A/N: This is the third in a series of stories designed to fill in the holes of the XV plot. As such, and as far as I could make it, this series is canon-compliant. Footnotes are available on the AO3 version explaining certain plot decisions and references. Enjoy!

"I hear you have been busy, Chancellor Izunia."

Raising a careless eyebrow, Ardyn turned from the window to simper at Emperor Aldercapt as the ancient old fuck waltzed into the room like he owned the place. Well, he did, but that was only officially, after all.

"Simply doing my duty to the empire, Your Excellency," he replied with a deep, exaggerated bow. Theirs had always been a relationship balanced on the edge of a knife—too far in one direction, and it would collapse into ruin, Niflheim along with it. So they'd struck their deals and bargains, agreed to their positions, and managed to run a successful enterprise all these long years. Honestly, it was a wonder the emperor came to berate him at all these days; he saw Ardyn as the man of no consequence he frequently claimed to be, a jester and advisor who was ultimately expendable should the need arise. It hadn't yet, but Ardyn awaited the dawn of the delicious day when it would—and it would.

Until then, he retained his station behind and a bit to the left of the emperor's ear, his quick wit at the ready. Aldercapt did not appear impressed by his usual antics today, however.

"Sending daemons after the Crown Prince of Lucis," the emperor tutted in something akin to disapproval, stepping up beside him with his hands held loosely behind his back. "You have taken a great risk to strike a worthless blow against our enemies."

Ardyn's mouth fell open in affronted indignation. "Worthless? Oh, I assure you, it was hardly worthless."

The emperor glanced sidelong at him without speaking. An explanation would be necessary, then. Good thing, too—Ardyn had been practicing it for the last hour in anticipation of just this occasion.

"Lucis now stands in a vulnerable position," he began, trying not to sound as though he were speaking to a child. It was difficult when the emperor practically was a mere infant compared to him, but he wouldn't dwell on that. "The Marilith may only have incapacitated the prince temporarily, but it is the king who has suffered the devastating blow."

"As shall we should he choose to retaliate against us for your foolishness."

"Oh, but he won't."

Frowning, Aldercapt skeptically inquired, "Have you any guarantee of that?"

Ardyn chuckled low in his throat, moved to his desk, and sat down with a flourish of his robes. Perhaps it was a mite disrespectful of him to lounge about without offering the emperor a seat first, but he honestly couldn't be bothered. There was no need to stand on ceremony, nor did Aldercapt expect him to after all this time. Now and again, it was nice to remember who really ruled the roost, so to speak.

"I have it on good authority that the king is still scrambling to find out how a daemon slipped past their little Wall undetected," Ardyn casually claimed, shrugging one shoulder with a significant look that belied his unruffled exterior. The crease between the emperor's eyebrows eased as he nodded in slow comprehension.

"General Glauca has done well to keep us apprised of the situation—"

"Indeed, very reliable."

"—but that does not explain the purpose of sending the Marilith to begin with," continued Aldercapt sternly.

Ardyn blinked. "Doesn't it?"

When the emperor didn't answer, he leaned forward in his chair, all humor evaporating until the room seemed chill and dark. Aldercapt seemed to sense the shift, but he was a brave, foolish man who was too stubborn to show his fear. That was what Ardyn liked best about him.

"Grieving fathers make mistakes," he explained deliberately. "They leave themselves vulnerable."

Aldercapt's expression remained unaffected, though he wasn't quick enough to hide the flash of interest in the depths of his eyes. "You anticipate Regis will act in error."

Grinning like a shark, Ardyn confirmed, "He already has."

That was apparently something Aldercapt hadn't been expecting to hear. Oh, how Ardyn loved keeping that man on his toes. Every time the emperor thought he had the upper hand, Ardyn would allow him the chance to bask in the glory of his achievement before yanking him right back down to earth. Only a complete simpleton would tolerate such treatment for so long, but then, power blinded even the greatest of men to their own weaknesses—especially when they thought they had control over that weakness, whatever or whoever it might be.

Humans. You give them eternity, yet they never change.

Ardyn stood from his chair to approach the emperor, waving towards the window like they might be able to see Regis's folly from the heights of Zegnautus.

"Tomorrow, a royal retinue will set out beyond the Wall with both the king and prince in their care. Their destination?" He paused, more for dramatic effect than an actual answer. When it had no effect on the emperor, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he sneered, "Tenebrae."

Aldercapt frowned, shaking his head. "Tenebrae? For what purpose would he travel through our territory? Is he so bold as to believe his will surpasses the might of our soldiers—our Magitek?"

"Surely not, Your Excellency," Ardyn comforted him, laughing at the mere thought. One thing the kings of Lucis had in common was that they were all ridiculously naïve to the ways of the world outside their pitiful excuse for a country, but much as he hated to admit it, Regis had a head on his shoulders. It would not save him, but it would offer Ardyn an unexpected and welcome challenge after all this time.

Aldercapt was—as usual—quite oblivious to the machinations of his chancellor's mind and nodded resolutely, declaring, "They will be stopped at the border. So far from home, King Regis will not have the power to break through our ranks."

"Which is why you should let them pass unhindered."

Watching the emperor's eyes bug out of his head when Ardyn said something unexpected never got old no matter how many times he did it.

"Let them pass?!" he exclaimed, eyes narrowed like he was looking at either a raving lunatic or something particularly nasty he'd gotten caught on the bottom of his shoe. Really, it could have been both. "Are you mad, Izunia?"

If you hearken to the Six…

He decided it was best not to answer that, not when flattery would serve him far better.

"My dear emperor, you are better than a shortsighted plan," he simpered, pasting a sympathetic expression on his face that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Unfazed, Aldercapt accused, "So you would have them reach Tenebrae for the sake of extending this war."

Ardyn scoffed. "Not at all. If Your Excellency wishes to halt them at the gate and take only the king under your power, that is quite within your right."

Three…two…one…

There. Now the emperor was adequately intrigued.

"What other path would you seek to follow, Chancellor?" inquired Aldercapt with cautious hesitance Ardyn was almost proud of, so seldom did he witness it.

"I merely wish to urge Your Grace to consider this your opportunity to sweep the board rather than capture one piece," shrugged Ardyn, slowly circling the emperor as he wove his tapestry around him. "They make for Tenebrae not out of some misguided endeavor, but to seek out the one person who can save the young prince from the Scourge coursing through his veins. The Marilith's doing, of course," he added when Aldercapt's eyes widened in surprise. "Whether you wait and allow the Oracle to heal the prince is quite up to you, but consider: all of your opponents will be in the one place we have yet to add to our glorious empire. The Ring of the Lucii and all those who may wield it will be ripe for the taking whether at the border or their destination."

"And Insomnia would do anything for the safety of their king," Aldercapt mused quietly, more to himself than to Ardyn. The latter grinned, sensing his victory was nigh.

"Indeed they would. For their leader, they would make any sacrifice. Say…a certain Crystal?"

Now that was going a bit far, but Aldercapt didn't appear to realize it. Ardyn wasn't about to divest him of his delusions, either, not when they played so beautifully into his hands. Let the emperor concern himself with his pitiful political opponents; there was far more to this game than either side was aware of, and Ardyn was determined to win whatever the cost.

He had set the board eons ago; he'd placed the pieces more recently. Now his pawn turned to look at him with a gleam in his eye and a smirk on his lips.

"Although I do not necessarily approve of your methods, I cannot deny that you have done well to put the empire in such a profitable position, Chancellor," the emperor praised him, inclining his head in deference to Ardyn's superior intellect. At least, that was how he saw it.

Remembering his manners, he swept into yet another deep bow that was almost mocking in its execution, not that Aldercapt was humble enough to realize it. "Anything for Niflheim, Your Excellency."

"I hope you realize that, should this plan of yours fail, you will take full responsibility as its orchestrator," warned the emperor once Ardyn had straightened his stance. The bluff was obvious, but he supposed there was no need to mention it.

"I would expect nothing less."

As soon as Aldercapt deemed his answer sufficient and closed the door on his way out, the modest grin melted off Ardyn's face like slimy oil from a Gigantoad in its prime. The day when he would no longer have to keep up appearances for that worthless sack of humanity couldn't come soon enough.

How long had it been since he had begun working with Aldercapt and Niflheim? The years slipped by like water under a bridge until Ardyn could scarcely differentiate one from another; nothing ever broke the monotony of his existence as he waited…and waited. Some would say that eternity was a curse, but Ardyn knew better: every curse was a blessing in disguise.

Take the Starscourge, for example. How many of his people had fallen to the disease only to rise again, changed and inhuman? At the time, he'd been little more than a boy when measured against the experience he'd gained in the intervening years, and he'd reacted as such: fear, curiosity, and the belief that he had a moral obligation to do the right thing.

Right, however, was defined by neither man nor god. History chose the role you played on the current of its everlasting tides, and history was not always kind. It chose the good and it chose the bad; it eased pain as simply as it brought suffering. More than anything, it was too easily rewritten by unworthy men seeking their own glory at the expense of those they had to step on to get their way.

Ardyn had made the mistake of becoming that stepping stone to splendor once before, but he was the one who had earned the ultimate reward.

For all he'd suffered, immortality was enough. Eternity was enough.

Or so he'd thought.

The years had rolled by, and the only thing that changed was Ardyn's contempt for the world and everyone in it. How many times had he stared out of this same window, looking down at the masses wandering around outside Zegnautus Keep and imagining their imminent demise? How frequent had he fallen into dark fantasies of tearing it all down, piece by steel piece, until there was nothing left of the world but what he chose to rebuild in its place? Humanity was a plague that outmatched even the Starscourge, corrupting everything in its path and leaving nothing sacred.

They deserved what they got, and yet Ardyn was compassionate enough to let them live another day. Another year. Another decade. He could have snuffed out their lives like a candle, yet he continued to suffer their existence—because while eternity was enough, their lives weren't.

Only one life could satisfy the bloodlust that clawed at the inside of his skin, the daemon within that he could not and would not exorcise from his being. As soon as that life was cast aside, torn asunder in the face of the gods and all of existence, Ardyn would be free.

He merely had to wait.

Taking a deep breath, Ardyn stepped away from the window and left his office. He slipped through the corridors unnoticed by soldiers and scientists alike, their attention focused on their petty, human lives. How very much like insects they were: they rushed about, day in and day out, making the most of the infinitesimal speck of time they were granted when it meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of the universe. Their existence was meaningless. Their accomplishments were no better than their failures, and they would be lost to history and time just as everything else inevitably was. It made no difference whether the soldier he passed outside Aldercapt's quarters remained on duty or entered the room to slit the emperor's throat while he slept. It wouldn't matter if Zegnautus crumbled under the pressure of so many floors unnaturally stacked one on top of the other. None of it meant a thing—they would all be forgotten by everything but Ardyn, and wasn't that a hell of a compliment.

As he made his way to the lower levels, he couldn't help but dwell on the fact that while humanity meant nothing, daemons were forever. Darkness never wavered; it formed in the shadows cast by the sun and thrived in the hours when the latter failed to show its hideous face. Before the creation of the universe, there was darkness, and Ardyn had no doubt that it would be all that remained long after the end of time. He, as the last bastion of that which was eternal, was the only one who understood the fleeting nature of being—he who had all the time in the world.

The door to his destination opened on cue, admitting him to the room that housed the disgraceful chair Aldercapt called a throne at the very heart of the keep. Floor upon floor around him was home to the Magitek it had taken a lifetime for men to create, waiting to be of use without the worries that their human counterparts must suffer. Ardyn always smirked at the notion of Magitek having the capacity to feel anything. How worthless would they be if they had the propensity for emotion? An intriguing thought, one that Verstael had been keen to investigate not long ago, but his attempts had been abandoned when he realized just how useless his experiment was.

Soldiers were created, not born, and human sentiment was a detriment to their development. For a man working to strengthen an empire, Verstael was remarkably dense not to have realized that before he wasted all his time in the production process. A pity, really, to have misused so many of the fleeting moments his life had amounted to with such enterprises—not that it mattered.

These, however, were perfection. The armor awaiting orders was immaculate, prepared for an assault at a moment's notice, capable of taking an entire city in a single evening.

It was a good thing that was exactly the sort of thing Ardyn would be needing right about now.

He rounded the curved opening in calm, unhurried strides until he entered the alcove where Aldercapt's throne was situated. Every time he saw the seat, he couldn't help the immediate surge of disdain he felt—for what kind of throne was this? His own had been grand, a sweeping marvel of modern wonderment, a dedication to the gods that had chosen him and a tribute to his majesty upon it. Somewhere deep within Lucis, at the center of the city of Insomnia, he had no doubt it was as it had been then, with an undeserving king installed in his place. Whether in Niflheim or Lucis, it appeared the Astrals were rather careless about the caretakers of thrones these days.

With one last contemptuous glance, Ardyn spun on his heel and slammed his fist against the red button at the center of the control panel. Despite the lackluster seat of power, there was one thing Niflheim had that was a step above the rest: the technology to set the world ablaze.

Oh, how beautiful the sound! The doors of the Magitek caskets opened wide, creaking against their hinges in protest of their long disuse. Hundreds of metal footsteps echoed through the chamber as he emerged amongst them—his fellows, his eternally loyal subjects—and gazed upon their true glory, the likes of which men could only dream. They stepped forward as one, halted as one, and waited obediently for orders with their red eyes turned to face him.

The emperor thought he had power because he could command armies. The man had no idea what the word actually meant.

"You will be deploying to Tenebrae," Ardyn announced, his voice echoing off the far walls until it was the only sound in the room. "Let your hunger guide you. Kill all who stand in your way. But," he paused, raising a finger. The silence stretched, his power filling the void as he carefully enunciated, "The king and the prince are not to be touched."

The beauty of Magitek was that there was no question to delegitimize his order. There was no reminder that it was treasonous to command such a thing when the emperor fully expected the royal family to be captured. Magitek didn't care what the reason was like humans were wont to. They neither knew nor concerned themselves with the fact that Ardyn had seen the boy who would one day be Eos's savior through a stitch in time, asleep in the arms of his father as gods and kings alike chose him as their champion, and realized that he must be patient. It did not do to kill a child—there was no true victory in that, and cowardice was one accusation Ardyn had never and would never field.

The board was set. The pieces were in place. The ordained Oracle would arise from the ashes of the old. Now, Ardyn merely had to await the ascension of his opponent.

Run, little prince, he thought with a grin, watching as the Magitek armor filed out towards the hangar bay. This is not your day to die.