The Dawn of the Future

by Jun Eishima

  　“Remember―those ain’t your bodyguards, they’re your brothers. Trust in ’em. Always.”

  　At Caem, Cid’s words struck him hard. It forced Noctis to think about what his friends were feeling and what they each had sacrificed. Through it all, they continued to hold their hands out to him. To trust his companions meant accepting their help with full knowledge of what it cost them. Accepting help without that regard was not building a relationship of trust. It was the act of a child, still hopelessly dependent on others.

  　Up to that point, Noctis had depended on others for nearly everything, and all the while, he’d sulked and complained. What could he offer back to those who had helped him nonetheless? What they had given him was priceless, beyond recompense.

  Receive the memories inscribed in the Crystal, that the True King’s calling may be fulfilled.

  　The visions spun once more, this time with intense speed. He saw himself in combat with Ardyn, the Accursed’s fall to darkness now complete.

  　Was this the future? It had to be. Or at the very least, it was not the past, nor one of the possibilities of the past. Noctis’s own aged appearance suggested this battle was impending, the Crystal hinting at a moment that was yet to come.

  　Then after Ardyn’s defeat in Insomnia, Noctis saw himself upon the throne, wielding the Ring of Light and calling forth the Kings of Yore. He would finally destroy the Accursed’s soul in the realm beyond, and Ardyn would perish once and for all.

  Gather strength, O Chosen. The fate of this world falls to the King of Kings.

  His Providence consecrated in the divine Light of the Crystal. So it is ordained―the revelation of Bahamut.

  　But the vision that unfolded alongside the Draconian’s words was hard to accept. The Old Kings arrived, and there, on the throne, it was Noctis’s own life that was ripped away. Blinding light burst forth from the ring, and the Chosen King was torn from his mortal flesh and carried to the Beyond. There, once Ardyn’s end was wrought, Noctis’s soul shattered into countless fragments of light, vanishing without trace.

  A power greater than even that of the Six, purifying all by the Light of the Crystal and the glaives of rulers past. Only at the throne can the Chosen receive it, and only at the cost of a life: his own. The King of Kings shall be granted the power to banish the darkness, but the blood price must be paid. To cast out the Usurper and usher in dawn’s light will cost the life of the Chosen. Many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all. Now enter into Reflection, that the Light of Providence shine within.

  　When Noctis looked down, he was seated on a throne of kings―not the throne at Insomnia, but one situated here, inside the Crystal.

  　So it wasn’t a dream, he thought. He stood and began to walk. His steps felt light and uncertain. How long had the vision lasted? He had no means to gauge time’s passage. It had felt like only a moment, and it might have been so, but within that moment he’d observed two thousand years’ worth of history. He’d watched as more people than he could ever count came into the world, lived their lives, and passed on. He’d known every one of their thoughts. Now all of it was at risk. If darkness shrouded the Star completely, all life would cease. And if the Star itself perished, there would be nothing left of man―not even artifacts or ruins to hint at what had once been.

  　I can save the Star . . . if I lay down my life.

  　With the darkness driven away and the safety of the Star ensured, the world of man would continue. Countless other joys and sorrows would fill the future. However . . .

  　Is that really how it ends for me?

  　Noctis brought his hands before his eyes. Use the ring, draw on the Crystal’s power, and receive new strength. Then strike down Ardyn with these same hands. Securing the future was supposed to be as straightforward as that.

  　But . . . death. To be erased from the world. That was the fate that awaited him. It was terrifying, more so than he wanted to bear. He wanted to run, to never have to think of it again.

  　I can’t. Now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, I’ll never be able to escape that knowledge or my fate.

  　He thought again of the endless faces recorded by the Crystal. They brought depth to concepts he’d assumed to be simple before. The Star. Our world. Behind those words stood every day lived by every life that was or had been, as well as every life yet to be.

  　If I abandon my calling, all of them will vanish.

  　At the same time, he couldn’t help but note that he, too, was one of those lives. He’d been granted time on this star. His parents had eagerly awaited his arrival in the world. And though Noctis had lost his mother while still young, he’d been loved all the more by his deeply caring father. Ignis had been ever at his side, taking care of his every little need. Gladio, constantly honing himself for the day when he would serve as Noctis’s Shield, was stern with him when necessary and at other times protective, like an impenetrable wall keeping Noctis from all harm. Prompto was there as a close friend, plain and simple, providing Noctis with invaluable time when he could forget his title and the burdens it imposed. Their journey together had been cut far too short.

  　I’ll lose all of that. It’ll all be gone.

  　He couldn’t bear the thought. He did not want to die. He’d looked forward to the day when he could live together with those he cared about in a world that finally knew peace.

  　Yet without the True King’s death, Eos had no future. To secure a tomorrow for everyone else, he had to give up his own.

  　It’s not fair. I won’t. I refuse!

  　The memories from the Crystal―the knowledge of myriad lives and deaths―once again swirled through his mind. He could never escape them. They were too heavy a burden to abandon.

  　A light shone as if to soothe his agitation. Noctis glanced up and found a familiar face staring back.

  　“Dad?”

  　Regis looked the same as he had in the last moment they’d been together, on the steps of the Citadel as he bid Noctis farewell. The king stood with sword in hand. His expression, too, was familiar: gentle, yet with a faint trace of sorrow. It was a sadness that appeared but for an instant, like a cloud momentarily passing across the face of the sun. It was fleeting, yet Noctis had never failed to notice it in days past. Nor did he miss it now.

  　“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Noctis asked.

  　He recalled the vision shared by the Crystal, of his father on the day Noctis was revealed as the prophesized king.

  　“You cared for and looked after me, knowing exactly what my future held in store.”

  　Noctis recalled the chiding comments of friends and relatives. You’re too soft on the prince, they’d told Regis. Others questioned the king’s decision to enroll Noctis in ordinary public schools. Unsuitable for a prince’s education, they’d said. The criticism had poured in again from all sides when Regis allowed Noctis to begin living in an apartment on his own.

  　To Noctis, too, it had seemed nothing more than a father’s doting on an only child. He’d assumed nothing deeper, certainly not that all those choices were born of a determination that Noctis derive the most joy possible from the short time he had.

  　“That was why you tried so hard to smile when you sent me away.”

  　At the end, too, Regis’s careful regard was apparent: he had arranged for Noctis to travel by car, to ensure that the journey would take time. The prince had been sent with a minimal retinue of three. The trip was one last chance for Noctis to forget his role as prince, to experience the wide world beyond Insomnia’s walls, and to deepen his bonds of friendship. The smile given from father to son that day was a parting gift: well-wishes for the coming travels. For when they were inevitably over, so, too, would be the life of the traveler.

  　“I hated you for it at the time. You sent me away with a smile, and I couldn’t imagine why. I’m sorry. It must have been painful for you.”

  　A faint smile crossed Regis�
��s lips. The late king shook his head, and then finally responded in words, “It is a parent’s duty to feel concern for his child and to worry for his happiness. Those are feelings that needn’t be returned. It is enough for the child to depend on his parents and let himself be treasured. With time, even moments of hardship or frustration are looked back upon fondly.”

  　“Dad . . . ”

  　“Now you are grown. The time for you to be dependent on others has come to an end. You are a man. A king.”

  　His father had always been generous with praise throughout all of Noctis’s childhood, and he’d always felt proud to have his father’s approval. But all of that paled in comparison with the pride he felt now.

  　Then the smile faded from Regis’s lips, and his tone grew stern.

  　“A king cannot lead by standing still. A king pushes onward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.”

  　Regis held out the grip of his glaive.

  　“Use it, to protect the one in your heart as well as the ones you love as brothers.”

  　Noctis accepted the sword, feeling its weight. Choose, his father seemed to say. Not a choice of whether to yield to the fate placed upon him, but a choice of the future Noctis wished to see.

  　His options were by no means great in number. It was possible that, though he could not see it, he had no means to choose at all. But whatever path he walked, his father seemed to want him to walk it decisively and after much careful consideration.

  　“I understand,” he said.

  　As if satisfied by Noctis’s answer, Regis nodded and began to fade.

  　The things Noctis wanted to protect were clear. There were the people he cared about and everything connected to them. There was the kingdom he’d inherited from his father. The people he’d met during his travels, and the lands in which they lived. Everything was essential, and everything was integral. The loss of one brought emptiness and sorrow to others. If everyone and everything was connected in one great puzzle, then no piece could be neglected.

  　More than anything else, he did not want Lunafreya’s sacrifice to be in vain. She’d expended her own life for the covenants. It was, he admitted, the one life he cared about above all others. He wished she could live again, but if that were not to be, he would at least see that evidence of her life persisted, that her memory might be carried forward into the future world.

  　With his father’s sword in hand, Noctis lowered himself onto the throne in the Crystal and commanded himself to think. Think well, that you might choose well.

  By the covenants awakened, the Six have seen the coming of the prophesied hour―a time when the Crystal shall have shed the entirety of its Light unto the ring. Only then, once the sacred ring is replete, can the True King complete his ascension.

  Noctis heard the distant roar of thunder. For a moment, he believed he was having a dream about the Stormbringer. He opened his eyes, but the darkness beneath his lids was replaced by a darkness that seemed to envelop everything. Perhaps, he thought, this, too, is a dream.

  　As his eyes adjusted and his gaze swept about, Noctis realized he was on Angelgard. He’d seen this ancient stone prison before, in the visions shared by the Crystal. It was here that Ardyn had been sealed away by his brother. The roaring he heard, then, was of surf, not thunder.

  　He was not certain how long he’d lain there sleeping. Last he remembered, he was seated on the throne in the heart of the Crystal. Now he was here, seated atop cold stone.

  　Noctis stood. It was a strange sensation, as if he were making use of another’s body rather than his own. The feeling lasted only for a moment, and by the time he was out of the cell itself and making his way to the outside, he felt his limbs moving as surely as they had in the past―or in truth, moreso than ever before.

  　He found that he knew the tunnel leading to the surface, though he’d never walked it himself. He had the Crystal’s memories of Ardyn being led into his prison and then led back out by Verstael two millennia later. It was a simple, straightforward route, and the memories of the two journeys were more than enough to guide him to the surface.

  　Once outside, he was hit with the strong scent of the ocean. The sky was dark. He saw that in his absence, the daemons’ influence had drawn a shroud over the whole world.

  　Be calm, he reassured himself. You are the True King, and it is this very darkness you have come to banish.

  　He descended the rocky slope down to the island’s single cove. Even at a distance, he could see a ship moored there, as if awaiting the king’s return. Noctis drew nearer and realized it was one he knew well: the royal vessel on which he’d made his journey from Caem to Altissia.

  　It felt like a reunion with an old friend. The ship was in good repair; someone, mortal or otherwise, must have kept an eye on it. It was precisely as he remembered it from when Cid’s work was complete and they’d set off across the waves.

  　The royal vessel was not the only friend waiting. As Noctis approached the craft, he heard a familiar bark and friendly snuffle.

  　“Umbra!”

  　The dog seemed to appear from out of nowhere. He sat at Noctis’s feet, and Noctis leaned down to pet the thick fur of his ruff. Umbra shook him away.

  　“What’s the matter, boy?”

  　With one rear leg, the dog made several swipes at a spot farther back on his neck. Noctis followed the motions, realizing Umbra was carrying something. It was where he and Lunafreya used to tuck the notebook when sending messages back and forth.

  　The familiarity of the exchange hit him like an unexpected blow to the chest. The last time Noctis had squatted down like this to take the notebook from Umbra, he’d been at Cape Caem, just before boarding the same ship moored beside him now. Noctis had carefully opened the notebook’s cover and flipped through the pages to Lunafreya’s latest message: Waiting for you in Altissia.

  　Back then, he’d been so certain that he and Lunafreya would be reunited soon. No longer would theirs be a relationship confined to written words. They would finally be together in all ways, never to part again.

  　He recalled with vivid clarity the way his heart had leapt at the thought. It only made the current sting more painful. He recalled also the morning in Altissia when he realized that the notebook, the arrival of which had always delighted him, would now serve only as a constant reminder of loss.

  　Umbra shifted impatiently, unknowing of this inner turmoil. He nuzzled against Noctis’s crouched figure, urging him to accept the delivery.

  　“All right, all right, cool it,” Noctis told the dog.

  　He pulled the object free, realizing it to be a different, smaller notebook. He flipped it open to the first page, and on scanning it his eyes widened, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding his mind.

  　“How is this possible?” he wondered aloud.

  　Inside, in the same flowing script of the brief notes he’d seen countless times before, was written page after page crammed with thoughts, letters, and journal entries.

  　“Luna? She’s alive?”

  　It was hard to believe, and yet the hand was unmistakable. The first message―I’m safe―was written in a hasty scrawl. She must have been in some great hurry as she began. But those were the only words that lacked the care and good form of Lunafreya’s usual impeccable penmanship. Twelve years they’d exchanged messages; Noctis knew the shapes of her letters by heart. Her voice seemed to emanate from the words he read now. The more he read, the more certain he became: the notebook may have been different, but it was, beyond any doubt, something prepared by Lunafreya and meant for him.

  　There on the shores of Angelgard, Noctis read. He learned of Lunafreya’s revival and of the new calling bestowed upon her. He learned of the world as it was now, devoid of daylight and uninhabited save for Lestallum and its environs. He read about Lunafreya’s shock and bewilderment on waking into this new world. Of the new, inhuman power she’d gained. Of her travels
through former imperial lands, felling daemons along the way. And of her new friend, a young woman named Sol. As Noctis scoured the pages, following every stroke of her pen, his vision began to blur, until finally his eyes were too full of tears to read further.

  　“Luna . . . ” He wept. “She’s . . . she’s alive.”

  　This whole time, he’d believed her lost. The one life he’d wanted to protect more than any other. When the Crystal had revealed the True King’s calling, one thought had been more devastating than any other: though Noctis could promise a future to the world in exchange for his own life, it would be a future not graced with Lunafreya’s presence.

  　But now he held evidence that she was alive.

  　“Thank . . . ”

  　Thank the gods, he’d wanted to say, but his voice grew hoarse and thick with sobs. He traced a finger over the words of the notebook―the words that she had strung together, true and certain.

  　Wiping tears away with the back of his hand, he continued to read. Here and there, he found a date noted in small figures: 766. At first, he thought it was a mistake, but the number appeared over and over. Noctis’s own journey with his friends had begun in M.E. 756. The scenes shared by the Crystal had spanned from ancient times up to that same year, which was to be expected, since Noctis had been drawn inside to learn of the past. The Draconian had shown glimpses of a future in which Noctis defeated Ardyn, but the god had given no hint of the year in which that event might take place.

  　“Ten years . . . ” Noctis mumbled to himself.

  　He’d not imagined the Crystal might need so much time to pour its energy into the ring. There hadn’t been the slightest notion that his calling might keep his companions waiting so long. Did they still have hope? Were they still awaiting his return?