Ignis walks himself home. It's safe enough inside the city. He's not afraid of ruffians; indeed his walking stick grants him some protection that way. Evidently even muggers have standards. The walk home is uneventful, and Ignis clicks the lights on in the kitchen not simply out of habit. It's nice to have that little crack of light showing through the endless dark. It isn't much, but it's reassuring in a way he cannot express.
He's almost used to the kitchen now. There are a couple things he has to fumble for, has to stop and think where he put them last. And of course there's always the possibility that Gladio or Prompto have inadvertently put something in the wrong spot. Without their help, it takes some extra time to put dinner together, but Ignis is in no rush. There's no one to please but himself right now. He tunes the radio to the classical station for some background noise and gets to work.
It's odd, being by himself like this. For so long he's been living side-by-side with Gladio, Prompto, and Noctis. Even prior to their road trip adventure, they'd all been in close quarters. Upon assuming their official duties, all of them were given rooms near Noctis' in the Citadel. Ignis' bedroom had adjoined Noctis' in case he should need something during the night. Lucky for Ignis, Noctis sleeps like the dead. Unless he'd undergone maintenance for his implants, Ignis could usually count on a full night's sleep.
Then of course they'd escaped, ostensibly accompanying Noctis to his wedding. No ceremony had ever taken place, other obstacles having become much more pressing. Sleeping in the tent, caravans, and the occasional motel or hotel had not granted them much personal space. No privacy, no secrets, just the four of them together. Then the Nox Fleurets had come, and things had gotten even more crowded. Not in a bad way, but certainly tight.
The little two-bedroom apartment feels to big for just Ignis. He's also made far too much food for just himself. He scoops it into a plastic container for later. Gladio and Prompto will enjoy it once they get home. They haven't been gone more than the day- have probably only just reached the Disc of Cauthess- but it feels like much longer.
Ignis cleans up as best he can, knowing he's probably missed a spot and trying not to let it bother him. There are some podcasts he's been meaning to listen to, and he queues them up on his phone before changing into his workout clothes. He does push-ups and sit-ups to think pieces and shows about cooking. It's the sort of thing he used to do what feels like a lifetime ago, back before he lived out of a suitcase and spent more time driving a car than anything else.
He flops back onto the carpet to catch his breath. Has it only been a year? Well, slightly more than a year, but still. It feels more like three, or even five. He's not the same person he was when he left the Citadel. None of them are. He thinks maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing.
It's nice to be able to take his time in the bathroom, to not have to worry about conserving enough hot water for two other people. He takes the opportunity to further remind himself where everything is in here. There's enough space in the vanity for each of them to have their own drawer: Gladio at the top, himself in the middle, Prompto at the bottom. The logic is that Prompto is the shortest and hasn't got to bend down so far.
After that, there's nothing to do. Ignis sets his phone on a rung of the bunk bed ladder and queues up another podcast. This one was about Tenebrae, and some of the lesser known beauty spots and cultural sights a visitor ought to see. Ignis wonders how many of them still exist? Maybe not this one just before going to sleep. Maybe just some music instead.
"Okay Moogle, play 'Mellow Music Playlist'."
His phone dings and soothing orchestral replaces the chatter of the podcast host. Yes, much better. Ignis sets his glasses next to the phone and lays back to try to relax. He's tired. It shouldn't take much for him to fall asleep. Everything's locked and bolted, everything's completed and put away. He's allowed to rest now if he wants. There's nothing else that needs his attention.
Ignis awakes with a start. His phone has gone silent, as has the rest of the house. Adrenaline still surges through him, and he listens, tensed, straining to discern what had awoken him. He doesn't snore like Gladio or the Nox Fleurets, so it isn't that. His dreams are an indistinct and unremarkable murky blur, so it isn't nightmares. (Huzzah!) Around him, the old building shifts and sighs in its sleep. Water pipes buck in their braces, radiators bubble and fizz, vents hum softly as air goes in and out. If he stretches, he can just hear the neighbors on the opposite side of the wall coming and going across the wooden floor. They must have ordered a pizza. Ignis can smell the distant scent of cheese, tomato sauce, fresh bread, and spices.
Right. No threats detected. Perhaps it was a bout of sleep apnea after all? Then it hits him, wiping away the delicious aroma of Altisian food:
Blood and mildew.
Ignis freezes, every sense straining to detect another presence. He hears no footsteps, no rustle of fabric, but the stench is growing thicker, heavier. It's all he can do not to gag. He summons a knife into his hand before he's really thought about it. Izunia will not catch him unaware and unarmed.
Strong hands grip his shoulders, slam him down onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Ignis thrashes, body responding almost automatically to moves practiced in secret again and again. Izunia's taller, stronger, heavier. It isn't easy to buck him off, but Ignis manages. Both of them go sprawling to the floor. His phone and glasses tumble off the ladder, but it's a detail that goes unnoticed. Izunia's let go. His stench is overpowering, yet Ignis cannot find him. Ignis turns, tosses his head, but cannot catch the chancellor's outline.
"Where are you?" Ignis growls. "Show yourself!"
All he gets in reply is mocking laughter.
Ignis has a knife in each hand now. "How did you get in here? What do you want?"
"Isn't it obvious?" an oily voice says directly into his ear. Ignis jumps and lunges, intending to sever that ridiculous scarf, but his dagger slices through thin air. What-?
Hands seize his wrists and shove him against the wall. Ignis struggles, kicks, but it's hard to breathe, Izunia's reek is so heavy. Ignis can feel the countless layers of outlandish clothing and the solid body beneath pressing into him through his pajamas.
"What are you so afraid of?" Izunia purrs. "Have I ever laid a hand on you? Have I ever given you a reason to fear me?"
Ignis cannot breathe, cannot move. Izunia's breath is like dragon smoke; hot and noxious. It's like being trapped beneath a fallen timber in a burning building. Except Ignis would infinitely prefer a house fire right now.
"Come now, dear boy."
A knee presses between Ignis' legs. Reflex makes him inhale sharply, poison rushing into his lungs. But a switch has been flipped, a limit tripped. Magic crackles along his skin, light flashes, and Izunia gives an enraged shout. Ignis collapses to the floor, gagging for air and clutching his arms to his chest. Surely this is what sticking one's finger into an electrical socket feels like. He takes a precious second to scramble to his feet, to ready his weapons, only to find the blood-and-mildew stink has vanished. A faint tang of ozone lingers; atmosphere displaced by magic.
Is Izunia still here? Had he dreamed the whole thing? Ignis decides he doesn't especially want to find out. Dropping to his knees, he gropes for glasses and phone. He finds both just under the bed. So that much did happen. He places a shaky call with City Security, reporting what happened. To their credit, the officer who answers calmly takes his statement and tells him to await the arrival of a patrol team to inspect the apartment. Ignis hurries into some clothes, not really caring what he's putting on or how. It isn't easy to do up the buttons of his shirt, he's shaking so bad.
The knock of the City Patrol unit makes him jump, but the electronic, over-measured cadence of the MT's voice is oddly reassuring. It's like hearing Prompto, yet not. This one introduces himself as "Steve". He's got a partner- Elliot- from the local precinct who asks most of the questions while Steve rigorously inspects the apartment.
"No signs of forced entry," Steve reports. "Unable to locate any traces of suspect."
And Steve would know. Ignis hadn't thought it possible, but the MTs hate Izunia even more than he does. Despite Steve's assessment, there is no way in hell Ignis is staying in this apartment by himself. Steve and Elliot escort him to the Leville and take their leave. Rather than book a room, Ignis collapses into one of the lobby chairs. Even at this hour, there's a clerk at the desk, and people are coming and going. It's safe. No one can assault him here without at least three other people as witnesses.
The clerk offers him a room, offers to contact Luna, but Ignis waves him off. Instead, he puts his headphones in and tries to calm down. There's no music coming from his phone, it's mostly so people will leave him alone. Besides, the white noise of customers checking in and out, the drone of the television turned too low to make out, and the still more distant muzak coming through the speakers is soothing. He lets his head fall back against the chair and closes his eyes.
"Sir?"
Ignis jerks awake, daggers snapping into being in both hands.
"Sir! It's Bob, Sir!"
Ignis feels as if he's jumped high enough to touch the Leville lobby's vaulted ceiling. It takes him a minute to come back down.
"I'm sorry," he gasps. "I'm sorry…"
"Are you unwell, Sir?"
"Not as such." But he's shaking, there's still too much adrenaline coursing through him. A hand descends to touch his shoulder, light and hesitant. Ignis can't help smiling a little at that. He pats Bob's hand. Perhaps taking this as permission, Bob draws him into an awkward hug. Ignis freezes at first, but quickly melts and just holds on.
"...thank you."
"My privilege, Sir."
Bob stays by his side throughout the day. Ignis is privately grateful for this. The incident has left him more shaken than he'd care to admit. He doesn't want or need Izunia popping up at all hours of the day and night. Even now, he's not sure he didn't dream it. Had he dreamed the first incident as well? He doesn't think so, but it's too easy to doubt himself.
He reports to Luna because it's protocol, and because he honestly wants her opinion on this. They established back in Gralea that Izunia is...probably not 100% human. There's something off about him, besides the more run-of-the-mill creepiness he exudes from every pore. The Nox Fleuret siblings have only had to suffer him on a handful of occasions. Of the two of them, Ignis knows more about the former chancellor, but Luna knows more about magical oddities. At least, that's what Ignis is hoping.
He can't see her nonplussed expression, but her ramrod posture says plenty by itself.
"Well," she says at length. "I'm not entirely sure what to say. And this is the second time this has happened, correct?"
"Yes, your Maj- er, Luna. He appeared in my office a few months ago. To be honest, I can't help wondering if I imagined the whole thing."
"You didn't." Her tone is so decisive, it makes him look up from his folded hands.
"You didn't imagine it," she repeats. "There's foreign magic all over you. Also, I can see your scars burning."
It's his turn to stare blankly. "So...you can see his magic on me?"
"Yes, I've been practicing." She sounds pleased with herself and Ignis can't help but smile. "Most people have no magic outside of their own life force. It makes people like Noctis and my brother- and probably myself, though that's not the sort of thing you can see in a mirror- glaringly obvious. Indeed, you stand out a bit yourself because of the scars the Ring of the Lucii left on you. There's residual magic splattered across you like neon paint. It's hard to miss. Normally it's dormant, but I can tell something activated it. You're not in pain, I hope?"
Ignis actually has to pause and consider that. To be honest, he's been riding the raw edge of paranoia ever since the incident, and it's hard to identify anything besides his barely contained nerves. If he thinks about it, his face and hands do sting. The feeling is not dissimilar to a sunburn.
He shakes his head. "It's negligible. Nothing worth bothering about. But why on Eos would my scars…" He trails off as memory flashes. The moment is brief, but visceral, painfully real. Izunia pinning him to the wall with his body and then- a flash of light, a burst of pain, the chancellor's shout.
"He had me against the wall. I couldn't think, I just knew i had to escape and…" He rubs the fingers of his left hand with his right. "I think… I think whatever magic the ring has left in me threw him off. It… It protected me."
Perhaps it was a clash of magics, light versus dark, nothing more, but Ignis can't help but wonder.
Luna takes a sip of tea, mulling this over. "It isn't impossible. The ring drains the life force of daemons, does it not?"
"Yes, it does."
"You've nowhere near the skill nor the power to do that, but I could see where there might have been a sort of...static shock, if you will. Enough to surprise Chancellor Izunia and throw him off."
Ignis nods. It's as good an explanation as any. "I suppose. Still, I'd rather not repeat the experience."
He can hear the kind smile in her words. "I don't blame you. What concerns me, is why is he singling you out like this? He hasn't appeared to the others, has he?"
Ignis shakes his head. "If he has, they haven't told me, and I don't think they would keep something like that a secret."
"Then why is he only picking on you?"
Ignis taps the frames of his sunglasses. "Because I am the weakest of the team. Please don't," he says as she draws breath to protest. "I know I have my own strengths and virtues. The point is, Izunia's thought process is not so nuanced. He knows all too well how to exploit what he believes to be the weakest link. If nothing else, the man always made my skin crawl and it's going to take more time and concentration than I'd like to spend to go on as usual. The damage he can do is limited. He's a distraction, nothing more."
"Even still, would you object to having a guard posted until the others return?"
Ignis has to admit that he wouldn't. Now is not the time for wounded pride. "No, not at all."