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 Regis Lucis Caelum, Final Fantasy XV || Peri
Race: Human
Age: Fifty
Job: Councilman
Series: Final Fantasy XV
OOC: Peri - Pacific Standard Time - Offline

  • Full Name King Regis Lucis Caelum CXVIII
  • Race Human
  • Age Fifty
  • Gender Male
  • Orientation Heterosexual
  • Occupation Councilman of the Docere District
  • Deity (Member Group) Invictus
  • Series Name Final Fantasy XV
  • Canon Point Shortly following his death.
Heart of stone, will of steel, a King always pushes onward. Every decision is made with conviction, putting honor above greater vices such as selfishness and greed. Holding onto their vision for the future while accepting every consequence, wearing responsibility as a mantle to remind them of all the promises they are to fulfill. Never bowing out of what they begin, seeing every choice and mistake through to the bitter end. The crown is their right, but it is a King who proves that his head is fit to carry it. For those who are born with the blood royal, from birth they are expected to walk tall with their head held high.

Lucis. From birth it belonged to you, the kingdom a part of your lineage that stretched on into the annals of time. Sworn protectors of the crystal, a line of warrior Kings and Queens who fought in an endless tide of war in an attempt to bring peace, offering up their lives for the benefit of all the light touches. Giving themselves willingly into the void, facing death without fear if it kept the sanctity of their realm intact. In the eyes of the Six, it was the line of your father and all that came before him which would carry the torch of hope for future generations.

You were still a boy, full of questions and fiery pride while traversing through the Citadel. The home you loved so dearly, clinging to your father's hand, leading you through its maze of great halls. Surrounded by stewards and retainers, their political words and complicated tongues never quite reaching your ears. They existed in an entirely different world; the cold, harsh realm of reality, while your mind was lost in a long, complicated quest of fantasy. It was a work of art, so rich in history and so deeply connected to you. Full rooms feeling like mausoleums, chambers kept to preserve the majesty of the blood that pumped through your tiny veins. But it was the great murals that always captivated you, images depicting epic battles—pictures of the First Kings fighting alongside Gods, their cataclysmic struggle scarring the world for all of eternity.

A tapestry of tales that your father read to you at your bedside, bringing scenes to life in the back of your wild imagination. It made you feel as if you lived in a dream, your castle the world with your history clashing in the heavens above. As you stared up into the scenes playing out in vivid detail across the ceilings, there was one painting which always spoke to you. One that took your breath away, your chest and fingers heavy as you grip tightened. “Father,” you almost scared yourself with how loudly your voice echoed over all others in the grand chamber. His eyes turned down to you, gentle yet questioning as you motioned upward, a spark of excitement on your face, “Will that be me? Will I be the Chosen King?”

Surrounded by the Six, chosen to be the bearer of the crystal's light. A hero that would save the world. Wasn't that what all Kings of Lucis aspired to be?

It haunted you, the way that his demeanor shifted. The vacant expression, his eyes tunneling to some far off place, somewhere where you were sure he could no longer see you. When he spoke, it was like thunder on your ears and you did not know why it hurt you so deeply, at least not then, “If the crystal sees it so.”

Yet the crystal did not. That was neither your calling nor your purpose in this world, a truth that seemed to bring your father great comfort while war loomed on the horizon.

When the Empire brings the great fires of war to Lucis, you've aged but still you hold onto far too many ideals. You have a hunger to prove yourself in your father's eyes, an oath and willingness to protect your people which extended beyond duty alone. Confident in your abilities—perhaps a bit too cocksure at times—you're thankful that you're never alone. In your allies you find brothers. Clarus Amicitia, Weskham Armaugh, Cid Sophair... and of course, the youngest and most fierce among your retinue: Cor Leonis. Magitek forces and daemons seem like nothing when the five of you are caught in the middle of their rank and file, cutting and gunning them down to size.

Battle shapes each and every one of you, making you harder but no matter how much blood or how many tears are shed, it never manages to tear you apart. Their friendship picks you up as much as it grounds you, the one constant that only seems to grow stronger with each passing day. A bond that transcends blood, a loyalty that is unwavering. They are always there. Not standing behind you, instead forever walking at your side. Stepping in the same footprints that you all leave together in the flurries of ash and dust. As one you stray into the darkness to catch a glimpse of the dawn.

Falling into the trenches more times than you can count, where would you be if they were not there to cover you? Where would they be without your quick wit and silver tongue? Without Weskham's cunning, Cor's foul mouth, Clarus' brute strength... and of course Cid's mechanical ability. The poor Regalia, the car that was gifted to you so lovingly on your sixteenth birthday, smashed up more times than you could count because of the recklessness of your adventures. More often than not with you behind the wheel.

Those were days you wouldn't give up for the world, memories of the springtime of life where youth and spitfire pulled you along for the ride. Even in the midst of war, with the Empire breathing down your neck. When the sky was filled with smoke and screams funneled in through your ears, artillery and gunfire raining down on a thousand of your father's greatest soldiers as you lead the charge. If it were to end in flames, then you vowed that you would all burn together. Yet somehow you always managed to pull through, raising your glasses high to victory and laughing long into the night.

But all of the might of your kingdom couldn't keep them held back, you watched more than enough good men die while your father—your King—called for Lucis to retreat. Armies folded and so did the Wall at your back, the great barrier which kept your lands and all of the fearful souls in it safe from the invasion. How much it hurt you, knowing that they were being sacrificed so that your home, the Crown City of Insomnia, would be spared... How unjust and cowardly it seemed to leave them sitting and vulnerable against the terrors that you had seen.

Duty never hit you quite so hard until then. The day you and your brothers finally returned to Insomnia and the Citadel to meet your father's stern gaze. 'Fore it was the King's life force which protected the realm of your family, your father's vitality borrowed unto the crystal to maintain peace. You had words to spit at him. Harsh, hot-headed accusations that you thought justified—because you were not the boy you once were, you had been to war. You had seen what the Empire was capable of. Except, all of that was sucked from you like oxygen from a dying flame. Hit with all of the force of a fist as you instead came face-to-face with a withered and aged man. Your father, the King, wrinkled and looking as though he had grown pale and wilted. The healthy color of his blue eyes all but gone, faded into an ashen grey, looking as though they were slowly collecting dust on a body that was already rotting away.

He passed the ring to you and its weight dropped like a brick in the pit of your stomach. Hands shaking, you realized why your father had called you home. Why he had done the only thing imaginable, playing the single piece that he had left available. He had reached the end, and it was his dying wish to see you again. Safe and sound.

When King Mors passed, you and your brothers gathered in the great throne room. You feel the loss and you mourn just as you started this journey—together. Suddenly, you were just a boy again, so small as you wandered the massive halls of your home. Responsibility now bound to you as it sat betwixt your fingers, vowing that you would never let your father or your people down. You took his place, knowing full and well the fate that would meet you years from now. For your people. For your friends. What price wouldn't you pay?

For once in all of your short years dreaming, believing, and fighting, time slows and life is not far behind to catch up. On the day of your coronation and all those that follow, they are all still there at your side. They too are growing older—becoming fathers with children of their own and you look upon them for guidance. Never have you leaned on them so greatly, depending on them now as all of the decisions fell to you. A reliance that you felt unfair after all of the loyalty they had showed you, even when you knew you'd never hear the end of their bickering if you'd only told them your true feelings. Surely their new families, their sons needed them more.

That was when it was your turn. Aulea, the tomboy girl who snuck away with you to play in the garden as children. She had eyes so blue that you once told her that the sky only set because she made it blush with jealousy. Maybe it was always meant to be, the two of you, husband and wife. So much of your life destined and written on pages that were kept from your wandering eyes. Thoughts became consumed by her even when you still fought shoulder-to-shoulder in your father's war. She need not lift a finger to make your heart race and that was when you knew that it had always been promised to her. When you were both ready, you took her by the hand and brought her into your world. With insurmountable grace she accepted all of your burdens alongside you, she willingly accepted the weight and she carried it unlike any other you had seen. By the Six, you loved her. Admiring her strength, her compassion, and how she handled herself with such confidence that it was the rest of the world that needed to take heed. Your queen, you promised that for as many years as you had together, you would bring her happiness.

When she says she's expecting, you are a bundle of nerves. With anxiety beading its way through your voice, you're calling Clarus and asking him a million questions. What does it mean when the baby is too fussy? When it's too quiet? What to do when the day finally arrives and you are expected to meet this new human being that you've brought into this world? Suddenly everything was spinning and you wished you had paid closer attention. That you had more time to prepare. You wanted the impossible to happen overnight; praying to the Gods that fatherhood would come easier than kingship though you knew that it would be far harder. That nothing would ever be so difficult, because already you wanted to give this child—your child—everything.

The first signs of labor send you into a downward spiral and rushing Aulea to the hospital was a blur. You swear you do not remember it, how the Regalia managed to end up in the state of ill repair, or the screaming that Cor had to endure at your expense. You just knew that nothing would stand in the way, not even the Flamebearer or any of the countless overpasses in Insomnia, of delivering your wife to that hospital bed. To that room which oddly enough comes to you in vivid detail, even years after, because it was the first time that you were able to hold him. Quivering, nervous, terrified. You wanted nothing more than to welcome him with steady arms but every ounce of composure shattered and flaked away.

What was love until that moment? You thought you understood it—passion, adoration, a light-headed heat that overtook you and made you act out of character. But when that single cry filled your ears, it blocked out all sound. It rang straight through you as you took the bundle into your arms. So small and so defenseless but warm and somehow an immeasurable part of you. Crying. He cried and your heart shuddered, testing the true limits of all of your courage and strength. Staring down into his newborn face, the world was not wide enough. It was not safe enough and you feared that it never would be. Even if one could travel to the very lengths and edges of all of Eos, there was nothing that would prevent you from silencing his cries and drying his tears. Your son.

Noctis Lucis Caelum.

He brought out the best in you, molding you steadily into the King and the father that he deserved. There was nothing you would not do to shape his future, to do him justice by assuring he never had to live in fear of what the next day would bring. It was a father's duty, a father's pride to always do what was in the best interest of his child. To carefully provide him with everything that he needed so that he could take on the anything, living in gentle but unhurried anticipation of what that would mean for the rest of the world. Offering everything, paving a path for them, preparing to forfeit your entire life to prepare them for the moment when they would outgrow your wisdom.

Perhaps it was merciful that Noctis was still so young when sickness swept over Aulea. When she became bed-ridden, beside herself that she could no longer hold your son and comfort him in the warmth of her arms. She went in her sleep, peacefully, without pain. Though it tore you up inside, taking a piece of you with her, you continued on if only because of what she left behind. Each time you looked into his young face, you saw a spark of her still alive and healthy. Her gift not only to you, but also all of Eos. For what felt like months after her death, it seemed that Noctis cried whenever you held him. It scared you that you caught yourself weeping with him, that you knew not how to drown out the agony that you shared. That you couldn't keep your promise.

They say that time heals all wounds, yet you knew that was one that would never close. No matter how many years passed, nothing would bring your dearly beloved back into your life and no amount of scarred tissue could ever fill the void left in her absence. At the very least, it could bring idle comfort watching Noctis grow under your watchful eye. Your saving grace... at least until...

The crystal made its choice. Against all pleas and all understanding, it found in Noctis what it never saw in you. It shed a beam of its light over your son and you broke. The floor collapsed from beneath your feet, your lungs devoid of air. Suddenly every last strand of all that you cared for went slipping through your fingers, grasping at strings that only flittered and disappeared. Spinnerets of hope dying out before your very eyes.

T̮͔̬͟h̗͎̰̘e ̱̮̦́c͈͕͝ḥ̥͈̯͙o̩̙͈͙̠̙͞s̮̹̗̫e͖̗͇͓̞͜n̨̞̖ ̡̜̟͖͖ͅk̩̝̜i̠̥̘̖̙̣͍n̙̯͠g͔̭̺͕͘ ̼͚̫h͈̥̠̣͓̲a͙̝̖͝sͅ ̺̠͓̰̕b҉̠ee͏̝̮n̫͖͙̱̜ͅͅ ̤̖̰̟̱ͅo̮̘͠r̜d͓̙̥̟̦͜a̭̖͕͓͇̼ͅi̡n͔̠e͉͈͕̺̪̘̜d͍͕͜ ̵̪̖͓̰̹̤̘ḇ͕̗y҉͈̠̳̼̙ ͉͙̟̥̲t̰̝̹͉̖͖h̜͖̼̙͔̗͢e͓͜ c͏̮̘̼̲r̜͜y̝̺̙̱͙s͓͎͝t̻͚̖̗a̷͍l̘͉


H͓͎͔͈̳̻̪ḙ͇͈̯̳͖ ̢̬̼w̲̲͍̙͔͈̥͡h͏̳i̟͖c̬̪͉͇h̻͔̺̰̝̗̭ ̺͍̗͎̫w̠̠̰̻̭̣̬i͏͎̙̥l̨̖l̢͖͓͉̝̳̺ ̢͕f̬̰͖͉u̙̫l͎͚̟f̸̟͔̲͍̹̺̳i͕̝̦͜l̰̯̩̩͟l͚̝͖̱̱ ̘̹t̫̱ͅh̡e̵͈̯̬̹̜͍ ҉͇͖p̹͔̲̺͍r͓̞̪͕͇̀op̦̳̺̙̲h͍e̶̦c͍̗̞͡y͖̬̤̩̦̙ ̫̼͞a̷͍̠̱̮̲̭̙n͚̲̲̮̝̦d̝͖̝̘͙̠̣ ͉̯̜͡b͟r͖̪̖̖͍i͎͚͉ͅng͉̥͉̗̙̹͞ ̣͓͎̥̺̖l͇̪i̢͈g̟̲͓h̤̠͔͉̦̥ţ͎͉͍͚̗̣͓ b͕̗̺͙̝͓a̢͇͍̫̖̣͇ͅc̳̞̗̻̥͕k̟̩͖̣͜ͅ ̺̱͎͚̤t̳̹̥̞̮o̹̠͓͚̺͉ t̪̟ḩe̲̝͇ ͉͎̻̜ͅS̻͕̰̼͔̱t̡̩̹̣̖̜̭̦a̱̦r̘̩̦̀

It couldn't be. They were wrong.

I͕͚n̪̯̲͓͍͇͝ ̞͍̺̣̠̮ͅd͠o̗͉͖͟i͎̪̮ng̶̟ ̖ș̮̲̳͝o̥,̸͉͇̼̙̗̻ ̣͉̙̮͇h̯̻͝ͅe͚̹͔͓̫͍͎͟ ̣̲͓͓ẉ̦̱̲͓͍i͍l̟̖̠̝̗̭͙̕ļ͇͚̫̝͍͍͉ ̰̟̖͎͉̠s̠̺̹̖͓a̳͍̪̖c͉̙̗̦̼̙r͔͇͙͖̝͖͡i̪̰͠f̭͍̮̲̲̝͕i̷̞̼c̭̜̼͎ḛ̲ ̷͉̟͔ͅo̼̬͔ͅn͍̳̼͓͙e̳̟̭̮͍͓̱ ̛̞̩t̡̟̘̜̬̦̘͚h̀i͞ṇ̣̦̮g̵̥.̮̬̭.͉͇.̡̰̯̱͓͓

Anything but that. Strip away your flesh from your bones, let it be you. You would not stand to hear the whispers that filled the room, disembodied voices that only you could hear. Terrorizing you, sending fragile webs spreading through your mind as you dared rise up in protest, “How many lives must you take until you are satisfied?” It formed in a growl, spiteful and angry while your gaze bore into the crystal's dark heart. Suddenly, there was a rush of pain that steadily built within your temples, your joints aching as you felt the reply in every cell of your body: O͖̞̮n̩̰̩̩̰̭̥͢l̞̺͖͈͙̗͝y̷͕̲͙̝̜ o̗̙̜̤̗͕͜n̰̫͚̻ȩ̯̘͇.̮

On that day you collapsed onto the grass, knees slapping against the ground and feeling only emptiness in place of pain. Hollow. You felt so hollow. As if reality steadily came closing in, the heavens and the world still moving around you though your entire universe was put on hold. Even the breath of the wind felt sad and lonesome as it toyed through your hair, the cold crawling its way slowly into your bones. The gravestone marked with her name, so lovingly tended to and so religiously visited called out to you while the letters tickled beneath your fingertips. Slowly, the brittle edges of your spirit started to crumble away. Withering, dying. “Aulea... It's our son.” Never before had you sounded so broken, so defeated as you bowed your head. “He is the One True King.” The sobs that wracked your shoulders were swallowed in the churning void storming within your chest. Consumed by the silence of the courtyard which grew deafening as it crashed down on you, your muted cries steadily strangling you for air.

All that you could do was imagine her face, praying for the mercy in her touch and the strength she always kept locked within her limitless blue eyes. Somewhere you knew her heart was shattering alongside your own, yet still you selfishly wished to see her smile, reaching out desperately so that she could lead you in her gentle hand. So that she might show you a path that would clear the fog from your eyes. The world wasn't wide enough to save him from the fate that he now carried, hovering over his bright future and eclipsing it in shadow.

So young, so innocent. His future and happiness stolen from him before he even understood the true meaning of the words. As a King it should bring you the highest honor, that it was your son who would go on to save not only your kingdom, but your world. That he would deliver the promise of true salvation to so many. Yet as the crown weighed heavy over your eyelids, as a father you felt powerless. How could you fulfill your single most duty and protect him? How could you lessen the burden if you were not chosen to carry it?

When you climbed out of the Regalia, Noctis slept curled against your chest. Tiny eyes closed in deep slumber, unware of the walls that steadily closed in all around him. Clouds gathered overhead, building like the shades of gray that filled your chest. Where was the light now? That question hung on the fringes of your conscious, so bitter and cold as you felt tears steadily well up behind tired green eyes. You held Noctis closer, tipping your head close to his ear as you whispered the words: I will always be beside you.

Time came to pass, slipping away so quickly and only proving to you all the more how precious life was. All of the things that came to pass, hurdles in the path that you chose to follow. Odd how it was your father's voice that you followed in those days to come; all of the lectures of what it meant to be a King. Of never looking back, only forward. A true King does not lose his conviction, he accepts the consequences and holds his spine straight and steady. He makes decisions not for himself but for all.

Everything seemed to be against him. Noctis was injured and you brought him to Tenebrae to recover, only for the Empire to attempt to steal him away. You grabbed him and left it all behind as their MT's and guns set fire to the sylleblossoms, fleeing with steel in your chest. You knew they would hate you, and for everything you turned a blind eye to you deserved their ire. But Noctis was the chosen one, and all along you knew that it wasn't just your stubborn will as a father. It was the hope of the world, which made every decision come so easily to you from that point onward. So long as you could protect your son, you too safeguarded Eos' future. Even if it meant your end—the end of the Kings of Lucis—you would see it be done.

You tailored everything but you did it with the best intentions at heart. Surrounding him with those that you trusted beyond all measure, just like the brothers you had in your youth. Carrying it in your highest hopes that when the day came, they too would stand beside Noctis and see him to the end of his own journey. Because although it was a father's greatest honor to arm their child with all of the tools and weapons they needed, they could never fight their battles for them. And you were not as spry as you used to be...

The ring was growing heavy, feeling like a shackle that steadily squeezed away the days that you had left. Locks of hair became silver, your leg started to break down like a faulty piece of machinery, and walking the great halls in the Citadel sometimes left you winded and pale. Even still, the Wall stood. At least for now, though you knew not how much longer.

Maybe it was because you remembered how your father looked when the crystal had drained him, how he sounded when he saw you home and safe. Maybe it was because you knew that Insomnia would not be the haven that it had been for all these years for long. It would fall with you, and you knew that Noctis could not be there when that moment came to pass. Maybe that was why you sent him away. Why you chose him over the thousands of lives in your Crown City, once again weighing the greater good in the fine balance at the back of your mind. Yet you knew it was your one selfish act, watching him go with Ignis, Gladiolus, and Prompto.

You stood there at the top of the steps when your dear friend joined your side, a deep sigh escaping Clarus' chest while the two of you watched the Regalia speed off into the distance.

“Remind you of something?” He asked, nostalgia in his voice. “Indeed, it does...” You chuckled, eyes growing distant while your hand clutched more tightly against the head of your cane. Using it to balance your tired body, willing yourself to stand when standing was half the battle.

“Hope the old girl can keep it together and that they never let your son behind the wheel,” your Shield grumbled and you couldn't help but grin wrly, “After all we've put her through, she is more than capable.” Both of you exchanged a knowing look when he slapped you on the shoulder, hands still as strong as vices, “Worried, my King?” Offering a sagely shake of your head, you retorted, “No, Clarus. Though many perils will face them on the long road, should they stand as one they will conquer whatsoever strays in their path.” Again you turned to the horizon, allowing your brother's words to bring new clarity to the whirlwind of emotion swarming the corners of your soul: “If you say so... we were not so different at their age.” Suddenly, you were at peace, exhaling deeply, “We were invincible once. But they are even stronger.” And you could never be more proud.

Walk tall, my son. 'For I will forever be by your side.

Weapons & Abilities

Also known as the Power of Kings, it is every King of Lucis' right to harness the power of the Armiger. Calling upon the blessings of the Kings of past Lucis, Regis can unlock the power to summon fourth the sacred heraldic royal arms. Appearing in a circle around his form, each weapon will materialize in its spectral form, capable to be used in a flurry of blows. The Armiger is something that he is particularly adept at summoning fourth, often caught using the spectral glaves of his ancestors much more often or entirely in place of his own sword as his health has declined.

A form of magic granted only to the royal line of the Lucii, warping allows for the wielder of a given weapon to blink rapidly from one point to another. By throwing his weapon, Regis can warp and be transported to its new location. It is a skill that required much training—as it is often described as incredibly disorienting—yet he mastered it quiet efficiently during his youth.

The Sword of the Father
A mid-length sword which holds great significance as one of the Royal Arms of the Kings of Lucis, the Sword of the Father is the glave that Regis always hoped to entrust to Noctis upon his passing. It shimmers with a beautiful silver hue, the tapering blade decorated with intricately folded plated gold. The hilt curves outward on either side, on the left rests the wings of Bahamut, while on the right it boasts a large hand-guard which can be used to block and parry incoming attacks. Truly a regal blade, cherished across countless generations, and wielded only in protection of the royal bloodline.

Taught and trained by the very best tutors that the Crown City had to offer (namely his appointed shield, Clarus Amicitia), Regis was molded into a sound swordsman from a young age. Quick on his feet, balanced, precise—if not at one point a bit full of himself and his abilities—he could definitely stand with even his strongest retainers. No stranger to a good quarrel, and certainly never shying away from an adventure or two, Regis has both skill and experience on his side. Even without the use of Armiger or his ability to warp, he can definitely hold his ground in a fight.

Through the King's power, Regis can siphon the untapped power of the elements from raw nodes and channel them into flasks for safe keeping. Coalescing the essences of fire, ice, and lightning, the stored energy can then be unleashed in the form of devastating spells. A sorcerer as well as a swordsman, he has great mastery over not only creating new classes of elemental flasks but also channeling them in their rawest forms. Freezing opponents in place, incinerating them in a burst of flame, or summoning fourth an electrical storm are all not beyond his abilities. It's a skill that he's come to rely on more and more in his old age as mobility has become an issue, though even his magic is not as potent as it once was. But where he lacks in the punch, he makes up for in control, wielding magic masterfully so as to deal the highest amount of damage while also sparing allies from its harmful backlash. Channeling the power of Kings, he can also cast “protect” which constructs a magical barrier around a given area. These barriers may absorb both magical or physical damage, but can only be sustained for brief periods of time and are not indestructible.

A man with a kind heart and a strong will, he is a King who has spent many years forging peace for his subjects. Though he is a man of action, he believes that diplomacy is the path in which a wise and prudent man walks. No stranger to political drabble or affairs, he keeps his cool even when under duress and knows how to twist words as a balm or a weapon.

Weaknesses & Flaws

Drained Lifeforce
For years Regis commanded the power of the crystal with the Ring of the Luci as its focus. It was with the ring that he was able to fulfill his role like many Kings of Lucis before him, keeping the Wall alive in protection of the great crown city of Insomnia. He did so willingly even knowing that it came with a price; giving up his own vitality and lifeforce so that his people would know the sensation of lasting peace. As the years wore on, his ability to hold the Wall and maintain its power waned. His hair turned silver, his skin wrinkled and withered as his body slowly started to fail him. No longer was he the fighter that he always had been, his right leg growing weak and crippled to the point where he walks with an astounding limp. He is a man who in many ways gave everything he had for his people, and though he has ailed he keeps his dignity as a King.

Though a King of high renown, Regis is a human being who is absolutely mortal. The effects of the Ring of the Luci on his body are evidence enough that despite how history or memory may immortalize him, he is little more than a man made of flesh and blood. He can wither, age, and die. As a matter of fact he's perished before in his prior life.

His one and only child – the ultimate gift to his world, Noctis is Regis' greatest weakness. If Lucis is his kingdom, then Noctis is the brightest star in his sky, the light which always points true north. His love for his son is profound, though when the crystal chose Noctis as the One True King, he could not help but look on him somberly. Knowing the fate that awaited him, Regis' universe shattered in an instant. He mourned the life that Noctis would need to live, and the strength that he required in order to carry out his destiny. It was for this reason that he distanced himself, always looking forward and laying the path in the benefit of the world. For when the time came, he knew that the light would return to Eos because the chosen King – his son – would not falter.

Heavy is the head that carries the crown. There is little question that Regis was a beloved and fair King, truly a man who ruled his subjects with a deft and compassionate hand. However, as a ruler, he was forced to make countless decisions which weigh heavily on his soul. Sending men to their deaths against the Empire, choosing to leave innocents behind, and most of all giving up his son all for the betterment of every life in Eos.

Some might view him as selfish or cowardly because of the routes that he's taken during his reign, however Regis has always looked to the future with great resolve and clarity. In the end, all of the world will be engulfed in darkness, and there is only one person that can bring the light of dawn. It was only happenstance that it was his child; that Noctis had the burden thrust upon him. But because the crystal chose him, Regis has made it his personal duty to push Noctis along on his journey and see it through to the end.

In truth, his greatest wish of all was that he could be more selfish: to do what every father would by right and choose his dear son over the rest of the world. Though in his mind, he weighed the sacrifices and knew that it was wrong to put one life before so many. He does not feel that he failed himself as a King in that one decision, though often he feels that he failed as a father. That he failed his son.

  • ooc name Peri
  • pronouns She/Her
  • timezone Pacific Standard Time
  • contact Discord, Cbox
Race: Birb
Age: 90000
Job: Overlord
Series: Lyfe
OOC: Durst - CST - Online


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