Chapter Text
“So this is how you’ve been able to resist me. It’s your sweet, loyal retainers.”
Noctis’ breath comes in ragged gasps, a persistent ringing filling his ears. Ardyn’s oily voice feels distant, as though traveling through water. Noctis groans, forcing himself up from his prone position, his muscles protesting with every movement. Sweat clings to his skin, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back.
A sharp, stabbing pain pulses through his chest, right where the bulk of his magic has violently surged back into him. The same magic that had been ripped away from him is now forcibly returned, coiling within him like a wild beast, refusing to settle. Every attempt to contain it sends waves of agony through his core.
His thoughts tumble over each other, fragmented and panicked. His instincts scream at him to protect his friends, but his body isn’t cooperating. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto are still unconscious behind him.
I need to get up.
Ardyn is stalking toward them, his footsteps slow and deliberate, the smirk on his face filled with anticipation.
With a grunt, Noctis forces himself to his feet. His legs wobble beneath him, and a wave of nausea hits the moment he stands. His vision blurs, and for a split second, the room tilts on its axis. He doesn’t know how he will take another step, let alone fight, but the thought of Ardyn closing in on his friends forces him forward.
Noctis’ gaze flickers to his companions. They’re too still. His pulse quickens. Are they…? No. No, they have to be fine. His heart hammers in his chest, his magic buzzing just beneath his skin, chaotic and unbalanced. Reaching out, he touches Ignis’ shoulder and shakes it gently. A groan escapes the strategist, and a wave of relief washes over Noctis.
Thank the gods. They’re alive.
The sound of footsteps pulls his attention back to Ardyn, who now stands just a short distance away.
Noctis knows what he’s about to do is reckless, but now that Ardyn found out it's his retainers who keep him grounded, he isn’t sure what Ardyn might do to them. He reaches inside himself, tapping into the unstable magic and tries to conjure a protective shield around his friends. The magic sputters, resisting at first, but with a frustrated gasp, it surges with violent force.
A transparent shield, shimmering with iridescent purple, materializes with a resounding crash, slamming into the floor with enough force to reverberate through the room. The protective dome envelops his companions, but his barely controlled magic causes a shockwave, shattering the nearby windows.
Shards of glass clatter to the floor, and a rush of cold air sweeps through the room. Noctis shivers involuntarily as the temperature drops, his sweaty hair and shirt cooling rapidly.
He realizes with a pang of regret that he discarded his jacket by the fireplace earlier. Now, he stands in his sweat soaked button down and tailored slacks, ill prepared for the cold that seeps through the broken window.
But his friends are unharmed. Prompto and Gladio stir, disturbed by the echoing crash of the barrier being erected.
“Gladio’s gonna be so mad about this,” Noctis thinks, turning away from them with effort to face Ardyn alone.
Ardyn’s eyes linger on Noctis’ retinue for a moment longer, a thoughtful look in his gaze before it shifts back to Noctis.
Ardyn steps closer, his expression amused as he watches Noctis struggle to stay upright. “How quaint,” he muses, his tone mocking. “You think that can protect them?” He reaches out, fingertips brushing the surface of the shield.
A ripple spreads across the barrier, as if the magic itself recoils from Ardyn’s touch. Ardyn presses harder, testing its strength. His smile deepens with amusement, but just before he can push further, Noctis’ voice cuts through the air.
“No.”
It’s quiet. Calm. But it carries undeniable power. His words are infused with a command that seems to shift the very air around them. His eyes glow with an intensity Ardyn hadn’t expected. A depth of authority far beyond the weary, beaten young man standing before him. Ardyn’s hand freezes mid-motion. For a brief moment, surprise flickers across his face. The ripple in the shield stills, and then, in response to Noctis’ will, it solidifies—stronger, untouchable.
Exhaling tiredly, Noctis suddenly feels the burden of the last ten years of providence crashing down on him, weariness creeping into his bones like an unwelcome guest. If this is the Accursed, just one more obstacle... but he’s so tired. He just doesn’t want to fight anymore.
“You’re the one poisoning the Crystal, aren’t you? Why?” His words hang in the air, tinged with exhaustion and genuine curiosity.
Ardyn’s smirk twists into something darker. “Oh, dear Noctis, I just want to give you a taste of what our blood has put me through,” he retorts, his tone dripping with bitterness.
“Our blood? What do you mean? If there’s anything—” Noctis begins, only to be cut off by Ardyn’s sharp gesture of impatience.
“You’ll find out soon enough! If you want your Crystal back, come back when you’re ready,” Ardyn spits contemptuously. “I’ve been the gods’ puppet for too long. It’s my turn now.”
Noctis recoils, his mind reeling with the implications of Ardyn’s words. Could it be that Ardyn was... no, that can’t be possible.
Ardyn’s smile widens as he observes Noctis’ obvious struggle with the information he’s just shared, his gaze lingering on Noctis, taking in the dampness of his shirt and the drawn lines of his brow.
His gaze flicks to the shield, then back to Noctis, as though daring him to make a move. But then, with a sharp turn, Ardyn spins on his heel, his coat billowing behind him as he heads for the door.
“Face me when you’re ready, oh chosen one,” he calls out, his voice echoing through the room. “We’ll see what destiny has in store for us.”
Noctis watches as Ardyn leaves, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping the magic contained. His limbs feel heavy, his vision blurring. He collapses to his knees beside his friends as the shield around them dissipates.
“Gladio…” he calls out, shaking his friend’s shoulder. “Are you guys okay?”
Gladio stirs first, blinking as he slowly pushes himself up. “Noct…?” His voice is groggy. “What happened? You look like hell.”
Noctis lets out a shaky breath. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, and they both know it. “Ardyn… he’s gone, but...”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Ignis cuts in, already sitting up and surveying the damage. He always has a way of assessing situations quickly, even in the middle of chaos.
The cold wind howls through the broken windows, sending a fresh wave of chill through the room.
Prompto groans as he comes to, wincing as he sits up. “Did someone get the plate of that truck that hit me?”
Ignis stands, noticing Noctis shivering. He grabs his jacket and gently places it over Noctis’ shoulders.
“Thanks,” Noctis mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.
“He’s waiting for something,” Noctis mutters, trailing off as the four of them turn around, noticing an elderly maid scurrying through. Her terrified eyes are fixed on Noctis as she slowly walks toward them, growing paler with fear. Noctis turns fully to look at her, and she immediately crashes to her knees, her head bowed to avoid his gaze.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty. If the quarters were not to your liking… I’ll bring…” she stammers, her eyes darting from the broken windows to Noctis’ shoes.
Noctis’ face softens at the sight of her fear. He pushes himself up with effort, ignoring the way his muscles protest as he steps toward her. She stiffens, as if awaiting her death sentence, but Noctis kneels in front of her, not minding the glass and debris on his clothes. Very gently, he reaches out.
“Please, there’s no need to be afraid,” he says, his voice softer than usual. His hand hovers just above hers, careful not to touch her and further startle her. “It wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who caused the damage, and I’ll cover any expenses to repair it.”
The maid’s eyes dart up through her lashes, her fear slowly giving way to confusion. Noctis’ voice holds a sincerity that is hard to ignore, his posture non-threatening despite his exhaustion.
Ignis watches the exchange with a quiet smile. He’s always been fascinated by how Noctis, despite the burdens he carries, can connect with people on a deeper level. It’s a trait few leaders possess and one that endears him to his people—well, to the people of Insomnia at least. Here in Niflheim, it’s a different story. Ignis doesn’t want to imagine how Niflheim’s leaders have twisted Noctis’ image to instill fear. But even the maid must feel it—that indescribable aura that surrounds Noctis. She glances up through her lashes at him, awe glimmering in her gaze.
“I would be grateful if you could show us a different set of quarters,” Noctis continues, standing up slowly and giving the maid a reassuring smile. “Somewhere where it doesn’t snow inside,” he adds with a soft chuckle. “Whatever is available will be fine. Please, don’t worry.”
He pauses, smiling gently as he reaches for the woman’s hand, his long fingers enveloping her small, withered ones. He helps her to her feet. “What’s your name?”
“Karla.” The maid mumbles shyly, a small, tentative smile appearing on her face as she rises from the floor. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispers before scurrying out of the room.
As soon as she leaves, Gladio lets out a low scoff, his usual teasing tone returning. “Another member of the Noctis fan club,” he ribs good-naturedly, earning a roll of the eyes from Noctis.
———————-
A few minutes later, they’re following Karla through the palace corridors to a different set of chambers. Prompto and Ignis carry the few bags they brought, while Gladio sticks to Noctis like a shadow, his eyes watching him closely. He notices how Noctis keeps rubbing his sternum, his face tight with discomfort, but Gladio doesn’t mention it. Not yet. He’ll wait until they’re alone.
The new room they’re led to is considerably smaller but much cozier, with another fireplace crackling in the corner. Prompto immediately flops down onto the bed with a groan, while Ignis busies himself putting away their belongings. Noctis gingerly sits on a small loveseat next to the fire, his head falling back with a long, tired sigh.
Gladio kneels in front of Noctis, his large hands resting on the King’s knees. “Alright, kiddo,” Gladio says, his voice gentle but firm. “What’s going on? You’ve been off since that fight.”
Noctis opens his eyes, blinking at Gladio through half-lidded exhaustion. “I’m fine, Gladio.”
Gladio’s frown deepens. “You keep saying that, but we both know it’s crap.”
Noctis sighs, rubbing his sternum again. “It’s just the magic. When it came back… it hit me hard. My chest still hurts from it rushing in all at once.”
He hesitates for a moment, then looks up at his shield, the seriousness in his eyes undeniable. “Listen… tomorrow’s meeting with the Emperor… I think you guys should try pulling weapons from the Armiger. Just to be safe.”
Ignis looks up from across the room, concern flickering in his eyes. “What makes you say that, Noct?”
“I don’t know.” Noctis shakes his head. “Something about Ardyn… I just have this feeling he’s not done messing with me yet. I don’t want to put you guys in any danger.”
“Danger?” Prompto sits up from the bed, his face paling slightly. “Noct, you’re seriously freaking me out here.”
Noctis’ lips quirk into a faint smile. “I’ll be fine, Prom. Just… humor me, okay?”
Ignis stands and summons a dagger from the Armiger, testing Noctis’ theory. The weapon materializes without issue, glowing faintly in his hand. Prompto and Gladio follow suit, summoning their respective weapons.
Noctis lets out a breath of relief, but his expression remains serious. “I’d feel better if you carried sidearms with you tomorrow. I don’t want to leave anything to chance. You should have seen how he looked at you guys. Downright creepy.”
“You got it, Noct,” Gladio reassures him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll be ready.”
They go to bed shortly after that. The events of the day have left them all a bit shaken. In an unspoken understanding, they nestle together on Noctis’ bed, with Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio gravitating toward him, forming a tight knot of limbs and shared warmth.
With the uncertainty of being in hostile territory and the looming threat of Ardyn, far from the familiarity of home, Noctis feels grateful for the closeness, the weight of their bodies pressed against his own.
He listens to the quiet breaths of his companions, gradually becoming slower and more shallow as they fall asleep. He’s glad they’re able to rest, but Noctis’ mind refuses to quiet down.
He isn’t truly afraid to sleep—not with his friends around—but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that Ardyn’s control over him terrifies him. Whenever he’s trapped, suspended by the dark magic’s tendrils in the Armiger, he feels powerless, completely at Ardyn’s mercy. It’s torture for the sake of torture, as if there is no goal other than to make him suffer.
“I just want to give you a taste of what our blood has put me through…”
Noctis' mind wanders back to their earlier encounter. The hate in Ardyn’s eyes was absolute. There are moments when Noctis could have sworn that Ardyn wasn’t even looking at him, but through him, as if seeing someone else entirely. Was it tied to his ancestors? Could it be?
Deciding that tossing and turning won’t get him anywhere, he snuggles closer to Ignis, whose arm is loosely draped over his torso. Noctis finds Ignis’ wrist and clasps it firmly, letting the calming hum of the contact ground him. Slowly, sleep overtakes him.
Ignis is the first to wake up. It takes him a moment to get his bearings as he stares up at the marble ceiling of their Niflheim quarters. The fire has burned down to embers, casting faint shadows across the room. Noctis’ hand is clasped around his wrist, and for a brief moment, Ignis allows himself to appreciate the contact.
Slowly, and with great care, Ignis begins to extract himself from Noctis' grip, but not before taking a good look at him. Noctis’ face is peaceful in sleep, his breathing steady and even. There are no signs of pain or distress, none of the usual restless expressions that accompany his entrapment in the Armiger. Ignis sighs in relief; the night has passed without incident.
He had worried that Ardyn's presence and the Crystal’s proximity might worsen Noctis' episodes. But perhaps this reprieve is deliberate, a cruel trick by Ardyn to strike when they least expect it, to keep them on edge.
Noctis stirs slightly as Ignis moves away, curling unconsciously toward Prompto, who is nestled under Noctis' arm, while Gladio’s heavy leg has somehow ended up draped across Prompto, trapping him.
Ignis can’t help but smile at the scene, committing the peaceful moment to memory. He has a feeling such moments will be rare in the days to come.
He carefully rises from the bed and walks over to the fire, restoking the flames before freshening up in the bathroom. When he steps out of the room, he finds Karla already waiting outside, a tray of breakfast items balanced on her arms. She seems to have a knack for arriving at just the right time. Ignis puts a finger to his lips, silently urging her to be quiet, not wanting to disturb the others.
She holds the tray with steady hands but freezes when she catches sight of the sleeping tangle of limbs on Noctis’ bed.
Her eyes widen in shock, as if unsure how to process the sight of the King of Light and his retinue in what appears to be a slumber party.
Ignis meets her eyes, giving her a small smile. “It’s been a long few days,” he says softly, his tone understanding. He takes the tray from her and nods his thanks. She bows deeply before quietly retreating.
Ignis places the tray on the table near the window, laying out plates of fruit, oatmeal, and coffee. He pours himself a cup, savoring its warmth as he gazes out at the still-frozen landscape beyond the window. Though the wind has calmed, the air outside is still bitterly cold; Ignis can tell by the frost on the window panes.
Setting his cup down, Ignis moves to wake the others. He starts with Noctis, giving him a gentle shake on the shoulder. “Noctis, it’s time to wake up.”
Noctis’ groggy voice answers him. “Ignis?” He blinks his eyes open sluggishly, yawning and rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to wake up. Prompto and Gladio begin to stir as well, each of them slowly rising from their places on the bed.
Soon enough, they find themselves gathered around the table. Noctis, never much of a morning person, stares blankly into his coffee cup, looking like he might still be half asleep.
After his second cup of coffee, Noctis finally starts to perk up. He pokes absentmindedly at the oatmeal with his spoon, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Gladio looks over, noticing Noctis' faraway expression. “Something on your mind?”
Noctis sighs, setting his fork down. “Yeah… I think we should call for backup. Get Cor and a squad of Tactical Ops Glaives to meet us at the Grotto.” He glances up at Gladio. “I don’t think I’ll be reliable enough in there.”
Gladio looks up from his breakfast, surprised. This is the first time Noctis has ever openly admitted that his body might not hold up in a fight. Even during Providence, when the pain had been unbearable, Noctis had always powered through, throwing himself into the fight despite the toll it took on him.
Now, though, as Gladio studies him, it’s clear that Noctis is reaching his limit. Even after a full night’s rest, he still looks exhausted. Some strands of his telltale bangs have escaped Ignis’ careful treatment overnight and hang over his eyes, the shadows under his eyes deep, faint lines of pain around his mouth and eyes.
Gladio’s expression softens. “Sounds like a good idea. I’ll coordinate with Ravus.” He claps Noctis’ shoulder in reassurance. “Now come on, we have to get you ready for your big audience with the Emperor.”
———————-
An hour later, the four of them stand in their dressing room, finalizing their preparations. Ignis briskly brushes away some invisible lint from Noctis’ coat, his movements precise and deliberate.
It’s been over a decade since Noctis last saw Emperor Aldercapt in person. Not long after the last time he stood in these halls, his world unraveled—his father, seriously injured in a demon attack, and everything Noctis knew turned upside down. Everything has changed since then.
The Crystal Transfer Ceremony, held weeks ago in Insomnia, was supposed to be the start of amends between Lucis and Niflheim. But Aldercapt refused to attend, sending only a delegation to escort the Crystal, his displeasure with the Lucian monarchy barely hidden.
Noctis offered to bring the Crystal himself, to personally extend a hand of reconciliation. Aldercapt’s refusal stung, though it was really Cor and Ignis who were more outraged than Noctis himself. He knew it was part of a larger scheme, one designed to uphold the lies Aldercapt spread, painting Noctis as a cruel, indifferent king who abandoned Niflheim to its fate. And deep down, in Noctis’ darkest moments, he can’t help but agree with him.
But now, Niflheim has agreed to the state visit. When Noctis was weakened and Chancellor Ardyn Izunia appeared. They all know coming here is reckless, dangerous even. But now, with more pieces of the puzzle falling into place, Noctis can’t shake the doubt creeping in. Have they made a mistake coming here?
Gladio and Prompto doublecheck their weapons, ensuring everything is in place. They tuck their guns into concealed holsters beneath their formal Crownsguard attire, the weight of their roles as protectors heavier than ever.
Noctis, in contrast, stands quietly by the mirror, dressed in a simple yet elegant black three-piece suit. He asked Ignis to keep his look understated, hoping to project humility rather than authority. Anything to make Aldercapt feel less threatened by his presence. The long wool coat draped over his shoulders completes the look, sharp, yet deliberately unadorned.
His eyes are closed, lips moving in a barely audible whisper as he rehearses his speech. He spent a long time preparing it back in Insomnia, carefully choosing the words he wanted to say to the representatives he had been promised would be there. Ignis can’t help but smile faintly as he glances at his king. Noctis’ hair is neatly styled, and he looks slightly more refreshed after a shower.
Ignis’ gaze meets Gladio’s over Noctis’ head, the two of them sharing a silent, knowing exchange. For all of Noctis’ efforts to appear unassuming, there’s simply no hiding the quiet strength and presence that radiates from him, making him look every bit the king he is.
Noctis, oblivious to the quiet communication, takes a final deep breath. He turns to face his friends, his posture straightening. “Alright, let’s go see the Emperor and get that Glaive. Only then can we hope to get the Crystal back. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
A firm knock on the door interrupts them. Their escort has arrived. A group of Niflheimian guards who stand at attention as Noctis and his retinue fall into their familiar formation. Noctis moves to the center, Gladio takes point at his right, with Ignis and Prompto flanking the rear.
They march through the long, cold corridors of the Niflheim palace. The echo of their footsteps is the only sound in the otherwise eerily quiet halls. Noctis’ senses are on high alert as they approach the audience chamber. The vast, windowless throne room looms ahead, its dark marble walls reflecting the dim light in jagged patterns. A strange unease crawls up Noctis' spine as he steps through the doorway.
The chamber is devoid of life. There are no representatives, no attendants, not even the usual ceremonial guards. Only the Emperor, Ideolas Aldercapt, hunched on his throne, and Ardyn, lingering beside him like a shadow, his twisted smile curving upward as they enter.
Noctis’ eyes narrow as he takes in the scene. This isn’t right. This isn’t what they had been promised.
Aldercapt, once a commanding presence, now looks frail and withered, his eyes clouded and vacant. The Emperor of Niflheim is no longer the formidable figure Noctis remembers from their brief public encounters only a few months ago. He’s little more than a husk, drained of life. And standing beside him, Ardyn watches with casual, almost predatory amusement.
As they approach the base of the throne’s stairs, Gladio hesitates for only a moment before reluctantly stepping aside, allowing Noctis to approach the Emperor. Noctis opens his mouth to greet the Emperor, but before he can speak, Aldercapt stirs. His sunken eyes widen in desperation as he struggles to rise. The skeletal hand of the old man reaches out toward Noctis.
“Help me…” The Emperor’s voice is a rasping whisper, choked and weak as he is reaching for Noctis. Gladio instinctively moves forward, but Noctis raises a hand to stop him, stepping toward the frail ruler with urgency.
“Emperor,” Noctis says softly, concern lacing his voice as he reaches out and grasps the Emperor’s trembling hands. The moment their hands touch, for a fleeting moment, the clouded film over Aldercapt’s eyes seems to lift, a flicker of recognition sparking in their dull whiteness.
“Your Majesty… help… me…” Aldercapt’s plea is desperate, his grip tightening painfully around Noctis’ hands.
But before Noctis can respond, Ardyn moves swiftly, seizing the Emperor’s arm and yanking him back with brutal force.
“What the hell is going on?!” Noctis snaps, his voice rising as anger courses through him.
Ardyn, still gripping the Emperor’s arm, turns his gaze to Noctis. “You don’t get to heal him,” Ardyn seethes, his voice dripping with disdain. “That’s my role. Your role, Noctis, is to suffer.”
For a brief moment, Noctis and Ardyn simply stare at one another, the air between them heavy and still. Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to just the two of them. In Ardyn’s eyes, Noctis glimpses something unexpected—deep, profound hurt, buried beneath layers of bitterness and rage.
A flicker of empathy stirs within Noctis, an inexplicable urge to reach out, to understand. But before Noctis can so much as lift a hand, the moment shatters. Ardyn’s expression hardens, and with a sharp, twisting motion of his hand, he sends a searing pain straight through Noctis’ chest, tearing through his already unstable magic. The familiar ripple of blue crystals bursts over him.
Noctis gasps, his breath hitching as the poisoned connection between himself and the Crystal violently flares up. His legs buckle beneath him, and he crashes to one knee.
Ignis steps forward, daggers drawn, positioning himself protectively in front of Noctis. His eyes burn with fury, his lips pressed into a thin line. He feared this exact scenario.
Gladio pulls his sidearm, glaring at Ardyn. “Don’t you dare touch him!” he growls, his voice dangerous.
Ardyn ignores him. Instead, he crouches down in front of Noctis, completely disregarding Gladio’s gun aimed at his face. His smile widens as he looks directly into Noctis’ eyes. “You know nothing, do you, Noctis? About who I really am. About what your family has done to me.”
Noctis struggles to breathe as he fights for control over the attack, his voice barely a whisper through clenched teeth. “What... are you talking about?”
Ardyn leans closer. “I am Ardyn Lucis Caelum. Your precious royal bloodline? It’s mine too.”
Noctis’ world tilts. He blinks as if trying to make sense of the words, but his mind refuses to process them. “You’re... lying,” Noctis chokes out, but there’s no conviction in his voice.
“Oh, I assure you, it’s the truth. I was the rightful king, long before your ancestors decided to steal that destiny from me.”
Noctis stares at Ardyn. “But... why? Why would they do that?”
“Because your ancestors are no better than the gods who toy with us,” Ardyn spits, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. “They turned their backs on me, their ‘Savior,’ cast me aside, and now they glorify you. But it doesn’t matter. It’s my turn now.”
Noctis closes his eyes, another shower of crystals making his body shudder. Everything he’s ever known about his lineage, his duty, feels like it’s unraveling right in front of him.
“So, what do you want from me?” he asks, his voice raw as he looks up at Ardyn, disbelief and pain mixing in his eyes.
Ardyn stands, towering over Noctis. “I want you to suffer as I have suffered. I want you to feel the weight of betrayal, the pain of being cast aside by those who should have protected you.”
Ardyn’s voice echoes through the vast chamber. “And remember, Noctis... we are not so different, you and I. You didn’t think the Armiger was only yours to control, did you?”
Ardyn suddenly repeats the same twisting motion of his hand, and Noctis lets out a strained groan as his body responds, the poisoned connection to the Crystal intensifying, another shower of blue crystals breaking over him.
Ignis lunges forward to intervene, but with a casual flick of his wrist, Ardyn sends a blast of force that throws Ignis back violently, slamming him into the floor. Ignis groans, winded, but still desperately tries to get back to his feet.
“No! Ignis!” Summoning every ounce of strength, Noctis taps into his connection to the Crystal, the untainted part, however small it was. He stands shakily, his magic sparking around him. He forces himself to his feet, even though every part of his body is screaming in pain. “Don’t you dare hurt them!”
He fights against the heavy force pressing down on him, channeling his magic into a burst of energy that pushes Ardyn back. The sudden surge catches Ardyn off-guard, his eyes widening in surprise as the shockwave ripples through the chamber.
Ardyn’s surprise turns into a dark grin. “Impressive, Noctis. But it won’t be enough.”
With another quick, sharp gesture, Ardyn tightens his grip on the poisoned Crystal and pulls. Noctis tries to resist, pushing back with all the power he can muster, but it’s like fighting against a riptide. The connection between him and the Crystal flares painfully again, pulling at his magic, dragging him back into the suffocating grip of the Armiger.
“No!” Noctis strains against the force, his vision blurring. He can feel himself slipping, the tendrils of Ardyn’s power tightening around him, but he pushes harder, refusing to give in.
Ardyn watches, eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Back to the Armiger with you, oh chosen one.”
With one final surge of dark magic, Ardyn pulls Noctis fully into the Armiger. Noctis gasps as he’s torn from the physical world, the oppressive sensation of being trapped within his own magic overwhelming him.
From the outside, to Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto, it looks as though Noctis’s body has gone limp, crumpling to the floor.
“Noct!” Gladio rushes forward, catching his friend’s lifeless form just before he hits the ground.
Ignis steps up beside him, his face taut with worry. “He’s trapped again...”
Gladio cradles Noctis protectively, rage burning in his eyes as he glares up at Ardyn. “What did you do to him?”
“Oh, don’t fret,” Ardyn says, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Your king is alive. You’ll just have to dig him out of his Armiger—again.”
Without waiting for a response, Ardyn turns on his heel and strides away, his coat billowing behind him. “Come back when you’re better prepared,” he calls out, his words dripping with contempt. “Do take care on your way out.”
Gladio’s fists clench, his entire body coiled with anger. But he knows better than to attack now. Noctis needs him. There’s no fighting Ardyn now—not when Noctis is vulnerable.
“We’re done here,” Gladio mutters, his voice strained with barely contained rage. He gently gathers Noctis into his arms, lifting him with ease as Ignis and Prompto form a protective barrier around them.
As they make their way toward the exit, the cold air pressing down on them, Karla appears from the shadows. Her eyes widen in shock as she sees Noctis’ limp form cradled in Gladio’s arms.
“What happened to the King?” Karla asks, her voice trembling with alarm. “Is he…?”
“He’s unconscious but alive,” Ignis says quickly, his tone sharp with urgency. “We need to get him back to the plane immediately. Call our pilot—tell him to be ready at the plane in five minutes.”
Karla nods, hurrying off to make the call just as Ravus appears, his face tight with concern. “What’s happened?”
“There’s no time to explain,” Ignis replies curtly, his gaze flickering to Noctis’ pale face. “We need to secure Noctis and leave. We’re not safe here.”
Ravus nods in understanding, tapping his earpiece to summon two of his closest men, who arrive moments later with weapons drawn. They form a tight perimeter around the group as they make their way through the palace, keeping their guard up as they head for the hangar.
As they reach the hangar, the soft hum of the plane’s engines is a welcome sound.
Ravus and his men take up positions at the base of the stairs, forming a protective barrier as Gladio carefully ascends the steps, Noctis cradled in his arms like something fragile. Prompto follows close behind, his hand hovering near his gun, ready for any sign of trouble.
Before Ignis can follow, Ravus steps closer, his voice low but steady. “Take care of him,” he says, his eyes flickering to Noctis before meeting Ignis’ gaze. “We’ll meet at the Grotto. Contact me through Gentiana when you’re ready.”
Ignis nods, his expression resolute. “We’ll be ready.”
Ravus’ expression softens just slightly, the weight of the situation hanging heavily between them. “Be careful,” he adds.
Ignis gives a resolute nod, and without another word, turns and ascends the steps, joining his companions in the cabin. The doors to the plane seal shut with a soft hiss, and within moments, they’re airborne, leaving the cold, oppressive atmosphere of Niflheim behind.