[ Terrible showing for the Chosen King in all senses of the word, because it is a perfect plan, and all Noctis can do is defend himself, unwilling right down to his soul to raise a hand to him. He cannot, he won't, even if the magic is sparking underneath his skin, imbued with the power of the kings of old. Worthless, it seems, when confronted with Ignis himself.

Ignis laughs, and it's a cruel, awful sound. Noctis remembers all the days, the years when he'd laughed, smiled, told terrible jokes on the occasion -- and they were so precious because they were so rare, and here he is now, an awful, terrible shadow of what he used to be. ]

I could have done better. [ Noctis admits, unable to quell the ache in his heart, the desperate longing to reach him. Can he hear him, is there enough of Ignis left to remember. ] I'm sorry I failed you. [ He crosses the space between them again. ] I'm sorry I wasn't there to catch you when you fell. But dig deep. [ He comes to his knees before him as well, two, three steps away. ] Can you feel it? That magic -- the one that isn't Ardyn's. That is what you were meant to have, not that garbage he's feeding you with.