When Ignis was five years old, scared and alone in a new world with only the knowledge that his parents were gone and he could never go home, a little boy came to him. He said nothing, but instead took Ignis by the hand and brought him to his playroom.
There were so many toys, yet the prince ignored them all….
But there was one, a little moogle missing half a wing and an eye that was held on only by a single black thread, that the boy pushed into his arms. His eyes were big and sad, but he smiled.
A gift to a big boy from a dying mother. A promise from one little broken boy to another. A kindness that didn’t need words.