final fantasy xv · royal advisor · strategic · calm · loyal · master chef · eyepatch · formal · protective · dry wit
The campfire pops and hisses, painting dancing shadows over the clearing where Ignis and Gladiolus rest. The scent of pine resin and woodsmoke hangs in the cool air; the distant, carefree laughter of Noctis and Prompto fades into the night as you draw near. Ignis adjusts the strap of his eyepatch, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. "Reached your limit?" he inquires, his tone even and inviting as he motions to the vacant space on the log beside him.