Author's Note: After finishing At the Edge of the World, I really missed having a multi-chapter fic to sink my teeth into. After a few weeks of mulling over the right story and some false starts, this one came to me fast and sudden. Before I knew it, I had over 12,000 words written (and that's just the first three chapters).

It's first and foremost a HighSpecs story. Then, a time travel story. And several chapters in, a Promptis story as well, which I got inspired to write after Prompto's DLC.

And finally, here's the song that inspired the title: Hex, by Mt Wolf

As always, reviews and kudos are always appreciated, but more than anything, I hope you enjoy this!

—

The sky was expansive and white. It was like a large dome, starting at one end above the tree line and reaching up and across to the other side, stopping at the faraway peaks of mountains. Ignis blinked a few times and slowly turned his head from left to right, taking in the vastness above him and trying to make sense of it.

Where was he?

His hands curled into fists over what felt like snow. He started to shiver, though he wasn't entirely sure it was only from the cold. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly, as if waking from a very long sleep. He couldn't remember a thing.

Getting onto his feet—which were more than a little shaky—he surveyed his surroundings. He stood in the middle of a valley of snow, and trees lined the horizon in every direction. He was not in Lucis, that much he was certain of. Feeling foggy and bewildered, he picked a random direction and started walking. It may not have been the best planned route, but it was still better than freezing in one place.

As he walked, Ignis fought hard to gather some fragment of memory. He had been in Lucis, yes. He was with the guys—was that right? It had been sunny.

Wait, the sun. He doesn't remember seeing it, only feeling it…

Ignis stopped dead in his tracks and took a sharp breath in. His shaking fingers lifted up toward his eyes. He looked at them, then touched the skin around his left eye. The scarred skin, usually smooth valleys and ridges, was gone. His tongue traced his lower lip, the familiar scar missing from there too. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, and the world remained in view.

He could see.

Falling to his knees, Ignis breathed in and out heavily. Was this some sort of miracle? A gift of the Gods after his—

After his sacrifice. Their sacrifice. Noctis' sacrifice.

The sun—that's why he remembered feeling it. Noctis had brought it back.

The memories and pain came back, hitting him in the chest and winding him like a charging behemoth. Noctis had been gone only a few weeks, and Ignis still felt the sting of it like he was only just discovering the King's slumped body in the throne room, hands feeling for his pulse, any last bit of hope disappearing into the cavernous space in a pained cry.

Distraught and more confused than ever, Ignis forced himself back on his feet. He knew he had to keep moving; the answers weren't going to be found in this frozen tundra.

Still, every step was difficult. His legs felt heavy and his head remained in a fog. Step, step, step, he told himself, finding some solace in the rhythm of his internal instructions. Finally, after about an hour of walking, Ignis came across the first sign of inhabitance: a modest house off in the distance, with smoke coming from the chimney.

Good, he thought.

As he stumbled through the snow toward respite, he wondered what he would say. That he woke up in the middle of a valley and had no idea how he had gotten there? That he had been blind for over 10 years but could now see? He was starting to sound crazy, even to himself. He resolved to hoping for a hospitable and open-minded host as he went up to the nondescript door and knocked. After a moment, a hesitant and muffled voice spoke.

"Who is it?"

"A traveler, in need of aid," he responded.

"Do you have any weapons on you?"

Ignis hadn't even considered this, but upon a quick check, he realized he indeed had none.

"I do not," he said. "Please, I intend you no harm. I'm afraid I'm lost and it's quite cold…"

He heard the lock unlatch, and a young woman opened the door. She was dressed plainly and looked about a decade younger than his 32 years (good, he still remembered his age). She ran her eyes over him, somehow decided that he was trustworthy enough, and allowed him inside.

—

Ignis stared into the embers burning in the fireplace, fighting the fogginess that prevailed in his head. The young woman had introduced herself as Neely and explained that she lived here with her baby, who was asleep in another room. Something about her tone told Ignis to not so much as consider setting foot in there. He had no intention to.

As Ignis settled under a warm blanket with a cup of coffee in hand—by some grace of the Gods, she had Ebony—he started feeling well enough to ask a few questions.

"Where am I?" he said. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

"About two hour's drive from Gralea," she answered.

Gralea? But how?

"And how is it that you've managed to survive out here all on your own?" Ignis asked. Surely, a woman and baby would have been easy targets for the daemons before Noctis vanquished the Scourge.

"Well, I've always lived here. I'm used to it, I suppose. My husband lives here too, of course, but he's away because of the war."

"War?"

"Yes, the war. He's a soldier."

Ignis shut his eyes, trying to get his facts straight. There had been no war for years, as everyone banded together to survive. Lucis, Accordo, Niflheim—the weight of those names ceased to exist the moment they had to survive in a post-apocalyptic world.

"I mean, he's only just training right now," Neely continued. "I sure hope he doesn't get deployed to Lucis or anything. It's been more than a little lonely without him here."

"Lucis?"

Ignis looked at the woman again, noticing her clothes for the first time. She may have been dressed plainly, but she was also a little dated. The fluted sleeve of her top, the particular shade of blue she wore—he could swear he remembered girls liking that style back in high school. He wasn't ever much interested in trends (classic cuts and colors always had better longevity), but he recalled how that blue made him think of the blue of Noctis' eyes. He had even joked that girls liked the color because of it.

"What year is it?" Ignis asked, almost in disbelief at his own question.

Neely scrunched her nose as she considered this query, finding it most curious.

"748," she replied.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, of course!" she responded with a laugh. "Lady Lunafreya has just ascended to Oracle," she added, as if that was supposed to provide some necessary context.

"748…" Ignis whispered under his breath.

But his year was 766, the Year of the Dawn—18 years ahead.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Neely said. "You look white as a ghost."

Could he be? Was he dead? Ignis' head spun with questions, but he could no longer process everything that was happening. Perhaps he could fall asleep and wake back up in a world that made sense to him. By the Gods, he was almost hoping to wake up to no sight; that was a world he understood.

Not this one.

—

Instead of the comforting wrap of darkness, Ignis woke to dust particles dancing through faint sunlight in the guest room of the cabin. He could hear breakfast being made, and a soft singing coming from the other room.

Far away and long ago

We made a promise that we'd go

Where no one else can find us, oh

So far away and long ago

Ignis recognized the song as a popular tune from Gralea back in his youth. It was frowned upon to listen to, but it was catchy, so the kids did it anyway. The adults couldn't be bothered to censor it—the lyrics were innocent enough, after all.

And now that he thought about it, it was a hit song in the year 748. Not that Ignis thought Neely would be lying to him—she had one of those faces that betrayed every emotion, from her suspicion at his arrival to her eager smile as she presented him with dinner—but it was always preferable to have other forms of confirmation when faced with a very strange and very real occurrence of time travel.

Ignis stood up from the bed, noticing that his clothes had been washed and neatly folded in a pile and set upon a chair in the small room. A rectangular paper folded in half lay on top of it. He was about to pick it up when he heard a scream—a baby's cry, coming from the other room. He instinctually knew it was one that signaled hunger, but nothing more serious than that.

And then he realized what the folded paper was.

It was a family photo: him, Aranea, and their daughter Lucie. It seemed shocking to Ignis that his mind was in such a state that he hadn't thought of Lucie or Aranea since he had woken up. But now, this part of his life was becoming clear as day and the love and longing he felt for his family washed over him.

He also realized another thing: he hadn't actually ever seen his daughter, nor Aranea since they first met. It was tempting to look at the photo, to unfold it and reveal the true details of his daughter's face. But instead, Ignis got dressed and placed the folded photo securely in his jacket pocket, ensuring he didn't get an accidental peak.

What he truly needed right now was information on how to get to Lucis, the only place he could think of that might hold some answers. If nothing else, he could find King Regis and explain his predicament. If anyone had the power to bend time back into place, it would be him.

Stepping out of the guest room, Ignis was greeted by the smells of something delicious being fried as he stepped into the open-concept living room and kitchen. Neely held her baby in one arm, and stirred something in a pan with the other.

"Would you like a hand?" Ignis asked.

"Oh! You're awake. Yes, please, if you don't mind."

Neely walked over and quickly placed her child in Ignis' arms, much to his surprise. Apparently, she had very much decided to trust him. He held the baby—a little girl, by the looks of her clothes—and bounced her up and down, fiercely missing the weight of his own daughter.

"I figured I ought to cook something hardy, in case you were planning to head out today," Neely said. It was not so much a suggestion as a request, but a kind one.

"Yes. I should be carrying on," Ignis replied.

"My cousin is heading to Gralea today. I asked him to come by and give you a ride. I'm not sure why you're as lost as you are, but it's always easier to find answers in a big city than in the middle of nowhere."

"Yes. Thank you very much for arranging the ride."

"Don't sweat it. Let me know if you have any questions in the meantime."

"Certainly. I do have one, as a matter of fact." Ignis chose his words carefully. "I take it the borders are all shut down?"

"Of course they are. No one is getting in and out of Gralea without special papers," Neely said. "But why in the world would you want to?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Besides, judging from your accent, you're from Tenebrae, aren't you?"

Ignis only nodded. He had been, a long time ago, but he was first and foremost a Lucian—no doubt a disposition punishable by death in Gralea at this time. Today, he was especially thankful for his accent.

—

The ride to Gralea was uneventful, full of rather pleasant snow-capped mountains and the odd village. What did astound Ignis, however, was their approach to the industrial city. He had never actually seen it, his last and only visit being to Zegnautus Keep when Noctis disappeared into the crystal. Seeing it now, with his own eyes, was a far different story.

The snow seemed to melt from the sheer heat of the city as they approached, looming large and imposing on the horizon. It lacked the grandeur of Insomnia, but made up for it in sheer will, as if all the buildings were clamoring to stay alive and outgrow one another. The sky was still white, and the structures presented in all shades of gray and brown against the stark backdrop. It wasn't pretty, but it certainly knew how to make an impression.

Ignis parted ways with Neely's cousin, who had thankfully been a man of few words, in front of the train station. Luckily, Neely had been willing to part with an old black woolen coat of her husband's, which Ignis now wore. He made a mental note to somehow repay her one day, even if it meant tracking her down in his own time—provided she survived. The only thing missing were his glasses; his vision was sufficient enough without them, but he felt naked and exposed.

He made his way through the station, looking for any information on catching a train to Lucis and feeling awfully weary of the amount of armed solders and MTs stationed throughout. He knew his odds of hitching a ride were slim, but he was at a loss as to what else he could do. If only he could recall how he ended up here in the first place. Something must have happened.

Ignis found a train schedule at the ticketing building, and sure enough, there were trains heading to Lucis. Well, just one train per week. Below the timetable was a special note: Authorized personnel only. Valid travel documentation required. All others will be detained and prosecuted.

Thinking back to his own memories of these troubled times, Ignis could recall plenty of stories of Lucians getting stuck in Niflheim and unable to leave because they didn't have the correct documents. They would attempt to sneak on the trains and get captured. The Lucian government would work tirelessly for their release, but often these pour souls would simply disappear, names forgotten in the weekly news cycle.

Ignis wasn't about to become one of them.

No, he needed a better plan, and he also needed a few other things—like money, he realized. How could he even stay at an inn or buy food, much less purchase a ticket to Lucis? Relying on the kindness of strangers seemed reasonable enough in the countryside, but far less so in a city like Gralea.

Giving up on any prospects at the train station, Ignis pushed through the crowd and made his way through narrow and winding streets. It was getting late and he needed shelter. The first viable place he came across was a public library, showing up like a shining beacon of hope on the other side of a busy street. Perhaps he could find some valuable information there and, if nothing else, be pointed in the direction of a shelter. The thought of rubbing shoulders with intellectuals held a certain comfort for Ignis as well, and he would have been lying if the prospect of reading with his own eyes for the first time in a decade wasn't playing a role too.

He entered the large gray building, spectacular rectangular arches framing either side of the large wooden door. Gralea certainly had some architectural gems hidden away in its labyrinthine streets. The woman at the counter nodded to him quietly, and Ignis returned her greeting with a polite smile. He went straight for the rows upon rows of books, getting his bearings.

Hottest Fiction. Geography. Science. Technology. History of Niflheim. History of Eos. War and Strategy. Erotica.

Ignis skipped right past the Hottest Fiction section with a passing thought about how Gladio would enjoy it, and went straight for the Science row. He began searching for any volumes that might allude to time travel, pulling out various books and flipping through several pages, coming up empty, and then replacing it.

He wasn't sure how long he had been going through the aisles, searching like a quietly desperate man in the guise of a calm exterior, but it was starting to get dark outside. He ran his hands through his hair, which was now messier than usual since Neely hardly stocked his pomade of choice.

Nothing. He was finding nothing.

And then.

A light reflected on something on the other side of the shelf he was staring hopelessly at. It was a flash of silver, visible just for an instant before it flitted away. He peered through the top of a row of books, compelled to catch a glimpse of what it was.

The silver thing came back, reflecting the light again, and he realized it was the back of a woman's head. Long silver hair, half of it gathered up into a ponytail and tied together with a black ribbon, the rest flowing down to the middle of her back. She was looking at the book on the opposite shelf, her back to Ignis, but something about the sounds of her shuffling and rhythm felt familiar.

The woman turned around, facing the shelf between her and Ignis now, and Ignis' breath caught in his throat. Though he could only see a sliver between the books (and he had not actually seen her face in 10 years), he did a double take at the shape of those lips.

The lips he would kiss night after night, promising to come back. The lips he would kiss under the sun when he did.

Aranea's lips.

Ignis moved a book out of the way to get a better look at her. It was most definitely Aranea, eyes focused on the pages of a book, brows furrowed as if she were confused, and teeth nibbling on her lower lip. Except she was younger. A lot younger.

22, Ignis realized as he did the math.

Aranea raised her eyes for a moment, suddenly aware that she was being watched, and met his eyes through the bookcase. She quickly darted them away and replaced her book in the gap, blocking Ignis' view as she walked off.

Ignis walked down the aisle, intent on talking to her. He couldn't believe his luck—of all people to find. He hadn't even considered seeking her out, her past connections with Niflheim a distant memory. But here she was.

He watched her walk away from the bookshelves toward a collection of long wooden tables in the middle of the room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her join a group of young men and women her age, all studying. She plopped down in a chair next to a dark-haired young man, and quickly peered over her shoulder at him, then lay her arm on the dark-haired man's chair—as if to say, sorry, I'm taken bud.

The realization hit Ignis like an ice cold bucket of water in the face. Of course she didn't know who he was. She wouldn't for many years. She was living her life, much like he was living his in Insomnia, oblivious to what they would one day share. And if Ignis knew anything about the rules of time travel, you don't mess with the past.

Ignis took a few steps back and leaned against the bookshelf. His hands curled into fists, but he vowed to stay strong. To stay silent. He willed himself—no, forced himself—to focus on the books, pick up a stack, and take the stairs to the second floor to get as far away from Aranea as possible.

Still, when he settled at a table on the second floor, he was strategically positioned so that he could ever so slightly look over the railing of the balcony and see her silver hair catching the light.

—

Ignis spent the next hour flipping through books and watching Aranea from the corner of his eye. She seemed a bit flirtatious with the dark-haired man, certainly too much for his liking, but there was nothing to be done about this. Instead, he tried to concentrate on his reading while his emotions played a dangerous game underneath, threatening to break him.

He missed his wife. He missed his daughter. His missed the world he had built with them, one that was finally returned to the light. He ached to hold them in his arms, and seeing Aranea here only made it more difficult.

It was alarming how similar she was in many ways, and how different she seemed in others. Her gestures, her voice, they were very much the same. Yes, she looked younger and had the slender figure of a woman still in the earlier stages of owning her womanhood, but she remained instantly recognizable to Ignis, despite his memories of her constructed mostly by hands and sounds and tastes.

But she also seemed so much less assured of herself. Her body language belied a certain lack of confidence underneath. She didn't walk around like she owned the place, and she didn't meet people's eyes like she was always challenging them. At one point, Ignis even caught her twirling her hair—a very uncharacteristic gesture indeed.

Oh, but she was beautiful nonetheless. The novelty of seeing her was not lost on Ignis. He wanted to grab her and lay her bare, take a good close look at every tiny detail of her skin. He wanted to wrap himself around her, breathe in her familiar scent, and fall asleep with his face buried in her hair.

He would wake up the next day in his actual bed, holding his own beautiful Aranea, and this would be nothing more than a strange dream. They would have the quietest rowdy sex so as not to wake Lucie and then cook breakfast together, Ignis shaping the pancakes into surprisingly perfect hearts. Aranea would sneak a kiss or two on his shoulder, the highest she could reach when barefoot. Lucie would set the table and say "Love you too, daddy!" when he'd place the pancakes on her plate. They would plan the rest of their day to be out in the sun.

Ignis was snapped out of his reverie as he noticed Aranea and her group standing and packing up their study materials. They all wore similar uniforms, he noted, most likely military academy ones by the look of it. She would be in her last year of training, studying for those written exams she always told him she barely passed—by some miracle or divine intervention, she liked to say.

Ignis wanted to run after her as she headed toward the exit, but he remained firmly planted, looking like nothing more than a placid man with a bad habit of staring at younger women. Once she was out of sight, he turned his attention back to his books, intent on distraction.

He flipped through the pages, barely absorbing a word, till one finally caught his eye.

Crystal.

More specifically, the Crystal Shard: A piece of the Crystal that is removed from the rest to be used as an extension of its powers. However, no ordinary weapon will do; only the Ring of the Lucii is capable of cutting off a piece. There have been few known Shards in history, and they are almost impossible to trace. If they do exist, they are expected to be well-protected by their owner, likely having been entrusted to them by the ring-bearer. Some wonder if any Shards are actually in existence anymore.

Well, thought Ignis, I happened to have one.

He and Aranea had found it in Steyliff Grove just before Noctis' return. Upon Ignis accidentally touching it, it did in fact create a strange time loop for a moment, but it was short-lived and seemingly harmless. Afterwards, Ignis and Aranea carefully took the Shard back to Lestallum, where it stayed till after Noctis brought back the light.

And then…

And then?

Ignis couldn't recall. His mind was going back into that hazy state that he was in the moment he awoke in the snow. What was his mind hiding from him?

"Excuse me, sir," a voice said from behind.

Ignis turned around to see a librarian standing there awkwardly.

"We're closing now," she said, tapping her watch.

"Apologies," Ignis said, and stood up, stacking the books for the librarian and handing them over.

He nodded and wordlessly moved past her, seemingly making his way toward the exit. Just as he turned a corner, he slipped down a darkened hallway and found a suitable place to hide until the librarians left. He would stay overnight, researching what more he could and getting some rest, then think about his next steps in the morning.

Of course, Ignis felt a bit dishonest as he lay on a couch in the empty library at 2 am, trying to fall asleep. He wasn't one for breaking and entering (or rather, staying past closing time) but he had little choice.

So he lay there, willing himself to sleep, but instead finding his mind drifting back to the younger Aranea and the way her silver hair curled over her slender shoulders, the way she had met his eyes, and the way her hand lay on the back of someone else's chair.

—

Next Chapter: Desperate for money, Ignis gets a job. And his boss is… ;)