The night air of Insomnia carried a chill that slipped through even the thick stone walls of the city. Lanterns floated above the avenues, tethered by crystal-bound glyphs, casting steady pools of golden light onto wet cobblestones. Voices echoed distantly—merchants closing stalls, the faint clatter of wheels over stone—but here, on the quieter roads leading toward the wall, silence pressed heavier.
Sirius Blake walked quickly, his small legs half-running to keep pace with the man beside him. Cor Leonis, the Immortal, strode with long, unhurried steps, his coat brushing against his legs, his katana's hilt never far from his hand. Even without armor, Cor carried the weight of command, the quiet intensity of a man whose shadow had stood against battlefields and never broken.
Sirius swallowed, nerves clawing at his chest. "Uncle," he whispered, his breath fogging in the cold. "Why am I here?"
Cor's eyes flicked across rooftops, alleys, every crack where danger might hide. His voice, when it came, was low and steady, more lesson than comfort.
"Because books and drills aren't enough. You want to grow? Then you need to see what lives at the edge of the dark."
Sirius shivered, though the night was calm. He had imagined this moment countless times, but imagination was nothing compared to walking at Cor's side into the silence where the city's light began to thin.
---
They passed into the outer districts, where the Citadel's glow dimmed to a memory. The hum of the barrier rose louder, its low, unearthly thrum running through the air like a heartbeat. Above, the faint shimmer of azure light stretched across the sky, a second dome over the stars.
Crownsguard soldiers patrolled in pairs, their armor catching glimmers of lanternlight. They moved with steady discipline, but their shoulders were relaxed, their eyes dulled by routine. Insomnia's walls had never fallen. To most of them, patrol was little more than ritual.
But Sirius felt the tension. Something pressed against his skin, crawling unseen from the darkness beyond the barrier.
Cor stopped at the base of a watchtower, motioning for Sirius to crouch behind a short wall of stone and steel. From here the shimmer of the barrier was clear, a curtain of crystal light stretching endlessly across the night.
At first, there was nothing—only the steady hum of magic, the rhythm of boots pacing overhead. Sirius shifted nervously, about to speak. Then he heard it.
A sound unlike anything he had ever known.
A low growl, guttural and broken, laced with whispers like claws dragging over glass.
The barrier rippled.
Shapes pressed against the other side.
Sirius' breath caught.
The first daemon lurched forward, hunched and twisted, its body half-human, half-nightmare. Its claws scraped the barrier, sparks of blue flaring where magic resisted. Behind it slithered another, long-limbed, its glowing eyes like coals in the dark. Further back, something impossibly tall shifted in the shadows, its form flickering between smoke and flesh, a giant with no face.
Sirius' blood froze. He had written of daemons in his notebook—they appear at night, weak to light. But words could never capture this. Not the rancid breath that fogged against the barrier. Not the hatred etched into every claw.
Cor's voice was quiet. "This is what the people never see. They drink, they laugh, they sleep easy… because we stand here. Because we watch."
The daemon slammed its jaws against the invisible wall. The barrier rippled, flaring bright before settling again. Guards on the battlements tensed, bows raised, but did not fire. They only waited. Because the barrier held. It always held.
Sirius gripped the wall, knuckles white. His heart pounded so loud he thought the creatures might hear it. "They're… horrible."
Cor's gaze slid toward him, calm and steady. "Good. You should fear them. Fear keeps you sharp. What matters is what you do while you're afraid."
---
Time crawled. Daemons clawed, shrieked, and hissed, their cries reverberating through the night. The barrier shook with each impact, as though fragile, as though it could shatter at any moment. Sirius' small legs trembled, but he forced himself to stay still, eyes locked on the horrors pressing against the edge of the light.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. At last, the creatures drifted back into the endless dark. The barrier smoothed, unbroken once more. Guards above shifted uneasily, their laughter returning too quickly, too brittle.
But Sirius could not relax. His chest remained tight, his thoughts sharp. They're always there. Just beyond the light. Waiting. If the barrier fails…
He looked up at Cor, who sat still as carved stone, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Sirius whispered, "Why show me this?"
Cor did not look at him. His voice carried the weight of command, and something heavier—truth.
"Because strength isn't about glory. It isn't about crowds cheering or names in books. Most of the time, strength is this. Sitting in the dark, unseen, so others can live without knowing what waits beyond."
The words pierced Sirius deeper than any blow.
---
On the walk back, the city's lanterns felt dimmer, the laughter thinner. The knowledge clung to him—the truth that beyond the Crystal's light, the night never slept.
At the Blake home, Cor crouched to bring his gaze level with his nephew's. His sharp eyes studied Sirius for a long, silent moment. "You kept your eyes open," he said at last. "That's more than most recruits manage. Remember what you saw tonight."
Sirius swallowed and nodded, his red eyes blazing faintly in the dark. "I will."
Cor gave the faintest nod, then turned, his long coat vanishing into the city's shadows.
---
Inside, the house was still. Lyla slept soundly, and Dominic was yet to return. Sirius lit a candle in his room, the flame trembling as if in echo of his nerves.
He pulled his notebook free, hands unsteady but determined, and wrote:
Notes – The Shadow's Lesson
Went with Uncle Cor. Night patrol.
Saw daemons at the barrier—real, twisted, hungry.
People don't know. They sleep peacefully because others watch.
Fear isn't weakness. Fear sharpens.
He pressed harder, gouging the page:
To protect unseen. To bleed in silence. That is strength.
He closed the notebook, sliding it beneath his pillow. But when he lay down, eyes closed, he saw them still—their claws, their snarls, their glowing eyes pressing against the glass of the barrier.
And over it all, Cor's words echoed:
Not the Crownsguard's strength. Not the Kingsglaive's fire. A different strength. The strength of shadows.
And Sirius knew, with a certainty that burned hot and cold at once:
He would claim it.