The Awakening
Darkness surrounded him. It wasn't the soft, comforting kind, like the velvet shadows of the Forbidden Forest at night. This was an endless, weightless void, cold and vast. Harry Potter felt as if he were floating in the space between life and death, where time itself didn't matter.
The last thing he remembered was a flash of green light, a searing pain, and then... nothing.
Yet now, as his senses slowly returned, Harry realized he wasn't entirely alone. Something... someone... was calling to him.
"Harry Potter."
His eyes snapped open, and he sat up abruptly. He was no longer in the Hogwarts grounds or even among the living. Instead, he found himself seated in an ornate courtyard bathed in pale moonlight. Ancient stone walls surrounded him, engraved with intricate symbols of skulls, ravens, and wisps of flame. The air here was eerily silent, heavy with the weight of something otherworldly.
And then he saw it.
Beside him, leaning against the cold stone wall, was a weapon—a scythe. Its polished ebony handle gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and its crescent blade seemed to hum softly, as if whispering secrets of the void.
Without hesitation, Harry reached for it, and the moment his fingers brushed the handle, a shockwave of energy coursed through him. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming—like being plunged into icy water and pulled into an ancient, unfathomable current.
The name came to him unbidden, spoken not in words, but in the very essence of his soul.
"Shi no hōyō," he whispered. "Death's Embrace."
The scythe responded instantly. The blade shimmered, and Harry felt its power surge through him, a connection so deep it was as though the weapon had always been a part of him. He staggered to his feet, gripping the scythe tightly as the ground beneath him shifted.
Before he could process the gravity of the moment, a deep, resonant voice echoed through the courtyard.
"Welcome home, heir of the House of Shi."
Harry spun around to face the speaker. A man stood before him, clad in flowing black robes that seemed to blend into the shadows. His presence was commanding, his silver hair tied back in a loose braid, and his eyes glowed faintly with an unnatural light.
"Who are you?" Harry asked, his voice trembling slightly.
The man inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "I am Kuroshi, steward of the Great Noble House of Shi. You, Harry Potter, are its rightful heir."
Harry's mind raced. Noble house? Heir? None of it made sense. Just a few hours ago—or was it days?—he'd been fighting for his life at Hogwarts. How had he ended up here, in a strange afterlife that felt both foreign and oddly familiar?
"There's been a mistake," Harry said. "I'm not part of any noble house. I'm just—"
Kuroshi raised a hand to silence him. "You carry the mark of our bloodline, child. Your death has merely awakened the truth of your lineage. The House of Shi is tied to Death itself, its scythe passed down through generations. Now, it has chosen you."
As if to confirm Kuroshi's words, the scythe pulsed in Harry's grip, a sensation both comforting and unnerving.
Harry looked down at the weapon, then back at Kuroshi. "But... what does that mean? Why am I here?"
Kuroshi's expression softened, though his tone remained firm. "You are here because your mortal life has ended, and your soul has ascended to claim its rightful place. But the House of Shi is no ordinary noble family. We are the keepers of balance, the guardians of Death's will. Your scythe, Shi no hōyō, is a manifestation of that duty."
Harry stared at him, trying to process the enormity of it all. He had spent his entire life battling against death—losing his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, and so many others. And now, he was being told that he was tied to Death itself?
Before he could respond, the air around them grew heavy, and a sudden chill swept through the courtyard. Kuroshi's gaze darkened.
"It seems your arrival has not gone unnoticed," he said grimly.
From the shadows, figures began to emerge—hollowed, grotesque forms with glowing yellow eyes and gaping mouths. Hollows. Their hungry growls echoed through the courtyard, and Harry instinctively raised his scythe.
Kuroshi nodded approvingly. "Your first test, young heir. Let us see if you are truly worthy of the House of Shi."
The largest Hollow lunged, its claws outstretched. Harry didn't hesitate. He swung the scythe in a wide arc, and as the blade connected, a brilliant wave of black and silver energy erupted, consuming the Hollow in an instant.
Harry's eyes widened as he stared at the dissipating creature, a strange mix of awe and fear flooding his chest. The power of the scythe felt limitless, but it was also terrifying.
Kuroshi stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Good. But this is only the beginning. The path of the House of Shi is fraught with peril, and Death's Embrace does not choose its wielder lightly. You must prove yourself worthy of its power."
Harry tightened his grip on the scythe, determination hardening his features. He didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: he was no longer the Boy Who Lived. He was something far more.
He was the heir to Death itself.