The next morning, Insomnia was alive with motion.
Hover-trams glided between towers, their translucent rails glowing with magitek light. The barrier shimmered overhead, refracting sunlight into soft blue hues that danced across windows. Below, the streets pulsed with a rhythm only the city could make — the hum of engines, the chatter of vendors, the faint buzz of mana through the air.
Sirius walked among it all, the hood of his jacket drawn low. His map — now folded neatly in his pocket — guided him toward the city's lower districts.
He wasn't here to train, or to fight, or to plan.
He was here to listen.
Because sometimes, the most useful truths weren't written in books or guarded by soldiers. They drifted through conversation, hidden in the noise of a crowd.
---
The lower markets of Insomnia were worlds apart from the polished upper streets. The air here was thick with spice and smoke. Neon signs flickered in narrow alleys. Stalls overflowed with trinkets — both mundane and magical.
Vendors called out in rhythmic voices:
"Mana batteries! Fresh charge — straight from the docks!"
"Crystals from Tenebrae! Blessed by the Oracle herself!"
"Crownsguard surplus gear — discounted, not stolen!"
Sirius moved through them quietly, absorbing the details. Each voice, each gesture, each flicker of light became part of his understanding of the city's pulse.
He paused at a stall draped in faded blue cloth. Rows of small vials glimmered beneath the lights — potions, elixirs, minor restoratives. Most were familiar.
But one vial caught his attention immediately.
It sat at the far corner, half-hidden under a stack of cloth. The liquid inside shimmered gold — faintly, almost imperceptibly, but with a depth unlike any potion he'd ever seen.
A Superior Restorative.
His pulse spiked.
---
"Good eye," came a voice.
The vendor — a lean man with dark gloves and a faint accent — smiled thinly. "Most people don't even see that one."
Sirius studied the man carefully. "Because you hide it."
The vendor's grin widened. "Maybe. Maybe because not everyone's meant to notice."
Sirius glanced back at the vial. "Where did you get it?"
"Traders from outside the barrier," the man said casually, polishing another bottle. "Rare stock. Dangerous routes."
"Outside?" Sirius echoed.
The man nodded. "Sometimes hunters bring in relics from ruins. Most are junk. Some…" — he tapped the vial with a gloved finger — "are blessings."
Sirius frowned. "You're selling it?"
"Selling? Perhaps," the man said. "Depends who's asking."
Sirius kept his tone level. "How much?"
The vendor chuckled softly. "More than a student could afford, I'd wager."
"I can try."
"Gil isn't always the price." The man leaned closer. "Tell me, boy — why do you want it?"
Sirius hesitated. He could lie. But the man's gaze was sharp — the kind that had seen through many lies before.
"It's for someone," Sirius said quietly. "Someone sick."
The vendor's expression softened — almost imperceptibly. "Ah. So it's not greed."
"No."
He nodded, studying Sirius for a long moment. "You remind me of someone I once met. Same eyes. Same resolve. He burned bright, too."
"Who?" Sirius asked.
The man only smiled faintly. "A soldier who thought he could outfight fate. Didn't end well."
Sirius' throat tightened. "Then maybe I'll do what he couldn't."
The vendor's grin returned. "Bold words." He picked up the vial, turning it between his fingers. The light refracted through the golden liquid like sunlight caught in glass. "You really think you can change how things end?"
"Yes," Sirius said simply.
The man stared at him — then laughed quietly, setting the vial on the counter. "You know what? I believe you."
He slid it forward. "Take it."
Sirius blinked. "...What?"
"Call it intuition," the vendor said. "Or foolishness. Either way, I'd rather it go to someone with purpose than sit here gathering dust."
Sirius reached for his pouch. "At least let me pay—"
The man raised a hand. "You will. Just not in gil."
Sirius paused. "Then what?"
"Remember my name. One day, you'll hear it again. When you do, pay your debt."
"What's your name?"
The man smiled faintly. "Eldric."
---
Sirius left the stall with the vial carefully wrapped and tucked inside his jacket. The gold shimmer bled faint light through the fabric — subtle, but enough to feel like warmth against his heart.
He looked back once, but the vendor's stall was already closing, the cloth drawn down, the space half-swallowed by the market crowd.
It was as if Eldric had never been there.
---
By afternoon, Sirius sat by the fountain in the plaza, watching the flow of water cascade down luminous magitek stone. He turned the vial in his hands. The liquid caught the light and reflected it like fire contained in glass.
Superior Restoratives were myths to most — potions so potent they could heal wounds that defied modern medicine, purge toxins, even stabilize failing hearts.
He thought of Lyla — her faint smile, the way her breathing sometimes hitched when she thought he wasn't watching.
He closed his fist around the vial. "Soon."
---
Later, when he returned home, the smell of stew filled the apartment. Lyla stood at the counter, humming softly as she stirred the pot.
"You're early," she said.
"I wanted to help," Sirius replied, setting his satchel down.
"Then set the table, little shadow."
He smiled faintly and did as told.
As they ate, conversation drifted easily — small stories, small laughs. It was ordinary, but to Sirius, that was what made it precious.
When the dishes were washed and Lyla turned in for the night, Sirius sat in his room again, the vial resting on the desk beside his notebook. The soft glow filled the dark like a single captured star.
He wrote a new line on the open page:
"Superior Restorative — confirmed. Acquired. For her."
He underlined for her twice.
---
A quiet knock came at the door.
Dominic stepped in, still in uniform. "You were out late today."
"Market research," Sirius said.
Dominic chuckled. "Research?"
Sirius shrugged. "Learning where people hide what matters."
Dominic studied him for a moment. "You sound more like Cor every day."
"That's not a bad thing."
"Depends who you ask." Dominic's eyes drifted to the desk. "What's that?"
Sirius' hand moved subtly over the vial. "Just a trinket."
His father smiled faintly. "Fair enough. You've got your mother's stubbornness — impossible to argue with."
When Dominic left, Sirius exhaled in relief. He turned back to the vial, watching the golden liquid swirl.
He whispered, "You'll help her. You have to."
Outside, thunder rolled faintly across the barrier — the same sound that had followed every breakthrough so far.
---
That night, Sirius placed the vial carefully in a sealed case beneath his bed. Not inside his System — some things deserved to remain real, tangible.
He sat for a long time, staring at the glow leaking through the case, until exhaustion finally took him.
In his dreams, he saw flames, frost, and light — and his mother standing amid them, whole, smiling, untouched by pain.