Title: Unbreaking
Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Character: Prompto Argentum
Rating: PG13
Length: 2, 750 words
Warnings: Spoilers for the second half of the game/ending.
Summary: You have been told, many times, of your innate strength. You wish you could believe it.


You realized yourself bound almost immediately after you woke; there are gaps in your memory, but the shackles keeping you in place were firmer than those. You remember the research laboratory, you remember encountering Verstael, you remember fighting alongside Aranea. You remember your determination, then, that you would find Noctis, rejoin the group; were you ambushed? Knocked unconscious? Something happened, certainly, to bring you to this point. And Ardyn is there, standing before you; you don't know how you got to where you are, but you're certain that he had something to do with it.

You don't know how much time passes, there. You don't know what to do. You don't know what you can do; you can't even free yourself, let alone anything further. Ardyn recognizes that, and seems to enjoy the prospect. You're like a pinned insect to him, and the more you squirm, the more he seems to delight in your predicament.

The opposite turns out to be true. You feel yourself cut, and hurt, and burnt - actions that make you shout with the pain. It is once you fall silent that Ardyn is gentle with you, as if this were some sort of practiced choreography.

"You're stronger than you look, you know," he says. You're not aware that you have any choice in the matter. The desperation of hope is what drives you; the approach of MT soldiers is almost a relief compared to the overwhelming silence, and your own thoughts that drown there. When Ardyn taunts you, that says to you that you still have some interest to him. He wouldn't have you here if not for a reason, and from what little you know of his motivation, you feel that that still has something to do with Noctis. Ardyn says as much - wondering out loud what it would be like if Noctis could see you like this, if you died before Noctis was able to find you... when you are left alone, that's when you start to wonder just how possible those outcomes are. Maybe Ardyn is content to use you as another way to torment Noctis (and you don't mind if that's the case, because if that is the case, then doesn't it make sense that he would come here, eventually?) - maybe the act of your capture alone amuses him, and he would find some manner of dramatic irony in killing you before Noctis can find you. (In which case, you'd be dead, and unable to form an opinion on the matter.)

You remember what Aranea told you: that she had met with the others in Tenebrae. That Noctis had been worried. You try not to think about how the last time you saw him was when he pushed you from the train; you've been through enough to know - or at least, to suspect - that that action isn't something you can take at face value. You don't know what happened, exactly, but those circumstances can't be changed, now, and Noct was worried about me...? Aranea found you, somehow. Perhaps she might find the others, and relay your own survival to them. Your heartbeat is the loudest thing in your ears, but it might be that Noctis is just around the corner--... every second that passes is one in which he could, theoretically, arrive.

"They could leave without you," Ardyn says. "Their priority is the Crystal, after all. And here you are, in some far-flung corner of the Keep's prison - why, they might never find you, even if they were looking for you! So many corridors, so many locked doors... it's quite the labyrinth."

Again, you take what hope you can from the fact that if Ardyn is speaking to you like this, then likely he's doing the same to Noctis - he'd barely pass up the chance. You try to pull from the manacles, but you know that they weren't designed to let captives free so easily. Ardyn leaves you with words of torment, coming and going as he pleases. The MTs are set to punish the imperfect specimen, he tells you. They'll do their job tirelessly, without end, until commanded otherwise. (And yet you are still alive, and still conscious, and still hoping.)

"You really are strong, aren't you?" Ardyn strokes your cheek, the tender gesture almost turning your stomach. "I wonder what it would take to break you?"

You desperately hope that Noctis will find you before either of you have the chance to find out.


-----


You know that it is dangerous to hunt alone - there isn't a hunter left in the world who would recommend it, and many who would warn against it. Hunters tend to take from Lestallum in groups; they don't always come back alive, but it is rare that there isn't at least one survivor to report the failure, and the loss. Even traveling as a pair is preferable to going alone, you know this. And yet, you still find yourself out on Cleigne's fields, testing your strength against the neverending tide of daemons that roam there.

The daemons are one thing, but the loss of focus is something else entirely. From the moment you'd agreed to the journey, there was always something to be working towards - going to Altissia, going to Niflheim, finding the Crystal, bringing the Crystal back home to Lucis--... and those things have been accomplished, leaving you with nothing to do but await the time at which Noctis reappears from the Crystal. When will that be? You can't say. Who even could?

Even Insomnia is overrun with daemons, now. The Crystal resides there, but any hope of it providing protection (especially in the absence of a present King) was quickly dashed. There is nothing else you can do but wait - wait, and hope that the reward for waiting will be worth the years spent under the dark sky. You trust Noctis implicitly, but this situation has no precedent. You can only trust that, someday, Noctis will return, and at that time, you'll be able to reunite to do something about--... all of this.

(You call your weapon to your hand and hold it in place, knowing you wouldn't be able to do such a thing if Noctis were truly gone from the world. It feels like only the tiniest of connections, but it is still something.)

You understand why others might not share your faith, however. The hunt continues, and the hunters give their all, but there is only so much that people can give, and you wish there was anything you could say to those who decide to give up, but know there is little you can do to provide any sort of comfort or stability to those who feel they've lost everything. Your belief that Noctis will return means little to them - and even you can't explain why his return would be any guarantee of aiding the situation.

Cor reminds you often, that any mission could be your last. You don't withdraw on purpose, but there's a kind of group responsibility you don't want to feel the weight of. If you get hurt on a daemon hunt, then that's on your own head; you've always known that. If someone else were to get hurt, and there lay the possibility of that being your fault--... you don't know if you could stand it. Even Iris fights, though - there's still the part of you that worries for her, but then you see her on the battlefield, and know that she's not the one you should be worrying about.

It is easy for you to fall into solitary pursuits; you wonder, sometimes, if that should worry you, but then you suppose that it is what you are most used to. You wonder if being alone for the majority of your childhood and adolescence was training for this; to have spent time with Noctis and the others, as you were able, is a shining point in your memories - but nothing lasts forever, and maybe those times have been resigned to memory alone. It's difficult for everyone, you know that - and maybe moreso for Ignis and Gladiolus. You don't know the details of their upbringing, but for as much as you find yourself at a loss to know how to act in Noctis's absence, you wonder how much worse it must be for those who were practically raised from birth to provide for the Lucis Caelum bloodline.

You felt the sting as soon as the three of you returned from Niflheim, that first time. You tried to raise the mood, but what could you do? Noctis was the centre and focus of the journey, and the Crystal had taken him, so now what?... You didn't have an answer. Nobody had any answers.

It was easier to make an effort in those first few months of the darkness. Try to pull the group together, to work as a team - but there was that piercing absence that permeated each and every interaction, and you knew you were forcing yourself, but what else could you - or anybody - do? It was easy, somehow, to drift apart. There was no conscious effort to do so, but the knowledge of how awkward it felt otherwise left a deep impression, and you knew that you weren't the only one to feel that. And so you'd hear of Ignis's exploits from Talcott, or sit with Iris and wonder what Gladiolus was getting up to, and you'd quietly think to yourself that if Iris didn't know, then how could anyone? You wonder if they, in turn, wonder about you. You form lists in your mind of what you'll tell them, whenever it is that you next see them.

Being left so bereft otherwise, the state of the land feels like something you can deal with. There are daemons, but you've been fighting daemons since the moment you set foot outside Insomnia. You are required to fight, but you like to think that you've improved - as much as it astounds you to hear Cor comment on your progress, you know that you can't deny that there has indeed been progress. You left the city with only the basics of how to take care of yourself in battle, but you now feel confident in your ability to, at the very least, protect yourself. Ironic, considering what I was 'made' for.

(You wonder if you'll ever be as adept in battle as the MT soldiers you fought. You suppose it no bad thing if that doesn't come to pass.)


-----


During those years of darkness, it had been easy to be hopeful. You knew that you didn't know what the prophecy would involve - you felt that, of all of them, you probably knew the least about all of that - but it was easy to say oh, Noct'll come back, fulfill his duty as the True King, and then everything will be better--

It's almost true. The sun rises, now. Daemons are gone from the land. Every concern that has been at the forefront of your mind for at least the past fifteen years has, in some way, been resolved. The priorities are different now; you were so used to only being able to focus on day-to-day living that the concept of thinking for the future is a strange one to handle. You suppose that that's probably true for every human now under the sun.

Insomnia had had little chance to recover from the Imperial attack, all those years ago, but their focus had not been to ruin the city. Buildings still stood, even around the Citadel - the Citadel itself was still mostly intact. It would take time, though, to assess damage and pull in those capable of repair. Neither of those areas are your speciality; you know that you can only let them get on with it.

You feel like that about many things. You can't contribute towards political matters, and don't know what there is you can do to help the land - the world - recover. You're not sure that such things are up to the mind of a single human being to grasp. But Noct--

You recognize, obliquely, that a large part of this must be grief. The part of you that spent ten years waiting for Noctis to return still burns within you, pointlessly, uselessly. You know, now, that he won't return. Even that isn't unique to you, though - how many people are alive, now, who lost people over the years of darkness? Before that, to the Imperial attack? To the ongoing conflict with Niflheim? Rationally, you know that to be true, but there is little in you that desires to be rational. The sadness feels expected, but you didn't expect the anger, or the frustration. You don't know how to react to that, and so, it grows.

Cor meets with you, sometimes. Like anybody else you meet, he has the air of not quite knowing what to do with himself anymore; like that, you don't mind the silences. You don't know what to say, but you know that he doesn't, either. There's something comforting in that.

"... You're strong, Prompto. Don't forget that."

He tells you that almost as if reminding himself. You know that he only means well, speaking like that - you recall the times when the vaguest compliment from Cor the Immortal would have made your day, and you wish his words still had that power. He means well, but he says that and there is still the dark part of your mind that remembers Ardyn's words to you - complimenting your strength, admiring your stamina, amused at the thought of what it would take to break you--...

You wouldn't admit to anybody how often it is your thoughts have come back to those words, over the years. You wake, disorientated, confused to see the sunlight streaming through your bedroom window. You understand that. You don't understand the times that you wake up with your mind at Zegnautus, just for a moment, enough to throw you for the immediate future. Ardyn's illusions were powerful, after all - who's to say that you won't wake and find yourself back there, to find this all an illusion...? (You believe that mostly unlikely, but only mostly. Mostly doesn't help when it's the middle of the night and you can't sleep and you're clutching your head because morning is still hours away--)

You're in your kitchen and you find yourself staring at the shards of glass on the floor before you can understand the fact that it fell - that you dropped it. You don't remember that part, but there are a lot of things you don't remember. That doesn't feel unusual. You realize the need to clean it up, to dry the floor, to throw the broken pieces away.

You're careful as you tend to the task; the glass is sharp, and you know how easily it could cut your skin. You find yourself running your thumb over the smooth parts of larger fragments, knowing them broken and yet--. Glass shatters easily, doesn't it? It breaks. The one you were holding is broken, irreparably so, but to be broken isn't the end of it. You thought of being broken as being useless, but you find yourself preoccupied thinking of the danger of it all. Useless for its intended purpose, but sharp and dangerous--... (you sweep up the last of the shards, and you throw them away.)

I wonder what it would take to break you?

Those words have haunted you for years. You wonder, now, if you are broken - the process so quiet and so understated that you never knew to notice it. You thought you might have noticed it, but now you wonder if those things are really so dramatic. Maybe you still have it in you to be dangerous.

You wish it could be so easy as to break and be broken and for that to be it, but you know it not that simple. You continue on, because there's no other option. (There was never any other option.) You wonder, sometimes, if there is some limit you are yet to reach - perhaps, after everything, you are still yet to shatter.

(But what would it take, though...?

you ask yourself, almost fascinated, as if you crave the answer--)