Ignis Scientia knew the battle was won. He felt the warmth of the first dawn in long years, the sun's rays a blessing that granted him his first real sight in a decade, weak and watery though his remaining eye was.
He also knew that his life was ending, that much of the blood staining his uniform was his own. And if this was goodbye, he must claim his final resting place.
Turning his back on the gruesome battleground, Ignis marched toward the citadel. His boots crushed the gore of daemons beneath his weary feet as he made his way into the palace. He knew by heart the way to the throne room and used his last ounce of strength to force its great doors open.
Drawing ragged breaths, Ignis staggered along the tattered, scorched red carpet from the chamber entrance to the dais upon which sat the throne. All the while, his bleary gaze remained focused on the dark-haired figure slumped there.
Ignis had known his king was dead, having sacrificed his all to give peace and light to the world, so he was unsurprised to see Noct's head bowed in silence, a sword that pinned him to his throne protruding from his chest.
Ignis stood beside the other man's body, resting his hand gently on his shoulder as he whispered, "Farewell, my love." Then he wrapped his arms around the king and leaned into him, closing his eye as he breathed his very last.