The footsteps did not pull him entirely from the cold dark of unconsciousness, but the voice, the twinge in the back of his mind that recognized it, that screamed danger-- that made him stir. Weakly, hovering on the edge of consciousness, Prompto tried to lift his head, only to become slowly aware past the frozen numbness of how cold he was that he was being held up. That he couldn't move.

There was frost crystallizing on the edges of his long lashes when Prompto's eyelids fluttered open with effort, his eyes unfocused and confused. He remembered pain. He remembered Ardyn.

With a sudden burst of newfound strength, Prompto tried to jerk his head away from the unwelcome touch as reality came crashing back to him with a nauseating lurch of realization.

"Y-You--"