[Unburdening all of that should have been a weight lifted, but Markus feels no different. Feels all wound up, tighter in his chest and throat, and he swallows against what his human body involuntarily dictates. Glances briefly, uselessly, at Noctis’ discarded meal, pushed away and unwanted.

And then he listens. Hears Noctis speak of a ruined home, one that sounds like he was forcefully departed from. Invasion. War.

He remembers what the other declared his role to be, the day he had newly arrived. A guard, and it would make sense to see the steel in his eyes now, wrought by determination and duty. And yet there’s something else there, something that reflects in Markus’ own core, though he can’t pinpoint exactly why.]

Of course we’re both going to see it through to the end. Without a shadow of a doubt.

[It almost doesn’t need to be said. Something unwinds in him. In the... sameness, that unexpected solidarity, coming from Noctis.]

You sound a little like a leader yourself, you know. You give advice like one.

[Tinged with awkwardness, maybe, but time often sheds that much without issue.]