[ Noctis finally returns, and he comes back to a sea of devastation, hell on Eos wrought by Ardyn himself, bent on spreading the misery as far and as wide as possibly, blanketing the entire world in darkness and snuffing out what embers of hope are left. Ardyn doesn't get it all, but he's damn near close to it when Noctis finds only Gladio and Prompto there when he returns, older, holding more sorrow, and definitely far more exhausted than he's ever seen them.
Humanity, it seems, are far more resilient than they give themselves credit for. Even with daemons overrunning the entire damn place, there are still pockets of the resistance, of people fighting to survive in the decade that's passed.
But what Noctis hears from Gladio and Prompto breaks his heart -- Ignis, as they know him to be, is gone; a daemon had a pretty good day and Ignis had a bad, bad one, and for the past ten years, the two had been fighting to get him back, fighting against an approximation of him, a twisted version Ardyn had corrupted for himself in some sick game, and Noctis forgets to breathe. Ignis, his oldest, most loyal; the one man he loved above all else, and the one Ardyn chose to take and corrupt for himself.
Noctis doesn't wait. He cannot, not when he knows that Ignis, whatever's left of him, is waiting for him in the Citadel. Perhaps Ardyn had seen him as collateral, insurance to ensure his arrival, or perhaps Ardyn knew what Ignis had really meant to him, and simply sought to twist the knife -- enact some sort of dramatic tragedy for the final act, as it were.
He succeeds.
Noctis cuts him down and wakes him, staring in horror and heartbreak at what he's become. The letters Ignis wrote him is tucked inside his shirt, against his heart. Gladio had given them to him before they left, and Noctis had read each one of them so often and so thoroughly that he knows each one by heart.
His Ignis, he thinks. His Ignis is here. He can feel the trickle of magic, a flutter of connection, faint but present, like butterfly's wings. His blade dissipates as he walks over to Ignis, crouches before him and tries to bite back a swell of emotion, intense and overwhelming. He won't raise his blade to him; he cannot. Maybe Ardyn knew exactly what the fuck he intended to do, after all. ]
Iggy. [ He says quietly, because he knows what the hell he's getting into. ] It's me, Noct.
[ Gladio and Prompto said there's little more that can be done for Ignis now, who had slaughtered so many in Ardyn's name, who had displayed no signs of recognition no matter how they tried. He has to try. He has to, because the alternative is unthinkable. ] You know me. You've known me all your life.
no subject
Humanity, it seems, are far more resilient than they give themselves credit for. Even with daemons overrunning the entire damn place, there are still pockets of the resistance, of people fighting to survive in the decade that's passed.
But what Noctis hears from Gladio and Prompto breaks his heart -- Ignis, as they know him to be, is gone; a daemon had a pretty good day and Ignis had a bad, bad one, and for the past ten years, the two had been fighting to get him back, fighting against an approximation of him, a twisted version Ardyn had corrupted for himself in some sick game, and Noctis forgets to breathe. Ignis, his oldest, most loyal; the one man he loved above all else, and the one Ardyn chose to take and corrupt for himself.
Noctis doesn't wait. He cannot, not when he knows that Ignis, whatever's left of him, is waiting for him in the Citadel. Perhaps Ardyn had seen him as collateral, insurance to ensure his arrival, or perhaps Ardyn knew what Ignis had really meant to him, and simply sought to twist the knife -- enact some sort of dramatic tragedy for the final act, as it were.
He succeeds.
Noctis cuts him down and wakes him, staring in horror and heartbreak at what he's become. The letters Ignis wrote him is tucked inside his shirt, against his heart. Gladio had given them to him before they left, and Noctis had read each one of them so often and so thoroughly that he knows each one by heart.
His Ignis, he thinks. His Ignis is here. He can feel the trickle of magic, a flutter of connection, faint but present, like butterfly's wings. His blade dissipates as he walks over to Ignis, crouches before him and tries to bite back a swell of emotion, intense and overwhelming. He won't raise his blade to him; he cannot. Maybe Ardyn knew exactly what the fuck he intended to do, after all. ]
Iggy. [ He says quietly, because he knows what the hell he's getting into. ] It's me, Noct.
[ Gladio and Prompto said there's little more that can be done for Ignis now, who had slaughtered so many in Ardyn's name, who had displayed no signs of recognition no matter how they tried. He has to try. He has to, because the alternative is unthinkable. ] You know me. You've known me all your life.