The drive back toward the crown city was a grim contrast to the sunny trip down.
The Road Runner took the lead, its heavy-duty tires churning through the dirt paths as Theodore bypassed the main roads where Imperial blockades were already starting to form.
In the rearview mirror, Theodore could see the Regalia following closely.
The air grew heavy with the smell of ozone and burnt magic.
As they crested the final hill overlooking the Insomnia border, the group ground to a halt.
Below them lay the remains of the Citadel. The "impenetrable" Wall was gone.
In its place was a jagged horizon of smoke and the hulking silhouettes of Niflheim diamond-shaped dropships hovering like vultures over the ruins.
Noctis scrambled out of the car, his knees nearly buckling.
The rain began to fall—a cold, miserable drizzle that mirrored the mood.
"It's... it's all gone,"
Prompto whispered, his camera hanging forgotten around his neck.
Theodore stepped out of the Road Runner, his mind processing the sheer scale of the magical fallout.
'It's much more depressing than I saw on screen…'
He could feel the residual heat of the Old Wall's destruction. Beside him, 2B and 9S stood like twin sentinels.
"9S, give me a sweep,"
Theodore commanded quietly.
9S's eyes pulsed with a dim blue light.
"Imperial comms are everywhere, Theodore. They're hunting for survivors. Specifically, they're looking for the 'Highborn.' The Magitek presence is dense—about ten times higher than the baseline data I had for this region."
The silence was broken by the mechanical whine of a dropship engine.
From the clouds above, a Niflheim transport plummeted toward their position on the ridge.
"Imperial dropship!"
Ignis shouted, drawing his daggers.
"Get down!"
The hatch hissed open before the ship even touched the ground, and a squad of Magitek Troopers—lifeless, armored husks—leaped out, their red optical sensors locking onto the Prince.
"Move!"
Gladiolus roared, summoning his greatsword.
Theodore didn't hesitate.
"9S, 2B! Full combat protocols! Protect the Prince!"
Theodore activated Wind Walk and Giant Strength simultaneously. He didn't use a weapon.
He charged the lead trooper, his mana-infused palm striking the center of its chest plate.
The metal buckled inward with a sickening crunch, and the mechanical soldier was sent flying back into the dropship's landing gear.
9S held out his hand toward the dropship itself.
"Tapping into their localized network... Now!"
A pulse of energy shot out. The dropship's turret, which was spinning to face Noctis, suddenly seized.
It turned and fired a burst of machine-gun fire into its own squad of troopers.
2B was a blur of black and white.
She moved through the troopers like a ghost, her custom blade severing hydraulic lines and power cores with surgical precision.
She wasn't just fighting; she was dismantling.
Noctis, fueled by a mixture of grief and rage, warped into the fray, his Engine Blade flashing. Between the Prince's royal magic and Theodore's team, the squad was turned into scrap metal in seconds.
As the last trooper fell, Theodore stood over the wreckage, his Mana Recovery already humming to life to refill his tank.
He looked at Noctis, who was staring at the burning city with a new, cold resolve.
"My father..."
Noctis rasped.
"The treaty... it was all a lie."
"It was,"
Theodore said, walking over to the Prince.
He put a hand on Noctis's shoulder—not as a fan, but as a peer.
"But you're still breathing. That means the Empire failed the most important part of their mission."
Theodore reached into the Road Runner and pulled out a map.
"9S picked up a transmission. Cor Leonis, the Marshal, is still alive. He's waiting at a tomb nearby. If you want to take your city back, you're going to need more than that sword, Noct. You're going to need the power of your ancestors."
Noctis looked at the map, then at Theodore, 2B, and 9S. He realized then that these "travelers" weren't just lucky encounters.
"Let's go,"
Noctis said, his voice hardening.
"Lead the way."