It had been eight years since the world went dark.

For Ignis, it wasn't much of an adjustment, having already been blind for months beforehand. Yet he could not suppress the twinge of sympathy for his fellow man, knowing they faced a similar struggle as their world was shrouded in the same pitch blackness to which he'd already grown accustomed. He sensed their confusion and fear as they reached into the void, lost, hoping to clasp the hand of anyone who could lead them back to safety. Likewise, he felt their despair as they found nothing but emptiness at their fingertips. This was the world of ruin — a post-apocalyptic hellscape of frightened citizens clinging to hope that was rapidly dying out. Eight years of night. Eight years of sorrow and pain.

Eight years since he'd seen Noct.

Ignis found light where he could in those years that had passed since that fateful day. In Noct's absence, he took comfort in his friends, when he could be with them. They'd all but gone their separate ways after losing their king and companion. Prompto set off almost immediately, traveling all of Eos in pursuit of photography, bent on capturing as much light as his camera could absorb during those precious few months left of day. He was usually in the farthest reaches, where signal was hard to come by, but he would occasionally give Ignis a call and describe the sights. Ignis did his best to paint those images in his mind, thankful that he could still remember the beauty of a stunning landscape. But, with the light gone from the world, it had been some time since he'd heard from his young photographer friend.

He'd developed a particular closeness with Gladio, spending nearly a year training with him to regain his faculties after suddenly going blind. Those months of trial and hardship would forever stay with him as not only the most challenging, but also the most rewarding. After that time, the two kept in touch when they could, but Ignis would have been lying if he'd said he didn't feel very alone in the years that followed. He moved on, practicing his cooking by day, and working as a hunter by night. These days, Gladio was often preoccupied with the new Kingsglaive, but every once in a while, Ignis was lucky enough to find the man on his team. Tonight's hunt was one of those occasions.

This particular evening was a mild one, at least. A slight chill, but no rain. The daemons he fought were small-time, run-of-the-mill goblins that he felled with ease. The partners on his team had long since grown used to the idea that a blind man could hunt so well, no longer phased by his prowess with the daggers or the lance, or by his ability to detect the movements of his enemies without sight. Their mission complete, the lot of them made their way back to camp, and Ignis readily followed until he was stopped short by a peculiar sound in the distance. He held his breath, listening intently. If he wasn't mistaken, what he could hear was a soft… crying? He couldn't quite place it, but was certain that's what it was. He sighed softly, assigning the sound perhaps to an animal, injured by a daemon and now requiring a swift and merciful end. Of all the jobs he'd been asked to carry out as a hunter, these were the sort he hated the most.

He followed his ears, honing in on the faint moaning as he trudged back into the woods. The closer he came, the more certain he was that the voice did not belong to an animal. Ignis picked up the pace, now more concerned than curious. It wasn't long until he found the source. An infant. A human infant. Alone, lying unceremoniously on the bare ground at his feet, and squalling loudly into the trees.

"Well, well… What have we here?"

Ignis knelt and carefully lifted the small bundle off the ground, cradling it in his arms as it wriggled and fussed. There were no doubts about it now — this was indeed a real human baby, swaddled in a blanket and left in the grass, completely defenseless. Despite its obvious distress, he felt no blood on its skin or clothes, and could find no injuries anywhere on its body. He breathed a sigh of relief as he rose back to his feet, now focused on quieting the child's cries.

"Alright, alright, shhh…" he whispered as he laid the child over his shoulder. Ignis had very little knowledge of babies, and that was never more apparent than it was now as he gently bounced and swayed in his frantic efforts to calm the thunderous screaming in his ear. "There, there, you're safe now."

His words were useless. The baby only continued to cry, seemingly louder every second. He patted its back to no avail. He slowly rocked it back and forth with no effect. After several minutes, he concluded that the child was simply determined to remain upset, and that there was nothing he could do to reason with it.

"Goodness!" he exclaimed under the harsh wailing. "We are quite upset tonight, aren't we?" He turned the child in his arms until it faced him directly, hoping that without his ability to make direct eye-contact, he could still gain its attention. "Come now, child, settle down. It'll do you no good to fuss like this, eh?"

To his shock and elation, it was working. The squirming slowed and the cries began to diminish. The baby, still sniveling into his vest, was listening to him. "That's right… hush now…"

At last, the wriggling in his arms went still. "That's much better," Ignis praised it, hoping he hadn't been too stern. For all he knew, the poor thing had been out in the woods for hours, cold, alone, and frightened. Setting aside the obvious dangers of a helpless infant lying openly in such hostile territory, Ignis would have guessed that at the very least, he or she was probably hungry.

Ignis pulled his jacket more tightly around the child and prepared to set off. "Now, darling, where's your mum?"

With the baby in one arm, he pulled out his cane. He'd long since weaned himself off of it and rarely used the thing anymore, save for situations like this one — when he was looking for something. Using the cane to scan the ground, he trudged back into the depths of the forest. It seemed ages already since he'd been sent into these woods to take down the unruly daemons that had been harassing the endangered wildlife. Where only moments ago, the trees echoed with activity — the crashing and screeching of the battle that had taken place — now, it was eerily silent. Ignis prayed that there were no predators lying in wait for the opportune moment to pounce. He could fight with no eyes, but doing so with only one arm would have proven a challenge to say the least.

Only twenty paces from where he'd started, he bumped into something rather large in his path. There was a motionless figure on the ground, though whether it was human or beast, he could not be sure. A few sharp jabs with his cane yielded no movement, and the creature emitted no sound. Ignis sheathed his cane and reached cautiously toward its body, taking hold of its nearest appendage. This figure was no beast, he quickly determined as he lifted the very obviously human arm off the ground. The limb moved stiffly, the skin quite cold. Ignis followed it to the shoulder until he'd found the neck. From her long hair and the shape of her figure, he guessed that it was a woman lying on the ground before him, and sadly, he could not find her pulse. He pressed harder at her throat, sliding his fingers all around, hoping he just hadn't got the right position. His ears were fixed on her, listening closely for breath, for any signs of life. There was nothing. This woman was dead, and had been for some time.

He took a piteous glance toward the infant, now resting quietly in the crook of his other arm. "I see… That's not fair, is it?" he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

He couldn't tell just how old the baby was, and likely wouldn't have known even if he could see it. It was too heavy to be a newborn, yet too small to have crawled away of its own accord. Too young to walk, too young to speak. The only option now was to take the child to Meldacio, where the medics could not only determine its age, but also find any other family it might have left. Ignis took hold of the small metal tags wrapped around the late mother's neck — evidence of her affiliation with the hunters. Snapping them off and pocketing them for safe keeping, he knew that one thing was certain. This baby was far too young to understand the loss it had just suffered.

"You poor dear. Come, let's get you out of the cold."

He held the infant close to his chest as he made his way back toward civilization. It hadn't stirred since it stopped crying, and Ignis supposed it had fallen asleep. Something about embracing its tiny body, feeling it steadily rise and fall as it breathed, was almost familiar to him. It had been eight years since he'd carried someone. Eight years since he'd last cradled a soft head in his arms while they drifted away. Eight years since…

"Iggy!" Gladio's voice roused him from his fantasies, his heavy footsteps barreling toward him. "What did I tell you about running off like that?! I thought you were—" his words cut off abruptly. "Is that a baby?"

Ignis chuckled. "Is that what it is? I wondered why it was so loud."

"Where did you find it?"

"In the woods," Ignis lowered his head. "The mother has passed."

His ears picked up the sounds of raucous laughter from his comrades at camp, all celebrating their victory with a round of drinks and stories. But Ignis was fixed on Gladio, who was hauntingly quiet as he took in this new development. The only sounds from him were of shuffling feet, scratching his head as he did when he was nervous or flustered, clearing his throat as he did when he didn't know what to say.

The man exhaled sharply. "Wonder if there's a father…"

Ignis pulled out the tags he'd collected and dropped them into Gladio's hand. There was a pause as the man concentrated on the name printed on them. "These are really worn down… I can hardly make out the letters on here…"

"We should take the child back to Meldacio," Ignis suggested. "Perhaps he or she can be identified."

"Yeah," Gladio agreed. "Let's get out of here before any more daemons show up. Talcott's got the truck warmed up and ready to go."

The ride back to Meldacio was bumpier than Ignis might have liked. Though he'd insisted that Talcott drive carefully, it seemed that the unexpected sight of an infant had made the boy anxious. He took corners a little too quickly and Ignis could hear the engine groaning wearily with the effort of maintaining such a speed. The baby, thankfully, didn't seem to mind the jostling, and in no time they had reached the base and Ignis was being helped out of the vehicle by his overly-eager comrades.

"Watch your step, Iggy," Gladio cautioned. "It's a bit of a drop—"

"I've taken a fair few rides in this truck before, Gladio," Ignis said tersely before he could finish his warning. "I remember how high it is."

Though Gladio refrained from any further warnings, he kept close to Ignis, guiding him along as they walked toward the clinic together. It had been many years since Ignis had required any such handling, long having improved his other senses enough to be able to get around quite well without eyesight, but part of him did welcome that familiar hand on the small of his back and the leading steps at his side. Rather than responding with annoyance again, Ignis smiled fondly at his thoughtful companion. After all, he had Gladio to thank for his mobility now. It was he who had dedicated all those months of training, slowing his pace and waiting for Ignis to follow wherever he went. Letting him cling to his sleeve when the path was uneven. Pulling him back to his feet whenever he fell. It was with Gladio that Ignis had learned to fight again, when simply being able to move just wasn't enough anymore. Gladio absorbed all of his frustration and anger, his doubts, his fears, and he never resented a single word. Gladio was patient with him then, and Ignis knew quite well that he owed him that patience back in kind.

"What does it look like, Gladio?"

Gladio hesitated slightly. "Uh… It looks like a baby."

Ignis shot him a look of disapproval, brows furrowed and lips pursed thinly in such a way that Gladio got the message right away. He cleared his throat and answered properly. "Full head of dark hair, darker skin. Chubby. Can't tell how old it is."

Talcott hurried forward and chimed in from Ignis's other side. "Sure is a cutie. I wonder if it's a girl or a boy."

"We'll know soon enough," Ignis replied as the door creaked open in front of him. The clinic was busy, but not crowded, and they did not have to wait long before they were ushered into a small exam room to wait for the doctor to arrive. The baby had awakened at some point, and Talcott was babbling to it while they sat quietly. Ignis listened through the walls to the other rooms, picking up the sounds of sick and wounded patients, moaning, coughing, and sputtering. He tensed, closing his arms a bit more tightly around the infant as he tried to shut out their distress. The child was a fragile thing, and could easily contract some contagion from this place. Perhaps it already had, or perhaps it was already sick when Ignis found it lying in the woods. What would he do if he learned that it had suffered in the short time spent under his supervision? What would he do if it required treatment — a painful or frightening one? How would he cope if he had to be separated from it, if only for a little while?

Ignis was unprepared for the hand laid upon his shoulder at that moment, just when his thoughts began to spiral out of control. As always, Gladio's timing was perfect, stepping in like the Shield that he was to guard his friends from the most harrowing of dangers — even those inside their own minds. Although Ignis could sense his apprehension, he appreciated the warmth of such a gesture, repaying his comforts with a soft smile.

All too soon, the door opened and a kindly woman's voice greeted them. The time came to let the infant go and Ignis hesitated, suddenly finding it hard to release the baby for even a few seconds. He stood stiffly just a few feet away, answering whatever questions he could, though hardly able to keep up with the interrogation. The baby whined a few times during the exam, and Ignis might have fainted when he heard the doctor announce that a single vaccination would be required, just for safety's sake. It was up to him to restrain the infant, and at the same time Gladio practically had to restrain him. But, in a shocking twist, the baby did not shed a single tear as the injection was completed. The doctor was all smiles and giggles, Talcott was applauding, and Ignis, sweating buckets, was simply relieved that the examination was over.

Afterward, the child was carefully laid back in his arms while the doctor updated its records on her nearby computer. "Well, it's a girl," she announced. "Her mom was one of the hunters from the Cauthess area… Luca Tobul. Baby's name is Nelly, DOB is April 17, 764."

So, Ignis thought, Nelly is what I'll call you. She was just shy of six months old, and was of average size for her age. She was unharmed and in excellent health — not a scratch on her. Furthermore, she didn't require any additional treatment and wouldn't need to stay for observation. Ignis breathed easier knowing that she was well, but could not help but dwell on her tragic circumstances. Whoever this baby was, however healthy she was, she was still alone.

"Is there any other family?" he asked, glancing down at her and wondering if it was right to consider it fortunate that she couldn't understand their words. She stretched her arms and kicked her legs at random, reaching for the buttons of his vest and murmuring nonsense as they discussed the grim reality of her potential future as an orphan. She seemed eerily content despite the somber nature of the conversation, as if completely unaware that the arms holding her now were not those of her mother, but of a perfect stranger. Ignis felt a sting, imagining that inevitable moment when she would come to that realization. What, he asked himself, would he do then?

The doctor continued tapping the keys at her workstation, sighing as she scrolled through pages and pages of records. "We're still looking into it. What we do know is that her dad, Yura, was a Glaive who went missing some time before she was born. He was working the Old Lestallum Escort mission."

A beat followed, and Gladio's downcast voice answered. "Hardly any of those guys made it back…"

Ignis had thought that the mission title sounded familiar. He was not involved with the case in question, but the Old Lestallum Escort Disaster had all but become common knowledge among hunters and Glaives alike. With light restored to the once-bustling town, and Lestallum staggering under the weight of all the displaced civilians living there, Old Lestallum was quickly deemed suitable for habitation. The Glaives were tasked with escorting refugees to their new home, after the hunters had done several sweeps of the area to clear out any hostiles. The mission was fairly routine and was progressing smoothly when a sudden electrical failure in a string of nearby pylons killed the lights along the way. With nothing to ward off the darkness, a horde of daemons appeared and attacked the entire group, overwhelming the Glaives and wiping out a majority of the civilians. Ignis remembered quite well the phone call he'd received from Gladio late that night, distraught over the loss. He spoke with a quivering voice as he recounted the details, sometimes growing so agitated as to become incoherent. Ignis had rarely seen the man so deeply troubled by a failed mission — so much so that even after he'd talked himself hoarse, Gladio begged him not to hang up until after he'd fallen asleep.

Gladio was a Shield by title, by blood. It was in his nature to keep a barrier around his heart, but that night was one of very few occasions where he let down his guard. For him to show such vulnerability was a rarity that only Ignis had ever had the privilege to witness, and now, that guard was dropping again as the memories creeped up on him. It was Ignis's turn, then, to clasp his shoulder and settle his nerves. He was trembling — not enough for the others in the room to notice, but plenty to indicate his distress. Ignis gripped tightly, grounding him, until he felt the tension release and the shaking became still. He half expected, perhaps even wished, for Gladio's hand to meet his own in turn. Though that acknowledgment never came, he knew from his companion's relaxed demeanor that his gesture did not go unappreciated.

The doctor was apparently still focused on scanning through the clinic's records, searching for any family that could take Nelly in. "It's a real shame… As of right now, this little girl's got no one."

As if on cue, the baby began to fuss again. Ignis shifted her in his arms, unsure exactly what she wanted. "Oh dear…"

There was no position that would satisfy Nelly, who only whined louder every time Ignis stopped moving. The doctor continued, taking little notice of his plight or the child's moaning. "There's a group home for children in Lestallum that might have room for her, at least until we can find some family or a permanent home. But I know they've been swamped with—"

"That won't be necessary," Ignis remarked, still dancing in place to placate Nelly's sudden restlessness. "I'll be her guardian for now."

Gladio spoke up almost immediately. "Ignis, hold on a second."

"That is," Ignis added, ignoring his protest. "If the doctor doesn't object?"

The baby quieted down, leaving a tense silence in the room as the doctor thought it over. There was some uncertainty in her voice when she finally answered. "No objections here. I do want to see her back in a few days to make sure she's still in good health. As long as she's cared for, I'm satisfied."

Gladio, after excusing himself to the doctor, took Ignis aside and implored him under his breath. "Iggy, you don't know how to take care of a baby."

"I took care of a Prince for sixteen years."

"Babies are different," he insisted. "And you had your eyesight back then."

"Are you suggesting that the blind cannot be parents?"

"Iggy—"

Their spat was cut short when Nelly began to cry. Most everyone in the room froze, except for an increasingly sour Ignis. "Oh, now look what you've done. You've gone and upset her," he chastised Gladio, lifting Nelly over his shoulder and patting her back. "There now, it's alright… Shhh…"

"She's probably hungry," the doctor suggested. "I'll get her something."

Nelly was not yet old enough for solid food, so a bottle of nutritional formula was prepared for her. Ignis was brought to a chair where he could comfortably sit and cradle her while she fed. It seemed the doctor was right — her cries ceased the moment he presented her the bottle.

Satisfied, the doctor stepped away and addressed Talcott. "You, kid. What's your name?"

Startled and flustered, Talcott shot to his feet. "Uh… Talcott."

"Talcott," the doctor repeated. "Come and help me dig through the donation bin. We gotta find them some supplies."

It took a moment for the boy to process her command, but he quickly nodded and hurried along to follow her out the door. "Yes, ma'am."

Once they were gone, Ignis and Gladio were left alone with the baby. It was quite clear that the room had been vacated to let the two men argue in peace, but Ignis staunchly refused to continue fighting any longer. Not around Nelly. Not while she was finally content. He kept his focus on her while she eagerly suckled the bottle, grabbing at his hand with her tiny fingers as she did so. He guessed that she must have been starving for how greedily she devoured her meal, and hoped the contents of the bottle would be enough to satisfy her hunger. At last, he thought, a smile gracing his lips, a child who isn't quite so picky. Though he couldn't see her, he felt her eyes on him, studying him. He supposed that she must recognize by now that he was not her mother, but having learned that Ignis was a source of food, perhaps she was beginning to imprint upon him. Perhaps they were beginning to form a bond. Just the possibility made Ignis's heart leap in his chest.

It seemed that Gladio was likewise not immune to her charms. He sighed, a hardened man who had gone soft, just as enraptured by her as his companion. Rather than speaking harshly as he had before, he took a gentler, almost pleading tone as he appealed to him. "Ignis… You know this is crazy. Babies are a huge responsibility. I'm not sure you understand what you're getting yourself into."

Ignis did not respond immediately. He knew damn well that Gladio was right, and if he were honest with himself, he hadn't the slightest idea what he was thinking volunteering to be this child's guardian. He wasn't a parent, he'd never been a parent, and he never really expected that he'd be a parent. At least not for many years, if the inspiration struck him in his old age. But, he supposed, he grew attached to Nelly. He couldn't bear the thought of her being sent off to some orphanage where she'd receive only a fraction of the attention, the care, the love that she both needed and deserved. When he felt her weightless form in his arms, warm and full of life, he just knew that he had to protect her, to give her something better. It was as if a new instinct had awakened in him, and he simply couldn't let her go.

He raised his head. Even without sight, he knew where Gladio's face was, and he met his eyes with all the same sense of pleading in his own. "Perhaps you're right… But I would still like to try."

Gladio, knowing Ignis all too well, had it all figured out. "This is about Noct."

When Ignis was silent again, caught in the act, Gladio pressed on. "Iggy, this isn't going to fill that void," he said, still sensitive at the same time that he was realistic. "No one can replace him. And it ain't fair to the kid to use her like that."

Eight years had passed since he'd seen Noct. Eight years since he'd taken care of him, since he'd taken care of anyone. He missed it. He missed having someone depend upon him. He missed being needed. In many ways, Nelly did fill that void. When he heard her release the bottle with a contented belch, he remembered the smile on Noct's face whenever he cooked one of his favorite dishes for him. When he felt her limbs stretch before curling up into his chest, he remembered how deeply Noct would sleep and how reluctant he was to wake. Even when she was crying, when all she needed was a strong pair of nurturing arms around her, Ignis could not help but draw another parallel to Noct. The prince was, in many ways, just as confused and just as frightened as a helpless child alone in a dark forest. And, like Nelly, he often needed that same sense of comfort and safety. The kind that only his closest companions — that only Ignis could provide.

"I know that there's not a soul on Eos who can stand in for Noct," he admitted. "Just as I can never take the place of this child's mother. But that doesn't mean that we've no place in each other's lives at all."

For all he knew, this arrangement would be temporary. The records-keepers could find some distant family for Nelly as early as tomorrow morning, and Ignis would have no choice but to release her into their custody. But as wrenching a thought as that was, he would have no regrets in watching over her until that time came. If he had only a few months, a week or two, or perhaps only one night with her, he owed it to her to give her all the proper nurturing that baby needed. "Noct would have wanted us to help the most vulnerable."

Gladio had long since given up the fight. "When your mind's made up, there's no stopping you, is there?"

Ignis answered the smile in his voice with one of his own. "Not a chance."

Their conflict resolved, the two sat together quietly for some time while they waited for the doctor and Talcott to return. Ignis got a bit too comfortable, or perhaps just fatigued, and hadn't realized that his head had fallen to rest on Gladio's shoulder until he felt the man shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Listen, Iggy… If you're gonna go through with this…" he stumbled over his wording as he made his proposition, audibly fidgeting in place. "I mean, I'm not saying I'm the right man for the job or anything, but… well, this is a real live baby here and you might need a… couple of extra hands…"

"Gladio," Ignis beamed, rescuing him before he swallowed his own tongue. "Your help would be invaluable."

Ignis didn't require even a second to ponder the idea of a life with Gladio. They were together at one time, though not exactly in the partnership they would have wanted for themselves. Teens, too young to understand their own feelings. Young men, too wrapped up in their royal duties to give each other the time of day. Friends, too cowardly to admit that they needed more. Now, fate had given them another chance. Not to start over, but to pick up where they left off. It really would be jumping right into the fray with the addition of an infant. But, Ignis supposed, if the two of them could handle Noct — the best and the worst of him — then whatever this child had in store would never compare. Try as she could, no baby could be as fearsome as the prince.

Ignis thought back to that late night call from Gladio, almost a year ago now. He obliged the man's request without a second thought, laying the phone on his nightstand and listening to him breathe through the speaker. Gladio had insisted that he didn't have to say anything — that just knowing he was there was enough. Even so, Ignis did speak to him, if only after he was certain he was sound asleep. When he was absolutely sure that his words would be drowned out by snoring, and that Gladio wouldn't remember them at all, Ignis wished aloud that he would call more often. He apologized for the distance, for the lost time, for the growing rift between them. He told Gladio how good it was to have heard his voice again, and confessed just how sorely he missed him. Ignis poured it all out that night, prepared to go on keeping those secrets to himself. And yet, somehow after all this time, he could tell that Gladio knew. As if he'd heard every word, he knew.

In a perfect interruption to their tender moment, Talcott burst through the door, struggling under the weight of what Ignis assumed to be several bags of infant care supplies. With the examination over and Nelly released, the four left the clinic and made their way back for the truck. Once again, Gladio kept quite close to Ignis as they walked. He led him with both hands instead of one, as if waiting for him to topple over so that he could catch him. He was indeed a Shield by blood, and for Ignis it was nothing less than endearing to sense his protective nature working at full capacity, all for his sake.

While Talcott loaded up the truck bed, Gladio opened the passenger door. "For the record, I don't know anything about kids either."

So, Gladio was nervous as well. At least Ignis was not alone in that. Just like there was a chance that her family would be found, there was also a chance that she had no family to find. Her future, then, would be in their hands. On the surface, such a future seemed bleak. A world awash in darkness and infested with daemons. Her parents, lost before she was old enough to know them. All she would have were two strangers, substitutes for family, muddling through as best they could. Ignis wondered, and guessed that Gladio wondered as well, if it would be enough for her.

He glanced down at Nelly, still asleep in his arms as he stood under the tower of light shining over the small village. He hoped her eyes were wide, like Noct's. If not, he would vow to teach her to keep them open, to face the future, whatever it held. He prayed for her to have clear vision, always focused on the road ahead and never looking back. Her unwitting parents would instill that courage in her. Courage, and optimism. He wished for her to keep her chin up and her face to the sky. Ignis would remind her how precious the gift of sight was, and would show her how to seek out the light in even the darkest places. Ignis would forever be blind, but his world was not so pitch-black as it seemed. He found light in his memories, in his friends, in Gladio, in Nelly. Like the faintest glimmers, they lit the way through the long night. And, when dawn broke, he would look forward to seeing the sunrise through her eyes. Through their eyes.

"Then, we will just have to figure it out together," Ignis nudged him playfully. "Won't we?"

Gladio chuckled and slipped an arm around his waist. "Prompto's gonna flip when we tell him."

Ignis leaned into his embrace, just as warm and safe as the child he cradled in his own. "I look forward to it."

I first want to say thanks so much for reading this. If you've read any of my other stories, I welcome you to my first solo venture into a new fandom, FFXV. I fell madly in love with this game, these characters, and their story. I could not help but be inspired, and so during my hiatus, I have been writing for this new and beautiful world of FFXV. I hope you enjoyed my sweet baby fic, and if you did, I encourage you to check out my Breaking the Berserker collection. There's some cute baby fluff over there as well, in much the same style as this piece.

I want to give a huge shout out and a gracious thank you to the Chocobros discord server, who inspired me to write this fic. If y'all are reading this, I hope you enjoyed it. I thought about you the whole time I was writing. For those who are interested in joining the server, send me a message - it's a really cool place to be!

Peace and love,

Ostelan