Dawn crept over Insomnia like a slow exhale.
The city's towers shimmered with gold as sunlight threaded through magitek mist, scattering rays across the barrier's curve. The hum of engines and distant chatter rose with the morning. Yet in one small training hall behind the Citadel, silence ruled.
Sirius stood alone.
The black katana — his personal weapon, born from the System — rested before him on a magitek stand. Its blade reflected no light, yet faint energy pulsed beneath its surface, a rhythm that seemed to echo his heartbeat.
Today's task was his own. Not one Cor had assigned.
Infusing magic into a weapon wasn't new to Lucian knights, but it was a skill most trained years to master. Sirius had only just awakened his elemental control, but the thought of synergy between steel and flame burned in his mind.
He wanted to see if the sword could breathe like he did.
---
He began with fire.
Drawing a slow breath, Sirius focused inward — into the place beneath thought, where the pulse of mana lived. His chest warmed, the familiar spark flaring into being. A small flame kindled above his palm, steady and obedient.
He lowered his hand to the katana's spine. "Let's see if you can carry it," he murmured.
The fire touched the blade.
At first, nothing happened. Then a faint glow spread along the metal, tracing the edge in burning orange light. The sword thrummed softly, responding to the mana flow.
Sirius' heart raced. It's working.
But the excitement broke his concentration.
The flame flickered, unstable. The mana surged — too much, too fast. Heat flared up his arm. He tried to cut the flow, but the fire resisted, clinging to the steel like a living thing.
The katana's edge erupted in wild light, arcs of molten orange sparking across the floor. Sirius stepped back, teeth clenched, fighting for control.
Focus. Breathe. Balance.
He centered his stance, grounding his feet. The blade pulsed violently, like a creature struggling to be born.
Zangan's voice echoed in his memory: Magic reflects you. If you're unstable, it'll show first.
Sirius forced his breath to steady. Slowly, the light calmed. The flame crawled back down the blade, settling into a faint, glowing seam.
He held the sword upright. The metal shimmered faintly, its energy humming — not chaotic now, but restrained, resonant.
A grin flickered across his face.
"Not bad for a first try."
---
A voice answered from behind him. "Not bad, but reckless."
Sirius turned sharply. Cor stood at the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowing at the faint scorch marks spiderwebbed across the floor.
Zangan followed, carrying two cups of coffee and wearing his usual half-smirk. "You really don't rest, do you, pup?"
Sirius straightened. "Morning, Master. I was—"
"Experimenting unsupervised," Cor finished flatly.
Zangan sipped his coffee. "At least he didn't blow up the hall. That's progress."
Cor ignored him, stepping forward to inspect the sword. His gaze lingered on the faint embers along the blade. "You forced elemental mana into an unstable weapon core. Why?"
Sirius met his eyes. "I needed to know if it could resonate with me."
"And?"
"It can."
Cor's stare was unreadable. "At the cost of control. If it had rejected you, this room would be ash."
Sirius didn't flinch. "Then I'd have learned faster."
For a moment, silence. Then Zangan chuckled. "He's got your stubborn streak, Cor."
Cor gave a small exhale — almost a sigh. "Your flame obeys you, but only barely. You don't dominate it; you negotiate with it. That's not mastery — that's luck."
Sirius nodded. "Then I'll learn to make it obey."
Zangan tapped the blade with a gloved finger. "You're missing the point. The sword isn't a container. It's an extension. Don't force magic into it. Breathe it into it."
Sirius frowned. "Breathe?"
"Magic's like chi," Zangan said, demonstrating by clenching his fist. "It flows where intent leads, not where you shove it. Try again. But this time, don't think about control. Think about connection."
Cor stepped back, arms crossed. "Do it."
---
Sirius inhaled deeply, setting the sword before him again. He steadied his pulse, recalling the fire's rhythm — its warmth, its motion, its weight. Instead of pushing mana through his arm, he drew it out like breath through lungs.
The energy responded.
A faint shimmer danced along the blade, slow at first, then building into a gentle aura of flame. Not a violent blaze this time — a soft glow, heat without chaos.
The sword's hum deepened, resonant and alive.
Zangan nodded slowly. "Now you're getting it."
Cor watched quietly, his sharp eyes betraying the faintest approval. "Infusion achieved. Duration?"
Sirius held the blade steady. The glow remained stable for eight seconds before dimming naturally.
He exhaled, lowering it. "Eight seconds."
Zangan grinned. "Not bad. Most rookies can't hold it for two."
Sirius sheathed the katana, the faint warmth still radiating from the hilt. His hand trembled slightly — not from pain, but from exhaustion. The energy draw had drained him more than he realized.
Cor noticed. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," Cor said, handing him a canteen. "Drink. Then rest. Magic that doesn't come with exhaustion is illusion."
Sirius took it silently, obeying. The water cooled his throat, anchoring him again.
---
Later, when the mentors left, Sirius remained in the empty hall. The faint scent of burned mana lingered in the air. He set the katana across his lap and sat cross-legged.
He whispered, "You listened this time."
The blade pulsed faintly — once, like acknowledgment.
He smiled. "Then we'll keep learning together."
---
Evening fell again over Insomnia. From the Citadel balcony, the city glowed like veins of fire under glass. Sirius leaned against the railing, watching the lights stretch endlessly below.
He opened his palm, conjuring a small flame. Beside it, he summoned a thread of lightning, a wisp of frost. Three elements, flickering together.
He had learned to hold them for seconds before — now, for minutes.
The strain pressed against his ribs, but he refused to yield. Sweat beaded on his brow. The flame bent toward the lightning, the frost flickered, their conflict crackling between his fingers.
He steadied his breath, letting them flow — not separate, but synchronized. Fire softened by ice, lightning guided by heat.
The lights danced together for ten heartbeats before fading.
When they vanished, Sirius swayed slightly, breathing hard. His mana reserves felt hollow — burned clean.
But the exhaustion came with satisfaction.
He could do it now.
---
Footsteps echoed behind him. Dominic's voice, calm but curious: "Practicing again?"
Sirius turned, smiling faintly. "Just… testing limits."
Dominic stepped beside him, watching the barrier's shimmer. "You and your uncle share that same look — like you're trying to carry something heavier than you should."
Sirius glanced down at the city. "Someone has to."
Dominic smiled faintly, hand resting on his son's shoulder. "Then remember to rest sometimes. The Crownsguard trains every day, but even kings sleep."
Sirius nodded. "I will."
Dominic chuckled. "You're lying."
"Probably."
They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the barrier surrounding them.
Dominic finally said, "Your mother told me you've been working with fire. Careful, Sirius. The world burns easily when you're the spark."
Sirius looked at his hand — faint traces of flame still lingering. "I know."
Dominic nodded. "Good." He turned, heading back inside.
When he was gone, Sirius whispered softly, "Then I'll be the spark that burns the dark away."
He raised his katana once more. For a moment, flame rippled along its edge — steady, contained, alive.
The fire no longer fought him. It walked with him.