Sirius


    The plane was cramped, the air heavy with the fading scent of deodorant. A clean, soapy fragrance wafted from an older couple a few rows ahead, while the enormous man seated behind Sirius smelled of sweat and salted peanuts, chomping loudly throughout the flight. The passengers—people from all walks of life—seemed to notice the unusual pairing in coach: a business-suited woman sitting beside a quiet, black-haired teenage boy.


    “I promise, you’re going to love your new family,” the woman said, her voice brimming with forced enthusiasm. “They’re very nice people, and you won’t have to worry. Your mother sounded so eager to see you, and she says you have a half-brother about your age. Isn’t that exciting?” She leaned closer, searching for acknowledgment. “Sirius? Are you listening to me?”


    Sirius tilted his head sluggishly, his lifeless eyes barely meeting hers. He offered no response.


    Her smile faltered, but she continued regardless, gathering their luggage as the plane came to a stop. Sirius dragged his feet through the terminal, his gaze flickering briefly to the bustling crowd. The ceiling loomed high above, and everything felt impossibly large—too large.


    Big… Everything is gigantic. Even the people seem bigger, he thought, feeling adrift in this new environment.


    The waiting area was packed with faces of all shapes and sizes. Some cast curious glances at Sirius as he stood awkwardly, his posture rigid, his mind swirling. Beside him, the woman—his temporary guardian—scanned the crowd with unbridled enthusiasm.


    “They’re coming! Your new family is just down the hall. Look—they even brought you a gift!” she said brightly, as if her excitement could somehow inspire his own.


    Sirius squinted down the hallway, the crowd blurring into a sea of strangers. What the hell am I supposed to be looking at? I don’t even know what they look like.


    A woman emerged from the throng, her teary eyes fixed on Sirius. Her simple light-blue dress fluttered slightly as she hurried toward him, her strawberry-blonde hair catching the light. When she finally reached him, she enveloped him in a hug, the faint scent of strawberries filling the air.


    Sirius froze, his arms trembling as he gripped his tattered bag tighter. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move to return the embrace.


    Pulling back, she cupped his face with gentle hands, her fingers brushing a jagged scar along his jawline. Her expression shifted several times—joy, guilt, wonder—before she spoke.


    “You’re so grown up,” she whispered, her voice cracking.


    “Ahem… You must be Fancy Burton?” the guardian interjected, extending her hand. “Hello, I’m Sheri. It’s so nice to meet you at last.”


    Fancy stepped back, releasing Sirius, and shook Sheri’s hand warmly. “Yes. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”


    Fancy gestured toward a tall man standing a few feet behind her. “This is my husband, Winston Burton.”


    Winston, imposing in stature with a chiseled jawline, stood with his hands in his pockets, his tailored suit impeccable. His pale blond hair, streaked with white, was neatly combed. His gaze carried a quiet arrogance as he nodded curtly at Sheri.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    “And this,” Fancy continued, pulling a teenage boy closer, “is my son, Connor Elwood. He’s your older brother.”


    Connor, nearly a head taller than Fancy, bore her features with the striking addition of flaming red hair. He fiddled with his phone, barely sparing Sirius a glance.


    Sheri nudged Sirius gently. “Aren’t you going to say hello to your mother?”


    Sirius’s throat tightened. Words swirled in his mind, but none escaped. He glanced at Connor, who was already stepping away, his phone glued to his ear. Fancy’s tearful expression betrayed her hesitation, as if she feared what Sirius might say—or not say.


    Winston sniffed, his nose held high. “What’s his name again?”


    “Sirius,” Sheri answered promptly. “Sirius Ricci. His middle name is Hector, after his father.”


    Winston studied Sirius with a raised eyebrow. “Is he mute?”


    Sheri stiffened. “I don’t know, Mr. Burton. He hasn’t spoken much, if at all. I suspect he’s been through a lot—abuse, neglect, or both. I recommend getting him a physical and a psychological evaluation.”


    Winston huffed dismissively, launching into a monologue about his charitable endeavors. Fancy, meanwhile, handed Sirius a gift bag, her movements tentative.


    “Sirius,” she said softly, lowering her voice so Winston and Connor wouldn’t hear. “I got you something. It’s not much, but it’s special to me. My mother gave it to me when I was young—a dreamcatcher. I used to hang it above my bed. It’s just a little superstition, but I thought it might bring you some peace. Please, just give me a chance.”


    Sirius nodded stiffly, clutching the tattered bag slung over his shoulder. Fancy’s attempt to take it from him faltered as she saw his grip tighten. She stepped back, offering him a fragile smile.


    At the upscale restaurant, Sirius sat across from Fancy and Winston at a round table tucked toward the back. The candlelight flickered across their faces, casting long shadows against the walls. Connor had excused himself earlier, claiming other plans.


    Sheri began recounting Sirius’s past to Fancy and Winston, her voice tinged with unease. She described his neglect, the bruises, the drunken rages of his father, Hector. Sirius stared at the flickering candle, feeling the weight of her words but refusing to let his emotions show.


    Fancy clutched the papers Sheri handed her, nodding as she absorbed the details. “Thank you,” she said quietly.


    Winston, on the other hand, seemed more concerned with his steak than with Sirius’s plight. “Why wasn’t all of this handled before dropping him into our care?” he demanded, his tone sharp.


    Sheri offered a strained smile. “The agency found his next-of-kin quickly, and there wasn’t time. We can arrange for a doctor to visit your home if that’s more convenient.”


    Winston waved her off dismissively. “I’ll have Fancy handle it.”


    Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze falling to the gift bag Fancy had given him. The dreamcatcher inside felt like a small, fragile lifeline.


    As the conversation turned to Fancy’s past, her voice faltered. “I…I never even held him after he was born. Hector took him from me, claiming he was the key to solving his problems. I begged to see him, but Hector refused. He left me in the hospital parking lot with nothing but excuses. I…” Her voice broke, and she looked away, tears brimming in her eyes.


    Sirius’s heart ached. He clenched his fists under the table, the scar on his jawline burning as if etched by her words.


    The drive to the Burton home was surreal. The Mediterranean-style house loomed like a palace, its stucco walls glowing in the soft evening light. Sirius stared out the car window, overwhelmed by the sprawling neighborhood of mansions and palm trees.


    Fancy showed him to his room—a dusty attic space with old furniture and a mysterious wooden trunk. Sirius’s fingers tingled as he touched the trunk, sensing a strange energy radiating from it.


    Fancy smiled hesitantly. “It belonged to my first husband, Lug. No one’s ever been able to open it. Welcome home, Sirius.”


    Alone in the room, Sirius sank to the floor, his knees pulled to his chest. He waved a hand, whispering words of magic, and his clothes flew into the drawers.


    Please don’t let her see, he thought, fear mingling with exhaustion.


    As sleep claimed him, his last thought lingered on the trunk: There’s something in there. Something powerful.