In all technicalities of the word, they were correct. These zealots who worshipped the returning daylight with insane abandon. Millennia after the Astrals departed into their plane, there is a new one walking among mortals - the King of Dawn. The prophesied savior who holds the power of the stars and vanquished the darkness - is he not an Astral too, a member of the pantheon?
Noctis does not consider himself as one, though rightfully, he is. He can alter the weather, for once. Of all of his powers, that one was always his most favorite - there is something raw and primal in creating thunderstorms out of nowhere, condensed with static and magic in roiling, thick and dark clouds.
But to call himself an Astral? No. Why would he, when he hates everything the Astrals represented so far? Besides, he is in a very mortal body. Godhood or no, he’s still in daily constant pain that leaves him closer to death’s door.
(And yet here is a catch; if he wanted– if he truly wanted it - he could challenge all of the insufferable members of the pantheon - for they all gave him their powers, save one, and wouldn’t that be a spectacle - the King of Dawn bringing justice to those who truly deserved it?)
And so let the rabid worshippers worship. The majority dismiss it as mad ramblings, but sometimes, truth is closer to insanity than anything.