Inurement. That was what they called it. A fancy word for making you act the way they want you to act, to think the way they want you to think. A place where there was one phrase often repeated: “Everyone fights. At first.” Prompto couldn’t remember if he had fought or not—his first time to Inurement had been too long ago—but he remembered Arvid’s first time. How he had been returned to his dorm unconscious and woke screaming and shaking. Prompto had shoved a blanket into his mouth then to shut that up until he calmed down enough and promised to be quiet.

  Of his own Inurement, Prompto remembered little. It occurred regularly, though the time between varied. He remembered more images, sensations, words or phrases. There were needles, things being drawn out, blood, spinal fluid (that one had hurt*!), other things he hadn’t even recognised. And things being injected in, things that roared through his veins, things that burned, things that made him see red. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t. It was weakness, and they hated weakness. But he screamed.*

  Prompto started awake and instantly squeezed his eyes shut as pain washed over his body.

  “Easy, there,” an unfamiliar voice said, the tone gentle.

  Prompto’s eyes opened once more and then widened, seeing who had spoken. The Lucian prince was right there! He went to reach for his gun, but gasped when a burst of pain spread through his shoulder when he tried to move his arm.

  “Hey, easy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” the prince said again, his hands up placatingly. Much like he was talking to a terrified dog.

  Prompto said nothing, but instead allowed his training to kick in; his eyes swept around the room, taking everything in. He appeared to be inside a camper of some description. It was dark outside, so either he hadn’t been out very long, or he had been out for an exceptionally long time; he figured the former since if it had been the later his vision would have been blurred and he wouldn’t be able to think as clear. His armour had been removed and was sitting on the table nearby, but looked badly damaged; he was wearing only the long grey shirt and pants he wore under his armour. He didn’t know where his gun was. His head hurt, not with Inurement pain but as though it were injured. And his shoulder, gods his shoulder! He couldn’t move his left arm because of it and there was a very obvious depression in his shoulder. There was pain elsewhere, but he couldn’t tell if it was actually due to injury or if it was just referred pain. He was half-sitting, half-slouched in a worn out couch and there was an open doorway about three feet away from him. The table that held his armour also held various supplies for healing. The prince was seated nearby on another couch on the other side of the table, and through the window he could see the back of someone’s head, the bulky bodyguard perhaps? All of this, he observed in a matter of seconds.

  The prince stood then and pulled a glass from the cupboard, filling it up from the nearby tap. Prompto watched intently, unable to take his gaze away from the water. He was so thirsty! Despite this, he made no move to get his own water; his Inurement had taught him to withstand thirst, but it had never managed to teach him not to show just how thirsty he was.

  Instead of drinking it himself though, as Prompto thought he would, the prince held it out, offering it to him. “Specs said you were dehydrated, but you should still take it easy drinking this,” he said.

  Prompto hesitated only a moment before reaching out with his right hand to take the glass. He knew from experience how the stomach could rebel if he drank too much water too quickly after having none, so he took his time, sipping from the glass. It did occur to him that it could have been poisoned - he had no way to know what the water line was connected to - but then logic kicked in: if they had wanted to kill him, they could have just left him for the demons.

  “Ignis!” Prompto flinched at the sudden shout, unable to stop himself.

  “No need to shout, I’m right here,” another man said as he came up the stairs and through the doorway. His accent was unfamiliar—not surprising for Prompto, since he had barely been out of Niflheim—and he wore glasses in front of green eyes. Eyes that landed immediately on Prompto and seemed to soften. Prompto placed the now-empty glass on the table as the man spoke again. “I’m sorry, I had hoped you would still be unconscious while I relocated your shoulder.”

  “It’s fine,” Prompto said, voice quiet. He was unsure what to make of this new man’s, Ignis’s, words. He looked at the prince. Noctis was his name, he remembered. He had been briefed on their various fighting styles, he knew that the prince had a vast arsenal of weapons he could call upon and summon, he had seen that already. He had also been briefed on the big guy (who’s name he couldn’t remember) using a greatsword and a shield and the advisor, Ignis, being able to use daggers and a spear. And that all of them were able to use magic and summon and dismiss their weapons at will through their connection to the prince. But truthfully, that was all that he knew of them other than he was supposed to kill them.

  And now here he was, in their midst, seeming to be in the process of being rescued like some kind of damsel. He carefully made sure he felt nothing about that.

  -l-l-l-

  Noctis was watching the Nif boy, even as he was cautiously watching Ignis. He had begun to stir before they got back, which Ignis had assured him was a good sign. Something still seemed strange though, even now with him being awake. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as though he were afraid or at least nervous, but his face was completely impassive. Only his eyes gave any indication that he knew what was going on, darting around and seeming to take in everything.

  “Hey,” Noct said, getting the boy’s attention. “What’s your name?” he asked. Ignis had suggested talking to the boy if he was awake when he had to relocate his arm, to distract him. It would also allow them to detect any slurring of the speech that could indicate his head injury was worse than it appeared.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Prompto,” he said.

  Noct smiled. “Prompto,” he repeated. “Nice to meet you properly.”

  Prompto nodded, but all his attention was on Ignis, who had stepped up to him and lightly taken hold of his dislocated arm. He held it so his upper arm was against his chest and his forearm was held perpendicular to it, one hand on the wrist and one on the elbow.

  Ignis, noticing where Prompto’s focus was, and that he wasn’t interested in being distracted, opted for the ‘explain everything’ route instead. “I’m going to rotate your arm, then push it back into the socket. It will hurt, but just say so and I’ll pause,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine,” Prompto said, and it looked as though he believed it too, though his voice was husky again and he glanced briefly at the empty glass of water before turning his blue eyes back to Ignis.

  Noct, noticing this, pushed away from the counter he was leaning against and took the glass to refill again, letting Ignis do his thing. Ignis slowly began to rotate his arm outwards, pausing when he felt the expected resistance. “This is the worst part. Try to relax,” Ignis warned as Noct turned back to watch, putting the glass of water on the table.

  Prompto didn’t seem concerned with that at all, however, giving a nod to Ignis and watching him closely. Ignis pushed and Noct winced as he actually heard the joint slip back into place. Prompto though, didn’t do anything more than blink. That was… confusing. Once, while Noct was learning how to warp, he had stuffed a landing and fallen badly, dislocating his own shoulder. The royal family’s doctor had relocated it for him and he had screamed. Granted, he was younger, about fourteen at the time, but he still clearly remembered how much it had hurt.

  “Noct,” Ignis said, snapping him out of it. He had already maneuvered the arm so that it was resting against Prompto’s chest, left wrist by his right shoulder. “The bandage.”

  “Right, sorry,” Noct said, grabbing it from the table and handing it over.

  “Hold your arm there?” Ignis requested of Prompto and he did so, using his right arm to hold his left in place. Ignis used the bandage to make a sling and essentially tie the arm to his chest. He then took a potion from the supplies and handed it over. “Take this, then you can have some water and sleep. It looks as though you need it,” he said.

  “You sure?” Prompto asked, holding the potion but hesitating in drinking it.

  Ignis smiled. “Of course. I think being trampled by an Asherhorn is reason enough to use a potion.”

  “So that’s what happened,” Prompto muttered, looking away and appeared to be thinking as he swallowed the potion in a single gulp, putting the vial back on the table.

  “You don’t remember?” Noct asked.

  Prompto turned his attention back to the prince and shook his head. Noct hadn’t noticed before, but now that the potion was working, he saw that there had been a tightness, almost squinting around Prompto’s eyes that had now relaxed; it seemed he was feeling the pain after all.

  Prompto reached out to the water but then hesitated, looking to Noctis with a raised questioning eyebrow. Noct waved his arm, gesturing that he should drink it; it irritated him that he needed to confirm something so simple, but he tried not to let that show. Prompto took it, drank some, then said, “I vaguely remember seeing the Asherhorns, and them noticing me, but not much after that. I was just trying to get to the town with the lights. To get more water.” He took another sip.

  Ignis reached forward and gently moved aside Prompto’s hair once more, to check on the head wound. He had cleaned the wound when they arrived back at Hammerhead but it hadn’t looked too bad then, not enough to cause significant memory loss. It hadn’t changed since then, no swelling and no more bleeding.

  “Probably the dehydration,” Ignis said, stepping back once more.

  Prompto just nodded and finished off the water. He looked between Ignis and Noct, his gaze flicking back and forth, before finally asking, “Why are you-” he broke off suddenly, wincing in pain. Noct frowned and was about to ask what was wrong (the potion should have been working), when the Nif took a deep breath and, with teeth gritted, continued. “Why are you doing this? What is it you want from me?” His face went blank after the question was asked.

  Ignis turned to Noct, letting him answer, and he did so as though he hadn’t noticed the expression change. “I wasn’t about to leave you to die out there, I’m not heartless,” he said. “Despite being a Nif, you clearly have no interest in killing me, so we’re good.”

  “Those are my orders,” Prompto said quietly.

  “What, to kill me?”

  A nod.

  “Well then, I’m glad you’ve been disobeying those orders,” Noct said with a grin. The corner of Prompto’s mouth twitched in an almost-smile and Noct considered that a win. “Why did you, anyway? Fight the beasts and not us, I mean.”

  Prompto averted his eyes at that question. He opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again with another wince, followed by that same blank expression. Noct and Ignis exchanged a look. That was not normal. “I don’t know,” was all Prompto eventually said.

  “Huh. Well… thanks anyway,” Noct said, summoning a small smile. “I’m just gonna… go for a walk,” he said. He didn’t know what was going on, but figured he would let Iggy handle it; he was the one who had medical training, after all.

  -l-l-l-

  Prompto watched as the prince stepped out of the caravan, then turned his attention back to Ignis. The man was watching him in turn and appeared to be considering his words carefully.

  Eventually, he said, “How are you feeling now? Any pain?”

  Prompto shook his head. He reported as he had so often in the past. “The potion is working. There is residual pain in my shoulder, head, ribs and right leg, but not enough to suggest serious injury.”

  Ignis watched him for a few seconds, but then said only, “Noct has convinced Cindy not to kill you on sight, but nonetheless, you should stay here and rest some more. The bed is free, should you wish to use it, and I’ll be nearby. Just call out if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” Prompto said. He rose his right fist to his chest and bowed slightly; it looked somewhat ridiculous in his current state, still sitting and with his left arm bound to his chest, but it still seemed like the right thing to do. Ignis, for his part, smiled and gave a nod, before turning to the kitchen and pulling out some ingredients to cook with, leaving Prompto to make his own way to the bed. He took his time moving to the edge of the couch. He hadn’t lied earlier when he explained how he felt; the potion had dulled most of his pain and he didn’t think anything else was broken. If he really had been trampled by an Asherhorn, his armour had probably saved his life.

  Prompto stood, then was forced to grab the back of the couch as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

  “You alright?” Ignis asked, seeing him stumble from the corner of his eye.

  “Yeah,” Prompto said. “Just dizzy with the movement.”

  “Any nausea?”

  Prompt smiled at the concern in Ignis’s voice; he really did seem to care, though Prompto couldn’t work out why he would give a damn about a Nif soldier. “Some,” he replied. “But only a little. It’s not the first concussion I’ve had; I’ll be fine to sleep.”

  “Alright, but I’ll be waking you in an hour to check on you,” Ignis said. Prompto nodded and started moving towards the bed, but paused when Ignis spoke again. “And to have a shower.”

  He didn’t bother replying, but he did smile, content to lay in the bed on top of the covers. He was asleep nearly as soon as he hit the pillow.