For such a big man, when Gladio wanted to, he could move surprisingly quietly. However, right now, Prompto doesn't see him, not until they continue down the way enough with Prompto's every anxious nerve on end because this is dark, someplace every instinct honed after ten years in the dark says a daemon should exist. When he turns to the massive, open doors, he can see Gladio there, his back to them, looking down at Noctis' body laid carefully upon the stone table like a sacrifice upon the altar.

Exactly what he had been, Prompto thinks bitterly.

Their footsteps drag Gladio out of wherever his mind had taken him, and only Prompto would be able to see the faint wetness on his cheeks glinting, the crimson around the edges of them. He wonders if he can ever remember Gladio properly crying in all of the years they've known each other and isn't sure he can place a time, but it isn't like the big guy to show emotions readily. They briefly share an exchange of looks - one that promises Gladio that he won't spill a word of what he's seeing.

"Gladio's here," he says roughly after a moment, looking anywhere but the body of his best friend. It does look like all of those tombs, and like he had thought up there in the resting room, completely wrong for Noctis. Completely right for his dark, angry mood, but this is everything Noctis never would have wanted, other than maybe a dark place to sleep.

"...Yeah, Gladio's here." There's nearly no sign of what Gladio had been doing in his voice except for maybe the slightest rough catch, but that could be contributed to the rain, the fight for their lives, the exhaustion. "So, we got a plan yet?" It's joking, but there's nothing joking about it, and he can't even give up the damns to care that he's failed in it. Ignis has always been the man with the plan, and Gladio's been fine in letting it be just that.