The Disc of Cauthess was the consummate wonder of the world. More bizarre than the most architecturally or technologically fascinating ruins of Solheim, more captivating than the perpetually-smoking Ravatogh, the rocky arcs and arches that made their stationary dance around the heart of Duscae never ceased to stir the imagination of those who came across it. Was it made by the Gods, perhaps when they first alighted upon Eos untold ages ago? Was it man-made, some sort of Solheminian calendrical sculpture or sacred space? Was it a simply natural formation, dramatized and aggravated by the fall of the Meteor and the presence of the Archaean? Even though the Landforger and the Meteor had both physically disappeared from the impact crater, the Disc itself still lay spread open across the land like a giant stone rose, and people still came from all over Lucis to gaze upon it, even from a distance. But it held little interest now for Prompto as he rode down the highway that ran along the southwest edge of Cauthess, because the land’s newest wonder was coming into view.
Galdin wasn’t the only place enjoying a renaissance of sorts. The old Saxham Outpost, all but abandoned by the time he was born, was once again a thriving village. As the refugees began spreading out from Lestallum in the months following the Dawn, a bit of a frontier spirit took hold among certain folk who weren’t too keen on moving from one cluttered city culture to another one. Old Man Furloch’s farm, the last remaining functional part of the outpost, had once provided the Lestallum markets with the unique “Saxham rice” and some of the highest quality greens this side of the Crag, and with the Night lifted he was anxious to see what could be salvaged. A small group gathered around him and in time they ventured out to begin the slow process of rebuilding and replanting.
It was on one of his many trips back to Lestallum with Gladio and Ignis in the days when Insomnia was being resettled that Prompto had heard about the idea to reclaim the Furloch Farm. While it simply sat in the back of his head the rest of that busy day, in the quiet time it had set his thoughts racing. There had been two reasons the old outpost had failed. One of those reasons–the daemons–was a non-issue since the defeat of Ardyn. But the other reason had been improper amounts of light during the day. Duscae was a fairly humid area most of the year, and the shade from the tree cover and the Disc’s outcroppings had contributed to keeping the land in that area fertile. That’s why it had been settled to begin with, after all. But those irregularities had also limited the kinds of crops that could be produced. Were they really going to go all the way back there and put all this work in just to live off…rice, green peas and coffee?
This was something Prompto knew he could help remedy. Shortly before Noctis’ return, their ever-industrious friend Cindy Aurum had been working on a device that could provide a lot of light using little energy. Artificial light was all anyone had during the days of darkness, and people were by and large making do with what resources they already had. This was the first time since the earliest days of taking in refugees that anyone had tried to go beyond and look for a way to expand access to light; there simply had been no time or energy or currency to be spent on a “luxury.” She had stopped working on it with the return of the sunlight–which before long meant resuming her regular duties running the Hammerhead Garage–but that didn’t mean that such a device couldn’t still have practical applications. Between his cameras, phones, and guns, not to mention the automobiles that needed constant tweaking over that long decade, he had enough of a working knowledge of machinery that he could not only help her perfect the device but assist her at the garage to make sure she wouldn’t run behind.
Prompto veered right off the highway onto the dusty path leading toward the more elevated parts of Saxham near the reservoir, where he made his home. As he did he slowed down and glanced at the greenhouses that stood alongside the traditional farms. By day these glass structures drank in whatever sunlight they could, but in the late afternoons and early mornings, they were filled with light from the inside, lined with copies of Cindy’s device that he’d helped to replicate. Lots of light for little energy. The Phoenix Lamp, they’d called it. His assistance in building and maintaining the greenhouses had expanded their growing possibilities. With a little adjustment of power levels and timing from house to house, there was almost nothing they couldn’t produce, no matter the time of year or conditions of the weather. He’d even helped them convert the former imperial stronghold down the road into a storage facility and wholesale store. Within a few years, Saxham had transformed from a curiosity to Lucis’ supermarket.
That’s about when the name had started to take hold. The settlers had said it was like the Six had blessed the land’s rebirth by sending an angel to help. And between his fair features and relentless determination, the qualifier had stuck and the Angel of Duscae was born.
He parked his bike before his rather modest house. Walking up to his door he spotted Old Man Furloch, sitting on the porch of the house behind and to the right, on a little lower elevation. The old man waved; he waved back.
“Isn’t it a little late for you to be up?” he called out. The sun had been down for about an hour by now, which at this time of year meant it was little more than two hours till midnight.
“Sometimes sitting outside on a nice night is good enough,” came back a strong but creaky voice.
Prompto couldn’t help but nod in agreement. They’d all more than earned nights like these. “I hear ya. Get some rest, though.”
“You get some rest!” the old farmer shouted back in a mock-cranky tone.
He gave a sharp laugh. “No promises!” And after another wave, he opened the door and stepped inside his humble abode.
He’d chosen this house way back when the new settlement was first being built for a number of reasons. Among other things, it was out of the way but had a decent vantage point, so he could be helpful but unassuming at the same time. Just looking out the window could tell him where he needed to be. Plus the layout, with everything off the kitchen and dining area, reminded him a little of his childhood home back in the valleys of western Insomnia. Sure, that made him think at times of his friendless childhood, the fact that his adoptive parents could be absent for long stretches of time, and the coping mechanisms he’d used to deal with both, so it was more bittersweet than anything else. But then, what wasn’t these days?
He unbuttoned the poncho, slipped it off, and casually threw it over one of the kitchen chairs, not far from the door. The fingerless gloves and the wristband came off next and landed half-carelessly on the table. Then he reached up and slowly slipped the eyepatch off and over his head, grunting as he scrunched his face and used his free hand to rub his eyes. He hadn’t been using it for very long and he still wasn’t used to taking it off. Still holding it he reached for his eyeglasses on the counter and used them to peer at the inside of the patch. The lens stitched inside looked secure. The focusing mechanism that encircled it showed no signs of being stuck. He took his glasses off and placed them on the counter along with the eyepatch, then plugged the part with the lens into a cord in the wall that was waiting for it.
After a quick shower, he was back in his glasses sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in his nearly threadbare “Mencemoor 17” brand tank top and sweats (they had to be considered vintage at this point), slurping from a cup of noodles (because old habits die hard) and reading through messages on his phone obscured only by strands of wet hair. He’d had a text in the last ten minutes from his boss (or “that walking heart attack,” as Gladio had called him), in response to the flurry of photos he’d sent him hours ago just before he left Galdin, exclusive shots of the overabundance of tributes at the Tomb of the True King.
“Great shots, kid,” read the message from Vyv. “These are one in a million.” Prompto snorted out a satisfied laugh. This new eye-sight camera might just work out after all.
Radio and print media had been among the first industries to come back in force once the Night was over. With people looking to spread out all over the country again, whether to carve out new homes or take back old ones, information and communication were the two scales of the immediate economy. And one of the things Prompto had realized while helping to restore the outpost was that the pesky president of Meteor Publishing, if not his readership, might appreciate a unique visual perspective of the rebuilding of their country. His photos were a hit and a deal had been struck–and Mr. Vyv Dorden, for all his faults and foibles, always paid handsomely.
In all truth, Prompto didn’t need to take the money. He could have subsisted quite well on collecting bounties from hunts, especially at that time of reclaiming and securing territories. Indeed, some private patrons dished out significant rewards for eliminating pests. And he had to admit, even if only in some selfish corner of his mind, that the people of Saxham would never have let him go hungry or homeless simply out of sheer appreciation–to say nothing of Gladio or Ignis should he ever make his way back to the Crown City. But this rather generous income stream allowed him to step up his photography game in new and creative ways–such as camera mounts on his guns for action shots, or the new eyepatch camera that let him capture scenes exactly as he saw them. Plus, it freed up the hunt bounties for those who didn’t have much else to rely on, especially with the official Hunters group still so disorganized.
It also allowed him to send a little cash Cindy’s way too, for everything she’d done. In addition to coming up with the Phoenix Lamp, teaching him how to make and duplicate it, and helping set the lights up in the greenhouses, she had managed to make his Niff-make bike purr like it was the old Regalia on sedatives. His cameras made more noise than that thing. She’d also been a real friend, to him and the others, all through the Night and well into the Dawn. She may have lost her parents when she was young, and she may have lost her “paw paw” Cid more recently, but she never lost her smile or her attentive ear. So yes, she deserved some sort of ongoing compensation, even if only money. Besides, if she was going to be married to her work, the least he could do was support her relationship choices.
A barking at the door made him turn his head sharply, and a sound of pawing from the other side made him break into a wide smile. Putting his phone down he sprinted to open the door, and inside slipped in a muscular dog covered in black fur with white accents. Not a large animal but certainly not small, the overall appearance was more like an oversized puppy than a full-grown dog. The creature immediately brushed up affectionately against Prompto’s legs, and he got on the floor and started petting him and scratching behind his ears with the excitement of a teenager.
“Umbra, my dude!” he shouted out as the dog climbed up his chest to nuzzle his face. “Had a feeling you might show up.”
The people of Saxham had gotten used to seeing the dog pop up in the village every now and again, pawing at Prompto’s door or following him around on errands. Many assumed it was just some stray that Prompto had been kind to and so kept finding its way back to him, but it seemed too well groomed and behaved. Maybe Prompto was cleaning the dog when it showed? Maybe it ran away from another settlement? Maybe it went back and forth? All anyone really knew is that they loved to hear and see their Angel in high spirits when the dog would show up.
What they could not have known was that this dog was a form of one of the twenty-four Messengers, divine beings through which the Six Astrals watched over and connected with the people of Eos. This Messenger in particular had been one of the guardians of the last Oracle, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, and had communicated messages between her and Noct for fifteen years until her tragic yet heroic death in Altissia. Along with Pryna, Umbra’s frost-haired twin who communicated visions from the Gods, and Gentiana, the stately and gentle human disguise of the Astral Shiva, they had watched over the Oracle and helped her to fulfill her destiny: to assist the True King in the salvation of “the Star” (as the Six called their world).
And now, for reasons unclear to him, Umbra watched over Prompto, at least from time to time. It was nice to have company, of course, and fun to have someone to play with and talk to. In that respect, it felt a little like hanging out with Noct again (the company and fun part, not the petting and scratching part). And the animal did tend to show up when Prompto was feeling down or anxious or just emotionally drained–though he felt fine right now, to be perfectly honest. It had been a long day, and an emotional one, but he’d also known that going in. And yet here was Umbra, ready as ever to perk up his evening.
He allowed himself to wonder, and not for the first time, if this was a message from Noct, or even Lady Lunafreya. But he once again put the thought out of his head almost as quickly. The Messengers communicated on behalf of the Astrals, not the dead. And anyway, he was beyond tired at his age of questioning the gift of other people’s attention and companionship. Better to simply accept a gift than keep looking for reasons to give it back.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here for ya,” said Prompto getting up off the floor and heading towards the refrigerator. Umbra dutifully followed and sat on the opposite side of the kitchen from the fridge as Prompto emerged with an opaque bottle. “Fancy some garula milk?” he asked, exaggeratedly showcasing the option.
Umbra made a sneezing sound that made his head bob, and made no other movement or sound. “Fine then,” the host said, “more for me.” He sipped from the bottle, and the sip turned into a drink, and the drink turned into a guzzle. Man, I guess I needed that, he thought as he came up for air.
“How about just some water, then?” he offered, to the response of a happy bark and a tail wag. He filled a small bowl with some water from the filtered tap, and placed it down in front of the big pup with another exaggerated flair. “There you go, courtesy of my own personal moat!” he said with mock pride, referring to the reservoir which his house overlooked.
Umbra didn’t take a drink, though. He didn’t even move. He just stared up at Prompto with big dark eyes that seemed like they were getting darker every second. Prompto crouched down to meet the Messenger’s gaze, and let himself fall into the darkness.
Umbra was great company, and a lot of fun. But he was also a temptation. Like his sister Pryna, Umbra had a supernatural ability of his own. But where Pryna offered the somewhat dubious guidance of visions of future events–to which Ignis could attest, after inadvertently catching a glimpse of Noct’s fate from her–Umbra could send people back in time to points in their own history, and from there send them back to the present. The four of them had made use of this ability on occasion when they were still together, to make certain…corrections. For example, the adamantoise that slept under Longwythe Peak had awakened and caused devastation across Leide in the days after they had left Lucis for Altissia. Encountering Umbra in the underground barracks of Insomnia before the final battle with Ardyn had enabled them to undertake one last adventure, going back in time ten years to help the Hunters take out the ancient monster before it could cause too much damage.
Now Prompto sat for what felt like the thousandth time wondering if there was something else he could…correct.
“Once the night is over, we’ll break down the walls and usher in the dawn of a new world.”
One of the last things he and Noct had said to each other, in that same barracks before they and the Crownsguard made their way through occupied Insomnia, was a restatement and reaffirmation of the promise they’d made to each other ten years earlier in the daemon-infested halls of the imperial fortress in Gralea. It was a promise he was still trying to keep now more than a decade after his friend and King’s death: a land without walls but secure, a land diverse but united. But as much work as he and the others had done, the most unifying factor across the whole land remained the memory of the King who restored the light. Staring into Umbra’s eyes, part of him wanted it to be so easy to go back and make sure the people had something more than a memory to unite behind. But it couldn’t be done. Even Iggy couldn’t figure out a way to do it, he reminded himself. The greatest all-around mind in maybe a hundred years could not, even with ten years of research and study, even with the head start of a spotty vision from the dying Pryna, determine a way to save Noct without severe consequences for the rest of Eos. The True King was destined to die in order to destroy the Starscourge and restore the light, and that destiny had to play out.
If anything, Ignis had come to learn that interference with the forces of destiny didn’t change anything except the means to make it happen. They needed look no further than the history of the Usurper himself: Ardyn, meant to be first King of Lucis, had recklessly absorbed the Starscourge into himself, thereby not only causing the Crystal to repel him and his people to imprison him but also forcing the Astrals to develop a 2000-year-long plan in order to ensure his destiny could still play out, the final casualty of which was Noct. Prompto couldn’t deny it: the Crystal, the Ring, the Prophecy, the line of kings and oracles, the rise and fall of magitek, the invasion of Insomnia, the Long Night–even the circumstances around his own creation–all of it had had to occur to ensure that Ardyn could finally claim the throne of Lucis as his own before he was destroyed.
He still remembered that moment, standing in the wrecked throne room with the others as the True King told the Immortal Accursed to get off his chair. Ignis had spoken something, quietly, almost under his breath, when he realized what Noct’s words to Ardyn meant. And it hadn’t been a question, but a statement: “Ardyn sits the throne.” Ardyn’s destiny had been fulfilled, and from that moment they all knew there was no going back for Noct.
Prompto shut his eyes and sighed, breaking the spell Umbra’s gaze had cast. When he opened them again, Umbra was lapping up the water as if nothing had happened. He reached out and scratched the big pup behind his pointed ears. “You’re a good dog, you know that?” he said with a sad sort of smile.
He stood up and stretched, involuntarily wandering towards his bedroom door. “I think it’s time for some rest, little dude,” he croaked out through a big yawn. “But do me a favor,” he added, with a mischievous grin coming back to his face, “and don’t tell old man Furloch. Can’t be giving him that kind of satisfaction.”
Umbra just kept lapping up water. Prompto snorted a little laugh and walked lazily into his bedroom, pausing to stop and look at the one framed photo on the wall, the one Cindy had taken of the four of them in front of the car, right at the start of their journey. He kept all the photos and prints and other mementos from that time in a box in the closet, and he would bring them out and reminisce from time to time. But he did allow himself this one constant reminder of him, his best friend, and their friends, totally happy and innocent for what was probably the last time. Noct had even asked to take a copy of this photo with him into the throne room, right before the confrontation with Ardyn. How could he keep it hidden in a box, then?
“Just like we promised,” he heard himself say. We promised, his mind said back to him. We.
“Ah, dammit,” he muttered to himself as he walked to his bed, rubbing his face. “C’mon. You’re okay, you’re okay.”
He threw off his maroon top and plopped himself down onto the bed, not even bothering to turn down the sheets. He regretted it a little, though, when less than ten seconds later the bed shook as Umbra jumped up on it, trying to curl himself against Prompto’s legs.
“Whoa! Okay, buddy, okay!” he blurted out with a laugh as the dog began to settle down. “Glad I’m not the only one who appreciates a soft bed!”
He gave Umbra one final scratch on his hind quarters then lay back on to the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. It had been a day. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and lulling himself to sleep with his familiar mantra.
“Yeah. You’re okay. You’re okay…. You’re okay…”
Final Fantasy XV: The Promise
Chapter 2: Home Is Where the Wonder Is
PRECIOUS IN THE EYES 