Morning light streamed through Insomnia's skyline like ribbons of crystal fire. The city hummed to life — magitek trams gliding between towers, aerial lanes pulsing with faint mana lines. Citizens hurried across hovering walkways, their reflections rippling across glass and steel.
Sirius moved through it quietly, uniform pressed, bag slung over one shoulder. The Lucian school district stood near the Crown City's inner barrier — an architectural marvel of clean lines, transparent arches, and suspended classrooms. Mana veins ran through the walls, powering floating projectors that shimmered faint blue in the morning air.
He passed through the security gate, nodding politely to the Crownsguard stationed there. Their eyes followed him longer than usual. He felt it — the subtle shift in attention that had begun weeks ago.
The whispers always started the same way.
That's him. The white-haired kid.
The one who beat upper-class cadets last month.
They say he doesn't even get tired.
Sirius ignored them. He'd grown used to the hum of rumors trailing behind him like static. Yet today, they felt louder — spreading faster, carried by excitement and fear alike.
---
In the training hall, sunlight filtered through mana-glass panels, scattering light like rainbows across the polished floor. Sirius dropped his bag, pulled on his gloves, and drew the wooden practice sword from the rack.
The instructor — an older soldier named Routh — eyed him as he entered. "Blake," he called, voice firm but not unkind. "Another round with the upper division today. Think you can take it easy this time?"
"I'll try, sir."
The man chuckled softly. "That's what worries me."
Students gathered along the edges of the mat. The upper-division cadet, a tall boy with the Amicitia family crest on his sleeve, smirked as he stepped forward. "They say you're some kind of prodigy," he said. "Let's see it."
Sirius raised his practice blade in silent readiness.
The whistle blew.
The cadet lunged — heavy, fast, confident. Sirius sidestepped, pivoted, parried, and countered with surgical precision. The exchange lasted seconds. The wooden blades clashed once, twice — then Sirius' strike disarmed the other boy cleanly, sending the weapon spinning across the mat.
The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs.
Routh blinked, lowering his whistle. "...Blake wins again."
Sirius exhaled quietly and bowed. The other cadet muttered something about luck and stormed off.
It was supposed to be routine. But this time, the reaction didn't fade.
Whispers spread like wildfire across the hall.
He's unbeatable.
Did you see that movement?
He didn't even blink.
Someone muttered a name under their breath — White Wolf.
The words caught like sparks in dry grass.
---
By midday, the entire academy was buzzing.
Students leaned over cafeteria tables, gesturing excitedly. "They say he fought a whole squad of trainees alone."
"No, he took down a Dualhorn with one hit!"
"Are you serious? He's just a kid."
"That's why it's crazy!"
Sirius sat alone near the window, tray untouched. He stared out over the city, watching magitek trams move like fireflies through the air.
He wasn't angry. Just tired.
Every rumor carried exaggeration — truth twisted by awe. The more they built him up, the less real he felt.
---
Across the cafeteria, two older students observed from a corner table.
Ignis Scientia adjusted his glasses, expression calm but curious. "The White Wolf of Lucis," he said, tasting the phrase like a riddle. "A rather dramatic title for a boy of twelve."
Beside him, Gladiolus Amicitia leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "He's the Crownsguard kid, right? Blake's son. Heard Cor's been training him."
Ignis nodded. "And Master Zangan, if the reports are true."
Gladio let out a low whistle. "No wonder he's tearing through the ranks. Cor doesn't train weaklings."
Ignis' gaze lingered on Sirius at the far end of the hall. "Still… there's something peculiar about him."
Gladio raised a brow. "You mean the hair? The eyes?"
"No." Ignis adjusted his glasses, the lenses flashing with light. "The silence. He moves like someone who doesn't need to prove anything. That's rare — especially for someone that young."
Gladio smirked. "Sounds like someone Cor would like."
"Or someone Cor would fear," Ignis murmured.
The words hung in the air a moment before both returned to their lunch.
---
After classes, Sirius lingered behind in the empty hall. The light outside had softened into evening gold, casting long shadows across the polished floors. He sat on the edge of a desk, rolling his practice blade across his palms.
He thought of the whispers — White Wolf, prodigy, monster, perfection. None of them felt true. None of them felt like him.
He wasn't hunting glory. He was preparing for inevitability — for the darkness beyond the barrier.
His reflection in the glass window stared back — calm, expressionless, but with eyes that no longer looked like a child's.
He sighed softly. "Rumors make ghosts out of people who are still alive."
---
Outside, the city shifted from day to dusk. Holo-lamps flickered to life along the walkways, projecting shimmering light across wet streets. The barrier above pulsed faintly, blue veins dancing like veins of lightning through glass.
Sirius walked home through the steady hum of the metropolis. Everywhere he went, eyes followed him — not malicious, but curious, reverent, fearful. The legend was outpacing the boy.
A magitek broadcast flickered on a nearby screen — a news segment about Crownsguard recruitment. The anchor mentioned the next generation of Lucian defenders, hopeful and bright.
Sirius stopped for a moment, staring at the image of soldiers saluting under the king's banner.
"Defenders," he murmured. "Or replacements."
The screen's light flickered against his face — pale, sharp, almost spectral. He turned away and continued on.
---
When he reached home, the air was warm with the scent of cooking. Lyla hummed softly in the kitchen. Dominic was reading reports at the table.
"You're quiet," Dominic said, glancing up. "Long day?"
Sirius nodded. "People talk too much."
Dominic chuckled. "They always do."
Lyla looked over her shoulder. "What about, dear?"
He hesitated. "Nothing important."
But when she smiled, her eyes softened in that knowing way only mothers have. "You'll never stop people from talking, Sirius. Just live in a way that their words can't touch you."
He managed a small smile. "I'll try."
"Good," she said, placing dinner on the table. "Now, eat. Even legends need food."
---
Sirius sat again on his balcony, the city's glow shimmering beyond the barrier. He watched the sky quietly.
"White Wolf…" he whispered, almost amused. "If only they knew."
His hand brushed the black katana resting beside him. For a moment, the reflection of his crimson eyes shone back from the blade's dark surface — not a rumor, not a title, just the boy behind both.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"They can keep the legend," he said softly. "I'll keep the purpose."
Thunder rumbled in the distance, faint but persistent — a reminder that even in light, storms never vanished. They only waited for the call.