A/N: This is the seventh 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. It is useful to note here that the "Ardyn was both Oracle and Chosen King, and the Astrals only make them two people afterwards" idea is a fan theory, not canon. The official game guide indicates that for as long as the Scourge existed, there was a Chosen King to end it and an Oracle to heal the people, the former being the king of Lucis (at the time, Ardyn) and the latter being the matriarch of the Fleuret family. The idea that Ardyn was both is a fan theory that has gained a lot of traction as being canon for some reason, so I just wanted to clarify as that will be a major part of this story. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Brothers

The vast expanse of Lucis spread as far as the eye could see. It was an impressive kingdom, arguably the largest and most affluent in all of Eos, not that the others would agree. Yet within the borders of Insomnia, the Crown City of Lucis, was the finest civilization mankind was capable of creating. In deference to the gods and in honor of their leader, all buildings were constructed with white stone that reflected the sun's rays so that the light emanating from the city was almost more potent, more radiant than that of their beloved star. There was also no mistaking the architecture for anything other than that of the most skilled experts in the kingdom: robust, sharply angled lower levels with more artistically crafted upper floors. The result on the ground was the breathtaking display of animated shadows, never the same in one moment as in the next. Networks of roads formed with grey paving stones passed through it all so that citizens and honored guests alike could marvel at the sights and sounds of the island city. Each street bore a different view, but never was there a risk of losing one's place when the Citadel stretched towards the sky high above it all to mark their way.

Oh, the Citadel. If Insomnia was the Crown City, then the Citadel had to be the crown jewel at the very heart of the kingdom. Whatever masterpieces could be found in the hustle and bustle of daily life below, the home of the royal family was at once more extravagant, more exquisite, and more miraculous by far. Built at the center of the city atop the island's highest plateau, no building in the surrounding region reached even a quarter of its size. None could begin to comprehend how long it had taken to construct such a majestic work of architecture. The Citadel itself was frequently said to be so tall that only the gods could reside in the upper levels, but such nonsense was a fabrication of the mind. Humans had created it, and therein they resided. White as pure light, the exterior was inlaid with sparkling windows on each of the countless floors. What was assumed to be the original building leveled off halfway, and four magnificent blunted spires rose at its corners instead; four buttresses connected them at the center of it all, right above where it was rumored the king's Crystal protected the kingdom from on high.

From such a lofty perch, one could view half the kingdom with the knowledge that the rest was not far beyond the sloping curve of the horizon. On the ground, the Citadel was surrounded by a circular barrier containing all necessary offices under the king's purview, but it did little to keep out the citizens they ruled over. It wasn't meant to: such a vast center of the government tasked with their protection from the dangers of the outside world was open to all, and all came at one time or other. Whether it was from the surrounding urbanized sprawl or the farms that supplied the whole of Insomnia with food on the other side, whether it was the lands just across the bridge or the volcanic mountain of the Infernian's sepulcher far away, they made the pilgrimage to see the Citadel and their king.

And such a regal king he was. That even gait, the way he walked as though floating on some unseen cloud, his broad shoulders angled casually back reflected the significance of his station to all who did not know him. His gracefully windswept red-violet hair framed his face in gentle waves, lending deeper color to his eyes, subtle contours to the set of his cheeks, and the assurance that none who looked upon him would ever forget.

Never, in all their years, would they again see Ardyn Lucis Caelum and know not who he was.

Many had already been gifted with the opportunity to bow before their king after he ascended the throne, the Chosen King of the Crystal, and many more flowed through the gates to do so each day. None left without an audience; it was one promise which Ardyn was adamant to uphold.

This day, however, was one of solitude. As he stood at the window beside his throne and looked down at the city he had always called home, there was no line of adoring citizens awaiting entry and the room behind him stood empty. Loyal and accommodating as his guards were, there had been no convincing them to open the Citadel gates in light of the danger that had finally reached their very doorstep.

The Starscourge, it seemed, had come to Insomnia at last.

Reports of the disease had spread rapidly through the various communication networks connecting the kingdoms of Eos. A plague of sorts, one which devoured both life and light in equal measures. They mentioned beasts, although not the sort whose carcasses warranted an admirable bounty. Instead the reports spoke of monstrous creatures born from the same darkness as the scourge, daemons of unknown origin and even more mysterious nature.

Until today, no such monsters or illness had plagued the Crown City. A few small towns had notified the Citadel of similar suffering, but the scouts Ardyn had sent to investigate returned with nothing. Quite literally, there had been no sign of either life or plague when they had arrived at their designated destination; all those who reported on the illness were gone, their homes left empty and their fields untilled. There were no bodies, yet neither were there any indications that the inhabitants had fled. It was truly a mystery.

One, it appeared, that would now be solved in the very place no one would have expected. Ardyn wished that he could be surprised by such a pitiable turn of events, but he could not feign ignorance. For years he had been aware of his destiny, of the Crystal's choice and the Astrals' acceptance that he would be the one to save the world from a terrible fate. That was the purpose of the Chosen King and, by extension, the Oracle: to ensure mankind's survival at whatever cost. Ardyn had never met his counterpart, a woman of the Fleuret clan if he remembered correctly, but with the Crystal safely tucked away in the labyrinth of the Citadel and the Ring of the Lucii firmly fitted to his finger, he was confident he would be able to stem what he now believed to be the scourge wrought upon mankind for the Infernian's treachery.

Or he would be able to if his guards didn't insist on keeping him sequestered in the throne room, removed from the potential of infection.

As if the thought itself were a summons, Ardyn heard the chamber's heavy doors opening and closing but did not turn to greet the new arrival. Doubtless it was yet another of his faithful yet stupid retainers coming to inform him of the current situation in Insomnia.

"Surveying your kingdom, I see," a familiar voice lilted.

What a surprise.

Ardyn turned with a wry smirk. "What else can an imprisoned king do, little brother?"

Scoffing, his brother ascended the steps until he was standing on the landing below and sighed, "You are hardly imprisoned, Ardyn. Surely, you must see the reason—"

"In keeping me from my people when their need is most dire?" Now it was Ardyn's turn to chuckle, though there wasn't an ounce of humor in the sound. "Quite reasonable indeed."

"The reason in wishing to keep our king alive," his brother corrected him with a glare reminiscent of their father. So many of his characteristics appeared to have been inherited from the patriarch of their line—his slight stature, his unruly jet black hair, his grey-blue eyes. What Ardyn lacked in resemblance to the rest of their shared family had been doubly gifted to his brother instead, yet another reason why his visage was unforgettable to his subjects: never had they witnessed anyone like him.

"I doubt the Crystal would be so quick to abandon me," Ardyn reminded him, shifting his gaze back out the window at the setting sun painting his city a bloody, foreboding red. There were footsteps behind him before a presence appeared at his side. When his brother spoke again, it was with a softer cadence he had rarely used since they were children.

"The Crystal is not infallible, nor the gods who have tasked us with its protection."

"Us?"

A pause. "You may have been chosen as the Crystal's champion, but its safety has been entrusted to our entire line."

"A successful endeavor, to be sure."

"Thus far."

His words trailed off into silence, and the brothers stood staring out the window companionably despite the tension stretching between the two. Hadn't it always been like this? Hadn't his younger brother forever wandered through life in Ardyn's shadow? Perhaps that was the reason why the king valued his opinion more highly than most of his retainers and kept him in close proximity to his throne. Whatever befell the kingdom, there could never be a doubt that his brother would be present to serve as his mirror. Ardyn was the astute one, the one who acted with the end in mind without necessarily giving much thought to the means; his brother managed the details with excruciating accuracy until, between the two of them, a plan of action materialized. Without that tempering of wits and hearts, perhaps his rule would not have been so welcome. Without his brother, his reign would suffer.

Ardyn loved him as much as he hated him for that.

Seeming to sense Ardyn's thoughts the same damnable way he always did, his brother eventually murmured, "I do not envy you your fate. To be lashed so tightly to the existence of a sacred rock, to have the fate of our people resting almost singularly on your shoulders…" Ardyn furtively glanced over to see him shake his head in what the former almost believed was sympathy if not for the relief simmering so close beneath the surface. "I can only imagine the torment such a fate must present."

"More tormenting is such captivity by my own guards," simpered Ardyn, dispensing with the sentimentality of the moment. He had neither the time nor the inclination for it.

What followed would have been a battle of the wills between two more equally matched parties. Contrarily, both brothers stared into the other's eyes with steadfast resolve in the hopes that their opponent would relent. Ardyn, of course, held the high ground: as king, he could quite simply order his brother to step aside. It was his right, and he preferred to remind his retainers of that now and again—family relations notwithstanding.

He had to admit, though, that he was mildly impressed with how long it took for his victory to be assured. Long seconds stretched into minutes until finally his brother sighed and turned his gaze to the black marble floor beneath their feet. A lesser man would have genuflected. Ardyn wasn't sure whether that would have been more pleasing.

Despite his defeat, his brother made one last annoyingly heartfelt plea: "Is there really no dissuading you from this course?"

Ardyn's lip curled in something like a defiant sneer. It certainly would have seemed that way were he not the ultimate authority in Lucis. Even so, he didn't want to completely alienate his most loyal retainer over such a trifling matter, so he tempered his disdain to confirm, "Oh, little brother. You know me far better than that."

Grey-blue eyes scrutinized him closely, searching for any crack in his finely crafted veneer that could be exploited to convince him to stay within the confines of the Citadel. None existed, of course; a sign of a true monarch was presenting an air of full conviction and knowing how to use it to get one's way. Ardyn had perfected the art long ago, even before he had ascended the throne, but it was adorable to witness his younger sibling attempting to fathom a way around it.

Eventually, as always, his brother gave up with a reluctant, resigned nod. His hand moved to rest on the pommel of the sword strapped to his side, and for the briefest instant, Ardyn saw him as more than just his father's second child who would never see the throne. In that moment, he was one of the steadfast knights of legend, loyal and patriotic and willing to lay down their lives in defense of king and country.

How quaint.

"If you are to go," his brother implored him emphatically, dispelling the illusion, "you must promise me one thing."

Ardyn's eyebrow twitched in mingled curiosity and indignation. A king was bound by no man's oath but his own—it was those around him who were to swear service to him, not the opposite. Yet, in light of the grudging love he still bore for his brother in spite of his many shortcomings, Ardyn indulged him.

"And what might that be?"

Hesitation stole his voice for an immeasurable moment until he finally managed, "That you will not do anything rash or reckless in the name of protecting people who may be impossible to save."

A laugh rose unbidden from Ardyn's throat, and he clapped a hand down warmly on his brother's shoulder. How could he ever have imagined any other request might come from his sibling's lips?

"My dear Izunia," he purred with a generous gesticulation for his brother to precede him down the steps and away from the throne. "You have my word."

The vast expanse of Lucis spread as far as the eye could see. Well, perhaps it wasn't such an impressive sight with the horizon obscured by the darkness raining down upon the world. The mountains, fields, and deserts of the kingdom were invisible; those who weren't intimately familiar with the terrain would have been hard-pressed to believe that they existed at all. The only reality, the only one that mattered, was currently bathed in glorious shadow.

Insomnia was positively radiant this way.

Where once the blinding neon lights of civilization had reigned more strongly than any ruler ever could now stood dark sentinels of the night. Ghostly skyscrapers bereft of life stretched toward the sky, praying for salvation from some apathetic god while simultaneously casting deeper shadows on the surrounding city streets. Their silent pleas had not been answered, not in the years since Insomnia's fall nor with any hope of being so in those to come. After all, like so many others, their precious Crystal had forsaken them to the benefit of another; it had chosen a mere boy in lieu of the millions who stood to perish in its neglect. All that hope, that misguided faith in a so-called future king lay abandoned amidst the rubble of what had once been the greatest city in Eos before its arrogance had cost it everything.

And why shouldn't it? Hope was a fickle thing, as was fate, prone to bouts of nonsensical whimsy. Ardyn had learned long ago that hope made fools of those with the best intentions; fate could always be changed, usually by men of no consequence. Now, many hundreds of years later than he would have liked, he had finally learned the truth: the photophilic particles were not an evil, not the scourge that beings of lesser intelligence posited. No, they were a gift. For the first time in the history of the universe, the world appeared exactly as its true nature dictated. Those unfortunate souls, now shrouded in the same darkness that haunted their nightmares in the dead of night, would all see. They would learn.

Oh, but where were his manners? How unbecoming of a king to mull over such splendorous ponderings when there were guests to be entertained.

Guests who had already learned.

Turning away from the window beside the throne—his throne—Ardyn smirked down at the four callers waiting patiently for his attention. They were all a mite underdressed, yet he was willing to overlook it just this once. The importance was not in their attire, but in their mere presence. To know that he had their company, their companionship, at such a significant crossroads… It would have indubitably brought a tear to the eye of any other monarch.

"My honored guests," Ardyn warmly addressed them, gesturing expansively with his arms. "I bid you welcome with my highest regards."

They smartly maintained their silence, awaiting his pleasure for their input. As it happened, he bore none as he descended the steps like a predator approaching the most delicious of prey. To their credit, none of them so much as flinched under the pressure of his magnificence. He had to admire such boldness.

With a cold chuckle, he reached out to the man placed furthest to the left of the throne. Such a sturdy, noble physique. In another life, perhaps he would have been gifted a throne of his own by the gods that had abandoned this world to ruin. A pity. A waste.

A flame of anger licked at Ardyn's insides. As he clamped his hand down hard on his guest's shoulder, all the rage and indignation at the mere existence of such useless beings as these leaked out of him to seep into the other's pores, coloring his eyes entirely with a black deeper than any night. Ardyn dragged him forward along the ground by his sleeve, not bothering with caution on the sharp outcroppings of the marble stairs. Carelessly, he released his guest on the first landing and watched him slump to the ground with dispassionate revulsion.

"You remind me of him, you know," mused Ardyn, his voice hardly loud enough to reverberate off the walls. "So loyal, so true even in the face of utter destruction."

Just as before, he received no answer. His lips curled, his fingers caressed the heavy metal chain that slithered into his hands at his wordless request. All the while, his guest remained motionless, his tattered coat painting him as little more than a vagrant despite his honorable origins.

"There is, however, one thing that sets the two of you apart. Your willingness to sacrifice so much for your king…" His chuckle was dark as he viciously wrenched one ashen, magically charred arm towards him and wrung the chain around it tightly. "How very noble indeed. Ulric, was it?"

Black, empty eyes stared back at him from what was once the brave, chivalrous guard of the Oracle, Nyx Ulric. It was almost distressing to see how far he had fallen—almost. The kings of old had most certainly had their way with him; their handiwork was painted along his ruined left arm, crawling up his neck and the side of his once handsome face. Many decades ago, before all in existence had grown tiresome and dull, it would have fascinated Ardyn to see such a strong man brought so low. All those muscles, all that training had come to naught. Ulric, like any other mere mortal, was nothing more than a vacant corpse. He had been unable to escape his fate just like the rest of them.

Perhaps that was why Ardyn used no magic to thoroughly, almost tenderly, wrap his limbs in chains and hoist him from the ceiling like some macabre marionette. Yes, it would have been simpler, but where was the reward in that?

Some things, he reasoned, were best done by hand.