the babe with the power
As the Oracle, it's Luna's power that drives the effects of the Starscourge from the ill masses. In canon, this manifests as a golden glow from her hands that restores as she runs her palms over deadened skin. In the game, she has nanotech implants that allow her to gently heal over minor injuries at a touch, such as bruises, cuts, or burns, and to soothe headaches. Anything more serious in-game will actually require her medical training.

power of voodoo
Luna's greater purpose is to be the ambassador of humanity to the divine: she has a trident given to her lineage by the dragon god Bahamut, which enables her to awaken the sleeping Astrals (gods), and to understand their language. In use, it glows with delicate golden motes. This trident will present as a simple walking stick with a solar-powered light at its tip to see by, and its true nature and appearance will not be uncovered until Luna has regained memories of it. Its Astral-related powers will naturally be null in the Quad.

The trident might itself be used as a weapon, but melee combat—or combat of any kind—is not a skill Luna possesses. she also can'T DRIVE FOr shIT

"It is my duty to protect the Prince, and see his destiny fulfilled." "And what of your destiny?" "My duty is my destiny, Your Majesty. These twelve years haven't changed that. I'm prepared to accept whatever may come to pass."

That's how the audience is introduced to Lunafreya in Kingsglaive, and it sets the tone for Luna's place in the story. For context, the Oracle's duty is to stand by the King of Light and guide his path, to speak with the gods on his behalf and to secure their cooperation in a covenant with him; once the six Astrals brought to heel by the Oracle, the King can claim his birthright, and wipe away the Starscourge, which lengthens the nights. However, these powers take their toll: for the rite to be completed, the Oracle and King must die.

Luna has lived her whole life with its end in sight. Yet rather than hinder her, it bolsters her: her resolve is tremendous with so much riding on her, and she can dedicate herself utterly to her cause. Within the narrative, she serves as foil to Noctis, active where he is reactive, instigating events where he holds back. She leads and he follows. Because Luna places no value on her own individual life, she is fearless: her only true "freedom" within a framework that grants her none. For example, when her would-be bodyguard refuses to land the helicopter they're in and take her back to a bombed-out castle, she throws herself bodily from the vehicle in mid-flight, several hundred feet from the ground, knowing it will force his hand. When Imperial troops storm into the room to seize her, she pushes the muzzles of the guns out of her face and walks right past. It isn't that Luna would put her life on the line for her cause, it's that she never hesitates to do so if it gets her closer to her goals.

Few of Luna's motivations concern her own safety, then. She knows the people of Eos depend on her as a religious figure, a political leader and as a healer: she is their advocate in all things. As the youngest Oracle in history, Luna's compassion was obvious from a young age, as she tells an interviewer she 'would be selfish to complain of [her] burden when so many suffer in wait'. She grew up giving speeches, interviews and issuing statements for the public. As Noctis and his friends drive along, Luna can be heard over the radio: "Rest assured, my marriage will not stand in the way of my calling. You will find me in your towns and villages, as you always have." When those who are bedridden cannot come to her, she goes to them, visiting their homes to deliver solace. People queue for hours to see her and be blessed; and Lunafreya, naturally, sees them all with very real concern. Her Tenebraean staff are familiar with her, as she treats everyone as her equal, with respect and genuine kindness. Even mortally stabbed, she spares a bit of power to bless her attacker, the Chancellor of Niflheim himself. She is the very image of gentleness, but it's easy to dismiss that sweet temperament as weak, and to forget that it hides a will like steel. After all, she and Gentiana march the whole length of Eos ahead of Noctis and his friends, awakening the Astrals. Each summoning brings her that much closer to death, but she soldiers on.

It's still a lonely existence. Her only companion is Gentiana, a spirit, but their relationship is formal, based on her duties rather than on mutual support. With her parents dead, her brother Ravus working for the Empire, and her people relying on her for support, she has to make her own way. She gives tremendously of herself, without asking for anything in return because she knows what lies ahead for her. The only genuine friend she has is Noctis, but even he doesn't know the full extent of the burden they both carry. That doesn't stop Noctis from being precious beyond belief to Lunafreya. Though she might have dedicated her life to the symbol he represents, Noctis himself, the man, is her only real 'selfishness', the only thing in her life that is completely hers. They've shared a notebook since they were children, sending it back and forth as pen-pals. Within the pages of that notebook Luna can leave behind the mantle of Oracle and simply be herself, a young woman she barely knows. When Ravus is upset over the fact that she's quite literally killing herself to help Noctis, she admits that she would give anything just to laugh with him again, as when they were children, knowing that it's all she'll never have. In Tenebrae, a little girl tells Noctis that Lunafreya was excited to be married to him; to Gentiana, Luna confesses she fears having little to offer him beyond her power as Oracle. Being completely defined by her role, Luna flounders in knowing who she is and what her needs are. Her real emotions are kept subdued or ignored, facing the future with a brave front.

An iron fist inside a velvet glove: that's how you could summarize Lunafreya. She'll set herself on fire if it'll keep someone else warm, but she always keeps the long-term in mind. Unafraid to reach for her goals, she pushes into extremes of behaviour that can make her difficult to keep up with.

Raised in a wealthy Leithian trading family, Lunafreya was something of a black sheep: even young, she was sensitive to the pain of others, and made doubly so by the poor treatment endured by the staff at her overbearing father's hand and the suffering it caused to her half-brother Sion. Travelling with her father to 'learn the business', she was able to see first-hand the living conditions of some of the Quad's poorest. Instead of following in the family footsteps then, she took to medical training as early as she could, and when she was revealed to be a hard worker with a promising future, the family paid for the installation of nanotech in her hands to ease the job.

For some years, things continued like this--an uneasy relationship between Luna and her parents, but a more genuine closeness with her brothers. They exchanged letters, Sion's military life versus Luna's training and Ravus' learning. But Father's work wasn't all that clean, and eventually brought him under fire from the Nine. He died at the hands of a RAC agent, along with her mother, "a suicide". None of the siblings were fooled. Luna returned to her family's estate just in time for distant cousins and previously-unknown relations to fall on the orphans like vultures, pecking at the leftover funds; Luna inherited her mother's walking-stick but refused the rest. It was around this time that Lunafreya began to realize the ramifications of the power systems in play, and the part of the Nine in orchestrating all the suffering she wished so badly to eradicate.

Ravus left to join Sion in the military to help provide for his sister, but, refusing to be a burden, Lunafreya made her own choice: she needed freedom and she would not find it among the high families of Leith. She joined the Scarback order, training for some years under a succession of masters, lending her medical training to their cause and eventually earning her own robes. Religion was a balm for her: she saw it as the other side of the coin she was missing, the spiritual complement to physical health. In the ceremonial dagger she could abandon wealth and prestige, shed all the skin her family had given her and set her hands to better use. But rumbles in the Order spoke of revolution, and Luna was hardly deaf to that, either. It appealed to all the ruthlessness her father had tried so hard to instill in his children, the need for big dreams and high risks.

She established herself in Westerly soon thereafter, opening something vaguely resembling a "practice" in the slums, which more or less was a ramshackle tent in an alleyway where she could tend to the poor. There she made a reputation for providing blood blessings and healing to the neediest, which garnered her some local respect and kept Old Town's seediest--mostly--off her back.

She can't say she particularly likes Harvest Week, with the flood of supplicants it brings her--but she is always ready for it. Those only here for blessings she siphons away to their aunts and uncles scattered across the city, leaving her to tend to the aftermaths of bar brawls and the sweating convulsions of bad trips. The air smells more like vomit than usual, but that doesn't keep her from kneeling in the puke and the dust, hands outstretched to cup a bruised cheek here, or press her palm to a swollen eye there. They watch her with a kind of amazed tenderness that she can't help but drink in. As she works, she reminds them that they are all leaves from the same tree, grown from the same root, brothers and sisters--one family beneath one sun. They have nowhere to go, and so they listen. (There are no trees in Old Town; she thinks some of the youngest here may have never seen one.)

"Th-thank you, Aunt," the latest says, his head dipping in gratitude. She presses a bloodied thumb to his forehead, leaving a rust-red smear there. Just past his head, she sees a raucous whirlwind of limbs approaching, and wordlessly pushes him gently down and sideways, picking up her walking-stick. Amidst the plastic tarps and torn-up mats, those who have been here before turn their heads away, close their eyes.

"Aunt! Aunt, see me!" He's drunk, very much, very visibly, pupils blown wide evident even in the dirt and din and blood trickling down the side of his head. She considers him, brows knitting. If he's well enough to stand and sway about, he can wait. She is amused, in a sense, watching him. Even for this one, she spares a scrap of tenderness. He's shoving supplicants out of the way, but doesn't get far. She raises the stick, brings it down sharply; light cascades from it, making him wince, and fall.

"I see you," she tells him, mouth rolled up softly. "Find a mat and sit, I will come to you when I can. All that you need from me, you will receive."

It's the only promise she can give him, even as the glow of the stick dims and she's left in the relative darkness, the tent and alleyway lit with hazy old neons. Dizzy but unharmed, he crawls to a scrap of mat and sits to wait. She's always short--time, supplies, energy. But so long as there's work to be done, she will always find more to give.