Chapter Five: Divine Intervention

Day in, day out.

Sunrise, sunset.

Such was the nature of his punishment: to witness the thriving kingdom Lucis would become while never being granted the opportunity to touch it, to see all its splendor with his own eyes. Izunia was crueler than even he realized, for it was not the damnation of imprisonment on Angelgard that would be Ardyn's doom—it was watching his people ignore his very existence and turn to the traitorous wretch of a usurper sitting upon his throne. Meeting with retainers that were not his. Eyeing noblewomen to wed.

With whom to bear little bastards that would further taint the name of Lucis Caelum.

It was his gift and his curse to be entombed so near to the shores of his former home and forced to watch as time stretched on without him. The monarch within who longed to be amongst his people gave thanks for their continued safety, but that part of him was waning as the solitude sank its claws in deep. In its place rose something darker and angrier than any could have realized, including his misguided brother. That piece of him grew stronger every day that it was allowed to rage at its fate and rail against the betrayal of the Astrals who maintained his prison.

Much as he would have liked to lay the blame for his current predicament solely at Izunia's feet—and that was all this little setback amounted to was a nuisance the likes of which only his brother could concoct—he could not. No, it was not the illegitimate king of Lucis who had constructed the towering golden rods that sealed off his cell from the rest of the world, nor the pillar of crystalized rock that channeled their magic to bar his only avenue of escape. Those had been present when he arrived, tied and gagged like some common criminal and not the monarch who had rescued his people from a terrible fate at the cost of his own safety. The only answer was that such marvels were created by the gods as a means to contain him—or something else—and had been activated purely in honor of his arrival.

During the wasted hours when the sounds of the ocean ceased to calm and instead grew to a maddening roar, Ardyn paced the length of his tiny stone cell and pondered the possibilities. Although he would never admit it aloud, he fancied himself quite the martyr to the cause, just as he had come to realize the Infernian was not too long ago. Could it be that this deserted, barren waste of an island had once been used to imprison one of the gods when he was betrayed by the rest of the Hexatheon? If that was the case, then Ardyn would be quite ungrateful not to feel at least marginally pleased with the Astrals' approximation of his power. They were, of course, vastly underestimating him if they believed that this hole could keep him long, but their overconfidence would be their undoing.

As for Ardyn… Well, it would be dishonest indeed if he were to claim that he was unaffected by this dank cell. Fit for a god or not, it was hardly appreciated. The room itself could be traversed in fewer than three strides, and much of the floor was occupied by a simple stone bench and what he could only assume had been a shrine in the days when Angelgard served some purpose he knew not. It taunted him, settled beneath an unreachable window as if daring him to attempt his escape. When he could not stand to stare at it a moment longer, he whiled away the hours at the open doorway in wistful contemplation of the distant shore.

It was during one of these episodes that she came to him.

He knew it was her long before he laid eyes on her beautiful face, the air made thick with icy crystals until his breath obscured his view. Ardyn's lips twitched in a bitter sneer.

"Have you come to gloat?"

When she offered no answer, he turned to examine her with sudden distaste. They had shared each other's company in the past when she came to him in dreams. Each of the Six had visited him at night in the days before the Starscourge had arrived in Insomnia; that was how he had learned to use his gifts, great as his own capacity for learning alone may have been. So many hours had been spent hearing tales of ages long past, of prophecies and magic the likes of which had only ever been seen in ancient myths. The nights when she had appeared to him had inarguably been his favorite. Oh, how he had relished their meetings—their exploration into the power of both ring and Crystal. Each time, he had been struck dumb at the sight of her: a goddess bathed in white and silver, turning the air crisp with winter's chill wind. Her grace and beauty had transcended all that Ardyn had ever seen in women who walked the earth and those who lingered in legend alike.

Shiva's earthly form was as unremarkable as her Astral figure had been celestial then. Gone were the splendorous adornments of her divinity, replaced by elaborate attire of black and gold; dark hair framed the soft features of her face in ways that her silver locks never would have before. So beautiful, yet so terrible. It only served to remind him of what a fool he had been to prostrate himself before such gods in the past and squander his limited youth in deference to their hypocrisy.

If the Glacian was as disgusted by the changes wrought in him by time and reality as he was with her, she failed to indicate her disdain. Oddly, her eyes remained closed as though reluctant to look upon him at all. Perhaps she wished not to see what had become of the great leader who once sat on the throne of Lucis, or maybe she merely sought to comfort him with a seeming lack of judgment. Ardyn was no fool, however, and could sense the latter rolling off her in waves. Ever had Shiva been his ally, yet in the first days of his imprisonment when he had called upon her by name, she had not heeded his summons. To see her here now was nothing more than a grotesque, twisted answer to the prayers he had whispered to the heavens in a moment of panicked weakness.

"You come, but you do not look upon me," Ardyn mused, taking a few steps closer to where the Glacian sat unmoving on the stone bench that was his only furnishing. "Am I so ugly to you?"

"The once chosen king bears only the unseemliness of that which he willingly consumed," was Shiva's answer, her voice calm and deadly as the sea that surrounded them on all sides. Her tone, however, was not what piqued Ardyn's interest.

"Once chosen? So the Six have indeed forsaken their champion."

"Many years have passed since the former king denounced the gods."

Ardyn laughed, unbothered by the harshness of the sound. "I see. Then this banishment is recompense for what you perceive to be a slight against you?" Shaking his head in feigned disappointment, he added, "Such vindictiveness is not becoming of gods, you know."

"Anger and hate have taken root deep within the once chosen king's heart," Shiva replied. In spite of her words, she was collected as ever. "Where once was compassion now burns only the flame of vengeance."

"Am I not owed that?" inquired Ardyn.

The Glacian did not answer. It did nothing to quench the sudden fire that her words had lit in his gut, and he had to grudgingly admire her courage for standing strong even as he stalked towards her.

"Do I not have reason for anger and hate when all that was promised to me by yourself and your minions of deceit has been taken? When the Ring of the Lucii betrayed me for the hand of my brother and the gods themselves, so fickle in their blessings, offered the throne to another? And yet you blame me."

The very air seemed to tremble as the ice grew thicker, pricking his skin with its chill. When the Glacian spoke again, there was a threat buried deep beneath her words that would have sent a lesser man to his knees.

"Long would the Hexatheon have favored the former king had he remained true to his destined path."

Nodding, Ardyn mocked, "And in my straying, your punishment is to doom the world to darkness. Do you proclaim your intent anything other than malicious in leaving me to rot here?"

"To presume is not the same as to know."

"Oh, but I do," he retorted with an easy smirk. "Is it not the will of the gods that both the Oracle and the Chosen King rid the world of the scourge you yourselves have inflicted upon it? With one imprisoned, the other shall inevitably be overwhelmed. My brother may have usurped the throne, but he cannot wield the power of the one True King. Humanity itself hangs in the balance, yet the Six would rather toil away with revenge? I confess myself distressed with your apparent lack of concern for those whose worship you accept so readily."

As he spoke, the Glacian took measured steps forward and touched a finger to her lips. He did not waver when she reached out to press it to his own, but he should have. In an instant, he was frozen in place, blanketed by a layer of ice that immobilized his limbs more completely than any worldly prison. And when Shiva faced him once more, her eyes opened to reveal pools of darkest green that held the secrets to the universe in their depths.

"To you now, Accursed, shall I impart the message of the gods:

"O'er rotted Soil, under blighted Sky, A dread Plague the Wicked has wrought. In the Light of the Gods, Sword-Sworn at his Side, 'Gainst the Dark the King's Battle is fought. From the Heavens high, to the Blessed below, Shines the Beam of a Peace long besought. 'Long live thy Line and these Stones divine, For the Night when All comes to Naught.'"

If he could speak, Ardyn would have pointed out that this prophecy was an old one. The Glacian was not finished, however.

"When darkness veils the world, the King of Light shall come."

It happened faster than he could bat an eye: Ardyn was released in time to lunge for her throat, but his hands met naught but the emptiness that had accompanied him every hour since his removal from Insomnia. He whirled around in his rage, searching the four corners of his cell as though she was hiding amidst the sparse stone outcroppings—all to no avail.

The Glacian was gone, yet her prophecy would remain for all time.

"The King of Light," spat Ardyn, seething. There was no need to maintain his composure, nor was he able to when he shouted to the heavens, "You would replace me!? You would steal my destiny and hand it to some bastard's child!?"

And in that moment, standing alone in his kingdom of stone and iron, Ardyn felt the last spark of faith he had in the Astrals die. It faded into obscurity, renouncing its claim on him and finally setting him free. Stoking its flame, perpetuating the charade was worthless now. Even as he had fought against the twisted fate bestowed upon him by his jealous successor, he had not yet given up all hope, not when the slightest chance existed that perhaps the gods would come to his aid.

There was no point now. It was no use. The Six had abandoned him. They had set their sights on another and left him here to decay slower than the walls of his cage would.

That, then, would be their fatal mistake.

Let their so-called King of Light be born. Let him grow to maturity and ascend the throne, a beacon of hope amidst a lightless kingdom.

If he would be the light, then someone would have to be the darkness.

Long live the king.

Perfect.

Ardyn gazed upon his masterpiece as a father would his only child. Such irony was not lost on him, and he could not help but laugh lightly at the idea as he ascended the steps toward the throne—his throne. Everything was in place and ready for the day when darkness and light would clash in one final, predestined battle of the wills. Until then, he would reign over his kingdom as he should have all those long centuries ago.

The esteemed members of his court hung from the ceiling like the limp, lifeless dolls his retainers had resembled no matter which kingdom he ruled.

His Crystal was suspended above the throne, impaled by the chains that should have imprisoned it rather than the king who had once been its slave.

Somewhere in the dark depths of Lucis were three lost souls just waiting to be reunited with their monarch. And the King of Light? Well…

Ardyn bowed deeply to the Crystal before settling himself leisurely onto his throne.

Whenever you're ready, Noct.