal.

Nodding, Noct reluctantly lets go of Regis's hands and busies himself gathering his things. Soon enough, he’s following Regis’s assistant who came to collect him in the direction of the elevator.

As Noct steps in and mechanically looks over his shoulder, he’s greeted by the lone figure of his father supporting himself on his cane. He looks suddenly old and somewhat frail, standing all alone in front of the empty dishes set for two, in that big, empty lounge. 

Belatedly, Noct realises he hasn’t even wished his father goodbye. He doesn’t even remember any of the etiquette Ignis taught him – which was for nought anyway, since Noct forgot all about it as soon as he stepped into the building. Was he supposed to curtsy? Call Regis ‘His Majesty?’ 

Timidly,  Noct raises his hand and waves.

When Regis waves back just as the elevator doors close, he doesn't look so lonely anymore.

Chapter Text

"Does this bother you?" the man in a white blouse questions, taping Noctis's naked leg with his pen. Reddish veins beneath his skin have now turned black and swollen. The skin from above his knee to his ankle has also turned red and angry, so dry it flakes excruciatingly whenever it brushes against the fabric of his pants.

Noctiss’s leg has been this way since the crazy-looking doctor injected him with daemon’s miasma. Noctis doesn't remember being so sick ever before, waking up from passing out to screaming in pain until he threw up. Terrible things had happened in front of his eyes; voices that whispered and screeched until Noctis's own cries became louder than them. The nightmares keep sussuring in his ears whenever Noctis closes his eyes.

 Even now, terror expands uncomfortably between Noctis's ribs, making it difficult to force any word to pass his lips.

"So?"

The only words Noctis wants to spit in the man's face are the nasty ones he wouldn’t dare to utter in front of his father, who would surely ground him and then demand to know where Noctis heard them. The terror teases his heart with his long claws, like a wild beast that pretends it's been tamed, slyly reminding him of what doctors here can do. What if he injects again that terrible substance? What if it hurts longer, this time? 

It can't, right? Surely, Noctis would die. It can't, it can't, itcantitcantitcant...

"It burns," he hears himself say," and it itches."

The doctor hums absent-mindedly. 

Noctis is too scared to ask if his leg is rotting from the inside. 

A soldier drags him to what Noctis dubs 'the electric chair'. Two assistants rush to put electrodes on him, shooting not-so-discreet glances at the huge one-way mirror above. Sometimes, the normal doctor talks with the crazy one through a microphone while the crazy doctor watches whatever experiments they planned for the day. 

If even the assistants are scared of this crazy doctor, then Noctis is right to fear him.

Most of the time, the experiments revolve around magic. Noctis has used bottled spells on dummies and Magitech and has been asked to draw elemental energy directly from a natural source.

In any other circumstances, being successful on his first try would have made Noctis so proud. 

Expect that any success or failure is extra data that brings the Empire closer to reaching its goal. 

It’s been months since Noctis was taken away, and yet, he has no idea what the Empire is after.

Today, again, the doctor slips a gem into Noctis's hands. The spheric stone is black and translucent, slightly blue on the edge.  And unnaturally warm. It must be precious, because none of the assistants are allowed to handle it – only the doctor can retrieve it from its safe.

“Summon the power from the stone,” the doctor orders.

There's some energy in the stone, sure, but to Noctis, it feels different from the elemental energy minerals. The stone feels...dirty. Like something nefarious lives inside. 

Noctis doesn't dare to voice that thought aloud, though. 

Is this stone some battery that powers the mechanical soldiers? His father had told him the Magitech are powered by daemon miasma. Could it be the calcified form of daemon blood?

"No response." The doctor taps the results on his tablet before he shoves a rock in Noctis's free hand. "Try to call the elemental energy from both hands at the same time."

Noct's palm buzzes with tingles -- a thunder rock. He calls for its energy until his fingers go numb. In Noctis’s other palm, the dark gem remains unresponsive. He pushes through, imagining reeling in the power within like a reluctant fish from the ocean.  It does nothing, except awaking a wave of nausea that he fights to suppress.

Maybe, like the Crystal, this gem needs a ceremony to introduce its new master?

That’s another thought Noctis is going to keep for himself.

Obviously angry and upset with the results, the doctor almost tears the gem from Noctis's fingers to carefully put it back in its safe.

"This is hopeless,” he groans.

Contrary to what Noctis’s persecutors try to hammer in his brain, Noctis knows his father will come to save him. The Empire might think itself untouchable, but its mighty powerful army will not stand in front of its father's wrath. Even if duty might take priority over spending family time, the King of Lucis will never allow his precious son to be taken away from him.

Of that, Noctis is sure. As sure as the sky stretches above his head and the ground spreads under his feet.

After another couple of weeks, it finally happens. 

The news is brought by the assistants, always less careful than the doctor. They whisper between themselves, panicked: the King is dead. The Lucian army crossed the border, led by their own king, and took over Graela in only five days. It is said that the Lucians have the power of the Gods by their side. That their King has summoned Hell over the Empire troops.

The crazy doctor has died, too. What will become of them? And what about their research? 

"We should trade him for our lives," one of the assistants hisses through his teeth as he stabs Noctis with a needle for yet another blood sample. Noctis flinches but remains silent, pretending he's still barely conscious. It's not a hard feat: he's been having strokes lately, and now the assistants have to inject him with some sedatives to prevent it from happening during the experiments. 

The veins on his legs have remained dark and swollen where the miasma was injected, while his skin has mostly returned to normal. His body keeps fighting the toxins as valiantly as it can. 

"Don't let Dr. Proseprine hear you!" the one who puts electrodes on Noct says.  "He will have you executed for treason."

"I'm just saying the truth. What else can we do?"

"I've heard he got a meeting with General Glauca to move the facility."

"What! We can't leave - where would we --"

"Shhhhh! Do you want the others to hear? Todd said, even if we cannot replicate the Crystal, we might be able to use the boy to control the Crystal for us. Dr. Proseprine looked thrilled when Todd suggested the idea.”

"And we haven't seen Todd since," the first assistant argues, thankfully closing the lid of the last vial of Noctis's blood.

"Probably because he was invited to the meeting with the higher-ups," the female assistant replies, sounding proud. "I can’t wait to see the faces of the Lucian when we summon the same gods they used against us. But before that, we need the make sure the boy’s miasma works as intended. Now that he’s hooked up, let's see if electricity will boost that miasma.”

There are no seats in the cargo aircraft that Noctis is shoved into.

Instead, he's instructed to sit on the dirty floor between two MTs. He obeys, bile crawling up in his mouth. After months surrounded by these soulless soldiers, their creepy, red, glowing eyes still make him want to crawl into a corner and disappear. The soldier is quick to chain Noctis to the base of one of the MT's recharge pods, and just as quick to stomp out of the galley, pushing the button to close the access ramp as he goes.

Once the door is closed, the cold starts to creep, awakening the pain in Noctis’s knee that never truly abates.

Noctis shivers, trying his best to bring the opposite flaps of his vest together one-handed. Now that no one is holding him at gunpoint, he's free to marvel at getting his own coat back. It smells rancid and is crusty with blood in some places, but it's definitely the designer cloth his father forced upon him when he and Luna left for their stroll.

He caresses the thick fabric, finding unexpected comfort in its softness. One button is missing – torn away when General Glauca grabbed him in Fenestala Manor. 

…and something in his inside pocket?

Curious, Noctis's hand dives into the hidden pocket to fetch the mysterious object.

Until his fingers brush against a soft cover and the prince's memory shoots to the surface.

With a small cry of victory, Noctis digs the small notebook out. He feels for the silverblossom embossery, choking on an incredulous sob when he finds it. He hadn't thought much of the gift when Luna had first placed it in his hands. Now, however, the soft sound of the pages as he blindly leafs through them brings him to tears.

The red security light suddenly lit up. The aircraft roars to life. Noctis hurries to hide his precious memento, heart thundering in his ears, eyes darting to the door. People are shouting orders from the outside. The sounds of the engines turn deafening. Noctis curls tighter against the recharge pod.

The slow sensation of movement bursts into a powerful surge up and forward and propels him on the opposite side. Pain explodes in his bound wrist. He yelps, scrambles, grabs the wall and pipes to avoid any more jostling. His ears start ringing from the change in pressure.

The thought of getting back to Lucis should overjoy him. Instead, his stomach lurches uncomfortably. His father was so close to finding him. Even if Glauca and Dr. Proseprine bring him near Insomnia, how will anyone know they hold Noctis hostage? 

Besides, Noctis doesn't think their plan will work through. He's never been able to interact with the Crystal, even when he sneaked past the guards and went to play in the Crystal room. The Crystal doesn't know who Noctis is until Regis formally introduces him through the ceremony.

Not like Noctis will ever tell that to Glauca and that crazy doctor.

What will they do, though, when they realise Noctis is useless?

Will they kill him?

Will his Dad ever find his body?

Even as the airship steadies high in the air,  Noctis remains the head between his knees for the rest of the trip.

"'mm gonna be sick," Noctis moans when he feels his stomach roll.

"Bloody hell," Proseprine seethes. 

He drops Noctis near a bush. The movement makes Noct's head dizzy, and bile rises in his throat. Unable to keep his balance, he falls to his hands and knees on the grass.

All of his insides painfully contract, and Noctis must yield against the wave of nausea. There is little left in his stomach since it's not the first time he has had to vomit. The acrid smell mixes with iron, filling his nose as he regurgitates bile on the soil. Everything hurts. Noctis would gladly sob if crying didn't feel so exhausting.

He really wishes his dad were here.

His dad would be so gentle. He would cradle him in his arms and bring him a glass of cold water with medicine. When the nausea would subside, he would put Noctis to bed and stay by his side until he fell asleep...

His vision shifts. Noctis squints his eyes shut, allowing himself to lie away from the mess he's made.  Putting his head on the cool ground brings blissful relief: under the bush, the sand is fresh, and it smells earthy. For a moment, the thundering headache plaguing him seems to lessen.

"Hey, don't fall asleep," the Proseprine groans. 

The sun has almost reached the horizon. It was much higher when they made their way out of the wrecked aircraft, wasn't it? Nocti doesn't remember much of the actual crashing part, nor what caused it. Did the Lucian army manage to hit them? His father sent tanks near Keycatrich. Could they be close by?

A quick glance behind brings no clue to their location. Only the faint sight of smoke rising to the darkening sky in the distance. It's barely noticeable. Noctis wouldn't have been able to pick it up if he hadn't been actively looking. Proseprine walked them far from the wreckage. Has the Lucian army reached the crash site yet? If so, will they think to search for survivors this far away from the aircraft?

Will anyone think of the possibility of Noctis being a passenger, or will they all believe he's still held captive in Gralea?

"Come on, let's go," the Proseprine urges, kneeling so Noctis can piggy-ride his back again.

Now that Noctis is thinking about it, this doesn't look like Keycatrich. There's way too much vegetation for a desert.  And it's so humid. 

His head swims. Noct closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to fight another wave of dizziness.

He starts feeling better once the sun sets. Well enough that he considers telling the Proseprine that he's well enough to walk.

A trail of fire burns on his leg from the injection point to the back of his neck. He’s parched. And the night is surprisingly noisy. 

'Night is full of daemons,' he remembers his father saying. That's the only thing preventing Noctis from biting his kidnapper like a beast and running away for his life.

Who knows what worse could get him.

Maybe, though, the idea isn't one to discard so readily. Maybe people live nearby. If he can escape enough to find shelter,  and...

Red eyes.

Noctis screams.

The moment Proseprine spins around and notices the giant snake-like creature slithering towards them at full speed, Noctis is ejected into the air. The impact pushes the air out of his lungs, pain reverberating in his ribcage. His vision goes blurry. The hearth smells like humid moss.

Gunshots echo under the starry night sky. 

Scampering to his feet, Noct swivels just in time to witness the immense snake dive towards the doctor and sink its enormous teeth into his shoulder. Proseprine yells in pain. 

The familiar smell of copper fills Noctis's nostrils.

Unbridled terror grips his chest in a vice.

Noctis turns on his heels and runs.

Behind him, another couple of gunshots and terrified cries rise in the air. Something like thunder and cracking bones put a permanent end to those. The sudden silent spurts Noctis forwards at greater speed.

He bolts through the bushes and between the high trees. Dares to stop to breathe behind a rock formation only for a minute, hyperaware of any sounds surrounding him. Things move behind the big leaves of bushes. Cawing further down on his right. Yowling in the far distance. The wind makes the tree move and --

-- even further behind Noctis, something big slithers between rocks.

His feet move before his brain understands what that sound means.

Despite his eyes getting used to the dark, Noctis can't discern much of what stands in front of him. He hopes the lack of obstacles means he's running on a path made by humans, and not an animal trail that will bring him to even bigger danger.

A sudden force brutally sends him backwards.

Noctis heaves, eyes wide, searching for the attacker while he scrambles back to his feet. Then, he spots it.

A chocobot renting box.

And past it, white gravel and stones reflect the moonlight, delimiting an actual road.

Upward, white smoke. It comes from the other side of the road. Is he dreaming? 

He chokes on his spit, causing a fit of violent coughs. Something dark and wet covers his fingers, but Noct is too preoccupied by the enticing prospect of finding a safe place to pay it any attention. 

It feels like he can still hear something slithering on the path behind him.

Quickly crossing the road, Noctis climbs up the rock formation. He almost burned himself on the fire elemental source. Every single part of his body is screaming in pain.

But what greets him is such a beautiful sight.

Blue-lighted runes shimmer under the night sky, taking Noctis's breath away.

A haven.

He found a haven. 

Daemons don't cross the magical runes, Noctis knows. They protect the travellers from the dangers of the night. In its centre, a fire pit is dying. Hunters must have stopped there at some point during the day, which means they may come back tomorrow.

Noctis is safe.

Noctis is safe!

Just as he sets foot into the magical circle, the runes suddenly start to glow brighter. 

Pain explodes in his leg. Like a tidewave, electricity ripples through his spiral column to crash against his brain, where it blasts his consciousness into a million shards.

Noctis doesn't register his body crashing against the stone. Doesn't register the sounds his mouth makes, unrestrained howling of pain while his body convulses against the runs.

The magic of the oracles was cast to repel and purify daemons and the starscourge they carry.

But in Noctis’ veins run misama: something vile that doesn’t match the millennium-old disease itself, but hasn't turned Noctis into a daemon either. Something the Holy doesn't recognise but categorises as a threat.

What the Holy cannot heal, it purifies.

As the sick cells burn, freeing the child's body of the abomination he's been injected with, so does his spirit. The Holy does its work, uncaring that a child’s soul cannot withstand the inferno of its divine healing.

Noctis Lucis Caelum is purified from the miasma. His body will remain marred forever from the abuse it was subjected to.

The boy who will later rise will have no memory of it.

~~o0o~~

Regis pours himself a glass of wine, then asks: “So, how do you find them?” 

Noctis grabs a handful of empty shells from his plate and throws them away. They bounce down like dozens of joyful dancers, the echo of their clattering half swallowed by the splashes of the tides against the rocks. Umbra rushes from under Noctis's chair to chase after them. Noctis whistles for him to come back before the dog reaches the slimy and treacherous grounds. Luckily, Umbra happily trots back to their camp when Noctis lures him with a piece of jerky. Umbra is well-behaved despite barely being out of his puppy stage, and Regis is grateful for it. It would be hard to track the dog down when its dark fur blends seamlessly into the night.

“Surprisingly good," Noctis answers once Umbra has safely crouched under his camping chair again. "Not bad. I maintain that a good campfire is lost if it’s not used to roast meat, but I'll give it to you: those are a good second option.”

Regis hums, unbothered by the difference of opinion when his son is raiding the pot like a starved man. While there is little hope in ever swaying Noctis from his meat-loving diet, Regis is satisfied to be able to share his love for seafood and not find his son grimacing at the sight of it, like the prince six six-year-old self did.

To think fishing would one day become Noctis's passion: the universe does wonder.

“I wished we had found some urchins,” Regis laments. “Perhaps we arrived too late in the season. The waters may be too cold.”

Perhaps they could have found some below the waves. Regis used to love going diving for them back in his days. His body is obviously not in condition to enjoy the seaside like this anymore, and he wouldn’t dare ask Noctis to dive when the seaside is only made of cutting rocks, and the waves are treacherous.

“Maybe I can dive for some tomorrow,” Noctis replies, as if reading Regis’s mind. “Damn, that was good. Ignis is so going to be jealous when I tell him we’ve eaten seafood fresh from the ocean,” he adds, leaning back in his camping chair and crossing his hands on his belly.

At that, Regis represses an inelegant snort – badly, if the smirk Noctis is sending his way is to go by.

“I highly doubt so. He will be dining at  Hostel Debord, one of the world’s best gastronomic restaurants. With his fiancée, I might add.”

“Sure, but his future brother-in-law will be chaperoning. I love Luna, but Ravus is such a killjoy. He’s still acting like Ignis is some kind of delinquent trying to kidnap her sister. I feel for Prompto: it’s going to be so awkward to bodyguard Luna with Ravus around. They will stare at each other like - what’s the saying again?”

“Chiens de faëince?”

“Yes, that.” After trying to repeat the words – and failing spectacularly – Noct gives up. Regis has no doubt his upcoming trip to Tenebrae will do wonders for his accent. 

“He will either sweat buckets under the pressure,” Noct keeps on,” or he will try anything to make Ravus smile. Honestly, I can’t decide which is worse.”

Regis laughs loudly. Casting aside the etiquette and his manners when he spends time with his son is oddly freeing.

For the last four years, the two of them have been more of those moments thanks to Lunafreya taking over. While her introduction as sovereign had been slow at the beginning, the citizens of Lucis are now considering her as the Queen De Facto, and thus even if Regis’s official retirement is still months away. She stands in front of Regis during most official ceremonies and would probably have sat through all the councils, had she not chosen to undergo her pilgrimage. Regis can’t fault her for wanting to finish the last of her training as Oracle. The practical knowledge she will gain during her trip will certainly serve her when she governs, and visiting the Tombs of the Kings will not only strengthen her powers of Oracle, but it will also strengthen her bond to the Crystal.

It’s also for her the chance to experience what it feels like to travel with friends, young and unstoppable. It’s everything Regis had hoped for her. 

Although he would never have imagined that the friends in question would be his lost son, Cor’s protégé and Ignis, Regis’s own protégé. 

“While I you laughing?” Noctis asks, cutting Regis from his own thoughts.

“How uncanny it is that you managed to forge a friendship with the Oracle, despite everything.”

“Well, technically, Prompto became her friend before me. And even if he hadn’t found Pryna, you were bound to introduce us to each other at some point.”

“It was my intent, if the chance arose. Although I doubt you two would have bonded like you did if you had met through more formal circumstances.”

“Let’s thank Ignis, then.”

“Noct…” he starts in warning. 

His reprimand is for nought: he sounds way too fond to be effective.

“I know, I know,” Noct snickers. “I’ll stop teasing him about it…someday.”

“He still feels very much ashamed that your secret was spilt.”

Ignis still apologises profusely whenever the subject comes up. He won’t let go of the guilt, despite Noct hammering it home to him that he didn’t care – and that Ignis wasn’t at fault to begin with.

It was Lunafreya who had insisted on accompanying Ignis to pick up the puppy. She fought the PR team like she rarely did, throwing away all their effort in keeping her identity secret. Even Ignis could convince her to remain in the car while he fetched Pryna. In the end, Regis settled on allowing her to go – mostly because he knew her well enough to understand she would have her way anyway. Besides, the civilian who believed he had rescued the pet of a civil servant would certainly be delighted in meeting the Oracle.

Little did they know that Noctis had been spending time at Prompto’s house that day.

Baffled to find Noct where he wasn’t expecting him, Ignis had blurted out his name. That had been enough for Lunafreya to put two and two together. She had greeted Noctis by his birth name. According to Noct, the young Argentum almost had a heart attack.

To this day, Regis still suspects that  Lunafreya had acted knowing fully the chaos she would create. Despite her gentle nature, she was not a lesser schemer than her mother. Whether she did it to help bridge the gap between Noctis and Regis, or to grant her own wish to renew the long-lost friendship, that was the only mystery Regis couldn’t unveil.

She had been terribly unapologetic about it, which was a rare occurrence for someone so caring. As if Lunafreya had sensed Pormpto’s nature and deciphered the deep bond that tied him to Noctis already. 

Regis wouldn’t put it past her. She definitely took after her mother in that regard.

Hadn’t Silvia warned him numerous times that something felt odd about Drautos?

Chasing the dark thoughts away, Regis started pushing himself up to clean the remains of their meal.

“Hey, hey, hey, none of that!” Noctis immediately protests, jumping to his feet, taking the plates away before Regis can successfully bring them back to the washing-up bowl. Umbra immediately darts after Noctis like a shepherd dog, then sits as close as physically possible next to his master, tail wagging wildly.

“You’re on vacation. Doctors’ orders! Umbr- no, stop it!" 

Noctis tries to push Umbra's nose away, but it only makes the dog lean further against Noct's knee, tongue out and eyes begging.

“While I won’t refute Lunafreya has medical knowledge, she has yet to obtain any formal doctor's degree,” Regis dares to remind his son. 

Still, he chooses not to pick a fight with his son over dirty dishes. Instead, Regis brings back the forks and knives, which will probably be the only contribution his son will allow.  He brings his chair closer so they can resume their conversation while Noctis does the washing, amused by the full-fledged side-conversation Noctis seems to have with his dog, who has yet to give up begging for scraps.

There will be no occasion in which Regis will not marvel at being graced with the chance to spend leisure time with his son like this.

Notwithstanding the fact that his Shield made camp with three Cownsguards further up the cliff, ready to protect him at any sight of danger, it’s the closest Regis will ever be to spending the day as any father would with his offspring. 

The very first time Noctis proposed such an outing, they had gone to Galdia Quay. Noctis hadn’t been able to ignore the security, confessing he felt guilty for being the reason ‘the poor guys must be bored out of their minds waiting there for hours with nothing to do’. He had gone to share with them half of the clams he and Regis had fathered for dinner so ‘the Crownguards could at least have a nice seafood appetiser.’

The circle of people knowing about Noctis’s existence has grown larger, although most of them ignore his true name and believe Noct to be a secret bastard child.

While Regis isn’t keen on people thinking he would discard his own flesh-and-blood so easily, Noct has approved of it when the idea was raised by Ignis. And,  contrary to what Regis had feared, the staff is rather fond of his son  – his obvious respect for the working manpower and caring attitude are probably the reason for such affection.

Not that Noctis would believe it if he were told. He remains rather blind to his own charism, much to Regis's chagrin and entertainment – his amusement of the situation is shared by many of Noctis’s friends.

“Are you excited for Altissia?” he ends up asking, his thoughts having circled back to the young Lunafreya.

“Yeah. It will be my first time abroad.” His hands stop their motion, but Noct doesn’t correct himself.

To Noct’s memory, it will indeed be his very first time abroad. Even if Regis will forever mourn the lost memories, he’s happy his son will experience all the excitement of discovering a new country and its culture all over again.

“All the city is above water. I believe it will be to your liking.”

“Yeah, I looked online, and apparently, there’s a fishing spot you can only access through a gondola. People online say it has one of the best views of Altissia, so I think I can lure Prompto in going with me.”

”A shame you can not fish at nighttime,” Regis teases.

To his surprise, Noct smirks above his shoulder, looking rather smug:

“Says who? Luna has to attend a two-day conference. She will be attended by the Altissian guards, so Prom and Gladio have the days off. We can go Tuesday night, and we will sleep  Wednesday off.”

“Is Prompto aware of this?”

Noctis shrugs.

Regis laughs loud enough that the sound rebounds against the cliffs. No doubt his Shield will hear it from his camp above and ask the reason for his good humour later.

Maybe Regis will not tell him right away, just so Gladio doesn’t get words of Noctis’s mischievous fishing plans.

“I will keep you updated on our mighty feats -”

“-- You mean shenanigans”

“-- and you can update me on what you did with Umbra.”

Regis turns his head to the dog. As if sensing he’s being spoken of, Umbra bumps his nose against Regis’s legs and yaps. Regis gives his scruffy head a good scratch.

“I don’t have time to look after your dog,” he weakly protests.

Who is he fooling? If Noct is this affirmative, it means he went behind Regis’s back to have it all organised. Perhaps even Ignis and Clarus are involved. Regis is too happy his son meshes so seamlessly in his life to be angry about the way he snuck behind Regis’s back.

“He needs a friendly face to look after him. And he will keep you company! Consider it like a training for your upcoming retirement.”

“Training me to babysit, I see. Something you want to tell me, son?”

“Yes: forget the grandchildren, “Noct snorts. “The best I can do is to adopt another dog.”

“What a pity,” Regis fakes lament. At this point, it’s a well-rehearsed joke between the two of them.

“Lunafreya and Specs will give you enough grandchildren. I’m doing you a favour. Besides, imagine me having kids: who gets to be the legitimate heir? That’s how tragedies are written. In fact, my resolution not to have children is a true, heroic act.”

Regis hums, amused. It’s true that he loves Lunafreya and Ravus like his own children and that he will consider their offspring like his own grandchildren. Witnessing the Lucis Caelum line ending with Noct is still bittersweet. But, as Noct said, he will still have Noct and his dogs. What was the term Prompto used the other day…furr-grandbabies?

“Coffee?” Noct asks, to which Regis nods.

“I will be back before you know it,” Noct says while he puts the kettle on the stove, failing to sound nonchalant.

And now the son is worried for his father. When did the tables turn? Darn, Regis is feeling his age.

(And grateful all the same.)

“I know where you live now,” Noct jokes, sparkles in his eyes.

“True,” Regis smiles, petting Umbra, looking at his adult son Regis once thought would never have the chance to grow up.

“You found me.”