Of Starlight and Shadow//A Harry Potter fanfic

prologue - The Tale of the Star's Gift

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poop: THE STORY WILL NOT BE WRITTEN IN THIS STYLE! I NEEDED TO WRITE THE PROLOGUE IN THIS STYLE FOR A REASON BUT IF YOU DONT LIKE IT PLEASE DONT STOP READING!!

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Long ago, when the stars still whispered secrets to the night, there was a star unlike any other. It was called the Caelora, and it shone brighter and more radiant than all the stars in the heavens, its golden light casting warmth even on the coldest of nights.

The Caelora was no ordinary star, for once every thousand years, on the longest, darkest night of winter, and when the world below was in great need, the Caelora would fill this darkness through sending a gift to the Earth, a gift of light, a gift of life: a child born from its starlight, known as an Aetherian.

The Aetherians were not like other children. They were the most powerful beings, blessed with powers that no witch or wizard could imagine. They could vanish like shadows at dusk, heal the gravest of wounds with a single touch, and summon the wind and waters, the earth and flames, to do their bidding. With but a thought, they could shield the innocent from harm or soothe the sorrowful from their woes. It is even said that, through their touch, the truth could be drawn from the most secretive heart.

But such power was not without cost.

For an Aetherian's eyes reflected their emotions like a mirror: green for joy, blue for sorrow, gold when they wielded their powers. While their empathic abilities allowed them to sense and understand the emotions of others, the color of their eyes revealed their own feelings to the world, leaving them unable to hide their true thoughts. The Caelora gave them this gift to ensure balance.

And every time an Aetherian used their magic, it drained a part of their strength. And the act of healing, the most selfless of their gifts, was the most costly of all. To heal another's wounds was to give away a piece of themselves. Each time an Aetherian healed a wound or illness, they gave away a part of their own light, growing weaker as they saved others.

The Aetherians were not sent to rule, but to serve. They were born not to take, but to give. Though they could heal others, they could never heal themselves, and any attempt to do so would only deepen their wounds, and their gifts could never be turned inward. No matter how magical they seemed, they were mortal, their lives as fragile as any other's. They were never meant to be saved, only to save others.

And then there was the iron.

The touch of iron burned them like fire, leaving wounds that no magic could heal. It was said that iron, forged by human hands, carried with it the weight of human brutality—a symbol of the world's darker nature. To the Aetherians, iron was a reminder that even the most wondrous among us are not untouchable. It was the one force they could not defy, a vulnerability that ensured they remained humble in their power.

Though, their beauty rivaled that of the fairest Veela, with eyes that shimmered like liquid gold and hair flecked with the light of the heavens whenever they channeled their heaven sent abilities. Upon their backs grew wings, strong and graceful, with feathers chocolatey and dark as night; Upon their heads sat elegant horns, glossy and noble like that of a ram. Yet these gifts could be hidden, for the Aetherians were meant to live among us, unnoticed, until the time came for them to act.

The centaurs, who read the stars as wizards read books, say that the Aetherians are only sent when the world is in greatest need, when darkness threatens to swallow the light. For the Caelora cares not for the suffering of its children, only that they fulfill their purpose—to protect, to heal, and to remind the world of kindness and courage.

But beware, for it is also said that if an Aetherian were to perish before their time—if they were struck down by cruelty or greed—the Caelora would deem the world unworthy of its light and let it fall into shadow.

And so the Aetherians walked among us, teaching the virtues of giving, loving, and the truth that light shines brightest in the darkest of times. They served as a reminder to remain selfless and just. For they were beings of both light and shadow, joy and sorrow—a beautiful tragedy sent from the heavens. In the end, they would fade away, having given all they had to a world destined to forget them.

Though, it is said, even now, that when the world grows darkest, the Caelora will send its brightest light. Perhaps, somewhere out there, another child of starlight has already arrived, waiting for their moment to shine.