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His own footfalls were way too loud. The footfalls of the MTs chasing him? Even louder. Rubber soles on metal flooring wasn't a sound that Noctis knew well, but one didn't want to grow accustomed used to. In the times he had to stop and catch his breath, even when slipped between plates of metal to evade the mechanized troops, he didn't think he could even breathe softly enough.
The feel of the ring's magic burned through him. He felt unstoppable, yet not powerful enough. It was easy to get overwhelmed, until something in the back of his mind pushed him forward to find new spells that came easily to his fingertips.
This power could not fight back the fear, however.
Eventually, Noctis found himself at the end of a hallway and doors opened to a room with bunks. Though it was sparse, there were traces of personality from the human soldiers that had to rest at one point in there.
These traces were unimportant. Noctis quickly cleared the room with a light stride. He sat on the bunk furthest from the door and put his back against the wall. Noctis faced the door — he couldn't lock it, so he wanted to be ready in case anything chased after him into the room.
Noctis tucked his legs against his chest, set his head on his knees, and closed his eyes. He desperately listened for anything that could be in the distance. Sometimes, he thought he could hear voices, but it was the lack of voices entirely that made his mind play tricks on him. Instead, all he could hear was the hum of ventilation and his own heartbeat as it hammered through his ears.
Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.
The comedown, however, was worse.
His body felt as if it grew heavier and his willingness to move began to wane. While fatigue set in, Noctis found that he couldn't remain upright and began to slump against the wall until he fell over. He hit the thin, servicable mattress and found himself in a new battle: one to stay awake.
That was a battle he was doomed to lose.
It was completely dark when he opened his eyes again.
Noctis was prone on the floor? Ground? He couldn't see what was below his feet, even as he looked at his hand. Once he glanced at the other hand, he saw that the Ring of the Lucii glimmered. Somehow, it cast a light around him, yet he still couldn't see beyond his immediate surroundings.
It didn't take long for Noctis to realize that this was a dream. He had experienced dreams induced by the Crystal's magic before, but nothing where he had achieved some form of lucidity. It was frustrating. He needed to get back, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not wake up.
With a sigh, he reached out with a hand to try and cast the Ring's light further ahead.
There was no path to follow — only the inkling of what might exist as 'forward.' …that was, until he could see a tiny spot of light in the distance.
Noctis picked up the pace. The fear and panic abated just enough to give him some hope that he would be getting out of this weird dream of eternal darkness.
There was something — a tiny speck — within the light. Curiosity for what it was and hoping that it was a way out were all at the back of his mind…
…until he arrived and saw it was a lone sylleblossom.
Everything came crashing down with that one symbol. Noctis fell to his knees and reached for it. He cradled the flower within both hands, as if it would break apart simply from being touched. It felt as fragile as his own psyche and emotions. The pain of the loss of Luna hit him in waves. Since entering Gralea, Noctis was forced to shove everything to the back of his mind so that they could get to the Crystal. So that they could accomplish what everything had been sacrificed for.
But now? In this world unknown, of deepest night, he was left with nothing but his own thoughts, grief, and even dread.
Noctis planted both hands to the nonexistant ground without thinking, and almost panicked out of the action. Did he crush it? He quickly sat back up — the sylleblossom, as fragile as it seemed, was resilient, and continued to emanate its illuminating glow.
With a fragile resilience in one hand — the guidance of the Oracle — and the overwhelming might of the Ring in the other, Noctis became far more aware of how heavy his duty was. Could he even continue under it?
There was no need to ask — he simply had to carry it.
Noctis let himself fall back to sit. He looked up to the darkness, in hopes of seeing the sky where there was none.
It made him feel small — which was a message in of itself. This was far, far bigger than just him, wasn't it?
Without warning, the ground began to crumble away and he was pitched into the waking world once again.
The new things Noctis had learned from the Draconian were horrifying. He had no choice in deciding if he could have a future in this doomed world.
Many sacrificed all for the King; so must the King sacrifice himself for all.
Bahamut's unrelenting and all-present words left Noctis shocked. Or was he? The images, the hopelessness, the darkness of the dream with the syllablossom and the ring showed him that he was as much of a tool as the ring on his finger.
Ten years later, Noctis sat at a booth inside Takka's Pit Stop. He still wore his old fatigues, which seemed to no longer fit him: both physically or spiritually. He hadn't taken a sip of the cup of coffee between his hands. Instead, he wanted to soak in the heat through his palms.
Noctis had just finished drafting up the plans with his friends, who had all run off to start getting word out and start making preparations. They told him to remain behind and rest. The last thing Noctis could do was rest. His mind worked a mile a minute as he watched the sky through the diner's windows.
Ten years later, the image and message left behind by the dream never left. It was simply recontextualized over his years in the Crystal.
These years allowed Noctis to commit himself to something else entirely. This was on longer about his own happiness or his own future.
Instead, he decided — no, he knew — that though the world's long night may have been filled with tears, joy would return with the dawn.