Noctis heard the distant roar of thunder. For a moment, he believed he was having a dream about the Stormbringer. He opened his eyes, but the darkness beneath his lids was replaced by a darkness that seemed to envelop everything. Perhaps, he thought, this, too, is a dream.
As his eyes adjusted and his gaze swept about, Noctis realized he was on Angelgard. He’d seen this ancient stone prison before, in the visions shared by the Crystal. It was here that Ardyn had been sealed away by his brother. The roaring he heard, then, was of surf, not thunder.
He was not certain how long he’d lain there sleeping. Last he remembered, he was seated on the throne in the heart of the Crystal. Now he was here, seated atop cold stone.
Noctis stood. It was a strange sensation, as if he were making use of another’s body rather than his own. The feeling lasted only for a moment, and by the time he was out of the cell itself and making his way to the outside, he felt his limbs moving as surely as they had in the past―or in truth, moreso than ever before.
He found that he knew the tunnel leading to the surface, though he’d never walked it himself. He had the Crystal’s memories of Ardyn being led into his prison and then led back out by Verstael two millennia later. It was a simple, straightforward route, and the memories of the two journeys were more than enough to guide him to the surface.
Once outside, he was hit with the strong scent of the ocean. The sky was dark. He saw that in his absence, the daemons’ influence had drawn a shroud over the whole world.
Be calm, he reassured himself. You are the True King, and it is this very darkness you have come to banish.
He descended the rocky slope down to the island’s single cove. Even at a distance, he could see a ship moored there, as if awaiting the king’s return. Noctis drew nearer and realized it was one he knew well: the royal vessel on which he’d made his journey from Caem to Altissia.
It felt like a reunion with an old friend. The ship was in good repair; someone, mortal or otherwise, must have kept an eye on it. It was precisely as he remembered it from when Cid’s work was complete and they’d set off across the waves.
The royal vessel was not the only friend waiting. As Noctis approached the craft, he heard a familiar bark and friendly snuffle.
“Umbra!”
The dog seemed to appear from out of nowhere. He sat at Noctis’s feet, and Noctis leaned down to pet the thick fur of his ruff. Umbra shook him away.
“What’s the matter, boy?”
With one rear leg, the dog made several swipes at a spot farther back on his neck. Noctis followed the motions, realizing Umbra was carrying something. It was where he and Lunafreya used to tuck the notebook when sending messages back and forth.
The familiarity of the exchange hit him like an unexpected blow to the chest. The last time Noctis had squatted down like this to take the notebook from Umbra, he’d been at Cape Caem, just before boarding the same ship moored beside him now. Noctis had carefully opened the notebook’s cover and flipped through the pages to Lunafreya’s latest message: Waiting for you in Altissia.
Back then, he’d been so certain that he and Lunafreya would be reunited soon. No longer would theirs be a relationship confined to written words. They would finally be together in all ways, never to part again.
He recalled with vivid clarity the way his heart had leapt at the thought. It only made the current sting more painful. He recalled also the morning in Altissia when he realized that the notebook, the arrival of which had always delighted him, would now serve only as a constant reminder of loss.
Umbra shifted impatiently, unknowing of this inner turmoil. He nuzzled against Noctis’s crouched figure, urging him to accept the delivery.
“All right, all right, cool it,” Noctis told the dog.
He pulled the object free, realizing it to be a different, smaller notebook. He flipped it open to the first page, and on scanning it his eyes widened, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding his mind.
“How is this possible?” he wondered aloud.
Inside, in the same flowing script of the brief notes he’d seen countless times before, was written page after page crammed with thoughts, letters, and journal entries.
“Luna? She’s alive?”
It was hard to believe, and yet the hand was unmistakable. The first message―I’m safe―was written in a hasty scrawl. She must have been in some great hurry as she began. But those were the only words that lacked the care and good form of Lunafreya’s usual impeccable penmanship. Twelve years they’d exchanged messages; Noctis knew the shapes of her letters by heart. Her voice seemed to emanate from the words he read now. The more he read, the more certain he became: the notebook may have been different, but it was, beyond any doubt, something prepared by Lunafreya and meant for him.
There on the shores of Angelgard, Noctis read. He learned of Lunafreya’s revival and of the new calling bestowed upon her. He learned of the world as it was now, devoid of daylight and uninhabited save for Lestallum and its environs. He read about Lunafreya’s shock and bewilderment on waking into this new world. Of the new, inhuman power she’d gained. Of her travels through former imperial lands, felling daemons along the way. And of her new friend, a young woman named Sol. As Noctis scoured the pages, following every stroke of her pen, his vision began to blur, until finally his eyes were too full of tears to read further.
“Luna . . . ” He wept. “She’s . . . she’s alive.”
This whole time, he’d believed her lost. The one life he’d wanted to protect more than any other. When the Crystal had revealed the True King’s calling, one thought had been more devastating than any other: though Noctis could promise a future to the world in exchange for his own life, it would be a future not graced with Lunafreya’s presence.
But now he held evidence that she was alive.
“Thank . . . ”
Thank the gods, he’d wanted to say, but his voice grew hoarse and thick with sobs. He traced a finger over the words of the notebook―the words that she had strung together, true and certain.
Wiping tears away with the back of his hand, he continued to read. Here and there, he found a date noted in small figures: 766. At first, he thought it was a mistake, but the number appeared over and over. Noctis’s own journey with his friends had begun in M.E. 756. The scenes shared by the Crystal had spanned from ancient times up to that same year, which was to be expected, since Noctis had been drawn inside to learn of the past. The Draconian had shown glimpses of a future in which Noctis defeated Ardyn, but the god had given no hint of the year in which that event might take place.
“Ten years . . . ” Noctis mumbled to himself.
He’d not imagined the Crystal might need so much time to pour its energy into the ring. There hadn’t been the slightest notion that his calling might keep his companions waiting so long. Did they still have hope? Were they still awaiting his return?
If they had indeed waited all these years, then it was crucial that Noctis hurry to find and rejoin them. They would fight side by side as brothers once again, and this time, Noctis would be ready to keep them safe. He would not only save his retainers and Lunafreya―he would see dawn returned to the world for all. Not one life more would be lost.
Noctis couldn’t bear the thought of any more deaths. And Lunafreya . . . Never again would she have to offer up her own life for the sake of others, her duties as Oracle be damned.
“No longer will I abide a world in which there is such sacrifice,” he vowed.
The writings of the notebook did not detail what Lunafreya’s new calling might entail, but if that, too, involved her sacrificing her life, he would do anything and everything to prevent it. From now on, Noctis would see an end to all such things.
On the final page, he found written, Waiting for you at the Citadel.
A few pages earlier, there had been another passage that drew his attention. Lunafreya again mentioned the inhuman power she’d been given―a strength not meant for mortal hands―as well as her hesitation to use it. What did she mean? What was this power of which she wrote?
Thinking to send Umbra with that question, he found an empty space in which to write . . . then realized he had no pen at hand.
“Just my luck,” he sighed, then realized that there was no need to write. They’d see each other soon. Noctis had his own business at the Citadel.
“Thanks, Umbra,” he told the dog. “I’ll give this back to Luna myself.”
Umbra gave a single bark in response, signaling his understanding. After ruffling the thick fur around the dog’s neck again, Noctis urged Umbra aboard the vessel and then hopped on himself.
When they pulled up alongside the pier at Galdin and disembarked, Noctis couldn’t help but voice his surprise aloud.
“They really are all gone.”
Not a soul was in sight. In the past, Galdin Quay had been a resort, bustling at all hours with all sorts of people come to enjoy a moment’s respite from the daily grind. During the daytime, the blues of the sea and sky shone so intensely they were almost blinding. At night, dozens of lights lined the walkways and hung from the ceilings to keep the dark ever at bay. It was a place bright to both eyes and spirit.
Now not a single light was lit. Inky darkness covered everything. The pier stood lonely in the water, no longer host to vacationers enjoying casual spells of fishing. As man and dog walked along its planks, the only sound was of their own footfalls.
The instant Noctis had emerged from the stone corridors of Angelgard and observed the pervasive darkness that was not night, he’d suspected this world would be far different from the one he remembered. Lunafreya’s account, too, had given warning: uninhabited save for Lestallum.
He’d grasped the concept intellectually, yet the reality still took him by surprise. The complete absence of people at Galdin Quay left him feeling as if perhaps everyone in the world had vanished, and now he alone was left. Even when he tried to reassure himself that this was not the case, unease still hung heavy upon him. Noctis heard nothing from the world aside from the rolling surf.
Then, without warning, Umbra was barking. Not a hostile bark, warning of danger, but a bark of recognition. Someone friendly was approaching.
“Welcome back, Your Majesty.”