Chapter Text
In the darkness of a cavernous room, a man stands, tall and thin, with a worn and hunched appearance, as if the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders.
"No, no, no! DAMN IT, NO!" he muttered, his throat dry and his eyes bloodshot, as another green glass tablet shattered in his hands, its pieces scattering across the sandy floor from which it was made. Another vision of the future where death lurks at every corner, where his family—no, where the world ends. "If only there was a way to save them all," he murmured to himself as he paced the room, oblivious to the glass shards scattered across the sandy floor of his small casita room.
He briefly recalled what drove him to abuse his gift, or rather, for whom: his daughter Mirabel, his little butterfly. She was supposed to receive her gift three weeks ago, but it didn't happen. Something went wrong, something failed. Mirabel, his little butterfly, was denied her Gift, and as selfish as it sounds, he was both saddened and relieved by it.
He was saddened because it would make her an outcast in her own family. But he was relieved because she wouldn't be used as a tool by Alma Madrigal, his mother. He loves her, but he had been harboring resentment towards her over time, without even realizing it, little by little until now.
Ironically, it was thanks to her that he realized it.
After his little butterfly's failed ceremony, his mother intercepted him on his way to the nursery and demanded that he use his gift to see how Mirabel's lack of a gift would affect the family and the miracle. He did. He saw the miracle extinguish and the casita crumble, making it clear that the blame rested on his daughter Mirabel.
He couldn't accept it. He didn't want to and wasn't going to accept it. He flatly refused to believe that his little butterfly, the sweetest and happiest girl, could be the cause of such a tragedy. So, once Alma, his mother, left his room and he was alone, he used his gift in a way he had never used it before, trying to find a solution to this situation. And he saw it, saw the future as clearly as if he had lived it himself. He saw his own exile from the family, living in the walls and feeding on scraps, caring for and repairing the casita, watching his daughter being raised as his sister Julieta's child.
He watched his butterfly grow up as an outcast in the family, treated more like a servant than a family member, watching as the prophecy was fulfilled: the candle went out, the casita fell, the miracle died, just as the Madrigals crumbled.
But he also observed how he emerged from the walls to help. The casita was rebuilt, just as the family healed and realized that the miracle had come back to life. He saw how the destruction and reconstruction of the casita were necessary, just as the family was forced to acknowledge their own wounds to heal and recover stronger than before.
However, it only lasted a few years before everything fell apart again. Tragedy struck the Encanto. Strange creatures invaded their home, spreading death and darkness, and his little butterfly died, trying to save as many people as she could, right in front of him, unable to do anything to save his child.
He refused to let that future become reality, so he tried again to see the future, but this time he would stay with the family. And so he did. He stayed and raised his little butterfly, tried to mend his family, showing the cracks forming in the casita as a reflection of the family, and being a good father. He only succeeded halfway through the equation.
No matter what he did, his mother never listened. She even became more controlling and dominant, and then it happened again: the family broke, the casita crumbled, the miracle died, and only then did his mother listen. Just like last time, they rebuilt the casita, the family reunited, mending broken bonds, and the miracle was reborn.
But tragedy struck the Encanto again. Cracks in reality itself appeared in the village, swallowing everything around them, and though this time he managed to save his daughter, part of his family wasn't so lucky, and his family crumbled.
So he tried again, this time taking Mirabel out of the Encanto. They exiled themselves to the mountains, but it happened again, but this time his child turned to dust in an instant, for no apparent reason. Later, he would learn that the same thing happened in the village: people turning to dust.
And so he tried again and again, but tragedy always struck. He thought it was the miracle, that its true nature wasn't benign, but in one of those visions—no, not a vision, because his gift had changed, improved in a way. Now he could, not see the future, but live the future, and that helped him know the truth.
The outside world has very advanced science and technology, things that allow normal people to do things he thought could only be achieved with magic. But that's only half of it. The miracle itself is just a small spark of magic, a small flame like the candle it inhabits, compared to the wildfire that is the outside world. But that fire is hidden, burning in the shadows, out of sight, hidden from normal people.
But in recent years, the previously hidden magic was slowly resurfacing. Along with advanced technology, it could turn ordinary people into super-soldiers. This gave reckless idiots with airs of grandeur, power-hungry megalomaniacs, and curious people with no common sense access to magic and technology that could cause the end of the world.
The miracle itself functions as a barrier, keeping the people of Encanto safe from the dangers caused by human stupidity. The gifts are just pillars to keep the barrier up. The reason his daughter didn't receive a gift was because no more pillars were needed to maintain the barrier, allowing her to be a child and live without fear. But if the miracle died, even if it was reborn as it happened when the casita was rebuilt, it would need time to erect a new barrier.
So, in his visions, he tried in every way to prevent the miracle from dying, to keep his daughter and the town of Encanto safe and separate from the outside world. But one person always ruined all his efforts: his mother, Alma Madrigal. No matter what he did, his mother never listened, never changed, no matter what he did. Alma, his mother, only listened when the casita fell apart, when the family broke, never before, all because of her pride and beliefs. And so he came to the conclusion that it was impossible to save the miracle; that's how stubborn his mother was.
But not for a second did it cross his mind to kill her. She is his mother. No matter how infinitely easier it would be to kill her, he wouldn't. So he kept searching for the timeline where his little butterfly could be happy. It no longer mattered what others said or the fear they had of him; his only concern was to achieve his daughter's happiness, and he would achieve it no matter how difficult it was.
"This time will be the one," his voice echoed in the cave, a mixture of weariness and fierce determination. His hands began to move in a very familiar pattern, rough yet delicate at the same time, as if lost but with direction, firmer and more experienced than in the last three weeks. A green glow began to fill the air, and sand swirled around him.
Little by little, a green tablet formed in front of him, but this time there was something different: a small silver glow mixed with the emerald. Slowly, the silver grew until it equaled the emerald, but it didn't consume it or fight for dominance; instead, it entered into a strange dance.
The silver glow seemed to want to attract the attention of the emerald glow, dancing to an ethereal rhythm, like two butterflies meeting after a long search, moving around each other, intertwining their halos without fully joining. It was a kind of silent dialogue, a conversation of light where the mystical whispered to the earthly, the emerald with questions shouted into the wind, and the silver with answers whispered calmly.
With a silent harmony, the crystal tablet, previously entirely emerald, now had a marbled appearance, a mixture of emerald and silver, before its glow enveloped everything around him.
"Hello, Bruno Madrigal."