Chapter Text
For a while, the grief follows him everywhere.
Each sprawling landscape, every moment of silence, and every lingering touch. Each and every one of them is punctuated with grief.
In the landscapes the gods are kind enough to let them conjure in this great Beyond, he sees memories flickering against his eyelids when he blinks, moments that had felt insignificant before but feel momentous now. Slipping in the mud, laughing so hard his sides hurt, pulling cactus spines out of their legs and backs, racing across fields on chocobo-back, nights spent pointing at stars and days spent trudging through undergrowth and across steppes. Every backdrop they conjure holds precious memories, and the knowledge that he will never make another memory like that ever again.
In the moments of silence, when their conjuring is finished and they’re left with the overpowering quiet that fills the Beyond, he thinks of them. Grins so big they split faces and crinkle eyes at their corners, laughter that crows and rumbles and snorts, the grace of fighting side-by-side for so long it had become second nature, the frowns and growls of displeasure and annoyance, the moments spent talking when perhaps they should have been working harder. More precious memories, both good and bad, sweet and bitter, hazy and clear.
And when they settle down, arms pressed together, her head on his shoulder and his cheek pressed into her hair, he regales her with stories that she should have been with them to experience. Chasing a chocobo through the woods because of a pair of stolen glasses, collecting flowers for a younger sister that perhaps liked you more than you like her, nearly being trampled by the largest monsters in Eos for a silly photoshoot. Stories that she hangs onto every word like he’s hanging the stars in the sky, and stories that pull hard at the space in his clean carved heart.
He can’t escape it, the grief clinging to his being and twisting ever tighter around him like a hangman’s noose around his throat. Sometimes it grips him so hard that he can’t help but sob into her, mourning the loss of those he’s known and loved so dearly despite knowing they are safe and sound and alive. Sometimes, it sinks gently into his bones, and they’ll sit there together, curled up around one another, staring at the picture he’s brought with him like it has the answers to the universe in its ink and film.
He stays miserable for so long, unable to shake his grief as it tightens its hold on him.
And he never truly shakes it. It doesn’t just drop off suddenly one day in this swirling void they inhabit. Instead, it grips him less and less, its claws blunting ever so slowly until it’s nothing more than a dull ache in his bisected heart. It never truly goes away, but she assures him that it’s not supposed to, and that it’s okay if it still hurts sometimes, too.
“Hurting is a part of life,” she tells him one day, soft and gentle and warm like her hands in his. “And there is no shame in letting that hurt have a place in your heart. It helps make those good moments all the sweeter.”
And she’s right, just like always. Even when his injured heart aches, it does make each of those fleeting moments sweeter. Each smile is brighter, each laugh is louder, and every playful shove and high five is more lively.
He grieves for her, as well. Grieves that, while he was stuck in his own despair, he had left her to pick up his pieces, alone in her own way when he should have been there for her the way she was there for him. She waves him off, not because she thinks it’s insignificant, but because she says she understands.
“Noctis, you are not the only one who mourns those who have been lost to you.”
He’s not.
There are times when her own grief grips her so strongly that she breaks down, unable to move and struggling to breathe. He holds her tight in these moments, desperate to convey to her that he understands. Things are never going to be the same, and things may never feel okay again, but he’s here for her, with her, willing and eager to share her burdens as she sobs uncontrollably into his shoulder.
But it does, eventually, get easier.
He still mourns, and it always hurts, but it grips him a little bit less each day, and the grief that shackles Luna crumbles just a little bit more. Time is odd in the Beyond, with no clear indicator of how long something takes or when a day should start and end, but eventually their conjurings no longer grip him so tightly. No longer do the silences fill him with sorrow. No longer does he ache so desperately for the touch of those he’s left behind. And Luna feels lighter as well, her tormented soul easing into something calmer, more gentle. Happier.
And he does feel happier, too.
They race about in the fields and forests of Duscae, uncaring if their dress and pants and shoes become soaked from puddles and rivers, unaware of grasses and branches that should be scratching their skin but aren’t. They climb to the very top of Ravatogh, where the sun they can’t feel warming their skin casts a brilliant glow upon the land as it rises. They make dust angels in Leide, though their clothes never soil and their skin remains unstained. In Tenebrae they dance, waltzes and tangos in the fields of Sylleblossoms that forever bloom in their hearts, laughing and whooping and stealing kisses with every twirl and dip. They march through the streets of Gralea, walking with great exaggerated struts and pulling the worst impressions they can of the Imperial higher ups, laughing and performing for audiences that don’t exist.
Though, there are others in the Beyond.
Their conjurings are their own, a place where they can be together without prying eyes of other mortals lost to the Beyond or the eyes of the Astrals that slumber there. But there are times when the two of them fall asleep in their conjurings and wake in the Beyond, where their personal space overlaps with others.
Nyx Ulric is there most often, always happy to chat with them about this or that, or participate in magic competitions where Elemancy is flung around and manipulated into greater and greater displays until Luna shows off and destroys them with one mind-blowing stunt after another. He’s a familiar face for the both of them, and though there is sorrow in the fact that he remains here, unable to pass into Etro’s care, there is comfort in having him near.
Occasionally, there are Lucii that overlap. Not many, and not often, but a few Kings and Queens of Yore greet them. Aurelia Lucis Caelum is one of their most frequent visitors of ancestral rulers. Having only ever known her as The Just, it’s a fascinating experience to speak with her, to hear of her exploits, her triumphs and failures, straight from her mouth, rather than reading about them in history books and hearing them through word of mouth. She tells them of what happens in the Beyond, of what other Lucii are doing, and who else is lost to the infinite expanse of the Beyond.
The one Lucii Noctis would love to see the most is the rarest, and struggles to manifest in the beyond.
Asura Lucis Caelum, The Conqueror, also stops to speak with them every so often. He is much like Aurelia, speaking of his conquests and regrets, all of which is infinitely more fascinating than what the history books speak of, and much less dry than the history books as well. Unlike Aurelia, Asura is a damn gossip, and tells everything and anything he’s heard of in the Beyond and in life. He’s also fun, in his own way, to speak with. There’s a lot of interesting gossip he shares about the royal families, Lucis Caelums, Fleurets, and Aldercapts alike. And perhaps there are things that Noctis could have gone without hearing, like how his great great great great great great great grandmother’s clotheslines used to flash the whole damn city, but it’s easily balanced out by Luna’s hearty laughter. And it’s easy to share his gossip with him. Stories of morbid jokes and accidentally walking in on your sworn brother in the throes of self love. Maybe they’re stories he shouldn’t share before his beloved and his ancestor, but Luna’s scandalized looks and Asura’s booming laughter is worth it. At least the others would never hear of Noctis’ treachery, stuck as they are in the Beyond. Most, Asura tells them, pass peacefully into Etro’s arms.
His gossip is the only reason the two of them know of their least common visitor.
She doesn’t exactly live up to Asura’s flowery prose about her- and frankly, he thinks Asura may have a huge, sopping puppy crush on her-, but it’s easy to recognize her with all that he’s said. Though her hair isn’t as bright as the shining sun spun into silk, and though her eyes do not glitter like the surface of the Lucian seas at sunset, Aera Mirus Fleuret is a striking woman. The first time he thinks of her as attractive, he feels a little weird. She looks so much like Luna, or perhaps Luna looks so much like her, and Aera is clearly Luna’s ancestor. But the thought is easily pushed away, and Aera is a delight to speak with unlike any other.
Aera is a hard worker, an archeologist first and an Oracle second, passionate in her studies and enchanted with the wonders around her. Her cheer is infectious, and her presence peaceful. It’s a shame they don’t see her often. She is working hard on petitioning the Astrals whilst they slumber here in the Beyond, and though she is hesitant to give them answers for what end she petitions them, she is genuine and truthful in a way that puts his mind at ease. And seeing how she and Luna interact, all excited hand motions and fluttering voices, Noctis wishes that perhaps they could see her more often. She is best at helping them forget their sorrows, even if it’s only for the equivalent of a few hours. Luna lights up around her like she does around him, and it’s nice, he thinks, that she gets along so well with Aera.
But like always, they see her infrequently, and more often than not are only able to catch her for passing chatter.
Until they find her in tears.
Her tears are not like Luna’s, and they are not like his own. Where Luna locks up and curls in on herself, Aera is loose and sagging. Where he would crumple and lie limp, howling his sorrow to the heavens, she is quiet and standing, fists clenched tight and lower lip caught between her teeth. And her eyes, red-rimmed and watery, are filled with a holy fire that burns so bright it damn near shines. There's a grief in her, one that Noctis has not seen since he lived. No one deserves such grief, and if he can ease even one person's grief, then he thinks that the work put into it would be worth it.
And this time, when they ask, she reveals to them what she has been working so hard for.
“They have banished him, not to the Beyond nor to Etro, but to fragments so small and scattered they cannot be whole. For he who worked tirelessly as the Astrals bade, he is rewarded with unthinking and unfeeling purgatory.”
“They promised him rest,” she says, “But give him Nothing. Again, the gods have lied to him.”
Noctis, of course, is nervous about the idea. He had borne the brunt of his ire, suffered both directly and indirectly due to his machinations and whims. Luna, he can tell, is hesitant as well. They are both well aware who had them meet their ends, after all. But Aera is adamant that it is undeserved, that he deserves true and proper rest, be it here in the Beyond with them or in the care of the benevolent Etro.
Before they realize it, Aera is telling them everything. Of who he once was, what he once dedicated himself to, whose fault it truly is that everything that has come to pass had been fated to happen in the first place. She tells them of her own sins, of his steps to make things right, of what has happened to him and what has been done.
“He is cleansed now. You, King of Light, have given all to cleanse this star and him of the Scourge. He is not the man he once was.”
And perhaps it’s because Aera looks so much like Luna and vice versa, or perhaps it’s the memory of a broken body and broken voice asking him if he should strike him from the records once more, but Noctis finds himself swayed. He listens to her and finds himself unable to doubt her. Or at the very least, unable to not try to help her with her plight. Luna, it seems, is of similar mind. Her boundless kindness knows no bounds. Noctis is even more ensnared by his love for her.
It’s how the three of them march through the Beyond on their new quest, something different to fill their time. Aera steers them clear of Bahamut, as her words have always fallen on deaf ears when the Draconian is involved. Noctis and Luna steer them clear of Leviathan, as she is no kind of god who listens to the appeals of mortals out of the goodness of her heart.
Instead, they find Shiva. They find Ramuh, and Titan, and even Ifrit. The remaining four Astrals are who they gather, the ones who stir from their slumber for their petition. Aera has spoken to them individually before, but separate, they do not act.
“But,” she had said, a mad kind of glitter in her ancient eyes. “They are the ones who have listened.”
And should the King of Light ask, there should be no qualms.
“Titan, Ramuh, Shiva, and Ifrit. I beseech you for your support.”
Titan, Ramuh, and Shiva, at least, show interest in what he has to say, either leaning forwards or turning full attention upon him. Ifrit, however, is indifferent, lounging where he is with an air of disinterest.
“I ask you to ingratiate us with your blessings once more to right a wrong the Draconian has made against one of his chosen. The Power of Providence gifted unto me by the Crystal is strong, but it is not enough to accomplish what was promised for he who has served so diligently in Bahamut’s name. I would ask that you help us where our powers fall short.”
Ifrit, with all the fire and brimstone the Cosmogony describes him as, leans forwards then, irritation tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“And what, pray tell, was Bahamut’s emissary promised, little ember?”
“Peace.”
And if a god could bark laughing, Ifrit certainly accomplishes it, leaning back where he lounges and letting loose what must be some kind of laughter, though it sounds more like the cracking of ancient trees succumbing to a blaze.
“Foolish of him to assume that the Draconian speaks in more than lies. Bahamut does whatever it takes to get his way.”
“Which is why we stand before you now, petitioning for your aid. Shattered across the beyond in non-existence is not peace. Please, help us right this wrong.”
Shiva leans forward now, intrigue clear on her face and arms crossed tight across her chest.
“King of Kings, beloved of Lady Oracle Lunafreya Nox Fleuret,” and despite the fact that they have spent immeasurable time stealing kisses and trading affections, Noctis can practically feel Luna warm with a blush at his side. “What you ask is not something that is given lightly.”
“Though your words are true, this is a gift that, once given, cannot be revoked.”
“You speak of the Accursed, he who mortals called Adagium.” Titan rumbles. The very Beyond around them seems to shake with his voice, making his soul rattle where he stands.
“The Accursed, be it through actions of his own or influenced by the Scourge, has harmed you before. How can you be sure he will not harm you once more?”
It’s a fair question, one that has crossed his mind before. Time and time again, his life had been changed by the man from eons past, and never had it been for anything good. Hurting him, hurting his friends, hurting those he loved, not once had the changes he had brought been considered particularly good. But feeling the bristle on his other side, followed immediately by Aera shrinking away, there seems to be little choice in the matter. Never in his life would he admit to such a thing, and doubly so in death, but he is, at heart, a softie.
“I don’t know,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. “I don’t know if he will hurt me again. I don’t know if he’ll hurt Luna again, or if he will hurt Aera. I don’t know what he would do with himself should he return.”
A glance in Luna’s direction shows him she is standing as firmly as he is on this matter, and a glance in Aera gives him all he needs to persevere.
“But I know he was loved. He had been good, once. Kind, and gentle, and earnest. I don’t know what he’ll do to me or to others, but I trust those who know him better than I, and I trust that who he was and who he is will converge once more.”
Shiva and Titan, at least, look satisfied in his answer, leaning back now that he’s spoken. Ramuh, silent until now, speaks up, one withered hand stroking through his beard.
“And you would do this for him, no matter the consequences? Bahamut would not be pleased once he catches wind of what you and yours aim to accomplish.”
Noctis isn’t blind. He sees Ifrit perk up where he lounges, eyes turning sharp and interested where they were once glazed and bored. He also isn’t a fool, and it doesn’t take much to know that Ifrit and Bahamut are not fond of one another. One by one, he meets the eyes of each Astral before them, letting his gaze linger on each until finally he lands on Ifrit.
“I would do anything, if it means Ardyn can find his peace.”
It’s not clear if Ifrit’s smiling or snarling, but there is a new spark in him, and he leans forwards to match the Astrals next to him.
“How easy it is to forget the fire humans have for one another. I accept your humble plea, O King of Light. You shall have my power.”
The shock rolls off of Aera in thick waves, and the shock that flows from both Luna and the other Astrals is just as palpable. Shiva is the first to break, a small, fond smile spreading across her face, her arms falling to her sides.
“King of Kings, the blessing of the Glacian goes with you in your endeavors.”
“The storm shall follow your strides in whatever task you set forth to complete.”
“May the earth remain sturdy beneath you, you have my support.”
Ifrit has gone from disinterested and annoyed to something far too eager to be benign, and he thrusts his great hand forwards, heat from his fingers and palm making the void around it waver violently.
“Offer unto us, O King of Light and Chosen Oracles, your most potent desires, and we shall stoke them into a blaze.”
Noctis doesn’t hesitate. He approaches Ifrit’s massive hand and lays his on his finger. The contact is surprisingly neutral, despite the temperatures Ifrit’s whole body boasts around him. His hand neither burns nor turns to ash where he lays it in the Astral’s. Luna and Aera follow suit, laying a hand palm down on Ifrit’s offered hand.
For a moment, there is nothing.
And then it feels as though his soul is being sucked out of him. Or at least as much as a soul can be when his body has long since perished. Power that had been coursing through him since the completion of his duty is suddenly gone, feeling much like a candle’s flame feebly weathering great gusts of wind. If he cries out, he is both unaware and deaf to his own voice. Aera staggers beside him, bracing herself where she stands with her hand on Ifrit’s, and Luna suddenly slumps, leaning against him. They no doubt feel the drain like he does. Ifrit’s snarling smile grows, and his eyes widen with a kind of feral gleam. Noctis barely notices when Titan, Shiva, and Ramuh place their own hands on Ifrit’s shoulders and arm, and the pull on his soul seems to triple.
A brilliant flash of light blinds him, and just as suddenly as it comes, the light fades. Ifrit withdraws his hand, and together the three of them sink, crumpling like dolls with their strings cut. Noctis is sure they land in a heap, with Luna’s elbow in his side and his knee jabbing at Aera’s thigh. The drain is gone, and though he can feel his magic inside of him still, it is weak and stretched thin. The pounding heart and throbbing headache he knows so well as stasis sets in, a feeling he never thought he would experience again. He realizes he's gasping for breath, just as Aera and Luna gasp beside him. Another feeling he thought was forever lost to him.
The tinkling of crystalline fragments draws his attention, and when he finds the strength he looks up at Ifrit.
Ardyn, whole and unconscious, rests on Ifrit’s palm, as limp as Noctis feels.
He has maybe three seconds to stare up at the Astrals before him in awe before a great bellowing sound echoes through the Beyond. The low frequency sets his bones rattling, and the magical signature of it sets his hair on end.
“Bahamut,” Shiva murmurs, her hand still resting on Ifrit’s arm. “He has sensed the revival of the Accursed.”
Ramuh dips his head, his great beard sinking ever lower with the action.
“No doubt he hunts for the Accursed.”
And somehow, Ifrit’s snarling smile grows even wider.
“A shame he will never find what he seeks.”
The yelp that comes out of him is rivaled spectacularly by the cry and shout that Aera and Luna make when Ifrit grabs the three of them none too gently with his hand. The hand, Noctis notes, had been holding Ardyn. Auburn hair tickles at his nose, but Ardyn seems like he’s not waking any time soon. The world around them shifts, and flames suddenly engulf the fist the three of them find themselves squirming in.
“Go with the blessings of the gods, and enjoy this gift we have given.”
The flames grow hotter, reach higher around them. Somehow, it doesn’t burn the way he expects it to. And as the flames grow blinding in intensity and near deafening in their strength, Noctis manages to hear what Ifrit rumbles.
“Catch them something fierce, something they can wear with pride.”
And then the Beyond disappears, and Noctis’ world fades away.