Prologue- Precocity
May 2nd, 1967-
A young child is the embodiment of innocence; they are, for now, unblemished by the harshness and cruelties of the world. They know nothing of what's to come and harbor a naivete that only comes from a lack of experience and knowledge. They are fragile vessels, unfit and unable to comprehend the depths of the violence that permeates societies. They are not meant to be thrust into the center of these intangible tragedies, their souls sure to wilt like white lilies. It would defy everything sacred.
Yet, visions flickered like ethereal phantoms in the shadowed recesses of Regulus's mind, relentless in their pursuit of clarity. He, a seer burdened by the weight of foresight, was ensnared in a realm where past, present, and future intertwined, their boundaries blurred and muddled. The claws of fate embedded their sharp tendrils into his very essence, choosing him and only him to depart the knowledge of which the well of Mimir would be envious.
Hazey mist coalesced at his ankles, cutting through the overwhelming darkness that relentlessly embraced him. An uneasy sense of foreboding electrocuted him, leaving his hair to stand on end. Regulus succumbed to the childish need to wrap his arms around himself, a cheap imitation of the bear hugs his brother would give him when their mother's curses surged through his body like a merciless storm.
Suddenly, the mist at his ankles underwent a remarkable transformation, gradually taking shape and revealing murky forms that grew increasingly distinct. Finally, light pierced through the darkness, allowing the images of the future to assume a form as smoothly as color seeping into white cloth.
Twisting and twirling together, the mist swirled as if lost in a dance.It transformed into chilling images of an ominous, perverse world—an ugly, dark future marred by the relentless savagery of bloodshed, violence, and war. The metaphysical veil evolved into a ghastly tableau, resembling a gruesome battlefield drenched in the grotesque depravity of human nature. The blood-soaked soil coated Regulus' feet with the warm metallic substance. He felt his eyes widen comically, like his mother's, when she caught Sirius throwing their family's hundred-year-old heirlooms out the second-story window.
Before him was a haunting vision— something Regulus had yet to experience head-on. The child, only five, as his birthday had yet to pass, had shown the apparent signs a child of prophecy showed during their formative years. A pair of ministry officials had shown up at their doorstep the first time he'd been plagued with a vision, the simple prediction of his grandfather's passing, to investigate an intense, unregistered eruption of magic. Seers, he'd learned, had unique magic signatures that alerted the ministry every time a substantial vision or prophecy occurred. That's how the Department of Mysteries accumulated prophecies. The wizard and witch duo indistinctly forced his parents into registering Regulus' status as a Seer with the ministry as if he were an abomination.
He remembered Sirius protectively proclaiming he was innocent of whatever crime he'd been accused of, shielding him from the view of the strangers. He remembers laughs and head pats, something utterly foreign and confusing to Regulus's sheltered mind.
He was reminded of that feeling of floundering in unknown territory as he stared out into the fiery flames of humanity's darkest impulses; confusion etched its way into him, branding his skin as his nails dug indents into his soft flesh. The putrid stench of fear and anguish hung heavy in the air, invading his senses like a noxious cloud, battering Regulus's innocent spirit, shattering the tranquility he once knew.
His youthful mind struggled to comprehend the atrocities unfolded before him. Tears welled in his eyes, mirroring the rain that fell from the heavens as he bore witness to spells being carelessly thrown across the backdrop of a dilapidated castle that Regulus could picture once standing tall and proud. He saw brothers, sisters, and friends mourning their dead on the castle grounds through anguished cries of sorrow, grieving the once bright future of the person who now lay there unseeing, dead. The corpse's eyes were dull and glazed over, skin going grey from the lack of circulation. Regulus felt bile burning the back of his throat as the barbed wires of hate and tragedy ensnared his fragile heart, once full of dreams and wonder.
Regulus clutched his chest with trembling hands, feeling all the world's sorrows weighing on his small quivering shoulders as if he were the titan Atlas bearing the weight of the sky as punishment for deeds Regulus committed unknowingly. He fell to his knees, gasping desperately for breath finding it unbearably challenging to keep the air in his lungs as he tried to reconcile with the harsh truths he saw.
Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, Regulus saw Sirius' body lying amongst the pile of fallen loved ones. Just another face, another body added to the number of casualties. In that fleeting moment, something broke inside Regulus, something he hadn't been aware of, a wire in his brain snapped, and all he could think of was he couldn't let this happen— he couldn't let Siri die like this, left to rot and be forgotten.
A glimmer of defiance flickered within the child's eyes. A desperate yearning to restore harmony, to stitch together the torn tapestry of humanity, stirred within his soul. With the echoes of war etched deep within his being, he vowed to carry the burden of remembrance, to keep alive the flickering flame of empathy, and to strive tirelessly towards a future where the visions of war would only exist as a distant memory, forever vanquished by the triumph of peace.
He wouldn't let destiny take Sirius from him too.