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[ Her hand withdraws back to Noctis' shoulder as she reads the message.

Habit-- his nature of putting others before himself, of accepting what pain it brings. And... big guy.

She squints just a bit at the emoji. ] ...Bahamut.

[ Finally, 'making it worse'. Her brow furrows. Isn't Bahamut the Messenger's boss, or something of the sort? ] Does this mean.... It's not just Noct?

[Carbuncle chirps again, the phone pinging with a thumbs up, and Noctis furrows his brows. What... the hell does that mean.]

Hang on... he's not even here, though. How could he be doing anything to me?

[The phone buzzes again.]

The Draconian's claws sink deep. I don't know for sure what's happened, but it's a done deal. 🎯 🤕 I know you can figure something out, though! You're strong, and you're not alone.

[While the faith is appreciated, the confirmation itself isn't: that 1) there's something beyond his control influencing him and 2) there might not be anything to be done about it. Noctis brushes his fingers through Carbuncle's fur, allowing those words to sink in, then glances back at Pyra.]

Not just me... what does that mean? How would I tell where one ends and the other starts?

[ It's a troubling revelation, implying that his will and/or personality is being impeded by a force greater than him.

However, she's immeasurably grateful to hear that whatever influences him to be so self-sacrificing, it isn't completely taken over him. Which means... there can be a balance. (Rather, she hopes there can be.) Pyra looks at Carbuncle. ]

I'm.... Not sure.

Have you ever felt as if-- when you mentioned you >wish to live, as if you were hitting a wall of some sort, fighting against that thought? Or, ah, even now, when thinking of not being hurt, like there was something [ She fumbles a bit, struggling to come up with an idea of how any of this might work, whatever imposition the crystal or Bahamut placed on him. ] automatically countering those wants?

[He thinks back carefully, rolling through the memories of when it might have come up. It's difficult to categorize them, in truth- he doesn't exactly track when he's thinking about that sort of thing. A few stand out, rare enough to not be automatically considered a pattern but still kind of... suspicious.]

I don't... know if it means anything. Might just be coincidence. But I talked to Ardyn about this weird kinda pressure in my head, at some point when we got into the prophecy stuff, when I got a memory from the ring. And there've been other times when it's come up, and... not too long after, another memory. As far as I could tell they don't even mean anything, and there's nothing connecting the memories, but what if they are? What if that's how Bahamut's doing it?

[He used to maintain his own thoughts, his worth, his future, his happiness. He wasn't always happy but he was at least content with the life he'd lead back home. There'd even been plenty of moments where he was fine with just getting by, where he didn't get what he wanted but he got enough, there'd been countless incidents that got him to smile and enjoy the world and the company he kept. He hadn't thought about being happy to be alive because his life was in his own hands, for the most part. He followed the whims of the gods, but the choices were his own enough that he was satisfied.

And then came the Crystal... Bahamut's revelation... and suddenly the choice to live is significant, not just a foregone conclusion. And suddenly those memories were invading his thoughts to remind him who he was.]

[ What if they are? That every time he attempts to think that he might have better, there is a force greater than him blocking him from moving forward, that despite what he's already reached, he cannot cross a certain threshold to act on his own wants. If that is with what they must settle, then-- it's cruel. She doesn't want to believe it, that this wall is something he must repeatedly hit when he gets too close to wanting something better for himself. Even through all of what he's endured, he's still being denied...?

She looks to Carbuncle as if it might give her the answers she seeks, but when she finds none, her head dips to the side as she thinks. What grief it is, to finally meet Noctis' closest Messenger under such tragic circumstances. It should have been a joyous occasion, but it seems that's rarely the case with him. Luck and fate never seem to be in his favor. It shouldn't be that way, not for him, but to say it aloud would only voice something that's obvious. So, then, what now, what's the bigger picture at which she might look, where do they go from here, now that they know this?

...

Her gaze lifts to Noctis', seeing the swirl of questions and anxieties in his expression. What he's positing is a grim scenario, one in which he might never win against. She wants to halt those thoughts right in their track. ]

Mm... Hey. Focus.

[ Focus, she says, with a hand running through his hair, and it's a word she's often used with him before whenever she's shared her power with him. ] If Bahamut has this hold on you...

Then we focus on what we can do, here and now.

[ That focus being him, himself. ] Because... you're not in your world.

[Not in his world... right. That's right. What's going on isn't just there, it's here. And what he has here is good. It's always so hard to focus on that fact, with everything that's conspired to drown him in more grim thoughts since he left home, but she's done wonders at reminding him to think more positively. He's... going to try. Again.

He meets her gaze, allowing her calm expression to help unruffle his deep-seated nerves, until at last he's able to nod, breathe deep, and think.]

I'm not... which means these are just memories. They're not messages, and... he can't punish me for not doing something that can't be done here.

[He's not disobeying the gods. This isn't like when Titan was sending him headaches, when he was adventuring through Lucis doing everything except what the Archaean wanted, which was to visit him. He can't get himself home, he can't climb into any crystal here (except Pyra's) and absorb its power, he can't kill the Accursed (Ardyn doesn't count). He can't die to bring back the dawn because this world's dawn isn't his to fix.]

They're just memories. If I can remember that, then... they won't have any power.

[When they invade his mind, he can shove them back into the corner of his mind where they belong. He's already begun doing that, so it can't be too hard to continue, right? He only has to practice at it. Focus... focus. Just like she said.

In his lap, Carbuncle seems to smile, tail wagging as if it's proud of the conclusion Noct has reached.]

[ It's easier to say it than to practice it, and she knows that even if he says it here, that those memories and Bahamut's influence may hover over him regardless. If the memories come intrusively, if the pressure make him not want better continues every time he tries, then the 'punishment' is automatic, something out of his control. That is the power they exert, an anxiety with which he must grapple-- or more accurately, fear, from the look of panic she had seen on his expression mere minutes ago. Yet she smiles more easily at the thought that this can be a start. A good one.

She's silent for a few moments longer as she looks down at him, allowing his words to take their hold in the world around them. "They won't have any power."

They have to believe that, and they have to continue to believe it, it make it real. She nods quietly. ]

Away from... your world and your gods...

[ Another thought occurs to her as she mulls over both his words and her own. Then she inhales, quiet, as a soft breeze rustles the leaves above them, causing its soft shadows to dance upon the tall, green prairie around them. ]

I don't want you trapped by this.

And being here... [ Having these choices, being told that he can have these choices to want better-- ] It's--... the first time you've ever had freedom, isn't it?

[ She's willing to fight for this, for him. She will fight for it. ]

[He glances up and away, following that rustling breeze, somewhat evasive and reluctant to agree with her last question. It isn't wrong, and it isn't right either. Freedom is such a complex thing to claim.]

It's... a different kind. Dad gave me way more freedom than a prince should've had, but I couldn't leave the city, and I had to always remember who and what I am. And then when we left Insomnia, I could go where I wanted, no one knew who I was, but then the gods got to tell me what to do.

[He lifts his hands in a somewhat helpless gesture, trying to smile.]

Here's... the best combination. I can do what I want because I'm not royal, the gods usually stay out of my way, but the walls are back. It's the most free I've ever been, and I'll take what I can get. At least this time it's fair.

[It sounds so depressing, laid out like that. As if he'll never be truly free. But at least here it's an even playing field- everyone is in the same boat, they all share the same fate of being trapped in this world, in this city, but otherwise free to live their own lives. He's no longer other, the king expected to rule or save or die for all the rest. It's as he's told her before- he's just Noctis, here, and that's something he's wanted his whole life.]

[ When he finishes speaking, her fingers dust down the side of his cheek affectionately. His words still sound as if he's settling for less, as if this is the best he might have.

When she had first arrived, she had immediately taken any chance she'd get to engage in contact with another-- firstly, to restore this world; second, for her own, deeply tragic reasons; and thirdly, if she were to privately admit it, a want to be able to hold another's hand after being sealed for so long. Those three points have not changed in the entire year she has been here. Now comes a fourth: to restore this world for his sake, so that he doesn't have to settle for less. She hopes that, if and when this world may be more restored, the barrier that surrounds the city will collapse to allow him to have both being "just Noctis" with his own free choices... and the opportunity to travel as freely as he wishes.

Architect, but she so sorely wishes that for him. Yet-- ] I'm worried, Noct...

[ "I'll take what I can get."

--That's fair, but when he applies that to matters of family, it's that sort of mentality that will have him be hurt again, and accept that hurt as par for the course. ]

...That you'll accept anything, because you've had so little of it before. [ In terms of choices, freedom, and family. Scraps, polluted and toxic, are still something he can hold close to his heart, and when she thinks of what a lonely child he had been, cautious and wanting to not burden others, not asking for anything-- of course it makes sense that he'll accept whatever is given to him. In this world, those he has here are all he has left, because when he'll return to his world, he'll soon have nothing, because he'll give the last of himself to all. ] And when you return to your world... you'll soon have to give everything away.

[ She doesn't like bringing it up, this future of his, but perhaps it's necessary to point out what may be driving him to believe this is all for which he might settle. Even as he attempts a smile, his words alone betray how deeply ingrained in him this is.

"I can't--" He had struggled to say, moments ago. "I can't."

Her eyes close, then open, watching him sympathetically, and hoping dearly that conveying her worry won't make him feel more guilty for sharing this all with her. Don't settle, she wants to tell him. It's okay to want to not be hurt, she wants to repeat. But she wants to help him figure out, Bahamut's influence aside, this block against wanting better for himself is coming from. ]

[His brows furrow at that, as if he'd offered the wrong answer but couldn't fathom another. It's not like he'd expected this conversation to easily reassure her- he's self-aware enough to recognize that he's in a bad state to be comforting anyone. Still, isn't it... good... to accept and appreciate what he has? He wants to take what he can get now because it won't be long before he has nothing. Before he is nothing. He's... not sure.]

What's the alternative? [He's hesitant, but has to ask; he's worried that he's missed something critical.] I'd rather have some than none, you know? Love and family, it's... never gonna be perfect.

[What they have is imperfect sometimes, but he's happy, and he wants it. The people he loves make him feel good more often than they don't. Plus it's not like he's some paragon of perfect virtue. He's hurt plenty of them before, likely in ways he's not even aware of.

Isn't that enough? Even if... it hurts, like this.

Carbuncle reaches up to rest a paw lightly against his chest, dark eyes looking straight into his, as if they could reach right to his soul. His phone pings.]

Remember your dad. He didn't like that memory of yours, did he?

[Noctis blinks.] Dad...

[Of course he hadn't liked the memory- finding out how he'd changed over the years, how cold and distant they'd become in that moment, unable to share how they truly felt. What father would want to know his son carried such miserable thoughts the last time they'd ever speak to one another?

"By the Astrals," he'd said when it was over, "What did I do?"

He'd been... horrified. By his own behaviour. He'd apologized, as if he did something wrong. But he hadn't, it was normal, he was doing his job as king and Noctis was just being a brat who wanted more than-

-ah. He takes a sharp breath in.]

[ She can understand the sentiment of having some than nothing at all, of being grateful for what one has in the present. They're very alike in that regard, reflections of each other for not daring to ask for better, even if she wants him to have better. Relationships are not perfect, people are nuanced, and even if something becomes rocky or broken, bonds can be repaired.

...But she believes he's doing it again, it's happening in real time: he's diminishing his own pain-- and it's as if he doesn't see it-- or remember it when just moments ago, he had been been choking because of this. She looks at him is disbelief, then concern. That's not a little thing, that's an extreme reaction, one that clearly signals something is wrong. So quick he is to be concerned for others, but when it comes to himself, he doesn't realize the gravity of it.

She's about to express some of these thoughts, but Carbuncle messages him. Her brow furrows, puzzled as she reads it, and when she hears his sharp inhale, she pauses. ] ...What is it?

[ It sounds as if he's realized something. ]

[He takes a few long breaths, squeezing her hand to acknowledge the question but wanting to work through some of these thoughts first. Why would his dad be so horrified by what's been normal for - surely - generations? He didn't want to be like his father, yes, but he wasn't. Everything Noctis had heard about Mors was cold, calculating, stern. For Regis, it had just been a moment in time where he'd seemed that way, but in truth they were...

...they were...

He looks at Carbuncle again, who does not even blink, simply stares and waits. Slowly his shoulders slump, defeated, recognizing what is being asked of him here, and... kind of hating it, actually. He doesn't want anyone to be wrong but him.]

A while back... Dad got a memory of mine, when I was pissed at him. It was the day we left Insomnia, so... the last time we ever spoke. I was angry because he blew me off the night before, when we were supposed to talk about everything that was going on. The war, the treaty, the wedding, all of it. But he cancelled, so we only talked in the throne room. It... wasn't a good look for him, I guess.

["What did I do?" Those words will resonate in him for a long time. How it wasn't fair, that a single moment would make him question what kind of father he was.]

He was... horrified. I'd never seen him look like that, and I hated that it hurt him. I told him it was okay, that it was more about me than him. I... don't think he believed me. He thanked me for not hating him. As if I ever could, no matter what he did.

[He'd thought it as a child as well, before the Marilith attack. I hate him. He doesn't care. And then he'd nearly died, and his father saved him, called his name and held his hand as he slept, and he'd felt ashamed of his own thoughts afterwards, both times. But the way Regis spoke made it sound as if he wouldn't have blamed Noctis for hating him. As if... what he'd done shouldn't be okay. As if breaking promises too many times to count over the course of a lifetime wasn't normal. As if his greatest fear shouldn't have been that he'd be found so inept that he would be abandoned entirely, because he'd been made to believe he was worth less than all that came before him.

"If that is what family here is meant to feel like then I don't want any part of it." That had been the response he'd received, when he expressed that he was hurt. To share his pain, his weakness, meant losing family. The same had happened on the train, when his paralyzing grief had pushed his friends away from him when they were counting on him.

I can't, he'd said. He can't share it, because if he does, it hurts more, not less.

But that apology of his dad's, it stuck with him. There was something to apologize for. His feelings were valid. He was... allowed... to not want to be hurt.

His hand tightens again, and he takes another slow, shaken breath, closing his eyes. When he looks up, he seeks out Pyra's gaze, surprised by the memory all over again.]

He... apologized to me.

[And Gladio apologized for the train incident, despite Noctis not even seeking one out. Ardyn apologized for the future despite not even having done anything yet. They apologized for hurting him.

" You shouldn’t have to tolerate being harmed by them. You can ask to not be hurt."

He can ask-]

[ He says that as if he's surprised someone would apologize to him, and that he's surprised at all is telling. Perhaps it's happened so scarcely to him in the past, or perhaps the standard of his life is that when someone hurts him, no one does apologize, or that he believes that carrying such pain is normal. Maybe it's both, or maybe it's possible there's far more to it. She can't very well unravel every reason for why he might be so accepting of being hurt; what she knows is that he seems to accept this as normal for what family is.

She hadn't had a family until coming here, and even she knows that isn't how it's supposed to be. What she's seen, here and now, is more damage done than that would have been done by loss itself. A healthy idea of a relationship is... includes being feeling comfortable, loved, accepted... and safe in another's presence. ]

...Is that so novel?

I... don't know. It isn't like no one's ever apologized to me before.

[He purses his lips, looking down, thinking back. He'd gotten apologies. Too many to count. "I'm sorry, we can't meet today." "His Majesty sends his regrets." "I'm sorry I missed it." "My sincerest apologies, Your Highness, but-"

"I apologize for being a selfish, immature, stuck-up bitch."]

If someone apologizes for something they did, but then they keep doing it, or... like you said, if it makes you feel worse. It doesn't really mean anything, does it.

[ Patiently, she waits for his reply, and when he comes to a conclusion, Pyra nods her head slowly. Apologies aren't always the easiest thing to do, they can be awkward, clumsy, or charged with emotion. But always, they must be meaningful, and for the right thing.

Her hand finds his shoulder, giving it a small, affectionate pat. She knows this isn't easy for him-- just maybe, he doesn't want to admit how badly hurt he's been, because it doesn't fit is definition of being strong. ] Just a moment ago... I-- I think that you did it again. It sounded as if you were minimizing your pain, as if it was normal to accept. Your heart is so grand, Noct, but...

[ It leaves him vulnerable and far too giving.

--Ah, no. That's not it. Vulnerabilities, being giving, are two things he can choose to be. It's those who take advantage of that, that are in the wrong. He mourns the losses of the lights he can no longer hold, even the ones that burn, when for anyone else the reflex might be to immediately drop that which scars.

His heart is grand, and he should keep it healthy.

She tries again: ]

If you're being hurt... apologies like that--... You shouldn't have to minimize how you feel.

[ Easier said than done, for many, many, people. She knows, she knows. Internally, she reflects, wondering if there had been any time he may have minimized his feelings while with her-- something she should ask about later. ]

[He opens his mouth to respond, then hesitates. Tries again.

But I'm just whining about things that can't be helped, he thinks.

Minimizing.

They're important people, and important to me, so I should keep that in mind before I complain, he thinks.

Minimizing.

There's plenty of reasons to hurt me or push me away, especially if it's for the world or to protect themselves-

Minimizing.

He closes his eyes again, recognizing the conflict within himself, her words versus his thoughts. She's not wrong. He knows she's not wrong. It goes against every instinct he's cultivated over the course of his existence trying to do well by those around him, to make them proud and keep them close so he won't lose them, fueled to burn even more brightly by the damning voice of the Draconian god that it won't matter if they lose him because his life is nothing, his pain is temporary, but.

She's not wrong.]

I... do it a lot, huh.

[Gods. He tried to do it just now. Again.]

[ She nods again. He's done it enough for her to notice, and maybe, just maybe, he'll begin to notice when he does it, too, enough that he might be able to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts or accept them. ] ...And, I think, since you were young.

[ When a certain month had turned him young, as a child he had spoken of not wanting to trouble his father. This way of thinking is not going to change overnight, not when he's been living so long like this, but she wants to be there with him every step of that journey. ]

That's.... long enough, don't you think? [ She smiles gently. ] It's time to be kinder to yourself.

[ With the time he has left. He can have this. ]

[Kinder to himself, huh...

He looks down at Carbuncle, but the little Messenger just yawns and curls up into a ball in his lap, evidently satisfied with how the conversation has turned for now. He's grateful to both of them, for coming together like this, allowing him inside (or coming to) this place just to help him out. He strokes its fur, and holds her hand, and... he nods, finally.]

...Any advice on... how to start?

[What a question to ask. He's pretty good at being self-indulgent on his own time, but the times where invades on someone else is when he starts to hesitate.]

[ Her fingers twine with his. ]

If you're able to recognize it-- those thoughts, when they're happening...

[ With her other hand, she strokes her fingers over his forehead. ]

Do what we've done here. Take a moment to take a breath-- just for yourself. [ She can't always be there for him to point out when he's minimizing himself, he'll have to begin to recognize it on his own, and even then, it's possible that he might not be able to catch himself every time. But starting now, he's at least more aware, or so she hopes.

Her hand falls from his forehead, moving to place her palm upon his chest, as if she could measure the rise and fall of it. ] Feel my hand here, with you.

...Try it.

[He exhales a faint, humourless laugh.]

Come on, that's too hard.

[He gets it, though. It's fair advice, and for a moment he does just that: breathes in, out, focusing on her presence and the hands on him. She won't always be around to catch him, but he can try to remember at least what this feels like. He can try to catch himself in the act and... maybe do it a little bit less. Not immediately, not always, not all at once. But this doesn't feel great, and it hasn't felt great his whole life. Being used to something doesn't make it okay. It's the same way with his old aches and pains from the injury- he got used to it, but those moments where Ardyn heals him and for a few hours he's relieved of that burden... it's nice. He learned how to be okay with doing that for himself, even if there's a small cost to Ardyn in return.

It's okay to ask not to be hurt.]

...I'll try. I promise... I'll try.

[ Breathing is what anyone and everyone does. And to combine it consciously with a moment of patience for himself will be an exercise— difficult at first, but hopefully easier over time... not unlike anything else for which he’s trained. She believes in him.

And, it’s nice to feel him breathing. He’s still alive, and there’s still a heartbeat within his chest.

She draws in a breath with him, closing her eyes as the exhale follows seamlessly, their combined breaths coupling with the steady and gentle breeze that flows over the hills of Elysium. When her eyes open and she looks down at him again, nothing has changed: still alive, still breathing, still a heartbeat. ] Noct...

Have I ever said or done anything to make you feel like less?

[ Just as she won’t be there every time should he minimize himself, there could be times where others do the same to him, whether knowingly or unknowingly. She wants to let him know it’s good to speak up when that happens. ]

[He winces at that, helplessly, a bit of that regained peace scattering away like leaves in the wind. He gets why she's asking, he doesn't blame her for it, but he doesn't like that she felt as if she had to.]

I don't know. I doubt it? It's you, Pyra... I'd be more worried about me doing that to you.

[She always focuses so much on other people. Surely he's said something insensitive or pushed her in an uncomfortable way- despite her words he's far from perfect, sometimes he fails at courtesy. His words are genuine, though, even ignoring the turnabout: she's kind and thoughtful, mindful of his moods, often questioning what he might be thinking. He's more honest with her than he's ever been with anyone, besides maybe Prompto. (Carbuncle might count as one, but Carbuncle just knows things without him saying it.) He can't think of an instance where she made him feel this way, so even if she had, the fact that it isn't memorable means it can't have been that bad.]

[ As she watches his expression shift from peaceful to concerned, she makes another pass of her fingers across his forehead. ] Good... I-- ...good. [ She repeats, quieter this time. ]

I only want you to feel that it's okay to let others know, or just walk away, if you feel as if they're treating you as less.

[ That sort of toxicity in his life-- he doesn't need it, and she remembers how tightly he had returned one day to their home only to bring her into a hug, the strength of which may have been proportionate to how much he had been hurt. ] What you say... what you feel. It matters. [ To Bahamut, maybe it doesn't, maybe as a child he was led to believe that he didn't, when his father had so much more on his shoulders, and perhaps as an adult he feels the same that the world is so much more. The world is important, but that doesn't make what he feels invalid or any less. ]

[To tell them, or... to walk away. He thought he'd tried it that day, and initially it hadn't made him feel any better; on the other hand, if he'd stayed he likely would have felt worse. Instead he'd gone home to find Pyra, and they'd had a fun afternoon, and in her company he'd felt so much better about, while not the situation, at least himself. They'd accomplished something together and faced the rest of the day smiling. That was better. It can be better.

He inhales and exhales again, slow and steady, trying to take the first steps in making it as instinctive as possible when he's stressed. It's going to take time, he knows, but... this is a start. It's a start of something.

The movement is a little clumsy due to his positioning, but he shifts his free hand from Carbuncle's fur to wind around her waist, a little half-hug as he tries to muster a smile.]

You know... I don't think I've ever felt like that wasn't true with you. Looking back, you've always listened, even when I'm not saying what I should. You make it seem so easy. Do you ever get to feel like that?

[Does he help her feel that way? He's hoping so.]

[ When his arm finds its way to give her waist a small half-hug, she smiles. She's grateful to hear those words-- that he feels valued with her, safe enough to speak his mind. She doesn't ever wish to be dismissive with him, to push his suffering down, or to not take his own words and not reflect upon them. ]

You listen. [ She replies with a quiet, loving expression. He's listening to her right now, her thoughts on this, her want to not see him hurt, her want for him to accept better for himself. That's listening, too, and not tossing her words away.

And sometimes, he listens so much that he forgets about himself.

If he could have stood up to Bahamut and express himself, what would he have said, then? What would he have wanted to shout or cry? It isn't fair to him, to keep that all inside, and keeping all of that inside is just the start of it. The world's fate is a heavy burden upon him, the world is worth saving, but he shouldn't have to feel so isolated and-- silent because of it.

...Ah, there it is again. That sudden feeling of both mourning and yearning-- a part of her wants to abandon all of the seals placed upon her, so that at the height of their power, they could make him into a god.

And wouldn't he just be magnificent? As if it might give him a chance to do whatever it is that he would wish to, to save all of his world and loved ones without any sacrifice. But. Power lends one of air of capability, of wishful thinking, and temptation that blinds consequence...

So she settles with a squeeze of his hand, deciding to get back on topic. ]

So... what will you do? What do you... want to do, with Era, I mean?

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