The night air beyond Insomnia's barrier was colder than usual, sharp with the bite of winter. Frost clung to the grass, crunching faintly beneath boots. Sirius pulled his cloak tighter as he followed Cor, Kael, and Rhea through the ruins of a modern gas station—its neon sign shattered, its pumps rusted husks overtaken by weeds.
This was not a candidate mission. Tonight, they shadowed real Shadow Guards.
Three veterans moved ahead of them, their armor black as midnight, their faces hidden behind wolf-shaped masks. They moved without sound, their steps almost ghostlike. Sirius could barely hear them even when he strained his ears. These were the fangs of Lucis, the unseen hand of the king.
Cor had said little before leaving, only: "Watch. Remember. Do not interfere."
---
The Guards led them to the edge of a broken overpass. Below, in the dim wash of headlights, an Imperial convoy crawled along the cracked road. Six soldiers rode magitek bikes, two armored transports following behind. Their engines growled, exhaust plumes trailing in the cold.
One Guard raised a gloved hand. The group halted.
Sirius crouched with the others, his red eyes locked on the convoy.
"What are they doing?" Rhea whispered.
"Cutting the head before it grows," Kael murmured back.
Sirius swallowed. He knew what that meant: assassination.
The Shadow Guards did not hesitate. At a silent signal, they vanished from view, melting into the dark like smoke.
---
Moments later, chaos erupted.
One by one, Imperials fell from their bikes, throats cut, engines screeching as the machines toppled. The first transport skidded to a halt, soldiers spilling out only to be struck down before their rifles could charge.
Sirius watched, breath tight. The Guards moved with terrifying precision. Not a wasted strike. Not a cry of warning. Only death, swift and unseen.
Then an alarm blared. The second transport's hatch burst open. More Imperials poured out, rifles blazing. Blue bolts streaked the night, cutting through concrete and spraying shards.
One of the Shadow Guards staggered. A bolt seared through his shoulder, spinning him to the ground.
Sirius' breath caught.
The Guard dropped to one knee, blood soaking his black armor. Yet he did not cry out. He did not even curse. He rose again, blade flashing, cutting down a soldier before another shot tore through his chest.
The man gasped once, air hissing like steam through his mask. Then, with deliberate precision, he turned his strike into a shield. He slammed his blade into the ground, anchoring it as if planting a final marker, and pivoted his body to block a burst of fire meant for his comrades. The rounds struck him, burning through black steel. He collapsed against the hilt, slumping slowly to the earth.
But he never made a sound.
Sirius' throat clenched. This was no panicked death, no accident. It was choice. The Guard had turned his own body into a wall, protecting his brothers even as his life bled out.
The other two Guards did not falter. They pressed forward, blades carving through the remaining Imperials. One by one, the enemy fell, until only silence remained.
The wounded Guard lay still, blood steaming in the cold. His hand still clutched the hilt of his sword, knuckles white, as if refusing to release his final duty.
---
Sirius froze. He had seen death before—beasts cut down, a fellow candidate bleeding in the grass. But this was different.
This was the creed itself, lived to its end.
Rhea's usual smirk had vanished. Even Kael, normally unreadable, had gone still, his lips pressed thin.
Sirius' stomach twisted. Is this what they expect of me? To die without a word? To bleed and vanish, leaving nothing behind but silence?
His fists clenched. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.
---
Cor's voice broke the stillness. "Remember."
He stood over the fallen Guard, his expression carved from stone. He made no move to cover the body, no prayer, no farewell. Only a nod, small but heavy, as though acknowledging the man's service.
The two surviving Guards retrieved their comrade's mask and blade, leaving the body where it lay. They did not speak. They did not mourn. They only carried his tools, for the creed allowed no monuments.
"Protect unseen," Cor said, voice low. "Bleed without witness. This is the path you've chosen."
His gaze turned to Sirius. "If you can't carry it, turn back now."
Sirius' chest tightened. His heart screamed to say no, that this was wrong, that silence was too cruel a fate. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came. He only bowed his head.
Cor's eyes lingered on him a moment longer before he turned away.
---
They returned to Insomnia in silence. The contrast hit harder than ever—towers of glass gleaming under magitek light, trams gliding past, citizens laughing as they bought food from floating kiosks. No one knew what had happened beyond the barrier. No one would ever know.
Sirius walked with his head down, fists trembling. To the city, this night was ordinary. To him, it was a grave.
---
Later, in the solitude of his room, Sirius sat cross-legged on the floor. The hum of magitek panels pulsed faintly through the walls, steady and calm where his thoughts were not.
He closed his eyes. The Guard's final act replayed over and over: no cry, no plea, only steel driven into the ground as his body shielded others.
Sirius tried to picture himself in that place. Could he remain silent as fire tore through him? Could he bleed without witness, nameless and forgotten, so others might live?
The image twisted him inside. A part of him rebelled, screaming that it was too cruel, that life deserved to leave a mark. But another part… another part understood. That man had given meaning to silence. His last act had protected others. In that way, his death had spoken louder than any cry.
Sirius steadied his breath, whispering inward: Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
The storm dulled. Calm seeped back in, cold and sharp.
If that is the creed… then I will carry it. But I won't let it end with nothing. I will not vanish like smoke. If I bleed, it will be for more than silence.
His crimson eyes opened, burning faintly in the dark.
"Never without meaning," he whispered.
Outside, the city gleamed as if untouched by shadow. Inside, a boy hardened his resolve, shaping the creed into something of his own.
Not just to bleed unseen. But to bleed for a purpose no silence could erase.