Made?

[The word causes Ignis to raise his head with a startled gasp. Made. Not born. Created. Like Prompto. Like Luke. Well, not exactly like. They come from three different worlds, created in three different manners, but they all are expected to do too much too young. To live only to die.

It makes him just as sick now as it did the first time he heard of such a thing. Mortals who create their own chess pieces are no better than the gods who use those already living as chess pieces.

Eventually, a small fact slips into focus through his anger and disgust. She's three. Just like Noctis was when they met. She has the same short dark hair and the same deep blue eyes.

If she smiled would that smile fill him with light too?

Ignis swallows hard, knowing he's been quiet longer than polite, but still struggling to pull himself back under control. In fact, despite his efforts there is a soft shake to his voice when he speaks.]

You're three now. That means, you didn't go home? Or did you find another way? A way to change fate for yourself and those tied to you?