The rain had passed, leaving Insomnia washed clean. Streets glistened like mirrors, the reflections of lanterns stretching across wet stone in trembling ribbons. Above, the barrier shimmered faintly, its azure dome cloaking the Crown City in a protective glow that hummed softly, like a second heartbeat.
Inside the Blake home, the hearthfire burned low. The embers pulsed with orange light, like fading stars refusing to die.
Sirius sat at his mother's bedside. His small hand folded around Lyla's, fingers tracing the delicate bones beneath her pale skin. Her eyes were half-closed, her breathing shallow but steady. When he tightened his grip, she stirred, lashes fluttering open.
"You're awake late again," she whispered, brushing a lock of his white hair from his forehead.
"I wanted to sit with you," Sirius said. His voice was fragile, yet steady, the weight behind it far heavier than a child's words should be.
Her lips curved faintly. "You've grown so serious… far too serious for a boy your age."
The words pricked him. He wanted to confess—to tell her that he was more than a boy, that he carried two lifetimes, two vows, two futures. That every moment felt borrowed from a story already written. But he stayed silent. Instead, he only squeezed her hand tighter. "I'm serious because I need to be. I need to protect you."
Her eyes glistened in the lamplight. "You already do, Sirius. Just by being here."
He shook his head, jaw tightening. "Not enough. I'll get stronger. Strong enough so you'll never have to worry again."
Her trembling hand lifted, brushing his cheek. "Then promise me one thing."
"Anything," Sirius breathed.
"No matter how strong you become, no matter how many shadows you walk through—don't lose your heart." Her palm pressed gently to his chest. "This is what makes you my son. Don't let it turn to stone."
His throat burned. He swallowed hard and nodded. "I promise."
Her hand slipped back into his. Her eyes drifted shut. Soon her breathing slowed, soft and steady again.
Sirius stayed long after, listening to the rhythm of her breath, letting her words sink like iron into his chest.
---
When the house was finally silent, he slipped into his room.
The notebook lay hidden beneath his pillow—its pages filled with jagged scrawls, vows written in graphite, warnings of canon fates and lessons from Cor and Zangan. His whole strange life in Eos was inked between those covers.
He drew it out and opened to the final blank page. His pencil trembled in his grip, but his strokes carved steady.
Notebook – Final Entry
I remember everything now.
The world. The Astrals. The empire. The ending.
I remember the vow I made when I first woke in this life:
Don't be weak. Change the ending.
But this notebook was never just for remembering.
It was for surviving. For proving that I could endure.
Now I know. I don't need to prove it to the page anymore.
I will prove it to the world.
Family
Father: Dominic Blake. Crownsguard. Strong as fire.
Mother: Lyla Leonis. Frail, but her heart shines brighter than the Crystal.
Uncle: Cor Leonis. The Immortal. Harsh, but true.
I will protect them. Whatever it takes.
The Path
Sword in hand. Body unyielding.
Failure → strength. Pain → growth. Adaptation → survival.
I will fight in the shadows, bleed in silence.
I don't need to be seen. I just need to endure.
Final Vow
This time, my strength won't be wasted.
---
He stared at the crooked letters until his vision blurred. Then he pressed harder, underlining the last line three times until the page nearly tore. His hand ached, but he didn't stop until the vow was carved deep into permanence.
Closing the notebook, Sirius held it against his chest. The childish scrawls inside were more than notes. They were proof of survival, of two lives fused into one. His crutch, his anchor, his map.
At last, exhaustion claimed him. He lay back, notebook pressed tight, the candle guttering to embers. His breaths slowed. Sleep claimed him with the vow still burning.
---
The door creaked softly.
Dominic Blake stepped inside. His armor was gone, replaced by plain clothes, but he still carried the air of a man who could never lay down his guard. He had meant only to check on his son before turning in.
But then his eyes fell on the notebook clutched in Sirius' arms.
Carefully, Dominic eased it free. Sirius stirred in his sleep but did not wake.
He opened it beneath the dying candlelight. At first his eyes skimmed quickly, dismissing the uneven scrawls as a child's imagination. But the more he read, the slower his breath came. His brow furrowed.
Shock. Then disbelief.
The pages spoke of Astrals and daemons, of betrayals and invasions, of the fall of Insomnia. Of Regis' death. Of Noctis' sacrifice.
Things no child should know. Things only the King and his closest circle could know.
Dominic's grip tightened on the book. These weren't fantasies. These were secrets. Some truths weren't even public record—yet here they were, scrawled in graphite.
He glanced at his sleeping son. Sirius' face was calm, but a shadow of exhaustion lingered even in dreams.
Dominic closed the notebook and set it gently back against his son's chest. His hand lingered on Sirius' shoulder, the weight of questions burning in his mind.
How could you know this? And what does it mean for us… for Lucis?
But he said nothing.
He turned and left, closing the door with careful silence.
---
In the kitchen, Dominic poured water into a glass and drank. The cool liquid did nothing to soothe the heaviness in his chest.
The words replayed endlessly—the fall of Insomnia, ten years of night, the prince's death.
He thought of Cor. Should he tell him? The Immortal would know what to do. Yet to speak of it felt like betraying Sirius. His boy.
His jaw tightened.
For now, he chose silence.
He returned quietly to his own room, but the unease lingered. His son's notebook lay only steps away, filled with truths too sharp to ignore.
And Dominic knew: the night he read it, everything had changed.
---
Closing Beat
As Sirius slept, the barrier over Insomnia pulsed faintly in the distance, its glow steady against the dark. But beyond it, daemons stirred. And in the unseen threads of fate, a new spark had kindled—fragile yet unyielding.
The spark of the Shadow Fang.