Night had settled over Insomnia, and with it came the illusion of safety.
The barrier above shimmered like a second sky — soft blue light pulsing in calm rhythm, warding away the darkness that gnawed at the world beyond. But even the strongest walls had edges, and Sirius Blake had found them.
He moved silently through the narrow maintenance sector near the southern edge of the city, where the barrier's glow thinned to a faint shimmer. His hood was drawn low, his satchel light. The katana at his hip hummed faintly, its presence a steady weight of purpose.
For days, the thought had burned in his mind. The map. The Tombs. The power that shouldn't exist — yet called to him.
He had overheard enough from his father's quiet words with Cor to know they had discovered what he'd done. That was fine. He wasn't rebelling; he was testing.
He needed to see if his instincts were real.
---
The route was simple in theory, nearly impossible in practice. He'd marked it weeks ago — a service tunnel leading beneath the barrier, toward the ancient drainage paths that extended into the hills outside the city. Most citizens never knew they existed; they were remnants from before the barrier had sealed Lucis' heart.
Sirius crouched by a conduit, tracing the access panel with his fingers. The faint rune etched into the frame pulsed at his touch — a magitek lock.
"Override," he whispered, channeling a pulse of mana.
The panel clicked softly and slid open.
He stepped inside.
The tunnel beyond was cold and narrow, lit only by dim emergency lights. Water trickled along the edges. The air carried the faint metallic tang of long-stilled machines.
Sirius walked carefully, counting his steps, matching the pattern he'd memorized from the maintenance schematics. After nearly half an hour, he reached the final gate — a wide door sealed with ancient Lucian script.
He touched the words, tracing them gently. Rest, Kings of the Old.
A chill ran through him.
"Not tonight," he whispered, and pressed his palm against the door.
His mana flared, and the seal responded — light spilling across the carvings like veins awakening. The gate opened with a low, resonant hum.
Beyond it lay darkness.
---
The chamber was vast, carved into the bones of the hill itself. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, glinting with faint crystal dust. Old runes shimmered along the walls — faded, but not dead. The air was thick with power, old and waiting.
Sirius stepped forward, drawing his katana. The faint blue glow of the blade cast rippling light across the stone.
Every instinct screamed caution. But beneath that fear was something else — recognition.
The ground trembled.
He froze.
From the far side of the cavern, a shape stirred — low, heavy, breathing. Two crimson eyes opened in the dark.
A daemon.
Its form crawled from the shadows: part flesh, part stone, wings broken, armor fused to its hide. The mana in the chamber twisted, drawn to its hunger.
Sirius' pulse quickened. "So I wasn't wrong."
The creature roared — the sound shattering the quiet like thunder.
He moved.
---
The first strike came too fast to see. Sirius dove aside, the daemon's claw tearing through stone where he had stood. Dust exploded around him. He rolled, came up in stance, and swung — the katana flashing through the air, cutting deep across its forearm.
The daemon shrieked, black ichor spilling.
Sirius pressed the attack, movements sharp, precise — everything Cor and Zangan had drilled into him now flowing like instinct. His Adaptive Resonance pulsed with every motion, correcting, refining, evolving.
He slashed again, and again — a blur of motion in the dark. The daemon staggered, retreating toward the runed wall.
For a heartbeat, Sirius thought he had it.
Then the creature roared, and the runes on its body ignited with red light. The air turned molten.
The next strike hit him square in the chest.
---
He flew backward, crashing into a pillar. The breath was ripped from his lungs; pain seared through his ribs. The katana clattered away, vanishing into the dark.
He coughed, the taste of iron filling his mouth. His hands trembled as he pushed himself upright.
The daemon loomed closer, its shadow swallowing him whole.
Move, he told himself. Now.
He dove to the side as the beast lunged, its claws carving through stone. Sparks exploded. He scrambled toward his blade, snatched it up, and turned just in time to block.
The impact rattled his bones. The blade held — barely.
The daemon pressed harder, its strength overwhelming. Sirius' knees buckled, his boots scraping against the stone.
And then, through the haze of pain and fear, his mind went quiet.
Everything slowed.
The world reduced itself to rhythm — the beat of his heart, the pull of breath, the vibration through the steel.
He let go.
Not of the blade, but of control.
The Resonance inside him surged — not as heat or light, but clarity. His body adjusted mid-strike, every instinct aligning with survival.
He shifted the blade, redirected the daemon's weight, and countered.
The sword flashed — pure, fluid, unstoppable.
The daemon's neck split open in a burst of black light.
The beast staggered once, roared, and collapsed.
The silence that followed was deafening.
---
Sirius dropped to one knee, gasping for air. Every muscle screamed in pain. His arms shook, his chest burned, and blood trickled down his lip.
But he was alive.
He looked at the daemon's remains — dissolving slowly into ash, leaving behind a faint glimmer of crystal shards.
Loot.
He crawled forward, scooping them up. Each fragment pulsed faintly with dark light. His System flared softly in response:
[Daemon Fragment Acquired x3]
[EXP +450]
He laughed weakly. "You're still working. Good."
Then the edges of his vision blurred.
He swayed, catching himself against the wall. The exertion, the mana draw, the injuries — it all came crashing at once.
His legs gave out.
Before the world went black, he whispered, "I did it, Mom."
Then the darkness took him.
---
When he woke, the world smelled like metal and antiseptic. The ceiling above him was white, lined with soft magitek lights.
He blinked slowly.
The infirmary.
Cor stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, expression unreadable. Dominic sat nearby, exhausted but relieved.
"You're lucky," Cor said. "A patrol found you unconscious near the southern ridge."
Sirius tried to sit up, but Cor's voice stopped him. "Don't."
He froze.
Dominic exhaled. "You nearly got yourself killed."
Sirius looked down, guilt and pride warring in his chest. "But I proved it. The map's right. There are things out there — power hidden beneath the old ruins."
Cor's gaze sharpened. "And daemons guarding them. You think the Kings of Old left their power unguarded?"
Sirius met his eyes. "Then I'll just have to get stronger."
Cor studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "You will. But not like this."
Dominic rubbed his temple. "Your mother doesn't know yet. I'd rather keep it that way."
Sirius winced. "...Agreed."
Cor turned to leave but paused at the door. "You're reckless, Blake. But you've proven something."
Sirius blinked. "What's that?"
Cor glanced back, the faintest ghost of approval in his tone. "That you've got the instincts of a Shadow Guard — even if you don't have the sense of one yet."
Then he was gone.
---
Sirius lay in the quiet hum of the infirmary, he stared at the ceiling — at the soft pulse of magitek light flickering like a heartbeat. His chest still hurt, his arms still trembled.
But deep down, beneath the pain, was certainty.
He'd stepped into the darkness and survived.
And though his body would recover, something deeper had changed — something that could never be undone.