Chapter 2: The Name of a Forgotten God
Silence blanketed the nursery, broken only by the soft crackling of the fireplace and the rhythmic breaths of the sleeping baby.
But Sirius was not sleeping.
He never truly slept.
His tiny chest rose and fell with infantile calm, but beneath those cherry-red eyes was a storm—a mind centuries old, burning with purpose, locked in a body that could barely hold up its own weight.
This world feels… smaller.
No mana storms. No divine resonance in the air. No scent of sulfur or celestial steel.
It was weak.
No—it was human.
And so was he.
His body, this time, was not forged in the abyss or blessed by hellfire. It was mortal. Fragile. Yet, deep in his soul, embers glowed.
The power was there. Dormant. Waiting.
Sirius closed his eyes, reaching inward. Not toward magic or memory—but toward instinct. Somewhere in this form, the seal that bound his true self still lingered. And if he could find the cracks, he could shatter them.
He focused.
A heartbeat.
Another.
And then… something strange.
A vision.
He stood once more in the void, but it was no longer empty.
A silhouette appeared across from him—tall, robed in silver, its face hidden beneath a veil of stars. It radiated ancient power. Familiar. Loathed.
Anubis.
But this was not the real god of death. No. It was a remnant. A message.
The specter raised its hand. A black brand glowed in its palm.
"You've returned. But you'll never be whole."
Chains erupted from the darkness, wrapping around Sirius's wrists and neck, pulling him back.
"I bound your fate with death itself. Your powers are sealed across seven fragments, scattered through the mortal world. Try if you wish. But each step will bring you closer to your own destruction."
Sirius gritted his teeth.
Even here, his brother mocked him.
Even in death, he left traps.
But Sirius was not afraid.
"You were always the coward, Anubis."
He raised his hand—and the vision shattered.
Sirius woke with a sharp inhale, startling his mother, the Grand Duchess, who had been dozing nearby. She rushed to him with panic in her eyes.
"It's alright, little one," she whispered, picking him up gently. "It was just a dream…"
She rocked him in her arms, humming a lullaby that echoed with warmth he hadn't known in centuries.
He stared up at her, silent.
This body had limits, yes.
But his mind?
Sharp. Focused.
And now, he had answers.
Seven fragments.
Each containing a piece of his former power.
Each hidden somewhere in this vast, peaceful, ignorant world.
He would find them.
He would reclaim them.
And then—
He would burn heaven to ash.
Meanwhile, in a hidden chamber beneath the Temple of Time, deep in the heart of Asamando, the oracle's eyes snapped open.
She gasped, hands trembling, as ink spilled from the scrolls around her, forming one word:
"SIRIUS."
The priests fell to their knees.
He had returned.
And the world would never be the same again.