Prompto stared, and stared, and stared. Gentiana only smiled. “Let me clarify some things,” he started. “I’m a favorite of the, um, the Six?”
“Our Most Beloved,” Gentiana repeated.
“Right,” said Prompto. “And because you knew I’d be lonely and, and depressed after Noct brought the sun back, you – brought me to a parallel universe??”
“Yes,” said Gentiana, ever patient.
Prompto needed a drink. Or twelve.
Noctis wakes to the taste of something foul in his mouth, to the wet stone and hum of a haven underneath him; he wakes with a shuddering gasp, fingers grasping at the area where his father’s sword pierced his chest, only to find the soft beams of sunlight washing over him, and his deathly injuries no longer there.
A boon, little king, Shiva had said, before she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Then, a few spaces away from him, Prompto sputters and coughs a raspy but undoubtedly heated, “WHAT THE FUCK?”
Privately, Noctis echoes the sentiment. What the fuck.
Out on a mission, Cor Leonis finds a teenager, lost and sick and partway to becoming an MT. Against the advice of all and sundry, he brings him back to Insomnia. There's not a lot of love lost for MTs in the Citadel, but some of its inhabitants may still be young enough to put aside their prejudices.