The sun was barely cresting the horizon when Sirius followed Cor beyond Insomnia's gates again. He thought it would be another day of training, another round of sabertusks or scorpions under his uncle's watchful eye. But the way Cor moved—silent, purposeful—made Sirius uneasy.
They walked deeper into the wilds of Leide, the city's barrier shrinking behind them until it was only a faint shimmer against the sky. The plains stretched wide, dotted with jagged rocks and dry grass that rustled in the wind. A flock of birds took flight at their approach, scattering across the pale morning sky.
Finally, Cor stopped.
"Here," he said.
Sirius frowned, clutching his wooden sword. "Here for what?"
Cor turned, his dark eyes unreadable. "Your trial."
Sirius blinked. "Trial?"
"You want to train under me, then you earn it." Cor's voice was calm, but it cut like steel. "No more watching from behind. Today, you stand alone."
Sirius' chest tightened. "Alone?"
Cor nodded once. He reached into his coat and tossed a small waterskin onto the ground. "No supplies. No food. Only what you can find. You'll survive until I return."
Sirius stared at him, shocked. "How long?"
"Until you prove you can." Cor's gaze hardened. "You've had your father's guidance. You've had mine. Now I need to know if you can carry yourself when no one's there to catch you."
The boy swallowed hard. His heart pounded, fear clawing at his ribs. But beneath it was something fiercer: resolve. He had written this vow again and again. Don't be weak. Change the ending. Protect them. He couldn't falter now.
"I'll do it," he said, voice trembling but steady.
Cor studied him for a long moment, then inclined his head. "Good. I'll be watching, even if you can't see me."
And with that, the Immortal turned and walked away, his tall figure fading into the rocks until Sirius stood alone.
---
The silence of Leide pressed down on him. The wind hissed through the grass, carrying the faint scent of dust and monsters. Sirius gripped his wooden sword tighter, forcing himself to breathe slowly.
First, water, he thought, recalling survival tutorials he had once seen in another life. Then food. Then shelter.
He scanned the area and spotted a shallow ridge where rainwater had pooled in a hollow. The surface was murky, but it was something. He crouched, cupping the water in his hands, sipping cautiously. It tasted like dirt, but it eased the dryness in his throat.
Next was food. He wandered, careful not to stray too far from the ridge. Small creatures scuttled among the rocks, nothing large enough to hunt, but edible plants grew in clusters near the water. Bitter roots, stringy grass shoots. He chewed them slowly, gagging at the taste, but forced himself to swallow.
By midday, the heat pressed hard against his back. Sirius retreated beneath a stone outcrop, resting in the shade. His stomach churned, his arms still sore from training, but he endured.
That was when he heard it.
The scrape of claws on stone.
Sirius froze, his red eyes darting toward the sound. From between the rocks emerged a goblin, its twisted frame hunched, its eyes glowing faintly green with residual aether. It hissed, crooked teeth bared.
Sirius' grip tightened on his sword. His first true solo fight.
The goblin lunged.
He sidestepped, swinging wildly. The wooden blade cracked against the creature's shoulder, sending it stumbling. It snarled and slashed at him with grimy claws. He ducked, barely, the swipe grazing his cheek.
"Steady," he whispered to himself. "Focus."
The goblin lunged again. This time, Sirius met it head-on, slamming his blade down on its head. The impact rattled his arms, but the goblin crumpled with a screech, twitching before going still.
Sirius stood over it, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his brow. His body shook, but he had done it. Alone.
And then, faintly, he felt it—the quiet hum of the system.
Goblin Fang (Material) – stored.
The fang glowed faintly with lingering aether before dissolving into light, vanishing into the hidden "shelves" of his mind. Sirius exhaled shakily, wiping his forehead. "One step at a time."
---
The afternoon dragged. Sirius foraged more roots, drank sparingly from the ridge, and fought off another pair of scorpions that had wandered too close. Each fight left him trembling, each roll and swing sloppy, but he survived.
By nightfall, exhaustion pressed heavy on his small frame. He built a crude shelter from rocks and dry brush, curling beneath it as the wind howled over the plains. Beyond the horizon, he heard distant shrieks—the cries of daemons in the dark. The sound made his blood run cold.
He hugged his wooden sword close, whispering into the night. "I'll endure. I'll endure."
---
The second day was worse. Hunger gnawed at him, the bitter roots offering little strength. His muscles ached, bruises layering over bruises. He stumbled more often, his legs sluggish.
But every failure adjusted him. His rolls grew tighter. His strikes landed truer. When a sabertusk prowled too close, he faced it with trembling arms and managed to drive it back, fangs cracking under his desperate blows.
When it fell, Sirius collapsed beside it, gasping. He felt the system hum again—Sabertusk Fang (Material) – stored. He allowed himself a weak smile.
---
From the cliffs above, unseen, Cor Leonis watched his nephew drag himself upright. His stern eyes followed every clumsy swing, every stumble, every rise.
"Not bad, pup," he murmured under his breath. "You might survive this world after all."
Then he vanished into the rocks, leaving Sirius to face the night.
---
On the third morning, Cor returned.
Sirius was crouched near the ridge, chewing another bitter root when the Immortal's shadow fell over him. He looked up, red eyes wide but steady.
"You're still alive," Cor said simply.
Sirius stood, wobbly but firm, gripping his sword. "I told you. I'll endure."
Cor studied him for a long moment. Then, for the first time, the faintest flicker of approval crossed his stern face.
"You did more than endure. You adapted."
Sirius blinked, breath catching. Adapted. The word struck him deep.
Cor turned, gesturing for him to follow. "Come. You've proven yourself. Now the real training begins."
---
That night, Sirius opened his notebook with trembling hands, the candlelight flickering across his messy handwriting.
Notes – Hidden Trial
Alone in Leide. Survived with water, roots, shelter.
Fought goblin, scorpions, sabertusk. Barely, but survived.
System: materials stored. Glow fades into shelves of light.
Uncle's words: "You adapted."
He pressed the pencil harder, nearly tearing the paper.
This is my gift. I can adapt. I can grow. Even alone. Even in the dark. I will endure.
He closed the notebook, slipping it under his pillow, and lay back. The bruises still throbbed, his stomach still twisted with hunger, but his heart burned steady.
Cor had tested him—and he had not broken.
The Hidden Trial had sparked something deeper.
Sirius was no longer just training. He was becoming.