The next morning dawned quiet — too quiet.
The magitek lights of Insomnia dimmed softly against the haze of early daylight. Aircars whispered across aerial lanes, their contrails glowing faintly with blue mana. In the distance, the barrier shimmered with its steady hum, a heartbeat that never ceased.
Inside the Blake apartment, the world had not yet stirred.
Then came the sound — a dull thud from Sirius' room.
---
Lyla was the first to hear it. She turned sharply, worry flashing in her eyes. She pushed open the door.
Sirius was on the floor beside his desk, half-collapsed, his katana resting a few feet away. Sweat clung to his forehead, his breaths ragged and shallow. The air smelled faintly of ozone and smoke.
"Sirius!" She rushed to his side, lifting his head onto her lap. His skin was hot to the touch, but his hands were cold — trembling faintly.
He stirred, voice barely a whisper. "I'm… fine."
"You're not fine," she said sharply, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead. "You're burning up!"
He opened his eyes slowly. His pupils glowed faintly red — the lingering trace of overdrawn mana. "Just overdid it a little. I was practicing infusion again."
Lyla's jaw tightened. "At dawn?"
He gave a weak smile. "Cor says discipline means—"
"Cor isn't your mother," she interrupted, though her voice softened as she brushed his hair back. "You're not a soldier, Sirius. You're a boy."
He wanted to argue — to say he couldn't afford to be a boy. But his chest ached with every breath, and the words refused to come.
Lyla sighed, her expression melting from anger to worry. "You've been pushing yourself too hard again."
"I have to," he murmured.
Her hand froze mid-motion. "Why?"
His answer was simple, raw. "Because time never stops."
She looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then she spoke gently. "Time doesn't stop, no. But neither do people who love you. Let us keep pace with you, Sirius. Please."
He closed his eyes, guilt threading through his exhaustion. "I don't want you to worry."
"Then don't make me," she whispered.
---
Hours passed.
Lyla tended to him with quiet efficiency — the care of a mother who'd done this too many times before. Cool compresses. Potion-soaked cloths against the fever. A wet towel across his chest to steady his body temperature.
When Dominic returned from duty, he froze in the doorway, eyes immediately scanning the scene. "What happened?"
Lyla answered without looking up. "Mana overuse. Again."
Dominic exhaled sharply, setting his gloves aside. "How bad?"
"Bad enough that he fainted."
Dominic knelt beside them, pressing two fingers to Sirius' wrist. The pulse was fast — too fast. "His resonance is unstable."
"He needs rest," Lyla said quietly. "Not training."
Dominic frowned. "Cor won't like it if he misses his drills."
"Then Cor can train the air," Lyla snapped softly. "My son isn't a weapon."
Her words hung heavy. Dominic didn't argue. He simply nodded, guilt darkening his expression. "You're right."
They stayed with him as the fever ran its course.
---
By evening, Sirius finally stirred. The first thing he saw was the glow of the barrier beyond his window — steady, calm. The second was his mother's face, faintly lit by that same glow.
"You're awake," Lyla whispered, relief flooding her tone.
Sirius blinked. "What time is it?"
"Late," Dominic answered from the corner. "You've been out for half a day."
Sirius tried to sit up, but dizziness crushed him back into the pillow. "I can't… miss training—"
"You can and will," Lyla said firmly, pressing him down.
He groaned softly. "Mom—"
"No," she said, voice trembling with both love and fear. "Not this time. You nearly burned yourself alive."
Sirius looked at her — the exhaustion under her eyes, the way her hands trembled as she held the damp towel. She had never raised her voice at him before.
It hurt more than the fever.
Dominic stepped forward, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Your mother's right. You've crossed the line between training and obsession. You think you can carry everything, but you can't."
"I have to try."
"Not if it kills you."
Sirius' jaw clenched. His father's tone wasn't anger — it was fear hidden behind command.
"I don't want to waste time," he said quietly. "Every moment counts. Every breath matters."
Dominic met his gaze evenly. "And what use is power if you can't even stand?"
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the soft hum of magitek lights.
Lyla reached out and brushed his cheek. "You don't have to prove anything to us, Sirius. You've already done more than most would ever dare."
He closed his eyes. "But not enough to change the ending."
Her hand froze. "What?"
Sirius opened his mouth, then stopped. He couldn't explain the truth — not yet. Not the future he remembered, the doom he was defying. He forced a faint smile. "Nothing. Just… a bad dream."
She didn't believe him, but she let it go. "Then rest. The world can wait one night."
---
As the hours passed, the fever broke. Sirius drifted in and out of sleep, his dreams a whirl of fire and light — the echo of uncontrolled mana burning through his veins.
When he woke again near dawn, his body felt lighter. Weak, but clear. The fever had left behind a hollow ache, like embers cooling after a storm.
He sat up slowly. The room was dim, quiet. His katana rested on the table beside him, cleaned and wrapped in cloth. His mother must've done it.
He smiled faintly.
The door opened softly. Lyla peeked in, surprised to see him awake. "You should still be resting."
"I'm fine now."
"You said that yesterday," she said dryly.
He chuckled weakly. "You're keeping score."
"Someone has to." She walked in, setting a small tray by his bed — soup and tea. "Eat."
He obeyed without complaint. Between sips, he finally said, "I'll slow down."
Lyla arched a brow. "Really?"
"For a day," he admitted.
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "That's a start."
He glanced at his hands. The faint burns from his magic training were gone, the skin renewed — Adaptive Resonance working quietly beneath the surface.
Lyla noticed. "You heal too fast for your own good."
"Perk of being stubborn," he said with a tired grin.
She laughed softly, the sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Then try being a little less stubborn next time."
He nodded. "I'll try."
"Do," she said, echoing Cor's voice without realizing it.