Sirius's voice carried through the trinkets, calm but firm.
"You've both endured enough for now. Rest first, continue onwards later. Clive—take Lunafreya to an inn. She hasn't yet recovered from her return. Her body may walk, but her spirit still adjusts."
Clive gave a nod, wordless but resolute. His hand rested on the hilt at his side as he turned to Lunafreya.
"This way," he said, his voice steady.
The streets of Dalmasca stretched ahead of them, glowing lanterns swaying in the night breeze. The marketplace had grown quiet, its bustle replaced by muted laughter spilling from taverns and the hum of guards on their rounds. Sand clung to the edges of the plaza stones, whispering against their boots with each step.
Lunafreya walked beside him, pale but graceful, her eyes following the lanterns as though each flame were a reminder that she was here—alive—when she had not been only hours before.
They came to a modest inn on the plaza's edge. The innkeeper, a stout man with a lined face, blinked at them, clearly curious, but took Clive's coin without question. His eyes lingered on Lunafreya, perhaps struck by her bearing, before he nodded and led them upstairs. The room he gave them was small—plain stone walls, shutters open to let the desert air drift through, a clean bed, a basin of water, little else.
It was not luxury. But it was peace.
---
Clive's POV
I leaned against the wall, folding my arms across my chest. Moonlight spilled across the shutters, painting her pale features in silver as she sat quietly on the bed.
Sirius's words echoed. Rest first. Continue later.
I've spent so long believing the fight was mine alone. That my grief was my burden, my vengeance my fire, my sorrow my armor. Always pushing people away, convinced they'd only be burned by the weight I carried.
But Sirius… and her… they see differently.
She accepted her destiny. She carried her sacrifice with grace. Even when it cost her everything, she let go without chains.
Perhaps grief doesn't have to bind us. Perhaps duty doesn't always have to be endured alone.
I exhaled slowly. For the first time in days, my shoulders eased. I'll try, I thought. Just once. I'll try not to carry everything by myself.
---
Lunafreya's POV
The bed was soft beneath me. Too soft—strange, almost fragile, as if I might sink and vanish into it. For so long I had not been a woman, but an Oracle. The mantle weighed heavier than chains, and it smothered even the smallest choices of my life.
But now…
My fingers brushed across the blanket, and I whispered to myself:
I am no longer the Oracle. I am Lunafreya. Only Lunafreya.
The words startled me, fragile as glass. Yet they were true.
A smile touched my lips, light and unburdened.
"Free… free from the gods. Free to live. Perhaps even free to choose."
The thought trembled in my chest. For the first time since childhood, my life felt like it belonged to me.
---
Hours passed, and the inn grew quiet. The streets below fell silent save for a distant lute strummed in some tavern.
That was when the trinkets began to hum.
At first faint, like a heartbeat against the air, then louder, buzzing with static until the air itself seemed to vibrate.
Clive's head lifted instantly, hand instinctively going to his blade. He knew that sound. Lunafreya tilted her head, watching the faint glow that shimmered from the charm at her wrist.
Then voices broke through—familiar, distant, alive.
"Hello? What's going on with this noise?" Zack's voice, bright and booming, crashed through like a hammer.
Aerith followed, her tone soft, steady, soothing the air. "It's the trinkets. Sirius is linking us again."
Galuf's laugh rumbled through, hearty as a storm. "Sounds like we've got a new companion. Go on, lass—don't be shy."
Reks's calm, measured voice came next. "Introduce yourself. We're listening."
Lunafreya hesitated, her fingers tightening around the charm. Then she breathed in and spoke with quiet grace.
"I am Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. It is… an honor to meet you."
Silence fell.
Then a voice cracked through, trembling, raw with disbelief.
"…Luna?"
Her lips curved faintly. "Yes… Noctis. It is I."
The silence was heavy. Then his words returned, broken, uneven.
"I thought I lost you forever. And now… you're really here?"
"I am," she said softly. "Fate took me once. But I have been given another chance. For now, that is enough."
---
The others stirred with warmth—Aerith's soft sigh of relief, Galuf's chuckle, Reks's quiet, "Another thread joins us."
Then Zack's voice burst in, louder than all the rest.
"Hold it, hold it—wait a second! You two are from the same world, huh?"
"Yes," Lunafreya confirmed gently.
Zack seized his chance.
"Then answer me this, Luna—Is Noctis really a king? Because I swear, I don't buy it. The guy broods in the corner like he's allergic to sunlight. Kings are supposed to be commanding! Regal! I've sparred with him, and he barely says five words unless we drag it out of him!"
The line erupted in laughter.
Aerith giggled, Galuf roared, Reks even allowed himself a smirk.
Noctis groaned audibly. "Are we really doing this again?"
"Yes, we are!" Zack declared triumphantly. "Come on, Luna, settle this once and for all!"
Lunafreya laughed, a sound light and melodic. "He is, Zack. He is the King of Lucis."
Zack gasped as if struck. "Unbelievable! You mean I've been sparring with a king all this time? Next thing you'll tell me one of us is secretly a god!"
Noctis muttered darkly, "I didn't enjoy being king. Because I died after I sat the throne."
The channel fell into silence, the weight of his words like a stone cast into still water.
Aerith's voice broke it gently, calm and compassionate. "…But you're here now. Alive. That's what matters."
Galuf exhaled, his voice quieter than usual. "Aye. Death's no stranger to us. But living again… that's rarer. Make the most of it, lad."
Reks spoke next, steady as stone. "We all walked through death. Sirius pulled us back. That makes us… not less than we were, but more. You too, Noctis."
Noctis said nothing at first. But in the faint hum of the link, they could hear him breathe—slow, steady, finding his footing.
"…Yeah," he said finally. "Maybe."
The laughter returned slowly, hesitant at first, then warmer.
---
Clive stayed by the window, arms folded, the desert breeze brushing against his scarred face. He had said nothing, but his thoughts churned.
A king who doesn't want his throne. A man who died sitting on it, yet carries the title still.
Clive understood. Duty bound him like chains, and vengeance had nearly consumed him. He heard it in Noctis's tone—the same weight, the same resignation.
Yet they laughed together. They mocked him, teased him, lightened him. Even Lunafreya's gentle laughter disarmed the heaviness, easing Noctis's gloom into something softer.
Clive's chest stirred. Perhaps Sirius was right. Perhaps grief and duty didn't always have to crush.
Maybe, with companions like these… the burden grew lighter.
For the first time in years, Clive felt a thread tug at him. Not duty. Not vengeance. Not sorrow.
Hope.
---
Unseen in the veil, Sirius allowed himself a faint smile. His voice, a whisper only the void heard:
"Yes. They are beginning to understand. Not destiny's pawns, but companions."