Sleeping was relatively easy. It had been the easiest refuge he could find in the - when he - before. And now, with his body no longer so desperately dehydrated, with his stomach no longer gnawing on itself in agonized hunger, it was a constant temptation. To let the pillows (lumpy, but clean and soft) and sheets (scratchy, but clean and cool) entangle him, shroud him, sing him down to sleep. Telling reality from his dreams was easy; in them, be they pleasant or nightmarish, his eyes did not fail him.

Try as he might have, though, Ignis couldn't sleep without a break. His body betrayed him, over and over: with an ache of his cramped limbs trying to get used to the lack of confinement, with the pressure of his bladder that he now could relieve without soiling himself, with the thirst he could now slack and hunger he could now expect to be fed. He woke up, again and again.

He woke up, and lay very quietly, very still. His body was unfolded; there was no familiar harsh pressure under his right hip, flank and shoulder, no rough twine digging into abraded skin of his wrists and ankles. The pillow under his cheek smelled softly of cheap lye soap. He was wearing pajamas, ratty and too short for his frame, but comfortable enough.

There was somebody in the room, to the right of his bed; he could hear their breathing, slow and measured. He froze, forced himself to not squeeze his eyes shut, to not give himself away, even though it was likely useless: he always gave himself away.

"Hey, Iggy," Gladio's voice said, gruff and sleepy, and Ignis shuddered and couldn't stop himself. Hey Ignis, and did you truly expect us to come for you? and always have been selfish, haven't you?

He breathed, harsh and fast, trying to pin the remains of his badly tattered dignity to himself - always a lost battle, but if he could hold onto himself for just a moment, just a second -

"Shit," Gladio's voice said. "Shit, Blondie, get up, he's freaking out again."

Prompto's voice, soft and confused with sleep as well, sharpening fast. "Ignis! It's us, buddy, sorry, wait a second..."

Something crashed to the floor; in the murky twilight confusion of the room, there was movement, soft scuffles, sotto voice swearing. Ignis tried to make sense of it over the thundering noise of his heart. He remembered Prompto too: so who's expendable now, huh, Igster? And truer: maybe you bullied your way into staying with Noct, but you sure weren't of much help, were you?

But - somebody was on his other side. Two people, two voices; it was important, and he could not remember why.

"It's fine," Prompto - Prompto? - said from his left, soothing. "It's fine. Two of us, remember? Ardyn can't be two of us at once."

"I'm going to take your hand," Gladio said, "and Prompto will take the other, okay? On one."

"Three," Prompto said, "two, one, here we go."

There were two pairs of hands on him - warm, callused, Gladio's huge palms and Prompto's smaller ones. His brain scrambled to make sense of the sensation, lagging behind his body. Two pair of hands; two people. He'd been rescued.

"Apologies," Ignis rasped, and couldn't recognize his own voice for a moment. "I must've been confused."

"It's alright," Prompto said. "Waking up is the worst, isn't it?"

There was an awkward pause. He imagined them exchanging silent glances over his head; for a moment he hated their solicitousness, but he was achingly, horribly grateful to them too. Prompto began petting his arm, seemingly unconsciously; well, he never could resist an animal in distress. Gladio squeezed his bicep once, to the point of pain, and let go.

Ignis cleared his throat. "Have I slept long?"

"About five hours this time, I think. Time for breakfast!"

Ignis tried to raise himself to the sitting position, but his arms lacked the power. He hissed through his teeth, annoyed at himself. It was hard to keep track of days, even though they always told him when he asked, but it'd been more than five days since they had found him. Under Prompto's cheerful tyranny he had graduated from IV lines and juice to bland porridge and granola bars, but he still couldn't do something as simple as sitting by himself.

Gladio grasped his shoulders, firmly and gently, and pulled him up. Ignis flinched before he could stop himself, and could feel the answering flinch in Gladio's hands. The idea of apologizing was exhausting; the idea of Gladio seeing him like this is even more so, but to be fair, what did it matter? They had already seen how low he could be brought, and there was nowhere else to fall. He wished he could find comfort in this newfound freedom.

"Gladio," Prompto said, "come help me get the food."

"Got you," Gladio grumbled.

Ignis wanted to tell them that this subterfuge was unnecessary. He wanted to tell Prompto that he was not a child, and that he could handle Prompto leaving the room and coming back, could handle being left alone with Gladio - but the truth was, he didn't believe it himself.

Noct pitied you, and look where it got him. Some advisor you turned to be, Iggy.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge Gladio's - Ardyn's, Ardyn's - voice from his ears. Sometimes it felt like it soaked into his skin the same way his own waste and sweat and tears had done, corroding it, leaving bleeding sores.

Prompto came back with Gladio on his heels. The smell of porridge, bland and slightly overcooked as it was, should've been exciting: Ignis' stomach growled with want, but he couldn't find anything but abstract recognition. It smelled like food, but the prospect of eating felt like an exhausting, uphill struggle. The lethargy swept through him, weighing him down.

But if he'd refused the food he would upset and frighten Prompto, and he's been enough of a nuisance already. At least he was deemed well enough to grapple with the spoon by himself, and Gladio had the foresight to spread a napkin over his chest. He scooped some porridge, brought it to his mouth, swallowed, and repeated the motion. He imagined Gladio and Prompto watching him impressed he can master such a trick no, no. Relieved to see him recovering, surely. After all, only his infirmity was keeping them confined to the house.

He ate dutifully and idly wondered whether the lack of taste was due to subpar ingredients, Prompto's cooking, or simply some new facet of his depredation. After he choked the food down the bowl was whisked away and Prompto mercifully stayed just shy of wiping his mouth.

He made himself speak. "Thank you for the meal. I"m sure that at this rate I'll be back on my feet in less than a couple of weeks. Surely you're sorely missed in your duties."

Gladio made an explosive exhale somewhere deeper in the room, but stayed silent. Prompto came back to his side, though, took his hand again. "You're not on a schedule, dude, and we're not leaving you."

Look how well it worked out the first time, Ignis heard, and this time it didn't need Ardyn's poisoned undertone for it to sting. He opened his mouth, but just the idea of the argument was insurmountable. Why bother? They'd come to their senses soon enough regardless of what he'd say or do.

He sank deeper into his bedding, and Prompto fussed with his sheets, straightened the pillows just so. "Do you want me to read to you, Ignis? All we have is one of Gladio's romance novels, but Iris will find us something better afterward if you'd like."

"Yes," Ignis said, and let the excuse to allow him to go back to sleep.

Gladio bullied Ignis back to his feet several days after, and Ignis discovered, to his immense mortification, that whatever slight progress he'd made with adjusting to his lost sight before, it had been wiped out completely. He stumbled and misjudged distances; the cane felt alien and useless in his hands. His legs shook; his body turned any touch, no matter how slight, into a scrape or a bruise, and the organized, limited dimensions of the house melted into one lumpy mass of darkness, confusion, and danger.

He would've preferred Prompto as a witness to his humiliation, but Prompto had curled up in the corner of the sofa and fell asleep. Gladio had Ignis verify with his hands, touch softly the contours of Prompto's face to make sure. It stung. His exhaustion was fading day by day; he was, almost against his own volition, becoming stronger and more aware, and that meant that the numbness went as well, leaving burning, stinging shame in its wake.

And so there he was, clutching his cane, Gladio hovering by his shoulder like a judgmental shadow.

"The floor is clear," Gladio said, "And I put the coffee table away, too. Fifteen steps there, fifteen steps back."

"I know," Ignis hissed at him, and winced at his own behavior. "I apologize. I did live here."

He could feel the heat from Gladio's palm, close to his elbow but not touching. "Come on. Four laps, and you can eat and sleep."

The living room stretched in front of him like a nightmare. Prompto on his sofa, not three steps away from them, might as well be on another continent. Leaving the angry safety of Gladio's presence felt impossible. What if he stumbled, what if he fell, what if he walked forever and the room didn't end, what if...

- what if he turned back, and -

Just a coward, aren't you? I always knew that's what you are.

Ignis took a step, then another, expecting to find a yawning abyss with each tap of his cane. Ardyn had no patience for long games, he reminded himself. He'd heal him quickly, make him feel hale and whole before crushing him again without this grueling interlude.

He tried to imagine Ardyn burning a pan of porridge in his kitchen, and was startled by the bark of laughter that burst forward.

"What's that?"

He turned to Gladio, suddenly daring. "Just trying to imagine the Chancellor cooking in my kitchen. Wearing my apron, no doubt."

Gladio's beat of silence made him stumble on the next step, catch his breath. "Gladio?"

"It's nothing," Gladio said, quickly. "We cleaned the house while you were sleeping, it's fine."

Six.

He wanted to ask - wanted to know - every surface in the apartment felt desecrated, tainted, breathing with malice. He couldn't map his way around the living room, but he could feel for a moment where the cellar door was, could see the path down to it laid out in bright blinking lights. If it would help he'd beg Gladio on his knees to take him away from this place. And Gladio would tell him that the only spaces in Lestallum they'd find would be packed with people, and remind him that it was his fear and his cowardice making it untenable.

He made another step. Then another. Then third. Eventually, his cane hit the wall, finding it exactly where it was supposed to be. He pivoted and walked back. Gladio paced him without touching. On the sofa Prompto slept on, snoring lightly. Ignis walked the distance - laughably small, there and back - once more without much difficulty; on the third circuit he began lagging, the muscles in his legs aching with strain.

"You've got it," Gladio said, without censure. "One more. If you fall, I'll catch you."

Would you was on the tip of Ignis' tongue, but he swallowed it. Why should you care, likewise. He gritted his teeth and made another step. If nothing else, regaining his footing will allow them to be released from nanny duty. Doing useful work for the community, leaving him alone so he could - well. So he could become a crazy hermit and greet every person coming to his door with a dagger through their throats, most likely.

Not that it would help.

As if sensing his thoughts, or maybe as if his own were running on the same tracks, Gladio said, hesitant in the way Gladio rarely was, "We've never asked, but - how did it happen? How did he get you?"

Ignis stumbled, and Gladio caught him, steadied him without effort. "You don't have to tell me. It's..."

The grooves of the cane's carved head bit the skin of Ignis' palm. He made himself continue walking. "It was evening. You came to the house. You were alone, said Prompto left on some business and will come over later. We talked. I don't remember the details, but it was - " and he has to catch surprisingly behind his teeth - "quite civil. I'm tempted to say I began suspecting something over the conversation, but I can't be sure."

Step, step, step. He was breathing harshly and told himself it was from the exertion. "Eventually I felt tired, so I told - you - I was going to retire. I've gotten up and turned to the bedroom, and then - I remember falling. I think I was hit from behind, by something heavy - it all became confusing for a while. I can't tell you."

"Iggy..."

He stumbled again and caught himself this time, speaking faster. "I woke up - I came to myself - I was down there. I couldn't move. The fit was too tight. I tried to - I couldn't..."

"I get it, I saw it," Gladio said roughly. "Did he - "

"He didn't hurt me," Ignis said and laughed a bit at the absurdity of the thought. "I couldn't access the armiger, couldn't - sometimes he'd open the box to give me some water. And the rest of the time he'd sit on top of the box and - talk."

"As himself?"

Prompto's voice from the sofa, wretched. Ignis didn't even hear him wake up. He lost the walls again, lost his sense of direction. His tongue wouldn't stop betraying him.

"No," he said. "Not as himself, no."

His cane hit the wall; he put his back to it and slid down, and Gladio let him. There were light, unsure footsteps; Prompto sat down next to him, pressed himself into Ignis' side. After a long moment, Gladio sat on the other side, leaving empty space between their shoulders.

"I realized," he said, "of course, rather quickly; I remembered what happened to you on the train. But after a while..."

"Yeah."

Gladio, sounding as if he was on the bottom of a well, straining for a glimpse of light, "Was it just us? That he pretended to be."

Why didn't you tell me, beloved, accusing voice, and he knew it was a lie, and he believed it nevertheless. Why didn't you tell me. I thought you cared about me, Specs. Why did you...

The pause was growing too long; he couldn't breathe. "Yes," he said, and then, desperately, to throw them off the trail, "and - one day you - he - he took me out of the box, he r-rescued me, I didn't believe him, but he - you - it sounded so real, and I was - there was water, and..."

Gladio swore, low and obscene. Prompto gasped. "When did he turn back on you?"

"When I called him Gladio," Ignis said. Compared to his other secret, what was that one defeat? "I knew it was too good to be true. But I wanted it to be."

Gladio surged to his feet, bent down to drag Ignis up, his fingers merciless and fever-hot on Ignis' shoulder. "Up," he said. "Godsdamn son of a bitch doesn't - you still have fifteen steps to do."

Prompto's chiding "Gladio!" got roundly ignored.

"We came," Gladio said. "We came, and we've got you, and I'd be damned if he gets to fuck you up for good. This is for real. Up, come on."

Ignis refused to budge. "You think it's going to help? Wh - if he comes again, it's going to help if I'm able to walk again? He knew I was the weak link, he chose me!"

Gladio let go of his shoulder as if he'd been burned; there was a furious thump over Ignis head, flakes of plaster raining down into Ignis' too-long hair.

"Bullshit," Prompto said, clear and crisp. "Complete bullshit. He's got some creepy magic mojo, he can freeze people, he can shapeshift - he walked through us in Zegnatus like we weren't even there, and I would know, I shot him dead. He could've killed all three of us at any goddamn moment he chose, so don't - "

"Then why didn't he?"

Appalled, twin silences and Ignis wished he could snatch the words back, cram them into his mouth. But why didn't he; why didn't he; why was Ignis still here, exhausted and hurt but essentially none - ha - the worse for wear?

Gladio pulled him to his feet again, and this time Ignis didn't resist. "I don't know, and I don't care. Whatever fucked up games he played, I'll take them over coming home and finding you dead."

Ignis swayed on his feet, and Prompto jumped up, steadying him from the other side. "Hey. Big guy is right. And maybe one day Ardyn won't know what hit him, how about that?"

If they knew - if only he could bring himself to tell them. He nodded instead, numb with anticipatory grief.

"Come on," Gladio said, "fifteen more steps," and Ignis, exhausted to the bone, allowed them to tow him through them, first to the last.

Ignis woke up to Gladio shaking his shoulder. There was a familiar lurch of fear, but Gladio whispered Henruit to him faster than it could take hold. The system wasn't foolproof, in Ignis' opinion; he could think of several ways to circumvent it, but he was either to accept its dubious protection or chain Prompto and Gladio together for the rest of their lives. So he managed.

Some days it helped to remind himself that Ardyn likely never needed to bother with the subterfuge in the first place, and that if he wanted to come back and finish what he began he could do just that. Some days it didn't.

"Rise and shine," Gladio said, obnoxiously loud for whatever hour it was. "I've cashed some favors and twisted some elbows, and we have a hunter training hall to ourselves in an hour."

Ignis shook his head, trying to clear the remains of adrenaline high. "I don't follow?"'

"Just get up and get ready. Where are your workout clothes? I'll get food ready. Chop-chop, it's about twenty minutes on foot from there."

He all but pushed Ignis into the bathroom, and left, presumably to disrupt Ignis' kitchen. Ignis decided he could just as well confront Gladio with his teeth brushed and his hair combed. He really needed to ask somebody to cut it, loath as he was to allow anybody near himself with a sharp implement. Prompto assured him he looked nice and hip, Igster, but Ignis imagined it just made him look unkempt and infirm.

Irrelevant. He rummaged in the drawers - his "training clothes" were a thing of the past, but there was a pair of stretchy enough trousers and a t-shirt he couldn't remember owning on one of the shelves. Hopefully without anything inappropriate printed on it.

He followed Gladio in the kitchen, sternly taking his body through another habitual jolt of terror. "Gladio, I don't think..."

"Sit."

Gladio pushed a granola bar in his hand. Those things, at least, he loathed in a way unrelated to his recent issues with food, but he appreciated the difficulty of getting a steady supply of food suitable for his fragile stomach. Momentarily silenced by obligation, he tore the wrapper off. Gladio was, judging by the sounds, making tea.

"For one thing, you need to build up your muscle mass. For the other, you need to get used to going out and walking past people again, and Iris and Talcott don't count. And finally, you're not getting on the road until I know you can defend yourself in a pinch, so we're going to work on that. We're low on potions, we can't just rough it out like we did the first time."

. "I wasn't aware I was getting on the road."

Gladio was in his space suddenly, startling him. He dropped to his knees next to Ignis' chair, put his hands on Ignis legs. The low intensity of his voice made goosebumps rise all over Ignis' arms.

"Iggy. Until Noct comes back, I'm not letting either you or Prompto out of my sight. Not when we know that Ardyn's out there. If it means you're going hunting with us, then you're going hunting with us."

"That's quite a - change. In your outlook."

Gladio's palms covered his knees entirely. He could probably circle either Ignis' bicep or his calve with his thumb and forefinger, easy. Imagining the guilt on his face was unbearable.

"Look where my outlook got us," Gladio said. Then he was back on his feet, busy with mugs and teabags and the stove, and Ignis did not have the heart to refuse him.

Technically it wasn't his first excursion outside. He's done some walking around the block already, flanked by Prompto and Gladio, trying not to get deafened and overwhelmed by noises and echoes all around. But this trip felt different. Gladio assured him the training hall would be completely empty, with nobody to bother them, and it was early enough that there weren't that many passers-by to - stare at him, pity him, scorn him - watch for. But having a destination in mind still made it feel new and uncomfortable.

The smell, at least, was familiar. State-of-art Crownsguard training facilities or a run-down ex-gym, all training spaces stank of sweat and effort and creaky leather. He inhaled this mix deeply, grateful for some semblance of normality.

"Okay," Gladio said, breaking into his thoughts. "Warm up first, and then we'll see where you are right now."

He slid into the familiar stretching routine almost without noticing: at least this his body remembered it despite the yawning chasm between 'then' and 'now'. Gladio hovered, corrected his stance a couple of times, stopped him when he thought Ignis' recovering muscles couldn't handle a position, but otherwise offered no comment. It was familiar and comforting too, an echo of joint training sessions from so long ago. The slow, warm burn of the stretch was so different from phantom pain of folded up and cramped limbs that still assaulted him sometimes, he could have cried in gratitude.

But when Gladio gave him wooden training daggers and led him to the mats, things began falling apart. His body remembered the stance as well, and the wooden hilts fit his palms correctly, but the moment Gladio stepped away he dissolved into the writhing mess of shadows and light without a trace. The training hall seemed much bigger than it had any right to be, a vast echoing space full of lurking dangers. Ignis strained to hear for the whisper of Gladio's feet against the floor and couldn't catch it; his experimental lunge felt ridiculously off-target, a child's attempt at play-fighting.

He tried to remind himself that he'd managed to stick with the group after Altissia, that he'd killed daemons and gave tactical advice, but it didn't help. Groping for Gladio in the dark felt insurmountable; his movements were clumsy, imbalanced, lacking power. He could've sworn he heard mocking laughter from the corners, pitying whispers. For a moment he was seized with the fantasy that Gladio lied to him, and the gym was actually full of hunters, coming to gawk and point.

He flailed with the daggers. Gladio called out the directions, never where Ignis expected to be, the patience in his voice obviously straining to the tearing point. Finally, he said, "Okay, let's try me coming at you instead. Do your best to get me down."

Ignis gaped in his direction; even back when they had been training together in Insomnia, and he was on the peak of his physical form, fighting Gladio in close quarters meant one victory out of every five, and that's if he had tried. What was Gladio thinking - and Gladio was already in his space, towering body and creak of leather and, insultingly, not even smell of sweat, like he wasn't even worked up.

Ignis struck out mindlessly with the daggers, and Gladio evaded them with insulting ease, caught Ignis' wrists in the iron grip, and let them go. "Again." Ignis managed to duck under the hit, but ended up caught in an insultingly gentle choke hold. "Again." He didn't even touch Gladio. "Again." His body refused to -

He slid to his knees, panting, and the daggers hit the mat with a hollow thump. After a beat Gladio followed him seized Ignis' shoulders with the force that would leave bruises on the next day.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Get up and fight!"

"What for?"

Gladio pushed him away with enough force Ignis' back hit the mats, breath driven out of him. Then he hauled Ignis back on his knees. Ignis hung limply, allowing himself to be held. His heart beat wildly, but not in fear.

"Don't fucking give me that. Ardyn couldn't scare the fight out of you so badly. What about Noct?"

Ignis shuddered in his hands. Why didn't you tell me?

The space around them was deadly silent. Gladio shook him, once, twice, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and rough. "I was so fucking angry at you, you can't imagine. Why were you at that altar? Why did it have to be you? It was my job! It was my place!"

He yanked Ignis to him, dropped his forehead against Ignis' shoulder, muffled his words into the cloth. "You shamed me so badly, and then you dared to - just - give up. Ardyn didn't do it to you, Iggy, I swear, I thought you'd carve my liver out before you'd allow me to leave you behind to play house, blind or not, so why? Why?"

Inside of Ignis, something enormous finally gave way. "Because," he whispered into Gladio's ear, "I didn't protect him at all."

Gladio let go of him; for a moment he saw the both of them as if from above, absurdly formal tableau, kneeling across from each other, reflecting in each other like a pair of crooked mirrors.

"Explain," Gladio said.

So Ignis told him. About the vision bestowed by the Messenger, about Noct dying on the throne, pierced by his father's sword. About where all their roads led, however much they twisted and turned.

And then, when there was nothing else to lose, he let another confession spill. "He came to me as Noct - he came to me and raged, and asked me why I would betray him so. He cried. He begged me to save him, and he cursed me, and I - what could I say? Even knowing that it wasn't him in truth, what could I say?"

Gladio was silent. Ignis hung his head; the tie in his hair slithered open, letting the strands hide his eyes. He always did so hate the feeling of hair touching his face. His hands slipped off his knees, laid on the mats, palms open, useless.

"Maybe," he whispered, "it was what I deserved."

His head exploded with pain; he lurched back, blindsided and jerked into hair-raising awareness. Gladio hit him with an open palm, without pulling the hit in the slightest, and blood from where his teeth cut the inside of his cheek was already flooding his mouth.

"Don't you fucking dare," Gladio hissed. "Don't you dare even think Noct would have wanted it for you."

Then, in a different tone of voice altogether: "Shit. Shit, Iggy, I'm sorry, I didn't - let me see."

His fingers skimmed Ignis' cheekbone, gently, questioningly, and Ignis leaned into the touch. "Gladio," he said, "what are we going to do?"

"Doesn't seem to be broken," Gladio muttered. "Shiva's mercy, Ignis, I don't know. I don't..."

After the earthquake came the flood: Ignis' tears slid down Gladio's fingers, dripped into Ignis' mouth. Gladio pulled Ignis to himself, sat him against his chest, bracketed him with his legs. "He is the king. When he comes back, he'll get to decide whether he wants to fight or run."

His heartbeat against Ignis' back; for a moment Ignis imagined it was his own heart beating. "And will you stay by him? If he runs?"

"By him," Gladio said. "By Prompto. By you. Whatever happens. I'm done losing you, and I'm done losing. From there on, either we all win or we all fail."

"I'm terrified," Ignis said.

"You've always been a smart guy," Gladio said, and Ignis hiccuped with a burst of laughter.

They drifted for a while; Gladio's warmth soaked into Ignis bones, spread through him slowly and surely. Even the throbbing of his cheekbone felt comforting, after a while.

Just on the cusp of exhausted sleep, he blinked himself awake instead, climbed to his feet slowly from the safe circle of Gladio's arms.

"I suppose," he said, "I still owe you a proper training session."

"Damn yes you do," Gladio snorted, rolling to his feet. "Back to work?"

He flexed his hands, leaned down, and managed to locate his daggers on the second try. The mocking whispers stopped; they were alone, and the mats were familiar and steady under his feet.

"Back to work."

The first haven out of Lestallum Ignis reached in a surprisingly benign mood. Gladio proposed checking up on how Coernix outpost was holding up as something of Ignis' trial field run, and Ignis had, if he said so himself, accounted for himself quite decently.

He kept up with Gladio and Prompto with just two or three falls, despite the rough landscape, and did his share of goblin-fighting with minimum assistance. Fighting daemons turned out to be easier than training with Gladio or Iris or the hunters Gladio roped in to help him: in a weird, unexpected boon they registered to his sense of magic, making it possible to track them without relying on his hearing alone.

The daemon goo clinging to his clothes was much less pleasant; there was an aspect to his travels he didn't miss. But there was something satisfying, in and out of himself, in being able to help Prompto with the cleanup. Dinner was going to come from a tin can since Gladio was in charge of it, but - perhaps, Ignis thought, he could apply himself to relearning the craft when they stayed somewhere. It wouldn't do to leave Noct without a welcome meal when he came back.

The stab of sorrow was automatic, familiar; he breathed around it and hoped Prompto didn't notice. Back in Lestallum Prompto had taken the news hard; there had been something of a shameful relief in not being the focus of attention for once, to offer support instead of being supported. Since then they'd set to relearning how to function together, with no secrets or bitterness in-between, but the knowledge of Noct's fate traveled with them, an unseen shadow.

(He was pretty sure Gladio set four chairs around the fire when setting camp, and didn't notice.)

In the evening, when they sat around the fire, with their plates empty and stacked to the side, Prompto spoke up.

"Can I ask you something? About - about that time. You don't have to answer."

The fear came, but as a shadow of itself; it was easy to find the rest of himself. "Of course."

"It's just," Prompto said, reluctantly. "I keep thinking about it. When he had me. In Zegnatus, it was - it was scary, and he hurt me, and he mocked me, and said shit to me, but it didn't... It didn't feel personal, you know? He was just being an asshole, amusing himself while he waited for Noct to show up. Why did he go to all this - why pretend to be Noct?"

He added, quick and sharp, before Ignis had a chance to gather his thoughts. "And don't give me this 'weak link' bullshit again. If he just wanted to hurt you, why - he could've just tortured you. Gave you a villain monologue."

"Looked like torture to me," Gladio said darkly.

"No," Ignis said, and waited for the chorus of shadow voices that didn't come. "No, Prompto's right. It felt like a personal grudge. But I don't know how I could've earned it. Even at the altar, knowing what we know about his abilities now... I'm afraid he was just toying with me."

"I don't," Prompto said, "I'm not just trying to be a dick and stir it all up. But he's the only one who knows something, and it's not like we can find him and shake him down for info. And if there's a chance..."

His voice broke and petered out; to Ignis' right, Gladio was breathing in harsh, measured exhales. And so Ignis leaned forward and planted his feet, dug his fingers into his temples, relishing the clean pressure of leather on skin, and made himself remember. Two months of voices just outside his reach, mocking, and pleading, and cursing, and lashing out. And that one time, with gasping cries in the dark, Noct's voice twisting in sorrow, and he knew, and he still ached...

He opened his eyes, and the shadows of their fire danced in what was left of his visual world. "When," he said, slowly, feeling out each step in the treacherous maze, "when he was pretending to be you or Gladio, it was just cruelty. But when he talked to me as Noct..."

"You wore the Ring for Noct," Gladio said, "and he set out to torture you and tell you Noct thought you betrayed him. Seems to me that this was what set him off."

Prompto bounded out of his chair, put his hand on Ignis' shoulder. "Who is this guy?"

Something dangerous and horribly wondrous was taking shape in Ignis' mind; rusted cogs and wheels slowly beginning to turn. "Whoever he is, he cares too much about the loyalty to the royal line of Lucis than he should. As if he has a personal stake in the matter. Perhaps we'll find some answers - "

"In the royal tombs," Gladio finished. "Do you think?"

He surged to his feet; the path was unfolding before his feet, step after step. "I think," he said, "we can but do our best to find out."

Gladio joined them, pulled them to him, and Ignis tipped his head against his shoulder. "A lot of ground to cover before our king comes home."

The lid of the box, opening. The three of them, exactly where they needed to be.

"Then we'd best apply ourselves."