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May 20th, M.E. 756 ~ Insomnia

The low hum of the dropship’s engine filled Ravus’s ears as he locked the last buckle of his prosthetic left arm into place. With a hiss and click Ravus winced in pain as the arm started whirring and humming for a moment. He hated the necessity of the thing–this magitek apparatus. Just days ago he attempted to claim the power of the Ring of the Lucii and he paid the price for it with his arm. The prosthetic was silver with purple trim and bore the image of a wolf upon it. Ravus flexed his metal fingers and bent his elbow to make sure everything moved as intended–when he balled his fist he was satisfied. He was still getting used to it and the extra strength it brought.

Ravus was the blood of the Oracle, so like his sister Lunafreya he had a natural–yet latent–affinity for magic. He could not conjure any holy spells or elements, nor could he perform the rites of the covenants with any of the Six. Men of House Fleuret could not ascend to the calling of the Oracle–instead they served as lords and stewards of the Tenebraen throne as well as representatives of its power. Ravus didn’t mind this as it was the way of things since the inception of his dynasty. Yet there did still remain some magic coursing through his veins, but it was rare for a son of his house to unleash his abilities. Only had it been in storybooks and scrolls of lore that claimed “a Son of Tenebrae could call upon the light to cut through the darkness.” Ravus scoffed at the thought. He didn’t want the gods’ blessings to fulfill his duties and he seldom put trust in fairytales.

Currently his mission was to return to the ruined Crown City of Insomnia and preside over the transition of power. Afterward, Ravus was to resume the hunt for his sister who carried the Ring of the Lucii, as well as to eliminate the wayward Prince Noctis. Ravus clenched his teeth at the thought of Noctis–but quickly he relaxed, there was no point in tensing up now. Ravus sat back in his chair to recall the events that brought him back to the city.

Ravus had already intended to return to Insomnia for personal reasons–even if it meant circumventing the orders of his superiors. But fortunately for him, Chancellor Ardyn Izunia had given him the order to do so under the guise of  “permission.” The Chancellor specifically said, “His Radiance requests that you return to the site of that unfortunate battle and retrieve the bodies of King Regis and his noble Shield. You will then lay them to rest before the grieving Insomnians as a show of imperial grace.” Ravus felt ill in the Chancellor’s presence–every word that fell from his lips reeked of poison. His fake smile and swagger told of a hidden agenda–whether it was the emperor’s or his own was the question. But Emperor Aldercapt seemed different after the Fall of Insomnia, could he really have become senile so fast? It didn’t matter for now as Ravus had his own motives to attend to. “One more thing,” Ardyn’s voice echoed again. “If you would be so kind as to retrieve King Regis’s glaive–that would be most appreciated. With the loss of General Glauca, the spoils of victory go to his successor.” He removed his hat and put it over his heart as he said that, but Ravus sensed the other was feigning respect. “We wouldn't want the enemy king's sword falling into the wrong hands now would we?”

Ravus sighed and returned his focus to the present. Confronting this task wouldn't be easy–at least not physically. He hated King Regis–he had to for abandoning Tenebrae in its hour of need. Ravus had recounted that day in his mind over and over for years, but he had to steel himself now. There was an alarm and Ravus jumped up from his seat and climbed down the cabin ladder into the troop bay. Ravus brought with him no infantry nor MTs in his company–instead he was accompanied by four Imperial Guards and one ambassador. The latter wore a long white cape with high collars and underneath was a two-toned uniform of black and white. For armor she wore plated gauntlets and long boots as well as a black helmet with a golden visor. The ambassador was there to take up her formal office as the provisional governor. She had her own duties to fulfill and thus wasn’t essential to Ravus’s personal mission, so he paid her no mind.

The guards on the other hand had been handpicked by Ravus himself. In the past these three men and the single woman among them had served House Fleuret as members of the old royal guards–known then as the Sentinels. These veterans had acclimated to the imperial occupation of their homeland as Ravus had–which is to say they were all equally displeased. Their allegiance was to the Oracle and her heirs, so they continued to serve Lord Ravus faithfully. Ravus took the lead in front of his subordinates and stood right next to the ambassador as the large door opened and the gangplank descended. They were now in the Citadel courtyard. The roundabout was cleared of any presence but the sidewalk was being patrolled by imperial infantry, and a press team was preparing their equipment by a dark red van with Crown Chronicler printed on the side. Ravus also spotted a crew with a green truck sporting a vise-like hook.

Ravus stepped off the gangplank with his retinue in tow while the craft took to the sky. As he crossed the courtyard he saw the crew chiseling and prying a flagstone from the center island of the roundabout. Ravus raised his flat hand to signal his retinue to halt–so they did. The High Commander investigated the crew's work and saw that they were peeling out the flagstone that bore the symbol of Lucis–a gold winged skull. The crew of four paid Ravus no mind as they pried the two meter long stone from the ground, then they hefted the thing together which allowed the fifth man in the truck to clamp down on it and haul it off from the courtyard. Meanwhile the crew went to another vehicle just outside the Citadel's grounds where they awaited their next task. Perhaps the empire intended to dispose of the old flagstone or place it in a museum dedicated to their global conquest–it didn’t matter in either case. Ravus gazed at the now vacant spot and saw that there was a hole beneath rather than bare concrete. He knelt down and measured the recess to be at least two meters deep–which was a curious thing. He wondered if there had always been the intention to bury someone beneath?

Ravus’s mind returned to his duties as he stood, turned on his heel and signaled his team to follow him into the Citadel. The party of six crossed the threshold of the open doors and as Ravus made for the elevator hall, the ambassador halted him. “Where are you going, High Commander?”

Ravus cast a look over his shoulder, “I leave the negotiations to you, ‘Governor.’” Ravus already had no intention of staying in Insomnia any longer than necessary–he especially didn’t care to sit around and talk terms with the king’s sole surviving advisor.

“I was informed you would remain by my side the entire time,” she said, her voice more demanding now. Ravus disliked tedious chatter, but he sighed and about-faced.

“Then you were ill informed,” Ravus intoned. “His Radiance has tasked me with something far more important than your bureaucracy.” He continued with his retinue as the incumbent governor adjusted her coat, huffed, and remained where she stood. The group filed into the elevator and Ravus pressed the button that led to “the Hall of History” as the Citadel’s directory called it. The doors closed and they started their ascent.

~ ★ ~

At the chime, the doors opened and Ravus stepped out with his escort. They entered the hall where the guards took up position by the throne room doors. Ravus strode into the center of the room where his footsteps reverberated off the walls. He then looked upon the art segmented onto three of the walls and took in the whole picture. First he stared at the representation of the one-winged Oracle descending from the top-center and thought of his sister. Ravus loved Lunafreya so much that he tried to defy the will of the gods to save her from her calling. Noctis called her Luna –a shorthand that she delighted in. Ravus’s eyes then fell upon the center of the piece where four warriors sat veiled in black. The most important among them was the king calling upon the powers of his ancestors. It was Noctis whom the Crystal had chosen as the world’s savior and Ravus had been foolish to think he could usurp that righteous calling. He clenched his metal fist again, “While he galivants around with his friends I–,” he whispered to himself then bit his tongue. “I…I falter.” At times Ravus wondered if he had taken the right course in enlisting with the empire. Some nights he was plagued with terrible dreams of his mother and sister.

Ravus and Lunafreya run in a field of sylleblossoms as they did when they were children, wind running through their hair and white robes. Their mother awaits them at the edge of the field and when they reach her–her smile fades. “What is wrong mother? Where is your joy?” But she does not answer. Lunafreya now joins Sylva at her side and so too does her smile disappear.

Ravus runs to them but the wind pushes him back and he braces himself the same way every time. Yet still the gale is unrelenting in its violence. Now on his knees Ravus clasps his hands and begs, “Please don’t take them! Take me instead! Take me!” A laughter resounds from beneath the mountains and it crumbles beneath the Oracles’ feet. Ravus no longer feels moored by the wind and he rushes to save those he cherishes most.

“Mother! Sister!” He reaches out but stops at the edge where he watches them fall into a dark abyss surrounded by a raging inferno that swallows up his entire world. “No!” He cries out in vain as he falls to his knees again and pleads once more until his voice is hoarse. “Take me instead!” Ravus throws himself headlong into the howling darkness. His last sight is that of Lunafreya reaching down from the heavens to save him. Then he returns to the waking world.

Ravus relaxed his prosthetic fist as he finished recalling his nightmare. He grits his teeth as he stares up at the representation of the Chosen King–and he releases his anger. He looks down at his metal hand and sees it shaking–a bout of phantom pain as his physician called it. He sighs as he turns and heads toward the council chambers where the “treaty” was to be signed. As Ravus pressed on the doors and pushed them open, he thought about the fact that he was the one who proposed the assault of the city to Emperor Aldercapt and Chancellor Izunia. It was by his cunning that King Regis opened the way for Niflheim to invade the city.

“Lord Ravus?” One of the guards asked, returning the High Commander’s attention to the room.

"Pardon me," he said as he walked into the silent chamber and saw bodies of both flesh and steel, chairs, and the overturned signing table. Chaos that lasted minutes felt stretched to an eternity in this one room. Ravus stopped when he realized that he stood in the very spot where he picked up the Ring of the Lucii. He saw flecks of black ash scattered about the marble floor and his prosthetic began to shudder again as the intense sensation of holy flames wreathed his arm once more. He clenched his teeth as he squeezed at his metal gauntlet. His heart started pounding as he then instinctively reached for his eye. For his whole life–until just a few days ago–Ravus’s eyes had both been a steely blue. But after the Lucian Kings of Old burned him for his misplaced ambitions–his transgressions–the holy flames mingled with his spirit and his left eye had turned to a purple hue.

His own royal blood had saved him from a terrible death; the immolation of his arm had been a warning from those beyond him. He remembered their voices encircling him in a collective rebuke.

“Unworthy.”

“Son of Tenebrae.”

“Foolish.”

“Blood of the Oracle.”

“Treacherous.”

“Kingship is not your calling.”

“Now you must pay the price.”

That Ravus still drew breath and stood here again was a testament to the Lucii’s mercy. Ravus’s heartbeat steadied and he sighed. Scanning the room again, he noticed the king’s severed fourth and fifth fingers lying on the floor and drops of blood that had dried a rusty brown. In those moments that the late king defended against General Glauca with all his fleeting strength, Ravus stood in the shadows biding his time. He believed himself capable of defeating Regis on his own, but the General’s orders superseded his own wants. The General’s true identity had been a mystery for long until a year ago when Ravus started planning OPERATION: COUNTERSIGN . It hadn’t been intentional–but Ravus’s appraisal of General Glauca’s history in battle led to a discrete investigation to discern his motives. Ravus had realized that his predecessor’s disposition went beyond simple patriotism for the empire and with certain discrepancies and gaps appearing in his service record–Ravus deduced the General’s true name as Titus Drautos, an immigrant from Galahd.

Knowing the truth, Ravus believed the turncoat Captain of the Kingsglaive to be equally as justified in slaying the king. But for the fact that he murdered Queen Sylva all those years ago–Ravus couldn’t forgive him and had fully intended on using the ring’s power to destroy Drautos first before turning on the empire. But all that had been for naught–and still Ravus pressed onward to fulfill his true mission in protecting his sister. Ravus walked toward the end of the chamber and joined one of his retinue. She stood and stared solemnly at the body pinned to the wall–Clarus Amicitia's body.

Ravus too pondered the hanging corpse of the old Shield. He recalled Clarus as being kind to the young Prince of Tenebrae and imparting some wisdom to him during a sparring session. “Whatever you endeavor to achieve in this world–remember to temper your heart with your mind. Ambition is nothing if you lack the patience to see it through.” Ravus had held onto those words after the empire came–even in the moment he watched Clarus be impaled on his own sword he still believed his own heart to be unclouded by hatred.

What a fool I was, Ravus thought. He had been just as cowardly as he believed Regis to be for abandoning Tenebrae. Ravus put his right hand over heart and whispered, “Forgive me, Clarus.” In spite of Ravus’s attitude toward the King of Lucis, he did respect Clarus.

The guard turned and looked Ravus in the eye. “My Lord?” She asked.

Ravus turned his attention to her, “Take him down from there,” he said, and pointing to another of the former Sentinels he commanded, “Two of you shall have him laid to rest with his ancestors.”

“As you wish, Lord Ravus,” they said in unison. As they began their task, Ravus turned toward an open door where he peered down and saw that it was an elevator shaft. Ravus’s last view of King Regis and Lunafreya had been when they stepped into the lift–he lost consciousness soon after.

The elevator was all the way at the bottom of the shaft, so Ravus pressed the button on the side of the doorway to summon it. Nothing happened. Ravus heard no hum nor whir of machinery nor did he see the lift ascend from the bottom. “It must be broken,” he surmised. He craned his neck forward and looked right then left–where he saw a service ladder. Ravus turned back to his other two subordinates and held his hand up to command their attention, “Wait here until I summon you both.” They gave sharp nods and returned to gather up the human bodies for their internment.

Ravus shimmied around the threshold and lowered himself onto the ladder. He went a few steps down the rungs to test its integrity and when he felt confident enough–he gripped the rails and slid down the rest of the way. About forty-five seconds passed during his descent, and Ravus let go of the ladder and landed on the top of the elevator. There was a slight rocking of the lift causing Ravus to hold his arms up to maintain his balance. Ravus looked down and noticed two deep dents. General Glauca must have used the elevator to break his fall and broken the thing, sinking it far lower into the shaft. Even in death you vex me, Drautos, Ravus thought.

Ravus stepped off of the lift and into the escape tunnel. There was a mess of stonework on the floor–a corner pillar had been obliterated by some blunt impact. Ravus spied a faint arced scrape on the floor in front of him and between the mess of debris. He knelt down and traced his finger along the arc, “A sword did this–the General’s most likely. Perhaps a ritualistic gesture?” Ravus pondered. He had a tendency to voice his thoughts aloud–something he was conscious of. Ravus couldn’t help it, it’s simply how he was. Then his gaze turned toward the center of the room where the body of the king lay face down. A white light shone upon the lifeless shape as well as a sword stabbed into the floor. Ravus sucked in a breath and held it. He stepped closer to the body–his footsteps once again bringing noise to a silent chamber. His eyes trailed along the not insubstantial pool of dried blood beneath it and he saw that Regis’s corpse shared the same deep impalement wound as his mother.

Ravus now hovered over the king’s body and finally released his captive breath. He stared in silence for long and despite the truth lying beneath him–it still didn’t seem real. King Regis really was dead. Ravus had looked forward to the moment of facing down the king for so long. He hadn’t even planned to kill Regis–only to take the ring and prove without a shadow of a doubt that he was worthy of the power. Ravus knelt down and reached to turn the body over on its back–but he hesitated before touching it. Ravus caught a lump in his throat and he just couldn’t seem to swallow it. He finally grabbed at Regis’s left shoulder and turned him over. The king’s skin was pale and his eyes were dull–there wasn’t a shred of light left in the body. That’s all it was now–a body.

Ravus thought back to Tenebrae again and remembered the companionship both his family and the Lucians enjoyed together. Ravus had made the ailing prince smile and laugh as he had with his sister. He played with Noctis and shared a dessert with him which he became obsessed with. “Is there more?” Noctis asked.

“One. But I think you’ve had enough,” said Ravus.

“Please? We can split it!” The Prince begged.

“How fair-minded! Very well,” he relented. The pastry was a favorite of Ravus’s too, and sometimes he couldn’t help but indulge a little. Then he remembered sitting under a pavilion and drinking tea with the late king and what they talked about.

“You’ve been good to Noctis. He’s quite fond of you,” said Regis. “However, I believe I heard something about you teaching him to play ‘Five-Finger Fillet,’” he said with a slight smirk. 

Ravus’s expression was one of embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty!” He exclaimed with his head bowed.

Regis chuckled, “It is no trouble. My son is in need of proper hand-eye coordination anyhow.” Ravus joined in the laughter, feeling better about the whole thing. “The bond between Lucis and Tenebrae is one of sacred importance. Even now our kingdoms are like siblings to each other.”

Ravus stared at the king a moment and asked, “What are you saying, my King?”

Regis stood up and put a hand over the young Lord’s shoulder and told him, “If you should see Noctis like a brother as he does you–then that would mean the world to him.”

Ravus bowed his head, “It would be my honor…”

Ravus really had considered Noctis to be like his brother. Even despite his shunning of the Lucian crown, Ravus still wanted to consider the prince to be counted among his family. He made Lunafreya happy and that mattered a great deal to Ravus who had already lost so much contentment in his life. But Regis was another matter. Ravus didn’t see him back then as a father-figure–he didn’t want one after his own had died when Lunafreya was still small. The late Achille Donum Fleuret went to oversee a battle with a horde of daemons just outside of Zôldara Henge. Ravus and his family had been told that Achille died valiantly defending his fellow warriors. Regis hadn’t attempted to address the matter so as to not upset Ravus. Instead Regis spoke to the youth as a confidant–a friend. As they walked side by side through a garden maze, Ravus had revealed his motivations. “Mother had told us that Noctis is the Chosen King. I hope to stand by my sister’s side as well as his one day.

Regis smiled, “That is good, Ravus,” he said. “You wish to walk the path of righteousness. I think you shall do so with honor and dignity.”

Ravus now looked into the eyes of the dead king. Those words he’d spoken to Ravus seemed like nothing now. Because in that one moment he attempted to achieve something with righteousness in his heart, it was for naught. Ravus made the wrong decision and he knew it–the proof stared him in the face. Ravus reached for the king’s eyes and closed them so the former wouldn’t see his reflection anymore. That’s what he told himself, anyway. He looked at the sword ahead of the body–Regis’s signature Royal Arm he forged himself as all kings had before him. Ravus remembered from his studies that a king’s personal glaive would always remain in the physical world after their death so that the successor could bind it to their own soul and utilize its power. This elegant black blade was Noctis’s birthright, but to the empire it would be a trophy. Now Ravus would wield it–but not its power for he wasn’t of the same dynasty nor was he likely to be granted use of such by Noctis.

Noctis, Ravus thought as he stood up and gripped the hilt of the sword. He pulled it up and out of the floor then flourished it to get a feel for the weapon's speed. It felt slightly heavier than his own saber–Alba Leonis–but it was light enough to cut through the air in a blur. It was a perfectly balanced weapon which satisfied Ravus enough, even if using it felt wrong to him. Not just in the sense that it wasn’t his weapon–but it didn’t belong to his spirit. He felt as if holding it was another kind of transgression. Ravus ran a finger along the winged guard of the blade and felt a chill run down his spine–like he was being watched. Ravus slowly cast his gaze back toward the body and saw that Regis’s eyes remained closed. He felt silly for thinking that something had changed. But there was this tremendous weight on Ravus’s shoulders–as if someone had put their hands upon him. Familiar hands.

Ravus’s grip on the sword tightened and he wanted to turn and cut away at whatever force was holding him down, but he couldn’t even muster the strength to do so. So he fell to his knees. “Why?” He asked the corpse. “Why can’t I hate you?” A tear fell from his eye and upon the collar of the king’s raiment. “You came into our lives and brought the war with you!” He whispered. “If you hadn’t come to Tenebrae–mother would still be…” Ravus’s thought ended there as he wiped away the remaining tears. He took a moment in the silence to clear his mind and think. King Regis, Lunafreya, the Glaive, and Drautos. Four entered the chamber and three left–which meant only one thing.  “Even so–you protected Lunafreya and allowed her to escape.” Ravus regained his strength and stood up, holding the sword aloft in one hand. “Should Noctis put aside the boy and become the man he’s meant to be…Should he prove worthy of his calling–it shall be mine to bestow him your glaive.” Whether or not the old king could hear Ravus’s vow was irrelevant to him. Ravus’s mind was clear and his heart was filled with something truly just now.

~ ★ ~

After another three hours of preparation, the funeral was almost ready to begin. Ravus re-entered the Citadel’s foyer with Regis’s sword in hand. Back here he found the governor talking to a wheelchair-bound man–the last of King Regis’s advisors. He was bald and his skin was dark–with features that of a man in his late forties. His all black raiment was less regal than the last one Ravus had seen amongst the council. His hands trembled a great deal and his eyes spoke of despair and shame, for he had to be the one to preside over Lucis’s ultimate humiliation. He didn’t want to be here, he wished he’d died with the rest of his comrades when General Glauca had cut them down. Ravus walked past the politicians while casting a stoic glance toward the advisor. He followed Ravus with a cold stare and grit his teeth together. “Thank you for your cooperation, Councilor Dominic,” said the governor in a smug tone. He didn’t even dignify it with a response–his black-suit clad nurse put a hand on his shoulder.

“I believe your time is best spent elsewhere, Governor,” said Ravus.

She looked back at him with a sly smirk which Ravus found distasteful. “Oh come now High Commander, I–”

“That was a command–not a request,” intoned Ravus. She frowned, crossed her arms behind her back and walked out of the Citadel while she fixed a glare on Ravus. Ravus then stepped toward the center of the foyer where he waited with bated breath for the service to begin. The deafening silence and tension threatened to suffocate him.

Then the councilor spoke in a manner that was both mournful and agitated, “That doesn’t belong to you.” Ravus glanced at the other man to see his gaze was locked onto the king’s weapon. “You will return that to the king at once,” he ordered–now looking Ravus in the eye.

Ravus crossed his good hand over the blade’s guard and exhaled, “The king is dead.”

“The line of Lucis is not broken,” Dominic declared sternly. “Long live the king.” Ravus was tempted to reveal his intentions to the other–but then the Lucian pallbearers came forth with the casket. The two guards of the High Commander’s retinue followed the procession then quickened their pace to reach their ward. Ravus looked back at Dominic with a dour expression as he was being wheeled down a hall to another exit. Ravus bit his lip, then walked out the open doors which were guarded by two troopers. Ravus and half of his procession descended the stairs into the courtyard where they saw a crowd of hundreds covering over half of the roundabout like a semi-circle. The numbers grew as they stretched out through the gates and lined the streets. The multitudinous mourners were under watch from a small army of imperial troops all standing with arms at rest–a deterrence to any civil disobedience. Lastly was the press team who had started recording the event, if the reporter in front of the camera was saying anything–his voice didn’t carry across the yard and was drowned out by an unnatural quiet.

Over the loudspeakers a man’s voice gently commanded, “Please remain silent and respectful as we begin the service.”

Ravus went to the center of the courtyard where he joined the governor; and Dominic arrived after. With his sharp perception, he could hear a few gasps from the attendants. His eyes darted toward a woman who was pointing at him and whispering to the man next to her. This happened all around the courtyard as each murmured their discontent at the sight of the king’s blade. Metal rattled against metal as Ravus tightened his grip around the hilt and he shuddered with anxiety. The crowd fell silent as a dirge sounded from the loudspeakers. The High Commander looked over his shoulder and saw the black casket being carried out of the Citadel and marched around the yard so that everyone might see it. A few sniffles and sobs could be heard among the crowd which reminded Ravus all too well of his own mother’s funeral. It had been the same then as it was here and now–the empire presiding over the services and asserting their authority over their new subjects. The thought of that day made Ravus angry; however, he felt angrier at himself now that he stood as one of the conquerors.

The pallbearers brought the coffin to the center and they set it within a frame to lower it. A few raindrops tapped upon the box; Ravus felt the same begin to wet his hair and clink against his apparatus and the sword. Within moments a deluge began pouring over the whole city; thankfully, the empire had prepared for the inclement weather and the retainers of the respective politicians and the High Commander had unfurled their umbrellas to shield them. Ravus watched the casket lower into the ground in relative quiet–but quickly shot his gaze toward the mourners when he heard, “Long live Lucis!”

“Long live the king!”
“Long live Insomnia!”

“Long live the Oracle!”

“Long live Lucis!”

As if emboldened by their audacious display, the governor shouted, “Glory be to the Niflheim Empire!” Ravus heard the same parroted by some in the crowd. There weren’t likely to be many Crown Citizens who actually supported the occupation and damage done to their once great city. Nor were the Insomnians likely to forgive or forget the crimes committed against them. Quickly the soldiers raised their firearms at the crowd and the rancorous protests and arguments ended. The governor frowned and glared at Dominic–whose features trembled with fury as he maintained his sight on the descending casket. There would be consequences for that act of defiance, Ravus knew it.

Regis’s coffin reached the bottom of the pit, and two of the pallbearers removed the frame and carried it off. The four that remained hefted a new flagstone and fitted it over the grave. At the head of the black slab was the common mandala symbol that adorned many of the dynasty’s tombs. At the foot of it was inscribed:

Regis Lucis Caelum

REX CXIII

The music stopped and the man on the loudspeaker spoke again, “Citizens, please exit in an orderly fashion as the service has concluded. Glory be…” He paused as if the words would choke him. “...to the Niflheim Empire.” The Insomnians were then herded out by the soldiers like animals. The governor turned toward Dominic and smirked–then retreated from the scene.

“Shall we go sir?” The nurse asked. The councilor gave a subtle nod and he was wheeled toward the gates. Ravus stood in silence over the tomb–rereading the name over and over again. The rain slowed then stopped, and Ravus let out a sigh of relief.

“Shall we take our leave too, Lord Ravus?” Asked one of his retainers.

“Yes. Call the pilot–we’re leaving Insomnia,” said Ravus. They turned away from him and did as he ordered. Ravus knelt down over the tomb and ran his fingers along the flagstone as the clouds parted and the sun shone through. “Rest assured my–,” he stopped for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to call Regis now. “I will keep my promise to the True King.” Ravus stood, turned on his heel and walked away from Regis’s tomb, a stoic expression still on his face–save for the lone tear that fell from his eye. He still had a mission, a destiny of his own to fulfill. He would find Luna and ensure her safety. Then he would find Noctis and weigh his worthiness. The events of the last few days had been surreal, and now the future looked uncertain. Ravus's path looked uncertain, but it was his to walk. 

~ End ~