The training yard behind the Citadel shimmered beneath the glow of magitek lights suspended in the air. The ground — reinforced steel overlaid with polished obsidian — reflected the soft blue luminescence of the city barrier above. Every few seconds, the faint hum of energy pulsed through the field, a reminder that even the capital's silence was maintained by power and control.
Insomnia at night looked alive.
Towers glittered beyond the yard's walls, each pulsing with the rhythm of crystal veins that fed light into the city's heart. Magic and technology existed side by side here — circuits that glowed, spells that sustained, machines that breathed with mana.
But Sirius Blake's world was smaller than all that.
It began and ended inside this ring of light and steel.
At twelve years old, he had shed the soft traces of childhood. His limbs had lengthened, his posture straightened, and the once-roundness of his face had sharpened into the makings of something mature. His white hair fell to his shoulders now, streaked faintly with silver under the glow. His red eyes — once bright with curiosity — now burned steady with focus.
He stood barefoot on the cold metal, hands at his sides, breath slow and even.
Cor Leonis stood across from him, arms folded, his black training uniform immaculate even at this hour. The faint scars along his cheek caught the light, reminders of a man who had lived more lives than most soldiers ever would.
Zangan stood nearby, sleeves rolled up, grinning as he stretched his shoulders. "You've been gone a while, pup. Let's see if you've gone soft."
Sirius inclined his head respectfully. "No, Master."
Cor's voice was quieter, but his presence heavier. "We'll see."
---
The test began without warning.
Zangan's heel came up in a blur. Sirius ducked, twisting sideways. The kick grazed his hair, slicing the air. Zangan landed fluidly and came again, low and fast. Sirius caught the motion in peripheral instinct — pivot, parry, redirect. His movements were lean, efficient.
Cor moved in then, blade drawn. The dull gleam of the training sword carved through the air. Sirius barely blocked in time, his arms shaking from the weight. Cor's follow-up came faster — a downward strike that would have shattered his guard months ago.
Now Sirius didn't crumble. His stance shifted instinctively, grounding himself like Zangan had taught — spine straight, shoulders aligned, knees absorbing the force.
Each strike refined him. Every clash rewrote his muscle memory.
Sweat beaded down his neck. The world narrowed to sound, movement, breath. He could hear the vibration of Cor's sword through the barrier field, the faint whistle of air displacement. His body recorded it all.
Adaptive Resonance stirred within him. A pulse beneath skin and bone. His body learned faster than logic could explain. His breathing adjusted, his balance corrected — not consciously, but as if guided by something ancient.
Cor noticed. "You're not thinking anymore," he said between strikes. "You're becoming it."
Sirius' blade snapped forward, catching Cor's in a parry that threw sparks. The force of it jolted the older man's arm slightly.
Zangan let out a whistle. "Look at that. The pup's finally biting."
Cor's next blow hit twice as hard. Sirius blocked, slipped under, rolled backward, and landed lightly. His footwork flowed like water over metal.
"Again," Cor commanded.
They clashed until the magitek lamps flickered low, signaling curfew. The energy field around the yard shimmered, dimming into standby mode.
---
Sirius stood breathing steadily, chest rising and falling with control. His uniform clung to his frame, streaked with sweat and dust. His heartbeat had steadied before his mentors stopped moving.
Zangan tossed him a towel, still grinning. "You don't even breathe hard anymore. I used to make you cry from one round."
Sirius wiped his face, managing a faint smile. "You still could."
Zangan barked a laugh. "Don't tempt me, kid."
Cor remained silent. His gaze wasn't on Sirius' movements now, but on his eyes — how calm they were, how much older they seemed.
"You're changing," Cor said quietly.
Sirius met his gaze. "I have to."
"That's not what I meant." Cor sheathed his sword. "Adaptation is a weapon, but it's also a mask. If you let it shape you too much, you'll lose sight of what's under it."
Zangan nodded. "Every fighter who grows fast burns out faster. You're learning like lightning — but lightning doesn't stay."
Sirius absorbed their words. He didn't argue. He simply bowed. "Then I'll learn to endure."
That answer earned a rare look from Cor — not approval, but quiet respect. "Good."
---
By the time he left the Citadel, night had deepened.
The magitek streets hummed beneath his steps. Floating lanterns lined the sidewalks, drifting lazily on streams of mana. Trams glided silently above rail lines, passengers chatting in low, content tones. The world of Insomnia seemed eternal — a city of light untouched by darkness.
But Sirius knew better. He had seen too much, remembered too much. The beauty above masked the danger beyond the barrier, where daemons prowled in shadows unseen.
He walked home through familiar streets, passing storefronts where merchants packed up for the night. Children ran by, laughter echoing — echoes of a world he fought to preserve.
---
The door opened before he knocked.
Lyla stood in the warm glow of the entry hall, a shawl draped around her shoulders. Though still frail, her eyes shone with their familiar light. "Welcome home, my little shadow," she said softly.
Sirius smiled faintly, lowering his head. "Mom."
"You're growing faster than I can keep up," she teased, brushing his cheek. "At this rate, you'll be taller than your father."
Dominic's voice came from the table, deep and amused. "He's already trying."
Dinner was simple: warm stew, rice, and sweetbread from the market. Yet to Sirius, it felt sacred — a moment that anchored him back to humanity.
They talked lightly. Dominic mentioned patrol shifts near the barrier; Lyla hummed a tune from her youth; Sirius listened, quietly memorizing every word, every sound, every moment.
When Lyla rose to rest, Dominic leaned back in his chair, studying his son. "Cor's been pushing you hard."
"He says I'm ready," Sirius replied.
"Are you?"
Sirius looked down at his hands — calloused, steady. "I have to be."
Dominic sighed. "You talk like a man carrying a kingdom on your back."
Sirius met his father's eyes. "If I don't carry it now, someone else will die carrying it later."
For a moment, Dominic said nothing. Then he smiled faintly — proud, and a little afraid.
---
Sirius sat on the balcony. The city's skyline glittered like a thousand suspended stars. The barrier above shimmered faintly — the invisible wall that kept the night at bay.
He drew his katana from his System — the weapon's black blade gleaming faint blue under the city's light. He rested it across his knees, closed his eyes, and breathed.
Adaptation is strength, he thought. But strength without meaning…
He exhaled softly. Never without meaning.
Thunder rolled beyond the barrier, low and distant — the voice of storms waiting to be called.
And under that sound, something deeper thrummed inside him: a promise unbroken, a blade sharpening itself in silence.