The storm rolled over the plains of Leide like a living thing.
Lightning carved white scars across the horizon, thunder rumbling beneath the endless dark. The rain fell hard, stinging against metal and stone alike.
Sirius knelt at the edge of a shallow ridge, cloak soaked and heavy, his eyes narrowed against the storm.
Beside him, Kael crouched low, scanning the valley through the magnified visor of his scope. "Visual confirmed," he said. "Royal escort convoy, two kilometers ahead. Four vehicles, one shield transport."
Rhea's voice came through the comm, faint over the static. "Daemons on approach — multiple. Six, maybe eight. The convoy's already stalled."
Sirius adjusted his earpiece, eyes narrowing. "Cores?"
"Reading mixed types," Rhea answered. "Corrupted hounds, maybe a Red Skull-class leading."
That was bad. A Red Skull daemon was large, fast, and ruthless — one of the few creatures that could rip through magitek plating.
He exhaled slowly. "Team, form up. Kael, west flank. Rhea, maintain sight from elevation. Darius, with me."
"Copy," Kael said.
They moved, slipping through the rain like ghosts.
---
Below, the royal escort struggled through the mud.
Magitek lights flickered through sheets of rain, their engines sputtering in protest. The lead driver waved frantically, shouting over the wind — but his voice vanished beneath the roar of the storm.
Then the daemons came.
Black shapes moved through the haze — claws, fangs, limbs too long and bodies too fast. The first hound tore into a guard before the man even saw it. Screams followed, swallowed by thunder.
Sirius raised his hand, signaling the team. "Engage. Silent pattern."
Kael was already moving, blades gleaming faintly as he dropped from a ledge, landing cleanly behind one of the creatures. His twin knives sliced once, twice — shadows flashing in rhythm with the lightning.
Rhea's magic shimmered across the field — flickers of illusion dancing between the daemons, their senses misdirected as they lunged at false targets.
Darius stood firm, intercepting a hound mid-charge with a shoulder strike that cracked bone, then crushed its skull with a single gauntleted punch.
Sirius moved last.
His katana drew a single arc of silver through the storm, cutting the head from a daemon that had leapt toward the convoy's lead car. The blade's glow flared, scattering dark aether that hissed as it hit the rain.
He turned as the Red Skull appeared.
Tall as two men, with a hide of ash-gray scales and a mouth full of jagged light, it roared — a sound that vibrated through the very air.
Sirius' eyes narrowed. He shifted into stance, left foot forward, blade low. "I'll handle it. Cover the King's transport."
Kael's voice came sharp through the comm. "You sure?"
"Always."
The daemon charged. The ground cracked under its weight. Sirius met it head-on, sliding aside at the last instant — his blade cutting deep across its flank. Black smoke hissed from the wound. The creature howled, spinning fast, tail whipping through the rain. Sirius ducked under it, driving his sword upward into the daemon's chest.
It didn't fall. Its claws came down like hammers, forcing him back. Sparks burst where talons met steel. He felt the pressure vibrate through his arms, his boots grinding into wet earth.
Then — instinct.
Resonance.
He shifted his grip, twisting his body with the daemon's momentum. The world slowed for a heartbeat.
His blade moved faster than thought.
The creature froze mid-lunge — then fell apart in silence, dissolving into ash.
Rain hissed where the remnants hit the ground. Sirius exhaled once, long and steady.
"Target down," he said into the comm.
Kael's response came through, low and even. "Convoy secured. No further hostiles."
Rhea's voice added, faint but relieved. "Then we're done here."
Sirius wiped his blade clean against the rain before sheathing it.
He turned — and froze.
From the convoy's rear vehicle, a familiar figure stepped out, cloak whipping in the wind. The faint glow of the barrier ring at his wrist confirmed it.
King Regis Lucis Caelum.
He walked toward Sirius through the rain, flanked by his guards, face calm even in the storm. "You have my gratitude," the King said, his voice quiet but carrying over the thunder. "Without you, this would have ended in tragedy."
Sirius bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."
Regis studied him for a moment. "You're Leonis blood. I can see it in your stance."
"Yes, sire."
"And your name?"
"Sirius Blake."
Regis smiled faintly. "The boy with two bloodlines — Leonis and Blake. Cor speaks of you, though rarely."
Sirius hesitated. "Then I hope he speaks well."
The King chuckled softly. "Cor never wastes words. Silence from him is often praise."
Sirius allowed himself a small smile.
Regis turned his gaze toward the field, where his men tended to the wounded. "Lucis owes you, Commander Blake. Though I suspect you'll never ask for recognition."
Sirius shook his head. "Recognition isn't the reason I fight."
"I thought as much." Regis' tone softened. "But even shadows need acknowledgment now and then."
He reached into his cloak and drew a small insignia — a silver crest of the Crownsguard, engraved with the royal seal. "You've already earned this in silence. Consider it formality."
Sirius accepted the insignia with a bow. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Regis regarded him one last time, the faintest glint of pride in his eyes. "The night will grow darker before long. When it does, Lucis will need men like you."
The wind picked up, catching the King's cloak as he turned back toward his escort. "Walk your path, Sirius Blake — even if no one sees it."
Then he was gone, stepping into the storm's veil.
---
By the time the transport returned to the Citadel, dawn had broken over the plains. The rain had stopped, leaving only mist and silence.
Sirius stood at the open hatch, the insignia still warm in his hand.
He traced its surface with his thumb — the weight of recognition heavier than the metal itself.
In the reflection of the hull, he saw not the boy who sought strength, but the man who had earned it.
He exhaled softly. "The King noticed," he murmured. "Cor will say nothing. But that's fine."
Behind him, Kael spoke quietly. "Still feels strange, doesn't it? Doing the impossible, and pretending it never happened."
Sirius glanced back, a small smile ghosting across his lips. "That's the job."
"Yeah," Kael said with a shrug. "Still feels damn unfair."
"Unfair?" Sirius looked out at the fading clouds. "It's balance."
Kael chuckled under his breath. "Only you could make that sound poetic."
Sirius didn't answer. His eyes lingered on the insignia, then the horizon beyond the barrier. "Balance," he repeated quietly, as if testing the word's weight.
He tucked the emblem away, turned, and stepped back into the light of the Citadel hangar.