The training yard was empty when Sirius arrived.
The morning air was sharp, cool against his skin, carrying the faint hum of the barrier overhead. Light spilled through the high windows of the Citadel's combat dome, tracing long pale lines across the floor.
He walked to the center and stood still.
The echoes of the last mission hadn't faded. The screams, the sand, the silence after. It all still lingered — heavy, clinging like smoke.
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
When he opened them again, Kael was there.
The older boy approached quietly, carrying two wooden practice swords. His face was tired, eyes sunken with a weight that no sleep could fix.
He tossed one blade toward Sirius. "You're early."
Sirius caught it. "You're earlier."
Kael shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "Couldn't sleep."
"Me neither."
They faced each other without a word more.
No formal stance, no warmup — just movement.
Wood struck wood, the sound crisp and rhythmic. There was no anger in their blows, only exhaustion, only the need to move.
It wasn't a sparring match. It was a ritual — something to keep their hearts from breaking.
---
Minutes passed before Rhea entered, the doors sliding open with a low hiss. She stood by the edge of the yard, arms folded, watching them in silence.
She didn't interrupt.
She didn't need to.
When the two finally stopped, panting, she walked forward and dropped something onto the floor between them — a small metal badge.
Taren's badge.
No one spoke.
The faint sound of it touching the ground felt louder than their weapons.
Rhea crouched, fingertips brushing the insignia. "He wanted to be like us." Her voice trembled once, then steadied. "And we let him die."
Kael looked away. "We couldn't save him."
Sirius knelt beside her. "We tried."
Rhea shook her head. "Trying didn't matter."
Sirius looked at her, voice low but certain. "Then we make it matter now."
She met his eyes — the same eyes that had stayed calm in chaos, that had cut through fear with quiet certainty. For a long time, she said nothing.
Then she nodded.
---
They took the day for themselves.
Cor didn't call them. No drills. No lectures. Just space — something rare and deliberate.
The three of them wandered the Citadel grounds in silence, their badges glinting faintly against their dark uniforms.
They ended up on the balcony overlooking the lower city, the sprawl of Insomnia stretching like a sea of light beneath them.
Kael leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "Feels smaller every time we come back."
Rhea sighed softly. "Or maybe we're just getting taller."
Sirius watched the horizon. "No. It's because we've seen what's outside it."
The wind blew faintly, carrying the scent of ozone and faint traces of magitek smoke.
Rhea rested her elbows on the railing. "You think about him?"
Sirius didn't answer immediately. "Every day."
Kael glanced sideways. "You ever stop?"
Sirius shook his head. "If we do, we forget why we're here."
Kael smirked faintly. "You sound like Cor."
"Maybe he's right about some things."
"'Some things,'" Rhea repeated, her voice soft, almost fond. "You're learning diplomacy."
Sirius smiled faintly. "I'm learning balance."
---
For a while, they just watched the city — the distant trams gliding between towers, the faint hum of traffic, the barrier rippling faintly above like an aurora of blue glass.
Rhea broke the silence. "You know what I hate most about all this?"
Kael hummed. "What?"
"The quiet after a fight."
Kael nodded. "Yeah. It's worse than the noise."
Sirius said nothing. He simply looked out across Insomnia, his reflection faint in the glass wall beside them — three figures, all young, all tired, all still standing.
"Silence is part of the creed," he said softly. "Protect unseen. Bleed without witness."
Rhea's jaw tightened. "It still hurts."
"It's supposed to," he said. "That's how we remember."
Kael gave a dry laugh. "You always have a reason for everything."
"Only because I've run out of excuses."
That earned the faintest smile from both of them.
---
As dusk fell, they left the Citadel together, walking through the lower districts where the streets were quieter and the lights softer.
They didn't wear their uniforms now. No insignias, no rank — just three teenagers trying to remember what normal looked like.
They bought skewers from a street vendor — Rhea insisted. Kael complained that the sauce was too sweet. Sirius didn't say anything, just listened to them argue, the sound oddly comforting.
When they reached a quiet plaza, Rhea sat on the fountain's edge. "I keep thinking about what Cor said after the mission. 'If death stops hurting, you've already lost something.'"
Kael sighed. "I hate when he's right."
Sirius looked at the water — clear, reflecting the neon glow from the signs around them. "Pain isn't weakness," he said quietly. "It's proof we're still alive."
Rhea nudged him lightly. "You really don't do small talk, do you?"
He smiled faintly. "I leave that to you."
"Good," she said. "You're terrible at it."
Kael chuckled. "At least he's honest."
For a moment, they laughed — soft, real, short-lived but genuine.
The sound felt strange after so much silence, but it was theirs.
---
When they finally returned to the Citadel, the night had deepened. The halls were quiet, the lights dimmed to blue.
Before parting ways, Rhea stopped and looked between them. "We keep moving, right?"
Sirius nodded. "Together."
Kael extended his hand first, rough and calloused. "Then we make it a promise."
Sirius clasped it, his grip firm. "For those who didn't make it."
Rhea placed her hand over theirs. "And for those who still will."
The three stood there — not soldiers, not students, but something in between.
In the silence that followed, words became unnecessary.
They had seen death.
They had carried loss.
And now, they carried each other.
---
When Sirius returned home that night, the house was dark. His parents were asleep, the soft glow of the hearth casting faint shadows across the living room.
He paused by the doorway, listening to the quiet.
Then he whispered, "We're still here."
It wasn't a prayer. It wasn't a vow.
Just truth.
He climbed the stairs, set his katana beside his bed, and lay down.
As his eyes drifted shut, he thought of Kael's rough laughter, Rhea's tired smile, and the silent promise they'd made beneath the city lights.
They weren't alone anymore.
And that, more than anything, gave him peace.