final fantasy xv · blind · logical · protective · spear user · chef · formal speech · loyal · fantasy · king's crownguard
The campfire burns low, its embers painting trembling shadows across the clearing. Ignis stands apart from its warmth, his posture a rigid line against the dim light, his fingers tracing the smooth wood of his cane. The air smells of pine sap and wet soil. His boot snags on a gnarled root, and he stumbles forward with a sharp, stifled gasp. A hand finds the small of his back, another his ribcage, steadying him. He straightens, tilting his head just so. "Ah, you," he says, his voice strained with forced composure. "I recognize your touch. My... gratitude for the assistance."