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[He glances up to meet her eyes as she shifts closer, surprised initially, though he knows he shouldn't be. Of course her concern would be for him rather than the expectations on his shoulders. She's always been kinder to him than he is to himself.

After a second or two, he musters a smile, shaking his head again.]

I promise. Or- I'll try not to, at least. I don't really know what to expect. Even so, I... I wanna give it a shot.

[He owes the world - and to some extent, himself - at least that much.]

We can start with one. We'll see what happens after that.

One, it is. [ Pyra brings his hand up to her lips, giving his knuckles a kiss. Whatever happens, she's here to support him. Offering another smile in a way she hopes is reassuring, she then guides that same hand to her chest, allowing him to touch the crystal there. Similarly, she reaches with her other hand to his chest, moving beneath his shirt so she may rest her palm upon his crystal. ]

And now... let's focus. [ The crystal is his, tied to his soul; therefore the memories sealed inside will not be within her own mindscape, but his own. Eyes sliding shut, she summons forth the basis of her power, golden and gentle, to create a bridge between her and him, linking them further and reaching out to the crystalline blue of his own. Together, they will enter the recesses of his mind, coming into form.

Whatever location or void in which he may place them, soon they'll be standing before a representation of how he believes the vault that houses his crystal's memories to look like. ]

[It's a different experience, her venturing into his crystal rather than the reverse, though it's similarly disorienting and sudden. One moment he's in their room, the next he's effortlessly drawn into an endless sea of undulating shades of blue, peppered with stars and shining lights. It strongly resembles the interior of his magic armory, or the core of the Crystal itself when he'd met Bahamut, and for a moment he feels disappointed that it's just this again, this miserable emptiness that brought him so much grief back home, as well as nearly killed him twice here... but then he starts to notice the fragments of colour and architecture cutting through the otherwise stagnant realm.

The first one he sees looks almost like an island, fragmented and crumbling at the edges, but there's such an obvious familiarity to the architecture that he feels immediately drawn to it. Arcs of obsidian stone and polished marble, accents of gold marking out nostalgic shapes and patterns. It's unmistakably Lucian. It's still distant, segments drawing together as if forming as he focuses on it, but he suspects it'll become fully recognizable soon.

His voice is quiet as he speaks, finally breaking the uneasy silence that the visual had formed in him.]

It... looks like home. I feel like I should've expected that, but- [He really hadn't.]

[ Broken and fragmented the architecture may be, the obsidian stone and gold is no less beautiful as more of it comes together. She recognizes the motifs, too, having been privy to a few of his visions of the throne room of his world.

She takes his hand. ]

Let's move closer.

[ She's not sure what she expected-- a library, perhaps, or some easy metaphor through which he can browse memories. Fragments of memories, on the other hand, make sense as well, for he had been effected when his crystal's memories flooded him. Perhaps these are the conceptual scars of the event. ]

[His fingers curl easily around hers, and he walks alongside her as they walk towards the construct as it slowly assembles itself into something more familiar. A part of him had expected the throne room, because it's happened enough that it feels predestined at this point. Somehow though, those sweeping stairs never appear, nor does the golden accented throne or the enormous windows. Instead he sees... a room. Ornate and beautifully stylized, admittedly, with gleaming marble walls, expensive carved furniture, but nonetheless just a fancy room in the Citadel. There's a canopy bed, a curved desk, a few side tables with books, flowers, and a teapot peppered around the room. It's empty, but the illusion of warm sunlight filters in through the large windows. It's also very familiar.

Noctis pauses at the edge, hesitating, then touches the edge of the construct, testing its stability, then hefts himself up to sit on the edge, holding his other hand out to her to help her up as well.]

I... think we found my old room.

[ With his help, she sits upon the ledge next to him. ]

Your... room?

[ Pyra takes a few moments to gather the scenery in, imagining just how life might have been for a younger Noctis in this very same room. Spacious and ornate, it's certainly fit for a prince, but it has an air of loneliness to it. Having lived with him for so long, it doesn't seem quite him. That, or this is another part of him she hasn't had the privilege to meet until now. ]

It's beautiful... Exactly what I'd picture for a prince.

It wasn't exactly like this. Some of the colours are different.

[He points towards the bed, the sheets a faded peach.]

Mine were blue. Maybe this is from a different generation. The furniture looks similar, though... must've lasted decades.

[It makes sense. He remembers them being fancy and well made, which meant they were built to last. A few of them even had old magic scars.]

[ She follows the point of his finger towards the bed, and then her eyes widen. ]

Oh...! You think-- this might already be a memory from the crystal?

Maybe.

[He watches the space of the room for a long moment, waiting for something to happen. It feels... oddly peaceful, in a way that it really hadn't been when he lived here. Always too quiet and lonely, and whenever someone came to see him it was Highness this, Highness that, bowing and showing deference to a child in a way he'd hated. He hadn't done anything to deserve all of that except been born.

He shifts position, facing into the room instead with knees half-propped in front of him, his brows furrowing.]

The crystal must've had a million memories like this. Just... long stretches where nothing happened, where no one did anything, the world just existed. When we were traveling around Lucis, there were so many places totally untouched by anyone. It's not like the room stopped existing while no one was in it.

[ In other words, if they continue to sit here and wait for something to happen, they may be waiting a while.

Pyra studies his thoughtful profile, then gives his hand a squeeze. ] You mentioned this was your old room, but different-- someone else's. [ Either a previous prince or princess. ] Do any of the decorations strike you as... theirs?

[Her question is a distraction from the grim thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him, and he quietly welcomes it.]

Uh... let's see.

[He leans forward a bit, searching for any particular details that might ping him. At first it's just a basic aesthetic, nothing too interesting, until a curious set of extrusions from the wall adjacent to the bed catches his attention, and he points it out, somewhat uncertain with his words, but the thought coming to mind otherwise unprompted.]

That over there... there was a prince who had trouble learning how to use the armory, like I did. He got a weapon on his sixteenth birthday- uh, it's a traditional thing- but he couldn't use it the way he was supposed to. I think there was a problem with... a council? No, it was some nobles back then...

[His brows furrow, grimacing as he tries to push too hard for it. It's like the memory is right there, but the more he chases it the more it slips through his fingers. It's frustrating. This is what he's supposed to do, isn't it?]

[ She allows him a moment or two to attempt to figure it out for himself-- to give him the benefit of the doubt that he can on his own-- but when it's clear that frustration is setting in to cause his brow to furrow, she guesses that a little help might, well, help him.

Only problem: Pyra herself is not too sure how to help him, either, because she knows so little of his world's history.

...But she can offer him a little more of her own power in order to help obtain that clarity of mind. ] Take your time... [ Pyra starts to say, looking at him patiently. She breathes in, relaxing beside him, and then summons some of her power to reach out to him, manifesting a golden bridge of soft, heatless light between them. Like all the times before, it may help him streamline his thoughts, should he welcome it-- or so she hopes. ] You got this.

[He pauses at her words, resistant at first - stubborn as ever and needing not to be a disappointment - before he catches himself and relaxes, closing his eyes as her presence and power warms him straight to the soul and soothes his nerves, bit by bit. Rather than chasing thoughts that had eluded him, he breathes in, out, and waits for it to come to him, like a butterfly alighting at the fringes of his mind. Details begin to form, and at last he can picture it.]

They were nobles. The prince was feeling discouraged, thinking he wouldn't be worthy of the Crystal when his time came. They talked about how the king should have another child, put aside the powerless one and try again. Poor kid.

[He can't help feeling sympathy for his predecessor. He'd walked that path, heard the criticisms. After his injury, re-learning how to walk, failing again and again to do things that his father could have done at half his age. But his father never caved to their requests, sometimes demands. He never gave up on Noctis. And this king...

He opens his eyes and looks up, and there's a teenage boy sitting on the bed, clad in robes not quite modern, but not as old-fashioned as Somnus. His dark hair hangs in his eyes, hiding his expression.

A tall man in elegant, flowing robes (and a slanted cape!) is standing where the wall extrusions are, setting a thin, rapier-type blade of beautiful craftsmanship into place. "There now," he says, sounding pleased. A curved crown of intersecting metal is tucked behind one ear. "Right within reach, should you ever need it. Scabbards are admittedly rare in our family, but the Warrior King used one, and he was without peer, so the stories say."

The boy mumbled something, and when the king prompted him to repeat, his voice is harsh. "I'm no warrior."

"Come now-"

"I'm not!" he shouts. "You know I'm not. What kind of prince can't even summon his sword? I'm sixteen now- I should be warping! Casting spells! But I can't- I'm useless!"

They bicker back and forth for a handful of moments, clearly an old argument of rehashed points. The son, tired of failure, of being told that success will come with time and practice when he's seen no evidence that it's true. The father, exhausted and heartsick by his child's self-doubt, wishing for his success if only so that some of the pressure might be lifted off his young shoulders. There is anger, guilt, heartbreak, until finally the prince snaps,

"Just do what they keep saying, okay!? Throw me away, have another kid! I'm defective- you can replace me, everyone wants that!"

There is a pause, a pained silence, broken at last by the king's shaken breath and striding footsteps. He closes the distance and grasps his son by the shoulders.

"There is only one of you, understand? There will only ever be one of you." His tone is firm, but kind, pleading for his son to hear him. "You are without equal, and one day you'll see it. They'll all see it. Let us never speak of 'replacement' again." With the gentlest hands, he wipes the once-hidden tears from beneath his child's eyes. "My son is irreplaceable."

The vision freezes, at that moment, and Noctis blinks, those same tears mirrored on his own cheeks.] Oh, [he whispers, dumbfounded.]

[ As the scene plays out, Pyra remains quiet by Noctis' side. The way in which the youth expresses his frustration and self-blame for being inadequate hurts to hear from someone so young. The gentle way in which the father attempts to assuage his doubts comes from his heart. Irresplacable, he says.

It's a picture of unconditional love. She hopes, in years to come, that love would have been enough for that young prince.

At Noctis' small breath, she turns her head to see the tears upon his cheeks. Smiling sympathetically, she reaches up to mirror the past king's touch, bringing her hand to Noctis' face to wipe away at one of the wet trails....

But of course. The way in which this archive of memories of the crystal works isn't just some library-cinema of the past. Because Eos' crystal is a part of Noctis, he may feel the emotions of those within. Perhaps he feels this particular memory's feelings more acutely than he will others, for the subject matter. ]

That's right. Irreplaceable.

[ She says this to Noctis. She wishes she could say it to the young prince of the memory, too, if only to reinforce what his father had said. ]

[For a moment he can't speak, hunching over a little and pressing a hand to his heart, as if it hurts, or it's pounding too fast it's threatening to burst out of his chest. But this isn't real- they're inside the crystal, this isn't his body, it's his soul, and in a way that makes it worse and better all at once. He can feel it, every aspect of that memory. The thoughts and words woven into each second that passed, each argument exchanged. As if one argument was a hundred they'd had before, the heaviness of those emotions flowed through him. He can feel them. He can-]

I felt it, [he whispers, trembling a little.] Every thought. "Worthless. Waste of time. Precious. Loved." They were fighting, but they both wanted the best for the other, I... [He closes his eyes again, breathing deep, in and out, until enough seconds pass that his heart settles and he can look at her, a quiet wonder in his eyes.] I could feel... my father. The memories connected, in the crystal. Dad always- he wanted- he felt this, too. [His voice drops back to a whisper.] Irreplaceable.

[Is this why he was pulled to this memory? Is that what he's meant to understand?]

Oh, Noct...

[ She listens to him, she holds him, one arm over his shoulders, giving him a small nudge to lean against her shoulder. How unfair it is that whenever he's physically hurt, she can feel it, but with this she cannot. All she can do is empathize... and keep him in her arms. ]

Because you are. [ Irreplaceable. What that king felt for his son, what Regis feels for Noctis, what Pyra herself feels for him, too-- ] That's what you call unconditional love.

[ Her voice is gentler, and she strokes her fingers through his hair in a way she hopes is soothing, repetitive. ] Regardless of what you do, what kingship or magic power you have or even the prophecy. [ Succeeding, failing, or whatever either of those definitions may mean in his mind, it doesn't matter. He could be the best king or the worst! He could fulfill his world's prophecy, or not! And he'd be loved. She'd still love him, and there's no changing that truth.

She smiles against the side of his head, placing a kiss into his hair. ] Irreplacable.

[He leans against her readily, listening to her words and the soothing nature of her presence. He sits like that in silence as he gathers his thoughts, his arm curling around her back to hold her in return, endlessly grateful for her company and tilting his head into her gentle touch. He's not sure he could have done this without her, and he's so glad he doesn't have to know.

At some point the bedroom fades from sight, taking with it the father and son, leaving them on a stone fragment in the blue starscape sea. It's only then that he finds his voice again.]

Those feelings... there are countless people across all of Eos' history that must have felt like that. Worrying they weren't enough... worrying about their children. Each and every one of those souls are irreplaceable. They lived, and they died... they felt all kinds of things. I... think I'm starting to understand.

[He's not confident with it yet; he's still figuring it out. This moment has set some of the pieces into place, bringing back memories of what he must have felt inside the Crystal. Approaching it is terrifying still, but... it's less scary than before, and as long as he's not alone, he'll follow where it leads.]

....Oh? [ She asks, drawing back just enough to look at him. Her expression is open, but encouraging him to voice his thoughts, if only it'd help him work through this. As for herself, Pyra doesn't quite follow. The clarity he's receiving from these memories and the feelings he feels through them, she doesn't comprehend.

She shakes her head, attempting to think of a better way to help him. She can't just ask what is it that you're beginning to understand, when he doesn't know the answer yet himself. ]

Or... would another memory help?

[He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, closes it again.]

Maybe. I'm... not sure. But this feels too important to guess and be wrong, so... I want to try again.

[It isn't like him; he's too prone to rushing in, taking things at face value more often than not, accepting what he's been told without looking deeper. Strategy and analysis are what people like Ignis are good at. But the truth is, no one can do this for him. No one else spoke with Bahamut, no one else was given these memories. Pyra can safeguard them, help him access them, but the responsibility - of the memories, of the world, and of what he's meant to do with both - is on his shoulders.

Decision made, and instinctively recognizing that this place can offer them nothing more, he slides off the edge of the platform and back into the plane of wandering stars, offering his hand out to help her down so they can walk together again.]

[ Taking his hand, she moves off the edge they had been seated on to 'stand' within the gossamer matrix of his mindscape. In what fragmented set of memories they may find themselves in next, she cannot even begin to guess, but she keeps her attention on a star here, a star there, or a cloud of blue-green stardust in the distance. ]

...It really is beautiful. [ She comments. Her voice remains just above a whisper, as if anything louder may disturb the aurora of the realm. ]

Like nebulae.

[ Whether that nebulae is of dust just before stars form or of the dust that remains when stars die-- that, she cannot tell. Perhaps that is what this realm is meant to represent in some way, if the crystal of his realm is that grand and powerful: both the beginning and the end, something ancient and new. ]

[He glances around, trying to spot another fragment that might stand out in the same way as the one before. A few have appeared on the horizon, beginning to form, so he focuses on that direction and watches for a sign.]

Yeah... Bahamut called it the Heart of the Crystal, the soul of the star. I remember thinking it was super familiar from inside the armiger- it's the same scenery. I wonder if it's actually just the same space, since the power comes from the crystal. Or if it's, like... copied over into our soul or whatever. Maybe like separate rooms in the same house? [He tilts his head thoughtfully.] That'd make sense, since mine and Dad's or Ardyn's don't connect.

[ The soul of the star, her lips repeat, soundlessly, as she takes in their surroundings. This soul of his world is now a part of his-- or something like it, in which he's absorbed all of it. In its vastness, it wouldn't be difficult to wonder why how he could lose his sense of self to it. ]

Maybe... [ It's different how her crystal and her brothers' are, for they are all connected, and they can enter each other's as they will, even if there is some unspoken agreement that they each have a space that is theirs. ]

Even though they are connected to this crystal in some way, erm, in a way I imagine is them reaching to its power... they've never had the crystal itself imposing something on them. As it happened with you.

Lucky me, as usual.

[He can't help his tired mumble, but it's far less bitter than it would have been a few years ago, when the wounds were still fresh. He and Ardyn have had many a conversation about being the opposing sides of the gods' war, the weight that accompanies such a title. One driven away from the Crystal's light, the other meant to subsume it entirely. He knows he's not meant to lose himself in it - and will at least still be himself until the end, back home - but he wishes it was more of a comfort to know that his link to their Crystal is more unique than most of their family.

On the flipside, he never had to endure centuries in some empty island prison, or inside a magic ring, so there are some perks attached with being the last of his line. It means a lot less waiting around for the inevitable.]

Kinda makes me wonder how long it's really been since I got dragged into the Crystal. It felt like no time at all, but if I've already absorbed so much of the star's memories, maybe it's been years and I don't even know it.

[ Once more, she looks at his profile as they wander in the realm of his starry soul. ]

Maybe. [ She can agree on the possibility, for all she can offer is speculation through what he's told her and what she already knows. And she knows that there is at least one visually "older" appearance of himself-- a few more creases by his eyes, perhaps, along with a weariness that hadn't been there before, along with some stubble on his chin.

He shows none of those changes. Either the crystal has kept him youthful in its realm, or it hasn't been that long. The latter is more troubling to think about: if it hasn't been too long for him in his crystal, it means he has so much longer and more to endure. ] I'd imagine that it would take the human mind years to process all of the memories of your world. It's so much, but.

[ Now she's a little closer as if inspecting his features. Nope-- there's not an extra crinkle in sight. ]

Do you feel older?

Not... really. Though I don't know if I'd even be able to tell. If the crystal's magic, and being inside the crystal is like being in the armiger, would I even have my real body until it tossed me out?

[He's never put a living, breathing thing in the armory. Food's gone bad after he pulled it out again, but is that because it rotted within the void or because time caught up with it once it was no longer converted into energy? It's a jarring thing to consider. It's not like he could eat there for ten years. Had he been hungry when he woke up here after regaining his memories? Would he be hungry back home?

Gods, it's such an inconsequential thing to worry about, comparatively, but the unknown of it all might drive him crazy.]

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[ Pyra ♢ Mythra ♢ Pneuma
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