Arc 1: The Awakening
Chapter 7: The Eyes That See Magic
Year: 1956 – Age 4, Blacktorn Manor
POV: Cassius Arcturus Blacktorn
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They say power comes from knowledge.
They're wrong.
Power comes from sight.
And I was born with eyes that see magic.
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It begins in the forest behind the manor.
A place where the wards twist the air like heatwaves and trees whisper in a language older than Elvish.
There, the world trembles—not in fear, but in awareness.
That's when I see it for the first time.
The aura.
A deer steps into the clearing, and my eyes catch the shimmer of golden lines crawling over its spine. Not fur. Not flesh.
Magic.
Living, breathing, raw.
And I blink—and it's gone.
But now I know.
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I tell no one.
Not yet.
Not even Mother.
Instead, I test it.
I touch a cursed locket locked in the Blacktorn Vault. No pain.
I trace my fingers over its silvery script, watching the crimson magic swirl like blood in water.
This is a curse woven by a dying witch from the 12th century.
I see it. All of it.
Layers of fear. Lust. Sorrow. Anchored by a single drop of blood.
I see the origin of enchantment like reading ink on parchment.
And I understand it.
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The Vault reacts.
It recognizes my blood.
My eyes.
And for the first time in over a century, the Forbidden Chamber opens on its own.
Inside waits something... ancient.
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A mirror.
Framed in carved obsidian serpents. Silent. Covered in dust.
It does not reflect my body.
It reflects my magic.
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What I see is monstrous.
Wings of fire behind my shoulders. Threads of fate coiling around my skull like a crown of thorns. In my chest, a pulsing heart of violet light that pulses with dark intent.
A rune blinks across my brow. Not Latin. Not Greek.
It is Black Speech—the lost tongue of Wandlore.
I whisper the rune aloud.
"Vor'Saleth."
My magic roars.
The mirror shatters.
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I fall backward, coughing blood.
Laughing.
Trembling with ecstasy.
I want more.
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From that day, my eyes never see the world the same.
People are shadows cloaked in colored threads of intent—red for anger, blue for sorrow, green for envy.
I see the lies people tell before they speak.
I know when someone is cursed.
Or blessed.
Or dying.
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I use it first on a servant.
He's been stealing galleons from the manor's account for months. I see greed clinging to his aura like smoke.
I don't confront him.
I smile.
And place a slow-acting hex on his hands.
Three days later, he cannot stop shaking.
Mother sends him away.
No one questions it.
Perfect.
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Lady Desdemona returns with books—gifted from the Malfoy archive. She doesn't know I can see the protective spells around them before opening them.
I dismantle them in seconds.
She watches me from the corner of her eye. Silent. Calculating.
She knows something has changed.
But says nothing.
Smart woman.
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I begin experimenting on my own aura.
Twisting it. Coiling it. Burying it beneath false colors. I can walk through the manor appearing calm, passive—even harmless.
Mother watches me sometimes and sighs.
She thinks I'm normal.
That comforts her.
But I know what I am.
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The Blacktorn family was feared for many reasons. Their blood rituals. Their Vault. Their role in the Unseelie Wars.
But mostly—because of the Eyes.
Eyes that saw through illusions, glamour, death.
Eyes that cursed kings and saw past time.
The trait had died out.
Or so they thought.
But it lives again.
In me.
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The mirror was only the beginning.
My eyes hunger for more.
So I make a decision.
It's time to leave the manor.
Just for a day.
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I slip past the wards at midnight, cloaked in illusion, wrapped in silence. Apparition is still beyond me. But not portkeys.
I build one.
Out of an old Slytherin brooch.
Destination: Knockturn Alley.
Where the filth of magical society festers. Where secrets are cheap and dark arts cheaper.
Perfect.
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I arrive cloaked, hidden, small.
But they feel me.
Even the goblins at the Gringotts sub-branch flinch as I pass.
I step into a potion shop and meet a hag with nails like daggers.
She smiles too wide.
"Child, you smell of prophecy."
I stare at her.
And say only, "Tell me how to bind magic to blood. Permanently."
She freezes.
Then whispers, "You'll need a soul."
I smile.
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By morning, I return to Blacktorn Manor.
Unseen. Unharmed. Hungry for more.
I did not kill.
Not yet.
But the hag gave me everything I needed.
And next time… I will be ready.
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I stare into the broken mirror frame in my vault.
I whisper again:
"Vor'Saleth."
And this time, nothing shatters.
Because the magic now obeys me.
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I am Cassius Arcturus Blacktorn.
Heir of shadows.
Bearer of the Eyes.
And the world is no longer hidden from me.
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