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Everywhere you walk these days, people greet you on the street: “The Dawn has broken! Rejoice in the light!”
It’s a funny thing, light. We as a species have managed the impossible and have learned to live without it—a decade passed in increasing darkness as we longed more and more for those golden sun-soaked afternoons. But when dawn finally broke over that horizon and allowed us to breathe completely free and safe from daemons for the first time in thousands of years, we realized something: the hardships, the darkness, had been kind in shrouding just how far we’ve fallen. After famine, disease, and losing so many of those dear to us, the sight of the skyline of Insomnia, once the crown jewel of Eos now resting broken and defeated in the blazing sun makes the tasks that lie before us seem insurmountable. Those golden rays return every morning to once again reveal that any hope of picking up our old lives have been vaporized as surely as the daemons. The optimism of our youths after enduring so much seems innocently naïve in this new world of ours.
What role could fashion possibly play now, after everything? What does it even matter?
Nevertheless, Ignis Scientia sits down with us after ten years for a brief follow-up on his interview about the role fashion plays for the Crownsguard in Insomnia. Without a king—indeed, without even much of a Crownsguard remaining—the answers are certain to be vastly different.
But surprisingly, not as different as expected. He appears exhausted yet in amiable spirits as he settles into the corner of a faded black settee in a newly restored parlor of the Citadel. He’s wearing the identical Crownsguard uniform he wore to our last interview.
“How many of those do you have?”
The way he touches the couch arm before sitting is nearly imperceptible, as is the slightest difference in his posture. There’s something indefinable about the way he carries himself these days—still elegantly casual, yet possessing an almost feral edge that was lacking before, as though he, too, has endured much this past decade hunting in the black wilderness.
Even the tone of his voice is slightly rougher, possessing a harsher, huskier cadence as he answers the question. “A fair few. I’ve become adept at repairing even the worst damage in order to keep them, as I’m afraid the quality and craftsmanship of the royal atelier is yet unmatched.” His fingertips find the skull pendant resting between his collarbones. “Some things, however, can’t be replaced, and I must take extra care.”
“There’s no need for formalities here. You can take off the coat if you’re too warm.”
He tugs his lapels closed around his chest instead. “I’d prefer to leave it on, if you don’t mind. Unlike many who’ve grown accustomed to the chill these past ten years, I’m afraid I have a tendency to run cold.”
It’s an odd thing to hear from a man whose name means fire. “But surely you’ve spent all this time in colder climes than the rest of us. Weren’t you spelunking just before returning to Insomnia with the King?”
A sharp, nearly silent intake of breath is the only evidence of his surprise. “I see that journalistic resourcefulness hasn’t diminished in the slightest.”
“Did you find what you were searching for?”
He lets a small sigh of defeat escape from between his lips. “Yes, I did, though it proved very little use in the end.”
And in searching his handsome scarred face for the micro expressions to get a proper read on him, it’s easy to understand that Ignis Scientia has greater cause to be bitter than any of us for this new reality in which we find ourselves. Though he’s famously close-lipped about the circumstances of his injury, everyone is aware by now that he lost his vision in service to King Noctis in the battle that also stole Princess Lunafreya’s light from the world nearly eleven years ago. What must it be like for him to toil so hard for so long in order to restore a dawn that he’ll never see for himself? To have suffered such a profound personal loss only to lose the king he’d presumably made such a sacrifice for?
“None of us labor for our own benefit. I refuse to glorify the sacrifices I or anyone has made, but I encourage everyone to truly see what has been gained in this victory.” His hand sweeps toward the window, through which the entire eastern half of the Insomnia can be seen bathed in buttery yellow sunlight. Scaffolding, rusted out cranes, and cobbled-together structures scavenged from defeated Magitek bases pepper the apocalyptic scene much as they have for the past year, continuously laboring to restore Insomnia’s wounded pride and skyline. “A world once divided has come together. We are all one people now—united in this common goal of pushing past merely surviving and truly living for the future. This peace is more enduring than any treaty between two warring countries. Noct left that future to us, and I intend to see that it is the best one in his name.”
His words, while inspiring, don’t quite connect to the topic on which he was asked to speak today. “So you would argue in favor of acknowledging the role fashion still occupies among the people despite the greater challenges that lie ahead? Something to unite us all?”
“Unequivocally. Nothing has changed at all in regard to that role, as form still follows function. Fashion is more vital than ever because a well-fitted coat allows a man to do his job. A sturdy pair of trousers can save a woman’s life. A pair of boots tells us where those who’ve come before us have tread. Those who follow and record these cataclysmic shifts in the history of mankind would do well to remember that it’s just as important to preserve these seemingly meaningless aspects of day-to-day life for posterity’s sake. They write the history our generation will be known for; they set the tone.”
And what tone does Ignis Scientia recommend the journalists of today set for future generations? He skims two gloved fingers down the line of his coat to reveal the pattern of morning glories he’d once chosen because they withered at the night only to blossom anew with the dawn.
“Life will out.”