The morning bell of the academy rang clear across Insomnia.
Sirius walked in silence beside his mother, Lyla's pale hand guiding him gently through the crowded avenues. She looked tired, but her smile never faltered as she adjusted his collar. "It's your first day," she murmured. "You'll do well. Just be yourself."
He gave her a faint nod, though his thoughts were restless. First day of school. In Eos. He remembered fragments of his past life—glimpses of classrooms, cliques, tests. But this place was different. This was where princes and soldiers' children studied side by side, where Lucis' future was shaped.
When they reached the gate, a guard saluted Lyla with a bow before waving Sirius through. His mother's smile lingered as he looked back, then she turned away.
For the first time, Sirius was on his own.
---
The academy rose like a fusion of history and progress—stone pillars carved with Lucian crests, glass corridors reinforced with faintly glowing wards, banners of the royal line suspended from enchanted hooks. Inside, crystal lamps floated overhead, bathing the halls in even light. Teachers in long coats ushered children to their classrooms. Voices echoed in the corridors—laughter, whispers, the shuffle of boots against polished floors.
Sirius found his seat near the back of the room, placing his notebook on the desk. At the front, a crystal-board projected glowing script: History of the Kingdoms, Lesson One.
He scanned the room, his red eyes sharp. Most students came in pairs or groups, laughing, whispering. Some eyed him curiously, their gazes lingering on his white hair and crimson eyes. He caught fragments of whispers—"strange," "Leonis blood," "Crownsguard son." He ignored them, his face calm.
Then the door opened, and the room stilled.
A boy entered, flanked by two instructors.
Dark hair framed his face, his uniform immaculate, but his posture slouched as though the weight of the world already pressed on his small shoulders. His blue eyes glanced briefly at the room, then dropped to the floor. He walked without hurry, without pride, simply enduring the attention.
Noctis Lucis Caelum.
The Crown Prince of Lucis.
The teachers guided him to the front row, setting him at a desk by the window. The other children whispered excitedly, some gawking, some bowing their heads too deeply. Noctis ignored them all, sliding into his seat and staring out at the barrier that shimmered faintly in the distance.
Sirius' chest tightened. So it's real. He's here. The prince.
He remembered the story's ending. The lonely throne room. The walk into the dark. The sacrifice. He had seen it on a screen, mourned it from afar. Now, sitting in the same classroom, Sirius felt the weight of it as never before.
I can't let it end that way.
---
Lessons began. The instructor spoke of Lucis' long history, of the Crystal's protection, of wars fought and won. Children recited names of kings, their voices uneven. Sirius listened carefully, writing notes with quick, messy strokes. He already knew this history from canon, but hearing it spoken aloud anchored it differently.
At the front, Noctis remained quiet. He did not raise his hand, did not answer questions, only scribbled idly in his book or stared outside. Some students whispered that he was shy, others said spoiled. Sirius only saw a boy burdened too early.
When the instructor asked, "Why does Lucis endure while others fall?" Sirius' hand twitched upward instinctively. He knew the answer. But he caught himself, lowering it quickly. Too much attention would be dangerous. He remained silent.
Instead, another child answered clumsily, earning a nod. The lesson moved on.
---
At recess, the children spilled into the courtyard. Sirius lingered near the edge, notebook open on his knees as he pretended to study. His eyes, however, drifted toward the prince.
Noctis sat alone beneath a tree, poking absently at the dirt with a stick. Children passed him with stolen glances, some bowing awkwardly, others too nervous to approach. He gave no sign of noticing them.
For a fleeting moment, Sirius thought of walking over. He imagined introducing himself, offering quiet companionship. But the thought died quickly. Not yet. If I change things too soon, everything could unravel.
So he stayed where he was, watching.
The bell rang, and the children returned inside.
---
The rest of the day blurred with numbers, maps, and sword theory. Sirius answered when called upon but otherwise kept to himself. Noctis remained quiet, his presence heavy but distant, as though he lived in a different world even within the same classroom.
When dismissal came, Sirius gathered his things quickly. On the way out, he passed the prince's desk. For a heartbeat, he hesitated, glancing down.
Noctis was still staring out the window, the faintest frown on his lips.
Sirius clenched his fists. One day, I'll stand beside you. But not today.
He turned and walked away.
---
That evening, at home, Lyla asked him gently, "How was your first day?"
"It was fine," Sirius said, sitting at the table. "The lessons are easy."
She brushed his hair back, smiling softly. "You'll make friends soon."
Sirius forced a nod, though his heart whispered a different truth. Friends could come later. For now, distance was safer.
Later, when Cor stopped by, Dominic asked briefly, "And how was the prince?"
Sirius froze, then answered carefully, "Quiet. He didn't raise his hand."
Cor's eyes narrowed, a faint hum of approval in his voice. "Good. Watch him. Learn his silence as well as his strength."
---
That night, Sirius lit his candle and opened his notebook, the words tumbling out quick and uneven.
Notes – School of Princes
First day. Children whisper. Don't care.
Saw him. Noctis. Crown Prince.
Just a boy. Quiet. Lonely. Doesn't raise his hand.
His ending… I won't let it happen.
Beneath, he scrawled, the pencil nearly breaking from the pressure:
My vow: One day, I'll be his shield. Even if he never knows my name.
He closed the notebook and slid it back under his pillow. The candle burned low, shadows stretching across the walls.
Sirius lay awake long after, the image of the boy by the window burned into his mind.