The Dawn of the Future

by Jun Eishima

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

  　Or maybe Noctis was just grasping at straws.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  　“How could I not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  　“Of course they are. You―”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  　“Your point being?”

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

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

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

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

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

  　Please, you must stop Ardyn.

  　Aera’s words.

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

  　She could not give up yet.

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

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

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

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

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

  　“Be silent!”

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

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

  　“I told you to be silent!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  　“Somnus Lucis Caelum . . . ” he whispered.

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

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

  　“Sounds about right for Ardyn.”

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

  　Noctis could see the torment filling Somnus’s eyes.

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

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

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

  　“I will see it done,” he vowed.

  　Somnus nodded. “You have my gratitude.”

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