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“Noctis, below you!”
Noctis pivots, dodging just in time to avoid the colossal serpent bursting out of the ground in a hail of rocky dust. Quickly recovering, he warps to the beast to slice a few marks in its scaly hide, flitting away in the next breath to avoid its thrashing tail. He glances over at Ignis to nod in thanks for the warning, soon rushing forward again to jump back into the action.
They’ve been fighting this snake for what feels like hours by now. It’s a tenacious, vicious beast that refuses to relent, burrowing to strike with sharp fangs or lashing out with powerful, crushing twists. It’s not a new experience: they’ve fought a Midgardsormr a while back during their trek through Greyshire, but facing this one reminds him exactly how troublesome and frustrating they are to take down. At least the bounty for its head will be hefty, because, really, avoiding getting his ribs crushed from a swinging serpentine tail several times is reason enough for reward.
Prompto fires off a piercing shot into the softer webbing under its neck, bursting in flash of burning white. The ‘sormr shrieks, leaving an opening for Gladio and Noct to relay in their own cutthroat strikes, but are forced to retreat when a burst of caustic liquid spits up from its throat to scald the ground by their feet, steaming with venom. A few drops land on his arm, and he grits his teeth as it burns his skin. Nothing a potion can’t handle later.
Nearby, Noctis can hear Ignis directing their strategy, the one discussed before the hunt. Always the man with a plan, Noctis thinks, and warps behind the serpent to wait for the next opportunity to attack.
The next bullet hits just under its eye, and the beast flails, body broadly sweeping over the ground in every direction to try and strike one of them out. Luckily, no one’s nearby, because if someone were to get hit—
“ACK—“
Prompto’s cry of surprise cuts off as the muscled tail slams into his hiding place and sends him skidding across the field. Noctis winces. It would hurt like hell.
Noctis rushes the snake as it’s thrashes calm, sending a blunt strike into his head before leaving the fight to Gladio and Ignis for a moment. Prompto is already readying to prop himself back up when Noctis reaches him, dusting off his arms and slightly favoring his left side. Remnants of a used potion lie in a broken heap on the dirt.
“You alright?” Noctis says, offering a hand. Prompto takes it and bounds up with a sharp grin.
“Just a bit winded, is all. You know nothing can keep me down for long. I’ll make sure it regrets that,” Prompto says, already lining up his quicksilver for the next shot. Noct believes him, and when he moves away to help cut Gladio out of the tail’s coil Noctis sees one of the beast’s eyes burst in an explosion of milky white and dripping red. Direct hit.
The furious hisses and lashes soon weaken, the beast undoubtedly exhausted and injuries taking a harsh toll. It’s close to over, the serpent not as capable without its unpredictable speed, and in one finishing blow Gladio’s greatsword slices clean through the ‘sormr’s neck. The sounds of battle die off into silence.
Prompto whistles and runs a hand through his windblown hair. “Man, am I glad that’s finally over. Geez, that took forever.”
“You’re telling me,” Gladio agrees, watching the monster goop drip off his sword arm. “Ugh, what I wouldn’t kill for a shower right about now.”
“I could do with a week’s work of sleep, if that’s all well and good with you guys,” Noctis says, rolling his shoulders back. He blinks. “Which way is it back to town, again?”
“Northwest, towards the sun. If we follow the river we should be back in just under an hour if we maintain a brisk pace,” Ignis says, looking remarkably put together, though the way he rubs his head as if he has a migraine speak loud and clear as to how he actually feels.
“Ugh,” Noctis groans emphatically, but trudges to the river bank anyways. Some days he really hates these hunts.
A little ways down the path, a good distance away, Noctis notices a deer on the other side of the riverbank cautiously move out of the forest underbrush. It’s ears perk, and, apparently deeming the spot safe, dips its head for a drink as a smaller, even more adorable baby deer closely follows. Noctis can’t help but smile. The late afternoon sun gives the whole scene a soft, fuzzy glow, something charming and calming about this one moment in nature.
Noctis absently turns to see if Prompto wants to stop, sure it’s a picture he would jump to capture, only to find nobody at his right.
Gladio is still on his left, Ignis ahead, so Noctis glances behind to find Prompto already stopped about five meters back. He’s not watching the deer or holding his camera as Noctis expected him to be, though—instead, he’s patting his sides with increasingly frantic movements, a look of confusion and growing realization beginning to wash over his face.
“You okay there, Prom?” Noctis says, catching the attention of the other two. Prompto slowly moves his gaze up to his and stares for a second, expression oddly blank, before suddenly bolting, dashing back to where they just came as fast as he can run—which is pretty damn fast.
“PROMPTO!” they all shout. The lakeside deers bound back into the bushes as three people loudly barrel through the woods in their rush to pursue, focused on catching up with the rapidly-disappearing blond-black blur ahead. What the hell just happened? Noctis thinks back to the past few hours, a million questions and possibilities flashing through his mind.
Is there some kind of poison affecting Prompto? Maybe the creature’s venom has other nasty side-effects they didn’t know about. Maybe he’s hallucinating, dazed like that time Noctis tripped and faceplanted in those mushrooms that caused his vision to go wonky for hours afterwards. It would explain why he’s not responding to their shouts, only gaining more and more ground ahead. But he’s never heard of any Midgardsormr venom with those effects, only about its potent toxicity.
Noctis feels his pulse jump as the blur known as Prompto vanishes from sight. He picks the pace up to breakneck, mentally switching gears in case he missed something obvious. Was something about to attack them? No, if something was hiding in the trees, he’s positive Prompto would have spoken up, he wouldn’t have just run off without a word, like he is now—
No matter how many ideas he considers, no singular one completely explains away the bizarre behavior, which is what worries him the most.
Eventually, they break through the trees and scale the hill to find Prompto kneeling near a rock outcropping, shuffling through patches of plants and overturning rocks in a haste. Noctis stops a few steps behind, panting. He waits for an answer, like maybe what in Shiva’s name caused his friend to suddenly start sprinting away from them as if a pack of sabertusk’s was biting at his heels, but Prompto keeps on ignoring them and just continues with…whatever he’s doing.
Gladio takes the lead and decides to approach first, hesitantly, in case something really is wrong. Prompto finally pauses, still as the rocks they stand on, when Gladio’s hand lands on his shoulder.
“Prompto, what’s going on?” Gladio asks, maintaining a calm and level tone. Prompto jitters, and turns to look where Ignis and Noctis wait expectantly.
There’s a high flush in his cheeks, breathing rapid, and this sheer, painful expression of panic on his face, almost as strong as the one time they got trapped in a minor cave-in under Ravatogh and it took them three hours to find a way out of the cramped, twining paths.
“My camera, it’s gone, I think it was knocked out when I—it’s not in my coat, it’s not here, I can’t—I can’t find it—“ and Prompto’s voice cracks a bit, slight wobble to the words, hands fidgeting with a discarded stone as Noctis’ stomach drops. It’s partially out of relief, that nothing is actually wrong with Prompto, but the alarm that freezes him cold is not out of concern for physical wounds anymore.
Gladio’s hand has tensed on Prompto’s shoulder, and Ignis quickly moves in to take Gladio’s spot. “We will get it back, Prompto,” Ignis promises, steady and sure. “Take deep breaths, and follow my count.”
It takes a few minutes for Prompto’s quick breaths to slow to something more measured and his hands to quit jittering their nervous pattern, looking far more in control. Ignis nods in satisfaction. “There, much better. Now, where were you hit to during the battle?”
Prompto takes one last steadying breath before gesturing around towards the pile of rocks and scattered sticks nearby, half hidden by a cluster of boulders. “Over there, I’m pretty sure. I—remember landing on a lot of sticks.”
“Then that’s where we’ll start looking,” Gladio says, patting Prompto on the back once as he carefully begins making his way over to the indicated area. Prompto nods a few times, as if his mind’s stuck repeating the action over and over out of lack of anything else to process. Something in Noctis’ chest twinges, and he steels in mind in resolve.
“Hey. We will find it, Prompto,” Noctis says decisively, without doubt. He’ll make sure of it. Prompto nods one last time before moving to continue his search, and Noctis pretends not to notice him surreptitiously pressing at his eyes a bit as he turns away.
They search for a while on the sparse land, finding nothing except for rocks, beetles, sticky weeds, grass, more rocks, dust, and splinters.
“Maybe it went rolling down the hill when he got tossed?” Gladio suggests. They all look down the hillside. It’s not too steep of a slope, and filled with far less blunt machinery-damaging materials along with far more places in the thicket for a hand-sized camera to hide in. Still, a fall or roll of any kind could still have cracked it in some way, which is a thought Noctis doesn’t particularly want to consider yet until all other options have been ruled out.
“It’s a likely possibility,” Ignis says, so they make the detour downwards to continue their search in the dense woods.
Time passes by the light of the sky, when the afternoon sun begins to sink, turning the grassy hues a light orange and spreading shadows. Luckily, their clip lights illuminate enough ground to see what they’re doing, and even though the threat of daemons grows as night approaches, no one suggests they leave just yet.
They could always just go back to base and buy a new camera at the next city, of course, and really that’s what they should be doing instead of crawling through waist-high grass in the middle of nowhere when they could be sleeping.
But the thought of losing that camera hurts more than the bramble thorns that poke Noctis’ arms. It’s been with them for so long already, with Prompto since forever. There are hundreds of photos on it by now, from that shot of Noctis’ catch of the giant murk grouper, standing soaked in the lake holding the line, to that picture of them all posing in front of the Regalia at Hammerhead when they first began their journey an eternity ago.
There are casual candids of Ignis cooking after their camp has been set up, or action scenes of Gladio readying to attack a thunder bomb with a broad swing. Endless selfies of Prompto in every situation imaginable, a thousand more strictly dedicated to chocobos, and Noctis knows for a fact he himself has been a popular subject for a ton of shots. Probably, even, there’s a few snaps from their late high school days, ambling around campus after class or arms thrown over each other’s shoulders on graduation day.
Noctis doesn’t want to lose those pictures that tell of them, that visual scrapbook of their life. He’ll always have the memories—how could he ever forget—but having that physical evidence is invaluable, these solid, real reminders to hold on to. At any given time, Noctis can remember the spray of the ocean and the wind brush over his cap as he struggled with the line pulls of the grouper, the excitement and pride as he finally reels it in, just by seeing the picture taken in the moment. He can remember Prompto’s daring laugh just before the signal to start the chocobo race, the competitive exhilaration as he overtakes first place, or recall Ignis’ fond eyeroll during the Altissia carnival when Gladio got a moogle and a chocobo painted on each side of his face just for that reaction.
The camera probably means so much more to Prompto, though. Noctis can’t tell you how many times Prompto has wandered off or asked to stop and take a picture, from climbing up a sheer rocky cliff to catch the sunset to standing on Gladio's shoulders to peer over into a chocobo pen. It’s clear he adores his photography, and in turn his camera, considering how excited his actions and talk are about it all.
There are times Noctis has complained, but still followed Prompto to a lake in the hours of way-too-freaking-early when he asked because, "There’s a herd of Catoblepas’, how cool is that?! C’mon, Noct, this is a one-time photo opportunity!" There’s just something infectious about the cheer Prom holds that compels him to go along with whatever plan he thinks up on the fly.
Noctis’ also knows that no matter how much the others might sometimes quip about the photos, there are definitely signs that they also enjoy indulging those whims. During an easier battle, Gladio may show off a flashy move when he sees the camera readying its sights, just to give the shot more life. Ignis doesn’t appear affected by Prompto’s photo-taking habits, but he never denies a photo request unless there’s absolutely no time for one. When the moment strikes, nobody wants to back out of a shot.
Sometimes on restless nights, him and Prompto will click through the pictures, recounting memories and laughing at some of the more ridiculous shots. In each one, there’s something to remember:
A blurry picture of Prompto sprinting away from an entire hive of killer bees he accidentally shook up, followed by another shot of the sullen-faced blond picking stingers out of his arms.
An impromptu poker game in the tent, when everyone was losing, badly, to a smug, subtly-gloating Ignis counting his winnings.
Endless expanses of dry desert they’ve traversed, or the tall, magnificent waterfalls and elaborate structures of Altissia, or a myriad of strange glowing plants floating in an underground river during their search for a tomb.
There’s hanging out with Iris in Lestallum during the day, or Noctis and Prompto playing King’s Knight by campfire light at night, or the ongoing competition of how-many-objects-can-we-stack-on-Noctis-until-he-wakes-up at any other time—the photos are all a mixed bag, something for every occasion sprinkled in.
Noctis will always remember those big, grand moments, but those little yet no less important moments captured by the camera are the ones he might forget. So he wants to find the camera safe and sound just as much as the rest of them do.
Finally, right before the sun sets completely below the horizon, a shout of victory from one particularly weedy patch of wood has Noctis’ tripping over a root in his rush to find Prompto clutching a very familiar metal box in his hands. There are scratches scattered up the body and its heavily peppered with mud, but when Prompto presses the top button the camera whirs to life just as before. A bubble pops in Noctis’ chest, tension coiled in mind relaxing. Best-case scenario.
“And just where do you think you were hiding, buddy?” Prompto says to the camera, voice thick with relief. He smiles up at them, reverently holding the camera as if it’s more valuable and more precious than all the gold in the Lucian treasury. “Thank you, guys.”
“Of course, Prompto,” Ignis says, picking off a long sticky plant glued to his sleeve. “Although the next time something of this sort happens it would be prudent of you to provide some warning before racing off without a word.”
Noctis snorts. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that stunt took a year off my life. Don’t scare me like that again,” and punctuates his point with a shove. Prompto laughs, a little embarrassed but with an undercurrent of happy underneath.
“Haha, yeah, I’m sorry about that. It was just…yeah. Seriously, though, thanks.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Gladio grins. “Now let’s make it a plan to ditch this place before the daemons come running. I’m really not in the mood to face any more of those scraggly hellions today. That shower is long overdue.”
Agreement is unanimous, but before they move to leave Prompto turns the camera around, and everyone readily huddles in close for a group shot. Noctis gazes around to picture the image they make: sweaty, muddy, and overall a mess with grass stains on their clothes and dirt smudged under their nails, faces half illuminated in weird angles by flashlights and the sinking sun. He can feel a few stalks of grass that have wormed their way under his clothes poking his chest, and one of his boots is flooded from stepping in a deep puddle earlier. Not his best look, Noctis has to admit.
Ignis has a mud splotch on his nose, but tilts up to face the lens all the same as Gladio’s arms circle around them, his hair wild-looking and tangled. Prompto, with dirt smudges all up his neck and leaves stuck to his shoulders, has the brightest smile of them all, no need to be lit up by artificial light as he clicks the shutter.
It’s probably one of the most unflattering photos of them Noctis has ever seen in his life, but he could honestly care less. It’s perfect.
As they trudge back up the hill, bickering over who gets first shower privileges, Noctis brushes a few leaves off Prompto walking ahead, who’s checking every corner of the camera for any missed damage. And even though the day has been long and tiring, with the promise of an hour-long hike back to town while covered in 20 different kinds of muck looking more and more terrible by the second, the tangible joy radiating off Prompto is enough to make it all worth it.