Sirius

The night was thick and silent, almost tangible. A light mist drifted through the empty parks and streets, veiling the lampposts and pathways in its curtains. The trees whispered softly with their leaves in the wind, while the creak of a swing and the occasional sound of a fallen branch echoed through the void. Moonlight played in the puddles on the asphalt, reflecting in shimmering spots, as if the night itself were lighting the way.

Sirius strode through the dark alleys, nearly merging with the shadows. The golden star mask on his face glowed in the dim light, shimmering with every facet, while the red eyes beneath it intently tracked every rustle. He loved this hour, when the city slept, when the world froze in anticipation of morning, and he alone was free to act according to his own laws.

Sirius's steps were quiet yet confident. The empty streets, the light cold wind, the rare glints of streetlamps—it all felt like part of his personal space, where he could think and build his plans. Thoughts of the past surfaced on their own: once, he had been the star of the park, the public's favorite, but now all of that seemed like a distant dream.

Anger and a thirst for revenge slowly ignited within. Sirius mentally constructed a plan to reclaim what had once belonged to him and to remind everyone who the real star here was.

He approached the closed park and peered behind the stage curtains. After carefully inspecting the props, he took out dynamite and began laying the charges; his movements were quiet, precise, and cautious, as if the air itself obeyed his design.

And suddenly—the creak of a door. Abruptly. Unexpectedly. Sirius flinched and spun around, his red eyes flashing through the mask. His body tensed, and his voice sliced through the silence:

"What are you doing here?!"

The shadows around him trembled along with him. Sirius took a step forward, blending into the darkness, ready to protect his plan at any cost.