M.E. 756
The flurry of footfalls echoing along the cold catwalk came to an abrupt halt. A momentary shudder passed through the runner, who now stood before the sacred stone, bathed in its icy light. His black hair was shaggy, left to grow in any and every direction at will, and his shoulders hung slightly rounded, as if hinting at some wayward nature. His breathing was labored, heavy after his headlong sprint.
“Please . . . Help me stop the daemons.” The words seemed wrenched from the boy’s throat, his voice ragged. He reached out to touch the stone, but no sooner were his fingertips upon it than his desperate plea contorted into an astonished cry. The Crystal began to pull him in. His expression was frozen in shock.
The boy’s observer drew close from behind, struggling to suppress a smile.
“Unharmed by the Light. The Chosen King, indeed.”
The young scion was still so lacking. He was little more than a copycat of proper royalty, really. Yet the Crystal did not deny him. It was an irritating reality, further driven home when the boy turned to identify the voice coming from behind him. Oh, how familiar were the contours of that face. His was the very countenance of that ancient false king, never meant for the throne but drawing power from the Crystal nonetheless.
“Allow me to regale you with a tale,” the observer said, offering a glimpse of history like scraps tossed to a dog. “In an age long past, an incurable scourge ravaged mankind. A tiny menace that twisted men into monsters, the likes of which you’ve seen.”
The boy’s eyes revealed how little he knew of the world. As the story began, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across them. But they quickly narrowed.
Good. Let the anger flow. Let it run unchecked. Wrap yourself in rage and gnash your teeth as you learn how powerless you truly are.
“In Lucis lived a savior that could cure the afflicted. His body would come to host myriad daemons, that countless lives be spared.”
Thank you!
Without warning, a long-forgotten voice echoed in the observer’s mind.
It was joined by another, this one choked with tears.
Oh, thank the gods. I’m my old self again.
Then more.
Lord Caelum, you have saved me!
Without your mercy, milord, I would have surely remained a hideous monster, struck down by the soldiers of our land.
It is only because of your kindness that I stand here today!
The observer shook his head slightly to dispel the flood. He’d presumed such words had been lost to time.
And what of it? he thought. That chapter has long since drawn to its close. Should remnants linger, they are of no value or meaning to me.
He smoothly resumed his tale, inner conflict unbetrayed by outward sign. “But a jealous king, one not yet chosen by the Crystal, ostracized and demonized this healer of the people. Making a true monster of him.”
And here, the observer could no longer suppress his smile. The corners of his mouth curled up of their own accord, curved daggers that pierced through all the insufferable bitterness and aggravation that had plagued his life.
“I gave you my name earlier, but you should know that it was not the name given to me at birth.”
All those who knew his true identity had long since departed this world. He was known now as Ardyn Izunia, imperial chancellor of Niflheim.
“Ardyn Lucis Caelum is my proper name.”
On speaking his own name for the first time in ages, Ardyn was surprised by the potency of the hatred that surged within him. He’d taken it for granted, numbed to its constant, unwavering presence. Yet there it still writhed, that almost-forgotten intensity blacker than darkness itself.
Prince Noctis. His lips began to form the boy’s name. He paused, then opted for more familiar address.
“Noct.”
The boy’s nickname. Uttering it spread a deliciously sinister warmth through him.
“Killing you as a mortal will bring me scant satisfaction. Claim the Crystal’s power. Arise as its champion.”
This was whom the Crystal had chosen, those fifteen years ago. Here was the young king who, with power of stone in hand, assumed the task of banishing darkness as calamity descended upon the world.
“Only once the Crystal and King are no more . . . can I know redemption.”
All had been taken from the man they called Adagium. His brother, his own flesh and blood, had snatched away his hopes, his future, and the woman he loved. He’d lost everything, all because of that damn stone and cursed throne.
Would that it be gone from this world forevermore. Indeed, he would see it destroyed at his own hands. And along with it, everything else: the gods who forsook men without a thought, the Crystal that aided their divine cause, and the whole damn world smeared black with lies.
Ardyn longed only to see it all crumble. This was his sole remaining desire.
“Come back soon. I shall keep your friends company until you are ready.”
Your friends. Noctis’s face twisted as the words left Ardyn’s mouth, his eyes reflecting every single bit of hatred and anger burning within him. And once again Ardyn was struck by a sense of familiarity. He had never experienced the pleasure of seeing such rage in Somnus, but the resemblance really was quite striking. Though his brother and the boy were mirrored in appearance, their personalities and patterns of behavior were night against day, their expressions a study in unending contrast. Still, the resemblance gave rise to a certain yearning in Ardyn: what a delight it would have been to see that duplicitous usurper’s features contorted in torment just as Noctis’s were now. How Ardyn had longed to watch, gaze ripe with malice, as his brother was erased from the world, powerless against fate.
Yet despite their endless disagreements and confrontations, not once had Ardyn seen his brother’s face like this. The only expressions he remembered were those of annoyance, resignation, and disdain.
It was odd. Had he merely forgotten the rest? Had his brother’s emotions slipped from his memory with the passage of millennia? Or was there some other explanation?
Brother.
From deep in his mind, he heard one more voice call out to him.
Long ago, when the words of the gods resonated in the hearts of men . . . Two thousand years before the reign of the Chosen King . . .
“You understand nothing, Brother.”
He’d not heard Somnus’s voice for so long. The words his brother spoke seemed unusually cold.
“Willfully you disregard the duties of one charged to rule.”
No, the chill would have been present for some time already. Anything resembling normal conversation between him and his younger brother had ceased long before then. How many years had it been since he last heard Somnus laugh? Ardyn grimly curled his fingers to count.
As children, they had been close. Between the many hours of study and training, they had enjoyed all manner of diversions together. They were particularly fond of chess. Somnus did not care for the game’s prescribed handicap―one piece removed from the elder player’s side for each year in excess of his opponent’s age. He stubbornly insisted that victory meant nothing if not achieved on equal footing, and no matter how many losses he endured, his resolve never wavered. Ardyn had thought highly of his brother for being so intent, at such a young age, to see justice through.
And Somnus was always at his brother’s side. No matter where Ardyn went, the younger boy was close behind. So inseparable were the pair that those who encountered either of them on rare days apart would jest that next they should witness rain falling from a clear sky.
But now . . .
“No, ‘dear brother.’ You are the one who does not understand.”
Propriety be damned. He had to stop Somnus, no matter the means.
“Why do you give your men leave to slaughter?” he challenged. “Those they kill are neither beast nor foe. They are our countrymen.”
“Countrymen?” Somnus scoffed. “What nonsense is this? They are monsters. Leave them be, and they’ll start a slaughter of their own!”
“You’re wrong. They are no monsters. The scourge is but a disease. Perhaps a bit vexing to treat, but a disease nonetheless. Though afflicted with the scourge, they are still men inside.”
The Starscourge was indeed peculiar. Over the past few years, it had begun to spread among the populace. No medical art could cure it, nor could any tonic stem its progress. Those who fell ill were thrust into despair, realizing full well the fate that awaited them. Thus, the scourge was greatly feared among the people. Some declared it a curse; others deemed it punishment from the gods.
But in truth, it was neither curse nor punishment. It was certainly no retribution from the gods. Of that much Ardyn was certain. It was simply a disease. He knew as much because it could be cured, though not with any herb.
“Their assaults on others are born from the anguish of their affliction,” he told his brother. “The souls inside remain free from blame. We must simply purge them of this disease before they reach that state. In doing so, we may save those nearby from harm.”
The scourge brought transformation. The body grew black as jet, and the mind was lost to madness, causing the victim to lash out at anything nearby. Those most firmly in the clutches of the Starscourge were pronounced daemons and restrained before they were beyond control. Daemons were kept apart from the community . . . and eventually killed. Ardyn endeavored to treat the afflicted―to return them to their former selves―before that happened.
“I see no difference,” Somnus spat.