less god, less divine.

[illuminet]

[ The thing is— she'd wanted so badly to save him. Want. Like yearning, like desire could be so kind and pristine and hopeful in the wake of dereliction — already, it's begun. The longer nights, inky and starless, the instability of their world where it's cracked open at the seams, torn open with the violence of daemons and human restlessness. Already, the longing seizing up around her neck — the omen is seething in the air long before she sets foot in the city, and long after she's abandoned her party of three for air that didn't choke in close proximity.

She's had dreams like these all the way to Altissia, Pryna and Umbra encircling her ankles, Noctis's voice unsettled and strange, always dissipating from her mind. Her failures have been several, her defeats plenty. Notwithstanding the miracles, she's survived. Her life of palace courtesies hasn't entirely prepared her for the brunt of her fights, but it's carried her here — to the watery canals and gentrified streets, each block lit up in lanterns.

If she hadn't been loitering on the far reaches of the city, she would've missed it entirely: the scrap of white fabric, the indistinct figure diminishing fast into the gloom.

And just like that, she's off in pursuit, chasing it on nothing more than a whirling mind and some rearing fullness that's taken ahold of her heart with the intent to rupture veins. Luna doesn't recognize it for what it is, the awful profundity of it, not for the pillars of stone or the sudden weight to her steps. Fear surges up, but it's only ash in the windpipe, something heavy and implacable when the figure finally has mercy on her, slowing down.

There's no fairness to it; not the look on his face or the tremble lacing through her fingers, from ligament to joint. ]

Noctis.

[ Some winded, blurry shock embeds in her throat, as limpid as love until she's wrenching into full lucidity, every sound leaving her strained and abrupt. ]

Noctis, please, I beg of you. Don't leave.