The morning sun filtered through thin curtains, pale and golden. Sirius stirred, groaning softly as he blinked himself awake. His notebook still hid beneath his pillow, its pages heavy with warnings and vows. For a moment, he half expected the scrawled words to vanish in the night, but they remained—real and crude, his fragile anchor against fate.
The scent of food drifted in from the kitchen—herbs and broth, warm bread toasted over a small flame. His stomach growled, reminding him that this body was still five years old, fragile and needy in ways his mind wasn't. He rolled out of bed, tugged on his tunic, and padded down the hall.
The kitchen was small but bright. His mother sat at the table, her long white hair falling around her shoulders as she hummed softly to herself. A pot simmered on the rune-fed stove, steam curling lazily into the air. She turned at the sound of his footsteps and smiled.
"Good morning, Sirius."
Her voice was gentle, almost too soft, but it filled the room like sunlight. Lyla Leonis—his mother. To his eyes she was not frail or ill, only graceful and warm, with hair as pale as snow since before he was born.
"Morning, Mother," Sirius said, his voice still small and uncertain.
Her smile deepened as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Sit, love. Your father will be back soon."
Sirius obeyed, climbing into the chair opposite her. She poured him a bowl of broth, her hands slender and careful, her movements precise in their quiet way. Her eyes carried a gentle fire—something he had glimpsed once before in the stern gaze of her brother, Cor Leonis. Where Cor's was steel, hers was sunlight, softer but no less true.
His throat tightened. In his old life, he hadn't known this kind of family warmth. His parents had died too soon. Now, here, he had been given them back—not the same, but something real. He clenched his fists in his lap. He would not let them be taken from him.
The door opened, and the air seemed to shift. His father entered, boots heavy against the wooden floor, armor plates rattling as he set down his gear by the wall. Dominic Blake, Crownsguard of Lucis.
Sirius froze, staring. He had seen Crownsguard soldiers in the game—figures in the background, faceless protectors. But this was no background character. This was his father. A man with the same red eyes that glowed faintly in Sirius' own reflection, his dark hair streaked with silver from years of battle. His presence filled the room like a storm, commanding yet calm.
"Father," Sirius whispered.
Dominic's expression softened when he looked at him. "Morning, son." He crossed the room in three long strides, crouched down, and ruffled Sirius' hair with a gauntleted hand. "You're up early."
Sirius' throat tightened again. He nodded quickly, forcing down the swell of emotion. "I wanted to… to see you."
Dominic chuckled low in his chest. "You'll see plenty of me, don't worry."
Lyla set the bowls on the table. "Sit, Dominic. You're no good to anyone if you don't eat."
The Crownsguard obeyed his wife without protest, stripping off his gauntlets and settling into the chair beside her. Sirius watched them both, fixing the picture in his mind. This was what he had lost once. This was what he would fight for now.
They ate together, the silence comfortable. Sirius spooned broth into his mouth slowly, savoring the taste. Lyla asked him about his sleep, Dominic asked if he'd been practicing his letters. The questions were simple, ordinary, yet to Sirius they felt heavier than any lecture. These were the roots he would protect.
When the meal was done, Dominic leaned back, studying his son. "You've grown sharper, Sirius. You watch more. That's good. But soon it won't be enough to watch. You'll need to act."
Sirius' heart skipped. "You mean training?"
His father nodded. "You carry my blood, and your mother's. You'll need to stand when the time comes. Not all at once, but we'll start soon. Wooden sword, discipline, blade care. Crownsguard tradition."
Sirius swallowed hard, excitement and fear colliding in his chest. He had already vowed in the dark of night to learn the sword, to grow stronger. Now his father had given him the path openly.
"I'll do it," he said quickly, too quickly. His small voice cracked, but his eyes were steady. "I'll work hard."
Dominic smiled faintly, though there was sadness there too. He reached across the table, resting his hand briefly over Lyla's. "You'll need to protect more than yourself, Sirius. Family, city, king. That's what the Crownsguard is. That's what it means to carry this name."
Sirius nodded, his fists clenching in his lap. He understood. He remembered the fall of Insomnia, remembered soldiers cut down in the streets, remembered Regis' death. Crownsguard blood had been spilled in rivers. But maybe, if he trained, if he changed things, some of it could be stopped.
After breakfast, Lyla insisted on combing his hair. Sirius sat quietly on the stool by the window as she worked, her fingers moving carefully through the white strands.
"You have your father's eyes," she said softly. "And my hair. Both strong, both fragile. A strange mix."
"I'll protect you," Sirius blurted, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Her hands paused in his hair. She bent down and kissed his temple, her smile gentle. "You already do, just by being here."
He blinked hard, fighting the sting in his eyes. He wanted to say more, to tell her about the future he remembered, the tragedies looming. But he stayed silent, letting her finish.
When she was done, she hugged him close. He breathed in the faint scent of her hair, clutching her tightly. I won't lose this, he swore silently. Not again.
That night, when the house was quiet, Sirius opened his notebook again. His notes from the night before stared back at him, messy but clear. Beneath them he added new words, slower this time, steadier.
Family – Remember
Father: Dominic Blake. Crownsguard. Strong. Wants me to train.
Mother: Lyla Leonis. White hair. Gentle. My heart. Protect her no matter what.
He stared at the words until his eyes blurred. Then he closed the book and set it aside.
The vow he had whispered the night before grew louder in his chest. This wasn't just about Noctis anymore. This wasn't just about canon. This was about Dominic and Lyla, about the warmth of a family he couldn't afford to lose.
"I'll protect them," he murmured into the darkness, clutching the edge of his blanket. "No matter what it takes."
The city slept outside, the barrier still shimmering faintly. Inside, a boy with white hair and red eyes closed his eyes at last, the silence of bloodline vows echoing in his chest.