Writings & Drabbles

The air in Duscae was humid and heavy with the scent of incoming storms. They’d had a day of hunting, collecting money so they’d have enough to not only pay Cid for the repairs of the Royal Vessel but money for weapon upgrades and more healing supplies as they’d grown terribly low over the course of the week. With everything that had gone down in the Steyliff Grove ruins and Gladio’s self-discovery trip with Cor, they’d worn themselves down perhaps a bit too much. 

While most of the group had been more than happy to accept some leisurely time spent at Cape Caeum with Iris and the gang, Gladio had been full of vigor to continue to power through. He seemed to have found a renewed passion for not only his duty but his belief in his own power. Gladio’s enthusiasm had only spurred Prompto into giving in to the older man’s desire, though Ignis had a feeling it was so Prompto could snap more pictures of Gladio’s new proclivity to forego wearing his shirt for extended periods of time. Noctis hadn’t had much of an opinion on the matter so that had been that. 

With exhaustion tugging at his limbs and four contracts completed for the Hunter’s Guild, Ignis thought they were doing fine. Tired, but fine.

Until the aircraft showed up. 

Dread hammered at him as the aircraft came to a standstill not twenty feet away from them. Gladio was the first to summon his sword. “Looks like we’ve got company,” he grunted. 

Prompto let out a sound between a whine and a groan. “Can’t they leave us alone for a day?” Prompto asked, summoning his guns to his hands. 

“The world would end before they did that, Prompto,” Noctis said. 

Prompto whipped his head around with a glare. “Don’t give the world any ideas.”

Ignis couldn’t suppress the tiny smile that always came out when the group teased each other. “Duly noted, Prompto,” Ignis said. With a shatter of luminous crystals, the weight of his daggers settled in his hands. Despite the long day they’d already had, the familiar weight of the blades was just as comforting as always. “Shall we gentlemen?”

Noctis flashed him a confident smile, bright and boyish despite everything. “Bet I can defeat more than Gladio; what do you think, Specs?”

Ignoring Gladio’s vehement denial, Ignis made a considering hum. “Perhaps if Gladio decides to try and show off again, you can take out an extra soldier while he postures for one of his spins.”

“It’s an effective move!” Gladio argued over Prompto and Noctis’ laughter. Rolling his eyes, Gladio turned his eyes back to their enemy who was jerkily making their way over. “Whatever, you're on, Noct.”

Noctis’ engine blade gave a rumble as he too turned his attention to the soldiers. “Let’s do this.”

Watching Noctis toss his sword and warp towards the enemy in a shatter of crystals, Ignis dashed forward letting lightning crackle through his daggers. With a deft strike to the left, he struck the neck of one of the Magitek soldiers. The body jerked angrily, a feeble swing of its sword missing by over a foot before falling into a heap of metal. 

Turning towards the sound of gunfire, he caught Prompto and Gladio coordinating a combo that involved Prompto using Gladio’s back as a springboard to come down on a soldier with his chainsaw weapon he was still mastering. The whoop of success from the two must’ve meant the two had nailed the combo they’d been trying to get down for a while. 

He focused back on his next opponent and switched his daggers out for his polearm to sweep the three soldiers that had gotten too close to a more manageable distance away. He contemplated pulling out a flask of ice to halt the soldiers in place but knew it would do more harm to the team than good. Close-quarter fighting was not the time to use Noctis’ bottled elements. They’d all learned this the hard way on multiple hunts with burns and threatening hypothermia. 

A yelp jerked his attention towards Noctis, who was surrounded on all sides. Ignis immediately clocked the stream of blood that flowed from the cut on his upper arm. He couldn’t tell if it was serious, but by the way Noctis was clenching his jaw, it was at the very least painful. 

Ignis threw a dagger at a soldier that was getting distressingly close to Noctis’ back while the man in question was focusing his assault on the three soldiers in front of him. Ignis tried to follow the path of his dagger, pulling his polearm back out to vault himself into the air to come to Noct’s aid when he felt it. 

Shooting pain radiated from his shoulder as he was impaled on the end of a soldier’s sword. Hot blood gushed from the puncture and instinctively Ignis grabbed at the blade that stuck out of him to try and prevent the sword from being pulled out. The bleeding would only increase if the metal was removed and he couldn’t risk that. 

He’d been distracted, too caught up in making sure Noctis was defended even though he had two additional people he could rely on to watch Noctis’ back. It wasn’t even a lack of trust that caused him to react in such a way. Gladio was Noctis’ shield for Astrals' sake. No, it’s just that Ignis had a hard time stopping himself from constantly trying to be at Noctis’ side. To provide aid in any way he could.

An electrical current travels down the blade and through his shoulder in a dazzle of red bolts. He chokes on a scream, body jerking uncoordinated in its failed attempts to distance itself from the bolts frying the edges of the wound. It's an odd mix of detachment and all too aware agony that the current flows through him.

A gurgling moan reached his ears and vaguely realized it was coming from himself. Ignis could hear an uproar around him and maybe his name, but none of it was registering as more than nonsense in the wind. That wasn’t good, especially since they were all in the midst of battle. Ignis needed to get out of this situation. He needed to go help Noctis.

With an angry cry, Ignis shifted himself to the right in a quick motion, dislodging the sword from the soldier’s grip and somehow managing not to have the sword shift in his body. Probably because his collarbone and shoulder were doing an excellent job at halting the sword’s progress. Panting, he blindly backed away from the soldier who was quickly taken out by a swing of a glowing sword.

Ignis frantically tore his gaze toward the location he’d last seen Noctis only to be met with the sight of broken Magitek armor. The shattering of crystal breached his senses and he turned once more to the sky to see Noctis levitating off the ground, his arsenal floating around him in a defensive circle. 

Spectral swords of old reigned terror on their foe, but Ignis had eyes only for his prince. Furious and terrifyingly beautiful—no, this wasn’t just his prince, his king, this was Noct. His precious Noctis. The boy who used to walk hand-in-hand with him in the royal gardens donned with flower crowns. The boy he tucked close to his side up in the highest tower, blankets around their shoulders as they stared up at the constellations they could make out amongst the light pollution from the city. The young man who tried to live up to everyone’s expectations no matter how monumental a task that might be.

Despite Ignis’ fading vision, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze from Noctis’ rampage. Even when he felt hands grasping at his shoulder to try and maneuver him into a better position to supposedly try and treat his wound, his focus was on Noctis. 

“Iggy, you’ve gotta lay down,” Prompto said, his voice cutting through the fog. 

Ignis wanted to protest, to urge Prompto’s attention back to the battle, but all he managed to croak out was, “Noct?”

Prompto let out a nervous, high-pitch laugh, the kind he let out when he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation and he needed to break the tension. “Noct’s got it under control.” Prompto prodded delicately around the sword still lodged through him and Ignis hissed at the fresh wave of pain that cut through the numbness that was threatening his consciousness. “Shit, okay sorry, Iggy. We’ve gotta get this thing out of you.”

Ignis lazily shook his head. “The bleeding.”

“No, I know you’re bleeding, that’s why we need to heal you.”

He wasn’t positive but he knew their stock of potions was running low and he was determined to make sure Noct was looked at first. “Save them for Noct,” Ignis grits out. 

There was a thud beside him and a meaty hand joined Prompto’s in inspecting his wound. “Yeah, Iggy, don’t even start with that crap,” Gladio said. “Noctis will throw a fit if he hears you say that.” Perhaps, but Ignis could be stubborn about this until he knew the extent of Noctis’ injuries. “Can’t believe I have to do this… Noct, get over here!”

He squinted at the blast of crystalline magic that Noctis’ practically erupted out of in his mad dash to reach him. It was almost laughable, the way his limbs almost got tangled up in each other as he collapsed in a messy kneel on his good side. Maybe he was a bit worse off than he originally thought. 

“Hey, Iggy,” Noctis said. Noctis’ voice was always so soft when he said Ignis’ name. A hand cupped his cheek and Ignis leaned into Noctis’ hand because it had to be his. He recognized the callouses against his skin, the little scab on Noctis’ thumb from a mishap with one of his lures that he figured would heal on its own. “You seem a bit pinned down.”

Ignis let out a weak, amused snort. “Didn’t quite make the cut I suppose.” Not his best work as far as puns go, but he blamed the blood loss. 

Noctis’ chuckle was music to his ears. “That was terrible, Specs.”

“You still laughed.”

“It was a pity laugh.”

Ignis gave a noncommittal hum. “Maybe so, but a laugh is a laugh.”

 “Can we heal Ignis now, or are you two going to continue flirting?” Gladio asked. “Because you’re seriously losing too much blood.”

Ignis probably would’ve had an intelligent retort about Gladio and Prompto’s own flirting attempts if he didn’t lose consciousness before he could respond. 

He comes to with a familiar grogginess clinging to his mind. It should alarm him that he's used to waking up like this, the dredges of a potion still faint in his mouth. But Noctis has taken to experimenting with the different drinks he uses to make his healing concoctions and always tries to give Ignis the Ebony-flavored ones. 

The weight of a hand curled tightly around him pulls his attention toward his companion. Noctis is hunched over beside him, his head periodically dropping as he fights sleep. Ignis knows that Noctis will be regretting that posture later when his scar tissue flairs in angry stabs along his back. He wants to reach out and correct it or at the very least pull him down so that Noctis is laying beside him. He just can't get his arm to cooperate.

Settling to verbally get Noctis' attention, he quietly cleared his throat. "Noct," he said, voice rough with sleep. Ignis can't quite hold back the snort of laughter he lets out at the disgruntled jerk Noctis makes at the noise. "You should lay down."

"Ignis," Noctis breathes, a smile wrinkling his eyes in the beautiful way Ignis wants life to document Noct's joy. "You had us worried."

The battle is fresh in his mind, the pounding of boots as Magitek soldiers swarmed them. He remembers the flash of steel before it'd skewered him through the shoulder. The Lichtenberg of electricity that'd raced down his arm and fanned out from his fingertips. The spasming of his limbs as the power took its toll on him.

But mostly he remembers Noct. He remembers the fury in Noctis’ actions and the gentleness he returned to Ignis’ side with. He vaguely remembers sharing a few words together, a contentedness warring with the state of his body at the time, and then nothing. 

He wets his lips and tilts his head to examine Noctis closer. “Are you alright?” Ignis asked.

Noctis rolled his eyes with a huff and flopped over beside him like a child. “Of course, that’s the first thing you ask,” Noctis said, but he didn’t sound upset, more disgruntled than anything. “I’m perfectly fine, you’re the one who was really injured.”

“Good thing I had you to come to my rescue.” The soft teasing at his own expense is a small price to pay for Noctis’ annoyance shifting to a familiar smirk. 

“I’d always come to your rescue, Iggy.” The smirk shifts to a quiet, honest smile. “Always.” He still looked concerned as he ran his free hand down the new scars on Ignis’ arm. “Would you let me use another potion?”

Noctis knows that he’s plenty capable of doing what he wants, but the fact that he still asks Ignis these things reminds Ignis of how much his lover cares about Ignis’ opinion. He may not always listen, but he asks. 

The numbness in his arm is still strong, but the Lichtenberg pattern that had crept towards his hand has faded some since it first marred his flesh. Likely a hi-potion will take care of any lingering effects but Ignis is hesitant to use a resource that they're running low on when he can allow the wound to heal after a night's rest. "I'll be right as rain tomorrow," Ignis reassured.

Noctis sent him a skeptical look, his other hand not currently holding Ignis' reached up to cup Ignis' face. "Promise me that if it still hurts in the morning you'll use another potion," Noctis said.

Any reluctance he had about using a potion wilted under Noct's pleading face. “If it will assuage any fears you might have about my well-being, I promise.”

The victorious grin he received made his heart flutter violently in his chest. He tugged Noctis’ hand closer to him until Noctis picked up on his desire and shuffled closer until he could plaster himself to Ignis’ side. He carefully laid his head against Ignis’ chest and let out a content sigh. “Wake me if you need me?”

“I always need you.”

A muffled whine was buried against his chest. “Sap,” Noctis whispered like it was a secret how much they cared about each other. 

Instead, he’d strolled down the bustling streets, thinking about the planned King’s Knight session later that night. He scrolled idly through the mission details, trying to formulate a plan of attack. The last time Noctis had attempted this mission he’d been severely outclassed and had to abandon the mission lest he lose what little loot he’d been able to pilfer from the dungeon. With Gladio’s character acting as their tank, he could have Ignis on range attacks and healing. Prompto had the best stealth stats so they could have Prompto looting the place while the rest of them took care of the bigger monsters. Noctis fancied himself an all-around player so he could assist wherever needed the most help.  

Caught up in his mini strategy session, he didn’t realize he was on a collision course with someone until he ran right into them. He stumbled, juggling his phone between his hands in an attempt to save it from meeting its demise on the pavement below.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man he ran into grumbled, brushing imaginary dirt off his jacket.

The man was dressed lavishly in a wide variety of patterns and textures. His coat looked sturdy and thick like it would keep out even the harshest of cold winds. The scarf around his neck was the brightest piece of clothing he wore—the reddish-orange silk oddly complementing the man's red-violet hair. Not a sliver of the man’s skin was visible besides the tip of the man’s fingers and his face under the shade of his fedora.

He had a right to be upset even if half of him wanted to insist that the man could have moved too. He shoved that thought down and instead nodded his head, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” Noctis apologized. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“Yes, I figured as much.” The man squinted at him, his head cocking to the side. “Hold on a moment, don’t I know you?”

Not for the first time, he was thankful for his privacy. His father had done a remarkable job at keeping him much out of the public eye. People knew who he was, but because he wasn’t in any of the newspapers or rag magazines that most celebrities appeared in he could go through life like normal. He didn’t have to think about paparazzi waiting outside his school or people approaching him asking for something or other.

“Probably not,” Noctis said, “maybe you’ve seen me walking home before? I go to the high school three blocks away.”

Shaking his head, the man inspected his face more thoroughly. “No that’s not it. I’ve definitely seen you before.” He felt as if the man could count his pores, and Noctis shuffled backward away from the man’s heavy stare. “Have you got an uncle that works at the palace? I used to work there.”

The man gave Noctis a private quirk of his lips like he was privy to some hidden joke that only he knew.

“Oh that’s… nice?”

The man nodded absentmindedly gaze still heavy on Noctis. “Hm, you really do look familiar,” he commented. “Quite handsome too.”

“Thanks?” Noctis looked down at his uniform and his loosened tie and wondered if there was a polite way to excuse himself from the conversation. He didn’t want to be rude by walking away from the man but he really did need to get going or he was going to be later than he thought to Gladio’s training session. “Well, I’m sorry for walking into you like that, but I gotta get going.”

“Right, right, of course.” The man swept a hand through his hair sheepishly. “It’s not like I can keep the prince from his important tasks just to talk with me.”

Ice filled Noctis’ veins as his title was casually thrown out by the man who claimed he couldn’t place his face. He stared at the man, uncomprehendingly. This was starting to look like the beginning of one of Ignis’ crime drama shows. Why did the man lie? What was his angle? What was going on?

“Who are you?” Noctis asked, channeling his calm façade to the max.

“A man of no consequence, I assure you.” The man waved him off with a few shooing gestures. “Off you go, your highness.”

Noctis gave him a wary look and an awkward bob of his head. He needed to get out of here. Ready to put this whole interaction behind him, he stepped to the side of the man to continue his route. Except he didn’t get very far before a hand latched onto his wrist with surprising force.

A violent tug had him wrenching himself back around, his shoulder twinging at the sudden jerk. Face-to-face with the man once more, Noctis saw how the man’s expression was colder, harsh in the afternoon sun. His teeth were bared in a sneer—looking for all the world like a coeurl.

“Let go,” Noctis ordered, now glaring at the man who wouldn’t leave him alone. “Didn’t you just tell me to go?”

A taunting smile peaked through the man’s sneer. “Now why would I do that?” He asked.

Noctis clenched his fists and bit out another order. “Let go of me, now.” He grabbed his phone with his free hand and quickly dialed the palace’s emergency numbers. It would be mildly embarrassing if Gladio found out he’d called the Crownsguard on a regular citizen, but his SAS kidnap training was blaring in his ears. “I’m warning you, I can have you arrested.”

A soft tsk came from the man who shook his head at Noctis’ threat. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

He opened his mouth to demand his release again, but all that came out was a choked-off yelp as something heavy struck his head. His knees refused to hold up his body and he collapsed to the concrete. The skin of his palms was torn in his attempt to catch himself, but he couldn’t feel it; the sharp pain by his temple shadowed the pain in his palms.

He turned his gaze back to the blurry figure of the man, who had been joined by another figure. His brain felt sluggish, his thoughts thick in his mouth as he tried to string a sentence together. “W-what—“

“Shh,” The man shushed, ignoring Noctis’ flinch as he tenderly ran a hand through Noctis’ hair. “Good night, sweet prince.”

The last thing he saw was a fist coming at his face.

Then nothing.

He regained consciousness with a choked-off groan. He felt like he’d gone through one of Gladio’s marathon training sessions and lost miserably.

Laying still, he took stock of his body. His lip was swollen and tender as he wet his dry, split lips. The right side of his face throbbed in-tune with his heartbeat and Noctis could barely get that eye to open more than a crack. What was he supposed to do? He’d been trained on how to handle a kidnapping situation; Cor had made it abundantly clear the variations in which people would try to snatch him up. But this wasn’t just a ‘what if.’ He’d been kidnapped not even four blocks away from his school.

It was a matter of figuring out what he could do to get out of here. He still had his magic though admittedly his connection to the Crystal felt like he was trying to pull at the energy through a strainer. Like sifting through a pile of hay for the needle—all of his abilities being the needle and the presence of his magic being the hay.

But that didn’t mean he was helpless. He just needed to approach the situation the right way and he could escape. He tried to remain calm, limiting his breathing to shallow breaths to keep up his ruse. This became a fruitless act when he heard someone or something step up behind him.

A familiar voice came from behind him. “It appears our guest of honor is awake,” the man cooed. Some of the man’s nonchalance had vanished, replaced by cruel giddiness. “And how are you, your majesty?”

Like hell he was going to go along with this guy’s fake care. His pride wouldn’t let him bite out a pleasantry, instead choosing to press his steely gaze on the eccentric man. His stare didn’t deter the man’s delight in his situation which only served to make his blood simmer in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to punch the smug look off that face.

“I think you’ll find, Noctis,” the man loomed over him, nudging him lightly in the ribs with his boots, “that I have the upper hand.”

He didn’t. Noctis refused to believe it. He may not have had any weapons on him, but Noctis had dialed the emergency response number for the palace. By dialing the number he had ensured back-up would be on their way to his location in less than five minutes. Well, the location of where the call took place. He couldn’t feel the shape of his phone in his pockets, but the Crownsguard would be able to pick up on any trail his kidnapper had left behind.

All he needed to do was wait.

“What do you want?” Noctis asked, shifting his position on the floor to try and alleviate the pressure on his lower back. He could already feel the scar tissue there begin to burn and ache.

“Already wanting me to reveal my dastardly plan?” The man questioned. “How cliché.” Noctis’ face must’ve given away his annoyance because the guy clucked his tongue at his expression.

“I realize this isn’t one of your silver-spoon soirees, but it’ll serve as a good setting for the video.” He straightened and made his way over to the small set-up of… camera equipment? “We need you to put on your best performance, your highness.” He looked up with a cold smile that sent a shiver running down Noctis’ spine. “Though do save some for the main event.”

“So you’re gonna, what? Ransom me or something?” Noctis squirmed in his binds. “Is that your plan?”

Humming noncommittally, the man continued setting up his equipment. “Or something.”

“Not much of a talker huh?” He was banking on being able to get some info out of the guy so he could shout it over what was sure to be his ransom video.

The waiting was bizarre. Despite the discomfort, he didn’t feel like he was all there—though the main contributor to this was the head injury—the quiet sounds of rustling cables and footsteps gave him peace of mind amongst the simmering unrest and anxiety as the experience faded into less immediate danger. If only he could concentrate on his armiger and summon the knife he stored there—then he’d be able to warp out of his binds and escape.

A quiet huff of laughter broke through the silence; it took him a few moments to realize the laugh came from him . It wasn’t funny, not by a long-shot. He was being stupidly optimistic, especially since his vision still wavered between doubled and covered in black splotches. He probably had one hell of a shiner too.

He wished he’d called someone to get him.  

The derelict state of his mind was brushed away as a triumphant cry echoed slightly around him. He squinted at the man who looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Noctis asked, tiredly. He had no desire to give the man the reactions he was hoping for. Actually, the other being put off by his apathy made him feel better. “Did you finally get your whole… set-up ready?”

The man had the audacity to pout at him. “Now you’re just no fun,” he complained. “Aren’t you curious as to why I’ve brought you here?”

Noctis shrugged. “Not really?” The motion caused his chains to rattle in the tight space. “Most of the guys I’ve been kidnapped by all want the same thing: revenge or money.”

“I can assure you that my reason is definitely not for any monetary reason.” The man took a step towards him. “I suppose you could call it revenge, though I admit you are simply unlucky—to be chosen by the gods.” He cupped Noctis’ cheek with surprising tenderness, brushing his thumb along his cheekbones. “You do bear a striking resemblance to him.”

A nail dug it the flesh underneath his eye and Noctis hissed, attempting to turn his face out of the man’s grip. “What a pity,” the man said, releasing his hold on Noctis. “Before we begin, I think it’s only fair that you finally be able to put a name to your captor.”

“Oh now you want to introduce yourself?” Noctis grumbled—because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life apparently.

Fortunately, the man seemed amused by his comment. “Do forgive me for my rudeness, your highness .” The mocking emphasis he placed on the title was not lost to Noctis, but he didn’t dignify him with an answer. “I’ve been reduced to the moniker ‘Adagium,’ by the royal line of Lucis.”

It sounded familiar, but Noctis couldn’t place where he’d heard it. Had the name come up in his studies? Was it a political thing?

Adagium sighed and shook his head. “I’m not surprised you don’t know of me. Your dear father is desperately trying to keep you in the dark.”

Noctis furrowed his brow. “What do you mean he’s keeping me in the dark?”

With a shake of his head, Adagium stepped back over to his equipment. “I’ve talked enough for now, it’s time we get the show started lest the party be stopped before it’s even begun.” Adagium grinned at him. “The stage is yours, prince Noctis.”

A red light blinked to life on the camera as Noctis stared into the lens. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Did Adagium want him to beg? To show whoever was watching the video that he was scared? He wasn’t. Scared that it is. Unnerved? Yes, how could he not be when he was kidnapped and tied up in some unknown location.

His captor sighed tilting his hat to cover his face and—

Adagium changed. No longer was he wearing the extravagant, pattern-clashing, textile collage of an outfit. He was in a set of armor, his face masked and hair tucked away under the rigid helmet. Noctis had only seen the armor in person once before on that fateful escape from Tenebrae as he reached desperately for Luna’s hand.

Magitek armor.

To see the man stripped of his individualism did more to bother Noctis than he expected. Something about the metal, placid expression staring at him had his stomach clenching nervously. How had Adagium done it? An illusion? But how? To his knowledge, illusion magic was typically only used by the messengers of the gods; he figured he’d already met all of them at this point with his connection to Luna.

With four jerky steps, Adagium stood beside him, a hand painfully clasping his shoulder. Noctis side-eyed the man as if he could glean some sort of direction for what he wanted Noctis to do.

Once again, Adadgium broke the silence. “Salutations, Your Majesty, Regis Lucis Caelum,” Adagium said, “113th monarch in the long line of Lucis.”

He’d somehow managed to project his voice to see like he was behind the camera again. Another impossibility Noctis didn’t know how to find an answer to.

“As you can see, I have an auspicious guest with me, one I know you’re well-acquainted with. Won’t you say hello to your dear father, Noct?” Adagium asked.

Gritting his teeth, Noctis glared at a spot on the wall. He wasn’t going to give the other what he wanted, not when he could still deny him of his game. If he could weaponize his silence, he would.

With an angry tut from Adagium, Noctis’ hair was yanked with a merciless tug, pulling his head backward and exposing his throat. He could feel the handful of hair desperately trying to cling to his scalp as he let out a small whimper at the rough treatment.

“What a difficult boy,” Adagium commented, “he must’ve been quite the child to raise. To think he’d forget his manners at a time like this.”

“Shut up,” Noctis growled.

“Oh he speaks! Splendid! Now while I’ve broken through that stony exterior, we can commence the show.”

Suddenly, a knife was pressed against Noctis’ neck. He flinched back into Adagium’s hold on his hair, but the knife followed, the edge of the blade making a small, shallow cut on the delicate skin of his neck. He was helpless, tied up, and at the mercy of his captor. And it didn’t seem like Adagium had any qualms against hurting him.

The blood that lazily oozed from the wound dripped down his neck and settled into his jugular notch like a morbid jewel. Noctis heard Adagium’s hum of approval and could feel the pressure of the knife increase slightly as if Adagium had lapsed in his awareness that he was the one holding the knife and thus in control of how far the blade entered Noctis’ flesh.

“Now, I understand why Lucis values black as a special color—it goes amazingly with blood red, wouldn’t you agree?”

He said it so off-handedly that Noctis wasn’t sure who he was talking to: Noctis, Regis, or himself. What was clear, was that Adagium had a deep-seated grudge against Lucis—the royal line in particular. But why? Was he from one of the outer nations that had been left behind when his father had to pull back the wall to just the city of Lucis?  

Adagium broke out of his musings, finally pulling the knife back enough that it was just resting against the cut. “Never mind that,” he said. “I expect you’re waiting for some kind of demand from me. Money? Some impossible wish for power? Recognition?” Noctis could hear the smirk in his voice, that deceptively playful quirk of his lips. “No, I don’t want any of those, not explicitly at least.”

What do you want? Noctis didn’t voice no matter how much he wanted to. This little video of Adagium’s seemed to be going nowhere which could be good if this was a live broadcast, build the tension maybe.

“My reason for kidnapping Noct is very simple: because I could.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Noctis’ brain stumbled to a halt. That’s it? Because he could? That didn’t make any sense, not when Adagium had brought up some kind of revenge. “What happened to your revenge?” Noctis asked. “You mentioned your reasons could be considered revenge and the gods.” He remembered the forlorn look in Adagium’s eyes before the rage had trickled back in. “You said I resembled someone, Adagium.”

He knew he was being bold, foolhardy more accurately, but his captor hadn’t revealed his name and Noctis was hoping if he brought up his aforementioned desire for revenge on film he’d reveal more of his reasoning. If the heroes in movies could get a villain to reveal their schemes, Noctis should be able to do it to Adagium.

Adagium’s grip on his hair tightened, Noctis crying out as several strands were tugged out of his scalp. “Oh Noct,” he purred, “I see you’ve decided to join the conversation.”

Noctis felt his skin crawl at the contemptuous pride in Adagium’s voice. He’d overstepped with his nosy questions.

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Adagium said. “You remember Adagium, do you not Your Majesty? The mythical monster locked away in the dark depths of Angelgard for ages, lost to time amongst the words of false kings and fraudulent nations.”

Who was Adagium? Noctis wondered, a stray tear slipping down the side of his face towards his hairline. “Why?” Noctis whispered, afraid of the answer he’d receive but unwilling to let his question lie.

The magitek disguise rippled ominously, a black miasma seeping through the gaps of armor. Quickly, the figure of Adagium was being overshadowed by the mist. The tiny glints of gold light within the consuming shadows was what gave away the nature of the mist: Starscourge.

Eyes wide, Noctis struggled in the man’s grip. He remembered when the Starscourge had infected him as a child when the Marilith had sliced his back open and nearly severed his spinal cord. The burning agony of the scourge ravaging his body, when not even his coma brought him relief from its infection. The hushed cries of similarly infected at the edges of his mind like a web of anguish, ever-growing with each infected. Get away getawaygetaway.

His struggling was for naught as the black mirage leaned closer to him. “Why?” Adagium asked the hand that held the knife lazily dragged to the center of his chest. “Because I was saving people. Because that first false king was jealous and power-hungry, over-eager to be the one to wear the crown. And the rest,” he spat the word, “never bothered to question any of their forebears, convinced that they had always done what was best for the kingdom of Lucis.”

Noctis shook his head as best he could. “But why would they—“

“Because the gods didn’t stop them.” The knife in his hand pressed harder against Noctis’ chest and hissed at the sting of the blade. “But the time of reckoning is steadily approaching!”

With a flourish of his hand, the knife was sent away. Noctis thought it was eerily similar to accessing the armiger. “While all the pieces aren’t in their proper place just yet, a bit of ‘divine retribution’ soothes the soul.”

“What do you mean by divine retribution?” Noctis asked, his voice far quieter than he expected.

The miasma cloud seemed to grin impossibly wide, though he couldn’t discern an actual face. “I thought it would be perfect for you to atone on behalf of your forebears, Noct. And to have your father helplessly watch as he struggles to find you.”

Adagium stood behind him once more and wrapped his arms loosely around Noctis’ shoulders. “Let’s have the chosen, King of Light spend some time in the dark,” he purred, black ichor dripping onto his shirt. Onto his head. Onto his face. It was everywhere and Noctis couldn’t focus on anything else.