The void was neither black nor white. It simply was—an endless expanse of nothingness that defied all sense of time and space. The soul, adrift in this emptiness, had no concept of how long it had been there. Days, years, millennia—none of it mattered. It was a place beyond the reach of both life and death, a purgatory where nothing grew, nothing decayed, and no stars lit the sky.
It remembered fragments of a world long gone. A world called Earth—Prime Earth, as some might say. The original. A world teeming with life, wars, dreams, and history. The soul had once been human, living a life filled with the mundane and the extraordinary. Memories flashed—an average man walking down crowded streets, a whirlwind of books and deadlines, family dinners, and moments of quiet solitude. But underneath it all was a sense of incompleteness, a yearning for something more. Something magical.
But now, in the void, that life felt distant, like an echo of a dream. Its final moments before slipping into the abyss were clouded in darkness—perhaps an accident, perhaps illness, but none of it mattered now. Time in the void had stripped the soul of its human identity, leaving only its essence: a spark of existence.
Yet, the void was not truly empty. The soul could feel it—a presence hidden deep within, pulsing with ancient power. Drawn to it, the soul drifted through the emptiness until it arrived at the center of everything—or what seemed to be the center. There stood a tree.
The tree was massive, its roots vanishing into the nothingness below, its branches spreading out like veins across a dead sky. It was the only source of life in this forsaken place. The leaves shimmered with a strange light, each one radiating an aura of mystery and magic. The soul floated closer, feeling an irresistible pull toward the tree. The hunger for life, for purpose, for meaning, grew stronger within it.
At first, the soul hesitated. It knew that consuming something from this tree could change everything. But the void had gnawed at its mind, its existence, for far too long. With nothing left to lose, the soul reached out, consuming a single leaf from the tree. The taste was like nothing it had ever experienced—a fusion of every sensation imaginable and unimaginable.
The void shattered.
Suddenly, there was light, sound, and pain. Memories flooded the soul—its past life flashing before its mind's eye in vivid detail. The tragedies it had endured. The love it had lost. It remembered the last moments of its past life—guilt, regret, and the terrible sense of unfulfilled potential. In that final moment, the soul had craved something beyond the mundane existence it had known. It had longed for a world where magic existed.
And now, that wish was being granted.
A world was forming around the soul, its essence reshaping, solidifying. Slowly, it became aware of its new form, no longer a drifting spark in the void, but something real, tangible, and alive. The sounds of life returned—distant, muffled voices, the soft crackling of a fireplace, and the soothing hum of magic in the air.
As the soul blinked into awareness, it found itself in a room, lit by flickering candlelight. The walls were adorned with portraits—many of them moving, some whispering softly to each other. The room was grand, with ancient tapestries and bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, the atmosphere rich with the weight of history and secrets.
The door creaked open, and a woman in a deep green robe entered. Her sharp eyes fell upon the crib where the soul now resided, and a warm, almost proud smile spread across her face.
"Welcome to the world, my dear child," she said softly, her voice thick with an accent that hinted at old magic, "You will carry on the legacy of our family. You will do great things."
The soul, now reincarnated into a new life, could feel it—the magic coursing through its veins. This was no ordinary family. It was ancient, powerful, and shrouded in secrecy. The tapestry behind the woman depicted a proud tree, much like the one in the void, its branches bearing names, some long forgotten, others whispered in the annals of wizarding history.
The Blacks.
This was a new beginning, but the memories of the void and the past life lingered. Somewhere, deep inside, the soul knew that its journey was far from over. It had been reborn into a world of magic, a world it had always longed for. But with that rebirth came responsibility, danger, and secrets waiting to be unraveled.
As the infant looked up into the flickering candlelight, it swore that this time, things would be different. This time, it would live a life of meaning, of magic, and—most of all—of power.
The legacy of the Black family awaited. And the soul, once lost in the void, was ready to embrace it.