The pain of losing Tenebrae worsens when Highwind's crew arrives.

The townspeople seem to believe that they are a Niflheim military unit. No one is eager to dispel this assumption. So when the villagers ask why they are there, Highwind's crew is quick to mention the name of some Niflheim official Lunafreya is unfamiliar with. The townspeople recognize it. They receive them gladly. Give them what little the crew asks for: sheets of metal. Spare mechanical parts and a chance to stretch their legs.

In exchange, the townspeople ask for news from the capital. The crew has none to give.

"No one's answering on their end," says one of Highwind's officers. Lunafreya is not sure if this is a lie. It is unlikely that they tried to hail Gralean ground control. After all, the crew is largely comprised of Niflheim deserters. It is more plausible that they attempted to contact friends and family left behind in Gralea. Perhaps it is from them that the crew had not received any response.

Then the townspeople ask where they had come from. Ask after what their mission was or is. Lunafreya finds that most crew members answer these questions with a single word: classified.

But some of the personnel have looser lips.

"Just got back from Tenebrae," one man says to an anxious-looking villager. Lunafreya watches as he readjusts his grip on an enormous checkered sheet of metal. "Place was razed to the ground, you know."

The townspeople had not known. Now, Lunafreya can sense a shift in their opinion of her. The townsfolk still try to glance furtively at her. Still whisper to each other too quietly for her to catch their words. But even the woman who had housed Lunafreya these last few days has developed a permanent knot between her eyebrows.

It was not just the imperial commander who was to be executed. Tenebrae had received the same sentence.

For all that they glower at her, Lunafreya cannot help but worry that the people here may be in danger too. Niflheim itself reminds her of a cutting board: it is something she does not think anyone should sit too long on. The risk of being cut apart is far too high.

"Thank you for your hospitality," she says to her hosts. Nods her head. "If you hear nothing from the capital, please, do consider heading to Lucis." The woman and her family give her puzzled looks. Some of them make noncommittal noises. Lunafreya's smile feels so faint at the edges of her own mouth. This is all that she can do for them.

The airship will not take off a while yet. Shortly after it landed, Highwind had walked the circumference of the vessel. Then she disappeared into its interior. Lunafreya has not seen her since. Highwind has not been present for the exchanges between the townspeople and her crew.

Lunafreya stays outside of the airship and out of the way. Voices carry from its depths. They call out to each other terms she does not recognize. Call out numbers she does not understand. She is no mechanic. So there is no expectation that she should help.

Regardless, she wishes she could. Idleness is a kind of poison: terrible thoughts spill into her veins. Each one suffocates her from the inside out.

Desperate for something to do, Lunafreya approaches the crew members standing idle by or on the ramp to the ship. Some of them lean against the airship's exterior and smoke. She asks them to allow her to attend to whatever injuries they may sustained. Asks for their accounts of Tenebrae.

"Burnt to a crisp," one man says. Pauses to drag on his cigarette. "There was so much fucking fire. Just a fuck-ton of fire."

"I-I'd never been there before," his colleague says. This one stamped out his own cigarette as soon as he saw Lunafreya approach. "I'm sorry, Oracle. You could tell it had been real pretty, once."

The next person she asks holds a flask in one hand and a phone with no reception in the other. At first, this woman sneers at her.

"What 'transpired'? Just what transpires every-fucking-where." Her hostility takes Lunafreya by surprise. But then the woman holds out her flask to Lunafreya. It is tempting to take a sip. The Oracular priests had taught her to never refuse what meals she was offered by the people. However, they forbade her from ever touching booze. The only exception to this rule were those ceremonies where alcohol represented something else. Like the labour of humanity. Or the benevolence of the gods.

Lunafreya wonders if whatever is in that flask with scald her throat. The little alcohol she has had in the past only ever contained a hint of acidity. Perhaps this might burn at the same temperature with what burns inside her.

In the end, Lunafreya decides that adding fire to fire would just be remarkably self-indulgent.

She thanks each of them. Then she presses her power into the jammed joints of their fingers. Into a once-dislocated shoulder and all the scrapes on their arms and legs. It is tiring, but it gives her something to do. That much she is glad for.

Two hours later, the airship departs with Lunafreya on-board. Umbra does not join her. He vanished shortly before take-off. She finds herself back in the medical bay. The medical personnel are quietly going over their inventory behind her. All ten of the available cots are empty. Lunafreya places a hand on a naked mattress. This place had once been her sleeping quarters. The medics had insisted that she remain there in case her injury were to reopen.

It is hard to believe that the Revelation in Altissia happened just weeks ago. It is harder to believe that it has been months since the invasion of Insomnia. It feels more recent than it should. It feels like nothing has changed: the world is still burning from the inside out. Lunafreya half-expects the airship to crack apart right now. Half-expects to feel the filigree of the ring biting into her palm.

For the first in what feels at once to be so-many years ago and only so-many seconds, Lunafreya thinks of Nyx Ulric.

She cannot sense when people have passed from this world. Neither does she need to. She remembers him as she does a meteorite streaking against the sky. All but a single moment of her time with him is a blur.

"Ha, Princess. Should have known you'd be here." Lunafreya startles. Turning, she finds Highwind stepping in through the door from the hallway. The personnel stop whatever they are doing and stand to attention. Highwind gives them a wave and nods at one crew member in particular. "Need something for motion sickness."

This surprises Lunafreya. Highwind must catch her look of disbelief, because she rolls her eyes at her. "New recruit," she says. One of the medics gives Highwind a small bottle. "It's a pain in the ass to break them in, but Jessie thinks he has promise."

"I see," Lunafreya replies automatically. Watches as Highwind turns on her heel to head out the door. All of a sudden, Highwind stops.

"Sky's clear, and we got a good tailwind, so Gralea's only some hours out. If you're wanting to get in some shut-eye, you can use my quarters."

Then Highwind steps out the door. Shuts it behind her.

Highwind's quarters are smaller than Lunafreya expected them to be. It is the same size as the personnel quarters she has seen clustered together on the bottom floor of the airship. Those room are just big enough to fit two bunk beds and four lockers inside.

In Highwind's room, there is only one bunk bed. The top bunk appears to be used for storage. Lunafreya gives it a cursory glance: books, clothing, a battered deck of cards, and odd-shaped things are piled on the bare mattress. She is about to look further when she catches herself. What items Highwind keeps in her room are not her business. So she does not even try to open either of the two lockers situated at the foot of the bed. Does not touch any of the papers on the desk that sits in the place a second bunk bed might have.

The ex-commodore must not be planning on sleeping before their arrival in the capital. Even still, Lunafreya feels a bit guilty as she strips down to a nightdress and crawls into Highwind's bed. She would have stayed in the medical bay again. Except that all of the cots were stripped of their sheets. It seemed impolite to prepare a bed for herself when Highwind had already offered up her own.

Lunafreya suspects that she will not be able to sleep: she has already slept so much as of late. Flames lick the edges of her mind. Yet Highwind's quarters are surprisingly quiet. So she does sleep. Just not deeply enough to dream.

A knock at the door wakes Lunafreya up. Something is wrong. The airship is about to crumble. She rolls out of bed. Lands on the balls of her feet.

"Oracle?" Someone calls from the other side. Calmly. In the second it takes her to stand, Lunafreya registers this. The airship is fine. She is fine.

"I am awake," she calls backs, "Thank you."

"Lady A wanted me to give you a heads-up," the voice says. Lunafreya can just barely make out the words. "We'll be landing in the next twenty."

"I see." Lunafreya collects the clothing she had slung over the backrest of chair tucked into the desk. Running a finger under the collar of her undershirt, Lunafreya frowns. It is still a bit damp with yesterday's sweat.

She puts it on anyways.

They dock in a hangar inside Zegnautus Keep. With every inch that the door lowers into a ramp, more and more of Gralea comes into view. The open door to the hangar frames a city that touches the horizon. The sun rises from behind skyscrapers and smokestacks into a cloudless sky.

"I would've flown them here myself, if the weather had been half as nice," Highwind says from behind her. It almost sounds like an apology. Lunafreya casts a glance over her shoulder at her. Highwind's face is turned away as she taps the butt of her lance against the floor.

On Highwind's orders, someone hands a spear to Lunafreya. It is austere in appearance and light in her hand. Far lighter than the Trident of the Oracle had felt. But it stands about as tall as the trident had. There is something comforting about that. So she does not tell them that she was never trained in arms. That the Trident of the Oracle had not been a weapon to her, but an amplifier for her power.

The edge of the ramp clanks against the concrete floor. Highwind takes the lead down the ramp. Tosses orders left and right. Her people disperse throughout the hangar to do her will. "Princess, you're with me."

Lunafreya nods and follows her as they round the side of the airship. Ahead of them, three figures appear from double doors leading further into the keep. She cannot make out their faces at this distance.

Apparently, Highwind can.

"So you found them, huh!"

One of the three figures waves and walks faster than its fellows towards them. Lunafreya is struck by his shock of golden hair. She does not need to be able to see the freckles on his face to know who he is.

Prompto Argentum.

A long time ago, she had written to this stranger. It would be years before she received a reply. It came in the form of a photograph glued to a page in her and Noctis's journal. She recognizes the others from his journal as well: Ignis Scientia by his glasses and high cheekbones. Gladiolus Amicitia by his towering figure alone.

Noctis is not among them.

Her hand closes tighter around the shaft of the spear.

"Where's the prince at?" Highwind asks. They all stop just a few feet short of each other. At this distance, Lunafreya can see the freckles on Prompto's face. Can see his bewilderment and fear too. His mouth opens as if to say something. Then shuts suddenly.

"We're," Ignis says. Pauses. Lunafreya notices the black lenses in his glasses then. The burn scar that creeps out from under it. She swallows hard. "Not entirely sure."

Gladiolus takes a step forward. Lunafreya matches his step with one of her own.

"He is with the Draconian," she says before Gladiolus can speak. "The Crystal, did—"

"What?!" Prompto yelps. With wide eyes, Gladiolus draws himself up to his full height.

"Gladio? Prompto? What is it?" Ignis asks. Turns his head from side to side. Beside her, Highwind crosses her arms. Says nothing. Lunafreya understands. It is unfair to have Highwind explain on her behalf.

"Hello," she says. A feeling rushes through her. It might be excitement. For so long, these three had lived only in the pages of a book. They had been so charming inside that journal. Now she realizes just how long she has yearned to meet them herself. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you. I am Lunafreya, of—"

"You're alive," Prompto says breathlessly. His expression transforms from bewilderment to glee. But she does not miss the wrinkle of suspicion between his eyebrows.

"The Oracle?" Ignis asks.

"What's going on here?" Gladiolus asks Highwind. Crosses his arms. Highwind just shakes her head.

"I," she says. Hesitates. That feeling from before evaporates inside her. Leaves her throat arid. "I survived the Hydraean's Revelation."

Gladiolus's eyes turn away from her. To Highwind.

"Did you know?"

"I—"

Lunafreya steps between him and Highwind then.

"No one knew," she says. "Gentiana rescued me from the waves. I decided then that it would be wise to conceal this fact. I could not risk Niflheim capturing me. Please, if you must blame anyone"— the words are stones in her mouth. Scrape her insides on the way out— "blame me."

Lunafreya locks her eyes with Gladiolus's own. Feels Highwind's eyes burning holes into the back of her head. This is a battle she is not sure she wants to win. She only knows she has to.

He looks away first. Exhales noisily as he does.

"I won't blame you for doing what you had to," Gladiolus says. It sounds like he means it. Sounds like he is saying that to more than just her. When she dares herself to look at Ignis and Prompto, she finds the former face hard with resignation. Finds the latter with one end of his mouth pinched in dissatisfaction. Seconds pass in silence. Lunafreya does not think she should be the one to break it.

"You said Noctis was with the Draconian," Ignis says then. "Where is that, exactly?"

"I will answer your questions to the best of my ability," Lunafreya says. "But first, answer me this: The Glacian. Did she finds Noctis?"

"Gentiana?" Gladiolus says, "Yeah. You sent her? Uh, pardon." There is more deference in his tone than she expected. And she had expected none.

"She was not mine to send." Lunafreya tries not to think of their parting. "Regardless, I am glad to hear that. Now then, could you lead me to the Crystal? I should be able to answer your questions there."

"Uh, sure..." Prompto says. "Right this way. Ah! I mean, sorry, uh, pardon, ah—"

Ignis sighs and shakes his head. Looking away, Gladiolus snorts.

"It's like you've never talked to royalty before," Highwind says with a laugh as she steps to Lunafreya's side. "Hey, Princess. Maybe tell him it's alright before he has a heart attack."

"Hey!" Prompto blushes.

"Should have seen him trying to talk to King Regis," Gladiolus says. Laughs too. "You bit your tongue, what? Four, five times?" Next to him, Ignis bows his head. His shoulders shake with laughter.

Prompto spits out a few incoherent consonants as his whole face goes red. This is the boy that Pyrna had chosen to help her. Lunafreya can understand why as she watches him. There is something so wonderful about him. She is just not sure what exactly that something wonderful is.

"Prompto, speak to me as you would Noctis."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she says. "Please."

"Let's get a move on," Highwind says with a flourish of her hand. "We don't have all day."