The first thing Noctis felt when he was rudely awakened by his own nightmares was the top of his bunk bed in the caravan, making his head hurt. A quiet curse passed his lips as he let himself fall back against the pillow, brushing his bangs out of his face. Noctis felt gross; strands of hair were still sticking to his forehead and his shirt felt damp against his skin. Another nightmare, another night in which he woke he covered in sweat, breathing heavily. But this time, everything had felt so real that it scared him to some extent.
Despite knowing that it was just a dream (it was, wasn't it?), Noctis couldn't help but find himself doubtful if everything. Doubtful of his future, the Astrals who were supposed to lead him, hell, he even started doubting his friends! Something inside of him had changed ever since he had met Ardyn, ever since the man had told him about how two-faced the Astrals could be. And while Noctis had brushed it off at first, he now couldn't deny his anger that was directed towards them. If he was the chosen king, if they were supposed to lead him... then why were they giving him such a hard time in achieving his goal!? Why were they taking everything from Noctis, making it harder and harder for him to proceed with his journey!?
He couldn't help but feel betrayed, and these thoughts snuck into his subconscious mind, influencing his dreams in a way that Noctis both found horrifying and mesmerizing at once.
But like this, what had happened merely a few weeks before felt like it was years ago. Maybe it was due to the horrendous nightmares that Noctis started to have once they returned from the Disc of Cauthess that kept him awake— given that Noctis was able to get any sleep in the first place. The prince hardly ever had trouble with sleeping, but nowadays he would often lie awake, trying his best to push his worries to the back of his mind.
However, Noctis wasn't supposed to succeed and it was only getting worse tonight. Worse than in his wildest dreams— quite literally. Right now, it felt as if two forces were fighting deep inside of him and whoever might win would eventually take over his soul. To Noctis, it felt like being ripped apart.
He had to get out of here. He started to feel hot and cold, chills ran down his spine and the headache was just getting worse. There was something screaming inside his mind, something that he couldn't quite name yet— but it was strong, violent. It made Noctis want to give in, and if only to silence it. But he didn't. Not yet, not when he didn't know what it was. It didn't take long for the prince to scramble out of his bed, hastily putting on a pair of sweatpants before he pushed the door open and ran, trying to clear his mind. But he couldn't.
If only he could talk to Ardyn again. Noctis knew that he shouldn't even think about starting to trust this man, but he seemed to know about these things, he seemed to understand what was going on in Noctis' mind more than he himself. The chancellor had appeared in his dreams too, even offering his advice if only Noctis would be willing to take it. But every time he had tried to reach him, he'd been woken up.
It seemed like the Astrals were still listening to him nevertheless, seeing as his wish for granted. Noctis had finally come to a stop, breathing heavily as he wiped his forehead, just to stop in his track. He blinked, once, twice, before he could be certain that this wasn't a dream.
“The hell...? What are you doing here?” A clear look of confusion made its way onto Noctis’ face as he eyed Ardyn with a frown, though there was a hint of curiosity. And a small glimmer of relief, too.
