The corridors of a darkened manor echoed with quiet footsteps as a solitary wizard made his way through the shadows, mind heavy with the weight of countless burdens. Memories, old and new; bitter and sweet, flittered through his thoughts like shades and reminding Arcturus Black of the countless eons he had lived - along with the many, many mistakes he'd made along the way.
Arcturus had always been a creature of duality, however; a being torn between the Light and the Dark, the magical and the mundane - the very past and present. His entire existence was naught but a tapestry woven from the very threads of mortal history, each and every delicate strand a reflection of the choices he'd made and the consequences that had surely followed each one.
His current association with Death Eaters; Dark Wizards who followed the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort, was but one exampe of many within the tangled web that was his past, present, and most pressing future. It had been a moment of recklessness, a misguided attempt to uncover the secrets of the Dark Arts and the mystery behind one mortal's 'immortality'.
"I have discovered secrets far beyond your feeble comprehension. Secrets that have granted me power greater than anything you could ever imagine."
Though, amidst the shadows of his many regrets, Arcturus had managed to glimpse upon the purpose of his most-current entanglement; all but a sliver of silver lining that did make his present all that little more bearable. And as his pale fingers traced the engraving on the outer casing of the fob watch in his hand, a tangible reminder of the knowledge he did now possess - the truths that now did reside within his mind, the immortal understood how the once-great 'God-King' of Persia had learnt of his existence. It had been a revelation born from the darkest corners of magick, all but a shadowed truth that had linked Arcturus to a web of deciet and treachery.
The memory of Xerxes' downfall, the smell of smoke and crackling flames as Rome burned down around them, echoed within Arcturus' mind; the pursuit of 'Absolute Power' that had led the wannabe-immortal to commit unspeakable atrocities, including that of murdering other immortals to extend his own life. But in the end, it had all been for naught. The so-called 'God-King' had fallen for the second and final time, his one and only Horcrux having been destroyed by the very deities he had turned against; whatever remaining of either Xerxes or his shattered soul having been devoured by the very fires he'd orchestrated.
As his mind returned to the present, however, Arcturus found himself coming to a stop before yet another crossroad; faced with but another choice that could ultimately change the course of mortal history as he stood in the presence of another wannabe-immortal and self-proclaimed 'Lord Voldemort'; eyes as red as the very blood running through his veins glowing with an unnatural intensity as they bore into his own pale silver.
"Regulussss... I require the sssservice of your Housssse-Elf, Kreacher," the Dark Lord hissed slowly; partially contorted, serpentine features revealing each word as if they were painful to even speak - and managed to send a cold shiver of dread down Arcturus' spine.
Yet he hid the reaction, masked his internal turmoil with a façade of complete compliance; digging deep upon the weight of centuries worth of wisdom he did possess as he replied with a low bow and uttered, "My Lord, Kreacher is at your disposal."
Even as Voldemort set Kreacher to the task of testing the defences around the very Horcrux that had first intrugued Arcturus and brought him within the folds of Death Eaters and mortal 'immortals', the compliant façade upon his features never shifted, never changed - despite the growing spark of unease he did feel. The air within the manor hung heavy with Dark Magick, and the immortal wizard could sense the impending doom that clung to the shadows.
It was only when, however, Kreacher returned to him battered and beaten, the House-Elf's loyalty to his Master unwavering in the face of clear and unnecessary torture as he recounted the horrors of the cave, the potion, and the very locket in which housed a single piece of Voldemort's shattered soul, did Arcturus' ancient mind; usually shielded from the pangs of mortality, recoil violently at the cruelty of his so-called Dark Lord's creation, and a plan was soon to begin forming within the darkest depths of his mind - one that was not born out of fear of death or possible torture, but that of an innate sense of justice for his most stalwalt companion.
Arcturus Regulus Black would defy his own immortality in order to confront the very darkness that had come to threaten not only those he did so love, but that of the very magical world he had helped to build.
And so, hidden within the depths of his private residence, the wizard fashioned a duplicate of Slytherin's locket. Inside, he placed a single note - for Voldemort, for whomever would be foolish enough to face such madness without fully comprehending the consequences; naught but a veiled challenge from a long-forgotten era - a warning that did echo through the eons and was imprinted upon the very pages of mortal history.
As Kreacher led him through the darkened seaside cave, Arcturus could already feel the pulse of ancient magicks enamating from the actual locket. Though still he did instruct the elf with a steady voice, his words prechosen and made to ensure that the very bonds that had brought Kreacher into the folds of immortality would also be the very ones to save him.
"Take the locket if I cannot, once the potion has cleared, and replace it with its twin. Escape, Kreacher, no matter what. If that means you must leave me behind, so be it. You must return to the Potions Master. He will know what to do."
Kreacher, bound by not only the ties of loyalty and duty, but that of a centuries-old bond with his Master, could only nod his head solemnly; knowing that even if he had wanted to do otherwise, Arcturus' request was akin to law. And it was only upon his ward's unwavering - if, albeit, reluctant - acceptance of his terms that the wizard then drank down the potion, feeling the excruciating pain that accompanied the cursed liquid one shell-full at a time.
His immortal body writhed against the agony that did tear through it - and without warning, he reached out not for the last drops of potion, but that of the very waters of the lake surrounding them; perceptive even whilst in agony to the fact that this truly could be his end - the truth he'd been all but running towards since the very beginning of his seemingly nigh-endless existence.
Inferni rose from the dark depths the moment the shell made its first ripple upon the lake's murky surface, their lifeless eyes locking onto Arcturus' still-writhing form. However, and even as they dragged him down into the dark depths of their accursed domain, the man could feel nothing but a strange sense of satisfaction as the thunderous crack of Kreacher's departing apparation echoed through the cavern.
He had chosen a noble path, Arcturus couldn't help but think. And whether or not he was to emerge from the depths of the lake or vanish finally into the folds of oblivion; his very fate hanging in the balance, he knew without doubt that Kreacher, his ever-faithful and best of friend, had fulfilled his last and final wish.
The fake locket, no matter which path Arcturus would ultimately face as his consciousness receeded within the murky depths, now resided in Voldemort's possession; did conceal a challenge that could unravel the Dark Lord's quest for true immortality. And as he left his mark upon the pages of yet another unknown history, Arcturus Regulus Black could only smile as the words - his warning did resonate within his fading mind; naught more than a echoing shade within the very epochs of immortal antiquity.
By blood and bone; a mortal's shroud;
Within this trinket, a truth is avowed.
Beware the depths where darkness thrives,
For souls are lost where evil strives.
A fragment held, a soul ensnared;
In hearts of darkness all shall be bared.
But he who dares to claim its might,
Shall find his soul consumed by night.
So heed this warning, wise and bold.
For in this locket, secrets untold.
The power you seek is naught but smoke,
If you shan't beware Aeon's Yoke.