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.]
You're right about that. The forms we have here aren't exactly physical-- not literally. [ She wishes she could reassure him, but as far as she knows, the memories this crystal contains are only memories of the past, not visions of the future...
But she can turn to face him, bringing her free hand up to his cheek. ] But physical or not, older or not...
You're still you.
[ It's a call back to when she had first said something like this when his appearance had shifted to be ten year older. ]
[That gives him pause again, gazing quietly at her as those words sink in, until his shoulders slump and he leans in, bumping his forehead against hers. Just like always, she pulls him back to what's important. He's focusing on the wrong things, stressing about what shouldn't be the big issue. Right... physically, it doesn't matter. As long as he's still himself, that's enough. She'd said it before, but it means more now. He's in a better place to hear it and accept it than he was back then.]
I'm still me. [He breathes deep, then smiles faintly at her.] You're the best, you know that? You never falter.
[ That this causes him stress, that the ominous, overwhelming power and mystery of the crystal is no small source of anxiety for him is no secret. However, Noctis had said he wanted to do this, so what more can she do but show him support? The questions and worry he had been speaking of before-- of years passing by, of not being truly himself, of there being a purpose to receiving these memories-- she both wants him to voice them, to also feel comfortable in exploring them, as well. Fear can be navigated, but doing so takes patience and support. He had taught her that.
Her hand slides from his cheek, and the other still in his hand gives it a squeeze. ]
I've learned from the best. [ She smiles. And in case it isn't obvious: ] That's you, you know.
Okay, we're both the best. Mutual amazingness. I don't know how anyone stands us.
[Two people shouldn't be allowed to be so awesome and in such close proximity. ...Or is it four, now? Whatever, life is complicated enough as it is.
He gives her hand a light tug, quietly bracing himself for what comes next, but his steps are more sure now that she's coaxed some encouragment back into him. Like an energy drink, getting some of that adrenaline pumping with curiosity instead of dread. Or at least enough curiosity to accompany the dread, so he's not drowning in it. They approach the next stretch of stone, as the first signs of whatever awaits them begins to flicker into existence: no longer the Citadel, this vision appears more natural, bits of greenery emerging from the darkness.]
[ There it is, that quiet laugh. In the lonely expanse that is this "soul of the star", it's such a warm sound.
With approaching the next scape of memory, she keeps her hand in his. ] All of your family was blessed by this crystal, weren't they? But only you are allowed the memories of the world within it.
...Perhaps-- only you could do it, and the crystal was waiting for someone as strong as you this entire time.
I mean, that's the nice way of looking at it. The alternative is either Bahamut was waiting for somebody who looked like Somnus for the irony of it, or 114 is a super-unlucky number and that's just how many kings it took to accumulate enough power.
[The latter options probably are more likely - both vengefully thematic and a clinical, strength-based sort of logic that the gods appreciated more than sentiment - but they're not his favourite options. He'd love it to be her version.]
I shouldn't complain, either way. It's probably better than being just one more cog in the machine, or being stuck in the ring, or... I dunno. Handing this fate off to my kid, if I had one.
[If he were ever a dad, he'd want to be as good if not better than his own. That meant not letting them feel neglected or unloved- and certainly not going "actually, how about you be the one to die for the world instead". He's sure that if Regis had the choice to take his place and let his son be spared, he'd have done it. Noctis would do the same for his own child, if one had been allowed to exist.]
[ She can't exactly argue against any of his points, even if she'd like to insist that he's special and strong, and so she only nods. It was a poor thing to bring up. A crystal waiting for someone strong enough? Essentially she's calling the rest of his ancestors weak when they all (most likely) struggled and died for this same fate. ] Ah... You're right. I'm sorry, that was tactless to say.
Regis-- he was strong, too. Is strong. I'm sure he would have tried the same thing you're doing with these memories of the crystal, just as you're doing now, if it meant... [ Saving his son, she almost says, but stops herself. Even when speaking hypothetically, it seems in poor taste to bring up that Noctis will not have a child, either. ] If it meant helping the world.
[He leans in, bumping against her shoulder affectionately and squeezing her hand. He wasn't offended by her comment, recognizing it was meant as encouragement. It's not her fault their family history is so grim.]
You're right. I know he tried to find a way to save me... we talked about it a little, after he woke up. [After he remembered.] Is it weird that it... kinda made me feel better, even though he didn't find an answer? He tried to fight against fate, just for my sake. Could've risked the world.
[He knew his father loved him. Of course he did. And he didn't begrudge Regis for being forced to give up on that search, when the war stole too much of his time and he had to think like a king more than a father. It just... warmed his heart so much, knowing he was so loved.
"Irreplaceable." It rang all the more true, knowing what he knew now.]
[ Her smile is bittersweet, though. Pyra, like Noctis, will never know what it is like to have children. She can only imagine how terribly devastating the news that one's son will die would be-- worse, still, to be unable to find a way to save them or to focus more on the kingdom (or world) over that son.
But the fighting-for part? The shielding them so they know as little suffering or pain as possible? Or even dying for someone one loves, to save them-- that, she can understand. ]
That's unconditional love again, Noct. Of course he'd fight for you, for as long as he could have.
I guess we're all kind of alike in that way, in this family. [He smiles softly at her, a little sad, but surprisingly at ease with his words, too. He's seen it enough time to recognize it- in himself, in others. Maybe he doesn't have to like it, but he can acknowledge the love and sacrifice in this truth.] I'd fight for him, for you, for the guys. For anyone in my family. And I know you'd all fight for me too.
[They would, and they have. He has to acknowledge their sacrifice. That's part of reflection too, isn't it? "Many sacrificed all for the king, so much the king sacrifice himself for all." But Bahamut didn't have to tell him that one. He'd done it before- taken the hit for them, as they'd done so for him. This was just... a different kind of hit to take.
That thought resonates with him strangely, a flicker of deja vu. What's so familiar about that train of thought...?]
The world is worth fighting for, too, is something she doesn't have to say. They both know the sacrifice that's ahead of him, of what he'll have to give to protect others, in the same manner others would give to protect him if the roles were reversed. She's going to do the same thing in her world, because she loves her world and the people within it. Even still, it does warm her own "heart" that he's said, once again, that he'd fight for her.
...But she noticed how his expression becomes quieter. ] ...Noct?
[He starts a little and glances over at her, surprised and a little sheepish at being lost in his own thoughts. He's probably getting ahead of himself, here.]
Ah... I was just thinking. Bahamut made it sound like that was part of the prophecy- like a trade-off. Because people sacrificed for me, I have to sacrifice for them. But that's... unbalanced, isn't it? Makes it sound as if all of their sacrifices are on the same level as my life. As if I'm worth more, just because I'm royal or the Chosen. I never liked that.
[It's part of what made him want to move out of the Citadel, one line on a lengthy list. No one besides the Crownsguard at the door and sometimes Ignis called him by a title at his old apartment. No one bowed. It was so much more relaxing, where he could be himself instead of a prince. His value isn't automatically better because of who his ancestors are or that he can summon a sword sometimes. And he knows it's... technically true. If he died before it's time, the world would be a lot more screwed than if a Crownsguard or a citizen died protecting him. But that's less about worth and more about usefulness. He's not inherently better.
He opens his mouth to say more, but before he can go on, more of the stone island manifests into a field of sparse green, the center of which stands the entrance of an ancient temple grounds. Statues of women and men in flowing robes, holding several variants of polearms - including familiar tridents - displayed the outskirts, and unlike most ruins around Lucis, it looks to be in surprisingly good condition. Maybe it's the floating stone that holds the forming memory that clues him in as much as the statues themselves, but as they approach, he speaks up,]
I think this is in Tenebrae. I've seen it before. Ra... Ral... [His brows furrow, and he looks as if he's fighting with it for a moment before he remembers last time and breathes in, out, relaxing and letting it come more peacefully to his mind. After a moment,] Ralmuell. The Oracles... they came here to train.
[ Noctis not holding himself in high regard is nothing new, but he makes another fair point, he shouldn't be held in higher esteem just because he had been born royal... It causes her to pause. Pyra believes that he's special regardless of his status as prince, king, or even his ability to wield his world's magic, and she's taken care to be mindful of saying how much she appreciates his kindness, courage, and ability to inspire-- all qualities that are because of him being himself, not his bloodline.
But as for sacrifices, and being the only one to be able to save his world? That comes from his bloodline, his status. She's not sure if it would have been better or worse if the gods had picked a commoner or serf to be sacrificed instead. Choosing a sacrifice simply seems awful, no matter who is chosen. Unsavory, still, is the notion that he must sacrifice himself because the others have done the same for him, and his life in the grand propechy happens to value his as more for that sacrifice.
Before she can reply, the next memory begins to take shape. Like every other example of architecture she's seen of Eos, it's beautiful to behold, and she takes a few moments simply to be in awe of it. ]
The Oracles... they spoke to the gods of your world, didn't they?
[ She does recall Lunafreya mentioning something to that effect when she had been here. ]
Yeah... they're like the opposite of Messengers. They're pretty much the only ones capable of speaking to the gods on behalf of the people. Even if they spoke the language, most wouldn't be able to handle it. It's really, uh. Intense.
[He gestures vaguely, as if that could somehow convey the enormous weight of a human-god conversation. Or maybe she'd understand to an extent already. Her father is the god of her world, as far as he knows. Pyra isn't human, but speaking to a god could be super intense for anyone who isn't a god themselves.]
Luna didn't talk about her training that much, but I could tell it was exhausting. We used to go back and forth on that in our letters sometimes... she never complained, but we could commiserate. [He smiles faintly, embarrassed (and perhaps a little ashamed) of his own behaviour from years ago.] I complained enough for both of us.
[ Just imagining the two exchanging letters via their (very magical, very good boy) messengers brings a fond smile to her lips. Noctis is a good friend to anyone-- she's certain that in her solitude, Luna would have appreciated his companionship. ]
I'm going to make an educated guess that your letters brightened her day, each time you did write to her.
[Talking about Luna and their correspondence always gets him feeling shy, and of course there's pain attached to it after everything they went through, but... it's not like it used to be, back when it was fresh. The wounds have scabbed somewhat.]
I wish I'd written longer letters, looking back. I was never very good at it; there was so much I wanted to tell her, but whenever Umbra showed up I never knew what to say. It's why I started sending her doodles or stickers, or photos sometimes... felt easier than trying to explain how messy life was.
[ Photos and doodles-- of course he would send those, and he could have probably sent her more, if his life hadn't been so busy and hectic. It also may have been safer if he didn't write much to Lunafreya, given their statuses and positions in their world's war between his kingdom and the empire. (Then again, she's not sure if it's even possible to intercept Messengers...)
This does make her wonder about the woman she had only a brief chance with whom to interact in Havenwell. ]
She... wasn't lonely, was she? If she had you with whom to correspond.
That... I don't think I could answer for her. I hope she wasn't. I hope I helped.
[He brushes a hand against his chest, wondering if some of the tightness he feels there is because of her- because the words ring true due to the memories, thoughts, and feelings from the crystal being fed into him, or if it's just wishful thinking. If he made Luna's life even a little bit more bearable, the way she did for him, he'd feel a lot better even about their long separation. Not about failing her, of course. He'd always regret that. But to know he helped... that means a lot.]
[ Pyra, too, would like to believe that he helped-- as she's already stated, but ultimately, she cannot answer for the oracle, either.
So when she sees Noctis' hand go to his chest, she encourages him, wondering if something is resonating with this fragmented set of a memory. ] ...What are you feeling?
[He's unsure for a long moment, trying to let his mind sort out the scrambled thoughts rushing through it, feeling such mixed emotions. As they settle, he does the same as before: pulls himself up onto the stone fragment, helping her up to join him. Once they're standing in the dusty old ruins, he takes a few steps into it rather than staying outside of the memory, and rests a hand against the stone of one of the statues.
In that moment, he feels it with such astonishing intensity that his breath catches.]
It's... conflicting. They were so lonely here, tired and sore all the time. The training was hard. And- they were hungry, too. [His lips quirk a little. A series of featureless phantoms appear in the ruins, one after another, silhouettes in white working through a variety of combat forms, meditating, exploring the ruins.] But they were happy too. Some of them loved the work, to be needed, to help people... they were healers, handpicked by the gods. They sang and danced, they traveled the world. They weren't free to do whatever they wanted, but...
[His hand drops, turning to watch the silhouettes move. When they stumbled and fell, they pushed themselves back to their feet and kept working, over and over. Elegant and poised, graceful, the picture of strength. But some cried, pleading for relief before forging ahead with renewed strength. They were human, like any other; they felt grief and frustration in their darker moments, and still they shined.]
It was their duty, and they never shied away from it. They were... proud, but not arrogant. [His breath hitches a little once more, overwhelmed, as he catches himself.] They loved the world so much...
[ The way he praises them- for loving the world, for being helpers, for fulfilling their duty-- is at odds with how he delivers that praise. He is solemn, morose, and the tone is incongruent with the words that celebrate the oracles of the past. What makes it so off?
...Perhaps, because they are like him. He helps others, he does his duty, he loves the world. And if they are (were) like him, then they were rarely if ever told to focus on themselves, that it is okay to express their pain or hardships. ]
It sounds as if they gave all they could to others. [ She begins, slowly, at first thinking that she could leave it at that. ]
That's inspiring, in a way. But also.... sad. What did they have left to give themselves?
[His fingers curl at that, twining together with hers. His voice is quiet when he responds.]
Nothing... that's what makes it so hard. They had to give and give until there was nothing left. It's what the god wants. It's what the world needs. It's why Luna... it's why I...
[He trails off at that, watching another shadow of an Oracle struggle, dropping to their knees, clutching something close to their chest. Long hair billows in an unseen wind, and when they fall, this time, they do not get up again. He recognizes the moment for what it is, even with the details missing, even though he'd been unconscious at the time. The memory is complete now, because the world itself had witnessed the fall of its last Oracle. Luna had held him that day, protecting him, until she died.
He watches the figure - no, the body - for a long moment, and his hand tightens as the final pieces slide into place, like the world's most unpleasant and unbreakable finger trap. His hands are tied now, and there's no going back. The soul of the star resonates with his own and he knows its intent, desperate and unwielding.]
I... get it. I know why they did this to me.
[And he can truly think of it that way now, can't he? Whoever "they" might be, ultimately. Bahamut, the rest of the Six, the Crystal itself. This wasn't a gift bestowed onto him, that it might help him later. There's no mystery to be solved on what he should use this information for. Like a chain around his neck, dragging him towards the gallows, a forced burden that took away even the illusion of choice. It's guilt.
He has no idea how he's meant to feel about this, but what he does feel is pretty wretched.]
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[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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But she can turn to face him, bringing her free hand up to his cheek. ] But physical or not, older or not...
You're still you.
[ It's a call back to when she had first said something like this when his appearance had shifted to be ten year older. ]
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I'm still me. [He breathes deep, then smiles faintly at her.] You're the best, you know that? You never falter.
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Her hand slides from his cheek, and the other still in his hand gives it a squeeze. ]
I've learned from the best. [ She smiles. And in case it isn't obvious: ] That's you, you know.
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Okay, we're both the best. Mutual amazingness. I don't know how anyone stands us.
[Two people shouldn't be allowed to be so awesome and in such close proximity. ...Or is it four, now? Whatever, life is complicated enough as it is.
He gives her hand a light tug, quietly bracing himself for what comes next, but his steps are more sure now that she's coaxed some encouragment back into him. Like an energy drink, getting some of that adrenaline pumping with curiosity instead of dread. Or at least enough curiosity to accompany the dread, so he's not drowning in it. They approach the next stretch of stone, as the first signs of whatever awaits them begins to flicker into existence: no longer the Citadel, this vision appears more natural, bits of greenery emerging from the darkness.]
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With approaching the next scape of memory, she keeps her hand in his. ] All of your family was blessed by this crystal, weren't they? But only you are allowed the memories of the world within it.
...Perhaps-- only you could do it, and the crystal was waiting for someone as strong as you this entire time.
[ ....Or maybe she's projecting a bit (a lot). ]
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[The latter options probably are more likely - both vengefully thematic and a clinical, strength-based sort of logic that the gods appreciated more than sentiment - but they're not his favourite options. He'd love it to be her version.]
I shouldn't complain, either way. It's probably better than being just one more cog in the machine, or being stuck in the ring, or... I dunno. Handing this fate off to my kid, if I had one.
[If he were ever a dad, he'd want to be as good if not better than his own. That meant not letting them feel neglected or unloved- and certainly not going "actually, how about you be the one to die for the world instead". He's sure that if Regis had the choice to take his place and let his son be spared, he'd have done it. Noctis would do the same for his own child, if one had been allowed to exist.]
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Regis-- he was strong, too. Is strong. I'm sure he would have tried the same thing you're doing with these memories of the crystal, just as you're doing now, if it meant... [ Saving his son, she almost says, but stops herself. Even when speaking hypothetically, it seems in poor taste to bring up that Noctis will not have a child, either. ] If it meant helping the world.
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You're right. I know he tried to find a way to save me... we talked about it a little, after he woke up. [After he remembered.] Is it weird that it... kinda made me feel better, even though he didn't find an answer? He tried to fight against fate, just for my sake. Could've risked the world.
[He knew his father loved him. Of course he did. And he didn't begrudge Regis for being forced to give up on that search, when the war stole too much of his time and he had to think like a king more than a father. It just... warmed his heart so much, knowing he was so loved.
"Irreplaceable." It rang all the more true, knowing what he knew now.]
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[ Her smile is bittersweet, though. Pyra, like Noctis, will never know what it is like to have children. She can only imagine how terribly devastating the news that one's son will die would be-- worse, still, to be unable to find a way to save them or to focus more on the kingdom (or world) over that son.
But the fighting-for part? The shielding them so they know as little suffering or pain as possible? Or even dying for someone one loves, to save them-- that, she can understand. ]
That's unconditional love again, Noct. Of course he'd fight for you, for as long as he could have.
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[They would, and they have. He has to acknowledge their sacrifice. That's part of reflection too, isn't it? "Many sacrificed all for the king, so much the king sacrifice himself for all." But Bahamut didn't have to tell him that one. He'd done it before- taken the hit for them, as they'd done so for him. This was just... a different kind of hit to take.
That thought resonates with him strangely, a flicker of deja vu. What's so familiar about that train of thought...?]
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[ She affirms, giving his hand another squeeze.
The world is worth fighting for, too, is something she doesn't have to say. They both know the sacrifice that's ahead of him, of what he'll have to give to protect others, in the same manner others would give to protect him if the roles were reversed. She's going to do the same thing in her world, because she loves her world and the people within it. Even still, it does warm her own "heart" that he's said, once again, that he'd fight for her.
...But she noticed how his expression becomes quieter. ] ...Noct?
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Huh?
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Is something... on your mind?
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[It's part of what made him want to move out of the Citadel, one line on a lengthy list. No one besides the Crownsguard at the door and sometimes Ignis called him by a title at his old apartment. No one bowed. It was so much more relaxing, where he could be himself instead of a prince. His value isn't automatically better because of who his ancestors are or that he can summon a sword sometimes. And he knows it's... technically true. If he died before it's time, the world would be a lot more screwed than if a Crownsguard or a citizen died protecting him. But that's less about worth and more about usefulness. He's not inherently better.
He opens his mouth to say more, but before he can go on, more of the stone island manifests into a field of sparse green, the center of which stands the entrance of an ancient temple grounds. Statues of women and men in flowing robes, holding several variants of polearms - including familiar tridents - displayed the outskirts, and unlike most ruins around Lucis, it looks to be in surprisingly good condition. Maybe it's the floating stone that holds the forming memory that clues him in as much as the statues themselves, but as they approach, he speaks up,]
I think this is in Tenebrae. I've seen it before. Ra... Ral... [His brows furrow, and he looks as if he's fighting with it for a moment before he remembers last time and breathes in, out, relaxing and letting it come more peacefully to his mind. After a moment,] Ralmuell. The Oracles... they came here to train.
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But as for sacrifices, and being the only one to be able to save his world? That comes from his bloodline, his status. She's not sure if it would have been better or worse if the gods had picked a commoner or serf to be sacrificed instead. Choosing a sacrifice simply seems awful, no matter who is chosen. Unsavory, still, is the notion that he must sacrifice himself because the others have done the same for him, and his life in the grand propechy happens to value his as more for that sacrifice.
Before she can reply, the next memory begins to take shape. Like every other example of architecture she's seen of Eos, it's beautiful to behold, and she takes a few moments simply to be in awe of it. ]
The Oracles... they spoke to the gods of your world, didn't they?
[ She does recall Lunafreya mentioning something to that effect when she had been here. ]
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[He gestures vaguely, as if that could somehow convey the enormous weight of a human-god conversation. Or maybe she'd understand to an extent already. Her father is the god of her world, as far as he knows. Pyra isn't human, but speaking to a god could be super intense for anyone who isn't a god themselves.]
Luna didn't talk about her training that much, but I could tell it was exhausting. We used to go back and forth on that in our letters sometimes... she never complained, but we could commiserate. [He smiles faintly, embarrassed (and perhaps a little ashamed) of his own behaviour from years ago.] I complained enough for both of us.
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I'm going to make an educated guess that your letters brightened her day, each time you did write to her.
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[Talking about Luna and their correspondence always gets him feeling shy, and of course there's pain attached to it after everything they went through, but... it's not like it used to be, back when it was fresh. The wounds have scabbed somewhat.]
I wish I'd written longer letters, looking back. I was never very good at it; there was so much I wanted to tell her, but whenever Umbra showed up I never knew what to say. It's why I started sending her doodles or stickers, or photos sometimes... felt easier than trying to explain how messy life was.
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This does make her wonder about the woman she had only a brief chance with whom to interact in Havenwell. ]
She... wasn't lonely, was she? If she had you with whom to correspond.
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[He brushes a hand against his chest, wondering if some of the tightness he feels there is because of her- because the words ring true due to the memories, thoughts, and feelings from the crystal being fed into him, or if it's just wishful thinking. If he made Luna's life even a little bit more bearable, the way she did for him, he'd feel a lot better even about their long separation. Not about failing her, of course. He'd always regret that. But to know he helped... that means a lot.]
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So when she sees Noctis' hand go to his chest, she encourages him, wondering if something is resonating with this fragmented set of a memory. ] ...What are you feeling?
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[He's unsure for a long moment, trying to let his mind sort out the scrambled thoughts rushing through it, feeling such mixed emotions. As they settle, he does the same as before: pulls himself up onto the stone fragment, helping her up to join him. Once they're standing in the dusty old ruins, he takes a few steps into it rather than staying outside of the memory, and rests a hand against the stone of one of the statues.
In that moment, he feels it with such astonishing intensity that his breath catches.]
It's... conflicting. They were so lonely here, tired and sore all the time. The training was hard. And- they were hungry, too. [His lips quirk a little. A series of featureless phantoms appear in the ruins, one after another, silhouettes in white working through a variety of combat forms, meditating, exploring the ruins.] But they were happy too. Some of them loved the work, to be needed, to help people... they were healers, handpicked by the gods. They sang and danced, they traveled the world. They weren't free to do whatever they wanted, but...
[His hand drops, turning to watch the silhouettes move. When they stumbled and fell, they pushed themselves back to their feet and kept working, over and over. Elegant and poised, graceful, the picture of strength. But some cried, pleading for relief before forging ahead with renewed strength. They were human, like any other; they felt grief and frustration in their darker moments, and still they shined.]
It was their duty, and they never shied away from it. They were... proud, but not arrogant. [His breath hitches a little once more, overwhelmed, as he catches himself.] They loved the world so much...
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...Perhaps, because they are like him. He helps others, he does his duty, he loves the world. And if they are (were) like him, then they were rarely if ever told to focus on themselves, that it is okay to express their pain or hardships. ]
It sounds as if they gave all they could to others. [ She begins, slowly, at first thinking that she could leave it at that. ]
That's inspiring, in a way. But also.... sad. What did they have left to give themselves?
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Nothing... that's what makes it so hard. They had to give and give until there was nothing left. It's what the god wants. It's what the world needs. It's why Luna... it's why I...
[He trails off at that, watching another shadow of an Oracle struggle, dropping to their knees, clutching something close to their chest. Long hair billows in an unseen wind, and when they fall, this time, they do not get up again. He recognizes the moment for what it is, even with the details missing, even though he'd been unconscious at the time. The memory is complete now, because the world itself had witnessed the fall of its last Oracle. Luna had held him that day, protecting him, until she died.
He watches the figure - no, the body - for a long moment, and his hand tightens as the final pieces slide into place, like the world's most unpleasant and unbreakable finger trap. His hands are tied now, and there's no going back. The soul of the star resonates with his own and he knows its intent, desperate and unwielding.]
I... get it. I know why they did this to me.
[And he can truly think of it that way now, can't he? Whoever "they" might be, ultimately. Bahamut, the rest of the Six, the Crystal itself. This wasn't a gift bestowed onto him, that it might help him later. There's no mystery to be solved on what he should use this information for. Like a chain around his neck, dragging him towards the gallows, a forced burden that took away even the illusion of choice. It's guilt.
He has no idea how he's meant to feel about this, but what he does feel is pretty wretched.]
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