Nothing matters―none of it. Not the “blessed” gods above nor the accursed kings below. To hell with them all!
All that matters is I have my revenge.
I shall fell the gods.
Noctis had never seen a face so full of hatred in all his life. Of the two thousand years of history he’d seen within the Crystal, nothing came close.
“Insolent whelp!” Ardyn growled at Noctis. “You think ten years is a long time?!”
The fight was tense, and Noctis did not hold back. It wasn’t simply a matter of dispatching his opponent anymore―now he had his own particular goals, which required keeping Ardyn alive. So he’d need to land a carefully targeted hit, one with just enough force to take the fight out of Ardyn.
“It is nothing to me! I have lived in darkness for ages!” Ardyn continued, his irritation growing hot.
“Believe me, I know,” came Noctis’s retort. “You’ve lived for two thousand years, every moment of which I’ve seen. I know every detail of your world.”
With the Crystal’s knowledge, the king was bound to act. The knowledge would weigh him down, end any thought of abandoning his fate, and fuel a sense of duty stronger even than the fear of death. That was why the Draconian had shared the memories recorded in the endless expanse of the Crystal. It was a tactic meant to render Noctis unable to flee his calling as True King. But the gods were gods. They did not know with certainty the mind of man. A burden meant to force one’s actions might, if too overwhelming, compel its bearer to seek a different course. The weight on one’s shoulders could be shifted and become a new source of strength. Such was the potential of human life.
When Noctis accepted his father’s blade in the Crystal, the great burden he’d felt oppressed by changed. It was now the strength that would allow him to move forward without fear.
“Tell me,” he asked Ardyn, “do you truly believe the theft of the ring and death of the Draconian will bring you deliverance?”
“Silence!” Ardyn grimaced. His finesse with the blade was gone, and he threw all his weight into each blow. “To hell with you accursed kings and your conniving gods!”
Noctis’s comments had touched a nerve. It seemed Ardyn might have had a similar exchange with someone else already. The Accursed’s attacks grew frantic, and his guard was down. When the fight began, Noctis had been pressed to find even the slightest opening. Now, Ardyn’s movements were sloppy, and Noctis found himself with any number of chances to land his perfect blow.
“Deliverance means nothing to me! I am―!”
Noctis did not let him finish. Calling the Sword of the Father to hand, he thrust straight and true. When the hit landed, Noctis put all his force into it, hurling Ardyn to the ground. Ardyn lay face up, grip loosening from his own summoned blade.
“Do you wish to toy with my life? See me suffer?” The Accursed’s voice was hoarse, his breath heavy.
He stared up at Noctis. “Is that why you do not strike at my heart? Finish this. Fulfill your calling. See? The Old Kings . . . they’re waiting.”
Noctis glanced up. The souls of the Kings of Yore were there, assembled in the courtyard. They must have appeared during the battle, sensing the ring’s call close at hand.
Noctis looked back at Ardyn. “Not so long ago, I believed your death would bring an end to the darkness. I set forth to kill you so that dawn might come to the world once more.”
Coming to terms with the act would have been another matter, but the execution would have been simple enough. Noctis had only to surrender his life. In exchange, both Ardyn’s body and soul would be vanquished finally, and the darkness dispelled. That should have been enough.
“But I was wrong,” Noctis continued. “The Draconian aims to bring an end to man and to the Star. Killing you won’t change anything.”
Once he’d realized that the calling bestowed by Bahamut was no longer relevant, Noctis began to focus on the bigger picture. He realized that it was up to him to ensure a future for the world, for the sake of all the things he’d witnessed inside the Crystal: the lives lived, the people inhabiting the world, and the sanctity of existence itself. That was the future Noctis wished to see.
He tugged his sword free from Ardyn’s body. No black particles swirled from the wound. No sign of the usual rapid healing. Perhaps this was the power of the True King. If Noctis had aimed for his heart, the Ardyn in this world might already lay vanquished.
Noctis stared into Ardyn’s eyes. “If you’d managed to gain the ring and cross over to the realm beyond, and if you’d managed to defeat the Draconian there, would Eos and its people be safe?”
Ardyn’s words came between soft groans. “A possibility . . . perhaps. Not that it is any concern of mine.”
If so, allowing Ardyn to cross over to the Beyond might be for the good of all, even if he were doing it for his own selfish reasons. But there was one problem.
“I won’t stand for a world whose survival hinges on the sacrifices of others. Not even if that sacrifice is yours,” said Noctis.
He would always hate Ardyn for killing Lunafreya, and the urge for revenge ran deep. Still, he was loath to use the man to achieve his own goals; the manipulation of others was the very root of the evil against which Noctis rebelled.
He continued, “Don’t get me wrong. I’ll never forget the things you did to my friends or the agony you caused Luna. I can’t forgive you or let go of my hatred. But I want all the lives on this star to be saved, and you are one part of this world.”
Ardyn’s clenched jaw quivered. His eyes no longer held a trace of anger or loathing. In them, Noctis saw a flash of something else that was hard to place.
“And besides that,” Noctis added, “I made a promise to the Mystic. He begged me to find a way to bring you peace.”
Free my brother from his eternal curse, Somnus had pleaded.
Hatred and rage were not the only things that chained Ardyn. His undying body had also brought him long years of torment.
“I don’t want there to be any more sacrifices, but if this will bring you peace, I’ll allow it.”
Noctis pulled the ring from his finger. Ardyn, face still contorted with pain, sat up. A breath escaped his lips, somewhere between sigh and wry laugh.
“How very regal you’ve become. A true king, indeed.”
“Kings of Lucis!” Noctis called out to the specters assembled in the courtyard. “Hear my plea! I hereby entrust the Ring of Light to the man before me. Allow him to use it as you would allow me.”
The royal souls floated in silence.
Noctis continued, “I know as do you the blasphemy I suggest. I know that you, whose powers stem from the divine, may be reluctant to do this. For with the ring, this man would endeavor to slay a god. But know this: the Bladekeeper works to bring an end to all mankind. Lucis and all else you labor to protect will be gone forever. Knowing that, would you still waver?!”
One of the thirteen moved forward.
“Rulers of House Caelum. Leaders of Lucis. Heed the plea of one brother for sake of another. Accept Ardyn Lucis Caelum as bearer of the ring.”
The soul of the Mystic shed its great suit of armor. Ardyn’s eyes widened. Among the thirteen, this one now stood not as an ancient king but as the man as he had been in life.
“Brother, may this serve as a small token of my penance.”
“Somnus . . . ” Ardyn whispered.
“I dare not hope to ever have your forgiveness. All the same, I will forever apologize for what I have done.”
Ardyn’s gaze remained fixed, features unmoving. Noctis had watched as Somnus offered an apology like this once before. Back then, he’d been rebuffed in rage. Ardyn’s silence seemed as much a sign of reconciliation as might ever be hoped for.
Words from the other kings poured forth, all directed toward Ardyn.
“Man consumed by scourge is no longer man, and so . . . ”
“ . . . with our strength imparted . . . ”
“ . . . thou mayest but crumble to dust . . . ”
“ . . . or ignite with flame and burn alive . . . ”
“ . . . or suffer in agony equal to death . . . ”
“ . . . yet knowing that . . . ”
“ . . . wouldst thou still seek our power?”
Ardyn stood, his balance unsteady as he turned to face the Lucii. He spread his arms wide, his taste for theatrics apparently not dulled by his injuries.
“Crumble to dust, you say? Burn alive? Already have I lived through the worst agony this world has to offer. The pain of which you speak is nothing to me.”
The thirteen kings glided closer to encircle Ardyn alone.
“Then so be it . . . ”
“ . . . thou shalt have our strength . . . ”
“ . . . to don the ring . . . ”
“ . . . and ascend the throne . . . ”
“ . . . where we will await thine arrival.”
And here, Noctis saw that it was his father’s turn. The thirteenth soul merely nodded without a word, and as if that had been the signal to depart, the Old Kings were gone and the courtyard silent.
Noctis held the ring out to Ardyn.
Ardyn grinned, “I must confess, it’s been so long since I’ve been given a gift―almost two thousand years, in fact―that I’ve completely forgotten what to say.” He gave another dramatic shrug, accepted the ring, then swept his arm to one side, inviting Noctis to make his way past.
“It’s best not to keep a lady waiting, wouldn’t you say?”
Noctis nodded, and then he was off and running. During the time it took to resolve the situation with Ardyn, the circle around Lunafreya had grown brighter, with more swords arrayed around it.
Inside the Citadel, they saw no trace of the Draconian’s avatars. Perhaps damage to the structure and the Crystal it housed really was a risk that Bahamut could not tolerate. Noctis was thankful for not having to expend further time and stamina in battle, but whatever they had saved of both was quickly consumed by another challenge: movement.
Unsurprisingly, the Citadel’s power systems were all offline. There were no lights. Doors locked tight by security fail-safes weren’t going to open, so they had to backtrack and search for others that would. Between that and groping their way down dark corridors, the trek through the Citadel took time. And the final time sink quickly outweighed any previous frustration.