The Blake apartment was quiet.
Outside, Insomnia pulsed with restless life. Towers of glass and steel loomed against the night sky, their edges traced in neon veins. Magitek trams glided across elevated rails, their engines whispering, while crystal pylons lit intersections in soft blue glow. Over it all shimmered the barrier—an invisible dome that sometimes caught the reflection of the city lights, like a second sky.
But none of that reached Sirius' room. Here, the only sound was the low whirr of the heater mounted on the wall, its sigil glowing faintly as it fed warmth through the pipes. A crystal lamp floated over his desk, glowing steady and pure.
Sirius sat on his bed, legs crossed, still wearing his training clothes. His muscles ached from drills, faint bruises mottling his arms from Zangan's latest conditioning exercise. His wooden practice sword leaned battered against the wall, its surface splintered from too many strikes. He stared at it for a long time, then turned his gaze to his empty hands.
Not enough. I've survived Cor. Zangan. Hunts. Even the markets. But it's not enough. I need more.
Something stirred in him. A pulse beneath thought, faint but insistent. The same presence he had felt years ago, the night he first woke in this world—a flicker of numbers and empty slots that had faded before he could grasp it.
Now, it returned. Stronger.
---
Blue light bloomed across the room, overlaying everything. The heater, the desk, the wall—all washed in shimmering grids and glowing icons.
System Update.
Inventory Tab Unlocked.
Sirius' breath caught. His red eyes reflected the glow, wide and unblinking. Slots stretched before him in neat rows, most empty. At the top, four icons pulsed with soft light.
Reward Granted:
1x Upgradable Katana
3x Potions
1x Elixir
His fingers reached out instinctively. The katana's symbol flared, and light spilled into his palms.
When it cleared, a blade rested in his grip.
---
It was nothing like the crude weapons in the markets, or the wooden sticks Cor had forced into his hands.
The katana was simple, yet flawless. The steel gleamed faintly under the crystal lamp, etched with lines that shimmered like veins of silver running through the blade. Its scabbard was plain black, the hilt wrapped in dark cloth that rasped against his skin. Balanced, neither heavy nor light. Perfect.
Sirius drew it slowly, the whisper of steel leaving its sheath sounding sharper than anything he had ever known. He swung once, and the air itself seemed to part for it. He swung again, tighter, steadier. The blade responded like it had always belonged to him.
The system shimmered again.
Weapon Bound. Growth Path Active. This blade will evolve with wielder.
Sirius' lips curved faintly. "Then grow with me."
He held it longer, testing his grip, his stance. He even tried a series of strikes from memory—basic drills, the kind Cor drilled into him until his arms shook. With this blade, the movements flowed smoother, truer. For the first time, he felt like a swordsman, not a child swinging at shadows.
---
He set the katana carefully across his lap and reached back into the system. Three potions appeared in his hands, their liquid glowing green through glass vials capped with steel. They hummed faintly, as though alive.
Then came the Elixir.
Its glass was thicker, reinforced with crystal latticework. The liquid inside glowed deep cobalt blue, steady and calm. Just holding it made the air feel sharper, cooler. Power radiated from it.
Sirius froze, chest tightening. He didn't see survival items. He saw his mother coughing, pale lips pressed to a cloth stained faint red. He saw the way she tried to smile through it, pretending nothing was wrong.
His throat burned. Maybe this could help her. Maybe this could buy more time.
He cradled the Elixir as if it were spun glass, fragile and sacred.
---
A sudden creak at the door startled him.
The items vanished instantly, slipping back into the Inventory. The katana blinked from sight, leaving nothing but the hum of the heater and the lamp's glow.
Lyla peeked in, her long white hair loose, shadows soft against her face. "Still awake?" she asked gently.
Sirius turned quickly, forcing his voice calm. "I was just… thinking."
Her smile was faint, tired, but warm. She stepped in and brushed his hair back from his eyes. "You never stop. Just like your uncle." She kissed his forehead softly. "But even the strongest need rest. Don't forget that."
He nodded quickly. "Good night, Mother."
She lingered for a moment, then left, closing the door softly behind her.
Sirius waited until her footsteps faded before summoning the katana again. It appeared instantly in his hands, the weight familiar already. He dismissed it. Summoned it. Dismissed it again. The motion felt like breathing.
---
He tested the potions next, materializing one in his palm. Its glow bathed his skin in green. His heart pounded—what if it disappeared forever if he used it? He hesitated, then pressed the vial gently against a small cut on his knuckle from training. The liquid seeped into his skin, and the sting faded instantly. The wound closed, leaving only faint pink.
His breath hitched. It works.
He returned the potion to the Inventory and grabbed his coin pouch. Dropping one Gil into the system, he watched it blink away. The counter ticked upward. Gil: 82.
Sirius' heart raced. Weapons. Medicine. Money.
An arsenal no thief could steal. A vault no guard could confiscate. A secret no one else could know.
---
He sat back on the edge of his bed, hands trembling slightly as he stared at them.
These hands once fumbled with wood. Once wrote desperate vows in a notebook. Now… they hold more than I ever dreamed.
He clenched his fists tight. This is mine. My hidden strength. My way to endure.
He lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling. The crystal lamp hummed quietly, shadows shifting across the sleek walls. Outside, the faint shimmer of the barrier stretched over Insomnia, holding the night at bay.
Sirius' red eyes burned in the half-light.
I won't waste this. Not for myself. Not for anyone. For her. For Lucis. For the ending I swore to change.
Sleep came late, but when it did, he dreamed not of being a boy fumbling with a sword. He dreamed of shadows, of a blade glowing faintly in his hands, of standing at the edge of the world where daemons pressed against the barrier.
And in that dream, he did not falter.