Chapter 7: A Child Too Quiet
The sun had barely risen, golden light spilling across the Farah estate like warm honey. The halls bustled with quiet maids, velvet carpets softened footsteps, and the scent of fresh bread filled the manor.
But Sirius was already awake.
He always woke early — not because someone told him to, but because sleep came only in pieces. Dreams came too deep. Too old. Too loud.
So he stood by the window of his room, silent, watching the sky lighten from indigo to pink.
Today, he did not run to the garden. Not yet.
Today, he watched people.
Downstairs, the staff were in awe of the young master.
"He never cries," whispered the new maid, clutching a folded blanket.
"Never throws tantrums," added the cook, peeking from the kitchen. "Just… watches you. Like he's thinking something."
"He gives me chills sometimes," the butler muttered, half in jest.
But then he paused, smiling faintly.
"…He's a good boy, though. Smarter than he lets on."
In the training courtyard, Caspian Farah, the Empire's only Grand Swordmaster, swung his blade with a grace no human could match.
But even he paused when he noticed a small figure perched on the edge of the stone wall, legs dangling.
Sirius watched him with steady eyes.
"You're up early," Caspian called out.
Sirius didn't answer. He tilted his head. "You're slow today."
Caspian blinked. "Slow?"
"You missed the fifth step. The one with the twist."
"…You could see that?"
Sirius only shrugged, then hopped down and padded away.
Caspian stared after him, stunned.
He caught that? From a glance?
The move Sirius referred to was something even trained knights failed to grasp after months of watching.
The boy was five.
Later, Xylia found Sirius in the library. Not with picture books, but quietly flipping through a thick tome on magical theory. He couldn't even read all the words yet — but his fingers traced the diagrams with quiet fascination.
A circle. A rune. A sigil.
She approached slowly. "You like those?"
He nodded without looking up.
She sat beside him, brushing silver hair from his eyes. "We can get you books more suited for your age."
"No," Sirius replied. "I like this one."
Xylia chuckled softly. "Alright then. You'll be a scholar, won't you?"
But he didn't answer.
His small fingers tapped a rune again — not with wonder, but familiarity.
I've drawn this before… haven't I?
In blood. In shadow. In fire.
But where?
The memories never came fully. Only impressions.
He wasn't ready to remember yet.
That night, Sirius sat once again beneath his tree, bathed in moonlight.
He did not smile. He did not cry.
But when the wind brushed past, soft and cold, he leaned into it like an embrace.
And whispered, "I'll find you."
The moon glowed above him like a silent promise.