The evening was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled deep into the bones of the house. Outside, the hum of the barrier that wrapped Insomnia whispered faintly, like a far-off pulse. Inside, light from the ceiling fixture spread evenly across the small living room, washing the walls in a steady glow. No flicker of flame, no shadows—just the calm, modern stillness of Lucian living, where magic and circuitry blended so seamlessly that one forgot it was there.
Sirius sat cross-legged on the floor, the wooden practice sword lying across his lap. His arms were still sore from training with his father that morning. The muscles of his small frame throbbed with every movement, each ache a reminder of repetition, of struggle, of progress. But soreness was proof—proof that he was changing, step by step, swing by swing.
A soft sound broke the silence. Humming.
Sirius turned his head. His mother sat by the window, a silver-handled brush in hand, running it slowly through her long white hair. The strands shimmered in the fading light of dusk, catching the last glow of the skyline outside. From this angle Sirius could see the tops of Insomnia's high towers, sharp silhouettes crowned with magical lights, the Citadel rising above them all like a guardian of stone and glass. Against that backdrop, Lyla Leonis seemed fragile and radiant all at once, a woman out of place in the war-shadowed world beyond.
Sirius watched her for a long time. Lyla's frame was thinner than it should have been, her movements measured, careful. Even her humming carried a note of tiredness beneath its melody. Yet she carried herself with quiet grace, the sort of dignity born not of strength, but of survival. She was Cor Leonis' sister, and though her brother was called the Immortal for his unyielding will, Lyla's endurance was of a gentler kind—softer, but no less steadfast.
"Why do you stare, Sirius?" she asked suddenly, not turning, her lips curved in a knowing smile.
Sirius blinked, startled, and shifted the wooden sword to the side. "I… was just thinking."
"Thinking of what?" she asked, patting the stool beside her.
He hesitated, then rose and climbed up. The brush was set aside, and her fingers—thin, cool, but steady—slipped into his hair, combing through the white strands that mirrored her own. Sirius sat stiff at first, unused to such softness after a morning of harsh drills, but little by little, he leaned into her touch.
"Of your training?" she asked, her tone light but touched with concern.
"Yes," Sirius admitted. "Father says I need roots. That the stance is everything."
Lyla chuckled softly, though a faint cough followed before she cleared her throat and continued. "That sounds exactly like your father." Her hands smoothed his hair behind his ears. "Strong roots matter, yes. But so does the heart that drives the blade."
Sirius frowned. "The heart?"
She leaned closer, her voice warm against his ear. "A sword is an extension of who you are. If your heart wavers, your blade will waver. But if your heart is strong, it will carry you through battles far heavier than your arms can bear."
Her words struck deeper than his father's lessons had. He thought of the notebook under his pillow, filled with jagged warnings and vows—Don't be weak. Change the ending. His heart was not only for himself. It was for her, for Dominic, for Cor. For all the people fate wanted him to lose.
"You have my hair," Lyla said suddenly, tugging gently at a strand, letting it fall like silk between her fingers. "And your father's eyes. White hair and red eyes. Unusual, some might say. But to me, it's proof. You carry both of us within you."
Sirius swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat. He lifted his gaze, his crimson eyes reflecting the fading twilight. "Then I'll protect both of you. I promise."
Her hands stilled for a heartbeat. When she smiled again, her eyes glistened. "Oh, Sirius. You already protect me, just by being here."
"No." His voice came sharper this time, too resolute for a child. He caught her hand in his own, his small fingers clutching tightly. "I mean it. I'll get strong. Stronger than anyone. So you won't have to worry anymore."
For a long moment, Lyla only gazed at him. Then she pulled him into her arms, holding him close. Her body was slight, her frame delicate, but her embrace carried a fierce desperation—an instinct to shield him, even though she was the one who needed shielding.
"You're my light," she whispered into his hair. "Don't ever forget that."
Sirius closed his eyes and buried his face against her shoulder. He thought of the story he had scribbled in graphite—the betrayals, the wars, the endless night. He thought of the weak coughs she tried to hide, the pallor of her skin. He thought of Noctis, of Regis, of Cor's stern eyes, and of Ardyn's shadow.
Not this time, he swore silently. I won't lose her. I won't lose anyone I love.
---
Later, when Lyla had gone to bed, Sirius sat at his desk once more. The electric lamp glowed across the notebook, its steady white light spilling over pages already filled with messy lists of names, warnings, and fates. He turned to a blank sheet and pressed his pencil down.
Family – Protect
Father: Dominic. Strong, steady. Fights for the king.
Mother: Lyla. Gentle. White hair. My heart.
Uncle: Cor. Immortal. Harsh, but a shield of Lucis.
He stared at the words, then added beneath them, each stroke sharp and deliberate:
No matter what happens, I WILL protect them. Even if I have to fight fate itself.
He underlined the vow three times, nearly tearing through the paper. His fingers cramped, but he didn't stop until the words carved themselves into permanence.
Closing the notebook, Sirius slid it beneath his pillow. The lamp clicked off, and the room sank into silence. Lying back, he clenched his fists beneath the blanket. His mother's words echoed in his chest—You carry both of us within you.
White hair. Red eyes. Proof, bond, and burden.
Sleep came late, but when it did, it carried him into dreams not of games or fire, but of white hair flowing like silk, and red eyes burning against the dark.