The city glittered like a jewel against the night barrier, its towers gleaming with crystal-thread veins. But Sirius' gaze was fixed not on the light, but on the dark beyond.
Restlessness gnawed at him.
It had been days since Cor's trial in the wilds. Days since he'd stumbled back through the gates starved, bruised, and alive. He should have felt pride. Instead, all he felt was hunger—not for food, but for more.
If I can survive the wilds with nothing, he thought, then I can handle more. I don't need to wait for Cor to choose the pace. I can grow faster.
The thought was not wisdom. It was impatience, burning hotter with every passing night.
---
He slipped through the southern gate with the cover of returning hunters, their laughter and noise masking his absence. Beyond the barrier, the world hushed, the hum of magitek falling away into the breath of the desert.
Sirius ducked into the shadows of a jagged rock. His hands trembled as he whispered, "Inventory."
A shimmer answered. From it, he drew the katana.
Its black-and-silver blade glimmered faintly under the moonlight, a weapon no Lucian smith had ever crafted, yet it fit his hand perfectly, as if it had always belonged to him.
His chest tightened. He had sworn to keep it hidden, never shown in daylight, never revealed to another soul. But out here, alone, with only monsters and silence for company… he needed it.
No one would see. No one would know.
He gripped the weapon, its weight both strange and familiar, and walked into the dark.
---
The hunt began easily.
Two scorpions skittered across the sand, their tails glowing faintly. Sirius crouched low, blade angled. When they struck, he flowed with the motion, the katana cutting through chitin as though it were brittle glass. The creatures collapsed in sparks and twitching limbs.
Drops glistened on the ground, which he gathered quickly. His chest rose and fell, exhilaration buzzing in his veins.
This blade… He glanced at the steel, gleaming faintly. With this, nothing is impossible.
Pride swelled hot in his chest. Too hot.
He pressed deeper into the wilds.
---
The growls came first.
Sirius froze, his hand tightening on the hilt. From the ridge above, yellow eyes gleamed in the dark. A pack of sabertusks, three in number, stalking him.
His breath quickened. He should have turned back. Every instinct told him to. But another thought drowned them out: I can do this. I have to.
The first sabertusk leapt. Sirius sidestepped and slashed, the katana singing as it tore across the beast's flank. Blood sprayed, the creature stumbling aside with a howl. Sirius' chest swelled.
The second came faster. He caught its strike, sparks scattering as fang met steel. The impact rattled his bones, but he held.
Then the third slammed into his ribs. The air tore from his lungs as he hit the sand. Agony flared across his side where claws raked deep. His katana clattered from his hand.
The beasts circled, growls vibrating in his skull.
---
He staggered to his feet, vision swimming, blade barely steady. Another sabertusk lunged, jaws snapping past his shoulder. He slashed back wildly, grazing its muzzle, but the motion left him open. A claw ripped across his back, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt.
Blood soaked his shirt. The taste of iron filled his mouth. His chest heaved shallow, vision dimming.
I'm going to die here.
Panic seized him. His hand shot to the system.
"Inventory—" he croaked. A potion shimmered into his palm. He uncorked it with shaking fingers and downed it desperately.
Green fire spread through his veins. Wounds closed, breath returned, clarity snapped into place. His ribs still ached, but the bleeding slowed, his body repairing where it had been seconds from collapse.
The sabertusks lunged again. This time, Sirius rolled, grabbed his katana, and swung.
The blade carved through the first beast's shoulder, a clean arc that drove it howling back. He pivoted with the momentum, slashing across the second's flank, forcing it to retreat. The third hesitated, hackles raised, snarling low.
Sirius' stance shifted. His fear remained, but Adaptive Resonance thrummed beneath his skin, steadying his breath, sharpening his hands. Each failure from before rewrote itself into precision.
The beasts circled, but his katana gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and his crimson eyes did not falter.
With a cry, Sirius advanced. Steel clashed with claw until, at last, the sabertusks broke, fleeing into the dark with wounded howls.
---
Silence fell.
Sirius collapsed to one knee, panting, his shirt torn, his skin slick with blood and sweat. The katana trembled in his hands. It had saved him—no, the system had saved him. Without the potion, without this blade, he would already be dead.
He stared at the weapon, its surface reflecting the faint glow of the stars. A blade meant to grow with him, to rise as he did. But he had wielded it recklessly, without respect, without restraint.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to his feet. Drops clinked faintly in his pocket—the only reward for the risk of his life.
He limped back toward the city.
---
The sky paled as dawn broke, the barrier of Insomnia shimmering faintly ahead. Sirius slipped the katana back into inventory before the gates came into view. By the time he stumbled past the guards, there was no weapon in his hands—only bruises, cuts, and exhaustion.
Cor waited in the shadow of the wall. His gaze swept over Sirius once, cool and sharp.
Sirius froze.
The Immortal's voice carried low, not anger but something colder. "A hunter who doesn't respect the wild dies in it. Don't make me dig your grave before you've earned the right to be in one."
Sirius bowed his head, fists trembling at his sides. He said nothing.
Cor turned and walked away.
Sirius stood there in silence long after, the weight of the katana still lingering in his palms though no one else had seen it. The drops clinked faintly in his pocket, a bitter prize.
He had wanted to prove himself, to climb faster. Instead, he had nearly thrown his life away.
The creed echoed in his skull: Protect unseen. Bleed without witness.
He clenched his fists tighter. If he must bleed unseen, then he would—but not for pride. Never again.