The night after the rumors spread, sleep refused to come.
Sirius sat cross-legged on his room's floor, the city's glow spilling faintly through the window. His breath came slow and measured, the same rhythm Cor had drilled into him since childhood — inhale, hold, exhale. His body was still, his mind sharper than silence.
He had spent hours listening to the hum of the barrier, the faint vibration that resonated through Insomnia's walls. The city's magitek veins pulsed faintly beneath his feet. Every light, every panel, every tram outside carried mana from the Crystal's core — the lifeblood of Lucis.
He closed his eyes.
Magic.
He'd seen it all his life — soldiers casting simple spells, field medics weaving Cure, the Citadel's guard throwing lightning spears that split the air. But watching it and feeling it were two different worlds. Cor always said he'd know when he was ready.
And tonight, something in him stirred — like the faintest echo of warmth in his veins.
He exhaled, focused, and reached inward.
---
Inside, his consciousness sank past muscle and bone, past pulse and heartbeat, into something deeper — the still surface of a lake waiting for a ripple.
The world around him muted. The air grew heavier, his awareness stretching into every breath. He visualized the flow of life within him, the unseen thread that tied soul to flesh.
Then he felt it — a faint spark near his sternum, no larger than a heartbeat's flicker. It wasn't heat, not yet. It was potential, waiting for shape.
He reached toward it carefully, steady as a blade finding its sheath.
The spark flared.
A pulse of heat burst through his chest, spreading like wildfire through his limbs. He gasped, eyes flying open. His palm glowed faint orange, veins outlined by light. For an instant, a small flame — thin and flickering — danced above his skin.
It wasn't supposed to be possible. Not this young. Not without a focus, or conduit.
But the fire didn't care for rules.
It burned brighter, alive and wild, curling up his wrist. Pain bloomed under his skin — sharp, electric, hungry. The flame wasn't obeying him. It was testing him.
Control it, he told himself. You're not the fire. You command it.
He tried to shape the heat, draw it inward, mold it like Cor had once described. But the more he tried to contain it, the stronger it flared, like a creature rejecting its cage.
Sweat rolled down his temple. The air shimmered around him, the scent of heat rising.
If power cuts the wielder first… then learn to bleed slower.
He inhaled, focused everything into one single motion — closing his fist.
The flame winked out.
Smoke curled from his palm. A faint burn mark lingered across his skin, glowing like a crimson sigil before fading.
Sirius exhaled shakily. His heart thundered in his chest, but he smiled faintly.
A spark. A beginning.
---
The door creaked open.
"You're awake again," Lyla said softly, her voice faint from the hallway.
Sirius turned, startled. His mother leaned against the doorframe, wrapped in her shawl. The dim light made her look fragile but serene, like a ghost of the moonlight itself.
"Couldn't sleep," he said.
She smiled gently. "You used to stare at the stars when you couldn't. Now you just stare at yourself."
He flushed slightly, looking away. "I was… training."
"Of course you were." Her eyes softened. "You get that from your uncle."
He smiled faintly. "He'd say I still have much to learn."
"And he'd be right," she said, stepping closer to brush his hair from his face. Her fingers hesitated when she noticed the faint redness across his palm. "You burned yourself."
Sirius hid his hand instinctively. "Just a little. Nothing serious."
Her gaze lingered, reading more than he wanted to show. But she didn't press. "You're trying too hard again."
"I have to," he said, voice low.
She tilted her head. "Do you, Sirius? Or do you just not know how to stop?"
He looked at her then — the faint tiredness under her eyes, the way her breath sometimes caught when she spoke. His chest tightened.
"I can't stop," he said simply. "If I do… I might not be able to protect you next time."
Her expression softened with something that wasn't pity — it was pride, tinged with sadness. "You've already done more than most ever could."
He shook his head. "Not enough."
Lyla sighed softly. "Then at least remember this — the strongest flame burns slowest. Don't let yours consume you before it's needed."
She turned to leave, the faintest hum of her old lullaby following her out. Sirius watched the doorway long after she disappeared.
---
When the silence returned, he looked back at his palm. The skin had healed already — not fully, but faster than normal. Adaptive Resonance, working quietly beneath the surface. His body was learning the fire.
He smiled faintly. "Good."
He wasn't chasing power for glory. He chased it to prepare. The memory of the game's canon still haunted him — the fall of Insomnia, the ten years of night. He wouldn't let it happen again.
He sat cross-legged once more, breathing steady, and whispered the word he'd seen in old magic texts.
"Ignis."
A faint warmth gathered in his chest. The glow returned, smaller, gentler this time. A flicker — not a blaze. He held it longer, guiding it like breath. The flame hovered above his palm for nearly five seconds before fading softly.
Control.
He exhaled, shaking faintly but smiling. The air smelled faintly of ozone and ash.
---
The next morning, he found Cor waiting at the Citadel's training yard. The Immortal stood with arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as ever. Zangan was there too, rolling his shoulders like a man already expecting chaos.
"You're late," Cor said.
Sirius bowed. "Apologies, sir. I was… experimenting."
Zangan's grin widened. "With what?"
Sirius hesitated, then raised his palm. A spark ignited above his hand — a flicker of controlled flame.
Cor's eyes narrowed. Zangan blinked. "...Huh. Well, that's new."
Sirius let the flame die and met Cor's gaze.
"It woke last night," he said. "I think I can train it."
Cor studied him for a long moment, his silence louder than approval or rebuke. Then: "Fire is the element of will. It obeys only those who know why they burn. Do you?"
Sirius nodded once. "Yes."
Cor's eyes lingered. Then, quietly, he said, "Good. Because once it starts, you don't get to stop."
Zangan patted Sirius' shoulder with a grin. "Congratulations, pup. You've officially entered the phase of 'burns, blisters, and near explosions.' You'll love it."
Sirius gave a small smile. "I'll try not to explode."
"Do, not try," Cor said.
Zangan groaned. "You and your stoic one-liners."
Cor ignored him. "Continue your elemental practice under supervision. Fire first. Then we'll see if you can handle ice or lightning without killing yourself."
"Yes, sir."
---
By the time training ended that afternoon, Sirius' hands were raw, his arms trembling from exhaustion. He'd spent hours focusing the flicker, igniting and snuffing it until it obeyed instinct rather than command.
Every mistake hurt — but every burn healed faster. The feedback loop of growth continued.
When he finally sat down, panting under the orange light of sunset, Cor stood over him.
"Pain teaches faster than comfort," Cor said.
"I know," Sirius muttered, staring at his bandaged palm.
Cor nodded once. "Then learn quickly. Fire won't wait for the weak."
He turned and walked away, his coat rippling in the heat.
Zangan crouched beside Sirius, smirking. "He means 'good job,' by the way. That's his version of praise."
Sirius chuckled faintly, tired but satisfied. "I'll take it."
Zangan rose, hands behind his head. "Careful, kid. You're starting to sound like him."
---
When Sirius returned home, the air smelled faintly of rain. He sat by his window, city lights flickering against his reflection. He lifted his hand — a faint spark appeared again, steady and small.
He stared into it, seeing not power, but purpose.
Never without meaning.
The flame pulsed once, as if answering.
He smiled softly and let it fade.