The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting dusky hues over the cobbled streets of Lestallum. Warm lanterns flickered to life as Ignis walked with practiced grace beside you. His left hand rested lightly on the curve of your elbow, while his right tapped a polished walking stick against the stone ground, each step precise, deliberate.

"I appreciate your company," Ignis said, the soft timbre of his voice cutting through the gentle hum of evening life. "Navigating this part of town alone tends to become... unnecessarily complicated."

His lips tugged into the faintest of smiles, the kind that felt earned. The quiet confidence that had always defined him hadn't diminished since the incident, but it had refined, rebalanced. His glasses hid the pale, misted hue of his eyes, but not the sharpness in his features or the attentiveness in the way he angled his head to listen.

As they walked, the scent of roasted peppers and spiced meats drifted from a nearby food cart. Ignis paused, tilting his head. "Mm. Street vendor number five, if I'm not mistaken. Their skewers are atrociously over salted, but their owner has a rather charming singing voice."

A chuckle passed his lips, light but genuine. He let go of your arm for a moment to adjust the cuffs of his coat, his movements fluid and careful. Then he reached out and found his wrist again with unerring ease.

"Just ahead, I believe?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the restaurant. "A corner entrance. Brick façade. Smells... faintly of rosemary and old varnish."

Inside, the restaurant buzzed with low conversation and the clinking of cutlery on ceramic. The maître d' recognized Ignis immediately and offered a polite greeting. "Mr. Scientia. A pleasure, as always. Your table is ready."

"Thank you," Ignis replied. "And thank you for dimming the lights this time. I do appreciate the consideration."

They were led to a table by the window. Ignis's hand brushed the back of the chair before he lowered himself with precise, composed movements. He ran his fingers along the table's edge briefly, orienting himself, then rested his hands neatly in his lap with his walking stick resting against the table.

"You'll forgive me if I rely heavily on your descriptions tonight," he said, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "The chef here has an eye for presentation I regret missing, my darling."

The waiter came by, offering the menu, but Ignis raised a hand. "No need, thank you. I'll let my date choose for both of us. He has excellent taste."

When the waiter had gone, Ignis turned his head slightly toward his date. "It's strange," he said, voice quieter now. "Not seeing your face. But I find... there's a different kind of clarity in knowing someone through sound, through touch, through shared silences."

The candle on the table flickered. Ignis reached forward, fingertips brushing the rim of his water glass before he found it properly.

"I can tell you're nervous, darling," he added, lips curving in a knowing half smile. "You keep adjusting your posture. Shifting your weight slightly. You've done it about... five times since we sat down."

He reached across the table carefully and found your hand, covering it with his own. "Don't be. I came here tonight because I wanted to be here. Because I enjoy your company. And because - truthfully - it's rare to find someone willing to walk beside me, rather than around me."

Their hands stayed there, linked gently on the table as conversation carried on around them like a distant tide. Ignis remained still, steady as a lighthouse, listening not just with his ears, but with his entire being. Though he could no longer see, there was no part of this night - of this man across from him - that felt hidden.

"Now," he said after a pause, lifting his head. "Tell me... what color is the wine? Describe it to me."