[He watches X'rhun, and his lips press into a thin line as he hears the other say that he is a man worth trying to save. That he is not pitied, but rather viewed as something salvageable, as if there was anything still left in that dark mire that is himself.

He isn't sure what wells up first. Exasperation, frustration, anger? A prickling of regret, as sharp as broken glass, jutting up in the wreckage of it all? Hate, even -- hate directed at his circumstances, both of the past and now. Irritation at the naiveté being tossed his way, the push and pull of others not being able to understand, and Ardyn unwilling to fully explain.

He hates all of it. He hates that he lives in a universe where he cannot rest, where he must keep existing as this awful thing, he hates himself for being cursed in this way, he wishes he could turn back the hands of time and just crush Eos into nothing, even before Noctis was born. At least, then, something would have been accomplished. More than just wallowing in a world that wasn't his, suspended in an oppressive limbo, while everyone else moved on without him.]

Then you're a fool. All of you are.

[He thinks of Prompto, his implications about humanity and how he had called it ridiculous. It was ridiculous. It still is.]

There is nothing worth saving. The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be for you.