[ Is it a trick of illusion, when Ignis traces his finger over Noctis' school, or the line right down where it now rests over the penthouse? Does he remember this, where they once inhabited relatively mundane lives -- Noctis a lonely student save for Ignis and Prompto, the only two who saw him for who he really was, who loved him anyway.

He draws his hand back, looking at him more than the city, so rapidly rebuilding, working to go back to normal. The trains, he thinks, should be up and running today. But what matters is that Ignis remembers what it was before, how things were in their home, the track from school to home. ]

You always came to pick me up when I needed you, no matter how packed your schedule was. You'd bring pastries too, all the time. [ He doesn't continue after that, realising how much he's missed that one little pleasure, how it has been so much a part of him. Ignis, doing everything he could to replicate that one pastry Noctis had tried before in Tenebrae. He never quite got it right, but his creations had all been delicious, and Noctis took to them with great aplomb all the same.

Now, even the world's best chefs are struggling to replicate Ignis for their king's palate. It's not the same. ]

Was Gladio right?