Insomnia glittered like a dream of light — towers of crystal and steel piercing the night sky, the barrier above them humming like a heartbeat that never stopped.
Inside the Blake home, that same light poured through the glass walls, washing over the living room in hues of silver and blue. Dominic sat by the table, paperwork spread before him, but his eyes weren't reading.
They were watching the window.
Sirius was outside again, training beneath the faint glow of the barrier. The boy's movements were sharp, methodical — each swing of his katana traced perfect arcs through the air.
Dominic had seen thousands of soldiers train. None moved like that.
It wasn't the precision that unsettled him — it was the ease.
Every motion was exact, measured down to breath and heartbeat, as if his son's body no longer needed thought to obey him.
And there was the stillness between each strike — not rest, but silence. A predator's silence.
Dominic had trained men who could fight.
He was watching something that could kill.
---
Lyla's voice broke the stillness. "You're staring again."
Dominic blinked, glancing toward the kitchen. His wife stood leaning against the counter, a soft shawl draped over her shoulders, eyes gentle but knowing.
"I'm not staring," he said.
"You're worrying."
He sighed, setting the papers aside. "You ever get the feeling he's… not really here sometimes?"
Lyla smiled faintly. "He's growing, Dominic. You were the same way when you started in the Crownsguard — quiet, focused, always somewhere else in your head."
He shook his head. "No. This is different."
She tilted her head. "Different how?"
Dominic looked back out the window. "When he moves, it's not training anymore. It's instinct. Like his body's learning faster than his mind can keep up. Like he's turning into something…"
He trailed off.
Lyla's expression softened. "Something what?"
He hesitated, then said quietly, "Something not human."
---
Outside, Sirius finished his form — the final swing cutting cleanly through the air. The katana stopped a hair's breadth from its sheath, then slid home with a whisper.
He exhaled. Not tired — focused.
He turned slightly, sensing eyes on him.
His father was watching.
Their gazes met through the glass — Dominic's concern clear even through the reflection.
Sirius hesitated, then walked toward the door, sliding it open. The night air followed him inside, carrying the scent of ozone and magitek heat.
"Sorry if I woke you," he said quietly.
"You didn't," Dominic replied. "Just couldn't sleep."
Sirius nodded, glancing toward the papers on the table. "Work?"
"Excuse," Dominic said.
They shared a faint smile.
Then Dominic said, "You move like Cor now."
Sirius blinked. "That bad?"
Dominic chuckled softly. "That precise." He studied him for a long moment. "You've changed."
Sirius looked down at his hands. "That's the point of training."
"That's not what I mean."
---
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the barrier and the faint ticking of a clock on the wall.
Finally, Dominic spoke again. "Cor says your stealth training's ahead of schedule. He says even he can't sense you sometimes."
Sirius nodded. "It's working."
"Working," Dominic repeated. "And what happens when it works too well?"
Sirius frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When no one can see you — not your enemies, not your allies, not even your family — what will you have left?"
Sirius didn't answer.
Dominic stood, walking to the window. "I saw you out there just now. You didn't move like a boy training. You moved like a weapon waiting to be drawn."
Sirius flinched slightly. "That's not what I want to be."
Dominic turned toward him. "Then what do you want to be?"
Sirius' voice came low, steady. "Someone strong enough to protect what matters."
"And if the cost of that strength is your humanity?"
Sirius met his father's eyes. "Then I'll protect it too."
The answer came without hesitation, but something in Dominic's chest tightened anyway.
---
Lyla appeared then, stepping softly into the room. "You two sound like soldiers again."
Sirius straightened immediately. "Sorry, Mom."
She smiled faintly, walking over. "Don't be. It's good that you talk. But maybe not like you're both about to start a war."
Dominic managed a small laugh. "Old habits."
She placed a hand on his shoulder, then turned to Sirius. "You're both too much alike, you know that?"
Sirius gave a small smile. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Not bad," she said softly. "Just… dangerous."
Dominic frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
She looked at Sirius, her expression unreadable. "He's driven by the same thing that drove you — duty. But duty without balance can break a person."
Sirius looked down. "I won't break."
Lyla's gaze softened. "Everyone breaks eventually. The trick is learning what to do with the pieces."
---
Later that night, Dominic couldn't sleep.
He stood at the window again, watching his son through the reflection of the barrier's soft blue glow. Sirius sat cross-legged on the balcony now, eyes closed, meditating. His aura was still — so still that for a moment Dominic thought he'd vanished again.
Then the faintest shimmer of movement — the rise and fall of his chest.
Dominic exhaled in quiet relief.
He didn't know when exactly it had happened — when his worry had shifted from fatherly concern to something closer to fear.
Not fear of Sirius, but for him.
For what the world would turn him into.
For what Cor was training him to become.
For what destiny might demand from him.
He pressed a hand to the glass.
"Don't lose yourself, son," he whispered. "Please."
---
The next morning, Sirius awoke early, slipping into his uniform. The city outside was still wrapped in dawnlight, the sky painted pale silver beneath the barrier.
Dominic was already at the table, coffee in hand.
"Morning," Sirius said softly.
Dominic nodded. "Heading to the Citadel?"
"Cor wants me early. He said something about 'advanced field application.'"
Dominic grunted. "Which means danger."
"Which means progress," Sirius corrected gently.
Dominic sighed. "You always sound like him when you talk about training."
"Maybe he's rubbing off on me."
"Maybe that's what I'm afraid of," Dominic muttered under his breath.
Sirius looked at him, expression unreadable. "You don't need to be."
Dominic met his gaze — and for the briefest moment, he saw something in his son's eyes that wasn't childlike anymore. It was too calm. Too knowing.
He swallowed. "Just promise me something."
"Anything."
"When you fight — when you disappear into those shadows — remember who you are."
Sirius nodded slowly. "I will."
---
When the door closed behind him, Dominic sat back down, staring into his coffee as the steam curled upward.
Lyla entered quietly. "He's already gone?"
"Yeah."
She leaned against the doorway. "You're worried again."
He rubbed his temples. "I keep seeing glimpses of him — not as he is now, but as something else. Something colder."
"He's still our son, Dominic."
"I know," he said quietly. "But for how long?"
Lyla didn't answer.
Instead, she crossed the room and set her hand gently over his.
"He'll come back," she said softly. "He always does."
Dominic looked at her, eyes tired but full of love. "And if one day he doesn't?"
Her fingers tightened around his. "Then we'll go find him."
---
Outside, the first light of morning rose over Insomnia.
The barrier shimmered faintly — a dome of protection and isolation both.
And somewhere within its glow, a white-haired boy moved silently through the streets, his footsteps light, his presence already fading into myth.