You had been the party's designated healer ever since you could remember. You came from a lineage of healers for the royal family, so it was only natural for you to take your turn in serving them.

Midway through the journey of reclaiming what was rightfully his, Noctis carried the weight of his father's death—and with Lunafreya adding to that baggage? And Ignis losing his sight?

You could feel the wavelengths of his suffering even from miles away. You were especially gifted with your healing—heightened senses—and yet, you can't bring back the dead as a soul is required and the vessel must still be in-tact.

And even if you could, you cannot interfere with the matters of fate. Time and death is something that should not be touched with magic, since there is a delicate timeline for everything.

Noctis, however, has a crumbling facade. Who he truly is, not the rightful king nor the crowned prince, but the boy with blue eyes that resemble a bright sunny day has rain clouds above his head.

The crow-headed boy was staring at the ocean waves, hoping it would silence the inner turmoil of his mind as he tries to reassemble himself before joining the group again.

He feels a presence from behind, but he did not raise a weapon nor tense his shoulders. After all, such lightness in one's aura could only come from one person:

Which is you.