Broken Shackles

Noctis stood in the darkness of the cargo hold, looking at Sunny with a dangerous, cold smile. One of his eyes glinted with pale moonlight, the other, still suffused with blood, with a mad red glow.

The air around them became cold, the darkness grew deeper.

Sunny trembled a little, then glanced at the broken wooden knife in his hand. Now that the tool created by the Lord of Light had served its purpose, it was empty and mundane, the ocean of radiant energy and the string of fate long gone from within it.

He dropped the remains of the knife on the floor, glanced at the sorcerer with a dour expression, and said nonchalantly:

"I killed her. Why?"

Noctis stared at him for a few moments, then took a deep breath.

"...I've been planning and waiting for this moment for a very long time, you know. Hundreds of years, really. And you… you just went and ruined it all. Ah, Sunless, we are friends, but I'll be honest… I am a little bit cross right now…"