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Summary
The last time Gladio'd seen Hammerhead, the sun had still been out, even if only for a few hours a day. Now, it filtered weakly through the scourge, its light dusky and wan. Prompto seemed to like the place, though. He'd been out here for months, now, so when Gladio heard about a caravan in need of a hunter heading east, he figured it was about time to check the place out again.
It hadn't changed much, from the look of things. The barricades were bigger, the buildings looked dirtier, everything worn and tired and thin.
Everything and everybody, including Prompto.
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A short drabble about Prompto and Gladio in WoR. The world is dark and their prince is gone, but there are still ways to make your own happiness.
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