Chapter Text
Tom knew that he was special; knew it just as much as the moon knew of the glow of the sun, and the leaves of autumn’s touch. So when he awoke in his bed, the eve of a new year having dawned, it was not only surprise he felt upon seeing a strange, flickering screen in front of his face.
It was victory.
In the orphanage, one’s birthday was not something to be celebrated. No one gave out gifts or baked cakes—or rather, did not do that for him —or even threw those grand, obnoxious parties they would occasionally see the normal children get.
Instead, one’s birthday was a reminder that they had grown one year older without someone willing to adopt them; grown a year closer towards ageing out, where the Matron would happily toss you onto the streets and send you on your way.
‘Off you go,’ Tom had heard her say to one of the orphans on his eighteenth birthday. He had been a tall and gangly boy, left alone for the most part out of intimidation from his stature. He had been one of the few that would leave Tom alone, too. ‘You’re an adult, now. I’m afraid you can’t stay here any longer.’ It was a dismissal, and a cold one at that, the Matron’s stone-cold face showing not an ounce of pity.
The fact that something out of the ordinary was happening on this day was significant. No one else in the orphanage shared a birthday with Tom, after all.
He tilted his head to the side, blinked, and then blinked again, watching how the screen in front of him stayed where it was. It was slightly translucent, and he could still see the wardrobe and door in front of him, although shaded over in a blue tint.
He reached out a cautious hand and swatted at the screen. It phased through it as if it were a mere projection. He had never been to the pictures in person, but he had read about them in a book, and heard about it in the halls at school, and this was eerily similar to the silver screen that non-orphan children talked about in amazement. On the screen were the following words:
[The constellation ‘The Master of Death’ would like to sponsor you.]
[Would you like to accept?]
[Yes | No]
He did not know of any other constellations besides the distant, brightly burning bodies in the night sky, nor did he know what ‘The Master of Death’ would entail. What he did know, however, was that some superior thing had seen him; had looked down from on high and seen his worthiness, recognising how inherently different—better—he was.
It was the obvious decision for him to accept.
When his finger touched yes, the screen vanished, a new one taking its place.
[The constellation ‘The Master of Death’ rejoices.]
[10 coins have been sponsored.]
‘Are you an angel?’ said Tom, unable to help but feel foolish. He did not believe in God or angels or heaven, would not worship them even if they did indeed exist, but it could not be denied that science could not explain what was currently happening.
The only other explanation was that he had gone mad, and that this was some sort of hallucination, but Tom knew for a fact that he was not mad, as much as the Matron wished that she could send him off to the madhouse and never deal with him again.
‘What, or who, are you?’ asked Tom.
Suddenly a strange sound filled his head, distant and otherworldly. It reverberated through his mind like an eternally travelling echo, and then a new screen appeared before his eyes.
[A constellation.]
What an unhelpful answer, he thought. ‘What exactly is a constellation? Do you come from the stars? Are you the stars?’
[A being who has accumulated great merit. They occasionally sponsor people with outstanding potential.]
He was unable to help the small upturn of his lips. Great potential . ‘And are you sponsoring any other children?’ he asked, perfunctory. There was no need to ask the question, really, for Tom already knew the answer.
The other orphanage children were no better than rats, running through the mud and stuffing their faces without a care. There was no way that this constellation— Tom’s constellation—would deem them worthy enough to even step on.
[No. You are the only sponsee of the constellation ‘The Master of Death’]
Smugness swelled inside of him, and then he continued, ‘Why are you called ‘The Master of Death?” Does that mean you have conquered Death?’ He swallowed. ‘Does that mean that I will conquer Death, too?’
Suddenly there was a blaring sound that seemed to pound against his skull. Tom clutched his head, peering at the new screen before him. A screen that was in a different colour: red.
[ YOU DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH COINS FOR THAT INFORMATION ]
Tom frowned. ‘How do I get more coins? And what even are coins?’ His mind thought of the slightly tarnished crowns and shillings and pennies that lay hidden inside his wardrobe. Surely not those coins?
[‘The Master of Death’ smacks his forehead.]
[‘The Master of Death’ grumbles, Do you really have to narrate everything I do? ]
Tom latched onto the new information. It seemed that ‘The Master of Death’ was a separate entity from whatever was communicating to him through the floating screens. He wondered what exactly the relationship was, and if the master of the floating screens was also a constellation.
[Coins are a currency that can be used by constellations and those sponsored by constellations. You can use them to buy items, stat points—which enhance attributes like physical and mental abilities—and information.]
[You can earn coins by completing missions issued by a constellation or if the constellation decides to give you coins of their own volition.]
‘What kind of tasks?’
Suddenly a new screen popped up.
[A new task has appeared:
Retrieve your Hogwarts letter from the owl.
10 coins will be awarded upon successful completion.]