The pylons of Insomnia thrummed faintly as dusk bled across the plains.
Beyond the towering gates, the neon brilliance of the capital diminished, swallowed by the barren wastes of Leide. Out here, the desert stretched wide and lonely—a land of dust and stone where brittle grasses grew in meager patches and jagged crystal shards jutted from the earth like broken mirrors. The horizon smoldered in bruised shades of orange and violet, the sun sinking into the jagged teeth of rock.
Sirius adjusted the strap of his training tunic and kept pace with Cor Leonis. Each step carried them farther from the city's protective hum, and with it, the illusion of safety. The pylons faded behind them, swallowed by shadow, until the only light came from the sky and the glow of crystals embedded in scattered cliffs.
He had been outside the city walls before—on hunts, on patrols—but each time the silence felt heavier, the air thicker. Monsters prowled here. The kingdom's borders were little more than thin lines drawn against the endless wild.
"Keep your head clear," Cor said, voice carrying easily over the stillness. "Out here, panic is death."
Sirius swallowed and nodded, though his throat was dry.
They stopped at a fortified outpost just beyond the wall. Its angular steel walls gleamed faintly with rune wards, magitek lanterns throwing pale light across weapons racks and supply crates. A pair of Crownsguard nodded as Cor passed, eyes lingering on the boy trailing him. Sirius ignored their looks, fixing his gaze on the rack of swords where Cor paused.
The Immortal pulled free a plain steel short sword, unadorned and practical. Without ceremony, he tossed it to Sirius. The boy caught it with both hands, the weight nearly pulling him off balance.
"Use that," Cor said. "Your father wants you trained in steel, not toys."
Sirius glanced down at the weapon. Functional. Dull. Its balance was clumsy compared to the blade he yearned to wield. Heavy in a way that spoke of solidity, but lifeless compared to the hum of the katana hidden in his system. His heart whispered rebellion—a katana, like Uncle's, like the one that chose me—but he bowed his head and wrapped his fingers tighter around the grip.
His true weapon would remain hidden. For now.
---
The first growl rippled through the rocks.
Sirius froze. The sound curled low and guttural, vibrating in his chest. From the ridge above, four sabertusks padded into view. Their sleek bodies rippled with muscle, their jaws lined with long, gleaming fangs. Yellow eyes locked on him with a predator's focus, narrowing as they stalked down the slope.
Sirius swallowed hard and lifted the short sword. His grip trembled—not from fear, but from wrongness. This wasn't his blade.
Cor folded his arms, making no move to draw his katana. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp. "Show me."
The first sabertusk lunged. Sirius slashed too high, steel skimming across its shoulder. The wound was shallow, blood spraying in a thin arc. The beast yowled but hardly slowed. Another barreled in from the side, its weight slamming him into the dirt.
Dust exploded around him as pain flared white-hot in his ribs.
HP: 74% ■■■■■■■
The numbers blinked before his eyes, then vanished. He gasped and rolled to his knees, coughing grit from his throat.
"Up," Cor's voice commanded, sharp as a lash.
Sirius dragged himself to his feet. His chest burned. His arms shook. Get up. Correct. Adapt.
---
The sabertusks circled again, snarling, their paws stirring dust. Sirius steadied his stance, forcing himself to recall Cor's endless drills—low knees, firm balance, the body like water. His pulse slowed.
The next beast charged. Sirius pivoted aside, steel flashing upward. This time, the blade bit deep across its flank. The sabertusk stumbled, blood slicking the stones. Sirius' body flowed without thought, muscles correcting his form, movement smoother.
Adaptive Resonance thrummed in his veins. Each mistake became a lesson etched into his body. His footwork steadied, his grip firmed.
Another sabertusk lunged. Sirius twisted, blade grazing its ribs, not a clean kill but cleaner than before. His breath came harsh but steady. Each clash sharpened him, as if the world itself were shaping him stroke by stroke.
But the last beast struck from behind. Sirius spun too late.
Fangs tore into his shoulder. Agony ripped through him, white-hot and blinding.
HP: 29% ■■■
He screamed, stumbling forward, blood pouring down his arm. The short sword felt like stone in his hand, heavy and wrong. The beast circled back, growl vibrating low, preparing to end him.
---
Something inside him surged.
Not thought. Not will. Something deeper.
His hand reached—not for steel—but for the void that pulsed at his call.
Light flared in his palm. The katana appeared, black scabbard gleaming faintly, silver edge alive. Balanced. Perfect. It thrummed with his heartbeat, as though it had always been there.
Sirius rose, blade flashing in a perfect arc. The katana cut cleanly across the sabertusk's throat. Blood sprayed hot against his cheek. The beast stumbled, collapsing in a twitching heap.
Another lunged. Sirius spun, body flowing in instinctive rhythm, katana slashing across its chest. The strike landed true, effortless, precise.
For a heartbeat, Sirius felt whole. The katana's song filled his bones, every motion alive with clarity.
Then terror struck.
Cor.
The katana dissolved in an instant, vanishing into light. The short sword clattered back into his hand, dull and lifeless. Sirius' chest heaved, praying his uncle hadn't seen.
---
The silence that followed was heavy.
Cor's gaze lingered on him, unreadable. His eyes narrowed briefly at the faint glow still clinging to Sirius' shoulder, where torn flesh was knitting together too quickly.
Sirius froze.
But Cor said nothing.
"On your feet," he murmured, turning toward the outpost. "You're not dead. That's what matters."
---
The walk back to Insomnia was long and quiet. Sirius' body ached with every step. His arm throbbed, blood still drying along his sleeve, though the potion he had downed mid-battle dulled the wound to a faint ache.
He had barely registered it at the time—the vial appearing in his palm, liquid fire sliding down his throat, warmth surging through torn muscle until the pain receded. Healing that felt alien and familiar all at once.
Now, as he flexed his fingers, the skin was smooth, pink, almost whole. A miracle. A secret.
His chest burned—not with fear—but with awe. The system was real. The katana was real.
Cor's silence weighed heavier than rebuke. Did he know? Did he suspect? Sirius tightened his grip on the short sword, forcing his hand steady, hiding the tremor in his fingers.
The neon skyline of Insomnia grew on the horizon, glowing like a second dawn beyond the barrier. Towers rose from the dark like crystalline lances, etched with runes that pulsed against the night.
Sirius' gaze lingered on that glow, on the city that was his cage and his sanctuary both. His vow pressed sharp against his heart.
My true blade stays mine. Hidden. Until the time comes.
The katana pulsed faintly in memory, its hum an oath only he could hear.