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The Long Night was a distant memory. Two thousand years had long since healed over the wounds left by those years and the decades of war that had come before it. Dawn crested the horizon, chased by the laughing moon each night, and while peace wasn’t perfect or permanent, humans had gone on to rebuild their lives, build new homes and cities, and re-establish the world. It was not as it was, but life had gone on.
The country once called Lucis had been lost in the Ruin. Now, the land was called Haven, and it thrived. What was once barren desert teemed with life, the harbors bustled, and the ruins of a great city had been built over into a shining new citadel, Pax.
Another thing lost during the years of ruin were the Astrals. In some way, all of humanity knew that the deities that once fought to protect this world were gone. However, in their place remained the two goddesses who stood over the Cosmogony: Life and Death, Eos and Etro. It was from them that a new wonder of the world had begun to spring forth: the Marks of Memory.
About a millennium after the dawn after the Long Night, some people began to discover marks on their bodies that sprang up, often after meeting a new person. With these marks came memories of past lives, seen as dreams or summoned unbidden. Those who believed in Eos and Etro thought this was tied to their eternal waltz of life, the two of them turning like a wheel in the ever-flowing river of time. Those marks denoted the returned souls of those who had died during the Long Night or possibly even in the War that preceded it, and the goddesses had seen fit to reincarnate them to live happier, peaceful lives. Those who met and discovered marks after meeting one another had known each other in those same previous lives, and they realized that they had once been friends, family, or even lovers. In a way, these marks were a gift; they made a path for those who had once cared about each other to find one another again in their second chance at happiness.
The memories were a gift to the Historians, those who were trying to reassemble the lost history of the war, of the Long Night, and of everything that came before it. It was such a grand work that it had garnered its own special field of study. Those who discovered each other and their soul marks were slowly filling in the historic record from the stories they could tell.
Regis Cole knew this better than most.
Noctis Cole was born with a gaping hole in his chest, straight to his heart.
Regis had known it was coming. Not just from the sonograms, but because he knew and had known since long before he was conceived, what his son’s first fate was.
Even so, the horror of looking onto his newborn son for the first time and seeing that gash, left by a sword that was once his, shook Regis to his core. Still, as Noctis was rushed away into emergency surgery, Aulea sobbed where she lay, pinned to the operating table by anesthetic. Regis held her hand tight to comfort her, the pale blue tracery of their rings gleaming in the too-bright lights of the surgical theater.
"We knew, my love. It was always a possibility. He's in the best place he can be and will receive the best care he can, and we will get to share our lives with our son."
Regis had known this was coming since he was young himself, or at least suspected (presuming that he might be lucky enough to find Aulea again in this life, to have another chance with his son). He had regained many memories of his last life as a boy in school, when the marks were just lines around his knees and hands that had been there since he was an infant, and he recalled his childhood in a faraway time. Much more became clear when he met his college roommate, Clarus, and the imprint of a sword's hilt appeared on his palm, and Clarus' chest erupted with the image of an eagle.
Clarus had taken a look at it, paused, then grinned, saying, "Took us long enough, eh, your Majesty?"
After that, Regis recalled it all as plain as day, could relive it like rewinding a video tape and replaying it. He started to seek out people whose shadows he faintly recalled from his own journeys as a young man, flooded with joy and remembrance as he found each one. When he met Aulea, he even remembered everything about her and about his son from that life. He even remembered watching him from beyond as he ascended the throne and gave his life for the Dawn.
Now, when his son emerged from surgery in a tiny glass case, whimpering in the open air of the new world and grasping for comfort, Regis found himself watching his son begin again. His first soulmark was hidden under the blankets: one thin blue line stretching diagonally across his chest and another on his back, Noctis’ first marks forming where the sutures held him together.
Noctis wasn’t a Prince in this life. He was the scion of a long line of philanthropists who had arisen after the Dawn; his father was a doctor, and his grandfather had been some sort of elected official, and all of them put their resources into helping people in whatever way they could. Noctis knew even as a small child that his dad was really interested in helping build the Historia project. He also knew that some of the images he saw in his mind when he slept, or when his mind drifted, or even after playing or talking to his parents, weren’t his.
They were his from before. Noctis’ dad had always encouraged him to tell him whenever he remembered something, insisting, “It’s wonderful that you have those memories. I want you to share them with me, the good, the bad, everything.”
Sometimes after Noctis would tell him about the memories, Regis would ask Noctis to recount them again to some men and women he’d invited to his parlor. Noctis never minded; there were always snacks, and everyone who came was polite; even reverent. It wasn’t until Noctis was much older that he realized that these people were Historians, people studying his past life, the war and the calamity that surrounded it.
Even when he did figure that part out, he never minded. He knew, from how frequently his dad had to turn down meetings, that he was in high demand, but the interviews never felt especially intrusive, and in some ways, they helped Noctis map out who he had once been.
Some things, Noctis figured out for himself. He could recall whole conversations, could recall places he’d been. He remembered people too, as those he once knew seemed to be drawn to him. His dad’s mechanic, for example, looked on him with fond eyes, and Noctis remembered crotchety old Cid shooing him off for his first hunt, then reminding him that the men beside him were his brothers.
His dad’s best friend seemed to know him, and when Noctis met his son, Gladio had crushed him in a bear hug so tight that Noctis couldn’t breathe (or maybe as memories of Gladio came flooding back, he couldn’t think of anything but the joy of seeing him again and he forgot how).
He met Ignis in a study session in middle school. The moment the two of them laid eyes on each other, the image of a scar streaked down Ignis’ eye, the outline glowing bright even in the classroom as other students around them gasped. Noctis couldn’t keep his mouth shut, hands shaking as thin lines appeared on his arms and hands, even the imprint of the handle of a wooden spoon in his palm. (No studying got done that day.)
His body was slowly mapped with the recollections of his past life. He could recognize lots of them: scars he'd received in fights or as a child, the calluses from holding his weapons, places where he'd been touched. However, there were marks he couldn't place, symbols and lines that seemed more random, and Noctis sometimes wished he could understand them too, if only so he wouldn't have to worry about what they meant. Similarly, he noticed holes where he could tell he was missing details. It felt like part of the picture in his mind had been burned out or overexposed: black patches in his memory.
When he asked his dad about it, he reassured Noctis: “When you meet the right people, hear the right words, see the right vision, it’ll come back to you. When it happens—”
“I’ll get another mark, right?” He held his hands out in front of him, looking at all the lines that covered him like spiderwebs, ensnaring him.
“You might,” Regis affirmed, then covered his hands with his own. “But what I was going to say was, tell me all about it, will you? I’d love to hear about the parts of your journey I wasn’t there for. After all, even if you’re living a new life, those memories are still a part of who you are now.”
Noctis smiled uneasily, then hugged Regis. “Yeah, thanks.”
It wasn’t all of who he was, so he tried not to dwell on the memories of who he used to be, only what those connections meant in this new life. His friendships, his mother and father’s love, the people who knew him and thought kindly of him. Even so, the parts he couldn’t quite grasp seemed to have a hold on him.
One of the biggest dark spots began to fill in out of nowhere, and for the strangest reason. Noctis was playing video games in his dorm at New Haven University when Gladio and Ignis were visiting.
Then, as the game started, he got the sense that there should have been a player four. He didn’t know how to voice it, but one of the black patches in his memory had solidified into a shadow he couldn’t quite see.
That night, he dreamed of a boy with blond hair and a streak of freckles like the stars that dotted the sky, and felt a deep desire stir in his heart. He wanted to see that boy, to know his name, to count the freckles on his cheeks and the stars in his eyes. He wanted so much to remember him that he woke up with pain like a knife through the heart.
It was unlike any of the other memories that had passed through Noctis’ mind like cars out of the passenger side window. He had never wanted them, only ever accepted them and felt gratitude for what those recollections brought him. Instead, Noctis was driven to chase this memory until he could relive it with every breath.
Noctis strained to remember more; he’d remembered traveling in a car from before the rebuilding of the world, Ignis driving, Gladio reading, but he could also faintly remember the blond boy chattering, fidgeting. Making Noctis laugh. He had been really good at that. He remembered joy when they were together, and sorrow when he was away. He remembered that last day, remembered his shadow beside that of Gladio and Ignis on the steps to the Citadel, the fateful tower where his fate had laid. Sometimes, he recalled little bits of his voice, things he said, his crackling laugh.
One night, he even dreamed of a conversation they’d had on a rooftop, one that had ended with them holding hands.
He even recalled one regret he’d had on the elevator ride to the top: his final memory of this life wouldn’t be one last kiss with the man he’d loved for ten years.
Everything but his name.
Before he knew it, Noctis was seeking out blonds everywhere he went, desperately hoping to spark another memory. He felt like a creep whenever he was in a crowd, searching for a sight of that familiar face and that yellow starspark of hair. He kept waiting for the exploding firework of a new memory, or the warming dawn of a realization, or even just a flash like an instant-print photograph, something that got him closer to the source of the emotions that burned in his veins.
It was his father that gave him a more concrete idea: “Why not check the Historia being compiled at the university? Perhaps there’s already some record of your fourth companion.”
Oh, duh. It seemed so obvious when Noctis thought about it. After all, he knew that as much as he had contributed, it was a drop in the bucket compared to all the information that had been gathered since the phenomenon of reincarnation had begun. From hundreds of once-soldiers from both sides, to civilians who had witnessed the rising of the Astrals, to an old man who tearfully confessed to his war crimes in his past life and another with the memories of the former Emperor, there were loads of historical recollections. Ignis and Gladio hadn’t remembered the other boy yet, though they both said they had similar shadows of him in their mind. That didn’t mean nobody else couldn’t have remembered him more. He must have had a family, other friends, people who had known him, seen him, followed him on Kwehker, something !
Still, he had tried not to think about the Historia too hard. He’d spent a lot of time becoming part of it, so he’d never sought out more of it. He thought he knew enough about his own past life; still, his curiosity about this missing piece was still unsatisfied, and wouldn’t be until he could fill in at least one more blank.
The blond man’s name.
Historia Records Building was built on top of what was once a high school, based on the archaeological records, and the rest of New Haven University had bloomed around it. Noctis wasn’t studying history except for his required classes, but there was no mistaking the building. Study and compilation of the Historia, Haven’s efforts to rebuild the history of the world from what material of the time remained, archaeological digs, and of course the memories of the reincarnated, was the largest field of both undergraduate and postgraduate study at the University.
Noctis was in pre-med. He wanted to go into cardiology, or possibly pediatric cardiology, knowing just what it had taken to keep him alive as a baby. (Besides that, he liked kids anyway). Still, his years of contributions to the Historia had gotten him a free ride for his university, and free access to the university meant he was very familiar with the building’s high, white walls and what felt like miles of glass windows all around the building. An old statue depicting the prophecy stood out front. Hesitating, Noctis found himself staring at the three men surrounding the kneeling figure that was supposed to be the King of Light. Him, in another lifetime.
And yet there were so few records of those other three, so few stories told, and why they were so special and important. Noctis wondered how much of what he, Ignis, and Gladio had recounted about their significance, their importance to Noctis and to each other, would actually make it into the records. Noctis could never forget. Sometimes he thought he saw faint blue outlines of their handprints on his arms and shoulders from all the times they had held him up, pushed him forward, hugged him. Noctis wondered if that boy’s kiss would appear on his cheek.
He had to find out.
He opened the door and crossed the threshold —
Only to nearly crash into someone hurrying past.
He swore to himself, instinctively blurting, “Hey, watch where you’re going!”
The other man spun around, an armful of books braced to his chest and nearly stacked up past his face, sheepishly grinned. “S-sorry, I was just spacing out and I —” He broke off suddenly, eyes going wide behind the books, and Noctis actually looked and saw him.
He was slight, a little lanky, features narrow, nose turned up just a little at the tip. His cornflower blue eyes were hidden behind round glasses that only made his chin look more pointed than it was, and as he dropped his books, he revealed a constellation of freckles shining across his cheeks. His hair, golden blond like ripe wheat in the sunshine, was coiffed up like a firework or a chocobo’s crest.
And suddenly Noctis was seeing him again: running at his side through a schoolyard. Flopped on the ground and groaning beside their broken-down car. Huddled next to him on that motel rooftop and holding his hand so tight Noctis thought it would break (but Noctis wouldn’t have cared because he loved him so much). Riding on a flying rocket and hollering his excitement. Strung up in a torture device with cuts across his face and arms. Standing on the steps, sorrowfully gazing at the ground, his arm across his chest in a salute before his lips touched Noctis’ one last time…
And his name.
Prompto. Prompto Argentum.
All the love from that lifetime came flooding back, and it took all of Noctis’ composure to hold himself back from wrapping him up into his first kiss in this lifetime. He instead restrained the jubilation at the flood of memories to a smile, his heart aching as it tried to resolve that lifetime of emotions before it all exploded out.
“You, uh, dropped something.” Noctis got down on his knees to pick the dropped books up, and the other man ( Prompto, Noctis held inside, but wait ) gasped a soft “oh” and knelt next to Noctis. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Uh, you okay?”
“I, uh, think so?” The other man babbled, glasses sliding down his nose as he pointedly tried not to look at Noctis, but Noctis could spot him stealing glances and suppressed the hope springing that he must recognize me too . “Maybe?” He bit his lip and pushed his glasses back up. “I don’t really know anymore,” he laughed nervously as he scooped more books to his chest, and as Noctis held out the ones he’d picked up. “Sorry, I’ve been kind of a mess today.”
“I feel that,” Noctis chuckled back, desperate to put him at ease and hoping he wasn’t trying too hard. “First time here? Or, uh…”
“Um, no, it’s…”
“Not really what’s on your mind?” Noctis filled in, hope straining in his tone.
The man bit his lip, and Noctis held his breath, waiting for him to say what he’d been feeling this whole time, wishing it reflected exactly what Noctis felt. “Yeah, but… I…” He stood up, and Noctis rose with him. “I don’t really know how to say it…”
“Then just say what’s on your mind.” Noctis clasped his hands. “It’s… it’s like deja vu, right?”
“Deja vu,” the other man echoed. “Y-yeah. It’s exactly like that. How’d you…”
“Because…” Noctis chewed the inside of his lip, took a breath, then looked Prompto in the face. “Because I’m feeling it too.” Then, he took the dive: “You’re Prompto, right?”
Prompto’s mouth fell, as if he’d been hit in the chest by a huge gust of wind. “How’d you know my name?”
Wincing, Noctis turned. “Uh, never mind. You can forget you saw—”
“Noct?”
With just the sound of his own name — his nickname — Noctis felt like he’d been plunged into the whirlwind himself. All at once, all of those holes were filled in, and Noctis was seeing Prompto riding shotgun in the car next to him. Prompto at his back, guns akimbo. Prompto, laying in his bed in a sunset-orange apartment, grinning at him, and Prompto curled in the sheets of a luxurious hotel in his stupid chocobo boxer briefs. Every memory was as crisp as a photograph taken yesterday on Prompto’s fancy camera, and Noctis was absorbed in every sensation of them: the warmth and every touch on his skin, the smell of Prompto’s soap and hair gel, the taste of cherry lollipop off of his tongue.
“Prompto,” Noctis said aloud at him, and he couldn’t stop looking at Prompto, couldn’t stop seeing him. “You… you remember me, right?”
“Remember you,” Prompto echoed again, grinning as if through a daze. “You’re all I’ve been able to think about! I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you were in my dreams, you were always in the back of my mind, I just couldn’t remember everything!” He gestured around them, his books tumbling to the ground again. “That’s why I’ve been coming here! Trying to remember who you were that kept you in my mind—”
“You mean, you haven’t been interviewed by the historians a billion times?” Noctis laughed in disbelief, then stepped over the books and caught Prompto’s hands. “I’m surprised nobody else realized how important you were—”
“I don’t think anyone actually believed me.” With that, Prompto turned Noctis’ hold into a hug, embracing him tight, and Noctis naturally sank into him. “Like, who could possibly believe a nobody like me has memories of riding in the car with the legendary King of Light?” He pulled away and turned his wrist over, revealing blue lines where a tattoo once lay, as well as the traces of a wristband that Prompto, in that other life, never took off. “I wouldn’t have believed me, except it was always just so real .”
“Yeah, it was like that for me, too. I always knew it was real, and I just wanted to find you.” Noctis pulled Prompto back in, and felt relief wash over him as Prompto buried his nose in the crook of Noctis’ shoulder and nuzzled him.
“I’m just so glad we found each other.”
Part of Noctis wanted to believe that they’d been drawn back to each other, meant to find each other, like lines drawn on a map.
That’s when Noctis realized: he must have had a new mark from meeting Prompto once again. He wanted to see it, just to make sure he never could lose sight of him again. “Hey,” Noctis interrupted, touching Prompto’s cheek. “Do you have any marks? From me, maybe?”
“Marks? Yeah, a ton.” Chuckling, Prompto pulled his shirt collar away from his neck, revealing the same random scatter of lines and symbols that littered his skin from the chin down. “Most of these are just scuffs and scars, and—” He opened his palms. “You can see the calluses from my pistols on my index fingers and thumbs, and even the scars on my knuckles from when I had to get my hands really dirty, though that wasn’t until…” He trailed off, gaze resting and fixating onto Noctis again. “Things changed so much after you went away…”
“Let’s not worry about that.” Noctis took hold of Prompto’s hands again. “I’m here now, and you are too and… we have so much to talk about. Can we go somewhere less…?”
“Yeah, my place is right around the corner, totally, just…” Prompto pointed down, pink in his cheeks and shame in his smile. “We probably ought’a pick up the books first.”
“Yeah,” Noctis agreed, giddy, almost floating on his feet.
It didn’t matter what he did. He’d found Prompto again, and he would do anything to stay at his side.
Prompto’s flat was a little studio two blocks from the college gates, sparsely furnished, with no sign that anyone other than Prompto had ever been there. Noctis could only hope that Prompto’s life before they’d met again hadn’t been as lonely as the last life in which they’d met.
Even if it was, Noctis felt duty-bound to change that.
However, the moment they crossed the threshold, Prompto was already reaching for the bottom of his shirt. Noctis nearly hesitated, but then, it felt familiar, natural, and he let Prompto strip it off. Prompto wondered for a long moment at the tapestry of blue lines shining on Noctis’ skin, then reached out to touch. His eyes flicked to Noctis’ for a moment, waiting for approval, which Noctis gave in the form of a quick nod. Prompto’s fingers landed on the jagged scar across his heart.
“Noct,” he whispered, then closed his palm over it, covering that wound from long ago. “Dude, I—”
“It’s over now. Believe it or not, the past doesn’t hurt anymore.” He grinned, then reached for Prompto’s shirt. “Come on, I wanna see what your marks look like, too.”
“Hey!” Laughing, Prompto tried ineffectively to dodge Noctis’ grab, but succumbed and let Noctis strip his shirt off. He instinctively covered his chest for a moment, then let his arms fall to his sides. Noctis felt his jaw tighten as he saw the blue lines across Prompto’s chest as well. It was the same scar he had on his own chest.
“Is that…”
“No.” A soft shake of Prompto’s head eased the blow to Noctis’ heart. “No, it appeared the first time I remembered you. I remembered you… the last time I saw you. Just the shadow of your back as you walked up the stairs.”
Noctis winced, but Prompto took his hands. “No, it’s like you said. The past doesn’t hurt anymore, it just was a lot to take in, y’know?”
“Yeah.” Noctis agreed, then began to check his own arms. “Sometimes I’m not even sure what all these marks mean. I can remember some of them, scars, hits I took, times you all touched me. But some of them just don’t make any sense or have any memory to go with them, they’re just… here.”
“I have a lot like that too.” Prompto turned his arms over, showing the barcode, jagged cuts and scratches up past his elbow, the outline of his old bandanna, but then, the strange, curved lines and dots that looked similar to the anomalies on Noctis’ arm. “So, some historians have a theory, because they’ve been seen on a lot of people who were reincarnated.”
“Yeah?” Realizing the draft from the door was cold on his back, Noctis stepped away from the door, and Prompto followed him into his own house and to his book-strewn desk. “Sit down and tell me all about it.”
“Are you seriously inviting me to sit? Dude, I’m the host —” He sighed with happy exasperation, then settled. “Yeah, I guess I’m a little wired from… all this.” He motioned around him, as Noctis seated himself on the edge of Prompto’s desk, nudging a few books aside as he settled.
“It’s a lot, yeah. Still, what do you think these marks mean?” Noctis turned his arm over, still wondering if they somehow connected him to Prompto, or which mark did.
“You remember the havens created by the Oracles? The ones that protected travelers across Lucis from daemons?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, some of those have been found, and they have marks similar to this.” Prompto leaned forward in his chair, as eager as he used to be about photographs or video games or puppies. (Was he still? Noctis really wanted to find out. But there was time for that.) “I remember those glowing blue when we were sleeping in the tent. It always felt kind of comforting to look at them. The theory is, those marks are connected to the whole reincarnation phenomenon. The magic of the Oracles was different from the magic of the Lucii anyway, and its source was kinda in question so some of the historians are theorizing that their magic came from Eos and Etro all along, so now that those two are back in charge again and doing the whole reincarnation thing, those are like, thumbprints of their magic left on us.” Prompto turned his hands over, displaying a shimmering array of those symbols. “One of the historians thinks it’s kind of a sign from the goddesses; that the people who died in the war, or who lived through it? We’re all safe now.”
Safe. These marks meant safety from the war that had destroyed so many lives. Now that Noctis thought about them, every time Noctis had gotten through a memory, he’d felt relief. Relief that it was over, that he’d gotten through it, that he was here now. “You know, I really like that.”
“Me too.” Prompto bounced in his chair. “I kind of think of it as proof that we’re getting another chance at all this.”
“Yeah.” Warmth bloomed in Noctis’ chest, and for a long moment, they shared a smile, as if each other was the only other thing in the universe. Then, Prompto stood up.
“Hey, do me a favor?” He made a ‘twirl’ motion with his finger. “Lemme see your back.”
“What, for the other scar? It’s there.” Noctis grimaced, but Prompto shook his head.
“No, no, like. I wanna see the other marks, I’m curious about something.”
Noctis hesitated, but turned, and Prompto laughed in gleeful disbelief.
“I knew it!” He put his hand on Noctis’ back, and Noctis felt another flash of memory:
A schoolyard, a warm day. The first day of high school. Cherry blossom petals dancing daintily in the wind, the distant roar of cars from the highway. Noctis was waiting for Ignis, but then someone ran up behind him and patted his back—
“And we were inseparable ever since,” Noctis whispered, and spun around. “I have your mark there?”
“Yeah.” Prompto was nodding so hard his hair was falling from its style. “Yeah, it’s my handprint. It’s the same as when I first got brave enough to say hello, and…”
“Where you put your arm around my shoulder after I found you in that tower.” Noctis winced at the memory.
“But do you remember what we said back then?”
Noctis did. “Ever at your side.”
“Ever at your side,” Prompto echoed, and took hold of Noctis; hands. “I meant it then and I mean it now.”
Noctis’ heart quaked, beating so fast Noctis thought it might escape. All this time they’d been apart, and that promise was still valid. There was nothing keeping them apart now, nothing trying to tear them apart.
“It’s weird;” Noctis admitted. “I feel like I’ve spent so much of this life hung up on the past, remembering it, processing those memories of that life just so I could come to terms with this one, but now that you’re here, all I wanna think about is the future. I want to know everything about you in this life, and I want to know where we’re gonna go from here.”
“I’m with you. Always.” Prompto opened his arms again, and Noctis sank to his knees and into his embrace.
The two of them held each other there, heart to heart, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, for what felt like an eternity. It may well have been, in a way. They had come back together after all this time, and they had so much catching up to do, and so much more life to live.
There would always be debate as to why the goddesses of life and death had chosen to bring those who’d lived during the years of darkness back to life in this age of light and peace. However, Noctis could only be certain that this was his second chance — their second chance — and he was going to make the absolute best of it.