The morning light poured through the crystalline windows of Insomnia Academy, turning the polished walls into sheets of faint color. The magitek hum of the city filtered through the glass, blending with the soft vibration of projectors as the day's lesson began.
On the wall before them, a projection of the Lucian kings shimmered into view: one after another, their ghostly likenesses wielding phantom blades that glowed like embers.
"Remember this," the instructor intoned. "Strength alone does not make a kingdom. Discipline sustains us. Secrecy protects us. The armies of Lucis fight in the open, but some wars are fought where the light never reaches."
Sirius sat near the back, pen in hand, crimson eyes fixed on the projection. He already knew more than the lesson gave—names, battles, endings—but he copied the words with quiet patience.
Around him, whispers rustled like dry grass in the wind.
"That's him—the White Wolf."
"Blake's son. Red eyes."
"Strange, isn't he? Creepy."
Sirius didn't flinch. Their voices no longer cut him. They were just noise, the sound of children who couldn't see beyond their own world. His focus was elsewhere: training, growth, and perhaps one day, bending the fate he remembered from the canon of this realm.
During the break, Sirius crossed the courtyard. His eyes caught on a familiar trio: Noctis, leaning against a tree as if the world bored him; Ignis, book balanced in his hands, gaze flicking briefly toward Sirius with clinical calculation; and Gladio, arms folded, a pillar of strength even out of uniform.
For a heartbeat their eyes met. Ignis tilted his head slightly, curious. Gladio grunted, as if to say I've noticed you. Noctis barely stirred, his eyes opening just enough to acknowledge before closing again.
Sirius turned away, calm. Their stories would come later. For now, his path was his own.
---
By afternoon, the academy courtyard blazed under the harsh glow of magitek floodlamps. Rows of students drilled against wooden dummies, each strike echoing across the steel floor.
At the far corner, Cor Leonis waited. His arms were crossed, katana strapped to his back, presence sharp as the weapon he carried.
Kael stood opposite Sirius in the sparring circle, his smirk faint but needling. "Ready to prove the whispers right, White Wolf?"
Rhea crouched near the edge, twirling her dagger between her fingers, eyes glinting with mischief. "Try not to embarrass yourselves. I'd hate to be bored."
Cor's voice carried, iron steady. "One clean strike decides it. Begin."
Kael moved first. His blade blurred in a feint that vanished mid-swing, returning from another angle with lethal precision. Sirius stumbled to block, boots scraping against the steel. The clash jarred his arm.
Again Kael pressed, each strike light as a shadow but cutting in intent. Sirius faltered—but each mistake etched itself into his body. Adaptive Resonance burned within him, rewriting failure into correction. His stance steadied, his blade caught the next strike with firmer precision.
Kael's smirk flickered, eyes narrowing. "Too fast. You learn too damn fast."
Sirius answered only with motion, parrying another strike and sliding into a counter that forced Kael back a step.
Rhea clapped slowly, laughter under her breath. "Not bad, boys. But you fight like you want the whole city watching. Too loud. Too obvious."
Her turn came next. Rhea darted in with deceptive speed, her foot catching as though she stumbled. Sirius reached to exploit it—and found her dagger pressed against his ribs, her grin triumphant.
"Lesson one," she teased. "Don't fall for the trick."
Her words cut sharper than the wooden blade. Sirius forced his breathing steady, stripping the honesty from his stance. When she lunged again, he caught her feint, turned her momentum aside, and held his blade to her shoulder.
Her grin widened, not angry but amused. "Better."
Cor ended it with a raised hand. "Enough. Save your strength. Tonight, you'll learn what truly matters."
Sirius exhaled slowly, sweat slicking his palms. Rivalry burned sharper now—Kael with his silence, Rhea with her cunning. And himself, adapting, adjusting, refusing to fall behind.
---
Night fell.
The training hall slept beneath shadows. Floodlights dimmed to a violet hush, their glow striping the steel floor in long lines. Wards pulsed faintly, sealing the hall from the city outside.
Cor stood at the center, his voice slicing through the silence. "This lesson is not about strength. Not about speed. Tonight, you learn the creed of the shadows."
His gaze lingered on each of them. Sirius felt the weight of it most.
"The king has his shield. The kingdom has its armies. But some threats move where shields and armies cannot. For that, Lucis has its shadows."
He let silence stretch, then gave them the words.
"Protect unseen. Bleed without witness."
The air itself seemed to darken around them. The creed was not long, but it was heavy, as if centuries had carved the weight of sacrifice into its syllables.
Sirius felt it strike his chest, iron-hot. No parades. No glory. A life unseen, blood spilled in silence.
Kael smirked faintly, as though the creed was an old friend. Rhea tilted her head, curiosity burning brighter. Sirius only clenched his fists. Chains and wings both—that was what the words felt like.
---
"First drill," Cor ordered, pointing to the far wall. "Cross without sound. If I hear you, you fail."
Kael slipped into motion first, his steps flowing like water. The floor barely whispered beneath him. He reached the wall with a smirk intact.
Rhea followed, weaving tricks into her movement. A stumble here, a pebble flicked across the floor there, her rhythm designed to mislead the ear. Cor's eyes narrowed, but he let her through.
Then Sirius.
His first step cracked loud against the steel. He froze. Tried again. Too heavy. Too loud.
Cor's voice cut sharp. "You walk like you want the world to see you. Again."
Heat burned through Sirius. The words of classmates rang in his ears—White Wolf. Red-eyed prodigy. Too bright. Too seen.
But here, to be seen was weakness.
He closed his eyes. If they see me, I am weak. If they forget me, I am strong.
He moved again. Slower. Breath steady with the wards' hum. Weight rolled across the edge of his foot instead of his heel. The sound dulled. Step by step, he reached the wall. Not perfect. But quieter.
"Better," Cor said.
---
"Second drill. Suppress your presence. Walk past me as though you don't exist."
Kael ghosted forward, so silent that even his smirk seemed muted. Rhea slid by with clever rhythm, her body a trick of movement and timing.
Sirius stepped forward. His white hair caught the light, his crimson eyes glowed like coals. A beacon.
"You blind the world with your presence," Cor said, voice low. "Bleed it out, or you'll never belong here."
Sirius inhaled deeply. He imagined himself fading—not Sirius Blake, not the White Wolf, not anything. Just shadow. Just breath. Just nothing.
He moved.
This time, the hall seemed to hold him. His steps blended with the hum, his glow dimmed. Cor's eyes still followed, but Sirius was easier to forget.
"Acceptable," Cor said at last.
Not praise. Not dismissal. A first step.
---
Hours bled into sweat and silence. By the time Cor dismissed them, Sirius' legs ached, his lungs burned, but his presence was dimmer, quieter.
Cor's gaze swept across them one last time. "Strength is nothing without silence. Silence is nothing without cunning. Learn both, or die. The world will never cheer your names. Your victories will never be known. Protect unseen. Bleed without witness. That is your path."
Kael smirked. Rhea's eyes glittered. Sirius bowed his head, the creed searing into his soul.
For the others, it was lesson. For Sirius, it was truth.
He clenched his fists. If he must bleed unseen, then he would. But not in vain. He would use that silence not just to survive—but to change the fate he knew was coming.