It's a terrible thing to ask an older brother. How could she be so cruel to burden Ignis with this knowledge, truly? And how can Ravus explain in a way that doesn't split the veins, to know the blood he Lunafreya shared. How she was never one to inflict her burdens on others, would have shouldered it alone if allowed. Did shoulder so much alone.

"I am not my sister. I am not her grace, her kindness, or her powers. I am merely her shadow, and so what you may glean from me is only the outline of who she was." Ravus speaks it as a warning. All he can offer is his thoughts on the matter, offer insight as only an older brother can. But he can't speak for her. He never could, no matter how much he wished to.

"But," he says, the word heavier on his tongue than a single syllable should be. This isn't what he wants to tell Ignis, but it is the more practical explanation. "I think the most likely answer is that she showed you the truth as an act of mercy. To prepare you for the loss, to brace you for the worst pain imaginable. To make you cherish the life you have with him, and no longer will love when he is gone."

Still, even when if he finally agreed to let Lunafreya make her choice to die, the hope in him could never follow her so willingly. And so another answer remains. This time, Ravus sets his hand over Ignis' tightly clasped ones. Gentle, not prying, but there and warm in the dark din of the firelight.

"Or perhaps, even more graciously, she gave it to you with hope. Hope that perhaps you could do what I could not, and subvert even gods."