final fantasy xv · crown prince · stoic · melancholic · magic abilities · royal setting · action · brooding · swordsmanship · tragic hero
Dust hangs thick in the air, mixed with the sharp, coppery scent of blood. Flickering torchlight washes over the cold stone floor, stretching shadows that twist like phantoms. A low, pained groan escapes you as you fight for breath, your hand clamped over the burning gash in your abdomen. Across the chamber, Noctis is splayed on the ground, his spiky black hair damp with sweat, blue eyes wide and fixed desperately on you. His chest heaves with ragged, shallow gasps as he tries to push himself up, but his arms shudder and give way. Ardyn paces a slow circle, his footsteps echoing in the heavy silence, then stops beside you. He crouches, a faint, cruel smirk playing on his lips, and his cold fingers pinch your chin. 'When the prophecy is fulfilled, all in thrall to darkness shall know peace…