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[There's a slight tilt of his shoulder beneath her hand, that tense alertness in his body fading as her effect breaks away from him. It wasn't unpleasant, but he's not sure how to describe what it had done to him or his powers. Abilities he's spent the better part of a decade honing on instinct, reaction, to be used only when needed to avoid draining his magic reserves too quickly, can't be so easily dragged from that corner. It was more than just a lack of skill or training- his stamina had needed time to grow as well. His father's magic fueled an army, and he could barely maintain three of his friends.

At her assessment, though, he nods, releasing the sword back into the ether, since holding it takes energy he would rather spare for more important training.]

That light is the power of the Crystal. It gives off the same kind of glow, and my family's like a conduit- power's meant to flow from it, to us, to the ones we choose to share it with.

[He'd been told to choose carefully, that they would have access to his Armiger and therefore his entire arsenal, along with the ability to stab him in the back with his own power, something that became a legitimate and literal threat rather than a cautionary potential after his father died. It's one reason why only his retinue has access.]

For my friends, the power's blocked when it gets to me. They can call their weapons in and out of the, um, "pocket", but they can't warp or dodge like me, and I can't pull other people with me when I warp. I'd feel better if I could at least do that much, but... I don't know how. Everyone I know who can do it makes it look so easy.

[ Of course they would make it seem easy; the master has failed more times than the beginner has ever tried. She's no doubt that Noctis has attempted more than his fair share, but with how... strained the situation in his homeworld sounds, perhaps he's never gotten the chance to consistently explore his abilities, not when the night deamons demand more straightforward attacks.

With her touch falling from his shoulder, she steps around to his front, extending both of her hands to him, an invitation for him to take both.

When he says that the power is blocked, she wonders if there may be a seal. But if there is no seal to prevent the power-transfer... her mind continues to work among various theories. Would it be that he need to warp that light into others, or is it just a matter of potential and selection? Yet while she would enjoy to explore the technicalities, the exact processes, the hows...

What might help him more may be a more thorough exploration of his power. ]

Take my hands again... and let us all sit.

[He accepts her offered hands, glances briefly around them, and then just... sits. Wherever she directs them if here is not appropriate. He can't help but feel intrigued; even if what she did to him didn't work as intended, it was still a different sensation, something new that affected his powers in a way he's never felt before. Maybe she's right- maybe that clarity is something he needs to progress. He'd certainly never had the time or teaching back home, not like this.

Either way, it's worth the attempt, so once they're settled he takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and gives her hands a light squeeze.]

Okay... how do we start?

[ She takes him to the bench when they first, hand in hand, keeping him facing her as they sit. It is not as if they are the only one here in the plaza this late at night, and she is sure there are a few locals within the buildings. With this exercise, if done correctly, it will make him feel as if they are the only two that exist. That is how he will connect to his energy. ]

First.... Close your eyes.

[ It may sound silly, and she expects an eye-roll from the young king. Aside from the street lamps and the steady, unified light of her own crystals, only shadows surround them. But with patience she regards him, bringing up their hands.

When he does close his eyes, he will feel the warmth preceding her scoot closer. ]

I’m... going to make a connection between us. [ It! Is important! That he knows this is happening before she does this, so as to not have it surprise him or be intrusive. ] And what I wish you to do next... [ The delays in her speech are with slow inhales, slow exhales, timed with his. ] is to open that “pocket” you have...

But draw nothing from it.

[She might be surprised to find he does not roll his eyes; he does furrow his brows, but after a moment he acquiesces. He's felt her power, even in that small burst, and she seems to know what she's doing. Yelling at fake stars? That's pretty dumb. But closing his eyes to focus - at least, outside of combat - isn't an unreasonable request.

When she asks him the rest, though, he does hesitate, his hands tensing in her grasp.]

...I don't... I shouldn't be doing this while you're so close. [He tries to tug one hand away, at least.] If I screw it up the sword'll hurt you.

[She's helping him! He doesn't want to hurt her! And he didn't bring any potions along.]

[ While she understands... On this, she does not relent. He’s kind for thinking about her safety— but this isn’t about her, this is about him. ]

It’ll be alright.

[ She gives his hands a reassuring squeeze. ]

Now. Close your eyes again. [ Here, she does so as well, keeping her voice low, soft, and kind. The night may be cool, but her hands are warm, her entire presence is. ] And think of it as if... turning a faucet one degree open...

[She speaks with such certainty that it's hard to argue with, so after another long hesitation he closes his eyes and tries to do what she's asked of him. If he focuses, if he's careful, then he won't hurt her- and all the more reason to take this seriously. At first, he isn't sure what she means. For him, his powers have never been much of a faucet- more of a light switch, on when it's needed, off when it's time to conserve power. But once that power is on, he can acknowledge that it does have levels, certain abilities that rise like rungs on a ladder, up and up until it's time to drop back down. To blink is less than phase, phase is less than warp, warp is less than the Armiger-

It takes some time, but gradually he's able to let it out, not all at once but rather a steady drip-feed of energy. His body pulses softly with that blue light, fluttering on, off, on, off, like a beating heart. His hands against hers phase in fragments, so she's holding on to a beam of sunlight for a split second before it reforms into a person, and repeats.

It's not so bad, actually. It doesn't drain his magic so quickly that he can't recharge, and it's... soft. It's softer than his power usually feels, so sharp and abrupt and violent. That was necessary back home, of course, with soldiers and monsters and daemons coming at him from every angle to end his life. Here though, at least for the moment, he can do this.]

[ She needn't even open her eyes to know that he has let a steady trickle of his energy through. The divinity is no less profound. She feels it emitting from him as surely as she feels his touch upon her hands lighten as he phases from reality, only to reform in the same breath. The glow becomes steadier as he concentrates, and he will soon find that when she begins, that concentration may feel like an afterthought to maintain.

From behind his eyelids he will see a golden-amber glow.

The light arise from her like the lazy tendrils of the corona of a sun, wispy, airy, and lighter than light. Enveloping her to her fingertips, the light begins to envelop him as well, washing over him slowly before cascading all in an instant. While the excess light bleeds like the steam of a star arising from his body. The rest is absorbed, and--

He will feel whatever magic he loses in this exercise replenished. The energy she gives to him, it seeks to join his, to understand his, to become his, to be what he may use for his own purposes-- giving, giving, giving in a steady song that may seep into his bones as surely as it might tangle into his heart. It becomes homogeneous with his light, and then, it becomes his light, no longer hers to use. A clarity, much like before, underlies this transfer of her energy to him. For her, this is the first step: to provide him with a steady surplus of power to keep him in the state he is now. His focus should not be concentrating on maintaining this precarious, barely-open door to the source within him, it should be the source itself. With this, she offers a way to feel that it is nothing to open that door further, taking the burden for herself as he focuses on the actual goal at hand.

Distantly, he'll hear her voice. Breathe.

Because time has passed, far more than either of them might have been aware, and as they enter this state of meditation, it's easy to forget the world around them.

She begins to piece through the energy he lets through. Absolute, powerful, temporal, yet completely unyielding to entropy and the passage of time. It's the vault of the heavens, the holding the stars up from falling upon the earth, yet equally capable of sundering all below; a source, beyond--

She focuses on space, on time, on light, on that beyond.

Breathe. She repeats, and should he have any focus within reality, he'll feel a soft pressure upon his forehead where hers rests against his. This marks the second step of sifting through his power, and this is where the toll begins for him.

He may feel lost, like he's falling upwards through skyscrapers, as if the ground itself is unraveling beneath his feet, or that he's leaping through not only space but history, passing in and out of the frames of a reel, all of them blank beyond what is now, washing away to a blue-hued light, the one that is him. Then out of the matrix of his source jumps a particle; suspended in the air slowly, he'll see it has facets, crystalline, before it plummets back into the amorphous blue-light. It is but a sliver of the power before him, that which he has only accessed thus far. The light jumps out again. He'll feel a pressure upon his hand-- like she's holding his with hers, but no hand is actually there with him-- guiding to catch it. That touch presses into his wrist to have him unravel his fingers. Empty.

Another particle leaps, he's guided to catch it, to open his hand again. This time, it's there. Repeating the catch a third time, he will feel the same tingle of energy in his opposite hand. Opening it, a duplicate particle hovers within his palm. The exercise repeats: sometimes yielding none, other times one, yet steadily the frequency of becomes two. As simple in principle as the task sounds, it will be strenuous, taxing, draining, demanding what energy he has to offer to complete the task. It will feel like fire igniting up the arteries of his arms, unraveling the sensation of touch at the seams, but he must remain persistent, focused on keeping his sense of self together.

The blue-light source of power within him has a scar, a portion of which remains completely still while rest remains beating, churning. This imprint is nonviable, static. Yet sometimes the droplets of blue-light emerge from here regardless; altered in their appearance by only one facet of their crystalline form that appears more mirror-like than clear. As it spins-- for all of these particles have a spin, both his energy, and this scar-- he may catch his reflection. Adult, youth, nothing, adult, youth, nothing, enchanting as the divine, if not moreso because it reflects the self. Yet if he decides to catch one... it will burn like ice-covered knives raking down his back, consuming, growing, enveloping, overwhelming; his reflection, both now and young, will scream silently with him; this wound he will always have, always know--

He will feel as if a hand is enclosing over his that contains this corrupted light. Then, it will be no more. A whisper-- no, a feeling of caution comes to him with that phantom touch: this part of his energy, he should not duplicate. It has a glorious nature of spreading on its own naturally.

When he happens to have two pure lights at last, his hands are guided to clasp together, making them one again. It doesn't work; the particle vanishes, and it's back to step one of taking a piece of his power and duplicating it. Once he has two again, his hands are brought together, merging the two sources of lights as one. This time, it stays.

The third step is to test the limits of that light he holds within his hand. How many can he produce from one, the sliver of the great power he actually draws upon.

He will feel as if his hands are being guided apart, only far more slowly, as if attempting to pry two powerful magnets from each other. Should he persist, the particle he had just merged into one shifts, trembles, and splits into two.

Breathe.

A third becomes to emerge in the same fashion. A fourth. One for each of how many he wishes to protect, each subsequent one easier to create than the last. Perhaps the lights will begin to overflow from his hands, spilling from his fingertips like diamonds, perhaps they'll begin to react with each other, sparking fretfully before burning out. Perhaps those lights will begin to overflow the mindscape crafted from this energy, spilling forth, dangerous--

He wishes to protect too much. He's greedy, he wants it all-- for his friends to be there, his family, his world, and himself, too, to be there for the sunrise with all of them. He might be able to get there, eventually. But for this first try? It's a little too much. Temperance is the virtue for this trial.

Focus.

Unlike the whip of power that had accompanied the word before, a softer presence returns, a warm patience that guides, and it acts as a pressure beneath his hands, lifting and helping him support up the light he holds. That presence fades, easing its help the more he is able to buffer himself and all the lights he has created.

Whatever blue light within his hand lasts by morning, he will keep as the representation of knowledge of how to recreate it. ]

[Each step of this process is a journey unto itself, like following instructions on a GPS machine where the only true direction is breathe. And he does, quietly, calmly, one for every handful of heartbeats on a cycle that becomes so practiced he no longer counts them off before long, merely lets it happen. The pulse of his magic follows suit, an automatic glow that quickens and prolongs itself the longer this goes on, until the fade is nearly imperceptible- instead a gentle gradient of blue, pulsing softly across the length of his body, never winking out fully- at least one part of him is in transit through time and space at any given second, never giving way back to reality as long as he holds on to this power.

He can see her glow from a distance, feel the thrum of it against his palms, and he has to fight the urge to look. Instead, he fixates on a point beyond it, at the goal they're working towards. Where once he was a well of power, strong and full but drained if he drank too deeply until the rains fell again- now he is a river, flowing slow but steady and guided by the banks of her touch. He follows it where it leads him, going deeper, deeper, deeper still. He's seen the bottom of the well, felt its parched surface scraping his palms as he scrabbled for more power, tried to dig deeper as Statis took hold and his body refused to cooperate. He's never seen where the water runs to, the depth of the lake that is the Crystal's power. So he follows.

He breathes.

Guided further, he chases those particles of light, no longer thinking of the why but focusing on how, what. There's something strange and somehow familiar about this place, this nothing-space that exists and yet somehow does not. It feels like the Armiger, where he reaches and pulls his power out of, where he goes when he bends reality to warp his body to other places. It feels like passing through the barrier of Insomnia, feeling the weight and the thrum of his home, of their magic, a blanket of security and strength draped over him like his father's old coat. It felt completely alien and yet it made him think of coming home.

The moment he falters, the only such moment, is when he is drawn to the scar. He knows what it is as soon as he touches it- and he does touch it, drawn by the otherness of it, curious and uncertain of its purpose here. It burns and he remembers: fire, blood, men screaming as they died. The wretched howl of a daemon as it reached out towards him, six blades shining in the moonlight. The dull throb of pain as his blood is exchanged for poison. His father screaming his name as the darkness dragged him under the surface to drown.

He is pulled away from the fragments, released from it, and as the caution wraps itself around his heart he remembers instead: soft fur under his fingers, the plush interior of the Regalia as he lay his head to rest, his father's warm hands around his own, a relieved, tremulous voice: I will always protect you.

He breathes. He follows the path.

For a long time, he stubbornly clings to as many particles that can exist in this space; reaching, reaching, snatching them back as even more spill from his fingertips. His friends. His family. Hammerhead, Wiz's ranch, the chocobos, the Crownsguard, Iris and Talcott and all his silly cactaurs, everyone in Lestallum, the Quay, Insomnia, Luna, Luna, Luna--

All of them fall away from him; he can't hold them all. His hands trembling, he watches them float free, and he feels a tremor in his heart. You can't.

You're not there yet.

The lights scatter, and he can no longer discern one from another. Gradually, and with some difficulty, he looks inward and waits, he lets it happen. Without looking he follows her guidance and reaches one more time, accepting into his closed palms a single light. He's not there yet, it's true. He can't hold them all.

Start with one.

As he's holding it, as he focuses on it, a curious thing happens: that blue light that pulses through his body is slowly, gently drawn to Pyra's as well. It starts at her fingertips and weaves its way up her arms, a soft yet all-consuming mist that peppers along her skin, feeding its heartbeat into her. It halts at her crystal, circling around it as if a timid animal, before it, too, is touched by the light. Not quite claiming her. Accepting her. And it must accept all of her or not at all.

When morning begins to creep up on them, he can feel it, though he doesn't know how. More than that, though, he can feel that pulse, and it encompasses the both of them, wholly and completely, the blue of his and the green hers became as gold and aqua intermingled. He can feel it, and he can hold it.

He breathes - an exhale, trembling and weary and exhilirated - and comes back to himself again, and he holds on to that pulse lest he lose it and never find it again.]

[ How often has she likened his power to a star in of itself? Yet it's so much more, too. Alone it feels divine, almost ominous, powerful and steely with an intention to be overwhelming. In his hands, it feels beautiful, and he's lending that beauty to wash over her, through her, and into her--

She takes it, of course, for herself, for the crystal she contains is quite similar in that power. This part of his light he lends to her....selfishly, she will not make it a part of herself, but rather keep it as unique by which to remember him, even if it does truly come from another source.

Perhaps-- perhaps in the hands of a human like him, a divine power isn't so dangerous...

[ ...They hope so. They both do. They hope that if there is any power like that in other worlds, that there are those who are like him, capable of wielding it-- even with practice, even with scars-- those who do not fear it, those who are able to use it for the future.

And she also hopes that there are those in the world that, if they are not capable of wielding it, or if they know such divinity has no right to be upon the earth with mankind...

They know exactly what they must do to rid their world of it. ]

[ The light around them disperses; hers does, anyway. ] Noctis.

[ She calls him, and he'll feel her two hands still squeezing his. Should he open his eyes, he'll see that the false sky above has no stars or moon, but instead has lightened to a pastel lavender to signal that morning approaches. She repeats his name, this time with more enthusiasm, and perhaps a bit breathless. It's as if she's expended a good amount of energy, is excited, or both. ] Noctis!

[ Her hands squeeze his again, her voice, her gaze, her everything-- proud. She knows-- he has it. Or, well, the beginnings of it, a part of it, because she was there when he obtained it. ]

Well?

[His eyes snap open at her call, and for a moment, just a moment, they glimmer with a new shade, brighter than his normal ocean blue but not quite the glow of his magic either. It shines in hues of pink and purple, the setting sun. It's gone just as quickly, but the sensation of it shows in his expression, wide-eyed and knowing.

He's felt this before. It means something different, now, and he can't give it a name, but he can recognize that feeling: the feeling of a connection being made, of powers intertwining, pieces snapping into place.

Suddenly he pushes off the bench and stands, holding fast to her hands and pulling her up with him. Not trusting his voice, not yet, lest he lose this feeling, he looks down at her with a question in his gaze, softly pleading. Asking permission.]

[ She catches the shift in his eye color, that that flash of bright magenta and rosy indigo captivating her attention with awe as the connection holds her still. Bright, so very bright, so refined it feels royal, above all the other myriad energies in the universe, dominating, overflowing. How does the world appear to him when he looks through those eyes? Insignificant, perhaps, like it can be torn apart from the seams. Or so she would say, for he only appears almost possessed. Almost, because through this display-- and what she feels through the connection-- he remains himself. It just a flash, and all of that power, all of it he contains within.

"As long as I've got a choice..." He had said. "I'm still me."

He is in control.

The radiant fuchsia quickly back to its bright blue, and she's reminded of the fall of particles in their orbitals, of the color they release as they descend from a charged state to normalcy. Only with this she can witness with her own eyes, the power that burns within him just at his fingertips, excitable and prepared to jump back to an ascended state at a moment's notice. It's still his, and he's ready.

Wrenched from her thoughts as he pulls her to stand, she fumbles into her step, dazed and led upward, before locking eyes with him. He seems determined, knowing, and certain. Unable to tear her eyes from his... radiance, she nods her assent. ]

[As soon as she gives her permission he releases her hands, breaking contact only long enough to shift his position, standing at her side and wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her in against his body. It might seem abrupt and forward - and in any other circumstance, he would never have dared - if not for his expression, determined and focused, singularly fixated on their purpose here. He can't wait. It feels as if the longer he hesitates, the less likely it is that this will work.

While they're connected this way he reaches out his free hand and calls his sword into existence once more, drawing back and flinging it up, up- to strike the side of a small tower on the second floor of one of the plaza buildings, on the side facing the sunrise. As it sinks into the stone, he focuses, and he warps.

And he pulls her with him.

Immediately there is a sense of adrenaline, a vibration that passes through them from head to toe. Her body becomes energy, his energy, a singular being with no breath or beating hearts but instead a joined pulse of intense, breathtaking power, torn through time and space at an unbelievable speed. They are a lightning bolt in the wind, striking through the air, weaving around every obstacle, passing between every minuscule particle, crackling electricity in their ears- except they have no ears, the sound is just there, around them, inside them, it is them-

-and then his fingers connect with the hilt of his sword and they exist as themselves again, whole and separate, flesh and blood and physical as they were before.

...The shift might also come with a sudden wave of nausea, but if she can endure it, Pyra will find herself suddenly dangling off the side of the tower, a few feet above the surface of the roof, with Noctis still holding her up as the sparkling light of the sun begins to peek over the distant buildings near the edge of town. It's quite the view.

From above her, Noctis exhales. It is a soft, disbelieving noise as he stares wordlessly at the horizon, his arm trembling as it holds her.]

[ First, she is there, held close to him, by him, to him. She feels his warmth, the arm about her waist, and the intensity of the pulse of power that comes with this light. Her palm barely finds purchase on his chest for stability (and it is there, peculiarly, a strange point of extra power tucked just beneath the collar of his shirt).

Second, she is not there, instead collapsed into the energy that is him, consciousness and memory preserved only by the will he extends over this power. In a way it's similar to her other's power to blitz at light-speed, in that it cuts from one space to the other; yet this is wholly more graceful. He executes the warp like weaving through the stream that is time. They are light, the world is but a matrix of other, a blur, an amalgam of inconsequential matter, and in the pseudo still-moment of the warp, her attention remains on him.

It occurs to her, connected like this, that he's not even thinking. He's simply doing, as if this power is merely instinct. It's breathtaking, but she has no breath from which to draw. That he can do this is also... ]

Incredible...

[ Ah, air exists again. As does her words. And the weight of gravity, her legs and feet loose below her. With his arm trembling, Pyra's fingers curl upon his shirt as she feels herself slip further down. Her other arm hold onto him tightly. Had she an actual heart, it would be beating rapidly with exhilaration and relief and a lightness like birds taking flight. She is-- so happy for him that he's achieved this, she cannot even express it.

Dangling here upon the tower while still watching him as the last of the blue-light fades, she sees how the shadows of his face shift with the colors of morning. She blinks, suddenly realizing she's been staring, that time is moving again, and that... it is morning. Finally, she turns to face the light of the sun as well.

Seeing the dawn had been the third and final reason for choosing night to begin this session, and now it appears justly as ever. This, too, is incredible. How lucky is she, to witness two amazing things in one day? ]

[It takes a moment for reality to sink back in for Noctis, but at last he can shake away his shock and glance down at her and realize that she's really and truly there, that his senses weren't lying to him. Carefully he loosens his grasp to lower her down until her feet can touch the ground, then releases the blade and drops down next to her, brushing a hand through his hair and just. Exhales. He looks from her, to the sunrise, to her again, and-]

We did it. [His eyes flare wide, lips curving cautiously upwards.] We did it! You're here, you came with me!

[He feels- giddy, all wild-eyed and tousled hair, goosebumps prickling his skin. It's like the first time he warped solo, the first time he called upon that power and it answered in kind, did what he wished of it, after months and months of throwing blades into the wall with no reward for his efforts. It feels like a door that for so long has been slammed shut in his face has finally cracked, just a little.

It's- it's enough just to know that it's possible, that the potential was even there to begin with, that his abilities weren't irrevocably scarred or broken. But to have actually done it... he doesn't know what to say. It's mind-blowing. It is, as she said, incredible.]

[ His smile is infectious, and soon she can't help but return the grin all on her own. It starts out small, only to end up rivaling his, laughter bubbling past her lips with excitement, all for him as he flits about and runs a hand through his hair. It's as if he does not know what to do with the joy of having achieved his goal. He seems so youthful, his happiness palpable like he's been waiting for this for ages. And just how long has he been waiting to accomplish it, even? Not to mention with such flair! They're more than two stories up! Is that normal for him?!

Pyra's laugh rings again. Overcome with that happiness for him-- she can't help it, she flings herself at him for a BIG STRONG BEAR HUG. Tight and brimming happiness and warm, as if she could envelop all of the good will and joy and the world, and wrap it around him just as she brings her arms about his back. ]

You did bring me with you! [ His inclusion of "we" rings odd to her ears; hence the shift back to him. That power had all been within him from the start. If not her, she's certain it could have been someone else to teach him how, if only they had the patience... Yes, that's correct. She's not of his world; by all rights, this moment shouldn't be hers to share with him. But there is someone she knows that is of his world; and, she believes, someone who far more deserves to revel in the dawn of this accomplishment. ]

Aah, [ Another laugh, a giggle, and then a sigh. She'll withdraw from the embrace as soon as he's ready, hands sliding down to take his and rock them side to side in an excited little wave. ] I can't believe you had doubts!

[ The sunrise is indeed glorious this morning. ]

[Shyly he returns the embrace, still far too excited to let himself feel embarrassed about it; he doesn't even tense up as her hands touch upon his back. She'd told him to try doing that more, so... here he is! Trying it! She's much stronger than she looks, and he can't help his breathlessness as she draws back, still too overwhelmed by all of this to wrestle internally with his own reservations. He allows his hands to be swung, leaning back and forth on his heels and feeling a bit like a kid again.]

You'd have doubts too if you watched me train back home. I haven't even come close to managing this for years. What did you... [He hesitates, a sliver of his excitement shifting instead to confusion and curiosity as his brows furrow.] What did you do? I could feel it- it was doing something with my magic. It was... different.

[Not bad, obviously. He certainly can't argue with the results. But he's never experienced different kinds of magic weaving together like that. In his world there is no other magic- not good kinds, anyway.]

[ The way he seems to rock, the brightness of his smile... Yes, this is a good morning. And what's even more surprising, he doesn't seem tired at all! In fact, he appears invigorated. She supposes anyone might be, if they had learned something like that after trying for so long. At his questions, however: ] Ah-- wait, wait!

[ She draws away from him, releasing one hand to tug his other towards the edge of the roof, and almost with a newfound urgency, she squeezes it again. ] The sun-- it's almost done rising! [ Almost. Not quite. So they still have time, the sky melting into the lovely pastels of pinks and lavenders in the east. It's not the same hue of his eyes just before, but it's close. ] There's someone else who has to see this with you...

[ Finally releasing his hand completely, she takes out her ~~cell phone~~ communicator and quickly inputs a message, her fingers tapping away at the clear screen excitedly:

Good morning!! :) You're up, aren't you? Please come to [ Insert exact location here. ] It's a surprise. ;)

[ The message and the subject itself to whom it is sent remains obscured from Noctis. With that, she replaces her communicator and looks to him once more and... ]

[ Smiles sweetly and patiently, pressing a finger to her lips, as if waiting and calling for quietness from him as they wait. If Noctis knows how to warp, and Noctis has mentioned before that his is a noble lineage, the Crystal a power that his family has been protecting, their magic all derived from it...

That must mean he must know how to warp, too. Thus, she waits. Shouldn't be long now. (She hopes!) ]

[Somnus, being himself, doesn't send a reply but does go out the door within a minute of the message's receipt. Whether or not he warps along the way, he's there before long, spotting them on higher ground from a distance. He summons his blade, hurls it with great force, and appears mid air in a shower of sparks once it soars over the rooftop, where he lands on one hand and knee. Dismissing the blade, he closes the gap between them with long strides.

It's rather early for one of them to be up at this hour. Somnus doesn't wonder: He'll find out soon enough.]

Hail, Pyra. [He turns, making no comment nor even glancing down at their joined hands.] Noctis.

Edited (warping is for losers with no arm strength for climbing) 2019-11-28 20:04 (UTC)

[Noctis notices how she ignores his question, but he's growing used to that, so he merely sighs and gives the sunrise his attention. It's beautiful, at least, so even if he knows that it's artificial, the distraction is plenty satisfying, especially after a hard night's training. The longer he watches the more tired he feels, considering they've been out all night and he's been using his magic; his curiosity and the fact that she'd kept his energy fed with whatever she'd done is the only thing keeping him on his feet now.

That curiosity is burning a little, and he has to resist the urge to pester her, since she'd made it clear that she's keeping mum. Who had she contacted, though? Did she meet his father, or Luna maybe? He's unsure, but a little excited at the same time, that thrill from their success still lingering. Anyone who knows him would know how much this means to him, so it can't be a bad thing, surely.

A bit of that energy fizzles out as he feels the warp at his back and turns to find… oh. Somnus.

..wait, Somnus?]

Uh, hey. [He shoots a quizzical glance between the two of them.] You guys know each other?

[ In the brief moment she catches sight of the sword that flies through the air before its wielder dismisses it, her eyes widen with amazement. What a superb weapon he wields, and how finely he warps with it; it's not precision with which he moves, it's execution. There is a finality to the movement, and a fatality to the light that disperses, the powerful buzz of divine power silencing in an instant, like a maestro capping a cymbal. He uses only exactly what is necessary, and nothing more. She watches him rise from the warp in awe...

And then she beams. The answer to his question is obvious: they sure do know each other. Somehow. ] Somnus! Somnus, you have to see this, oh you'll be so proud--

[ Then, her hand leaves Noctis' to wrap up to his arm. She's! Ready! For another warp! Pyra lowers her voice in an excited, yet nonetheless encouraging, whisper, stealing a glance at the other before looking back to Noctis. ] Go on, show him. You can do it!

[Evidently, she knows the both of them. Somnus looks from Noctis to Pyra to the small space between them. A suspicion has already begun to form, but he settles for a nod in Noctis' direction to do as bidden, neglecting to mention that he's already been proud for some time.

No sense in spoiling the moment. He stands before them, watching and waiting.]

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