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It’s a miserably hot day, just one of many in Leide, feeling like the sun is determined to roast everything that’s caught beneath it. Noctis sprawls out on the hotel couch, trying to spread out as much as possible to reduce his own body heat. The hotel has no AC and the air is oppressive and stifling, but he knows if he goes outside he’ll just be swimming in it.
They have things to do, as always, but today he lacks the usual drive. He just wants to sleep the day away, to reset and try again tomorrow. The little voice in the back of his head reminds him of all their responsibilities, the Royal Arms, the hunts, that little nagging issue of saving the world from eternal darkness. He tells it to shut up, to just let him rest for a moment, but it doesn’t stop.
The door to the room creaks open and Prompto comes in, his own face flushed from the heat. “Noct? We gotta get going, man.”
Noctis turns his head into the couch cushions and groans in reply. He doesn’t think he can move, can’t tear himself away from this spot, but he doesn’t know how to tell Prompto that.
He hears footsteps coming towards him, coming to drag him away from his self-induced slump, and he curls further into the couch, scrunching his eyes shut. He can’t stand the extra heat, but it’s the price to be paid for hiding away from the world.
“Noct.”
No. He can’t do it, not today.
“Noct.”
The air becomes a bit thicker, choking out the oxygen. It’s settling over everything, a thick blanket coming to smother them all.
Can’t Prompto feel it? How is he even able to move?
“Noctis.”
Noct finally turns around, limbs heavy, ready to confess that he just doesn’t have it in him. He opens his eyes to peer at his friend.
The room’s on fire. Flames lick their way up the curtains, cheap wallpaper disintegrating as the walls blacken and bubble out. The beds and tables around the room crackle and split apart, wood crumbling and metal frames melting into the floor. The room’s covered in Ifrit’s fury as the air itself seems to ignite.
And Prompto, he, he’s…
Noctis screams.
~~~~~
He screams and screams, flailing off the couch. He reaches for his friend, afraid to touch but he has to, has to get Prompto out of here, has to save him and fix him, but Prompto lurches away from him. Falls further into the flames, and Noct wails as he goes. He stumbles himself, knees colliding hard onto the floor, flames catching onto his clothes, crawling up his body.
Ice sparks from his fingertips, a reflex, trying to form a defense against the inferno around him. It’s not enough, and it fizzles out, overtaken by the heat.
The room’s going to consume him.
He slams his palms onto the floor, pushing himself up. He tries to head for the door, only to be met with nothing, nothing but walls of fire all around him. They close in, and he shrinks into himself, but there’s nowhere to go. Nothing to do but be swallowed whole.
He closes his eyes just as the flames reach up to his face, and falls.
~~~~~
He comes back to a sudden rush of cool air, and he jolts upright. His scream abruptly cuts off as he looks up and out. The flames are gone, and he’s not in the room anymore. He’s on his back, cool stone beneath him, staring up at the stars.
“What…” he breathes out. He can still feel the prickling heat under his skin, but as he looks down at himself, there’s nothing there. Unblemished, no burns, no black.
He sits up, trying to slow the tremors running through his body. A dream, a nightmare? He sits on the top of a haven, not in a hotel. The tent’s behind him, stamped out ashes of the fire next to him. He shakes out his arms, moves his head from side to side. It must have been a nightmare.
He doesn’t remember leaving the tent, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he slept-walk. Hasn’t happened in years, but then again he hasn’t been under this much stress in a long time either. He stands up, brushes himself off, and tries to get his breathing under control. Just a nightmare.
He makes his way over to the tent, opens the flap to rejoin his companions. Except it’s empty. Just the bedrolls within, their duffel bags shoved into the corner. There’s no one in here.
The steady beat of his heart picks up again, prickling feeling returning to rest just underneath his skin. He slowly edges back out of the tent, and turns warily to the side, looking out around the haven.
“Guys?”
No response. No sounds indicating anyone’s around.
In fact, no sounds at all.
The usual low drone of nighttime wildlife is gone. There’s no rustling of leaves as the wind drifts through them. The small stream of water next to the haven makes no noise.
He takes one slow step after another, moving to the middle of the haven. He calls out again, voice small to his own ears.
The only noise around him is his own stuttered breaths.
The darkness beyond the edge of the haven ripples, something shifting behind it. It still makes no noise, but Noctis freezes. He waits, watches as the air itself seems to rip apart, and the bony claw of a skeleton emerges from the darkness. The body follows, stepping out into the world.
Noct watches as it shuffles closer and closer. As it steps upon the hallowed ground of the haven, blue runes lighting up around it. As it continues, unhindered by the holy magic, and walks onto the top of the haven.
This isn’t possible. Daemon’s can’t step foot on havens, they just burn. This can’t, it’s not—
It only takes a moment for the skeleton to be joined by others. Goblins, arachnes, lichs. They swarm the edge of the haven and move to join Noctis in the middle. He reels back, drawing his engine blade, but fear clamps down on him. He can’t get his arm to move, to rise up against the creatures as they approach. They reach out for him as he stands, frozen, rooted to the ground.
Cold, inhuman hands slowly wrap around him, and any pleas he can dare to make are muffled by the darkness that envelops him.
~~~~~
“Noctis.”
Noct whines, keeping his eyes shut tight. The hands are gone, and noise filters back in, but he can’t stand to think of what will greet him if he opens his eyes. His head pounds, sharp pulses of pain that feel as though they’ll rip his skull in two.
“Noctis.”
He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear the voice, doesn’t want to look or move or breathe. He just wants to fall away to somewhere else until the fear unhooks itself from under his skin.
Something rests upon his forehead, its presence cool, and it makes him aware of the heat surging across his skin. He groans and sinks down, drawing into himself.
“It’s all right.”
He can’t trust that. Everything up to this point has given him nothing but terror, and he doesn’t want to see what’s waiting for him now. He tries to curl onto his side, but he can’t quite get there. Spasms ripple through his arms and legs, leaving behind a heavy ache that weighs him down further.
“Noct?”
The voice reaches something in the back of his mind. It’s familiar, something that reminds him of home. He wants to reach out to it, but he’s still so scared.
“Noct, please.”
He recognizes it now, unmistakable. It’s Prompto, calling out to him, searching for him. Gladio and Ignis’ voices join him, and it makes Noct’s heart ache. He wants to go to them, wants to feel safe, surrounded by his friends, taken away from all this fear.
He opens his eyes.
It’s so, so wrong.
They’re not his friends. Their faces are warped and contorted, shining eyes dripping with black, teeth sharp and bloodied. They reach for him with skeletal hands, fingers clawed at the ends, and he lurches away, head slamming up against something solid as he flinches. It doesn’t matter, they surround him and there’s nowhere to go, so he’s grabbed, pinned down by claws that dig into his skin.
They call out to him using his friends’ voices, and it makes him sob, this cruel trick to keep him longing for them as he’s pulled further into these creatures’ clutches. He thrashes against the clawed hands holding him down, even as they rip further into him.
He cries and flails, screaming for help that he doesn’t think will come. It hurts, fire blooming around him, the feeling of his skin being ripped apart by the daemons that keep their hold over him.
He hears the familiar shattering of glass, a sensation of something bright emerging from the darkness that’s settled around him. Just a single spark of light, just enough to offer him a moment’s respite from the horrors around him. He clings to it, tries to hide within it, and feels the world around him drift away once more.
~~~~~
“It’s not doing enough, Iggy. We have to cool him down.”
“Tepid, not cold.”
“Be prepared, he may try to fight us again.”
Noctis drifts in a sea of fire, too exhausted to try and pull himself out of the flames. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thinks it should, more of a muted pain than the agony he expects. He opens his eyes, preparing to see the inferno around him, but it’s just a haze of shapes amidst darkness, too far out of focus.
He feels points of pressure around him as he’s moved. The presence is familiar but he can’t quite place it. It’s too much effort to try and move away, so he doesn’t fight it.
The simplicity of this world doesn’t last, of course. He feels himself being lowered, and in an instant is surrounded by the stinging bite of ice all around him. It feels like his own blizzaga flask has exploded at his feet, ripping into him with freezing hands, and he shouts, bucking up.
Clawed hands once again pin him down, gripping his shoulders and legs tightly. He shrieks, adrenaline giving him some measure of strength as he fights against them. Water splashes around him, freezing cold droplets hitting his face, but he can’t get out of the block of ice that encapsulates him from foot to neck.
His head falls back, continuing to push through his feet to try to get up and away, but he fails to break free. Fear overtakes him and he starts to sob again. He doesn’t understand why he keeps falling from nightmare to nightmare, doesn’t know which is real or if any of them are.
He just wants it to stop. He keens, strength spent, and slumps back into the ice. His eyes roll back and he sinks into nothingness.
~~~~~
“Stay with us, Noct.”
The voice is soothing, soft and low. This time, when he comes back, he doesn’t feel flames, or claws, or ice. It’s all just numb, his limbs heavy and wooden. He opens his eyes to a grey, blurry world. It’s…more peaceful than it was before. He wonders if he’s just too tired to see the real horror around him this time.
A hand runs through his hair. It reminds him of the way his father used to comfort him after his nightmares, the way Ignis used to when the strain on his daily life became a bit too much. He waits for it to change, for some monster to grip it and haul him away, but it just stays there, grounding.
“Noctis?”
That’s Ignis, at least his voice. Maybe coming from the daemon’s throat, maybe from within Noct’s own mind. He doesn’t know.
“Noct, you in there?”
There’s Prompto, that tremor in his voice that creeps in when he’s stressed or scared. He tries to hide it sometimes when he thinks it makes him sound weak. It’s ridiculous, Noctis tells him.
“Come on, Noct.”
And there’s Gladio, with the same conviction he always has in his voice, always spurring him on, always right there beside him as he goes.
It’s too much to hope that his friends are here, but gods, we wishes they were.
The thought makes him cry, eyes scrunching shut, but no tears fall. It’s just empty sobs, he’s too hollowed out to have anything to give.
“Hey, hey, don’t do that, come on, we’re here.” Something wraps around him, and he flinches, waiting for the pain, waiting to be ripped apart. Instead, he’s just held, rocked like a scared child seeking comfort. He collapses into it, giving in to whatever is next for him.
“We got you, just hang on. We’re gonna fix this.”
“Please—” His voice cracks, brittle and hoarse. He’s so tired, so scared. He misses his friends.
“It’s gonna be okay, just stay with us.”
~~~~~
“It’s finally gone down.”
“Is he—it’s been so long, and he, do you think—”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see when he wakes up.”
Those same voices, his friends, all around him. A set of fingers intertwined with his own, hand running through his hair, a soft grip on his shoulder.
He opens his eyes.
It’s them this time, no daemons, no fire. Just his friends, as they are, surrounding him, anchoring him with gentle points of contact.
His eyes burn, his muscles too sore to move, his head heavy. He’s propped up on a bed, unrestrained by blankets. His hands twitch as he tries to flex his fingers, and the hold around them squeezes more tightly for just a moment.
“Noct?”
Ignis moves further into his line of sight. He looks so concerned, emotions playing out freely on his face, a rare sight for a man who typically has his emotions so in check. “Are you with us?”
Noctis doesn’t know if he is. He doesn’t know if this is the real thing, or just a brief respite from the next set of horrors waiting for him. He still doesn’t feel fully present, and an undercurrent of fear rests in his chest. He blinks hard, trying to will the world into more focus.
“Noctis? Can you hear me?”
“…I—” His voice gives out, mouth too dry to speak. A glass of water appears in front of him, held to his lips. He tenses for a moment, still wary.
“It’s water, Noct. It’ll help.”
A hand behind his head keeps him steady, and another moment’s hesitation passes before he’s opening his mouth, slowly sipping the cool water. It’s like ambrosia for his throat, easing the dry ache there. It’s taken away far too soon, and he follows it a bit, gasping.
“I’m sorry, you have to take it slow.”
More pressure at his side, and he turns to see Prompto moving closer to him, the warmth so far removed from the burning he’s felt for who knows how long. “You with us now?” he asks, so much hope in his voice that Noctis can’t help but lean into him.
“Prompto.” He tightens his grip on Prom’s hand, clinging to it with as much strength as he can. Prompto takes what’s offered and pulls Noct in, cradling his head in towards his chest, wrapping his other arm around Noct’s shoulder.
“Gods, Noct.” He sounds so relieved, and Noctis can hear heavy sighs from Ignis and Gladio around him. Noctis slumps in Prompto’s embrace. He needs to check, needs to be sure.
“This real?” he finally asks.
Ignis rubs his hand along the curve of Noct’s back, gentle as can be. “Yes, Noct, it’s real. You’ve been sick, but you’re getting better. It’s going to be all right.”
The tight grasp of fear that’s surrounded him for so long finally loosens, and his next breath catches. He pulls back from Prompto to look at Ignis and Gladio, reaching out for them. They return his grip, real and solid.
They remain like that for a while, anchoring Noctis to this world as he clings to them. He takes it in, as much as he can, a little part of him waiting for the next world to come up and swallow him. But it doesn’t, not right now, at least.
It’s real, it’s real, it’s real.