Archive of Our Own

Noctis sat at the hotel room’s table, resisting the urge to stare at the floor. The doctor who’d attended to him since the ill-fated ritual sat opposite him, a frown marring her features. She’d finished her check-up moments ago, but hadn’t launched into discussion of how well he was doing in the wake of his injuries.

It didn’t bode well.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I beg of you, do not leave yet. You were unconscious for a week. I don’t think your body is up to the stress of further travel yet.”

Noctis cleared his throat. “I’ve caused enough pain here.”

“You mean the riots?” The doctor leaned forwards, her brown eyes shining with sincerity. “Please, do not allow the actions of a minority to blind you to the majority. They know that if not for your efforts and your warning, the devastation brought down upon us would’ve been far worse. You did the best you could. No one could ask for more.”

That was so far from the truth, Noctis wanted to laugh. “I can’t stay.” Even if he wanted to stay, which he knew he couldn’t, Gladio would never allow it. Noctis was fortunate he’d been allowed a few more days after his initial awakening to regain what strength he had.

Sleeping for a week not enough for you? Pathetic. Lunafreya didn’t die and Ignis didn’t lose his eyesight so you could huddle in bed like some spoiled brat.

The doctor shook her head. “You must take very good care of yourself. Seek as much rest as you can, and I would highly recommend you avoid damp environments. You breathed in a great deal of water during the ritual. Your lungs still need time to recover. Keep stress to an absolute minimum.”

Noctis shot her a look.

The doctor held up her hands. “I know, I know. But I’m a doctor. Your doctor. And I would be remiss in my duty if I didn’t tell you these things.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s quite alright. Please, try to heed my warnings.”

Noctis nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

The doctor took her leave. Noctis stood up. He felt better than he had a few days ago, but not quite right. She was right about his lungs. If he moved too much or too fast, he couldn’t get enough air; he’d take a deep breath but it wouldn’t satisfy. His lungs wouldn’t feel topped off until he’d sat still for some time. Even now, when he breathed out, there would be a distinct crackle.

He did not have time to be sick. They’d lost too much time here in Altissia as it was. Duty called. Gladio was right: Luna hadn’t died for him to stand still and do nothing. Ignis hadn’t sacrificed his sight for Noctis to give up now. He had to reclaim the crystal, his country, and his throne no matter what.

His hand floated down to his jacket pocket where his father’s ring, the Ring, waited. No. He pulled his hand away. He couldn’t. Not yet. The weight of it threatened to bury him. He had to focus his strength on what was most needed. And right now, the Ring of the Lucii could wait.

With one last look at the hotel room to make sure they hadn’t left everything behind, Noctis left and went to find his friends.

Days passed. After a lengthy passage across rough seas, they’d boarded a train headed for the heart of the Empire. Noctis tried to do the right thing, but he couldn’t find the right words to say to Ignis, nor could he find the energy to respond to Prompto’s desperate attempts to break the silence. As for Gladio, everything Noctis did was wrong. If he spoke, he sounded too weak to be King. If he said nothing, he was moping. If he slept, it was weakness. If he stayed awake, he was being a martyr. On and on it went. And then, with the Cartanica Royal Tomb drawing ever closer, Gladio had thrown Ignis’ injury and Noctis’ inability to wear the Ring in his face. What did Gladio want from him? Noctis tried. He tried not to cause problems in the group. He tried to do what he was supposed to do, but it wasn’t good enough.

Gladio didn’t understand what the Ring meant. Not really. Ignis did, but Noctis doubted even he could get through to Gladio right now. And no matter how much Noctis wanted to admit the terror he felt of accepting the weight of his ancestors’ powers, that the cost of such power felt too unfair to him, how could he speak of it when the Ring had taken so much from Ignis? He obviously hadn’t hesitated.

But Noctis…  Gladio was right. He was a coward.

He had to move on. Had to. Gladio told him to get over it, and he had. He hadn’t broken under the weight of Luna’s death and his failure to save her. He hadn’t stopped in Altissia even when everything in him begged him to crawl into bed and just stay there. Instead, he was on a train in a foreign land, walking away from the only three people still standing by his side.

The only three he hadn’t yet killed.

Over it. He was over it. He crushed his anguish and his sorrow and moved on. He couldn’t allow Ignis’ sacrifice, Luna’s death, his father’s death, anyone’s death to be in vain.

He reached the final carriage where the car awaited the next stage of their journey, alone and unwatched by others. He leaned heavily against the Regalia, rubbing at the discomfort in his chest. He felt a tickle in the back of his throat. Without warning, his lungs erupted in a fiery burst of hacking coughs. Minutes passed. He couldn’t stop. He barely managed to breathe, the sound of his harsh wheezing echoing off the carriage walls.

He didn’t dare look at what he was coughing up. The gunk was tinged with blood.

Noctis managed to get control of himself. He gasped for every scrap of air he could take in. He felt wobbly, lightheaded. The coughing may have abated, but the pain in his chest and the ache in his throat didn’t.

He opened the car’s trunk and dug out a water bottle. He sipped it, the coolness of it soothing his overheated body. He sunk to the ground, collapsing exhaustedly against the Regalia’s reliable bulk.

The others couldn’t know about this. He couldn’t cause more trouble. He couldn’t give Gladio another reason to lash out at him.

Willing the tears not to fall, he took as deep a breath as his lungs would allow. He hoped the cough to settle down and not return. He really didn’t want to prove the doctor’s ominous warning right. Exhaustion had clung to him ever since his awakening in Altissia. He hadn’t felt well for days. Weeks. He’d managed it. The constant headache. The lingering aches. The never diminishing weariness. Why did his health have to decline now, at the worst time? They’d be arriving at Fodina Caestino any moment, the site of another Royal Arm. Maybe once he had it, the pressure would be off for a day or so. Time he could use to rest.

A bitter laugh escaped him. Yeah, like Gladio would allow any such thing.

Noctis finished his water, tossed the bottle back in the car, and began the long walk back to the others. A chime sounded out over the train’s PA system, announcing their arrival.

Heading for the nearest exit, Noctis rubbed his aching chest. He would be fine. He could do this.

It was so, so much harder than Noctis anticipated. Guilt ate at him every time Prompto ran to grab Ignis and help him back to his feet. His heart ached for Ignis, but words of comfort, words of apology, would not come. They circled his brain, screaming at themselves, until his head throbbed worse than the ever-present discomfort in his chest. All he could do was throw himself into fights as fast as possible to spare Ignis the struggle.

Even that wasn’t enough for Gladio. Instead, he bellowed at Noctis when he slipped on the damp, swampy ground and his sword arm went perilously close to Ignis.

Haven’t you hurt him enough?

Noctis flinched. The words cut deeper than any blade could ever hope to reach. He caught sight of Prompto’s dismayed expression, but he looked away quickly. Mouth clamped shut, Noctis sent his blade back into the Armiger, and kept as much distance between himself and the others as Gladio would allow. Noctis’ breath shortened with unspoken anger. He wanted to shout at Gladio, tell him to shut up for once in his life because he had no idea what Noctis was going through but…

…but Gladio was right, wasn’t he? He had hurt Ignis. He’d hurt all of them, time and again. More than enough people had died because of him. So he stayed silent and did whatever it was he was supposed to do as best he could.

No complaining.

No arguing.

He did nothing, and not because he was so constantly, unendingly exhausted. The coughing was a constant threat bubbling in his chest, clawing up his throat. He couldn’t let it out. If he refused to acknowledge that he was sick, then he’d be fine.

He was fine. Taking it slower in the mines meant he didn’t constantly feel like he couldn’t catch his breath. And it gave him a chance to catch his breath after every fight.

He ignored the quiet voice in his mind telling him no amount of wishing would make him feel fine.

He was too hot because of the fighting, damp not with sweat but rather the fact that he was surrounded by water. He did not have a fever.

He was not sick.

When they reached the haven, Ignis called for a rest. Silently grateful, Noctis stuck around long enough to pretend to eat and refuse to look at Prompto’s photos before crawling into the tent to sleep.

“We don’t have long, Noct,” Ignis called, eternally patient. “Two hours at most.”

Noctis couldn’t find the energy to call back.

“Moody little shit,” Gladio muttered.

“He’s tired,” Ignis said.

“We’re all tired,” Gladio said. “That’s not a good enough excuse.”

“He didn’t even wanna look at the photos,” Prompto mumbled.

Noctis did nothing.

Doing nothing was exhausting.

In the privacy and darkness of the tent, he allowed himself to admit it: he felt awful.

Sleep claimed him swiftly. Nightmares swarmed, eager to twist his rest into a hellscape of death and destruction. His feverish mind knew he was dreaming, but he couldn’t wake up. Instead, he tumbled through dream after dream of his friends dying or turning their backs and walking away.

The problem with blindness, Ignis discovered, was that being unable to discern night from day meant sleep was hard to come by no matter how exhausted he was. At that moment, however, something else bothered him. A sound. The crackling. Someone in the tent wasn’t breathing right.

And that someone, he knew, was Noctis. He may have planted himself as far from the others as possible, but Ignis was still the closest to him. Sitting up, Ignis scooted closer, reaching for Noctis. His breath caught in his throat.

Noctis was burning up.

Ignis grabbed Noctis’ upper arm. “Wake up,” he said, his voice containing an unacceptable hint of panic. He took a deep breath and tried again, calmer this time. “Noct.”

Nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Prompto’s voice emerged from the darkness.

“It’s Noct,” Ignis said. “He has a fever.”

Ignis heard Prompto sit up. A gentle touch on his arm told him Prompto wanted to get by. Ignis shifted to one side.

“Some of us are trying to sleep here,” Gladio grumbled from the far side of the tent.

“Apologies,” Ignis said. “It’s Noct. Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, I think it’s called attention seeking,” Gladio said.

“No, I don’t think it is,” Prompto said, panicked. “Ignis, he’s like a furnace. Here.” Prompto grabbed Ignis’ hand. “Feel what I mean?”

Ignis did. Noctis’ skin scalded Ignis’ fingertips.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Prompto asked.

“It’s not good,” Ignis said. “Could you make a cold compress?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Ignis listened to Prompto slipping outside. “Gladio,” he said. “I need your assistance.”

“You’re overreacting. When are you gonna stop babying him?”

Ignis gave up. He shook Noctis again. “Wake up.”

Noctis stirred. “Ignis?” His voice was cracked and heavy.

“I’m here. Why didn’t you tell us you felt so bad?”

Noctis startled under Ignis’ hand. “What?”

“You’re burning up.”

Noctis coughed. “No, I’m not.” Phlegm clung to his words. He winced and swallowed. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

“This is not nothing,” Ignis said. “That cough sounds awful.”

“I’m fine, really. Just overheated in my sleeping bag.”

“Noct, you don’t have to –”

Prompto returned. “Oh, hey, Noct, you’re awake. Here.” He handed over the cold compress and a bottle of water. “Wow, dude, we could fry eggs on you.”

Noctis pressed the cool compress to his forehead, relishing the chill. It cut through the fog clouding his thoughts. He accepted the bottle of water and sipped it. “Thanks. You guys should go back to sleep. We don’t have long.”

“You aren’t fine,” Ignis said. “How long have you felt this unwell?”

“It’s not what you think,” Noctis said. “I told you, I overheated.”

“Maybe if you’d said something instead of stewed for the past few weeks, you could’ve stopped this before you got so sick,” Gladio said.

“He’s right,” Prompto said, his tone gentle and kind. “Why did you hide it from us?”

Noctis swallowed a mouthful of water. “It’s really not that bad.” His body cried out for sleep. No more fighting. No more talking. Just unconsciousness for as long as possible.

Not an option.

“We’ll have to put off the search until you’re better,” Ignis said.

“Or maybe someone could grow a pair and see the mission through,” Gladio said. “You think your dad took a day off just ‘cause he had a fever?”

“I’ll do it,” Noctis said. He coughed again, the sound of it rumbling through his chest. “Now. Let’s go.”

“But –” Prompto started.

Ignoring his friend’s protest, Noctis stepped out of the tent. His throat ached and his lungs felt like they had to lift weights just to draw breath, but he didn’t allow himself to stop.

He would see the mission through.

“Noct.” Ignis had followed him out. “I don’t believe you.”

Noctis braced himself on the back of a chair. “I promise, I’m fine. It’s probably just a cold. Nothing serious.” Guilt assaulted him as he lied outright to his friend, abusing the fact that Ignis could no longer see the truth.

“You need to take care of yourself,” Ignis said. “I… I can’t do it for you.”

Teeth clenched, Noctis weaved on his feet as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. Even now, Ignis didn’t put himself first. “I’ll be alright.”

“If you need time –”

“I don’t.”

Ignis sighed. It was a sound Noctis was familiar with, the one Ignis reserved for when he was so frustrated, words escaped him.

Noctis, sick with guilt, did his best to sound reassuring. “At least we can sleep on the train tonight.”

Ignis didn’t respond.

Prompto and Gladio emerged from the tent. Prompto greeted him, his tone bleak. “You okay?” he asked Noctis.

“He’s fine,” Gladio said. “Let’s finish this.”

Noctis just wanted to find the Royal Tomb, find his ancestor’s weapon, and get back to the train so he could collapse into the nearest bed.

The Marlboro was a huge kink in his plan.

By the time the thing and its hideous offspring burned to ashes, killed only by Ignis’ quick thinking, Noctis could hardly catch his breath. Blaming it on the dead Marlboro’s Bad Breath, he dragged his aching, wheezing body into the Royal Tomb. He barely resisted collapsing against his ancestor’s grave. Why was it so hot in here? He wiped his soggy brow.

“How about some time today?” Gladio muttered.

Straightening, Noctis called the weapon out. Its crystalline form stabbed into him. He staggered backwards, a few steps further than usual. He locked his knees, holding himself steady. He caught sight of his reflection in the water, wincing at how haggard he looked. Never mind. It was over. Job done. Time to go.

Or, it turned out, time for Ignis to stage an intervention. Wordless, Noctis watched Ignis and Prompto take on Gladio. Noctis didn’t deserve such dedicated friends. His heart swelled with gratitude.

He would never leave Ignis behind. Ignis knew that.

Everyone knew that. Noctis wouldn’t leave any of them behind.

Not even Gladio.

Together, they walked away from the tomb. Ignis’ intervention brought Prompto back to life. The camera was out, snapping away. “Dude, you’re still looking kinda red in the face,” he told Noctis.

Noctis waved a hand. “I’m fine,” he said, pretending not to notice how gruff his voice sounded.

“Are you sure?” Prompto asked. “It looks like you’re still running that fever.”

Pasting a smile on his face, Noctis nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. I just wanna get out of here.”

“We could all use a shower,” Prompto said. “They have showers on the train, right?”

“Better hope so,” Gladio said. “Otherwise they won’t let us aboard.”

“Yes, the odour is rather pungent,” Ignis said.

Noctis couldn’t smell anything. He hadn’t realised just how congested he was until now. He coughed, a nasty, wet bark.

“You’re fine, huh?” Prompto asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Once we’re aboard, you need to rest,” Ignis said.

They moved on, the conversation washing over Noctis. They made their way up the first massive slope back to the station. Noctis found himself bringing up the rear, the others moving ahead, chatting among themselves. He couldn’t keep up. The hill proved too much for his lungs. He bent over double, wheezing for air his lungs couldn’t find. His heart slammed against his ribs. Terrified, he tried desperately to stay calm. If he panicked now, the others would worry more than they already were. He couldn’t do that to them, not now. For the first time in weeks, things were closer to normal. Prompto laughed. Ignis sounded less strained. Gladio wasn’t insulting everything Noctis did. He couldn’t burst that bubble.

Calm down. Calm down, you’re fine. Breathe. Just breathe.

He dragged air into his lungs, the sound of it harsh. He fought to stay calm, taking steady breaths no matter how shallow they were. Slowly, so very slowly, his lungs relaxed and more air found its way in. The others were only a short way ahead. He moved to catch up, not running, but not plodding either. His legs trembled unsteadily beneath him, his head somehow clogged and too light all at once. Black speckles gathered at the edges of his sight.

He had to make it back to the train. He could collapse into bed there and only there.

Breathe. Don’t panic. Don’t let it show.

Head down, he kept walking, eyes on his feet. He became so distracted, he lost track of the others. He smacked into something solid and fell back, crashing into a huge puddle. Looking up, he saw Gladio glaring down at him. Dismay sunk his heart. Had he damaged their barely repaired friendship already?

“You don’t need to hang back,” Gladio said. He held out his hand. “Let’s get back to the train. We could all use some rest.”

Stunned, Noctis didn’t move. Gladio hadn’t offered help in weeks.

Gladio frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

Snapped out of it, Noctis grabbed Gladio’s hand. “Nothing,” he said breathlessly.

“You don’t look right,” Gladio said. “You might be able to hide it from Ignis, but you can’t hide it from me.” His other hand reached out for Noctis’ forehead. “Dammit. You really are burning up.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Noctis sucked up the pain and exhaustion and forced himself to grin. “Just wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I know I was hard on you, but you have a duty.”

A flicker of anger whispered through Noctis’ heart. He didn’t need the constant reminders. But he didn’t argue. He could not ruin the fragile peace between them. “I know. Let’s get back to the train. We can’t miss it.”

Noctis moved to walk forwards, but Gladio stopped him. “What I’m saying is if you feel bad, you should let me know. It’s my duty to protect you.”

Noctis stared at him.

Gladio looked away. “I’m trying, okay?”

Noctis relented. “I know.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Tell me the truth. Are you sick?”

Yes. “Don’t worry about it.” He pushed past Gladio and forced himself to walk a little faster. He felt the tug in his lungs, the lack of air bringing the black spots back to his vision.

Gladio groaned. “How the hell did Ignis put up with you when you were younger?”

“I have no idea,” Noctis said.

They caught up with the others. Prompto guided Ignis onwards. Gladio hung back by Noctis. They didn’t speak, for which Noctis was incredibly grateful. The silence felt less tense, less like a bomb would explode beneath them at any second.

Or, it would be if Noctis didn’t have to fight so hard to pretend he didn’t feel too bad. Just a fever. A cold. It’s nothing. I’ll sleep it off.

They reached the elevator that would return them to the platform. Noctis gripped the handrail running around the elevator cage.

Almost there.

A cough escaped him. The others turned to him. Ignis frowned. “I do not like the sound of that.”

Noctis dragged in as much air as he could. “Just need a drink,” he said.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Gladio, concern radiating in his friend’s eyes. Spiteful amusement registered deep in Noctis’ mind. He hadn’t faked illness it after all. He wasn’t attention seeking. He was sick, but he’d carried out his duty. And now look at him. It took every scrap of willpower he had not to keel over.

Some of that must’ve shown in his eyes, because Gladio looked ashamed.

The spiteful amusement died. Noctis just felt wrung out and sick again. He looked away.

The elevator reached the platform. Noctis had never, ever been so grateful to see a train in all his life.

Prompto whooped with joy. “Showers and beds here we come!”

They went back to their sleeping cabin, grabbed spare clothes and washbags, and headed off to the showers.

Noctis slipped into the tiny bathroom cubicle and made quick work of shedding his filthy clothes and washing. The heat and steam billowed around him, making his lungs work harder for each breath. He fell against the wall, dizziness fizzing and popping behind his eyes. His knees unlocked. The shower stall closed in around him.

Moments later he came to on the floor of the shower stall.

Every drip of hot water scalded his burning body. He reached up, his arm barely cooperating, and turned the shower off. He sat there, simultaneously shivering and baking, until his head settled enough for him to get back up and grab a towel and dry off.

He managed to throw on a fresh set of clothes before the coughing took hold. He collapsed against the bathroom’s wall, chest aching, lungs throbbing, throat on fire. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He made it back to the shower in time to hack up thick phlegm. He spat out mouthfuls of the stuff. His breath rattled in his chest, his whole body straining for air. By the time he finished, he wanted to curl up where he was and sleep.

Except he couldn’t.

Noctis hauled himself upright. The train rocked around him, and he couldn’t tell if that was because he was so dizzy or if the train was actually in motion. He didn’t bother cleaning the shower, instead focusing on grabbing his things and leaving. He shuffled into the corridor beyond, relieved there was no one else out there. No strangers, not his friends, no one. He saw Cartanica sweeping by outside, the train picking up speed. Legs heavy, he plodded towards the cabin. It was over, it was all over. There was no way he could keep this to himself anymore.

Vision tunnelling, he made it to the cabin and opened the door.

His friends were already there. His heart quivered in his chest. Tears pressed against his eyes. He was too tired to fight it anymore. Too exhausted to hide how he really felt.

Gladio got to his feet. “Noct, you don’t look –”

It was over. The mission was complete. He had the Royal Arm. All the emotion of the past days and weeks, all the illness and exhaustion crashed into him with the force of a speeding car.

His vision turned to static.

Everything shut down.

He passed out.

Gladio moved, grabbing Noctis before he could hit the ground. “Shit.”

“Noct!” Prompto cried out.

“Get him on one of the beds,” Ignis ordered.

Prompto slid out of the way so Gladio could shift Noctis onto the lower bunk. “Can I get anything?”

“Cold compress, same as before,” Ignis said. “And head back to the car. We should have some antipyretics in the first aid kit.”

“Got it.” Prompto dashed out.

The moment the sliding door clicked shut, Gladio sighed. “Just say it.”

“You pushed him too hard.”

“He has a duty.”

“He’s been through hell. We’ve all been through hell. He needed more time to recover.” Ignis’ hand reached for, but didn’t touch, the scars on his face. “We all did.”

“We don’t have time.”

“We’re not arguing about this again,” Ignis said. “We’ve all endured terrible losses, but we pushed on.”

“I know,” Gladio said.

“Noct did what he had to do. You should be proud.” Ignis reached out, fingers stretching until he found Noctis. He wanted to recoil from the terrible heat he found, but instead he ran his fingers through Noctis’ hair. “He must’ve hidden this since we left Altissia. If only I –”

“No regrets, Ignis,” Gladio said. “What’s done is done.”

“I know.”

Gladio faltered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –”

“You’re an eminently practical man, Gladio. You’re focused on the end goal, as we all should be,” Ignis said. “But the problem is you refuse to see the hurdles between us and regaining the Crystal. And while maybe you can power through them, the rest of us cannot.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said. His heart twisted at the sight of Noctis so sick. “Alright.”

They fell silent, the only sound the harsh rasp of Noctis’ breathing. Prompto returned, arms full of supplies. “Sorry,” he said. “I grabbed everything.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said. “I’m going to need your help.”

“Tell me what to do,” Prompto said.

Ignis gave a list of instructions and, between them, Gladio and Prompto managed to wake Noctis up long enough to dose and hydrate him.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis wheezed. His eyes were barely open, his skin hideously pale. Every breath he fought for crackled and popped in his chest. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad.” He couldn’t even make it through a single sentence without pausing to catch his breath halfway through.

“Hush,” Ignis said. “Rest.”

“No, no. Its… All of it,” Noctis said. He grabbed Ignis’ hands. “It’s not fair. It’s all my fault. Luna. Your eyes. Everything.” He coughed, the sound wet and harsh. When he spoke again, it was only a whisper. “Everything’s my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” Ignis said. “You never have to take the blame for any of this.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Rest, Noct. You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

He closed his eyes and fell asleep. It didn’t look like peaceful slumber. He twitched and jerked, muttering jumbled, nonsensical words. Ignis tried to soothe him, but it didn’t help.

“We need to keep him cool,” Ignis said. “I don’t like this fever. It’s far too high.”

“Maybe there’s a doctor aboard,” Gladio said. He stood up. “I’ll find out.”

“Discreetly, please,” Ignis said.

“Yeah.” Gladio stepped out.

“We’ll take it in shifts,” Prompto said. “You get some rest. I’ve got him for now.”

“No, I should help,” Ignis said.

“I can do this,” Prompto said.

Ignis carefully lowered himself onto the bed opposite Noctis’. “Alright. Thank you.”

“That’s okay.” Prompto sat down on the ground between the four beds. “Oh.” He jumped back up and dug something out of a back pocket. “I forgot. I grabbed his Carbuncle figurine.” He reached over and placed the tiny figurine next to Noctis’ pillow. “There,” he said. “Now you can have someone watch over your dreams.”

Minutes went by. The sound of the train over the rails and Noctis’ harsh breathing filled the cabin.

“Why does he do it?” Prompto suddenly asked.

“Hide how he really feels?” Ignis asked.

“Yeah.”

“The same reason we all do it,” Ignis said. “None of us wants to be a burden upon the others.”

“But we’re here for him. We’re meant to be here for him.”

“I know, just as he is here for us. However, you know as well as I that Noct hates for others to suffer the consequences of his actions. The guilt of that weighs heavily, misplaced though it is. He has been this way for many, many years. Trying to make himself smaller. Unseen. Unheard. He doesn’t want to be a bother. So when something overwhelms him, he switches off.”

Prompto stared at Noctis, reaching out to replace the cold compress he’d already managed to dislodge. Prompto tried to think of something to say. Something comforting. Something useful. He couldn’t. How could he, when his best friend looked like he could hardly breathe? Prompto pressed his lips together, willing himself not to cry or otherwise embarrass himself. Not in front of Ignis. The guy had enough going on.

“Don’t worry, Prompto,” Ignis said. “He’ll get through this. He always does.”

Gladio returned, shaking his head. “Nothing. No doctors. Whatever this is, he’s gonna have to fight it off himself.”

The day wore on, Noctis never awakening, never improving. His fever rose, the sound of his breathing crackling ever louder. They propped Noctis up on pillows to help, but he still had to fight for every breath he drew. Prompto reached over and placed a finger atop Carbuncle’s small form.

“Now would be a really good time for some help,” he said.

Noctis sat at a table aboard the train, the carriages rocking around him. Outside the window he saw nothing but pure, unbroken darkness. He rubbed his forehead, wondering why everything was so warm, like the heating was cranked way up. It made breathing hard and uncomfortable.

And where were the others? Had he left them behind? Unease slithered through him. Something was wrong. Really, terribly wrong. He could feel it. Why was no one else on the train?

The lights flickered overhead, on and off, again and again. Noctis stood up, the carriage bucking and swaying beneath him. He grabbed the chair to keep himself from falling. He looked left and right. Someone had to be here. The others had to be there somewhere.

He ran through the carriages, never finding another person.

Never finding the end either. The carriages went on and on, an endless succession of chairs after chairs after chairs. He stopped every so often, bracing himself with his hands on his knees as he dragged air into his lungs. He didn’t stop for long. If he did, his consciousness prickled. Duty did not allow for rest.

However, no matter how far he walked, the carriages didn’t end. It wasn’t possible. No train could be so long. Confused, Noctis skidded to a halt and turned to go back.

A crowd of people blocked his way. Faces pale, clothes bloodstained, they glared at him. He looked over his shoulder, wondering if he could escape that way.

The train carriage wasn’t there anymore. In its place was a deep, dark chasm.

The crowd closed in. The smell of them slapped him, the rot making his eyes water.

Dead. They were all dead.

Because of him.

Because the Empire sent the Marilith to kill him when he was a helpless child.

Because he hadn’t fought to save Insomnia.

Because he hadn’t been in Lestallum when the Empire arrived.

Because he hadn’t stopped Leviathan or the Empire fast enough in Altissia.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

A terrible howl emerged from the crowd. The sound of it filled his ears. The weight of their desperation, pain and rage pressed down on him, heavier and heavier until he was bent double.

Help us!

You owe us!

Coward!

Bastard!

Do something!

Fight!

Why don’t you just die? It’s all you’re good for.

People pressed in on him. Through the crush of bodies, he caught sight of something. Something small, blue, and -

Hands grabbed him. Pushed him. He crashed to the deck.

“Carbuncle!”

Noctis heard a familiar chirp. Carbuncle tried to push through the crowd, but there were too many people between them.

If Noctis didn’t do something, his tiny friend would be crushed. Anger flared in his heart at the thought of losing Carbuncle. He pushed back against the crowd, shoving and fighting. Cold, cold hands dragged at his clothes, at his skin, digging in and pulling hard. Noctis’ hands clawed at the floor to keep himself from being pulled back. If he didn’t, Carbuncle would be hurt.

If he didn’t fight back, he’d tumble into that abyss.

Carbuncle fought the crowd, teeth bared and fur bristled, only to be slapped away. Carbuncle’s pained yelp cut across the crowd’s noise.

Terror gave Noctis strength. He threw himself forwards, tearing himself free of the hands holding him. He pushed and pushed, ignoring the ache in his limbs and the weariness in his body. Finally, he broke through the crowd. He grabbed Carbuncle in his arms. A tiny tongue licked his cheek. Noctis ran, putting as much distance between them and the crowd as he could. He ran until he thought his lungs would burst. He fell to the floor, wishing there would also be a respite from the syrupy heat pressing in on him.

Another chirp. Noctis felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He reached for it and pulled it free. A message popped up onscreen.

You need my help. You’ve gotten so sick, Noct!

And then it hit him. “I’m dreaming.”

You’re worse than I thought if it took you that long to realise. A beaten and battered moogle appeared onscreen.

“A lot’s happened,” Noctis said.

Carbuncle leapt free of his arms and sat ahead of him. You don’t have to do this alone.

Noctis scrubbed at his eyes. “My friends… I keep hurting them.”

No, you don’t.

“Yes, I do.”

You’d rather do all of this on your own without them?

“I don’t want them to be hurt again.”

Is that why you didn’t tell them how sick you really are?

“I’m not –”

Carbuncle leapt forward and nipped Noctis’ fingers.

“Ow!”

You don’t need to lie to me.

Noctis released a breath. “Gladio’s right. I can’t be weak. If I did nothing, if I waited until I was better, more would be hurt. I can’t let that happen.”

Carbuncle’s head nudged Noctis’ hand. I can heal you. Or, at least, I can make you feel a lot better than you do right now. Your friends are very worried about you.

“Wait. What about Ignis? Couldn’t you heal his eyes?”

No. I’m sorry. I can’t help him. Not with that injury. A sad chocobo emoji popped up onscreen.

Disappointment sat heavily in Noctis’ heart. “I need to do better,” he said, stroking Carbuncle’s soft fur. “For them. For everyone.”

You will. You will fulfil your calling. But not like this.

Noctis nodded. “I know.”

No more. Close your eyes. Sit back. Rest while you can.

“It’s all going to end soon, isn’t it?”

I don’t know.

“Would you tell me if you did?”

No message appeared onscreen. Noctis looked at Carbuncle. The tiny creature looked at him with sad eyes.

Fear crept through Noctis. “Carbuncle?” His voice quavered. “What’s wrong?”

This time, the phone did react. You’ll feel better when you wake up. Promise.

Drowsiness rushed in. Noctis yawned. His body slumped to the ground. His breathing eased, the crushing heat finally letting up. The last thing he saw was a message on the screen.

I’ll always be there for you. Be brave, Noct, no matter what happens.

“No, wait, I –”

He heard a single chirp. Noctis’ eyes slammed shut. He tried to open them, but he couldn’t. Carbuncle licked his cheek again, nudging gently. Warmth cradled Noctis. He couldn’t fight sleep a moment longer. The dream of the train ended, and he fell into the soft comfort of a deep, restful sleep.

Motion rocked him back and forth. The sound of a train rushing along its tracks filled his ears. He stirred, and the blankets resting over him slipped loose.

“Noct? You awake?”

Gladio’s voice called him out of sleep. He opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at the blurry face above him. “Whuh?” He scrubbed his eyes, cleared his throat, and tried again. “What time is it?”

“Lunch time,” Gladio said. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” Noctis said.

“Good. Your fever broke a few hours ago. Ignis said we should just let you sleep.”

Noctis pushed himself up. Weakness lingered and his head still felt stuffy, but compared to the last time he’d been awake, he felt amazing. He breathed in, and his lungs felt full. Recovery felt really, really good. “Where are the others?”

“Eating in the dining car. You feel up to joining us?”

Sleep called out to him. He looked longingly at his pillow and caught sight of Carbuncle. He picked it up, cradling the figurine in his hands. He smiled. That was another one he owed his little friend.

“Noct?”

“Yeah. I’m coming.” He stood up and stretched, bones and joints popping and cracking. Blood rushed to his head.

“Noct!” Gladio grabbed him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Stood up too fast.” He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for his equilibrium to return.

“You need a minute?”

Feeling steadier, Noctis opened his eyes. “Nah, I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Gladio released him. He coughed, the sound of it lighter than it had been. Carbuncle really had worked some magic. Relishing how well he felt, Noctis reached for his boots and pulled them on.

Before he could step out of the room, Gladio grabbed his shoulder. “Wait.”

Noctis looked up at Gladio.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was too harsh on you. You shouldn’t have had to hide how sick you are because of me.”

“Forget it. We’ve all struggled. It’s not fair for me to make it worse.”

“So we’re good?”

Noctis held up his fist.

Gladio bumped fists. “If you ever feel that bad again, don’t hide it from us. It’s time to break the habit of a lifetime.”

Noctis shrugged and stepped out. He walked to the dining car, Gladio at his side. He saw Prompto and Ignis at a table.

"Noct!" Prompto got to his feet and ran over. "Are you okay? You look better! Did Carbuncle help?"

"Yeah, I'm fi -"

Prompto stared at him.

"I'm better," Noctis said.

"That's great! Come on, sit down. I'll get something to eat."

Noctis slid into the booth opposite Ignis. "Hey."

"How are you? Be honest," Ignis said.

"Getting there."

"Good. You gave us quite the scare."

"Sorry."

"Don't do that again," Ignis said.

"I'll try."

"I suppose that's the best I can ask for." Ignis sipped his coffee.

Gladio and Prompto returned with lunch. The four sat together, eating and talking like old times. It felt good. Familiar. Like no matter how much things had changed, some things would always be the same. For the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope burned within Noctis. He could do this. No matter how hard things became, he would reclaim his throne.

With his best friends at his side.