[ While she cannot know his thoughts, he does appear conflicted, tight-lipped. If that's the case, she can't inquire too much to the detriment of her trying to help him more efficiently... But that, too, is fine. She will do what she can.
Listening to his magic, however? She thinks that's an artistic way of putting it, but it tells her more: that his power is still a mystery to him, that there is more of it he's yet to tap and utilize of his own, despite everything he can do already. At this, Pyra sits up and looks down at him, bringing her hand to his shoulder. ] Of course.
[ How could she say no to him? Even when she believes this is something his family might be better suited for. ] That's... what you were you trying to do just now, wasn't it? To listen to your magic. [ A pause, and then a jokingly: ] Or was it that listening has been given you a headache recently, and you needed some rest.
[He exhales through his nose, quietly exasperated, though hopefully she'll recognize that it isn't directed at her.]
Bit of both, probably. [He'd definitely dozed off a couple of times since arriving here between lunch and now. Trying to hear the voices of his ancestors is a lot like trying to decipher the messages of the Archaean getting blasted into his head, and those had been some seriously bad headaches.] Magic's kind of... busy. It's hard to hear what it's trying to say, it's just one big noise all blurring together.
[ Overwhelming is what she would describe what potential the taste of his power she had felt through their very first connection to be, but even then he had been able to harness it with some of her guidance. Thinking back upon it, she had felt it to be this uniform light; now he’s saying its noisy... Is his light comprised of different strands? (Or to go along with the metaphor, different bands and frequencies?) Had she been too baffled at his power to notice back then? Or has something changed?
Her expression remains puzzled as she attempts to wade through this riddle. Something seems to occur to her, however, and her brow furrows. Carefully: ] I... believe I can help you. But first let me ask—
In this noise... do you feel that it is drowning out your own voice, too?
[ A very terrible scenario would be him losing his sense of self trying to listen, even with her help. She won’t feel entirely comfortable risking that since she knows so little. ]
[And that makes him immediately nervous, because it's something he's been struggling with since this whole thing started. Though at least now he has a way to resolve it, somewhat.]
It's... sometimes, yeah. Or- it's hard to think, I should say. But I learned how to make it stop when it gets that bad, so it's okay.
[Listening is hard, pinpointing each separate voice is the hardest- getting them to be quiet is easy, now that he knows he can safely take the ring off without experiencing such pain while putting it on again. Much safer than letting the whispers drive him mad.
He doesn't like doing it, if he doesn't have to. Feels too much like slapping a gag over their mouths. It's just too much sometimes, that's all, and he hopes that they understand.]
Her first thought is to protest, but she stops herself. This is something in which he’s been doing before most likely, since he’s asking her now for assistance; she must believe in him. More importantly, he knows how to put a stop to it before it overwhelms him. That will be their failsafe. With a nod, she replies. ] Alright.
[ How has his magic become noisy, she wonders, and in what way— metaphorically, because this is what she believes him to be talking about. Conceptually speaking, she has a few ideas that they might try to filter this excess noise, but which method to take depends on what they might find once they delve into a deeper realm of exploring that magic. Regardless, she’s good at calming down a busy mind to focus with her power.
The locals had mentioned that they unburden their negative thoughts onto the god, clearing their minds of troubles; perhaps that is suited to their purpose... But she also believes that Noctis would more soon benefit being able not to unload the cacophony of his magic, but to tune it. ] I... never felt that your power was tangled, but I’m, ah, also not the one using it. [ A pause. If anything, despite the incredible power he has and the amount of training he does— he makes using it look easy, as an expert does. ] I apologize for not noticing before... So, let me know if you feel overwhelmed this time, mm?
[He shakes his head immediately at her apology; whether it's a platitude or she honestly feels bad about it, he doesn't like the idea of her feeling sorry for what she can't even help.]
It's not something you could've noticed until recently. It's... kind of a new power? Or a new way of channelling it at least... my dad showed me. Now I just have to practice it.
[Mostly true, anyway. He'll have to tell her sooner or later, but in part he's curious about how different it might feel without his fumbling explanations, and he doesn't especially want to get into it until it's dragged out of him. ]
If it starts to freak me out I'll stop, and we can do the usual thing. Promise.
[ Practice, and... rest, she thinks, but she’ll oblige with the former before the latter for him this time. A new power, too, from his father— perhaps Regis is too busy to help him instead. With his promise given, she gives another nod.
Now for another question, this time said with a quirk in her smile. ]
Would you be more comfortable lying down there or...? [ Sitting up. She’ll go with whatever he wishes. ]
[It'd been a nice experiment, and it had definitely helped him to relax, but lying down isn't really helpful for meditating after all. With some reluctance he sits up, shuffling his legs into a half-stretched position that'll let him focus, and offers his hand out to her, both to lift her up with him and to get things started as per usual.]
I wouldn't mind sitting here, though. It's kinda nice.
[ She, too, shifts to a more comfortable position, legs tucked partly beneath her as she scoots one inch or two closer. Looking down at their joined hands, she brings them up between the two of them, her touch soft. ] Let’s... begin like the first time, then. Go ahead and close your eyes and... breathe with me. Slowly.
[ When he’s prepared, she’ll follow suit, shutting her eyes upon an exhale that catches with the breeze. Over the next few moments, she’ll time her breaths along with his. It’s kinda nice, he had said, and she will use that: instead of beginning right away with transferring her power to him, she’ll let this silence linger because of its pleasantness, the quietness he might hear of the world compared to the noise within.
Then, she begins.
By now familiar to him, he may find that her energy winds more easily than the last, and the last time before that, traveling up and within him along familiar routes. With it comes the way it accentuate his senses from before of focus and accuracy and underlying support. Now it may seem the world is loud: the breeze from earlier stirs the grass around them, and he'll each blade bend to the wind. Above them, the hum of the barrier begetting the blue sky with its strange energy is ever more apparent, but not in the way it may disturb, either, for the temperance of her power is something that should be familiar to him at this point, too. The focus then shifts inward, while outward, her fingers slide to interlace between his. She is present with him, she is here.
Focus, and calm your mind.
And she can picture it within her mind, his energy a brilliant blue that rivals only that of his eyes (an idle thought passes: what a shame that she had taken a picture of him earlier with them closed). But what is this new power? This "door"? He'll have to be the one to open it for her, allow her further in. ]
[The start of the process is old hat by now; they've done it enough times that he calms easily and settles into a breathing pattern with her, allowing his power to gently mesh with hers. It does feel different, of course, as she eases him into this new path towards a deeper concentration than he's ever experienced, and when it fully sinks in he inhales a little louder, startled. The intensity of it is unexpected, and for a minute at least he's lost in it, focused purely on not letting himself get overwhelmed. The breeze, the barrier, the daily chatter of the temple around them- none of it matters. He's here to listen, and as he focuses, as he reaches out to the power within the Ring of the Lucii and his own magic stretches out to meet her in the middle, he listens, and--
--the cacophony of voices is so instant and so loud that he grimaces, his fingers going tense around her hands, and he ducks his head as if it might help.]
Easy, easy, [he mumbles, almost too quiet to be heard, though even his voice sounds too loud in his own ears.] I hear you. I'm trying.
[He forces himself to relax and tries again, extending a metaphorical hand towards the myriad of souls all speaking at once in a singular and deafening whisper.
With her eyes closed, it might be difficult for Pyra to visually notice it at first- there is a silver sheen to his magic this time, gently pulsing in stages between bright and dim, sourcing from a ring on the middle finger of his right hand that wasn't there before. Still blue, and still very much his own, but... different. What she may not see, she will definitely feel. Not just with their fingers entwined, hers brushing against cold metal where only skin should be, but with the distinctly different nature of the third power twisting its way between their normal infusion.
This magic is several things that Noct's normally is not: it is old, it is dead, and it is polished in a way that only an artifact made by someone of immense skill and power can be, touched and crafted by something otherworldly- divine, even. Where his power is stuttered and unrefined, strong but still tethered by lack of training and the lingering scars within his body, the ring is perfect, complete. It knows precisely what it is and what it needs to do.
What it needs is to be heard, and Noctis is listening.]
[ She keeps her attention focused upon him, worried about this potentially overbearing new power he might have acquired. Pyra frowns. This is difficult, and she can see why he has asked for help with hearing-- whom? She does not know, but he seems to be speaking to someone. Another messenger, perhaps? Ah, there's a ring upon his finger, smooth and cool against her own, yet burning at the same time... She does not know what it symbolizes, but from it she feels--
When his light does begin to intertwine with hers, it is then that she understands what he means by noise, how overwhelming it is... and sad. Old, long passed but not forgotten. While she neither makes out voices nor words, she intuits the energy itself to have an intent, sentience, a will of its own, and all coming from a point upon his hand, yet a--... collective? It is difficult to tell, yet one thing is certain: this new power seems to not fight his own, but want to complete it.
She feels this noise as jumbled and harsh, and it alone causes her to wince, to gasp through parted lips as she feels the impact of the energy through him, striking her through their connection. ] Ah-- [ Her hand tightens upon his, but she remains focused. It's like staring at a distressed, vicious line upon a graph and not realizing that it's comprised of many different components that braid and integrate together, ready to weave into the final piece that is him, ready to thrive.
When he says that he's trying, her energy will feel like a touch upon his shoulder, holding him steady and remaining there. Wordlessly: You're doing good. You got this. Signal masking occurs when frequency of the sound matches the frequency of the noise generated; her own energy's pitch is softer and lighter, coming to his mind with warmth. He will be able to feel the support she attempts to give as the noise tumultuously ricochets throughout. Through him, she can feel it echo unpleasantly within her own mind not as anything distinct, but as sheer divine power. If this power were outside, it would surely make the very pebbles upon the ground quake with its booming weight.
He's attempting to placate it, to calm it, to assuage that he is there and willing to accept... She thinks this is the right way to go, instead of beating it into submission. This is going to be the more difficult route-- for the both of them-- thus in preparation:
Breathe. He has to remember to breathe as they go deeper. His heart, too, must remember to beat.
And this time, her energy reaches out to his so that he might use it not as a blade, but as a buffer, a filter to tease out a strand of the sound he hears, like a comb that seeks to straighten the strands at the very end with a soothing balm.If this does not work, her energy will align to his in a different way, expanding to capture the whole instead of zooming into minute details. She's attempting to make the jagged peaks and troughs of its signature more curved and graceful, less noise screamed as if through suffering and more soothing like a song. The energy feels impatient, wanting, old; for undoubtedly, it's been waiting for a very, very long time.
Ah. Perhaps-- she had been reading this energy wrongly. Perhaps it's only excited that he is present, finally here, wanting to become one with him, eager, and that is why it is so impacting. Realizing this, she directs him to reassure patience, calm....
Rest, too.
In the mind's eye, it might feel as if she's guiding his hands to dip into his own light before him, the one that is distinctly his, to begin to refine the integral of this power. She guides him to strands of light, to invisible strings, keys; fingers over his, she pulls him through strum, an eight count, more, his whole body dipping through a waterfall that soon diminishes to a metronome of drops of light, counting for him as she brings his hands back to attention of the sound-strings before him. Another strum, another measure passes. Whatever he composes translates to the metaphorical motion of his fingers within this meditation without thought. A song begins to form. Melodic, arching, turning, tuning, dancing back and forth in its cadence like calm waves upon a shore a night: it is a lullaby.
The power wants to give to him, but perhaps this will show it, too, what he has to bring, and she hopes it is this: let it carry his smile, his whimsy, his happiness, the struggles that he has been through, and the hope of his that pushes him through it all. Let it carry his love for his friends, his family, the world, the dawn that he adores to this power in the form of a song that can only be his.
And then-- quite like the way in which they had shared a dance before-- she lets him lead, to make this his own song, and her energy retreats back to that place upon his shoulder. This new power might want to direct; but he must guide it himself. She cannot read this signal, as it is for him to decipher. Hopefully, she'll be able to at least stabilize and focus his own so that he can take the time to do try and finish this composition... ]
[Her energy is soothing again, but not overwhelming or guiding in the way it normally is; a gentle push at his back, rather than a hand pulling him forward. He lets her support guide him through the steps of relaxing his mind and body- to breathe, yes, and to still his pounding heart. It doesn't have to hurt. Those voices, cacophonous and meshed, all belong to separate and sentient kings and queens of the past, rulers who lived and died doing the same thing he's been trying to do: protect Lucis, help the people, fight back against tyranny and war. To that extent, he understands them. They have that in common. And they, as people, surely must understand that he can't hear their voices if all he receives is noise. So he calls back to them, as calmly and quietly as his mind is capable. He calls their names, the ones he knows, or their titles for those he does not, those that have been lost to time.
I hear you. I want to hear you. Please help me.
Somnus. Dad. I'm here.
It's hard. He's impatient and temperamental, especially when in pain, and relaxation does not come easily to him. He shifts his position, his leg bending, stretching out, neck tilting from one side to the other. The noise persists, stubborn and resistant, and two thousand years of waiting is far too huge a weight to shed so easily. It waxes and wanes in volume, some groups of voices going quiet, others raised in volume. Frustrating. It's the same as it's gone before, any time that he tried before now, the only difference being that she's now here to witness and experience his failure. It makes him want to stop, not for the first time, to pull back and tear off the ring and curse it and himself for being such a poor match for one another. Some Chosen King. Can't even settle his council.
When her energy shifts he straightens his posture, attuned to it enough that he can feel it right away. Resistant at first, he stubbornly shoves himself towards following the path. What's there to lose? He's already tried to do this alone multiple times and has nothing to show for it. He'd asked her to help, and it would be absurd not to allow it. He sends his energy dancing out to echo the route she's weaving, find those strands, pick and poke at them experimentally. His magic feels confused, questioning at first. Music is not his gift, composing not his calling. He toys with the sounds anyway, trusting her and trying to piece it together like a puzzle, and the melody comes more easily than it would outside of this magic landscape they've created together.
The song is soft and sweeping, carrying with it an eagerness and energy that he longs to convey to them. A willingness to learn, if they can settle their shouting and guide him through the steps. An offer to listen, after thousands of years of exile and silence and too many souls crowded together into a singular noise. He doesn't know how many leaders of Lucis have done this, but for it to be this messy it can't have been very many. I'll give you a voice again, is his promise. You know who I am. You've waited so long, but I'm here now, I'm ready. I'll free you. Help me, and I'll help you. The music and the magic weave together as he toys with it and it is not pretty or elegant by any means, but it is undeniably him, and he finds himself smiling through it anyway.
And then, near the end, he strikes his hands across every strand at once, creating a wretched and chaotic noise of his own, because he has pettiness and anger to spare in his heart too, and they should know it. Everything that has been lost, everyone that died because of his failings, is conveyed in that sound. Every headache forced upon him from the gods, or the ring, or the voices echoing unprompted and unwanted into his mind, telling him what to do and who to be. He's cooperative. He's obedient. But the pain of it is terrible, and he fires it right back at them to remind them of it. They're hurting him, and he wants it to stop.
And that, in the end, is the final piece that solves the puzzle. A hush falls among the voices, slowly petering out into nothing, and the magic politely retracts itself, like the unclenching jaw of a dog that has been chided after biting someone. It pulls away and winds itself around the ring, coiled and ready, but not entirely gone, either. A hand lies outstretched between them, offered towards Noctis once he's prepared to move forward again. They understand, and they'll listen, too.
He exhales quietly, drained but kind of... excited? Not sure what might come of this, but eager to find out.]
[ As he begins to convey his introduction to the tangle of energy before them, Pyra's own energy remains steady upon his shoulder, supporting him throughout with a gentle warmth. This may not be the most relaxing of meditation, surrounded by powerful myriad of forces, but it is one that is attempting to extend him a way to control what he may think is beyond him. Just a little more, she believes, just a little more and they can begin to separate all of those strands. There are so many of them, all of the same source yet each with their own unique signature. She cannot count them all, especially with how chaotic and foreign they are to her, . There is one that she feels as familiar, strong, unyielding, blinding, but even then she cannot identify it completely from the rest, focused as she is upon Noctis...
She is not here for them, anyway. She is here for the young man before her, her power twining within him so that he might use it, feel stable from it, be supported by it as he endures this trial. Breathe, she tells him again...
This energy, too, is incredible. It is impatient and vying for attention-- not her attention, not anyone else's-- but Noctis', as if they've been waiting for him. And--
The strike upon the strings of light at the end of his song startles her enough that her connection flickers; as the energy retreats in the deafening silence that follows, she feels a chill run down her spine from that chord he's struck. She recognizes frustration, pain. Usually when connected to another, she's able to mostly anticipate what the other might do. It seems that with Noctis, he never ceases to surprise even when he's composing with her with him. This new power that hurts him, but he still wishes to understand it.
Is this what he had meant by being brave, to use this power despite its price, this heavy, mental toll? It is dark without that extra light clamoring out to him, retreated back to his hand, the cool band around his finger, but his own remains bright.
Pick a number? ...Ah. She hadn't been able to count the signatures, but with his words she determines there must be at least one hundred and twelve with whom he might be able to speak. To think that all these energies had been seeking him at once; no wonder he is frustrated.
Where they sit together upon the grounds just outside Rawna's temple, her shoulders rise and fall with a breath. Within their connection, her warmth steadies around his shoulders, wispy, golden and gentle. Two, her power conveys to him in turn. Two, because... if he is wanting to listen to all of these energies with her supporting him, they might as well start in order, and it would be less strain to keep track later on.... ]
[Two, she says, and two is the one he seeks out, though with some trepidation; this is Somnus's child. A king in his own right, of course, and long dead, with a voice that wishes to be heard, but Noctis can't help wondering if it's some sort of invasion of privacy. Would it bother Somnus? He'd encouraged this, in his own way, but... it's his family.
...It's Noct's family too, though, however distant. Being here and meeting the brothers that started it all has taught him that much. Quietly and stubbornly, he shoves that hesitation aside and reaches to take that metaphorical hand, feeling for the soul of the 2nd king of Lucis. Who are you, he asks. What kind of ruler were you? What arms did you wield?
What message do you have for me?
After that, a hush falls between them, with Noctis silent and idle for what feels like a long time as the whisper of a single ancient spirit trickles upwards through his magic and resonates with his own in return. The binding of souls, Cor had called it, and he's felt this before. The sudden and sharp aching of tethers around his heart as a blade of his family enters his body and becomes his own, the surge of power every time he fully conjures the Armiger. Familiar, warm, powerful. It's softer here, words instead of weapons, and sometimes he still doesn't understand it in full but the more he listens the more he can feel it, the heart of the message he's receiving. Understanding- the struggle of taking over for shoes too big to fill, fearful for the future, fighting not to crumble under the weight of a kingdom to built up when the crown came upon him too young and too sudden. Encouragement- that no matter how history remembers you, your legacy is what lives on after you're gone. It's kinder than Noctis had expected.
Those words don't reach Pyra, as they are not meant for her. But connected as she is to Noct, she can feel the intent behind them: patience that has endured thousands of years, relief to have finally reached that distant goal, encouragement that going forward, none of them are alone. It's warm, and though he doesn't realize it, there are tears on his cheeks as the souls of his ancestors step back and leave him in peace once more.]
[ There it is, one strand of energy reaching out to him from the tangle, called forth by Noctis without ever saying the number aloud. It connects with him, and he falls silent as the magic resonates effortlessly when not all attempting to barrage him at once. But of course it would, the magic of the crystal is his birthright, and she presumes this is a part of it as well; her own, what she's doing with him, supporting him, would not compare...
Surprisingly when not part of the whole, this sole signature seems more patient alone, as if compared to the rest of the tangled powered that remains, it's waited far longer. They are communing, him and this new power. She's relieved that it does not cause him pain, that this is something he may manage so long as she continues to support him quietly, giving him the focus and mental ease to listen to one and not all...
Time passes, and while he continues to meditate she shifts how she's seated across from him, one of her hands lifting from their joined ones to rest upon his shoulder; her hair falls forward as she dips her head. One hundred and eleven more to go, she thinks, as Noctis continues his conversation with his energy. It would be ideal to tether with all of these strands. The warmth this energy labeled as number two is warm and encouraging; she believes Noctis could use more of that, and this energy gives him just what he needs, in a message that only he might understand, in a way that connects with him completely... that she would never be able to replicate. She is glad he has this support from his power. It's wonderful, and even via the second-degree connection from Noctis, this individual strand brings comfort, trust, acceptance--
Ah. Almost like... a family.
Before she can ponder further on this, she feels the energy begin to retreat. Noctis' own, too, is beginning to diminish. While she can replenish her own power into him for him to use, it won't undo any mental strain he's already endured, especially with her continuing to provide him focus. While she doesn't speak, her hand squeezes his as if to call his attention back to her, the wordless question of whether he would like to continue or not presented without judgement. ]
[He's tempted for a moment to carry on, but as he comes back to himself he realizes how suddenly tired he feels. With his magic retreating, he grows more conscious of the world around them, and he can tell by the chill of the air that it's later than he thinks it ought to be. Just how long have they been sitting here? She may have energy to spare him, but this... it was a lot to take in. Turns out that conversing with a soul thousands of years old while holding back over a hundred more is incredibly taxing on the mind.
Worth it, though. He shakes his head, gently squeezing back before his grip loosens, not letting go, but enough to tell her that he'd like to come back, now. It might not feel like they got much done, having only contacted one, but one is so much more than he'd ever expected, given his success rate thus far. Seems she has a talent for giving him a lift up to new heights.]
[ Safely, she pulls his mind back from within to reality, that focus that had been turned inward unfurling outward instead. It’s a gentle journey back to finish, safe with her guidance as if waking up to natural light... except when either of them might open their eyes, it’s completely dark. They’ve been sitting here this entire time.
It is her smile that greets him, pride shining in her eyes for him for what he’s managed to do. Even unraveling a single signature of that energy is a feat, and she wants to say as much— and perhaps give a suggestion that they celebrate the accomplishment in some way— but then she notices the wetness upon his cheeks. He had been crying...?
Cue her concern coming into full play— ]
Oh— oh, Noct, I— [ Didn’t notice. ] Are you alright? How are you feeling? [ The hand that had been upon his shoulder lifts to his cheek, feeling the remnant of tears. Her gaze remains questioning, did something happen? ]
[He doesn't understand the question at first, but when he reaches up to touch his own cheek- oh. He hadn't noticed, either. When had that…? Embarrassed at his own absurdity, he rubs at his eyes, trying to remove the offending tears.]
I'm fine… I'm okay. I don't know why that...
[Okay, that's not true. He can definitely guess why he'd be randomly weeping like a fool out of nowhere like this.]
I guess it- I mean, something must have carried through. Two thousand years just sounds like a big number, you don't really feel the weight of it by just talking about it.
[They've been waiting so long. It had been nothing to say before- he'd joked about it to Gladio, how he was worth the wait. What a terrible thing to say in retrospect.]
[ Her hand drops from his cheek, returning to hold the one that remains between them. The quiet exhale she gives accompanies the relief that he’s not hurt, followed by a smile.
Wiping his eyes, embarrassed like that makes him seem... sweet. She admires that he able to feel so strongly, that he has the capacity to feel this for his magic, this legacy, to accept it despite the strain it causes, to continue to want to understand what it has to offer and teach him. Dammit Noctis, you’re going to make her cry, and she’s not even sure why! Maybe out of happiness, for him and for his magic, as if they had come together in a reunion.
He had asked her how to be brave, once, but with an outcome like this? It’s hard to believe he’s ever truly feared it. It would be a massive amount of projection on her part that maybe this power appreciates he can feel for it; she knows she would have... And she still would.
Sighing again, she leans forward to bring him into a hug, head tucked over his shoulder as she whispers, ] You really are.... incredibly good. I’m sure your new power appreciates you communing with it after so long. It was beautiful to witness.
[ His heart is grand, empathetic and strong, to be effected like this, shedding tears for an ancient power that has been waiting for millennia. ]
[He makes a soft surprised noise as she pulls him against her, one arm lifting to tentatively hold her back. The other feels too heavy, like all the energy's been dragged out of him through the ring. He hadn't even used it, not really, but channelling the magic of an ancient soul for so long is exhausting. He has no doubt that if not for Pyra funnelling her magic into him, he'd have collapsed into statis ages ago.
He briefly hesitates at her words, letting the distraction of the hug buy him time; he could tell her. It might help, if she understood the weight of what he's trying to accomplish here. But without knowing what she already knows, and the fact that she lives with Somnus? That might be too much. Maybe if his ancestor gave the okay, but so much of this stuff had been a family secret that he's not sure what's fair to say or not.
Finally, he opts to just nod, his chin bumping lightly against her shoulder.]
[ Still so reluctant to accept praise, this one. He really is too much.
Pulling out of the embrace, her smile remains as she searched his expression. She was going to say that they should celebrate, but he looks completely exhausted. Her gaze drops to the ring upon his finger. ] ...It’s pretty heavy, isn’t it?
[ Especially with the weight of this magic for two thousand years—— ]
[ Suddenly in one single pause: she recalls a number things he’s told her of his power before:
And there's this Crystal, something my family's been guarding for thousands of years, that was given to us by the gods- it powers our magic...
He was given a ring from the gods that only a king of Lucis could wear.
When a king or queen of Lucis dies, their weapon retains the power they had while they were alive. Then the ones still living can visit their tombs and gain that power...
It was made for the royal family, and the line's all about building on top of the previous generations, gathering power from those who came before.
And finally:
Magic's kind of... busy. It's hard to hear what it's trying to say, it's just one big noise all blurring together.
Two thousand years just sounds like a big number, you don't really feel the weight of it by just talking about it.
............All of this combined with what she has felt from his magic, in addition to knowing that Somnus has somehow stayed conscious and watching the world despite being dead for millennia—
[ Oh goodness when he had said noisy, did he mean it literally, she can’t even imagine— No, no, that can’t be true. But it must be! What else makes sense? She wants to ask, the question is burning upon her tongue, but maybe it’s something she shouldn’t ask about! Surely he would have said something before if he wanted her to know? And, and they did this much tonight, clearly she doesn’t need any of her questions verified for her to help him!
Yet, she’s staring at his hand as if he’s wearing five rings, and when her eyes snap up to meet his, she’s looking at him as if he has two heads. ]
[He would have responded - at least with an affirmative - but that reaction makes him stop short, studying her shifting expressions for a long moment, brows furrowing as he puzzles through it. She... looks like she just figured something out herself.
...Ah. Maybe he gave it away, after all. He leans back, lifting his hand to look at the ring. It's gone dormant, no longer glowing, and for now is also quiet, but there's no denying that constant thrum of immense power contained within the metal. He hadn't been very subtle, so maybe there was no way around it, purely due to him involving her in this.
[ Felt...? When she had created a link with Somnus, she had gotten a feel for his own magic, and it was that unique signature unto him that has helped identify one of bands of “noise” within the tangle that is this power. This had been the greatest clue to the puzzle, but she is largely still overwhelmed— if only because of the implications of it.
Two thousand years, and none of them asleep, all waiting for him...
Would it have been more merciful for them to sleep? ]
I— ....I’m... shocked. [ Her brow knits, and she looks away in worry. It’s one thing to have your family with you, and she’s expect his extensive ancestry to be helpful, not a hinderance; alleviating, not a burden. But it seems that this is something that causes him to be both wary and weary. She’s amazed at what this ring is, yes, but more than that— ] A... whole dynasty’s power and knowledge just on your fingers... [ And he’s already powerful enough already. ] You... are meant to carry them by yourself?
[ She really, desperately hopes he’s shared this burden in some way with his friends. Yet it is a testament to his own strength that he hasn’t collapsed. That, or he’s very good at hiding the toll it takes. ]
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Listening to his magic, however? She thinks that's an artistic way of putting it, but it tells her more: that his power is still a mystery to him, that there is more of it he's yet to tap and utilize of his own, despite everything he can do already. At this, Pyra sits up and looks down at him, bringing her hand to his shoulder. ] Of course.
[ How could she say no to him? Even when she believes this is something his family might be better suited for. ] That's... what you were you trying to do just now, wasn't it? To listen to your magic. [ A pause, and then a jokingly: ] Or was it that listening has been given you a headache recently, and you needed some rest.
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Bit of both, probably. [He'd definitely dozed off a couple of times since arriving here between lunch and now. Trying to hear the voices of his ancestors is a lot like trying to decipher the messages of the Archaean getting blasted into his head, and those had been some seriously bad headaches.] Magic's kind of... busy. It's hard to hear what it's trying to say, it's just one big noise all blurring together.
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Her expression remains puzzled as she attempts to wade through this riddle. Something seems to occur to her, however, and her brow furrows. Carefully: ] I... believe I can help you. But first let me ask—
In this noise... do you feel that it is drowning out your own voice, too?
[ A very terrible scenario would be him losing his sense of self trying to listen, even with her help. She won’t feel entirely comfortable risking that since she knows so little. ]
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It's... sometimes, yeah. Or- it's hard to think, I should say. But I learned how to make it stop when it gets that bad, so it's okay.
[Listening is hard, pinpointing each separate voice is the hardest- getting them to be quiet is easy, now that he knows he can safely take the ring off without experiencing such pain while putting it on again. Much safer than letting the whispers drive him mad.
He doesn't like doing it, if he doesn't have to. Feels too much like slapping a gag over their mouths. It's just too much sometimes, that's all, and he hopes that they understand.]
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Her first thought is to protest, but she stops herself. This is something in which he’s been doing before most likely, since he’s asking her now for assistance; she must believe in him. More importantly, he knows how to put a stop to it before it overwhelms him. That will be their failsafe. With a nod, she replies. ] Alright.
[ How has his magic become noisy, she wonders, and in what way— metaphorically, because this is what she believes him to be talking about. Conceptually speaking, she has a few ideas that they might try to filter this excess noise, but which method to take depends on what they might find once they delve into a deeper realm of exploring that magic. Regardless, she’s good at calming down a busy mind to focus with her power.
The locals had mentioned that they unburden their negative thoughts onto the god, clearing their minds of troubles; perhaps that is suited to their purpose... But she also believes that Noctis would more soon benefit being able not to unload the cacophony of his magic, but to tune it. ] I... never felt that your power was tangled, but I’m, ah, also not the one using it. [ A pause. If anything, despite the incredible power he has and the amount of training he does— he makes using it look easy, as an expert does. ] I apologize for not noticing before... So, let me know if you feel overwhelmed this time, mm?
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It's not something you could've noticed until recently. It's... kind of a new power? Or a new way of channelling it at least... my dad showed me. Now I just have to practice it.
[Mostly true, anyway. He'll have to tell her sooner or later, but in part he's curious about how different it might feel without his fumbling explanations, and he doesn't especially want to get into it until it's dragged out of him. ]
If it starts to freak me out I'll stop, and we can do the usual thing. Promise.
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Now for another question, this time said with a quirk in her smile. ]
Would you be more comfortable lying down there or...? [ Sitting up. She’ll go with whatever he wishes. ]
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[It'd been a nice experiment, and it had definitely helped him to relax, but lying down isn't really helpful for meditating after all. With some reluctance he sits up, shuffling his legs into a half-stretched position that'll let him focus, and offers his hand out to her, both to lift her up with him and to get things started as per usual.]
I wouldn't mind sitting here, though. It's kinda nice.
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[ When he’s prepared, she’ll follow suit, shutting her eyes upon an exhale that catches with the breeze. Over the next few moments, she’ll time her breaths along with his. It’s kinda nice, he had said, and she will use that: instead of beginning right away with transferring her power to him, she’ll let this silence linger because of its pleasantness, the quietness he might hear of the world compared to the noise within.
Then, she begins.
By now familiar to him, he may find that her energy winds more easily than the last, and the last time before that, traveling up and within him along familiar routes. With it comes the way it accentuate his senses from before of focus and accuracy and underlying support. Now it may seem the world is loud: the breeze from earlier stirs the grass around them, and he'll each blade bend to the wind. Above them, the hum of the barrier begetting the blue sky with its strange energy is ever more apparent, but not in the way it may disturb, either, for the temperance of her power is something that should be familiar to him at this point, too. The focus then shifts inward, while outward, her fingers slide to interlace between his. She is present with him, she is here.
Focus, and calm your mind.
And she can picture it within her mind, his energy a brilliant blue that rivals only that of his eyes (an idle thought passes: what a shame that she had taken a picture of him earlier with them closed). But what is this new power? This "door"? He'll have to be the one to open it for her, allow her further in. ]
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--the cacophony of voices is so instant and so loud that he grimaces, his fingers going tense around her hands, and he ducks his head as if it might help.]
Easy, easy, [he mumbles, almost too quiet to be heard, though even his voice sounds too loud in his own ears.] I hear you. I'm trying.
[He forces himself to relax and tries again, extending a metaphorical hand towards the myriad of souls all speaking at once in a singular and deafening whisper.
With her eyes closed, it might be difficult for Pyra to visually notice it at first- there is a silver sheen to his magic this time, gently pulsing in stages between bright and dim, sourcing from a ring on the middle finger of his right hand that wasn't there before. Still blue, and still very much his own, but... different. What she may not see, she will definitely feel. Not just with their fingers entwined, hers brushing against cold metal where only skin should be, but with the distinctly different nature of the third power twisting its way between their normal infusion.
This magic is several things that Noct's normally is not: it is old, it is dead, and it is polished in a way that only an artifact made by someone of immense skill and power can be, touched and crafted by something otherworldly- divine, even. Where his power is stuttered and unrefined, strong but still tethered by lack of training and the lingering scars within his body, the ring is perfect, complete. It knows precisely what it is and what it needs to do.
What it needs is to be heard, and Noctis is listening.]
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When his light does begin to intertwine with hers, it is then that she understands what he means by noise, how overwhelming it is... and sad. Old, long passed but not forgotten. While she neither makes out voices nor words, she intuits the energy itself to have an intent, sentience, a will of its own, and all coming from a point upon his hand, yet a--... collective? It is difficult to tell, yet one thing is certain: this new power seems to not fight his own, but want to complete it.
She feels this noise as jumbled and harsh, and it alone causes her to wince, to gasp through parted lips as she feels the impact of the energy through him, striking her through their connection. ] Ah-- [ Her hand tightens upon his, but she remains focused. It's like staring at a distressed, vicious line upon a graph and not realizing that it's comprised of many different components that braid and integrate together, ready to weave into the final piece that is him, ready to thrive.
When he says that he's trying, her energy will feel like a touch upon his shoulder, holding him steady and remaining there. Wordlessly: You're doing good. You got this. Signal masking occurs when frequency of the sound matches the frequency of the noise generated; her own energy's pitch is softer and lighter, coming to his mind with warmth. He will be able to feel the support she attempts to give as the noise tumultuously ricochets throughout. Through him, she can feel it echo unpleasantly within her own mind not as anything distinct, but as sheer divine power. If this power were outside, it would surely make the very pebbles upon the ground quake with its booming weight.
He's attempting to placate it, to calm it, to assuage that he is there and willing to accept... She thinks this is the right way to go, instead of beating it into submission. This is going to be the more difficult route-- for the both of them-- thus in preparation:
Breathe. He has to remember to breathe as they go deeper. His heart, too, must remember to beat.
And this time, her energy reaches out to his so that he might use it not as a blade, but as a buffer, a filter to tease out a strand of the sound he hears, like a comb that seeks to straighten the strands at the very end with a soothing balm.If this does not work, her energy will align to his in a different way, expanding to capture the whole instead of zooming into minute details. She's attempting to make the jagged peaks and troughs of its signature more curved and graceful, less noise screamed as if through suffering and more soothing like a song. The energy feels impatient, wanting, old; for undoubtedly, it's been waiting for a very, very long time.
Ah. Perhaps-- she had been reading this energy wrongly. Perhaps it's only excited that he is present, finally here, wanting to become one with him, eager, and that is why it is so impacting. Realizing this, she directs him to reassure patience, calm....
Rest, too.
In the mind's eye, it might feel as if she's guiding his hands to dip into his own light before him, the one that is distinctly his, to begin to refine the integral of this power. She guides him to strands of light, to invisible strings, keys; fingers over his, she pulls him through strum, an eight count, more, his whole body dipping through a waterfall that soon diminishes to a metronome of drops of light, counting for him as she brings his hands back to attention of the sound-strings before him. Another strum, another measure passes. Whatever he composes translates to the metaphorical motion of his fingers within this meditation without thought. A song begins to form. Melodic, arching, turning, tuning, dancing back and forth in its cadence like calm waves upon a shore a night: it is a lullaby.
The power wants to give to him, but perhaps this will show it, too, what he has to bring, and she hopes it is this: let it carry his smile, his whimsy, his happiness, the struggles that he has been through, and the hope of his that pushes him through it all. Let it carry his love for his friends, his family, the world, the dawn that he adores to this power in the form of a song that can only be his.
And then-- quite like the way in which they had shared a dance before-- she lets him lead, to make this his own song, and her energy retreats back to that place upon his shoulder. This new power might want to direct; but he must guide it himself. She cannot read this signal, as it is for him to decipher. Hopefully, she'll be able to at least stabilize and focus his own so that he can take the time to do try and finish this composition... ]
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I hear you. I want to hear you. Please help me.
Somnus. Dad. I'm here.
It's hard. He's impatient and temperamental, especially when in pain, and relaxation does not come easily to him. He shifts his position, his leg bending, stretching out, neck tilting from one side to the other. The noise persists, stubborn and resistant, and two thousand years of waiting is far too huge a weight to shed so easily. It waxes and wanes in volume, some groups of voices going quiet, others raised in volume. Frustrating. It's the same as it's gone before, any time that he tried before now, the only difference being that she's now here to witness and experience his failure. It makes him want to stop, not for the first time, to pull back and tear off the ring and curse it and himself for being such a poor match for one another. Some Chosen King. Can't even settle his council.
When her energy shifts he straightens his posture, attuned to it enough that he can feel it right away. Resistant at first, he stubbornly shoves himself towards following the path. What's there to lose? He's already tried to do this alone multiple times and has nothing to show for it. He'd asked her to help, and it would be absurd not to allow it. He sends his energy dancing out to echo the route she's weaving, find those strands, pick and poke at them experimentally. His magic feels confused, questioning at first. Music is not his gift, composing not his calling. He toys with the sounds anyway, trusting her and trying to piece it together like a puzzle, and the melody comes more easily than it would outside of this magic landscape they've created together.
The song is soft and sweeping, carrying with it an eagerness and energy that he longs to convey to them. A willingness to learn, if they can settle their shouting and guide him through the steps. An offer to listen, after thousands of years of exile and silence and too many souls crowded together into a singular noise. He doesn't know how many leaders of Lucis have done this, but for it to be this messy it can't have been very many. I'll give you a voice again, is his promise. You know who I am. You've waited so long, but I'm here now, I'm ready. I'll free you. Help me, and I'll help you. The music and the magic weave together as he toys with it and it is not pretty or elegant by any means, but it is undeniably him, and he finds himself smiling through it anyway.
And then, near the end, he strikes his hands across every strand at once, creating a wretched and chaotic noise of his own, because he has pettiness and anger to spare in his heart too, and they should know it. Everything that has been lost, everyone that died because of his failings, is conveyed in that sound. Every headache forced upon him from the gods, or the ring, or the voices echoing unprompted and unwanted into his mind, telling him what to do and who to be. He's cooperative. He's obedient. But the pain of it is terrible, and he fires it right back at them to remind them of it. They're hurting him, and he wants it to stop.
And that, in the end, is the final piece that solves the puzzle. A hush falls among the voices, slowly petering out into nothing, and the magic politely retracts itself, like the unclenching jaw of a dog that has been chided after biting someone. It pulls away and winds itself around the ring, coiled and ready, but not entirely gone, either. A hand lies outstretched between them, offered towards Noctis once he's prepared to move forward again. They understand, and they'll listen, too.
He exhales quietly, drained but kind of... excited? Not sure what might come of this, but eager to find out.]
Pyra... pick a number between 2 and 112.
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She is not here for them, anyway. She is here for the young man before her, her power twining within him so that he might use it, feel stable from it, be supported by it as he endures this trial. Breathe, she tells him again...
This energy, too, is incredible. It is impatient and vying for attention-- not her attention, not anyone else's-- but Noctis', as if they've been waiting for him. And--
The strike upon the strings of light at the end of his song startles her enough that her connection flickers; as the energy retreats in the deafening silence that follows, she feels a chill run down her spine from that chord he's struck. She recognizes frustration, pain. Usually when connected to another, she's able to mostly anticipate what the other might do. It seems that with Noctis, he never ceases to surprise even when he's composing with her with him. This new power that hurts him, but he still wishes to understand it.
Is this what he had meant by being brave, to use this power despite its price, this heavy, mental toll? It is dark without that extra light clamoring out to him, retreated back to his hand, the cool band around his finger, but his own remains bright.
Pick a number? ...Ah. She hadn't been able to count the signatures, but with his words she determines there must be at least one hundred and twelve with whom he might be able to speak. To think that all these energies had been seeking him at once; no wonder he is frustrated.
Where they sit together upon the grounds just outside Rawna's temple, her shoulders rise and fall with a breath. Within their connection, her warmth steadies around his shoulders, wispy, golden and gentle. Two, her power conveys to him in turn. Two, because... if he is wanting to listen to all of these energies with her supporting him, they might as well start in order, and it would be less strain to keep track later on.... ]
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...It's Noct's family too, though, however distant. Being here and meeting the brothers that started it all has taught him that much. Quietly and stubbornly, he shoves that hesitation aside and reaches to take that metaphorical hand, feeling for the soul of the 2nd king of Lucis. Who are you, he asks. What kind of ruler were you? What arms did you wield?
What message do you have for me?
After that, a hush falls between them, with Noctis silent and idle for what feels like a long time as the whisper of a single ancient spirit trickles upwards through his magic and resonates with his own in return. The binding of souls, Cor had called it, and he's felt this before. The sudden and sharp aching of tethers around his heart as a blade of his family enters his body and becomes his own, the surge of power every time he fully conjures the Armiger. Familiar, warm, powerful. It's softer here, words instead of weapons, and sometimes he still doesn't understand it in full but the more he listens the more he can feel it, the heart of the message he's receiving. Understanding- the struggle of taking over for shoes too big to fill, fearful for the future, fighting not to crumble under the weight of a kingdom to built up when the crown came upon him too young and too sudden. Encouragement- that no matter how history remembers you, your legacy is what lives on after you're gone. It's kinder than Noctis had expected.
Those words don't reach Pyra, as they are not meant for her. But connected as she is to Noct, she can feel the intent behind them: patience that has endured thousands of years, relief to have finally reached that distant goal, encouragement that going forward, none of them are alone. It's warm, and though he doesn't realize it, there are tears on his cheeks as the souls of his ancestors step back and leave him in peace once more.]
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Surprisingly when not part of the whole, this sole signature seems more patient alone, as if compared to the rest of the tangled powered that remains, it's waited far longer. They are communing, him and this new power. She's relieved that it does not cause him pain, that this is something he may manage so long as she continues to support him quietly, giving him the focus and mental ease to listen to one and not all...
Time passes, and while he continues to meditate she shifts how she's seated across from him, one of her hands lifting from their joined ones to rest upon his shoulder; her hair falls forward as she dips her head. One hundred and eleven more to go, she thinks, as Noctis continues his conversation with his energy. It would be ideal to tether with all of these strands. The warmth this energy labeled as number two is warm and encouraging; she believes Noctis could use more of that, and this energy gives him just what he needs, in a message that only he might understand, in a way that connects with him completely... that she would never be able to replicate. She is glad he has this support from his power. It's wonderful, and even via the second-degree connection from Noctis, this individual strand brings comfort, trust, acceptance--
Ah. Almost like... a family.
Before she can ponder further on this, she feels the energy begin to retreat. Noctis' own, too, is beginning to diminish. While she can replenish her own power into him for him to use, it won't undo any mental strain he's already endured, especially with her continuing to provide him focus. While she doesn't speak, her hand squeezes his as if to call his attention back to her, the wordless question of whether he would like to continue or not presented without judgement. ]
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Worth it, though. He shakes his head, gently squeezing back before his grip loosens, not letting go, but enough to tell her that he'd like to come back, now. It might not feel like they got much done, having only contacted one, but one is so much more than he'd ever expected, given his success rate thus far. Seems she has a talent for giving him a lift up to new heights.]
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It is her smile that greets him, pride shining in her eyes for him for what he’s managed to do. Even unraveling a single signature of that energy is a feat, and she wants to say as much— and perhaps give a suggestion that they celebrate the accomplishment in some way— but then she notices the wetness upon his cheeks. He had been crying...?
Cue her concern coming into full play— ]
Oh— oh, Noct, I— [ Didn’t notice. ] Are you alright? How are you feeling? [ The hand that had been upon his shoulder lifts to his cheek, feeling the remnant of tears. Her gaze remains questioning, did something happen? ]
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I'm fine… I'm okay. I don't know why that...
[Okay, that's not true. He can definitely guess why he'd be randomly weeping like a fool out of nowhere like this.]
I guess it- I mean, something must have carried through. Two thousand years just sounds like a big number, you don't really feel the weight of it by just talking about it.
[They've been waiting so long. It had been nothing to say before- he'd joked about it to Gladio, how he was worth the wait. What a terrible thing to say in retrospect.]
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Wiping his eyes, embarrassed like that makes him seem... sweet. She admires that he able to feel so strongly, that he has the capacity to feel this for his magic, this legacy, to accept it despite the strain it causes, to continue to want to understand what it has to offer and teach him. Dammit Noctis, you’re going to make her cry, and she’s not even sure why! Maybe out of happiness, for him and for his magic, as if they had come together in a reunion.
He had asked her how to be brave, once, but with an outcome like this? It’s hard to believe he’s ever truly feared it. It would be a massive amount of projection on her part that maybe this power appreciates he can feel for it; she knows she would have... And she still would.
Sighing again, she leans forward to bring him into a hug, head tucked over his shoulder as she whispers, ] You really are.... incredibly good. I’m sure your new power appreciates you communing with it after so long. It was beautiful to witness.
[ His heart is grand, empathetic and strong, to be effected like this, shedding tears for an ancient power that has been waiting for millennia. ]
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He briefly hesitates at her words, letting the distraction of the hug buy him time; he could tell her. It might help, if she understood the weight of what he's trying to accomplish here. But without knowing what she already knows, and the fact that she lives with Somnus? That might be too much. Maybe if his ancestor gave the okay, but so much of this stuff had been a family secret that he's not sure what's fair to say or not.
Finally, he opts to just nod, his chin bumping lightly against her shoulder.]
I don't know about all of that, but... I hope so.
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Pulling out of the embrace, her smile remains as she searched his expression. She was going to say that they should celebrate, but he looks completely exhausted. Her gaze drops to the ring upon his finger. ] ...It’s pretty heavy, isn’t it?
[ Especially with the weight of this magic for two thousand years—— ]
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And there's this Crystal, something my family's been guarding for thousands of years, that was given to us by the gods- it powers our magic...
He was given a ring from the gods that only a king of Lucis could wear.
When a king or queen of Lucis dies, their weapon retains the power they had while they were alive. Then the ones still living can visit their tombs and gain that power...
It was made for the royal family, and the line's all about building on top of the previous generations, gathering power from those who came before.
And finally:
Magic's kind of... busy. It's hard to hear what it's trying to say, it's just one big noise all blurring together.
Two thousand years just sounds like a big number, you don't really feel the weight of it by just talking about it.
............All of this combined with what she has felt from his magic, in addition to knowing that Somnus has somehow stayed conscious and watching the world despite being dead for millennia—
Oh. ]
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......It’s... very.... heavy....
[ Oh goodness when he had said noisy, did he mean it literally, she can’t even imagine— No, no, that can’t be true. But it must be! What else makes sense? She wants to ask, the question is burning upon her tongue, but maybe it’s something she shouldn’t ask about! Surely he would have said something before if he wanted her to know? And, and they did this much tonight, clearly she doesn’t need any of her questions verified for her to help him!
Yet, she’s staring at his hand as if he’s wearing five rings, and when her eyes snap up to meet his, she’s looking at him as if he has two heads. ]
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...Ah. Maybe he gave it away, after all. He leans back, lifting his hand to look at the ring. It's gone dormant, no longer glowing, and for now is also quiet, but there's no denying that constant thrum of immense power contained within the metal. He hadn't been very subtle, so maybe there was no way around it, purely due to him involving her in this.
Hopefully Somnus won't mind.]
You felt it too, huh.
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Two thousand years, and none of them asleep, all waiting for him...
Would it have been more merciful for them to sleep? ]
I— ....I’m... shocked. [ Her brow knits, and she looks away in worry. It’s one thing to have your family with you, and she’s expect his extensive ancestry to be helpful, not a hinderance; alleviating, not a burden. But it seems that this is something that causes him to be both wary and weary. She’s amazed at what this ring is, yes, but more than that— ] A... whole dynasty’s power and knowledge just on your fingers... [ And he’s already powerful enough already. ] You... are meant to carry them by yourself?
[ She really, desperately hopes he’s shared this burden in some way with his friends. Yet it is a testament to his own strength that he hasn’t collapsed. That, or he’s very good at hiding the toll it takes. ]
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