The morning light stretched across the wooden floor in long golden beams, spilling through the window onto the table where Sirius Blake sat. His small hands rested over the wooden sword in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling restlessly. His father had promised to train him again today—but Dominic Blake was not here. Duty had pulled him away to the Citadel, as it often did, leaving Sirius alone with his resolve and the weight of waiting.
His red eyes remained fixed on the front door, unblinking, as though will alone could summon the teacher he needed. I can't waste time, he thought, chest tight. I swore I'd change the ending. Every day matters.
The answer came with the slow creak of the door.
Boots thudded across the floor, steady and heavy, and Sirius' breath hitched. His uncle stepped inside, tall and unyielding, his presence filling the modest home as though the very air bent around him. Cor Leonis—the Immortal. His dark hair was tied back, his long coat brushing against his legs, and at his hip rested the katana that had cut down enemies across battlefields most never lived to see.
"Cor," Lyla said warmly, rising with effort. Her smile softened her pale face as she stepped forward to embrace him. "It's been too long."
He returned her hug with care, his strength restrained. "How are you holding up, sister?"
"As always—I endure," Lyla said with quiet grace. She brushed a lock of white hair behind her ear, then gestured toward the boy still frozen at the table. "But enough of me. Look. Sirius has been waiting for his teacher."
Cor's gaze shifted. His eyes were sharp, honed like steel, and when they fell upon Sirius, the boy felt pinned to his seat. This wasn't just his uncle. This was the Immortal—the blade of Lucis, commander of the Crownsguard.
Cor stepped forward. His voice carried the weight of command, low and firm. "Your father serves the king. He cannot always train you. From today, I will."
Sirius' breath caught. His grip tightened around the wooden sword. "Y-you?"
Cor raised a brow at the stammer. "Does that surprise you?"
"Yes," Sirius admitted, though his voice steadied.
"Good," Cor replied, and there was the faintest shadow of approval in his eyes. "Because training under me will surprise you every day. It will break you. It will test you. But if you endure, you will become something more."
The words struck Sirius like a hammer. He forced himself to nod, his voice stronger now. "I'll endure. I promise."
Cor's gaze lingered, weighing him in silence. Then he turned toward the door. "Come. To the yard."
---
The yard behind the house was little more than packed dirt, worn from Dominic's drills, but under Cor's presence it might as well have been a battlefield. The faint sigils carved into the wooden fence glowed softly, pulsing brighter with every strike as if reacting to their clash. Beyond, the city's magical barrier hummed steadily, its rhythm syncing with Cor's commands.
The Immortal drew a wooden practice blade from the rack, carrying it with the same natural ease he carried his katana. He tossed another toward Sirius. The boy fumbled, nearly dropping it before catching hold.
"Stance," Cor ordered.
Sirius planted his feet apart, knees bent, recalling his father's lessons.
"Too stiff." Cor strode forward, nudging his foot, pressing down on his shoulder, forcing his balance lower. "Feel the ground. Let it hold you. Don't stand on it—root yourself in it. Again."
Sirius adjusted, his legs trembling.
Without warning, Cor struck.
The wooden blade cracked against Sirius' guard. The boy staggered, knees buckling, but somehow caught himself.
"Better than most recruits," Cor said, circling. Then he struck again, harder.
Sirius' arms shook violently. His breath came ragged. Sweat beaded down his face. But he held.
The blows came like rain. Unrelenting. Each strike jarred his bones, each impact threatened to break his stance. His small body screamed for relief, but Cor's voice cut through the haze with iron clarity.
"Stand. Again."
And Sirius obeyed. Again. And again.
Hours blurred. His tunic clung to his body with sweat. His hands blistered despite the thin wraps Lyla had stitched for him. His shoulders screamed with fire. Each fall drove him to the dirt, but each time, he dragged himself back up.
When the sun began to tilt low, Sirius finally collapsed to his knees, gasping. His wooden blade wobbled in his grip, but he still held it upright, stubborn, defiant.
Cor stood over him, his face unreadable. Then he crouched, bringing his gaze level with the boy's.
"You have fire," Cor said. "But fire alone burns out. You need steel. You need to endure when every bone tells you to quit."
"I will," Sirius rasped, his voice cracked, but his red eyes blazed. "I'll endure. I'll get stronger."
For the first time, Cor's gaze softened. Something like respect flickered in his eyes. He extended a hand and pulled Sirius back to his feet.
---
That evening, Lyla tended to Sirius' bruises, her hands gentle as she dabbed enchanted salve along his arms. The ointment shimmered faintly, soothing his raw skin, but her expression betrayed her worry.
"You'll break him if you're not careful," she whispered toward Cor.
Cor's answer was quiet but firm. "If he breaks, then he was never meant for what's coming. But he won't break."
Sirius lingered nearby, heart pounding with unspent resolve. At last, he gathered his courage. "Uncle Cor."
Cor turned, one brow raised. "What is it?"
Sirius clenched the hem of his tunic. "I… I don't want to learn only the sword. If I lose it, I still want to stand. I want to fight with my hands, my body. Close-quarter combat. Martial arts."
Lyla's eyes widened at the sudden request. Cor, however, only studied him, silent and still. After a long moment, he nodded slowly.
"You want to fight even stripped bare." His voice carried no surprise, only recognition. "Good. Then I'll see it arranged."
Relief and determination surged in Sirius' chest. He bowed his head. "Thank you."
Cor placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Then be ready. From this day forward, you're mine to shape. And I don't forgive weakness."
Sirius trembled, but he lifted his chin and met his uncle's eyes. His red gaze blazed against Cor's steel.
"Then I won't be weak."
---
Later that night, Sirius sat at his desk, the lamp's pale glow illuminating the scrawled pages of his notebook. His hands were raw, trembling, but he pressed the pencil down and wrote:
Notes – Cor's Lesson
Fire burns out. Steel endures.
Don't stand on the ground. Root yourself in it.
Endure, even when your body quits.
He stared at the words, then pressed harder, etching the vow in jagged strokes:
I will become both fire and steel. I will endure.
Sliding the notebook beneath his pillow, Sirius collapsed into bed, every muscle screaming—but inside, a new fire burned steady. Not wild. Not fleeting. A fire being forged into steel.