Final Fantasy XV as a Triptych

Introduction

Square Enix’s Final Fantasy franchise is filled with spin-offs and side stories, but has usually expanded only after the success of a mainline entry. Final Fantasy XV – released in 2016 – and its complementary media were structured as a single story from the outset. A team of writers, directors and producers led game developers, animators and filmmakers in the project. The collaboration resulted in Final Fantasy XV, the game, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, the anime and Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV, the film. The story unfolds like a triptych, with Brotherhood and Kingsglaive complementing the main game, primarily through exposition and characterization.

Final Fantasy XV recounts the tale of prince Noctis’s reclamation of the throne after an era of darkness. Brotherhood tells of how Noctis bonded with his best friends and retainers, Prompto, Gladiolus and Ignis. The anime uses the game’s open world chapters as a framing narrative for its childhood flashbacks. Kingsglaive, the film, follows an elite soldier as he aids King Regis and Princess Lunafreya (Noctis’s father and fiancée) in their effort pass Noctis the king’s magical ring during the siege of the Crown City. The game follows Noctis and his best friends on a road trip to the prince’s wedding. With the unexpected fall of the Crown City, their goals turn to the reclamation of Noctis’s kingdom.

Each story has its own duty to the broader plot, but remains self-contained. They interlock, but rarely cover the same ground. As such, the anime and film serve the game more than the game serves them. Nonetheless, in the words of Dan Inoue (localization director and lead writer at Square Enix) “These weren’t kind of thinly related spin-offs or throwaway side stories. These were threads of a simultaneous narrative woven together across media.” Each medium provides context for the others with the consistent result of the game treating as a matter of fact what the anime and film make clear.

I see the relationship between the trio as a triptych. Their tone towards exposition and characterization leans towards an “all at once” consumption which differs from the linear installments of a trilogy. Each can stand on its own, but they are at their most effective when engaged with together.

Noctis by Julia Schmidt

Openings

Each story’s opening reveals how they interlock and how each takes advantage of their own medium.

Brotherhood, directed by Soichi Masui and written by Akio Ofuji and Yuniko Ayana, begins in Noctis’s childhood with his mother’s assassination (and his attempted assassination) and his rescue by Regis. Beginning an otherwise uplifting anime with such darkness lays out the complexities of Noctis’s past and personality. The scene after Noctis’s rescue sees the brotherhood seated at a booth in a diner while the prince pulls vegetables off his hamburger. Such juxtaposition shows an awareness of how Noctis is perceived as bratty. By setting the two events next to each other, Ofuji and Ayana put into context the effect his royal childhood had on his mood. Such presentation goes beyond Noctis’s archetype. Ofuji and Ayana provide sympathy for the character throughout the anime to offer a foundation for growth in the game.

Noctis’s rescue by Regis is also the first instance where Final Fantasy XV’s complementary media investigate aspects of the story which the game doesn’t. Masui, Ofuji and Ayana put into action a complicated bond at the heart of the story. Noctis’s relationship with his father is essential to Final Fantasy XV because of the game’s focus on royalty, but the game doesn’t have the two interact past its opening. In the first moments of Brotherhood, Masui, Ofuji and Ayana give their relationship specificity through shared trauma. The seed is reaped in the final episode as Noctis thinks, “There’s still so much I wanna tell Dad” to revitalize himself in battle.

Director Takeshi Nozue and writer Takashi Hasegawa open Kingsglaive with a wide scope. A monologue from Lunafreya in the style of Fellowship of the Ring opens the film. The monologue lays out exposition, including the Crystal (which only comes late in the game), the Wall (mentioned in Brotherhood, but in the context of Regis and Noctis’s relationship) and the broader political conflict (which the game spins into a cosmic scope).

Lunafreya’s opening monologue also sows the seeds for plot threads of immediate relevance to the film. The power of the Ring of the Lucii, the magical artifact passed from king to king, is shown in the invasion of Tenebrae. Its relevance comes later in the film after its basic power has been made clear. Elaborating on the ring’s importance to the plot and themes surrounding royalty is essential in Kingsglaive. All the characters in the game act with full confidence in their knowledge of the ring’s power, never explaining the reasons for its importance. Its depiction in the film offers the audience the same understanding as the characters. Also, the topics of power and royalty which Nozue and Hasegawa investigate in Kingsglaive manifest in the ring’s powers. It is at full power with King Regis at the end of his reign. The game cannot get to that point until its final act and the anime is too relaxed in its tone to impart the item’s importance.

The invasion of Tenebrae occurs twelve years before the events of the game but shapes characters. Noctis’s and Lunafreya’s proximity as well as Regis’s and Ravus’s (Lunafreya’s brother) actions in the invasion are the touchstones for much of their character motivations. The imagery of Noctis in a wheelchair with Lunafreya in Tenebrae is used several times in Brotherhood and its inclusion in Kingsglaive provides more than continuity; it recontextualizes Noctis’s recovery from the assassination within the film’s politics. All three pieces of media make it clear that this was the only time Noctis and Lunafreya were together before their wedding. Seeing their time together from different perspectives illuminates the reasons for Noctis’s excitement and anxiety at being reunited with his fiancée.

Regis’s protection of Noctis and Lunafreya during the invasion of Tenebrae reinforces the paternal protection present in Brotherhood, but also lays the groundwork for his relationship with Lunafreya during the rest of Kingsglaive. Likewise, his failure to protect Ravus and his mother incites the boy’s lifelong hatred for the king and prince. Ravus’s distaste for his future brother-in-law is taken as a deep-rooted fact in the game.

The game’s opening is the most layered of the three media, as its three starts occur in media res. Just as every other element of backstory is treated as a matter of fact, director Hajime Tabata begins his tale with the same outlook.

First is the flash forward to the “Waking Nightmare,” Noctis’s final battle to reclaim the throne alongside his friends. Unlike Brotherhood and Kingsglaive, which have independent plots, but still end with an openness for the broad conflict, FFXV promises the player an ending to the epic tale.

From the “Waking Nightmare” the player is swept onto the steps of the palace. Rendered in the same style as Kingsglaive, since its action runs parallel to the film, Regis sends his son off to be married. Taken at face value, the scene has low stakes and the wedding seems inconsequential. But coupled with the events of the film (which Tabata invokes with the chosen style of animation) and Noctis’s characterization, the scene is made tragic. Writers Saori Itamuro, Akiko Ishibashi and Takumi Nishida paint Noctis as rude and youthfully dismissive to his father. At first impression, the prince wants to get a move on while his father piles responsibilities onto him. But as the scene continues, Itamuro, Ishibashi and Nishida reveal a deeper rapport between the two than that of a distant father and his teenaged son. Noctis teases his father about minding his manners around the “esteemed guests” from the empire after Regis ribs his son about minding his manners with Lunafreya. They have shades of genuine care, too, as Regis tells his son, “I need only know that you are ready to leave home behind.” The depth of Noctis’s departure is hinted at, both as he prepares for a major change in his life and as the plot advances towards the fall of his home. Both weigh on Regis, who repeatedly pulls Noctis back with his words. Only at the end of the scene does Noctis catch the hint at the immensity of this moment in his life. The player’s sense of dramatic irony from Kingsglaive is meant to match the difficulty which the father and son have at parting. The strained intimacy between father and son harkens back to their shared experiences in Brotherhood, too.

Passing the reins off from director to player is the scene where Noctis’s car breaks down. It acts as a natural progression from cutscene to what will become a repeated player action, and ties into the other media. After the credits of Kingsglaive, this scene plays in the style of the game. Likewise, it reintroduces the road trip imagery used as a framing device in Brotherhood.  

The Boys by Julia Schmidt

Brotherhood

Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV makes use of its episodic structure, moments of exposition, character arcs and overlap with in-game actions to tie itself into the FFXV narrative.

Square Enix’s choice to present the plot and themes of Brotherhood as an episodic anime works well. Masui, Ofuji and Ayana turn the “power of friendship” motif common in anime into a bridge to the game. As such, the creators are more concerned with backstory than plot, but that is a storytelling perspective which they embrace. Because of their focus on the core characters, all the exposition is focused on them rather than the world. Brotherhood leaves that to Kingsglaive.

In episode one, Prompto states that “This started out as a road trip to Noct and Luna’s wedding,” giving the anime all the connection it needs to the game’s and film’s conflicts. The only other time Masui, Ofuji and Ayana show concern for the world’s fictional politics is when it impacts their cast. Episode four is a deft culmination of how Noctis’s lineage has impacted the way he handles relationships.

The episode is devoted to Ignis and Noctis’s bond. Ignis acts as a caretaker to Noctis while in high school and as a political advisor. He connects Noctis, who lives on his own, and Regis, who is embroiled in the high stakes war with the empire. Ignis’s role as paternal intermediary means the episode is not just an exploration of his ties to Noctis, but also Noctis’s ties to his father. Regis expresses his care for his son to Ignis just as Noctis expresses his concern for his father’s health to Ignis. The collaborators are aware of the distance between father and son, but find ways to build their relationship around that distance. All three pieces of media care about the emotional weight which royal lineage brings and Ofuji and Ayana express their perspective on this topic through the blending of personal life and politics.

At one point in episode four, Ignis gets upset that Noctis doesn’t read his briefings and tells the prince “You’re the successor to the throne and someday—” only to be interrupted. “My dad’s gonna die?” Noctis asks. The trauma introduced in the first episode, the concern for his father’s health and the politics which take a toll on Regis in Kingsglaive tie together. Not only do Ofuji and Ayana explore the father-son dynamic, they show the strain which Noctis’s responsibility has on his friendships. Following his facetious question, Noctis chucks a pillow in anger and Masui does a match cut to Ignis getting in his car and resting his exasperated head on the steering wheel. Noctis’s pillow goes where Ignis’s door shuts and the door completes the sound which the pillow’s impact implied. They are on the same page emotionally, despite their differing opinions, deepening their bond. Noctis reads his briefings and Ignis acts with more sympathy (exhibited in a conversation with Gladiolus about the prince).

Masui, Ofuji and Ayana manage to turn the political into the personal, but most of their characterization fosters the constellation of characters. Episode one makes this perspective apparent. Prompto states, “I’m just your average plebe. I’m more trouble than I’m worth.” With his statement, everyone has made clear in some way their relationship to Noctis. More than that, Ofuji and Ayana set up Prompto’s unease within the group, as it relates to his birth. This unease is not only investigated in the anime, but paid off with the same weight as the game.

Prompto’s actions in episode two also tie him into the cast of characters beyond his relationship to Noctis. On his way home from school, a young Prompto rescues an injured puppy and nurses its wound. The puppy returns to its owner, who happens to be Lunafreya, when it recovers. Lunafreya writes Prompto a letter of thanks and encourages him to befriend Noctis, his classmate, because the princess thinks he is kind-hearted, and the prince would do well to have him as a friend. Encouraged, Prompto does just that. The origin of Noctis’s friendship with Prompto is not of great plot significance, but it makes the integration of characters outside the core four more natural.

Lunafreya is an important character because of her prophesied role in the conflict, but she is referred to more often than she is present. Her immediate importance in most scenes has more to do with what people think of her. Episode four provides a prime example of how this technique is used across media. One of Ignis’s pet projects is attempting to replicate Noctis’s favorite pastry from his time in Tenebrae. This quest reveals to the audience that Noctis spent time in Tenebrae with Lunafreya, but has not seen her since they were kids. The emotional confusion which is implied in this distance charges the road to their wedding and turns Lunafreya’s physical presence in the game into a cathartic moment. Noctis’s discussion of his childhood bond with Lunafreya also gives the events of Kingsglaive’s opening sequence significance in the characters’ day-to-day lives.

Ofuji and Ayana’s casual handling of an intense event from another piece of media builds a sense of persistence between the stories, but gives them distinct roles. Their handling of Noctis’s time in Tenebrae also turns exposition into character bonds: Ignis and Noctis maintain closeness through a piece of information which ties Brotherhood and Kingsglaive together. Noctis’s past isn’t just information, it informs continued actions between characters.

Masui, Ofuji and Ayana’s medium also gives them the unique opportunity to characterize a player character independent of player input. Their reliance on flashbacks makes the distance from the player more natural. As a child, Noctis is distant from his royal life and responsibility, but genuinely caring on for individuals. The brotherhood sees this while others don’t, a duality unavailable in the game, where people already bonded with Noctis are about the only ones with whom he interacts. Masui, Ofuji and Ayana’s exploration of Noctis’s dueling attitudes grows in episode four with their handling of politics.

While Masui, Ofuji and Ayana take advantage of their medium’s distance from player action, they still use game actions to support their characterizations and connect their story to the game. Observe Noctis’s friendly competition with Gladiolus on the battlefield in episode 3. Masui, Ofuji and Ayana take a random encounter from the game and uses it as a framing device for the episode’s flashback. Masui uses a match cut between sword slashes to transition from the battlefield to Noctis’s childhood training. At the beginning of the episode, the match cut goes to an encounter where Gladiolus sees the prince as stuck up and Noctis wishes only to give up. By the end of the episode, the boys have come to respect one another. “You got a lot to learn before you’re king,” Gladiolus says. “Then teach me,” Noctis implores him. To which the trainer responds, “That’s why I’m here.” Masui then cuts from the beginning of Noctis and Gladiolus’s friendly competition back to its “present” iteration on the battlefield. The match cut and framing narrative are used to show how training (and the growth and comradery that comes with it) is essential to the duo’s relationship.

Composers Susumu Akizuki and Yasuhisa Inoue underscore this moment with a conclusive piano line. Though the story is not concluded in this moment, the air of finality offers closure from which a new beginning (the game’s story and handling of these relationships) can emerge. The musical finality is used to strong effect elsewhere in the series. As mentioned, Gladiolus helps catalyze the bond between Ignis and Noctis, a bond which has its resolution with a communion. While Ignis and Noctis eat, Yoko Shimomura’s campsite music plays, despite the duo’s urban locale. The track evokes end-of-day camping and meals (which Ignis prepares) shared between the game and framing narrative.

Besides the random encounters and camping, rest stops and long drives in the framing narrative help pull the disparate visual threads of the anime and the game together. Ofuji and Ayana also provide a different perspective on downtime than the game. Tabata uses camping to set the player’s traveling pace and help them reflect on their actions from that day in FFXV. Ofuji and Ayana take a similar, retrospective approach, but use their camping scenes to reflect on actions farther in the past and focus on character moments. The flashbacks spawn from camping at times and Prompto’s observation in episode one that “we can’t always be together” is an example of the broader form of reflection.

Just as Masui, Ofuji and Ayana use elements from the game to punctuate moments of their narrative, they set up character arcs from Brotherhood to have a heightened resolution in the game. Inoue calls this transmedia characterization a sense of reprisal. (These reprisals are also explored in even more depth with the episodic expansions, but they exist in the base game, too.) Gladiolus and Noctis have a relationship built on martial training, so when Gladiolus leaves in the game, it is to improve his skills with magic. Ignis and Noctis became emotionally in tune through politics, a bond tested when the prince’s political wedding goes awry. Prompto steps fully into acceptance of himself and within the group late in the game as his origins are revealed to be more controversial than just common.

In Prompto’s case the resolution is somewhat strange in that it comes out of the blue. In the anime, Prompto feels ashamed of his body image and only approaches Noctis after he works out to fit a nobler idea of himself. He embraces his common birth in the final fight of the anime, shouting, “This plebe’s got your back.” In the game, it is revealed that not only is Prompto of common birth, he was bred in the empire to fight against Noctis’s kingdom. Even in Brotherhood there is no hint to his origin. The scene where Noctis, Ignis and Gladiolus tell Prompto that they care about him despite his “purpose” is touching because the revelation has so little impact on the characters in the first place. Perhaps it is game writers’ Itamuro, Ishibashi and Nishida’s intention that no matter what Prompto’s origins, his actions and commitment to the other characters are how they judge him. If the three minutes that Prompto’s origin is of relevance has no place within the thirty-hour story, then it has no place in the group dynamic. It comes out of nowhere, but plays into the anxieties and closure of Brotherhood.

Just as Noctis’s retainers have their miniature resolution which mirrors their in-game arcs, so too does the prince. When he faces the daemon that killed his mother in Brotherhood, Noctis takes on an element of the familial responsibility he struggles with in the game. As he slays the beast, he sees the look of concern on his father’s face from his childhood rescue. He cuts the daemon’s face complementary to the scar his father left while the composers’ epic choral line rings out. The moment is enough of a conclusion for the scope which Ofuji and Ayana lay out in Brotherhood, but it also acts as a first step towards Noctis fully accepting his royal lineage and similarity to his father. It also offers a thematic conclusion to the anime: what one king couldn’t do alone, the next does with his brothers.

Lunafreya by Julia Schmidt

Kingsglaive

What Brotherhood does for the characters and imagery of Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive does for the stakes and tone. Like Masui, Ofuji and Ayana on Brotherhood, Nozue and Hasegawa are aware of the benefits of their medium. The one-off nature of film is utilized through their focus on a protagonist and conflict mostly independent of the game’s plot. They also use film’s traditional three-act structure to deliver exposition and spectacle as well as develop their own themes.

Nozue and Hasegawa give a great deal of focus to establishing what is at stake with the fall of the Crown City. After the opening monologue is a massive battle scene. The director and writer maintain the epic scale of the monologue into their specific plot, indicating the far-reaching currency in which the film deals. What helps this choice feel important is comparing it to the relaxed structure of the game’s first few hours. FFXV opens with a casual pace in the open world, only focusing on the plot and stakes as the game gets more linear. Brotherhood gives even less heed to the high-stakes elements of the plot. In contrast to the casual and intimate perspectives taken by the other media, establishing high stakes from the outset of Kingsglaive makes sense.

Nozue, Hasegawa and the animators’ work on the Crown City’s fall is used by the development team on the game to heighten the brotherhood’s hearing of the disaster. Footage of the Crown City’s fall from the film is used in the game, intercut with cinematics and in a diegetic context on in-game televisions. The footage is out of context in the game, so while it is used to see the characters’ reactions, it also presents new information with little explanation to someone who has not seen Kingsglaive. With knowledge of the film, though, players can sympathize more easily because the imagery evokes player knowledge without exposition.

Nozue and Hasegawa present necessary exposition which ties into the game, but also advances their own story. In the opening invasion of Tenebrae, Regis uses the Ring of the Lucii to protect Noctis and Luna. Years later during the fall of the Crown City, Ravus takes the Ring and puts it on, acknowledging the kings of old. Nozue and Hasegawa take a visual moment from early in the film and not only reprise it at the beginning of the third act, but expand on its meaning. Ravus’s call to the Lucian kings (and their rejection manifested in destroying his arm) puts the Ring’s power in a purely royal context.

Ravus’s time with the ring is a strong character moment; he seeks the power which abandoned him and his mother as a child. The motivation behind his action elevates the moment beyond the simple “how-he-got-his-scar” storytelling of so many prequels (in the main game, Ravus has a prosthetic arm which is never explained). The ring’s magic also becomes essential in Kingsglaive’s final battle. By showing its power, then explaining its place in the world with Ravus’s action, Nozue and Hasegawa set up their finale with grace and give consequence to Noctis’s in-game quest for the ring.

Kingsglaive’s tone is distinct from the other media, so Nozue, Hasegawa and their crew take steps to bring their story in line with Final Fantasy XV’s style and themes while exploring their own. Early in the film there is a match cut from a market table in the city to a council table in the palace. Later, there is a cut similar in tone from a “Speedy Chocobo Cleaning Services” van to a scene in regal Tenebrae. Both serve a similar function: balancing the casual elements of Final Fantasy XV with the high fantasy. The match cut juxtaposes the relaxed mood of the scene in the market with the high politics of the palace, paying homage to the other media, but giving preference to Kingsglaive’s focus. “Speedy Chocobo” is also a nod to series staples, contributing to the self-aware nature present in the game’s score, visuals and gameplay. Nozue tempers that self-awareness by setting it against politics and regal imagery.

Self-aware imagery abounds within the Crown City, though the awareness expands beyond the franchise into the real world through brand integrations. Dan Inoue argues that product placement grounds the world. Brands like Audi and Uniqlo provide a quicker shorthand for the shared style across Final Fantasy XV. The presence of pre-existing brands requires less suspension of disbelief for the audience in a world where the creators are already asking them to believe in magic rings, robot soldiers and killer monsters. In other words, the brand integration gives the audience familiarity with an otherwise foreign world.

Kingsglaive’s visuals complement FFXV and Brotherhood well, too. Art director Bela Brozsek leans into the baroque elements of the game while the animators at A-1 Studio cover the naturalistic with Brotherhood. The division of visual style probably came down to the technical differences in medium. CG animation lends itself to finer detail than the hand animation of Brotherhood. The game brings these styles together.

The most important way which Kingsglaive’s tone is bridged into FFXV and vice versa is through their interrogation of what it means to be king. In Brotherhood, each of Noctis’s retainers find the redeeming qualities underneath a seemingly apathetic prince. In the game, Noctis must justify his birthright with his actions. To Nozue and Hasegawa, this topic expands to what it means to be worthy. Toward the end of the film, Nyx, the protagonist, flees the palace with Regis and Lunafreya. He asks Regis, “Is that the way of our king? Sacrifice Lucian sons to save his own?” To which Lunafreya responds, “To save the world.” For one, this exchange presupposes the audience’s knowledge of and sympathy for Noctis. With no context, Regis and Luna come off as cold and distant. But with knowledge of the game and Brotherhood, their motivations have more depth, care and foresight. The dance around which characters know what harkens back to Nozue and Hasegawa’s individual exploration of worthiness. In the film, Nyx has none of the context which Regis and Lunafreya do, accentuating the gap between commoner and royalty, between a pawn in destiny’s story and the king and queen of prophecy. Only in accepting his lack of knowledge and selflessly wishing to protect people anyway does Nyx prove himself worthy of wielding the Ring.

Just as Regis and Lunafreya have more knowledge than Nyx through lived experience, the audience has through their interaction with Brotherhood and the game. The unfurling of knowledge between the three pieces of media ties nicely into Inoue’s discussion of persistent characters. Not only do characters act with internal consistency, their actions are tied to knowledge which the audience has from engaging with other media.

Conclusions

Final Fantasy XV is made a triptych through the creative teams’ collaboration. The narrative, characterization and imagery of the game are shared across media, but each team of creators imbues their story with its own tone and themes. Their stories, when experienced together, form a single narrative.

The openings of each story within Final Fantasy XV provide visual, expository and characterizing cues that time them into the other media. Brotherhood’s handling of characterization and in-game imagery gives it a sense of completeness and dovetails into the subject matter of the game. Kingsglaive’s expository opening gives the audience knowledge vital to the game, complementary of the anime and functional for the film.

Soichi Masui, Akio Ofuji and Yuniko Ayana use the episodic structure of Brotherhood to explore the core cast of characters. They weave an intricate constellation of characters and use the tools of their medium to great effect. Takeshi Nozue and Takashi Hasegawa use the filmic elements of Kingsglaive to distinguish it from the other media. Nonetheless, they tie their story into the triptych with their handling of the Ring of the Lucii and their exploration of the multimedia project’s themes.

While both companion pieces investigate what it means to be king, neither (especially Kingsglaive, which is preoccupied with Noctis, an offscreen character), explains why Noctis is so special. They do not answer most of hi or the audience’s questions about what he is to do and why exactly he must do it. They only the question. The game, which is Noctis’s uninterrupted perspective, completes what the anime and the film begin. Taken separately, each element of Final Fantasy XV is an entertaining experience, but taken together, their intention and impact reach their full potential.