When Gladiolus’s voice cut through the room the graying man jerked as though he’d been shot. His large frame was frozen a moment as emotions and thoughts ripped through his mind and heart like a hurricane. If this were the afterlife then Gladiolus shouldn’t be here. He’d been sent away with Prince Noctis, and Ignis, and the prince’s enthusiastic friend. He was supposed to be safe, away from Insomnia and the worst of foreseeable events. If this place were truly the afterlife, Gladiolus had been claimed too soon, and it shattered Clarus’s heart like a bullet exploding through glass.

He turned slowly away from the random innocent he’d approached, collecting himself behind his usual calm mask to address his son, his heart beating wildly beneath his ribs. His son, his pride, was here. And the poor boy looked as put off as he did. They were warriors plucked from their battlefield by whatever force of gods and nature. They were lost together.

“Gladiolus...” he regarded his son with veiled sorrow in his eyes. “It seems I am not only among strangers here.” Sad as he was to think of his son’s fate, Clarus couldn’t help but feel relief at seeing him, and he stepped forward to embrace him tightly.