#Grove Argentum

[thetarotman]

Four Witches Have an Adventure in New Hope, PA, Part II

Well, between the Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve and Rice’s Market, we were ready to eat, especially the Priestess of Grove Argentum. I suggested we check out the New Hope Ferry Market. I discovered the Ferry Market, when my life partner and a fellow Gay couple went to New Hope, PA, in February, 2023. One of the first things I noticed about the New Hope Ferry Market were the variety of…

[chippersweetbaby]

[ninemelodies]

[berrydoodleoo]

time it took us / to where the water was

A few weeks ago (a month already?!) @aithilin posted this thread on Twitter about Steyliff that captured the haunting atmosphere and Noct’s grief so perfectly that I had to make something. And here it is! Thank you for sharing your headcanons with us, please consider this an expression of gratitude!

It’s not an exact scene from the thread, but something inspired by it. Maybe Noct heard his father’s voice and glanced over, distracted, and was astonished to see that part of Steyliff now opened into the Citadel, warm and shining, just like he remembered. But empty, echoingly empty -- wait. And then there was his dad, striding along with his cane, also just as he remembered. As if he was simply coming after Noct to remind him of some forgotten detail once more.

Noctis dragged to a halt and then stood frozen, watching his father approach. He heard the others ask him what was wrong: impatient Aranea, laughing Prompto, alert Ignis. Prompto darted back to grab his arm and tug him along, but the moment they touched he stopped, gasping, and Noctis knew that Prompto could see it, too.

And so for a frozen moment, both of them stood and stared. And on the other side of the bridge, from a world away, King Regis stood watching his son with an expression of calm understanding and terrible, terrible love

[ipromptography]

Prompto with black hair...???

[fangirlmiv]

What really happened in Steyliff Grove

HighSpecs

Rating: SFW (eventually NSFW)

Genre: Humor/drama

Word count: 4152

So, a long time ago, I wrote a one-shot, Warping what?? https://archiveofourown.org/works/10481478, in which Aranea Highwind had some pretty serious accusations to lay at Ignis’ feet, and Ignis realized that warping can have rather unforeseen results. I always wanted to write how the two lovebirds actually got in bed together, but I just couldn’t get it right. Before now. I have split the fic into smaller parts, and there’s the first. Have 4152 words of Ignis being in denial. Story will get smutty, no worries!

Chapter 1 - Sparring

As dismayed as Ignis is to spot the likeness of Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, the puce-haired weasel himself, just as pleased is he to find out that their “escort” will be the silver-haired woman that they fought at Fort Vaullerey. She has been on his mind more than he cares to admit (and so he has spoken naught about her at all), especially considering the rather blunt comments regarding her “assets” that has been coming from both Gladiolus and Prompto. Ignis is no prude, but those two hormonal dunderheads would no doubt reroute his speculations in decidedly distracting directions. Yes, she is “smokin’ hot”, he is not blind, but that does not make her any less of a treat.

As the Chancellor makes the introductions, Ignis mentally tallies his facts. Aranea Highwind, mercenary turned Imperial Commodore, and a prodigy with the lance. Ignis is a lance-wielder himself, and he knows with some vanity that he is better than most. The Commodore’s mastery, however, is on another level. He is not above admitting to being somewhat jealous. Based on her fighting style, he has surmised that she is probably a Dragoon, a rare class of fighters specializing in aerial movements and fighting primarily with polearms. Dragoons are not native to Insomnia and Ignis does not have much information to go on. He’s tentatively tried to emulate some of her moves, and falling frustratingly short.

He’s quite sure there’s magic or tech, or mix of both, at work. Dragoons are rumored to wield their own variety of elemental magic and she was able to fight eye to eye with Noctis, staying airborne and countering the King move for move. She was a match for the four of them, loathe as he is to admit it. He could still vividly recall her slightly mocking tone as she forfeited the fight.

There is no guarantee they will emerge unharmed from another skirmish, and he was grateful for this change to interact with her, and possibly learn more about her fighting style. And how to counter it, most importantly.

Especially since buying her off is out of the question, given their financial situation.

So, all things considered, the proposed arrangement are two tentative birds in their hand, despite the looming shadow of Chancellor Izunia and his no doubt nefarious plans.  

Beggars cannot be choosers. But they can still be wary of the hand that feeds them.

“I trust you’ll be civil. Commodore Aranea Highwind, I leave them to you,” the Chancellor says, interrupting his speculations. With a flourish of his hat, the Chancellor takes his leave.

“So, special training…” Aranea Highwind says after a tense moment of silence, arms crossed. She looks them up and down with a sardonic mien.

She truly is a striking woman, especially as she is without the spiky, somewhat ridiculous helmet. Though of average height, her slender frame exudes confidence and strength, and her silver hair, a shade he has never seen before, only makes her stand out even more. He wonders if the silver, unless it’s an expert dye-job, is a clue to her origins. He’s never seen hair like that before, and Dragoons are said to originate from somewhere beyond the Imperial Continent. Intriguing, indeed.

“Look, we don’t want any trouble –“ Noctis begins.

“Relax, none taken,” the Commodore interrupts. “As I said, this is your show. I’m getting my gil and the rest is none of my business.”

“Okay, that sounds alright, I guess,” Noctis says, looking sideways at Ignis, who nods discreetly.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Now that the Chancellor has deprived us of his delightful company, let’s get this show on the road. It’s pretty clear that this is to be no ordinary training excursion, your Majesty.”

“Just call me Noctis,” Noctis says tightly. He’s not at all comfortable with the title, and Ignis is grateful when Prompto cuts in.

“Hey, don’t forget about us plebs,” he exclaims.  

“I see you, sunshine,” the Commodore says, turning her attention to Prompto. Predictably, he grins from ear to ear. Noctis and Ignis both roll their eyes behind his back.

“Commodore Highwind,” Ignis begins, trying to get the situation back on track.

She laughs and shakes her head. “First of all, drop the formalities, I’m not your commanding officer. You are the damned opposition. As I see it, I’m here to make sure you get your asses and your loot out of that dungeon in one piece, and that’s it.”

“Might we try an overture of teamwork? It will no doubt make for more effective fighting,” Ignis points out, looking over the Commodores shoulder and into the looming darkness of the dungeon’s entrance. He would like the chance to ask her a few cautious questions, but this is hardly the time or place.

“Sure thing, Four-Eyes, I can do teamwork,” she replies, her voice not exactly hostile. Ignis nearly corrects her, but stops himself. Aranea Highwind likes her nicknames and he doesn’t think he can make her change her style of address. So, Four-Eyes it is. He’s heard worse.

He sighs and reminds himself that is only going to be a brief acquaintance, in any case. Get the mythril, get out alive, and they’ll hopefully be on their way.

“Let’s gear up and move out, then,” Noctis says and Aranea holds up a hand.

“No can do. This place is built by Solheim. The dungeon only opens at night, so we have some hours to kill.” She indicates the clear, sunny sky. A collective moan of annoyance is uttered by Prompto and Noctis.

“I know you boys can fight,” she continues with a cheeky grin, that has Noct scratch the back of his head and Ignis frown slightly.

“How about a friendly sparring match? Would be good for that teamwork-thing and I can assess your skills. No way I am going into any daemon-infested ruin without knowing your limits.”

Despite her playful tone, this is clearly not up for discussion and Prompto nearly throws her a salute, hand quivering at his side. And Ignis? Ignis finds himself almost humming with anticipation. He has been mentally preparing for this ever since their first encounter. Aranea Highwind will undoubtedly be the most skilled adversary he will ever have the opportunity to spar against.

“A sparring-match would be welcome,” he agrees. Gladiolus leaving and subsequently meeting up with the Chancellor has them all on edge. Even Noctis has not even brought up fishing, even though the Vesperpool is but a stone’s throw away. A workout is needed.  

"You got your weapons?" she asks.

"Yeah, fully weaponized," Noctis says with a smirk, restored to cockiness, and Aranea looks him up and down and grins.

"Well, let’s get at it. C'mon, recruits, this way.”

Ignis cannot help but chuckle at her attitude. For a mere “escort” she is awfully bossy. She retrieves her helmet, and leads them away from the dungeon, towards the drier slopes.

“We cleaned out the oversized chickens when we set up camp so we’ll not get interrupted,” she explains.

“Do you have any of the meat left?” Ignis cannot help but ask, falling in step next to her. He has a recipe that incorporates poison fowl, and he is keen for a chance to try it out.

Aranea squints at him. Her eyes are dark green, like summer foliage, he notes.

“You do know they are smack full of toxins?” she says slowly.

“Of course. That's the beauty of it. Prepared in the right way, the components can be very beneficial.”

“If you say so…” she trails off, clearly not convinced.

"I assure you that my cooking is perfectly safe. And beneficial!" Ignis says indignantly. He can't help it. He takes a lot of pride in his cooking. And he's not used to being questioned on his skills.

"Okay, I believe you, Four-Eyes," she says breezily. "There should be some gobbets in storage, feel free to play house when we get back."

Ignis just nods stiffly, letting himself trail behind. Prompto is more than willing to take his place, pulling out his camera and showing it off to the Commodore.

Aranea Highwind is obviously smart, candid and somewhat of a potty-mouth, and Ignis decides on the spot that he's going to outdo himself with dinner tonight and show her wrong. The recipe called for the leg of a chick, but he might have to improvise, depending on what is available, and he is sure he has the rest of the ingredients – he's brutally booted out of the mental kitchen when Prompto grabs his arm and pulls him to the side. Suddenly, he finds himself squeezed in between Noctis and – Astrals help him – Aranea, as Prompto wastes no time making himself comfortable on the Commodore's other side and extends his arm.

“Cheese, guys!" the blond paparazzi yells, and Ignis looks at the camera and smiles, a pavlovian conditioning resulting from weeks of traveling with Prompto. There's a fast series of clicks and Prompto lowers the camera and looks excitedly at the LCD-display.

"Hey, this one is pretty good," he says and holds up the camera for them to see.

To Ignis’ surprise, Aranea leans in and looks at the camera with interest.

"Not bad, sunshine," she says, "but I'm easy on the lens – I don't have any bad sides," she goes on, tossing on her head so her multitude of tiny ponytails fly about her head, shining like silver in the sunlight.

"Man, I completely agree, I mean look at your cheekbones –" Prompto joins in excitedly, his inner photographer coming out in full force. Aranea shakes her head and straightens.

"At ease, recruit. I think we better get the training kicked off," she says gruffly, though be eyes twinkle.

Prompto nods, blushing a bit and fumbles with his camera, quickly deconjuring it.

"That is rather impromptu," Ignis cannot help but admonish. Aranea looks at him, and snorts.

"Give a gal a warning next time," she mutters, and then turns around and suddenly her lance is in her hand and she brandishes it at them, and for one terrible moment Ignis thinks that she will skewer them (is his pun truly that bad?), that this is some sort of horribly convoluted trap.

"You, Prompto, wanna go first?" Aranea grins and the moment deflates like a soufflé gone wrong.

They are standing in an area relatively free of rocks and large vegetation, and the ground looks level. A good place to spar, he realizes.

Aranea points her lance at Prompto, who gulps and then runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I'm up for it," he says and walks forward with an exaggerated strut.

“A moment, if you please,” Ignis says, raising a hand. Prompto stops, looking back at him, and Aranea tilts her head.

“Yes, Four-Eyes?”

“Rules of engagement for this … assessment?” he inquires.

She rolls her shoulders, and says in a slightly overbearing tone of voice. “How about first blood?”

First blood? Ignis stares at her.

“Hey, isn't that a bit barbaric?” Prompto exclaims.

“No way!” Noctis says with finality.

“The king has spoken,” Aranea makes a mock bow and then snickers. “Close your mouths, recruits, got some nasty bugs around here with a fondness for dark, moist places.” Belatedly, Ignis realizes that she was not serious. An Imperial with a sense of humor? Fascinating.

“Eh, yes, I have,” Noctis makes an effort to sound regal, clearly confused about the Dragoon’s shift in attitude.

“No blood. Okay, it’s like this, fights continue until one part yields, by word or deed, and no interference from the outside. Spells prohibited. Is that acceptable, gentlemen?”

Ignis nods, that’s more or less the same rules imposed by the Crownsguard.

“Yeah. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Noctis says softly, and in that moment, Ignis have a very adult moment with Aranea Highwind. He knows exactly what she is going to say, and it’s too harsh. He quickly captures and holds her gaze, and shakes his head. She frowns slightly and then, surprisingly, her eyes soften.

“No blood, I promise,” she says, and even sounds quite honest. She better be.

“I feel so much safer now,” Prompto pipes in, sarcastically, or as close to sarcasm as Prompto can get, and Noctis pushes him forward with a grin. “Don’t worry, go show her what the men of Insomnia are made of,” and Aranea winks at the blond boy as she dons her helmet.

“I don't bite. Much.”

Apparently, the men of Insomnia are made of blushes.

He does put admirable effort into the fight, though. Being primarily a gunner, Prompto should have the advantage, if only he can keep his distance, but it turns out that Aranea is not only freakishly fast and maneuverable, she also possesses a shield technology that is devastatingly effective against single-source barrages. Ignis mentally notes this with a frown. He had observed that Aranea made good use of shielding, but he has not expected her to be able to focus the shield into a much smaller, and by extrapolation, much stronger, area, and certainly has not anticipated that she is able to move the focal point with such speed.

Prompto lasts less than two minutes. Aranea lets him get in a few shots, that simply deflects off her, like they are mere pebbles, and when he pulls out the bioblaster, she jumps straight up, avoiding the poison easily and hurls her lance at him. It does Prompto honor that he does not panic and tries to take aim at her, though he should probably have concentrated on getting out of range, Ignis dryly notes as the impact of the lance knocks the blond boy down, and in flash, Aranea is standing above him, boot on his Adam's apple. Prompto just looks up at her with a silly grin because at that angle he can look straight up her legs, and Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose. Really, the boy can’t help it but Astrals, he could do with some self-restraint.

“Eyes down, recruit,” Aranea says dryly, and Prompto scrambles to get on his feet even before she removes her boot. Rubbing his bruised throat, he babbles out an excuse and beats a hasty retreat, hiding behind Noctis.

“Noct, do something,” he mouths, and gives the King a regular shove forward.

“Volunteering, Noctis?”

“I suppose so,” Noctis grounds out, shooting Prompto a look. A sword appears in Noctis’ hands in a shimmer of light and Ignis nods in approval as he recognizes the airstep sword. The sword’s ability to reduce Noct’s requirement for mana will certainly come in handy against a foe like Aranea.

           “Hold that thought,” the Commodore says and then whips her head to the side, locking her eyes on Ignis. The advisor has been around enough military personnel to recognize that look; Cor comes to mind, all ruthless … ruthlessness, and he squares his jaw, reminding himself that he has been wanting to do this for a long time.

“Saving you for last, pretty boy,” she says. “I want a go at Four-Eyes first.”

“Saving the best for last,” Noctis retorts with a slight preen.

Aranea huffs. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Ignis pushes his glasses up, and takes a deep breath, flexing his fingers. He has seen her in battle and he has analyzed her moves over and over, and even her brief match against Prompto has given him valuable information. He stands a chance if he can maneuver her just right…

Aranea inclines her head, and he steps forward, studying her stance and tries to keep his racing heart from showing. He has the uncomfortable feeling that Aranea is seeing right through him, reading his mind as easily as she reads his movements.

He pushes away the unease, focusing on the fight. The magic flows through him with the ease of practice, and the drain lance, newly upgraded, appears in his hand. He’s not completely comfortable with the weapon’s new range of traits, but it will have to do. He has chosen it for a specific reason, and only hopes that he is correct in his chosen strategy.

“Interesting choice,” Aranea notes with genuine interest. “Let’s see what it can do.”

She spins her own weapon in her hands, an imposing weapon of Niflheim make that Ignis cannot categorize beyond its ability to channel energy, and comes at him hard.

He deflects the first blow easily, the shafts of their weapons clashing loudly, and for a moment their eyes meet, before Ignis pushes back, doing a backflip and realizing his mistake even before his feet hit the ground. However, there is no metal in his guts, and Aranea is still in the same spot, smirking at him.

I’ll give you this one, she seems to say, and Ignis clenches his teeth. Unforgivable. He is on his own, and he better remember that from now on. No room for fancy maneuvers, this is back to basic.

They trade blows for several minutes and Ignis finds that he enjoys it immensely. He rarely spars against fighters specializing in polearms, and the constant need to push himself to his limit and beyond is exhilarating. He even manages to get in a near hit, dodging and sidestepping, and then doing a reverse thrust using the butt of the lance, nearly catching her in the side.

“Not bad, Four-Eyes,” she exclaims. From above him, and Ignis’ hits empty air, because Aranea is not there. She lands several yards away, touching down with an almost mocking lightness, and it is a stark reminded of her true range of abilities.

Ignis stands tall and grabs his lance with both hands. It's clear that he cannot beat Aranea in naked combat, she is simply too skilled. It irks him, loathe as he is to admit it. He can read an opponent much better than a person, and right now she is so smug Noctis is probably taking notes.

Seems he has to run the gauntlet.

He becomes more conservative, blocking and retreating rather than pressing the attack, even when she presents her unprotected flank to him, an obvious trap. She responds by intensifying her moves, turning into a mercurial storm that is both terrifying and exhilarating, and she plays right into his court. If only he can keep from getting killed.

He considers himself in descent fitness, but Aranea seems inexhaustible. He cannot help but wonder if she has been subject to magitech modifications, even though he can hardly equate the mindless drones with the vivacious woman fighting him.

When he yet again refuses to follow up on a series of attacks, Aranea’s annoyance is palpable.

She comes at him with a series of thrusts and spins that he barely manages to dodge, and lands a kick to his abdomen that he doesn't quite manage to dodge, her heel slamming into him, sending him reeling backwards, and then she is gone, taken to the air again and his skin prickles as the storm gathers. He can feel her coming down upon him like a bolt of lightning, and he must get this right, this is his only chance.          

He rolls to the side, just as Aranea slams into the ground right next to him, activating the drain lance at the same time. He has on purpose not used the weapon’s special abilities before, as to not clue her into his intent.

The sudden tingling in his hand and up his arm are tell-tale signs of his assertion being correct – there’s elemental magic mixed into the Commodore’s energetic discharges, and quite a lot of it! The lance is fairly throbbing in his hand, the metal growing hot.

Willing himself to ignore the pain in his stomach, he jumps up, dismisses the lance and calls upon his daggers instead. Gripping the soothingly cold metal, he aims for her chest, the exposed patch above her décolletage.

Aranea Highwind lets out a growl and raises her arms, twisting her body at the same time. One dagger deflects on her metallic vambrace as she grabs his other wrist and manages to halt his attack. At the same time, she thrusts her head upwards, the black horn on her helmet slashing upwards.

Everything stops.

Both breathing heavily, they eye each other wearily. The blade mounted on the front of Aranea’s helmet jabs into the soft skin under Ignis’ jaw. The tip of his dagger is hovering above her chest, his hand locked in her vice-like grip.

He deconjures the dagger, accepting his defeat.

“Neat trick, Four-Eyes,” she declares, moving her head. Ignis scrambles backwards, rubbing his jaw. She’s nicked his skin, but as promised, there’s no blood.

“I must commend you on your skills, Commodore. You have me quite humbled.”

“Pish posh,” the Commodore says, getting to her feet and stretching. “You penetrated my defenses, didn’t you, and I’m the gold standard.” Then she winks at him, and Ignis, wrist smarting and stomach still on fire, has absolutely no idea how to reply.

Grinning, Aranea turns to the crowd and yells out: “You’re up, pretty boy!"

Astrals, what do they feed soldiers in Niflheim? Ignis wonders as he leaves the battlefield.

“Your face’s red,” Noctis remarks as he steps forward, and Ignis has a rare urge to throttle his king.

“It was a rather intense match,” he mutters. “Good luck.”

“Thank. I’m gonna need it.”  

“Wow, that is some show!” Prompto greets him, bumping his arm.

“I do prefer less painful ways of entertaining,” Ignis sighs. He pulls up his shirt, inspecting his stomach. He decides it’s not worth a potion but those heels are not to be taken lightly.            

“Hey, at least you managed to land a hit,” Prompto goes on, soothingly.

"Hedgehog's dilemma," Ignis muses, more to himself than anyone else, and doesn't notice Prompto's quizzical expression.  

They watch silently as Aranea runs the king through an aerial duel that proves that Aranea was right. Even though he is soon breathless and sweating, Noctis is able to hold his own against the Dragoon. Ignis feels a sudden surge of pride, as he watches Noctis’ training bearing fruit, and Aranea is visibly elated, grinning widely and even letting out an exhilarated outburst when Noctis manages to warp behind her and land a cut across her back that sends her reeling towards the ground. In the last instance, she gets her feet under her, and lands in a crouch. No doubt that she lives to fight, revels in using her powers.

Only a sight hesitation on Noctis’ behalf prevents him from taking the victory right there. The King is used to fighting as part of a quartet, and it’s clear that he is instinctively waiting for someone to follow up on his strike.

He gets his wits about him quick enough, but it’s a fatal error in a battle against an opponent like Aranea, and she is back up, advantage lost.

Ignis notes it with some regret. Clearly, they have been neglecting an obvious weakness in Noct’s skill set – that he might have to fight alone. He recalls his own error, and realizes it’s something they must correct for all of them.

Aranea holds up a hand. “I yield,” she says, and Noctis looks confused, but lowers his sword. Aranea takes off her helmet and gives them a broad smile. “This ol’ gal needs a break. Well fought, all of you. They really are something, those powers of yours. The might of the Kings of Lucis…"

Noctis runs a hand through his hair and looks away. "Thanks, I guess," he replies, a bit flustered.  

"Okay, boys, not so shabby. I even think you stand a good chance of getting your treasure by yourself,” she continues. “Makes you wonder why the Chancellor was so concerned about your success he had me chick-sit you.”

"So do we," Ignis echoes. He’s come to the somewhat baffling conclusion that there’s no trick or trap here. The Chancellor truly wants them to retrieve the mythril. Which is even more disconcerting than any trickery. Could the man be a traitor to the Empire? Ignis scoffs at the notion even as he frames it. The man is as slippery as a greased snake and as trustworthy as a hungry behemoth. He gives Ignis “the heebies-jeebies” as Prompto so succinctly puts it. He’ll let out a breath of relief when they are in Altissia and Noctis can meet up with Lady Lunafreya.

"Right now, I don’t care,” Noctis says plaintively. “We need that ore.”

Aranea nods. "I understand. Listen, I'll do my best to help you. The Chancellor is many things, but stingy is not one of them. I’m being paid too much to let you die."

What else to except from a former mercenary? Ignis thinks. He’s surprised how much her words disappoint him. After all, Commodore Aranea Highwind is only an ex-mercenary and enemy soldier. Hardly anyone he would want as a long-term associate.

[domesticfluffsimulator]

the pure joy of a boy enjoying a break from the descent into hell

[chofitia]

Writers’ Appreciation Month 2020 Week 3: Playground (Lore and worldbuilding appreciation! Original or expanded canon worlds welcome.)

Fount of Honour (4938 words) by JerichoJaspersJeromeJr Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia, Ardyn Izunia Additional Tags: Canonical Character Death, Minor Violence, Fluff and Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, no entails were broken in the writing of this fic, hot hot hardcore peerage action Summary: Prompto learns how to address an Earl's wife, write a letter to an Oracle, sit the King's Shield at a formal dinner and other critically important life skills.

There’s a lot of stuff from Jericho Jaspers Jerome Jr that lives rent-free in my head, from FFXV and now in SVSSS, that’s either what they’ve come up with themselves or has served as a springboard for my own OC stuff. Their work feels very expansive and lived-in. It’s #goals, quite honestly.

I chose “Fount of Honour” out of all of the fics I like (Seriously, just read all of their FFXV and SVSSS fic) because it was the easiest to turn into edits. Such landscape. So Trajan. Wow.

So, who wants my headcanon style for Noct as king (Lots of it was taken from “Fount...”, so...):

His Most Blessed and Royal Majesty, Noctis Lucis Caelum, by the Grace of the Six, the Mercy of Etro, and the Acclaim of the Lucii One Hundred Fourteenth King of Lucis; Master of Insomnia; Servant of the Six; Protector of the Sacred Grove; Favored of the Crystal; Sovereign Prince of Cavaugh, of Leide, of Duscae, and of Cleigne; Lord of Galahd; Servant of the Trident; Castellanus of the Old Wall and of the New

[enby-prompto]

What Good is a Camera if You’re Stuck in a Dungeon?

In which Prompto is stuck in Steyliff Groves secret dungeon recalling his career as photographer:

Prompto loved weddings. Not that he would admit it to anyone, let alone his best friend. And, it wasn’t as if he was the one photographing them either. He had been assisting a wedding photographer all over Insomnia for two and a half years before Noctis’ engagement to Luna had been announced. Of course, he had been shooting on his own too, but his work was pretty far off from being commercial material. So when the news broke, he could remember holding his breath in wait to see if his best bud would pull through with the opening. Noctis hadn’t even skipped a beat before asking Prompto if he wanted to snap a few shots before the wedding, and maybe at, and of course he said yes and tried contain his excitement.

There was just something about capturing a singular moment in people’s lives that they would look back on from that point. It was like stopping time.

 He couldn’t remember whose idea this was, although in that moment it would do him little good. He raggedly dodged the incoming blast that would have otherwise left him stone, as his comrades did the same.

 “Prompto!”

He could hear Noctis bark from across the room, before warping away as one of the two Psychomancers they were facing reached toward him with their bony hands. The blond cursed faintly under his breath, bouncing his way back closer to the action and pretending that he wasn’t trying to adjust his camera settings when he was supposed to be loading a gun. Their last battle against several flan type creatures left him and his gear more than a little sticky, and he had been trying to clean out the buttons since. Quickly, if not reluctantly, Prompto set his camera down and summoned his gun. In one movement, he cocked it with the correct round.

“Let me brighten your day!” he shouted his usual warning call for a flare, firing in a high arc that illuminated the room. The deamons recoiled, if only momentarily.

“Thanks!” Noctis called out, taking the distraction to run over to heal Ignis after a particularly heavy blow that left him limping toward the wall. After a glance, the blond ran back for his camera. As soon as the camera was within reach, a gust of wind hit him and knocked him forward,  accompanied by the violent thud of Gladio’s shield beside him, and Prompto realized the taller man had blocked him from a massive sideswipe of a dashing Pyschomancer.

“Prompto, WAKE UP,” The shield shouted to the gunner, who responded with nothing more than a feeble grunt in reply as he regained balance. The camera had clattered into the middle of the room, just to be kicked further across the room by a pole vaulting Ignis. Just as the light from his Star Shell faded, he could tell the lens cap had popped off.

This was tiring and Prompto was beginning to hate it.

 Of course, he was never the biggest fan of dungeons, but this one really took the cake. After being given some weird old keys by a pushy old lady in rocking chair back at Meldacio HQ, they had been crawling their way through some of the toughest dungeons the gunner had ever experienced. They had been mucking around in a good amount of caves around all of Lucis before having to return to Steyliff Grove. After kicking around The Vesperpool and finishing up some hunts for the duration of the a day, they waited in the plentiful ancient temple knee deep swamp water until dusk.

 Prompto had always been in awe of the beauty and terror of its tall empty main hall, pool of water flowing overhead as naturally as anything. If they had more time, he would have asked Noctis to stop for some photos. The way the moon and sunlight cascaded through the water and reflected shards of light around the room was unlike anything else he had witnessed on their travels so far, and he had just started to get used to the Astrals. When they resurfaced, he would definitely ask.

After opening up the heavy vault-like door, covered in runes not unlike those at camp, they descended into what wasn’t a cave like the others had been, but a massive hall with high ceilings and the occasional deamon. At first it was going pretty well, he was event having fun, despite the creepy feeling that grew up slowly every single of his vertebrae every time they dealt with deamons or MTs.  

They even set up camp within the dungeons walls in what seemed like record time for once. Gladio pitched the tent with what was almost battle-ready glee. Ignis cooked a delicious meal, and they told a few jokes around the fire and it was all almost enough to forget that they had embarked into the depths of a terrifying death maze. They set off again the next morning (or so they thought, it was hard to tell) in bright spirits. They fought several more rooms of foes, and just narrowly escaped a grim fate when both Ignis and Noctis were brought to their knees at once by a group of Ronins and he and Gladio had to pick up the slack. Not that it slowed them down. They reached the second campsite all  too soon, and had no worries hunkering down on the eerily cold stone floor yet again. The next morning, like before, they set out as they had previously. Upon reaching the next room, they stopped short. Noctis recoiled, “Ugh, that’s gross.” It smelled like a really nice creme brulee gone sour, and the look of intense distaste on the chamberlin’s face upon his descent of the stairs was not lost on Prompto. Gladio tried to wave it off while trying to stick his head into the room. Some sort of possessed pudding slimed about, making the floor both slick and sticky.  It seemed to be their “just desserts”, as Ignis had put it, to which Noctis scoffed before warping headlong into the room.

When the prince’s warp landed, the deamon’s form melted, and Noctis found himself covered in the splattering of its retreating form. “Ugh!”, and Ignis was by his side, summoning a dagger in one hand while holding out a towel for the younger man, who swiftly took it and warped away to wipe off. With a shout, Gladio distracted the lot of them as he smashed his shield into another. The fight wasn’t tough, in an of itself, but more tedious as the deamons seemed impenetrable to brute force. While Gladio was distracting them, Ignis and Noctis pulled spells and tried not to get slimed.  Just as they were down to two left, one got Ignis right in the face, coating his pristine frames in gunk. Prompto let out a sharp laugh, catching Noctis attention. “Nice look, Specks,” the prince called before warping over to back up Gladio’s offensive. Ignis, dignified as ever, went to remove his glasses. “No wait, I have to catch this!” Prompto raised his camera up to his face when- you guessed it, the same monster resurfaced and bashed the blonde upside the head, gushing coating half of his camera and head in a thick layer of goo, before sinking down into the floor once more.

“NO!” Prompto crumpled to his knees, frantically wiping it down, while a resigned Ignis sighed and proceeded to clean his glasses.

 That had been six rooms ago. All of them full of those creepy creme brulees. The four of them had been on the verge of death multiple times in a row now despite it all, and Noctis had all but quit casting spells, reverting to using a sleek set of daggers Prompto didn’t quite remember him getting and running around in circles to dodge while Ignis kept throwing ice around the room. They were efficient, but without the same zest they had had coming in. The blond was getting tired of slipping and getting frosty gunk in his camera and gun, and his hair, but it wasn’t as if his teammates fared much better.

 Which lead us to the Psychomancers in the room now.

“Prompto, WAKE UP.”

“Sorry!” He feebly called, in hot pursuit of his camera, spotting it some ways away from the action by the opposite wall.

So far, Psychomancers had to be the thing Prompto liked least in this hell hole. He had already seen one take down the prince momentarily, causing Ignis, Gladio, and himself to collectively panic before they could catch a glimpse of the Phoenix Down Noctis had in hand. While the battle raged on around him, Prompto dove across the room, lens cap be damned, rolling around the camera,  cradling it in arm just as another beam shot across the room in an attempt to immobilize him. It caught Ignis, and he moved to fall from the force of the blast, but was caught by the spell, leaving him in an awkward backward lean. The gunner could hear Noctis sigh loudly, or breathing hard, it was getting harder to tell.

Gladio let out a guttural roar and sideswiped the two Pyschomancers hard enough to knock them both over. Without stopping, he went to town on the two squirming messes of wrong. Prompto gave his camera a once over, inspecting the lens. It was not cracked, which was as about as much as he could hope for. Summoning his pistol, he fired a round of shots at the pair of deamons, trying to will every bullet with hate so this could be over faster. “Prompto, get Iggy!” Noctis called in his direction, before exploding out in a burst of blue light that signaled his summoning the Royal Arms.

Prompto doubletaked. He was missing all of the good shots! He raised his camera up, finding it still on, and trying to snap a few frames. He jogged over to the stone form of Ignis, making sure to photograph his stoney visage at least once or twice while the glowing prince zipped along behind him, weapons in hand. At last, he pulled out a Golden Needle and poked the still hand of the advisor, instantaneously bringing the color back to his features. Ignis seemed shaken, glancing around and finding the gunner. “Thank you” with a nod, he turned back to the fight with an adjustment of his glasses, as the Shield and prince fell prey to a mist of what looked an awful lot like poison.

The fight wouldn’t take much longer from that point. Fortunately, both the four of them and Prompto’s camera seemed to be in once piece, having found the lens cap in the remains of a charred deamon. They each respectively healed up before moving on to the next room.

 “Prompto, angle that bounce to the left,” The photographer commented from behind the lens, while the couple before them remained in an affectionate embrace as the waves of Insomnia’s beach gently crashed by their feet. The blond sheepishly nodded, shifting the large white reflective circle in his arms to the left in an attempt to catch the light. It caught the young couple’s eyes looking intently into the other’s, and Prompto could feel his heart flutter. They looked so dedicated.

A lot of photographers looked down on wedding photography; it was too much effort, it didn’t go anywhere, extended family was ever happy with the outcome. And definitely, some folks seemed to be doing it for the wrong reasons, but every so often a couple would come along and you could just really tell they were supposed to be together. While Prompto was sure that he himself was a long ways off from anything like marriage, it always brought a smile to his face when assisting a wedding photoshoot felt like he was actually doing something good for someone else. Even if they didn’t remember him, he helped create something that would last and be looked back on for years and years, better or worse.

 The memory came back to the gunner suddenly at camp after the incident with the Pyschomancers. Ignis was cleaning up after a lasagna that always made Prompto feel like he could fart his way through the rest of the dungeon, but in a good way. Gladio was topless and doing squats off to the side facing the wall, weirdo, and Noctis was on his phone to his right. He was sitting in his usual spot, rigorously still trying to get the remaining goo flakes out of the buttons and lens of his camera. Inspecting the body once more, he turned it on to review the day’s photos. There were a few pretty decent ones he was going to show the gang, but also a few that progressively irked him. The photos he had tried to snap of stone Iggy and flying Noctis before were blurry, but not blurry in the way that they were out of focus, but blurry in the way that they were doubled, because the shutter speed had been too slow because the light Noctis and their flashlights put out was not enough to make it through his lens. In the next ones, his F-stop was too high. Perfectly in focus. Too dark.

The gunner fell into a frown, skipping through the rest of them to now. Somehow either he forgot the change his settings before that fight or they got screwed up when he dropped the camera, but they were all crap. “Ugh, can we go now? Haven’t we killed enough deamons to make that old lady happy?” He couldn’t help but whine, sinking into the chair.

“How is anyone going to believe we were here when your photos are so bad?” Prompto jumped slightly, too wound up in his photos to notice that the prince had leaned over to peek at his viewscreen. “Dude!” Betrayed, he shielded the camera and turned away with what was basically a pout.

Ignis came to sit with them, mug of decaf coffee in hand. “‘Great evil’ would seem to be more than a few magic flan and some possessed corpses, after all.” Gladio remained off to the side, now doing one armed pushups, unaffected.

But he was supposed to be better than this now, better than when they had started out and his wrong camera settings were still cute instead of inexcusable. His photos ended up in that magazine that Vyv guy ran. He was supposed to be able to shoot photos worthy enough of giving to Lady Lunafreya, so that she and Noctis could look back on this forever. His thoughts ended up returning to the happy couple on the beach, and his heart fell. He wanted to believe they made it out of Insomnia before the fall, but in practicality they most likely didn’t. All of the people whose memories he helped make… A part of him vowed that when they finally made it back to Insomnia, he would search out the photos, somehow. He wouldn’t let them be forgotten. An idea struck him, and he sharply turned back to Noctis.

“Well, I was here. I don’t know what you were doing.” Holding up the camera for a selfie, he stuck out his tongue at his best friend and snapped a photo. This time he had made sure the settings were right. He took several more, each time making a more and more dramatic face. In spite of the barb, Noctis laughed and tossed his phone at the photographer. Gladio finally returned to the circle, quirking a brow and glancing over to Ignis as he sipped his coffee and watched the other two bemusedly.

It wasn’t the worst night, given the day they had, but it was nothing compared to what was in store for them from that point.

[its-uncontrollable]

My Experience in the Steyliff Grove Secret Dungeon

This past weekend, I decided to take a dive into the Steyliff Grove secret dungeon to get my hands on the Balamung, the most delightfully powerful of single handed swords that Noctis can wield. Little did I know that said area would have A HUNDRED FREAKING LEVELS of insanely difficult enemies. Needless to say, the SEVEN TO TEN FREAKING HOURS (truthfully, I lost track of time somewhere around the 40th floor) I spent in said dungeon caused me to get acquainted with the boys on a different and somewhat intimate level. Here is what I have learned about the Chocobros during our time together in the cold, bleak darkness:

Prompto can be a real asshole. Like seriously, he loves to be as condescending as he can be at times. Picture this (and note this is the first time I’m hearing this dialogue): Noct gets one-shotted by a Psychomancer and has to use a phoenix down like 3 seconds into battle. Prompto’s response? “TALK ABOUT EMBARRASSING.” Noct: “I KNOW.” He legit ONLY said this when Noct would get knocked out and have to use a phoenix down. Sometimes, if Noct was in the danger zone, Prompto would run up to him and start singing. Okay, I actually found this kind of adorable in an obnoxious way. He would sing “pain, pain, go away” and the first time Noct was like “really, dude?” and the next time, he got so annoyed with Prompto he was just like “No, that’s annoying. STAHP.” Then, as if to add insult to injury, every time we would camp and we would look at his pictures, he had taken pictures of his dead friends! 3 pictures of Ignis’ corpse, and one of Noct knocked out. Like bruh, NOT cool, man! 

I hate, hate HATE Tonberrys. Fuck those stupid little turtle frog daemons. And the Master Tonberrys? Fucking forget it. I’ve never been so ready to rage quit in YEARS. They almost always one-shotted Ignis within seconds, despite me giving him a ton of buffs with his accessories, causing me to use a bunch of phoenix down, or just waiting until they killed everybody so I could use a mega phoenix. 

Speaking of Ignis, he could be a real asshole too when he wants to be. Noct would get incapacitated in battle and I’d make him crawl/run to Ignis like“SAVE ME!” ...all for Iggy to stand in place and call for one of the guys all the way across the room to help me. He did this on multiple occasions, too! I thought you loved me!

Fortunately, Prompto did pull through in that, despite all of his asshole shots, he got a lot of awesome battle pics! And some great Gladnis shots too <3

By the 30th Psychomancer, Noct was a pro on how to kill them almost instantaneously.

Look at these two! <3 (but seriously, FUCK Tonberrys)

So. BADASS.

YAAAAS.

The exact moment before Prompto became petrified. For a shot like this, he’s convinced it was worth it.

Gladio: “That’s boss!” Iggy: “Come now, it’s nothing special...” 

*drool*

...and then of course, there’s this:

Bruh, really? Iggy has already died like 100x by now. What’s one more time, right Gladio???

Go take a break, Prompto. You deserve it, you adorkable, precious little shit.

Oh, and on a final note: I’ve concluded that there is only one thing that would shatter my heart more than hearing Iggy’s pained scream when he gets knocked out (yes, you all know exactly which one I’m talking about. The one that gets under your skin and makes you shudder while shedding a tear uncontrollably at the same time). That one thing is hearing Iggy’s pained scream when Gladio gets knocked out. After hearing him cry out Gladio’s name out of pure fear and desperation, there is nothing y’all could say that could convince me that these two do not absolutely love and adore each other. THE END.

[saintalessa]

When you realize you’re about to fight the tenth group of Tonberries in an hour.

[thetarotman]

Four Witches Have an Adventure in New Hope, PA, Part I

On Saturday, November 19, 2023, I had the honor and pleasure of returning to New Hope, PA with three fellow Witches. One of them is my life partner/Divine Consort. One, the Divine Driver, has availed herself of my Psychic Services. And, last but not least, the Priestess of Grove Argentum, a Manhattan/NYC-based Chapter of the International Fellowship of the Goddess Isis, which is headquartered in…

[iggyazaleascientia]

Gladio+Ignis posing with Mictlantecihuatl+Burnt Prompto

This dungeon was tortuuuuure

[shinynx]

3:00 AM

I am on hour FOUR of the Steyliff post-game dungeon and let me tell you, I'm about ready to drench myself in gasoline and light myself on fire.

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: The Path Untrodden Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII Characters: Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Cor Leonis, Gladiolus Amicitia, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gilgamesh, Ardyn Izunia | Ardyn Lucis Caelum, Verstael Bisithia Tags: 10 years older!Prompto, Prompto and Gil the ongoing comedy, Noctis wants to fix it, angst and hurt and probable comfort, miscommunication effectively for EVER, Ardyn is Ardyn, Ardyn is not a happy trash man, Ardyn and relationships Summary:  Solheim was the height of civilization long enough that their ruins were ruins over 2000 years ago, and still had the power to function in the time of the King of Light. They should’ve realized something was very wrong the minute Prompto remarked on the lights being on, and yet no one was home.

“We need to find Ardyn,” Prompto said into the tense air the following morning. Noctis eyed him blearily with a pillow hugged tight to his chest; Gladio sweat-soaked from his morning run, leaned against the door with his arms crossed and Ignis seated in one of the chairs with a can of Ebony in hand.

Cor sat next to Ignis, leaned away from Gilgamesh who cleaned a blade on the second bed in the small caravan. Gilgamesh didn’t even look up as Gladio and Ignis traded looks, or how Cor watched him with lips pressed together. Prompto waited for someone to say something—anything. No one spoke up, and so with a groan of frustration Prompto threw his hands into the air.

“Come on!” Prompto cried out. “Don’t you guys have any shit to say?”

Nothing—until Cor sighed heavily and mumbled something about Lucis Caelum’s and bullshit and then clearly uttered, “He’s the Chancellor of Niflheim. You would put Noctis at risk.”

Noctis shrugged and buried his face into the pillow. What he said was muffled enough that no one could quite understand him, but Prompto still tilted his head in the blue-black haired man’s direction with a faint frown.

“Noct…” Prompto said, voice soft, and Noctis raised his head lightly to look back with his face just the slightest bit pinched and Prompto—Prompto couldn’t identify the feeling that curled in his gut, but he didn’t quite like it.

Gilgamesh set the blade down and breathed out heavily enough to flutter the long white locks of his hair and spoke his words with care. “Ardyn is not the man we knew.”

“Bullshit,” Prompto snapped out. “I refuse—”

“He changed,” Gilgamesh uttered sharply and Prompto went silent. “He changed, Silver. The Gods gave him his Path and he walked it willingly.”

Prompto shook his head, forcefully, and hissed between his teeth, “Yeah, he saved lives but I refuse to believe some nonsense about him changing from it.”

“Even you saw—”

“I saw a man grow sick!” Prompto snapped out, loud enough into the silence and loud enough to draw Noctis fully away from the pillow with brow furrowed. “I saw a man grow tired! I saw a man suffer under his ideals and suffer from the points of difference from his brother! I saw a man who felt so assured that the Gods would provide him aide—that his marriage would be the catalyst he needed, that the Crystal would keep him safe—and I saw a man who had no idea he would walk into his Confirmation alone and betrayed!”

Gilgamesh quieted, and then look away for a moment. It was odd for Prompto to see the normally stiff man for all his talk of duty seem so contrite. Prompto breathed heavily, and startled when Noctis reached out and grabbed his arm. For a second Prompto stared at the young face of his friend, stared at a face he could barely remember, and then Noctis bowed his head.

“We’ll make it right,” Noctis said, voice soft and firm and Prompto felt something in him choke. “It needs to be made right.”

Cor sighed heavily and leaned forward, onto his knees. After a second he scoffed and gave a bitter sort of laugh. “If only Regis could hear you say that.”

Noctis looked to Cor. “Why?”

Cor looked back and said, “Because you sounded just like your mother.” For a moment no one said anything and then Noctis straightened his back.

“See, Prom?” Noctis said with a grin not quite as forced. “We’ll make it right.”

Ardyn frowned lightly at the reports Verstael forwarded his way. He grabbed a hand around the Atissian wine that he’d taken as a drink within the confines of his room at the Leville as he worked through the data and the reports from three separate MT Technicians. All of them lined up together and sold the same sordid tale—and it had to be a lie. Ardyn’s hand tightened on the wine glass hard enough it could crack.

“I’ve had them interrogated separately and still their story remains the same,” Verstael’s voice rang out from the phone that Ardyn had laid out onto the table, the call settled into speaker so that he could read and focus at once.

“Yet they do not describe this unmentionable, ancient horror,” Ardyn drawled out, voice faintly edged in bitterness. On the screen Verstael rolled his eyes, the wrinkled face pulled tight into a scowl, but Ardyn did not care.

Three days; for one week the boys remained in Lestallum by all reports, and then nearly five days earlier they moved from Lestallum to Old Lestallum and there they remained until the past three days. They’d begun to move, finally, and yet it remained so frustratingly far from Cape Caem. Ardyn could not tell what the blasted boy-king thought he was doing. What motivated this new tour of the Lucian countryside? A drive around Duscae and Cleigne, up into the Vesperpool—yet not south toward Cape Caem with the ship that inevitably awaited them.

“What of the dear Commodore?” Ardyn questioned. “Has she had anything to say?”

Verstael sighed heavily. “Ardyn, you know that I have no inclusion or control over the army or it’s mercenaries. You will have to ask that boy you’ve taken to traveling with for answers from her.”

“Jealous?” Ardyn questioned, tone light, even as his gaze tracked to Verstael’s horribly old face with sharp golden eyes.

“Hardly,” Verstael scoffed. “What you deign to do in your time is upon you. As long as it does not interfere in my work I could care less.”

“Are you certain of that, my dear?”

“Completely.” Verstael’s gaze was a baleful one, full of age and frustration that brought a smile to Ardyn’s face. “When will you return to Gralea?”

“Once my work here is completed, you have my assurance,” Ardyn said. “I will be back in time for your little pet project. Promise!”

“If that is all, then? Or do you have more things to waste my time with?”

Ardyn waved a hand with a murmured, “No, no, Verstael. I will call you if I have need of you.” The line disconnected as Ardyn returned his gaze back to the empty reports with a frown. The best he could get out of the mess had been that this ‘ancient horror’ wielded too many blades to be human, or so the Technicians thought from what little they could see in the distance.

“I wonder…” Ardyn tapped at his lip and leaned back in his chair, coat around him like skirts and wings as he stared at the map that accompanied the reports. All of the attacks had been around Taelpar Crag, within at least twenty miles of the place all told. Ardyn swiped one finger across the screen to toss aside the map and the written reports in favor of the few photographs they had captured. These were grainy, pathetic sort of things with poor visibility, but then Niflheim seemed to lack much of the same technological advances of the Kingdom of Lucis.

One picture forced Ardyn to pause, finger hovered over the screen as he stared into the grainy image of a being with spectral arms that fanned out from a back like wings. “Ah…” Ardyn breathed, golden eyes suddenly bright as every part of him seemed to still and writhe all at the same time. “Gilgamesh.” His hand squeezed reflexively around the wine glass until it shattered as ichor black tears dripped from his eyes, skin suddenly too-pale too-sick. His voice had a much more guttural quality to it, too, more of a growl than anything.

“I wonder what drew you out of your little cavern, old friend,” Ardyn said, tone light, even as his lips curled up with a snarl. He let go of the ruins of the wine glass and shook out his now soaked hand. The other grasped his hat and tugged it low and onto his head as he ducked his gaze downward and pushed himself up from the plush chair to stand.

Atissia and the Tide Mother could wait. Ardyn had a cave full of the dead to interrogate.

Ardyn could remember the room in which they stored the Crystal in Civitas Lucii. A tall tower that Somnus would spend decades building upon, that his descendants would build upon, until it formed the foundation of Insomnia’s Citadel. Then it was stone and marble and near thirty years of work, blood, sweat, and tears with carpets in pale reds and blues with a view of all Civitas Lucii, open archways that were to eventually house windows and furnishings. Ardyn could remember how he stumbled into the room, limp controlled and back stiff. He could remember how the people whispered—how Somnus leaned hunched in the shadows alongside a marble pillar, head ducked low and brow furrowed.

Aera stood before the Crystal with Gilgamesh at her side. She smiled when Ardyn entered the room, yet now thinking back upon it he wondered if that smile ever reached her eyes. When Somnus revealed his treachery, that the kindness in his brother’s heart had fully fallen into the bitterness and fighting that they devolved into over the years, it hurt in the ways that it didn’t hurt. Ardyn could remember feeling faint enough as it was; he’d traveled the time from Steyliff Grove in the Vesperpool all the way to Civitas Lucii alone, with barely any chance for rest in the dark as his blood burned black and his pains increased tenfold.

What Ardyn couldn’t remember was Aera’s face. Had she known? Had Gilgamesh? His Shield had stood with hand on Aera, held her back—or had Ardyn imagined that? Perhaps Gilgamesh played to the hold of his beloved Aera, played to keep her away until it was time for her to fall into unnecessary sacrifice—to spill her blood and her magic so that they could be the catalyst for his chains in the darkness. At any case the memories were a mess, swamped in inconsequential things from the people he’d devoured in fits and spurts after he found himself awake from Angelguard.

“And what does it matter?” Ardyn murmured to himself as he flung a wrist covered in purple-black magic infested Scourge at the Spirit that stood in his way. He watched near dispassionately as the bones crumbled to dust and the body it inhabited forced the spectral form into release. He watched how the Spirit flew backward and into the wall, then crumbled and burst into little lights, only to disappear into the aether. “He made his choice, did he not?”

Three more came at him, and Ardyn tugged his blade free from the armiger and moved with a mix of warping, phasing, and slicing through the creatures. Gilgamesh had abandoned his duty as Shield, his Oaths and the whispers he’d made in the dark when Ardyn found himself at the lowest. Ardyn couldn’t be certain if the man had even abandoned Somnus in the end, although given the supposed exile Ardyn didn’t doubt that. Such a traitorous friend, Gilgamesh. He scoffed as he rendered the next three skeletal opponents to dust and ashes and Scourge.

“And now he deigns to walk the land he’d forsaken? What oddity, Gilgamesh, has attracted your eye I wonder?” Ardyn flicked his blade away as he moved further into the caverns. No doubt something drew the beast of a man out of his saturated home. Gilgamesh was inordinately stubborn—it made him a good Shield, until that fateful day with the fateful Confirmation on Ardyn’s shoulders, sham that it was.

Finally Ardyn reached the point past the bridge where Gilgamesh made his little foundling home. Ardyn wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips at the sight of the mess, at the cold river that ran past half and the slope half caked in shit and debris. It took him a moment to gather up the strength to push past what amounted to nothing more than squalor—and the disgust and bitterness that welled up at the thought of one of his left to rot in something so destitute. Inside faired no better, although Ardyn noted how Gilgamesh took to looting the dead given the varied trinkets that littered the man’s hovel of a home.

“How…quaint,” Ardyn mumbled. His Shield had become a hoarder of things, so utterly unlike the man from the years before. Gingerly Ardyn picked up a few small trinkets to inspect, to see where the mind of the man he’d once cared for had gone in the intervening years—and he noticed a pattern.

Lucian finery and jewels adorned in subtle skulls littered the place; Tenebraean signatory and Oracle Ascension coins from the lapse in time were piled together, separated by year. Ardyn ran his fingers over a few with wide eyes, surprised to see items that went back as far as Civitas Lucii—coins stamped with Somnus’ visage, with Aera’s—and then others with familiar faces. Ardyn stopped at one Ascension coin that held a face so similar to Aera’s, one he knew just as well.

“Nubis…?” Ardyn murmured, surprised. He had not realized that Nubis had been crowned Oracle; the boy had barely bested twenty last Ardyn saw him and seemed to have not a lick of the magical talent of his older and Chosen Sister. In fact if Ardyn were to be certain the young man had been utterly besotted with—“Ah,” Ardyn set the coin down as the thought crossed his mind.

Nubis had longed after the young Stella Nox, the Lady Tenebrae. Ardyn couldn’t believe he hadn’t quite seen it before—but then there was nearly two thousand years and who knows how many generations between them, and how was Ardyn to know the manner in which the Mils Fleuret came the Nox Fleuret? Let alone how they came to occupy a land whose name derived from the very vassals he’d once grown surrounded by. He’d long slept through that sort of history, and it wasn’t a history the world deigned to remember. Much how the world forgot him….

Ardyn stepped around the piles of trinkets and cocked his head in mild surprise at the sight of hoarfrost that coated what looked to be an otherwise mid-cooked stew. For a second Ardyn wanted to trail his fingers in the mess, feel the bite and sting of the dead that signaled Gilgamesh’s favored brand of magic, but he restrained himself. If Gilgamesh were still the same man underneath it all he’d not leave food untended for long—unless whatever called him forth from his cavern of exile held far more sway than the dinner he froze solid in the urge to catch it.

For a moment Ardyn wanted to reach into the core of himself, to grip tight along the bond to Gilgamesh and then rend it asunder—coat it thick in Scourge and tear it into twine no matter the pain he’d feel. Only one thing could draw Gilgamesh out like this, and since he’d been seen in the presence of Noctis—Ardyn ground his teeth together and turned. With a storm at his feet he moved swiftly from the cave, through the walls. Halfway mid-step he slipped into the Scourge and let it drag him along, out and away, until the burn of the sun touched him and staggered him back into form.

He could deal with this, Ardyn realized in the heat of the sun as he returned to the drop ship that carried him here. If Gilgamesh desired to bind himself to another King, while still within the service of Ardyn for a given means of that service, Ardyn could use this. It meant a few changes to the grand plan, but oh, perhaps he would even enjoy this better. A chance to live out more than revenge through surrogacy and the hated bloodline of his hated brother—here, now, Ardyn found himself being given a gift. If Gilgamesh desired to step into the world once more, let him. Ardyn would happily break the man apart at the seams.

[ghostoftheyear]

We have our first Gentiana photobomb! Gladio also has pretty eyelashes. Aranea and Prompto are telling ghost stories.