Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Remind me again how you managed to force me to agree to this?” Isa asks as he sidesteps an ice blast. The wooden platform of the Struggle ring creaks as he shifts his weight, swinging his Claymore forward for a counter.

“You lost the bet.” Lea calls, turning up the heat on the ring of flames that surrounds Isa and his opponents; a smirk playing at the edge of his lips as he watches the ice spell disintegrate into wisps of harmless steam. Yes, a flame barrier surrounding a wooden platform, what could possibly go wrong.

“Now you have to pay the penalty. Got it mem- “

“Don’t even start with that.” Isa hisses, cutting off Lea’s infuriating catch phrase. “Xion lost as well, so why isn’t she here fighting this horde alongside me?”

“Someone’s gotta fetch the ice cream to celebrate your victory, don’t they?” Lea shrugs as he kicks his feet up on the stone bench, stretching out like a lazy cat basking in a particularly strong pool of sunlight.

Isa valiantly ignores this as he brings down his Claymore once more, only to suppress a sigh as the Blue Rhapsody he is aiming for slips past his weapon.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t help him?” Roxas asks from where he sits on the bench next to Lea.

Isa does not raise an eyebrow at Roxas’ suggestion, though it is a near thing.

Too near if Lea’s sudden bark of laughter is anything to go by. “Help him? When we’re finally getting a small bit of payback for all the mission’s he dumped on us in our Organization days? Fat chance.”

“He was just doing his job, plus he was taking orders from Xemnas, wasn’t he?” The uncertainty is so clear in Roxas’ voice that Isa has no trouble picturing the small frown that’s probably creasing the boys’ brow. It’s an expression Isa saw all too often during the blondes first days under the moniker of Number XIII.

“Roxas, Roxas, Roxas.” Axel chides in an amused voice that sends a chill running down Isa’s spine, even as he blocks a sharp set of dark claws. “Though it may be true that our friend here was Norted, believe me when I tell you that the vindictive streak he sported as Saix was all Isa.”

“He wasn’t that vindictive, at least not all the time.” Isa would appreciate Roxas coming to his defence a lot more if the blonde didn’t sound so unsure.

In contrast, Lea’s voice is full of confidence as he snorts. “You forget, I knew him way before our Organization days. The amount of times I got into trouble beca-whoa behind you!” Isa has already seen the Neo Shadow rearing to attack, but the sentiment is noted. It won’t save Lea from his so-called vindictive side when he’s done with this battle though, nothing will, but still.

“Nice save! Anyway, as I was saying, believe me when I tell you that all those extra nasty missions and the huge quota’s we had to fill were all down to Isa. He’s always been a slave driver.”

Roxas falls quiet at that, allowing Isa to completely focus on the battle once more. Three Neo Shadows fall to his blade with one sweep. Clearing out the ground based Heartless that have been interfering with his limited arsenal of ranged attacks; his only effective tactic against his airborne nemeses’.

It should be easy, this entire farce of a penalty game he’s having to play should be easy, but it’s not. Each wave he destroys is replaced almost instantly by another. It’s frustrating, more than anything. The Heartless he’s facing aren’t particularly strong, there’s just so many of them.

“That’s it, he needs help.” Isa can see Roxas moving to stand, his arm already outstretched to summon his Keyblade. Only to be stopped when Lea sits up, casually draping an arm around Roxas’ shoulders.

“Whoa there Roxas, hold your horses.” Lea tuts, dragging his friend close and waving a finger at Roxas as one would a misbehaving child. “This is way too much fun and he’s had this coming for a while.”

“What could he have possibly done to earn this?” Isa is asking himself that same question.

“Wonderland. Slime. Orchid Heartless.”

There’s a beat of silence, filled only with the sound of dissipating Heartless.

Then, “good luck Isa!” Roxas calls as he sits back down.

Isa does not growl at the smirking blond, nor does he lop off an advancing Dusks head with too much force. He does however take a moment to observe that a few Nobodies have joined the fray, wonderful.

It’s getting to the point where he truly believes that things can’t possibly get any worse. How the universe just loves to prove him wrong.

From the centre of the struggle ring emerges a Heartless he’s never seen before. Hooded and small with dark colourings, at first glance he could almost mistake it for a Kage; were it not for the miniature Clock Tower strapped to its back. A Clock Tower that almost perfectly emulates Twilight Towns own peaceful monument, which even now stands watch from atop the hill.

The other Heartless seem to gather around the creature, forming a sort of honour guard as the Clock Tower Heartless charges an attack. Isa is not willing to give it the time.

He strikes out, almost blindly, planning to scatter the paltry defence that stands between him and his true target. It’s a tactic that’s proven itself time and again; though a Heartless’ instincts compel them to follow a strong Darkness they will always prioritize their own existence.

It’s for this reason that he’s caught off guard. Left standing, nearly frozen in shock when instead of dodging the Heartless throw themselves into his attack.

It’s more than enough to buy the Clock Tower Heartless the time it seems to need.

Swinging the miniature from its back the new Heartless slam’s the tower to the ground, sending out shockwaves as the twin bells chime a mournful tune. Never a good sign.

Having had enough of this as soon as it started, Isa is more than ready to finish this.

“Moon, shine down!” The cry echoes throughout the struggle plaza. Just as a light that nearly rivals his own aura surrounds the Tower Heartless.

Lost in the heady rush that always comes with his Berserker mode, Isa doesn’t care when the Heartless unleashes its attack. He doesn’t care that the flame ring that had kept him trapped has been deactivated, ever since this strange new enemy appeared. He does care when he feels strong warm fingers latching onto the back of his jacket. When familiar flaming red locks replace the vision of the dark orb of energy that had been heading straight towards him.

Lea falls without a cry as the attack meant for Isa slams into his chest, but his eyes are wide, shocked and confused, until they are not. Until they’re glazed and unfocused in a way that’s so unnatural, so not Lea, that it leaves Isa feeling cold.

They both hit the ground at the same time. Isa skidding back even as he digs his weapon into the wood of the temporary stage, while Lea crumbles; arms wrapped around his chest as though he’s trying to hold on to something already lost.

“Axel!” Roxas shouts from where he stands just behind Isa, fending off the remaining Heartless; the few that survived Isa’s reckless assault. Those too slow or too weak to escape, even though the barrier that had been responsible for keeping them there is gone.

The Clock Tower Heartless is neither. With an arrogant flip, Isa can only watch as the Heartless disappears. A flaming red orb clutched in its hand.

“Damn it!” The words leave him as a guttural snarl as he hurls his weapon at the place the Heartless has vanished. A useless gesture, one that gains him nothing.

“Sai-Isa.” Roxas stutters, his tone high and panicked as he reaches Lea’s side. Shaking hands latching onto his friends’ shoulders as Lea shrinks into himself.

Like this he almost looks to be the same height as Roxas…

“…” Isa stares, unable to process what he’s seeing, the logical part of his mind not wanting to believe it.

Lea continues to shake in Roxas’ hold as black wisps of dark energy engulf his form. He is struggling to breathe, each gasp of air laboured, strained to the point where it sounds painful.

“He needs an Esuna.” Roxas says as Isa takes a knee at Lea’s free side.

“It’s not a spell I ever thought to learn.”  Why would he? Isa has never been focused on magic attacks, preferring to bombard his enemies with powerful strikes that overwhelm or simply destroy them outright.

It’s obvious that Roxas doesn’t know how to cast it either. The blonde may have moments of naivety that rival even Sora’s, but he would never leave a friend—especially Lea—in such a state if he could cure it.

“Does Xion know it?” He asks instead; resting his own hand on Lea’s back, trying to coax his friend into sitting up so he can better assess the damage.

“Do I know what? Wait! What’s going on! Axel?” Xion run’s from across the plaza; dropping the ice-cream’s she had been carrying as she rushes to their side.

Lea looks up at that, responding to the old name and Isa feels his blood freeze.

“Xion cast Esuna now!”

Even confused and concerned she doesn’t hesitate. “Esuna!”

The dark tendrils of energy are washed away by the warm light that suddenly surrounds Lea. He collapses the moment the light begins to dissipate, but both Isa and Roxas are there to catch him. They turn him so he’s on his back, not lying face down against the scarred wood of the stage, but that’s when they nearly drop him.

“Whoa!” Even over Roxas’ louder exclamation Isa can hear his own breath catching in his throat. Xion takes a step back, her hand rising to cover her mouth as she stares dumbfounded at the young man supported by her friends. It’s Axel, that’s for certain. Not Lea, Axel.

The sudden changes are startling.

He’s smaller, barely taller than Roxas. His hair is slightly shorter, but still set in that wild style he’s sported since he joined the Organization. He’s also wearing the Organization’s trademark Black trench coat. The same one he’d swore he would burn if he ever saw it again. Most importantly—to Isa at least—the tear drop tattoos are back; these more than anything have always marked the difference between Lea and Axel for him.

He shakes his head. In this moment he needs to focus on what he can do for his friend now, not dwell on what he couldn’t do in the past.

He goes back to analysing Axel’s condition; hoping to find some clue as to how to reverse…whatever this is.

It obviously can’t be classed as a status. If it could then Xion’s Esuna would have taken care of it. That being said it’s also true that Xion’s magic did have some sort of effect, as proven when the smothering mist that had been slowly engulfing Lea dispersed. Did that mean the dark energy had been a separate attack all together, or was it merely a by-product of the power which had de-aged, replaced, regressed? —Isa didn’t even know how to classify this. It wasn’t like any power he had seen before.

A soft groan draw’s Isa from his musings.

Axel is beginning to come around. A hand rising to massage his forehead, shielding his eyes as he tries to sit up. He isn’t left struggling alone for long; Roxas places a guiding hand on his shoulder and Xion soon comes to join him on Axel’s opposite side.

“What were you thinking? Are you okay?” Xion admonishes as she brushes away the light coating of dust that has settled on the dark leather of his coat.

Axel stills; his hand stiffening, causing fine lines to crease the smooth black surface of his gloves.

Xion and Roxas don’t seem to notice.

Isa only has just enough time to wrap his fingers in the collar of Xion’s shirt. The feather light touch of stray hairs brushes against his clenched fist as he pulls her back; throwing her clear of the blast as he raises his free hand in a pathetic attempt at defence.

He can feel the freshly born flames licking at his skin, clawing at his clothes, hungry and determined to devour anything in their path in order to ensure their own survival. Only for his vision to be flooded with refracted light in the form of a Reflega spell.

He looks back to see Xion crouching where he threw her. Arm outstretched towards him, glowing with the bright light of the magic that paints her fingertips. He watches as her eyes widen in concerned shock and he instinctively turns to follow her gaze, all the while trying to strangle the dread that’s rising in his throat.

The flicker of darkness he catches through the disintegrating shards of the Reflega shield has him rising to his feet; stumbling as he sacrifices balance for speed.

Even so, it’s not enough.

“Lea!” His hand falls through the fading wisps of darkness. Still, an instinctual chill that runs down his spine at the dark promise of power that those tendrils hold has him recoiling.

When he looks again all traces are gone. Only the ash of spent flames and the fresh scratches marring the once polished surface of the struggle ring, like so many open wounds, marks the passing of a battle lost.

“We have to go after him.” Roxas’ panicked voice draws Isa’s fraying attention. He stands on unsteady legs, one hand clenched closely to his side, the true extent of the injuries that may mar his skin hidden beneath a thick layer of soot. He fights to raise his Keyblade with his free arm, its shaft already alight with the cool green glow of a Cure spell.

Isa beats him to it; throwing a Hi-Potion over Roxas’ head as he passes the boy on his way to the Struggle Plazas exit.

He hears a stuttered gasp of relief and the hurried sound of footsteps catching up with him, but he doesn’t turn back.

“Isa! Where are you going?” Xion asks quietly as she catches up to him, her fingers reaching out to wrap a tentative grasp around his wrist. Roxas rushes to his other side; sweeping ash and dust from his ruined jacket, walking so close that his shoulder is almost brushing Isa’s arm. The plaintiff look in his eyes asking the question: what do we do?

Isa doesn’t pull away like he once would have. Instead he answers their questions.

“We’re going to find that Heartless. Then we’re going to find that flaming idiot and fix this.”

“Remind me again how you managed to convince me to get out of bed, to go for a walk in the pouring rain, at five o’clock in the morning?” Noctis asks as he attempts to sweep back the sodden strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes.

“Dude, come on, fair’s fair. You lost the bet, you gotta pay up.” Prompto teases in a lilting voice, as he casually slings an arm around Noctis’ shoulders. The unexpected extra weight nearly causes Noct to stumble as his sleep weary mind undercompensates on the rough ground beneath their feet, but he catches himself. It doesn’t stop him from sending a glare Prompto’s way; one his friend just shrugs off with a sunny smile.

“You won’t be smiling for long if a Daemon decides that pre-dawn still counts as night when there’s this much cloud cover.” He watches from the corner of his eye as Prompto stiffens, feeling the muscles in his friends’ arm—still wrapped around his shoulder—go taut as his eyes dart back and forth across the darkened landscape.

Seeing nothing, Prompto eventually manages a breathy chuckle, “nah, there’s no way they’ll pop out now…right?”

“Right.” Noct confirms, voice more assured, as he lightly digs his elbow into Prompto’s side. Encouraging his friend to finally remove his arm.

Free, Noct stretches; slowly working out the kink that sits heavily between his shoulders. He’ll have to try and convince Ignis that the lure of actual beds is worth the blow their funds will take. A hard task, considering the tight hold his Advisor has had on their purse strings lately. However, the thought of spending another night laid out against the hard rock of a Haven, with only the thin layer of his sleeping bag acting as a barrier…he won’t allow it. His lower back twinges in agreement.

“Ah! There’s one!” Prompto’s shout draws his attention.

He watches as the blonde disappears behind a bush, only to emerge seconds later; a light covering of wet mud clinging to his fingers and the hallowed prize he has grasped in his hand.

“A Mushroom? Do not say you’ve just come up with a new Recipeh.” Noctis sighs in resignation as he pinches the bridge of his nose; already dreading Prompto’s undoubtedly corny reply.

“What? No, no, nothing like that,” Prompto denies, waving his arms dramatically and nearly splattering Noct with mud. “Then again…”

“Prompto.”

“Okay, okay, chill dude.” Prompto chuckles, “this is our prized bait. I’ve heard that the Catoblepas are mad for these, just a few more of them and we should be able to draw one in.”

“Draw one in?” Noct’s voice holds a deadpan edge which Prompto spectacularly fails to catch.

“Yeah! It’ll make for an epic shot, especially if we make it to the lake just as the sun’s rising.”

“You better be about to hand me your camera.” Noct extends his hand, palm up, to emphasise his point.

Prompto just stares at him, a sheepish grin creeping at the edges of his lips. “Well, actually—”

“No.” Noct interrupts, flinging his arms up in frustration, “not happening.”

He turns sharply on his heel, starting to make his way back up the path they’d trodden through the soaked undergrowth.

“Oh, come on Noct! Please!” Prompto jogs to catch up to him, his footsteps rushed and uneven as he struggles not to slip. “This is the one chance I’m gonna get to take this shot! You can warp so there’s no wa-aah!”

Noct halts abruptly, spinning round at the sound of his friends cry so quickly that he nearly falls. Loose stone and soft mud shifting beneath his boots at such an odd angle that he almost loses his footing.

“Prompto!” His eyes search the tree line desperately. He’d been kidding about the Daemons, but now that he thinks about it seriously, maybe the cloud cover has made them braver.

Against his will his mind conjures up several unwelcome memories. Imps with sharp claws and bright eyes; dancing in between and around dull shafts of sunlight in the cloying darkness of a mine. The Ronin standing tall within the shadows, safe from the pool of light. Iron Giants lurking beneath rocky outcroppings, their swords tensed to strike.

Panic hits him like a physical blow. Its overwhelming his senses; causing the shadows of trees to morph and shift into the shape of Daemons. Turning the lightest tremble of wind over dew-soaked pine branches into the eerie sound of scourge stained chittering rasps.

“Prompto!” He takes a step as he calls out his friends name again. “If this is some sort of prank, I swear I’m gonna—”

“Dude down here,” Noct’s threat dies in his throat at Prompto’s shout. He Zero’s in on his friends’ voice; catching a flash of blond hair against the backdrop of the many shades of green that paint the small woodland. “I need some help.”

Choosing to forego the steep hill which separates him from Prompto, Noct summons a blade. With a well-practiced flick, the weapon flies from his grasp. He’s warping even before the blade sinks itself into the hard wood of the wide tree that stands just behind where Prompto sits, crouched on the ground.

“Are you hurt?” He’s already looking Prompto over for injuries when he asks, but there’s nothing he can see.

“Oh, no dude, not me.” Prompto shakes his head firmly, before nodding down to a hunched figure curled up on the ground beside him. “He’s in really bad shape.”

Now that he’s not so focused on making sure Prompto is in fact okay and not just playing down his wounds—as he so often does—Noct allows his attention to drift to the young man Prompto is worriedly hovering over.

Noct is shocked that he hadn’t spotted the teen immediately. Even with the thick layers of dirt and something that Noct hopes is not fresh blood, the young man’s hair stands out stark against the morning shadows. A fiery red that seems alive as the wind sweeps through it.

Looking further Noct can see that Prompto’s assessment is true; the kid really is in bad shape. What looks to have once been a leather jacket now lies in ragged remnants which barely cling to the boys’ frame. Underneath the ruined clothing rests abused skin, which is already beginning to discolour with a collection of mottled bruises. Nothing else can be seen under the cover of mud and dirt, made all the darker with the freely flowing blood from a set of nasty lacerations that run the length of the teens exposed left arm.

“I already gave him a potion, but it only took care of this massive cut he had across his chest.” Prompto indicates a large tear in the boys’ jacket that’s coated in quickly cooling blood, causing the fabric of his mostly intact shirt—which might have once been black like his jacket, but now looks to be a rusted shade of red in the weak morning light—to stick to his skin.

“We’ll have to get him back to the Haven. Have Specs take a look at him.” Noct replies, knowing without even having to check the armiger that he doesn’t have anything stronger than a potion. “Do you think it’s safe to move him?”

Prompto scratches the back of his head nervously, clearly unsure. “I don’t know, but if we leave him out here, he probably doesn’t stand a chance.”

Noct nods, weighing up their limited options. “What if one of us stays here; keeps an eye on him and makes sure none of the local wildlife tries to take advantage?”

“That could work, you’ll be faster with your ability to warp.” Prompto summons his gun and quickly checks the chamber; seemingly satisfied he turns back to Noct. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll send up a Starshell.”

“Right, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Without another word Noct picks up the dagger which is still lodged firmly in the bark of the tree. He can’t suppress the small grimace at the sight of sticky tree sap clinging to the blade, but he quickly brushes that idle thought away as he aims.

He already knows that every warp will count; he’s going to have to balance distance and speed if he wants to avoid going into stasis. Taking a deep breath, he throws the dagger and all at once the world shatters into azure light.

Chapter Text

Endless darkness.

He is used to seeing that, given his preferred mode of transport. Corridors of Darkness, creepy as they are, he’s gotta admit practically being able to teleport himself almost anywhere is nice.

Endless darkness, yellow eyes, sharp claws, and the chilling void of the abyss where the streets of The World That Never Was should be. Not so nice.

The moment he steps through the corridor he created in Twilight Town; he knows he’s made a mistake.

Darkness that once came at his call like a loyal dog bristles and struggles against his control. Each moment spent here saps away a little more of his strength and even with his Organization coat he can feel the darkness seeping in, searching for a heart he no longer has.

He stumbles as he exits the corridor, then completely loses his footing as his boot catches on something unseen. Soft dirt chokes him as he gasps in pain and it’s wrong, so wrong. He should have landed on the solid concrete of the damp streets of the World That Never Was.

Blinking unfocused eyes to try and get his bearings does little. Even as his vision clears all he can see is the many shifting shadows of the Realm of Darkness.

Fear—no, the memory of fear he reminds himself, he no longer has the heart needed to feel fear—grips his throat as he stands.

He summons his Chakrams—foregoing his usual dramatic flair—the slight heat that radiates from them warming his palms as he adjusts his grip. They chase away the memory of fear as he raises one to see further into the darkness.

Ochre eyes stare back at him.

Blinking against the light, Axel shrugs as he shakes off the cold tendrils clinging to his coat and takes a step forward. There’s no sign of any real danger; it seems he’s on the outer edges of the Realm of Darkness, that dreary precipice of blackness that likes to float ominously around the limits of nonexistence.

This, however, left one question. “How the heck did I wind up here?”

His query goes unanswered as the Heartless slink around the pool of light cast by his flames.

Ignoring them he stretches out an arm to summon another Corridor of Darkness. It’s obvious he simply made a mistake.

Not that he’ll tell Saix that, or tell Saix about being seen, or that he had passed out, or about the fact that he can’t really remember what he was doing in Twilight Town in the first place…

…come to think of it, maybe it’s best that nobody hears about this, ever.

Yep, that’s for the best. This is definitely one mission he does not want memorized.

Corridor formed, he dismisses his Chakrams and eagerly walks through the gaping vortex of darkness before him.

He exits the other side and freezes.

An endless darkness, yellow eyes, sharp claws, and a deep chill are all that greet him.

“What the hel-agh!”

 He flinches back as one of the shadows leaps forward, dark talons raking across his upraised arm as the shade manifests in the form of a Neoshadow.

He grits his teeth as he suppresses his cry, but it’s too late. He doesn’t even have time to assess the damage as more Heartless slink from the darkness. Swords held in hand with stunted and frayed wings, which somehow still manage to keep them aloft: Orcus’.

“Hey guys, you’re a bit more worked up than usual. What? Has Xemnas not been feeding you or something?” He wasn’t expecting a reply but that doesn’t mean he appreciates the shadowed blade that comes flying towards his head.

“Hey! I’m meant to be the hot head here!” Fire erupts as his Chakrams fly, covering his retreat to the corridor that still lays open behind him.

He doesn’t get far, not with the pool of darkness he hadn’t noticed suddenly smothering his flames, choking the once towering pillars of fire down to nothing more than a few wisps of smoke.

 Normally, this would be nothing to worry about, but then again normally he wasn’t on his own, surrounded by ever-growing-numbers of apparently underfed Heartless that he has absolutely no control over. Oh yeah, and he isn’t trapped in the Realm of Darkness, but this is his life now so there’s only one sensible thing to do.

Throw more fire and don’t look back.

As sound a strategy as that is, there isn’t much he can do against the horde of Heartless that begin to tumble free from the still open Corridor of Darkness behind him. At least not while he’s still dealing with the ever-multiplying Orcus and Neoshadow army before him. Oh, and is that a Darkside he sees clawing its way out of the bubbling puddle of shadows…

Welp, he’s done.

Dismissing the suicide track he likes to call his previous escape route, Axel reaches out to summon another, but because that worked so well last time, he throws up a fire wall between him and the literally unending horde just to be safe.

The near blinding wall of flames encircles him, driving back the heartless for a moment as many of them sink back into the floor.

“What? Is that all you got?” He taunts as he raises a hand to summon a new corridor, only to cringe as a sharp pain lances up the length of his arm. His eyes are finally drawn to the deep gouges that have been carved into his skin, leaving the leather of his coat hanging in strips and his blood dripping to the floor.

“That’s new.” Axel cradles his arm against his chest in an attempt to slow the bleeding as he raises his free hand. Thinking that it’s probably best he deals with his injury in a place that you know, isn’t home to a bunch of literal monsters.

The barest threads of darkness begin to weave together to form his escape, just as the ground beneath him starts to shake. Distracted, Axel loses his tenuous grasp on the dark power, which still seems to be struggling against his control. Is it an effect of this Realm? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t have time to think about it as his shaky footing completely gives way.

Scrambling, he manages to latch onto the edge of the sudden precipice, his nails digging into the soft dirt even as he continues to sink. Yes, sink.

Into the giant hole of darkness that conveniently—yes, that’s sarcasm—decided to open beneath his feet.

Dragging himself free was never an option, but it becomes truly impossible when the incorporeal vines of darkness wrap themselves around his arm. Even so he fights it, pouring strength into his waning grip as the shadows continue to pull him down.

He loses his fight when the ground he clings to simply gives way. Enveloped within the pool of Darkness he drowns for long seconds, his lungs torn apart by the weight of a formless shade that rips and tears at him even as he falls.

Everything stops as he hits solid ground again, but he feels something give in a way it shouldn’t.

Dazed, in pain, and more than a little confused he tries to push himself back to his feet, knowing that every moment spent lying in the dirt is another chance he has of defending himself lost.

He manages to get to his knees, but something shifts in his chest and the gasp of pain that follows has him curling involuntarily in on himself. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, every shallow breath hurts but he knows he has to move, he has to get up.

That decision is taken from him with the descent of one hand.

Talons the size of columns close around him. The air is crushed from his lungs, silencing his roar of pain, even as a darkness that doesn’t belong to this realm dances along the edges of his vision.

The flames he can feel sparking to life along the lines of his one free arm burn with an eclipsed light, one he is barely able to see dancing along the edges of the remnants of his shredded coat.

Still he calls to them, urging them to burn brighter as the grip around his middle tightens.

He can feel the flames growing, sense them feeding off his magic with an endless appetite that breeds recklessness. Still he holds back his attack, knowing that were he to unleash it now it would barely be more powerful than a simple Firaga. Fun spell, but not strong enough to take down a Darkside in a single hit; he knows this from experience…painful experience.

The pressure that has been slowly intensifying around his chest suddenly increases, what was once a steadily constricting grip is now a crushing force. It robs him of the last of his waning control, the choice of when to release the scorching torrent raging within his being is taken from him.

His nerves sing as they are set alight by the wild flames that rise around him. His vision once washed black is now blazing back to life with a red that sets his world on fire.

The hand holding him disappears from his perception, whether it dissolves or the Darkside dropped him doesn’t matter. All that matters is the rush of air as he tumbles to the ground in a tangle of exhausted limbs.

He comes to rest uneasily on his side, the only sounds are his ragged breaths and the thunderous beat of his own pulse echoing in his ears. Even so, he doesn’t hesitate this time.

Summoning what feels like the last of his strength, he focuses on calling a Corridor of Darkness. Not to the World That Never Was; for whatever reason that isn’t working. No, he opens a connection to the closest world that still possesses light, he’s not even sure which world it is—Twilight Town again? He doesn’t know—he doesn’t care, so long as it isn’t here.

When it finally forms, he all but falls into the corridor. Some impassive part of his brain that sounds suspiciously like Saix tells him that he’s just going to fall face first into the cold ash of the Realm of Darkness again.

The voice is half right; he does fall face first onto the ground, but instead of the yawning abyss of darkness the smell of fresh rain, the feel of soft grass beneath him, and a distant dawn shielded by laden clouds greets him.

“Heh, made it.” The words are little more than a whispered slur mumbled into the dirt, but they take the last of his strength and with it his final grasp on consciousness.

Sensations and sounds come to him in dribs and drabs.

The feeling of light rain landing on his bare skin, flowing into his open wounds with a haze of trickling pain that washes away all warmth.

A gentle wind lingering to brush through his hair as it meanders across the land, whispering soft words he can’t understand through the trees.

Dew wet grass presses against his fingers in a gentle caress, only to be replaced with the overwhelming pain that burns through every nerve.

Most prevalent is the smell of blood, the iron rich tang that leaves him with the taste of copper covering his tongue.

Each of these fractured scenes come to him in-between almost comforting periods of oblivion. Immeasurable periods of time in which he is free of the burning cold that seems to have seized his limbs.

The borders of this peaceful abyss of insensibility is where the voices are most clear.

 “Isa? Is that my…”

“If this is some sort of prank, I swear I’m gonna—”

“It’s just a bet Isa, no need to get all fired up about it.”

“Dude down here…I need some help.”

“You’re crying again.”

“I already gave hi…ut it only took care of…he had across his chest.”

“…on cast Esuna now!”

“It’s the charm s… can’t cry, you’ll mak…liar.”

The voices all sound far away, but he can recognise a few of them, but he’s too tired to figure out which ones.

It’s the press of a hand against his forehead that convinces him to try and wake up. The peel of dried blood tangled in his lashes has him blinking disorientedly. Through blurred vision all he can make out is a flash of blonde against the backdrop of dark green that is probably the woods he’s landed in.

“Hey, are you awake?” A high-pitched voice he doesn’t know asks. There’s the briefest moment where he smiles because yep, Saix is gonna kill him for not blowing his cover not once but twice. Then the pull of sore muscles reminds him that moving anything at the moment is just not worth it.

“…ay awake, help is on the way.” Axel blinks slowly at that. He is awake, even though his eyes are closed again…wait, when did that happen?

A hand rests against his shoulder and Axel feels an aborted shake.

“Sorry, sorry, my bad.” If he doesn’t die of blood loss, he swears he’s gonna set this kid on fire. It’s a mercy compared to the agony that just shot through his entire body. Ripples of pain irradiating out from his shoulder, stealing all his focus.

His eyes close again and this time he can’t fight the wave of fatigue clawing at his beaten body.

“Ye cannee blame me lad. I’m a businessman, and no merchant worth his salt is gonna lend out his ship fer free.” There’s a glint in the old ducks’ eye that’s giving Roxas a headache.

“I already said we’d be willing to pay.” Roxas groans as he tries and fails to stop his hand from mussing through his hair. A nervous tell that has made him lose more than one poker game—seriously, he’ll never forgive Isa for introducing Xion to that game.

“Och, I make more than enough munney from this fine establishment.” Scrooge gestures to the restaurant behind him, pride written in every line of his body. “What I’m askin fer is much more valuable.”

“What is it that you want?” Already suspicious Roxas crosses his arms, trying to look unmoved.

“Pah, tis a trifle.” Scrooge turns away, trying to hide the unscrupulous smile that’s curling his lips. “I donne suppose ye ever heard of the deal I had with young Sora?”

Roxas feels a slight twinge of sadness at the mention of Sora, but he shakes it off. Riku and Kairi will bring him back.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Tis the easiest thing in the world me boy, and if you were willing to do me this small favour, I’d be more than willing to lend you and yur friends the use of me Gummi Ship.” Scrooge already knows he’s won and to be honest Roxas is too worried to fight him.

That said, he’s not so naïve that he’s going to accept the job without first knowing what it is. “What favour?”

Smiling unrepentantly Scrooge explains, “just bring me some new ingredients from whichever worlds ye and yer friends visit.”

Roxas blinks in confusion. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Scrooge nods.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth Roxas sticks out his hand. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doin’ business with ye laddie.” Scrooge shakes his hand firmly. “Just let me know when you’re ready to embark.”

Stunned that it was that easy, Roxas nods before he runs towards Station Hill, where he’d last seen Xion and Isa. He needs to give them the good news.

Just as he’s wondering how he’s going to find them the roar of an explosion and a plume of smoke rises above the rooftops.

“That’ll be them.”

Chapter Text

Morning Haven

Ignis stirs, as he does every morning, at precisely six o’clock. Sitting up, he locates his glasses just as the alarm begins to vibrate with a series of sharp trills that are supposed to awaken his companions, though more often than not they simply end up as the backdrop to his, Gladio’s, and Prompto’s efforts to wake Noct.

For once though, it would seem that he has been relieved of his duty of trying to make his liege rise before eleven. The two bed rolls beside his and Gladio’s lay empty, the only signs left of their previous occupants is the way they sit carelessly abandoned against the side of the tent. How he had slept through the chaotic debacle that must have been the two of them trying to escape their sleeping bags he shall never know.

If he recalls correctly Prompto had warned him last night that he would be attempting to enlist Noct’s help with an, as Prompto put it: ‘epic photo opportunity’. It would seem that the budding photographer has been successful—a note-worthy achievement, given Noct’s apparent aversion to dawn.

Just to be sure Ignis pulls out his phone, checking for any new messages. The screen lights up at his gentle prompt, revealing that he does in fact have a message from Prompto:

Prompto: Mission Catoblepas is a go! Be back for breakfast. :D

Ignis highly doubts that, given Noct and Prompto’s track record for keeping time. In all likelihood he’s probably going to have to send Gladio to retrieve them if they want to make any progress today.

That being said, he’s never one to be caught unprepared. He’s more than willing to make use of the extra time he’s found himself with.

The sound of shifting fabric draws his attention back to the last bed roll. Unlike the others, Gladio has the presence of mind to roll up his sleeping bag. “Morning specs,” he briefly glances at the empty expanse of the tent, “Prompto actually managed to convince sleeping beauty to get up before noon?”

“I believe there may have been some guilt tripping involved,” Ignis answers as he removes his culinary journal, all the while mentally cataloguing what ingredients he has to hand, “either that or a lost bet.”

Gladio scoffs as he moves towards the exit. “Noct should know by now not to try and beat Prompto at a game of chance.”

Ignis refrains from mentioning that it’s a lesson Gladio himself has yet to learn. “Indeed.”

Gladio pulls back the tent flap, only to be greeted with the sight of heavy rain. “Does this place ever see the sun?” He growls as he steps out, stretching as he goes.

“Periodically,” Ignis comments as he follows, “though it would appear we keep missing it.”

Gladio doesn’t dignify that with a response as he summons the shelter from the armiger and sets about pitching it, so Ignis can get started on breakfast.

All in all, despite the weather, its looking to be one of those rare days where Ignis will be able to slow the pace. There’s no desperate need to make their way back to Cape Caem, not with the mythril still being processed, and if he recalls correctly there are several fishing spots located within walking distance. Noct would never forgive him were he remiss in pointing out that fact.

With his and Gladio’s combined efforts the shelter is assembled within moments and the cooking station is soon summoned, accompanied by the ingredients Ignis will be requiring this morning.

“What we having this morning?” Gladio enquires idly, as he continues stretching. His gaze flitting intermittently between the grey sky above and the dirt track that lays just beyond the runes of the haven.

Inspecting his pan, Ignis quickly organises his station before he answers. “Pancakes. A simple meal, but I found myself inspired by a posting I saw for a Tenebraen recipe.”

“Heh, that answers that question then, no way I’m going on a run now.” Gladio emphasises that point by summoning one of the camp chairs.

The sight makes Ignis pause. “Really?”

“Last time you made pancakes there wasn’t a scrap left. I had to settle for a microwaved pop-tart.”

Ignis can’t help but raise a brow. “My sympathies, I’ll endeavour to make extras.”

Whatever reply Gladio had been about to voice is cut off by the appearance of a dagger flitting past their sights. Ignis tracks the blades progress to where it’s going to land, only to watch as Noct snatches it from the air as he manifests in a trail of fractured sparks.

Any thought that this had merely been Noct’s attempt to reach the haven before Prompto dissipates the moment he truly looks at Noct.

Half bent, very nearly on the cusp of stasis, his hair plastered to his forehead with both rainwater and fresh mud, and breath that catches on every second gasp as he fights to regain enough air to speak.

Ignis is by his side in an instant, his hand coming gently to rest between Noct’s shoulder blades as he guides his charge down. Directing him towards the ground in an attempt to ease the onset of vertigo that is sure to come.

“Where is Prompto?” He asks the question calmly, even as his worry builds at the continued absence of their youngest member.

“Safe.” It’s the first word that Noct manages to breathe and Ignis is glad for it. Already, the concern that had gripped him on Prompto’s behalf wanes, but that still leaves the question as to why Noct would push himself to this state.

He gives Noct a few more minutes, in order to gather himself, but Ignis can see Gladio from the corner of his eye, pacing along the barrier of the haven. It won’t be long before the Shield takes matters into his own hands and disappears off into the underbrush in search of Prompto.

Patience once more proves itself to be the wiser path as Noct finds his feet, giving his head a final shake as he stands tall, his eyes trained on the outlying trees and the darker depths beyond. “Sorry,” Noct mumbles sheepishly, “but there’s a wounded kid. Prompto’s watching him.”

“What direction?” Gladio asks, body tense as he gets ready to run.

“About half a mile south,” Noct gestures in the general direction, “close to the lake.”

Gladio nods, “On it. Iggy?”

“Right behind you.” He places a hand on Noct’s shoulder, tilting his head slightly in the Crownsguard language for ‘I’ll stay with Noct’.

Another nod and then Gladio is soon vanishing beyond the thin treeline.

Ignis and Noct soon follow at a more sedate pace.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ignis cannot help but ask.

“Never better,” comes the immediate reply. Ignis ignores the strain that weighs down Noct’s voice, for now.

*~*~*~*~

Pulling the last bandage tight, Ignis inspects his work one last time as he moves to sit back.

The young man laid out before him has certainly seen better days, but at least he’s still breathing. Thanks in no small part to Noct and Prompto’s quick actions. Both of whom have been banished from the tent, due to their ability to be more of a hindrance than a help.

Yes, having the four of them to transport the boy back to the haven had made things easier. Especially when considering the rough terrain, however, having all four of them in the tent, them asking needless questions, and offering help that is clearly unneeded when Ignis has the situation perfectly in hand…

That he could do without.

Hence why he had less than graciously advised them to bloody well leave him to his work.

He can still heat the murmur of their conversation beyond the zipped entrance; quiet against the gentle patter of retreating rain, but it’s less distracting than having them underfoot.

A small pained groan draws his attention back to the teen. Ignis can’t help but wish he knew the boys’ name, or for that matter anything about him. He hadn’t found any sort of I.D. on the young man’s person but given his condition and apparent lack of supplies, Ignis was leaning towards the theory that the lad may be a refugee. One of the few that had managed to make it out of Insomnia during the fall.

If this is the case how he had managed to make it out here, why he had not sought refuge in one of the many towns between this region and Insomnia, and how he had ended up in this state remains a mystery. One that will not be solved until the young man awakens.

In the meantime, all Ignis can do is make him comfortable. A task made harder by the fact that Prompto has already used their last potion on him.

It was an oversight on Ignis’ part, but one that couldn’t have been avoided, not with the Quetzalcoatl they had encountered in the last dungeon.

Still, they will have to resupply soon if the teen has any hope of a full recovery.

Another soft groan from the young man breaks the relative silence, this time accompanied by a swift turn of the boy’s head. “…ix.”

“Hello, can you hear me?” Ignis asks as he rests a hand on the boys left shoulder, on a sparse span of skin that isn’t mottled with bruises.

He can see the young man’s eyes rolling wildly below his closed eyes; most likely tracking the haunting visions conjured by the high fever that burns through him.

Ignis tries again, “Are you awake? Can you tell me your name?”

The teen’s eyes open slightly, revealing the briefest flash of fever muddled green before he settles once more.

With a sigh Ignis resigns himself to the fact that answers are going to have to wait.

Standing and repressing the wince that comes with movement after so long spent kneeling at the boys’ side, Ignis walks towards the exit. Brushing aside the tent flap, he is greeted by the sight of Noct and Prompto hovering over his now lit stove.

“What, pray tell, are you doing?”

Prompto jolts at the sound of his voice, sending the spoon he had been using to prod what might have once been garula bacon—but now resembles charcoal—flying. “Iggy.”

With deft reflexes and a practised hand Ignis catches the spoon before it can spin off into the undergrowth and be lost, like so many of its brethren before it.

“Making a burnt offering to the Astrals, are we?” Ignis observes with dry humour. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I have to inform you that those went out of favour around the time the Infernian turned against humanity.”

“What? Oh, no, no. I’m really sorry Iggy, I was only trying to help,” Prompto stammers as he grimaces at the crumbling mess in the pan. “I thought a higher heat would make it cook faster.”

“Well that idea certainly didn’t pan out.”

“Can you please just not, Specs,” Noct all but begs, setting down the bowl he’d been stirring gently. “The corny jokes are really getting old.”

“Really? I thought that one was rather well-done.”

Noct groans, bringing up a hand to massage his brow, while Prompto tries—and fails—to hide a nervous laugh born more from Noct’s reaction than Ignis’ pun. “Seriously Iggy, I am this close to making a royal decree that bad puns are banned.”

“A tad excessive, don’t you think?” Ignis defends as he adjusts his glasses, using the long-time habit to hide his growing smirk.

 The long-suffering glare that Noct levels at him in response nearly has Ignis laughing without restraint.

It’s the sudden whine of metal against metal which breaks the growing air of mirth. Both Ignis’ and Noct’s gazes shift back to Prompto, who now stands at the edge of the haven, valiantly trying to scrape the cremated remains of the bacon into a nearby shrub.

He freezes the moment the horrible screech of metal shrieks against the white rock of the haven; only turning back to them with a less than confident look when the sound finally fades. “S-sorry.”

Giving into the urge that has been building at the back of his throat, Ignis chuckles.

“It’s quite alright, Prompto,” Ignis soothes, getting his amusement back under control as he suggests, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind looking after our guest while I finish up here.” He nods back to the tent, where he is sure their unexpected visitor is still lying comatose.

Prompto’s face falls at the request, his eyes turning downwards as his teeth begin to worry his bottom lip. “Oh, yeah sure.”

By now, Ignis is well acquainted with Prompto’s bouts of uncertainty—though they are rarer than they once were—when he believes he has done something wrong. As such, he is more than prepared for it.

Looking back at the tent, he allows some of his concern to seep into his voice, “I’m afraid he isn’t doing too well…” pausing for dramatic effect, Ignis waits until he’s sure he has Prompto’s full attention. “…I would ask Noct to do it, were I not certain his Highness would fall asleep on the job.”

“Hey!” Comes Noct’s affronted shout from where he still standing next to the stove.

Ignis ignores him.

It takes a second, but the sunny demeanour that Prompto wears like a cloak slowly returns. “Heh, sure thing, Iggy.” With that the blonde disappears inside the tent, allowing Ignis to turn his full attention on his main charge.

Noct has picked up the bowl he had previously set down and to Ignis surprised delight is actually handling the ingredients with some care, as opposed to the usual slap dash approach he is well aware Noct favours.

“Awake at dawn and now you’re cooking, will wonders never cease.”

“They might if you don’t tone down the sass.”

Looking over Noct’s shoulder to check his progress and satisfied with what he sees Ignis feels it’s safe enough to chance fetching himself an Ebony while Noct continues.

“Besides, you had your hands full this morning.”

“Indeed.” Ignis can’t stop his gaze from drifting back to the tent at those words.

“How’s he doing?” Noct asks.

“A lot better than he would have been had you and Prompto not found him, but he’s not out of the woods yet.” He only receives an eye-roll for that one.

“So, what’s the plan then?”

“Acquiring more curatives should be our priority but I fear it might not be the safest option to chance moving the boy yet.” Another glance over Noct’s shoulder and he’s handing the milk to him.

“Thanks. So, what? We just wait until he wakes up?”

“Perhaps. I believe that batter’s about done.” Ignis allows himself one quick sip of the ebony, enjoying the familiar bitter taste as it flows across his tongue. “I’d say we’re about ready to fire things up.”

“Seriously, Spe—”

Whatever Noct was about to say went unheard as the roar of flames consumed the haven.

Chapter Text

Xion has had doubts about Isa’s plans before. By that she doesn’t mean that he’s disorganized or unprepared, no she’s sure he goes over every detail of his strategies with the same merciless efficiency he used to go over her reports. The number of times she wanted to cry when he told her to redo them because he found a mistake…she shivers at the mere memory of it. No, what makes her less than enthusiastic to follow him into the heat of battle is the fact that he never seems to see the need to explain to anybody what exactly his plan is.

Usually this would be balanced by the fact that Ax-Lea—Lea, it’s Lea now, she really needs to stop doing that—is there to translate Isa’s irritated growls and exasperated sighs, as though it’s her fault she doesn’t speak the silent language that Lea is apparently fluent in.

For obvious reasons that isn’t an option right now, which is bad, really, really bad, because Isa isn’t a team player unless A-Lea is there and it’s really showing.

Things started going south the second they cornered the heartless and just got worse from there.

It seems that all she’s been able to do since the fight started is block. Not fun in a normal fight, super not fun when you’re up against an overpowered heartless that’s stolen your friend’s powers and is using said powers to try and charbroil you.

Especially when said heartless doesn’t seem to have any of your friend’s self-control—words she never thought she would think in regard to Axe-Lea dammit, and fire—so is apparently happy to set everything in reach on fire. After this is over, they’re going to have to get so many part-time jobs to pay off all the collateral damage, that is, if the town is still standing.

It might not be, given that the heartless is currently hopping higher and higher along the sheer face of Twilight Town’s clocktower, throwing fire every which way each time it lands, leaving black soot trails that track its progress all along the tower of the clock. From down here it looks as though a behemoth with dirty paws has tried to scramble up the side of the tower.

The next torrent of flame rains down upon them as the heartless reaches the face of the clock. Throwing another barrier over herself and Isa she turns to face her friend to try and glean any information from his eternally expressionless face—well actually, that’s a little unfair, she thinks she’s seen him smiling…once—only to find that he’s gone.

Looking around she spots him running up the side of the tower to the left of the heartless, an achievement all itself considering that his dark clothes are just blending into the swirling clouds of smoke.

Now what does she do? Does she follow? Try and distract the heartless? Attack it from the ground? Any one of those ideas could backfire horribly, depending on what Isa does.

The sound of hurried footsteps running up the hill behind her puts her somewhat at ease, it must be Roxas coming to help.

“Great timing Roxas, I need some cover.” She calls over her shoulder as she runs for the wall.

“I’m not Roxas, but you got it!” A voice that most definitely isn’t Roxas’ responds.

Digging her heels in she stops and manages to turn fully only to see Hayner running past her straight towards the base of the station tower. What is he thinking!

“Wait!”

Too late.

Predictably, Hayner’s charge ends in failure. Fiery, smoke everywhere, screaming failure.

Xion shoots her lowest powered water spell at him as she rushes to his side. He didn’t take a direct hit but it’s better safe than sorry, so she casts cure just to be certain. Even so he’s still coughing, whether from the smoke inhalation or the sudden spout of water she dumped over his head she isn’t sure.

“Are you okay?”

Before he can answer her question the sound of yet more footsteps approach them from behind, made all the louder by the thin veil of water that still covers the ground around them.

“Hayner, what were you thinking?” Olette scolds with absolutely no heat as she pulls Hayner to his feet.

“Er, guys. It’s doing something.” Pence’s quavering voice washes across them, causing Xion to look up.

The heartless is crouching down against one of the hands of the clockface, clearly gathering power for another attack. An attack that Xion is afraid to admit she recognises.

“Get back! Go and get Roxas and don’t let anyone else come here!”

“We can he-” Hayner stops talking when Xion turns to glare at him.

“We’ll find Roxas,” Olette finishes instead as she grabs Hayner by the ear and pulls him away from the fight.

“Sorry about that, stay safe!” Pence adds as he follows his friends.

Xion doesn’t have time to watch them leave, but Hayner’s slowly fading groans as Pence and Olette lecture him are a pretty good indicator that they’re clearing the danger zone.

One crisis averted, Xion starts searching through her items, looking for the ether she knew she put in there earlier, but as always seems to be the case when she really needs something, she can’t find it.

Building light in the corner of her eye distracts her from her search. Looking up she can see the heartless extending its hands, manipulating the circle of flame that pulses around it like a living thing. It’s a pale imitation of the infernos she’s seen Lea cast, the blaze is dull and instead of dancing through the air like so many fallen leaves the flames seem merely to shudder, as if forced to move by an unskilled hand.

That being said, it’s still a powerful attack. She can feel the heat from here, washing over her skin in waves as it builds in strength with each revolution, almost mimicking the mechanical movements of the clockface the heartless stands on. Though, not for much longer.

The metal hands of the clockface have begun to distort, warping and bending under the intensity of the flames. The glass face of the clock is screaming as long cracks run across it surface, exposing stilted gears that refuse to turn.

It’s just more evidence that Xion really needs that ether.

Her hands clasp cool glass just as the clockface shatters, dusk stained glass falls like rain as the heartless leaps from its perch. She can feel its gaze lock on her even as red flames obscure her vision.

Without hesitation she smashes the ether and sighs in relief as her magic once again responds to her call. A reflegra spell is on the tip of her tongue just as the heartless prepares to attack her, the bells on its miniature tower ringing wildly as the firestorm rages.

The spell dies on her lips at the sight of Isa, claymore in hand, leaping from the top of the tower towards the heartless.

His blade slams into the heartless’ unguarded back sending it towards the earth with a rending crack. Smoke rises from the small crater and Xion has no choice but to raise a hand to cover her mouth as dirt, dust, and soot fills the air.

The soft thump beside her announces Isa’s landing but she’s too busy trying to see whether the heartless survived to turn and acknowledge him.

It’s quiet, so quiet that she can hear the tinkle of shattered glass beneath her feet as she edges slowly towards the smouldering precipice of the crater. Her Keyblade is drawn, held up in a guard.

“Careful.” Isa’s voice cuts through the silence even though he barely whispers and Xion can’t help but be proud of the fact that she didn’t jump.

Stopping, inches from the mouth of the crater, she looks down into the open maw. There’s nothing to see, nothing to hear, only the choking smell of molten glass and melted metal taints the air around her.

“I think you got it.” Xion sighs in relief after a moment as the smog finally begins to settle.

Isa doesn’t look convinced; he even takes a few steps forward as if to check for himself. Suppressing her rising frustration at Isa’s stubborn muteness, she moves to step down into the crater, hoping that with its defeat whatever the heartless stole from Lea—hah, she got it right that time—will have been left behind.

The mournful toll of a broken bell saves her.

Rolling forward, she feels the fira burn the empty space above her back and then she’s falling, sliding uncontrollably to the base of the pit where the heartless is no doubt waiting for her.

Before she can even begin to scramble for purchase her ungainly descent comes to an abrupt and almost painful stop as her face collides with something cold and hard.

Clasping her nose, she tries to blink away the tears that now cloud her vision as she pulls back from the surface before her. The hard surface that reveals itself as Isa’s claymore.

“Stay down!” The words come as a heavy body presses her down against the hulking weapon lodged into the ground before her.

“What are you doi-” her unfinished question is answered when fire sweeps around them, parted only by the claymore anchored against the sudden onslaught. Isa presses closer, shielding her as the ripping tide of fire grows stronger.

It passes, slowly, but still the bells toll on.

Isa stands, grasping his weapon with both hands as he gasps for air, sweat beading across his exposed skin leaving light trails in the dark soot that covers every inch of him.

Seeing him like this Xion can clearly imagine what she herself looks like.

“What now?” She breathes out the question, not expecting a reply.

“We need to find a way to limit its range of attacks, otherwise I can’t get close.” Xion blinks at that, shocked that she actually got an answer.

She looks up to see him staring at her, as though waiting for a response, but she can’t say anything.

She snaps out of whatever stupor his uncharacteristic and sudden ability to actually communicate has thrown her into when he rolls his eyes and sighs.

He’s walking past her when she snags his sleeve. “Wait! Wait! I’m listening! What do you need?”

“To get close.” He states as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which, it is but…

“How?” she asks.

It may have been the shifting light across his closed eyes that initially pulls Axel back towards the realm of waking, but it’s the pebble jammed right between his shoulder blades that keeps him there.

He didn’t want to move, hell he didn’t even want to open his eyes, but the tiny rock is digging right into his spine, so even the softest breath is enough to send a jabbing pain all along the length of his back. He tries shifting first, hoping that the subtle movement will dislodge the stone enough for him to go back to ignoring it and slip once more into the warm embrace of slumber.

Of course, all that does is cause the pebble to dig sharply into a sensitive nerve.

He bolts up, only to slump back down immediately as real pain sets alight every nerve he possesses. The small gasp that escapes him feels wet and soon enough the first hints of stale blood begin to coat the back of his throat, so thick he can already taste it. He coughs, once then twice and suddenly he can’t breathe. Turning on his side, disregarding the line of wildfire that ignites along his ribs, he chokes for a brief second before his airway suddenly clears.

Taking in deep drafts of air he blinks his eyes open and immediately his vision is drawn to the dark red splotches that paint the floor in front of him. The sight of it causes Axel to gingerly raise his hand, brushing shaking fingers lightly across his lips he looks without seeing the dark red liquid that now coats his skin.

“What’d I do wrong this time?”

Concentrating despite the haze that clouds his mind he goes to summon a hi-potion but nothing comes to hand.

“Tch, I must really be in the doghouse if they’ve confiscated my items.” He can’t help but wince as he lowers his arm and eases his way back under the covers. “At least they didn’t turn me into a Dusk.”

He tries to go back to sleep, knowing that eventually Saix will remember what pity feels like, or the missions will pile up so high they have no choice but to heal him and throw him back into the fray. It’s a delicate balance, walking the thin line between being useful and being a wise cracking annoyance, but he pulls it off…well, most of the time.

This seems to be one of the rare occasions where he’s been caught out. He blames Demyx, the lazy Nobody probably ratted on him just to get out of a mission.

Even with his thoughts still running a mile a minute sleep is about to reclaim him; he can feel it descending over his mind like a setting sun. Instead of fighting it, he welcomes it, knowing that sleep will provide a refuge from the pain he can feel smouldering along the edge of his senses.

The sharp sound of a zip derails his peaceful dive into the sweet release of nothing and abruptly throws him back to full awareness.

He winces as the light streaming from the entrance flits across his eyes again, blinding him briefly as white spots dance across his vision. Moving to raise an arm in order to block it out, Axel only succeeds in wrenching a brittle gasp of agony from his own lips.

“You’re awake!” A too loud voice state’s from somewhere above him.

For future reference, in Axel’s defence the teen’s face had been really close.

Awake now, remembering that this place definitely is not The World That Never Was, Axel does what comes to him as naturally as breathing.

He hurls fire.

Miraculously the kid dodges the near point-blank fire to the face. The roof of the tent however goes up like dry tinder.

Stumbling to his feet, all pain forgotten in the rush that comes with adrenaline, Axel throws himself towards the exit, rolling as he hits the hard ground. The light generated by his flames means he’s blinking back tears as he tries to get his bearings, but it doesn’t stop him looking for an escape.

He can’t summon a corridor of darkness, not here where there’s witnesses. Axel’s pretty sure the little stunt in Twilight Town that kicked this whole mess off has already been noticed. Xemnas likes to keep an eye on the worlds they frequent the most and Twilight Town’s one of the closest worlds to the World That Never Was.

He really will end up as a Dusk if he unveils his powers again.

With that thought in mind he makes a break for the tree line he can see lying just beyond the edge of the stony outcrop he’s found himself on.

His feet are just about to touch down on the soft blades of grass when blue sparks of energy suddenly manifest into a solid form of a human body.

“Gah, what the hell!” Axel spits out as he falls back, landing heavily against unforgiving rock. His sight blurs as a rolling sense of vertigo overtakes him when the world suddenly decides to speed up.

He’s barely aware of the voices above him and only starts to focus again when a hand enters his field of vision.

“You okay?”

Tracing the arm the hand is attached to he’s met with spiked black hair and deep blue eyes.

Eyes the same colour as that boys.

“You can’t be here,” the words escape him as a breathless whisper, but that doesn’t make them any less true. “This isn’t real!”

Heat rushes through him, not the comforting familiar heat of his own flames, but the oppressive warmth that comes with rising panic.

The mirage is still talking, moving slowly towards him, but the worlds spinning faster, and Axel can’t take it.

“This can’t be real!” He roars the denial with all the conviction he has left as he lunges, aiming to dispel the phantom.

A disorienting clang makes the world go black once more. Axel can only be thankful.

Chapter Text

Smoke still hangs in the air, almost lethargic in the way it curls across the glyphs that mark the Haven’s perimeter, but soon enough it’s dissipating upon the light breeze that trails along the exposed rock.

Prompto tries to keep his gaze on the smoke for as long as he can. It really is pretty, especially with the way the light filters through the small dense whirls that cling to the sheltered edges of the boulders surrounding their camp. He wishes he could snag his camera from the armiger, but his hands are kind of full, also they’re shaking more than a little…okay, they’re shaking a lot.

“Prompto.” The quiet call of his name ricochets off his strained nerves, nearly making him drop the frying pan he still clasps in a death grip. It had been the first thing to come to hand when he barely managed to dodge the fireball to the face—had that really happened? He looks again at the clearing smoke, crumbling ashes, burnt out tent, and prone red head on the ground…yep that happened.

“Prompto.” His name is called a little louder this time as Noct’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder; he can hear the worry seeping into his friend’s tone. No, nope, nu-uh, can’t have that.

The clanging of the ruined pan hitting the stone has him wincing with how loud it is against the quiet backdrop of strained silence. A silence that he has to break because it’s just too tense.

“H-he threw fire. He literally just threw fire. Right at my face!”

“Yeah,” Noct says a little breathlessly, his eyes darting between the red headed teen and Prompto. He looks as though he’s about to say something but then a small quizzical wrinkle wedges itself between his brow.

“Prompto…I think you’re missing an eyebrow.”

“I am?” He cringes horribly at how high pitched his voice sounds but the expression is hidden by his own hands coming up to search his face. Soot and dry skin meet his roaming touch, followed by the crisp feel of burnt hair. He panics, is it just the eyebrow or is his perfectly styled hair—that totally does not look like a chocobo’s butt—gone too? His hand leaps for his bangs; they feel dry to the touch, brittle, but they’re still there.

“Your hairs fine,” Noct confirms for him, “but are you?”

“Me?” Had he slipped up? Had he let too much show? Prompto has to physically stop himself from clutching the tattoo that lays hidden beneath the leather on his wrist. Curling his fingers in the soft material of his shirt he tries to stop the trembling that has seized his hands, as he wills himself to meet Noct’s gaze.

“Yeah. Sure. Never better but…errr how’s he?” Prompto nods towards the unconscious pyromaniac, “I didn’t hit him too hard, did I?”

They both turn to Ignis whose knelt beside the teen…the already injured teen…who had looked terrified from the brief glimpse Prompto got of him before fire had taken up all of his vision.

“Well, if he didn’t have a concussion before he woke up, he certainly will have one now.” Ignis sounds exasperated, he hates it when Ignis sounds exasperated.

“I’m sorry!” The words are blurted out as he makes his way to the boy’s side, cautiously, “it’s just…all I saw was him go for Noct and-”

“You did the right thing, Prompto.” The words are soft spoken, but they cut through the beginning of what was probably going to be a long rambling rant—that was definitely not a panic attack—easily. “Your method was efficient…albeit a little blunt.”

“Where did you even learn to do that?” Noct asks. “You hate close combat.”

Not true, his close combat and edged weapons training folders just have a lot of official looking big red warning labels stamped all over them.

“Dude, he was coming at you with fire in his hands.” He gestures wildly, sweeping an arm across the soot smeared and ash stained campsite, “look what he did to the tent!” Prompto knows he’s deflecting…poorly. He’s pretty sure he’s pointed out the fact that the guy threw fire every time he’s opened his mouth; in his defence he’s only ever seen the Kingsglaive do it and he’s never been a target.

“Whoa! Okay, Prompto I get it,” Noct tries to sooth, his eyes softening with concern as he tracks Prompto’s restless pacing…wait, when did he start pacing? He forces himself to stop, to take a deep breath even though it chokes him. He can’t let Noct worry…some Crownsguard he is.

Chuckling nervously, he covers his eyes taking one last breath to steady his nerves, he has to salvage this mess.

“I jus-”

The sound of fast approaching footsteps scrambling up the incline of the Haven barrels over his half-formed excuse.

“What happened? I saw the smoke.” Gladio doesn’t even sound out of breath as he finally appears at the edge of their camp. Which is impressive even for him, considering that he must have run all the way back here from where he’d been scouting—searching for signs of battle, or evidence of a Daemon attack, anything that could explain how fire guy ended up in such a state.

“Gladio, a hand if you will,” Ignis calls from where he’s levering the kid onto his back. Without the smoke and in the clear light of day, the boy’s injuries stand out in sharp relief against his pale skin, but that’s not what draws Prompto’s attention. No, it’s how young the teen is.

Beneath the raw skin and layered bandages hides an innocence that looks startlingly young. In sleep, features that would one day be sharp still held the faintest roundness of childhood.

He’s just a kid.

“Is he even old enough to be a Kingsglaive?” Prompto bites his lip as soon as the words leave his mouth, but from the shadow that seems to sweep across the camp, it’s a question they were all asking themselves.

“A trainee perhaps?” Ignis supplies after a brief moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Is that how he knew me?” Noct asks curiously. He tries to get a better look at the kids face, but there’s no recognition in his gaze. Why would there be, apart from Captain Drautus—that traitor—Noct hasn’t had much interaction with the Glaive and for years now Noct’s been kept away from the vultures that make up Insomnia’s news media. The wedding ceremony in Altissa would have been his first public appearance in front of camera’s since he was sixteen.

“It might not have been you he recognised,” Gladio suggests, his brows drawn into a deep frown. “…Before the fall; when the Glaive were taking heavy losses on the front…he might have lost someone who looks like you.” He hesitates as they all take that in, “…Or he could have been in Insomnia.”

It’s a topic that they’ve all been trying to avoid bringing up for weeks now. It’s become a sort of unspoken rule between them, one that started off so simply: a cut off sentence here, a laden silence there, distractions in the form of fishing, photo ops, hunts, and new recipes. It’s a system that’s worked, but Gladio’s always been the realist; the behemoth headed realist who likes to face the hard choices in life head on.

“If that is the case,” Iggy says as he adjusts his glasses, shielding his eyes with the flare of light that streaks across his frames, “then our next course of action is clear.”

“It is?” Prompto asks.

 “Cor?” Noct asks almost at the same time.

“Indeed,” Iggy confirms, “the Marshal will have the most information on those Glaive that remain. Still, in the meantime it wouldn’t hurt to gather as much information as we can ourselves.”

When Iggy says this, they all turn back to Gladio.

“I didn’t find much evidence of anything where you found him, let alone a fight. The only tracks are the ones we left, which is strange.”

“Could he have warped there from a distance?” Noct asks, looking thoughtful in that lazy way of his.

Gladio shakes his head, “don’t think so. I did a circuit around the whole area, went as far as you can warp when you’re pushing yourself. There was nothing.”

It’s clear that this is bothering Gladio, he’s starting to get that bulette with a bad head look he gets whenever something isn’t sitting well with him.

Even so, Prompto can’t ignore one fact, “errr, shouldn’t we move him?” He points to the boy whose been laid out on the cold and probably uncomfortable stone the whole time they’ve been talking. Sure, he’s out of it, but a rock mattress can’t be good for his back.

“Not with that head injury,” Iggy remarks, but even as he says this, he moves the unconscious arsonist into a recovery position.

Instantly, Prompto’s back to feeling guilty. He’s the one that woke the kid up in the first place, unintentionally yeah, but he’d still done it.

The others continue to talk, working out how they’re going to explain this to Cor—won’t that be fun—and planning on how they’re going to get to Cape Caem.

Prompto just stares quietly while his brain unhelpfully scrambles through all that he can remember about concussions, from that intensive first aid course that was part of his Crownsguard training.

For some reason his thoughts get snagged on the fact that it’s best to keep the casualty warm. With this in mind he reaches into his space in the armiger and pulls out a bright yellow blanket. It’s only when he’s got Iggy’s attention and he’s offering the blanket that he remembers that the advice was for somebody suffering from shock.

He tries to pull the blanket back without Noct or Gladio noticing, but Ignis has already snagged the trailing corner that had been swept up by a traitorous breeze.

“Well remembered Prompto, at least someone recalls basic first aid.” Iggy’s tone is light but there’s a baiting edge, one that Noct predictably falls for.

“What, I paid attention,” Noct defends as Gladio rolls his eyes.

“You call using a pile of spare bandage rolls as a makeshift pillow paying attention?” Gladio ribs as Ignis takes the blanket and tucks it securely around the kid.

“Well…wait, is that a chocobo Jo blanket?”

It’s Prompto’s turn to be defensive.

“Yeah, so?” He’d had it since before he could remember.

“So, if I’d known you’d had it I would have been borrowing it for the back of the car,” Noct says, his voice light and joking but there’s a gleam in his eyes that lets Prompto know he’s half serious.

“Don’t even try it,” Gladio grunts as he adjusts the blanket over the teens shoulder. “It’s hard enough waking you up when you take a nap in the back of the Regalia, I don’t need you using this as a shield.”

Prompto can’t help the look of horror that morphs his face. “Dude, please don’t! I’ve seen what you do to Noct’s pillow shields.”

“Wouldn’t have to mangle them if he’d actually get up when he’s supposed to.” The casualness with which Gladio says this speaks nothing of the feathered carnage that was the wreckage of all Noct’s former pillow shields.

“I’m not getting my precious fuzzy chocobo blanket back in one piece…am I?”

Everyone chooses that moment to go and find something productive to do while they wait for the little pyromaniac to wake up.

Teamwork has never been his strong suit.

It’s a fact that’s been pointed out to him many times in his life, by idiots that didn’t understand that to have good teamwork they first had to be strong enough to keep up.

What is the point of weaklings banding together to take on a challenge? In the end all you got was more dead weaklings.

It’s one of the reasons he’d worked so hard when he’d first joined the Organization. Yes, for most of his first missions he had been teamed up with Axel, who thankfully understands the best method of teamwork involves not getting in each other’s way—also known as the you take that side and I’ll take this side tactic.

Unfortunately, others are not well versed in this approach, and are unable to pick up his clear indications that he neither wants nor needs them in his space when he’s decimating a target.

If he needs help—a rare occurrence that only really happens when others don’t use common sense—it should be given at a distance, so he doesn’t have to waste time worrying about his so-called teammate getting swept up in a combo.

Now, he is being stared down by a girl half his size, who is demanding that he work with her. Difficult, considering  that the only time they have ever truly fought together is during the clash between the seven lights and thirteen darkness’s, when they were both compromised—brainwashed, possessed, used as a human meat suit by an insane old man—and had to fight their friends.

He's actually rather impressed.

That doesn’t stop him from pointing out one rather obvious fact.

“There’s not the time.”

As if to emphasize his point another magically enforced blaze of flame slams into his claymore, rattling the bones in his tightly clasped hands. The blast is less intense than the flurry of flames that Lea commands when he is serious, but the feral abandon with which the heartless wields them makes up for that.

He’s so focused on bracing his weapon as a shield against the onslaught, that he nearly misses the bright flash of mirrored light that sparks at the end of Xion’s Keyblade. The magic explodes into a dome of framed light around them, dulling the roar and the heat of the fire.

“Now we have time.” Xion’s voice echoes against the crystal shield as the refracted light of spilling flames dances across its surface.

Isa blinks, momentarily blinded by the array of light that surrounds him, but his vision adjusts quickly, allowing him to see the look of stubborn determination that now paints Xion’s features. It’s not a look she’s ever fixed on him, but he’s seen the effect—and consequences—that it’s had on Lea and Roxas. Having it directed at him now he can’t see what all the fuss was about; her hardened gaze and thinned mouth just makes him want to pull her cheeks until her face returns to normal.

Of course, he doesn’t do that. Instead he flicks her in the forehead.

Her stern look instantly shatters as she yelps in surprise and takes a step back.

It’s space he needed, since the fight began he’s been breathing nothing but stale air tainted with acrid smoke.

The haze that he hadn’t noticed creeping along the edge of his perception becomes slightly clearer with each deep lung-full of clean air. It allows him to think clearly for the first time in what feels like hours. That’s when the idea strikes, he’s never been good at teamwork, never will be, but giving orders…

“How long can you maintain this barrier?”

Chapter Text

The pavement blurs past him in the many shades of sun drenched and shadowed sandstone, as Roxas runs up the hill leading to the Clocktower. He can still see the smoke rising above the rooftops before him, and now that he’s closer he can hear the tell-tale sounds of battle echoing down the corridor of buildings.

That’s not all he can hear though.

“-ould have helped!” a familiar voice cries as he rounds another corner.

“Yeah, by being a human fire shield or, at best, a moving target.” Another voice replies, their tone strained with obvious effort but still teasing.

“Would you two give it a rest already, we need to find Roxas!” The last voice of the trio shouts as they finally come into view. They all look a little worse for wear, but Hayner definitely stands out with his new half drowned half barbecued rat impersonation.

“I’m here!” he calls to them as he sprints across the remaining distance between them.

“Roxas,” Olette looks so relieved at the sight of him, “Xion and Isa are just up ahead!” She shifts to the side, dragging Hayner and Pence with her, leaving the path clear. He nods as he sprints past but doesn’t slow, not until a wall of smoke rises above and rolls over him.

Tears spring to his eyes as he chokes on the foul air, the burn of ash sliding down his throat with each stuttered inhale, making it harder and harder to breathe, making it harder to think. The smell alone is nauseating, but the thought of his friends pushes him forward.

When he breaks through the wall of smoke, he is greeted with the sight of a devastated clocktower and a station hill ravaged by flame.

“Xion! Isa!” He calls out to them as he navigates the field of melted glass, molten rock, and the smouldering crater in the centre of the square, but there’s no reply.

The hilltop is empty and eerily quiet; Roxas cannot suppress the growing sense of wrongness that’s curling in the pit of his gut. It brings back bad memories, frozen scenes of glitching pixels, static of memories that aren’t quite his, unseen trains, and doubt, so much doubt.

Shaking his head, he almost has to bite his tongue to stop himself from calling out the wrong names.

“Xion! Is—”

He feels the heat on his back before the sound even reaches him, the roar of unfettered flames loosed without control or real purpose.

Oathkeeper materialises as he reels forward, bars of light already rising to his defence as he gathers his feet beneath him and brings up the blade as a shield.

“Move!” The growl of a command has him leaping back on reflex, but apparently not far enough. The muscled arm that circles his chest leaves him with a breathless sensation of disorientation, as his legs are swept from underneath him and his sense of balance flees.

He keeps his grip on Oathkeeper even as he’s thrown—yes, thrown, not unlike how Isa likes to throw his Claymores—clear of the blast zone. Which lives up to its name as his own light attack and the fire still being herded towards them collide.

Blinking dazedly, he tries to stand only to dive for the floor again as more fire—correction, a ring of fire that’s either sentient or has homing abilities, comes flying at his head.

He hates this heartless!

He doesn’t have time to consider any other thoughts because the ring of fire just condensed itself into a sphere of shadow tinged flames that looks as though it’s about to explode.

Not wanting to be hit by that—he’s been set on fire before, not a fan—he grasps Oathkeeper in a loose hold, allowing his fingers to relax as he brings the blade back, before letting it fly. Light sheathes the Keyblade as it soars through the air, cleaving the flames even as they continue to gather before dispelling the last wisps on a breath of guttering sparks.

Even as this happens, he’s moving, mindful of the person at his back as their steps shadow his own. He’ll admit they’re slightly out of sync; unused as they are to each other’s footwork in the heat of battle, but it’s workable. As proven, when the heavy metal of the Claymore shields him from the swipe of fire lit claws and Oblivion in turn extinguishes the roaring flames that snatch and bite at Isa’s heels.

“Where’s Xion?” The question is gasped out on a quick breath as he continues to defend.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” How Isa manages to hold an edge of rounded calmness in his tone, even as he bats aside a blazing miniature clocktower that’s been thrown like a missile, Roxas will never know.

True to Isa’s word Roxas soon spots Xion, through sheer chance more than anything. As he deflects a guttering spurt of flame, that would have been an infernal whirlwind had Axel—Lea! Dammit—been the one wielding it. The light of his attack reflects across the blade of her Kingdom Key, like sunlight across silver fish scales, catching his eye.

She’s running along the wall of one of the buildings that marks the edge of the square, taunting gravity. Her eyes trained upon the heartless whose own gaze is fixed unblinkingly upon Roxas and Isa. The same heartless that seems to be gearing up for a large-scale assault if the wrecking ball sized flame above its head is anything to go by.

“Now.” Isa’s order is loud in the looming quiet of building power and Xion doesn’t hesitate.

The sight of the Clocktower Heartless bathed in the radiating glow of its stolen flames is suddenly obscured. Panels of crystalline light rise up, encircling and enclosing the heartless, distorting its image until all Roxas can see is the blur of colour and the flash of flame.

“Reflegra?” Roxas has to question it because he’s never seen it used like this, cast around the opponent instead of yourself or an ally.

“Just watch.” In that moment Roxas is not ashamed to admit that he is too afraid to look at Isa. He knows that tone of voice, is very familiar with the fierce edge that defines the savage joy hidden just below the surface of his placid expression.

So, he focuses on the dome of light; the colours swirl and the light grows as Xion’s and the heartless’ power clash. Red and gold battle with radiant light and soon enough Roxas is having to turn away his gaze; it’s moments like this when he misses his Organization coat, more specifically the trademark hood that protected his eyes with the comforting darkness of safe shadows.

 The light fades, dimming as the Reflegra spell seems to contract. It’s only then that Roxas notices that the flames have touched the inside of the barrier of light.

“Get down!” He’s barely tangled his fingers in the back of Isa’s jacket and used the other to quickly cast his own Reflera—spells have never been his go to and when they are he’s more inclined to take Ax-Lea’s approach and just burn everything that’s attacking him—over himself and Isa.

It’s not enough.

The energy flares and with the sound of shattering glass his barrier cracks then crumbles. He’s flung back but he manages to catch his balance, until Isa is thrown into him. One second he’s bracing against the shockwave, the next he’s on the floor. Isa on top of him with what looks like a very singed Clocktower heartless, that’s still either wielding fire or is on fire itself bearing down on them. It’s hard to tell with the mess of knotted blue hair all but smothering him.

One thing is clear though, Isa’s going to dodge and Roxas won’t have time to put up even a weak guard.

This is going to hurt.

It does, there’s pressure and heat and he can feel the broken glass beneath him digging into his back, sharp angles drawing blood as he’s pressed into the ground, but Isa’s still there.

He didn’t move.

His claymore is held steady, braced against his forearm as he pushes back, muscles corded and straining against the writhing heartless, but he can’t get any leverage.

Roxas tries to move, to squirm free so he can do something. Isa’s trying to give him the room, grappling with the livid heartless intent on ripping his heart out, but they’re stuck.

“Blizzaga!” Frost bitten winds and chill blue mist engulf Roxas’ senses, freezing the very breath in his lungs, but the weight is gone. He rolls and the soundtrack of tinkling glass that accompanies his movement is overshadowed by the glacial crack that sounds behind him.

Looking back his eyes are immediately drawn to the trembling ice sculpture that the heartless has become. It lays there, eyes roaming like two lanterns bobbing in the distance on a darkened night, the rest of its body frozen solid.

Xion stands behind it, her Keyblade still outstretched, frost clinging to the teeth of the blade.

“Are you okay?” The question is directed at both he and Isa.

All he can do is give a jerky nod as he fishes out a potion, breaking the glass with a sure grip and sighing with unrepentant relief, as he feels the myriad of small cuts that map his back knit back into smooth skin.

Isa doesn’t give an answer, his focus is solidly fixed upon the trapped heartless and even from this angle Roxas can see that his eyes are beginning to glow with the first traces of Berserker rage.

With a sharp twist blades form at the head of Isa’s claymore, the moon glow that overtakes the metal dyes it in an aura of grim and brutal finality.

The blade comes down, casting light, shadow, and vengeance as the Clockwork Heartless is cleaved in two. The ice helps it hold its form for just a second longer, until dark tendrils and spindling flames disperse like steam, leaving nothing but a small glowing item in their wake.

Roxas moves forward. The item is wreathed in warm flames, not the violent red that the heartless wielded but countless soft crimson shades, like a sunset. Cautiously he picks it up, ready to drop it at the first sign of danger.

Nothing happens, he can’t even really touch it, suspended as it is in an orb of light, but it rests in his open palm: a necklace in the shape of one of Lea’s chakrams adorned in fire.

He should have guessed Axel’s memories would manifest like this…

Dammit! Lea, he meant Lea!

Axel knows he’s unconscious.

He has to be, otherwise there’s no way he would be in this place.

White pillars towering above him.

Statues looming tall and proud.

Sand beneath his boots.

Closing his eyes he wills the dream away, begs for the images of this world to fade back into his memory. He knows what he did here, knows what he’ll see if he allows the dream to play out and even though he’s a Nobody, even though he doesn’t have a heart to feel the sadness, the guilt, the regret, the self-loathing, he still remembers what those emotions should feel like and it’s too much.

A breath, stuttering and slow, he needs to focus. If he allows himself to get drawn into this he’ll soon be swept up in the nightmare, unable to escape until he’s inevitably dragged back to wakefulness by Saix roughly shaking his shoulder.

The sound of rushed footsteps behind him is the first sign that he’s running out of time.

He needs to think about something else, anything else or Saix might follow through with that promise to wake him up by throwing the used mop bucket over him.

Saix, his mind latches onto that name and he can feel the dreamscape changing around him as the foreboding footsteps from before fade.

Daring to open one eye he’s met with the sight of a completely different scene. Dim light from a barrier cast over a reinforced door barely illuminates the small, grey walled prison.

He’s in his own body—well, his old body at least, the one he had when he actually existed. It’s easy to tell this, what with the way he can feel his shorter hair tickling against his neck and the itch of his blood-soaked scarf against his skin. He feels the need to scratch it, to pick at the scabs he remembers being dug into his neck, hidden beneath the scarf, but his hand doesn’t even twitch at the thought.

So, it’s one of those dreams where he never seems to have any control, where he’s trapped, held hostage as the scene plays out. Unable to influence it in any way. He never gets used to that…he still prefers it to the alternative.

As if on cue the barrier over the tiny cell door dispels and his head snaps towards it without his consent.

He watches as his body lurches forward towards the limp form that is unceremoniously tossed into the dark cell. His past self is barely able to catch the falling body of his friend, hurt as he is.

He watches as his arms move without his say so to cradle Isa’s head against his chest, before gently guiding his exhausted companion to rest against the unforgiving steel floor.

“Isa?” His own voice speaks barely above a choked whisper.

Axel knows what’s coming next, he should with the amount of times this same memory has played out in his nightmares.

Still, there’s always some new detail to take note of.

This time, it’s the sensation of long dried blood flaking beneath the pads of his fingertips as he turns Isa’s face toward the limited light within their jail.

He feels his breath catch in his throat the moment his doppelganger gets a clear look at Isa’s condition. His friend is pale and cold, a fact made all the more noticeable by the way both fresh and dried blood stand out in stark contrast against his skin. There’s evidence of fresh wounds, most of which Axel knows will scar, but none are worse than the still bleeding slash that mars his friends’ brow.

Over the months Axel’s gotten used to seeing the cross shaped scar he knows this wound shall become, but the shell of his former self hasn’t. Nothing speaks louder of this fact than the tears he can feel trailing down his face.

His counterpart raises a hand to wipe them away even as he reaches for his bloodstained scarf. In what had become morbid routine, he uses what little of the original yellow and black fabric remains to try and staunch the blood.

Isa jolts in his hold the second the frayed fabric touches his brow. Weak fingers latch onto Axel’s wrist as his friend struggles to make glazed and exhaustion laden eyes open.

“…Lea?” Isa’s voice is dead; it makes Axel remember the dark anger and frustrated sadness he had felt at that time. He wants to strike out, to hurt those who hurt his friend, but this is a dream and back then he was powerless.

“I got you Isa,” Axel hears his old voice sooth.

“Isa? Is that my name?” He sounds so confused, so disbelieving.

“Wow, they really did a number on you this time.” The words have to fight their way past the onslaught of fresh tears and they almost fail.

His double tries again to wipe away the tears, but Axel already knows he only succeeds in smearing fresh soot and ash across his face. His hands are still stained with it from the amount of fire he had thrown at the barrier the moment they’d taken Isa that day.

“You’re crying again,” Isa observes as his eyes gain a little more focus.

“Wow, what was your first clue.” Axel almost cringes as he listens to the weight of emotion held within his voice. Second-hand embarrassment is something that he definitely didn’t need a heart to experience.

Isa reaches up a hand to catch one of the falling droplets, showing it to his friend as he dazedly watches it settle in his palm.

Axel feels sharp teeth worrying against his bottom lip as the second-hand irritation builds in his chest.

“Damn it! They won’t stop!”

Isa starts to move in his hold, but his past self—Lea—is so caught up in trying to kerb his tears that he doesn’t notice. Not until Isa’s fingers come to rest just below his eyes.

“Isa, what are you doing?”

“Just hold still,” is the quiet reply.

Axel already knows what Isa is doing—what he did—but Lea doesn’t. He sits still, trying not to blink as trembling hands slide close to his eyes.

It takes a few minutes but eventually Isa seems satisfied, that or his usual pursuit of perfection had been overridden by the fatigue and pain.

“Can’t cry now, you’ll wash them away,” Isa explains as he settles back down, his movements slow and careful.

“What are you t-” Lea goes to raise a hand to his face, as though to trace the paths drawn into his skin, but Isa weakly bats his elbow.
“It’s the charm she taught us, remember?” Isa’s eyes are closed now but his voice sounds stronger. “You looked like you needed them.”

Lea goes still and Axel can’t quite remember what emotion he was feeling at that moment. He thinks it was an important, if a painful one.

Isa whispers one last thing before he drifts into a restless sleep, in answer to Lea’s silence. “So, you can’t cry, you’ll make her a liar.”

Axel wants to laugh, but all he can do is watch as the body he’s trapped in follows the script his memory has written for it.

So, he takes the time to memorise what it was like when he used to be able to cry with real emotion.

Chapter Text

It’s always the sudden silence at the end of a battle that unnerves her the most. Not the fight itself nor the enemies she faces, but the fragmented calm after the final blow has been struck and the grim stillness that follows.

Usually the anxiety it causes to stir at the back of her mind like a nest of snakes is repressed, overridden by the distraction that her friends provide. Axel’s—no Le—she gives up, he’ll always be Axel in her head—fire show and crowing voice as he declares their victory. Roxas’ smug little smile and a warm touch in the form of a nudge or a steady arm wrapped around her shoulder, which is always followed by Axel piling in for a group hug and the suggestion of sea-salt ice-cream to celebrate.

She hasn’t really had time to note any of Isa’s quirks after a battle, apart from that one-time Axel dragged him into a group hug. He had reacted like a soaked cat, spitting, hissing and wriggling in protest as he struggled to get free. He had calmed down eventually and accepted his fate, probably knowing that Axel would refuse to let go until he hugged them back properly. To be fair that wasn’t really a quirk, more like his knee jerk reaction to being forcibly hugged.

This time there’s none of that.

Isa’s nearly bent double, his claymore used as a crutch as he takes a few deep breaths. His eyes are closed, not in pain or in any method of meditation, but in an attempt to hide the yellow glow of the berserker rage that must still possess his eyes. She’s only discovered recently that it’s something he’s very self-conscious about and that’s only because Axel told her.

 Roxas, on the other hand, is crouched beside the slowly fading remnants of the clockwork heartless, an item—which is giving off a muted warm glow—cradled in his hand.

It’s something to focus on, something that can distract her, so she snatches onto the threads of curiosity that are drawing her towards Roxas.

She ignores the battlefield. It’s her best tactic, one that’s worked before and one that she will make work again. It doesn’t matter that the ground is littered with glass, the light reflecting through it makes it look too warm so she can’t mistake it for ice.

Even if it did it doesn’t matter anymore, she can wield ice spells without any problems now, to the point where she can hardly feel the creeping chill that clings to her fingers, from where they wrap around the hilt of her blade.

All she has to do is keep focusing on the item in Roxas’ hand, not on Roxas himself, not now. Not when he’s looking so serious, his brow creased in that worried way that causes the shadows of his eyes to look deeper. She doesn’t like seeing that look; it’s not as bad as the one that haunts her, but it reminds her of it.

She just needs to focus, keep her breathing steady and even, and her mind clear.

She manages to take three steps, before the lightest tinkle of shifting glass beneath her feet signals the loss of her hard-won concentration.

Her eyes drift without her permission to look downwards. They slide across the scene of shattered sun coloured glass and cracked stone, until they land on the fractured crystalline form of the slowly melting ice.

There’s a quiet voice in the back of her mind, one that’s whispering that everything is fine, one that reminds her that she summoned the ice and therefore controls it.

She doesn’t hear it, not when its quiet whisper is dragged beneath the crashing waves of her own memories.

The ice isn’t laying on the floor harmlessly, its crawling along her skin, encasing her, stealing all her warmth and slowly freezing her heart. She knows if she looks down she’ll see gentle motes of light rising into the air…she doesn’t want to see them, she doesn’t want any of this. It shouldn’t have ended like this.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on her shoulder.

Blue at the edge of her vision—a warm familiar blue that has nothing to do with the chilling claws of frost digging into her heart—catches her attention.

Isa’s standing next to her, it’s his hand resting on her shoulder.

It doesn’t stay there, the warm weight of it leaves her as Isa walks past without even sparing her a glance.

“Roxas, did you manage to sort transport?” Isa’s voice is serious, grounding.

“Huh?” Pulled so suddenly from his staring contest with the item, Roxas takes a second to answer. “Oh, yeah! Scrooge said he’d lend us his Gummi ship.”

“Scrooge?” Isa asks, suspicion lacing his tone, causing Roxas to rush to his feet.

“It’s not gonna cost us anything, surprisingly,” he defends.

“With that duck there’s always a cost.” Nevertheless, Isa starts walking.

Roxas looks to Xion, smiling and about to say something, but the cheerful expression fades as his gaze roams across her face. “Xion?”

She ducks her head and starts to walk before Roxas can ask the question she can see dancing in his worried eyes. “Let’s go.”

Xion closes in on Isa quickly, he isn’t walking that fast, so she doesn’t even have to jog like she normally would in order to keep pace with his longer stride. Roxas is soon on their heels, she doesn’t dare look at him. He’ll know; as soon as he gets a proper look at her—he’ll  know how close she came to breaking—he’s suspicious already.

They don’t need this; they should be focusing on Axel. He could be anywhere, on any world. What if he’s ended up in the Realm of Darkness? Or on the edge of Nothing?

Those swirling thoughts join the tattered maelstrom of anxiety that’s trapped inside her head. She swallows them down, or tries to, but the heavy weight that settles in her chest leaves her feeling sick.

“Xion, are you okay?” Roxas has already caught up and she isn’t even close to being able to lie convincingly.

She tries anyway, “I’m fine.”

Keeping her head down she trains her sight on the path in front of her and prays that Roxas will just believe her.

He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t.

He’s walking right beside her now and she can just feel his worried gaze fracturing and chipping away at every weak shield she’s put up.

He’s going to keep pushing, maybe it would be better if she just came out and said it.

“Roxas, meet us at the Bistro once you’ve dealt with your…friends,” Isa says with a quiet but commanding tone.

Isa doesn’t break stride, he walks straight past the excited trio running up the hill towards them, who wisely give Isa a wide berth.

Xion sees her chance and takes it.

Plastering on a smile she knows is cracking at the edges she turns to Roxas, “I’ll see you there.”

Before he can try and stop her, she’s running down the hill after Isa.

He doesn’t even get the chance to call out to her again as Hayner swamps him.

The sight soon disappears behind her and she takes the time to try and bury the leaden guilt that’s settled in her belly.

Tram Common opens up before her as she rounds the last corner of Station Hill. The long shadows play out across the clean yet buzzing streets, providing much needed shade and respite after a tiring day of hard work for the various citizens of Twilight Town.

It’s not quite what she’d call crowded, but the narrow spaces created by the groups of people loitering around the square leaves her feeling boxed in.

Spotting Isa she can’t help but notice the path of parted people he leaves in his wake. Without hesitation, she dives for the gap before it can close. It saves her having to dodge and weave through the crowd, allowing her to focus on her breathing and slowly try to work out the tight band of pressure that’s squeezing her chest.

The walk across the common is too short, before Xion realises it they’re already standing before the stairs that mark the perimeter of the Bistro’s terrace. The soft light melting through the café’s windows projects a warm ambiance across the many tables littering the shaded patio. It’s meant to put customers at ease, to be inviting and relaxing, but Xion can’t bring herself to even put a foot on the first step.

She knows she has to move, even Isa is going to notice that something is wrong if she doesn’t hurry up and get it together.

As if that thought tempted fate, Isa sighs.

Xion looks up to find his back’s still turned towards her.

“Isa I’m sorr-”

“Sit,” he interrupts.

“What?”

“Sit down and wait here,” Isa repeats. He still doesn’t turn to face her, not even a glance as he walks away and leaves her standing there, unsure and more nervous than ever.

Unbidden, the memory of Saix’s frigid stare whenever she managed to disappoint him rises to the forefront of her mind.

Stumbling on shaky feet she makes her way down the stairs and snags a seat at the first empty table.

Well, nearly empty.

“Oh goodness, where did you come from?” Merlin asks as he adjusts his hat. Xion has no idea how she missed him, with his bright blue robes and a great silver beard he’s always stood out.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Xion apologises as she makes to stand.

“No, no dear, please sit,” Merlin reassures her as he adjusts the books scattered atop the table. “I’m never one to turn down the opportunity for interesting company. I’m merely surprised to see you alone.”

It’s obviously a leading question disguised as an observation. Xion chooses to look over her shoulder to where Isa is talking to Scrooge instead of answering outright.

“Ah, not quite so alone then,” Merlin notes, as he removes his glasses and quickly polishes them with his beard, “but I assume we still have time for a chat?”

That catches Xion off guard, she’s never had the opportunity to speak with the wizard.

“Now my dear, what eloquence do you possess in the realm of spell weaving? I had Kairi under my tutelage for some time and found that she took to the art like a bird to wing.”

“Oh, err, the basics I guess?”

“Always a good place to start,” Merlin reassures with a smile. “I myself believe a firm mastery of the basics is a must have for any aspiring mage.”

“Mage?” Xion asks curiously.

“Are you not familiar with the term?” Merlin seems a little confused by that, but there’s also a delighted twinkle shining in his eyes. “Well, then allow this old wizard to elaborate.”

Xion doesn’t notice the time passing. She’s drawn in by Merlin’s description of the role of mages, magic, and the versatility with which it can be employed in the field of battle.

The soft and gentle clink of fine china coming to rest upon the hard marble of the table in front of her, disrupts Merlin’s detailed explanation on the benefits of a well-timed ether over the waste of using an elixir.

The chocolate mousse lying temptingly in front of her looks decadent, there’s just one problem.

“I didn’t order this.”

Instead of apologising for his mistake and taking the dessert away like Xion is expecting, the waiter smiles. “The guy over there ordered it for you.”

Turning, Xion sees only Isa still looming over Scrooge’s pint-sized figure. He’s wearing the frown she knows means: You will do as I say this instant or I will take great pleasure in introducing you to the true meaning of suffering. Quite frankly, it surprises her that she can’t smell the delicious scent of roast duck in the air.

She looks back to the waiter to insist there must have been a mix up, but the guys already gone. The thought of standing to chase after him does cross her mind, right until the moment when the first hint of chocolaty sweetness tickles her nose. It’s then that she remembers that she hasn’t eaten since this morning.

Guilt firmly swept to the back of her mind, Xion scoops up a small spoonful of the almost fluffy mousse. The smooth texture that meets her tongue and the sweet bitterness that sweeps across her taste buds leaves her sighing in pure delight.

It’s another three loaded spoonful’s before she can turn her attention fully back to Merlin.

“You were saying about ethers over elixirs?”

Merlin nods, enthusiasm vibrating through his every gesture. “Why yes, you see the expense and rarity of elixirs makes an overreliance on them unfeasible.”

Time passes, and warmth returns to Xion with each spoonful of the sugary delight before her.

A great sigh escapes Gladio as he rolls up into a half crouch, his form losing some of its ease as he pushes through the cresting discomfort of overworked muscles to stand tall.

He holds the stance for two seconds as he inhales, filling his lungs to the point where he can feel the tendons in his spine stretch against the pressure. Then, posture perfect, feet and shoulders aligned, and back straight, he begins his next set of squats. His arms swing in time with his breathing, keeping a steady rhythm that allows him to ignore the heat pulsing through his legs to the beat of the rapid thump of his own heart.

It’s been a good work out, one that’s left him feeling challenged but not strained. After ten more squats he’ll pace himself through some cool down stretches and that’ll be it for the day.

He snorts, unable to stop himself as the stray thought of how weird a day it’s been flits across his mind. He should have known something was going to go wrong this morning when he’d rolled over to find Noct gone. Sleeping Beauty up on his own before dawn, yeah, there’s an omen of the apocalypse if ever there was one.

Gladio finishes his set and gracelessly slumps to the hard rock of the Haven, ignoring the light tremors that run up and down the length of his legs as he braces himself on his elbows and leans back. He can’t help but turn his face towards the early afternoon sun, allowing the gentle heat to flow over the bare skin of his upper body.

It’s quiet right now, what with Iggy and Noct taking the Regalia to go and fetch some supplies and Prompto curled up in one of the surviving camp chairs. Their…guest, probably what Iggy would call the guy, lays unmoving tucked up inside Prompto’s sleeping bag, his hands still fisted in the Chocobo Jo blanket that’s draped over the top. That makes Gladio sigh, the sight reminds him of Iris, she’s about the same age as the kid and the way he’s currently clinging to the blanket is the same way Iris clings to her Moogle Mog comforter, when she has a nightmare.

This all brings Gladio back to another thought, if this kid is a similar age to Iris how could he sign up for the Kingsglaive? There’s strict rules about enlisting, always has been. So, how did this lanky teen manage to circumvent them?

They’ll have to talk to Cor about this. True he was never in direct command of the Kingsglaive, Insomnia would still have been standing if he had been…Gladio forcefully shakes his head, allowing only a brief but rough growl at that thought.

In need of something else to dwell on, he refocuses on Prompto. The gunman hasn’t made a peep in the last hour; the reason why becomes clear as Gladio bends down to snag his jacket from where he’s left it folded by the chair. Prompto’s soft snores are slightly stilted, their normal cadence thrown off by the way he has his head resting against the back of the chair.

Gladio isn’t surprised, what with being up early and the near cremation it’s no wonder Prompto’s tired. He’ll force a few protein bars down Prompto when he comes to, one of the one’s Iggy made, not the shop bought kind that taste like granite.

He turns to the other sleeping figure. Red messy hair, the top of his face and one pale bandaged arm is about all he can make out, the kids curling up so tight he looks as though he’s trying to make himself as small a target as possible. That, or he’s trying to shield something with his own body.

It just makes Gladio more curious, but there’s no way in Pitioss he’s trying to wake the kid. For one the mushroom cloud he saw earlier tells him how much fire the pyromaniac can hurl. For two, he’s seen what happens when you wake a wounded soldier.

No, best to let him sleep.

There’s something…

Something that wasn’t there before…

Something that rests upon the edge of his senses…

It’s similar to the power that pollutes his veins, yet different? Yes, different.

It’s almost like an aroma trailing past the edges of his senses, present but shadowed, veiled from his influence…

For now.

Chapter Text

Aggressive Negotiation

Unlike before, when consciousness came to him in a fogged mess of disjointed sensations—that wouldn’t have been able to hold his attention if it hadn’t been for the sharp rock stabbing him in the back—Axel’s mind is clear.

Or at least, clear enough.

He knows he’s not where he should be. He also knows he’s hurt, though it’s the perpetual throbbing ache behind his eyes, more than his own memories that clue him into that fact—so much for having things memorized.

What else? Oh yeah. There’s the small issue that his usual escape route only seems to lead him to the Realm of Darkness.

He wants to groan. To turn over and bury himself in the plush blanket that’s covering him and hide away until the pain goes away, but he can’t.

For starters, it’s not a very good survival strategy. Add the fact that he can hear voices close-by and there’s no way he’s leaving himself at who knows what’s mercy for any longer than he has to.

By the sounds of it there’s three, maybe four of them. It’s hard to tell with the ambient noise, the most prevalent of which is the soft crackle of a gentle fire. It’s a tame one, most likely a campfire judging by the smell—burning pine, warmed stone, and the encompassing scent of percolating coffee—but also the strength and breath of the flames. They’re steady, deep, and warm, with a controlled calm that gives Axel the impression of sanctuary.

They’re different from his own flames, that’s for sure.

Slitting one eye open, he tries to snatch a peak at the situation he’s found himself in.

He’s right, there are four of them, all meandering about doing their own thing, within the pool of light cast by the gentle flames.

He lies there, observing them, trying to pin down any symbols, items, gestures, or words that might reveal what world he’s been marooned on.

Contrary to popular belief, Axel is capable of patience, so it’s a solid five minutes before the need to just lie still and pretend to be asleep starts to get annoying. Heh, new record.

He starts off slow, a mere shuffle that can easily be mistaken for him simply moving in his sleep. When there’s no reaction Axel chances opening one eye.

 The peace of the camp hasn’t even been disturbed. Better still, he’s managed to get closer to the fire.

One shot. That’s all it’ll take, one small fire spell barely bigger than a spark and he can turn these guys’ peaceful little campfire into a dancing flurry of flames. More than good enough to act as the distraction he needs to make his escape.

Plus, a flashy exit has always been more his style, better that than a dingy old corridor of darkness—that isn’t even working.

Who wants to slink around in shadows all the time anyway.

Nope, no way, no how, not him.

He’s tired, he’s hurt, and he’s already in for it anyway when he makes if back to the World that Never Was.

So, might as well have some fun.

The spark he needs alights at the tip of his fingers, ready to be thrown with the slightest flick of his wrist.

“I would refrain from doing that if I were you.” The words cut through the air like a well sharpened knife.

 Blinking, Axel stills as he meets the gaze of a bespectacled man. The green-eyed stare screened behind the glasses pins him in place.

Axel can’t believe there’s someone who can give Saix a run for his money when it comes to handing out bone chilling glares, but this guy is making him feel like all his blood’s been frozen by a Blizzaga spell.

“Is he awake?” a vaguely familiar voice breaks the tension. A slight blonde sticks his head out from behind a camp chair that he’s clinging to like a shield. Before Axel can observe anything else the guy’s shouting.

“Fire! He’s got fire again! I knew it, my Chocobo Jo blanket is done for!”

Axel can’t help but look down in the direction the loud blonde is pointing. The spark of an ember he had summoned has grown into a small flame, it rests gently in his palm, curled like a loyal dog ready to attack or defend.

Axel’s got it perfectly under control, nothing’s going to catch fire unless he wants it to. Which, actually, he may want to start doing very soon, since three out of the four guys are suddenly armed.

Okay, so weapon summoning is very much a thing here. Yep, that really narrows down what world he’s on. He can’t help but roll his eyes, at least there aren’t any keyblades in sight…yet.

“Let’s all just take a moment, shall we,” glasses says, as he holds up his empty hands towards Axel in the universal gesture for calm.

Yeah no, not falling for that. It’s exactly that gesture that landed him and Isa in the Organization’s clutches in the first place.

One good thing about being a Nobody, all the experience with none of the pesky emotions that came with having a heart holding you back.

“Burn!”

He doesn’t even have to look to know the flame has hit the mark. Heat flashes across his back as he turns and uses the cover of the suddenly blazing campfire to make a break for the edge of the stone plateau.

The flames at his back light up the small grassy clearing that separates the campsite from the forest beyond. It’s less than ten feet, completely flat, he can make it.

The hand that grabs the back of the baggy t-shirt he’s wearing says otherwise.

Choking, Axel splutters as he feels himself being lifted bodily.

“Are you nuts?” comes a deep growl.

“Nope, just hot headed,” he replies, not missing a beat as he sets a line of sparks alight along the edge of the collar, where the tight grasp is nearly cutting off his air.

With a sharp yelp the unyielding hold suddenly slackens, and Axel is free to roll straight off the edge of the rocky plateau into the soft grass below.

His landing is jarring, and he has to grit his teeth against the full array of pain that lights up his chest and left arm. He’s been aware of his injuries since he first woke up, of course he has, he’s just chosen to ignore them.

He’s had worse, Axel reminds himself as he forces himself to stand. He’s hoping that the flare from the blinding flames will buy him enough time to make it into the shadow of the trees.

One agonizing step is all it takes for that hope to die.

Sparks of azure light—not unlike the cerulean aura that Saix throws out whenever he goes full berserker mode—fractures the space before him.

Digging in his heals Axel tries to stop, but the slick dew wet grass causes him to slip. Blindly, Axel reaches out for anything he can grab to steady himself.

The strong grasp that tightens around his outstretched arm makes him flinch, but the hand doesn’t loosen.

Heat rises along his entrapped arm as Axel intends to force his would be captor to let go. but his concentration snaps in an instant as two strong arms close around his chest, knocking all the air from his lungs as he’s dragged against a barrel chest, that would make even Lexaeus jealous.

“Hold still!” the giant currently trying to kill him with a bear hug growls as Axel desperately tries to wriggle free.

Axel can do that, sure, course he can.

He doesn’t need to move in order to throw a Fira spell.

He tosses the spell directly behind him, so close he can feel the material of the baggy borrowed shirt he’s wearing singeing as the Fira spell ignites behind him.

Smoke surrounds him, acting as a perfect cover as he waits for the behemoth of a man to let go.

Except, he doesn’t.

The grasp tightens and Axel finds his wrists being held against his own chest, not really the biggest hindrance when Axel can summon fire with a quirk of his eyebrow—yeah, one of his better party tricks—but still, pretty damn annoying.

“Good call, Iggy,” says a gruff voice from somewhere just above Axel’s head. “The brat would have barbecued me without these.”

Axel can’t see what muscles is gesturing to and even if he could he’s a bit caught up in the brat comment.

“This brat is going to reduce you to charcoal if you don’t let go,” Axel snarls as he charges a Firaga.

“You really are hot headed,” the man chuckles, “for all the good it’ll do you.”

“Heh, so you already got that point memorized, good to know, still ain’t gonna stop me.”

“Probably not, but these will.” The sentence hangs like a lure as the sound of jangling directs Axel’s gaze to the three crests dangling before his eyes.

Fire Crests, they look like Fire Crests.

Why the hell does this guy have so many! Those things are expensive!

“Are these escape attempts going to be a running theme?” Specs asks as he adjusts his glasses in a way that reminds Axel of the way Zexion likes to flick his hair—when he’s trying to project an air of haughty superiority and all around know it all-ness.

“What? No, of course not, what would give you that idea?” Axel drawls in his most sarcastic tone as he changes tactic and tries to headbutt his suddenly mostly fire-resistant captor.

Annoyingly—well, not actually annoyingly, he’d need a heart to feel annoyed—all this does is remind Axel that he has a migraine.

Glasses ignores the comment and turns instead to the dark-haired guy that’s still covering Axel’s direct escape route.

“Best we continue this discussion back in the safety of the Haven.”

“Yeah, sure,” the guy who can teleport nods as he dismisses his sword, “we stand out here much longer and the Daemons will be crawling out from under our feet.”

Axel doesn’t fight as muscles lifts him and drags him back to the rocky plateau, his minds too caught up replaying the word Daemon.

Unconsciously, his gaze searches the darkness just beyond the light cast by the glowing glyphs that litter the rocky plateau of the campsite.

There, a flare of ghostly light wavering amongst the trees.

Amethyst and violet flames dance within the underbrush, throwing out warped shadows that only add to the creep factor projected by that dark toothy smile that’s cut across the things face.

Then the sound starts, like an ancient door submerged in deep water being forced to open, rattling chains, straining archaic hinges, and still stagnant water rushing in to fill a void.

With a memory of sinking dread, Axel realises what world he might be on.

The idea of shredded duck is truly starting to appeal to Isa.

“As I already told young Roxas, I’m a businessman,” the old duck adjusts his coat and raises his bill with pride at the statement, “and no businessman worth his sea salt would ever give anything away for free.”

“We already have an agreement in place with you.” Isa quite pointedly does not snarl.

“Aye, that you do.” Scrooge nods. “For the use of me Gummi ship. What yee’r talkin’ about is a completely different matter altogether, laddie.”

“A simple method to track a lost friend should hardly be that difficult to come by,” Isa reasons, ignoring the way his hand is starting to twitch in need of his claymore.

“Aye, not that hard at all.” Scrooge dons a smile and Isa gets the distinct impression that he should just walk away now. “It’ll only cost ye three thousand Munney.”

Isa is so glad he was born with an inscrutable face. Yes, Lea might take every opportunity to make fun of him for it, but it comes in handy when he’s confronted with maddening situations like this.

“Three thousand.” The words come out so dry it’s a good thing Lea isn’t here, otherwise they might have caught fire.

“A more than reasonable price,” Scrooge says, still smiling. “Why, I’d normally charge a lot more for this service, given the favours I’m gonnee be need’n to call in for this, but I’m willing to be generous for a first-time customer.”

“Generous?”

“Aye, I’d normally charge five thousand for a request of this size.” The old duck stretches out his feathered hand, expectant. “Now, will yeh be paying up front or in instalments?”

Isa’s claymore cracks the flagstone under their feet as he summons it. He doesn’t even need to swing it, just the sheer weight of it is enough to send long spiderweb fissures across the surface of the stone.

Scrooge’s hand has been retracted and the old duck has wisely taken a step back

“Now, hold yer horses laddie, I won’t be intimidated into giving up the goods, so yeh can put away that ridiculous excuse for a claymore and listen to reason.”

With a simple twist of his wrist Isa’s ‘ridiculous excuse for a claymore’ suddenly unveils more spears.

In the cutting silence that follows Isa can clearly hear Scrooge swallow.

“As I said, we already have a deal in place, one which benefits you greatly.” Isa gestures to the filled court of the restaurants pavilion, not a single table is empty. Waiters continually run back and forth from the kitchens; trays filled to the brim with orders.

“It would be such a shame if something were to happen to your restaurant simply because your greed got the better of you.”

Were Lea here, this would be the part where he would snicker and then start playing with an idle flame, tossing it carelessly from one hand to the other, allowing the flame to grow larger and more feral with each pass.

Lea isn’t here though, so Isa has to improvise.

Gathering himself, Scrooge tries to buy time by pretending to brush some non-existent dust off his hat, before replacing it on his head.

“Yeh cannee be threatenin’ me place of business over the wee small matter of three thousand Munney.”

“Of course not,” Isa replies, “this is all because you’re wasting my time.”

“So, yer willing to pay?”

“No.”

The glint starting to appear in Scrooge’s eyes quickly fades, replaced by a look of resignation and annoyance.

“Yeh drive a hard bargain, lad-”

“This isn’t a bargain,” Isa interrupts, “I’m simply telling you what’s going to happen.”

More silence, accompanied by an exchange of glares that most likely should be causing a Corridor of Darkness to open right between them.

“Talk teh Merlin, he’ll have what you need and probably won’t charge you a single dime for his trouble, barmy old codger that he is.”

With that Scrooge storms off, all the while mumbling about insurance premiums incurred by claymore wielding berserkers with no manners.

Isa turns, only to find Roxas staring at him.

“Problem?” Isa asks.

“No,” Roxas denies far too quickly.

They really don’t have time for this, but Xion’s on edge after the battle with the Clockwork Heartless and Isa can’t afford to have Roxas being wary of him while they’re searching who knows how many worlds for their lost and de-aged friend.

He waits, his stare even and free of the impatience he can feel percolating at the back of his mind.

“It’s just, sorry,” Roxas starts, “you managed to handle that so quickly. You didn’t even have to make a deal with him. I mean, Axel said you were good with this kind of stuff and you basically helped run Organization XIII before but…I don’t know.”

Isa blinks, taking a moment to try and dissect what Roxas just said.

It’s not what he was expecting, not with the look of near horror he’d seen plastering the boys’ face when he’d turned.

He’s surprised to find himself somewhat relieved.

Sighing, Isa begins to make his way towards where he left Xion, but not before turning to look back at Roxas. “If it’s something you’re interested in learning then that’s something to discuss later.”

The boy is quick to answer, his apparent shock quickly morphing into a bright smile.

“Right.”

Chapter Text

Royal Decree

Exhaustion tugs at the edges of his senses, but for once Noct doesn’t want to give into it; the scene that’s playing out on the rock of the Haven is too important for him to sleep through. Besides, the hot glare that gets directed to him every once in a while is making him feel too self-conscious.

“C’mon kid, you can at least give us a name,” Gladio cajoles, his soft tone completely at odds with the way he’s looming over the silent redhead.

The kid’s focus shifts to Gladio, breaking the unnerving stare he’s been levelling at Noct.

There’s a brief moment of consideration, as though he’s weighing up the pros and cons of giving up that information, but then he shrugs.

“The name’s Axel, got it memorized?” the kid—Axel—taps his temple, emphasising the point before he shivers and draws the Chocobo Jo blanket closer around his shoulders.

“Axel then.” Iggy nods from where he’s sitting next to the fire, sorting out their recently acquired curatives. “Is there an ID or unit number to go along with that name?”

More silence.

“I see.” the nod Ignis gives is brusque, which either means he’s starting to get annoyed or he’s thinking through what little info they have right now and developing a strategy on how to get more.

Noct is leaning towards the latter scenario, because the frustrated crease that usually mars Iggy’s brow when he’s about to run out of patience is missing.

“Soooo, you gonna tell us why you were bleeding out in the middle of the woods or…” Prompto asks, trying for casual and missing the mark so spectacularly it might actually be impressive.

“Secret!” Axel crows as he shuffles a little closer to the fire.

“No you don’t.”

Axel whines as Gladio grabs him by the scruff and pulls him back to where he was originally sitting.

“What! I’m cold,” Axel snaps as he tries to wriggle free of Gladio’s grasp.

“That’s most likely due to the blood loss,” Ignis notes as he sets aside a hi-potion.

“You have a blanket, deal with it,” Gladio growls. “Besides, there’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near fire again.”

“What? Afraid you won’t be able to stand the heat?” Axel smirks, looking relaxed even though Gladio still hasn’t released his grip. “Well, I guess I can be a little hot to handle.”

Noct can feel his eyebrow starting to twitch.

“Allow me to add some spice to this conversation,” Iggy chips in as he repositions his glasses.

Oh no.

“Oh, think you can turn up the heat?”

Oh, please Astrals no.

“Just a simmer actually.”

Not another one.

“I gotcha, don’t want to make things boil over now do we?”

One in the form of his Advisor is enough.

“No, especially considering the already charbroiled nature of our campsite.”

They don’t need this.

“Eh, guess I did get a bit carried away in the heat of the moment.”

He does not need this.

“Indeed, quite the 'out of the frying pan into the fire' moment.”

Prompto glances at him sporting a look of horror that Noct can feel dawning on his own face.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Hope I didn’t burn any bridges... or, you know, anyone’s eyebrows off.”

Gladio’s backing off, one hand coming up to clutch his chest while the other covers his face.

“The bridges are intact, though I admit they are a tad over done.”

Noct has to stop this.

“Guess I’ll just have to cool it for a while then.”

“I am banning puns!” Noct shouts.

Everyone looks at him, differing degrees of shock cracking all their faces.

“Puns are now proscribed from now until the end of Eos on Lucian soil!” he elaborates, holding Iggy’s stare the longest as he does so.

“What, seriously?” Axel asks.

Prompto and Gladio can’t take it anymore, they both double over, laughing. Their laughter mixes together, almost harmoniously, what with Gladio’s deeper baritone and Prompto’s higher pitch.

“Noct,” Iggy sighs looking equal parts amused and exasperated.

Noct isn’t having it. “Nope, you were warned, it’s done. I’m making it a royal edict.”

“Forgive me if I fail to write that one down,” Iggy snarks.

“Just can’t get the help these days, can you, princess,” Gladio chimes in as he regains his breath.

“No,” Noct answers sincerely, even though it’s clear Gladio is teasing him.

Prompto’s suppressed laughter cut’s through the air again. He’s standing back slightly from the rest of them, his camera held steady in his hands even as his chest heaves with stilted breaths and silent sniggers.

It’s the blink of red light from the camera cradled in his friend’s hands that let’s Noct know the device is on.

“Wait, are you recording this!”

“Course I am,” Prompto wheezes. “It’s for posterity.”

“Do you even know what that word means?”

“Err, I mean yes.” Noct is not convinced. “Oh, come on, nobody would believe it unless they actually saw it.”

“I saw it and I still don’t believe it,” Gladio says as he straightens to his full height, finally done laughing.

“You will be deleting that.” Ignis’ tone broaches no argument. Standing, he walks over to the huddled—if slightly more relaxed—teen that sits still beneath Gladio’s watchful gaze.

“This should take care of any lingering ill effects from your adventures in the woods.” He holds out a hi-potion in offering.

Axel eyes it warily, as though he half expects it to bite him.

“If we wanted to hurt you we wouldn’t waste our time and curatives healing you first,” Gladio sighs.

“You might,” Axel counters, a knowing smile—that really doesn’t sit well with Noct—lighting up his features. “It’s always best to have a prisoner nice and lucid when you first start questioning them.”

“Prisoner?” Noct asks. “What makes you think you’re a prisoner?”

“Really?” Axel gestures to Gladio, who’s still towering over the kid, ready to grab him again the second he makes a wrong move.

“We’re just trying to help,” Prompto supplies, looking like a kicked chocochick when Axel turns his distrustful stare towards him.

“Why?” The question is delivered flatly, as though the mere sentiment of help being offered freely is a completely foreign concept.

“Err?” Prompto’s caught completely wrong footed by the question—of course he is, it’d never occur to his friend that you need a reason to want to help someone.

Iggy picks up the slack. “By the look of your injuries it was clear that you wouldn’t have survived the night had we not intervened.” One green eyed stare is pitted against another. “Is that not reason enough?”

The kid looks away first, the sharp emerald fire in his eyes dulling to embers before Iggy’s calm, pale jade stare.

“You wanna help? Let me go,” Axel snaps after a moment of staring balefully at the campfire.

“Not happening,” Noct supplies, his eyes flicking to the treeline unbidden. It all seems quiet for the moment, but he knows that could change the second any of them are foolish enough to take a single step beyond the protective glyphs of the Haven.

“And this isn’t considered holding me prisoner how exactly?” Axel lament’s dramatically as he shrugs, immediately regretting the decision when the movement dislodges his borrowed blanket. A shiver runs the full length of his spine and he’s quickly burrowing his way back into the warm yellow depths of the Chocobo Jo blanket.

“Well this is getting us nowhere,” Gladio huffs and Noct can clearly hear the eye roll in his voice. “Iggy.”

Without protest Iggy hands over the hi-potion that had still been held out in offering.

Axel’s currently occupied, trying to leach every fibre of warmth out of the blanket, so he doesn’t notice Gladio’s hand descending towards him until it’s too late.

“Ack! What the hell!” The noise of Axel’s shout is matched only by the echoing crack of the hi-potion being smashed over his head.

“Old family trick for when it comes to dealing with stubborn idiots,” Gladio explains unapologetically, as he carefully dusts the last remnants of the fading hi-potion from his calloused hands.

“You deal with them by giving them a concussion,” Axel gripes as he rubs the top of his head, flattening down his near gravity defying hair as he searches for a lump that isn’t there.

“The hi-potion takes care of that, besides, wouldn’t have had to resort to that if you’d just taken the damn thing in the first place.”

The kid looks as though he’s going to continue arguing, but then he throws up his arms in the laziest gesture of sarcastic surrender Noct’s ever seen. “Fine, whatever. Can I at least get my coat back?”

Prompto chuckles nervously from where he’s standing by the remnants of their burnt-out tent. “Err-heh, there isn’t really much left to give back.”

The article of clothing in question is held up, well, what’s left of it is. Namely the shredded leather remnants of what might have, at one time, been a coat. There’s some of the zip left and the hood as well as most of the right shoulder, there’s also a silver accessary that’s dangling by one chain link round the neck, but that’s it.

Everything else is either torn, burnt, or missing all together.

In other words, even Specs wouldn’t be able to salvage it.

Axel looks at the coat, his eyes widening with loss and horror.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

“You see, my dear, Magic is an art as well as a science. If you understand one of these aspects but refuse to learn the other then you are merely sabotaging your own potential for growth,” Merlin explains.

Xion nods, soaking up all the wisdom Merlin is willing to impart as they discuss the finer points of magic over a shared pot of tea.

Her chocolate mousse has long since been finished, but the tea is warm and soothing. She can feel the last icy tendrils of cold receding from her veins, as Merlin’s rich voice continues to elaborate upon the importance of understanding the elements that make up a spell.

“For example, if a novice were to try casting a fire spell underwater, well, most likely the result would be a lot of steam and not much else I’m afraid.” Merlin removes his glasses and starts polishing them with the end of his beard. “Now, to successfully cast this sort of spell underwater a mage must know what is needed to sustain the fire.”

He replaces his glasses and looks at Xion expectantly.

Xion blinks, caught off guard. She’s been more than happy just sitting here listening, but Merlin is clearly expecting an answer.

“Oh, er oxygen.”

“Quite so,” Merlin responds, looking pleased. “Oxygen is absolutely essential, especially if one wishes to cast a stronger fire spell, such as a Firaga.” He pauses, taking a sip of tea, only to grimace.

“Oh, dash it all, not again.” Xion follows Merlin’s disgruntled gaze towards a charmed sugar bowl that’s beating a hasty retreat towards Merlin’s bag.

With muffled grumbling the old wizard fishes out a wand from his sleeve and vanishes the tea—and the copious amounts of sugar running over the brim that she hadn’t noticed—before refilling his cup.

“Ahem, where was I?” he asks.

“Oxygen is essential for stronger fire spells,” Xion supplies.

“Indeed. Now, I hear you ask,” Merlin chuckles. “How does one supply their fire spell oxygen underwater.”

“Water is made up of oxygen,” Xion wonders aloud. “Couldn’t you just extract it to feed the fire spell?”

“Exactly, most mages perform this transmutation instinctively, not realising how much of their own power they are wasting, or how weak the fire spell they are casting actually is,” Merlin elaborates. “An annoying limitation to be sure, but one that can easily be overcome b-”

“Xion!” Roxas’ shout cuts through Merlin’s explanation.

He comes to a stop by her chair, tense and clearly eager to get going.

“Ah, it seems we will have to continue our conversation some other time.” Merlin smiles, easily reading the situation.

“Wait,” Roxas says, as though he’s afraid that Merlin’s about to disappear.

“Yes?”

It’s at this point that Isa catches up, appearing behind Xion as though he was standing there the entire time, nearly making her spill her tea.

“We were told that you would be able to supply us with a tracking spell.”

Merlin takes it all in stride, reaching for his bag the second he heard the word spell.

“Who, or what do you wish to track?” There’s a particular spark glinting in the wizards’ eyes now.

Isa gets straight to the point. “Lea got hit with an attack that reverted him back to when he was Axel. He disappeared into a Corridor of Darkness before we could stop him.”

All levity drains from Merlin’s expression. “Oh dear, do you have a way to restore him?”

“I think so, the heartless dropped this when Isa and Xion defeated it.” Roxas holds out the glowing item he had picked up earlier for Merlin’s inspection.

“May I?” When Isa gives a firm nod the wizard takes the glowing orb.

It rests harmlessly in his palm, the ember glow of the small barrier surrounding the necklace easily containing the flames within. It’s funny, but Xion has the feeling that the flames wouldn’t hurt even if they did break the sphere.

“Hmmm, yes. All you need do is return this to Axel and Lea should be fully restored, no harm done.” Merlin nods as he returns the item to Roxas. “It’s a rather ingenious power, ones’ own strength is usually linked to their memories, so it stands to reason that stripping a person of their memories and time would make them an easier target. I take it that this heartless was quite difficult to deal with once it acquired Lea’s flames.

Isa’s eyebrow does that twitchy thing it does whenever he’s trying to control his temper.

Luckily Roxas answers first, “You could say that.”

“Right, obviously a conversation for another time,” Merlin wisely cut’s off.

He reaches for his bag and upon opening it on top of the table taps the metal clasps of the rim with his wand. With a whoosh and a trail of white and blue sparks a small glass vial filled with what looks like green powder flies into his waiting palm.

“Just sprinkle some of this on the item and it should lead you straight to your friend.”

Isa takes the vial. “How much?”

Merlin looks insulted. “What, why ever would I charge you for this? The way you and your friends keep this town safe, no, no, off with you. You obviously have somewhere you need to be.”

Isa doesn’t need anymore convincing; with a respectful nod he’s already turning. “Roxas, go tell the old duck we’re ready to depart.

Xion gets up to follow them, but not before thanking Merlin, “It really was an interesting conversation; I hope we can continue it later.”

“Of course, my dear, of course,” Merlin agrees readily. “Ah, but before you depart, why not take this.”

Another tap on his bag and this time it’s a book that comes flying into his open palm. “A bit of light reading for the journey.”

Xion feels slightly overwhelmed by the old wizards’ generosity, but she accepts it, bowing as she does so.

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome my dear. Until next time.”

The shadows part before him, opening to a darkened glade.

All is quiet.

Silent, except for the light rustle of leaves as a gentle breeze winds its way through the surrounding trees.

He turns taking in the sight of the glade lit only by the waning light of the moon.

There.

Two pinpricks of ochre light hold his gaze.

“Now, what do we have here.”

Chapter Text

Bright sunshine and blue skies as far as the eye can see. Rolling hills, green forests, and some of the most interesting geological features that he has seen so far in a world that doesn’t already have one foot in the Realm of Darkness.

It all comes together to create a calm and picturesque vision of natural beauty.

If he had a heart Axel would absolutely hate it.

The tranquil atmosphere is so at odds with the memory of seething annoyance and fury that sits like a molten ball of iron in his chest. It makes him feel sick.

As if that isn’t bad enough, there’s also the fact that he’s been corralled into the back of, admittedly, one of the nicest cars he’s ever seen—seriously, so few worlds he’s been to have cars and none of them could even think about competing with this one—and sat between muscles and the princess.

Yeah, he is sticking to those names for now because he doesn’t have anything else to go on.

Anyway, glasses and camera boy are sat up front—glasses at the wheel—and it all adds up to one very clear fact.

He’s trapped.

Again.

If they weren’t speeding down a road it’s very likely that he would already be throwing fire, but they are and dying really isn’t all that high on his list of priorities.

If he has to be specific, he’d say it’s right at the bottom of his list, just above being turned into a Dusk.

This all could have been avoided if he just had his coat.

Well maybe not all, he still has the minor problem of his Corridor of Darkness opening up to, apparently, the most feral depths of the Realm of Darkness.

At that thought a phantom thread of fear trails down his spine, making him feel cold.

Unintentionally, his eyes wonder to the blanket he’d been borrowing last night.

At least the guy who’s nabbed it is putting it to good use.

He’s curled up by the door, his head reclined against the genuine leather headrest, dead to the world.

He looks way too comfy, bordering on defenceless, and the way his hair’s sticking up over the rim of the blanket, it looks way too much like—

Burning that thought before it can fully form, Axel gives into an impulse brought on by boredom.

He jabs a sharp elbow into the guys side, expecting him to jerk awake and alleviate some of the tense monotony.

Nothing, not even a grunt or a twitch.

Even Demyx would react to a hit like that—actually, the Nobody would have jumped at least three feet and whine as though he’d been stabbed—but this guy just keeps on sleeping like he didn’t even feel it.

Axel goes to prod the guy again, determined to get some sort of reaction.

“You’d have better luck trying to slay Gilgamesh with a stick,” muscles comments from the side, the book he obviously isn’t reading laying open in his lap as he glares down at Axel.

“Trying to slay who?” Axel has absolutely no idea what a Gilgamesh is.

“Not everyone is familiar with that particular phrase, Gladio,” glasses advises, not even deigning to take his eyes off the road.

“That’s his problem not mine,” muscles—Gladio—snorts.

Axel returns the glare, but it isn’t as effective as it normally is.

It’s more than a little unfair that Gladio still towers over him even when they are both sitting down, but Axel quite literally doesn’t have the heart to care about that, so he just shrugs off the guys stare.

“So overprotective, what are you? This guys’ bodyguard or something?”

“You could say that.” Gladio doesn’t elaborate, as he turns back to not reading his book and Axel can only huff, left once more with nothing to do.

It’s fine, he’s had time this morning to parse through a lot of their conversation from last night—not like he had much else to do when being held captive—and he thinks he has a good idea of what world he’s ended up on.

He just hopes he’s wrong.

If he’s not, well, the odds of hitching a ride on someone else’s Gummi ship just took a nosedive off a cliff.

In the meantime, no harm in fishing for a bit more info.

“So, do I get to know where you guys are taking me, or do I just have to wait until you slap the cuffs on and throw me in a cell?”

Camera guy—nah, blondie suits him better—blondie shifts in his seat, turning until he’s kneeling facing Axel, his arms folded on top of the headrest.

“Dude, we are not the Empire.”

Axel has no idea what this ‘Empire’ is and he’s not planning on sticking around long enough to find out.

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” he already knows the answer, but at this point he’s asking just to annoy them.

“Not until we get answers,” Gladio grunts as he turns a page, trying to keep up the illusion that he’s actually reading. He’s failing miserably, he just turned the page the wrong way and worse, the book’s upside down.

An exasperated sigh escapes Axel as he slumps back into the soft leather of his seat, closing his eyes. “What answers?”

There’s a beat of silence that drags on for just this side of too long, forcing Axel to open his eyes.

Blondie and Gladio are staring at him very seriously.

What, are they going to start questioning him now?

Good luck, it had taken weeks of torture and threatening Isa—when he still had a heart—for the Organization to get any real answers from him back when he was Lea. Weeks of blurred murky pain, darkness, fear, and lo-

The sharp snap of a book closing pulls Axel from his thoughts, before the dark memories can drag him back to that cell beneath the keep of Radiant Garden.

“You can at least tell us your unit number,” Gladio demands.

Unit number? Glasses has mentioned that before when he had asked for Axel’s name.

So, they think he’s military.

The idea of making up a number briefly crosses his mind, but he dismisses it. If they’re asking for one, then it’s obviously part of an established system.

“You know, that’s actually something I don’t have memorized,” he says nonchalantly.

“I highly doubt that,” glasses comments, his gaze briefly meeting Axel’s in the rear view mirror.

Axel doesn’t blink.

Glasses returns his gaze to the road—out of necessity more than any victory on Axel’s part—and Axel ignores the sense that he’s been measured and found wanting.

Apparently, blondie can’t take drawn out silences because it’s barely been two minutes and he’s already asking another question. “So, have you always been a pyromaniac or did that tendency come with the ability to wield the magic of the Crystal?”

“Prompto,” comes an all too worn sigh from glasses. Gladio on the other hand approves given the snort that escapes him, even as he tries to cover it with a clearly faked cough.

“What?” the now named Prompto—Axel still thinks he’ll stick with blondie—protests. “Oh, come on, we all know he’s a Glaive, what else could he be?”

Glaive? Yet another term that Axel has no idea about, he’d really appreciate some context right about now.

“Be that as it may, perhaps it would be best to save our questions until we can confer with the Marshal.”

Well, that name doesn’t sound ominous at all.

Given the whine that blondie emits as he slumps, it’s pretty safe to say that topic of discussion has been shelved for now.

At this point Axel’s about ready to follow princess’—sleeping beauty might be another good nickname for him, he’s certainly giving her a run for her munney—example and just take a nap.

That is until blondie speaks up again.

“Hey, Gladio, grab the moogle for me.” Axel can feel his eyebrows hiking towards his hairline as soon as his brain manages to process that sentence.

He watches, completely perplexed, as blondie leans forward, straining to reach over him in order to grab-

“What the hell is that?” Axel demands.

Blondie jumps at the sudden outcry and his fingers fumble, causing him to drop the abomination right into Axel’s lap.

“Kill it with fire!”

“Don’t you dare, my kid sister made that.” Gladio snatches the deformed mockery out of his hands before he can do the world a favour and reduce the thing to ashes.

“Is your kid sister blind?” The temperature in the back of the car suddenly drops and Axel knows he’s taken it a step too far.

“I mean…err, I’ve seen moogles, bartered with them, even had to resize a coat for one when my friend issued the wrong size. You gotta admit that dolls a little bit insulting to them.”

From the corner of his eye Axel can see blondie slowly shrinking back, obviously trying to put as much distance between himself and the impending explosion as possible.

“Iggy, I’m gonna spar with him when we get to the Haven,” Gladio says, very quietly.

Glasses adjusts his specs, but keeps his gaze focused forward. “Please take into account the fact that we have only just restocked our curatives.”

Gladio nods as a wide smile stretches the scar that bisects his left eye. “Bruises only, no broken bones, got it.”

Axel reconsiders his no fire in moving vehicles policy.

Roxas is not used to traveling by gummi ship.

Sure, he has a lot of Sora’s memories and remembers all the time spent journeying with Donald and Goofy on that first adventure, but actually flying in one himself is a completely different experience.

It’s a shame he can’t enjoy it.

Can’t savour the way the stars streak past them like so many raindrops, can’t admire the depth of light that swirls within the void, bringing colour even in the darkest abyss of space.

No, he can’t focus on any of that when his worry for his friend sits leaden in his chest.

Instead, his eyes remain trained on the orb that floats above the control panel at the front of the ship.

It sits there, suspended on nothing, encircled with an emerald light that shifts and morphs. It reminds Roxas of a compass, what with the way the arrow formed of ancient runes dances along the perimeter of an emerald ring, pointing unerringly in the direction of their lost friend. He hopes.

They’ve been flying for hours now, passing familiar worlds and heading deeper into the unknown regions that border the realm of light.

Castle Obliv- no, the Land of Departure hangs before them. Bright, alive, and welcoming in all the ways Castle Oblivion could never be.

Predictably, the arrow tilts up, causing spectres of green and ember light to dance within the cabin. This isn’t the world they’re looking for.

Of course it isn’t, the thought of Lea—should he call him Lea or Axel because, technically, he is Axel right now—ending up on a friendly world and making finding him easy is laughable.

At least the flames in the pendant are glowing brighter, he thinks that means they’re getting closer.

“That absolute idiot,” Isa growls, so low that Roxas is pretty sure that he wasn’t meant to hear it.

He stays quiet, half smirking at the fact that it really is a good thing that Donald and Goofy made up the story that gummi ships run on smiles. If that really were the case, with the way he’s feeling, the fact that Xion’s buried herself in the book Merlin gave her, and Isa who only has three expressions: smug, indifferent, and unbridled rage. Yeah, the gummi ship would have no power.

They continue on, navigating asteroid fields and avoiding the larger heartless that roam freely this close to the edge of darkness. It would just be a waste of time to confront them and besides the gummi ship isn’t theirs; he does not want to know what Scrooge would try to charge them if they damaged it.

Then again, Isa is the one piloting…maybe Scrooge wouldn’t say a thing. If he’s smart, he wouldn’t.

That train of thought leads him to thinking about what sort of ingredients they can gather in order to appease the surly old duck.

It does little to distract him from the knot of dread that continues to coil around his heart.

He looks for something else, something that isn’t the orb of gentle sunset red that surrounds the representation of his friends’ memory and experience.

“Hey, Roxas. Bet you don’t know why the sun sets red?”

“You see, light is made up of lots of colours. And out of all those colours, red is the one that travels the farthest.”

“Like I asked! Know-it-all.”

“Roxas?” Xion asks.

Roxas starts, not realising how lost he’d been in his own thoughts. “What?”

Xion’s lowered her book and she’s looking at him quizzically. “You mumbled something.”

“Sorry, just…thinking out loud.”

“About?” She shifts a little closer, her book placed off to the side so she can give him her full attention.

“Just some stuff Axel once said,” he explains, unable to stop the small smile that’s tugging at his lips.

“You mean Lea,” she corrects with a knowing grin and he can’t help but laugh.

“No, this time I actually mean Axel. It’s something he said while we were still a part of the Organization.” It’s not often they can talk about their Organization days without a heavy dose of pain and loss, but the few that he can are all the more precious for it.

Xion nods, but he can already see her thoughts heading down a darker path in the way her shoulders slump as she tries to curl into herself.

“Oh, what was it?” her question is a tentative thing, filled with more fear than curiosity.

Eager to dispel it Roxas presses on, allowing fond nostalgia to overtake his voice. “We were waiting for you at the Clock Tower, our usual icing on the cake, and he suddenly starts talking about why the sunset is red. I really didn’t get it at the time, but now…”

“You think there’s something more to it?”

“Maybe.” Even if there isn’t it’s still a fond memory.

“Because red light travels the farthest.”

Isa’s voice is so unexpected and so quiet that it’s a wonder that Roxas heard it.

He answers without thinking. “Yeah, that’s what Axel said, I guess it’s quite a well-known fact.”

“It’s an allegory.” Once again Isa’s voice is quiet, almost soft.

Roxas blinks. From where he’s sitting, he can only see the back of Isa’s head, he can’t see what sort of expression he’s making.

He looks to Xion and sees his own trepidation reflected in her nervous gaze.

One of them is going to have to ask.

He has to ask, but the tremor of emotion he heard in Isa’s voice has made his tongue grow heavy.

How can he ask?

Isa never lets his emotions show, not around them.

He looks to Xion again. She’s unwound a little, sitting back in her chair instead of perching on the edge of it. He mouths his question. “Should I ask?” and in reply she shrugs.

This is hard, the two of them are still getting to know Isa, they don’t know where the lines are. Things were different when he was Saix, the lines were more like insurmountable walls.

Before he and Xion can come to a silent agreement, Isa takes a breath and releases it slowly.

Meanwhile Roxas and Xion hold theirs.

When Isa finally speaks the quiet tremor that had possessed his voice when he spoke before is missing. “He was talking about how far he would go for his friends.”

Once it’s pointed out the meaning is obvious, especially when you consider the events that had followed. Roxas feels kinda silly for not figuring it out sooner.

“Oh, that really does suit him.” Roxas knows that’s too idle a comment to really do the allegory justice, but what else can he say.

“Yes,” Isa agrees. “He really does push his limits when it comes to protecting you two.”

Something about that statement doesn’t seem quite right to Roxas.

What that is becomes clear when Xion speaks up, her voice small but strong. “You too.”

Isa makes a noise and Roxas can’t tell whether it’s an acknowledgement of Xion’s words or a dismissal.

“It’s true, he was determined to get you back from Xehanort, even went so far as getting his own Keyblade.” He’s leaning forward now, trying to get a glimpse of the expression on Isa’s face.

He thinks he sees a brief reflexion of an eyeroll in the glass of the cockpit.

“Not to mention all the times he stopped us pulling revenge pranks on you back in the Organization.”

Roxas goes cold when he hears that. What is Xion doing? Lea-Axel, both of them told them on several occasions not to bring that up around Saix-Isa-whatever! This is bad.

He looks to Xion, his eyes wide as he raises his hands silently telling her to stop.

“Pranks?” Isa asks, his usual monotone back in place.

“Oh yeah, we had tonnes planned.” Roxas shifts to dragging a hand across his throat, miming a blade cutting, yet Xion still isn’t getting that he’s telling her to stop.

“All to get you back for some of those nastier missions you assigned us.” How is she not getting that he is telling her to shut up.

“It sounds like he stopped you more for your own safety than out of any loyalty to me.” Isa’s voice is deceptively calm. Roxas wonders if he’ll wait until they land to kill them.

“You wouldn’t have known it was us, but Axel stopped us.” Xion pouts. How can she pout when they are so obviously doomed.

Roxas gives up and sits back fully in his chair, his hands rising to run through his hair as he folds over in despair.

Shock must have clearly driven Roxas insane because the next thing he hears is Isa laughing.

It’s restrained, more a scoff than a full laugh, but Roxas definitely heard it.

“Tell me what you had planned?” There’s enough genuine interest in Isa’s tone to convince Roxas to look up.

He looks to Xion, only for her to wave her hand at him in a ‘go on’ gesture.

Where to start?

Chapter Text

“There shall be ground rules for this,” Ignis states as he levels a glare at both the participants.

Gladio and Axel stand on opposite sides of the Haven, their reflective ready stances silently projecting their eagerness to begin.

Frankly, Ignis should not be allowing this, however, Gladio is still wearing the fire crests and this is the fastest method by which they can deplete Axel’s mana, without causing large scale property damage.

If this works, they won’t have to worry about Axel flinging fire or any other elements at them until tomorrow morning at least.

The benefits certainly outweigh the risks.

“First, the spar shall be declared over when one party yields or receives an injury that requires a potion to heal it.”

Ignis pauses in order to allow that statement to sink in.

When no protests are forthcoming, he continues.

“Second, the spar shall also be declared over if one of you steps outside the perimeter of the Haven.”

Another pause, one that is met by idle boredom on Gladio’s part and clear disinterest on Axel’s.

“Thir-”

“Oh, come on Iggy, these are the standard rules, we know them already,” Gladio grouses.

Ignis ignores him. “Third, basic spells only.”

He focuses solely on Axel as he says this. “If I see even a wisp of magic more powerful than that, then I will be forced to use this.”

He holds up the item in question, a magic flask containing a fully levelled Blizzaga spell with a paralysis effect.

“What’s that?” Axel asks, curiosity evident in the way he’s trying to get a closer look at the flask. The teen is practically standing on his tiptoes as he bounces from side to side.

“For the intent and purpose of this spar, it is a very effective fire extinguisher.”

A snort from Prompto earns a light elbow in the ribs from Noct, who is himself trying to suppress a smile, if the hand raised to cover his mouth is any indication.

Axel for his part just shrugs. “Fine, be that way. Anything else?”

Before Ignis can answer Gladio is summoning his great sword; specifically, the Genji Blade. Apparently, he is taking this quite seriously. “Enough stalling.”

Eager to see Axel’s fighting style—and develop some counter measures to it—Ignis agrees.

“Very well. Fire when ready.” Ignis deftly ignores Noct’s audible groan at his choice of words.

Gladio doesn’t have to be told twice.

In a feat of speed that one wouldn’t normally associate with someone of Gladio stature, he closes the distance between himself and Axel.

Dust kicks up from the Haven, briefly obscuring Ignis’ view, but it soon clears; one of the advantages of their current location, being directly on the coast means they are never short of a bracing sea breeze.

As such, Ignis has a clear sight line of the first exchange of blows. Or more accurately, the lack thereof.

Gladio’s first strike meets air as Axel flits to the side, his posture relaxed and subtly taunting in a way that Ignis just knows is eventually going to annoy Gladio.

A simple twist of Gladio’s wrist has his blade arching towards Axel’s new position, but when the boy dodges again, with the lightest spring that brings him to the barest edge of the weapons’ extensive range, Gladio doesn’t stop.

Momentum carries the blade forward and Gladio goes with it, the flash of sunlight across the great sword making it easy to track and, apparently, easy to evade.

Axel moves as though he’s dancing, his limbs loose and ready as he weaves between strikes. It’s not unlike watching a leaf ride the currents of a whirlwind.

“When are you going to fight back?” Gladio barks as he slams his blade down, sending tremors rippling across the surface of the stone Haven to the tune of steal scraping against rock.

“When are you going to make this fair and remove those fire crests,” Axel counters, jumping back and swaying with the movement of the earth beneath his feet.

Ignis pays the taunt no mind as he takes a moment to clear the dust that has gathered on the frames of his glasses. There is no reason to remove the crests, especially when the goal is to deplete Axel’s mana to the point where he will no longer be a fire hazard.

The soft tinkle of metal draws Ignis’ attention back to the stone plateau. He looks up just in time to see all three crests’ falling to the ground, before they vanish back into the armiger in shards of fractured blue light. He feels his heart plummet right alongside them.

“There, now it’s fair.” Gladio charges, the Genji blade held steady as he swings it down in an overhand thrust, the wind whistling as the tempered steal effortlessly cut’s through the air.

Ignis has seen lesser men retreat when faced with this attack.

Axel only smiles.

“Burn!”

The fire spell erupts with such fervour that Ignis nearly throws the magic flask. He manages to hold back, barely, only because Gladio disperses the blaze. The Genji blade tears through the flames, casting white sparks across the shadow of steal as red heat fades to grey smoke.

Surprise flits across Axel’s face, only to be swiftly replaced with fierce delight. It’s a sharp expression that makes him look both older and younger; his eyes burn with a passion for combat that sets Ignis on edge and leaves him wondering what such a young man must have faced in order to be this comfortable with violence.

Ignis isn’t given time to dwell on this thought, Gladio is following through with his attack, his blade obscured by a wreath of smoke as its sharp edge descends.

He expects Axel to dodge again, to slip like liquid fire between the miniscule gaps in Gladio’s stance. Instead, the scene seems to freeze when fire gathers in Axel’s outstretched palm; Ignis is expecting another fire spell, so is Gladio by the way he tenses. They are both left shocked when the fire swells then scatters, revealing a weapon the likes of which Ignis has never seen before.

Ignis’ first guess is that Axel has summoned a shield, but that thought is soon dispelled. For one the design of the weapon makes it wholly unsuitable to act as protection, what with the large gaps that run through the interlocked circles that form its structure.

For another…

“He threw it!”

Yes, as Prompto so eloquently shouted, Axel did indeed throw his weapon at Gladio.

With no time to dodge Gladio is forced to summon his own shield to deflect the…Ignis would class it as a shuriken with the way Axel is using it, but it’s much smaller than any of the shuriken he’s seen other members of the Kingsglaive wield.

It’s at this moment that the boy seemingly decides to completely derail Ignis’ current train of thought by summoning the weapons twin in his free hand.

Gladio, still curled behind his shield, doesn’t notice. He probably won’t have even heard the roar of flame that accompanies the weapons manifestation, given the hollow gong that had rung out across the Haven as Axel’s weapon had clashed with his shield.

It’s a small advantage, one that Axel seems ready to stake this spar on.

The free—Ignis will begrudgingly designate the weapon as a shuriken, for now—wheels back to its owners awaiting palm and Axel smiles.

“Only allowed to use basic spells huh?” Axel tosses the question over his shoulder as he idly walks the invisible line that surrounds the Haven. “Fine by me!”

With that, Axel bows his head and extends his arms. The air grows still, weighted with a pressure that seems to gather around Axel. The shuriken spin compelled only by the flames they shroud themselves in and then Axel exhales.

“You won’t forget this.”

Light and heat engulf the Haven and Ignis is forced to take a step back, as a perfect circle of flames entrap Gladio and Axel within the confines of their makeshift sparring grounds.

“Gladio?” Ignis’ own cry is echoed by Noct and Prompto.

“Still here!” comes the dry reply, as though he’s insulted that they would even consider that he could be injured by the prison of flames that surrounds him.

Ignis palms the magic flask, ready to throw it, but stops when Gladio calls out again.

“Hold off, Iggy, let’s see what the kid can do.”

That sounds like an impossibly stupid idea, considering that said kid believes basic spells means manipulating fire in a way that Ignis has only heard of in legends of Ifrit.

“Are you insane!” Prompto clearly agrees with Ignis.

That being said, Axel has yet to attack; he’s still prowling the edge of the plateau, walking so close to the flames that by all rights should be burning him, his hair dancing as wildly as the fire he controls.

Shadows seem to bleed into the flames, darkening them in a way that leaves Ignis feeling cold despite their fierce heat.

He makes a decision.

Clasping the magic flask, he aims for Axel.

“Wait!” Noct raises his arm, staying Ignis’ own.

“Highness?” The title is whispered softly so as not to be heard through the crackling barrier of flame.

Noct looks to him, his gaze thoughtful, if a little unsure. “Gladio knows his limits, lets trust him…for now.”

“Guys, am I the only one seeing this. There is a literal ring of fire surrounding them! On what world does that count as a basic spell!” Prompto protests.

Ignis looks between his two charges, then to the Haven. It’s hard to make out Gladio’s features through the flames, so Ignis can’t tell what sort of expression his friend is wearing. That said, Ignis has worked beside Gladio for far too long not to be able to read his body language.

He’s stood from his crouch, back straight but shoulders loose as his shield hangs from his forearm in a way that Ignis can recognise as silent rebellion. The Genji blade has been recalled from its place within the armiger, held ready for a counter.

With all this, Ignis doesn’t need to see the defiant smirk to know that it’s there.

He lowers the flask.

The fight continues.

Isa has always known that Roxas and Xion have never had the best survival instincts.

He just never realised how truly suicidal they must be.

“Oh, don’t forget the time we planned to have Demyx throw some of his water clones at us so we could lure them to Saix’s room and let them run riot,” Xion lists from somewhere behind his left shoulder.

“Or the time we almost managed to swap out his coats for the Moogle sized ones Axel made. If only Mogoby had been willing to lend us them,” Roxas laments from where he sits somewhere behind Isa’s right shoulder.

“Yeah, but at least he had a good excuse for turning us down. Axel was just being too protective when he didn’t let us bring back that Wonderland monstrosity’s slime.”

“Ugh, please don’t even mention that stuff.” Isa can see Roxas shiver in his reflexion in the glass. “I was still finding traces of it in my hair a week after that mission.”

“Oh come on, that’s half the reason we did it,” Xion giggles; it’s as if she doesn’t realise how much danger this confession is putting her in. “Imagine if we’d actually managed to get it in the shower pipes like we’d planned…”

Isa can feel both their eyes on his back.

“That would have been interesting,” Roxas concedes after a moment. Isa hears the smile in his voice; for some reason he feels a sudden need to brush a hand through his hair, but he suppresses it. “But then again, he probably would have just worn his hood, so no one would have noticed. I mean other than Axel, who would have the guts to call him out for it.”

“True,” Xion agrees and Isa can hear a thoughtful tone in her voice that he really does not like. “That’s why we had the more public pranks planned.”

“Are you talking about the broken chair lift one or the eyepatch one?” Roxas asks.

“Both.”

That’s it, Isa has had enough.

He engages the forward thrusters at the same time as he disables power to the rear, producing a sudden jerky stop that’s not unlike slamming on the breaks.

Roxas and Xion both go flying, he hears the squeals and the thud as they both hit the floor.

He sits still, listening as they gather themselves, waiting for the perfect moment.

It comes when he hears a loud thump accompanied by a muffled cry of pain that definitely comes from Roxas and a surprised exclamation from Xion, that either means she accidentally landed on him while trying to stand, or that Roxas tripped her.

Isa turns his chair slowly and glares.

Xion freezes from where she lies on top of Roxas.

“Xion? What are you doing? Come on, get off me,” Roxas complains as he continues to struggle. Right up until he sees Isa’s foot tapping impatiently quite close to his head.

Isa allows silence to reign for as long as it takes the precarious nature of the situation to sink in.

When both their faces have taken on a pallor that wouldn’t be amiss on the interior walls of Castle Oblivion, then Isa speaks.

“How exactly, were you planning on getting away with any of these pranks, without being turned into dusks?”

Both Xion and Roxas seem to have lost the capacity to answer; it’s good to know he still has the ability to freeze them with fear whenever he wants to, but a little inconvenient when he’s waiting for an answer.

“Well?”

“Errr…you see—”

Isa interrupts Roxas. “The truth.”

Suddenly, Xion and Roxas aren’t finding it so hard to untangle their limbs. In next to no time, they’re both kneeling on the floor before him, their heads bowed. It’s how they always used to sit when Saix lectured them, seems some habits are hard to break.

“We were going to frame the others,” Xion says eventually.

Isa raises an eyebrow at that.

From the pranks they were describing it’s quite obvious who he would of accused of pulling them, at least with some of them.

Demyx would have been the obvious choice for the water clone prank, Zexion would have been blamed for replacing all his mission files with grotesquely cheesy romance novels, and Vexen would have suffered the consequences for the prank that involved feeding the caretaker Dusks one of his scientific concoctions, a concoction that resulted in them hiccupping random clouds of fluorescent glitter that stuck to everything.

That still leaves two pranks he wouldn’t know who to blame for.

“Who were you planning to frame for the Moogle coat and Heartless slime pranks?” he can’t help but ask, curious besides himself.

Xion and Roxas blink in harmony, looking at him as though it should be obvious.

It isn’t and the stare of growing impatience that furrows his brow makes that clear, if the speed with which they try to answer is anything to go by.

They talk over each other, but he gets the gist.

“Marluxia was going to take the fall for the Heartless monstrosity—”

“We were going to frame Luxord for the Moogle sized coats—”

“—I mean the slime was plant based, who else would we frame?”

“—we were gonna leave evidence in his room and stuff the coat pockets with playing cards.”

Isa’s mouth is doing something strange, and there’s a lump in his throat that’s he’s finding hard to suppress.

Roxas and Xion are looking at him funnily, as though their confused and really unsure of what to do.

“Pftt!”

With that one sound the dam breaks and Isa can’t stop it. He’s laughing, long and loud and so deep his ribs are already aching.

It’s been years since he heard it, he can’t believe how high pitched it is when compared to the quiet scoffs and derisive snorts that had replaced it.

Xion and Roxas are backing off now, slowly, as though they are afraid of him. It just makes him laugh harder.

All those pranks, it’s too close to what he and Lea used to pull. Though, he’ll have to teach them a few of his old tricks because Isa knows they were being too ambitious. He would have caught them and as Saix he wouldn’t have had the heart to find it funny.

A small ding from the control panel causes Isa to turn his chair back around, but not before he meets Xion and Roxas’ by now, horrified gaze.

“We’ll have to work together to think of a few ways to get Lea back for this whole mess…any chance you’ll be able to get your hands on some more of that heartless slime?”

Chapter Text

This has gotten way beyond out of hand.

Actually, they passed out of hand about ten minutes ago. Right now, it’s more like they’re hovering around the point of crazy dangerous about to tip over into wow, I just realised I have a death wish territory.

The wall of flames makes it impossible for Prompto to clearly track the fight, but the running commentary of barbed puns and growled responses gives him some idea of what’s going on.

By the sound of it, Axel is winning, and that fact is really pissing Gladio off.

“Stop dancing around like a coward!” Gladio snarls.

“What, and let you hit me? How is that a bright idea?” Axel asks in return, an edge of mirth sharpening his words as he sidesteps a crushing blow from the Genji blade.

The screech of the sharp edge of steel scraping against stone sets Prompto’s teeth on edge, but it’s nothing compared to the resounding gong of Axel’s weapons ringing against Gladio’s shield. Even from this distance Prompto’s having to cover his ears, he can’t imagine how Gladio’s skull isn’t splitting from the sheer noise.

“How much longer are we going to let this go on for?” he shouts as another wave of heat washes over him.

“Until they tire themselves out,” Noct shrugs.

“Errr, Gladio might be ash before that guy gets tired,” Prompto points out. “Plus, am I the only one noticing the flaming frisbees of death? Please tell me I am not the only one noticing them?”

“They are quite a unique weapon,” Ignis casually observes, as though one of his closest friends isn’t one misstep away from being turned into a giant s’more.

Prompto is about to point that out when he sees Noct pulling something out of the armiger.

“Yes! Douse thos—um dude, why is my blanket in your hand instead of a magic flask?” Prompto asks.

“The sea breeze is cold,” Noct replies, like there isn’t a wall of fire blazing away barely ten feet in front of them.

“So get your coat not my blanket!” Prompto complains, making a grab for it.

Predictably, Noct side steps him but Prompto knows how this goes. If he just gives up Noct will take that as blanket—pun totally not intended—consent to steal it whenever he wants to.

Uh-uh, no way, that is not happening.

He lunges, snagging the edge of the Chocobo throw as Noct tries to dodge with as little movement as possible.

“Ha—oh come on!” his cry of victory quickly fades into a moan as Noct cheats and phases out of his grip.

Now he’s sporting that cat that caught the canary grin he wears when he knows he’s won.

“Noct,” Iggy sighs from where he’s still watching the spar.

“C’mon Specs, we’re just messing around,” Noct defends even as he runs behind Iggy to use him as a human shield. Iggy, the traitor, allows this.

“Besides, I’ll get more use out of it.” Though true that really isn’t the point, but Prompto doesn’t want to be annoying about this. He knows this is all meant in good fun, it is fun, it’s just…

Another flare of flame draws his attention back to the Haven.

Prompto has to do a double take, because what he’s seeing really can’t be happening.

“Did he just jump through the fire?”

As if to prove a point Axel launches himself back into the Haven, making Prompto’s jaw drop because, yeah, he’s going straight through the fire as though it’s not even there. Prompto had thought maybe he was warping through it, Glaives can do that, right? It would make sense, but nope, that’s not what Axel is doing.

By the sounds of it, Gladio’s just as shocked as he is because his growled cursing gets louder, to the point where even the lamentable toll of his abused shield can’t drown out his words.

“You spikey haired bastard of Ifrit!”

The only thing that might be louder is Axel’s laughter.

A glint catches his attention, and he turns to see Iggy palming the magic flask again. He hopes he’s going to throw it but as always Iggy’s giving nothing away—this is why Prompto never likes playing poker with him.

“Any theories yet?” Noct asks from where he’s standing on Iggy’s other side.

“None that we haven’t already thought of,” Ignis answers, his eyes not leaving the wall of flame. “Though his apparent resistance to fire is interesting.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Prompto chips in. “So are you going to throw the flask or…”

“If I throw it now Gladio will be caught in the blast zone, plus the wall of flames may actually trigger the flask before it lands on its intended target.”

“At this point I really don’t think Gladio will mind.” The twin stares of disbelief Prompto receives from Noct and Iggy are creepy with how similar they are.

“He might not,” Ignis concedes as he adjusts his glasses, the light from the flames reflects off his lenses obscuring his eyes. “However, I for one am not thrilled by the possibility of being caught in the fall out should the flask misfire.”

Prompto looks at the magic flask, the magic flask that contains a maxed out Blizzaga spell with the added bonus of paralysis. He gulps.

“Still want him to throw it?” Noct asks.

“No!”

“I’ll throw it,” says an unexpected fourth voice from behind them.

Before any of them can react, the magic flask is plucked from Iggy’s relaxed grip as Cor—holy Six—Leonis strides forward towards the wall of flames.

That’s about all Prompto has time to take in as his vision is suddenly swamped with the yellow plush of his stolen Chocobo Jo blanket.

A very deep and manly shout—not a high-pitched squawk that sounds like a chocochick, nope no way—escapes him as he wrestles free of the throw. Only for him to immediately wish he hadn’t because the blaze of light that comes from the magic flask hitting the flame wall leaves him blinking away spots.

His current blindness doesn’t stop him from hearing the twin indignant yells of outrage from the general direction of the Haven.

By blinking rapidly and rubbing his eyes he eventually manages to clear his sight. The scene that greets him has him summoning his camera.

Cor stands in the foreground, silhouetted by the setting sun. He’s perfectly centred, which gives the shot a flawless balance, what with Gladio and Axel literally frozen in attack poses in the background. That is until gravity wins out and they fall face first onto the hard ground of the Haven, and Prompto’s lucky enough to capture the whole scene frame by frame.

Beautiful.

He’ll have to send Iris a few copies, Gladio won’t dare to destroy them if she has them.

Cor turns back to them then, effectively snuffing out Prompto’s growing excitement and restoring his sense of dread, all with a single glare. “If you wanted to attract the Empire’s attention there are easier ways to go about it than lighting a signal fire.”

Iggy, predictably, is the first to recover. “I can assure you Marshal, had I known the boy was capable of such a feat this never would have happened.”

As he says this Ignis is already walking towards Gladio, who is still lying face down in the dirt. Right up until the moment Ignis pours a remedy over his head.

Gladio makes to move forward, the grip on his shield tight, but a calming hand on his shoulder and a solid shake from Ignis is enough to make him stop, for now.

“The brats gotta be working for the Niff’s,” Gladio grouses as he dismisses his shield, his eyes never leaving the figure of the prone pyromaniac.

“I doubt that,” Cor supplies from where he’s looming over Axel. “If the Niff’s knew how to use that sort of magic, we would have heard about it already.”

By that, Cor clearly means that Niflheim would have unleashed it on the battlefield in order to crush the last of their resistance.

“A traitor maybe?” Noct guesses, clearly unsure.

Cor shakes his head without turning away from the paralysed teen that Prompto is pretty sure would be breathing fire at them if he could open his mouth. Seriously, there is smoke escaping from between his tightly clenched teeth.

“From the traitors we managed to capture after the fall, it’s clear that the blessing of the crystal has faded for those that betrayed their oath.”

“Okaaay,” Prompto ventures. “So, what does that leave us with? One very grumpy non-traitor, that we’ve basically kidnapped, who can summon rings of maxed out Firaga spells with a flick of his wrist?”

The awkward silence is a yes.

“Has he given you his ID or unit code?” Cor asks.

“Only his name,” Noct answers as he shakes his head. “Axel.”

“He was severely injured when we found him,” Ignis volunteers,” and there was some mild head trauma.”

Prompto wants to sink into the floor at that reminder, but the Archean isn’t anywhere in sight to grant that wish so he just settles for hunching his shoulders and trying to make himself as small as possible.

Cor raises a hand to his chin, clearly thinking. “How severe was the mild head trauma?”

“Enough that he was knocked out for a good few hours, after only just having woken up,” Ignis supplies.

“You inflicted it?” The brow Cor raises as he asks that question is clearly done so in disapproval.

“Technically it was Prompto.”

Prompto gapes at Noct. “Dude!”

“What? Have you ever tried lying to Cor? It doesn’t work.” Noct shrugs.

“That is the lamest excuse for betrayal I have ever heard!”

Cor clears his throat and that’s all it takes to restore silence.

“So, effectively, we have a name, a list of injuries, first-hand experience of his fighting style, and that’s it.”

When you put it like that it really doesn’t seem like much…like, at all.

Cor sighs. “Bring him to the Cape, I’ll question him once the paralysis wears off.”

The jovial attitude that has managed to suffuse the cabin of the gummi ship is unexpected but wholly welcomed.

It would have been so easy to have simply sat in awkward silence, as they all took turns sending worried glares at the glowing green orb. It wouldn’t have done any of them any good.

This though, this almost bubbly atmosphere that seems to be buoying their spirits, it’s so nice.

“So then,” Isa explains, “I swapped out the cards they were supposed to be using with ones that represented the memories of world’s that were about to fall to darkness.”

“Are you kidding me?” Roxas asks in disbelief. “How long did it take them to fight their way out?”

“Two months.”

“In Castle Oblivion, how were they still sane?”

“There’s an argument to be made that Larxene and Marluxia were never paragons of sanity.”

Xion has to ask, “How exactly did you get away with this?”

The shadow in Isa’s reflexion is definitely a smirk.

“Xigbar was still in charge of missions back then, add that to the fact that he and Marluxia were always fighting or disagreeing over something…”

“You’re making this sound way too easy,” Roxas accuses.

“It is when you know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, like we didn’t.”

Isa finally turns back to them at that. The look of annoyance Xion is expecting isn’t there, instead Isa is wearing a look of such condescending smugness.

Xion wants to make him angry just to see that expression break.

A soft flare from the orb brings an abrupt end to the light atmosphere.

All three of them focus on the item, their gazes fixed upon the steady arrow that is gradually growing brighter.

Hope swells in Xion’s chest at the sight of it, the first sign that they might actually be getting close.

So why is Isa stopping the gummi ship?

“What are you doing?”

Isa doesn’t answer, he doesn’t even face them as he snatches the firelit orb from its place on the console.

“Isa?” Roxas asks, his voice gentler than Xion is capable of making hers at the moment.

Isa ignores them—big surprise, status quo restored—and walks straight past them to the rear of the cabin.

With his back to them Xion can’t tell what Isa is up to, all she can see is the fading light. Warm jade dimming to cool emerald and the cabin grows darker for it, but also colder.

It’s only as Isa turns again, his eyes trained on the circling arrow that unwaveringly points forward, that Xion realises that it’s not the quivering light that’s causing the cabin to feel cold. It’s the looming nebular of darkness surrounding the gummi ship that’s slowly stealing all her warmth.

Worse, the arrow points unfalteringly deeper into the depths of the ominous space cloud that looks exactly like the turbulent skies of the deepest realms of darkness.

“We’re going to have to go through that, aren’t we?”

The impassiveness with which Roxas asks his completely rhetorical question should be considered a skill.

“Yes.”

As should the way Isa answers it.

“What even is that?” Xion asks an actual question.

“It’s all that remains of the World That Never Was.”

Xion and Roxas both move forward at the same time, trying to get a better look. Xion can’t actually see anything beyond the shifting black that now blots out the stars. Surprisingly, she’s thankful for that.

“You don’t think Axel actually tried to open a corridor of darkness to here, do you?”

What is with Roxas and all the really spot-on questions today; Xion hadn’t been thinking about that possibility until he mentioned it, but now she’s thinking about it.

“What would happen if he did?”

She tears her eyes away from the encroaching shadows to look at Isa.

He’s frowning, deeply and his hand is clutching the orb as though he’s silently willing the arrow to turn.

“Nothing good,” is all he says.

With that he retakes his seat and continues following the arrow.

He walks through the battle-scarred streets of Insomnia as though he owns them. Navigating crumbling roads and the collapsing husks of burnt-out buildings as though they are familiar to him as his own back yard.

It truly is such a waste.

Aldercapt really has no class, but what can a poor chancellor do but advise.

He sighs, theatrically of course as he tries to suppress the smile that tugs at the edge of his lips, but how can he not smile as he skips over the fractured remnants of the Rogue.

Alas, she’s not the one he’s searching for.

That fact doesn’t stop him from kicking a loose ornament free from the Rogue’s elaborate head piece, what’s eternity without a little whimsy.

Another street torn asunder bars his route towards his final goal. By the looks of the carnage it would seem that someone misplaced an Ultros, though how it ended up speared upon the remnants of a Niflheim airship is a question he does not have time to ponder, sadly.

He ventures deeper into the ruins of the once peerless city, traversing fresh ruins that speak of a too near history.

His target lies within the centre of this chaos, quite literally in fact.

Littered across the crater of his own making the body of the Mystic lays, only the corpse of his fallen prey for company.

Ah correction, the remnants of two Glaives mar the crest of the crater but there’s hardly anything left, just dust.

It hardly matters.

Making his way to the fallen figure of the once great statue he can see that the scourge is hard at work, but slow, so very slow.

At this rate it will take the better half of a decade for the corruption to sink in.

No, far better to speed things up a bit.

The creature crawls from his shadow, sharp claws scraping against ruined stone as it emerges.

“Oh brother, I’ve brought you a gift.”

Chapter Text

Axel is getting really sick of sleep.

He doesn’t even know when he lost his grip on the waking world, but he knows why. What else is there to do when you’re completely paralysed.

He makes a mental note not to let it happen again, the paralysis not the sleep, unfortunately that’s still essential, but really, if he could go without it he would.

If only to avoid this.

The dream starts as it always does.

White pillars.

Stone statues.

Dry sand.

The only difference is the fact that the footsteps coming from behind him sound louder this time, closer.

He’s running out of time to change the dream, the second he’s forced to turn it’ll all be over.

“Anything is better than this.” The words are hissed between clenched teeth.

His eyes are firmly shut, but he knows that won’t make the blindest bit of difference the second the dream kicks off.

“Hey! You’re back!” The familiar voice calls from right behind him.

Axel can already sense the hand outstretched towards him, any second now it’s going to land on his shoulder. When that happens it’s over.

“Anything is better than this!” The words are gritted out in near desperation.

The palm lands gently on his shoulder and Axel can only prepare for the worst.

The world spins, sandstone and marble is replaced with cold steel and the hand laid softly against his shoulder morphs.

It’s not that dream, for a second the half-formed memory of glorious relief flows freely through his system.

Right up until the dispersing shadows reform into a massive, clawed paw that’s already taking a swipe at him.

Correction, the paw slides through him as though he’s not even there, like he’s merely a reflexion on the surface of a still pond, dispelled at the slightest touch.

A sharp scream cuts to a strangled cry behind him, drawing his attention to where his younger self is laid splayed across the steel floor of the cold room he can hardly remember—massive blood loss and trauma isn’t good for your memory. Shocking.

“I-Isa,” his younger self gasp’s out the name on a painful breath.

His younger self—Lea is curled in on himself, his arms cradling his chest in a way that screams broken ribs…why is it always his ribs.

Keeping his eyes trained on the Heartless circling in the shadows of the room Lea manages to struggle to his knees. Seeing that the beast isn’t moving he chances a quick glance away, his eyes searching frantically.

It’s a mistake.

The creature pounces, revealing the briefest glimpse of dark fur and sharp teeth. Lea does the smart thing and guards, if he’d tried to dodge he would have been swept up in the aftershocks of azure energy, that ripple out from the crater created by the monster sheathing it’s claws in the thick metal plating of the floor.

Instead, he is swept back and has just enough time to gather himself before the next attack comes.

It’s not enough, of course it isn’t, what good is a flimsy block hastily thrown up against a blue furred tail armed with white lances, that have a tendency to detach mid-swing to create their own mini blasts of death.

Once again Lea is sent sprawling, but this time he doesn’t have the energy to even try and curl in on himself.

Laying there, arms spread, his fading gaze trailing the moving shadows of the darkened ceiling above, all Lea can do is breathe.

Axel can’t bring himself to look away, it’s easier to focus on the crumpled form of his younger self than it is to try and see the ephemeral Heartless, that’s pacing the edge of the dim pool of light illuminating Lea.

His younger self really is in bad shape: torn clothes littered with dark patches that can only be dried blood, a clearly broken wrist red and inflamed against the pale near bloodless skin that surrounds it, bruises and lacerations that mottle his exposed flesh like a map of the abuse he’s suffered, and that’s only what can be seen.

Shaking away the phantom pain that the sight makes trail along his skin, Axel takes a minute to wonder whether his recent life experiences are influencing the dream. It would make sense; this memory has always been a little hazy, to say the least.

It’s a thought that he doesn’t have time to pursue, not when he hears that silken voice.

“Why do you continue to resist?”

His younger self tenses in the same way Axel does but it comes with a higher cost for Lea. The breathy grunt and the small reflexive jolt that runs the length of his frame attracts the attention of the lurking Heartless.

Another swipe, another bitten off cry that does nothing to repress the echoing snap of his left arm breaking under the assault.

Axel has to work very hard not to grab his own left arm as the phantom pain of shearing bone runs the length of it.

The voice speaks again, unchanged in tone or level. “The power you need lies within you, deep within your heart, you need only unleash it.”

“Go to hell,” Lea spits, quite literally, with a lot of blood. Axel is really hoping that is just dream logic and his brain being overly dramatic…then again, he can vaguely remember being able to see his own ragged reflexion in a pool of red.

Lea’s less than civil response gets him a kick to his ribs, causing him to fall to his side.

“Pathetic.” The apathetic voice says.

The sound of boots proceeds Xemnas’ emergence from the darkness.

“Your friend had far more potential, he knew what needed to be done for the sake of power.”

“Where is he?” Some strength returns to Lea’s voice as he glares up at Xemnas.

“Did you forget that we have a deal?” Xemnas asks, raising a brow even as the expression on his face doesn’t change.

Axel can remember what it felt like to have a heart, to have emotions. He’s pretty sure Xemnas doesn’t.

“No, I got that part memorised, no worries there.” Lea pants wetly as he tries to rise. “I put down this rabid pet of yours and you tell me what you did with my friend.”

In Lea’s defence, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

“Indeed,” Xemnas says slowly, almost dragging out every letter of the very short word.

“However, by the looks of it, my pet will soon put an end to your sorry tale.”

“Don’t bet on it!” Lea snarls the words as he hurls a Fira spell at the lurking Heartless.

To the boy’s shock the spell hits the beast’s broad chest, knocking the creature back.

What happens next is a perfect example of how it’s easier to get a job done when you don’t have a heart.

The Heartless recovers while Lea’s still frozen in disbelief. Lunging forward the monster wraps its jaws around Lea’s midriff and begins to shake its great shaggy head.

Axel wants to look away, to avert his eyes, but whenever he tries to the sounds of muffled growls, tearing flesh, and breathless screams just become louder and then he can feel the pressure of the sharp teeth clamping around his own chest.

So, it’s better to watch.

Besides, he knows what’s coming.

As if on que—which now that he thinks about it that’s probably the case since this is happening in his head—Lea ignites.

Flames wreathed in shadows coil around him in a blinding contrast of dark and light.

The Heartless isn’t letting go, instead its eyes are starting to glow, deep topaz set within dark blue fur that sparks with an eerie spectral light, matched only by the twin crossed crescent moons which adorn the creature’s forehead.

At this point it boils down to a battle of wills and even if Axel didn’t already know how this is going to end the result is clear.

With a roar the fire flares, engulfing the scene and the two combatants.

Then silence as the light fades, consumed by smoke and writhing shadows.

Lea lays on the floor once more, battered, burned and bloody.

The Heartless lays beside him, form fading into ribbons of darkness as it collapses in on itself.

Lea coughs, his eyes are shut tightly against the pain and he’s desperately trying to hold onto the wavering threads of his consciousness.

He tenses as Xemnas approaches, using the last of his strength to glare at the hollow being posing as a man.

“Well done.” Lea flips Xemnas off at those words and Axel can’t help but smirk, because he genuinely forgot he had done that.

“T…tel-” Lea’s demand is cut off harshly by a drowned wheeze and the trail of blood that escapes the corner of his mouth.

Xemnas just shakes his head at the scene. “It would seem that this is as far as you can go, a pity, but perhaps an inevitability.”

In clear dismissal Xemnas turns away, only to be stopped when a surprisingly strong grip closes around his ankle.

“Screw you!” Lea curses. “We had a deal, and I came through on my end, so spill. Where. Is. My. Friend!”

“Little fool,” Axel can’t help but whisper as he watches his younger self glare up at Xemnas.

Xemnas doesn’t voice the answer.

No, instead, the jumped up hollowed out drama queen simply raises a hand and points at something Lea cannot see.

His younger self turns.

“Isa!”

All that’s behind him is the slowly disintegrating body of the Lycan themed Heartless.

The body that in the time he’s been turned away has taken on a much more familiar form.

Glazed turquoise eyes stare sightlessly at him as ribbons of darkness continue to flake away, only to crumble into nothing.

Axel at least remembers this part very clearly, it’s the moment he came into existence after all.

“IIIIIISSSSSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

~*~*~

Axel sit’s up with a jolt, not yet conscious enough to register that the fear and despair that he thinks he’s feeling are just remnants left over from the dream.

“Whoa!”

The cry of surprise immediately draws his attention, but he doesn’t attack this time.

No, considering how far firing first and thinking later has gotten him so far, he’s holding back this time.

Good thing too, because the person he’s currently glaring at isn’t one of the guys that kidnapped him. He’s just a little kid.

A little kid that looks about three seconds away from bursting into tears.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Axel raises his hands in a pleading gesture. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The little kid doesn’t believe him, because the next second he’s running for the door.

“Marshal! He’s awake!”

Welp, there went any chance of Axel having some time to himself in order to get his thoughts together.

Distantly, he hears quieter voices followed by the sounds of a slow march up some stairs. It isn’t long before there’s a soft knock on the door of the room he was resting in, though the courtesy of the gestures quickly undermined by the fact that the guy just lets himself in.

Imposing is the first word that jumps to the front of Axel’s mind as he looks at the guy walking into the room.

It’s definitely a word that fits, what with the man’s sharp features, proud posture, and the neutral glare that looks like it’s been chiselled onto his face.

The door’s closed behind him and the guy takes a seat in the lone armchair across the other side of the room.

Axel waits for the interrogation to begin, for the demands to be listed off, or for the intimidation and threats to be levied.

They don’t come.

The guy just sits there, leaning forward slightly as he rests his chin on his folded hands, his stare even as he looks directly at Axel and just…just waits.

Axel gets the impression that the guy’s trying to be intimidating; judging by the sweat that’s starting to gather on Axel’s palms and the echo of dread that’s starting to curl in his gut, it would be working really well if Axel weren’t a Nobody.

Axel clears his throat, hoping to break the tense air settling heavily between them.

It’s not that easy.

This is an interrogation tactic; it has to be. Axel’s about ninety percent sure that these guys are part of some military or at least have some training to that effect, considering how the big guy fought and how everyone seems to be so interested in this unit number. It makes the most sense.

It doesn’t help him in the slightest, but hey, it makes sense, yay.

Axel is so glad that a heart is not required for sarcasm.

Anyway, it’s clear this guy—Axel is assuming he’s Marshal—is waiting for him to break.

So, Axel has three options.

First option: open a Corridor of Darkness right here, right now, regardless of the fact that he no longer has his coat and pray that he doesn’t get dumped in the Realm of Darkness, again.

Second option: wait out the guy until he gets bored.

Third option: use what little he’s learned so far and what he heavily suspects—if there is any mercy left in the Realm of Light, he will be wrong…please let him be wrong—to lie his way into this guy’s good graces…if he has any.

Welp, He’s not trying his luck with the Corridor again, not without a coat because seriously life as a Dusk is not appealing, and this guy looks like he’s willing to sit in that chair and just stare for the rest of the day if he has to.

Third option it is.

“Before you ask, no, I don’t remember my ID or unit number.” He looks the guy dead in the eye as he continues. “Actually, apart from my name and the memory of a dark cell, I don’t remember much of anything.”

Both Xion and Roxas have long since abandoned their seats in favour of standing either side of Isa’s pilot chair. All so they can get a better look at the dispersing remnants of the World That Never Was.

To be honest there isn’t much to look at, the cumulous space dust that swirls around the ship comes in many shades, but they’re all just different tones of shadow that come together to create more darkness.

It’s a haunting sight to say the least, one that’s compounded by the fact that Roxas can actually recognise the rare fragments of building that have managed to survive this long.

He can’t help the shiver that roles down his spine when he remembers that Riku and Sora fought Xemnas in this void.

Isa is flying the ship slow, giving himself time to adjust course whenever they run across a piece of debris that can’t simply be blasted out of the way.

All the while Merlin’s tracking spell continues to glow brightly, the pulsing radiance seeming to flare in time to the breath of the dancing flames held within the orb.

He’s been staring at it for so long Roxas doesn’t even realise that they’ve finally cleared the nebulous where the World That Never Was had once existed, until Xion gasps.

Having travelled through Corridors of Darkness and lived on the Edge of Nothing, it should be very hard to shock them by now.

It should be, but the world that rests before them defies all logic.

Ethereal shapes circle the planet, holding back a darkness that is slowly engulfing the world. When one construct of light fails, another rises to replace it, strengthening the scattered shards of crystal light and giving them time to reform and rise once more.

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Roxas whispers. “No world should be able to fight off that much darkness.”

It shouldn’t, but it is, even as the darkness fights back, growing and expanding as it seeks to extinguish the light, the very heart of this world.

“Which world is this?” Xion asks, her voice just as quiet as Roxas’ had been.”

“Eos.”

Roxas is finally able to tear his gaze away from the world that by the looks of it should have already fallen to darkness.

Isa looks concerned.

That more than anything causes Roxas to worry.

“You’ve been here before?”

Isa shakes his head even as his eyes never leave the world that hangs before them.

“No one from the Organization has.”

Isa has stopped the ship leaving them floating just beyond the reach of the world’s gravity. His hands grip the controls tightly, as though he’s expecting to have to retreat at a moment’s notice.

“Is this world that dangerous?” Xion asks, disbelief coating her words.

Roxas can understand her doubt; Organization XIII had thrown them onto worlds that couldn’t exactly be described as harmless. Hell, Saix sent Demyx to Hades at least once a month.

“It would have been better if Axel had been clinging to a rock floating in the centre of that space cloud we just flew through.”

With that, Isa pulls back hard on the yoke causing the gummi ship to bank.

He’s flying away from Eos.

“What are you doing?” Roxas exclaims as he grabs the wheel in an attempt to stop the ship.

Isa bats his hands away and continues flying, only to have Xion make a grab for the yoke.

“You can’t leave him, not when we’re this close.”

“I am not leaving him!” Isa growls clearly insulted. “However, I have no time to look for him while babysitting you two. Not on this world”

“Babysitting!”

Isa ignores their synchronised outcry.

“I’ll drop you off at the Land of Departure and then I will come back for Axel.”

“You can’t do that.” Xion reaches for the controls again, but Isa’s having none of it, the yoke doesn’t budge no matter how Xion tries to pull.

Roxas takes things a step further and grabs the orb.

Unable to both wrestle Xion for control of the ship and go after Roxas, Isa has no choice but to grab Xion and stand.

The sight of Isa lifting Xion bodily with only one arm and not even flinching as she flails and kicks should be funny, it really should, but the stern look that adorns Isa’s face chokes any sense of humour.

“We can help,” Roxas defends as he takes another step back.

“Not even Xemnas could sway the darkness that holds that world.”

The words are spoken evenly, but they settle with a weight that seems so final.

Isa holds out his hand, asking wordlessly for the orb.

Another half step back and the light from the orb grows bright enough to sift through the cage of his shielding hands.

“Plea-” His plea dies beneath the shrieking cry of the ships warning siren, as the cabins lights darken and a shadow descends.

Chapter Text

Cor’s been gone for at least an hour now, but the fact that Noct can’t smell smoke and hasn’t heard the crashing noise of a fight coming from upstairs, makes him very reluctant to get up to go check on him.

Besides, he’s called Cor the Immortal for a reason.

This is the guy who fought Gilgamesh and lived.

The man who joined dad’s Crownsguard at the age of fifteen.

The guard that got sent after Noct when he threw a temper tantrum due to training and his dad was too busy to come and calm him down.

Okay maybe that last one doesn’t sound so impressive, but you have to take in the fact that Noct’s been learning to warp and wield every weapon imaginable pretty much since he could walk.

There are an embarrassing number of toddler Noct stories that end with Cor carrying him to his dad after he’d cried himself to sleep. Most of those stories also feature Cor having to climb something ridiculous—air vents, statues, a windowsill with nothing between Noct and a several story drop—just to get him.

So no, Noct is not worried about leaving Cor alone with a temperamental teenager that wields fire like it comes as naturally to him as breathing.

What worries Noct is Gladio.

Last time his Shield lost a one-on-one match he disappeared to go off and face the Trials of the Blademaster.

Now, technically Gladio didn’t actually lose to Axel, but when has Gladio ever let a technicality stand.

The short answer is never.

So, now the question is what is Gladio going to do this time?

For now at least, it looks as though his Shield is willing to wait for Cor’s verdict, but Noct can’t help but notice that Gladio’s taken to wearing the fire crest’s again. Add that to the fact that Gladio’s doing one armed push ups with a determination that might actually cause the floor beneath him to sink and Noct can’t help but be concerned.

Apparently, he’s not the only one who’s taken notice.

“Gladdy, you’re in the way,” Iris whines as she tries to walk around her brother without spilling the tray of drinks she’s carrying.

“You could have gone round.” Gladio points out as he switches arms and just keeps going, Noct is getting tired just looking at him.

“I shouldn’t have to,” Iris snaps back. “This is a dining room not a gym, go outside before the whole place starts stinking of your sweat.”

 “This isn’t enough to make me sweat,” Gladio defends and Noct can’t help but notice the edge in his voice that’s never usually there when he’s talking to Iris.

Either Iris doesn’t notice, or she ignores it. “Then what’s the point, all you’re doing is taking up space.”

Gladio goes from doing one armed push ups to standing so fast that Noct blinked and missed it.

His Shield’s out the door in the space of the next blink and the rest of them are just left there staring as the door slams shut.

Iris sighs. “Typical Gladdy, he’ll cool off once he’s been for a run.”

She then proceeds to hand out the drinks, acting like everything is normal, which actually it might be considering how stubborn Amicitia’s can be.

“Here, Noct.” Iris grins as she hands him a mug. “It’s no Ebony but it’s got a really nice flavour.”

Noct can’t help but look at Iggy at that comment—coffee snob that he is—only for his eyes to widen when he catches Specs surreptitiously pouring his recently acquired coffee into the conveniently placed plant pot beside his seat.

Not wanting to offend Iris, Noct quickly looks back at her as he takes a sip; it’s sweet and a little bitter, not the worst coffee he’s ever had, but Iggy’s corrupted him so he can’t help but wish it were Ebony.

“It’s good.” he lies, before he chugs half the mug, scolding his tongue in an effort to not have to taste it.

“Sooooo,” Prompto asks from where he’s sitting on the floor with Talcott, nursing his own mug as he nervously fiddles with the frayed edge of the old rug beneath him. “Where do we go from here?”

Good question.

They are still waiting for the Mythril to process, the original plan had been to just kill time until that was done. Take on a few hunts, help people, and check in with some of their other contacts before they headed for Altissia.

Whether that’s still the plan will depend very much on what Cor decides to do with Axel.

Unconsciously, he looks to the stairs at that thought.

“Right,” Prompto says. “No use in planning when we don’t really know what’s happening.”

Noct looks back only to see Prompto sinking in on himself, releasing the worn edge of the carpet and wrapping his hands around the mug as though he’s trying to glean some warmth from the cooling ceramic.

“No, you’re right, we should have a basic idea of what we want to do.” It’s subtle, but Noct can see Prompto relax slightly at those words.

Talcott speaks up then, bulldozing over the lingering unease that’s hanging in the air like it’s not even there. “If you’re looking for something to do, Lestallum will be holding the Assassin’s Festival in a few days.”

“Really?!” Both Noct and Prompto shout at the same time.

Excitement bubbles under Noct’s skin at the mere thought of it. He’s always wanted to go but has never had the chance, how can he pass this up.

“Dude we have to go!” Prompto shouts.

“The Archean rising out of his crater again couldn’t keep me away,” Noct agrees.

“I see no reason why we shouldn’t be able to go,” Iggy puts in his two gil and Noct’s excitement soars.

Only to plummet as Specs continues, “Provided, of course, that we are careful and depending on what measures we have to put in place to…accommodate Axel.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” As quiet as Cor’s voice is it’s no wonder Noct can’t help but jump and spill what’s left of his lukewarm coffee in his lap.

“Marshal, what news?” Ignis asks as he hands Noct a tea-towel. Noct can’t help but be glad that the royal colour of Lucis is black. Astrals forbid if it were white like the Fleuret, to this day Noct has no idea how Luna and Ravus always manage to look so pristine at all times.

Cor takes a seat as though he hadn’t just nearly given his king a heart attack. He looks serious, well, more serious than usual.

“Iris, would you mind taking a drink up to our guest?” Cor asks, his voice is quiet but in the silence of the cosy dining room it seems to echo like a shout.

There’s no doubt that their ‘guest’ will have heard the request, but unless he can see through walls, he won’t see the series of hand gestures Cor gives even as he speaks.

It’s a silent language that Noct knows as well as any spoken, so he’s easily able to read the message Cor wants to convey. ‘Keep him distracted.’

Iris nods as she rolls her thumb in the code for acknowledged. Then she’s smiling, all seriousness replaced with her usual sweet demeanour.

“Sure, I’ll see if he’s interested in something to eat as well, I think we still have some leftovers in the fridge.”

She’s already making her way to the kitchen and in less than a minute she has a small tray arranged with a variety of snacks even Noct wouldn’t turn his nose up at.

“Talcott do you want to come with me?” Iris asks as she starts to make her way upstairs in such a casual way that the kid won’t guess this was planned.

“Umm, I’m not…” Talcott looks so unsure.

Prompto scootches a little closer from where he’s still sitting on the floor next to him.

“Aw, come on, little dude, you’re not gonna let poor Iris confront Axel all on her own, are you?”

Talcott’s gaze immediately shifts to Iris, who right on que begins to pout. “I was hoping you were going to continue telling me about the Rogue Queen.”

Predictably, that does the trick and Noct isn’t surprised that Prompto can’t resist ruffling Talcott’s hair when the kid gives that sunlit smile of his.

He scrambles away and soon he and Iris are heading up the stairs. Talcott offering to take the tray as they go.

Cor waits until they hear the door shutting, and then another moment as the sound of soft conversation begins to trail through the ceiling before he starts.

“If he’s telling the truth, then it’s both worse and better than we thought.”

“Could you not just have said you have some good news and some bad news?” Prompto asks, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Cor continues as though he hadn’t been interrupted.

“He claims that he’s been held captive for at least the past year, that he was imprisoned in an underground lab where he was made to fight, what I can only surmise were Daemons from how he described them, and that apart from his name and these facts he doesn’t remember much else.”

This is not what Noct had been expecting to hear.

He doesn’t think it’s what any of them had been expecting, judging by the way Prompto’s mouth is hanging open in silent horror, or the way Iggy hasn’t adjusted his glasses, even though the glare he’s wearing has caused them to slide more than the acceptable half a centimetre he begrudgingly allows.

“I thought Niflheim didn’t take prisoners,” Noct says this as a statement, but the question within it is all too clear.

Thankfully, Cor answers, “We all thought that was the case after MTs were more widely used, but it was never confirmed.”

“How come?” Prompto asks and Noct really wishes he hadn’t because he does not want to have to answer that. Reading about Lucian losses as statistics on a report is one thing, speaking about them out loud is another.

Unsurprisingly Iggy takes the bullet for him. “In recent years it has become harder and harder to reclaim the bodies of the fallen from the front lines, though efforts were made.”

“Oh,” Prompto says, what else can he say.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a breathy sigh that drags Noct’s attention back to where Cor is sitting, hands clasped in his lap, eyes trained on the middle distance.

“Given the recent revelation of the depths to which Niflheim managed to infiltrate our High Command—”

“You mean how Titus turned half the Glaive against us and literally stabbed my father in the back,” Noct spits with such acid he’s surprised he can’t taste blood in his mouth.

Cor takes it all in stride, but Noct doesn’t miss how his eyes darken. “Yes, given that I am reluctant to trust any information or records we have concerning the Glaive.”

“So what?” Prompto asks. “You’re saying Axel got captured and Drautos never reported it?”

“Worse.” Noct is actually genuinely shocked by the amount of anger he can hear in that one word.

 He waits for Cor to elaborate but the Marshal is silent.

It’s gone so quiet that they can easily hear the murmur of easy conversation that’s happening above their heads.

Ignis does them all a favour and finally breaks the tension. “Marshal, am I correct in assuming that Axel would have been too young to have officially enlisted?”

“Yes.”

The key word in Iggy’s question is officially.

“You’re saying that Drautos allowed this kid to enlist early and then Niflheim captured him,” Noct surmises.

Cor looks up at him, eyes dark and brow set. “I’m saying Drautos handed him over.”

That answer hits Noct like a punch to the gut.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Cor shakes his head and leans back into his chair. “But for now, it’s just a theory and until we can determine whether Axel is trustworthy, we can’t waste our limited resources on an investigation that may only lead to dead ends.”

“Wait.” Prompto jumps in again, his voice a little louder than it should be, making Noct wince. “You’re saying you don’t trust him, but you let Iris and Talcott go up there on their own!”

The look Cor gives Prompto, calm authority backed with a wealth of experience that’s deeper than all three of theirs combined, causes him to sit back down. “I mean, Axel can throw fire and Iris doesn’t even have a weapon, plus Talcott’s just a little kid. They’re easy targets.”

“They seem that way don’t they.” If Noct’s not mistaken that little uptick at the corner of Cor’s mouth is the beginning of a self-satisfied smirk.

“Err, okay, now I’m slightly scared.” Contradicting his own words Prompto shuffles closer to Cor, a silent plea for more answers.

“They’re both wearing accessories with fire resistance and I’ve taken over Iris’ combat training since she started staying here long term.”

Noct does not know whether to pity Iris, be seriously jealous of her, or fear for Axel’s safety.

Who is he kidding, Axel doesn’t stand a chance.

“So, it’s a trap,” Noct says as he gazes up at the ceiling, half expecting Axel to be punched through it at any second.

“More like a test.” Cor’s almost smiling now, in a way that reminds Noct of a Coeurl that’s crouched and about to sink its teeth into its unsuspecting prey.

Axel better hope that if he is lying Iris takes him out before Cor gets his hands on him.

Also, selfishly, Noct is hoping that Axel is trustworthy because he really wants to go to the Assassin’s Fest.

Isa knows it’s too late the second he sees the shadow begin to fall over the cockpit.

He does the only thing he can.

With Xion already tucked safely to his side he lunges forward and snags Roxas with his remaining free arm. He ignores the pained grunt Roxas gives as his arm closes round the boy’s chest like an iron band, and the breathless shriek that escapes Xion as he throws them both into the furthest corner of the cockpit.

He has just enough time to wonder at the fact that throwing children has become part of his daily routine, then the floor beneath his feet lurches.

Alarms that weren’t already blaring join the chorus of emerging danger as the gummi ship collides with something very solid.

Something that doesn’t let go.

The gummi ship judders around them as the sound of straining gummi blocks fills the air.

Isa has to grab onto the nearest chair just to keep his feet, as the ship is suddenly pulled upwards.

“What’s happening?!” Roxas’ question is drowned out by the sharp, ear-splitting snap of one of the gummi ships wings breaking free from the cockpit.

It’s the last sound before the alarms fall silent and all the lights go dark, replaced with the eery red that signals the ships lost its main power. A phenomenon which is easily explained when Isa looks out the window.

The rest of the ship is gone.

As the implication of that fact sinks in the floor beneath him shifts again.

Braced as he is, he manages to keep his balance, but it means he’s unable to shield his eyes as light begins to stream into the cabin.

It’s so bright it’s painful and Isa finds himself turning his head away from it, trying to shield his face with his hair just to provide some relief.

His eyes begin to water as the light intensifies but he forces them to stay open. He wants to see the threat when it comes.

His sight adjusts, revealing the looming claws that encase the cockpit. There’s no other way to describe the four silhouettes that enclose what’s left of the stranded gummi ship, what with the way they curl in like talons and the sharp, lethal looking points that adorn each one of them.

Just to prove him right—hard to believe but yes being right all the time does get tiring—the claws unfurl enough to unveil the azure armoured palm, wrist, arm, and body they are attached to.

The entity is huge, made more so by the cloak of blades which adorn its back like a set of folded wings.

It eclipses their small ship in a way very few Heartless can.

Then again, this is no Heartless.

He’s seen pictures, the book Mogoby had shared had several, but only one of them depicted an Astral as anything that might be argued to resemble this form.

Yes, an Astral, he knows what this entity is, how it is revered on this world. How in a last act of grace it had allowed the moogles of this world to flee before the ‘Scourge’—as Mogoby had called it—could begin to consume the light of this star.

Even so, Isa is still taking a chance when he calls out to the deity. If he chooses the wrong name and unintentionally insults the Astral, it’s not just Isa that will pay the price.

“Bahamut.”

Chapter Text

“Bahamut.”

The name is spoken with all the respect Isa can muster, but he stands tall as he says it.

He will not bow, never again.

Time passes and he waits, either for the Astral to crush them or acknowledge his greeting.

The claws flex, so close that one of the tips scrapes a shallow line along the surface of the glass and Isa prepares to open a Corridor of Darkness beneath Roxas and Xion. It’s risky, even with the enchanted garments gifted to them, but it’s better than the alternative. He won’t have time to make it to the corridor himself, he knows this, the distance is too great.

Another flex and a shifting floor beneath his feet, as darkness caresses his straining fingers and then Bahamut speaks.

“Two former vessels of the Seeker of Darkness, Xehanort the profane, and a Guardian of the Light.”

Isa steps forward at that, obscuring the Astral’s view of the children behind him as much as he can.

In any other circumstance he would have already summoned his Claymore as a shield, in the hopes of providing just one more barrier between his Lea’s friends and Bahamut. In any other circumstances he would have already attacked, robbing his opponent of the benefit of the first strike, but these are not any other circumstances.

Here, his adversary has every advantage.

Isa has fought against those odds before and lost, badly.

He won’t let it happen again.

His only choice is to wait, to see what happens and buy time until a chance presents itself.

He hates it, but he has no choice.

Eventually— after a strained age that feels like an eternity—Bahamut continues, his voice a deep rumble that reverberates through the cavity of Isa’s chest.

“In accordance with the laws of providence the order of this star is held in the grace of the Six. Begone.”

Isa’s shoulders relax against his will as the tense line his nerves are forcing his spine to maintain eases. Of all the ways this could have gone, simply being told to leave is not the worst, but it’s not an answer he can accept.

Barely managing to wrestle down the tirade that sparks at the tip of his tongue like the fireworks Lea likes to play with, he bites down his pride and speaks.

“We mean no offense. Our only goal is to retrieve our lost friend.”

Bahamut’s visage doesn’t change, but Isa would swear that the Astral is raising an eyebrow at him.

“This star has not known the tread of a bearer of the Keyblade in some time. Your search must continue elsewhere.”

 Another clear dismissal, but Isa’s rage has only ever been equalled by his determination—behemoth sized stubborn streak Lea would argue.

“Our friend has currently lost his ability to wield a Keyblade, but I know he is here.”

Isa isn’t actually sure whether that’s true but correcting the Astral who’s literally holding their fate in the palm of his hand seems to be a very quick way to get himself and Lea’s minions killed.

As if to emphasize that point Bahamut adjusts the position of the vulnerable cockpit resting upon his hand. Everything around him shifts but Isa refuses to fall.

“The Keyblade. Legend speaks of it, a weapon of phenomenal power. Said to bring salvation or ruin, depending on what strength dwells within the heart of its chosen.”

Isa can feel Bahamut’s gaze upon him.

“That three wielders should appear so close to the prophesized hour…”

Even as Bahamut trails off Isa doesn’t speak and thankfully neither do Roxas or Xion. How can they when the very air they breathe feels laden with the power of the entity before them?

“Tell me, what strength yet remains in you? Former vessel.

At that moniker, the spark resting on his tongue ignites along the edge of his teeth and Isa feels like he could breathe fire, he’s seen Lea do it often enough, it shouldn’t be too hard.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and calls upon the same force of will that had allowed him to maintain a straight face through Xemnas’ preachy-er moments. It goes without saying, he’s had a lot of opportunities to practise.

“I would argue that I am stronger now that I am no longer subject to the will of a madman.” Isa does not growl, but it is a near thing.

“To survive for years as a slave to a darkness that succeeded in consuming so many worlds and emerge whole. How many others can lay claim to that achievement?”

Thirteen as far as Isa knew.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, screaming that he’s just made a bad move, but he’s always been very good at ignoring that voice, so he doesn’t back down like every sense of his limited self-preservation is begging him to do, and instead continues to stare down Bahamut.

“Thou claims to have conquered the darkness, but the means of your redemption came at the hands of another.”

True as that may be, it does nothing to undermine Isa’s own strength of heart. Not in his own view at least, but that isn’t what matters here.

“Isn’t realising when it’s time to stop fighting a form of strength in itself?”

The silence that follows his words is held by the fraying thread of Bahamut’s patience.

At any moment, the Astral could decide that this audience has come to its natural conclusion and end it.

Isa can’t fight the feeling that he has pushed too far, that the reigning quiet is merely the precursor to the wrath the Astral is about to unleash upon all of them.

Isa won’t take back his words, he can’t, to repent now would only show weakness.

He can only await the Astral’s judgment.

The claws tighten and Isa feels as though they are closing around his own heart, but inexplicably, they retreat.

Bahamut speaks. “A darkness not of this world has fallen to the thrall of the Accursed. It fears not the radiance of day and carries with it the scent of worlds no longer held within the veil of the light.”

There is a lot there that Isa has no clue about but it’s easy to guess what the ‘darkness not of this world’ means. “Heartless.”

“Indeed,” Bahamut acquiesces with a tilt of his dragon clad helm. “Agree to vanquish this darkness, to cleanse this star of its blight and unto thee shall be granted the blessing of the Bladekeeper.”

 Isa pauses, only because it’s the only thing he can do before he’s forced to agree, what other choice is there.

“You have my word.”

“The covenant is forged, but be warned, should the time of the prophesized hour come to pass, if thou hast been unable to fulfil thy quest, the fate of this star shall be thine own.”

With that, light engulfs the ship, more blinding than the last and this time Isa has no choice but to raise his arms in order to shield his eyes, as lances of light assault his vision. The sharp cries from behind him show that he’s not the only one suffering.

The light soon fades, revealing a world bathed in the ruby shades of a setting sun and at the sight of it Isa can finally release the breath he never realised he was holding.

“Isa!” Two pairs of hands close around him, supporting him as he curls forward and all but drowns in the thick relief that’s making his head spin.

“What was that?” Xion’s voice is quiet, so quiet, but whether that’s because she’s choosing to speak softly or because Isa is having trouble hearing her over the hammering drum of his own heart, he can’t tell.

All he can do is just keep breathing.

Eventually he feels the arms, that at this point are holding him up, shift. They gently guide him back to the pilot’s chair, easing him down with such care that it makes him want to lash out.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hisses the words between clenched teeth as he tries to breathe through the vertigo slowly engulfing his senses.

“What?” Roxas asks as he moves closer, placing a hand on Isa’s bowed back in a gesture that’s supposed to be comforting.

It’s not.

It’s confining, and restrictive, and the heavy solid weight of it that’s meant to be grounding is just another sensory input that he just doesn’t need.

His grip on his anger is slipping, he can feel his control fraying, slowly coming apart one iron strand at a time.

When it snaps—when, not if—he won’t care who he hurts, so while he’s still rational he has to get away.

He makes to stand, brushing aside the restraining hands that seek to keep him contained.

Crossing the small space in a few strides he kicks the door of the gummi ship open, not caring that he breaks it from its hinges as he does so, even as the sound of straining gummi blocks rakes against his ears, making his skin crawl. He’s out, that’s all that matters.

He has enough presence of mind to take note of his surroundings. The cockpit of the gummi ship and a few other blocks lay strewn across a flat plateau of bedrock, beyond that the black sand and jagged rocks of a volcanic plain compete for space with steaming pools formed by natural hot springs.

It’s a desolate place, far from civilisation.

Good.

The sun is setting just as he crosses the dusty edge that defines the limits of the bedrock where what’s left of the ship rests.

“Isa, where are you going?” Roxas calls after him, but his voice already sounds distant.

“Just wait there.” He doesn’t turn back to see if his command has been obeyed; he doesn’t have any patience left to spare.

In the short time it’s taken him to get some distance between himself and the smooth rock that has begun to glow in the waning light of twilight, the sun has set, and a full moon has risen, unobscured and whole in a way that cannot be appreciated in Twilight Town.

He has little time to admire it; the ground beneath his feet is already bleeding black, dark sand painted with rippling shadows that consume all light.

It’s similar to the pools of darkness the heartless use to manifest themselves, but not the same. The scent of disease and decay clings heavily to the creature—the Daemon—that emerges from the liquid shadow.

Tall and grey, it stands there covered only by a thin silk yukata that does little to conceal the sickly pallor of its skin.

More a walking corpse animated by darkness than a creature that has lost its heart.

In the end it matters little.

All who face his blade share the same fate.

Fenestala Manor.

One would think that all her years as a prisoner here would make the familiar white marble halls and vine draped terraces feel like an ornate cage, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Even the might of the Niflheim empire could not rewrite the pleasant nostalgia of a childhood spent in comfort and safety. Memories of a loving mother and a caring brother who taught her the proud history of their house and the duty that awaited her.

She can’t help but smile at the recollection of it; she, mother, and Ravus reclined together in one of the comfortable alcoves that strategically dot the residential areas of the manor. Shielded from the troubles of the outside world, if only for a moment, as they flitted from one subject to the next.

The alcove she chooses to take her repose in now is one of her favourites. So many hours of her life have been spent gazing out this very window, taking in a scene that never seems to change even with the turning of the seasons.

It’s a magnificent sight. Sylleblossoms paint the field below her blue even in the pale light of the moon, bringing colour to a monochrome world that seems to grow darker with each passing day.

She can’t help the touch of melancholy that possesses her at the thought of that, but to turn away from the truth of it would be to ignore her duty.

The days grow shorter, the light wanes, and soon all shall fall to darkness.

She blinks, caught off guard by the single tear she is forced to blink away. Wiping it away she brings her hand to rest against her forehead. She is tired, that’s all.

Even so, she cannot bring herself to part from the scene below her quite yet.

Her gaze trails along the nostalgic view, mapping it with her eyes until she has once again committed it to memory.

She then turns towards the heavens and is grateful for the clear sky that greets her. The moon hangs low allowing the stars above to compete for her attention against the canvas of inky night.

The sudden streak of light across the static sky causes her to blink.

A shooting star, a rare sight, one that she was lucky to see.

What more could she wish for.

Chapter Text

Iris and Talcott are officially Axel’s favourite people on this world.

Bringing him food had been a good start, the mere smell that had proceeded their entrance already softening his guard. Cut a guy some slack, the scent of a home cooked meal after a year of surviving the culinary attempts of various members of the Organization. Ugh, the others complain about his ‘burnt offerings’ as they call them but at least the stuff he cooks doesn’t look poisonous or in extreme cases radioactive.

Anyway, add that to the fact the kid is a veritable fountain of information and Iris brought him fresh clothes, and there you go, instantly his favourite people.

There’s just one problem.

Talcott, being the walking encyclopaedia on the lore of this world he apparently is, has confirmed that Axel is on Eos.

Eos.

Commence loud and endless internal screaming.

Luckily, he’s managing to keep his face straight while his brain calculates just how many ways he’s screwed.  Currently it’s over nine thousand.

His counting is interrupted when Talcott asks him a question he doesn’t quite catch.

“Sorry, what?” Axel doesn’t have to fake looking clueless.

“The Kings of Yore, do you know much about them?” Talcott asks again and Axel can’t help but be a little concerned by the veritable swarm of sparkles suddenly surrounding the kid.

At least this is a question he can answer truthfully. “Not a lot, why?”

The sparkles intensify.

Iris chuckles and her eyes soften in a way that looks indulgent. “You were telling me about the Rogue queen, weren’t you.”

Impossibly, the kid smiles wider, revealing deep dimples in both his cheeks. “Yeah! She really was an amazing ruler but so little is known about her actual life.”

“If so little is known about her then how do you know she was a good ruler?” Axel can’t help but tease. He really, really needs the distraction.

Talcott takes it in stride. “Nothing personal is known about her, that’s true, but her deeds helped steer her people through a great time of crisis.”

“Her deeds huh?” Axel suspects that Talcott doesn’t need to be prompted but he wants to show he’s paying attention.

Talcott nods with so much enthusiasm that Axel’s shocked he doesn’t hear the sharp snap of the kids neck breaking.

“She claimed the Myrlwood of the Cleigne region during her reign, expanding the Lucian influence and bringing more people under the protection of the crown.”

Axel very pointedly does not ask whether the people of the Cleigne region wanted to be ‘taken under the protection of the crown.’ The way Talcott is smiling as he talks about the Rogue Queens conquest makes it clear that the kid thinks she did the right thing. This isn’t Axel’s world and he’s heard more than enough about Daemons to know that being shielded by a monarchy that actually has the power to repel them is probably a good thing.

Seriously, if Mogoby’s tales hadn’t convinced him then the state Xemnas had been in after returning from his first and only trip to Eos would have. Axel has never seen Xemnas so exhausted before or since then; the state of his coat and the bloody trail he had left in his wake painted a picture of absolute defeat, but nothing spoke that louder than the order that was handed down later that day. Eos is off limits.

The order had been final, and yet here Axel is.

Greeeaaaatttt, now he’s back on the track of how very, very, very screwed he is.

Talcott’s still talking, outlining the age of peace that followed the Rogue Queens victories. Axel is not complaining, it’s a great cover that allows him to really evaluate his current situation.

He smirks at Talcott’s commentary on the lacklustre attempts of the historians of the period, all the while turning to his own thoughts.

Using a Corridor of Darkness is going to have to be his absolute last resort, why? Well, the fact that his coats in shreds is a pretty big factor but it’s not the only reason. No, the main concern is the darkness that inhabits this world; in short, it’s weird. Really, really weird.

Heartless and non-sentient Nobodies don’t last long on Eos. The darkness of this world, Scourge as it’s called, latches onto them, corrupts them further, and then transforms them into the Daemons that haunt this world.

How does Axel know this? Easy, one of the dusks that Xemnas took with him got infected.

Long story short, the results were not pretty and Axel’s penchant for fire came in very handy. Even Vexen didn’t complain about there being nothing left to study. The worst part is the fact that the Dusk hadn’t had time to go full Daemon and it was still a nightmare to try and kill off.

The remaining ashy sludge—ninety percent ash, seven percent charred embers, and the three percent oh my light it’s still moving sludge—had promptly been teleported back to Eos using the smallest Corridor of Darkness possible.

So no, Axel shall not be using a Corridor of Darkness unless he has absolutely no other option.

That leaves him with the very slim chance of finding a gummi ship. Maybe he’ll get ridiculously lucky and find a stash of abandoned gummi blocks the Moogles of this world left behind.

It’s a long shot, but he’d rather exhaust that option than risk a Corridor. Though if—who is Axel kidding, he already knows it’s simply a matter of when—it comes to that Axel is not trying to go to the World That Never Was first. He’s not suicidal.

The real question is what’s he going to do until then.

He has no idea how long this amnesiac Glaive cover can last, he’s not even sure what a Glaive is, so sticking around with these guys probably isn’t the best idea.

Then again, they don’t seem too eager to let him go.

So, it’s back to being patient…he remembers really hating having to be patient, so well in fact that the mere memory of it is causing an irritated twitch to pull at his left eye.

“You okay there Axel?” Iris asks. “You look a little annoyed.”

Axel doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m good.”

He covers the twitch by running a hand along his forelock, sweeping it back as though it was the cause. It soon falls back into place exactly where it was before, but Iris seems satisfied.

The sudden quiet that follows the interruption steers Axel’s attention back to where Talcott is sitting.

“So, what’s this about the Rogue Queens weapon being like my own?” Even though he’s been lost in his own thoughts Axel still kept half an ear on the ongoing conversation, nodding and laughing whenever it seemed appropriate.

He has to admit, from what Talcott has been saying the Rogue Queen really does sound like a badass. The Star of the Rogue is a really memorable name and even though she kept to the shadows she still left her mark on history. Axel can admire that.

Talcott suddenly looks pensive.

Not a good look on the kid when compared to the unbridled enthusiasm that previously decorated his face.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply that you were copying her.” When Axel just blinks at the kid, not entirely sure why he’s apologising Talcott goes on, “I mean there’s records about the Star of the Rogue and I’ve seen pictures of Prince Noctis wielding it, so…I mean you wield dual Shuriken and…well the Rogue queen…” Talcott peters off, obviously upset for some reason.

Axel glances at Iris, looking for help, seriously, the aura of depression that’s suddenly swamped the kid really doesn’t suit him.

Iris doesn’t notice his look because she’s already scootching closer to Talcott, so she can wrap her arm around his bowed shoulders.

“Hey, Talcott,” Iris says as she pulls him closer. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Axel doesn’t mind, do you Axel?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Why would I?”

Talcott looks at him with the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes Axel’s seen in a long time. The expression might actually rank in the top three kicked puppy looks Axel’s ever seen and that is an impressive feat, especially when you take into account who holds the joint first rank.

It’s hard to believe yes, but when Isa was younger he could pull off some of the best puppy dog eyes. Those looks were the main reason Isa got away with so much more than Lea ever could when they were kids. The only other person that’s ever been able to give Isa a run for his munney in that department is Z-

Axel bites his tongue in order to cut that thought off.

Why does this world keep throwing such subtle reminders at him? No wonder every time he closes his eyes he’s having to fight not to have that nightmare.

First, it was the teen only a few years older than him with azure eyes and black spikey hair, then came the duel on an arena of stone, now he’s got a kid facing him with the shade of the expression from that time.

What’s next? Someone suddenly resorting to squats to burn off extra energy.

Axel mentally shivers at the mere thought of it.

Luckily, Talcott hasn’t noticed his brief but sudden short circuit, but Iris has, judging by the way her gaze has turned assessing. He moves quickly to cover the lapse.

Standing, he takes it slow and exaggerates his movements so as not to spook either of them. Talcott’s relaxed enough but Iris’ posture is gradually tensing, as though she’s getting ready to pounce the second he makes the wrong move.

He makes a move, hopefully it’s not the wrong one.

Projecting his movement so that Talcott will have time to shift away, or Iris will be able to intervene if either of them disapproves, Axel reaches forward and seizes Talcott’s face.

The boy blinks in surprise but he doesn’t flinch, so Axel takes that as the okay to try something.

Pulling gently, he stretches the kids cheeks back into a smile, wiping away the puppy eyed expression as he does so and replacing it with a look of shocked confusion hidden beneath the synthetic smile.

“Come on kid, none of that. Or do I need to barbecue someone?”

Talcott’s eyes widen and he tries to shake his head but it’s proving rather difficult with Axel still pinching his cheeks.

He can see from the corner of his eye that at least Iris isn’t taking his offer seriously. Her eyes glimmer with amusement and she’s fighting against the reflexive rise of her hand that’s trying to cover the smirk flickering at the edge of her lips.

“Don’t do that!” Talcott tries to protest, but his words are slightly muffled by his unnaturally wide pseudo grin.

“Oh, why shouldn’t I?” Axel prods. “It definitely sounds like someone’s been messing with you and I feel like balancing the scale, besides a little roasting never hurt anyone.”

Before Talcott can begin objecting in earnest Iris lets out a considering hum. “If I recall correctly the Glaives name was Luche Lazerus. He threw a hissy fit after Talcott commented on how his fighting style and weapon choice were similar to Nyx Ulric’s.

Those names mean absolutely nothing to Axel, a fact that can only help him right now considering his supposed amnesiac status. He lets the blankness show but then he shrugs, moving his attention back to Talcott, whose suddenly decided it’s time to wiggle his way out of Axel’s loose grip.

“Iris! How could you!”

“How could I?” She tilts her head as though she’s thinking. “Very easily and with great satisfaction, the jerk deserves to be barbecued.”

Axel laughs, “So, how do we want this guy served up? Or do I skip the roasting and go straight for cremation?”

He winks at Iris, already aware that she’s been on board with his teasing from the start.

“Oh, definitely cremation,” Iris giggles.

Talcott’s flitting back and forth across the space that separates Iris and Axel. “No really, please don’t do that, please.”

Poor Talcott looks so anxious but Axel’s taking his ques from Iris. This situation is amusing, Axel remembers what Lea was like when he was amused, all he has to do is let the memory of sunlit days and bubbling laughter guide his motions and just like that it all looks natural. Nobody needs to know he’s just an empty shell of what’s left of somebody.

Grabbing Talcott as he makes his next pass, Axel sits the kid down with him, wrapping one arm loosely around his narrow shoulders to discourage any attempts to start pacing again.

“Before I set off to find this guy, I think I’m going to need a few more details.”

Talcott raises both his hands to cover his mouth and shakes his head.

“Tough customer huh?” Axel shrugs as casually as he can, all loose limbs and lazy posture, then he smirks, “We have ways of making you talk.”

Before Talcott can even register the foreboding nature of those words Axel’s already tickling, fingers running light and quick over and between ribs. Talcott buckles instantly, curling in on himself to try and get away.

“Axe-hah! Please, no pfft, stop,” Talcott wheezes between muffled laughter and surprised shrieks.

When Axel doesn’t stop Talcott turns to Iris instead, “Iris Help!”

The girl jumps into action, shuffling forward and Axel knows the joke is over.

He’s proven wrong the next second when Iris reaches out, removes Talcott’s sock with one swift motion, and begins tickling the sole of his foot.

“There is no escape,” she says with all the glee of a long-time friend that’s finally getting revenge.

Talcott can only howl louder.

It’s so loud in fact, that none of them hear the stomping footsteps that proceed the door being kicked in.

Xion’s pillow is moving.

Why is Xion’s pillow moving? It hadn’t been when she’d first gone to sleep, so why is it moving now?

She and Roxas had turned in when they realised that the monsters inhabiting this world—not Heartless, surprisingly—couldn’t stand to cross the invisible line that separates the flat plateau they rest on from the volcanic sand that surrounds it.

The demonstration had been violent, to say the least. One of the smaller monsters, an emaciated thing with a ragged robe and a rusted sword fell prey to the seismic shift of Isa bringing his Claymore down upon it. Thrown back, the creature would have landed on top of them if it hadn’t frozen in mid-air, as though caught by an invisible hand.

Glyphs carved into the stone beneath their feet suddenly glowed with a radiance comparable to the light the entity that transported them here had wielded, but it was calmer. Safer and comforting in a way that the light wielded as a weapon by the entity—Bahamut, Xion heard Isa call him—had been terrifying and humbling.

That being said, the creature died an uneasy death. One that made Xion wonder whether it would have been more merciful for the monster to meet its end on the tip of one of Isa’s blades. She’s only seen bodies disintegrate that quickly when Axel’s in a really foul mood.

Back to the problem at hand, her pillow is still moving.

Unwilling to fully get up or open her eyes to assess the problem because she’s in that warm fuzzy half lucid place between dreams and awareness, Xion adjusts the angle of her neck, hoping that will solve the problem.

It doesn’t, in fact it makes it worse.

The gentle rise and fall of her pillow beneath her ear is now accompanied by a low steady beat.

She’s going to have to open her eyes.

She really doesn’t want to, but she’s going to have to.

Blinking, she’s greeted with the sight of Roxas’ sleeping face. His short blonde spikes ring his head in a halo of disorder, sleep mussed and chaotic in a way that she never sees when he’s awake.

He looks unbothered, peaceful, not at all disturbed by the moving pillow they’re apparently sharing.

The moving pillow that is Isa.

How did this happen?

Just…

How?

Xion is not a heavy sleeper so…

Well, she isn’t when she’s able to keep a somewhat normal sleep schedule.

The past day…two days—she doesn’t even know anymore—have been anything but normal.

That’s beside the point.

Isa doesn’t like being touched, hugs are so far off the table with him that it’s not even funny, so this…Him lying between her and Roxas and holding them in a loose hug as they all finally crash after so much has happened…does not compute.

She’s half convinced she’s dreaming. It would be far more believable than this actually happening, she’s including Axel being de-aged to his early Organization XIII days in that because really, none of this is believable.

She tries to shift again only to have Isa wrap his arm more securely around her shoulders.

What is she meant to do?

What can she do?

The answer her exhausted brain supplies is probably not the best but she’s just tired enough to think it’s funny.

Fishing out her gummi phone she sets the camera to night mode and tries to get a proper angle. Her arms just long enough to allow her to get all three of them in the frame.

Neither Roxas or Isa shift at the low noise the camera makes when she snaps the photo but she’s unwilling to push her luck any further.

Dismissing the phone, she closes her eyes again. Quite content to fall back asleep now that she knows why her pillow is moving.

Chapter Text

The feeling of sweat and fresh sea spray drying on his exposed skin is unfamiliar but calming. The sound of crashing waves on harsh rock walls and towering cliffs is loud but grounding. The feeling of abrasive stone beneath his fingertips is similar yet different to the almost smoothed rock of the ancient ruins left standing in the heart of Insomnia he had once preferred to climb.

It all adds up to a new experience that allows Gladio to loose himself in the seconds stretched out by the straining of his muscles and the tightening of his ligaments.

It’s what he needs right now, to just be in the moment, to not think about current events and the spikey haired Ifrit spawn that came out of nowhere to cause them.

The mistake of allowing his mind to wonder makes itself known when the handhold Gladio thought solid gives way beneath his grip. His hand grinds crumbling rock to dust as his clenched fist drags against the sea hewn stone of the cliff he clings to.

Luckily, his other hand hold proves more stable, but his own weight pulled upon by the invisible force of gravity still makes it hard to find his footing. He knew he should have taken his boots off before he tried this crag, but his quick scan at the bottom had revealed a lowish—by his standards—level climb that had looked simple enough. He’s paying for it now.

Finding purchase with his left foot he manages to regain his balance enough to secure his next hand hold, in the form of a sturdy-ish looking crevice that he has to jam his clenched fist into. It’s a painful move, especially with the fact that his climbing calluses have had time to fade, it’s what happens when you spend less time on walls, like any training, you go soft.

From there it’s a simple task to complete the rest of the shallow overhang. Before he knows it his hand is tangling in the tresses of soft grass that dot the edge of the cliff and he’s pulling himself up, having completed the climb with only the slightest pulse of well worked muscles and the familiar burn of palms worked raw.

It’s not enough.

Not to distract him, not to tire him out, and it’s definitely not enough to quench the annoyance that’s building like the waves now far below his feet.

What he really needs is a run, the near mindless burn of pumping legs and well worked lungs, but the terrain surrounding Cape Caem doesn’t lend itself to sprinting, and the thought of putting too much distance between himself and his friends with the potential threat in their midst makes his stomach turn.

With a huff, he falls back against the wind scoured ground, ignoring the sharp rocks that dig into his back at odd angles.

Lying like this he can easily see the cabin Iris, Cor, and Talcott have been living in. The lights are on, pushing against the darkness that’s settled in for the night. He’s too close to the pool of light to have to worry about any Daemons, unfortunately. He really could use a good fight, targets he’s familiar with, strengths and weaknesses already known, and nothing between his blade and victory but time and his opponent’s stamina.

He didn’t get that this afternoon.

No, he got an unknown player that suddenly appeared on the board out of nowhere, with powers that left him braced behind his shield scrambling for an attack plan that would work.

What would have happened if Cor hadn’t come?

Gladio doesn’t actually know.

What he does know is that Axel was playing with him, toying with him like a cat that’s cornered a mouse.

It’s galling, what was the point of completing the trials if this is the result.

He’s not arrogant enough to think that after besting Gilgamesh’s trial there won’t be anyone strong enough to stand against him. If he thought that then he would have failed and Gilgamesh would have had another blade to add to his collection, and another soul to add to his army, but still, he should be better.

In those final moments of the fight, when fire danced to the merest twitch of the kids fingers and the dual shuriken bent around invisible currents of empty air, it felt like…it wasn’t as though he was defenceless. No, his defence is all he had going for him.

Axel had been in complete control from the start, cutting Gladio off from his friends, disorienting him with light and sound as he attacked from every angle, the taunts he threw to rile Gladio’s anger and to make him attack.

Looking back now Gladio can see how it had all been planned, choreographed like a dance, and Gladio had been dragged along to Axel’s beat like a puppet on a string.

His fist comes down on the ground beside him at the mere thought of it, causing pain to lance up his arm as the jagged rock beneath him catches along the soft skin of his arm.

The pain fades quickly, even as he grits his teeth against the impotent anger that rises at the back of his throat like poison.

He swore he’d never feel like this again, and yet, here he is.

His only consolation is the fact that the fire gremlin has been left in Cor’s tender graces.

That thought curves a smirk at the edge of his lips, pulling at his old scar.

Gladio has only ever been allowed to sit in on one interrogation conducted by Cor.

Just one.

Not because the number of living soldiers captured were so few—though that was part of it—but because Cor was and is the last resort.

Any member of the Crownsguard can get a captured foot soldier to surrender the limited information they guard. It might take time, what with the fact that even now Lucis still holds to the Accordo Agreement, but they would get it.

Cor though.

No, he was reserved for those special cases. The rare times when a member of the Niflheim Empire that actually wielded power was captured.

Just recalling it…Gladio can almost hear the pleas.

Actually, he’s pretty sure he can hear somebody pleading.

He sits up, straining his ears to try and hear the noise again.

The piercing shriek that cuts through the air, muting the rolling roar of the waves below, sends a tremor down Gladio’s spine.

“Talcott!”

He scrambles against the rough stone, desperate to be up and moving, to already be in the house. He never should have left them.

He closes the short distance separating him from the single entrance in mere seconds, but in that short space of time another harrowing cry rends the air.

He crosses the threshold, uncaring as the door crashes against the wall, dislodging a few picture frames from their mounts with the force alone.

The scene of surprised confusion that greets his entrance makes Gladio stumble.

They’re just sitting there, all of them.

No, not all of them.

The answer to the question ‘where is my baby sister?’ is answered in the worst of ways.

“There is no escape.”

The words filter down through the floorboards above his head, serious and damning in a way that freezes Gladio’s heart, leaving fractured ice running through his veins instead of blood.

The fire gremlin has made his move, he’s trying to escape, and the only thing between him and that goal is Gladio’s baby sister.

The sound of buckling wood breaks through the fog clouding Gladio’s brain and he manages to recognise the remnants of what used to be the door to one of the upstairs bedrooms yielding to the bite of his blade.

He doesn’t have time to care about the fact that he basically blacked out from blind rage; not with the scene that emerges from behind the shattered remains of the former bedroom door.

It’s the colours in the room that stand out to him the most as his eyes sweep the space. The way the red of Axel’s hair clashes terribly with the subtler scarlet running through the tartan of Talcott’s shirt. The way the black of Iris’ wristband stands out against the pale skin of her arm that hangs frozen mid gesture in shock, reaching out as though she was making a desperate grab for Talcott. The sharp green of Axel’s eyes as they widen in surprise. Good.

Hesitation isn’t an option; it hasn’t been an option since he first heard Talcott scream.

Iris is in the way, directly in the line of fire—literally— and he doesn’t have time to warn her of his plan. He can only hope she’ll understand.

Gripping her hood, he moves to pull her back as he charges forward, blade already levelled at the small gap that Axel’s shock has opened. He knows she’ll be able to roll and absorb the force of the move, he’ll only need to worry about Talcott.

Talcott, who’s currently held to Axel’s chest like a tiny human shield.

Gladio’s field of vision narrows with a focused rage that leaves him growling.

It’s the main reason he doesn’t see the attack from behind coming.

Sharp pain running along the arm holding Iris and a sudden loss of footing, caused by a heavy blow delivered to the back of his knee leaves Gladio reeling.

He stumbles, then grunts in pain as thin, nimble fingers dig further into the pressure point on his wrist, forcing him to reflexively lean forward in order to relieve the stabbing pain lancing through his nerves.

It’s a mistake, and he only realises that when his balance completely fails him.

With Genji still in hand he can’t brace properly, there’s nothing he can do to stop his chin from colliding with the smooth wood of the floor, especially not when a sharp boned knee digs into his kidney at the same time as his by now aching arm is wrenched behind his back.

His teeth scrape against his cheek and soon the coppery taste of blood is filling his mouth and painting his tongue. It’s the shock he needs to reset, to draw his attention away from Ifrit’s spawn and to the threat that has him pinned.

The threat that turns out to be his own little sister.

“Iris! What the hell are you playing at?!”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she shoots back, releasing his arm as she does so with a forceful jerk that makes it clear that she’s unhappy with him.

“I heard Talcott scream,” he defends, trying to stand but Iris still has her knee firmly wedged in his kidney.

“Oh that.” She shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “We were tickling him.”

“Tickling him,” he grunts in disbelief as he unsuccessfully tries to twist away from her pin.

“Yeah, you know, playing, having fun, you might want to try it some time.”

He has to fight not to rise to the bait in her words. He knows what she’s trying to do, she’s trying to distract him, to draw him into an argument with her in order to give the fire gremlin the chance to slink from the room.

“Talcott, are you okay?” He asks instead.

“Of course he’s okay.” Ifrit’s spawn has the nerve to sound insulted by Gladio’s concern.

Ignoring the ash maker Gladio holds out a hand to the kid, beckoning him to safety. “Come on, Talcott.”

Against all logical sense, instead of doing the smart thing and running away from the guy that’s holding him prisoner, Talcott takes a moment to stare at the offered hand, turns back to face his captor, and then looks at Gladio again, his gaze pensive and full of worry. “If I move, are you going to try to attack Axel again?”

What sort of question is that?

“Yes.” The truth slips passed his lips in stunned disbelief at the fact that Talcott would even need to ask that.

“No, you won’t,” Iris protests, digging her knee in for unneeded emphasis. “I won’t let him, Talcott.”

Gladio wants nothing more than to prove Iris wrong. He wants to stand with ease as he gently dislodges his little sister, then subdue the fire gremlin before he even has time to breath sparks, but he can’t do that.

For one he doesn’t want to hurt Iris and with how determined she is to keep him down there’s no way he can break free without doing at least a little damage, either to Iris or himself and in the current situation neither of those scenarios are an option. Not that hurting Iris will ever be an option.

For another, Talcott does the unthinkable.

Grabbing the Ifrit’s spawn’s loose arms, Talcott wraps them tightly around his own waist and leans back into the fire gremlins hold.

“Just to be sure, I think I’ll stay here. At least, until Gladio calms down. If that’s okay?” Talcott directs the question to his captor, his words gentle and reassuring as though he’s afraid that the fire gremlin is going to say no.

Damn the bruising he’s going to have to deal with, Gladio needs to get Talcott away from the ash maker now.

He twists and braces for the pain that’s about to lance through his stomach.

“Gladio, stand down.”

The command has him freezing. Of course it does, when Cor the Immortal tells you to do something you do it, your life could depend on it.

“Iris, release your brother.”

Iris retreats without hesitation, finally allowing Gladio to stand.

Unconsciously, he does so at parade rest. Legs shoulder width apart, arms clasped behind his back. It’s a natural pose for him.

“Would you like to tell me what you were doing?” Cor’s voice is deceptively calm.

“I heard Talcott scream and so I acted accordingly.”

“By accordingly, you mean storming a known safe house and attempting to attack a former prisoner of war?” Gladio can’t help but wince at Cor’s analysis. It reminds him too much of the dressing down he used to get from both his father and Cor when he screwed up in a basic training exercise.

“I acted on what little information I had to go on,” Gladio tries to defend, only to be shut down.

“You acted on impulse and pride.”

Cold shame curls in the pit of Gladio’s stomach at those words.

“It’s late, we will discuss this tomorrow.” The dismissal in Cor’s tone is emphasized by the fact that he steps to the side, leaving the door clear.

Gladio takes the silent offer of retreat.

He’s embarrassed himself enough for one day.

Chapter Text

Hiking across volcanic terrain first thing in the morning is not Roxas’ idea of a good time. Give him tall buildings and clean sidewalks any day, over this unstable landscape that seems determined to trip him up.

Xion seems to be having the same trouble, more than once Roxas has caught her having to skip quickly from stone to stone in order to keep her balance. It’s a miracle that neither of them have stumbled into one of the many steaming hot springs that periodically dot the ground.

Isa’s the only one who doesn’t appear to be having any trouble—curse his long stride, it’s not fair—he simply steps from one rock formation to the next, unbothered by the sharp angles and shallow dips that make up the majority of their path.

“So, explain to me just one more time why we can’t glide?” Roxas asks as he navigates a particularly tricky ravine.

Merely stepping across a chasm that Xion had to jump over, Isa looks back at him. “On how many worlds that you’ve visited is it normal for people to fly?”

“Several, nobody blinked in most of them when Sora did it,” Roxas says confidently, knowing he has the memories to back him up.

Isa stops and turns just to level an unimpressed glare at him. “When Sora arrived in those world’s most civilians were too concerned with the rampaging Heartless sewing chaos in their towns to pay attention to a flying boy.”

Roxas can’t argue with that, but he really wants to.

“There’s no civilians here,” Xion helpfully notes, “just more strange beasts every time we turn a corner.”

She’s definitely right there. Last night’s Daemons had been interesting enough, but they at least disappeared when the sun rose. In the light of day creatures of all shapes and sizes roam the ash covered plains unchecked. Luckily, they’ve had enough space to simply navigate around the more aggressive looking species, the walking tentacle bush with teeth for instance.

“The answer is still no,” Isa says resolutely as he begins to climb a craggy rock wall that seems to stretch for miles in either direction.

“Can we at least jump?” Roxas asks plaintively from the ground, if he gets a yes he’s high jumping straight over this wall…and if he just so happens to glide for a few feet after that, who’s around to see him.

“No,” comes Isa’s answer.

Why is Roxas not surprised?

He looks to Xion, she shakes her head, apparently resigned.

All Roxas can do is sigh as he reaches forward and starts to follow Isa up the wall.

It’s not a hard climb, he reaches the top of the formation in under a minute, but the grit lodged beneath his fingernails from it is uncomfortable to say the least, irritating in a way that isn’t painful, just constantly annoying.

Looking for a distraction he turns his gaze up, hoping that the higher vantage point will reveal something other than the same grey rock they’ve been scrambling over for what feels like hours.

His eyes immediately zero in on the line of black carving a smooth path across the otherwise rough terrain.

It’s a road, an honest to goodness solid road.

Roxas never thought he’d be so happy to see tarmac.

A soft grunt brings Roxas’ attention around to where Xion has summited the wall, he offers a hand, and she takes it gratefully.

Standing she dusts herself off but when she looks up her gaze locks straight onto the road as inexorably as Roxas’ own had.

“Civilisation,” he’s smiling so wide when he says the word that his cheeks hurt.

The audible scoff that comes from Isa echoes off the weathered rock that still surrounds them, making the sound louder, but no less condescending.

“I would hardly class a single unkept road in the middle of an active volcanic field as ‘civilisation’.”

“Maybe not,” Roxas concedes, “but that definitely is.”

He points out the huddle of smooth angled silhouettes ringed by an assortment of metal structures that glint in the distance.

“In the barest of terms,” Isa drawls in clear distain, barely giving the isolated buildings a second glance as he stares down at the magical compass resting in his palm. “The charm points this way.” Isa nods in the complete opposite direction to the only sign of human life for miles and then casually drops down from the rock wall and starts walking, clearly expecting Roxas and Xion to follow.

Roxas and Xion sigh at the exact same time in the exact same tone.

“Wait,” Xion gasps as though a thought has just occurred to her. “What if we could find transport there?”

It’s enough of a point to make Isa’s steps slow, but he doesn’t turn to acknowledge it. “It’s in the complete opposite direction of where we need to go, besides, it’s probably abandoned.”

Grasping at straws Roxas blurts out, “Even if it is, we still might find something useful.” He catches the smallest hitch in Isa’s stride, as though he contemplated stopping but kept walking instead. Roxas presses on, “Like information, or at least a map.”

It’s the right thing to say because mercifully, Isa stops.

“This is the only detour we are taking,” Isa states as he turns to face them, his eyes hard. “After this we are heading straight for Lea.” The ‘and obliterating anything that dares get in our way’ is silent but Roxas clearly hears it and judging by the way that Xion’s suddenly standing straighter, she did too.

Roxas can’t help but sigh, in relief this time; Axel really was right when he said the only way to get Isa to agree to do anything is to present him with irrefutable logic.

They hike up the road at a casual pace, only hindered by the occasional pack of beasts that they have to take care of along the way. The battles are ferocious, easy to see why with what the creatures of this world have to deal with when the sun sets, but still, no scorpion should ever be that size.

For all it slows them down the small loss is made up ten times by the items they manage to pick up along the way.

Soon enough they’re approaching the not so abandoned small outcropping of buildings, that turns out to be a surprisingly busy gas station, considering it’s in the middle of nowhere.

There’s several vehicles parked in and around the area, one of which is a van that seems to be a sort of mobile weapons shop, given the vast array of arms Roxas can see on display, everything from great swords to guns.

To the left of that sits a static caravan with some pretty flimsy looking plastic garden furniture, and beyond that there’s some solid brick buildings all built in the same utilitarian style.

The only thing that doesn’t seem to fit the scene are the red and white flags with the yellow sigil at their centre. They must be new, that or they’ve recently been cleaned or replaced because there is no way something that’s been sitting out in this environment for more than a day could ever be that white, his own clothes—well, his formally white trousers and what’s left of his jacket after Axel’s direct Fira—are a testament to that fact.

He’s so focused on looking around Roxas doesn’t notice when Xion comes to a stop in front of him, right up until he runs into the back of her.

“Sorry!” He’s already grabbed her arm, stabilizing them both enough to allow him to regain his balance, thereby avoiding what would have been an embarrassing scene of them both face planting.

“It’s okay,” Xion reassures him. “I should know by now not to suddenly stop in front of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She’s wearing that little smile of hers that always proceeds a teasing comment.

“Oh, you know, Axel always calls you a zombie for a reason.”

“Oh, ha hah.” He pours as much sarcasm into the fake laugh as he can. “What made you stop anyway?”

“That.” Roxas follows the direction Xion’s pointing in.

Isa’s standing a little ways ahead of them, but he’s not alone. Nope, in fact he’s surrounded.

By birds.

Five to be exact. Huge and yellow apart for the one that Isa’s being inspected most closely by, which has brilliant cerulean feathers just a shade lighter than Isa’s own hair.

Roxas blinks, and when the scenes still there he rubs his eyes, and when that doesn’t work, he summons his phone and activates the camera.

“Do it and I’m drowning you in the nearest hot spring,” Isa hisses in such a calm voice it’s almost a purr.

“Worth it!” Roxas crows before snapping the pic and running.

Not fast enough.

Isa snags the back of his jacket before he can take three steps, but instead of being pulled back like he expects, Isa pushes him forward.

Prioritising what’s important he dismisses his phone back into storage and gets a mouth full of grit and ash for his trouble—so much for avoiding that embarrassing face plant.

“That wasn’t very smart,” Isa notes as he pulls Roxas up by his scruff like he’s a misbehaving kitten.

“Still worth it.” Roxas manages to smirk even as he’s spitting dirt.

“Kweh!” Anything Isa was about to say is cut off by the cry of one of the birds that have decided to follow him.

Roxas looks up and comes face to face with inquisitive black eyes, full of intelligence set is a yellow feathered face. The birds head bobs this way and that as it observes him from different angles, its inner eyelids occasionally drawing languidly over its dark irises, briefly breaking the eye contact, and letting Roxas feel like he can blink himself.

Another soft call, this time a cheery, “Wark!” and then the birds grooming his hair. That or trying to eat it.

“Hey!” It’s only when he tries to move that he realises that he can.

He looks back to see Isa standing a few feet away, gently petting the same cerulean bird from a moment ago that now basically has itself wrapped around him, one large wing keeping him pressed to its side preventing any escape. Though to be honest, Isa doesn’t much look like he wants to escape.

Apparently, the deity in charge of karma is keeping a close eye on him, because suddenly his own feathery problem has noticed his inattention and has taken the opportunity to attack his hair again.

He tries to duck but the bird’s persistent, large, and fast. Plus, teamwork turns out to be a character trait for these creatures because when he does manage to get some space there’s another bird waiting in the wings—ugh that was a terrible pun, Axel would be so proud.

“Awwww, I think they like you,” Xion very unhelpfully giggles, and yep, she’s got her phone in hand, karma really has it out for him today.

“They probably think he’s a lost chocochick, sportin’ hair like that,” a gruff voice chuckles.

Looking over the wall of feathers that’s come to surround him Roxas sees an older man wearing a tweed cap and a yellow scarf standing next to Xion.

“A little help,” Roxas pleads from where he’s being smothered by plush yellow feathers.

“Alright you lot, you had yer fun.” The man whistles, long and high and immediately the birds move towards him.

Roxas takes in a deep breath of blissfully feather free air before speaking, “Thanks, I owe you one.”

The man dismisses his words with a wave of his hand. “Think nothing of it, should’a been keeping a closer eye on my birds.”

“These are all yours?” Isa asks, his voice as cool and commanding as ever, even though the current image he’s projecting doesn’t fit the one Roxas is familiar with.

Seriously, he’s still stroking the bird!

Nobody notices Roxas’ internal meltdown—apart from maybe Xion, she’s giving him a look—so they just keep talking over him.

“They sure are, let me introduce myself: I’m Wiz, the owner of the Chocobo Post.” Wiz says this as though it should make him easily recognisable.

Isa takes it in stride, nodding knowingly. “Hmm, the owner himself, what brings you out here?”

The amicable smile Wiz is wearing quickly fades at that question. “Bad business I’m afraid. The problem with renting out Chocobos is the fact that some people don’t have any appreciation for the birds.” Wiz brings a hand up to his brow and massages his temple, as though just talking about this is giving him a headache. “Some hairbrained hunters thought it was a bright idea to try and get my birds to take them up Ravatogh.”

Wiz gestures to the imposing volcano that dominates the skyline behind them. It’s terrifyingly beautiful even from this distance, what with the tendrils of lava spewing from its summit that seen to have frozen mid eruption.

“Luckily, my birds had a lot more sense than their riders, they refused to go any further than the lower slopes.”

Wiz’s face twists in clear disapproval before he speaks again, his eyes darting to a group loitering near the entrance to the shop behind him.

“The Hunters didn’t take too kindly to that.”

With what those words imply Roxas can’t help but take a closer look at the birds. Now that he knows to be looking for something the signs become so clear.

Ruffled feathers leading to clear patches exposing skin, brown scales on their legs giving way to jagged slashes of white, the way the birds huddle together.

Wiz notices his concerned gaze and immediately starts waving it off. “Don’t worry lad, nothing a few potions couldn’t take care of, but it’ll be a warm day in Gralea before these Hunters get to rent my birds again.”

That comment gets a reaction; a tall woman with short hair and dark eyes breaks ranks from the small group still huddled by the door. “What the hell’s your problem,” she spits. “We paid you good gil, and you saddled us with five untrained chocochicks!”

Wiz doesn’t even turn to acknowledge the woman. “If you’ll excuse me folks, that’s my cue to get going.”

The woman behind Wiz turns an impressive shade of red, angered by the older man’s clear intent to simply ignore her.

“You’re a damn joke, you care more about these useless creatures than you do about the people you’re renting them out to,” the woman spits, but still Wiz doesn’t react, which only seems to enrage the Hunter more.

Her hard glare suddenly melts into a saccharine sweet smile, one that reminds Roxas uncomfortably of Larxene. “There’s a reason Chocobo’s are going extinct you know, the world’s far too hard a place for dumb animals that don’t learn a lesson even after a good dose of pain.”

Wiz pauses at that, his shoulders stiffening slightly even as he stands straighter.

She continues. “It’s a real shame too, they would have made such good bait for the Zu.”

“And with that, missy, you just lost any hope of getting the rest of your gil back,” is Wiz’s calm reply before he continues walking.

Malice—thick, cloying, and dark—clouds the woman’s eyes.

Roxas is expecting a scream, a shout of outrage filled with nothing but anger. The low spoken words edged with spite are so much worse.

“I’ll just have to take my gil out of your hide.”

She reaches for the heavy knife secured to her thigh.

Roxas is already moving to intercept her, hand reaching out to summon Oblivion.

It proves unnecessary.

The wall of feathers is back.

All five chocobo’s move in as soon as the woman steps too close, sharp talons flashing as wings flair, creating a disorienting display as the Hunter falls to the ground.

Seeing one of their members down the other Hunters advance.

Only to fall before they can barely take three steps.

Left slightly off balance, his arm stretched out to call a weapon he apparently no longer needs, Roxas looks on in confusion as the hapless Hunters roll on the ground, none of them able to stand, but not for want of trying.

Realisation comes with the lightest glint of sun off frost woven ice.

Ice, in the middle of a hot spring dotted volcanic field where the average temp must be forty degrees.

His eyes immediately track to Xion, just in time to see the feint sparkle of magic fade from her fingers. She coughs and brings up her hand to hide the small smirk that’s tinting the edge of her lips. Roxas has to work very hard not to laugh.

Another high whistle from Wiz and the Chocobos retreat, exposing the damage; it’s not a pretty sight. Dirt and feathers mix with fresh blood drawn from long scratches to paint a picture of pain.

“I did warn you not to push yer luck,” Wiz laments, shaking his head as he evaluates the scene. “My birds have never taken kindly to anyone threatenin’ me.”

Wiz fishes a potion from his pocket and throws it over the downed Hunter before settling an unimpressed look on the rest of her band that have finally pulled themselves together enough to stand without slipping.

“Take yer leader and go, I never want to see yer faces round my Post again.”

Wisely, the Hunters take his advice. Giving the Chocobos a wide berth, they help their companion to her feet. She needs the support, even with the potion she’s unsteady, punch drunk.

They all watch the group walk away, their shoulders slumped with the heavy dose of humility that Wiz just dumped on them.

There’s a weighted silence that hangs in the air even after the pack of hunters are out of sight and Roxas can’t think how they’re going to break it.

Right up until the moment the blue Chocobo gives a loud “Wark.”

The others soon join in, fluffing their feathers and all but preening.

Roxas takes one look at Xion, just one, and then he crumbles. She does the same, how could she not, and soon they’re both laughing.

“Sorry you had to see that, folks,” Wiz apologises with a soft huff as he wipes his brow. “I promise you my birds are as soft as kittens normally, just-”

“There’s no need to explain,” Isa interjects, quiet but firm. “The Hunters were clearly in the wrong.”

Wiz seems slightly taken aback by Isa’s clear and easy acceptance, but the older man soon shrugs the slight confusion off, replacing it with a warm grin that adds more smile lines around his eyes.

“Well. I’ll thank yeh instead for yer understanding,” Wiz says as he tips his hat.

“Any chance that gratitude could lead to a discount?” Isa asks.

That causes Wiz to do a double take, but then he’s chuckling. “I don’t see why not.” Wiz gestures to a large truck parked close by. “If it’s all the same to you though I’d prefer to get my birds back to my Post first. What say you and yer friends help me get the Chocobo’s back and we can talk about a discounted rent price for some rested birds when we get there?”

Before Isa can answer the blue chocobo makes its presence known again as it slides up alongside him.

“Well, two rested birds and young Seraph here,” Wiz corrects himself.

Isa nods as he runs a hand along the birds’ beak and taking that for the affirmative it is Wiz turns to his truck and starts getting it ready.

With the relative privacy that the noise of the truck’s engine provides Roxas takes the opportunity to ask a question. “I thought we weren’t taking anymore detours?”

He gets a slap on the back of the head for that.

Worth it.

If the food keeps being this good Axel just might defect from the Organization and stay here, after he’s kidnapped Saix of course.

He’d woken up this morning to the sweet smell of freshly made French toast—Tenebrae toast as it’s known here—wafting up the stairs. It’s the fastest he’s gotten out of bed in years.

He’s on his second slice now and he’s wondering if he can get away with asking for a third. Ignis likes cooking and by extension he seems to like people who appreciate his cooking.

He takes another bite of his current slice, making sure he’s got a big piece of bacon stuck to his fork with it. The fluffy texture combined with the salty taste of the cooked meat and the smoky undertones of it all makes up his mind. “Hey, Ignis, can I get another slice?”

Ignis turns to face him from where he’s still standing by the hob, one eyebrow rising just above the dark frames of his glasses, he waits expectantly.

Axel catches on to what for and tacks on a hasty, “Please?”

Ignis nods as he turns back to his pan. “Certainly, though this shall have to be the last.”

Axel can live with that; the warm feeling of a full belly is the closest thing to the memory of contentment he can get these days.

As he polishes off his current slice, he looks around the room, taking note of his surroundings and the exits should he need them.

Currently he’s sitting at the dining room table, his back to the kitchen with the sitting room spread wide before him. With how open the room is there’s nowhere he can sit where he won’t be exposed in some way, so he’d chosen to keep his eyes on the most powerful person in the room.

The Marshal.

Everything about this guy screams danger to Axel, even though the only thing he’s doing right now is sitting there, reading a newspaper. His eyes haven’t moved from it since he gave Axel a short glance when he came downstairs this morning, but Axel still feels like he’s being watched.

One wrong move.

That’s all it would take, Axel can sense it, just one wrong move.

Bang!

As tense as he is it’s no surprise that Axel nearly leaps out of his chair when the door leading to the small veranda outside slams open.

“It’s such a beauti—No, no, no! No fire! Not this early in the morning!”

Blondie’s standing in the door, silhouetted by the bright light of the early morning sun. Well…cowering might be a better description, considering the way he suddenly ducked the moment he saw Axel standing there, fist raised.

Taking in a deep breath, Axel shrugs off his aggressive stance, lowers his fist, and retakes his seat, returning to his current slice of Tenebrae Toast as though he hadn’t just tried to flambe Blondie—again—just because he made a loud noise.

He shoves down the cool shroud of the memory of humiliation that starts to settle over his shoulders with practised ease.

“Just keeping you on your toes, Blondie,” Axel comments, trying to dull the edge of tension that’s seized the room.

“Blondie?”

Axel looks up to see the guy still crouched in the door, looking confused as he points a finger at himself.

“Do you not know my name? have I gone this entire time without telling you my name?”

He looks so distraught, as though he’s committed a cardinal sin that demands the worst punishment. Heh, dramatic much.

“No, you didn’t tell me, but I got it memorised, your friends said it often enough. Prompto, right?”

Blondie nods, still looking perplexed. “Then why are you calling me Blondie?”

“Why not?”

Blondie blinks at him, then stares, mouth slightly agape, as though the answer he was working on got lost somewhere along the line.

The soft clink of a full plate of Tenebrae toast being laid at the centre of the table breaks the weird pause that seems to have frozen the room.

“Have we all earned nicknames?” Ignis asks as he takes a seat at the table, sliding a slice from the pile he’s just laid out before casually opening a can of some sort of drink.

“Not earned, no, but I had to call you guys something in my head when I didn’t know your names.”

“I’m kinda afraid to ask?” Blondie says as he slips into his own seat, conspicuously on the other side of Ignis.

“You kinda just did.” Axel smiles as he snags his last slice of toast even as he polishes off his current piece, relishing the taste as he makes them wait another few seconds. There really is only one thing that would make this better, but he doesn’t want to push his luck.

Wielding his fork like a sceptre he points at Prompto first. “Blondie.”

Then to Ignis. “Specs.”

Up towards the room where he thinks the guy who can teleport is resting. “Sleeping Beauty.”

A large sweep out towards the door indicating the outside. “Muscles.”

Ignis coughs into his can gently enough that he doesn’t choke but it’s not enough to hide the smirk that’s edging its way into a smile.

“Well, two out of four isn’t bad,” he comments in a level voice that belays the amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Oh? Did I get some right? Which ones?” Axel queries.

“Iggy’s and Noct’s,” Blondie volunteers as he relaxes enough to start loading up his own plate. He only takes half a slice at first, but then Ignis levels a glare at him over the rim of his glasses. Sheepishly, Blondie takes the other half as well. “Iggy, do we have any maple syrup?”

“I believe I saw some in the cupboard above the sink,” Ignis intones as he takes a bite of his own breakfast, before turning his attention back to Axel. “Though correct, Sleeping Beauty does see far less use these days as Noct’s main moniker.”

Curious, Axel can’t help but raise a brow in question, he would just ask directly but his mouth is full and Ignis gives off a vibe that just screams mind your manners.

 “I believe Gladio was the one that first dubbed Noct Princess.” Surprisingly it’s the Marshal who says that as he takes his own seat at the table.

“And I still object whole heartedly to that nickname,” the newly named Princess complains as he announces his presence, blearily rubbing at his eyes as he makes his way slowly down the stairs.

“Oh, so you prefer Sleeping Beauty,” Axel can’t help but quip.

“No,” the reply is so dry Axel needs to take a sip of his tea.

The sound of shifting jars draws Axel’s attention back to Blondie, who seems to be unloading the entire contents of the cupboard he’s looking through onto the countertop. “Hey Iggy, you sure you saw it in here?”

Ignis stands after wiping off his hands with a conveniently placed dish towel, but not before he takes another sip from the can that seems to be fused to his hand. “Further to the back I believe, behind the homemade jams.”

It’s when Ignis moves away from the table that Axel sees it, sat amongst the other condiments that have been arrayed in disorganised chaos.

Obviously, it’s not a brand he recognises but there’s no mistaking the dark red colour, the flames on the label help as well.

All Axel has to do is lean, stretching out his arm as the fingers of his other hand curl against the underside of the table so that he can keep his balance and he can reach it.

Nobody notices, distracted as they are by Ignis and Blondie’s continued search. So, he’s free to uncork the bottle and dash a liberal amount of the bright red sauce across the golden-brown surface of his toast.

He barely gives the liquid a second to soak in before cutting off a large portion and wolfing it down.

Liquid fire rolls across his tongue, dancing along the surface of his taste buds and Axel can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Hah, got it!” Blondie calls as he finds the maple syrup.

“Got what?” The question proceeds Muscle’s entrance with Iris and Talcott quick on his heels. He’s holding a basket full of fresh vegetables, that and the dirt that covers his, Iris, and Talcott’s arms gives Axel a pretty good idea as to what the three of them have been up to this morning.

Blondie greets them, practically bouncing on the spot as he holds his prize up high for all to see. “Yoh, perfect timing.”

All three of their eyes light up as they take in the sight of the breakfast laid out before them. From there it’s a scramble to see who can get to the sink first to wash their hands.

“Gladdy, stop hogging the soap!”

“I will when you get your bony elbow out of my ribs!”

Talcott does the smart thing and runs upstairs to wash his hands; he still manages to make it back to the table before either Iris or ‘Gladdy’ can start rinsing.

He grabs the seat next to Axel without hesitation and Axel feels something in the pit of his stomach that might be the memory of gratitude.

There are just enough chairs for them all to be able to sit comfortably at the dining table, but in some weird twist of fate Axel ends up sitting opposite Gladdy—oh yeah, that is so replacing Muscles.

He’s expecting a glare, aggressive silence, or at the very least an aura of hostility that would roll over him in waves from that side of the table. He gets none of this, interesting.

He looks up, hoping to get a read on the guy, only to see Talcott reaching for the bottle still next to his plate.

“I don’t think you’re gonna want that,” he says as he gently snags the red bottle before Talcott has the chance, only to have it snatched far more brusquely from his own hand.

“What, you one of those purists that thinks you can only have sweet stuff with Tenebrae toast? It’s only ketchup.” Ah, there’s the aggression Axel wasn’t missing.

“I really wouldn’t recommend that,” Axel warns even as Gladdy pours a small amount onto the side of his plate.

“Why’s that?” As if to prove a point Gladdy swipes a large piece of toast through the tiny puddle of sauce decorating the edge of his plate.

“Because that’s hot sauce.” Is it petty of Axel to wait just until Gladdy’s taken an actual bite to say that? Probably, but Axel’s laughing too much to care.

“Son of Ifrit!” Gladdy manages to choke out as he runs for the sink.

Axel’s really needs to find out who Ifrit is and what he is in this world, if only so he can gauge how insulted he should feel.

He’ll get right on that, as soon as he stops laughing and finishes his breakfast.

The sun has well and truly risen by the time the whole process has resolved itself, in fact it’s well on its way to midday as the last inhuman howls strain into ragged breaths that send darkness billowing across the ruined earth of the crater.

An inconvenience to say the least, but nothing that couldn’t have been accounted for by the shadows cast by the broken corpses of his dear brother’s ruined vessel and the fragments of the Diamond Weapon that lay beside it.

Looking up from his newspaper—he’d needed something to pass the time with while this foreign darkness burrowed its way into the very centre of his brother’s being—he turns his gaze fully upon his brother.

He can’t help the smile that cracks along his jawline at the sight before him.

His revelry dampens slightly as the other worldly darkness still hidden in his shadows shifts, ephemeral claws testing the edge of his own heart.

The creature comes when called, rising from a small pool of shadow of its own making.

Yellow eyes assess him as two small antenna twitch upon its black head.

“Your work here is done.”

It doesn’t even fight as he seizes it by the neck and floods its little form with Scourge. The small wisp of foreign darkness fades from Eos without the slightest whimper.

Dusting off his hands he turns once more to the centre of the crater.

“Come Somnus, we wouldn’t want to miss the festivities, now would we.”

Darkness tinged with corrupted light envelopes them both and all that remains is the echo of a laugh that rings through the hollow form of an empty suit of armour.

Chapter Text

It starts as an itch on the tip of his nose, the lightest tingle that makes him want to sneeze. At first, it’s just uncomfortable, something that can be ignored after a quick scratch, but the sensation persists.

With each breath the scent only grows deeper and darker, to the point where the air feels thick with it. He buries his nose in the fur of his foreleg, hoping that will take care of the problem.

It works, but only to a point.

He really doesn’t want to deal with this right now.

Having to deal with this means having to move, which means giving up this perfect spot of sun warmed stone he’s managed to find. Even in a dream world brilliant little spots like this only last for so long, that’s half the fun. They disappear and reform somewhere else and he has to track them down.

It took so long to find this one again and he’s only just settled in it, he knows if he moves it’ll be gone by the time he gets back.

The smell gets stronger, to the point that it overwhelms the scent of pine and warmed limestone that had previously permeated the glade.

With a long, low sigh that ripples the fur his nose is still buried in Carbuncle begins to move.

His tail unfurls from where he’d had it curled around his body, revealing a world bathed in twilight. Shadows stretch across the moss-covered stone of the sheltered glade looking longer and darker than they had when Carbuncle had curled up to rest. It’s unnerving.

Shaking himself as he rises, he tries to rid himself of the prickly feeling of discomfort that has seized him. It doesn’t work, his fur stands on end as his hackles rise. Something that should not be here is trespassing in his realm.

Sniffing the air it’s easy enough to track the scent, it just makes him want to gag when he does. The smell of rot and corruption should not be able to touch this world, not after it was cleansed by the light’s chosen.

Crossing a small stream, sticking carefully to the stones that create a well-trodden path above the crystal-clear water below he is struck once again by the length of the shadows that surround him.

Even at night, under the pale light of the moon the shadows of this forest have never seemed this dark, but now, even in the warm twilight of a setting sun the shadows seem to rap themselves around him leaving him cold.

Another shake, from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. He can’t afford to leave this unchecked.

He makes his way through the underbrush, cautiously, carefully, treading lightly as he circumvents the darker pools of shadow that now seem to writhe and morph with a life of their own.

Continuing to walk he’s only confronted with more signs of corruption, it seeps into everything, draining them of life and colour in a way that leaves them stripped and barren; trees blackened and bare, flowers wilted and crushed, and an unnatural silence that smothers all sound.

This isn’t right, none of this is right.

He can’t stop his ears from flattening themselves against his back or his tail from tucking but still he walks.

He keeps walking until the forest gives way and he comes across what was once a field of wheat that should stretch out before him like a golden sea.

It doesn’t.

The once peaceful landscape has given way to a picture of devastation and decay.

Blackened clouds swirl above a vortex of darkness that has overtaken the scorched earth of the ruined field where barely anything still clings to life.

At its centre rests a figure, clad in darkness and pain, so clearly tainted by the scourge that should no longer have a pathway to this world.

Looking closer his little heart drops for a second as familiar features emerge from the shroud of darkness which clouds the being’s visage—black hair, blue eyes—only for relief to swell in his small breast as he realises it isn’t Noct.

The clothes are wrong for one and the hair is far too tame, but who then?

Perhaps foolishly, Carbuncle moves closer.

He needs to know who this is.

The snap of a deadened branch beneath his paw draws the entity’s gaze upon him.

Blue eyes sheathed in darkness glare at him through a thick miasma.

Somnus…

That’s the only thought that manages to cross his mind before he’s being blown back.

The hasty shield he throws out on the breath of a startled yip barely saves him.

He rolls, tail over horn as an evil wind sweeps across the darkened plain, fuelled by a cry of malevolent grief that leaves Carbuncle unsteady.

He needs to flee, to get away, to get help.

He needs Noct.

On unsteady legs he stands and then he’s running.

Noct will be asleep soon.

He’ll be here soon.

He can help fix this…

At least Carbuncle hopes he can.

Chapter Text

There’s no way Noct can sleep, not today.

Which is strange for him, but then again, it’s not every day that the chance to go to a festival he’s been fanboying over for years is dangled in front of him.

There’s only one problem.

“I am going to launch you into the sea!”

“You’ll have to catch me first, big guy!”

The words are followed by a loud crash and the sound of something breaking.

Curious despite himself, Noct leans forward just enough to see out the window overlooking the vegetable plot from where he’s sitting on the couch.

What he sees is basically the same scene that Gladio and Axel have been playing out sporadically throughout the day: Gladio chasing down Axel with a look that could murder, while the teen just laughs as he continues to dodge, always staying just out of Gladio’s reach.

“Whose turn is it this time to break them up?” Noct asks, as he relaxes back into his seat.

“By my count it’s definitely yours, dude,” Prompto helpfully volunteers, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“Err no, I got between them barely an hour ago,” Noct defends, taking just enough time to pause Kings Knight, he is just about to level up and there is no way he is losing his current progress because he isn’t paying attention.

Prompto looks appalled. “I was out there ten minutes ago. Besides, a royal command holds a lot more weight than anything I can do.”

“I could just ‘royal command’ you to go and deal with that.”

“You wouldn’t.” The keening peal of betrayal that coats those words makes Prompto’s sound squeaky.

Noct thinks for a moment, weighing his options, then he remembers he’s not that mean.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he confirms as he reluctantly gets up, saving his game as he does so before dismissing his phone.

The chaotic noises from outside only grow louder when Noct opens the door, the low sound of scuffing aborted footsteps and scoured dirt mixing with the raised voices that had originally alerted Noct to the situation.

He follows the noises and finds pretty much what he was expecting: Gladio chasing Axel around the veg plot.

He brings up his hand to rub the bridge of his nose in order to stave off a developing headache, but immediately stops the action when he realises how reminiscent of Iggy the gesture is.

Instead of immediately calling out to Gladio and putting an end to the chase—what’s the point of stopping it if it’s just going to start up again the second he turns his back—Noct looks for Iris.

He finds her standing off to the side, a look of complete exasperation marring her face.

“What started it this time?” he asks as he walks over.

Iris turns to him and Noct can’t help but notice the recent addition of the flower tucked into her hair.

She catches the direction of his gaze and quickly shields the bloom with her hand in a way that Noct thinks is supposed to look like she’s casually playing with her hair.

Between that and the blush that’s suddenly dusting her cheeks Noct can take a pretty good guess as to what triggered Gladio this time.

Iris confirms it when she manages to stutter out an answer. “Gladdy’s just overreacting.”

Noct has seen Gladio go into full overprotective big brother mode.

This, what’s happening right in front of him, this is full overprotective big brother mode mixed with blind Behemoth sized rage.

Which given all of Gladio’s reactions to Axel shouldn’t be all that surprising.

Another crash sounds this time caused by the thrown empty pot that misses Axel’s head by centimetres.

Noct decides that’s his cue to intervene.

“Gladio, that’s enough.” It feels so weird giving Gladio an order like this, maybe because usually it’s the other way around.

“It’ll be enough when this son of Ifrit learns not to cross me.”

“Why would I do that? You’re so fun to annoy,” Axel snipes, and Gladio predictively reacts.

Before this situation can devolve any further Noct does something he really doesn’t like having to resort to.

“Gladio, stop!” he shouts.

His Shield does, but there’s a look of rage there that Noct hasn’t seen in years, betrayal burning in his eyes that makes Noct’s stomach sink.

“Come on, Gladio, you know he’s only doing it because it gets a rise out of you,” Noct tries to reason.

He should have realised that Gladio has long since abandoned reason when it comes to Axel.

“Well, he’s got one now so he should face the consequences of it,” argues Gladio as he takes a threatening step forward.

Tired already, Noct shakes his head in despair before turning to Axel. “What’s it gonna take?”

Axel blinks owlishly at the question. “You talking to me?”

“Yeah,” Noct sighs, “What’s it gonna take to get you to stop being a pain in his ass for the next twenty-four hours?”

“Let me go, that solves all our problems,” Axel suggests with an unbearably smug grin.

“Not happening,” Noct shuts that idea down immediately, with extreme prejudice.

Axel take it in stride and moves onto his next request, “gimme access to the web.”

Before Noct can answer Gladio scoffs, “What? So you can report in with your Niff handler?”

A furrow wrinkles Axel’s brow, projecting his confusion. “Niff?”

“Enough with the amnesiac bit, nobody’s buying it.” Gladio growls.

“Whether you buy it or not doesn’t matter to me.” Axel shrugs before he bends down and starts collecting the pieces of shattered pottery scattered across the ground. “Still doesn’t change the fact that I have no idea what a Niff is.”

“It’s short for Niflheim,” volunteers Iris. Gladio shoots her a betrayed look for her troubles, but she just rolls her eyes and starts helping Axel collect the broken pots.

Axel nods knowingly. “And Niflheim is?”

Instead of answering Noct asks his own question, “is that why you want access to the web, so you can try and fill in the blanks?”

“Yeah.” Nods Axel, not even looking up at Noct from where he’s moved next to Iris. “I’ll take those.” He holds out his half full hands and waits for Iris to deposit her own collection of pot shards.

Iris smiles as she hands the pieces over. “Don’t throw them away, just pile them by the shed and I’ll chuck them in the compost later.”

Doing as Iris asks, Axel deposits his collection and dusts off his hands, before looking back to Noct. “Buy it or not, all I know about the wider world is what I’ve been able to glean from what you guys have told me and what I’ve overheard. Now don’t get me wrong, Talcott is a well of information but it’s unfair to expect the kid to spend all his time catching me up to speed on things that are common knowledge, got it memorised?” Axel taps his temple in a way that looks like habit.

His argument makes sense, more importantly if it can get him to behave for the next twenty-four hours…

Noct agrees, but with one condition, “you’ll be using the house laptop and I’ll be watching you the entire time.”

Axel smiles as he stands. “Sounds fair to me.”

“It doesn’t to me,” spits Gladio as he moves to stand between Noct and Axel.

Noct is expecting Axel’s smile to grow wider at the edges and for him to move forward to accept Gladio’s challenge.

So, he is very surprised when instead Axel raises his hands in mock surrender and backs away, giving Gladio the space he needs.

Gladio, of course, doesn’t accept this. He takes two steps forward for every one Axel takes back and soon enough he’s doing that looming intimidation thing that his bulk lends itself so well to.

Normally, Noct would just be glad that for once he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of this tactic, however his once in a lifetime chance to go to the Assassins Fest is riding on this.

The way he sees it he has two options, he can try and reason with Gladio and get him to calmly work out his differences with Axel…Nope, that sounds stupid even in his own head, no way that idea will withstand the harsh glare of reality.

Plan B it is.

“Gladio, go and see if Ignis and Cor need help.” He’s not subtle and the subtext of: ‘go and cool off’ is so easy to hear Gladio would have to be deaf not to get it.

Deaf, or so worked up he’s going to ignore Noct’s orders.

Noct sighs heavily, who would have thought that Gladio would be the one sabotaging his plans for the Assassin’s Fest.

With the path of sense and reason blocked, Noct defaults to a language even Gladio on the rare occasion he is like this can understand: Behemoth headed stubbornness.

Gladio’s standing directly in front of him, his large back proving as effective as any wall in blocking Noct’s view of Axel. That’s fine, it makes what Noct does next really easy.

Drawing on his magic Noct summons a dagger and in the same moment performs a circular warp dodge around Gladio, so perfect it would have had his childhood warp instructor weeping with pride.

As planned Gladio turns on reflex. It’s more of a flinch than an actual full body turn, but it’s enough.

In the next breath Noct has seized Axel’s wrist. The teen recoils, his eyes flashing with the threat of kindling flames, but he holds them back even as his skin warms beneath Noct’s grip.

Taking that as a sign that he probably won’t get flambéed Noct proceeds with what might be one of his worst ideas.

Sparing a quick apologetic smile Iris’ way, the dagger flies from his hand with a practised flick and before Gladio can face them again all that remains is a flickering afterimage that soon fades in the bright light of day.

Landing on the porch, he steadies Axel as the teen’s legs turn to jelly beneath him—the fact that he’s not doubled over puking gives more credence to the Glaive theory—and ushers him inside.

He doesn’t dare look back, when angered Gladio has this uncanny ability to make him feel like an Anak caught in headlights.

Freezing is the last thing he needs to do now, so instead he forces his legs to move and rushes into the house right behind Axel, slamming the door shut firmly behind them.

Locking it for good measure, Noct takes a step back and waits.

He’s expecting it, prepared for it even, but still the sound that is most definitely Gladio slamming into the locked door has him jumping.

At least Prompto’s sudden yelp covers the reaction. All but throwing his phone, his friend topples over the back of the couch and lands with a crash that nearly muffles the slam of Gladio’s fist against the door.

“Dude, what did you do?” barks Prompto from where he’s using the back of the couch to pull himself up. It doubles as a very convenient shield to hide behind when another heavy thud resounds against the door, as demonstrated when Prompto ducks.

“Noct! Open this door!” Gladio’s voice rumbles with an anger that can’t be muffled by the thick wood of the front door.

Noct takes a calming breath before trying to reason with Gladio again, if the both of them end up shouting the situation’s just going to keep escalating until Gladio gets worked up enough to cut out the middleman and just break down the door.

“Look, obviously you and Axel aren’t going to be getting along any time soon, so keeping you away from each other is the only option.”

Gladio’s answer is an unrestrained punch that leaves a heavy crack in the top panel of the door.

Noct can’t help but wince; when Cor sees this there will be hell to pay.

“Gladio, just leave it, you’re overreacting,” comes Iris’ exasperated voice, easier to hear now that there’s a sizeable crack in the door.

“Overreacting?” Gladio realises he’s shouting and starts again. “I’m the only one reacting properly.”

“Really? You can’t think that for a second, Gladdy. This is why Dad didn’t have you at the council meetings.”

Noct hears Gladio flinch, and he can’t suppress a sympathetic wince of his own. It’s a low blow, a direct hit to a wound that’s so recently been ripped open by the loss of Clarus, the one person that Gladio has always strove to prove himself to.

Noct backs away from the door, knowing that he shouldn’t be listening to this. He knows that iris has done this to help Gladio but in part she’s also doing it to help him, which makes Noct feel even guiltier.

Gladio’s still hurting, they all are, but he’s channelling that hurt into anger. Axel just provided the perfect target.

Seems Iris is done with waiting for him to realise that himself.

Turning he comes face to face with Axel, who’s now looking more than a little sheepish.

“Will Iris be okay?”

“Iris is the only one who will always be okay when Gladio goes off like this,” states Prompto from where he’s finally managed to pull himself back up.

Axel still looks a little unsure. Understandable, Gladio and Iris are so loud that even when the retreating thud of boots leaving the veranda and heading back to the garden fade long before their voices do.

Noct shakes his head, there’s nothing they can do about it now, apart from keep Axel out of Gladio’s line of sight. “Don’t worry about it, best thing is to keep clear until Iris handles this in the traditional Amicitia fashion.”

As another distant shout rings through the air, the already sceptical look quirking Axel’s eyebrows grows deeper. “The traditional Amicitia fashion, huh. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Prompto chimes in from where he’s regained his seat, “It involves a lot of shouting, a few punches being thrown, someone breaks down crying, and then they hug it out.”

“And that works?” Axel’s expression slips from simply sceptical to full on disbelief.

“For them,” Noct answers, “if anyone else tried it they’d die.”

A distant crash that sounds like a once sturdy wooden structure suddenly being reduced to little more than firewood backs up Noct’s claim.

Prompto groans as the sounds of fighting grow louder. “We’re going to have to help clean that up later, aren’t we?”

“Helping clean up a little now versus sitting in the car with a still grumpy Gladio?” Noct asks.

Axel answers before Prompto can, “clean up any day. Muscles is only fun to annoy when there’s enough room to dodge.”

“Here, here,” agrees Prompto unenthusiastically, his legs drawn close to his chest and his head resting on his knees, phone abandoned.

Noct rolls his eyes. “Cheer up, this way we might make it to the Assassin’s fest yet.”

“Assassin’s fest?” Axel questions?

Noct suddenly has an idea of how he’s going to stop Axel from causing trouble for the next few hours. “I’ll show you.”

Without explaining further, Noct heads for Iris and Talcott’s shared room. More specifically, he runs to collect the PS4 he knows is stashed up there.

They arrive at the Chocobo post just as the sun is setting.

The light filters through the trees, lengthening the shadows of the forest that surrounds them, making them look so much like the woods that mark the edge of Twilight Town.

Isa takes a deep breath, enjoying the cool evening air, the scent of pine rests thick on his tongue, so syrupy he could almost mistake it for the taste of honey.

“Wark!”

Seraph loudly reminds Isa of her presence; it seems she disapproves of the current situation. That being her safely enclosed in a spacious pen, barred from preening his hair by the distance he’s finally managed to get between them.

“That one’s fallen beak over feathers for you,” comes a cheery, heavily accented voice to his left.

Isa hears a muffled snort from somewhere over his shoulder and then some rather obvious shushing from Roxas, but he doesn’t bother to turn and glare at them. No, much wiser to let them think they can get a few things past him, making them far less wary and thereby easier to catch when they grow brave enough to try something more daring.

Turning to acknowledge the voice, he is met with what must be one of the Post’s workers. The woman smiles at him as she wipes her hands on a rag, which she soon tucks away in one of the voluminous pockets of her overalls.

“You looking to rent one of our birds or are you just passing through?”

Before Isa can answer Wiz calls out from where he’d been sorting out the paperwork, “trying to poach my customers? Since when do you work on commission?”

The girl smiles as an embarrassed chuckle escapes her. “Sorry, Wiz, didn’t know you already had them sorted.”

Wiz returns the girl’s embarrassed smile with an easy one of his own. “Not to worry. Why don’t you go help Zeke set up the caravan for these folks, I doubt they’re gonna be wanting to travel in the dark.”

Isa doesn’t like the idea of further delays, but considering what crawled out of the darkness within the first few seconds of them landing on this world…

“How much will one night cost us?” Isa asks, ever unwilling to accept charity.

Wiz looks as though he’s about to dismiss the notion of him being paid fairly for his services, merely on the basis that Isa showed the barest inclination towards basic common decency. A task made easy by the Hunters Wiz is probably comparing him to. Isa won’t allow that.

“Roxas, Xion, go and sell the monster parts we managed to collect this morning,” Isa instructs, nodding towards the store attached to the Posts café.

Even as he does this he doesn’t take his eyes off Wiz, all but daring the man to object.

The man chuffs a sigh. “Have it your way. The caravans thirty gil a night.”

“I’ll be checking up on that,” Isa promises.

Wiz waves him off, clearly dismissive. “I think by now I’m able to tell there’s no use closing the barn door when the Chocobo’s already bolted.”

The twinkle the old man tries to hide by lowering his cap lets Isa know that he’s still up to something, but Isa is unwilling to pursue it right now.

Roxas and Xion return at that moment, smiles stretching across both their faces. It doesn’t take a detective to figure out why, the large money pouch that looks like it’s about to burst at the seams is pretty obvious.

“We made a killing on those monster parts, especially the Wyvern wing,” Roxas calls out as he gets within range.

He tosses the money pouch to Isa with a light throw. Snatching it from the air Isa can’t repress his glare as his gaze slides back to Wiz, the old man has the audacity to wink at him.

Isa briefly contemplates murder, but then he recalls they are meant to be keeping a low profile.

Taking a deep breath Isa suppresses his natural homicidal tendencies, it’s an ability he mastered years ago not so coincidently after befriending Lea.

“I believe we still have to select three fresh birds,” Isa suggests for want of a distraction.

Wiz is more than happy to oblige, but he pauses even as he takes a step forward to lead them back to the coral where a flock of Chocobo’s leisurely preen themselves. “I can assure you Seraph will be the peak of health and well rested enough for any journey you have planned.”

Isa nods, with how clingy the bird has become he’s had plenty of opportunities to assess her. “We require four Chocobo’s, we’ll be picking up a friend.”

The unease that had been tensing Wiz’s shoulders slides off and his smile returns. “I see, for a moment there I thought I was gonna have a heart sick Chocobo on my hands.”

There’s a suspicious quick series of noises that sound like Roxas and Xion trying to muffle their laughter, but when he turns back both of them have perfectly straight faces.

He has to let it slide for the moment, that doesn’t mean he won’t remember it later.

They reach the paddock and Wiz lets out a high-pitched whistle. Immediately the Chocobo’s swarm, luckily the barrier keeps them back, so Isa doesn’t find himself enveloped.

The birds seem to know they’re on display, what with the way they jostle for position and ruffle their own feathers.

“Take your pick,” Wiz offers and Xion and Roxas rush forward.

Isa hangs back, happy to survey the birds from this distance.

Xion soon bonds with a pale lilac Chocobo, the greens that Wiz hands her seal the deal and in no time the bird is literally eating out of her hand.

“What’s his name?” Xion ask as she pets the Chocobo on the crown and gets a gentle nip of appreciation in return.

“This ones called Aether,” Wiz says “he’s got a gentle temper and enough stamina to outpace a coeurl.”

Having no idea what a coeurl is, Isa’s just going to have to take Wiz’s word at face value. Looking to the left he sees that Roxas has his hands full, three chocobo’s, all varying shades of yellow, compete for his attention.

Isa leaves him to it as he continues to search the flock for a bird that will suit Lea.

It doesn’t take long.

The chocobo stands a little ways back from the barrier but it’s flame red feathers make it easy to spot, even behind the curtain of multi-coloured feathers the other chocobo’s create. That said, it’s not just the bird’s colour that draws his eye, if that were the case he would have two other chocobo’s to choose between. No, what makes this bird stand out is its demeanour.

While all the other chocobo’s stand tall and occasionally preen themselves this one continues to move about the coral with shifting steps and shuffling moves. The reason becomes clear a second later when the continuous tap of the bird’s talons against the earth causes a large grub to unearth itself. Wasting no time, the chocobo snaps his prize up before shifting back to his dance.

“What’s that one called?” Isa eventually asks Wiz, interrupting the conversation the man is having with a disgruntled and ruffled Roxas.

Looking over Wiz spots the chocobo Isa is indicating immediately. “Aldebrand, he’s a spirited one.” The way Wiz says spirited makes it sound like he actually means ill tempered.

“He’ll do nicely.” Isa doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic smirk that quirks his lips.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic tap tap of Aether’s talons against the hard asphalt of the road they travel down is a soothing beat that accompanies the chocobo’s long strides. Add to that the occasional soft wark’s and the more frequent kweh’s that Aether makes whenever Xion can no longer resist running her fingers through his soft feathers, and you get a natural soundtrack that she could easily find herself lost in.

If only Axel was here too.

She shakes her head, forcefully dislodging that thought.

Isa is riding only a few paces in front of her, the flaming orb with the tracking spell cast on it, slowly glowing brighter and brighter in his hand.               `

They have to be getting close.

As if reading her thoughts, Roxas calls out to her as he pulls his own chocobo into line beside her, “it’s getting really bright.”

“What are we going to do when we actually do find him?” Xion asks, confident that they will track Axel down. “How are we going to stop him from attacking us or just running away again?”

Roxas runs a hand through his hair clearly thinking hard. “Not sure on that one, Axel’s always been hard to pin down, it’s one of his greatest strengths.”

As if agreeing with his rider, Vespera gives a loud kweh as he ruffle’s his dusky yellow feathers.

Xion tries not to laugh, she really does, but trust Roxas to choose a Chocobo the exact same shade as his hair, it’s like he wanted to be teased.

Isa’s serious tone calling back to them from up ahead easily cuts through her mirth, “A swift Stop is our best bet, if you and I can keep Axel occupied long enough for Xion to cast it then we should have time to restore the imbecile to his former self.”

It’s a good plan, simple, straightforward, and effective, but Xion sees a problem. “Won’t that be a bit too conspicuous?”

Usually, Isa is the one reminding them that they need to keep a low profile whenever they are exploring a new world. Reeling them back in from their more reckless impulses that would instantly get them caught. It feels strange to Xion that she’s seemingly having to be the responsible one.

“It all depends on where Axel is when we find him, judging by the monsters that roam this world if we’re subtle enough we’ll be able to explain any magic effects as the consequence of an unfortunate run in with some aggressive wildlife,” Isa reasons.

“What if he’s in the middle of a town or something? We’ve already seen that the monsters here know to stay away from populated areas.” Roxas points out, urging Vespera forward so he doesn’t have to shout to be heard.

“If that’s the case it could work to our advantage, he’ll be less willing to use a corridor of darkness when there’s too many witnesses.” Isa notes, barely sparing Roxas a glance before his gaze refocuses on the tracking spell.

“He didn’t seem to have any issues using a corridor to escape us in Twilight Town.” Xion notes.

She’s not trying to provoke Isa; she just wants to make sure nothing goes wrong. It’s taken them so long just to make it this far, she couldn’t bare it if they stumbled at the final hurdle now.

“If worst comes to worst, you’ll have to cast a Stopga to freeze both Axel and any crowds he’s trying to hide in.” The way Isa says it makes it sound so easy, but it really isn’t.

Casting Stopga over that wide a range and not getting your allies caught up in it is hard, and that’s not even taking into account the amount of MP it costs. If she messes up, there will be no second chance.

“There’s a lot that could go wrong with that.” She hates second guessing Isa, but she’s not as confident in her own magic skills as he suddenly seems to be and it’s making her nervous.

“No plan ever really survives first contact.” Isa shrugs. “Besides, Lea’s always bragging about how good you two are at turning around disastrous situations.”

“Er, did Lea also mention that we’re the reason for most of those situations escalating to disastrous in the first place?” Roxas jokes, trying to lift the mood, it’d be a lot funnier if it weren’t the truth.

Isa sighs as he pulls Seraph to a stop with a soft tug on the reins. He lets the orb drop, cradling it in a lose grip against his thigh but hidden by his palm in order to dim its glare.

“If we go into this thinking we are going to fail, then we will fail.”

Xion blinks and looks to Roxas, who looks back at her equally confused.

Is Isa actually trying to encourage them?

It’s a surreal thought, but not an unwelcome one. Come to think of it, Isa’s been ridiculously nice—by his standards—ever since this whole mess began.

For some reason that realisation is far less comforting than it should be. After all this is Isa, she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to lure them into a false sense of security.

Xion looks to Roxas and they share a stare that lets her know they’re on the same wave length. She nods and they both turn back to Isa.

“Who are you and what have you done with Isa?”

They’re almost in perfect synch when they speak, making the phrase sound eery.

Isa just scoffs, as he unveils the orb again and prompts Seraph into a gentle trot.

They continue on in a companiable silence and eventually the open plain they’ve been travelling across finally gives way to a small copse of trees. Xion can’t help but sigh in relief, the sun has been beating down on them relentlessly all morning and this is the first scrap of relief they’ve managed to come across.

She knows it won’t last; the thicket is so thin that at their current pace they’ll pass beneath its shaded boughs in less than a minute.

Resigned she urges Aether to slow just a little, hoping to get the most out of the brief respite.

Roxas naturally pulls ahead on Vespera, closing the gap that had opened up between them and Isa, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by the fiery red chocobo that has its reins securely tied to Seraph’s saddle.

Vespera gets a little too close a little too quick.

Aldebrand suddenly twists, puffing up his feathers and spreading his wings as he hops from foot to foot and lets out a loud wark.

It looks playful but it’s loud.

A fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by the local wildlife.

Sleek and silent the predator leaps from the sparse cover of the small grove. It’s only Isa’s quick reaction and Seraph’s apparent calm nature even when faced with danger, that allows Isa to duck the attack and keep his seat. Though Xion’s sure she saw sharp claws shave a few centimetres off the end of his hair.

The creature lands gracefully in spite of the failed ambush and coils as though it intends to spring forward again, spotted fur standing on end as though charged with static and long whiskers raised in what looks like fierce display.

That’s all Xion has time to see as Aether spreads his wings wide and rears back.

She has to grip onto Aether’s neck to stop herself from being thrown, which leaves her with no room to summon her Keyblade. Something that Roxas is also struggling to do as he tries to pull back Vespera who seems ready to charge the big cat.

Aldebrand has no such restraint, the flaming red chocobo having somehow managed to snap the reins that were keeping him attached to Seraphs saddle.

With beak and talon, he assails the predator, who yowls in protest as a swift peck leaves a deep furrow of red drawn across the beast’s muzzle.

Retreating s few steps the cat suddenly crouches, whiskers drawn back as it glares hatefully at Aldebrand.

Instead of attacking like Xion is expecting Aldebrand stands his ground, feathers puffed, and frill raised in a way that in the animal kingdom might look intimidating, but to Xion’s eyes it just makes him look fluffier.

From there it’s a standoff, right up until Isa decides enough is enough.

Dismounting from Seraph he summons his claymore and hurls a spike at the creature, catching it in the side and breaking its staring contest with Aldebrand.

“Be gone!”

In what looks like a reflex the cat’s great whiskers lash forward like a pair of whips, trailing sparks as they fly.

The strike from Isa has the monster off balance, and the whiskers enclose around nothing, but the sound they give off when they collide is like a thunderclap.

It’s a noise that leaves all the chocobo’s spooked and reeling, but only one of them doesn’t have a rider to help calm him.

Aldebrand bolts.

Xion makes a grab for his trailing reins as he passes her, but Aldebrand sees the move and bobs his head at the last second, whipping the reins out of her reach.

“I got him,” Roxas shouts as he prompts Vespera into a run.

Xion’s hot on his tail, but not before giving Isa a quick look.

His eyes are trained on the underbrush, where from the corner of her eye, Xion spots the white end of a long tail disappearing between the tightly packed trees.

“Smart cat,” Xion can’t help but comment.

Assured that the danger has passed she sets off in pursuit of Roxas.

He hasn’t managed to catch up to Aldebrand yet, but he’s quickly closing the gap.

It seems Vespera is better on the flat than Aldebrand, as what little distance still separates them disappears when they jump a barrier and begin running along the hard tarmac of a road that cuts across the green plains like a winding black river.

Roxas is leaning forward in his saddle, hand stretched out to snatch the trailing rein that whips wildly behind Aldebrand.

He so close, Xion can actually see his fingers brushing the edge of the brown leather, but the flash of sun reflecting off glass distracts her.

“Roxas!” That’s all the warning she has time to give as Roxas’ hand finally closes around the reins pulling Aldebrand up short as he coaxes Vespera to a stop, right in the middle of a cross-roads.

Screeching tires and the smell of burnt rubber fill the air as Roxas makes a quick decision that saves him and the two chocobos from becoming roadkill.

The whistle he manages to force past his chapped lips is weak but loud enough for Vespera to hear, and once he leaps Aldebrand soon copies.

Red and yellow feathers scatter like autumnal leaves as the two chocobos glide over the top of the stopped car. It’s made slightly easier by the fact that the cars top is down so there’s less car to jump over, but it would have ended in disaster if the rather tall passenger in the back hadn’t had the sense and reflexes to duck when he did.

Roxas sticks the landing, only to nearly fall flat on his face when he tries to dismount and finds himself bull rushed by a lanky blonde with a similar taste in hairstyle.

“Dude, are you okay? Are the chocobo’s okay?”

“I’m fine,” Roxas manages to breathe out on a shaky exhale.

“Are you sure?” Xion asks as she finally pulls up beside him, ready to summon a potion the second she thinks he’s lying.

He nods as he takes a step back from the older blonde still hovering nervously next to him. “Sorry, he got spooked and I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.”

Aldebrand takes Umbridge with that explanation, judging by the way he puffs out his feathers and gives a full body shake.

“Prompto, is he oka—whoa, since when do you have a younger brother and why did you never introduce us?” a dark-haired young man asks as he pulls up short after getting a closer look at Prompto and Roxas standing next to each other.

Xion’s glad she’s not the only one who’s slightly taken aback that there’s someone in the universe besides Roxas and Ventus—and probably Sora if he cut his hair short—that has gravity defying hair that naturally looks like a chocobos butt.

“I don’t have—” the blonde pauses as he seems to short circuit for a moment before starting again, “He’s not my brother, I just met the guy.”

“You mean you nearly ran the guy over,” a big man that could give Lexaeus a run for him munney in the height and muscle department chimes in from where he’s still sitting in the back of the car.

“It was an accident!” Prompto moans as he brings up his hands to hide his face, probably hoping to cover up the blush that’s making the dusting of freckles that decorate his cheeks blend in with his new bright red skin tone.

“This is why I ask you to keep your eyes on the road when driving.” A bespectacled man exits from the passenger seat door, and his piercing green eyes all but pin Prompto to the road. “Suffice it to say, I will be taking the wheel for the rest of the journey.”

To emphasize his point, he comes to stand next to the driver side door.

“No objections here!” crows Prompto. “But, in all seriousness are you sure you’re okay?”

The question is directed at Roxas, who nods his head in affirmation even as he mounts Vespera again, Aldebrand’s reins clutched tightly in his hand.

Roxas is about to say something, but he gets distracted when another sleek car pulls to a stop beside the first.

The window winds down smoothly, revealing an older man with a severe face. “Trouble?”

“Just a close call, the Regalia’s brakes saved us,” the dark-haired man explains even as he fished out his phone. Only for his eyes to widen when he lights up the screen. “Hey, come on, we’re gonna be late.” He taps Prompto on the shoulder as he sprints the short distance back to the car.

Prompto hangs back for a few more seconds to get one last apology in. “I really am sorry, hope the rest of your journeys safe.” With that he follows his friend and hops into the empty passenger seat.

At the sound of a window being rolled up Xion’s attention is drawn back to the other car.

She blinks at the briefest flash of familiar spikey red hair and fiery green eyes.

“Wai—” The sound of two engines starting causes all three chocobos to squawk, drowning out her cry.

Aether naturally backs up even as the cars give the chocobo’s a graciously wide birth, and before she can convince her mount to give chase the two cars are once more speeding down the long stretch of road.

“Xion?” Roxas asks, clearly confused by her reaction.

“He was there!” She looks between Roxas and the swiftly disappearing cars before remembering Isa and turning back to where she left him.

“What!” Roxas cries as he catches on, already prompting Vespera to follow the cars.

“Isa!” Xion calls seeing him approach at a frustratingly leisurely pace, his eyes trained on the brilliantly glowing orb, his brow furrowed in confusion.

He glances up at her and even from this distance she can see annoyance twisting his face, only for him to blink back to confusion when he registers the look she’s giving him.

Spurring Seraph into a faster trot, he soon pulls up beside her and Xion takes the chance to start heading down the road, she can barely see the cars now.

“What happened?” Isa asks, voice demanding.

“He was right there,” Xion can’t help but wail, even as she urges Aether to go faster. It’s no use, the cars are already out of sight.

“Look at the posters!” Talcott’s cry jolts Axel out of the nap he didn’t realise he was taking. He shoots up in his seat, fire flickering at the tips of his fingers, only for reality to quickly catch up.

Instead of being surrounded by the marble walls and sand strewn floors that flickered across the back of his eyelids, he finds himself sitting comfortably in a luxury car; granted, not as luxurious as the car sleeping beauty and his entourage drive around in, but not far off.

Taking a breath, he smothers the embers still lighting his skin and dispels the lingering smoke with a long exhale. Nobody notices, at least that’s what he thinks until he sees the reflection of the Marshal’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. There’s a moment where their eyes meet and Axel thinks the Marshal is going to stop the car then and there, but it passes when the man’s gaze returns to the road.

Axel slumps a little, feeling as though he’s passed some secret test of character.

Seeing he’s awake Talcott latches onto his arm and points out the decorations to Axel. “I knew they went all out for this but it’s so much brighter than I imagined.”

The kids not wrong, even with the sun still out the lights and lanterns that are strung on and between every building glow brightly, giving the luminous crystal fragment that dot the crater beyond the cities limits a run for their munney.

“Look, they even put up a Leap of Faith tower!” Iris shouts as she points out the wooden structure that suddenly comes into view as they exit the tunnel, her seat in the front giving her the best line of sight.

Talcott leans forward in his seat, trying to get a better angle, if his seatbelt wasn’t still securely fastened Axel has no doubt the kid would be climbing into Iris’ lap just to get a better look.

Talcott and Iris give a little gasp of shocked awe and Axel quickly glances out the window trying to find the cause, it’s hard to miss. Someone takes a running leap off the tower and does a backflip that’s more blind courage than any skill, lucky for whoever they are the large pile of hay heaped beneath the platform softens the landing.

“One hundred gil says Noct will warp to the top of the tower and try and do a real leap of faith,” calls Iris.

“That’s a fools bet,” Axel chuckles, ten minutes spent playing Assassins Creed with Noct would be enough to teach anyone that. Sleeping Beauty was a huge fan of the game, the guy even had his own cosplay—looking around it seemed he’d fit right in—no way would he pass up the chance to try a real leap of faith.

“True,” concedes Iris with a sigh. “I wonder what other challenges they’ll have set up”

“Oh, oh!” Talcott bounces in his seat next to Axel. “Do you think they’ll have a chocobo track?”

Axel doesn’t have to ask what a chocobo is, what with the near crash with the colourful flock and their riders he’s had a back-row seat to barely an hour ago.

“They had to cancel that last year, because of troop movements and though a lot of the road blockades have been put out of commission due to the Crownsguard’s efforts, I don’t know whether the Chocobo post will be willing to risk it.” Cor comments as his eyes scan for a suitable parking place.

Talcott instantly deflates, his small shoulders sinking in disappointment, right up until Cor adds, “I could be wrong though.”

Instantly the boy perks up again, a hopeful smile returning to his face. “I checked, I’m tall enough to ride them now.”

Never one to pass up the opportunity to tease Axel sits a little straighter. Even sitting down the kid barely comes up to his chin, a point that Axel emphasises when he measures Talcott’s height against his own with his hand. “You sure about that short stack?”

Talcott turns a defiant pout on him that makes Iris laugh. “Of course I am, I measured myself this morning.”

“Isn’t that cheating? You’re always taller in the morning.” Iris muses, laughter still lacing her tone.

Talcott sinks into his seat, arms crossed, and his pout now morphing into a full-blown scowl. “It still counts.”

Axel can’t help it; he has to ruffle the kid’s hair.

Talcott soon bats his hand away, but not before Axel managed to build up a good amount of static electricity, enough to make Talcott’s hair stand up, “There, that should help.”

Talcott is not amused but he doesn’t shift to pat his hair back down.

Axel chooses not to laugh, although he does think the scene should be funny.

“Look,” he finally says seriously, “height like a lot of things in life is about attitude. If you walk around thinking you are small people will pick up on that, same goes for if you think you’re tall. Got it memorized?”

“Sound advice,” comes the deep rumble of the Marshals voice from the front seat.

“Right,” Talcott nods with confidence as he straightens himself up.

After that everyone switches focus to searching for a viable parking space. They eventually find one after driving around the car park twice, three cars down from where the prince and his entourage parked.

The second he steps out of the car Axel raises his hands high over his head and stretches with an exaggerated groan. Sure, he had more than enough leg room in the back of the car but sitting still for any length of time in a confined space makes some of Lea’s darker memories rise up from the little space in the back of his head where Axel likes to keep them locked away.

Lucky for him distraction seems easy to come by on this world.

Another cheer goes up as the next person throws themselves off the wooden platform, arms and legs flailing as they fall, before they land safely in the massive pile of hay.

Axel just might have to see what this festival has to offer before he uses the large crowd to make his escape.

Chapter Text

Thank the Six they had gotten here relatively early.

When Cindy and Holly had first suggested that they join in on the festivities by taking advantage of the costumes, Ignis hadn’t thought much of it.

In fact, he found himself rather distracted by the lights, sounds, and smells of the festival itself.

Suffice it to say, Lestallum had gone all out, probably sparing no expense in their bid to emulate the Assassin Creed games and the legend that inspired them.

A perfect example of this is the Leap of Faith Tower that had been erected in the town square.

Many would have deemed simply raising the tower excessive, but the citizens of Lestallum had gone the extra mile, constructing a hollow spire strung with lights and tapestries that breathed life and fantasy into the structure.

Simply describing it as awe inspiring would be a disservice to the obvious effort that had gone into preparing it.

Back to the matter at hand though, Ignis had soon found himself no longer distracted when Holly had presented him with the first offering that she believed would suit him.

“No.” The rejection comes out a little sterner than he intends.

Holly takes it in stride and begins to insist, “come on, this will look great on you. Plus, it’ll have even more of an impact if you and your friend’s match.”

She nods her head to where Gladio is just stepping out of one of the changing rooms, it’s little more than the back of the tent where the costumes are stored cordoned off with a curtain, but it serves its purpose.

Getting a look at Gladio only hardens Ignis’ resolve. “Absolutely not.”

Gladio has never been against displaying the results of his hard work, and the cosplay he’s chosen certainly does that.

To Ignis’ eyes it looks like someone has taken a very sharp knife and ripped apart what was once a perfectly good outfit, and instead of doing the smart thing and changing Gladio had simply shrugged and wrapped what remained around his torso, in the process creating a top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“I didn’t peg you for the shy type,” Holly complains as she reluctantly returns the pile of discarded bandages she’s trying to pass off as clothes to their hanger.

Before Ignis can give his own reply Gladio cuts in, “Iggy here wouldn’t be seen dead in anything less than a polo shirt and a smart pair of trousers, and that’s only when the heat forces him to abandon his suit or risk death by overheating.”

Ignis raises a brow, once again ready to defend himself. Only for his words to be bowled over, this time by Prompto’s entrance. “Oh, are we talking about the time Iggy got heat stroke because he was too stubborn to take off his jacket in the desert?”

The blonde can barely be seen over the stack of cosplay he has grabbed, but Ignis can still hear the smile that must be spreading across his face.

Ignis can feel a headache coming and he knows from experience the best way to stop it is to cut his so-called friends off before they can truly build up a head of steam.

He raises his hand, intending to do just that, only to be interrupted once again, this time by Noct, the absolute traitor. “Either that or the time he nearly roasted himself by using a Fira flask on Ravatough.”

“We were about to be gassed by a Marlboro; any other magic wouldn’t have been effective enough to forestall its breath attack.” This is an argument that has been through many renditions and remixes, that never seems to detract from the amusement it brings his friends.

Gladio’s about to chime in with his usual response, Ignis can see it in the way his eyes light up with a near malevolent spark of mischief. Thank the Six he doesn’t get the chance.

“I thought this was meant to be the spiciest snack they had.” The sheer disgust coating Axel’s voice is so at odds with the teasing tones filling the tent, that it easily cuts through the bubbling levity previously buoying the air.

All eyes fall on the red head as he enters the tent, already changed into an elaborate cosplay just a few shades darker than his own hair. Fashioned after a renaissance Altissian style, it looks like it’s been ripped straight from the screen of the second Assassin Creeds instalment.

Predictably, Noct goes into full, unadulterated, fan boy mode.

“That’s the limited-edition Ifrit themed Brotherhood cosplay!”

If Ignis recalls correctly there was only one hundred of these outfits made, they could only be won in a competition, part of a marketing scheme for a DLC release where the player could complete a certain task for an Astral of their choice and in return receive the deities blessing in the form of the aforementioned outfit and exclusive abilities.

“As if we needed any more proof that he’s Ifrit’s bas-“

“You even got the Hellfire gauntlets!” Gladio’s crass comment is quickly cut off as Noct continues to gush, going so far as to warp across the short space that separates him from Axel, so he can get a better look at the silver and red bracers that now adorn the young man’s arms.

The boy backs away quickly, nearly tripping over poor Talcott who’s standing in his shadow, but he quickly regains his footing and his smile.

“I thought it might be a big deal when the kid started speaking a mile a minute when I won the draw.” Axel nods down towards Talcott who bashfully ducks his head and pulls his hood down to hide his face.

“Are you kidding? What kind of luck must you have to win that?

Gladio mumbles something along the lines of, “the devils own,” in the background, but it appears Ignis is the only one who hears him as Noct goes on.

“Ah, it’s just a shame it won’t really come with the fire resistance and magic enhancer you get in the game.”

“I got the fire magic more than covered,” Axel quips as he flicks a small flame over his knuckles, rolling it like a coin between his fingers before he snuffs it out. “Got it memorized.”

“Dude, you gotta let me get a few pics of you! Both you and Noct look so legit.” Prompto bounces out from the changing room, looking quite the legitimate article himself. Ignis doesn’t recognise the cosplay he is sporting; it’s fairly reminiscent of the style worn in Black Flag, but the colour scheme is different, favouring a soft Chocobo yellow that matches the feather accessory attached to the twin leather belts crossing his chest.

It suits him.

Axel cringes as his hand subconsciously moves to cover his lower ribs, as though he’s shielding against an incoming blow. He disguises the gesture as a sweep of his palm across the smooth silver threaded red fabric of his coat, but it cannot hide the flash of nervousness that causes his body to instinctively curl in remembered fear.

“I’ll pass, I’ve never really liked how I look in photos.”

Prompto accepts the excuse easily, a spark of recognition passing across his eyes like a shadow, before it’s dispelled with a sunny smile, “Ah, no worries, I think I got you in a few group shots the other day. Want me to delete them?”

Axel blinks at the offer and something almost hesitant works it way into his voice as he gives a quick nod and a quiet, “please.”

Prompto catches the pause, but doesn’t draw attention to it, “If you got a minute, you could show me if there are any that are okay to keep?” He brandished his camera in offering, free of judgement or any expectations.

Axel wavers, perched on the edge of making a decision.

The light brush of Iris’ shoulder against his own seems to help him make a choice.

“Sure, we’re all geared up already, right guys?”

Both Iris and Talcott nod, but the gesture is unnecessary. A simple glance would tell anyone they are more than adequately dressed for the occasion.

It’s at this moment that Ignis cannot help but notice that Talcott’s cosplay has a lot more red to it than is typical of the original series cosplay he is sporting. Seeing the way the boy has taken to Axel it really isn’t hard to guess who he is trying to emulate.

Iris for her part has chosen a cosplay from the same game as her brother, a decision that wasn’t made intentionally judging by the way the Armiticia siblings sigh in sync when they set eyes on each other. At least Iris’s version is far more modest, only exposing her midriff and not her entire torso.

“Come on,” Axel prompts, “there were some free booths by the food stands.”

“We’ll catch up soon,” Noct comment offhandedly as he comes to stand beside Ignis by the clothes rack.

Pleasantly surprised, Ignis cannot help but raise a brow at Noct, “I thought you would want to accompany the others?”

Noct shrugs, as he quickly sorts through the collection of outfits on display, clearly looking for something in particular, given the way his nose crinkles in displeasure as he disregards one cosplay after another.

“If I left you here alone with Holly who knows what she would bully you into wearing.”

Ignis can’t disagree, Holly does seem like the persistent type, and in the likely scenario that she and Cindy were to gang up on him he doesn’t know how he could politely say no.

“They are rather passionate,” Ignis allows, even as a shiver rolls down his spine as he feels a predatory gaze land on his back.

Ignoring it as best he can, Ignis returns to idly flicking through the clothes rack, there are a few promising options, especially one Adventorian inspired outfit that comes complete with fitted waist coat and trousers, to accompany the double-breasted frock coat that boasted the traditional Assassin hood. Of course, it’s just his luck that the cosplay doesn’t come in his size.

He’s at the point of wondering whether Noct will be gracious enough to not be too disappointed when he voices his wish to bow out of the cosplay portion of the festivities, when an excited exclamation from his friend draws his attention.

He turns just in time to avoid having his glasses knocked clean off his face by a dark blue blur that reveals itself to be a well-tailored habit dégagé.

“This ones perfect for you,” Noct declares, with a wide smile.

“How so?” Ignis can’t help but question, not to say that he isn’t taken with the outfit, it certainly does appeal to his sense of style, what with the perfectly pressed white vest and the neatly folded crimson cravat that complements the darker tones of the hooded tailed coat.

“The character isn’t that much like you but he does have this whole romance subplot with a female Templar.”

“How exactly does that make it perfect for me?” Ignis instantly regrets asking this when Noct gives him an unimpressed look.

“Do I really have to name a certain Mercenary working for the Empire.” No, he didn’t and Ignis would not give him time to.

Taking the outfit from his traitorous friend he makes his way to the rear of the tent.

Twenty minutes later he returns and Noct cheers in excitement, “I knew this one would suit you.”

He’s not wrong, and Ignis does feel far more comfortable in this outfit than he ever would have in the garment Holly had first suggested.

“Come on, Prompto’s gonna freak!”

With that and a heartfelt thanks called over his shoulder to Cindy and Holly Noct is all but dragging Ignis out of the costume tent.

It isn’t hard to find the others, despite the crowd. They do make for quite the eye-catching party all dressed as they are.

Axel stands with The Marshal, slightly apart from the others, dressed in an Adventorian cosplay very similar to the one Ignis had been eyeing.

Ignis sends a very quiet thank you to the fates, he can only imagine the teasing that would have ensued had he chosen the same outfit as The Marshal.

The reason the two have chosen to stand separate becomes clear as they approach.

Prompto is putting his camera skills to full use, getting group shots and single poses.

Not wanting to interfere just yet, he and Noct make their way the table Axel and Cor have claimed.

“Why are you eating that if you say you don’t like the taste?” He hears Cor ask as they get closer.

 “The taste is okay, little bland,” Axel comments as he tentatively chews a meat skewer, “the real problem is the so-called spice, it’s all heat with no flare, but it’s better than the first snack I tried.”

“May I try?” Ignis asks as he and Noct take their seats at the table.

In answer, Axel slides the snack box across the dark wood of the table they sit at, a clear invitation.

Plucking one of the remaining meat skewers from the box Ignis takes a generous bite.

He regrets it almost immediately as his eyes water and his tongue burns, sparks lighting at the back of his throat before he’s even dared to swallow.

He gulps quickly and breathes out a harsh gust, hoping that the sudden rush of air will help to cool his tongue, it doesn’t.

The glass of ice filled water that’s suddenly shoved into his hand is a lifeline.

Dignity cast aside in favour of saving what yet remains of his tastebuds, Ignis gulps the water down like a dying man.

The coughs that rack him afterwards leave him nearly bent double across the table.

“Are you okay Specs?” There’s clear concern in Noct’s voice as he rests a steadying hand on Ignis’ shoulder, and with good reason, Ignis is not a picky eater, as a food connoisseur he cannot afford to be. As such he has sampled many dishes in his life, some good, some spectacular, and some that need work.

The abomination that rests innocently on the table before him is an insult to all of them.

“Where…” the word rasps into a wheeze and he has to take another sip of water to forestall another coughing fit. “Where did you get this from?”

“That booth over there,” Axel points with his own half-finished skewer before discarding it back in the box, “all the others had queues that went on for miles.”

Adjusting his glasses Ignis stands and begins manoeuvring through the gathered crowd. “I cannot allow this to pass.”

The other festival goers must sense something, because soon enough they begin to part before him, making it easy for his little group to make it to the food booth Axel had pointed out.

The smell is the first thing that hits Ignis as he nears the food stall, too much grease, the char of burning meat, spices of all kinds that are so at odds with each other they create a discordant cloud of laced air, and oil so hot it burns his nose on every inhale.

The stall owner spots him as he approaches and eyeing him as a potential customer begins his sales pitch.

“Ah, I see you have good taste sir,” the grizzled owner greets as he beckons Ignis forward with a greedy smile. “We’ve just put on a fresh rack of our Galahdian speciality, I can promise you’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“With good reason,” Ignis states firmly.

The merchant stumbles, taken off guard by the venom in Ignis’ tone, but his salesman’s smile doesn’t slip. “Excuse me sir?”

“The scraps you’re proffering as a Galahdian recipe are nothing of the sort. The spices you’re using aren’t even native to the region.” Ignis explains as he looks over the stall’s kitchen area.

The disgust curling his lips only intensifies as he takes in the state of the workspace.

It can only be described as a scene of disorganised chaos that is a recipe for disaster simply waiting to happen. Cutlery and pans lie scattered about the space, all in differing states of use, the only thread of commonalty within the booth is the half-inch layer of grime that covers every surface.

How this man could have passed the inspections that would allow him to serve food at a public event is beyond Ignis.

The stall owner finally seems to shake off the shock caused by Ignis’ accusation and springs forward to defend himself, “Real Galahdian spices are hard to come by these days, a few substitutions have to be expected, and my customers don’t seem to have any complaints.”

“I have a complaint!” Axel calls out from somewhere in the gathering crowd, adding fuel to the proverbial fire.

The stall owners’ eyes flick to where Axel must be standing. “You again, I already warned you that these spicy dishes weren’t for the faint of heart.”

“It wasn’t the heat it was the all-around flavour,” Axel gripes in such a way that Ignis can easily imagine the pout the boy is sporting, “I mean, are you making it too hot to try and cover the taste? People can’t complain about it if they can’t eat it, right”

“No refunds,” barks the man as he turns back to his booth in an obvious attempt to end the conversation there.

Ignis has half a mind to summon his own cooking equipment from the armiger then and there and show the man what real cooking tastes like, but rationality prevails as he reminds himself that they are still trying to keep a low profile.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusts his glasses as asks the man a very simple question. “Can I see your food health certificates?”

Without looking back the man tries to dismiss Ignis, going so far as to wave his hand over his shoulder in a motion usually reserved for batting away a persistent fly. “I’ve got work to do; I don’t have time to be dealing with you.”

Ignis frowns at this, not at the rude behaviour but at the refusal to present what should already be a document readily displayed on any food stall.

He looks back to Noct. “Please fetch Cindy and Holly, I have a feeling they will want to be made aware of this.”

“Right,” Noct nods, as he takes off into the crowd before the food vendor can call out to him.

“Oy, there’s no need to go that far!”

“Are you even registered as a merchant here?” Ignis counters.

With how busy the festival is it wouldn’t surprise him if a few unscrupulous characters were trying to take advantage.

The little bravado the man has been managing to hang onto shatters as he realises he’s been caught. “Look, I’ll give the kid a refund, that’s what you want, right?”

“I’m afraid this is no longer up for me to decide.” Ignis intones.

With impeccable timing Cindy appears from the midst of the crowd, standing tall, her hands placed firmly on her hips as she glares at the stall owner.

“Rodrick! You slimy two tailed Reapertail! I thought I already told you to get!”

“Now listen here Cindy, I’m just trying to earn a living here, you can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Cindy interrupts, “kick your ass out of Lestallum before you give someone food poisoning? Should I take that as a challenge?”

She takes one threatening step forward and the sharp crack of her boot sounds like a whip splitting the still air. “Better yet, I drove old Betsy here. Wanna see what she could do to your stall?”

“Old Betsy?” Ignis hears Noct ask, and he must admit to being quite curious himself.

“Her custom monster truck,” Holly answers with a poorly hidden laugh.

The stall owner soon devolves into a begging mess, but Cindy is having none of it.

Seeing that the situation is well in hand Ignis turns back to his party, only to immediately notice the sudden absence of a certain mischievous red head and the Marshal.

“Where are the others?”

Noct answers readily, “Cor had a call he had to take, and the rest are still over by the look out.”

“And Axel?” He assumes Cor took the boy with him, right up until the moment he see’s Noct’s eyes widen in clear horror, before they turn to sweep over the gathered crowd, desperately searching for a red hood amidst the sea of mostly white.

“Cor’s gonna kill me.” Noct bemoans as he hides his face in his hands.

That is the understatement of the century, but since it is part of Ignis’ sworn duty to keep his liege alive he will of course do everything he can to prevent this.

“Come on, he can’t have gotten too far, so long as we find him the Marshal never has to contemplate committing treason.”

“Yeah, if it came to that we’d be doing Niflheim’s job for them, cause you just know after killing me Cor would see it as his sworn duty to off himself.” Noct jokes weakly, and Ignis really doesn’t appreciate it.

“Please leave to bad jokes to me Highness,” he begs as his eyes flit about the spectators, only snagging on any traces of red before swiftly moving on.

“So, you admit your puns are bad!” Ignis cannot help but roll his eyes.

“Noct, focus.”

“Right, sorry.”

The light reprimand gets Noct back on track and the two of them continue to search, hopeless as the endeavour seems, what with the sea of hooded figures and the shadowed alleys that make up Lestallum’s streets.

The preparations are in full swing when he and his brother arrive.

Like ants the Niflheim soldiers crawl about the still disassembled carcasses of the robotic monstrosities so many think will win them this war.

Little do they know the war has long been lost, but seldom do people realise they are the architects of their own destruction until it is too late.

Speaking of self-destructive fools, here comes one now.

“Chancellor Izunia, what a pleasant surprise,” the overly sweet tone of voice does little to hide the high-strung thread of tension that laces the man’s words. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“Brigadier General Loqi,” Ardyn greets, as he puts on his own overly saccharine smile. “No need to stand on ceremony, not for me, I just came as a guide you see.”

“A guide?” the young man questions clearly confused even as sharp blue eyes narrow as his gaze lands on the cloaked figure looming behind Ardyn.

“Why yes, for your replacement in today’s festivities,” Ardyn continues, fully aware of the effect his words will have, even as he bows in presentation, his hat removed, his arm stretched wide, shadows hidden beneath his sleeve begging to be unleashed.

‘Not yet,’ he whispers in his own mind, ‘not yet.’

“My replacement?” Loqi’s jaw drops comically wide, as though the mere thought of anyone being able to replace him is the most outrageous thing he has ever heard.

“Yes,” Ardyn continues as though Loqi disbelief is instead a genuine question, “and as such, your services are no longer required.”

Before the dear Brigadier General’s doubt can boil over into rage it morphs into uncomprehending horror as his brother finally removes his cloak.

“Wha-argh!” the shocked exclamation of surprise is cut off as armour clad fingers reach out to clasp the man’s throat.

With little effort Loqi is held within the grasp of the creature that the twisted remains of his brother have become.

Fear swallows wide blue eyes until it all falls still beneath the rippling shadows that steal the very light from the man’s soul.

It’s all very interesting to watch, and just a taste of what’s yet to come.

Chapter Text

The sparkling lights and the glowing atmosphere of the festival they ride into, are wasted on Isa, Roxas, and Xion.

It’s so at odds with the tense fission of anxiety that buzzes under Roxas’ skin that it only compounds the leaden ball of worry that has lodged itself in his chest.

Isa and Xion are feeling it too, none of them seem to be able to keep their gazes from periodically flitting between the crowd and the orb clenched in Isa’s iron grip. The orb that’s now glowing so brightly it’s impossible to ignore.

“How are we even meant to find him?” Roxas can’t help but ask as he looks over the throng of hooded figures that makes up the majority of the crowd.

It feels like an impossible task, as though they could walk straight past him and never know, boxed in on all sides as they are.

“First things first,” Isa says as he steps forward, “we need a way to disguise this.”

As if in agreement the orbs glow intensifies, and Roxas cannot stop himself from frantically looking around for a head of red hair, or the swish of a familiar black coat.

Nothing, just a sea of strangers that moves with the strength of a tide that already has him feeling lost.

He shakes his head and focuses back on his friends.

Xion’s the one who asks the looming question. “How do we make that look inconspicuous?”

Isa shakes his head, for the first time appearing truly unsure. It’s not as though they can just keep it in their inventory. It needs to be out in order to be active, a drawback that they hadn’t discovered until they landed on this world.

“Could we camouflage it as a torch or a lantern?” Roxas suggests weakly, already half dismissing the idea himself as he looks around the well-lit plaza, strung with so many festive lights that the town is bathed in artificial twilight.

“It’s too large,” Isa intones as he idly rolls the sphere in his palm.

Unfortunately, the move can be mistaken for playful not agitated, and this has the very undesired effect of convincing one of the braver members of the crowd, that Isa is safe to approach.

“Is that meant to be a Spark of Ifrit replica?” asks an all too excited voice.

Bright brown eyes widen in surprise as the girl takes down her hood, revealing thick brown ringlets and a wide smile. “How did you get it to glow like that, it looks like real flames!”

She reaches out to touch the prop and Isa gets that look on his face, the one that makes him resemble a wolf about to take a snap at unsuspecting prey.

Without Lea here Roxas steps up to intervene, hoping to save the poor girl who’s inadvertently put herself in harm’s way. It really isn’t her fault, Isa has one of those faces that unless you hang around with him a lot, you can’t tell that he is getting angry until he’s already swinging his claymore at you.

“Please don’t touch it,” he begs as he puts himself between the girl and Isa. “It’s…um…fragile? Yeah, it’s really fragile, easily broken.”

The excuse seems to work, the girl backing off with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, it’s just that you don’t see props of that quality often, not unless you’re scrolling through uploads on Wark, and most of those are CG. I guess it would be too much to ask to get a picture with me holding it, but would your friend mind a group photo?”

The obvious answer is a resounding yes, but what excuse can he possibly give that won’t arouse suspicion. By the looks of it this is a festival where people dress up and take photos as a norm, there’s even some booths dedicated to it, how can he turn her down when she’s given such an innocent request?

“Eurel!” a loud call from where the crowd around them is thickest, saves Roxas from immediately having to come up with an answer as a tanned young man with the curliest hair emerges from the throng of people.

“Caleb, hey! Oh, would you mind taking a picture of me with these guys,” the now named Eurel greets, as if them agreeing to have their photo taken is already a given.

Roxas is really beginning to panic when he sees Caleb fishing out this world’s version of a gummi phone--which everyone seems to have—from the pocket of the hoodie of a more casual version of the costume being worn at the festival. Only Caleb drops his phone.

At first Roxas thinks it’s just a simple accident, but Caleb’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open in shock as he points over Roxas’ shoulder, right at Isa.

“InabaMoonBunny! Oh my Six! Are you InabaMoonBunny?!”

That throws Roxas off. “InapaMoor—what?”

“I think he actually said InaraHoonHoney,” Xion whispers from beside him, sounding just as confused as Roxas.

Whatever he said it seems to have gotten the attention of most of the people around them.

“InabaMoonBunny, no way!”

“Really!”

“I thought he cancelled due to illness.”

“Whoever it is they are cosplaying Leviathan’s Champion.”

“You call that cosplay?”

“It’s gotta be InabaMoonBunny then, come on you read the announcement, if he just arrived then of course he’s not cosplaying yet.”

“Wait, wasn’t there another post?”

“I got it, I got it! He’s not InabaMoonBunny! He’s LeviathansPosterChild!”

“LeviathansPosterChild, where?!”

“Oh Six, it is him! He’s even wearing the wig he posted on Wark. It looks so real!”

“Wait, is it meant to be that long?”

“Creative licence? You never get to see the Leviathan’s Champion’s face, just his long bangs.”

“Look at the scar!”

“I need to get a picture with him!”

That last comment starts a small riot as the rest of the crowd decides that they all want one too.

“W—” Roxas doesn’t even have a chance to shout as the human beings turned unstoppable tide sweeps over him and Xion in their quest to reach Isa.

An Isa whose eyes have begun to glow, crap!

It’s something Xion has noticed as well, as she desperately grasps Roxas’ shoulder. “Think you can cause a big enough distraction to allow me to cast sleepra?”

 “I think Isa is a big enough distraction as is,” Roxas says as he manages to get back out in front of the crowd forming an inescapable circle around Isa. “Plus, no one is going to notice you summoning your Keyblade amongst all these flashing lights.”

There’s still the unspoken issue that Isa might get caught up in the spell but given the current situation it is very much a case of asking for forgiveness instead of permission.

 Roxas and Xion share a nod below the heads of the rest of the crowd and Xion backs up a bit, she raises her hand to summon her blade but just as the first spark of light forms in her hand a voice calls out, loud and clear even over the din of the festival goers around them.

“What the heck is going on here? Why’re y’all gathered round like a pack of coeurl’s that have found a dead Anak for?” The woman that emerges from the crowd is dressed like she’s heading for the beach, but it’s clear that she commands a lot of respect by the way the crowd parts to let her through. “I swear it’s just one thing after another.”

“Cindy!” calls Eurel, who’s still standing pretty close to Isa, looks back and forth between him and Cindy, excitement streaming out of every pore as she bounces in place like a kid that just discovered Christmas Town. “Is he InabaMoonBunny or LeviathansPosterChild?”

“What in the heck are you talking about? We already posted that we couldn’t get any of the top Wark rated cosplayers for Leviathan’s Champion. We announced it on all our social media yesterday. I know y’all are disappo—” her explanation peters out into nothing as her eyes lock on Isa.

With her long legs she manages to close the short distance between herself and Isa in no time at all. Crossing her arms and tilting her head she rakes her gaze down Isa’s body from head to toe, then nods decisively.

“How’d you like to do a girl a favour hun.”

“No,” is Isa’s immediate answer. Oh, and there’s the growl in his voice that means they have about five seconds before he reaches the limit of his patience—which so far on this trip has been insanely inexhaustible—and goes fully berserk.

“Come on, you haven’t even heard me out yet, let’s get away from this crowd and discuss it over a drink. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.” Roxas is pretty sure the flirty line would have had most other guys following behind Cindy like a love-struck puppy, but Isa is unmoved.

Rolling his eyes, he makes to walk away, but that soon proves impossible as the ring of people around them thickens and tightens like the coils of an overly large snake, blocking off any escape.

Cindy laughs, “To be honest, I doubt you’re making it out of this mess in one piece without me.”

There’s a silent standoff that seems to go unnoticed by the flood of people that continue to surround them. Some of which are getting frustrated at being ignored, as showcased when one guy breaks from the unspoken line that separates the crowd and Isa and tries to take a selfie. Xion puts an end to that attempt by blocking Isa from view with the back of her head, much to the guys’ annoyance.

The fake smile she plasters on her face and the insincere. “Oh, sorry.” has the guy retreating back to where his friends are standing without a word of complaint.

Cornered as they are, Roxas isn’t surprised when Isa relents with a reluctant. “Fine.”

“Right this way,” Cindy crows in unrepentant victory as she effortlessly carves a path through the festival goers with easy shouts of, “come on, git. I’m a busy lady and I got places to be.”

Roxas takes the opportunity to snag Xion’s hand and runs for the gap that has suddenly opened. Without thinking he snags the back of Isa’s jacket, afraid that he and Xion will get swept away by the mass of people suddenly all around them. It’s only as his fingers close around the fabric and Isa looks back at him that he realises what he has done.

“Sorry!” He let’s go and begins to back off a little, only to have Isa seize his wrist.

“No, you’ll get lost, and unlike Axel I don’t have a tracker to find you two,” Isa reasons as he continues to walk forward, not even bothering to look back at Roxas and Xion.

Roxas wants to be indignant at the fact that he’s being treated like a child who’s liable to get lost the second Isa takes his eyes off him, but there’s also a part of him that is feeling unbearable happy over the fact that Isa really is looking out for him and Xion. “Lea was right, you really are a softy.”

The grasp on his wrist tightens to a painful level and Roxas immediately gets the message. “I take it back; I take it back!”

Xion laughs at his suffering, the traitor, and this draws Cindy’s attention. “These your younger siblings?”

“My friends,” Isa answers easily and Roxas nearly trips, the only reason he doesn’t is because Isa has a very strong hold on him.

He probably doesn’t even realise that this is the first time he’s confirmed that, yes, they are friends. He’d also probably deny it if Roxas pointed it out, so he does the smart thing and keeps quiet. This of course doesn’t stop him from smiling full force at Xion.

She’s sporting a little shocked smile of her own, and Roxas can’t help but laugh when he sees it.

Cindy continues, “I take it these two are the reason you’re here, what did they have to bribe you with to get you to play escort?”

Roxas sees an opportunity to get some information and seizes on it. “Actually, we’re supposed to be meeting another friend here, but we can’t get hold of him, and he wasn’t at the spot we agreed to meet at.”

“Ah, typical festival problem,” Cindy nods knowingly, “What’s this friend of yours look like, I can ask around, or if you really want to embarrass him I can send out a lost kid announcement over the speaker system.”

Roxas’ eyes sparkle at the mere suggestion of that, his mind turning over how that announcement would go.

‘Attention, this is a call for a lost child. His name is Axel, and he is 16 years old. He has spikey red hair and will always ask if people have 'got it memorized' after he introduces himself. His guardian, Isa is very worried and, in his words, 'he will wish he had been turned into a dusk' if he does not report to the administrative tent within the next 10 minutes.’

Of course, that announcement would probably just send Axel running the way he is now, so that option is out.

Another scenario comes to mind. He pictures Axel walking down a crowded street only to turn when he hears Isa’s voice from one of the speakers placed all around the town.

“Axel, I have your children.”

“I don't have any children.” Axel would respond indignantly.

Only then for Roxas and Xion’s voices to ring out from the speakers, “Axel, we have the icing on the cake and we're gonna eat it all if you don't get here soon.”

Axel would then panic. “He has my children!”

Alas, that would never work because this Axel doesn’t even remember meeting Xion and himself yet.

While he’s been daydreaming, Isa has diplomatically declined Cindy’s offer of the cities speaker system, but he is giving her a detailed description of Axel.

“He’s very easy to spot, about five foot seven inches, bright red spikey hair, tear drop tattoos beneath his eyes, and likes to say: ‘got it memorized’ like you could ever possibly forget him.”

Cindy nods along as Isa talks, but she slows and then stops about halfway through the description, her head tilting and her nose wrinkling in a way that looks like she’s trying to recall something. “Y’know, there was a guy like that hanging around some buddies of mine, you got a photo of him?”

Isa freezes suddenly in front of him, and both he and Xion run into the back of him.

It takes a couple of seconds for all of them to reboot but then all three of them are reaching for their gummi phones.

Xion is the first to fish hers out and so Roxas and Isa both abandon their own attempts in order to look over her shoulder to find a suitable photo that won’t raise suspicion.

Xion opens her photo gallery only to squeak in abject horror when the first photo that pops up is a shot of the both of them snuggled up with an asleep Isa.

“When did you take that!” His voice is equal parts disbelief and awe.

“Err…” comes Xion’s eloquent response.

“You’ll be deleting that later.” Isa’s icy tone broaches no argument, and Xion takes that as the silent command it is to start scrolling for her life.

“Stop.” Roxas calls as his eyes snag on a photo of young Lea, it’s a pic that Isa shared with them ages ago, one of him and Lea when they still lived in Radiant Garden.

Xion shows it to Cindy, and she nods decisively. “Yep, that’s the red head tagging along with my friends.”

“Where is he?” All three of them ask at the same time, and it actually causes Cindy to back up a little, surprised as she is by their eagerness.

“Hold your Chocobo’s. I saw him about a half hour ago, he can’t have gotten too far, let me call my friends.” Cindy reassures as she pulls out her own gummi phone. “Though you guys are gonna owe me big for this, and I know just how you can repay me.”

Prompto is having the time of his life.

The festival has blown all his expectations out of the water, leaving him so hyper that he’s having to take a few deep breaths to calm down before he takes any pictures in order to stop his hands from shaking with excitement.

He’s looking through his most recent shots right now, deleting those that are blurred and admiring the ones that turned out better than he hoped for. An example of that is a group shot; that of him, Gladio, Iris, and Talcott. With the look out as the backdrop and them all in such high-end cosplay, it looked like a shot from an official Assassin’s Creed promotional campaign.

“Get anything good?” Gladio asks, returning from his trip to the food stands, a lot sooner than Prompto thought he would given the length of the ques.

“You bet, take a look.” Prompto readily hands over his camera as he glances behind Gladio expecting to see Iris and Talcott, but there’s no sign of them.

“Where are the others?” he asks curiously.

Gladio huffs dismissively, but a little colour tinges his ears, a sure sign that he’s embarrassed.

“Iris chase you off?” Prompto asks, already knowing the answer.

“All I did was talk to a woman standing in the que in front of us,” Gladio defends.

“Translation, you unleashed the full Gladio charm and had her coyly batting her eyes at you in seconds, right in front of your baby sister,” Prompto counters.

“It wasn’t like that.” The way Gladio’s ears go a little redder and the smug smirk that curls his lips says it was exactly like that.

“Did you get her number?” He takes back his camera when Gladio offers it.

“Iris intervened just as I was about to.”

Prompto winces in sympathy. “That is a rare swing and a miss for you buddy.”

“It’s fine, I’ll swing by her hotel room later and get it then.” Okay, not a miss at all then.

“Is this before or after you chat up every other hot girl at this festival?” Prompto is not exaggerating, he’s seen Gladio’s flirting skills first hand, and the trail of besotted girls he leaves in his wake. Not to say he’s anything but a gentleman, but yeah, Gladio’s got that easy charm that allows him to talk to any girl he wants to.

What Prompto wouldn’t give to have a tenth of that charm when he’s talking to Cindy.

Gladio’s only response to his answer is to lean back and cross his arms behind his head, completely relaxed.

Prompto goes back to sorting through the photos, but he keeps up the steady flow of conversation as they wait for the others to join them.

“I really want to get a full group photo of us all,” Prompto sighs as his eyes catch on a photo of Axel that the teen allowed him to keep. Not that you can see much of Axel, just his silhouette against the open door of the house at Cape Caem. Talcott, Iris, and Noct are definitely the main focus of the shot, what with the way they take up the centre of the picture, leaning forward with easy smiles on their faces.

Another shot that he was allowed to keep is one that he snagged when Noct was introducing Axel to Assassins Creed. He couldn’t resist taking it, not when Axel made such a loud cry of despair and fully buried his face in his hands as though to hide his shame, when he tried to pull off a leap of faith and ended up killing his character.

Noct’s in the foreground, but Axel can still clearly be seen, even though his face is completely covered by his hands.

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” Gladio answers after a moment of looking at the photos with Prompto. “It’s not like the Ifrit spawn has issues with you taking pictures, just that he doesn’t want his face showing.”

Prompto shrugs his shoulders, unsure. “I don’t want to push it.”

“Want me to ask him for you?” Gladio offers.

Prompto is a little caught off guard by that suggestion, until he catches the glint in Gladio’s eye. “If by ask you mean wrestle him into being still, then thanks but no.”

“Spoilsport,” Gladio huffs.

“Come on, isn’t it time you cut the guy a break, if he was working for the Niff’s he would have done something by now, right?” Prompto coaxes. He really doesn’t like seeing Gladio like this, he knows it comes from a good place, wanting to keep his friends safe, but all it’s doing at the moment is putting everyone’s backs up.

“Maybe,” Gladio allows, and that in itself causes Prompto to relax a little.

Gently elbowing Gladio in the ribs he can’t help but heckle, at least a little, “ah the Amicitia method proved itself once more,” he nods sagely.

Gladio gently claps him on the back in retaliation, nearly sending Prompto flying. “Keep that up and I’ll have to test the method ou—”

Gladio’s threat gets cut off as he spots something over Prompto’s shoulder.

Prompto doesn’t have to wonder what’s caught his friend’s attention for long as both Noct and Iggy come sprinting towards them.

“Have you guys seen Axel?” Noct asks, pale and nearly breathless.

“You lost him already?!” Gladio growls.

Welp, there goes all that hard won progress Iris beat into him.

Chapter Text

Axel had not thought it would be this easy.

Sure, he’d been looking for any opportunity to slip away since they arrived at the festival, but he never thought one would present itself so soon.

He’d been a little optimistic when Specs got wrapped up in an argument with a food stall owner, who wouldn’t know what good spice tasted like if it set his tongue on fire, but he hadn’t got his hopes up.

He became a little more excited when the Marshal had to take a call, forcing him to leave to find a more private setting to discuss the apparently very urgent matter. All Axel heard were some very distressed shouts about a statue.

Whatever it was, it got the Marshal off his back, when he departed with a very distracted order directed at Noctis to, “keep an eye on Axel while I take this.”

Noct had nodded in acceptance and given a token affirmation, but his eyes had never left the conflict brewing between Specs and the stall owner.

He says conflict but it’s really just a slaughter.

He’s just wondering how he can get rid of Noct, or maybe just chance it and slink away in the crowd when Specs turns to Noct and instructs, “Please fetch Cindy and Holly, I have a feeling they will want to be made aware of this.”

With an immediate, “right,” in acknowledgement Noct takes off into the crowd while Ignis turns his attention back to the protesting food vendor, and just like that Axel is left unsupervised.

“There’s no way that just happened,” Axel whispers in disbelief.

He’s actually a little insulted that he seems to have been forgotten, but he shakes that abhorrent thought off immediately, unwilling to give it head space.

More important is the question of whether this is a test because that seemed way too easy. He thinks about it for all of two seconds and then realises that this is way too good a chance to waste and with his recent luck the odds of him getting another are so low it’s not even funny.

Decision made, he takes a step back and allows the crowd to absorb him, pulling up his hood as he does so to better blend in with the rest of the people around him. It’s as he weaves quietly through the swarm of cosplayers that he realises that the hood may not be as good a disguise as he had hoped.

Like at all.

“Hey, there’s a Champion of Ifrit Cosplayer.”

“Where?”

“Six, someone actually won the lottery, I thought that thing was rigged.”

Abandoning all thoughts of being sneaky he decides to make a break for it, if he can just make it to the darker streets, he might be able to slip away.

The hand that grabs his coat before he can start running has him jumping nearly out of his skin.

“I can explain,” he pleads, as he turns expecting to see the stern face of the Marshal.

Except, there’s no one standing behind him.

Another tug on his coat has him looking down and the mystery is solved.

Talcott looks up at him with wide watery eyes, already red rimmed.

Thoughts of escape are shelved as Axel pulls down his hood and kneels before the little boy who’s clearly upset. “Hey, Talcott, didn’t see you there, what’s up?”

Instead of having the desired effect of stopping the tears they redouble, and Talcott’s small shoulders buckle under the weight of the grief causing them.

Axel moves without thinking, picking the kid up and shielding his face from the curious mob that’s begun to take notice.

He makes it to a bench beneath the cover of an open alcove without too much trouble, it helps that people move out of the way when they see Talcott with his arms wrapped around Axel’s neck crying his little heart out. Axel’s pretty sure that the only reason he isn’t panicking himself right now is because he doesn’t have a heart, which does suck but in this case is rather handy.

Sitting down on the bench himself so the kid can keep hugging him, Axel tries to get Talcott to tell him what’s happened. “Shh, it’s okay buddy, I got you. What happened? Did you get lost?”

Axel would not be surprised if that were the case, smart as this kid is Lestallum is a huge town, easy to get lost in, something that Axel’s figured out and so far he’s only walked around the main street. Add to that the bustling festival that’s going on around them and he’s sure even some of the locals would get a bit turned around.

There’s a small shake against his throat that causes his own hair to tickle against his skin. Axel just wraps his arms around the kid a little bit tighter as he starts to rock back and forth, his chin coming to rest on the top of Talcott’s head as he continues to mumble soothing words.

“Just take your time, I’m right here, you’re safe.”

It takes a while, and by the end of it there’s a damp patch that definitely isn’t just tears on his shoulder.

“You good bud?” Axel asks, and this time there’s a tiny nod accompanied by a small noise that might have been a yes.

“Right, you want to go find the others now?” he questions even as the internal screaming at the back of his head gets louder, he was so close!

“I couldn’t find them,” Talcott sniffs.

“Hey, no worries, they’ve all probably met up at the lookout now and are wondering where we are.” Axel is really hoping that him returning willingly with a clearly upset but safe Talcott will make it easy to forget that he just tried to escape. Hey, considering the circumstances they might not have even noticed yet…yeah, he’s definitely not that blindly optimistic.

“So, how did you get separated from Iris and the others?” He stands, Talcott still in his arms, the kid hasn’t asked to be let down yet, so he’ll keep carrying him until he does.

“I went with Gladio and Iris to get some snacks, but then Gladio was chased off by Iris for being embarrassing, it went all wrong soon after that.”

“How so?” Axel prompts after a moment when Talcott doesn’t continue. He keeps his eyes on the people around them, looking for the gaps that naturally form in the sea of cosplayers around them. He has to double back at one point because there’s suddenly a rush of people crushing froward like a wave, excited shouts filling the air.

“InabaMoonBunny, no way!”

“Really!”

“I thought he cancelled due to illness.”

“Whoever it is they’re cosplaying Leviathan’s Champion.”

At those words he transitions from a casual walk to an almost but not quite jog. If these guys are half the fans Noct is, then all it will take is one look at the outfit he is wearing and he will be swamped.

Talcott doesn’t seem to notice the near death by rabid fans they just avoided and begins to explain, “We were waiting in line to get food when some guy came up behind Iris and…”

The words get swept up by the festive noises around them, and Axel winces at the fact that he’s going to have to ask Talcott to repeat that.

“Sorry bud, it’s really loud, what was that last part?”

“…he groped her.”

Axel nearly trips over his own feet, one, because he’s surprised a kid like Talcott knows what that word means, and two because he’s really surprised there wasn’t an announcement over the loudspeakers for the first aiders that must be at an event like this to come and collect the body of the idiot that tried that.

First things first though. “Is Iris okay?”

A small nod turns into an unsure shake. “She pushed him off, and went to hit him, but the crowd was so thick that she couldn’t get a clear swing without dragging anyone else into it. He made a big show of claiming it was an accident and backed off before we could do anything else. Iris was so annoyed she really wanted to deck the guy.”

Axel bets she did, he would also put good munney on her leaving the guy at the bottom of a him shaped crater if the hit connected.

“So, the scum bag got away,” Axel sighs, he remembers what it is to feel annoyed and that’s enough for the shadow of annoyance and frustration to begin to boil beneath his skin.

“There’s more,” Talcott whispers in a very nervous voice.

“I am already fully prepared to roast this guy, but please give me a reason to cremate him instead.” He’s only half joking.

“He stole Iris’ phone while he was grabbing her. She only noticed when we got to the front of the line and went to pay for out snacks.”

“Yep, cremate it is. Where’s Iris now? Why isn’t she with you?” He has an idea what happened, but he just wants to have all the facts before he starts to hunt.

“She wanted to take me back first, but the guy already had so much of a head start on her…I told her I could find the others on my own, we’d stayed in Lestallum before, me and my…” The tears come back again, a light film that blurs his eyes making the colour change from light grey, to a stormy almost black.

Axel doesn’t know what the kid was about to say, but it’s clear just from the way his head bows and one arm unwinds from Axel’s neck to instead grip his own chest, as though he’s trying to hold his heart together inside his chest, that this is a sadness that cuts much deeper than the anxiety and helplessness that had seized him as he had wondered lost through the crowd.

Wanting to dispel it, to give Talcott something else to focus on, he goes into mission mode. “Welp, you know what this pervert looks like, think you could spot him in this mess if you had a good enough vantage point?”

“Um, he was wearing—whoa!” before Talcott can describe anymore Axel shifts his hold on the boy so he’s facing away and then secures a good grip on the Talcott’s waist. That’s all the warning he gives before ducking his head and hoisting Talcott onto his shoulders.

The boy gasps in surprise but does Axel the huge favour of not grabbing onto his hair for purchase.

“How’s the view from up there?” he calls as he takes a few slow steps, making sure Talcott has his balance before smoothly moving into a more natural pace.

Talcott’s quiet for a moment, but Axel can feel him shifting, his head turning in all directions. “I can see everything.” His voice has at least some of that excitement Axel heard back in the car when they’d first rolled up on Lestallum.

To tell the truth Axel isn’t really expecting Talcott to spot the guy, it’ll be great if he does, but—

“There!” calls Talcott as he points up above the main street to where people are queuing for one of the events that has been set up for the festival. In this case it’s a crossing along a pipeline that’s a good thirty feet above street level.

“Which one?” Axel slips past a group of girls that are all posing together, trying not to be caught in the frame of their photo, but when the bright flash of their phone nearly blinds him he’s pretty sure he’s failed.

“Third from the back, the one in the blue hoodie.” The guy Talcott is pointing out is tall and well built, definitely not on the same level as Gladio, but he’s got wide shoulders that could definitely support more muscle than he’s carrying right now.

“Okay bud, gonna need you to slide down, gotta be able to move for this next part,” as he says this, he’s already kneeling down in order to make it easy for Talcott to shimmy off his shoulders.

“Shouldn’t we get the others?” Talcott grabs onto Axel’s coat again, clearly worried.

“Nah, that would spoil the fun.”

He knew it.

That’s the thought that dominates Gladio’s mind as he searches the endless mass of people that stretches out all around him. You would think with white hoods dominating the space it would be easy to spot either the eye-catching red of the hood, or the boys own hair, but it’s not that easy, not with this many people.

Still, Gladio is determined to find the little Niff traitor, he won’t allow him to slink away that easily, especially after he’s finally been proven right.

Yes, as pointed out by Iris—as she punched him in the solar plexus with one hell of a right hook—a lot of his suspicion did stem from bruised pride from when the daemon spawn had made a fool of him in their spar, but the spar itself was what raised his suspicions in the first place.

He’s grown-up training with the Crownsguard, training with Noct, training with the Glaive, and since they left Insomnia, he’s still been fighting, each opponent stronger than the last. Aranea, Ravus, Gilgamesh, to name the most important.

He’s fought them all, experienced their fighting styles, their magic.

Axel fights like none of them.

His magic doesn’t even feel the same.

From the second he raised the wall of flames something had felt off, and it wasn’t just the fact that the flame wall was something that no Glaive should have been able to summon and maintain on their own.

No, it went deeper than that, but he couldn’t think of a way to explain it to the others without sounding insane. After all, who would believe him if he said that Axel’s flames, for all their heat, left him feeling cold. That with every hit he had taken the hot flash of searing burns had ignited into a feeling of creeping cold that seemed to dig it’s frosted claws into his beating heart.

Yeah, it sounded crazy even in his own head, to the point where after the spar he had begun to doubt it, choosing to focus instead on the anger that boiled at the thought of all his hard work having been for nothing.

Fear and doubt beget death alone.

His steps falter, until he comes to a full stop, heedless of the people around him who continue to move.

Gilgamesh’s words echo through his mind, forcing him to take a mental step back.

Is he really allowing his own fear and doubt to cloud his judgement again.

Had he learnt nothing?

His forehead stings at the memory of the lesson that had been carved there, not the souvenir he had hoped for but the one he had earned, and really, what was the point of completing the Trials if he didn’t apply what the Blade Master had taught him.

Taking a breath, he looks past the anger that has been clouding his judgement ever since the fire gremlin first threw his flaming frisbee at his head and looks at the kids actions so far.

He forces himself to remember the state Axel had been in when they first found him. The desperation with which the kid had tried to escape when he first regained consciousness.

Rationality—fuelled by the anger he is trying to keep under control right now—suggests some very easy explanations for those.

The wounds could have been from his betrayal in Insomnia, the need to escape born from his fear that they would recognise him as one of the traitorous Glaives that had handed Niflheim the decisive blow they never would have been able to land on Insomnia with their own power.

He takes another deep breath and sets those obvious conclusions aside. Thinks of the alternate scenario Iris gave him instead, back at Cape Caem when they traded blows and accidently took out the old potting shed while they worked out their issues.

The wounds were inflicted by Niflheim when Axel finally escaped their clutches, after years of imprisonment. It’s a good theory, that lines up with what Axel claims he can remember.

His first escape attempt had been just his instinctive reaction to other people after being held captive by Niflheim, or the more worrying reality—the one that makes Gladio want to bring Drautos back just so he can bury him with his own hands—Axel was betrayed by the Glaive himself, used as a sacrifice by Drautos to earn him more favour.

Afterall, that bastard Aldercapt was obsessed with the power of the Crystal, a little thing like a war crime wouldn’t stop him from imprisoning and probably torturing a kid that legally wasn’t old enough to be a sworn member of the Kingsglaive.

That also fits with what Axel had told Cor, but then again, he told the Marshal so little and claims not to remember much more than a grey cell and the monsters he was forced to fight. There’s still too much they don’t know and it’s Gladio’s job to protect Noct.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustrated and not just a little embarrassed at his previous attitude.

One last deep breath.

Fine, when he finds Axel—and he will find him—he’ll consider that a fresh start, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to drop all his suspicions. Especially not after the kid ran away from them the first chance he got…that’s probably his fault.

Decision made; he starts the search again.

He, Ignis, Noct and Prompto had split up to cover more ground, agreeing to call when they found him or meet back at the base of the Leap of Faith in an hour if they couldn’t.

It’s been over twenty minutes now and Gladio is having absolutely no luck, but then—

“Ah, you’re so lucky! You have got to send me a copy.”

“Of course, I’ll send it to the group chat.”

“Gosh, he looks so natural. Do you think he even realised he photobombed us?”

“Maybe? I mean that’s an authentic Ifrit’s Champion cosplay. It had to be on purpose.”

At the words ‘Ifrit’s Champion’ Gladio makes a beeline for the girl who spoke them.

The group of four girls all look up as he approaches, so he allows a little swagger to naturally enter his steps as he crosses the final distance between them.

“Ladies,” he makes sure to use the tone that turns his voice into a purr.

Two of the four instantly blush, while one just blinks and the other rolls her eyes.

“Can we help you?” asks the girl who rolled her eyes.

Standing tall, he subtly flexes and can’t help but smirk when three out of four pairs of eyes are drawn to the movement and begin to roam his exposed chest. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. You saw an Ifrit’s Champion cosplayer?”

The blonde that blushed brings a hand up to coyly tuck a short strand of hair that has escaped her hood behind her ear. “Er, ye-yeah. You know him?”

He focuses on her, leans in a little closer, and unleashes what Prompto has dubbed his ‘smoulder’.

The girl melts before his eyes as the blush spreads from her cheeks all the way down her neck. If Gladio had the time he would very much like to continue a different sort of conversation in private. Alas, duty calls.

“We came together in a group, but we got separated. Trying to track him down.”

“Oh, that’s easily done,” she nods and raises a hand to point towards a que for one of the events.

“Looked like he was taking his little brother to watch the crossing.”

He doesn’t ask what she means by little brother, but it sends his mind racing. Little brother? Why would Axel be interacting with a kid.

An image of Talcott sitting with Axel and Iris flashes before his eyes and the pit drops out of Gladio’s stomach.

He makes his excuses and heads for the crossing.

Determination in his steps as he wonders how the hell this could have happened.

Screw giving the fire gremlin another chance, he’ll beat the answers out of him when he finds him.

Chapter Text

Lea is dead.

Isa doesn’t care that he only got de-aged because Lea took a blow that meant for him, when he finally gets his hands on him, he’s going to throttle him.

Imagining that moment is the only thing that is allowing him to grit his teeth and bear the current situation that he has found himself in.

Adjusting the admittedly well-crafted bracers once more, he looks down at the outfit he’s been dressed in. It’s something that wouldn’t look amiss if he wore it while visiting Arendelle or Corona, what with the Baroque style coat and the silver accessories, such as the aforementioned bracers, and the matching belt, and pauldron.

At least it’s blue, and quite easy to move around in.

If it were just the outfit it would be fine, but that, unfortunately is not the case.

Another flash goes off, and it’s so bright that Isa can’t help but be grateful for the hood, although it does little to hide the snarl that he’s trapping behind clenched teeth.

The photographer doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“Perfect! That last shot was great, you really managed to capture the tempestuously cold nature that Leviathan’s Champion is known for. Cindy, you sure this guy isn’t a professional?”

“I’m sure,” Cindy calls out as she snaps her own photo, “but I definitely got lucky, this guy is a natural.”

More flashes, each as dazzling as the last and then Isa’s patience has finally reached its limit.

“Our agreed upon twenty minutes has elapsed.” He walks away from the stepped fountain the photographer had selected for the small photo shoot, not even bothering to acknowledge the man’s pleas of, “Oh, come on, just a few more.”

Cindy waves him off. “No can-do Owen, a deal’s a deal.” She turns to Isa with a wide grin. “Thanks for doing this, you really did save my hide, so as promised I’ll send a text over to my friends.” She’s already texting as she says this, and as she does so Isa can feel the leaden weight of worry that has been wrapped around his lungs ever since he watched Axel vanish through the corridor of darkness, finally begin to ease.

“While we wait for them to get back to me, let’s go see how your friends are doing.” Cindy’s already leading the way back to the cosplay tent, and all Isa can do is remind himself that this is the best lead he has on Axel, even though it feels like he’s just walking around in circles.

He hears Roxas and Xion before he sees them.

“No, we just got really lucky,” Roxas says defensively.

“If that’s what you call luck remind me to take you two with me to the local casino when the festivals done,” remarks a woman that Cindy had introduced as Holly earlier.

“it’s not that big of a deal, is it?” asks Xion, sounding unsure but trying to cover it with a laugh that just comes out as nervous.

Rounding the corner, it takes a moment for Isa to spot them.

It’s actually Owen the photographer who spots them first.

“Wait, somebody else won the cosplay lottery?” His voice takes on a tone that is clearly excited, one that Isa recognises from when Owen had first laid eyes on him.

That’s when Isa finally sees Roxas and Xion.

They both have cosplay that looks similar to his, same Baroque style but the cut and fit are slightly different for each of them. There are a few other differences as well, the most obvious of which is the colours.

Roxas’ robes are the white he usually favours with a subtle bluish grey trim and silver thread that meant to mimic frost work patterns sewn into the arms and chest, leading to a gauzy cape that looks as though it’s formed from ice.

Xion for her part is dressed in similar robes of purple, but the accessories are a dark bronze, the threaded design trails storm clouds all along her arms, ending in a feathered cape of dark quills that’s draped from the pauldron resting on her left shoulder.

Before Isa can say anything, Owen is in his space again. “You have to let me get a picture of all three of you.”

He will do nothing of the sort, and to demonstrate this Isa completely ignores the man and walks towards his two charges, who seem grateful for the excuse to end the conversation with Holly.

He gets straight to the point. “Cindy has texted her friend, we should have Axel’s location soon.”

“Are we still going with the same plan?” Xion questions in a low voice, subtly stowing two Lucky Rings back into her storage. That explains how they won the lottery.

Isa shakes his head. “We shall use that as a last resort, if we can get him to come willingly it would be better for all of us.”

“How are we going to do that?” Roxas pinches the bridge of his nose, looking lost. “Last time he saw us he threw fire before we could even get a word in.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Isa acknowledges. He probably reacted that way because he didn’t remember the two of you. Hopefully if I approach him, he will still recognise me.”

“Haven’t you changed a lot from your earlier Organization XIII days?” Xion wonders, not looking at him as she adjusts her feathered cape.

Because she is not looking at him, she fails to see the way his eyes narrow, and that is something that Xion should really be concerned about as she’s already on thin ice. (How she managed to get that picture of him while he was asleep doesn’t matter, what matters is that it never sees the light of day.)

Roxas does see the glow that has begun to overtake his eyes, and immediately moves to calm him. “If you think that will work Isa, it’s better than causing a scene, and we always have the sleepra plan as a backup.”

Xion blinks in confusion, shaking her head as she looks back and forth between them. “No, I really don’t think that will work, look.” Summoning her phone, she scrolls back to the photo they showed Cindy earlier. “Isa was so much shor—”

Reaching out, Isa seizes her by the head. From a distance, it might just look as though he’s giving her a head pat, being the kind older brother that Lea so naturally is. Isa is not, and never will be, especially when one of Lea’s minions is pushing his buttons, because she must be doing this on purpose.

“What were you going to say?” She can see his eyes now; see the way the power of the moons flow has turned them from an emerald green to radiant starlight.

Xion looks to Roxas, silently begging for help.

He wisely turns his back on her and starts to whistle, pretending he sees nothing. This is her own fault after all.

Losing her only ally and finally realising, that yes, Isa’s seemingly endless tolerance on this trip does in fact have a limit, Xion quickly recants, “n-nothing, I wasn’t going to say anything, and I never will!”

Lesson instilled he releases her and Xion quickly takes cover behind Roxas.

Just in time for Cindy to make her way back to them. “Hey, my friend replied. Told me that he’ll meet us at the base of the Leap of Faith, come on.”

Roxas steps up, Xion still clutching to his back.

With a sigh of relief, he releases some of the tension that has been forming as a knot at the base of his skull. No matter what, this chase will finally end. Even if he has to knock Axel out cold in front of a bunch of clueless bystanders and then make a run for it, Lea is coming back with them.

After all, they are on a deadline, and Astral’s are not known for breaking a bargain once struck.

Getting the pervert to follow him to a secluded rooftop was ridiculously easy.

All it had taken was a casual invite, no threats, no ultimatums, he had just followed when Axel had casually asked, “hey, would you mind coming with me for a sec, this won’t take long.”

The guy had taken one look at Axel, hadn’t looked past his lean build, and probably thought he could take him if this turned south. So, the idiot had shrugged his shoulders and easily walked behind Axel as he led him away from the safety the crowd provided to a rooftop overlooking the plaza that held the Leap of Faith tower.

“So, what? Did you bring me up here for the view?” The guy leans against the raised wall that’s the only thing separating him from a forty-foot drop, casual and unbothered where others would be nervous and wary. “Sorry, but you’re not my type.”

“That’s fine,” Axel shrugs as he slowly prowls forward, timing his steps to the soft chime of the metal accessories that decorate his leather boots. “Thieving perverts really aren’t my type either. Got it memorized.”

The guy scoffs, bringing up a hand to sweep back his hood, revealing sandy blonde hair and dull brown eyes that sit hollowly in an angular face. “Thief? Me? Sorry, you got the wrong guy, I’m just here to enjoy the festival.”

“A thief and a liar, why am I not surprised, and let’s not forget that you groped my friend in order to pick her pocket, which is definitely worse than your other two offenses.” There’s barely any distance separating them now, all Axel would have to do is reach out and he’d be able to touch the guy.

Some of the thief’s cocky veneer evaporates as his eyes widen slightly in recognition, and this close Axel can see it all.

Wanting to get away from Axel’s penetrating gaze the thief’s eyes dart about, searching for a way out. His gaze lands on Talcott, who’s been sitting quietly on a crate off to the side since this whole thing began.

“Was he the one who told you that?” Axel doesn’t give him an answer, merely leans to block his line of sight, it seems to be enough of an answer.

“Obviously you know the word of one kid isn’t going to be believed, you wouldn’t be here talking to me if that wasn’t the case.” The guy steps forward to brush past Axel, grabbing his shoulder as he does so and leaning in close enough to whisper, “don’t let the cosplay go to your head, you’re not a real assassin.”

Axel can’t help but smile. “You’re wrong.” Grabbing the guy’s arm, he twists until he hears the sound of creaking bone and straining tendons, which is swiftly followed by a much louder, “FUC—AGH!”

“Language,” Axel chides lightly as he twists the limb in his grasp just a few more degrees, to the point where all it would take is a single jerk for the perverts’ arm to be separated from his shoulder.

Said pervert has understandably fallen to his knees.

“Talcott, come here a sec,” Axel calls as he restrains the guy’s other arm, so he won’t even think of trying anything.

Talcott hesitates for a moment but a reassuring smirk and a wink from Axel has him shuffling over.

“Can you do me a huge favour and turnout this scumbags’ pockets; I promise he won’t be able to move to do anything.”

“Try it you little bastard and see—son of Ifrit!!” the lying thief cries out as Axel leans his weight in so that now instead of one swift jerk, all it would take is the smallest amount of pressure to dislocate the guy’s arm.

“Seriously, you really don’t realise what’s going on here. Let me use small words so you understand.” To emphasize the point, he places a foot on the man’s knee and grinds until the guys stops shouting in pain. “You are just going to sit here quietly, no wise cracks, no sudden moves, or this…” Another twist of the locked arm, and silently Axel is impressed with the guy’s flexibility. “…gets dislocated. Got It memorized?”

The guy nods in silent agreement, clearly having gotten the message.

He nods again to Talcott. “You up for this bud?”

The kid takes a deep breath and steps forward.

Working methodically, he has all of the thief’s pockets turned out in under two minutes.

“You made quite the score today,” Axel whistles as he counts; there’s three phones, six wallets, and an assortment of accessories in all shapes and sizes in such a tangled mess that he can’t actually tell how many there are.

Talcott sorts through the phones and picks up what must be Iris’.

With that sorted, Axel hauls the guy back up and returns him to the edge of the roof. “Hey Talcott, go wait down at the bottom of the stairs for me, okay?”

“What are you going to do with him?” Talcott asks, because of course he does, the kid is just that sweet, which is why there is absolutely no reason to stain his innocent eyes with what’s about to happen.

“Just gonna teach him a quick lesson. Don’t worry, it’ll only take about five minutes.” Axel casually shoos Talcott away as he explains this, projecting a sense of confidence he does not have the heart to feel.

His impression must be pretty good because Talcott does as he asks after giving a small shy bow and a quietly whispered, “thank you.”

Axel waits until the retreat of swift feet can no longer be heard ringing off the metal stairs of the fire escape they had used to get up here.

That’s when the kid gloves come off.

Before the pervert can open his mouth to either curse him out, or beg to be let go, Axel boots him in the chest.

It’s a light kick, with just enough power behind it to send the guy teetering over the edge he so casually leaned against earlier.

He fights for a moment to regain his balance, arms flailing as he desperately tries to lean back, hoping that if he does fall it will be on the right side. Axel robs him of that chance when he snatches to dull fabric of his worn hoodie and uses it to scruff him like a stray cat.

Leaning the guy out so only his hooked ankles are supporting him, Axel keeps a tight hold of the thin fabric as he watches all colour drains from the thief’s face.

 “O-okay, I get the idea, I won’t do it again. I learnt my lesson, so just pull me back in you psycho!” It’s a good thing the festival music and the cheers of the crowd below are so loud, otherwise they’d be attracting a lot of attention.

“You know, for some reason I really don’t believe you.” Axel leans out a little, allowing the guy to drop a little.

The thief changes tactics and calls down to the mass of people below, “Oy! Someone, help me! This psychos gonna kill me!”

As before the crowd below can’t hear him, and nobody look up is their direction either, distracted as they are by the next attendee to take a dive off the Leap of Faith.

Even still, Axel lets the guy cry for another few minutes to let the idea that nobody is going to come and save him fully sink in.

It’s a messy process, one that starts with screamed pleas, that dissolve into growled impotent threats, all before the guy breaks down and literally starts begging.

Axel can’t help but shake his head at the sorry display and does seriously contemplate dropping the thief just so he wouldn’t have to look at the mess the guy has made of himself. The strong smell of ammonia and the little damp patch that’s spreading down the guy’s legs has made it pretty clear that the guy pissed himself. What a wimp, Axel didn’t even use any fire.

“Okay, okay, I’m pulling you back in,” Axel placates as he grabs the thief’s arm to get more purchase, that’s when a loud cry nearly makes him drop the guy.

“Axel!”

Do the fates hate him? The fates must hate him, otherwise why would his absolute worst captor be the one to find him.

“Muscles,” he greets.

Axel stops pulling the pervert in, rationally thinking that if Gladio charges him he can always drop the guy, forcing Gladio to save him and providing Axel with an excellent opportunity to escape. Ah, the fun of not being burdened with pesky things like morals.

As predicted, Gladio advances, and Axel is really surprised that he actually has to give a warning here. “Whoa, careful, you might make me drop this guy.” To illustrate the point Axel eases up his hold on the scums arm, allowing him to slip just a little.

The idiot begs as he flails his one free arm and Axel can’t help but think that he really should let go, after all, his arm is starting to get tired.

There’s a weighted pause hanging in the air between them, only broken by the thief’s litany of pleas that are falling on deaf ears.

Muscles looks at Axel, and for once he can’t detect the burning anger that’s been lighting up Gladio’s eyes since he let things get a little out of hand during their spar.

“Go ahead.”

Axel raises his free hand and tries to clear out his ears because he must have misheard. “Excuse me?”

“Go ahead,” Muscles repeats, completely serious. “Better yet, let me do it.”

That Shocks Axel. Which is weird because shock is an emotion, but he doesn’t have time to think about that when Gladio comes to stand beside him and grabs the perverts’ free arm in an iron grip, before yanking the man forward so his ankles are no longer hooked over the low wall of the roof.

The guy does fight, tries to grab onto the arm holding him with desperate strength born out of pure animal fear.

“What the hell! Why are you doing this to me!” the thief squeaks in a piercing tone that has Axel wincing even as he works out the kinks in his tired shoulder.

Quiet, lethal, anger rolls off of Gladio in waves as his eyes narrow in disgust. “You really want to ask that question to the older brother of the girl you groped?”

Axel sees the exact second the pervert realises that he is completely screwed, it’s in the way his eyes go wide, the whites nearly swallowing his dull brown irises.

Instead of the last stitch begging Axel is expecting, the guy seems to lose it.

He laughs, a little quiet thing that could be mistaken for the beginning of a panic attack, and then he speaks, “well what can she expect being dressed like that, she’s basicall—EYAAAAAHHHHH!”

Gladio drops him.

The pervert falls gracelessly, and his scream only comes to an end when he lands in the decorative hay cart placed below.

“Tch, I was aiming for the dumpster,” groans Gladio, clearly disappointed that the dirtbag had a soft landing.

From up here they can see the pervert lying prone, his ankle at a weird angle, he’s clearly unconscious.

“I can make him wish he landed on the dumpster,” Axel suggests.

Gladio quirks a brow considering the offer, but then steps aside. “Be my guest.”

With full permission and great satisfaction, Axel aims for the cart. A small fire spell should do the trick.

The hay acts like the perfect tinder it is and within the space of one moment and the next smoke is billowing up towards them, and new-born flames follows in its wake, bathing the scenes in a warm yellow glow that soon attracts the attention of the gathered crowd below. Well, that and the sudden wails coming from the now conscious pervert who is only a little on fire.

Even while he watches the scene Gladio summons his own phone. “Hey Cindy, I know you must be really busy right now but there’s some local trash that needs collecting.”

Axel can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he takes the opportunity to try and slip away while Gladio’s distracted.

He makes it one step before Gladio snakes out his arm and wraps it round his throat, pulling back he traps Axel against his side and continues his phone call like nothing’s happened.

“Yeah, really easy to find, just look for the hay cart that’s on fire.”

“Why is the cart on fire?” questions Cindy from the other side of the phone, slightly muffled by the distance.

“That would be Axel’s doing, don’t worry, the pervert you’re getting the authorities to pick up deserved it,” Gladio consoles.

Axel suspects that’s not going to be enough to placate Cindy.

However, instead of the rant he’s expecting, Cindy just sounds confused. “Axel’s with you?”

“Uh-huh, I got Noct’s message, I’m bringing him to the Leap of Faith now.” At that, Axel tries to struggle free, but to no avail, and fire won’t work because Gladio’s got the Fire Crests on full display on the arm holding Axel in place.

There’s a bit of noise in the background, and Axel thinks he hears someone calling his name, before Cindy speaks again. “Holdup, let me explain first. Gladio, I bumped into a few friends of his, one of them wants a quick word.”

“Sure, let me put you on speaker phone.” Gladio does just that while Axel tries to wrap his head around how anyone claiming to be his friend—only Saix comes to mind and there’s no way Axel is ever letting him know about this little adventure—could be on that phone.

“Can you hear me?” Gladio asks as he holds his phone between himself and Axel.”

“Yes, Axel are you there?”

“Saix!” The shadows of hope and gut-wrenching fear both seize his chest.

It must be a dodgy connection, because what comes through the phone next sounds suspiciously like a sigh of relief, which just isn’t possible for so many reasons.

“I’ve come to collect you, if you are not at the Leap of Faith within the next five minutes I will come and get you myself.” That’s a threat if Axel has ever heard one.

“This wasn’t my fault,” Axel defends, even as he tugs at Gladio’s arm, a silent plea that they really need to get going.

“Oh?” Axel gulps. That’s the tone Saix uses when he knows Axel is lying, but he really isn’t this time.

“Just out of curiosity, how much trouble am I in?” Axel hedges, wanting to know whether he’s willingly walking to his own execution.

“We’ll discuss that when I see you.” Saix’s voice doesn’t hold the slightest inflection, in fact he sounds completely calm. That’s how Axel knows he’s an inch away from going into full Berserker mode…

“Hey, Muscles, do me a solid and just toss me off this building right now, no need to aim for a soft landing.” Axel half jokes.

“Heh, no. Anyway, I thought you said you didn’t remember anything?” questions Gladio, and there’s the familiar suspicion. “Now you have a friend that’s looking for you?”

“I said I couldn’t remember a lot, there’s a difference, and if I dared to forget Saix after all the times he’s heard me say ‘got it memorized’ my life would not be worth living.” Gladio seems unimpressed by Axel’s very sound logic.

A point that’s proven when Gladio refuses to let Axel go even as he starts walking towards the stairs. “We’re on our way now, should be there before your deadline expires.”

“My thanks,” dismisses Saix as he hands the phone back to Cindy.

“Well glad that’s settled, I’ll see you boys in a few minutes.” With that she hangs up and Gladio marches Axel towards the agreed upon meeting place.

They pick Talcott up at the bottom of the stairs and Axel takes the time he’s being dragged to his angry Saix shaped doom to admire the festival once more.

“At least my last memory will be a beautiful one,” he laments.

“Don’t be such a drama queen.” Gladio can only say that because he doesn’t know Saix. In silent protest he refuses to walk and forces Gladio to drag him like a grumpy cat.

At least Talcott gets a laugh out of that.

Festivals truly are quite convenient, Ardyn notes as he blatantly walks through the streets with his brother by his side.

Head’s do turn, but only to admire his dear little brother’s ‘costume’. A few of the braver ones in the crowd ask them for pictures, and Ardyn being the gentleman he is, of course acquiesces to their simple requests.

After all, he’s simply biding his time, waiting for his prey to come to him. Even in such a populated area the boy’s presence sticks out like a torch in the blackest of nights, a being held to the power of darkness but not tainted by the Scourge.

The last time he had felt anything like this had been many years ago. A man in a black coat had spoken of the power of darkness held within his heart, how unlocking it would grant him greater power than he wielded now.

He had seemed quite surprised when Ardyn had not only rejected his generous offer but shood him away with little care or interest. His own plans were already in motion at the time, and he could not be bothered with the distraction the man had presented. When he had failed to take the hint and summoned creatures to attack Ardyn, well it past an afternoon, and the man in the black coat had soon retreated, never to darken Ardyn’s door again.

Though, it had been entertaining to watch the scene unfold back at the mystery man’s base through the eyes of one of the creatures that had been infected. The mere memory of the incident had kept Ardyn laughing for days, to the point where he had been dismissed from Aldercapt’s presence because his sudden bouts of crippling giggles had been so unnerving.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t hope this little event he is about to kick off would be at least half as entertaining.

A flash of red out the corner of his eyes snatches his attention back to the present and he’s left blinking as a memory of a crimson haired youth from the incident overlays itself with a young man being dragged through the local horde, by the Chosen King’s Shield, no less.

The feeling of foreign darkness blazes from the boys’ form, but it is a tamed beast, sated and happy by the power the young man feeds it. Without doubt it could become a wild thing, but only if the boy were to choose it.

This promises to be more fun than Ardyn had dared to hope.

Chapter Text

Noct paces, as he, Prompto, Ignis, and Iris wait.

Luckily, Cor hasn’t come back yet, and if they are really lucky, he won’t appear until after Gladio has dragged Axel back here, then Cor will never have to know that Noct lost him, or let him escape, they’re still not clear on the details there.

Trying to distract himself he tunes into the quiet conversation that Iris and Prompto are having. “It could have happened to anyone,” Prompto soothes. “Anyway, Gladio and Axel got your phone back, so no harm done, right?”

“I just wish it hadn’t been so crowded, I really wanted to slap the guy when he grabbed me but there were too many bystanders. If I had tried anything they would have gotten hurt,” Iris laments as she cracks her knuckles.

“Well, I for one commend your restraint. I think we’ve caused Cindy enough work already, let’s not add filling in pervert shaped craters to the list.” It sounds like Iggy is joking, but what he just described is a very real outcome if Iris got her hands on the guy.

Then again, if any of them had caught the pervert the outcome would have been just as messy.

“Yeah, cleaning up a burnt-out hay cart is much easier,” Noct acknowledges as he looks over at the slowly dispersing pillar of smoke, that’s still rising from the other side of the plaza.

 It’s as he’s looking that way that he spots Cindy appearing from the sea of people, tailed by three cosplayers that look as though they’ve stepped straight out of Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood special edition.

All the nervousness and anxiety that had previously been tempering Noct’s excitement suddenly fades as it’s overwhelmed by the sheer awe welling up in his chest at the sight of three out of the six Astral Champion’s emerging from the crowd.

He’s so giddy he can’t stay still, and it takes Iggy putting a grounding hand on his shoulder to make him remember that he does need to be serious right now.

“Hey there Prince,” Cindy greets. “These are the people I was telling you about.”

It’s when the younger two move forward into better lighting that he recognises them, and so does Prompto.

“You’re the kid I nearly ran over!” Prompto shouts in embarrassed horror.

The blonde kid waves nervously as he runs a hand through his hair, in a gesture that’s so similar to one of Prompto’s nervous ticks that they really could be mistaken for brothers. “Yeah, again, sorry about that.”

“No, wait, why are you apologising?” Prompto asks, before shaking his head and moving onto the Catoblepas in the room. “Wait, wait, wait! You guys know Axel?”

Their taller friend, dressed as Leviathan’s Champion and looking so legit doing it—the leviathan skull pauldron is made of real silver—steps forward then. “Yes, we’ve been searching for him.” This guy has an edge to his voice that reminds Noct of Iggy when they don’t keep him dosed with Ebony, a nightmare situation that should be avoided at all costs.

“When did he become separated from your party?” Ignis questions, his tone nonchalant and his posture relaxed, but Noct can read the curiosity held within the small adjustment Iggy makes to his cravat. A trick used to hide his searching gaze and not make it obvious that he is looking for answers.

“A few days ago, we’ve been tracking him since we lost him, he has some memory issues currently, but hopefully he’ll recognise me,” the man explains.

That at least lines up with what Axel has told them so far.

“Well,” interrupts Cindy. “Seeing as you fellas are already partially acquainted, I’ll leave you to it. Afterall, this festival ain’t gonna keep itself running smoothly.” Turning to the taller man she blows a kiss at him as she waves goodbye. “Thanks again for your help hun. Those pictures will be on our social media within the hour.” And with that, she’s gone.

Things grow a little awkward after Cindy departs, they stand in a pocket of silence filled only by the flow of chatter and cheers around them.

“Err…”

“Um…”

Prompto and the girl dressed as Ramuh’s Champion—seriously, the feathered wing cape is so detailed—try to break the stifling quiet at the same time, which soon starts an ungainly round of cut off apologies, false starts and stifled snickers as they all stumble over the simple task of introducing themselves.

“We can’t thank you enough for finding our friend.” The blonde—wearing the Shiva’s Champion cosplay with the original frost work runes coat, the fanboy in Noct might die from overexposure to awesomeness—eventually gets out over the nervous levity that seems to have seized them. “I’m Roxas, this is Xion and Isa.”

Xion offers a genuine smile and a shy little half wave, but Isa just nods his head in acknowledgement.

Iggy takes it upon himself to do their own introductions, thankfully setting aside the ceremony he would normally be expected to introduce Noct with. “My name is Ignis Scientia, these are my companions; Prompto Argentum, Iris Amicitia, and Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

Noct raises a brow at Ignis, his advisor is always the one telling him that they need to maintain a low profile, and since they began this journey, it’s been protocol not to use his full name, in order to give him just that bit more anonymity.

None of them react to his full name though…that’s when it clicks, Iggy wanted to see their reactions.

If there’s one of many things Specs is good at, it’s reading people. He has the uncanny ability to unravel a person’s intentions within a few minutes of meeting them, all it usually takes is a few pointed questions and some silent observation.

A great example of this is when they met Aranea…the second time, not the first when she was trying to kill them. Iggy had gone from being borderline hostile with her to full on flirting in the space of the short walk between the Empire’s camp and the dungeons entrance.

He doesn’t know what Iggy will be able to read from the non-reaction to his name, but he’ll follow his advisors lead and take any cues from there.

“How did you find Axel?” Xion asks, drawing Noct out of his little mental detour.

“Tripped over him,” Prompto volunteers. “Literally, he was collapsed in the woods near our camp, really lucky that we found him when we did. Though his way of thanking us when he first woke up was…interesting.”

“Fireball to the face?” Roxas asks, as though that’s a normal thing people do.

“And the tent and the everywhere,” agrees Prompto, with an assured nod.

Isa sighs, one that speaks of long suffering. “We can compensate you for the tent and anything else he destroyed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Noct reassures, waving off the offer. They didn’t help Axel because they were expecting to be compensated for it.

“So,” starts Iris, “where are you guys from?” Noct barely resists the urge to face palm as the Amicitia bluntness strikes again.

“Near Ravatogh,” volunteers Isa, there’s something about the way he stands that tells Noct he shouldn’t pry any further, the others seem to get the same message, because they quickly move on.

“It’s a shame we didn’t realise your association with Axel the last time we met.” Ignis looks at Noct as though it’s his fault, which yeah, it is, but they’re here now and Gladio will be dragging Axel along any minute now.

Xion buries her head in her hands at that comment. “I only spotted him when you guys were already pulling away and the chocobos couldn’t keep up.”

“Hey, at least you got some cool outfits out of it. By the way, how did all three of you manage to win the cosplay lottery?” Iris moves forward, admiring the limited-edition cosplay with the eye of someone who can really appreciate the skill that’s gone into making them.

“Eh, oh, only me and Xion won these. Cindy held Axel’s location at ransom until Isa agreed to dress like that and pose for some pictures.” Roxas smiles at the memory, but quickly pales when Isa rests a hand on his shoulder.

“A method that will not work a second time as soon as Axel is back with us.” Isa says, and Noct swears he can almost see an image of the Tide Mother herself rising up from his shadow.

“Yep, grounded for life,” Roxas nods.

“Too much of a self-sacrificing idiot for his own good,” agrees Xion.

Prompto shuffles forward a little out of the corner of Noct’s eye, camera in hand but lens cap firmly in place. “So, I guess asking for a few photos is out of the question?”

He’s clearly expecting to be shut down. So, it makes his grin all the brighter when both Roxas and Xion accept without hesitation.

How can Noct turn down the chance to get a photo like this.

After about the first three shots, with Prompto’s usual sunny disposition, Noct own inflated enthusiasm fuelled by all things Assassins Creed, and just the friendly atmosphere that comes with having a good time, all the previous suspicion drains away. Roxas and Xion even manage to position them so that Isa is in the background of a few of the shots, though they do beg Prompto not to show him these, as they look at their own copies he sent to their phones.

 “You know if he sees these, we’re dead right?” Xion cautions Roxas.

He shrugs in response. “Pretty sure you’re already toast after the last picture you took, and what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t dig my grave next to yours.”

“The alive kind,” Prompto interjects.

“True,” Roxas agrees. “But then I wouldn’t have blackmail material.”

“What use is blackmail material if you’re not alive to put it to use?” Iris giggles as she takes a selfie with Xion and Noct, all three of them trying to look cool and serious and failing miserably, it still turns out to be a good shot.

“Oh, even if both of us are six feet under I’m sure Axel will find a good use for the photos.” Roxas assures. “He will carry on my last wish.”

“Which is?” Noct asks, not expecting a serious answer at all.

He doesn’t get one. Roxas and Xion just share a creepy smile that speaks of nefarious plans.

It’s then that they hear Axel, long before they see him. “—t have to drag me, I can walk!”

All heads turn at the sound of his voice and it’s easy to spot Gladio, even before he’s made it through the group of people swarming around him.

Isa steps forward the instant he sees red.

“Axel.” The name rings out, seemingly said with a calm tone, but with the way Axel freezes there’s a lot more to it.

“Sai—” Axel’s eyes widen as soon as they land on Isa.

Noct wasn’t really sure what sort of reaction he was expecting, but what happens next kind of defies all of them.

“…I-Isa?”

Breaking free of Gladio’s hold, Axel stumbles, but his eyes never leave Isa.

He looks…the way his eyes drink in every detail, the way shock clearly plays out on all his feature, the way fragile hope wars with a disbelief so strong it won’t be surprising when the disbelief wins.

Axel is looking at Isa as though he thought he was dead.

Isa takes one step forward, one hand extending slowly as though he’s afraid of spooking a nervous chocobo.

“It’s me.”

Axel runs.

Being dragged like a misbehaving kitten is amusing for the first minute, but it gets old fast.

A fact that Axel makes known through his litany of complaints.

“I know I call you Muscles, but this is ridiculous, come on, your arm has to be getting at least a little tired.”

“From carrying a bean pole like you?” Axel doesn’t have to be looking at Gladio to picture the smirk that’s curling the corners of his mouth. “Not likely.”

“Besides, I let you go, and you’ll try and pull your disappearing act again.”

“You’re taking me to my friend, why would I try to run away?” Axel counters.

“You asked me to throw you off a building and skip aiming for the soft landing.” Gladio keeps walking, his gate steady and uninterrupted by the scepticism he’s clearly feeling right now.

“Hey, this is Saix we are talking about, if you catch him in the wrong mood jumping off a building with no guarantee that you will survive is a viable escape plan.” Axel wishes he was joking, there’s a reason Saix replaced Xigbar as the one who assigned missions, and it’s not his sunny personality.

A fact that Marluxia found out when he came back from a mission without accomplishing a single thing Saix had instructed him to. Even using Larxene as a human shield hadn’t saved him. Axel shivers at the memory of scattered rose petals and Marluxia and Larxene lying prone like overly dramatic corpses from a bad play. Not that they were in any condition to move to resolve that situation.

“So, what makes you think he’s going to be in a foul mood?” Gladio asks as he continues to march Axel to his inevitable doom.

“Welp, the fact that he’s had to come and collect me for one, which means I’ve been gone for a lot longer than I thought.” Axel muses, as he idly wonders where he could have lost the time.

Yeah, time in the Realm of Darkness can be weird, but not that weird. From his count he left The World that Never Was three days ago. Nobody should come looking for him unless he’s been gone and failed to make contact for at least a week. It doesn’t add up.

“Was this Saix imprisoned with you?” Oh good, a question Axel doesn’t even have to lie to answer.

“Yeah…we looked out for each other, wasn’t enough in the end, but hey, kept us sane.”

“You call this sane?” Gladio jostles him to unnecessarily point out the fact that he’s talking about Axel.

“Hey, I am a bastion of sanity, got it memorized.”

Gladio huffs, clearly unamused. “Why do you always say that?”

Axel is surprised it took someone this long to ask.

“I want everybody I meet to remember me,” Axel answers honestly. “After all, inside people’s memories, I can live forever.”

“What, you planning on kicking the bucket?”

“And rob the world of my dazzling personality? Not on your life, nobody axes Axel, right Talcott?” The kid is barely two steps behind them and Axel’s in the perfect position to send the kid a wink.

“Right,” agrees Talcott readily. “I’ve definitely got it memorized by now.”

In this moment, Axel distinctly remembers what pride felt like.

“Stop brainwashing him,” snaps Gladio.

“Not a chance,” sneers Axel. “By the way, you don’t have to drag me, I can walk!”

He’s waiting for Gladio’s very predictable response, only to pause when a very familiar voice calls out.

“Axel.”

The cool memory of relief floods him at the sound of that voice, not to say that the echo of that feeling isn’t tinged with a healthy dose of what he remembers as trepidation.

Twisting in Gladio’s hold, and nearly choking himself as he does so, he faces the direction of the voice.

“Sai—” What he’s seeing does not compute, it does not register as correct.

It should be Saix standing there in all his grumpy glory. Ready to drag Axel back to the Organization kicking and screaming if he has to, but it’s not.

It doesn’t matter that he’s too tall, that he’s not wearing their trademark coat, that the impassive mask that has become his default expression is missing, that the scar marring his brow is still there.

None of that matters, not at all, because his eyes are green.

“…I-Isa?”

This can’t be right.

That’s the thought that echoes through his mind on repeat as he breaks free of Gladio’s hold. He’s expecting more resistance when he does this, so the lack of it leaves his legs buckling under his own unrestrained strength.

He recovers quickly and all the while he stares at Isa, because it has to be Isa.

Everything he is seeing is telling him that it has to be Isa, and he wants to believe it.

That’s when Isa moves, just one step, hand extended, like so many other times when he helped Lea up. No expectation that he’ll take it but offered none the less.

Axel runs.

The smart thing would be to run away, to get as far from here as possible and try to work out what’s going on.

He doesn’t do that.

One second, he’s standing there next to Gladio, the next he’s casting aside Isa’s offered hand and tackling him with a hug that steals both their breath as they fall to the ground.

He’ll hate this. Whispers the rational voice in the back of Axel’s head.

I don’t care! Is all he can think back at it.

When Isa doesn’t immediately push him off Axel can only tighten the hug. Fingers digging into the strong fabric of his coat as he searches for purchase, scared that if he loses his grip this version of his friend will vanish.

He’ll pay for it later, but right now he doesn’t care, because this is the first time he has gotten away with hugging his best friend in over a year.

“Please just dusk me now if this isn’t real.” He’s whining and he couldn’t give a damn.

“It’s real.” Isa doesn’t sound mad. He sounds relieved, tired, but relieved.

It’s then that Isa does something unthinkable. Arms snake around his shoulders and a sharp chin comes to rest on the top of his head as Isa lets out a wheeze that’s half chuckle half sigh.

He’s returning Axel’s hug.

Something crumbles inside Axel, something that was built up and reinforced by all the reminders Xemnas has handed down.

You feel nothing.

We are those that were turned away by both the Light and the Dark. Never given a choice.

A heart is just pain, truly an unnecessary thing.

If that’s true, then what is happening right now?

If it’s not emotion he’s feeling, then why is his chest so tight?

Why is it so hard to breathe?

…

Why is he crying?

The distant realisation forces him to lift his head just so he can raise a hand to check.

Yep, those are tears, and lots of them. He hasn’t cried like this since—not going there!

Scrubbing with his arm to try and get rid of the evidence he asks the first question that comes to mind.

“Why are you taller than me?”

“It’s a long story.” Isa takes the opportunity to sit up, meaning that Axel has to sit up with him. “You ready to get off me so we can go somewhere and I can explain?”

“No,” Axel mumbles petulantly and resumes hugging Isa to emphasize his point, all but curling up on Isa’s chest and digging his claws in like a cat refusing to be moved. Hey, he’s gotta make the rare hugs he gets last, because with Isa they most certainly are rationed.

Surprisingly, Isa doesn’t refuse him, and he doesn’t stop returning the hug either. Okay, now he’s starting to believe this just might be a clone of Isa sent to trick him.

It’s the sudden slow clap that breaks the still air around them that finally has Axel releasing Isa.

The deliberate applause comes from one man. Emerging from the crowd he’s easily spotted, dressed in a unique ensemble clearly tailored for his form, it strikes Axel as strange, as even amongst the more elaborate Assassins costumes it stands out.

As all heads turn to face him the slow clap petters into nothing, bringing with it an unnatural stillness.

“Well, I must say this is quite the surprise.”

The man removes his hat, and with a sway in his step takes a bow.

That’s when the scent hits Axel.

Darkness.

Strong and potent in a way that speaks of a raw power that can sweep away Axel’s own grasp on it, like an adult snatching an object away from the frail grasp of a child. Beneath that lies the rot of something dead and decaying, corruption so thoroughly ingrained that it overlaps to create a smell that’s so powerful he can taste it.

 The man straightens and the smile that has never faded from his face takes on a darker edge, one that speaks of malicious intent.

“It was not my intent to interrupt such a heart-warming reunion.” The glint in his eyes says otherwise. “Alas, the powers that be will have us play by their rules, and your presence here is breaking quite a few of them.”

Chapter Text

“Alas, the powers that be will have us play by their rules, and your presence here is breaking quite a few of them.” Chancellor Izunia says with the air of a politician having to explain to a layman that they are trespassing on foreign territory.

It’s a strange bit of phrasing, but then again, Chancellor Izunia has always been one to talk in riddles. ‘The powers that be’ reference would obviously bring to mind the Empire, however, the way he says it, his tone almost reverent were it not for the resentment that lies in the mocking tilt of his mouth and the flamboyance of his gestures, makes Ignis believe that there must be something more to it.

Roxas and Xion, who until this moment had been holding each other back from joining Axel and Isa on the ground, advance. Placing themselves between their friends and the Chancellor, a point that Isa seems to take issue with.

“Stand down!”

“What?” Both of them ask in mirrored astonishment.

“You can’t win, not even Xemnas could win, not against him.”

Roxas’ eyes widen at that statement and his hand shifts, miming the action of grasping a weapon that isn’t there, but his movements stall as he suddenly seems to remember that he is surrounded on all sides by civilians. Xion’s reaction is no less telling, with the way lightning sparks within her palm, only to fizzle into nothing at Isa’s warning.

Ignis tucks away the fact that they can probably both wield magic in the back of his mind to be analysed later.

“What is he?” Xion asks, her nose wrinkling as she raises her sleeve to cover her face.

Roxas looks equally disgusted. “The Darkness…it smells wrong.”

Darkness? Ignis has no clue what Roxas is referring to, they are encircled by light with barely a shadow in sight. The only darkness in view is the inky black sky above them.

“Oh? Is that how you sense power? Rather unconventional, but interesting all the same,” Ardyn comments off handedly as he idly walks the perimeter of people that has formed around them. “I must admit, I did not have too much time to discuss the particulars of your allies’ abilities the last time one of you wondered here.” He stops, tapping his chin in thought as he recalls a specific detail from that time. “Then again fighting for one’s life can make conversation rather difficult.”

“Would pointing out that this was all one big, huge accident make any difference?” Axel asks as he shuffles out of Isa’s grasp so they can both stand.

The Chancellor takes a moment to contemplate that answer, swinging his legs with a lazy gate that would be more fitting for a performer than the second most powerful man in the Empire.

“It would.” Ardyn nods, but then he smothers any sense of false hope before it can take its first breath. “However, then the little surprise I worked so hard to prepare for your party would go to waste, and we can’t have that now, can we?”

All eyes flick to the looming figure lurking within the Chancellors shadow that for all its size, until this moment, has gone unnoticed.

Cloaked, in dark rags that look as though they were salvaged from a burning building, the figures form is almost indiscernible, but even then, there is just something about its presence that leaves Ignis feeling unmoored and lost as his mind tries to process what he is seeing. Daemon, whispers a voice at the back of his mind, a thought repressed only by the fact that logically that cannot be true.

Daemons, after all, cannot withstand light.

“That’s a lot bigger than the last one.” Axel grimaces as he studies the cloaked being standing behind Ardyn. This earns him a sharp jab in the ribs from Isa, a universal silent reminder to stay quiet.

It also has the very undesired effect of focusing Ardyn’s full attention back on Axel.

He looks at the boy, eyes squinted, head tilted, as though a faraway memory evades his grasp, slinking just out of reach until, with a blink that flutters into almost ecstatic recognition, the thought clicks.

“Ah, the little pyromaniac that cremated my first gift.” The tone and the smirk this invokes from the Chancellor does not match the unwavering gaze that he has pinned on Axel. “My boy, I must say you haven’t aged a day.”

“I’d usually be really hyped that somebody remembered me, but I don’t think I actually ever met you,” Axel hedges, trying to keep the conversation neutral even as his eyes flick warily back and forth between Ardyn and his shadow.

“No, no, of course we haven’t had the opportunity to meet before. After all, I did make it quite clear to your…ally? Superior? No matter, I always just referred to him as the Soulless Void.”

Axel and his three friends all balk at that statement, only recovering slightly when Roxas hesitantly clears his throat. “Well, he’s not wrong there.”

“Roxas do not validate an entity who is contemplating tormenting us for fun,” Isa sighs.

“An entity, am I?” Ardyn chuckles. “No, in this case I truly am a man of no consequence. After all, what better way to deal with interlopers than to have them face the very problem they brought themselves.”

Isa’s eyes whip to his young friend. “Axel, you didn’t!”

“What? After the last time, are you crazy? Besides they were acting weird before I even got here, I didn’t summon them,” Axel defends as he wisely takes a step back from Isa.

“I’m afraid one slipped in through the door you opened to get here,” Ardyn volunteers. “Just a small one, but so very useful.” He waves forward his hulking shadow, and the figure obeys, even as its movements seem stilted, its limbs jerking beneath the cloak, spasming like a magitek unit that’s been shocked with a full powered Thundara flask.

“We have permission—”

“Xion!” Isa calls, cutting off Xion’s half shouted justification.

Ardyn eyes alight with something rebellious. “Oh, and what did you have to promise to receive such a generous boon?”

The question is directed at Isa. Accepting the unspoken challenge he moves forward, taking the opportunity to place himself between all of his friends and the prowling Chancellor.

“The eradication of the Darkness that does not belong to this world.” The words are spoken as a growl and directed fully at the cloaked figure that twitches under Isa’s harrowing glare.

“Ah, well, good news,” Ardyn cheers, swaying where he stands so he can fully face Isa. “The little Heartless has already been disposed of, but not before I put it to such good use.”

“Oh no,” breathes Roxas, his knees bending as he takes a stance, ready for a fight that has clearly become unavoidable.

“Oh yes,” corrects Ardyn, glee near coating his words as his fingers tangle in the makeshift cloak that conceals his companion.

The tension builds between the two groups, to the point where even the gathered civilians that until this point have been happy to go about their own business, are starting to pay attention.

Ignis cannot in good conscious allow this to go on.

A feeling that is shared by his liege and one Noct makes known when he whispers, “we have to do something.”

“The crowd will make things difficult, especially if things continue to escalate.” Ignis cautions, one ear still trained on the veiled threats that Isa and Ardyn are exchanging.

“What is that thing anyway? Some sort of new MT?” Prompto nods towards the shadowed figure, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip with clear unease.

“If it is, then I’ll be happy to turn it into scrap.” Gladio punctuates this sentiment by cracking his knuckles with a loud click of bone grating against cartilage.

Ignis supposes that he should be glad that they at least have the Chancellor and his cohort outnumbered, a rare circumstance, given their previous confrontations with the Empire where the predominant tactic has been to overwhelm them with sheer numbers.

And yet…

The mere sight of the mysterious figure apparently bound to Ardyn’s side breeds a sense of foreboding within Ignis, one that has him reflexively pulling on the tie connecting him to the armiger. Not with enough strength to summon anything, but just enough to feel the phantom weight of daggers not yet there.

“Do not think I have not noticed you standing there,” Ardyn calls out over the heads of Axel and his friends. “Perish the thought, how could I ever be so remiss. After all, this gift is as much for you as it is for them.”

“A gift? Right?” Noct scoffs, and Ignis cannot even fault him for the disrespect. The Chancellor has done nothing to earn their trust, let alone their esteem, even with his obsequious denials pertaining to his lack of power and influence within the Empire. An obvious lie, given the previous arrangements the man has been able to make on their behalf.

Ardyn shrugs, and like all his other movements it carries with it a lack of any propriety. “Consider it a lesson then. A glimpse into the lauded history of the line of Lucis.”

The cloak comes away with a forceful tug and an unneeded flourish, leaving the impression that the Chancellor is simply unveiling a commissioned statue.

It’s a notion that lasts when the figure is revealed in all its glory, but one that is soon overtaken by the near incomprehensible rage that rises up at the sight before them.

It’s an image that none of them could ever fail to recognise, one that once loomed above them every day at the Citadel, a quiet guardian in the form of a sleeping Obelisk.

The Mystic.

The Founder King.

The memorial of the First King of Yore in miniature, defaced and defamed by the aura of magitek fuelled darkness that pulses from the armour standing before them.

It must be magitek, it’s the most logical conclusion with the information at hand (not counting the new information Ignis has been able to glean from Ardyn and Isa’s short exchange), however Ignis has never been one to ignore discrepancies. The most blatant of which is the colour of the dark flames spilling from every crevasse in the ornate metal plates.

They blaze azure, a dark reflection of the clear fractured crystal light of the magic the line of Lucis wields.

Another fact that cannot be ignored is the eyes.

Set deep within the dragon horn crowned helm, they are still unmissable. A sickly ochre that radiates a hungry malice as whatever lies beneath the armour gazes out across the crowd in search of something.

The thing that throws him the most is the design choice of the breast plate. Ignis cannot imagine what tactical advantage the hollowed-out space shaped eerily like a heart could provide, but that will not stop him from exploiting the obvious weak point when the time comes.

“You think just because you shaped that hunk of scrap into something resembling the statue that honoured one of my ancestors, I won’t take it apart?” Noct goads and backs up the statement by summoning the Blade of the Mystic to hand.

The laugh that tears itself from Ardyn is both reckless and unhinged. “Oh, I was so hoping for this sort of reaction. Ignorance truly is bliss; it makes tearing it from your grasp so much more fun.”

Ignis senses a trap, one that has already been sprung without them noticing.

Noct advances, clearly intending to bring this farce to an end by dismantling the supposed MT, but Ignis stops him with a light hand on his shoulder and Noct does him the courtesy of not warping from his grasp.

“I believe a proper introduction is in order,” Ardyn notes as his unnatural laughter slowly fades to nothing. “Your Highness, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you what remains of the illustrious Somnus Lucis Caelum. All told, he’s only half here, a shadow of his former self.” Ardyn sounds almost remorseful as he rests an arm on the armour’s back.

“Cut the crap,” Gladio snaps, as he summons his Dominator greatsword to hand. It would appear that Ignis is not the only one made wary by the strange aura emanating from the MT. After all, the Dominator was a sword forged to fight Daemons.

“Hmm, I suppose I have overstayed my welcome,” Ardyn sighs with feigned reluctance. “My script has already been written after all, and though a little improv such as this is permitted, if I overstep my bounds and upset the stage…now there is a thought.” Something dark drifts into Ardyn’s gaze, and a trick of the light—it must be a trick—causes the sclera of his eyes to bleed black.

Ignis takes a breath, ready to shout orders to defend Noct, but with a slump, a lament, and a flip of his hat back onto his head, the look in Ardyn’s eyes is gone. “…no, best not,” Ardyn chides himself as he retreats. “Alas, my role in this little aside is over, and the curtain is rising for the next act.”

Knocking the unique MT on the arm as he passes, he says something, but it is lost amidst the distance that separates them.

It must have been some sort of command, seeing as the MT plants its feet, how its arm rises in the motion of drawing a sword, slow and jerking like a rusted clockwork puppet. A replica of the blade of the Mystic manifests from the same dark flames that seem to burn the figure from within. The mimicry to a beloved memorial complete and crowned with contempt.

“I wish you all the best of luck. Farewell.” With that jaunty goodbye and a wave over his shoulder, Ardyn vanishes, fading into the crowd like a wraith into smoke, presumably off to somewhere with a good view of the chaos he’s decided to dump in their lap.

It’s not an issue Ignis is given much time to ponder.

Not when the lone MT lets out a cry.

Ignis is expecting the gear scraping oily rasp which all MTs scream as they begin to attack.

What resounds through the streets of Lestallum instead is a war cry that’s so human it turns Ignis’ blood cold.

Shadowed flames fan out and surge forward as the MT strikes.

No.

It warps.

In a cracked image of the pane of reality being shattered by the magic held to the line of Lucis alone, the being shifts through one instance to the next. Leaving behind the gossamer reflexion of its ready stance, a scene that’s imprinted on the back of Ignis’ eyelids when he’s forced to blink against the spark of dimension shifting energy as the armour reforms directly in front of Noct.

Everyone reacts, and it’s all Ignis can do to take it all in as his Radiant Lance falls from the ether into his waiting grip and he moves to intercept. Prompto fires at the armour, aiming for the joint between its neck and helm. Gladio forms a wall with his own body, as his greatsword turns shield, Noct leans to slide through the veil of existence, his iridescent doppelgangers recording each step as he moves into position to counterstrike.

Only for it all to come to a stop.

The man that interrupted their reunion before it could even begin did not look like much, but the way the now uncloaked Heartless standing behind him waits like a leashed and beaten dog, speaks volumes.

Isa had said that not even Xemnas could beat this guy.

The heavy scent of Darkness laced with something worse convinces her more than anything that he is telling the truth.

The smell alone makes her want to gag, even holding her sleeve up to her nose doesn’t diffuse it, and breathing through her mouth just makes her imagine she can taste it. Black oil and stagnant water that reminds her of the Orchid Heartless’ slime if only it had been left to rot.

Roxas is the only one who seems to be suffering as much as she is, Isa and Axel are grimacing but neither of them are having to resort to covering their faces. Then again this could be due to fact that they’re both too distracted arguing in hushed tones to notice the smell.

“Who the hell did you cut a deal with?” Axel accuses, eyes full of fire as he tries to glare down at Isa. It’s a lot less effective than it usually is, what with Axel being so much shorter than Isa right now, but Xion is not going to be the one to point that out.

“Bahamut.” Isa doesn’t even look at Axel as he answers, his own gaze fully fixed on the Heartless that stands before them. “And given that our part of the bargain has seemingly been gift wrapped and delivered to us, I can’t say that I regret it.”

“Great, so all we gotta do is defeat a fully corrupted Heartless. Sure, I mean it’s not like we struggled against a not even fully infected Dusk just a few months ago.” Axel’s rolls his eyes and waves his hand at the Heartless in question, sarcasm saturating every word and gesture.

 “We wouldn’t even have to do that if you hadn’t summoned one when you came here,” Isa counters with a snarl.

“I didn’t, I don’t think I could have even if I wanted to, like I said they’ve gone feral.” Axel pauses for a moment, thinking over his own statement. “Well, more feral than usual, seriously, has Xemnas been neglecting them or something?”

“Something like that,” Roxas volunteers, only to wince as he falls into the trap of easy conversation.

Axel finally looks away from Isa, assessing the two of them without even a spark of recognition. It hurts more than Xion thought it would, and she already knew it would hurt a lot.

“They’re with me,” Isa explains, as he takes a step back and rests a hand on Axel’s shoulder, as much to calm him as to hold him in place.

Axel’s eyes widen with surprise as he looks back and forth between Isa and them, disbelief etched into his features. “I feel as though I’m missing something.”

In a safer world, one that didn’t have a darkness corrupted with a rot so toxic it made Heartless look cute when compared to the monsters it spawned, this would be a great moment to start explaining what was going on and failing that, just have Isa order Axel to touch the orb that held his memories.

Unfortunately, this is not a safer world, a fact that they are forcefully reminded of when the man standing next to the corrupted Heartless unleashes a deranged laugh.

It’s not directed at them, but it still leaves Xion chilled, goosebumps crawling along the flesh of her arms and the back of her neck despite the heat of Lestallum’s streets.

The man, The Chancellor as Ignis had called him, is now fully focused on Noct and his group. Talking over all of their heads as he taunts and provokes, wielding words like knives as he stabs at Noct with them.

To Xion it seems like a chance.

Discretely, using her friends as a wall, she summons her Keyblade. The Heartless twitches, head tilting at an odd angle in an attempt to look past her friends, making all of them still as they wait for the creature to attack.

For a moment, it struggles. Hands grasping as though it means to summon its own weapon, but a sharp click from the Chancellor, disguised with a wave of his hand, has the creature stilling once more.

Releasing a breath, Xion begins to charge a spell.

“Wait.” Isa seizes her wrist with an unyielding grip, he doesn’t look back at her but the way his jaw tightens as his fingers curl more firmly around her small arm, tells her that he is tense. “Not yet.”

“What am I waiting for?” she asks, wondering why Isa is wasting a perfectly good opportunity to strike.

In true Isa fashion he refuses to elaborate, and Xion wonders whether she’s going to have to grab him by the collar and shake the answers out of him.

Her violent plans must have shown on her face because Axel snorts, and a hand comes up to cover his mouth to stop himself from laughing as she aims a mulish glare at him.

“Wait, just listen, he knows what he’s doing, he just has zero communication skills.” Axel tries to placate her.

“I noticed,” Xion agrees as she pulls her hand free from Isa’s hold.

“You get used to it.” Axel shrugs as he smiles, naturally playing devil’s advocate as he always does.

He reaches out a hand, and Xion knows what’s coming. “The names Axel, got it memorised?”

She’s glad she’s wearing a hood, glad that Roxas still has his back to Axel so he can’t see his face, because yeah, tears are forming in her eyes and she can’t stop them from welling up, threatening to spill as soon as she blinks. She dips her head with a nod to hide them, an old trick she perfected during her Organisation days, then mastered when she was used as a vessel by Xehanort.

Xion knows she’s taking too long to answer, but it’s kind of hard to introduce yourself to one of your best friends with a smile when the sadness that comes with being forgotten is doing its damndest to crush your heart.

She tries anyway.

“I’m X—”

Her half-hearted introduction is interrupted by the hollow clang of flesh knocking against plate armour.

All eyes flick back to the Chancellor. He’s ceased his prowling, and now stands beside the Heartless, back turned to all of them, as though none of them would even think to dare to attack him while his back is turned. Sneaking a look at Isa, the way the light in his eyes flicker between the burning starlight and emerald green, the way his brow twitches as he seeks to hold back the snarl held beneath his tongue, the way sharp nails dig into the meat of his palms, leaving crescent shaped craters in his skin.

The picture of restrained fury.

Made all the worse by the fact that it's not arrogance that has the Chancellor turning his back on them, it’s knowledge of his own power.

“I leave the rest to you, dear brother.”

Flames erupt as the last chain binding the Heartless in stillness is released.

Xion’s already summoning her magic again, and this time Isa isn’t moving to stop her.

“I wish you all the best of luck. Farewell.” Ardyn bids as he takes his leave, but Xion is far more concerned with the Heartless who knocks them back with the air pressure of its bellow alone.

She has no choice but to abandon her spell and try to defend as flames follow on the wave of air that has her scrambling to keep her feet.

Fire meets fire, as Axel summons his own flames and crimson and cobalt collide, snuffing out both before the torrent of blue can lick against their skin.

It’s only the sharp call of, “Xion!” from Isa that directs her attention to where the Heartless is now standing behind her, looming over Noct with its blade poised to come down as firefly sapphire embers trail from the flames.

The stalled spells she had charged on the tip of her Keyblade’s teeth are rerouted into the spell she now hurls at the Heartless. “Stopra!”

She would have preferred to cast Stopga, but the time it would have taken to flood enough MP into her blade would make the effort worthless.

Time stalls, for the Heartless, for Noct and his friends, for some civilians too, but not for Xion, and not for her friends.

Something that Isa is all too ready to take advantage of.

“MOON, SHINE DOWN!”

Chapter Text

Prompto’s eyes are trained unblinkingly on the blade that’s about to come down on Noct’s head.

Not by choice, Prompto doesn’t think any of them have a choice right now, because they can’t move.

Bodies frozen in positions that should be impossible to hold for more than a second under the effect of gravity. Weapons stilled mid-flight, their trajectory easily tracked in the freezeframe of this moment, like they’re trapped in one of his photos, a flash of instance captured in fine detail and kept for eternity.

Rationally, he knows it’s just a stop status, that’s obvious. It’s an effect he’s used to, one that he’s had to endure the consequences of many times.

So why does it feel so much worse? Like the very air in his lungs has been petrified, turning the flesh around it to stone. As though even his own thoughts are playing out in slow motion even when they race a mile a minute screaming at the silence of his own heart, that should be drumming furiously in his chest.

It’s lasting longer than it should, that’s why.

That’s right, it should have worn off by now, causing all of them to stumble as they got to grips with the time that had been taken from them.

Why hasn’t it?

Why are they still frozen?

How do they get out of this? All of them are trapped in it and even if they weren’t remedies don’t work on this status, nothing does, because they never needed anything that did before because it didn’t last this long.

Even if they do get out of it, the immediate problem of the sword about to come down on Noct’s head is still hanging over them. Worse, the after effects of the time status will knock Noct back into phase, leaving him wide open.

Will it also disrupt the MT?

It has to, right?

What if it doesn’t?

All these questions pile on top of one another, building in Prompto’s mind until they form a seemingly insurmountable wall. Normally, this would be the moment that one of his friends did something to disrupt his growing dread. A flare of spectral sparks, a magic flask cracking to unleash elemental devastation, the flash of a blade tearing the ground beneath their feet making it roll with power until it overturns everything.

Not this time, and Prompto’s too close, caught within the same trap, unable to affect the battle from a distance or rush in to create a much-needed distraction.

It’s all too close.

“MOON SHINE DOWN!”

All the piling thoughts are scattered with that shout. Loud and powerful, it draws everything towards it like gravity, even if Prompto wasn’t frozen he wouldn’t be able to look away.

For an instant, his brain just stops working as he watches Isa levitate skyward, watches a veil of opalescent light envelope him as the scariest claymore Prompto has ever seen is summoned, only for it to then get scarier. It was already monstrous, heavy, and blunt, apart from the seven spikes that decorated the head, then it’d looped into place behind Isa like the moon rising above a storm wrought sea. It grows teeth, morphing into something that resembles a war axe more than a simple claymore.

“Fall!”

And he does.

Isa drops faster than he rose and the shockwaves of his landing blaze to life with cobalt flames.

Yep, if it wasn’t obvious before it is now, he’s definitely a friend of Axel’s.

Prompto wants to look away, especially when Isa throws his claymore, another glitching moment his brain fails to recognise as real even though it’s happening right before his eyes. He can’t blame it, something that big should not be thrown that lightly.

The clang as it collides with the armour—a blow so strong it should have taken off the MTs head no matter what the neck joint was made out of—rings hollow, it resounds in contrast to the still image of the MT, unmoved and undented as it stands stalwart against the assault.

The same assault that’s about to sweep them up as collateral.

Energy rips from the impact zone of the claymore, azure plasma burning so hot it melts the ground as it claws along the earth towards them.

“Reflega!”

The unfamiliar word only registers against his ears because it so at odds with all the other noises ripping through the air, and because it’s the last clear sound he hears before the world around him morphs into a distant, muffled distortion of itself.

He must have hit his head, that would explain it.

Why else would his vision have whited out and left him feeling dizzy as the MT and a very feral looking Isa blurred into indistinct shapes of colour, as though he was suddenly looking at them through a cracked and misted camera lens.

“I’m sorry, you’ll be able to move soon.” The words come with a gentle touch to his arm that would have had him jumping if he wasn’t frozen. “Just a few more seconds, I promise.”

Xion’s face comes into focus as she leans into his sight line, and Prompto really wants to blink because the clear image of her against the backlit but hazy wall of fragmented light behind her is making his eyes itch.

True to her reassurance the status finally releases its grip.

Air, sweet, thick, and so very underappreciated until this moment, fills his lungs on an instinctive gasp, flaking away the calcified walls of his fossilised lungs as the momentum he is no longer prepared to balance against has his feet tripping over nothing.

Xion braces him, saving his face from an unneeded meet and greet with the slate stones of Lestallum’s street.

“Just breath, we’ve got this.” The smile Xion levels at him is so apologetic, even as she tries to hide it under a knowing confidence.

Shaking his head, he presses an arm to his chest in an effort to stop his racing heart from breaking his ribs from the inside with its manic drumbeat and looks to his friends.

They’re all in similar states of shock, but they recover from it at different rates.

Probably unsurprisingly, it’s Gladio that manages to gather himself first, replacing his claymore with a shield he steps up, and places himself between his King and the battle still raging on behind the mottled glass magic that separates them from it, and that’s when Prompto realises that Noct’s in stasis.

Ignis must have seen the signs first—the stuttered breathing, the bowed form, and the way Noct has to cradle his arm to his chest, keeping pressure on a wound that can’t be seen—because he’s already at Noct’s side, an ether moulded from the spectral light of the armiger fractures into being in his palm. When the bottle breaks and scatters purple embers like pollen to the wind, Noctis slumps in relief, only to force himself to stand, unwilling as always to let others fight for him.

“What was that?” Noct voices the question they were all thinking and goes on to add another. “How did you do this?”

Both queries are directed at Xion, whose very-giant-key-shaped weapon is glowing the same colour as the shield held up in front of them.

“Um, would you believe me if I said it was magic?”

There’s a pause, filled only with the grating gong of the continuous flurry of blows that Isa rains down on the being and the wall that separates them from what is essentially a one-sided slaughter. A fact that’s evident, even through the blurred lens of the very obviously magic shell protecting them.

“No shit!” exclaims Gladio.

Iggy doesn’t just adjust his glasses; he takes them off and starts polishing them with a silk cloth. “What my friend means by that, is to question the source of your magic, as you are obviously too young to be enlisted with the Kingsglaive.”

“Kingsglaive?” Xion echoes without an ounce of recognition.

“You claim amnesia and I’m throwing you into that.” Gladio points with his whole body towards the battle beyond the barrier, a barrier that is starting to fade.

“Er guys, I think we have bigger problems right now,” Prompto warns as he checks his gun.

“Get back, Isa can’t tell friend from foe right now!” Xion shouts as the shield of light is burned away at the edges, but not before light gathers around its outer shell before exploding with a charged power that extinguishes the rippling energy from the nearest crater formed by one of Isa’s attacks.

Prompto looks to Ignis, they all do.

“We must regroup, we don’t have enough information to risk charging in blindly. Noct, warp to the tower and assess the situation, once we have the lay of the land, we can make our plans.”

Noct acknowledged Iggy’s instructions by pulling out a smaller blade and pinning it to the top of the Leap of Faith. In a flash all that is left of his friend is the crystalline framework of his silhouetted afterimage.

They start their own retreat and Xion takes the opportunity to slip away as Gladio takes up the rear guard to deflect any stray shrapnel, there’s a lot of it, and with this amount of destruction, easily comparable to the power of the armiger when Noct brings it to bare, it’s a wonder that the MT is still in one piece.

Well, in one piece, but still being thrown around like a toy soldier caught in a hurricane.

At least it was until it vanishes in its own ruptured shroud of trailing blue light.

Isa’s weapon shreds the holographic clone, but the loss of his true target just seems to make him madder. A madness that fuels his power as the glow takes on a deeper shine. Like a Coeurl locking onto wounded prey, Isa’s gaze pins the armour.

Prompto’s heart sinks when he follows the path of Isa’s gaze.

The zenith of the Leap of Faith where Noct crouches like Altair made flesh.

The rapid-fire shots of Quick Silver has his hand trembling as he unloads the barrel all at once, aiming for the jointed gauntlet that wields the false Blade of the Mystic.

The swords path is diverted, sheering through air instead of his friends’ neck, and Noct has the moment he needs to gather himself and summon a shield to deflect the next blow. There’s only one problem with that, Noct, as mentioned before, is currently precariously balanced on the top of a wooden tower that has no space to allow him to step back in order to absorb the energy of the blow. It’s for this same reason that he can’t allow the attack to phase through him, meaning that even with the shield all Noct can do is fall as the power of the MTs strike knocks him from his perch.

Something that’s usually not an issue, Noct knows how to fall, how to roll his weight to control his descent to make it easier to find a new warp point and save himself.

It’s an issue this time.

A very big issue in the shape of the armour that can warp, bombarding Noct with the long-range warp strike capabilities of the Blade of the Mystic.

The first spectral blade rips Noct’s shield away with the sound of clashing steel and cracking crystal, the second slices so close to Noct’s face it tears his hood away and draws a line of crimson beneath his eye, the third…Prompto won’t allow.

Quick Silver shatters into the heavier form of the sniper rifle Cerberus, unfamiliar in his hands compared to his normal weapons of choice but something he’s been drilled to wield until his fingers bled from the friction of one set-up too many.

Like breathing he takes aim.

The third ghostly image of the blade breaks, a bullet lodged between the ricasso and the chappe sending spider web cracks that splinter the sword from pommel to point.

He doesn’t watch the fragmented shards scatter into nothing, too busy taking the next shot. He aims for the helm, it’s a big enough target and a safer bet than the breast plate, more likely to hit and do more damage, and it does.

The bullet ricochets off the smooth angles of the faceplate and chips one of the stylised dragon horns. The armour recoils with the force, then warps free of the fall, retreating to the perch at the top of the tower, and more importantly away from Noct.

But Noct’s still falling.

Gladio and Ignis are running, they must have been since Prompto took the first shot and now Prompto’s doing everything he can to catch up.

It’s not enough.

Noct’s too close to the ground, the only warp point in the area he can reach is guarded by an enemy that very much wants to kill him.

Noct goes for the only thing that can save him in this instant, the armiger comes out in full force, all the weapons of the Kings of Yore that Noctis has collected so far encircling him as he uses the power of the crystal to stand on nothing.

It doesn’t last long, because he hasn’t had enough time to gather the necessary magic to hold the limpid forms of the weapons of his forebears held within the armiger.

He lands hard, absorbing the worst of it with a practised roll that has him on his feet and drawing a weapon in one move, but it’s only when all three of them are by his side again, that Prompto can breathe.

“So, no splitting up?” he gasps, trying to get enough air back in his lungs after the tension of a few seconds stretched over an eternity robbed him of it.

“Not until that thing is scrap.” Noct wheezes back as he wipes away the blood trailing down his cheek like fresh tears.

Prompto can’t stop his sight from flicking to where Isa’s floating again, his sudden stillness so at odds with his previous wild attacks, it leaves Prompto feeling as though something is about to happen. Something that will tear the MT to shreds that might not even be able to be recognised as scraps.

“I call on the moon’s pale light.” The words are spoken with such a soft whisper that Prompto nearly doesn’t catch them.

He does however catch the monstrous claymore splitting into five separate idly spinning, glowing blades.

“Is anyone else completely at a loss for where these obviously magic and ridiculously OP guys keep coming from?” It’s the question that has to be asked.

“No Prompto, you are not alone in that,” Ignis assures as Isa unbelievably manages to unleash more power.

“Soooo, letting him handle it?” It seems like the smart thing to do, what with the death that would be involved with getting too close to that.

“For now,” Ignis concedes. “Besides, I do believe we have some unannounced guests to take care of.”

He’s not wrong, it wasn’t obvious at first because of the sea of people that had been attending the festival, but now, with the streets cleared, the small army of regular MTs that have encircled them are pretty obvious.

“Let’s get this over with.” Noct sighs.

Crowd control.

Again.

How did this keep happening?

It’s a rhetorical question, Isa’s gone Berserk and Axel’s fallen into his usual routine of herding the target into the meteoric attacks, while Xion basically called dibs on protecting Noct and his friends by raising a Reflega spell around them.

Leaving him with crowd control.

Well, if he’s being honest, it’s more like crowd defence, and they certainly need it. What with wave after wave of lunar energy being thrown around by Isa.

It’s all he can do to disrupt them with light. The blinding rays break the flow of energy enough to force them to collapse without drawing Isa’s wrath onto him. A fine balancing act that took more than one dodged claymore aimed at his face to perfect…he’s had a lot of practice so he’s pretty good at it.

The festival goers have wisely made themselves scarce in the time it takes him to do a full circuit around the invisible line that marks the edge of the terrain Isa has claimed as his battleground, but the streets aren’t empty.

Roxas isn’t sure what he’s looking at.

His first guess is that they are soldiers, that’s the obvious conclusion with the full body armour they are wearing.

The crest decorating their chest plate is the same as the one that he saw on the flags at that outpost in Ravatough, but beyond that it has no deeper meaning to him.

The only reason he doesn’t think they could be Heartless is because they lack the symbol that marks every Emblem Heartless, and the darkness doesn’t smell right for a Pureblood.

He can smell it though, a darkness so fettered with disease, tinged with the acrid smell of oil, grease, and overworked circuits.

Until now their heads have been down, faces hidden in the shadows of the thin ridge of their helmets, but with the clamour of war Isa is conducting they begin to awake.

All at once, in perfect synchrony, their necks unbend, and their heads sit properly on their shoulders as glowing red mechanical eyes look out from behind the pale metallic impersonation of a human face.

Roxas can’t help but take a step back, unnerved by both the jerky almost clockwork like movements that reminds him of the stiff motions that so many of the Heartless spawned in Halloween Town possess, and the surge of darkness that washes over the plaza.

The movement draws the attention of the soldiers? Machines? He’s still not sure, and it really doesn’t matter right now because the decision on whether these things are safe to attack is taken from his hands when the closest lifts its axe and takes a swing at him.

Light ripples off the dark metal of Oblivion as he catches the face of the axe between the teeth of his Keyblade and follows up strike from Oathkeeper, leaving sparking wires and rent metal in the trail of silvery light.

Roxas doesn’t stop there.

He can’t, not when the clockwork soldiers begin to surge, piling forward like a swarm of Kage heartless on the trail of a vulnerable heart.

Summoning light he disperses those closest and moves onto the next largest group, ignoring how the oil spills like blood across the pavement of the plaza.

The next group goes down just as easily, but for every one he dismantles another two seem to rise in its place.

With a sigh, he resigns himself to the drawn-out battle of attrition this is going to be.

Unbidden, one of Sora’s memories rises from the back of his mind, a canyon filled with Heartless as far as the eye can see, a horde that knew no fear and didn’t grow tired.

Roxas really hopes this isn’t going to turn into that sort of situation.

Five minutes later and it definitely has.

“Where are all these things coming from!” He’s not expecting an answer, which is why he nearly accidently takes off Iris’ head when she slides into place besides him.

“Niflheim must have-AHH!” She ducks, even as Roxas catches his mistake and redirects the blow to the machine sparking but still twitching at his feet.

“Sorry!” he moves beside her, pressing his back against hers as he summons seven fully realised shafts of light and sends them spinning at the mass of lumbering tin soldiers that still advance on them from all sides.

The gurgling screams of melting metal, failing gears, and drowning circuits sets Roxas’ teeth on edge, but he’s taken out enough of them to buy himself and Iris a short reprieve.

“Sorry, you okay?” he apologises again as he faces Iris.

She waves away his apology as she gives him a shaky nod. “I’m fine, should have known to make my presence known sooner, but you looked like you were getting a little swamped.” She glances around at the piles of broken tin men mounting up around where they stand. “My mistake.”

“I’ll not say no to some help.” Roxas shrugs, which turns into a cast as he sends a thunder spell at the machine that’s gotten a little too close.

It thrashes but doesn’t fall as the red stare flickers in and out, as though his trying to reboot, but a metal denting sweep delivered by Iris to its already unsteady stance has the machine crumpling to the floor. Eyes going dark as the power behind them dies.

“Happy to give it,” Iris volunteers as she summons…

“Is that a Moogle?” He can’t stop his voice from sounding sceptical as he takes in the details of the patchwork creation.

“Sure is.” Iris crows, clear pride in her tone as she yeets the unfortunate foo-doo doll version of the mogs he’s used to seeing at every item shop.

“You got something against them?” He winces as he watches the closest mechanised soldiers get distracted by the doll, stuffing flies as the poor things torn apart, and it feels like a mercy kill when he fires off a Fira spell at the mob slowly mauling it to death.

“What? Of course not, they’re my favourite fairy tale.” Iris looks heartbroken at the mere suggestion. “Anyway, now that we got some free time, think you’re up for answering some questions?”

The smile she delivers him is so disarming, it’s the same one Xion gets when she won’t take no for an answer.

Roxas slumps with a groan. “Can’t I just go back to crowd control?”

Chapter Text

Axel is having so much fun.

He probably shouldn’t be, what with his lies all but exposed and the impending inquisition hanging over his head, either from the prince and his entourage or Isa, depending on how fast they can slip away after this.

Either way he is getting interrogated and he should be dreading it, but that’s kind of hard to do when you don’t have the heart to feel dread—or at least he shouldn’t, the dried tear tracks that itch against his cheeks as the wind whips around him are evidence to the contrary—or when your chest is so light with laughter that you can’t help but forget the looming threat on the horizon, even if it’s only for a moment.

This, right now, is one of those moments.

Dancing on the edge of danger, moving to the beat of Isa’s earth breaking strikes, Axel lets his chakrams fly freely. He doesn’t have to worry about collateral damage, the two Keyblade wielding kiddos Isa brought with him have seen to that, and isn’t that a shocker, but he doesn’t have time to question it right now as the armoured Heartless is doing its damndest to get free of the tides of Isa’s attacks.

Something that Axel is all too easily sabotaging.

Yes, this Heartless can teleport and turn incorporeal, allowing it to avoid the worst of Isa’s fury, but there’s a limit on how far it can warp, dependant as it is on how far it can throw its weapon. The intangibility is a little trickier to deal with, but in the end it all comes down to timing, the Heartless can only slip though the frames of reality for so long and every time it magic fails, Axel’s right there to knock him back into the swell of Isa’s moonlit massacre.

Honestly, this reminds him of an overly large game of whack-a-cactaur.

The Heartless, after all, has nowhere to go, and it’s only a matter of time before either he or Isa get in a hit strong enough to completely immobilise it. After that, it’s just a simple case of dragging over one of the Keywielder’s Isa has tagging along with him for some reason.

Mission complete.

He rolls his eyes at the thought of that very easy outcome, because if experience has taught him anything, it’s that when things are going well, he should be worried.

Case and point, a flash of light in the corner of his eye draws his gaze to where Noct now crouches on the Leap of Faith.

Up until now, it’s been easy to keep the Heartless confined to the cage of Isa’s battle ground. It’s a simple game. Making sure that one chakram flies in the shadow of the other, so that when the first is phased through the second is there for the heartbeat of a moment when the Heartless becomes tangible.

It’s no longer simple when the Heartless suddenly warps within reach of Noct.

Not only is it outside of Axel’s range, but it also puts Noct in danger.

When he’s like this Isa will attack anything he sees as a threat, Axel’s not categorised as that, a benefit of being Isa’s best friend, even if the idiot won’t admit it out loud. It also helps that his and Isa’s preferred methods of teamwork are the same. Well, to be accurate Axel had quickly adapted to Isa’s ways, something that was very easy to do when the alternative was getting a claymore stabbed through his back (accidentally of course), something that had become more frequent when his friend had become a Nobody.

While reminiscing he’s also calculating the damage a small fire spell would do and whether it would be enough—it wouldn’t—when Prompto takes the matter out of his hands.

The bullets shower the gauntleted grip of the Heartless, diverting the blow and saving Noct, as well as giving him the brief reprieve that he needs to summon a shield.

Just in time as the blade wielded by the Heartless is brought down in a shadowed reflexion of corrupt flames off burnished steel powered by the momentum of the previous blow.

Noct slips from Axel’s view as he’s swept from his vantage point with a strike hard enough to rattle teeth and break bone.

He runs, trying to get Noct back within sight so he can do something, but even with a flame assisted leap that has him landing on the lower stage of the tower, he still doesn’t have a clear view.

Another gunshot, this one like the crack that foreshadows lightning splitting the sky, proceeds the chime of splintering crystal, only for another sky splitting crack to drown it out as the peal of hollow metal being struck with steel follows in its wake. It all adds up to a cacophony of noise that paints a picture of battle.

More light, iridescent but transitory, flashes between the timber beams of the tower and Axel is left looking back and forth as Noct returns to his friends, breathless but unharmed, and the Heartless returns to the peak of the tower.

Right where Axel wants it.

A quick check over his shoulder confirms that Isa is more than ready to take this battle to the next level. The cloak of moonlight he’s clad himself in reaching a brightness that heralds the destruction to come.

Axel looks back at the tower, admiring all the hard work that went into building it. “Welp, what’s a festival without a bonfire?”

Axel jumps free just as he hears Isa whisper the phrase he has been waiting for. “I call on the moons pale light.”

The Heartless turns, gaze flitting from where it was trained with a laser like intensity on Noct to where Isa is now, rising above the remains of the shattered plaza. The claymore sheathed at his back waxes to form four duplicates that orbit him like the moon he draws his power from.

“Oookay!”

Sparks erupt from both of Axel’s chakrams as the crimson stained metal of his weapons spin so fast they blur, but their forms are soon completely engulfed, obscured from sight by the flurry of flames that spring to life at his command.

The wood of the tower begins to burn before the fire storm even touches it, blackening as flames catch along the already failing beams that provided the tower it’s strength.

Looking up from the epicentre of the storm, not even having to squint against the maelstrom of roaring cinders and ash dancing around him, Axel has a clear view of the Heartless. He gets the impression that it would be cursing him out if it could.

It just makes his smile brighter. “Burn!”

The embedded embers flare once and then explode. Guided by the frame of the Leap of Faith they rise, engulfing the Heartless like a dragon swallowing its prey. The armour phases, like Axel expected, but surrounded on all sides there’s nowhere to escape to but the plaza below.

“This fight is over,” Isa declares darkly as the Heartless falls within his reach.

Crystal shatters like frail glass as a spectral blade fired in defence breaks on the columns of light summoned by the impact of Isa’s opening salvo, and azure flames consumed by shadows leak from the armour as his spiked blade rips through the summoned defence to imbed itself within the thinner steal of the layered scale chest plate.

Knocked back and caught within the flood of attacks that follow, the Heartless can do nothing to defend itself and Axel just has to sit back and watch as Isa takes the Heartless apart.

At least, that was the plan.

It starts as a chill, a cloying coldness that teases the hairs at the back of his neck and sends a shiver down his spine.

The feelings so invasive that it takes him more than a moment to notice the next change, but it’s impossible to ignore when he does.

All the light within the plaza, even the bright flare of his own flames that still devour the remains of the Leap of Faith, dim, and with the absence of light comes the dawning of shadows, which converge upon the Heartless.

Whether these changes go unnoticed or uncared for by Isa is anybody’s guess—that’s a lie, Axel knows that Isa doesn’t care if he loses an arm right now, so long as the Heartless lays broken at his feet by the end of it—but it doesn’t change the fact that they need to finish this now, because even Isa’s berserk charge cannot last forever.

Leaping into the fray, Axel conjures fire walls with his steps, banishing the shadows as he does so, at least those that haven’t already entangled themselves with the armour.

It’s not enough.

This is the thought that continues to build in Axel’s mind as the chill fingers of the cold already sewn into his skin grow claws and sink themselves into his chest.

Isa seems determined to prove him wrong.

He’s nearly at the end of his summoned strength, as shown when his illusionary claymores start to slow, taking longer to return to him even as the beams of light he raises disperse the shadows that continue to assault them.

Never one to be forgotten, Axel continues to blaze a trail across the battlefield, until he sees an opening. His chakrams cut through the air like loosed pinwheels of fire, unrestrained and wild as he allows the emotions he shouldn’t be feeling to control them.

Predictably, the armour just phases through the attack, but the step back falls within the range of Isa’s last berserker strike.

Drawing the claymore bound to his back he brings down the blade in an overhead strike, even as its clones constructed from light fade into the ether, returning their power to the weapon that anchored their existence.

Axel’s ready for another warp, another afterimage of light, another skilful block meant to buy more time.

He is not ready for the Heartless to capture the blade.

Neither is Isa.

Shadow woven blue flames encase the armours gauntlet and Axel can smell the acrid tang of heated metal before his eyes lock on the first heat strained crack that gives way to a spiderweb of fractures along the length of the claymore.

A moment, held only by the pause of the deep scars now carved into Isa’s blade.

It shatters as the Heartless tightens its grip with a flash of power that has the icy teeth sheathed in Axel’s chest clamping down on his lungs.

 Isa’s claymore breaks.

Pieces fade into oblivion as the fragmented shards scatter across the broken plaza, soon lost to the shadows and rubble that dominate the ground they walk on.

One piece still large enough and sharp enough catches Isa across the face even as he reels back, what remains of the hilt still clutched in one hand as he curls in on himself and does his best to defend from the point-blank explosion of darkness.

“Isa!”

The wall of fire encircles Isa and Axel can feel the tendrils of darkness already begin to eat away at it as he rolls through the ward to stand beside his friend.

“Let me see, you got a potion or something?” Axel worries as he gently pulls Isa’s hand away from where he clutches his forehead.

It looks bad, shallow but bleeding freely to the point where a line of red has already painted the left side of his face.

“I’m fine,” Isa sighs, but something must be showing on Axel’s face because he summons a potion without any further complaint.

Axel looks down at the broken hilt still clutched in Isa’s grip. “Guess it’s pointless to suggest that you let me handle this?”

Isa gives him the look, the one that furrows his brows so much that it draws a wrinkle right through the centre of his scar.

“Fine, be a liability.” He rolls his shoulder as he stands, only to stop when a strong grip wraps around his wrist.

“Hand it over,” Isa demands.

“You sure?” Axel can’t help but question, even as he offers up one of his chakrams. “It’s been a while since we played frisbee.”

“I’ll manage.” As if to prove a point, Isa flips the chakram from one hand to the other.

At that moment the Heartless steps through the blaze that separate them, its own shadow born flames acting as a cloak as it walks towards them, steps steady if restrained.

“Welp, time to put that theory to the test.” Both chakrams fly.

The chakram feels awkward in his grip, not unfamiliar—one of his oldest trick’s when sparring with Lea is to catch the overgrown frisbee he calls a weapon and throw it back at his friend—just different.

Light where his claymore is heavy, small where his claymore is bulky.

It also relies on a completely different skill set to wield it and he knows for a fact that Axel is using his flames to manipulate it as soon as it hits its intended target, otherwise it wouldn’t be able to return to his waiting hand as smoothly as it does. The way the residual heat clings to the metal, warm not hot, is also a dead give-away.

Still, he’s never been adept at magic, his talents rest elsewhere, and he’s never been the type to work on something that doesn’t fit his style in the first place. Especially when you have someone capable of standing at your back, guarding you from your so-called shortfalls just as you guard them.

Glancing down at the broken hilt still clutched in his grasp, he can’t help the growl that escapes his lips. Without his claymore his berserk attack is basically sealed because he’s not suicidal enough to try and channel the power granted to him by the moons pale light through his flesh alone. He needs a conduit, and unfortunately Axel’s chakram shall not suffice, strong as the weapon is it does not have the structure necessary to direct his power.

“So, what’s the plan?” Axel asks as he sidesteps an ethereal blade and returns a Fira of his own.

Isa hesitates, the obvious answer lodged in his throat and held down by pride.

The gathering shadows that still entangle the Heartless, darkening the metal of the armour as they merge with the tainted flames, force his hand as they begin to coalesce within the hollow crevice of its chest.

“Go grab one of the kids I brought with me, both of them if you can.”

Another fire spell, this one wrapped around the chakram like a cloak of autumn leaves. “Right, and leave you here on your own to hold that thing off?” He shakes his head and gives one of his completely condescending laughs. “Not a chance.”

“Axel!” he barks as he takes his own swing at the Heartless, trying to disrupt whatever attack it is charging. With the way it stands, sword clasped in both hands and sheathed in the earth as it acts as a magnet for the gathering darkness that continues to feed the dawning black sun forming where its heart should be, it’s clear that they cannot allow this attack to reach full power.

“Isa!” Axel returns more spite than anger and completely unapologetic.

“You can jump through the flames without having to bring down the fire wall,” he reasons.

“I don’t think it’s going anywhere right now,” Axel counters, dancing around the small space and extinguishing shadows with each step.

“No, but the wall may contain some of the fall out.” More shadows meet their demise as Saix charges the chakram with the smallest amount of light possible.

“Mind if I interrupt this argument over who gets to be the human sacrifice?” The third voice is so unexpected that Isa cannot help the reflexive strike.

Noct instinctively phases, even as the action proves unnecessary. Isa’s weapon is less than half the length it should be, but the strike powered by muscle memory still believes his claymore is intact.

“What are you doing here?” Isa snaps as his eyes shoot to the armour, half expecting it to disengage from the shadows it is drawing onto itself for the chance to attack Noct again.

“Your friend said we have to beat this monster if we want to stop the MTs, and you looked like you could use a hand.” Noct shrugs half-heartedly, one shoulder barely moving while the other rolls into an arm flick which he uses to summon a blade.

“More like a free ride.” Axel points at Isa in between bombarding the Heartless, trying everything to disrupt its stance. “Think you can warp him out of here.”

Isa is not about to let himself be ganged up on.

“Enough of this.” Seizing Axel by the hood—something that still seems to surprise his friend even after all the times Isa has done this—he slings him at Noct and places himself firmly between them and the Heartless. “Go.”

“Not happening!” Axel emphasises his point by summoning Isa’s borrowed chakram back to his awaiting hand.

“Stubborn fool,” Isa curses.

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you,” Axel quips back, before turning to Noct. “Hey, Princess, you got a weapon this idiot can borrow?”

“Sure.” Noct reaches into the dimensional space he stores his weapons in, but whatever blade he was reaching for does not have time to manifest.

A sound, like shifting ice and rolling thunder heralds a war cry that has all three of them covering their ears.

A flash of darkness washes over them like a wave and the exhaustion that comes with it has Isa falling to his knees as the shadows close in from all sides blurring his vision to the point where he can’t see the blade descending, not until the wraith lit flames coating the armours sword are biting into his shoulder.

Isa falls and the darkness of Oblivion is there to welcome him.

Chapter Text

These MTs aren’t normal.

It’s a fact that becomes evident from the first one they strike down.

Sure, they come apart like empty suits of armour as soon as you strike a lethal blow, the choked scream of malfunctioning hydraulics and raw metal scraping against itself still as unsettling as ever, but the heavy fog of rancid smoke that usually fades with the slightest gasp of thin air lingers. Sinking into the ground like the oil that spills from the fresh scrap corpse of the MT, but not settling.

No, in between taking out the next MT that comes at him, axe drawn, eyes glowing red, Gladio’s eyes trail along the ground, watching as the pool of shadows expands with every MT that falls.

His growing concern over it doesn’t stop him from adding another body to the building scrapheap. The dominator he wields tearing straight through the reinforced chest plate with ease, and sending a sharp tingle along Gladio’s arm as the conductive metal of his blade absorbs the dying charge of the MTs fried electrics.

“Do these things seem creepier than normal to you guys?” Prompto questions in destress as he ducks a wild swing aimed at his head, tripping back, a hand subconsciously rises to check he hasn’t been cut off at the neck. Assured that he hasn’t lost his head, Prompto retaliates with the magitek circular saw that’s almost too heavy for him to wield. Almost, as proven when he uses the thing to rip the MTs arm off, which he follows up with a blow to the stomach that has wires and coolant spilling out in the mechanical approximation of guts.

“Creepier and more feral,” agrees Noct. He’s not given time to add anything else to that. None of them are, not when the roar of unleashed flames rings across Lestallum as the Leap of Faith goes up like dry tinder. The structure acting as a funnel, directing all the heat and fire towards the crouched MT still perched upon it.

“Oh, come on!” Noct throws his arms up in despair before covering his face with his hands. “I didn’t even get to take a proper leap off the kiddy fall.”

“Nice to see your priorities are still intact,” Ignis subtly chides.

Noct drops his arms, revealing a truly mulish expression, one that Gladio knows all too well from their training sessions.

“This was a once in a lifetime chance.”

“That chance has kinda gone up in smoke, sorry dude,” Prompto consoles, even as he snaps a quick photo.

It’s not something they can dwell on, not when a magitek assassin aims to take Noct’s leg off at the knee to make him an easier target.

Gladio puts a swift end to that plan when he drives the base of his shield straight through the MTs helm, with enough force behind it to knock free the face plate and expose the skull like structure beneath.

The damn things still twitching, limbs scratching against the floor in the senseless spasm of directionless code inputting random commands.

Gladio delivers another steel denting hit to the MTs head, and with that the unit goes still.

It’s as he’s moving onto the next one, a swordman that’s swinging blindly at Ignis’ undefended back, that he notices the shadows again. Black and cloying they could be mistaken for the oil that’s dripping from the unit were it not for the way it moves like mist, right up until it sinks into the ground and becomes one with the shadows cast by the wreckage of the plaza around them.

He doesn’t have time to investigate it now, not until after he bisects the MT that’s still aiming for Iggy’s undefended back, getting there a second before Noct can and smirking all the wider because of it.

“I had that one,” Noct complains, quiet enough that Gladio thinks he was not meant to hear.

“You snooze you lose.” The look that morphs Noct’s face at that response is not princely at all.

“You make it sound like I’m sleeping on the job.”

Gladio laughs at that. “Just calling it as I see it princess.”

“I hardly think any of us have the time for a nap right now,” Ignis interrupts as he summons a magic flask. Seeing what’s coming, Gladio takes a step back and drags both Noct and Prompto with him, giving Iggy the space he needs to work.

Lightning snaps along the back of Ignis’ blade as he cracks the magic flask against it. His other dagger is soon enveloped as well as Ignis draws a line with it across its twin’s length, dividing the power of the elemancy between the two, the red sparks of metal scraping along metal igniting into blue.

In a flash that could so easily be mistaken for Noct’s warp were it not for the arcs of lightning created with each strike, Ignis flits between the MTs that surround them and systematically dismantles them. Prompto gets in on the fun by picking off any strays that manged to slip past Iggy’s rampage.

When all’s said and done, they find themselves having to navigate heaps of junk just to get to a clear bit of ground where they don’t have to worry about tripping over a mangled mechanical arm or a smoking circuit board. It’s that thought that brings him back to his earlier observation of the heavy black mist.

Usually when an MTs ripped open like the tin can it is, black smoke billows out of the chest cavity, it hangs in the air like a dark cloud as the singed wires and overloaded battery slowly dies and only when the Magitek core goes black does the mist finally fade.

That’s not happening this time.

Gladio had only seen the briefest glance out of the corner of his eyes before, but now that he has time to take a proper look, he can see that this really is different. He supposes he should be grateful on some level, at least this way they aren’t choking on the thick smoke so many destroyed MTs all piled in one place would usually create.

“I see I’m not the only one to have noticed,” Iggy observes as he comes back to join them. Eyes glancing between the ground and the daggers still clasped in his hands, his usual post-fight ritual of cataloguing any new knicks or scratched his blades may have picked up during the battle.

“Noticed what?” Noct asks, looking straight at Iggy, not even trying to assess the surroundings himself.

Gladio gives him a well-deserved clip round the ear for his laziness, which has the bonus effect of directing Noct’s gaze to the floor. “Ah, what the hel—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” concurs Gladio. He crouches down, keeping his shield drawn as he does so because MTs are still crawling out of the woodwork, but the two kids claiming to be the fire gremlins friends are acting as a great distraction at the moment, the light show they’re both putting on exploding like a fireworks display gone wrong.

Reaching out, he goes to touch the nearest pool of shadow the mist is sinking into.

“Dude no!” Prompto’s cry doesn’t make him jump, but the gunman grabbing onto his arm and pulling it back like his life depends on it, does make him twitch.

“Get off.” Gladio takes back his arm with a simple tug that nearly has Prompto falling on his ass, but the blonde’s determined and he manages to cling on again when Gladio goes to reach for the puddle of darkness a second time.

“Were you not paying attention during any of our horror movie marathons?” Prompto gestures at the shadow as though it’s about to eat his face off. “You never touch the unknown goo, ever. That’s how they get you.”

“They?” questions Gladio, hiding none of his scepticism.

“They, them, it, whatever you wanna call it. If something has goo leaking out of it, you never be the first one to touch it.”

Gladio shakes his head. “This isn’t one of your corny horror movies packed with cheap jump scares.”

He reaches out again.

“Gladdy!” The sound of Iris’ nickname for him shouted in that tone has Gladio on his feet and claymore in hand as his heart firmly lodges itself in his throat, only for it to dive toward the centre of the earth as he spots his sister in the thick of the laser show being conducted by Prompto’s long lost kid brother. Whose wielding two giant keys as though they were swords and doing a hell of a lot more damage with them then swords—that aren’t heirlooms from the Kings of Yore—ever could.

“Iris!”

His charge is blind and fuelled by all the protective instincts that come with being the older brother to a younger sister that has a knack for finding trouble.

Something grabs at his foot, looking to trip him up, but he barely feels the cold clasp of steel fingers before he sees the prismatic azure flash that lets him know that Noct has him covered.

As soon as he slides into place Iris is taking his hand and he knows what she is asking for. Grounding his stance, he slingshots her above the closest group of MTs, putting her in the perfect position to bring down a double heeled kick assisted by gravity and the force she adds to it with the flip that conserves the momentum Gladio’s boost gives her.

The results are devastating, two MTs are completely taken out and the shockwaves that swell in the wake of Iris’ landing leaves the rest destabilised.

Hard to believe this attack came about because their dad caught them rough housing one too many times. If Gladio’s remembering correctly his exact words were something along the lines of: “If you’re going to swing your sister around like a morning star, at least learn how to do it properly.”

Gladio follows up with a sweeping slash of his own, knocking the last of the MTs off their feet and finally clearing out at least this area of the plaza. Though, judging by the way the MTs outside the range of their attacks are gearing up, not for long.

“Are you okay?” he asks Iris, seizing her by the arms and checking for himself even as he asks.

“I’m fine.” She nods, but her face is pale. “Gladdy, these MTs aren’t normal.”

“Tell me about it,” he agrees, even as he breathes a sigh of relief when he finds that Iris is uninjured and smirks internally at the fact that he and his sister are on the same wavelength.

“No, I mean they really aren’t normal, and that armour isn’t a new type of MT, it’s a…what did you call it?” Her question is directed towards Roxas, who’s currently distracted, gaze fixed on where Xion is melting a group of MTs with fire and lighting.

“Heartless,” he supplies as though it’s the name of a monster. “They’re manifestations of the darkness in people’s hearts…whoever that was,” he nods towards the armour that Axel and Isa are still battling, “they must have had a strong heart.”

“Errr, did that sound like an explanation for a fantasy game enemy to anybody else?” Prompto questions, justifiably sceptical, and Gladio’s right there with him.

“More like a bad lie.”

Roxas shakes his head, looking frustrated but not surprised. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but you already have Daemons, a monster fuelled by darkness. How are they believable but a Heartless isn’t?”

Gladio hates to admit it, but that is a good point, still…

“It would explain some of the discrepancies,” Ignis concedes, though reluctantly, in that way that means he’s definitely going to need more information and at least one solid piece of evidence.

“Like how a Daemon’s walking around in the light without being vaporised?” Noct questions, drawing everyone’s attention back to where Isa is about to deliver the finishing blow to the so called Heartless.

Until the Heartless catches the blade.

Cold, and a stillness that steals the air from their lungs has them all freezing in place, even as the heat of the flames covering the strange armour burn brighter.

It soon fractures on the deafening crack of Isa’s claymore being broken.

Isa goes down, blown back from the force of his blade shattering and the wave of darkness that follows.

That’s all they get to see before Axel obscures their sight by conjuring the same fire barrier he summoned during their spar.

Roxas doesn’t react well to that and Gladio can’t blame him for it, even from here they could see the blood spray. Red dying blue a dark purple as it was soaked up by Isa’s hair.

“Isa, Axel!” No response, just the roar of flames as the armour approaches the wall of fire.

“No!” The black key shaped sword is enveloped in light and sent spinning like a shuriken across the sea of broken MT’s that lays between Roxas and the armour.

Only to be stopped dead by a line of MTs that seem to form up out of nowhere.

Gladio only gets the briefest look at them, before the black steel blade clad in light rips through the same shadowed mist that Gladio had seen sinking into the earth, decimating the line of soldiers and dispersing them as though they were merely made of mist.

They did their job though, buying enough time for the armour to step through the barrier, and then the next battalion is on them.

“Where are they even coming from?” Gladio growls.

“The ground, they’re coming up from beneath us!” Iggy cries a warning, sweeping a frost emblazoned blade at the length of torn stonework before him, only for the head and shoulders of the MTs emerging from the shadows there to be stalled with the fine net of frost woven ice that now covers them.

“What was that about no jump scares!” cries Prompto as he takes pot shots at the MTs, wisely from a distance and from a good vantage point.

An advantage that Gladio doesn’t have, and one that proves costly when burnished steel arms smoking with darkness rise from the pool of shadows beneath his feet to snatch him at the ankles. Keeping him in place while the MT and its brothers drag themselves free of the mirk, using him as leverage to speed up the process.

“Daemon MTs, Daemon MTs, Daemon MTs!” Prompto repeats as he scrambles back as far as he can, fingers working double time to load the Starshell. The flash is blinding but as much as it makes Gladio’s eyes water he can’t be anything but grateful as the grip on his legs disappears and the darkness retreats, leaving the pieces of the MTs they were possessing behind.

It doesn’t last long.

The Starshell flickers and then dies, like a candle being snuffed out in the night, and the shadows come crawling back. Snaking around the broken bodies of fallen MTs and stitching them back together.

“How do we stop them, permanently,” Ignis asks Roxas, all but shouting over the scrape of burning metal being forced back together.

“Take out their boss.” Roxas answers as he summons more light. “That’s the only way to stop this.”

All eyes trail to the ring of fire obscuring Axel, Isa, and the Heartless from sight, but Noct’s the one to act.

A nod and a resolute, “right,” is all the warning he gives them.

Both Gladio and Iggy are left gripping empty and fractured crystalline air as Noct warps past the barrier, where none of them can follow.

“That reckless idiot!” Gladio curses and takes his frustration out on the closest MT.

“He’s never been one to sit still when there’s a fight to be had,” Iggy laments, as he too works out his poorly concealed annoyance on the unlucky assassin that thought it had caught him unaware.

All they can do is wait, and it’s enough to drive Gladio insane. They can’t see anything beyond the wall of flames and Noct’s taking his sweet time coming back out.

Something finally shifts, a bellow that echoes off the walls of every building surrounding the plaza, so loud it leaves his ears ringing. It also effects the flame wall, causing it to ripple like a small campfire fighting against the winds of a winter storm.

It sputters, flickers, then fails.

Gladio’s eyes lock onto Noct immediately, crouched, a hand to his head as though he’s trying to fight off sleep, fingers fumbling to summon a blade so he can warp away with Axel who’s slumped against him in exhaustion.

The looming blade forged from shadowed flame steals all of his attention as it falls.

It lands, slipping through them as though the blade is made of nothing but smoke, incorporeal and ineffectual and for one glorious moment Gladio can hope that the sword wielded by the armour had no effect.

That hope shatters as Noct and Axel fall, eyes closed, unmoving.

Gladio was already running, as soon as the flame barrier came down, he was running, they all were, but Roxas is impossibly faster.

“Get away from them!”

Pillars of light surround the boy as he rises into the air, both blades pointed at the heavens as a fountain of energy cascades in a perfect circle around him, summoning larger reflections of the light beams that guard him at each point they land.

White overtakes the sky as the pillars irradiate more power, and in a flash the night sky is replaced with the clouded but unmistakable twilight of evening,

Gladio has no idea what he is looking at, but it doesn’t matter, not when it gives him and the others the chance they need.

As orbs of light conjured from twin blades descend upon the Heartless, they close the final distance the separates them from Noct.

Light snoring that can barely be heard above the chaos behind him has never sounded so sweet.

This he can leave to Iggy.

Blade in hand, he makes a stand between the Heartless and his King.

Is Xion being a little bit of a coward by taking the chance to slip away from Noct and his group when the chance presents itself, yes.

Does she feel bad about it, definitely not.

Why? Easy, because Ignis had a look hidden poorly behind his glasses that said he was going to interrogate Xion until he knew every last detail of the current situation and Gladio looked ready to back him up with force if necessary.

So yes, fleeing it is, straight into the awaiting arms of a horde of mechanised soldiers that are possessed by the darkness of the boss Heartless.

She supposes she should be grateful that they aren’t Heartless themselves, as proven when she destroys another and no heart escapes, only shadows.

Shadows that sink into the earth and only retreat from the blaze of a strong light. Shadows that coalesce in the hollow shade provided by the inner working of the felled soldiers until they have enough strength to pull them into the earth.

Xion does her best to stop this, all the while waiting for Isa to wear down the main Heartless.

It won’t be long now, at least that’s what she thinks, but then his blade shatters in the Heartless’ grasp.

She blinks, first in disbelief and then in shock.

That shouldn’t have been possible.

It’s the last rational thought that flows through her mind before the fog of fear, anger, fury, worry, grief coats her Keyblade in a deluge of all the elements and effects she has learnt to cast with a single snap.

The beams of light that had once been a reflexion of the attack Roxas wields morph with the magic, each pane of lined light changing to become pillars of magic that hinders all the enemies that seek to slow her advance to the wall of fire that Axel must have summoned to defend Isa.

This wouldn’t have happened if Axel still had his memories, he would trust them, know that he wasn’t alone in wanting to protect Isa.

All she can do now is wait for the barrier to drop, which will only happen when Axel chooses to do so, or when…

She banishes that thought by conjuring a mix of time and poison infused explosions to erupt around her.

Lost in the fury of battle the only thing strong enough to break her out of it is the piercing shriek that could only have come from the Heartless.

She turns, expecting to see Lea and Isa standing over a Heartless that’s one strike away from being sent back to the Realm of Darkness.

Instead, she sees the flame wall fall and Isa laying on the ground, the Heartless walking past his fallen body to where Axel and Noct sit crouched, obviously suffering from some sort of status.

This isn’t happening.

This can’t be happening.

She runs.

Only to trip as shadowed limbs rise from a puddle of darkness to seize her by the legs.

Unlike before, when the possessed robots had sought to pull themselves from the shadows, these seek to pull her down.

With a soul chilling gurgle that sounds so similar to the to the living shadows that all pure blood Heartless can sink into the darkness wraps around her.

She doesn’t hesitate.

Light engulfs her body as she curls into a small orb allowing her to slip free, she can’t hold it for long though, too easy to get lost in this form and lose track of what she’s meant to be.

Shaking her head as she uncurls her heart stops when her eyes take in the scene.

She had only looked away for a moment.

It had been enough.

The Heartless looms above Isa, Axel, and Noct. No longer burning with the same shadowed flames but standing victorious above the prone bodies of its victims.

“Get away from them!” Xion can finally see Roxas again and in his eyes she sees the same hatred burning in her own heart.

He unleashes everything, bathing the sky in twilight as the light from his Keyblade’s summons destruction in the form spinning plasma.

The Heartless can only defend, its last attack having left it spent and therefore vulnerable.

It doesn’t even seem able to phase or warp now and Xion isn’t going to give it the chance to recover.

Roxas’ barrage ends and as their eyes lock from across the plaza she knows they share the same thought.

The Kingdom Key feels warm in her grip as she adjusts it, switching to a backhand grip before she sets it lose, cutting the Heartless along it’s undefended back and breaking off an already chipped horn with the strength of it.

It turns on her, reaching out with clawed fingers as though it no longer has the strength to raise its own sword.

Roxas is right there, Oblivion taking out the grasping arm while Oathkeeper bites deeply into the joint beneath the shoulder.

Without missing a beat Xion aims for the same joint, only flinching slightly at the scrape of warping metal as she puts all her weight behind the strike and howls in rebellion at the thing that hurt her friends.

Roxas’ voice joins her own and the noise is enough to almost drown out the sound of tearing steel as his keys begin to glow and hers begin to burn.

The resistance gives all at once as three blades rip through the armour.

One final cry, so much worse than the others, haunting and monstrous, but all too human, and then the Heartless falls.

All for nothing.

Worthless.

Why?

Because Isa, Axel, and Noct don’t wake up.

Chapter Text

Noct is having a severe case of déjà vu.

Which given the circumstances, taking a sword wielded by something that definitely has something to do with Daemons to the chest, is not a good thing.

“Noct, Noct,” the call sounds distant, muffled and distorted in a way that makes him feel as though he’s hearing it through water. Even still, he can recognise Iggy.

He tries to call back, tries to answer, but all he can manage is a weak groan as he feels himself slip deeper under the heavy weight of exhaustion that’s been forced upon him.

“Noct, Noooct!” He knows he must be dreaming now, how else would he be hearing his dad call out to him. Again, he tries to call back, and again he only sinks deeper.

When he next gains awareness the first thing that registers is the hard stone beneath his face. Even the thick layer of moss that covers it doesn’t soften the rough feel of it beneath his cheek. Blinking, he begins to push himself up, only to be waylaid by what looks like a blur of blue but feels like a meteorite made of fluff hitting him in the face.

The momentum of the furious furball knocks him back and Noct is left dazed and blinking as the poof of fury resolves itself into Carbuncle.

The little fox is a contradiction of cutely angry. Eyes narrowed and teeth bared as his fur stands on end, he bats Noct repeatedly in the face with soft paw pads that do very little to blunt the sharp nails that rest above them.

Noct eventually manages to get a strong enough grip on the little fox to pull him away, an exercise in avoiding sharp little teeth and an extra fluffy tail to the face.

That’s when he finally hears the endless flurry of yip like chirps emanating from his phone that has somehow fallen to the ground beside him.

This is also when he notices his surroundings.

More accurately, the lack there of.

A small pool of light illuminates the space around him, everything beyond that is consumed by darkness. It can’t even be compared to a moonless night, because when he looks up instead of stars, he is met with a canvas of black clouds that roil with the darkest colours, as though they have lightning caged within that has somehow been stripped of all light.

Snatching up his phone, he quickly scrolls to the top of the long list of messages.

Where are you?

Why aren’t you asleep yet?

I need you here!

You’ve normally had at least two naps by this time of day, what the heck!

Are you suddenly suffering from insomnia at the most inconvenient time!

Did you drink too much Ebony again? Is that why I must suffer now?

If that’s really the reason, then I will send nightmares to the producers of Ebony until they reduce the amount of caffein in their product. Yes, I know this will give Iggy withdrawal symptoms, you deserve the consequences of that!

It’s getting worse! How is it getting worse?

Seriously, why are you not asleep!!

He infected my favourite tree… T-T T-T

“Annnddd now the sun is gone.”

“At least I still have the stars.”

“Nope, they’re gone too now.”

“Why are you not asleep T-T.”

“You’re here!”

“…and you’re unconscious.”

“How can you be unconscious in your own dream!”

“Wake up.”

“Wake up!”

“Right, you asked for this.”

“Dream tackle to the face!”

“Oh good, you’re awake now…yeah we have a problem.”

Noct blinks as he reads the final message, mouth gaping as he looks between his phone and where Carbuncle is now sitting patiently, having taken out a lot of stress on Noct’s face. Though his tail still swishes in clear agitation…No, wait, his tail is swatting at the tendrils of darkness that are crossing the fuzzy boundary between the circle of light and the darkness that lays beyond.

“Yip!”

Noct!

“Er, sorry?” Noct apologises as he focuses back on Carbuncle. The little fox takes one last swat at the shadows forcing them to retreat, before padding over to Noct and taking a seat just in front of him.

Big black eyes look up at him imploringly.

“Yip!”

I need your help.

Noct doesn’t even need to think about his answer. “Of course, what do you need me to do?”

“Yip!”

It’s not just a simple case of finding the exit this time. The creature that did this won’t allow you or your new friends to leave without a fight.

“My new friends? Do you mean Axel and Isa?”

“Yip!”

Yes, they’re trapped in their own dream worlds too, and we best go find them quick. If they fall too far into their dreams, they’ll never be able to wake again.

“How do we find them?” If he’s remembering correctly, he was able to visit different dream worlds last time by collecting little shards of light that Carbuncle had led him to. Looking out into the darkness he can’t see the comforting glow of those shards now.

“Yip!”

It’s going to be a little trickier this time. The Heartless managed to trap more than a few young souls in here before it was defeated. He couldn’t feed off them because they never had the opportunity to form hearts, but they held enough darkness for him to control their vessels once he trapped their souls here, poor things.

 Noct scratches his head, trying to wrap his mind around the message he was looking at, but he had so little context to work with. Roxas had only had time to give them a brief description of what the armour actually was, and he’d stupidly gone in half-coked and got himself trapped in the world of his dreams again. Yep, he can already hear Iggy’s lecture once he got out of this.

“What am I actually fighting? It’s not just Daemons this time, right?”

This is the first time he has ever seen Carbuncle do a face palm. He gets the feeling he should be insulted, but the cuteness of the action overwhelms that thought.

“Yip!”

Follow me, it’ll be easier to explain once you’ve seen it for yourself.

Carbuncle begins to move off, slowly at first and it’s easy to see why when the little pool of light shifts with him.

Noct takes the hint and starts walking at an even pace in order to keep up with Carbuncle’s slow trot.

“Yip!”

The first one isn’t too far and as it’s the furthest away from Somnus, it shouldn’t be too difficult to handle.

“Somnus, as in the Founder King?” Noct wasn’t willing to believe it when Ardyn had been spouting it, but he trusts Carbuncle.

“Yip!”

The one and only <frowny face>.

Noct blinks a little at the disgruntled emoji, but then again, he only has to take a look around the dream world to see why Carbuncle would be upset.

“He did all this, why?” All the history lessons he had drilled into his head when he was younger talked about how the Founder King has brought an end to an age of darkness.

“Yip!”

A lot has been lost to history, but the Astrals remember.

That being said this was never meant to happen, Eos was sealed from the world paths for a reason.

“So, there are other worlds out there?”

 “Yip!”

Countless, and your new friends came from one of them.

“Wait, wait, wait, so Axel and his friends are basically aliens.”

“Yip!”

More like world travellers, but basically, yeah.

Prompto was never going to let him live this down when he found out. The number of times they had silly, blatantly not serious arguments over whether there was intelligent life out there, and now he finds out they’ve been walking around with someone from another world for days. No wonder Axel hardly recognised anything and didn’t even know basic information about Lucis or the Empire.

“Yip!”

We’re here.

Noct looks past the small circle of light cast by Carbuncle and sees something beyond the churning darkness that has been their surroundings since he got here.

“What!” He takes a step back in fear at the spectral figure that floats suspended in what looks like a larger version of the yellow crystals he had collected all those years ago.

He can’t make out any features of the trapped being, all he can see is a silhouette radiating light. A light that’s slowly being consumed by the same black mist he had seen leaking out of the MTs broken bodies.

“Yip!”

That’s a trapped soul. It’s how Somnus’ Heartless was controlling the MTs.

“Wait, are you saying that’s the soul of an MT? But they’re machines, aren’t they?” He tries to get a better look at the soul held within the crystal but as soon as he takes a step forward the air in front of him sparks with dark lightning, opening a rift that unleashes the most bizarre Daemon Noct has ever seen.

“Yip!”

It’s a Dream Eater.

To Noct it looks like an overweight dog that had done a bellyflop into a tub of fluorescent pink dye.

“It’s kinda cute actual—whoa!”

He regrets the words almost immediately as the dog starts jumping towards him, nearly knocking him off his feet with the mini quake it generates with each bounce.

“Okay, still cute, but dangerous.” The polearm manifests in his hands and the Dream Eater soon pops like an overinflated balloon as the tip of his lance pierces its colourful hide.

A little shocked by the sparkles that accompany the monster being dispatched he looks to Carbuncle for an explanation.

“Yip!”

Nightmare Dream Eater’s, they’ve infested the realm of sleep for a long time. I’ve been able to keep them out before now, but when Somnus’ Nobody awoke here he broke down all the barriers keeping this place safe.

“Somnus’ Nobody?” Noct is so confused. “I thought the Heartless was the Founder King, they can’t both be him.”

“Yip!”

They can. The Heartless is the darkness in a person’s heart, while a Nobody is the soul and body that’s left behind when a person loses their heart.

“When you say heart, I’m guessing you don’t mean the vital organ that is very much needed to stay alive,” Noct quips as he steps towards the crystal. Just from looking at it he gets the feeling that he won’t be able to collect this one by walking into it.

“Yip!”

No, if you lost that then you’re just dead. When I say heart, what I mean is the part of you that holds your emotions and is tied to your memories. If you don’t have a heart, then you’ve lost something essential, you can still exist, but only if you have a really strong will and even then, you might not be able to hold onto your original form. That’s what a Nobody is, that’s what Somnus’ soul became when he lost his heart to darkness.

Noct still doesn’t understand. Actually, he’s more lost than when Carbuncle began explaining. A fact that is clearly showing on his face.

Carbuncle takes the opportunity to hop up on Noct’s shoulder, tail curling comfortably around his neck, a gesture that’s very much appreciated as a chilled wind blows through the darkened realm.

“Yip!”

Let’s skip their origins for the moment, it’s pointless trying to explain it right now. These crystals are a little different from the last time, you won’t be able to collect them simply by touching them.

Just like Noct thought, why could nothing ever be easy?

“Yip!”

Don’t worry, it’s not too hard. You just need to extract the energy like you would when absorbing elements from the natural deposits you’ve found on your journey all across Lucis. The Dream Eater’s and Nobodies will try to stop you but as soon as you absorb all the crystals energy, I’ll be able to restore the barrier in this area.

“Sounds straight forward enough.” Cautiously, Noct reaches out a hand to the soul entrapped in crystal. Closing his eyes he searches for the natural currents of energy, following their trails until he comes to a focal point.

It feels weird compared to the energy he absorbs from the deposits. Where they have the bite of ice, the shock of lightning, or the glare of fire, this just feels like a blank slate. Immature and unformed, something that has no idea of what it is or what it was meant to be.

The crack of crystal breaking proceeds the final rush as the soul steps free from its broken prison. The shards that remain hover for a moment still held by the dark power that had kept the being imprisoned, but Carbuncle has something to say about that.

Using Noct’s shoulder as a springboard he flips, ruby light gathering at the tip of his horn as he lands on his feet and flings the gathered magic forward.

The small halo of light around them expands at an incredible rate, burning away the darkness as it brings the glade around them back to life.

Only the sky remains untouched. Distant and dark it rumbles above them as though it is about to unleash a storm, but all it does is growl in rebellion.

With the shadows banished Noct can now recognise the glade he’s found himself in, both from his dream as a child and from his trek through the Myrlwood to find the tomb of the Rogue.

Beyond it the shadows still lurk, curling around the edges of the natural arches of stone and bark, searching for a way back in.

“Yip!”

Nice job, only nineteen to go.

“Nineteen, why nineteen?” Noct asks. He was hoping since the crystal and the energy he gathered was so much larger than last time he’d be able to avoid running around and collecting so many.

“Yip!”

Because there were nineteen MTs, we have to release them all before we go and face Somnus.

“Really?” Noct feels tired already, and he is not looking forward to facing more Dream Eaters

Carbuncle sits and tilts his head as he brings up a leg to scratch his ear.

“Yip!”

Well, not really no, only about three crystals should be enough this time.

Noct perks up at that, more enthused at the prospect of less walking, right up until the next message comes up on his phone screen.

“Yip!”

Just means the souls you don’t release will be taken by the darkness when Somnus Nobody is defeated.

Noct sighs, feeling more than a little annoyed at being guilt tripped when he wouldn’t have even questioned going after the other crystals if he’d known that from the beginning. “Where do we start?”

Looking smug, Carbuncle wonders back over to the soul.

“Yip!”

This child can help us.

The soul still looks like a silhouette made of light to Noct, but the way it’s holding itself, curled up, its thin arms wrapped around its legs, and its head buried in its knees. Yeah, that looks like a lost kid if Noct’s ever seen one.

Carbuncle reaches its side and without hesitation rubs his head against the beings’ leg as he wraps his tail around its back. A picture of comfort.

There’s a small exchange, one that isn’t translated by the phone held tightly in Noct’s hand, but it’s resolved quickly enough, and then the soul is reaching out.

The moment its ethereal hand touches Carbuncle’s horn the souls form condenses and Noct is left blinking as the human wraith made of light is transformed into a small bird no bigger than a sparrow. It’s still made of light, but before where it had been dim and flickering, now it glows and holds the faintest traces of Chocobo yellow.

It flies slowly, hovering on currents that Noct cannot see as though waiting for him to follow. A fact that Carbuncle confirms soon enough.

“Yip!”

He’ll lead us to the next crystal.

Carbuncle takes off confidently, letting the little bird lead him down a darkened path that becomes lit with each step the little dream fox takes into it.

Trusting his friend, Noct falls into line, making sure he stays within the ring of light cast by Carbuncle as they walk deeper into the corrupted dream realm.

He’s asleep again.

Why is he asleep again?

He was in the middle of a battle, arguing with Isa and then…

Boss Heartless, who apparently had an overpowered sleep attack, just great.

A remedy cracked over his head would really be appreciated right about now, or an Esuna, can he cast Esuna on himself? Never mind that is a terrible idea, he can barely cast Esuna without it blowing up when he’s awake.

Then again, being blown up might be preferrable to this.

Stone columns.

A sand covered courtyard.

Bronze statues.

He falls back on his old mantra, “anything is better than this.”

Footsteps echo behind him, loud in the empty courtyard despite the light dusting of sand that should muffle them.

“Anything is better than this,” he says the words and means them, because this is the dream he never wants to see again.

“Hey! You’re back!” The familiar voice, full of joy and excitement calls, and Axel knows he’s running out of time. He needs to change this dream now.

He starts sifting through his other memories at lightning speed, hoping that his unconscious mind will snag on one of them because. “Anything is better than this!”

The palm lands on his shoulder, warm and welcoming in a way that he will never deserve, and just like he had that day he turns.

He’s greeted with a kind smile, bright blue eyes that hold all the excited energy of an overactive puppy, and a head of messy black spikes that gives his own hairstyle a run for its munney in the spikey department.

“Hey Zack,” he hears himself greeting.

Chapter Text

Isa goes from completely unconscious to completely awake in the blink of an eye.

His claymore is summoned to hand the instant he is on his feet, ready to jam the ragged edges of the broken blade into the serrated wound he had opened earlier in the Heartless’ chest.

Except, there is no Heartless.

There is no Axel either, or Noct.

He’s not even in Lestallum anymore.

No, this is a place he can never forget, even though it never should have been. A world that should never have existed.

The World that Never Was.

Blinking in disbelief he allows his eyes to follow the beams of pale moonlight that illuminate the stark room he finds himself lying in. His gaze lands upon the false Kingdom Hearts hung in the sky directly above him.

“So, this is what becomes of us, lying there like a beaten dog abandoned by its master.”

Isa turns at the voice and ice forms in his veins as a vision of his past self steps from a corridor of darkness. Yellow eyes look at him with a feigned indifference that’s so shallow it does little to hide the distain that almost makes Saix eyes glow in the pale light cast by the false moon.

Isa can recognise this for what it is.

“A dream.”

His past self walks along the decorative wall that separates the skywalk from the main building, the empty echo of his steps rattle within the space between them, an old tactic that Isa always likes to use when he’s looking to intimidate his opponent.

“A nightmare,” Saix corrects.

Isa can’t help but scoff.

“A hollow phantom conjured by memory. What terror can you hold?”

His counterpart glares. “You think your past holds no power over you?”

It shouldn’t, the events that turned him into Saix have faded with time, were buried under the rage that Xemnas constantly stoked with the promise of the power needed to find her. A hollow thing, that led only to ruin and a rift so wide between him and Axel that when they finally noticed it, there was no way to bridge the gap.

Then, he regained himself. Finally free of the rage that had been his constant companion he had found Lea back at his side, with two pint-sized tag-alongs right on his heels, welcoming him with open arms when they had every reason to turn him away.

“My past is my own, it is the path I chose to walk, why should I grant it power over me now?”

The smile that curls the edge of Saix mouth is a savage line. “You chose to walk it? From where I’m standing it’s a path that we were forced to march down against our will until that too was stolen from us.”

Isa shakes his head, already tired of this pale projection of his past self. “Everything that was taken has been reclaimed, Lea didn’t abandon me.”

“No, but you abandoned yourself,” the comment is cutting, sharp, and pointed, it digs into the scarred over wounds of his heart and try to lay them open.

“How asinine.” Isa has no problem shaking off the words like water from his skin. “The only thing I abandoned was a destructive illusion that robbed me of all I once held dear.” Done with this farce he walks away, determined to find a way to wake up.

“You abandoned me, everything I worked for, everything I sacrificed, and you threw it all away when that traitor reached out a hand to you, saying all was forgiven when he was the one who turned his back on me!” There’s so little restraint behind the words the phantom is hurling at his back that Isa is surprised that they aren’t accompanied by the wild swing of a blade.

“Lea stayed true to himself while I was the one who lost myself in darkness.” The counter defangs the argument, robbing it of any influence as he continues to walk away. The best solution to this war of words, and one that he wishes he’d been able to use against Xemnas.

 “Yes, I suppose he did,” Saix concedes. “It’s why he was able to replace you so quickly.”

Against his will his stride stutters, it’s all Saix needs.

“The first chance he got he replaced you with a reflexion of the past and a broken puppet.” Isa looks back to see two corridors of darkness opening, Roxas and Xion step out, heads bowed, eyes dulled, arms hanging limply beside them.

“Mere copies that held no memories of their own and were so easily moulded, the very reason Xemnas invested so much time in them, the same reason Axel found himself drawn to them. Hollow and blank, it was so easy for him to impress his own values upon them.”

Isa can remember these same theories plaguing him when he had first seen Axel growing closer with Roxas and Xion, he had dismissed them at the time, thinking that, as Nobodies it was impossible for them to form new bonds. Impossible for him to be replaced.

“The second you saw Axel becoming attached you should have destroyed them.” The phantoms claymore cleaves through the air, slicing through both copies in one swing, a killing blow.

Isa doesn’t react, this is a dream, the two figures resembling Roxas and Xion are merely figments created from his own memory, and it’s so easy to dismiss them as nothing but that when they react like puppets with their strings cut as they crumple to the floor, until they don’t.

Light and life suddenly fills their eyes as they catch themselves on trembling arms, but Roxas’ body continues to fade, little flutters of shadow rising from him like smoke from a dying fire. Xion is the complete opposite, crystal encases her like ice creeping along her form until she’s completely covered.

They stare at him with pain glazed eyes that don’t blink until the moment they disperse and shatter, returning to nothing.

It’s not real.

The reminder echoes hollowly in his mind, quiet against the roar of emotion that swells up at the sight of Roxas and Xion fading.

It’s not real.

He reminds himself more forcefully, but he must give something away.

“So, you’ve come to care for them too.” Disappointment rolls off Saix in waves. “Pathetic.”

“What do you want of me?” It’s clear he’s not going to be able to get out of here until the shadow of his Nobody has played out its little script, in which case ignoring it will do him no good.

“You should never have to ask that,” Saix hisses as he takes a step forward, his claymore scrapping along the ground to the tune of reinforced orichalcum against steal.

He shouldn’t. He’s questioning a construct of his past self; he already has all the answers.

“You think I’ve given up, that I’ve broken the promise I made?”

Saix levels his claymore at Isa. “I know you have.”

The blow lands heavy, the words cut deep, can he deny them? Has he given up? When did he actively stop looking for her?

At that thought, the world around him spins and darkness heralds a new vision. One that he remembers all too clearly.

His younger self, Isa before he became Saix, falls heavily to the ground as more and more dark puddles open around him. Twitching antenna and beady yellow eyes lock onto him with a hunger that he knows will never be sated, even if they tear him apart, they will still want more.

The boy does not appear too concerned, not by the hoard of Heartless at least. No, his eyes keep darting to the darkened edge of the room, where a door can barely be made out through the shadows that gather there.

The reason why becomes clear when a heart wrenching scream of pain rips through the cold air around them.

His younger self fights harder as the scream is choked out to a struggling cough that can barely be heard behind the heavy steal of the door.

“This was my idea, I’m the one that brough him here! It’s my fault not his!” the young Isa shouts as he takes a swing at the first Heartless foolish enough to approach him. A defensive move, meant to conserve energy. That had always been Isa’s style before, a shield, the high defence to Lea’s quick attacks, there to outlast his opponents, never making the first move.

The tread of boots against the unyielding metal of the floor draws their attention to the figure standing on the overlook above.

Silver hair, yellow eyes just a shade darker than countless pairs that look on the boy from the shadows of their own making.

Xemnas.

“Fascinating, even now you care more for his safety than your own.” For all he says he finds the current situation interesting the inscrutable look worn on Xemnas’ face still fails to change. “I wonder, was it this same foolish selflessness that brought you here in the first place?”

“Wasn’t being selfless, just wanted to prove I could play the hero.” The red laser that cuts a deep tear across his younger self’s upper arm makes it clear that Xemnas isn’t interested in any talk back.

Numb with shock and pain his arm hangs listless at his side as the next Heartless tries to attack, claws made of solid shadows that feel so much like ice rake across his calf, nearly bringing the boy to his knees.

Using the claymore as a crutch the boy manages to prevent that outcome, but it does him little good as more Heartless pick up on the weakness and pounce.

Isa can remember how it felt. Ice crawling through his veins and digging into his heart as sharp claws tore at his flesh, leaving line after line of red across his skin as the darkness sought to claim his heart.

He watches, as his younger self curls in on himself, bowed beneath the weight of the monsters that swarm him. It had felt like drowning, he hadn’t realised that until much later, when as Saix he had experienced the slow death that comes with your lungs filling up with water. When he had, when the niggling familiarity had bloomed into a sense of dread that made him forget he couldn’t feel emotion, he had struck out so hard with the last of his power that the Heartless that has dared to try and drown him had been eviscerated with a single strike.

Torn from his musings his attention is drawn back to the memory in front of him when a small gasp of pain escapes the boy, the only sound he allows himself.

At this point his younger self is all but buried beneath a mound of Heartless and it would have remained so until his end if it had not been for that howled scream that rends the air.

Unlike before, when the thick metal of the shadowed door had been able to muffle at least some of the agony of the scream, now it echoes in Isa’s ears.

“L-Lea.”

Isa will admit, this memory has always been a bit blurry to him, that’s what happens when you actively try to forget something.

Now he finds himself morbidly fascinated, to the point where he cannot bring himself to look away from the scene that is playing out in front of him.

He had always thought there had been no moonlight down here. That the depths of the dungeons hidden beneath Radiant Garden had been bereft of any natural light. He realises now that he must have been wrong,

The stray shaft of waning moonlight reflects off the boys’ blade, dying the steel of the claymore pale blue then brightest cerulean as he tightens his grip.

“M-moon shi-shine-” the invocation dies on a weakened breath and the light begins to dim.

Sensing weakness the last of the Heartless swarm, joining their brethren in a final assault that would have surely resulted in his younger self losing his heart, had this not been exactly what the young Isa had been hoping for.

Isa can remember whispering the words necessary to invoke the moons power. Setting his claymore ablaze with supernal light, he does not remember the fallout in this amount of detail.

The Heartless are thrown from the boys back as the light from the blade envelopes his own form, allowing him to stand as the remaining Heartless who were spared oblivion by the first strike appear to cower back, their instincts telling them that this is no longer prey but predator.

The boys’ first step is unsteady, weighed down by power he is unused to wielding like this, it takes more than a breath to centre himself.

At the time Isa had realised how reckless this was, but he didn’t care, not when his friends’ tortured screams sang to his boiling blood, blocking out the pain that the shield of light enveloping his body caused, reducing the cries of his burning nerves to mere whispers at the back of his mind.

The Heartless retreat as his claymore slams into the shadowed door, buckling reinforced metal beneath the unbending spears of his blade.

The figure holding Lea by his throat looks shocked even beneath the shadows of his hood.

“Oy, oy, oy, that’s a heavy-duty door mutt, you’re gonn—” Isa recognises Xigbar’s grating tone, even when it’s cut off by a sharp blade forcing him to teleport free of the danger zone. Not fast enough as the winds churned up by the violent swing knocks back his hood and unveils the damage Lea has already inflicted.

This is the first time Isa’s gotten to see it, and whether it’s a true reflexion of what actually happened then, or an adrenaline fuelled image conjured by his overstressed imagination, he must admit the sight of Xigbar standing there, shocked, eyepatch-less, and soot stained is one that he cannot help but laugh at.

Lea really did a number on him.

This new perspective also allows him to see the moment his younger self makes his last mistake.

Instead of pursuing Xigbar he drops his moonlit shield and rushes to Lea’s side. Propping up his friend he presses his ear to Lea’s chest and listens with a desperate need.

“Not dead yet,” Lea chokes out as a tremulous hand comes to rest upon the back of young Isa’s head. “Got it memorized.”

The boy doesn’t get a chance to reply. The hand that comes out to snatch at his hair rips him free from Lea’s weak grasp and forces him to look up into the assessing yet enervated gaze of Xemnas. “You will do nicely.”

The glow that overtakes his hand is a dark thing, coiling and hissing it draws in all light and the only thing the boy can do is struggle uselessly in the unyielding grasp, as the palm Is placed to his forehead and the claim is burned into his skin.

This is where the dream should end. This is where Isa should bolt up in bed and struggle as he fights to be free of the too tight grip of his own blanket, that in the space between sleep and awareness feels like the leather covered fingers tangled in his doppelganger’s hair.

He doesn’t.

His feet are fixed to the floor as he is forced to watch one of the worst moments of his life play out before his eyes. A bystander to the tragedy he can remember being branded into his skin.

When the screaming finally stops, and his younger self goes limp in Xemnas’ hold, he lets the boy drop.

Lea is there to catch him, breaking his fall with his own body and suffering all the more for it.

“You’re a right spitfire, aren’t you kid.” Xigbar taunts.

Out of breath and wheezing in a way that suggests at least one broken rib Lea can’t answer back, at least not with words.

The blood that he spits at the two Nobodies looming over him conveys more than any words he would have been able to force past his bruised throat ever could.

Xigbar smirks as he brushes away the splatter of blood tainted spit that’s painted his cheek. “Don’t worry, we’ll beat that out of you.” He draws his arm back. “Got it memorized!”

The back hand that sends Lea falling to the floor is the last thing Isa sees before it all fades to black again.

Saix is there waiting for him.

“I have so much more to show you.”

Isa can’t wake up.

Showers hot enough to scour the dirt from their skin and warm food that fills the aching void in their stomachs, does little to warm the cold dread that has settled within Ignis’ heart.

They had retreated to their previously reserved room in the Leville when it had become clear that neither Noct, Axel, nor Isa were going to awake from their imposed sleep by any normal means.

Now that they are settled, he wonders where he should begin, how they can proceed.

In the meantime, Noct is laid out on the bed before him, one hand clasped in both of Ignis’ as he closes his eyes against the nightmare that is playing out before him. A mirror of a scene he never wanted to see again.

He can hear the others close by, all of them refusing the pull of sleep in favour of standing guard over their vulnerable friends, Prompto fidgeting with something unseen but clearly metallic, the soft lull of Gladio’s voice as he comforts both Iris and Talcott who are curled up on the couch with him.

He cannot hear Roxas or Xion, a clear indication that they have yet to move from where they had perched themselves on either side of the bed both Axel and Isa have been laid out on.

What can they do?

It is the thought that dominates Ignis’ mind as he runs through one scenario after the next.

All the while, the dreaded memory of the time long past plays out before his mind’s eye, when Noct had been rendered unconscious after the attack by the Maralith. This enforced sleep shares so many similarities, but the one difference that matters is the lack of scourge infecting the wounds, all of which had been healed with the application of a potion.

Back then, all he could do was wait, pray to the Six for a miracle, for their mercy, and silently go mad with the knowledge that he had not been there to protect his friend.

Many had assured him that it was not his fault, how could it be, he hadn’t even accompanied Noct on that fateful trip, bed bound as he was with a fever that he had brought upon himself by pushing himself too hard.

It was his fault, at least in part.

The memory is fuzzy around the edges, blurred by both fever and time, giving it the grainy quality of an old video that has been edited one too many times.

He remembers though, Noct slipping into his room, letting in light for the briefest moment before plunging the chamber back into darkness as he had quietly closed the door. A small cold hand taking his own, cooling the fevered skin with a gentle squeeze to silently let Ignis know that he was there.

Noct had whispered about how he wasn’t going to go on the trip, how he was going to stay with Iggy.

At the time Ignis had felt guilty, Noct had been looking forward to seeing the fireflies, to going fishing, to going beyond the wall he had lived beneath all his life, Ignis could not deprive him of that, and so he had bid his friend go.

He has never regretted not being more selfish in his entire life.

Forcing himself to open his eyes he is met by the same scene he closed them against in shame mere minutes ago. Nothing works, not curatives, not remedies, not even the strange power that Axel’s young friends can cast.

Just like that time.

In despair he prays.

There must be something I can do.

Silence is his answer, silence and a weight in his chest heavy enough to drag him to the deepest depths of Leviathans realm.

I failed him.

The words stab at his soul, another link of guilt added to the chain hanging heavily around his neck.

Yip!

Ignis cannot stop himself from flinching at the sound and the cool feeling of crystal forming within the palm of Noct’s hand still clasped within his own grasp.

Blinking, he removes one hand and stares down at the small trinket cradled within Noct’s lax grip.

The little crystal fox trinket given to Noct all those years ago stares back at him.

“There is a way, O first sworn blade of the Chosen King.”

Everyone in the room jumps as Gentiana steps forward, emerging from thin air she stands as a contrast of calm to all their turbulent despair. A gossamer thread of hope held out and feely offered.

Ignis does not hesitate.

“What must we do?”

Chapter Text

“Hey Zack!” Axel can feel his mouth turn up at the corners as he returns Zack’s smile. “I said I’d be back didn’t I.”

“Yeah, but you said it might be a while, I’m just glad it wasn’t.” Zack backs off a little, his feet bouncing with too much energy as he moves far enough away to start doing squats. Even so, he doesn’t stop talking. “So, you ready for that spar you promised me?”

“You know it, just don’t come crying to me when you end up scorched in the dirt.” Axel flinches back from the scene even as his own body moves to put an arm round Zack’s shoulders.

His rejection of the vision so fierce he actually manages to wrench himself free of the illusion of his younger self.

The world around him seems to glitch at the action, static and deep rifts of darkness slashing the air around him, but it’s not something that he can fully take in. Not when he’s lost staring at his own hands. “I don’t want to see this, not again.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter,” a polished voice calls from behind him. Axel throws fire before he even fully faces the man stood behind him, only for the spell to break on the edge of a blade that looks identical to the sword Noct levelled at the Heartless.

“Tut, tut, tut, is that anyway to greet your host?” the man admonishes from where he leans back against one of the marble pillars that supports the entrance to the coliseum.

He’s dressed in robes that seem almost right for this world but different enough that he would garner as many strange looks as Axel always did when he came here, but it’s his face that steals all of Axel’s attention, why wouldn’t it when the man looks so much like Noct. Older sure, with a more angular jaw, and a smirk that holds an edge of malice that Noct could never hope nor want to imitate.

“Who are you?” This is Axel’s nightmare, one that’s played out before his eyes every time he’s dared to close them over the past few months, robbing him of rest and sanity to the point where he’s been screwing up even some of the simpler tasks he’s been assigned.

“How did my brother put it? A man of no consequence?” He laughs at his own joke as he slides his back down against the smooth stone of the pillar, until he comes to sit on the base, legs splayed lazily in front of him, the perfect image of a bored noble.

Idly he places the tip of his blade against the sand of the courtyard and spins it, the reflexion of bright sunlight against the polished steel creates an almost strobe like effect as the projected light catches against the aristocratic features of the man’s face. Making the dark veins that suddenly crawl along his skin even starker.

“Then again, judging by your memories, I don’t even really exist right now, do I?” The blade stops and the beam of light catches Axel directly in the eye, forcing him to blink against it. “A Nobody, a non-being rejected by both the light and the dark, how fitting.”

“That’s nice, you got a name to go with all that angst?” Antagonising the Nobody that’s got him trapped, great idea, it worked out so well for Lea, but old habits die hard. Axel has already had a very long day and he was hoping that when he fell asleep, he was going to be so tired he didn’t dream.

The veins seem to retreat for a moment, colour coming back to the man’s pale skin as he stands tall, exuding a regal presence as he places both his hands on the hilt of his grounded blade. “My name is Somnus Lucis Caelum, Founder King of Lucis.”

Okay, so this guy definitely has at least some of his memories, meaning he had a strong enough will to keep most of himself even as his heart was claimed by the darkness, but something else snags Axel’s focus.

“Lucis Caelum, you related to Noct?” That explains the resemblance, he might be able to work with this.

That thought is dissolved in an instant.

At the mere mention of Noct the air surrounding Axel changes.

The sky above darkens as black clouds roll in overhead, charged with thunder they growl like a caged beast held back only by the fracturing patience of their master, who looks as though he’s about to snap. Then, the sands beneath Axel’s feet shift, stalks of grain rising from the ground only to blacken with rot and fall back to the dust they came from as dead trees wind their skeletal limbs around the marble columns, until they too are eroded to nothing but sand. Axel cannot keep his feet, not when there’s nothing left to stand on.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum, the true Chosen King, hah!” the black veins are back, spiderwebbing across Somnus’ face. “I wonder who’ll betray the Astral’s ordained King this time?”

Axel can’t help but scoff at that idea, even as he fights to make it to more stable ground, Unfortunately Somnus hears him.

“Oh? You think it won’t happen, surprising, given your own past…wait, that’s not right is it.” Blue eyes widen with glee even as the sclera around them is dyed black. “No, of course, you don’t remember, not right now. In fact, to you it hasn’t even happened yet, has it?”

Axel twists his head to the side like a confused puppy, and then immediately stops that when he realises it’s a quirk he picked up from Zack that he’s been trying to break himself of. “What are you talking about? My whole deal is having things memorized, what makes you think I’d forget anything?”

He only feels embarrassed after the words have left his mouth and by then it’s too late to take them back. “This is why Saix still calls me childish, ugh getting worked up over a bunch of emotions I don’t even feel.”

“You truly don’t know do you? Has the memory been erased? Suppressed? No…taken, yes, that’s it.” The contemplative smile that darkens Somnus’ eyes can’t mean anything good, but Axel’s still so lost he can’t even begin to work out what the man could possibly be talking about.

“I’ll have to make sure I make it back in time for your reunion with your friend. Afterall, the sting of betrayal cuts deeper each time.”

The mention of his friend immediately has Axel worrying about Isa. A concern that has been repressed, but not forgotten since he saw the dark blade bite into his friend’s shoulder.

“You know where Isa is? Take me to him!” His demand falls on deaf ears as Somnus dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

“I have a great-ad-infinitum-grandson to entertain. I’m afraid you and your friend will have to wait, but don’t be concerned.” With a snap of his fingers the skies clear and Axel is left with the strangest sense of vertigo as his perspective shifts back to that of his younger self. The coliseum around him restored once more as though the reality around them hadn’t been unwinding before his eyes just moments ago. “I’m sure your little nightmare will hold your attention while I’m gone.”

In a crystalline flash that is a mirror to Noct’s own ability to warp Somnus is gone, and Axel is returned once more to his nightmare.

The dream picks up exactly where it left off, his arm wrapped round Zack’s shoulder as he walks with the young man to the coliseum. He tries to pull back again, but this time there’s no give in the illusion, all he can do is watch, a spectator in his own body as the dreaded memory plays out before his eyes.

In the depths of his mind, the only sanctuary he has left, he curses Somnus.

“So, we got cut off last time didn’t we.” Axel hears himself start. “You were telling me about the tournament that happened about a year ago?”

I don’t want to be here.

“Yeah, just a little over that, I think.” Zack scratches his head in a way that clearly projects he doesn’t like remembering that time. “Things got a little weird when Hades took an interest in me and another fighter. He tried to use my own darkness to control me, and it worked. I felt like I had no control over my own body, like I was trapped in my own skin while somebody else pulled the strings.” Axel can relate so hard right now. He gives another tug, trying to step back from his younger self again, but the dream holds.

I don’t want to relive this.

“Man, I can’t even imagine.” His past self lies, having been through something similar but worse barely a month ago at this point, and now he’s been sent to do it to someone else.

I know what I did, I don’t need to see this.

That’s what this is all about, filling out the ranks if the Organization. Whether it’s with cannon fodder Nobodies that can be used to bolster the growing army Xemnas has under his command, or someone strong enough to fill one of the thirteen seats, so long as they’re strong that’s all that matters.

Stop.

Like the good little soldier he isn’t, Axel hears himself comforting Zack in a way that’s meant—that did—gain his trust. “But hey, you conquered it right, the darkness, you wouldn’t be about to get a beatdown from me if that wasn’t the case, right?”

Just stop.

Zack sighs and stops walking, head hanging as his shoulders slump. It had taken a moment for Axel to remember what emotion Zack was suddenly projecting, he tended to bounce from one mood to the next so quickly it nearly gave Axel whiplash trying to keep up with it.

I said stop!

As demonstrated now when Zack gave a frustrated cry, “Nope, wasn’t me, if Terra hadn’t stepped in, I would have been lost to the darkness.” Another sigh, this one a little less heavy than the last. “But at least I got to see what a true hero looks like.”

I won’t watch this.

“A hero?” Axel questions, not quite able to keep the doubt out of his voice.

Stop!

Axel tries to pull back again, harder this time, he already knows what’s coming, seen it time and time again in dreams that continue to haunt him, forcing the impression of emotions upon him he can no longer feel.

One tug has him falling back, free of his younger self once more, but the dream realm around him morphs again, spurred on by the thoughts swirling in his mind.

Zack goes from standing to lying on the sandy ground. Once bright eyes now dim and unfocused as black smoke trails away from his form, but Axel can’t keep his eyes from locking onto the figure looming above him.

“I told you not to get attached,” the memory of Saix reprimands as he drags his claymore against the sand. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Axel closes his eyes against the vision, willing it away, begging to be shown something else. When he opens his eyes again, he’s trapped back in the illusion of his past self, looking at a smiling Zack.

“Yeah, you don’t believe me? Cause it’s true, Terra showed me what a real heroes meant to be.

Axel screams, and no one hears.

Roxas blinks in surprise at the elegant woman who literally steps out of thin air. She looks at him, or at least, she turns her head towards him, as her eyes remain closed.

Even still, the impression that she sees him, knows who he is, and what he bears makes him feel nervous. It’s a feeling not too dissimilar to the one he felt when they were in the presence of Bahamut, but infinitely calmer. Though the chill she brings with her does send a shiver down his spine. When he closes his own eyes against it he is met with the scent of freshly lane frost, deep snow, and mountain air.

“You’re…” he pauses when she lifts a delicate finger to her lips, silently asking for her secret to be kept.

“Welcome, O Keyblade’s chosen, it has been millennia since your like has tread upon our star.”

At a loss for what to say in response to that, Roxas can’t help but trip over his own words as he returns the greeting. “Um…hi?” The hand he raises in greeting immediately falls to the back of his head, a nervous tick meant to hide the embarrassment he feels at his less than stellar first impression.

Xion places a consoling hand on his shoulder, and that’s when Roxas knows he’s failed at hiding it.

Clearing his throat, he pushes past the failed introduction and tries again. “We didn’t mean to trespass; we only came to get our friend.” He can’t help but subconsciously tighten his grip on Axel’s hand. “We meant to leave as soon as we’d held up our end of the bargain but…” he trails off, gaze locking on his two prone friends.

Gentiana nods, understanding and compassion captured in the gentle bow of her head, but before she can say anything Gladio steps in. “What bargain?”

His voice is low, so quiet Roxas almost doesn’t catch it, but he gets the impression that Gladio would have been shouting if it hadn’t been for the small child and his sister curled into his side, fast asleep. A natural one, thankfully.

Given all that they’ve already revealed, Roxas sees little point in refusing to answer, but first he looks to Xion, seeing only the determination he can feel coiling in his own chest he looks to Gentiana, quietly begging her leave.

Instead of granting it she answers for them.

“To reclaim a lost friend these wielders of the blades of legend, asked favour of the Bladekeeper and in his wisdom he granted his blessing.”

All eyes fall on them, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, but Roxas doesn’t care. He fought to defend the light, to protect his friends, he has nothing to hide.

Gentiana continues, “In return for the freedom to roam our star in search of the lost comrade dearest to their heart, these Guardians of the Light were charged with the purging of a foreign darkness, a Heartless.”

A heavy stillness falls across the room as Gentiana finishes explaining. She’s the only one who seems unruffled by it, standing there at the centre of the room, everyone’s attention completely focused on her as they try to wrap their heads around the information she’s just revealed.

Roxas is happy to keep quiet for now, but apparently Prompto isn’t.

“Wait,” he says,” looking completely lost. “Freedom to roam our star? You’re making it sound like they’re not from this star, Miss Gentiana…mam.”

Ignis shakes his head as he takes off his glasses at that comment, checking them for dirt that isn’t there before taking a silk cloth to them just to be sure. “Prompto, this isn’t a sci-fi movie, please stop making it sound as though Gentiana is suggesting that our new acquaintances are aliens.”

Prompto deflates as a bright blush takes over his face, stretching until the very tips of his ears are red with embarrassment.

“Well, technically…” Xion volunteers.

Roxas moves past that tangent before the conversation can snag on it (there’s a certain argument spurred by a sci-fi movie marathon that Roxas has no desire to re-enact right now). “We took out the Heartless, just like Bahamut wanted but it wasn’t the one we were sent after.”

Gentiana nods in acquiescence. “The bargain struck with the Draconian still stands, his blessing bequeathed in good faith shall be honoured.”

Roxas feels his heart sink, is she telling them to leave? They can’t, not with Axel and isa like this.

Xion’s already standing, her hands clasped before her, fingers entwining anxiously as she tries not to panic. “Please, we can’t leave now, not until we find a way to wake our friends.”

“Peace,” Gentiana intones as an empathetic smile curls the edges of her lips. “The prophesised hour is not yet at hand, and though the darkness has been slain by your blade its counterpart still lingers in the realm of sleep.”

Roxas doesn’t have to guess what the counterpart to the corrupt Heartless is. “A Nobody.” He knew that Heartless was strong and now they have its Nobody to contend with.

“Is that why our friends won’t wake up, somethings forcing them to stay asleep?” Prompto near leaps on the scrap of information, only Ignis’ comforting but restraining grip on his wrist keeps the blond in his seat.

“A Nobody, Heartless? Who names these things?” Gladio grouses, but soon quells his voice when Iris makes a disgruntled noise in her sleep, before turning further into her brothers’ side and settling once more.

“Gladio,” Ignis quietly reprimands, his gaze trailing slowly between his friend and Gentiana, fear that Gladio’s remark may have insulted her carved into his eyes.

However, there is nothing to fear as Gentiana continues to explain, as though she was never interrupted. “The master of the realm of sleep already walks beside the Chosen King, offering aid and guidance where he can, but the corrupted remnant of the Founder will not so easily allow the prophesised King to escape the darkened world of dreams once more.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Ignis asks with a desperate determination that Roxas can feel clawing at his own heart.

Gentiana’s steps are so light they hardly make a sound as she crosses the room. The sound of the silk and leather that make up her raiment’s cause more noise as they brush against the trailing cover of the bed as she passes.

Crouching before Ignis she takes his hand, the one still clutching Noct’s and gently directs him to relinquish his grasp.

A little fox carved from crystal glows with a light that speaks of ancient magic, and as soon as it is unveiled to the room both Roxas and Xion’s Keyblade’s manifest in their hands.

Hope, small but catching like a newborn flame in dry leaves burns in Roxas’ chest as he watches the light from the crystal fox summon an orb suspended in the cradle of pale blue gemstone that looks like frozen mist.

“You do it,” Xion says softly as she dismisses her own blade. “You share more of Sora’s memories; you’ll remember how to do it better.”

Roxas wants to protest, but the tip of Oathkeeper is already lit in response, even so he has one question to ask first. “This isn’t just me and Xion, all of us can use this portal to go and help our friends?”

Gentiana straightens to her full height and places a hand upon the glowing orb and Roxas can’t help but gasp at the way the dark clouds swirling in the sphere clear, giving way to tendrils of frostwork that spread out from the tips of Gentiana’s fingers.

“The Guardian of the world of dreams summons the aid of both the Keyblade wielders and the fated companions of the Chosen King. Though your bodies shall remain here you will walk through the realm of sleep and know that the blessing of the Six goes with you.”

Having said all that she had come to, Gentiana vanishes once more into this air, and a warmth Roxas didn’t know he was missing rushes back into the room to replace the sudden loss of the blanketing cold she had brough with her.

“Can you do it?” Ignis’ level, but almost pleading tone has Roxas meeting the man’s steady gaze, there’s a challenge there, unhidden and so obvious that he can hear the demand that he must be able to do it.

In answer, Roxas levels Oathkeeper at the orb. “You guys better get comfy, we might be gone for a while.”

He gives everyone a moment to situate themselves in more comfortable positions, before allowing the ray of light from his Keyblade to connect with the lock that seals the world of dreams.

Light floods the room and Roxas feels himself falling.

Chapter Text

It has been a truly trying day.

Not to say that Cor hadn’t expected it was going to be. He was tagging along to a festival where he would have to play both guard and chaperon to a kid that claimed to have amnesia. A kid that he is sure is still trying to escape them and has access to such explosive fire magic it would take an entire battalion of Kingsglaive mages just to match his feats.

That said everything had been going well to the point where he had actually considered trying to relax a bit and allow himself to enjoy the festival, Talcott has proven himself to be a brilliant limiter on Axel, all the kid has to do is level a puppy eyed look at the teen and Axel’s snarky persona seems to turn to ash before them.

Of course, this is the moment he receives a call from Monica.

A tip had come in from a reliable source about a Niff operation set to commence within Lestallum during the Assassin’s Festival.

Both Ignis and Noct were there to watch Axel and would soon be joining up with the rest of the group. Besides, it was only a small scouting mission. If all went well, he could sneak into the disused warehouse the Niff’s were allegedly using as a store house for their munitions, MTs, and Magitek Armour, assess the validity of the tip and slip out within the hour. What trouble could Axel get up to in that time?

Again, of course things could not be that simple.

Upon approach, the warehouse had looked unoccupied; stagnant and quiet against the backdrop of the festival clearly heard even from this distance. Only the fact that the lights still blaze within the allegedly abandoned building gives credence to the tip.

Moving closer, the Marshal clings to the shadows created by the looming bodies of the other forgotten building that surround the warehouse.

In this manner, he is able to manoeuvre freely through the quiet alleys until he can brace his back to the roughened wood of the warehouse. Pressing an ear against the wall he listens, only the creak of old wood shifting as it settles and the buzz of electricity flowing through worn wires can be heard.

Taking a step back he searches along the wall until his eyes alight upon a window set in the wood about eight feet above his head. No challenge at all, especially with the sturdy if old crates that litter the alley next to the warehouse.

Taking a running jump and using the largest crate as a steppingstone, he leaps for the window. Hand grasping the wood of the sill, he stills for a moment when he hears the ominous groan of untreated wood about to give way. When it goes silent but remains intact Cor breathes a sigh of relief.

Bracing a foot against the side of the building he reaches higher in order to secure a more reliable handhold, in this case the remnants of a shutter that in the past must not have been secured properly and as a result had been left exposed to the elements.

It shakes ominously when he wraps his hand around it, but the hard thunk of metal catching on wood assures him that it won’t give when he places his weight on it. Putting that theory to the test he levers himself up, breaks the rotting frame that used to hold glass, and slips inside the warehouse.

Dropping to the ground he crouches behind the nearest cover, the room is still silent, but obviously occupied. Both by the small army of MTs, Magitek armour, and military supplies stacked neatly and all emblazoned with the symbol of the Niff’s. There’s one other thing as well, something that doesn’t fit in with the stringent neat lines of all the other Niff tech compiled in the space. Right in the centre, directly within the circle of light cast by the industrial bulb that burns with a dim light that comes with age and disuse, lies a body.

Loqi Tummelt, the Brigadier general of the Niflheim Empire is easy to recognise, even lying prone on the ground, his face slack in death or unconsciousness, there’s only one way to find out which.

Breaking from his cover, Cor summons Kotetsu and makes his way to Loqi as he scans the room again, just waiting for the MTs to activate and attack. They don’t, but Cor notices something strange about the deactivated mechanical soldiers.

The black mist that usually only escapes them when they are dying (yes dying, he of all people knows these poor creatures have souls) lingers about their hibernating forms. Leaking from the thin gaps in their armour it curls around them like smoke, making it harder to see them in the darkened shadows that the old lights of the warehouse fail to illuminate.

He counts three battalions and three magitek armours, one of which is obviously meant for Loqi given the upgrades and his personal sigil stamped onto the machine’s chest plate.

Reaching Loqi’s side, he crouches and reaches out, only to pause for a moment, an absurd thought creeping in on his well-honed instincts. If this were a trap, this would be the moment Loqi would grab him.

Cor dismisses that line of thinking, chocking it up to one too many overheard conversations between his highness and his retinue when they were exploring a new dungeon in that online game they liked.

Grabbing Loqi by the overly elaborate pauldron, he turns the young general to face him.

Clang!

The distinctive sound of metal on concrete does not have Cor flinching, but it does make him slide Kotetsu free of its saya by a few centimetres.

Standing, he takes in the whole room once more and immediately locks onto the movement he sees out of the corner of his eye. Gunmetal grey steel swings in the darkness as the arm of an MT close to him falls to its side from where the appendage had previously been crossed against its chest.

The wrench on the ground next to its feet gives an obvious answer for the noise that had rung through the room. Even still, Cor’s nerves are on edge, the stagnant warehouse a grim silhouette of an infiltration mission to Gralea from years ago. Where the half constructed skeleton frames that would become the bodies of the MTs hung like stringless marionettes, just waiting to be strung and made to dance on the stage that was the battlefield Niflheim had turned Lucis into.

Unwilling to be caught unaware the Marshal stands and runs a full inspection of the MTs. None of them have actually been activated yet, the lack of red glow from the vents in their chests a testament to that, but the black mist is still unnerving.

He’s half tempted to take his blade to them this instant, to put them out of their misery, but as soon as he attacks one the rest shall automatically awaken, and this is a recon mission not an attack.

He already has the Brigadier General, basically gift wrapped. Decision made, Cor summons the strongest rope he has and after removing the numerous concealed blades he finds on Loqi, one ceremonial and over decorated, the other four practical and utilitarian, he binds the General in a way that is both very uncomfortable, tight, and impossible to escape from.

It’s as Cor levers Loqi up into a fireman’s carry that he notices it, a black stain blurred against the shade of the warehouse running along the concrete and spilling towards them. In passing and in the dim light, at first glance it could be mistaken for spilt oil or paint.

It’s an assessment that he instantly revises when the stain writhes and rises from the ground.

Cor has no issues with dropping Loqi like the dead weight he is and fully drawing Kotetsu in one move.

The blade sparks against the koiguchi as he opens with a batojutsu slash, dispersing the shadows that reach towards him with spindly tendrils made of mist. The spill of darkness retracts back into the looming shadows of the warehouse, leaving Cor alone in the circular pool of light with the still unconscious General.

One disturbing thought jumps to the forefront of Cor’s mind as he plans his escape.

Daemon’s.

Perhaps the weaponization of the Scourge has finally caught up with the Empire, the subservient army they turned lose on Lucis no longer so docile to their commands.

Cor would find it ironically just if he wasn’t currently being faced with the fall out.

Another loud clang disturbs the silence, breaking the quiet of the room as its resounding echo begets a symphony of steel and wire as MT after MT awakens, but worse than that is the surge of hydraulics and red light in the dark as the three pilotless magitek armours begin to move. Puppeteered by the dark mist the magitek armours step forward, uncaring of the MTs they tread over, crushing them beneath nerveless steel limbs until they come apart at the seams like empty suits of armour, doing some of Cor’s work for him.

At least that is what he thought until the mist latches onto the scattered pieces of MT armour and begins to sew them back together. Ichor the colour tar and of a similar consistency seeps from every gap in the armour as they approach, especially the eyes, leaving a mockery of tear trails rolling down the face of the reassembled MTs mask.

“I’m sorry.” Cor apologises to the boys he couldn’t save as Kotetsu cleaves the air.

What feels like hours later, Cor emerges from the warehouse, which is now on fire, Loqi dragged behind him by the scruff as he no longer has the energy nor care to carry the man and his ridiculous armour—that could never be considered fit for purpose on the battlefield, but then again the only time Cor has actually seen this so called General in action, it has been within the safety of his cockpit—with any sense of consideration for his health.

In this manner he makes his way to where he left Prince Noctis and his retinue, only to stop when he sees smoke rising above the rooftops.

Unwilling to lose such a high value prisoner but needing to move quickly Cor does the only logical thing.

He opens up the nearest dumpster and throws Loqi in.

Free of his burden he heads for the square.

What he finds is a torn-up battlefield and a burning Leap of Faith that’s about to collapse in on what remains of itself, which isn’t much.

He’s only known Axel for a few days, but he can say with pure conviction that the boy had something to do with this.

He’s willing to hold off judgement in the form of his blade levelled at the teens neck until he has more details, but if the boy has brought harm to either his highness or his companions, Cor will have no issue in acting as both judge and executioner.

He begins making his way to the Leville, assuming the group will have retreated to their room in order to recover from the obvious battle that has derailed the festival, only to run into Cindy.

“Oh, hey Marshal, we could have used your help a little while ago, I assume you’ve already seen the damage.”

Cor nods apologetically, once again silently berating himself for not being there. “Are his Highness and the others safe?”

Cindy waves off his concerns with an idle hand as she sways from one foot to the other, her casual demeanour already putting him at ease. “They all looked fine to me, The Prince and his new friends seem to have exhausted themselves taking out that new MT the Empire decided to roll out on the Festival, but nothing a good night sleep wouldn’t cure. They headed back to the Leville if you’re looking for ‘em.”

Cor nods in thanks. “A single MT did all this?”

Cindy actually laughs, which surprises Cor considering the festival she put so much work into setting up has literally gone up in smoke. “It had a little help, Axel’s and his friends put on quite a show. Surprised the heck out of me they did. Didn’t think any of the Glaive’s had their magic left, but the way they were throwing around magic and warping, it could’na bin anything else.”

Axel’s friends…

Now even more eager to return to his party Cor thanks Cindy before quickly retrieving Loqi from his dumpster.

The Leville comes into sight quickly and Cor takes the stairs three at a time, uncaring for how Loqi’s limp body bashes against every step as he continues to drag the General.

When he reaches the right room, this time he dumps the General in a conveniently placed laundry cart and enters without knocking.

All of them are asleep.

Ten people distributed haphazardly over two beds and one sofa.

All of them dead to the world and looking like they dropped asleep as soon as their heads hit a relatively flat surface. Especially the young blonde that’s propped against the bed where Axel is currently curled up next to a blue haired young man and a raven-haired girl who looks to be about Iris’ age.

Cor actually has to do a double take of the young blonde, as the resemblance to Prompto is quite startling, but on closer inspection he can see it’s just coincidental.

Tired, and unwilling to wake anyone as they are all so clearly exhausted, Cor decides that a debrief can wait until the morning.

Exiting the room once more, Cor eyes the laundry cart, before shrugging and rolling the whole thing into the room and straight into the conveniently spacious closet attached to the bedroom. Securing the doors with a dagger he summons from the armiger; Cor congratulate himself on a job well done before collapsing on the small space still left on the couch next to Talcott.

He’s asleep before his head hits the well-padded back of the sofa.

Chapter Text

Prompto has played a lot of video games. King’s Knight is currently his favourite, the scrolling shooter style really appeals to him, for obvious reasons and the multi-player mode makes it easy to team up with his friends, but when he was a kid, he can definitely say the title of favourite game belonged to a series called Lion Heart.

It was an RPG with a great story and some really imaginative elements, such as the main character having lion ears, a tail, and wielding a chainsaw blade that could also cast magic, but the thing that always stuck with Prompto from that game was the travel between different worlds. See, the main character also had a magical key that allowed him to open any door, even ones to different realms, and it came with this really cool cutscene every time he used it, all these streaking blue lights that looked like falling stars rushing past the screen and clouded nebulas that the character fell through.

Prompto loved that scene, it was really artistic and made something that could have been scary—the main character literally falling through the space between realms—actually look fun.

Now that he’s actually experiencing it for himself, Prompto can categorically say that no matter how pretty it looks, falling through the space between realms is completely terrifying and he is so sorry for putting the main character of that game through a horrific experience like this again and again.

All he can do right now is close his eyes and pray that it’ll be over soon.

“It’s worse if you close your eyes,” calls a voice from beside him.

Prompto wants to believe her, he really does, but the feeling of his stomach trying to crawl out of his throat is his current priority.

“Here,” a soft voice says as equally soft hands take his. Almost immediately his freefall starts to slow, going from meteorite crashing towards the earth speeds to a gradual descent that’s as light as a feather.

Finally having a moment to catch his breath, Prompto steels his nerves and takes her advice. His eyes open to the sight of Xion smiling reassuringly at him. He tries to return it with one of his own, but what forms on his face is a broken thing that is more likely to be mistaken for a grimace than a smile. He’s got a good excuse, the air around them is a mix between a field of falling stars and lightning charged nebulas so dark they look as though they’re about to implode and become black holes.

Actually, he’s pretty sure that’s what one of the clouds off to his left just did.

Unconsciously, he tightens his grip on Xion’s hands.

“Hey, it’s okay. I got you and we’re nearly on the ground,” Xion comforts as she rubs her thumbs along the back of Prompto’s hands.

In embarrassment he ducks his head. “Yeah, thanks.”

“No worries, I hate this form of travel too, reminds me too much of the Corridors of Darkness.” She shivers, as though something cold has just slid down her back. “Give me a Gummi ship any day.”

“A Gummi ship?” Prompto questions, not sure whether he misheard.

“Yeah, this one is borrowed, Roxas actually managed to set up a really good deal.” Xion pauses for a second then, her eyes widening as though she’s just remembered something. “Which we still haven’t fulfilled because of…well, everything.”

Everything is the right way to put it, because how else can you encompass all that has happened so far.

Glad for the distraction Prompto asks, “what was the deal?”

“We have to get some ingredients for Mr Scrooge, He owns a restaurant,” Xion explains. “It completely slipped my mind.”

“Oh, well you’re in luck, Iggy will definitely have you covered there.” Prompto nods towards the culinary master of their group, who’s taking to falling through the space between the waking world and dreams like a pro. Seriously, he’s going through his recipe book, which gives Prompto an idea. “Hey, if you ask nicely, he might even share some of his recipes. Not the dessert ones though, they’re a closely guarded secret.”

He earns a grateful smile from Xion for that advise. “Thanks, be sure to remind me to do that when this is all over.”

“Sure thing.” Prompto doesn’t have time to say anything else, as the ground is suddenly within reach.

Somehow, Xion doesn’t just slow them, she brings them to an almost complete stop mere centimetres above the ground, then lightly lets him touch down so he doesn’t even stumble when his boots settle on soft grass.

Ignis has a somewhat faster landing, though it’s no less graceful, actually it looks like he’s taken some of the moves Aranea demonstrated when she’d escorted them through Steyliff Grove and adapted them to his own style. The drift of his feet as they touch the rock-strewn ground transmuting into a spin which gradually steals the last of Iggy’s momentum.

Gladio on the other hand just tanks it, bending his knees to absorb the last of his falls force, making a respectably sized crater that he just oh so nonchalantly steps out of.

Prompto fishes out his camera without thinking and begins taking shots, only to suddenly stop when he remembers this is a dream. “Sorry, habit.” He shrugs, feeling stupid but trying to hide it.

Roxas steps forward, eyes focused on the camera as a contemplative look spreads across his face. “Is your camera connected to your magic?”

Prompto blinks. “Huh, I never really thought about it, I mean it’s stored in the armiger.” He looks to Iggy, their resident fact checker.

Gripping his chin, Ignis muses over the question. “The items stored in the armiger are all tied to the magic of the crystal, it’s how they fade back into the armiger on their own, in the case that we forget to store them ourselves.”

Sheepishly Prompto rubs the back of his head, he’s been a little guilty of doing that more than once. “Yeah, like that time I left my phone on the bus.” That’s not technically true, but Prompto’s not going to volunteer what actually happened.

Gladio does it for him.

“You mean the pickpocket that was one of the bullies that had been targeting you and Noct?” He runs an idle finger down his old scar, the one bisected by the souvenir he got from Gilgamesh.

Prompto grimaces, but agrees, “that’d be the one.” He hadn’t meant to drag Noct into that, but Noct being Noct, as soon as he’d found out he wasn’t gonna let it stand, then one of the bullies pulled a concealed knife, not knowing that the King’s Shield in waiting had been standing right behind him…yeah, it had been over in a second, but cramped conditions and seven against three meant they didn’t come out of it unscathed.

It was only after they made it back to the Citadel, sat in the infirmary waiting to see whether Gladio needed stitches when he realised his phone was gone. He had been completely devastated, barely having had the thing for a day after only having it entrusted to him that morning.

Ignis had been the one to pick up on his unease and had interrupted Prompto’s guilt fuelled spiral with a succinct if pointed. “Is everything alright Prompto?”

Prompto didn’t even try to lie, the phone was Citadel property, a back-up that had been suggested by the Marshal in case Noct was targeted at school, and he’d lost it on the first day.

He’d just been apologising for the third time, saying how he’d pay for it when Noct had summoned it out of thin air and handed it straight back to Prompto with a shrug of; “it happens.”

The rest of the evening had been filled with stories of all three of them having lost valuable objects. It had been a good night, and one of the first times that Gladio and Iggy had opened up to him.

Prompto’s suddenly thrust back into the conversation at hand when Gladio puts him in a light headlock. “Hey, we don’t know how things really work here, and that camera of yours has already managed some weird feats, so I say go ahead, not like it could hurt any.”

“Indeed,” concurs Ignis. “This is the camera that’s been able to grab more than one shot of Gentiana when none of us were aware of her presence. Who’s to say that it won’t be able to capture images of this dream world.”

Prompto didn’t realise he was slumping until he feels his own back straightening at the fact that he won’t have to hold off on taking photos while they’re here.

He smiles and begins to take a proper look at their surroundings.

“So, where do we start?”

The space around them looks easy enough to navigate. Even though the sky above them is dark their immediate surroundings seem to be bathed in the light of late afternoon. The shadows cast by the trees and weather worn rocks around them are long but lack the oily darkness that had infected the shadows in their battle against the Armoured Heartless.

“Considering that this looks to be a dream world imagining of the Myrlwood, I suggest we try to find our bearing, before we wonder too far and end up completely lost in a maze of our own making.” Ignis wisely suggests and Prompto is more than happy to follow that plan of action, especially since after the last time they hadn’t, they’d ended up camping on a tiny haven, surrounded on all sides by Daemon’s.

Yeah….

Worst. Night. Sleep. Ever!

“Going to be a little difficult,” Gladio observes, his face turned towards the sky. “No sun, and the stars that are out aren’t any that I recognise.”

Roxas and Xion remain quiet as they look around, their strange key swords already in hand.

“Maybe if we got a look from higher up, we might recognise something.” Prompto points to a rocky ledge that hangs over a fallen and vine covered tree.

He turns back to the others to see if they agree, only to flinch so hard he nearly trips when the flash of chocobo yellow flies by his face.

“Did you guys see that?” he asks as he tries to track where the colourful blur went. He doesn’t have to look far as it circles back on its own and begins hovering in front of his face. Little wings flapping wildly but generating no wind as the small bird studies him with rapt attention.

Prompto tries to back up a little, to get some space, but the bird is having none of it, going so far as to settle down on Prompto’s head.

He stills, not daring to move as he side eyes his friends. “Okay, were this a normal bird I would be so hyped right now,” Prompto whispers, “but it isn’t, and usually things that look cute in these sort of situations turn out to be murdery, so…someone take a very quick pic and then get this thing off me.”

“If something that little can take you out, we really need to reconsider your Crownsguard credentials,” Gladio scoffs but Roxas and Xion at least have his back.

“I don’t think it’s dangerous,” Roxas consoles as he moves a little closer.

Xion on the other hand has summoned her phone and is taking the requested pic. “Hold it right there Roxas, I can get a shot of all three birds at this angle.”

“My hair does not look like a Chocobo’s butt,” Prompto hisses out of the side of his mouth, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Prompto, I believe the young lady was referring to the other two feathered friends which have just found purchase on your shoulder.” Ignis points to Prompto’s left shoulder, and sure enough two more tiny sparrow sized birds that seem to be made of light are perched there.

“Where are they all coming from?” Xion gives an okay sign to let them know that she got the shots and a little reluctantly, Prompto gives himself a shake.

The birds take to wing, but they don’t go too far. Landing in nearby shrubs and low hanging branches.

Roxas shakes his head, clearly unsure. “I don’t think they’re Dream Eaters.”

“Dream-what-now?” Prompto asks, because whatever Roxas just said does not sound good.

The answers going to have to wait as all of their phone’s buzz.

“Yip”

You’re here!

The rustling of leaves and snapping twigs proceeds a familiar shout, “Carbuncle, slow down. Some of us were made for cities not the wilds!”

“Noct!” Shouts Ignis as he instantly starts running in the direction they heard their lost friends voice.”

“Ignis!” Noct shouts back from somewhere still out of sight, but the rustling is getting louder now. Coming from the left, and there, he can see a bush moving.

What jumps out of the bush is decidedly not Noct and has Ignis pulling up short for a second. So quick that Gladio nearly runs into the back of him and Prompto actually does.

Ignis steadies himself and Gladio catches Prompto, but at the angle he’s leaning he still nearly ends up nose to nose with an artic blue fox with the cutest little crystal horn, and the biggest ears Prompto has ever seen.

“Now, that looks like a Dream Eater,” Roxas says as he and Xion adopt offensive stances.

“Wait,” cries Ignis as he shifts to shield the fox, something that Prompto is fully on board for.

“I know it looks cute, but Dream Eaters are deceptive.” Xion’s face flicks between a look of pity and a determined glare as her gaze flits back and forth between Ignis and the fox.

“I assure you he is no Dream Eater, his name is Carbuncle, a messenger of the Gods and the master of this realm.” Ignis corrects, expression stalwart as he holds up the crystal token that had appeared in Noct’s hand.

“Yip!”

All of their phones buzz again, including Roxas and Xion’s.

That’s right and you’re here to help me not get yourselves banished trying to defeat me, so please put the Keyblade’s down.

Carbuncle stamps his fluffy front paws to emphasize his point and Prompto can’t help but coo, “aww, he’s really giving Umbra and Pryna a run for their money in the cute department.”

His comment goes unnoticed as Noct finally breaks the thick cover of the undergrowth. Eyes lighting up with relief he doesn’t even try to play it cool. “Guys…You’re here, how?”

Ignis makes it to Noct first, of course. “Surprised to see us? You should know better by now Noct,” even as he jokes, he checks Noct over, taking both his shoulders in hand as he does so and giving a light squeeze that must be both grounding and reassuring, going by the way Noct nearly goes boneless with relief at the gesture. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, better now,” Noct confirms as he pats Ignis’ upper arm and reaches out to accept the high-five Gladio casually offers when he gets close enough, only to then turn to Prompto and hold out a fist.

Prompto doesn’t leave him hanging, and the feeling of their knuckles bumping finally unwinds the tight ball of worry that’s been lodged in Prompto’s throat for the last few hours.

“Well, now that we found Sleeping Beauty, what’s next?” Gladio gets straight to the point.

“Helping me clear out this place so Carbuncle can save Axel and Isa before they fall too deep into their own dreams,” Noct explains like it’s no big deal.

“Oh, is that all?” Prompto says this so sarcastically, to the point where his voice cracks.

“They’re not with you?” Roxas asks, voice near horse with horror. He looks to Xion “We have to find them now.”

“Wait, hold up.” Gladio tries to calm them, knowing that charging in blindly isn’t going to get them anywhere, but the two of them aren’t having any of it.

“You don’t understand!” Xion shouts, anger bleeding into her tone as a snarl curves her lips and deepens her frown. “With everything they’ve been through…they both fell to darkness, but it wasn’t their choice.” She bites her lip and tries to reign in some of her raging anger. It works, but only slightly, “It’s bad enough when you choose to give into the darkness yourself, but when someone forces you down that path…we have to find them now, because when it was us Axel—” Her voice breaks as a tear starts to trail down her cheeks, but Roxas is already by her side, arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“He never gave up on us.” Roxas whispers. “Even when I forgot about him, he kept trying to bring me back.” His shoulders slump as he draws Xion in closer. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do the same.”

“Yip!”

Prompto jumps, he’d been so focused on Roxas and Xion that the sudden noise nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

I know you’re worried, but your friends are strong, and you already have a means to find one of them.

Realisation dawns on both Roxas and Xion’s face at the same time and they both try to summon something, but Xion must be just that tiny bit faster as sparks appear in her hand and soon blaze into an orb of fire. After looking for a moment, Prompto’s eyes focus enough against the bright flames to see a circlet of green runes that float around the orb, but deeper than that, held within the heart of the flames looks like what must be a necklace designed after one of Axel’s weapons.

“Yip!”

Yep, this will help you find him, but if you want, I have a little trick that will make everything a little easier.

Roxas looks a little less than convinced, but Xion seems to be wavering.

It’s Noct that tips the scales. “Carbuncle saved me when I was a little kid, believe me when I say you can trust him.”

One last shared look, and then Xion kneels, offering up the orb.

Carbuncles horn irradiates a soft pink light, as the orb of fire gently floats towards him, riding on ribbons made of the same soft light, that tangle around the orb, leaving little trails of sparks that at this distance almost look like dancing fireflies.

As soon as the orb grows close enough Carbuncle does a flip, and Prompto is so happy he already had his camera at the ready.

Right up until the moment he almost drops it.

With a burst of energy the flames of the orb roar to life, bursting free of their confines a pillar of flame streaks towards the sky, blinding them all with a flash so bright it makes Prompto’s eyes water.

Even when it burns out Prompto’s still seeing spots, but he’s determined to get his sight clear when he hears the shocked gasps of his friends.

“What? What happened?”

“Ugh, that’s what I’d like to know, who the heck are these guys? Wait why are you guys’ cry—omph!”

“Lea!”

Prompto rubs at his eyes and when he opens them again, he sees Axel being dogpiled by Roxas and Xion who are both definitely in tears.

“Lea!” Both Roxas and Xion cry at the same time. Wrapping their heads around the fact that he is here, whole, and himself if their eyes are to be believed they throw themselves at him.

Unprepared and groggy he fails to catch them, but Xion doesn’t care, and neither does Roxas, because everything is going to be okay now. Their big brother is back and nobody is better at saving Isa than him.

Chapter Text

The last thing Lea remembers is a fuzzy image of glowing black darkness heading straight towards his face, followed by nothing, just the abstract oblivion of a dreamless sleep.

Then, a presence, he could sense that something had him, in the way of someone not wanting to be woken can feel someone shaking their shoulder, but he was in no position to do anything about it, not even when light fell over his closed eyes.

The colour of pre-dawn streaming through a window and just as warm. Lea doesn’t have the power to pull a pillow over his head to do the smart thing and hide away from it, because he doesn’t have a pillow, in this state he’s not sure he even has arms and isn’t that a disturbing thought.

“Yip!”

It is.

In a blink, everything is returned, no longer is he merely the amalgamation of his own thoughts, feelings and memories, instead, he stands whole, afloat amidst the darkness that surrounds him.

He knows this isn’t the realm of darkness, it lacks the scent and the cold, besides, now that his eyes have adjusted he can see the veil of starlight that acts as the backdrop to this space.

“Yip!”

There, that’s better, isn’t it.

Lea looks around and sees no one, just the swirling of the endless night sky above him, but the voice continues to sound directly in his mind.

Now let’s go join your friends.

That’s all the warning Lea gets before he’s swept away again.

Ground rises up to meet his feet all too soon for him to prepare and his legs fail beneath him, leaving him splayed in an undignified heap in some of the softest grass he’s ever had the displeasure of falling into.

“Ow.” Is all he can bring himself to say as he lies there trying to regain the breath that’s been knocked out of him, but it’s completely drowned out by a sharp voice asking. “What? What happened?”

“Ugh, that’s what I’d like to know.” The question is automatic, as he’s already trying to open his eyes to see what’s going on for himself. When he does, he’s met by four strangers he’s never seen before and two of his best friends. “Who the heck are these guys?” More importantly, “Wait why are you guys’ cry—omph!”

That’s as far as he gets before both Roxas and Xion tackle him, knocking the breath he’s only just managed to regain straight out of his lungs.

“Lea!” the twin cry of his name sounds so desperate that he automatically tenses for a fight, but that too proves not to be an option as Roxas and Xion refuse to move, pinning him to the ground and squeezing the life out of him as they lock their arms and rest all of their weight against him.

It makes finding out why they are crying and who he needs to cremate for it very difficult, because air is very much a requirement for asking questions and channelling fire.

Lacking that, he does the next best thing and hugs his two half-pints back. Letting his warmth calm them as their tears gradually fade and their grips slowly relax.

Able to fill his lungs without his ribs cracking against the death grip of his two friends he tries to sit up.

Apparently finally getting the message, Roxas and Xion shuffle back enough to allow Lea to lever himself up, but they still refuse to let go.

He hasn’t seen them in this much of a state since he finally got them both back, and to say it’s upsetting would be an understatement. “Hey, hey, come on guys, I got you.”

“Lea?” Roxas asks, unsure, which is confusing because choosing which of his names to use has become sort of a running joke in their group. Something that the other three love to torment and tease him with, not something that they have been confused about in a long time.

“Not Axel?” Xion asks in turn, sounding equally unsure. Seriously? Is this some new brand of teasing because the crying is taking it a step too far, he will never not fall for these two crying.

Isa put them up to this, that has to be it, all to get back at him for the penalty he had to pay for losing their little bet.

He raises his head to glare at his best friend, only to again be met by the confused stares of four strangers.

“Axel?” asks a black-haired young man with a blue fox wrapped around his neck like a muffler.

“Not again!” Lea complains as he places his hands over his face and falls back, hiding from the new people his so-called friends have already gotten to.

“Hey! This time you’ve got nobody to blame but yourself,” Roxas defends as he sniffs, fighting against the tears that are still coming hard and fast if the choked sound of his voice is anything to go by.

“Like I haven’t heard that before.” Lea rolls his eyes as he moves his hands, making sure to meet Roxas’ gaze as he does so. “Admit it, you guys are on a crusade to have everyone call me Axel.” He runs his hand through Xion’s soft hair, just to make sure she knows he’s talking to her too, even as she still refuses to raise her head from where she has it buried in his side.

“Guilty,” Roxas admits with a wide smile as he does his best to wipe away the tears that still cloud his eyes. Seeing how he’s struggling Axel does his best to help him get centred.

“Deep breaths, come on, don’t try to force them to stop,” he coaches as he gently bumps his forehead against Roxas’, while also keeping up the soft pattern he’s drawing into the back of Xion’s scalp with his fingers.

It takes a moment, but eventually they gather themselves and Lea feels like he can finally start getting some answers.

Apparently the four strangers that have been standing there awkwardly this whole time feel the same way.

“Who the hell are you?” asks the big guy with the sick eagle tattoo.

“Names Lea, got it memorized.” He gets that in before either of his two friends can sabotage him, obviously they have already managed to get a head start but he can fix this.

The four blank faces that stare back at him in varying degrees of disbelief says he can’t.

“He’s not lying,” Xion surprisingly comes to his defence, leaving Lea side eyeing her, because usually in these situations she’s the worst instigator, the doe eyed innocent look she can pull off really selling her side of the argument.

“Sooo,” pipes up the blonde who’s currently being used as a perch by a small flock of birds that look as though they are made from light, “he’s Axel’s older brother?”

“Older brother? I’m an only child.” Lea is so lost, why are these guys talking like they’ve met him as Axel, he’s never seen any of these people before, as either Axel or Lea.

“Yip”

Lea feels his phone vibrate, but ignores it for now, too focused on the small fox that just made the same noise as the entity he heard talking directly into his mind in that comforting dark space filled with an endless night sky, that he had first woken up in.

The others do not, all looking at their phones with varying degrees of eagerness, ranging from nearly dropping their phone in the rush to bring the message up, to idly flicking the chat open with one hand.

“Wait, you are Axel!” blurts out the blonde, so loudly he sends the birds flocking round him flying, all apart from one that’s made itself very comfy in his hair. “…kinda?”

Lea just shakes his head and groans, “who told you that?”

“Yip!”

His phone buzzes again and he’s starting to get an idea of what’s going on here as he looks between the pocket holding his phone and the little crystal horned fox still curled around the dark-haired boy’s neck.

“Carbuncle explained,” confirms the boy as he scratches one of the little creatures’ huge ears and turns his phone screen to face Lea.

“Yip!”

In tandem with the fox’s chirp a new message appears on the boys’ phone, but it’s too far away for Lea to make out. He shrugs and takes out his own phone, reading the messages he has been ignoring.

Axel is his Nobody.

I did, and don’t worry, they all already know about the Darkness that doesn’t belong to this world.

Yep, and if you’d check your phone, I could explain things to you directly.

Lea raises an eyebrow at the smug little fox. “You’re not the average fox spirit, are you?”

“Yip!”

Nope, this is my realm, and you have me to thank for this form of yours right now.

“Form? As in this isn’t my real body?” He can’t stop his fingers from tracing the skin under his eyes, seeing if he can feel the tear mark tattoo’s that used to colour it.

“Yip!”

Technically none of you are in your real bodies right now, this is the dream realm after all, but even then, yours is a bit of a special case.

“Special how?” Unconsciously, he grips his friends a little tighter, half afraid that he’s about to vanish back into the cosmic sea he’d first regained consciousness in.

“Yip!”

Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing too serious, you’re all still you, we just have to get you back to the other you and everything will work out just fine.

“The other me?” Wait, more importantly. “What if I don’t get back to him?”

“Yip!”

Then I guess you’ll be staying as my guest until your friends can sort something out.

“Right, that makes me feels loads better.” It really doesn’t, nice as this place seems he is very much missing Twilight Town right now. “Either of you two want to take a crack at clarifying some of the finer points of this mess we’ve found ourselves in?”

“What’s the last thing you remember? Xion asks as she raises her head and wipes away the last of her tears.

“Pushing Isa out of the way of that weird Heartless’ attack.” He looks around, ready to give his most anti-social friend the cocky grin that they both know means that Isa owes him one, only to find him missing. His heart plummets. “Where’s Isa?”

Still trapped within the confines of his memories turned to nightmares, Isa watches as his younger self determinedly drags an all but unconscious Lea down a familiar corridor, one of many that makes up the catacomb like structure hidden beneath the castle of Radiant Garden.

“Y-you know, you would have made it out by now if you had just left me there, right?” Lea wheezes as he grits his teeth and places a hand more firmly against the side that Isa isn’t supporting.

“Shut up,” his younger self snaps as he doggedly continues to put one foot in front on the other.

Lea ignores him. “Yep, you would have been basking in real sunlight right about now if you weren’t dragging my broken ass along with you, come on, I thought you were meant to be the smart one.”

“I said shut up.” Another few steps dragged from a body that’s ready to surrender to the pull of exhaustion, each one a small victory hard won, each another reason to keep going.

This would be an inspiring sight, one that stoked Isa’s own conviction to make it out of this maze made of his own memories, were it not for the fact that he clearly remembers that his younger self is going the wrong way.

Something that the boy only realises now as he rounds a corner and comes face to face with an all too memorable door.

“Did you mean to come this way?” Lea asks, as he blinks blearily at the chain bound door.

“Yes,” his younger self lies smoothly, not wanting to admit his mistake, but also partially due to the fact that, on some level, he had wanted to come here.

“Welp, what’s the plan?” Lea tries to pull away, a silent demonstration that he can help, but he gets as far as putting his own weight on his bloodied left leg and then his knee gives out, the joint folding beneath him and dragging him down.

Isa manages to catch him, but the sudden move has his own wounds twinging and he can’t stop the half-formed expletive from slipping past his clenched jaw. “Shhh—mmpph.”

The noise echoes ominously down the empty corridors behind them and both he and Lea hold their breath and wait to see if they’ve been discovered.

Seconds pass and nothing happens, the hallways remain eerily silent, only the dry whistle of the occasional gust of wind bringing any life to the cavernous network of steel that surrounds them.

Isa lets out his breath slowly and makes for the nearest wall. Carefully leaning his back against it, he slides down to the floor, allowing the coolness of it to soak through the material of his jacket and ease the searing pain of the multitude of burns and gashes that litter it. All of them recent, all of them left to heal on their own without the aid of magic or even half a dose of potion.

He pulls Lea closer to his side, allowing his friend to rest his head against his shoulder. Lea doesn’t fight him this time, too exhausted and wounded, that they even made it this far is a miracle on its own, but Isa can’t stop his eyes from sliding to the locked door and the barred window that sits at its centre.

After all, he’d made a promise.

It’s the reason they had ended up here, been captured in the first place, they’d snuck in to see her, to reassure her that they hadn’t forgotten.

They’d barely made it past the castle gates before they had been caught, manhandled into their own little cell beneath the castle and only let out when they were summoned for testing, and by testing he means being forced to fight, both Heartless and the Organization. All to try and force them to use the power of Darkness. He would never give them the satisfaction.

Isa shakes his head at his younger self’s thoughts, knowing all too well that his fall to darkness would barely be a day from now.

“Still not convinced?” asks the shadow of Saix from where he’s leaning against the wall, half hidden in the gloom that dominates the hall.

“That you are wasting my time? I’ve known that from the start.” Isa doesn’t even bother to tear his gaze away from the two boys that are taking a moment to gather themselves, knowing that this will be the last reprieve before their fall.

“You would have been able to leave if you had just left him behind, even he knew that.” Saix needlessly points out.

“Alone or together, we were never going to be allowed to escape, we only made it this far because Xemnas allowed it, all part of his little manipulation, meant to make us give into the darkness that much faster.” It’s how Xemnas worked, what he thrived on. Setting up these little games all designed to show how the human heart was a weakness. Something that was more than a little hypocritical when he bought most of the Organizations loyalty with the promise that completing his Kingdom Hearts would restore their own.

“No, but you would have suffered less, had far less hope if you hadn’t insisted on dragging him along,” Saix notes with a dull voice that makes it sound as though this memory has nothing to do with him.

“Leave him behind?” This out of all Saix has said gets a rise from him. “You talk about him abandoning us, betraying us, as though it was the greatest crime he ever committed, and yet you would suggest we would have been better off if we had done the same but worse!”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.” Saix shrugs. “If you had known then what you know now would you really have dragged him all the way here?”

“If I had known then I would have never suggested we enter the castle in the first place!” There was no point after all.

“You would have forsaken her? Broken your promise?” Saix accuses, as the rage that begins to overtake him dyes his eyes yellow.

“That promise was one that could never be fulfilled,” Isa replies, voice sad and words heavy.

As if to prove his point, his younger self chooses that moment to stumble to his feet and manages to reach the door at the end of the hall.

The chains clink as he grabs them, rattling to the tune of the exhausted tremors that run the entire length of his body.

The disappointment that rolls off his shaking shoulders is palpable as he looks through the bars obstructing the small window.

Isa can remember all too clearly what he had seen.

An empty room.

“Find what you were looking for kiddo?” calls Xigbar from where he lounges against the entrance to the corridor. Isa’s younger self doesn’t appear to hear him, eyes completely transfixed on the room that had once held the girl.

Lea somehow finds the strength to stand, and even now looking at the scene with fresh eyes Isa still can’t comprehend how he did it.

“Back off,” he growls as firefly sparks curl around his fingers.

“Heh, as if, no can-do matchstick, some of us have work to do, and I can’t have the boss man find out I’ve been slacking.” Xigbar summons only one of his crossbows, arrogant as always, but in this case not wrong.

“Where?” the question is a half whisper, one that’s only heard because even the quietest of sounds bounce off cold steel.

The grin that overtakes Xigbar’s face is nothing short of Malicious. “Who?”

The Claymore spike nearly topples Lea as it passes so close to his head, but Xigbar merely teleports to the opposite side of the hall. “Oh, you mean the little lady we had locked up in there?”

“Where is she?” The desperation that covers Isa’s tone is nothing short of savage.

“Relax,” Xigbar consoles with a falsity that has always and will always annoy Isa, “no use getting worked up over someone who’s long gone.”

“Gone?” Lea chokes, the little colour he has left draining from his face as the words sink in.

They have the opposite effect on Isa, bringing colour to his eyes in the form of bright light that burns with a berserker rage.

The charge is blind, reckless, and self-destructive.

It’s not a surprise when it ends in Xigbar’s victory. All it takes is a well-timed teleport and a precisely aimed bolt to one of his many still healing wounds.

Standing above Isa’s prone form, Xigbar grinds his foot into the boys back, right into the long burn that Xemnas seared into his flesh just the day before.

Lea fared no better, fully unconscious, prone against the wall he’d been flung into. It’s only now being shown from this perspective that Isa remembers that he is the one that had done that. Lost in his rage, unfamiliar with the berserker power that blinded him to anything but the foe he sought and failed to destroy.

The memory fades as a whistling Xigbar drags both of them back to their own cell, and all Isa can feel is guilt.

He looks up and sees Saix smiling, as the next memory manifest around them.

Chapter Text

With the addition of the Ifrit’s spawn’s older doppelganger, the progress they are making is ridiculous.

Every weird creature that tries to attack them as soon as they cross the border between light and dark meets a quick end, to the point where it feels like they are doing a speed run on Kings Knight in easy mode where they got to keep all their previous equipment and levels from their last playthrough.

He would feel sorry for the critters, but one that looked like a deformed Jabberwock that could literally roll its head tried to take a bite out of him when they found another one of those crystals holding a lost soul. So no, he no longer feels guilty as he literally watches one of them explode into glitter after he whacks it like the mutated piñata it is.

Of the nineteen crystals they are supposed to find they’ve gotten seventeen, and with each one a little more light has returned to this strange realm. Even the sky that had been consumed by the abyss has turned from a canvas of poisoned nebulas to the reds and golds of twilight, making the crystals that naturally dot the woodland and rocky tunnels glow with a warm light that sets him at ease, even as they follow one of the birds to the next lost soul, leaving behind all light apart from the large pool that gathers around Carbuncle.

“So, anyone else notice that the hordes of really cute but also really creepy enemies are getting bigger the closer we get to collecting all of these little guys?” Prompto speaks up from where he’s currently acting as a perch for sixteen of the seventeen birds they’ve managed to collect. “Also, why am I the only one these guys seem attached to.”

“It’s the hair.” Gladio blinks then laughs when he, Iggy, and Noct all end up giving that answer at the exact same time.

“If that were the answer, Roxas would be swarmed too!” Prompto defends.

Gladio looks between the two blondes, and he can’t say Prompto is wrong, so in this case it probably isn’t the hair. That’s not gonna stop Gladio teasing. “I don’t know, he’s more strawberry blonde and you really are close to chocobo yellow.”

Even from this distance he can see Prompto’s eye begin to twitch. “Really? I thought you’d be more worried, seeing as Axel’s suddenly taller than you.”

“It’s Lea!” The Fire Gremlins protest goes largely ignored as Gladio nearly trips, but luckily it’s so dark now that nobody sees, meaning he can still play this cool.

“Why would that bother me?”

The three looks of disbelief he gets from all his friends and even the dream fox still lounging on Noct’s shoulders, are so in sync it’s almost creepy.

“Dude, come on,” Prompto deadpans. “We all know you’re secretly super proud that you’re the tallest.”

There’s no way they can know that, so he goes for a solid denial, “why would I be concerned over something as petty as that.”

“Before you lie, it may interest you to know that a few years ago Iris shared a candid video of you bragging about that very subject to your own reflexion.” Ignis adjusts his glasses as he says this, but the move does nothing to hide the knowing smirk curling his lips.

Gladio mentally adds murdering his little sister to the list of things he needs to do when they get back to the real world.

“My Dad was a tall man, finally surpassing him was something to celebrate.” Gladio shrugs, hoping that if he doesn’t react, they will just let this go.

He might have been so lucky, if Prompto’s younger clone hadn’t decided to open his mouth right then. “Axel was one of the the tallest out of all of Organization XIII, it’s the reason Xemnas limited the height everyone’s chairs could rise to, didn’t like being reminded of it at every meeting.”

“That’s the reason?” Xion sounds shocked. “I thought he did that because he was sick of everyone adjusting them during the meetings?”

“That too,” Lea acknowledges, “but did you ever notice that when I was in the room Xemnas either made sure he was standing at least a step above the rest of us, or failing that, he resorted to his little levitating trick.”

“Wait, really?” Roxas laughs.

“Would I lie about something this genuinely funny?” Lea smiles. “But as for the question of who’s the tallest here, that is easily solved.

Gladio fights not to step away as Lea comes up beside him and easily swings an arm round his shoulders. “What do you say muscles, want to settle this right now?”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Gladio stops walking. “Iggy, you’re the only one I trust for this.”

With a put upon sigh that speaks of the fact that Ignis knows there is no point in trying to talk them out of this, he agrees, “if you could both turn back-to-back, and Prompto, be sure to get a good picture, we don’t want to be stopping every few minutes to redo this when one of them complains it was done incorrectly.”

“Aye, aye,” chirps Prompto.

It takes less than a minute, Ignis analytical eyes survey the two of them and comes to a conclusion that Gladio instantly rejects. “On first observation, Lea is indeed talle—”

“No way!” Gladio refuses to believe that, but before he can get any further the harrowing glare Ignis levels at him over the rim of his glasses has him going quiet.

“As I was saying,” Ignis continues, “At first glance, Lea is indeed taller, however that is on account of his hairstyle. Discounting that as one should, Gladio is in fact the taller of the two of them.

Now Gladio just feels embarrassed, and begins wondering, since this is a dream world, if he imagines hard enough will the ground actually swallow him and save him from this.

“Welp, not as though I’m not used to a few people being taller than me.” Lea shrugs with a cavalier ease that just makes Gladio want to punch him. “Come on, we worked with a giant like Lexaeus, anyone feels small compared to him.”

And now the former Fire Gremlin is being mature about this, making Gladio look like a spoiled brat in comparison…this is a new low.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to let his frustrations go, then he remembers that meditation has never and will never work for him and goes back to hoping the floor will open up and swallow him.

In a way he does get his wish.

Though it’s not the floor that opens beneath him, but the colourful maw of a giant monstrosity that, from the brief glimpse he gets of it before he is swallowed, looks like a Behemoth that had a really bad mane day, that has Zu wings grafted onto its back.

Then all he sees is pure, pitch-black, darkness until the crystalline fractures of his Genji blade coming to hand shatters it.

The thing spits him out as soon as he starts hacking at its insides, but the stuff that comes out with him gives Marlboro acid a run for its gil. Blue, viscous and glittery it covers him from head to toe and burns the entire time.

“You oka-bleuurgh!” Of course Prompto makes the mistake of touching him, even after him being the one to warn that you never touch the unknown goo, of course he does, and that’s when they find out this stuffs sticky too.

They don’t have much time to figure out how to get unstuck as that’s when the technicoloured monstrosity bats them into a rock wall like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.

The force of the blow at least frees Prompto, but now Gladio has the issue of being stuck upside down to a cliff, and that’s when more than one of the smaller Dream Eaters manifests out of the shadows.

To say that he is done with this is an understatement.

The rapid-fire of gunshots tear through the air followed by a flash of bright light, and for a moment Gladio thinks that Prompto has unleashed a Starshell, only for the flash to fade too quickly.

The distinct glow of the armiger clues him in on what must have happened. “Prompto” I swear if you took a photo of this, I will climb Ravatogh with you strapped to my back just so I can throw you in!”

“Who me? Take a photo of you like this? No, nooo, I know better dude. I took three.” That is all the incentive Gladio needs to pull himself free.

“It was a joke!” Prompto defends as Gladio swings his Genji blade and great sword. Prompto ducks just in time, as Gladio knew he would, and instead of cutting down his friend his blades tear into the beast of a Dream Eater that had been planning to snap up the blonde as it had Gladio before.

It takes some effort, a lot of strikes, and a good amount of positively directed frustration and anger, but like all the rest, the Behemoth of a Dream Eater goes down and mercifully as it vanishes, so too does its slime.

“Camera, now!” he barks as soon as he’s sure the thing is dead.

“Oh, come on, you’ll look back on this in a year or two and laugh, besides we don’t even know if the pics will transfer back to the real world, just let me keep them till then,” Prompto whines.

Gladio is having none of it. Reaching into the armiger himself he pulls out Prompto’s camera and begins fiddling with it, only for it to vanish from his hands.

“Yip!”

Nope, not letting you do that, he got the shot fair and square.

Carbuncle rules from where he’s already releasing the second to last lost soul from its crystal prison.

For one moment, one insane moment, Gladio wonders what would happen if he took a swipe at the messenger of the Astrals in the form of the tiny dream fox that’s leaped back to Noct’s shoulders. He fought Gilgamesh and won, and how tough can a little fox really be?

He meets Carbuncle’s gaze and sees a knowing spark there that’s just daring him to try.

Nope, he’s had enough embarrassment for one day.

“Fine.” With what little dignity he has left he folds his arms and waits for the lost soul to be coaxed into taking the form of a bird like the rest of its brothers.

He still can’t get over the fact that MTs have souls, but there’s no denying it now, not after seeing the silhouettes of light that are as small as young children interact with Carbuncle. They always look so scared at first, the way they hunch and recoil as Carbuncle approaches them, but they all come around in the end.

“Just one more to go,” Noct confirms as the little soul flutters to join the rest of the flock.

“I wonder what will be guarding that one? Can’t be any worse than the Behemoth abomination,” Gladio says without thinking, but he realises what he’s done when silence rolls over the entire group.

“And with that, we’re all doomed.” The Fire Gremlin jokes.

“Didn’t take you for the superstitious type,” scoffs Gladio as he surveys the area as the fresh Twilit dusk rolls over the rocky valley they find themselves in.

“I wasn’t when I was a kid, then I got myself wrapped up with these two and found that phrases like ‘well, at least things can’t ge—”

“Don’t say it!” Roxas shouts.

“You know better!” Xion says half a beat after.

Ignis side eyes the two teens. “I hardly think a phrase would have such detrimental effects.”

“He is banned from ever uttering it, and he knows that.” The glare Roxas levels at Lea is quite impressive, not Iggy standard, but getting there.

“Okay, now I’m curious, what happened when you said that?” questions Noct.

“We were fighting a Heartless in a desert outside of Agrabah,” Xion starts.

“Typical mission for the Organization,” Roxas continues, “beat the big bad release its heart and work toward building our version of Kingdom Hearts, should have been easy, what with Axel blasting all of its sand-based attacks into glass.”

“It wasn’t easy, was it?” Prompto concludes as he leans in curiously, clearly hooked on the story.

“It was,” Lea defends, “until the second Heartless popped out of the sand.”

“Yeah, and after we survived the quicksand it summoned, that’s when you just had to say it.”

“Please tell me it started raining.” Noct tries and fails to keep the knowing smile off his face.

“How’d you guess,” grumbles Roxas.

The laughter that spreads through the group is infectious, and it only redoubles when they read Carbuncle’s next message.

“Yip!”

If he says it his voice gets sealed.

Chapter Text

Nothing works.

He’s tried everything.

All his tricks, all the things that have worked before, none of it has any effect.

At best the dream goes on, ignoring his efforts to make it stop.

At worst, it pauses as he frees himself from his past self, just for the world to shift around him, darkness to seep through the cracks he has opened in the dream, and for worse visions to plague him. Then it resets, the world clicks back into place right where it left off, again, and again, and again.

It’s clear what the message is here, there is no point in resisting, he should just sit back and watch the show, because all attempts to fight it will only trap him in an endless loop.

Yeah, Axel’s never been the best student, and he just doesn’t have the heart to give up.

The current dream playing out in front of him is still a nice one, Zack and his younger self sparring in a free and slightly run down ring of the coliseum.

Even as he tries to find a way out, he cannot help but be drawn into the scene by the banter being exchanged along with the strikes.

“You really don’t like close range,” Zack snipes as he tries to roll within striking range after ducking Axel’s chakram, an obvious tactic that gets him a really low powered fire spell to the face for his trouble.

Spitting soot Zack is knocked back and Axel can feel the empty laugh born from reflex building in his past self’s chest. “Heh, no, what gave me away? That hairstyle suits you by the way.”

Zack’s hand flies to his hair, only to find that his bangs have been blown back and kept there by the heat. A wild sooty recreation of Axel’s own hairstyle. “I’m so flattered.”

“Come on man not the hair!”  Zack groans as he quickly musses it with his hands, returning it to a somewhat messy version of his usual hairstyle.

“Keep your guard up then,” Axel counter’s as he throws another fireball with a bit more heat behind it this time.

Steel extinguishes the small blaze and Zack springs forward, launching a flurry of blows that Axel has to dance back from.

Another tug, strong enough to dislodge himself from the memory of his past self again, but this time when the darkness splits the air and sends the world spinning, he’s ready, with a desperate plan that will either end the dream or him.

Shadow born flames rise up, forming a dome, keeping the darkness of the dream at bay. It doesn’t matter who Somnus was when he existed, as a Nobody he’s barely more than a few days old, and Axel’s done babysitting.

He can feel the abyss the dream has transformed into clawing at his defences, enveloping his flames and trying to crush them. Were they not weaved with darkness the dream would have already succeeded, torn away his barrier and imprisoned him in the body of his younger self once more.

It’s a risky play, he doesn’t exist, doesn’t have a heart to offer the darkness in return for its power, but he has his coat back, and he has experience. The darkness that is attacking him is merely working on instinct, its absentee master only having left it with the command to keep him trapped here so Somnus can feed off his dream.

At least, he thinks that’s the other Nobody’s aim, unless he’s just a sadistic narcissist who likes to torture others, wouldn’t be a first, even for a Nobody who’s supposed to feel nothing. Just look at the Organization: Xigbar, Marluxia, Larxene, and right at the top of that list their ever-gracious leader Xemnas.

Yeah, Somnus is definitely not being original here, not with his motives at least.

Axel will be sure to tell him that when he burns down this illusion and finds him.

Something gives, and for a second Axel is left unbalanced by the sudden lack of resistance against his shield, but he’s not fool enough to let it down, not yet.

It’s proven to be a wise choice when the darkness swells and batters against his shield like a collapsing wave. One last attempt before the power driving it finally wanes.

With a healthy dose of trepidation, Axel first lets the darkness seep from his flames. He feels the strain pulling at his very being finally ebb, the unsated shadows slipping back to the darkness from which he called them.

“I’m fine,” he tells himself. Even as he reluctantly lets the flame wall around him drop, pressing a hand to his chest to try and shield the heart that is no longer there.

After calming his raging pulse—he might not have a ‘Heart’, but he’s still got a heart—he looks at the devastation his little trick has wrought.

The scene is frozen in a state of chaos, Zack and his past self stuck in a freeze frame of their spar, both smiling, and carefree. It just makes the disconnect between them and the glitching darkness starker. The tears in the scene cross every surface, bridge every gap, making it look like a painting that’s been mauled by a feral cat.

Just to be sure he tries to summon a Corridor of Darkness.

Nothing.

He can sense the darkness trying to reach him, to answer his call, but there’s something keeping it from bridging the final gap.

“Now what?” he asks himself as he scratches the back of his head and looks about the space.

As pointless as he already knows it will be he walks to the door that should lead back to the coliseum’s reception hall. Bracing his hands around the handle he puts all his weight behind it and yanks, expecting the doors to stay sealed.

It gives so easily that he can’t stop himself from falling back into the dirt.

“Welp, at least no one was around to see that,” He complains as he glares up at the shifting sky above him.

A sharp laugh soon proves that theory wrong and makes his blood run cold. “You sure about that buddy.”

Instead of getting up, he just twists his head against the sand until he can see the speaker. Zack stands exactly where he left him, but he is no longer frozen, no longer glitching, and the smile that paints his lips is shadowed and wrong.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Zack cheers as he spins his sword, using the momentum to easily sheathe it at his back before he dips into a series of squats, a habit he never seemed to be able to break.

Shaking himself, Axel rolls to his feet and squares off against the phantom. He will not let this puppet draw him further into this dream, he’s already proven that the illusion can be broken, he just needs to push a little harder.

The fake Zack groans, “Really? No reaction at all? Come on man, where’s the snark, you would have leapt at that joke before.”

He tells himself to just ignore it as he keeps looking for a way out. He knows that he’s going to have to summon the darkness and do a lot more damage to get out of here, but first he wants to exhaust all of his sane options before jumping straight for the path that leads to true non-existence, because something as simple as death is too good for a Nobody.

Zack sighs as he stops squatting and collapses to the floor, folding his hands behind his head in a casual manner in an attempt to get comfy as he gazes up at the sky, as though he’s merely relaxing on a sunny day after a good training session. The fact that he is smiling widely at a sky that is slowly being devoured by a vortex of darkness that slips from the tears Axel opened in the dream just makes it creepy…well, creepier.

“It’s not real,” Axel dismisses, as he brings himself back to task.

“It!” squawks the fake Zack, “Why are you demoting me to a thing and not a person?”

Axel remains quiet as he inspects the now open door that should lead to the inner workings of the coliseum.

The void looks back at him, bleaker than the realm of Nothingness, but not quite as emo as the realm of Darkness…he can never let Xemnas see this, he’d find a way to redo the World That Never Was just like this.

“Looking for a way out?” Fake Zack tries to lean in close but the Fira spell that suddenly ignites in Axel palm has him dancing back. “Whoa! Since when have you had personal space issues?”

“Since a fresh Nobody trapped me in my worst nightmare!” Axel snaps.

Fake Zack points at himself as he tilts his head like a puppy. “Worst nightmare, me? Should I be honoured or insulted?”

Axel sighs and walks away, annoyed that he couldn’t ignore the dream doppelganger for more than five minutes but resolved to try again.

Zack for his part crosses his arms as he closes his eyes, clearly thinking over the subject. “Then again, maybe it’s not me but what happened, we were really good friends, you’re bound to feel guilty.”

Nope, can’t do it. “Sorry to break it to you, but guilt is an emotion and—”

“And you don’t have the heart to feel that, I know, I know,” Zack finishes for him before adding, “but are you really sure about that?”

Walking away from the phantom really doesn’t seem to be working and ignoring it is completely impossible, the sound of his voice too grating and the familiarity of his movements too sharp. So, Axel goes for good old plan B.

The Firaga flares to life in his hands casting light and shadow around the sand covered ring, “Burn!”

The barrier that rises up to defend the memory turned nightmare is woven from writhing shadows that engulf the flames instead of repelling them.

“heh, nice try, fiery as ever I see, but if it were that easy you would have already made it out of here,” fake Zack sighs, as if he’s disappointed on Axel’s behalf.

“Want to tell me how to get out then,” Axel poses, “seeing as we were such good friends.” There’s a bite in those words that’s not entirely directed at the fake, but Axel is never going to acknowledge it.

“Sure, that’s easy,” replies the fake, taking Axel aback. “There’s two ways actually, not that you’ll ever be able to accomplish them, but what sort of friend would I be if I didn’t at least give you a chance.”

Ah, there it is, the catch.

The fake is smiling so widely, in a way that once had Axel smiling right alongside Zack over a shared joke or a hard-fought match, but on this shadow’s face it looks twisted in a way that is reminding Axel far too much of Xemnas on his worst days.

Still, what other choice does he have.

“What are they?” he asks as he fixes his stance, ready for the attack he can sense coming.

“First, the easiest, Somnus doesn’t really care about you, you’re just a really good power source to him at this moment, so if you can trap someone else in your place, draw them into this nightmare instead of you, then you’ll be free to go, and as it just so happens there’s a party rife with substitutes just wondering around the dream realm,” as he says this, the fake waves his hand and one of the fractured panes of the dream world shudders before transforming into a view of what Axel assumes is a world outside of his nightmare.

He recognises Noct and his friends immediately as their face are shown one after the other in quick succession, but the two kids that are accompanying them are unknown to Axel, even if he can briefly remember catching glimpses of them at the festival.

Still, his answer is easy, “hard pass.”

“Surprising,” the fake gasps with a foe shocked face, “putting others before yourself, such growth, what? You suddenly decided that you’re not too old to play hero?”

Axel ignores the jab and just does his best impression of Saix until the fake moves on.

Another wave of his hand has the image fading back to darkness. “Well, the only other way to get out is to face the guardian of this nightmare, but you don’t want to do that, trust me.”

“Guardian?” That definitely sounds better that being forced to replay memories that are only filled with guilt.

“Sure, every jail has to have a warden, you beat him and you’re free, but seriously Axel, you’ll be so much better off just watching the nightmare, we did have some fun times after all, even if you were lying to me the entire time.” With a shrug and a shake of his head the fake walks towards Axel, crossing the distance between them in a few easy steps and offering a hand, just the way Zack used to do whenever he won.

Axel slaps the hand away, and with fire in his eyes and dusting the tips of his fingers he accepts the challenge. “Bring on the guardian.”

With all but one of the crystals collected, the world of dreams is looking so much better.

Real sunlight flashes through the thick canopy of trees above, casting dappled shadows on the path in front of them that for a change don’t look like they are hiding the next Dream Eater.

Carbuncle seems happier as well, instead of the frequent—hopefully unintentional—sheathing of his claws into the soft meat of Noct’s shoulder, his little friend has now relaxed to the point where he only occasionally fluffing his tail.

“So, how much longer,” Prompto asks. Noct looks over to him and does his absolute best not to laugh, but it’s so hard with his friend literally covered in birds.

Prompto sees his struggle and narrows his eyes. “Dude, don’t.”

That’s all it takes to set Noct off.

He’s laughing, hard and loud and the others soon give in, making Prompto take another ineffective swipe at dislodging the birds. “Seriously! Why only me?” he asks as the birds settle back into place on his head, shoulders, and even a few clinging to his jacket.

Axel, no wait Lea, is the first to recover as he coughs and reaches over, trying to pick up one of the birds, they make it very hard, hopping and shuffling put of the way, even fluttering away for brief moments before immediately reclaiming their perch, but A-Lea is persistent and soon snags one.

Gently, he brings the little glowing bird into his line of sight and studies it. Roxas, takes the chance to look at it too, even reaches out a finger and strokes the little guy’s head. The bird seems to shrink into itself at first, burying itself into Lea’s hand, but when nothing bad happens it pokes its head out and tweets curiously.

Roxas takes that as an okay to keep doing what he is doing and Xion walks a little closer as Ax-Lea—that is going to take some getting used to—opens up his hand. Shockingly the little bird doesn’t take the chance to escape and that seems to give Prompto hope.

“Yes, okay someone else grab a bird, come on people I am not a bird’s nest.”

“Despite how much your hair may resemble one upon waking,” comments Spec’s even as he holds out his hand next to Prompto’s shoulder, offering the collection of birds there an alternative perch.

“Hey, if that were the reason Noct would be in the exact same boat as me, and don’t get me started on the mess Axel’s hair was when we found him.” Prompto smiles as he watches two of the birds willingly disembark, that said, he’s still left with sixteen birds.

“It’s LEA!” Lea shouts, but with no edge, and once again everyone is laughing.

Huh, maybe Noct will forget it’s Lea not Axel, because this is just too fun, even Carbuncle is spamming ROFL emojis.

Unfortunately, the laughter comes to an end as soon as they come to the edge of the restored dream realm.

The line between the dream’s natural state and the part still corrupted by Somnus is a story of opposites, where the healed realm holds lush greenery, endless blues skies that give way to star filled nights, and the sound of wildlife, the corrupted realm is a scene of death. Contained within a valley that opens up beneath them, a field of dried wheat surrounding a lone black tree bare of any leaves sits beneath sky of storm filled clouds and darkness.

The only real light is a single crystal that sits beneath the dead tree at the centre.

Taking a breath, Noct looks back at his friends. “Ready?”

The agreement is silent but unanimous, and Noct steps across the invisible line.

Cold immediately seeps into his bones the second he crosses the unseen barrier but Carbuncle curls tighter around his neck and suddenly he’s warm, looking over his shoulder he can see that everyone is having a similar reaction, but the most telling is Gladio who actually take a second to zip up his Crownsguard jacket, Noct thought the zip on that thing was just for decoration.

Just another incentive to get this over with.

The wind picks up as they approach the centre, dust and dead leaves tumble past them as they walk, forcing Noct to cover his eyes with his arm as the dry sand makes it all but impossible to keep his eyes open.

To be honest though, he was expecting more, this is the last bastion of corruption, once this is gone Carbuncle will have his realm back, shouldn’t the Founder King’s Nobody be throwing everything he has at them?

Noct really should learn to be careful what he thinks.

There, standing between them and the last crystal awaits Somnus Lucis Caelum himself.

Chapter Text

Isa is getting bored.

At least, that is what he is telling himself and all he is allowing himself to show.

Drawing on all the indifference he once projected as Saix he watches the scene unfolding before him with the same emotionless stare he used to endure everything from the Organization’s long and pointless meetings, to the unending prank war that everyone but Xemnas was in on, and so far, it has worked. To the point that his illusionary counterpart is getting visibly frustrated.

Not that many people would be able to pick up on it, in fact Isa is sure that Lea would be the only one able to call him out on it, Roxas is getting better, but he’s still more wrong than right about sixty percent of the time, Xion wisely gave up a while ago and just follows Lea’s cues.

Isa however is perfectly aware of all of his own tells, and reluctantly he now must defer to Lea’s prior wisdom that watching him try to hide his emotions when you know what must be going on behind that stone face of his, is in fact entirely too amusing.

That being said, it is difficult to keep his own mask in place when the screams of a young Lea ring out again over the unseen speakers of the room he is trapped in.

Echoing in the dark abyss of a cell he is locked in; he cannot stop his eyes from trailing to the near feral form of his younger self who is beating his bloody fists pointlessly against the shimmering barrier that has been erected to keep him in, a clear sign that his captors learned that mere steal doors were not enough to keep him contained.

Isa knows what comes next, he knows how he failed and allowed himself to be taunted into doing exactly what his captors wanted, he knows how far Xemnas and Xigbar are going to push him in order to make him fall.

Even so, the sound of boots walking oh so casually down the hall outside his tiny cell, almost silent in comparison to the next soul shattering scream that rips across the speakers, has Isa biting down on his own tongue in order to hold back the growl that wants to reverberate in his chest.

His youngest counterpart has no such compulsion or restraint, as soon as he notices his visitor he’s snarling, “you said you would take me!”

“Did I? whoops, my bad I guess, but I have to follow the boss man’s orders, and he decided to test out the little fire cracker today instead of the rabid wolf.”

Xigbar smiles as he leans forward, hands rested on his hips, fully confident in the barrier and its ability to keep Isa’s younger self contained. Sizing Isa up as though he’s a particularly naughty puppy his smile blooms into a smirk. “Looking at you now, I can’t really fault Xemnas for that choice, I mean, hah, you seem as though you’re about ready to rip my throat out with your teeth.”

Isa goes back to ignoring the little scene as he leans back against the wall and crosses his arms, a perfect image of complete nonchalance that has Saix grinding his teeth.

Isa wonders how long the reflexion of his Nobody will be able to hold his temper, if it were truly him, he knows his patience and will could outlast his rising fury, as he would simply have told himself that this was something he had to endure, and that his time to act would come.

It seems that this version of Saix shares none of his ability to feign placidity, as the shadow of his past growls, “you gave up everything we worked for, made all our sacrifices worthless for Lea’s sake, and yet you stand there and are deaf to his screams.”

Isa shrugs. “It’s an illusion, the same as you, why should I feel compelled to display emotion over something that has no substance.”

Within the next second his counterpart has crossed the room and lunged for him, but Isa is ready.

As the gloved hand reaches for his throat, he grabs the fake by his wrist and twists.

He moves to shove the shadow of himself against the wall, to pin him there and trap him, but all those plans amount to nothing as the wall turns to smoke and shadow, and they both fall through into darkness.

Isa tries to reorient himself, but the abyss he falls through is little more than oblivion, an empty space in which he can only fall, until the floor decides to catch him.

The landing is crippling in a way that leaves him breathless and disoriented, so much so that it takes him more than a moment to realise that his current darkness is simply caused by his own eyes being closed.

Blinking, he finds that he immediately needs to close his eyes again as the sharp sensation of grit shifting under his eyelids that has him blindly raising a hand to try and dislodge the foreign irritant. At the same time, he tries to drag a breath into his empty lungs but finds the void in his chest refuses to be filled as he spends long minutes unable to inhale.

The cough that finally ends the stalemate leaves his ribs and his spine aching, but it is a small concern compared to the relief of being able to draw in that much needed breath.

After a minute of simply lying on the ground breathing, he forces himself to stand and to open his eyes again. He immediately finds the source of the grit sealing his eyes as he blinks down at the sanded earth. It’s a thin layer that did little to cushion his fall and does more to sabotage his attempts to rise as it shifts beneath his limbs, but Isa forces himself onto his feet and to observe his new surroundings.

Gone are the grey and dark halls of the laboratory hidden beneath Radiant Garden, and in their place rise the towering seats of the coliseum all of which face the pristine arena denoted only by the four marble columns that mark each corner of the fighting square.

Looking up, he sees that the darkness of night is chased away by the fires at the top of each column and the large braziers dotted all across the coliseum, but the shadows still find their way to creep in, lingering in corners and in the gloom of entranceways, a shade darker than any natural shadow should be.

The reason why is immediately obvious as soon as he looks to the sky is a near perfect reflection of the World That Never Was, the only thing lacking is the bouts of near endless torrential rain, but the clouds above his head look ready to rectify that discrepancy.

That said, it doesn’t match the scene. The Heart of the Olympus Coliseum never fell to darkness, despite the interference of both Ansem and Xemnas, but then, this is all a dream, why wouldn’t the sky be a mirror to a world lost to the darkness.

Dismissing those idle thoughts, he searches for the reason he was brought here and soon finds it.

The copy of his Nobody emerges from the shadows of one of the barred gates. Composed and cold he bears little resemblance to the furious man who tried to choke the life from Isa mere moments ago.

When he speaks, his voice is evenly tempered. “It seems your own memories are not enough to hold your focus or to stir your heart.”

“Giving up already?” Isa sneers, hoping for another chance to grapple with the hallucination, he’d like to test out the theory that defeating this shadow shall allow him to escape.

“Hardly,” Saix dismisses, “I merely thought a different approach might be a bit more productive.”

He smiles as the gate on the other side of the arena begins to rise. “Besides, I thought you might appreciate the efficiency.”

Before Isa can work out what that means, two familiar figures—one more so than the other—step into the coliseum.

“If the past holds no power over you, then defeating him shouldn’t be a challenge for you.” Saix points, and Isa’s gaze immediately locks onto Axel.

“Another fake,” Isa accuses, even as something inside him screams that this is the real Axel, the one he has been looking for. That intuition is proven true almost immediately as a light breeze passes over the arena, bringing with it the scent of burning wood, smoke, darkness, and the cloying whiff of the clockwork heartless that kicked off this entire affair.

So far, all the illusions have lacked individual scents, all of them have simply carried the same malicious odour that makes Isa want to block his nose.

He knows, without a doubt that this is Axel, his Axel, even as his friend looks at him with suspicious eyes.

“Axel,” Isa calls out as he takes a step towards crossing the field, only to find his feet frozen to the ground.

“You can’t possibly think it would be that easy? Can you?” his shadow taunt as he walks directly into Isa’s line of sight, blocking his view of Axel.

“He will neither hear, see, nor sense you as you are, all you will appear as is the thing standing between him and freedom.” Saix all but purrs as he begins to fade away, breaking into fractured crystal that dissipates as it crumbles, but before he disappears entirely, he whispers, “for your sake, I hope you finally make the right choice. Then again, what choice does a Berserker have?”

With those words, the clouds above part, revealing the intoxicating sight of Kingdom Hearts. His own heart sinks as his eyes narrow to slits, he looks down and sees that the supernal aura has already begun to claim him even as his own thoughts fade, taken by the sirens call that is the light that shines down upon him.

Ignis cannot help but note the similarities between Noct and the Founder King.

From a single glance it is clear that they are related and were one to observe them in a casual settling standing side by side, you would be forgiven for mistaking them for brothers.

That being said, their countenance could not be more different.

Where Noct gives off an air that he is cool yet approachable and more than a little lazy, Somnus Lucis Caelum projects the appearance of a man used to power. Cut with cold ambivalence the sharpness in his eyes is a lethal thing that makes Ignis want to shield Noct and the rest of the younger members of their party from his gaze. A feeling that Gladio must share as his friend steps in front of their future King and the rest of their party.

This is not the man that was recorded in the histories of Lucis, the great unifier who brought an end to the first age of darkness and formed a covenant with the Draconian. It can’t be, not when the darkness sits so easily with him, unless this unsettling sense of wrongness simply comes from being a Nobody.

Ignis dismisses this thought quickly, from what Isa, Roxas and Xion have told them, Nobodies who retain their sense of self are little different from people who haven’t lost their hearts, apart from the fact that they do seem to gain a substantial boost in power. A fact backed up by Axel’s own interactions with them.

So, it stands to reason that the Founder King may be more amenable to the idea of negotiation over guaranteed destruction. At this point there is no question that he shall fall, though his power may have initially tainted this world, they have managed to systematically dismantle it in a way that can never be recouped, not without his Heartless providing fresh victims for him to ensnare.

It is a wane hope, one that Ignis has very little confidence in, but he can do nothing but try.

Besides, the opportunity to spread his diplomatic wings as it were, has been non-existent as of late, he would be mad to turn down this chance.

With these thoughts in mind, he steps forward, making himself the target of the Founder King’s gaze.

“Iggy,” Noct whispers, concern clear in his voice, but Ignis is unwilling to break his stare in order to reassure him.

“King Somnus, named ‘the Mystic’ for your mesmerising feats on the field of battle, Founder of the Kingdom of Lucis, and forebear of the Chosen King. I am Ignis Scientia, advisor to his Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, I would offer parley here on behalf of my liege, if you would be so inclined.”

King Somnus studies him, his gaze assessing in a way that makes Ignis want to summon his daggers, but he manages to forestall that reaction in the vane hope that they can—for once—end things peacefully.

The smile that spreads across the Founder King’s face is a twisted shadow of an expression that is normally meant to be quite pleasing.

“You wish to parley?” Ignis flinches at the sound of the Founder King’s voice. His looks alone were already so similar to Noct’s, but his voice is an echo which has Ignis briefly glancing back to ensure that his friend is still standing behind him.

In the brief moment he was not looking, King Somnus stands from where he was lounging upon the roots of the lone black tree at the centre of the ashen wheat field, and as he steps out, the thin shadows cast by the dead branches no longer serve to disguise his visage.

What Ignis had at first assumed to be the play of the trees canopy shadow across the Founder King’s face, reveal themselves to be veins dyed black with darkness that writhe like snakes beneath his skin, only to fade as if they were never there to begin with.

It is unsettling to say the least, and a clear indication that the being they are dealing with is not entirely human.

Straightening, Ignis forces himself back on task. “Indeed, your current state was clearly forced upon you, and we have the means to rectify it.”

 The laugh that escapes the former King is unexpected and made all the more unnerving by how quickly he manages to silence it. “Rectify it? What makes you think I would ever wish to return to my previous state? Bound once again to the Ring of the Lucii after only the briefest taste of freedom?”

“You call this freedom?” Lea questions as he looks around the barren environment in which they stand. “If that’s the case then you really need to reassess your standards.”

The Founder King shrugs. “I will admit it is a little depressing, but not something that cannot be changed, one simply needs the strength and will to overcome it.”

The shadows and the scenery around them twist at this statement, as if in response to the Mystic’s designs, and around the edges of the clearing Dream Eaters swarm.

“Yeah, no, that’s not how it actually works,” Lea corrects as he pulls both Roxas and Xion away from the tendrils of darkness that are reaching out towards them, “see the Darkness can only grant so much but in return it will cost you all you have, trust me when I say it’s not worth it.”

“I would argue that it is, especially when the only alternative is to fall to the Scourge.” Ignis eyes widen at both that statement and the sight of the dark veins flowing across his skin, converging on his eyes until all but the deep blue of the Lucian line is dyed black.

The previous hesitance to draw his blades is nowhere to be found now as Ignis calls his daggers to hand.

His friends are swift to follow his example.

“It would seem that we have come to an impasse before talks could even begin,” Ignis notes sadly as he begins to assess the field of battle.

“Oh? Does that mean you would not be willing to hear my offer then?”

There is a trap in that question, one that Ignis is unwilling to spring, but before he can defuse it Noct speaks.

“What offer?”

“A simple trade really, as you say without my other half there is little I can do to acquire more subjects.” He gestures to the crystal behind him, only for two more to spawn into existence.

Azure and crimson in turn, the two gems are entangled in shadowed tendrils and dark smoke that soon morphs into the cumulous haze.

Ignis is expecting an attack, what they receive instead is a brief glimpse of Isa and Axel.

Their images are slightly fragmented, as though observed through the shield that had once defended Insomnia, but it is clearly them.

“Release them!” cries Lea as he glares full force at Somnus even as Roxas and Xion both call out for their friends.

“I might be persuaded to do so, if you are willing to surrender them.” The Founder King points, and Ignis’ eyes follow to find Noct and the Lord of Dreams.

The decision is a unanimous roar of dissent so discordant no individual word can be made out.

“Very well,” the Founder King acquiesces, “on your heads be it.”

With a clenched fist, the projections of their trapped friends vanish as darkness swarms the two crystals, until the shadows are made manifest. Like water or tainted blood, the darkness flows down from each crystal, spilling across the dry earth until something begins to form from it.

Slow at first it gains speed quickly, and Ignis means to put a stop to it, only for his efforts to be thwarted as the dagger he throws is deflected upon one of the spectral blades conjured by the Mystic.

Noct moves upon the unspoken call to action and warps, only to be gripped mid shift as Somnus does the same. The rest of them are moving, even as Noct summons another blade, aiming for the hand that grips his throat only for the dagger to pass through the suddenly spectral grip.

All the while Lea, Roxas and Xion fend off the lurking Dream Eaters that they soon dispatch, but even so, it is not quick enough.

Not to stop whatever beasts that have been summoned from those umbral pools that spill like tar across the deadened land.

Darkness surrounds them and forms both the skeletal lupine figures that claw their way up from the earth as pale light and roaring flame respectively fuel them.

The shadows recede, to an extent, making way for fur, scale, horn, bone, and glowing ochre eyes that bleed with the same hunger.

This is all Ignis has time to observe as Somnus attacks again, aiming for Noct, following him even as he slips between the thin pane of reality with a spectral shift that would usually have attacks pass through without damage.

The Shield of the Just rings as it catches the Sword of the Mystic and chaos descends as the conjured Heartless howls shatter the dream and unleash a nightmare.

Chapter Text

Axel had followed the fake through a darkened hall, his chakrams drawn and ready to be thrown the second the shadows around him became anything but placid, something that seems to amuse the fake.

“You’re really giving me the impression that you don’t trust me at all,” pouts the fake as he turns to face Axel, walking backwards so he can keep moving, his footsteps light and his posture relaxed.

“What makes you say that?” Axel asks with max sarcasm as he sets his chakrams on fire when the construct of his memory gets too close.

The fake raises his hands in self-defence as he skips back a few steps and grins. “Wow, were you always this high-strung?” I remember you used to be a lot more fun.”

“Funny, but the mis-quote just proves you’re not really him,” Axel snaps, “The real Zack would know better, got it memorized.”

“Ah, there it is!” The imposter smirks wider as he points a finger directly in Axel’s face, his immediate response is to bat the offending digit away, making sure that his own hand is cloaked in flames as he does so.

The shadow of Zack’s memory reacts as if the flames actually have an effect on him, pulling his hand back with a sharp yelp as he waves it frantically to put out flames that never even caught, and all the while he pouts at Axel.

The memory of anger that makes him want to throw fire at this annoying illusion, is the same one that always flares up when Xigbar pushes his cocky act too far, but he just reminds himself that he literally does not have the heart to care and keeps walking.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop this figment from continuing to try to get a rise out of him. “So, are you sure you don’t want to turn back and watch the rest of your memories? It’ll be a lot less messy than what’s waiting for you in the arena.”

“Relive some of my worst memories when I can simply beat this Guardian of yours and walk free, gosh however do I choose?” Axel lays the sarcasm on thick as he speeds up, wanting all of this to be over as soon as possible.

“Aww, you really do care,” the fake cheers as he links his hands behind his head.

“How do you figure that?” Axel growls as he tries to shove his way past the imposter, only for the fake to jump back, making sure he keeps his position in the lead.

“Well, Somnus had a lot of memories to choose from when forming your nightmare, and I mean a lot, but so many of those had to be discarded because you don’t remember them currently,” the false Zack dismisses with a wave of his hand before continuing, “anyway, the fact that I was chosen over the months of torture and trauma you went through to turn you into a Nobody has to mean something.”

“The only thing that means is that you’re my most recent memory and therefore the clearest, the minds funny like that,” Axel dismisses, eager not to look too closely at that claim, as he still finds it hard to differentiate between the memory of feelings compared to what it was actually like to feel genuine emotion when he still had a heart. He subtly shakes out his wrist in order to throw of the urge to raise his hand and trace his tear mark tattoos, his reminder.

“Yeah, yeah, keep lying to yourself, but I know the truth,” the fake chuckles as he finally turns back around.

When light appears at the end of the tunnel, Axel resists the urge to run towards it, but barely, the thing that stops him is the pointed side eye that the phantom gives him as his footsteps speedup just before he can break into a full run.

As the closed gate rises and he crosses the threshold of the arena, he has to blink a few times to adjust to the change in light, an action he is used to with how often he has to utilise Corridors of Darkness to get anywhere, but at least the lighting here is dim making it easy, what with the large braziers that dot the space being the only source of light, as the sky is no longer forced to look like anything other than the amalgamation of darkness it is.

This arena isn’t much different from the one he was contained in earlier, a bit bigger perhaps, and maybe a few more rows of seat to sit a larger audience but otherwise the same white marble and sand motif from earlier is used here again.

With a shrug Axel looks to the other side of the arena, expecting to see nothing and no one, as he’s fought more than one big boss fight and he knows how these things go. It always starts with a killer entrance, the quiet seemingly empty space you walk into will always erupt into chaos as soon as you cross an unseen line, making the ground shake and the sky tremble as whatever big bad tries to intimidate you with a display of power that always seems like such a waste to Axel, even if he can appreciate how memorable the entrances are.

Still, if you have to go that far then obviously, you’re trying way too hard.

His breath catches in his throat when instead he sees Saix standing solemn and still at the other side of the arena, his head tilted towards the sky and his gaze fixed upon the moon that emerges from behind the clouds of darkness that had previously obscured it.

“Saix!” he calls out and before he can even think about it, he’s moving. It’s too impulsive, and he should know better by now, but the sight of his friend is too sweet a lure to resist.

As expected, it gains him nothing as dark tendrils rise up from his own shadow to wrap around his legs and pull his to the ground before he can even take five steps.

He glares at the phantom who’s standing behind him laughing unashamedly.

“Oh, come on, you should know better, besides I’m doing you a favour, that construct isn’t as friendly as your Saix…actually, what am I saying, it’s about the same but this one doesn’t have a rest mode.”

“Construct?” Axel asks as he picks himself off the floor and spits sand.

“Yeah, what were you expecting some big monster like Cerberus?” the imposters questions with a confused head tilt that’s far too close to the original’s mannerisms.

“Well yeah,” defends Axel, “when you say Guardian my mind instantly goes to slathering mutt with attachment issues.”

“You weren’t too far off there buddy.” Axel flicks flame at the shadow again to make sure he knows that comparisons like that shall not go unpunished.

“Hey, that was a really good one,” pouts the fake, even as he brushes off the sparks like droplets of water. “Anyway, thought it’d be a little bit ironic if he’s the opponent you have to defeat to get out of here, since I was the one that lost to him last time.”

Axel does not wince at that, even as he mentally turns away from the memories which rise up from the provocation. “You know your boss is a real piece of work,” he hisses as he begins to walk forward, studying the terrain for any advantage. He’s going to need it if this ‘construct’ fights anything like the real Saix.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” The fake heckles as he takes a seat in the stands, “then again, you could just think of this as karma.”

Axel doesn’t even dignify that with a response. After all, if karma was real than it would have caught up to Xemnas and Xigbar long before he and Saix fell to darkness.

“Let’s just get this over with” Axel mumbles under his breath as he summons both his chakrams in a whirl of flame.

He knows what’s coming, and that anticipation and foresight is the only thing that saves him as the Guardian’s eyes shift from where they were fixed solidly on the near blinding glow of the reflection of the artificial Kingdom Hearts that once hung in the skies of the World That Never Was, to him.

The dodge is instinctual and powered by the heat of his own flames which he uses as a defence as well as a means to get more space.

Any other opponent would have been thrown back by the heat of it, and if not then the pain of his fire dancing up their arms would override any battle sense that told them the best thing to do was to close distance.

Not Saix in full Berserker mode.

Axel swears he feels the teeth of Claymore catch on his chin, but he doesn’t have time to think on that as the sheer power of the blow opens up a crater where Axel had just been standing.

And it’s only just the start.

Lea never bothered to look up what his own Heartless looked like.

Sure, he had plenty of chances, what with Xemnas having a whole file dedicated to the thing, detailing its strengths and weaknesses as well as how it had come into being, but as Axel he had no interest. Curiosity was an emotion after all, at least that is what he had told himself and others when they had asked.

He kinda regrets that now, would have been handy to have a step-by-step guide on how to take down this thing now that it’s literally setting the entire field on fire. Which he would normally appreciate, because it saved him the trouble of summoning his own, why waste your own MP when you could just pull the power move of taking control of your opponent’s own flames, show them how to really get a fire burning, and then throw the resulting Firaga or higher spell right back in their horrified face.

However, that plan had gone up in smoke the first moment Lea had thrown a mid-level Fira at the things face to stop it from taking a bite out of Gladio, only for it to eat it. As in literally swallows it whole and has the audacity to run its firelit tongue across its teeth as though his flames were the best thing it had ever tasted, before the firestorm of a mane and the fire decorating it’s antler like horns, that looked like an homage to own Lea’s hairstyle, grew from a blaze to an inferno, only matched by the beasts own wings as it spread them wide and turned the ground beneath its feet to molten rock.

“Lea are those…” Xion trails off, already knowing the answer.

Lea answers anyway, “Mine and Isa’s Heartless? Yep.”

Just as he confirms, he’s having to dodge again, this time though it’s Isa Heartless that has him in its sights. Like a scene pulled directly from his nightmares the lupine shadow beast opens its jaw wide and tries to wrap its teeth around his chest, but his previous experience as this thing’s chew toy gives him the edge.

Instead of moving back he powers forward and aims for the blind spot beneath its throat. It’s close, he feels the Heartless’ jaws close around the empty air above his head but he’s too bust bracing his Keyblade against the spiked tail and the aftershocks it summons to care.

Rolling to a stand he goes to hit the Heartless Wolf from behind only for his own Heartless to take the shot. Leaping in front of its friend, its flaming wings crossed as a shield, the damn thing absorbs all of Lea’s flames and uses them to ignite its chakram shaped tail.

“That can’t be good!” states Prompto, who pays for not focusing on his own fight when one of Somnus’ spectral blades nearly cuts off his hand, and he’s only spared that fate because Noct warps to tackle him out of the way.

“As if we needed anymore proof that he is the spawn of Ifrit!” Gladio grouses, not missing a beat as he deflects the flaming chakrams aimed at him by a swish of the fire Heartless’ tail. It leaves him open for the stance breaking pounce of Isa’s Heartless as the thing moves in perfect sync with its counterpart.

He’s only saved from the hail of spikes that follow by the mirror pained dome of Reflega Xion casts over him as Roxas sends beams of light to chase them both back, giving them a second to recover and reform.

Ignis moves in once the barrier naturally shatters and helps Gladio back to his feet, but not without a quick reprimand, “less talking about how Axel’s Heartless looks exactly like Ifrit as he is depicted in the cosmology as the dread beast of ruin that brought Solheim to its knees, more fighting, if you please!”

“Sure, no problem—oh crap there’s more!” Prompto’s warning is accompanied by the staccato of frenzied shooting as he fires wildly at the tide of Dream Eaters that are coming at them from behind. It does little to reduce the flow, but it gives Lea the time he needs to summon a circle of fire around their small group.

Noct soon joins them, his entrance marked by a polearm anchored into the dirt before them followed by his highness in a fractal shift that catches the light of the flames behind him and scatters it for the second that Noct is a mere astral projection.

“Noct!” Ignis is at his charges side immediately, handing him an elixir and checking him for injury. In the meantime, Prompto and Gladio close rank providing the cover Noct needs to gather himself.

“Pathetic!” accuses the booming voice of Somnus from where he hovers in the air, supported by his glaives and the shadows that he calls to his aid. “That this is all the Astral’s Chosen King of Light has to offer, then again, this won’t be the first time the Draconian has chosen poorly, how fitting then that both those mistakes will be corrected by my hand.”

All five spectral blades plunge towards the small group but the attack is beaten back before it can make contact, intercepted by a barrage of fire and light as Lea, Roxas and Xion bring their Keyblades to bare.

It buys Noct the time he needs to recover, before he dives back into the fray.

“How good is your guy’s water magic?” Lea whispers to Xion and Roxas as he keeps his eyes on the shadow that lurks within his walls of fire, simply waiting for the chance to attack.

“Could be better,” Roxas answers while Xion responds, “Good enough.”

“Alright,” Lea nods, even as he keeps one eye on the lupine silhouette bathed in flame. “Ignis, you got any of those Ice flasks?”

Distracted as he is, Ignis barely looks at Lea as he summons the requested item to hand and tosses it to Lea. “Careful, they can be quite temperamental.”

“Funny, I can be quite hot tempered myself.” Lea quips as he adds the finishing touches to his plan.

“Think fast!”

With a flick of his wrist, he hurls the flask straight at the head of the lurking shadow and as he hoped the beast snaps at it, catching the shining silver flask between its teeth and biting down hard. The resulting ice storm that breaks out has the creature howling, but Lea isn’t done with it.

“Roxas, Xion, now!”

Catching on the two of them raise their Keyblades and shout, “Waterga!”

The two swelling spheres of water collide and merge, turning a summoned wellspring of water into a typhoon that crashes into the glacial storm that already engulfs his own Heartless.

Steam rises, but the Waterga spell drowns the last embers clinging to the Heartless, leaving it as nothing but a burnt-out carcass that soon begins to fade.

Having thrown himself over his friends as soon as they had finished casting the spell in order to shield them as best he could, Lea straightens and takes in the destruction.

Nothing has escaped the storm, the entire landscape is transformed, dusted with a thick layer of ice and frost that clings to everything it touches with icy claws.

Lighting a flame in his palms, Lea holds it out to Xion and Roxas, so they can at least have some warmth while they wait for the magic to lose its effect.

“Hey! A little warning next time!” cries Prompto from where he stands, covered in rime, arms wrapped around his chest, trying to cling to any heat his thin jacket can provide. The others don’t look much better, but Noct looks the best of them, what with his furry little companion acting as a great winter scarf where he still sits wrapped around Noct’s neck.

“It worked, didn’t it,” Lea defends as he throws his arm out towards where Somnus and Isa’s Heartless sit bowed by the storm. Frost covered and beaten the Heartless looks as though it is about to follow its friend and fade back into darkness, its master doesn’t look much better, one arm hangs useless at his side, encased in thick ice that seems to be slowly crawling up his body.

Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t seem to know when he is beat.

“No, it will not end like this, I shall not allow it, this power is mine, this freedom hard won, the shackles that bind no longer hold sway!” The war cry that accompanies these words is swallowed by a scream of agony as Somnus picks up his own sword and wield it against his own arm.

Blood doesn’t paint the frost dusted ground, only darkness that soon mixes with the long shadow cast by the two crystals the Heartless had first emerged from.

Realisation dawns too late, but still Lea leaps forward to try and stop it.

Too late.

Always just a little too late.

As the darkness grows and the crystals burn, the Heartless reform, their power restored, their wounds healed, and Somnus stands above it all laughing as his arm reforms.

And it all begins again.