[He takes the opportunity to step neatly around the man as they leave the spire. A soft breath is taken himself, too, though for an entirely different reason. Ignis finds he thinks of home little, in an active sense, and yet it's always on his mind in the background of his thoughts, like a soft hum of white noise over everything else.]

It did, and more pressingly so as the years passed. [As the offences and assaults from the Empire grew more frequent.] Magic takes its toll on all who make use of it.

[Within moments of stepping outside, he can feel the heat pressing down on him. The city moves, and he wonders how long they will remain here.

A quick glance catches those small signs of weariness in his companion, and he holds the door open to let him pass through after him.]

Are you alright?