by Jun Eishima
Higher up, he saw a section of sky darker than its surroundings―a concentration of miasma denser than he’d ever seen before. In the center of the onyx circle was a humanlike figure: the daemon Lunafreya that both looked like his love and did not.
The scourge-tainted Oracle raised both hands high above her head and began to sing. It was a song Noctis had never heard before. Lunafreya had often sung songs of old for him during his recovery at Tenebrae, measures passed down by the people of her homeland, with soothing, simple melodies.
There was nothing gentle about the song Noctis heard now. The tones were dissonant, harsh, and seemed to cause the very air to tremble, as if her voice might pierce the darkness itself. A moment later, light began to encircle Lunafreya. It was a light similar to that of the Armiger, but pure white and tracing the intricate lines of a casting circle in the space around her body.
“Is that . . . ?” Noctis said.
He recalled the words of the Draconian. To cleanse the Star, all life must be swept away. This had to be the beginnings of the Bladekeeper’s spell of destruction absolute. As he stared up at the ominous vision, horror transmuted into urgency.
“I have to stop it!”
If the Draconian managed to complete the spell, the chances of recovering Lunafreya safely were slim. Noctis sprinted forward. He had to get up there. He had to stop the spell. The Citadel was gaining altitude. He didn’t have much time.
He recognized his own unbecoming panic. Any trace of poise or cool was lost. Hours ago, he’d felt collected, ready to return home and fulfill his destiny. The clear and overwhelming images shared by the Crystal told him there was no other choice. He knew what he had to do, and nothing was going to throw him off course.
And yet here he was, panicking. Staying calm seemed an insurmountable task with Lunafreya’s life once more at stake. He couldn’t lose her. Not again. He remembered the pain in Altissia, when he regained consciousness only to learn of her death. His heart had seemed but a moment away from being ripped from his chest. The prospect of enduring that agony all over again left him terrified.
He ran with everything he had. A thrown blade and a warp brought him close to the rising Citadel. Next stop was the edge, and then he’d ride up into the sky, heading toward Lunafreya high above. Without other means to fly, it would be the easiest way up.
Unfortunately, Bahamut seemed to know it, too. As Noctis aimed for the lip of the rising island, he heard the sound of wings diving in. He turned, prepared to face an incoming pack of flying daemons. What he encountered was something quite different.
“It’s the Draconian,” he gasped.
Or if not the god himself, something quite similar. There was no mistaking the shape of the incoming assailants; they looked precisely like the god Noctis had observed inside the Crystal. However, they were much smaller in scale, perhaps twice Noctis’s own stature, with splayed swords for wings and flexible tails like the supple leather of a whip. In their hands, they wielded greatswords.
There were several dozen, arranged in ordered ranks reminiscent of the empire’s automated infantry. Whether these smaller Bladekeepers were incarnations or simply minions, Noctis was not certain, but they were undoubtedly created to execute the Bladekeeper’s will. Avatars, perhaps. At any rate, this was no unordered mob of daemons; these foes behaved intelligently, clearly intending to strike at Noctis with coordinated tactics.
“Looks like someone doesn’t want me near the Citadel,” he muttered.
For what the avatars lacked in size compared to their master, they compensated for with speed and ferocity. The Royal Arms flashed into Noctis’s hands. He parried blows and struck back, but it was clear he was at a disadvantage. There would be no swift victory against this many skilled opponents.
“Damn it!” he cursed, as another avatar swooped in.
Easily as troublesome as their greatswords were their bodies and wings. The avatars dove and twisted, not at all hesitant to try bodily slamming into Noctis, bladed wings sweeping forward to slice at his arms. He wouldn’t be able to avoid every blow. A sharp pain ran through his biceps. Enough solid contact on his right, and he’d find it hard to wield his glaives to fight back.
At long last, he managed to fell one. But the rest continued to dive at him. His hard-won victory evaporated like a ladleful of water thrown upon hot coals. The avatars toyed with him, dictating the terms of the fight, and Noctis’s fatigue mounted; despite the fact that he’d managed to slay one, it felt like there were more enemies now than there had been to start with.
All the while, the Citadel continued to rise. Soon, it would be at too great a distance for Noctis to reach with a warp. He had to cut this encounter short, but the number of opponents, their strength and coordination kept him pinned. He had to think.
A sudden call came from behind him. “Noct!”
An avatar’s incoming sword rang with an impact and jerked off course. It took Noctis a moment to comprehend what had happened: a bullseye shot, dead center on the enemy’s blade. Someone was firing at the creatures with a gun, and Noctis realized exactly who it was.
“Prompto! Glad you could make it!” he shouted in response. Before he could turn to confirm, he heard the whoosh and clang of a greatsword and then a heavy thud as something collapsed to the ground.
Noctis finally found a moment to shoot a glance over his shoulder. “Gladio! Long time no see!”
The sworn Shield lifted his massive blade to rest on one shoulder, the avatar that had been bearing down on Noctis’s back now vanquished.
“Sure took your sweet time showing up,” Gladio grinned.
“Look who’s talking,” Noctis responded.
“This is all quite heartwarming, but I’m afraid the happy reunion is going to have to wait,” a third voice chimed in. Ignis.
The sound of wings slicing through the air reached their ears again. Three more enemies, inbound fast. Ignis was already crouched slightly, polearm held ready for the leap. For the vision he still lacked, his hearing seemed to have grown all the sharper. He was quicker to respond than anyone else.
“Hey, Ignis, instructions!”
Same words, same motions. Just like old times.
“Attack together on my signal,” Ignis replied calmly.
The advisor had a strategy whipped up almost instantly. Everything flowed without a hitch, as if ten long years hadn’t passed at all. The three companions assumed their formation around Noctis, as if they’d all done the same just days ago.
No. For Noctis, it seemed like yesterday, but his three retainers had ten years to prepare for this fight. Prompto’s shots came faster and with more precision. Gladio’s blows were more powerful than ever before. Even Ignis’s movements were sharper, notwithstanding his lost eyesight. Noctis didn’t have to ask how they’d spent the time in their king’s absence. Here in battle, it felt like they’d spent every day of that decade right by his side.
Even so, the situation was growing worse.
“We’re getting nowhere,” Gladio growled in irritation. Their foes seemed to be growing in number. In all likelihood, the Draconian was summoning reinforcements.
“And they just keep coming!” came Prompto’s frustrated follow-up.
“Heh. Talk about déjà vu.”
“Now that you mention it . . . ”
The exchange did seem familiar. Back at Zegnautus Keep, when they’d been surrounded by daemons, Ignis had instructed Noctis to go ahead on his own. Noctis had left the other three behind to fight, heading by himself to the chamber where the Crystal was kept.
Back then, the situation had seemed dire. This time, it seemed even worse. The fact that Lunafreya hung high above him, her life at stake, didn’t make it any easier.
Suddenly there was a yell coming from loudspeakers above.
“Everyone! Get down!”
Sol’s voice. The four m
en hit the ground as directed, without question or hesitation. An explosion shook the surroundings. They felt the scorching blast wash over their backs and heard the approaching drone of a dropship’s engines.
“Hurry! Jump in!” Sol barked.
The dropship made a rapid descent, nearly slamming against the ground in a landing maneuver indicative either of incredible skill or brash disregard. Noctis wasn’t about to complain. The offer to get away and end the stalemate was all too welcome.
“Just the kind of stunt I’d expect them to pull,” Gladio snorted as he pushed himself to his feet. Apparently, he’d already figured out who was piloting, but there wasn’t time to ask him. The dropship’s hatch yawned open. Sol peeked out from one side.
“Figured you could use a hand, Your Majesty,” she called, waving a hand to urge them aboard.
Inside, Noctis was confronted by another familiar face. “Aranea,” he said. “Guess we’ve got you to thank for organizing the lift.”
“It’s been a while, Pretty Boy. Er, Majesty, I guess. Heard you were keeping an eye on the kid here.”
Aranea’s gaze shifted to Sol. So this was the “mother” Noctis had heard her mention in the car. And that meant the person Lunafreya had been determined to save―even in the face of her own imminent fall to the scourge―was Aranea.
Noctis replied, “I’d say Sol was the one keeping an―”
Eye on me, he’d intended to finish, but Aranea cut in.
“Let’s save the chitchat. Wouldn’t want you to bite your royal tongue.”
Noctis soon realized what she meant. The craft climbed steep and fast, slamming backs and heads into seats. Noctis glanced forward at the cockpit and saw two more familiar faces: Wedge at the helm, Biggs sitting copilot.
“Take ’er to the roof, Wedge! As fast as she’ll go!”
“On it.”
The acceleration was so intense Noctis thought for a moment they might be crushed in their seats. A sudden sideways jolt was added to the mix, along with the sound of a violent collision. A shrill alarm rang throughout the craft.
“A hit,” Wedge announced. “Damage to port.”
They didn’t bother flicking the display monitors over to the side-mounted cameras. What had happened was obvious enough. Bahamut’s avatars were in close pursuit, and they clearly didn’t have any reservations about ramming themselves against the dropship’s hull. Firing the autocannon was out of the question. Aranea and the rest of the crew seemed to realize it, too. Lunafreya was out there.
The jolts continued, predictably enough. Every few moments, there was another impact against the hull, sending a shudder through the entire airframe. The attacks were relentless.
“Can’t take much more of this, Lady A!” Biggs announced.
Aranea clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Looks like we’re shit out of luck. Better set her down before we lose her.”
“Over there.” She pointed. The Citadel and its courtyard hung suspended just ahead. The courtyard gates and surrounding walls had fallen away. The once-smooth, stately flagstones were now a jagged mess over warped, uneven ground. But there was enough space for an emergency landing.
“You really think it’s safe?” Prompto asked. “Putting the ship down th―”
Prompto cut himself off, hand flying to mouth and face twisting in pained grimace. Aranea’s warning hadn’t been a joke. The unpredictable shakes and jolts of the ship really did pose a threat. Gladio, Ignis, and even Sol sat tight-lipped. Only Aranea, Biggs, and Wedge spoke without concern, a clear indication of their long experience aboard the vessel.
“Mouths shut, heads back!” Aranea shouted. “This one’s gonna be rough!”
Biggs’s countdown began as the last word was out of her mouth. “Three . . . two . . . one . . . ”
The impact of the craft rode a fine line between emergency landing and outright crash, but the dropship finally skidded to a stop. An unpleasant burning smell wafted through the cabin; it seemed like the propulsion system wouldn’t be firing up again anytime soon.
Aranea sighed and said, “End of the line. Hate to say it, but it looks like you’re on foot from here.”
“Don’t sweat it. This is a big help already,” Noctis replied.
Without the dropship, he probably wouldn’t have made it to the Citadel at all―it was already well beyond the range of a ground-based warp. And landing in the courtyard seemed to have brought them some measure of safety. As soon as the dropship slammed down, the flying avatars had ceased their assault. Maybe the Bladekeeper was loath to risk further damage to the Citadel and its precious crystalline cargo.
“You really saved our asses,” Noctis added. He flicked his gaze to the cockpit’s display. He saw the Citadel dead ahead on one panel, and on another, he could just make out Lunafreya, floating directly above the towers.
“Bet if we got up to the roof, we could reach her,” Gladio said.
Prompto chimed in with agreement. “Race you to the top.”
“In any case, getting into the shelter of the Citadel would seem to be in our best interest,” Ignis said. “The Draconian has paused his assault, but it could resume at any moment.”
Ignis wouldn’t have seen the monitors―he must have surmised the situation from Gladio and Prompto’s exchange alone. And he was right. If the airborne foes were to strike again, Noctis and party would be at less of a disadvantage in the enclosed space of the Citadel than in the courtyard.
“As for us, guess we’ll get busy on repairs,” Aranea said and shrugged. Biggs and Wedge headed back toward the engine room.
Sol opened the hatch. Once they were outside, the extent of the damage to the dropship was obvious. Black smoke poured from the rear. If anything, it was a surprise the ship had held out long enough to save them from a real crash. That they’d managed any sort of emergency landing at all was a small miracle.
“Sorry, Your Majesty, but this is as far as I go,” Sol said. “I’ve gotta help get the ship back in the air.”
“Yeah, I figured. Don’t worry. We’ll take it from here.”
In all likelihood, the Draconian’s only concern was keeping Noctis from Lunafreya. With Noctis away from the ship, Aranea and the others would have the interval they needed to do their repairs and clear out of the area.
Noctis looked at Sol once more. “Actually, I’ve got a favor to ask. Once you’ve got this thing flying again, I want you to pull back to Lestallum.”
“Huh? Why?”
“The people there need to be evacuated. I want you four to see to it.”
All life must be swept away. Noctis couldn’t shake the Bladekeeper’s words from mind. At this point, it wasn’t hard to imagine some massive blaze tearing across the surface of the Star. And if that did happen, evacuation would be easier said than done.
“I gotta admit, though, I have no idea where to ask you to take them.”
To Noctis’s relief, Ignis jumped in. This kind of thing was exactly within the royal advisor’s domain.
“We’ll be in touch as soon as we have a handle on the situation,” Ignis said. “Until then, get preparations underway. Have the people ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
At Ignis’s instructions, Sol gave a crisp, “Got it.” Then she turned back to Noctis.
“Your Majesty, please do whatever it takes. Luna has to make it out of this okay.”
“I’ll save her. I promise.”
He had sworn the same to himself countless times already.
Noctis and his companions broke away from the dropship and ran toward the Citadel. So far, their assumption that the Draconian didn’t want any harm to come to the Crystal seemed to be holding up. There was no sign of the avatars.
But the state of the courtyard itself slowed their progress. It was canted down at a pronounced angle, with piles of debris and deep holes offering plenty of haza
rds. Further complication came from the fact that the Citadel was still rising, the intermittent jerks and shudders of the moving structure throwing them all off balance.
“You okay, Specs? I’m not walking too fast, am I?” Noctis asked.
When Ignis first lost his sight, Noctis had been slow to adapt. Gladio and Prompto had constantly been on Noctis’s case for not accommodating their blinded companion’s slower, less certain pace.
Noctis’s question seemed to remind Ignis of that time, too. He gave a chuckle, insisting “It’s no problem whatsoever, I assure you.”
Noctis took a moment to watch his companion’s progress more carefully and realized the rough terrain wasn’t slowing him down at all.
Ignis hunts, too. Says if anything, he’s more used to the darkness than we are.
When Sol had mentioned Ignis’s reaction to the world gone dark, Noctis hadn’t thought much of it. It seemed reasonable enough. Only now did it occur to him how much determination and effort must have gone into the smooth, natural gait Ignis walked with now, as well as how much time he must have spent honing his hearing, smell, and other senses to make up for the lost sight.
“If anything, we should pick up the pace,” the advisor continued. “We must reach Lady―”
There, his words cut off. Noctis sensed it, too. Footsteps on the long stairway leading up to the Citadel doors. Someone had paused near the top. Noctis looked up. Even through the darkness, there was something about the man’s presence that announced itself plainly for all to know.
“Oh, Noct . . . How I have waited for this,” came the lilting voice.
Ardyn slowly made his way down the staircase, both arms flung wide as if to imply the king and his retinue would pass no farther.
“Out of my way, jester.”
“Oh? And here I thought you came all this way to see me.”
Mere hours ago, Ardyn’s presumption would have been accurate. Noctis had been convinced of his calling to bring an end to Ardyn for the sake of the Star. But now the situation had changed.
