Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Run, Kurapika!” cries his mother, her arms straining as she tries to maintain the flow of magic necessary to sustain the barrier she’s erected across the archway. At her side his father stands, sword at the ready for when her strength gives out. Both of their eyes are ruby red, their expressions grim.

“No!” Kurapika tries to call out, but he inhales smoke from the raging inferno below and can only cough in distress, eyes streaming with tears. 

It’s no use anyway. His parents know him too well and can read the defiance in his eyes. He sees his father look to his mother, a silent question writ within his eyes, sees her faint nod in response, and knows, with a growing horror, that he will not like the decision they’ve just come to. 

His father flickers forward and in an instant is at Kurapika’s back. Kurapika turns in bewilderment to see a yawning portal open up and his eyes widen in dismay.

“NO!” he screams, as his mother smiles sadly at him, taking one arm away from her barrier to shove him through. “I can fight! Let me stay! Mother! Father!”

“Forgive us, son,” he hears his father whisper as Chrollo’s forces surge forward, battering the weakening barrier. “You are our last hope.” Then Kurapika falls through the portal and lands safely behind a glowing blue barrier, up in the tallest tower of the castle. Below him is a hellscape of fire, ash, spider silk, ice, and whirling leaves, all battering away at his family’s home. He can hear the screams from his terrified brethren as their eyes are stolen out of their sockets and the wails of infants as their family falls dead around them. 

Desperation claws at Kurapika’s chest as he rushes to the door to see if he can’t find a way past the barrier, despite knowing his efforts are futile. He’d helped reinforce this barrier himself on his seventeenth birthday two years ago after all, and then again just last week. He knows how it works and he knows that if his parents had sent him here, they truly believed all hope was lost. 

A piercing scream screeches out over the castle grounds, chilling Kurapika to the bone. “No,” he murmurs, eyes wide and unseeing as he searches for his mother’s magical signature on the grounds. “No, no, no, no,” he moans, stumbling backwards towards the bed as he finds a cold absence where his mother’s spring-like warmth ought to be. His knees buckle when they meet the mattress and he abruptly finds himself sitting, tears streaming down his cheeks.

A few seconds later he feels a burst of familiar hearth-warm magic flare outwards like a supernova imploding and he screams in agony and grief as he realizes what it means. Even as he feels himself falling backwards onto the bed, the world fading to black as his family’s spell begins to take effect, Kurapika keens, his world shattered.

The King and Queen are dead. Long live the King, Kurapika hears the magic sigh as it presses on his senses, lulling him to sleep. 

What King, he wants to demand bitterly, heart torn in two. It should have been me, he wants to wail, but the tears are already drying on his face as the magic works. His last thought before sleep claims him once and for all is a vow. One he will make sure to fulfill even if at the cost of his own life, regardless of his family’s wishes. They will pay. Chrollo and his fiends will find no rest once I waken. Blood…calls to blood, and they…will give me my due. This I,… Kurapika Kurta,… do solemnly swear. I will…have…my…revenge… 

*

Kurapika slumbers, unaware of the wards snapping into place around him as soon as he slips into unconsciousness. Bright bell-flower blue magic crackles across the room, racing along the stones of the tower down to the castle grounds below, affecting everything it touches at once. Chrollo’s forces grow still and hard as statues as the magic washes over them, lips bared in snarls as they realize what’s happening. Chrollo, the great white dragon with eyes as dark as the abyss, freezes mid-air, claws outstretched, gaping maw flaming hot with fire, eyes trained on the source of the magic. He roars, infuriated, as the magic sends him crashing to the ground, leaving him immobile and stripping away his power. The blue sparks siphon his strength, tightening the wards around the tower, as he watches powerless below until he’s forced to shift to his weaker human form and falls prey to the same fate as his monstrous crew.

Once this greatest threat falls dormant the magic hums in satisfaction and snaps outwards towards the town and the castle’s walls. Gently the magic spreads over the fallen Kurtan people, blanketing them with blossoms of purple hyacinths and blue forget-me-nots, tucking them into their final resting places. As the magic finds the scattered eyes of the Kurtan people, bushes of rosemary and hyssop spring up in their places, memorials of the sacrifice witnessed. At the base of the castle and town walls, dark crimson red roses, so dark they might almost be black, burst up the face of the walls with huge, wickedly sharp thorns jutting out in ominous warning. There’s one final flash of brilliant ice-blue light, visible for two kingdoms over, and then the land falls silent.

Asleep, Kurapika’s mind drifts through memories and dips in and out of dreams, reliving scenes of his childhood one moment then the horror of the battlefield and Chrollo’s arrival the next. Several stick out in sharp relief, no doubt his mind’s way of trying to process what he had seen. 

He had been five when he’d overheard his parents talking about the prophecy for the first time. When he had asked about it, they had smiled down at him, eyes tinged with apprehension and worry and told him that he would know once he was older. The second time was only a year later when his tutor mentioned it in passing saying, “And of course, you’ll learn all about defensive barriers when you are older, so that you can help out in the event the prophecy comes true.”

When Kurapika had asked his tutor what he meant, the man simply breezed by the subject, giving him the pithy answer, “Ah, you know. The one about the kingdom. It’ll come up later. Now, onto geography young man.”

Curiosity piqued, and not a bit annoyed at the run around numerous people gave him every time he asked, Kurapika turned to the library for answers. He trawled through heavy tomes of history for hours each day until finally the librarian took pity on him and handed him the book he was looking for. Of course, it was in the ancient script of his forebears so upon opening it Kurapika had huffed out, “Of course,” rolled his little eyes and trudged back into the stacks to find a dictionary. It was curled up in a window alcove two weeks later that his parents found him gripping the tome with shaky hands, heart racing wildly as he read about their kingdom’s future. Or rather, the lack thereof.

“We were going to tell you once you were a little older, darling,” his mother said softly, wrapping him up into a hug, while her husband, the King, gently took the heavy book from their son. “When you were ten or maybe twelve. Soon enough, but not…too soon, dearest.”

Kurapika had nodded, silent tears streaking down his face as he imagined the horrible future the prophecy detailed, and ducked his head into his mother’s shoulders as he prayed to their gods that the day would never come, that the prophecy might be false. A vain, useless prayer, as all prophecies inevitably came true, especially those that had been recorded and bound to the written word. (There is, after all, power in words, the spoken and unspoken, but those that are recorded stick a little longer, a magic all its own outside of prophecy.)

The prophecy, which Kurapika had finally deciphered, read thus:

At the dawn of the age of man, a white shadow will descend on the realm, blotting out the sun—a harbinger of woe. Fire will rain from the heavens and a great troupe will trample the grounds—death walks in their footsteps. All hope shall be lost, all save one—safe in slumber. Seasons shall pass, the world turn ten times over, but hold fast! A herald shall arrive from the east, a knight of finest degree—awakening hope and bringing the promise of restoration.

True, there was an element of hope to it at the end, but overall the prophecy was dark indeed and at six, too much for Kurapika to bear. He listened to his parents as they consoled him with promises that their ancestors had long been preparing for the day mentioned in the prophecy and that everything would work out just fine, wait and see. Kurapika listened, but later that night after being tucked into bed, snuck out of his room and down to the library to find the book once more. Turning to the page with the prophecy, he began to read the notes that his ancestors had written in the margins, notes he had ignored earlier in his shock.

They ranged from possible interpretations to ideas for prevention and it set Kurapika’s mind spinning with his own theories and ideas. The next morning, sleep deprived but no less determined, Kurapika demanded to be read into the preparations his parents had mentioned previously.

“Now that I know,” he said, eyes blazing even as he tried not to yawn over his porridge, “I can help.”

His mother looked to his father, a silent helpless conversation passing between the two, before she looked at her small child and sighed softly. Reaching out, she ruffled Kurapika’s golden curls, his hair not quite long enough to weigh itself down yet, and smiled sadly. “Alright, dearest. We will let you know how the preparations go, but not today.”

Before Kurapika could protest, his mother looked at him sternly and said, “Today, you must rest up and then continue your lessons. Don’t think we can’t see that you did not get any sleep last night. Besides, there are still a few things you have yet to learn in your classes that you will need to know before you can help as you wish.” Kurapika pouted, but after taking a nap and attending his lessons could concede that his mother was right as always. 

Time passed quickly and as Kurapika grew so too did his knowledge until even his parents acknowledged his knowledge of protective barriers surpassed theirs. They let him help set up the safe room in the tower, sink his own magic into the runes on the walls, and train their soldiers and guards in defensive and offensive spells. Still there were secrets they kept from him, until it was much too late for Kurapika to protest their implementation.

About a month and a half before the attack, Kurapika’s mother cast a spell of such magnitude that it left her bed-ridden for a week. When Kurapika asked his father what the matter was, his father had deflected, even going so far as to slip on his kingly mask and firmly order Kurapika to desist asking. “Your mother will be fine, Kurapika. It is just a little overexertion. Return to your duties.”

It chafed, knowing his parents still thought him too young to confide in, but Kurapika let it pass, knowing that should it be of true importance, eventually, he’d be told. He went about his duties, strengthening the castle and town barriers, drilling with both the Royal Guards and the lay soldiers, and attending his princely tutoring lessons which were now, more than ever, focused on governance since he was considered of age at nineteen. Then word came of a dragon shifter gathering a troupe of powerful, magical beings. At first, it was unclear what they wanted, since their leader, going by the name of Chrollo Lucifer, would appear, survey a court, and then disappear. Then it became all too clear what he and his troupe wanted, as magical objects and sites all over the seven kingdoms were stolen away or drained dry, no matter how well guarded. Fire and destruction followed in their wake when desperate courts defended their sacred sites with tooth and nail, in some cases literally, but none could catch them. Despite them all being very much alive, their escape skills were rivaled only by ghosts and so the group quickly became known across the nations as the Phantom Troupe. When spoken of, if at all, it was only of in hushed tones lest speaking of the Troupe should summon them. No one was truly sure where they came from or how they chose their targets, but one thing was for sure: none wanted to gain their attention.

Slowly but surely, Kurapika noticed a worrying pattern to the Troupe’s attacks and brought it to his parents’ attention, about two weeks after the Troupe’s first appearance, over dinner.

“Father, Mother,” Kurapika said, putting down his cutlery, his dinner finished, “I think I’ve discovered something about the Troupe’s movements, and…well, the implications are worrying.”

“Go on, son,” his father said, putting down his own silverware and reaching out a hand to his wife as she shakily took a sip from her wine glass.

Kurapika waited until his mother had safely returned the glass to the table before continuing. This wasn’t the sort of deduction that one wanted to give over dinner, but dinner was just about one of the few times the royal family could spend time together these days as busy as they were with building up their defenses, and he didn’t want to startle his parents too much while they were eating or drinking if he could help it. “Recently, more and more of the attacks from the Troupe seem to be focused on very powerful magical artifacts as well as ones with deep reservoirs. And with only a few outliers, the trail they are blazing across the continent is coming closer to Lukso with each attack. I fear…”

“That we are next,” finished his father with a sigh. “I fear you are right son, which is why your mother and I have a confession to make.” Saying such, he looked to his wife who smiled tremulously at him, squeezed his outreached hand and then turned to their son.

“Your father and I spoke several months ago about putting into place a…failsafe as it were. We consulted with several magicians of great power, not only from our own realm but from our neighboring allies, and together crafted a spell the likes of which have never been seen before. Casting it took almost all my strength and that was with your father providing support.” She paused, clearly waiting for Kurapika to interrupt or demand further answers, but Kurapika said nothing. Instead, his eyes narrowed slightly in displeasure for though he appreciated finally learning why and how his mother had ended up bedridden for a week, he did not like the way this conversation was leaning. Not one bit.

When Kurapika still said nothing, his mother sighed, his father patted her on the hand consolingly, and then she continued. “That spell, as you may have already guessed, was no mere barrier spell. It, unlike the others, is tied directly to the royal bloodline.” Kurapika’s eyes narrowed further and his fingers twitched on the linen tablecloth, really not liking where this was going. He inhaled and did his best to keep himself still, to remain calm. “When the royal bloodline becomes as threatened as the prophecy declares, when our kin lay dead or dying around us, the spell will begin to activate. Once the heir arrives in the safe room they will be locked in, unable to leave until the danger passes. Upon the deaths of the rest of the line, the royal in the room shall be cast into slumber, our last hope to protect our family’s legacy. The wards on the room will snap even more firmly into place, their charge safe behind many layers of protective magic, and then reach out to target the ones who caused such destruction, binding them in place. We still aren’t sure how exactly that part will play out, but it should give the person in the room, once they are woken, time to flee and regroup should they need to.” 

Kurapika let the words wash over him, his hands clenched upon the table, his eyes flashing a brilliant ruby as he considered the implications. Why they had hidden it from him and why they were telling him now. No, Kurapika did not like this at all. “You think I will need to flee to the tower when Chrollo comes, that this is the time the prophecy spoke of,” he stated, voice flat, though he was sure they could hear some of his simmering anger. He knew that had they told him beforehand of their plan, he would have protested and refused to cooperate. Them telling him now was nothing more than courtesy, for there was no changing a spell work of that magnitude once it was cast. They had done well to hide this from him, but that did not mean he had to like it. “You think that they are coming for our eyes, not our artifacts.”

This time his father was the one who sighed. “Son, I know you are angry with our decision, but I promise you, your mother and I had no way of knowing about Chrollo when we placed the spell. We had been considering it for a very long time. We knew you wouldn’t like it, for you are our son and current heir to the Kurtan kingdom, but we truly were looking forward to the next generations. Never did we think that this might be the time the prophecy declared. And who knows, it still might not be, but,” he held up a hand to forestall Kurapika’s response, “in light of the Phantom Troupe’s recent movements and the fact that they seem to be coming our direction, as you mentioned, we thought it prudent to come clean to you. You are our heir and, should the time of prophecy be upon us, our greatest hope of survival. But yes, we think they are coming for our eyes. Your mother and I had also noted the artifacts being stolen were of tremendous power or with the capability to store magic long-term, and we currently have nothing the Troupe might want except our own innate magic, which as you know, is focused in our eyes.”

Kurapika had seethed that day, but he knew his father’s words made sense. Too much sense. “I don’t like it,” he told his mother later when they were working on surveying the magic in the walls, “I hate it actually, but I understand why you did it.” 

The Queen had smiled sadly and pressed a hug upon her only child, before returning to work. When he came across his father later, Kurapika repeated his words, but added to the King, “If it comes down to a fight, I will be right there with you and Mother. You cannot stop me.“ His father had nodded and Kurapika had left it at that, continuing with his preparations much the same as before. 

Clearly, I should have paid more attention, drifts the thought, the words bitter and full of regret, across his sleep bound mind before he falls into another memory-dream. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to name it a memory-nightmare, as he found himself hearing the tolling of the warning bells, a hue and cry also rising with calls of “Dragon!” screamed throughout the village below the castle.

“He’s here! He’s come!” cried Pairo, Kurapika’s younger cousin, the one closest to him in age, and best friend as he careened down the hallway, robes flapping behind him. “Chrollo, the White Dragon, and his Phantom Troupe have arrived at the gates!“

“What do they want? Have they said?” demanded Pairo’s father who was the head of the Royal Guards.

Pairo shook his head rapidly as he tried to recover his breath, having sprinted from the watch tower at the top of the castle. “No, not yet, but I don’t think we’re likely to get the normal treatment of a demand first. This seems like a full invasion, which—“

“Which means they truly are mostly likely after our eyes,” said Kurapika grimly, gripping his wakizashi in one hand and his katana in his other. “There’s no time to waste. We must raise the defenses at once. Pairo! Go, run and tell my parents that I am headed for the western wall. We were still working on the final defensive barriers yesterday and I’m afraid they won’t rise with the others automatically. See if you can gather any of our magic corps along the way to station themselves at the known weak spots so that we can hold out for as long as possible. If we’re lucky, the casualties will be reduced to the outer fringe of the lower town. If we’re not—“

“If we’re not, you should know you are my favorite cousin in the whole world and that I will miss you terribly,” Pairo tried to joke, but his eyes belied his fear. Darting forward, he gave Kurapika a quick hug and then sprinted off down the hallway to look for the King and Queen. His father turned to Kurapika and asked, “Your orders, my Prince?”

“Follow me, for now. We have no time to waste.”

Together they rushed off towards the western wall, but as Kurapika had feared, they were not in time to prevent the Troupe from pushing through the weakened spell work. Cursing under his breath, Kurapika quickly changed direction, pushing Pairo’s father ahead of him as the Troupe began to advance over and through the wall. 

“Get the townspeople to safety!” Kurapika ordered, but before the Captain could get far he was impaled by a spear of ice hurtling through the air out of nowhere.

“Yuki-onna,” Kurapika hissed, eyes blazing red with fury as his uncle fell, gasping with strained breath.

“Flee, Kurapika!” his uncle, and Captain of the Guard, demanded, pushing himself upright, the ice stained red with blood. “Get yourself to safety. You have more important things to attend to than this breach here. I can hold them. Go!”

The yuki-onna floating above them tilted her head to the left slightly and then blinked. “…are you sure about that?” she asked, voice melodic but devoid of feeling, as cold as ice. “You look close to death to me.”

Kurapika felt his lips pull back into a snarl, but before he could dart forward in anger, hands sparking with magic, he was blasted away by his uncle, out of range of the foul creature. “Go!” the man repeated once more before engaging in combat with the yuki-onna.

Kurapika scowled, but fled, heading towards the eastern wall next, where he could see flames beginning to spread, hoping against hope that he could help evacuate some of their poor villagers to the cellars below the castle. Before he could get far, however, he heard his uncle scream out in pain and he whipped around to see the woman holding a pair of ruby red eyes in her hands, uncaring of the blood staining the front of her white and blue robes, eyes unfeeling, devoid of all emotion except a bland curiosity. 

Bile rose up in Kurapika’s throat, but he pressed it down and continued to flee to a more strategic and defensible location. Rage soon followed after. Vowing revenge, he wove his way across the castle grounds, ducking first the ice that came hurtling after him and then the vines that started springing up from the ground in an effort to trip him. Yuki-onna, dryad, Kurapika thought bitterly as he cut his way through the growing foliage, eyes burning brighter and a deeper red with each scream he heard as his people, his family, fell prey to Chrollo’s lackeys. What next, a jorogumo?

“Kurapika! Duck!” he heard Pairo scream from above him on the walls and trusting his cousin, Kurapika darted forward, trying to keep himself as small a target as possible. Overhead, something thin and wiry cut through the air, then disappeared without a trace. Kurapika kept moving, doing his best to make his movement erratic enough that whoever or whatever was targeting him would have a hard time pinning him down by following Pairo’s warnings. Up above, on the walls, Pairo drew and fired arrow after arrow, cast spell after spell, his face growing more frustrated by the minute as he apparently missed or did very little damage to his opponent. By the time Kurapika reached Pairo’s side, he only had two arrows left in his quiver and his mana levels were running low. 

“Kurapika! Thank goodness you’re safe! The King and Queen are on their way but they were caught behind me with an incursion on the northern side. Apparently, there’s a giant and a wizard who are good at knocking down walls.” 

Kurapika scowled at the news. “As if a Yuki-onna and a dryad weren’t enough,” he muttered and Pairo barked out a laugh. 

“Don’t forget the jorogumo who has been aiming at you while you were headed this way!”

Kurapika’s eyes widened in shock. “There’s a jorogumo too?” Really? Oh for the love of—

Pairo laughed, though his eyes were half-wild with panic and fear, and drew his second to last arrow, sending it flying through the air only for it to be plucked from the air by another thread and snapped in half. “Unfortunately,” he replied, cursing when he saw he was down to his last arrow. 

Kurapika quickly took stock of the battle below and felt his anger surge once more, giving him more magic to pull from. To the north he could see the giant Pairo had mentioned as well as the tell tale sign of foreign magic attacking his parents’ barriers. Directly below him and Pairo was a female jorogumo with brilliant pink hair, her hands full of the razor sharp spider thread she’d been throwing at Kurapika as he’d tried to reach Pairo. Next to her floated the same Yuki-onna which had killed Pairo’s father and on the jorogumo’s left stood a blonde-haired dryad, who Kurapika had yet to see until now but whose work he’d been steadily cutting his way through. All three were beautiful, in an otherworldly, fae-touched way, but all Kurapika could focus on was the growing collection of his brethren’s eyes hanging from their hands, staining their hands and the ground red. 

“No,” whispered Pairo in horror as he took in what had caught Kurapika’s attention. “No, no, no. It can’t be.”

Capitalizing on their distraction, the jorogumo shot another set of threads their way, Kurapika just barely avoiding them at the last moment. One thread still sliced him on the cheek, drawing blood too close for comfort to his eyes, and he hissed in pain as the jorogumo laughed below. Turning to see how Pairo had fared, he found his breath stolen away once more.

Pairo had not been so lucky. His arms were a lattice work of spider silk and blood from where the threads had wrapped around his limbs and cut in. His feet were bound by ice and there were vines wrapping up and around his neck. One wrong move and Pairo would be strangled, frozen, or flayed to death and there was nothing Kurapika could do to save him now. 

“Pairo,” Kurapika whispered, silent tears streaming from his deep ruby eyes. 

Pairo’s eyes held resignation, pain, fear, and a deep sadness that Kurapika had never seen before. “Cou-sin,” he wheezed out as the vines around his neck tightened,  “l-love y-y-you. Ta-tak-ah! Take ca-re.” Then his eyes widened as he caught sight of something and before Kurapika knew it Pairo was screaming, a chilling sound that echoed now in his dreams, haunting him all the more for how his dream seemed to fixate and drag this moment out, playing the memory back in slow motion. He screamed for all of a four or five seconds and then the vines around his neck strangled him, his scream becoming a wet sounding gurgle as he gasped for breath before he fell silent altogether, the light of life in his eyes fading into dullness. 

Pairo had caught sight of more vines and more threads headed Kurapika’s way and, at the cost of his own life and limbs, pushed Kurapika out of the way, taking the full brunt of their enemies’ attacks. It meant that the threads already wrapped around his body cut deeper into his flesh, blood flowing steadily down his arms and the vines around his neck squeezed tight leaving purpling bruises on his neck. The new threads wrapped around his midsection, the vines tangled around his legs, so that there truly was no hope of escape for Pairo, for not one limb was spared. At once, all the threads and vines began to constrict, and pain surged through Pairo causing him to scream out, then struggle to draw breath, then stillness as he passed from this life to the next.

Stop. Stop! STOP! Kurapika wants to scream, wants to bawl, wants to halt the onslaught of memories, but he is in a magically enforced sleep now, and nothing can stop his mind from replaying Pairo’s death over and over again. He sees it in high definition, himself helpless to change the outcome, no matter how he wishes he might change places with his cousin. He hears the scream, drawn out and repeated until it blends with the others he heard that day, one long, horrifying, chilling scream that only ends to repeat itself, and he wonders if he will go mad, if one can go mad in dreams. 

Then he feels something warm and rough press hard into his lips and the screams end as he’s forcibly dragged out of his sleep and back into the waking world. He blinks his eyes open, the world fuzzy as they readjust to light after being shut for so long, and sees a pair of startled brown eyes staring down at him. The second thing he notices is that the eyes belong to a dark haired man, whose lips were pressed firmly against his own. It takes a minute for his mind to make sense of what his eyes are seeing but the second they do, he sits upright, nearly head butting the other man when he doesn’t move quickly enough, and presses the knife that had been at his side under the man’s chin, drawing a bead of blood.

“Who are you?” rasps Kurapika, his voice disused but no less icy in tone and a glare upon his face capable, which he knows from Pairo telling him so, of freezing someone in their tracks. “Why are you here? Who sent you?”

Chapter Text

Leorio stares up at his diminutive teacher who, for the express reason of wanting to stare him down, currently stands on a chair with her hands on her hips, and gapes in disbelief. “You want me to make what?” he asks, sure he has misheard.

Royal Physician, Doctor Bisky Krueger, currently in her more favored petite form, smirks at Leorio. “You heard me, apprentice. For your graduation project I want you to make Heart’s Vow. You have until the end of the month to gather the initial ingredients and then another two after that to prepare and brew the tincture. If you succeed, you may graduate and be on your merry way back to that backwater village you love so dearly,” she says disparagingly, but Leorio simply rolls his eyes. Ever since he had told her he had only wished to train under her so that he could treat the villagers at home, she has poked fun at him. This is partially because she thinks he can do better, he knows, and partially because no matter how young she may seem, Bisky would like to retire soon and had hoped, up until Leorio had told her his plans to return home, that Leorio might take her spot. Not that telling her won me any favors. Seems I’ve only encouraged her to give me more complicated tasks so that she can’t graduate me and I have to stay! he thinks with a grumble as Bisky continues, saying, “But! If you fail, you will have another year of preparation ahead of you.” 

“Witch,” Leorio mumbles under his breath, then yelps, “Ow!” when Bisky smacks him across his knuckles with a stirring rod.

“I heard that,” she says, eyes narrowing. “Watch it or I’ll make it the Lover’s Dismay instead and you can have fun explaining to the merfolk why you need five hundred scales within 2 weeks.”

Leorio grimaces as he shakes out his hand and backs away slowly. “Ah, no that’s okay, Professor. Heart’s Vow, you said? 2 weeks? I’ll get started on that right away then, how about that?”

Bisky smiles, this time an honest smile, genuine in a way that her smiles so rarely are, and hops off her stool so that she can pat his wrist. “It will be fine, Leorio. You will see. I have full faith that you can complete this task. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Go, and may you find fair weather for your endeavors.”

Leorio feels his eyes prickle with heat, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, and manages a nod before dashing out into the corridor to start on his task. The first stop he makes is at the library to verify the ingredient list for Heart’s Vow. He’s read about it once and from what he remembers the ingredient list isn’t super complicated, but the brewing process is. Complicated and long and the sooner he can start brewing the better but, well….he should verify he remembers the list correctly before setting out to make the tincture. The worst thing he can do is start brewing only to discover he doesn’t have a key ingredient, thereby wasting time and resources. He’d learnt that lesson the hard way two months into his apprenticeship and hasn’t forgotten it since.

Leorio represses a shudder as memories of the lecture he’d received try to surface before he can block them out. He turns his attention back to the scroll in front of him and reads the list again. There are the normal bonding and stabilization agents like southernwood, sage, and oregano as well as the obvious main components such as honeysuckle, daisy, and edelweiss, all of which will be fairly easy to obtain in town or in the forest. Nothing out of the ordinary, Leorio mulls to himself as he reads down the list, a little surprised there isn’t at least one ingredient that will be a pain. Then he reaches the bottom and squints at two lines of text that are smudged. Powdered dragon’s claw and…does that say a phoenix feather? Those are…notoriously difficult to get at market, Leorio grumbles to himself, then reads the last item in the list and blinks. Sapphire Astriola-nigella? Picked under the light of a blood moon in the month of May? What the…?

Never mind the fact that Leorio has no idea what Astriola-nigella is, let alone where to find it or a sapphire one, but he has to harvest it under a specific moon? A specific moon under a lunar eclipse no less? 

“Bisky,” he growls under his breath. “I should have known she wouldn’t make this easy. Of course there’s an obscure ingredient item!” he huffs, tucking the scroll under his arm as he leaves the library to track down Killua, who will hopefully have the answers Leorio needs and if not, will be willing to track them down. For a fee of course, because Killua’s as mischievous as woodland fairies come, and frequently demands chocolate of Leorio, his cravings and demands only curbed by a word or glance from Prince Gon. Having been on the wrong side of a prank one too many times when he can’t pay the price Killua demands or even just when the imp gets bored, Leorio tries to avoid asking anything of Killua out of self-preservation but sometimes, like now, it’s unavoidable. At times like these, Leorio wishes he could just ask Bisky for clarification, but she has long since made it crystal clear that any “help” from her during his trials will invalidate his attempt and extend his apprenticeship, because they are meant to be tests of his skill, knowledge, and research abilities. So, Leorio must turn to Killua instead and hope he doesn’t ask his first born of him. 

To be fair, as far as woodland fairies go, Killua’s requests are fairly benign. Leorio could do much, much worse in terms of contractors. Any of his siblings or parents, for example, would demand much more sinister or insidious prices. Leorio’s hopeful that, due to the nature of his request, Killua will just ask for more chocolate, which while not cheap on his poor physician’s wage, can be bought for a silver in the town market.

When Leorio finally tracks Killua down, he finds the fairy draped over Prince Gon’s shoulder snickering over what looks to be yet another marriage proposal for the prince, if the pout on the young man’s lips is anything to go by. 

“Look, look Gon,” Killua laughs, eyes sparkling as he points to the unfurled scroll, “They think they can offer for your hand with just a few trunks of silver and gold! What losers.”

Gon groans and as he lifts his eyes from the scroll to glare at Killua catches sight of Leorio. “Cousin!” he cries, face lighting up with delight. “What brings you to this part of the castle?”

Leorio refrains from rolling his eyes or sighing and instead bows from his waist. “Your Highness, …Advisor,” he greets. 

Killua does roll his eyes. “Not my title, Leo,” he drawls, putting more of his weight on Gon’s shoulders so that his chin is aligned with Gon’s. 

The prince pouts once more. “How many times must I tell you to call me by name, Leorio?”

At that, Leorio does sigh, coming up from his bow with exasperation painted across his face. “Just because you want to adopt me into your family so that I cannot leave the palace, Your Highness, does not mean that I am in truth royalty.”

Gon scowls as Killua snickers over his shoulder. “So at least once more,” Killua tells Gon before detaching himself and letting his wings unfurl behind him so that he can float instead. His wings are an ice blue that shimmer in the light streaming in through the window behind him and Gon. “Told you he wouldn’t go for it.”

Gon turns his scowl on Killua, but it quickly morphs into a pout. “Hush, there’s still time to convince him yet,” he mutters before turning back to Leorio with a beaming smile.

Leorio crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at the display. In response, Gon’s smile turns sheepish and more genuine. He coughs once and straightens in his chair, then repeats his question, “So, um. What brings you this way?”

Leorio shifts from one foot to the next, trying to think how best to word his question before letting his arms fall to his sides and sighing once more. “I need help identifying an ingredient.”

Gon tilts his head in confusion before comprehension dawns. “Oh! Oh, you mean you need Killua’s help!”

Leorio grits his teeth as Killua cackles, and nods his head. “It’s not something I’ve ever heard of before and—“

“And it’s part of your final assignment before Bisky declares you a full physician,” Killua smirks. “So what are you going to give me in exchange for the info?”

Leorio feels a vein in his forehead start to throb and he has to take a deep breath so that he doesn’t start yelling at the fairy who could very easily dismember him with a wave of his hand. 

“Killua,” Gon chides, “you know better than that. Let him at least ask his question first.”

Killua pouts at the prince for a minute before turning back to Leorio dismissively, asking, “Well?”

Leorio spares a moment to internally thank his lucky stars that the prince has somehow managed to enamor such a capricious creature, and then says, “Sapphire Astriola-nigella. What is it and where can I find it?”

Killua blinks and then looks down at Gon who just looks back up at him in just as much confusion as Leorio. “Oh? I thought this one was pretty well known. Yeah, you can have the answer for free this time,” Killua says after a minute, but despite his words Leorio can’t help but feel dread creep up his spine as Killua smiles mischievously at him. “It’s a deep blue flower also known as starstruck-love-in-mist,” he says, as if it’s obvious and now everything will make sense. When Leorio and Gon stare at him, waiting for Killua to continue, Killua huffs and rolls his eyes. “Really? You guys don’t know…you know what, never mind,” he grumbles and waves his hand in the air with a flourish to procure a map. He points to a castle surrounded by a forest on the map in the kingdom of  Lukso. “The nearest patch that’s going to have the amount and quality you need for that potion of yours can be found in the inner gardens of this castle. It’s about a week’s journey from here.”

Leorio mentally calculates the phase of the moon and bites back a swear when he realizes he needs to leave as soon as possible or else risk missing the phase of the moon required for the harvesting. “Thank you, Killua,” he says instead with a bow to the fairy and the prince, and then turns to leave.

“No problem, Leo,” Killua says with a smirk as Leorio’s figure disappears out the door. “Say hi to sleeping beauty for me. ‘Bout time he woke up,” he mutters in an aside but Leorio’s already halfway down the corridor and out of earshot so he hears none of the exchange. 

*

Leorio rides hard and fast across the countryside towards Lukso, pushing his borrowed steed as hard and fast as he dares, his hastily packed knapsack with his supplies banging into his knees every time the horse jostles. By the time they reach the forest Killua had marked on Leorio’s map five days later, Leorio’s knees are a colorful patchwork of bruises and his body aches from the long days spent in the saddle. When he dismounts he nearly falls, his legs sore and unused to holding their own weight. Beside him, his weary horse, who has done well to push this hard for so long, sighs in agreement. 

“Good boy,” Leorio whispers, patting the horse’s neck. “You’ve done well, so very well, to carry me this far. Rest. From here on,” he says eyeing the brambles that litter the path ahead of them grimly, “it looks like I must travel on foot.”

It takes Leorio a full day to make his way through the forest along the thorny path, sometimes stuck for hours as he tries to cut his way through the thick branches. At dusk, however, he reaches the end of the path and finds himself in front of a towering stone wall covered in dark crimson, almost black, roses the size of dinner plates. Behind the wall rises an imposing and eerily silent castle of red sandstone and granite. It sends a shiver down Leorio’s spine as he listens and hears nothing but a gentle sighing wind whistle through the stone. There’s no sign of life, no bustle of people rushing to get home, no grumbling from the guards at the gate, only the silence of a long abandoned structure. 

“This had better not have been a prank, Killua,” Leorio grumbles softly as he steels his nerves and approaches where he thinks the portcullis would be, though it is hard to tell since the roses have grown thick here and are no smaller than the others along the wall. He soon gives up however, as dusk makes way for night and the light worsens, his only prize a series of wicked looking scratches on his hands from gently tugging aside the roses. Instead, Leorio decides to retreat and reconsider the situation come morning. When morning dawns, pale and cold, Leorio finds himself at a loss, the way forward just as occluded as the night before. Frowning to himself, he considers the walls and whether or not he has the equipment to scale them when all of a sudden an idea strikes from out of the blue. 

“My name,” he announces to the air, feeling vaguely foolish, but desperate enough to entertain the idea of speaking to the magic that must have spawned these ridiculously large roses, “is Leorio Paladiknight, a physician in training at King Ging’s court in Whaleand. Please, will you let me pass so that I may obtain an ingredient for a remedy?”

The roses sway back and forth in an invisible gust of wind for a few minutes then shiver and fall away from the place Leorio had been inspecting the night before to reveal an iron portcullis. Once all the roses covering the iron lie on the ground, no longer holding the door in place, the portcullis slowly rises, creaking from years of disuse and rust. Leorio blinks as the way forward becomes clear, then inclines his head in a nod of gratitude. “Thank you,” he tells the castle, not wanting to anger the magic that has preserved this place, then steps through to the lower town. Not two steps out from the shadow of the wall he freezes, heart racing. 

Everywhere Leorio looks he sees figures frozen in place, dreadfully lifelike. Some are mid-stride, running from those that chase them, mouths open in silent screams, faces stricken by fear. Some are lying on the ground, lifeless and limp like bundles of laundry. Leorio pauses, listens, and once again hears nothing but the wind. Spooked, but deciding not to think about it too much, he slowly begins to walk towards the upper castle where Killua said he would be able to find his flower, doing his best to avoid the figures. As he progresses through the grounds he begins to see figures wrapped in vines and threads and …is that ice?! Leorio’s suspicions about the nature of these figures grows until they come crashing down about him in a horrible, clarifying moment when he accidentally brushes past one of them, his hand meeting skin not stone or wax or wood. For the second time in one day, Leorio freezes, nerves alight with terror at the eeriness of the situation until his doctor side kicks in and he begins to study the child he bumped into, searching for first a pulse, then any sign of life. 

The good news: these people, for they are people and not statues, are not all dead. The ones running for their lives are still alive, if kept in a catatonic-dream state, held motionless by magic. Those who lie on the ground lifeless are, unfortunately, so.

The bad news: he cannot get any of them to respond. Whatever magic has a hold of these people runs deep. It’s probably the same as that which fed and controlled the roses, the same that let him enter, which speaks to an immense power and a sentience Leorio fears. Person after person he checks for signs of life, but past steady, albeit abnormally slow, pulses nothing registers. No puff of breath, no twitch of muscles or flicker of eyes. Leorio cannot even move them himself to better diagnose them. These people are frozen in time, held in place by magic, and nothing Leorio does makes a difference.

As soon as I get this flower, I’m out of here, Leorio tells himself, hurrying onwards towards the inner walls, thoroughly disturbed and creeped out by the unresponsive bodies he passes. If the magic will let me leave that is, and that’s a horrifying thought all its own, because Leorio does not wish to become a living statue, but it seems like the magic’s sentient enough to make that a reality without any input from a wizard. Unless there’s one hiding in the towers but Leorio doubts it. For one, it’s way too quiet. For another, if there was, they should have appeared by now. 

Leorio passes villager upon villager, soldier upon soldier, guard upon guard but not once does he see the enemies they flee. An even worse idea comes to him—that the magic that holds these people static also was the source of their torment—but he soon discards it upon stumbling into the courtyard of the castle, a few steps away from what he hopes is the garden Killua promised him. In front of him, frozen just as the many he’s already passed, are three women, hands outstretched in claws from which stem the ice, the vines, and the silk. Once more Leorio comes to a halt, stunned into stillness by their cold beauty. Scantily clad, the women’s clothes are in poor repair, cut and scorched from the battle they’ve clearly participated in, revealing milky white shoulders and tantalizing glimpses of skin that Leorio finds his eyes wandering over even as he tries to get a grip on himself. Yanking his attention up to their faces, he startles as he takes in vicious snarls and expressions twisted with pure hatred, his heart racing even as he knows he has nothing to fear from these statues. Yet, his traitorous mind whispers. You have nothing to fear from them yet, but that can all change in a moment, can’t it?

Leorio shudders, trying to dislodge the intrusive thought, and forces himself to move past the group, over to the left where he thought he saw a glimpse of the garden. He’s not gone five steps when he hears what sounds like a voice on the wind crying out, “Help!” Leorio cocks his head, trying to figure out where the call originates. “Help!” comes the whispered cry again, and Leorio finds himself walking, then running, towards the heavy, wooden door with intricate wrought ironwork in front of him. He races through hallways, up staircases, past more frozen figures (these ones clearly of the royal household) without pause, his feet leading him onward without his permission as if he’s enthralled. Eventually, Leorio finds himself at the bottom of an extremely long staircase that leads up to what seems to be the tallest tower. “Help me,” he hears again, louder than before, but still no more than a whisper on the wind. 

He pauses, thinking of how he arrived at the bottom of the steps, far away from any garden, his original goal forgotten along the way, and shivers. Focus, Leorio, he tells himself sternly. Remember why you are here. What lies ahead is most likely a trap. …The problem is, can I afford to ignore it? he muses, forehead furrowing as he frowns and considers the potential ramifications of proceeding or retreating. If I go forward, there’s a chance I will be trapped in some spell, either one laid down by a magician long ago or one set on me by the sentient magic that winds throughout this place. However, if I leave, and what is up ahead isn’t malicious, there is yet a greater chance of enraging the magic and bringing down a worse fate than proceeding. Leorio grits his teeth, considering his options, before reluctantly coming to the conclusion that he must risk going forward. For, he reasons, albeit a bit grudgingly, if there is someone up ahead, at the top of these stairs, who truly needs my help, can I in good conscience leave them here? And the answer to that is, no, he cannot. Not by his own morals, though he is strongly tempted to leave, flower be damned because this place creeps him out, but especially not as a physician-in-training. Bisky would kill him and any chance he has of becoming a full-fledged physician would vanish into smoke, years of hard work washed down the drain in an instant. No, Leorio thinks as he straightens up and puts his left foot on the lowest step, there’s no choice at all really. Onwards and upwards it is.

Leorio climbs and quickly loses track of how many steps he’s gone. The number of stairs in the stairwell ahead never seems to reduce in number, no matter how long or fast Leorio climbs. At first, he worries that were he to look behind he’d find himself at the bottom of the stairs where he began, but such is not the case. Instead, when he turns around to check his progress, the stairwell extends away from him in a dizzying, unending spiral, a definite mark of progress. Still, Leorio doesn’t discount the possibility of a spell and keeps an eye out for runes or a flicker of mana or anything really that might indicate someone or something hindering his progress. Nothing appears, and soon Leorio does not have the strength to look for non-existent signs for he walks for hours, gaining ground yet going seemingly nowhere as the sun dips lower in the sky. 

Finally, around noon, when Leorio begins to feel the pinch of hunger from missing both breakfast and lunch, he reaches a platform. It’s not a true floor as it does not extend any farther than the circumference of the tower, but it is better than yet more stairs, so Leorio counts his blessings and pauses in his trek upwards. Cautiously, he takes a seat at a conveniently placed chair behind an even more conveniently placed table next to a large window which overlooks what Leorio thinks must be the Western wall. Sighing in relief at the chance to rest his feet and stretch out his aching calves and tight back, Leorio looks out the window and considers the landscape below. 

He’s only been seated for a few minutes when the tell-tale sound of a magic discharge crackles through the air to his left. As he whips his head around to see what sort of magic has been triggered, a basket of fresh bread, a plate with meat and cheese, and a bowl of fruit appear on the table. Leorio eyes the food warily, fearing a trap, but nothing happens. Leorio stares, and waits, and still nothing happens except for his stomach betraying him with a loud gurgle. 

“Ugh,” he grunts, hand grabbing his stomach as it makes its displeasure known with yet more growling and the beginning of hunger pains. “Of all the days to forget to eat breakfast,” he mutters, glaring at the food in front of him.

After several agonizing minutes of debate, wavering between whether or not he should eat the food, even knowing it’s most likely cursed, Leorio gives in to his hunger and grabs a roll from the basket. Muttering a hasty prayer that this won’t be his last meal, Leorio bites down and instantly feels himself enter heaven.

The roll is fluffy and warm, as if coming straight from the oven, and practically melts in his mouth. He moans in pleasure as he eats, not caring that he’s making a fool of himself. When nothing immediately happens, he reaches for another roll, taking the time to butter it. When he finishes that off, he gluts himself on strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, plums, and peaches, juice running down his chin as he fairly weeps at the sweetness dancing across his tastebuds. Fruit gone, he then turns his attention to the meat and cheese, demolishing all that’s been set before him with ease, only for an enticing apple-cinnamon pie to appear on the table as dessert. The scent is heavenly and Leorio is powerless to resist. Within seconds Leorio finishes the whole pie off, gulping down a glass of milk that conveniently appears next to his plate, his hunger finally satiated from the feast. He feels sleepiness descend on him and begins to panic, but quickly realizes that this isn’t a magical induced sleep. No, this is just his exhaustion from climbing all day finally catching up with him now that he’s had a chance to sit, rest, and eat. Blinking tiredly, he forces himself to his feet with a groan, knowing from working long hours around the castle clinic with Bisky that if he sits any longer he won’t be getting up again anytime soon, either due to muscle cramps or sleep. Leorio can’t afford to lose anymore time than this detour’s already taken, so he presses onward, climbing once more.

Thankfully, it’s only another half hour of climbing before he reaches the top, his legs feeling lighter the higher he climbs and the soreness fading away with each step he takes. “Guess the food was enchanted after all,” Leorio muses, thanking all the gods above that it was a benevolent spell instead of a curse. Then he studies the glowing blue barrier in front of him and frowns. 

“…nah, it can’t be,” he mutters after a minute. “That’d be too easy,” but trusting his instincts, he presses a palm flat to the magic, putting a decent amount of his weight behind it, and holding tight his intent to help not to harm, the barrier shimmers then fades away.

Startled that it really was that easy, Leorio falls forward with the loss of the barrier’s opposing force and trips over the threshold, nearly landing flat on his face. Thank the stars Bisky nor Killua’s here to see that, Leorio thinks to himself as he gathers himself and looks around the room. They’d never let me live it down. His thoughts abruptly divert from thinking of his mentor and the palace’s local menace at the sight of a gorgeous woman lying asleep in the bed at the center of the room. 

Golden hair cascades around her, a wave of silk upon the crimson pillow, reaching her waist and tumbling off the edge of the bed. Her pink lips are parted ever so slightly, drawing Leorio forward ever so slightly unconsciously. When he notices he’s taken a step towards her he blushes, then berates himself. Stop looking, he chides himself even as his eyes are drawn to her delicate looking features, the woman’s face alluring even in sleep. Then the woman breathes out that same whispered phrase that had led Leorio here and he straightens, professional at once. “Help…me…” the woman sighs out, hands on her chest clenching ever so slightly. 

Leorio forces himself to stand still and observe a few more minutes before making a move towards the woman. No obvious curse…no signs of visible injury from here…no signs of illness… Leorio sighs and runs a hand through his hair before shrugging and walking towards the bed. If the magic that holds her here had wanted me dead it would have done it by now, he muses as he nears the bed. After all, it’s had plenty of opportunities. 

Just as he thinks this, the floor rolls under his feet sending Leorio flying forward. “Damn it all,” he growls as he braces himself for impact, but to his surprise, instead of banging against the edge of the bed he finds himself landing on the soft mattress. Of course, with his luck, Leorio also finds himself landing on the woman he’d meant to examine, his lips crashing down onto hers, their noses banging into each other painfully, and his hands slipping out from underneath him so that his full weight is pressed down on the hapless maiden. Stuttering out an apology to the sleeping woman, because sleeping or not she deserves an apology for his clumsiness, Leorio tries to push himself back up only to freeze as the woman’s eyes blink open. 

“I am so sorry,” he repeats himself, tripping over his feet as well as his tongue as he tries to scramble backwards, away from the woman, but he finds he can’t move, his legs tangled in a stray sheet which he could have sworn was perfectly tucked in moments ago.

The woman blinks silver-grey eyes in confusion, her mind still waking up from her sleep, which if Leorio had to guess was magically induced.

“Who…?” she mumbles, then trails off, touching her lips in confusion. “No,” she states, as something clicks for her, and in an instant her eyes abruptly bleed from silver to a deep crimson red, anger and hatred turning them hard and steely. Within seconds she has a knife to Leorio’s throat, her teeth bared in a snarl as she looms over him in a much more lethal reversal of their positions seconds ago. “Who are you?” she snarls, voice low and guttural and Leorio has to fight back a gulp, the tip of the dagger threatening to draw blood if he but moves an inch. 

When Leorio doesn’t immediately answer, she presses closer, eyes flashing in anger. “Who. Are. You?” she growls. “How did you get in? How did you get past the barrier?”

Leorio squints at the blade against his neck and then back up at the seductress above him. The woman huffs and backs off slightly, but only so that Leorio can answer without slitting his throat. 

“Speak,” she demands and well, Leorio has never been one to deny a beautiful woman. Especially not one as well armed as this one.

“Physician’s apprentice, Leorio Paladiknight at your service, my lady,” Leorio replies and the lady in front of him stills. “I came here searching for a flower I need for my final exam and was led here by…well…you.”

At this the lady frowns. “I certainly did not call you here,” she states but before she can continue, Leorio speaks again, hoping his explanation will be satisfactory enough she won’t take her building anger out on him.

“My apologies, I should clarify. The magic protecting you amplified your unconscious cries for help and led me here. When I came to the barrier I simply held my conviction to help and heal and not cause harm at the surface of my mind and it gave way. I was about to examine you when I…tripped forward and fell on you. Again, I must apologize for my…” Leorio pauses as he tries to figure out how to phrase ‘sorry for the accidental kiss and groping that happened as I fell and tried to catch myself’ and lands on, “unseemly, if accidental, conduct. I hope you will forgive me, my lady.”

The lady in question stares at Leorio for a moment in disbelief, then scoffs and sits back on her heels, her hand deftly sheathing the dagger at her side. “I see you are dense as well as clumsy,” she says as she rises to her feet unsteadily, her legs trembling from the effort.

Leorio splutters in indignation but just as he tries to defend his honor, the woman smirks at him in victory, straightening to her full height as she grasps the bed frame for balance. Rising up she cracks her neck from side to side, rolls her shoulders and then flicks her hair over her shoulder with a “tsk,” as she notes how long it is. “I am no lady, Master Paladiknight. I am Prince Kurapika of the Kurta, and you are trespassing in my castle.”

Chapter Text

Kurapika watches as incomprehension dawns into a horrified understanding on the trespasser’s face and restrains himself from scoffing again. 

“P-prince?” the other man stammers and Kurapika gives into his urge to roll his eyes, because honestly, of all the ridiculous presumptions the man could have made, he thought Kurapika was a woman. Even after hearing him speak. Some physician’s apprentice he is.

“Yes,” he replies flatly. “Although, I suppose with my parents dead I am King instead. Though it hardly matters if my subjects are dead too,” he mutters to himself bitterly, the screams of his people still ringing in his ears. “No matter,” he continues, voice steadying as he fingers the sheathed dagger at his waist, “your tale, though implausible, rings with truth. Now. Tell me. What is this flower you seek?”

Leorio continues to gape at Kurapika in disbelief and it’s all Kurapika can do not to sigh. Is it really that hard to consider I might be a man? he wants to ask acerbically, but holds his tongue. Although, he concedes irritatedly as his hair slides forward yet again for the third time in as many minutes, my hair does need to be cut. Has it always been this slippery? Or this long? Speaking of which… “What year is it?” he asks Leorio, because there is no way he wasn’t asleep for at least five years with the length his hair is now. Besides, if the man won’t answer his previous question, perhaps something simpler might do, although Kurapika doesn’t hold much hope. Clearly, the man isn’t the brightest.

“What year?” the man asks, dazedly, and Kurapika sighs.

“Yes, the year. I’ve been asleep, as you saw, held unconscious by a spell and I need to know how much time has passed. So. Can you or can you not tell me the year?” Kurapika asks, growling a little in irritation.

“Whoa now,” Leorio says, eyes sharpening as his confusion finally fades away. Or at least gets put on the back burner, Kurapika considers, watching him carefully the other man straightens up and frowns. “No need to take that tone with me, Your Highness,” Leorio says and Kurapika feels himself bristle at the disrespect.

“Why you,” he hisses, eyes narrowing, hand going to his waist where his dagger hangs, but the man on his bed just scoffs in return.

“Look. Just, give me a second okay? It’s not every day that my world gets turned on its head. I mean, here I was minding my own business, trying to find a flower for my final project, then I find your creepy castle full of petrified people in various states of distress, and then I start hearing voices asking for help which led me here, to you. I somehow, purely by accident mind you, manage to wake you, only to have a knife drawn against me, and then find out the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is a man? Give a man a minute to process all that!” Leorio huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kurapika blushes bright pink and quickly looks away, refusing to believe Leorio had just said what he thought he’d said. When Leorio says nothing further and the silence begins to stretch awkwardly, Kurapika coughs lightly and reminds him, “The year?”

Turning his head back slightly so that he can watch Leorio’s reaction, Kurapika sees him roll his eyes and huff lightly in exasperation but before he can comment, Leorio responds. “It’s the fourth year of the phoenix in the molting phase.”

…it’s been ten years? Kurapika balks, eyes going distant as he loses himself to his thoughts. I knew time had passed given the state of my hair, but ten years? And in all that time no one but this fool has come forward to break the enchantment?

Kurapika looks up at Leorio who is studying him carefully and bites back a scoff. This man? The promised savior of my people? Hah, as if! …and yet…ten years had passed, Kurapika cannot deny that, no matter how he wishes to. Perhaps he is less fool than he seems, Kurapika thinks grimly. His story rings of truth, but it is utterly ridiculous, and implausible at best. 

…Less implausible if he had help, comes the whisper of a thought. Perhaps some of the Troupe escaped ten years ago and he’s one of theirs, sent here to put things in motion once more. Or perhaps, he truly is here for a flower… a flower that Kurapika still knows nothing about.

As he considers the implications, Leorio shifts on the bed, drawing Kurapika’s attention back to him.

“To answer your other question, I’m looking for a sapphire Astriola-nigella.”

Kurapika raises his eyebrows in surprise, putting his thoughts about Leorio to the side. Should the man turn out to be a spy or an agent of the Troupe, he will have time to question him later. For now though…There are only a couple of draughts that he knows of that call for one of those flowers, in that specific color. “…Heart’s Vow?” he asks dryly, waiting to see what the man will answer, the question as much a test as a request for more information. 

He watches Leorio’s face scrunch up in surprise and releases his grip on his dagger’s hilt.

“H-how’d you know?” the physician’s apprentice asks and Kurapika lets his shoulders relax just a little more. The man may be faking his surprise, but if he is, he’s a much more skilled actor than Kurapika thought. Had Leorio hesitated in answering or let his gaze slip sideways as so many have done before when Kurapika confronted them on this same topic, Kurapika probably would have struck first and asked questions second. After all, the second most common use of sapphire Astriola-nigella is in the black market draught, Eternal Shackles, which allows the user to drug and enslave the recipient, binding them mind, body, and soul to the doser’s will. And if Leorio were to be that type of person, Kurapika thinks to himself as the man thankfully blathers on about Heart’s Vow, then savior or not, he’d be a dead man walking. Kurapika has seen too many poor souls twisted and chained by that horrific, insidious potion to let another brewer run free. 

Kurapika cuts Leorio off in the middle of a complaint about the man’s master. “Right, glad we got that cleared, but why did you come here for it?”

Leorio blinks at Kurapika, taken off guard by the question but knowing now that the man might be a little on the slower side to answer, Kurapika just waits, arms crossed in front of his chest, one eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean, why did I come here?” Leorio asks, clearly perplexed. “I was told to come here,” Kurapika feels his blood start to ice over but then Leorio continues, “by one of the Zoldyck fairies. They said I’d find some in your garden. Not that I got the chance to check,” the man adds in a grumble.

Kurapika releases a faint sigh of relief at the name, thankful it’s not one of the ones associated with the Troupe, then frowns. “Wait, a Zoldyck sent you? Here?”

This time Leorio is the one looking at Kurapika like he’s slow, and Kurapika fights back a bristle and a snarl. “Look,” he huffs instead, “that plant? It’s a weed. It’s a pretty, hard to find weed, what with the color, but it’s a weed nonetheless and given its uses, we made sure to rip it out every time it started to grow. Any fairy worth their salt would know that.”

Kurapika lets that sink in as the man’s face rapidly switches between pale horror to purple-red incandescent rage.

“Killua,” he growls, hands fisting, knuckles going white. “That bastard! I should have known!” Leorio takes three deep breaths and then closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them once more, he’s regained most of his composure. “My apologies for the outburst,” he grinds out, “and for the intrusion.“

Kurapika inclines his head, readily accepting the apology even as he wishes the man had had the sense to double check his sources before making what seems to have been a long trip. Although, given his informant was a fairy…of the Zoldyck clan no less, Kurapika muses, perhaps it’s a little more understandable. “Forgiven,” he mutters, watching to see what Leorio will do or say next, still uncertain of the man’s true motives. 

With a sigh, Leorio slumps against the bed post nearest him, then runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “Damn, now what am I supposed to do?” he mutters. “There are only three days left until the blood moon.” Wearily, Leorio looks up at Kurapika and smiles lopsidedly. It makes him look unfairly… cute and squishable and Kurapika feels his heart twinge, but pushes the sensation and the thoughts it conjurs off to the side. “Sorry to bother you, Your Highness, but would you happen to know where I might find some? Only, Heart’s Vow requires them to be picked under the light of a blood moon, which will be in three days time if my calculations aren’t horribly off, and my Master is expecting me to brew the draught within the next month.”

Kurapika examines his trespasser once more, but again finds no traces of guile, just frustration mixed with disappointment. He considers what he remembers of his parents’ spell, the current state of his kingdom and population, and then makes a decision, hoping against hope it’s the right call. If it’s not…there won’t be a kingdom to come back to.

Kurapika sighs, then locks gazes with Leorio and says, “Look. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll lead you to the nearest patch if you’ll take me to the fairy who sent you here.”

Leorio scrunches his nose and frowns, running a hand through his hair again, making it even more wild and unkempt. Kurapika tracks each movement but soon finds his mind drifting. His hair looks soft… No! Now is not the time to be distracted! he berates himself as he waits for Leorio’s reply.

“What do you want with Killua?” Leorio finally asks, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes the most serious Kurapika’s seen since the start of the conversation. “He might be a precocious, mischievous little brat, but I warn you, he’s not one to trifle with.”

How cu—odd. How odd, Kurapika thinks in bemusement. I can’t tell if he’s threatening me to stay away from his friend or warning me for my own sake. Either way, it’s…odd. “Fairies, especially of the Zoldyck line, like to make deals and often have hard to come by information. I would like to ask for his assistance in a project of mine but barring that, see if he can at least answer a few of my questions. It has been ten years after all,” he adds under his breath.

Leorio looks at him sharply but then shrugs after a moment. “Sure. I guess I can do that. Bastard might not help you though,” he warns Kurapika, and Kurapika wants to laugh. 

“Of course, there’s no guarantee,” he says instead, his eyes probably belying his amusement if the glare Leorio gives him is any indication. “There never is with fairies.“

Leorio huffs, but rises from his position on the bed. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, pushing past Kurapika to go to the door.

Kurapika scowls as his shoulder gets jostled in the process, but before he can rebuke Leorio for his uncouth behavior, the man speaks again from the doorway, “Well?” he asks impatiently. “Do we have a deal or not? Because if we do, we’d better get a move on, Your Highness. You may not be on a time crunch but I am.”

Kurapika huffs and unsheathes the dagger at his waist, ignoring Leorio’s cry of alarm. “Speak for yourself,” he says as he grabs a fistful of his long hair. “I have perhaps three weeks if I am lucky before the rest of my castle wakes.” He locks eyes with Leorio trying to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the consequences that will occur should I not make the proper preparations.” 

Leorio pales, no doubt recalling all the people he passed on his way up to the tower and their positions. Satisfied his point’s been made, Kurapika nods once then cuts off a swathe of his hair in one flick of his blade. Golden strands float through the air as Leorio stares, mouth agape, at Kurapika. 

“W-what—“ he stammers and this time Kurapika does roll his eyes.

“Need I remind you, I am a man?” Kurapika asks dryly, briefly checking his handiwork in the mirror behind him. His hair now hangs down to his shoulders, which is still longer than Kurapika once wore it but not by much. He tilts his head side to side, watching to see how his balance is affected, and when he discovers how much lighter his head feels he bites back a grin. Hopefully, this will cut down on the headaches I face in the future, he thinks wryly, then, satisfied his hair will no longer be in the way, he sheathes his dagger once more. Turning back to Leorio, he smirks at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face. “Not so pretty now, am I?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Leorio splutters incomprehensibly and for the first time since Kurapika’s woken, he lets a true smile slip onto his lips. At the sight, Leorio’s eyes go wide and Kurapika has to stop himself from snorting inelegantly. What’s his problem now? When Leorio remains silent and makes no movement to continue on his way, Kurapika raises an eyebrow and says, “I believe you mentioned a deadline?“

That provokes Leorio into motion, the man stumbling over his gangly long legs out the doorway and several steps down the tower, until he realizes Kurapika should be leading the way and halts. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the man in front of him, Kurapika calmly picks up the satchel at the foot of his bed which had previously been unseen, hidden beneath the drapery of the bed’s covers, glad of the preparations he and his family had made so long ago now. Giving the room a last quick glance, he squares his shoulders and calmly, and easily, catches up to Leorio who refuses to meet his eyes. Feeling a little petty, Kurapika gently shoves Leorio’s shoulder as he passes, payback for the rudeness shown him in the room, which causes the other man to yelp in startled alarm.

Smirking, Kurapika descends the tower stairs, tossing over his shoulder, “Hurry up, slowpoke. The closest patch of Sapphire Astriola Nigella is a hard three days’ journey from here by foot. If we hurry, we’ll arrive just in time for your deadline.”

Behind him, Leorio squawks in outrage, and Kurapika lets himself smile, unseen. Together, they hurry down the stairs, Leorio occasionally overtaking Kurapika with a brush of shoulders or a hip check, too impatient to go at Kurapika’s pace. Granted, Kurapika thinks with a huff as the insufferable man smirks at him from ahead for the fifth time, I am moving slower than usual, but I am by no means slow. He should be glad I am moving at the speed I am after being bed-bound and asleep for ten years!

When they reach the halfway point, Leorio asks, “Would you like to take a rest?” but Kurapika ignores him and continues on, flicking his hair over his shoulder. 

“Unlike some, I do not need to take a stretching break,” Kurapika replies cooly, beginning the final descent of the tower. Behind him, Leorio squawks in outrage. “I used to climb this tower every ten-day for training purposes.” It’s been a while, but the more Kurapika moves, the more his muscles loosen instead of tightening and he feels his stamina slowly returning to him with each step. Once more, he spares a thought for his parents and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for their foresight in crafting an enchantment that covered all potential outcomes. By the time he and Leorio reach the bottom of the staircase, Kurapika feels energized and refreshed. When he turns to look at his companion he nearly laughs but instead bites it back just in time. As it is, a smirk dances on his lips as he looks at Leorio. For all Leorio’s posturing, Kurapika had expected him to be perhaps only slightly winded at the end of their descent even with the enchantment on the tower no longer working on anyone but Kurapika, but even so sight that greets him is almost comical in its incongruity. 

Doubled over, Leorio leans his forearms on his knees, face red as he gasps for breath. Sweat shines on his brow and seeps through his wrinkled shirt, leaving the man looking utterly spent and disheveled. Amused, Kurapika leans forward, hands clasped behind him, and asks, “Would you like to take a minute?”

Leorio glares up at him from under a fringe of sweat-slicked hair, takes a long, deep breath, and then straightens up abruptly. Eyes defiant and determined, Leorio grins at Kurapika, more a grimace than a true grin, but it still sends Kurapika’s heart racing with surprise. “Not at all, Your Highness,” Leorio says behind gritted teeth. “I’ll rest when you do, later tonight. Now, care to lead the way out of here? I’m not convinced I took the most straightforward route in.”

Reluctantly impressed by the man’s grit and perseverance, Kurapika nods in agreement, keeping his observation of Leorio’s shaking legs and trembling hands silent. If the man refuses to back down, who am I to stop him? Kurapika muses as they pass through the courtyard, Kurapika’s gaze firmly fixed on the path in front of him as he tries to block out the sight of his people’s distress. He’s a physician’s apprentice. He should know his own limits, surely?

After what feels a lifetime, they finally reach the gates and only once they pass through them and step onto the road, does Kurapika begin to relax once more. At his side, Leorio remains silent. In fact, the usually talkative man has been quiet this whole time, ever since Kurapika goaded him at the base of the tower. It is odd, but Kurapika welcomes the silence, as it gives him time to think. Slowly, his tension and anger at seeing his people perpetually frozen in fear, hunted and cut down before him, dulls to a low ache instead of the sharp hatred which had pressed painfully at his eyes. Now, left with a throbbing headache, Kurapika sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes, wishing he had some pain relief cream.

As if able to hear his thoughts, Leorio speaks up for the first time in an hour and asks, “Hey. Are you, y’know, okay?”

Kurapika blinks and turns to look at Leorio in astonishment. “…What?” Surely, he didn’t just ask me that.

 To his credit, Leorio looks super uncomfortable, which soothes Kurapika a little (at least he knows the question was stupid, Kurapika thinks disdainfully), but it doesn’t stop him from opening his mouth and continuing his line of questioning. “You um…just, well….you didn’t look so good when we left the courtyard and I thought maybe you’d want to—“

Kurapika cuts him off, a snarl curling on his lips, “Want to what? Talk?” he asks with a scoff. “As if!”

Leorio bristles a little at the tone, then visibly tries to calm himself and not react to Kurapika’s anger, but though Leorio holds up his hands non-threateningly Kurapika feels the anger and pain he’d pushed down well up until it bursts forth uncontrollably. “Those are my people back there! You think I would be okay walking past them and seeing them frozen in states of panic and pain and fear? When their very tormentors are also kept frozen in time? Would that I could destroy those monsters before they wake! But no! I cannot! The magic that protects my people, that preserved me, is the very same that curls over my enemies,” Kurapika snarls and he feels his eyes bloom with heat, both that of tears gathering but also of his bloodline’s empathy magic bursting forth. Cursing, he swipes a hand hastily over his eyes, hoping Leorio hadn’t seen them flash red. It’s been a long time since Kurapika has needed to hide the secret of his eyes, and he is woefully out of practice.

A hand descends on Kurapika’s shoulder and Kurapika immediately tenses, all senses screaming out for him to beware, but as soon as it’s there it’s gone, a quick and gentle, but firm, press of comfort.

“You don’t need to explain,” Leorio says, his voice a low rumble and it’s strangely soothing. “Nor do you need to hold back your anger and pain. I know I’m a stranger, but you can cry in front of me; you can rage. I saw your people. And I saw your enemies. I’m here if you want to talk, which is why I asked in the first place, but I know some things are too painful to talk about too. Just…just let me know, okay?” 

Leorio moves away then, and Kurapika finds himself feeling strangely bereft with the removal of Leorio’s warmth and presence over his shoulder. They walk onwards together in silence for quite some time, Kurapika leading while Leorio shadows him, until Kurapika regains his composure once more. 

“You need to work on your bedside manner,” he says, stopping abruptly.

Taken by surprise, Leorio nearly trips and falls into Kurapika, regaining his balance at the last minute. “W-what?” Leorio asks, mouth agape and Kurapika nearly rolls his eyes at the sight.

“Bedside manner. If you’re going to become a physician, you’ll need to work on it,” Kurapika repeats, then begins walking once more, Leorio scrambling behind him to keep up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks Kurapika once he catches up and Kurapika huffs.

“That you need to work on your timing and tact,” Kurapika says, pushing through the undergrowth of the forest as the path begins to twist more into the unused routes and ignoring Leorio’s spluttering. “But still, I suppose I ought to thank you. I doubt my hatred will ever cool for the Troupe, but your provocation was a good reminder for me to not let it overtake me,” he mutters.

“…About that…” Leorio asks, voice trailing off in hesitation and Kurapika fights to not tense his muscles. That tone never bodes well. Kurapika feels dread creep up his spine but it halts when Leorio asks, “If you don’t mind me asking…just who are the Troupe? You’ve mentioned them a few times now, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.”

At his sides, Kurapika’s fists clench at the mention of the Troupe, his previous dread abruptly shifting to a drumming pulse of hatehatehate in his chest, then he registers Leorio’s question and freezes. “You don’t know?” he asks, voice hoarse, eyes wide, as he turns to face Leorio.

Leorio, confounding man that he is, just looks confused. “Should I?”

Kurapika takes a deep breath and tries to remind himself that ten years have passed and that it’s no surprise Leorio hasn’t heard of the Troupe if most are frozen in his courtyard…tries and fails. With a cold fury, he explains, “They are your worst nightmare come to life. Magical creatures and users under the banner of a powerful, cruel, cunning dragon shifter named Chrollo Lucifer. They come out of nowhere and vanish in the night like spirits, but are all too real. Real and ruthless, uncaring of the lives they cut short. Monsters, all of them,” Kurapika spits, his nails digging into his palms, blood welling up and dripping out of his fists. “They deserve hell. I hope they burn for an eternity in retribution of the lives they stole. I hope they beg the Maker for mercy and are denied, cursed to an eternity of pain and suffering. I hope they crumble under the weight of their sins and turn to dust. They took everything, everything, from me and for that they will pay,” he vows, eyes bleeding crimson, but in his rage he barely hears Leorio’s gasp of surprise. 

“Oh,” Leorio says softly in recognition. “You’re one of the Kurtan.”

 Kurapika feels a rush of fear but he presses it down. Fear will not help him here. If it comes down to a fight, which Kurapika doubts the more he learns about Leorio, Kurapika will fight. There can be no room for fear in battle. Instead he wraps his fury around him as a shield, clinging to it as hard as possible, and bares his teeth at Leorio in a gross parody of a smile. “Yes,” he hisses, and waits to see what Leorio’s reaction will be.  “I am. And so are my people. Every single citizen you passed today are Kurtan and we were hunted down, in our own land, for the power our blood holds. Power that Chrollo and his miserable Troupe craved.” Do you crave it too? he nearly asks, but bites his tongue as Leorio’s head droops with sadness.

“I’m sorry,” Leorio whispers, his own hands clenching at his sides. “I didn’t realize.”

He offers nothing more, silent and still, gaze fixed firmly on the ground as Kurapika silently seethes in front of him. After far too long, Kurapika unclenches his hands and rasps, “We’ve wasted enough time. We’d best continue,” before turning on his heel and pressing forwards once more. Leorio follows quietly, no more questions forthcoming. For two days they continue thus, the air between them silent and strained, but neither move to break it. 

On the dawn of their third day traveling together, Kurapika finally speaks once more. “How did you come to be a physician’s apprentice?”

Leorio stiffens in surprise next to him. “…It’s a long story,” he finally says looking at Kurapika warily, “and not a happy one.”

“Humor me,” Kurapika says, glancing at Leorio out of the corner of his eye. When he sees the man tense even more he turns back to the road, avoiding eye contact, and instead shrugs. “Or don’t, if it’s too painful a subject.” He very carefully stops there and does not press for answers, biting back his curiosity and the words which dance along his tongue, It’s not as if you don’t know my story.

Leorio remains silent for a minute or two, then exhales a gusty sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Right,” Leorio mutters. “It really isn’t anything special,” he warns Kurapika. “It’s actually pretty commonplace. …The short story? I wanted money.”

Kurapika bristles—there are few things he hates more than people driven by greed—but stills at the expression he sees on Leorio’s face when he turns around. There’s a shadow dancing on the man’s face that has nothing to do with the ones cast by the forest above them or the afternoon sun. Knowing now that there’s more to the story, Kurapika waits patiently to hear what Leorio has to say.

When Leorio notices Kurapika’s attention, he grimaces. “Long story,” he continues, joining Kurapika’s side so that they walk together instead of single file as they have the past two days, “is that my friend came down with a fairly common ailment. Our village was poor so we didn’t have an in-town physician and one had to be sent for. The closest was a two-days’ journey away. When I arrived in town, the man refused to hear my case as soon as I told him where we were from. Too far a trip for too little reward, with no guarantee he wouldn’t be too late to help my friend anyways. Desperate, I pleaded with the man but still he refused to come. Instead, he told me to go see if another physician would see to the case. That physician was another day’s ride away. She too turned me away. It took a week for me to find anyone who would come see to my friend, but when we arrived home we were too late. His condition had worsened to the point the physician could do very little but help ease his pain. Within three days… my friend was gone. All because of money and the lack thereof,” Leorio laughs, eyes a stormy grey, wet with unshed tears, voice rough and choked. “Y’know? When they lowered him into his grave, the physician who had come with me informed me that even if we had gotten there in time, there was a good chance they wouldn’t have been able to help because the medicine to cure my friend was expensive. As if that matters when lives are on the line. Physician be thou for the people,” Leorio scoffs derisively. “Hah, as if! All out for their own greed and profit.”

Leorio cuts himself off abruptly and pastes on a fake smile, saccharinely sweet and altogether forced. “So yeah! I decided that if medicine really was that expensive being a physician must be pretty lucrative! After all, money makes the world go round, as they say.”

Liar. Kurapika might not know much of the man, but it certainly isn’t greed that drives Leorio. However, though his teacher would tell you otherwise, Kurapika did pay attention in his diplomacy classes and wisely doesn’t call the other man out on the lie. Not when he can read the pain and anger of Leorio’s loss practically radiating off of the man. Perhaps we have more in common than I first thought…but that’s something to consider later. For now… Kurapika smiles tightly and inclines his head in a short nod. “I see,” he offers, then deliberately changes the topic. “We should reach the clearing by nightfall. Hopefully, that will give you plenty of time to harvest what you need.”

Leorio seems torn between anger at Kurapika’s easy acceptance and reluctant gratitude for the shift in conversation. Eventually, Leorio grumbles something under his breath that Kurapika can’t quite catch, although it sounds suspiciously like an insult, then jerks his head in a nod. “I hope so,” he grumbles loud enough for Kurapika to hear and then they fall back into silence for the rest of their trip, only stopping to take a late lunch around two before pressing forward once more.

They reach the clearing where the flower grows around six, giving them plenty of time to rest and eat dinner before Leorio needs to complete his task. As dusk falls Leorio searches for the best specimens and marks them with a red ribbon. “So that once night falls, I can find them more easily,” he explains when Kurapika looks at him in confusion.

“Ah,” Kurapika responds, nodding. “That makes sense.” Although….aren’t these flowers supposed to glow blue at night? Kurapika wonders as he watches Leorio flit around the field. Not that a ribbon won’t help him find the ones he found earlier, but surely he’ll be able to tell well enough which he needs with their luminescence? …he does know about that. Right?

As the moon rises and the flowers begin to glow softly, Kurapika hears Leorio gasp in wonder and represses a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. No, Leorio had not known about the flowers glowing blue. That much is clear. He probably doesn’t even know the first thing about them, Kurapika realizes with a silent groan as Leorio tries to figure out how best to cut and preserve them with the lunar eclipse only seconds away. And here I was worried he was using them to brew Eternal Shackles!

Worried that this trip will have been for naught, and feeling a little contrite over his earlier behavior, Kurapika walks over to where Leorio’s crouched over a bunch of the flowers and says with a huff, “You have to cut them directly under the head.”

Leorio bolts upright, completely taken by surprise and nearly headbutts Kurapika under the chin. Kurapika just barely dodges but nearly falls backwards in the process, righting himself at the last moment. Unfortunately, Leorio had been reaching out for Kurapika at the same time, and instead of stabilizing Kurapika, succeeds in sending them both toppling over into a, thankfully soft, patch of flowers.

From above him, Leorio alternates between swearing softly and muttering apologies, his hands framing either side of Kurapika’s head and the majority of his weight resting on Kurapika’s lower half. Kurapika can make out about half the words, his hearing strangely compromised. For some reason, the words are muffled and hard to discern over a loud thumping noise. Kurapika frowns in concentration and stares hard at Leorio’s lips, trying to read them while still also trying to figure out what’s wrong with him.

Just as he figures it out, heat washing over his cheeks in embarrassment, Leorio peters off, and looks at him in growing confusion and concern, his own cheeks going a little pink when he notices Kurapika’s stare.

Kurapika coughs once and looks off to his left, feeling self-conscious in a way he never has before. When Leorio continues to stare at him, clearly trying to figure out what’s wrong, Kurapika says, “You can get off me now.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Leorio blush a bright crimson as the man scrambles to get off Kurapika and back on his feet. It’s a feat easier said than done, but once Leorio manages to untangle their legs and find his balance again, he reaches out a hand to help Kurapika up off the ground. Hesitantly, Kurapika takes it, offering a murmured thanks in response.

“No problem,” Leorio mutters, face still a brilliant red. “W-what was that you were saying about harvesting the flowers?”

Kurapika blinks in confusion before remembering his original purpose in coming over. His cheeks heat once more and Kurapika feels a small piece of himself curl up in a corner and die. Right. The flowers. “You have to cut them right under the head for Heart’s Vow. You’re also going to need to wait until the height of the eclipse to do so. When the moon turns red, it’ll shine down on the Sapphire Astriola Nigella and turn them into Amethyst ones. The effect only lasts a few minutes, but once they’re cut, the flowers retain their new hue.”

Leorio huffs in frustration. “I should have known,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you for letting me know, Your Highness,” he says, bowing low from his waist in gratitude, the first sign of true respect he’s given Kurapika.

Kurapika frowns, the action making his stomach twist unpleasantly. “It was nothing,” he replies, and once Leorio rises, adds, “and please, call me Kurapika.”

A smile blooms on Leorio’s lips and the other man nods. “Alright then. Thank you, Kurapika.”

Chapter Text

As Leorio waits for the height of the eclipse to occur, he lets his mind drift over the past few days in an effort to calm his racing pulse. It doesn’t work. If anything, it just heightens his awareness of Kurapika and makes it harder for him to calm down. 

Images stick out in his mind, snapshots of Kurapika’s many expressions. His fierce determination and spark of challenge when he’d cut his hair, the anger and righteous fury that had bled into his eyes as they’d talked about his family, the adorable confusion and embarrassment just moments ago. 

Leorio resists the urge to groan. No, no, no. We don’t have time for that. Stop it, he chastises himself, feeling himself begin to blush once more at the minutes-old memory. Stop, he pleads with himself, wanting to cover his face with his hands, but instead he forces himself to look to the sky to check the eclipse’s progress. 

“Still a few minutes to go,” Kurapika says softly from a few feet away.

Thump. Thump thump, goes Leorio’s heart. “Mhmm,” he hums, aiming for nonchalance and probably failing massively, instead. He tries to focus on which flowers he will harvest, tries to ignore Kurapika’s presence behind him, and fails, his mind refusing to cooperate with him. All his attention is brought back to Kurapika. Kurapika lying beneath him, golden hair fanned around him, lips parted in concentration, eyes focused solely on him and shimmering with reflected moonlight. Kurapika blushing, color spreading across his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. Kurapika’s legs entwined with his. Kurapika gifting Leorio with the usage of his name, something that Leorio would have never expected from a royal besides Gon. A soft Kurapika, an embarrassed Kurapika, and why was he embarrassed? Leorio wonders hopelessly, his heart rate ticking upwards once more. What did he have to be embarrassed by? Leorio was the one who had fallen on him. I don’t understand! he wants to wail, even as his mind keeps up a constant Kurapika, Kurapika, Kurapika, a heady pulse thrumming through his veins. 

Just as he’s about to ask Kurapika…something, he hasn’t decided what, he just needs something, anything to divert his mind, Kurapika speaks. “Ah, it’s time. Quick, Leorio. The flowers.”

Leorio looks down at the field of flowers and nearly gasps in amazement. He had thought the flowers stunning before, when he’d seen them glowing a soft sapphire blue in the pale moonlight, but now, with the red light of the eclipsed moon shining down upon them, they’re breathtaking. Each flower shimmers in the light, their petals soaking in the red until blue morphs into a gorgeous, deep amethyst. Quickly, Leorio harvests the most flawless, until he has a full bouquet, then stuffs them into his ingredient pouch, hoping that they’ll do for the Heart’s Vow. His task done, he turns to Kurapika to let him know.

As if he’s been sucker-punched, Leorio’s breath leaves him abruptly and he has to fight for his next inhale, his body suddenly uncooperative. There Kurapika stands, arms full of flowers with a soft smile dancing on his lips, his body bathed in the pale pink glow of the fading eclipse. When he notices Leorio’s gaze his smile grows ever so slightly and begins to walk towards him. Leorio’s heart rate spikes, rabbit-quick in his chest and he forces himself to take a stuttering breath in, trying to calm it.

“Here,” murmurs Kurapika, offering his cradled bounty to Leorio, “I found some extras that might suit.”

Leorio nods silently, eyes wide and tongue temporarily rendered mute, then reaches to take them from Kurapika when a grating roar of anger echoes across the clearing. Leorio freezes, blood running cold in fear at the sound.

“W-what was that?” he manages to stutter out once the rumbling dies down.

Kurapika, who had looked so soft just minutes ago, scowls fiercely, eyes going cold and hard in seconds. “That was Chrollo,” he growls, dumping his collected amethyst flowers in Leorio’s outstretched arms unceremoniously. “We need to go.”

“I thought you said it would take three weeks for anyone else to wake up!” Leorio yelps as he scrambles to keep up with Kurapika, who’s quickly breaking camp and gathering their few supplies. He stuffs as many of the flowers as he can in his pouch, then helps Kurapika cover their campfire before taking off down the road.

“That’s what I was told,” Kurapika snarls, eyes taking on a worryingly red hue. “Clearly, the calculations were wrong. Now, come on! We need to run!”

Leorio dashes after him, thankful for once that he has long legs, clutching his bags to his chest until he can find a moment to tie them more securely onto his back. Kurapika runs at a relentless pace, much faster than Leorio had anticipated and it’s all he can do to keep up with the other man, his breath coming in pants, sides aching with pain as his lungs stretch farther than they’re used to, calves cramping with the sudden exertion. They run for two hours, never once slowing, until Leorio’s vision starts to go hazy and he manages to gasp out, “Kur-apik-a. Wait.”

“What,” Kurapika snarls, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.

Sweat runs into Leorio’s eyes, but he doesn’t hiss in pain at the resulting sting; he doesn’t have the breath to waste on that. Instead, he tries to blink back the creeping black, and does his best not to trip over his feet. “I-I can’t…” he gasps out and this time Kurapika turns around, eyes blazing with crimson fury, face contorted with a rage that quickly slides into shock.

“C-can’t go…further,” Leorio rasps as his knees buckle out from underneath him and he falls to the ground, barely holding onto consciousness.

Kurapika, who had darted forward in an attempt to catch Leorio but hadn’t managed to get there in time, kneels next to Leorio, and curses. “We don’t have time for this.”

I’m sorry, Leorio wants to say. I’m sorry I’m not as strong or fast as you. I’m sorry that I’m a burden and an inconvenience. I’m sorry I’m not the person you were hoping for, he thinks because it’s clear Kurapika hadn’t been expecting Leorio to wake him up. At the same time, Leorio wants to argue with Kurapika that they do have time. They have the time to slow down and take a break because for the duration of their run they’ve not once heard wingbeats overhead, they’ve not seen villages on fire, they’ve not heard Chrollo’s roar again. It’s been nothing but silence broken only by their own breath and cracks of twigs as they run. They have time to rest and Leorio can’t go any farther. He tried. I tried, he thinks, weary and angry. I did my best and I’m sorry I can’t go any farther, but this isn’t healthy or helpful. Do you even know where you’re going?

Kurapika’s mouth twists into a frown and slowly the red in his eyes fades back to his normal grey-brown. “…yes,” he huffs, not looking Leorio in the eye. “I know where I’m going.”

Leorio blinks in surprise. Oh. I hadn’t thought I’d said that aloud. …I must be worse off than I thought if my brain to mouth filter is gone. 

Kurapika sighs and lets himself sit next to Leorio, gently lifting Leorio into a sitting position so that his torso rests against Kurapika’s chest. “That much is clear. I suppose you’re right. We can, should, take a rest. Besides, while I know my way around these parts, it has been ten years. Perhaps things have changed. Here, sit up more and I’ll get you some water.”

Leorio forces his weary muscles to cooperate and straightens from his slumped position against Kurapika’s chest so that Kurapika can reach the water skein on his hip. Trembling, he sits still until Kurapika presses the opening of the skein to his lips, then relaxes back into the cradle of Kurapika’s arms, taking slow but greedy sips of water. 

Once his vision clears and his throat no longer feels desert-dry, Leorio whispers a quiet, “thank you.” 

Kurapika shakes his head in response, eyes slightly pained. “No thanks are necessary. I should have paid better attention to your condition. In fact, I owe you an apology. …You were right. We haven’t heard Chrollo since that first roar. Were he fully awake there would be more signs. We might be on an accelerated timeline now, but we do still have time like you said. I’m sorry for pushing you so hard.”

Leorio weakly shakes his head. “It’s okay. You were reacting out of fear and desperation…and anger. I understand.” Though holding onto that much rage isn’t healthy. He needs to watch that, no matter how striking he looks when he’s angry…oh shoot, I said that out loud again, didn’t I? 

Leorio groans as Kurapika flushes pink, a pout appearing on those lush lips, and refuses to meet Leorio’s gaze, practically a confirmation of Leorio’s guess. “Damn,” he whispers, embarrassment flooding his veins. “Sorry.”

“…it’s okay,” Kurapika replies, still avoiding eye contact. “It’s…good advice.”

Leorio’s thankful that Kurapika doesn’t mention Leorio’s slip of the tongue, but also kind of disappointed. Now’s not the time, he tells himself and carefully pushes his emotions to the side. “I should be good to walk again in another ten minutes,” he tells Kurapika instead, “but it’ll probably be awhile before I can run again.”

Kurapika’s lips start to twist into a frown but before they can fully scowl at Leorio, Kurapika sighs instead, forcibly releasing tension from his shoulders, if Leorio’s reading his body language properly. “We’ll wait fifteen minutes then,” he says, cutting Leorio off when he begins to protest. “We have time, and I’d rather wait the extra five minutes to make sure you’re stable than risk you falling over again.”

“Who’s the physician’s apprentice here?” Leorio grumbles and Kurapika flicks him gently on his shoulder.

“I’ve known my share of physicians,” the other man says, “and every single one of you so far have proven impossible when it comes to your own health. We take an extra five minutes, Leorio, and when we set out again, you’ll lead.”

Leorio has lots of thoughts and words he could say in this moment, but as he looks back at Kurapika’s determined gaze, he finds himself unable to argue. “…fine,” he eventually says with a sigh and lets more of his weight rest on Kurapika’s chest. “Have it your way, Your Highness.”

Leorio can practically feel Kurapika’s smug smile of victory against his back and fights not to roll his eyes. He’s no damsel in distress, but if Kurapika wants to take an extra five minutes for him to recover, Leorio will gladly take it so long as the other man won’t complain.

The fifteen minutes passes both too quickly and too slowly for Leorio. Too quickly because damn, now that he’s seated and not running his muscles are just big bundles of painful knots that keep spasming. He enlists Kurapika’s help to try and massage them out when he can no longer knead his poor abused legs. Too slowly, because, well…most of that time is spent leaning up against Kurapika, comfortably ensconced in his arms, his head resting on Kurapika’s shoulder. Twice, Leorio nearly falls asleep, embarrassment flushing his cheeks when he realizes, Kurapika’s cheeks a matching pink when he glances up to look at him, but neither mention it—a small reprieve for Leorio’s bruised pride. Then, Kurapika helps him with massaging out his legs and Leorio has to force himself to focus on how his muscles are doing rather than on Kurapika’s hands on his legs, biting back a groan of pain and pleasure as he hits particularly tight knots and gets them to loosen. At the end of it, Leorio’s legs and lungs feel much better but his chest has started to constrict and his heart to flutter, both of which make breathing slightly difficult.

He struggles to his feet, feeling slightly wobbly, both from his previous exertion as well as his now loose muscles, then turns to give Kurapika a hand up off the ground. Taking the proffered hand, Kurapika smiles. It’s a deadly combination, the warmth and weight of Kurapika’s hand in his and that smile, and Leorio nearly loses his grip, causing Kurapika to look at him with concern.

“Are you sure you don’t need longer, Leorio?” Kurapika asks once they’re both standing, brushing the dirt off his trousers. “Another five minutes lost now for your recovery is not time lost but gained if it prevents your collapse further down the road.”

Leorio smiles tightly at Kurapika and shakes his head. “I’m fine, I promise. I was just surprised.”

Kurapika tilts his head in confusion. “Surprised by what?”

But Leorio has no good answer for that so he coughs once and turns away, saying, “Right, so the castle should be this way,” and then starts to walk in the direction of home. By his estimation, they’ll reach the border of Whaleand a little before noon which should give them time to pick up horses at the next village before nightfall. By horseback they should reach King Ging’s court within the next three days if they ride hard and fast. Hopefully, the King will help. If not the King, then Prince Gon. Or even just Killua.

Behind him he hears a huff of indignation but thankfully, Kurapika doesn’t ask again. After all, what is Leorio supposed to say? That he’s surprised Kurapika’s smile lights up his face like the sun and sends butterflies dancing around Leorio’s stomach? Or should he mention how he’s surprised Kurapika’s hand is rough and warm and solid and fits perfectly in his own like it was made for him to hold? Leorio is many things, but a fool is not one of them. Besides, he’s already experienced his quota of embarrassment for the day. No need to embarrass himself further by mentioning his feelings to Kurapika when there’s no chance of reciprocity. 

Leorio does his best not to dwell on said feelings as he walks side by side with Kurapika, their pace much slower than before to accommodate Leorio’s aching body, but it is hard when every so often Kurapika’s hand will brush his, sending little bolts of warmth rushing up his arm. Several times Leorio tries to start a conversation with Kurapika only for it to fizzle out awkwardly. It’s not wholly Leorio’s fault, though he will fully admit he’s partially to blame. After all, every time Kurapika speaks, Leorio finds himself distracted by the glint of sun against Kurapika’s golden hair or the melodic lilt to his voice or the sharp slant of his mouth as he smirks, his attention fully drawn into Kurapika’s physical features until the words coming out of his mouth no longer register. It leaves gaps in the conversation, forcing Leorio to ask Kurapika’s forgiveness for his lapse in attention and if he would please, kindly, repeat the question. Kurapika huffs each time but Leorio’s pleased to note that the other man doesn’t seem to be that exasperated. At least, not if the small smile that curls at the edges of Kurapika’s lips is anything to go by. 

Regardless, it isn’t wholly his fault the conversation derails. Kurapika gets distracted multiple times too, though Leorio can’t quite figure out by what, and so the conversation eventually dies off, too disjointed for either to make an effort to continue it. Instead, they walk in an awkward silence for a few hours, a silence which soon shifts to amicable and comfortable, a silence which unfortunately leaves Leorio with too much time to dwell on his budding feelings. In vain, he forces himself to focus on the path ahead, but when his mind still wanders he instead turns to what he will say to King Ging, Prince Gon, and the court to plead Kurapika’s case. That occupies his thoughts until they reach the village but then he’s watches Kurapika mount a horse and all his unwanted emotions well up within him once more.

God, he’s beautiful, Leorio thinks to himself, mildly bitter at the thought because damn. How is Kurapika this unfairly beautiful? Sitting tall in the saddle, Kurapika looks every inch the prince he truly is, regal and bright in the noonday sun. Next to him, Leorio feels dirty, common, inadequate. Definitely not company fit for royalty. As if I ever could be. Regardless of what Gon says.

“Let’s go,” Leorio mutters once Kurapika’s more or less finished up thanking the farmer they borrowed the horses from. “We have distance to make up.”

Kurapika frowns at his tone, head tilted in a silent question but Leorio shakes his head slightly and pastes on a tight smile. There’s no explaining this to Kurapika and with no explanation forthcoming, Kurapika tentatively smiles back, a small, but bright thing, then clicks his tongue to signal his horse forward. Leorio’s chest twinges at the sight, and he chokes back a wholly undignified sound which has Kurapika looking at him in concern once more, but then they are on the road again, urging their horses onwards, the time for chatting past. 

They luck out with the horses and make it to the castle in under three days, surpassing Leorio’s wildest expectations. I’ll have to mention the village we got them from to Prince Gon when I see him next. He’s sure to want to see them and find out more about how they were bred or what their handlers were feeding them, Leorio thinks as he dismounts and hands his reins over to the Stablemaster’s apprentice. For now though… “Please make sure to take good care of them,” he tells Zushi. “They were loaned to us and exceeded my expectations in terms of speed and endurance.”

Zushi grins up at him, bright and warm as always. “Of course, Master Leorio. These beauties are in good hands, never fear. Master Wing and I will make sure they’re well taken care of. Say hi to the prince for me if you see him! Oh, and tell him the mares are close. Any day now and we’ll have foals.”

“Will do,” Leorio replies with a grin, and then turns to Kurapika who’s watching him with bemusement. “What?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at the look on Kurapika’s face.

Kurapika shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I didn’t realize you were so well known.”

Leorio huffs, a short puff of laughter. “It’s part of the job, isn’t it?” he asks wryly. “Besides, it’s not like I have a choice given my teacher,” he adds in a mutter. “Be stranger if I wasn’t well known. Anyways,” he says, raising his voice once more, “we should try to find the prince. If I’m correct, he should either be in the gardens or in the kitchens this time of day.” 

“Wait, what?” Leorio hears Kurapika ask, voice incredulous, behind him as he strides off towards the gardens to check there first. “What do you mean in the gardens and kitchen? Also, why are we trying to find the prince? Wouldn’t it make more sense to petition the king?”

Leorio laughs and shakes his head at the question. Beside him he can practically feel Kurapika bristling in indignation, but he couldn’t help but laugh. Anyone who knows of King Ging would know the answer to that question, but since Kurapika doesn’t… “I don’t mean to mock you, Kurapika,” Leorio explains gently. “It’s just, no one ever really knows where the King is. Half the time he’s out exploring the world, going weeks, months even, without contact outside of a note sent via his Head Magician. The other half the time, he’s running around the castle, avoiding paperwork, or buried underneath historical records in the library researching.”

Kurapika, who had caught up to Leorio once Leorio had shortened his stride some, gapes at Leorio in astonishment. “How does anything get done?” he whispers, wide-eyed and horrified. “He’s the King. He has a responsibility to the people to rule them fairly and arbitrate disputes. How—“

Leorio cuts him off, a little wary of how shocked Kurapika seems to be. “Look. He’s a bit absent, yeah, but he’s still our King. He does his duty towards us, holds court three times a month and has an open petition policy, but mostly, he delegates. He’s what we call a free spirit and he never wanted to be King, if the rumors are to be believed. Most of the work traditionally delegated to the royals is taken care of by his sister, Princess Mito, and his son, Prince Gon. The rest of it, he has his advisors for. Anything that truly requires a stamp of royal approval usually has to go through multiple layers of bureaucracy first anyways. I think he’s only ever passed three royal edicts without first consulting his advisors. One was to declare a national holiday and day of rest on the first day of spring because he said no one was getting any work done anyways with the nice weather. Another was to institute a nationwide lending library program to increase literacy because he kept having to explain things to people that, and I quote, ‘should have been common sense or at least common knowledge.’ And the third was something to do with a ban on paperwork after five o’clock in the afternoon, but I think the court overturned that one because they weren’t able to get everything done that they needed or wanted to. If I remember correctly, the King then amended the edict so that it banned paperwork requiring a royal seal after five o’clock, which didn’t last long either,” Leorio muses. Seeing Kurapika looking more bemused and astonished than ever, he coughs lightly and gets back on track. “Ah, hm, yeah. Anyways, that’s why we’re looking for the Prince. He’s much easier to find and more likely to be able to help.”

“I see,” Kurapika replies faintly, as they walk up to the entrance of the gardens, clearly still at a loss. Leorio leads him through the winding paths to the center of the castle gardens in silence, letting him gather his thoughts. They’re almost to the center where the flower viewing pavilion and koi pond are when Kurapika asks, voice calm and composed once more, “Will he help?”

Leorio blinks at the bluntness of the question, and turns to look at Kurapika. Kurapika looks back at him with solemn resolution. “Do you think Prince Gon will lend me his aid?” he asks again, fists clenching by his sides, chin tilted upwards in prideful challenge. 

“Yes,” Leorio replies without hesitation. “I do. I wouldn’t have suggested we come here if I didn’t.”

Kurapika narrows his eyes at Leorio for the space of a heartbeat, gaze piercing, and then, having found what he was looking for presumably, he relaxes ever so slightly, his posture not as rigid, his grip loosening. “Right,” he murmurs, “of course.”

Okay, then, Leorio thinks to himself and decides not to touch that, whatever that was, with a ten-foot pole. Instead, he begins walking once more, Kurapika his silent shadow, until they enter the heart of the gardens where Gon likes to rest. Fortunately, when they round the last corner, Leorio finds Gon easily. Unfortunately, the prince is otherwise occupied, wholly immersed in fishing from the koi pond. Leorio calls it a koi pond, but knows that it goes deeper and further than its appearance would have you believe, as evidenced by the massive ‘King of the Lake’ the prince had caught just last year. When he gets like this, trying to capture his attention is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Damn near impossible. Only one person typically can divert Gon’s attention when he’s so focused and that one person is currently lounging in the sun, on a pillow in the pavilion. Killua. Damn imp.

All of Leorio’s frustrations from when he first stumbled across Kurapika come rushing back at once, and he stalks over to where the fairy lays napping. “Kil-lu-a,” he growls, eliciting nothing more than a blink and roll of eyes in response. 

“Old man,” Killua replies languidly, eyes sparkling with mischief as Leorio steams, “I’m surprised to see back so soon. Did you not find the flower you were looking for?”

Leorio smiles through gritted teeth. “Oh, I found the flower alright. Only it wasn’t where you said it would be.”

Killua blinks and sits upright, a little more attentive now than he was a few seconds ago. “Oh?” he asks, voice curious.

…oh that little bastard. He knew. Leorio’s not sure how but it’s clear that Killua knew about Kurapika before sending Leorio out to track down the Sapphire Astriola Nigella, and if he knew about Kurapika then he deliberately led him there when Leorio was on a deadline for harvesting the flower. Leorio smiles wider, eyes narrowing as he bares his teeth in a half snarl, as he replies, “Oh, yes. Turns out they were a four days’ journey from here. Four days, not a week, and not in a castle courtyard but in a field in the middle of a woods. Funny, isn’t it? That they were not where you said they’d be.”

Leorio watches Killua look off to the side to avoid his gaze only for his eyes to widen in surprise a second later. Ah. He must have seen Kurapika. Leorio narrows his eyes, crosses his arms, and waits for Killua’s attention to come back to him.

Sure enough a few seconds later, Killua looks up at him, a smirk dancing along his lips before it wilts, Killua noticing Leorio’s foul mood.

“Ah,” he says, eyes darting away again, fingers fidgeting with something in his lap. “I see you found Sleeping Beauty then.”

“Kil-lu-a,” Leorio growls again in warning, but Killua darts forward, flying towards the koi pond desperately. Leorio reaches out a hand to grab him, but Kurapika’s the one who manages to catch the fairy.

“Are you the one who sent Leorio to me?” Kurapika asks, holding the fairy at arms length by his collar, like a mother cat holding their kitten.

Gon, finely tuned to anything related to Killua, chooses this moment to turn away from his fishing and look over his shoulder to see Killua dangling from an unimpressed, vaguely annoyed looking Kurapika’s hands. Leorio groans in exasperation softly, but does his best not to bury his head in his hands. Great. His Highness’ first impression of Kurapika and this is what he sees? Here’s hoping he’ll still help. If he’ll even hear us out now.

Thankfully, Gon doesn’t overreact, demanding Kurapika’s removal at once, but Leorio does notice Gon’s hands clenching and the skin around his eyes grow tight when he sees the scene.

“What is going on here?” Gon asks, voice calm and quiet, and that much scarier for it.

Leorio clears his throat and tries to think of how to explain, but Killua beats him to it.

“Gon! Look who Leorio drug home! It’s Prince Kurapika of the Kurta! You know, of legend?” Killua asks, voice bright and cheerfully, and altogether mischievous. Leorio tenses at the sound, wary of the tone which promises mayhem, and waits for the other shoe to drop. As if sensing this, Killua grins up at him and winks, causing Leorio to splutter in indignation. That imp! He’s playing with me!

Blissfully unaware or just willfully ignorant of Killua’s machinations, Gon’s face brightens slightly as he breathes out a soft, “oh,” of understanding, at Killua’s words, and he turns to face Kurapika more fully, face open and curious. Meanwhile, Killua wriggles his way out of Kurapika’s grasp, taking advantage of the prince’s perplexity as Kurapika stands mouthing the words “of legend” to himself, and sidles up behind Gon, to lean on his right shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, Your Highness,” Gon says, smiling brightly, hand outstretched for a shake. 

For a minute, Kurapika does nothing but stare off into space, until Leorio coughs lightly. Then Kurapika flushes a pale pink in embarrassment and grasps Gon’s hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you,” he replies, voice the softest and most subdued Leorio’s ever heard it.

After an awkward pause, Leorio coughs lightly again, and ignoring Killua’s eyeroll and muttered, “Are you coming down with something, old man?”, bows in greeting to Gon. “Greetings, Your Highness.”

At this, Gon immediately pouts as Leorio knew he would, but before Gon can complain about Leorio using his title, Leorio continues. “Might I ask a favor of you, Your Highness?”

Gon frowns at Leorio, and Leorio can only hope that that’s due his serious tone and not that the prince will refuse to hear them out. “Of course, Leorio,” Gon replies and Leorio nearly sways in relief. “What is so serious that it makes you frown as you ask?”

Leorio bows once more, figuring that due to the nature of the request he’s about to ask, it’s better to err on the side of caution and formality. “Thank you. It is no small request, Your Highness, as you might have already guessed. Although…it would probably be best if I were to allow Kurapika to explain,” he trails off, looking to his left at Kurapika who inclines his head solemnly at the mention.

Gon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and his lips tilt downward in a pout at Leorio’s words, probably because I referred to Kurapika so casually, Leorio thinks repressing an eyeroll, but as soon as Kurapika begins to explain the situation Gon straightens up, donning the regal demeanor he normally avoids showing. At the end of Kurapika’s abbreviated tale, both Gon and Killua are frowning, though Gon’s definitely looking more concerned than Killua, which gives Leorio an awful suspicion.

“Of course we’ll help,” Gon tells Kurapika, bending down to pick up his fishing gear. “Let me just put this away and then I will speak with my Aunt to see how many men we can spare. This matter does not only affect you but the whole continent, if what you said about the Troupe’s activity is true. We too have precious magical tools and reservoirs that we rely on and would wish to protect. Come,” he says, walking towards the pathway that leads up towards the inner courtyards, “walk with me and tell me what this Chrollo’s forces are like and what sort of tactics he was employing at the time of your forced slumber.”

Kurapika follows Gon out of the courtyard, but before Killua can follow behind them, Leorio stops the fairy by grabbing his upper arm gently but firmly.

“Killua,” he says, eyes steadfast and trying to infuse his tone with as much seriousness he can muster. “Tell me you didn’t know.”

Killua’s eyes flash an electric blue for but an instant, there and gone in a second, a reminder that Leorio should tread lightly. Familiar though he might be, Killua was still a fairy, dangerous and not one to cross. Taking the warning for what it is, Leorio releases Killua’s arm, but does not avert his gaze and waits for Killua’s reply, hands clenched at his sides.

Killua holds Leorio’s gaze for a long few seconds, then rolls his eyes and takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course I knew,” he replies, eyes cold and calculating, unnatural even as his lips twitch upwards in a familiar smirk. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of this, but I am a Zolydck, Leorio. I may hold a contract with Gon right now, but that does not mean the rest of my family does, nor does it mean we always have. We are of the fae, creatures bound to magic. Of course I knew about Chrollo Lucifer and his Phantom Troupe. After all, I was already five when they went on their rampage before the Kurtans managed to seal off their castle.”

Leorio stares at Killua, uncomprehending. “Why then? Why send me there if you knew what awaited me? Why send me there when I was on a deadline?” Why now? he wants to ask, but stops shy of asking as he gets the feeling he won’t like the answer.

Killua lets his smirk widen, his incisors looking sharper than ever, before laughing. “Why you? Why not?” Killua locks eyes with Leorio, growing serious once more. “Tell me Leorio, what would you do, knowing there’s an uncertain stasis spell placed on an extremely dangerous group of magic users led by a dragon-shifter of all people? Leave them there for someone else to deal with the destruction? Or preemptively strike?”

Killua doesn’t give Leorio time to respond, walking off towards where Gon’s waving at them to hurry up. As he walks, he laces his hands behind his head and transforms back into his lazy, mischievous self, and Leorio can’t help but wonder yet again, how many secrets Killua knows but does not act on, how many secrets plots he’s pulling the strings of that no one can see. They get perhaps three feet down the path when Killua hums contemplatively and adds, in a tone that would imply it’s an afterthought, “Besides, don’t you think it was about time Sleeping Beauty awoke? He’s about your age isn’t he, Leorio?” Killua winks at Leorio then speeds down the path, leaving Leorio behind to splutter at the insinuation, unable to formulate a response. That imp!

“Kil-lu-a!” he roars once he’s regained some of his composure and dashes after the snickering fairy. “Come back here you bastard!”

Chapter Text

The walk up to the library where Prince Gon swears they’ll find his aunt, is a relatively short one. At Gon’s request, Kurapika tells him of Chrollo’s fighting style and those that he’d brought with him to ravage Kurapika’s home.

“There were three women, that I know of at least, and all three were strong, primarily long range fighters. One was a yuki-onna, another a jorogumo, and another a dryad. We lost many to their powers, too many,” Kurapika whispers, eyes going slightly distant as he tries to repress a shudder with the onslaught of memories his mind conjures up. His uncle, the Captain, impaled by giant shards of ice. Pairo bleeding out in his arms. Townspeople suffocating and choking under heavy, thick vines. His parents pushing him through a portal, fire blazing all around them, their screams piercing his heart like a thousand arrows. “I do not know of the wizard and giant’s capabilities,” Kurapika continues, pushing past his resurfacing memories, desperate to win Prince Gon’s support, “for I did not stand against them. They were on the opposite side of the castle from me, but I do know that they were able to dismantle the wards we had set, and absolutely demolished the northern walls.”

Gon hums in consideration, gaze determined and somber. “How many of them do you think there were in total?” he asks as they pass through the castle hallways. 

Kurapika bites back a hollow laugh. “No more than twelve,” he replies, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into his voice. From behind him, he hears Leorio and Killua finally catch up, and hopes that they, and the prince, will not judge him and his people as weaklings. Though the Troupe had been small, the skills and sheer power its’ members had possessed easily made up for any difference in numbers. And hadn’t that been a bitter truth to swallow. His people, hundreds of them, felled by so few.

Killua, who must have heard him, nods in agreement. “Definitely not more than twelve. There were rumors that there were only eight in addition to Chrollo, but the records from then are spotty at best. After all,” Killua smiles sharply, eyes cold, “they were known as the Phantom Troupe for a reason. If I had to guess, different locations and targets were hit with different members so that their true numbers could never be confirmed.”

Gon hums and nods his head. “That would make sense,” he murmurs. Then there’s no more time for discussion; they are at the library’s doors. “Ah, here we are,” Gon tells Kurapika, eyes brightening some from their dour conversation. “The library. Aunt Mito should be just ahead. Come on!”

Kurapika follows Gon into the library, Leorio at his back, when Killua flits past them to stand at Gon’s right shoulder. Beside him, Leorio huffs in exasperation, and when Kurapika glances over, bemused, he sees Leorio roll his eyes and mouth, “over-dramatic imp.” Kurapika’s lips curl in a slight smile and his shakes his head as Killua, who clearly had seen the interaction, narrows his eyes slightly before sticking out his tongue at Leorio. Leorio nearly squawks in indignation but just then an older woman with a regal bearing and short, fiery hair twisted into a golden crown, rounds the corner and Kurapika sees him visibly restrain himself. Instead, Leorio bows deeply at the waist and Gon beams at the newcomer until she’s within range and then darts forward for a hug. Ah. This must be Mito.

The woman smiles down at Gon, gently patting his head, as though he were a child of ten or twelve and not a prince of sixteen or seventeen years, and then warmly greets both Killua and Leorio before turning her attention to Kurapika.

“And who is this?” she gently asks, directing her attention to both Gon and Kurapika.

The gentleness takes Kurapika by surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t. No matter how much he loves his family, it had been made clear to him from a very early age that he was of royal blood and certain behaviors were expected of him as a result. Were he to act as Gon had, he may have received a hug in return but more than likely he would have received a lecture. However, as Leorio had told him on their way to the castle, and as Gon had demonstrated within the short time Kurapika had interacted with him, Whaleand and its royalty played by a very different set of rules. A much freer, relaxed set of rules, wherein royalty were seen not as an ideal but for what they were: human.

“This is His Royal Highness, Prince Kurapika of the Kurtan,” Gon says, introducing him to Princess Mito, prompting him to lean forward in a bow of greeting. “Prince Kurapika, meet my Aunt Mito, Princess and Acting Regent of Whaleand.”

Mito huffs lightly but smiles good-naturedly nonetheless, inclining her head in response to Kurapika’s bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. Please, feel free to call me by Mito or Aunt Mito.” Turning to Gon, she chides, “Gon, how many times must I remind you that Acting Regent is not my actual title.”

Killua, still at Gon’s right shoulder, rolls his eyes as Gon pouts. “It might as well be,” he remarks, looking swiftly off to the side when Mito directs her attention to him instead of Gon. 

“Hush, you,” she replies, voice stern but eyes sparkling, then turns her attention back to Kurapika. “Now, how may I help you?”

Any levity that was present immediately dies in favor of solemnity. At Gon’s prompting, Kurapika summarizes his predicament once more and this time Leorio chimes in with his observations of the petrified stasis of the castle. 

Mito listens to all of it, then turns to Gon with a nod. “Take the Island and Forest Companies with you. Killua,” she says, voice growing markedly harsher though still soft in volume, “I trust that you will go with him.”

Kurapika hears Leorio inhale sharply and finds himself holding his breath alongside the apprentice physician. No one orders a fairy around and gets away with. Not without first striking a deal with said fairy and even then, the fair folk do not take kindly to orders.

Killua’s eyes narrow into slits and his hair begins to rise with the crackle and snap of magic, blue sparks flying into the air as the temperature drops radically. His incisors lengthen and sharpen as he bares his teeth in a half snarl, and the transformation of his nails mirrors that of his teeth, but instead of backing down like any sane human would, Mito stands tall and meets Killua’s gaze. “Watch his back. Protect him, Killua. You are the only one I can trust,” she murmurs and as abruptly as Killua had shifted from friendly-neighborhood consultant to lethal-magic wielding assassin, he shifts back, face slightly flushed and eyes sheepish.

“You can count on me,” he mumbles, without even demanding a price, then goes back to hiding behind Gon’s shoulder, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Two companies, two princes, a fairy and a physician’s apprentice. It won’t nearly be enough, Kurapika realizes, heart sinking. Even with the fairy belonging to the Zoldyck clan, unless the companies are filled with magic users of the Troupe’s caliber, resistance will be futile. We’re going to need a miracle, Kurapika thinks bitterly, and those are hard to come by. I suppose some support is better than none. Even if the thought of the battle ahead and the inevitable death toll turns Kurapika’s stomach, he can’t give up now. He can’t afford to. Not now, not after everything. One way or another, I will take Chrollo and his infernal Troupe down, Kurapika silently vows. No matter the cost. 

“Right then,” Gon chirps, clapping his hands to dispel the awkward mood Mito’s demand and Killua’s subsequent reaction had brought about. “Let’s get moving. We have no time to waste if we want to get back to Kurapika’s castle before everyone unfreezes.”

From there, the preparations pass in a blur and to Kurapika’s surprise, they are back on the road again within two hours. Apparently, both companies had been preparing to go on a training exercise in the next few days so they were already mostly packed and ready to deploy. 

When they ride out, Leorio is placed at Kurapika’s side, towards the front of the group, at Gon’s insistence.

“You and Kurapika are the only ones who’ve ever been to his castle, after all,” Gon rationalizes when Leorio weakly protests. “I need you up front to help guide the way.” 

Leorio grumpily acquiesces, but joins them without much hesitation, his bearing relaxed and unconcerned. It strikes Kurapika then, that Leorio is used to this—interacting with royalty on a casual basis, almost as if he were of equal rank—and he finds himself vaguely unsettled at the realization. On one hand, Kurapika finds it a relief that the man he’s been traveling with these past few days commands such respect and warmth from his ruler. It speaks to Leorio’s character, a confirmation that Kurapika hadn’t known he needed. On the other hand, the ease with which Leorio interacts with Gon and even Killua causes Kurapika’s stomach to twist. He had thought that the camaraderie they’d built over the past few days was something special, something unique, especially since Kurapika had granted Leorio permission to use his name instead of his title. So to see Leorio amiably chatting with Gon, laughing and smiling far more than he ever had while they were searching for the flowers….well, let’s just say it leaves a bitter taste in Kurapika’s mouth, for reasons he’s not sure he wants to examine too closely.

These are his people, he reminds himself, forcing himself to smile when Leorio looks his way with eyes sparkling. Of course he feels more comfortable around them, even if they are royalty (or royal-adjacent in Killua’s case). He’s known them far longer than I. It makes sense he’d rather speak with them than with me. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, however, and Kurapika finds himself wishing he could reverse the flow of time, back to when it was just him and Leorio looking up at the moon, the threat of Chrollo and his Troupe a secondary concern bubbling in the background.

“Hey,” Leorio says softly, face creased in a concerned frown, breaking Kurapika out of his dour thoughts as he guides his horse closer to Kurapika’s. “You okay? You seem a bit…withdrawn.”

“…I am fine,” Kurapika replies, ever so slightly on the stiff side. “Just thinking about what lies ahead.”

“Ah,” Leorio murmurs, looking away from Kurapika and back towards the path ahead. “I see.” 

They fall into silence then, Gon and Killua’s chatter up ahead rolling over them as ambient noise, for what else is there to say? Both know what awaits them once they reach Kurapika’s home, after all, and Kurapika’s under no illusion that Leorio hadn’t catalogued just how many dead or dying there were when wandering through the courtyards. The silence stretches on, awkward inasmuch as their previous silences had been companionable, until Kurapika expects Leorio to abandon him for Gon and Killua. Instead, Leorio nods decisively, angles himself in his saddle so that he more fully faces Kurapika, then grabs Kurapika’s left hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

“You have my word, Kurapika, that no matter what comes, I will stand with you. Through fire, ice, death, or destruction, I will be by your side, always, and together we will see the restoration of your home.” 

A fiery warmth blooms within Kurapika’s chest, rushing through his body all the way up to his cheeks, at Leorio’s declaration, and though he desperately wants to avert his eyes, they are locked with Leorio’s resolute gaze. Then, giving Kurapika no time to process, Leorio flips his grip and intertwines their fingers, raising Kurapika’s hand to his lips and sealing his vow with a kiss. It leaves Kurapika breathless, his lips parted in surprise, his eyes widening at the action, and his heart dancing in his chest. 

Leorio holds his gaze for one breath, two, then lets their hands fall between them, still intertwined with no intention it seems of letting go, and turns back to face the road ahead when Kurapika doesn’t respond right away. Kurapika races to gather his thoughts, but finds himself unable to, his mind stuck on reliving the gentle pressure of Leorio’s lips against the back of his hand for as long as possible. Thankfully, Leorio seems to realize his need to process, though what the man must think of him now Kurapika’s embarrassed to think of, and leaves him to his thoughts. A blessing, because it takes a ridiculous amount of time for Kurapika to register time passing. Ten minutes or so must pass before he realizes Leorio’s hand still holds his, then another ten minutes before Kurapika finds his voice. It is perhaps the first time in his life that he has been left stunned and speechless, physically incapable of any sort of response other than silence, for so long.

“…Thank you,” he eventually murmurs, cheeks finally fading from a bright crimson to dusky pink, as he squeezes Leorio’s hand in gentle acknowledgement of his presence and words. “It means more than you can know.”

Leorio hums lightly, lips twitching upwards into a smirk. “I think I can hazard a guess, Your Highness,” he responds, voice teasing, but to Kurapika it’s like the unpleasant shock of transitioning from a nice, hot bath to having ice water dumped over your head. 

Kurapika frowns and tries to reclaim his hand but Leorio only clings tighter when he realizes what Kurapika’s doing. “Hey, no,” he says, eyes instantly shifting from teasing to concerned. “What happened? What did I say?”

Kurapika hisses in displeasure and at that, Leorio does let go, but the concern on his face only deepens. Though he knows there’s no escaping it, Kurapika tries to stall. “I doubt you could,” he mutters, replying to Leorio’s previous comment, but Leorio just narrows his eyes.

Sighing heavily, Kurapika looks down at the pommel of his saddle, then off to the side while Leorio’s gaze bores into him from the left. He lasts a minute, then caves. “Kurapika,” he mutters, not meeting Leorio’s eyes, but rather focusing on a point over his shoulder. “Not Your Highness. …Please.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurapika can see Leorio’s eyes widen in realization and he braces himself for the mockery to come. Leorio begins to grin, wide and with a hint of mischief, and Kurapika scowls at the sight, flushing with shame and irritation. Before he can take back his words or defend himself, Leorio’s snatched up his hand again and pressed it to his lips.

“Okay then,” Leorio says, grinning like a fool as Kurapika gapes at him. “Kurapika it is.”

Warmth floods his cheeks and Kurapika does his best to yank his hand away from Leorio’s with an embarrassed hiss. Leorio lets him, chuckling, but does not move away, back to Gon and Killua up ahead on the trail. Who are now staring at us, great…Kurapika thinks grumpily, nudging his horse away from Leorio, as Prince Gon and Killua snicker silently up ahead, but Leorio instantly follows, cheerfully chattering away about his latest conversation with his teacher and how she’d granted him an, albeit small, extension due to the extenuating circumstances.

“You were able to harvest the most time sensitive so I guess you can have an extra week or two, all things considered,” Bisky had apparently told Leorio, then basically forbade him from returning until everything was settled if Kurapika was understanding Leorio correctly. How odd. If it were me, I’d forbid my student from going into a battle that could be their last, not cheerfully send them on their way and oh…no. Kurapika doesn’t want to go there. It’ll be fine, he tells himself, in direct contrast to his earlier thoughts, refusing to consider Leorio lying dead somewhere in the castle. He’ll be fine. If nothing else, Leorio will make it through. He’ll be fine. He will live. 

…Who are you kidding? a tiny voice chimes in as Kurapika does his best to focus on Leorio’s laughter and smile. He’s just as likely to die as the rest of them and you will be helpless to stop it. Search yourself. You know it’s true. Besides, what battle skills does he have? You know he can heal, but can he fight? 

Kurapika’s stomach twists, but he drags himself away from his darkening thoughts and instead focuses on the very real and alive man in front of him. He waits until Leorio pauses to take a breath from his diatribe on sanitation (and Kurapika’s not even sure he wants to know how they got onto that topic), then asks, “Forgive me for interrupting but I realized I don’t know what your preferred weapon or fighting style is. How are you planning on fighting in the battle to come?”

Leorio blinks then chuckles ruefully, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah. Forgot you didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” asks Killua, popping up next to Kurapika. Kurapika stills, trying to not flinch, but seeing how Killua smirks at him, he knows the fairy caught his momentary surprise. 

Prince Gon joins him shortly and echoes the question. “What don’t we know?”

Next to Kurapika, Leorio blushes. “My fighting style. Kurapika was asking about it,” he mumbles and Killua begins cackling.

“What,” Kurapika asks flatly, a little annoyed at the fairy’s laughter.

“Oh,” Gon says, grinning. “Yeah. That is funny.”

“It’s not that funny,” Leorio mutters, turning an even deeper shade of pink.

Kurapika turns to Leorio, brow furrowed as Killua continues laughing, and waits for a response. Before Leorio can respond, however, Killua straightens up and smirks at Kurapika. “Leorio doesn’t have a fighting style.“

Kurapika feels his blood run cold as visions of Leorio getting caught up in battle with no way to defend himself flash through his mind. “Explain,” he demands softly, and Killua snickers again, causing Kurapika to nearly snarl at the fairy. He restrains himself, but only because he knows it’s a death wish to get on the wrong side of a fairy who is freely lending aid, this close to a major battle. If they are planning on sending a physician into a fight without being able to defend himself…

“He’s a brawler,” Killua tells Kurapika, eyes full of mirth. “When he fights everything’s a free-for-all. It’s the messiest thing I’ve ever seen and when we tried training him different sword-fighting and casting techniques, he was hopeless, shifting from one form to the next with no consideration for proper footwork or form.”

“That’s not to say he can’t fight,” Gon chimes in, and those words alone ease some of the panic Kurapika had felt climbing up his throat. “It’s messy but scarily effective and generally efficient too. It just looks ridiculous on the field.”

“If it’s effective, what does it matter,” Leorio grouses next to Kurapika. “Growing up in a poorer village on the outskirts of the kingdom, you learn what you can, when you can, where you can. I wasn’t about to spend hard earned coin on magic and sword lessons when I was saving up to pay for an apprenticeship to a physician,” he explains when Kurapika looks at him. “I mostly learned by watching and practical application, trading goods for small lessons with passing soldiers and mages. I usually stick to throwing knives, but if pressed I can use a sword, a bow, and—“

“And his physician’s tool-case!” Killua chimes in again, and Kurapika stares at Leorio in incredulity when he doesn’t refute the fairy.

“What.”

Leorio laughs sheepishly, even as he throws a half-hearted glare at Killua. “That was one time, Killua.”

“Still counts as a weapon!”

Leorio shakes his head and Kurapika looks on in disbelief as the two begin to argue over whether or not using a physician’s case with a metal plated bottom as a bludgeoning tool counted as a weapon.

What on earth…well, at least I know now he can fight? The confirmation of Leorio’s skills, ridiculous as they may sound, settles him some. Leorio won’t be defenseless on the battlefield. He’ll make it through. He must.

*

The castle is strangely silent when they arrive. It shouldn’t be, not since Kurapika and Leorio had heard Chrollo wake and that was over a week and a half ago. By now, if the spell holding Chrollo had truly faded when they heard him roar, the rest of the castle should be awake or in the process of waking. 

Leorio looks to Kurapika as they near the gates, eyes questioning, and Kurapika shakes his head. There’s no way to know for sure, but the silence is unnatural and Kurapika’s willing to bet they’re walking into a trap. Leorio signals Killua who stops Gon with a hand to his shoulder. Killua then closes his eyes, tilts his head from side to side, listening. He’s calm and still for a few minutes then snaps his head up to the sky, eyes blazing an electric blue, teeth bared in a snarl. 

“Above,” he hisses, hands outstretched as he throws up a barrier around Gon. Frantically, the two companies’ mages follow suit and not a moment too soon for out of the sky comes a rain of fire followed by a hailstorm of fist-sized icicles. 

“Chrollo and the yuki-onna,” Kurapika growls, heat pooling in his eyes, as he readies his sword. “Watch out for spider silk and vines. The jorogumo and dryad were close by and working with the yuki-onna last time.”

“How rude,” comes a deep melodic voice once the smoke and vapor clear, “calling them by such generic descriptors. My Troupe members have names, Kurtan.”

Kurapika bares his teeth as Chrollo appears hovering mid-air above the castle ramparts, humanoid with giant, white wings outstretched to either side. At his left is the yuki-onna, her black hair and eyes just as soulless as Kurapika remembers. “Chrollo,” Kurapika seethes, hand clenching on his sword.

“Prince Kurapika,” the half-dragon replies lazily, “how kind of you to return. We were having trouble cleaning the place up and could use another set of eyes.”

Kurapika lunges forward, snarling, but Leorio grabs hold of his shoulders and restrains him as Gon steps forward, still shrouded in an electric blue barrier. “Chrollo, leader of the Phantom Troupe,” he says flatly, eyes blazing with a righteous fury, “I will say this but once. Leave this place. Now.”

Kurapika grits his teeth, fury coursing through his veins, and strains against Leorio’s unfairly strong arms. What does he think he’s playing at? This wasn’t what we agreed on. Letting Chrollo go? “Gon,” he growls, but the prince doesn’t spare him a look, his full focus on Chrollo above. 

Leorio cuts Kurapika off from speaking further by placing a hand over his mouth and whispering into his ear, “Just wait.” His warm breath tickles Kurapika’s ear and sends a shiver down his spine despite the situation. Now is not the time, Kurapika chides himself, focusing fully once more on the scene in front of him.

“Oh? Or what?” asks Chrollo, eyes and voice faintly amused. 

“Or today you will draw your last breath,” Gon replies, squaring his shoulders and standing firm, every inch of him radiating confidence and regality. 

“I think not,” rasps a voice from behind their group and Kurapika inwardly curses. Turning, Kurapika catches sight of a lanky, dark haired man leaning on a gnarled, wooden staff. Behind him looms a man with matted brown hair, outfit heavily patched and worn and stretched tight over bulging muscles. His teeth are pointed in the manner of fangs and his finger nails look more like claws. Wizard and werewolf, Kurapika identifies, feeling his heart sink. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but still…

“You should have a little more self awareness before you make death threats, nya,” drawls a voice from in front of them, to their left by the castle walls, and Kurapika sees a cait sith melt out of the shadows. He’s short, with spiky black hair, and menacing, slit eyes, and as he prowls forward his claws lengthen and sharpen. The dryad joins him a minute later, her vines already creeping over the ground towards their group, innocent looking for now but no less threatening.

“You see, you might have us outnumbered, but what are numbers in the face of skill?” asks Chrollo from the ramparts, arms stretched out wide, eyes full of dark promise locking with Kurapika’s.

Gon’s eyes narrow slightly, but he does not back down. “Then you’ve made your choice.”

Chrollo looks back to Gon and drops his arms. “And you’ve made yours,” he rumbles, the air electric with anticipation.

Kurapika tenses as Leorio releases his grip and whispers, “Any second now.” Kurapika barely has time to gather his magic to his hands or draw his sword before Gon’s chin tilts downward ever so slightly in a silent signal, his troops surging forward, magic flying through the air at incredible speed.

Kurapika focuses his efforts on reaching Chrollo, weaving through flashes of light that are stray spells, and dodging vines, ice, and razor sharp strands of spider silk. The familiarity of it all nearly cripples Kurapika, as he keeps half-expecting his parents or Pairo to join the fray, the memory of their voices overlapping with the clashing of swords and shouts from the soldiers in the current moment. It’s only the knowledge of Leorio behind him that keeps Kurapika in the here and now instead of slipping into the past, Leorio’s presence a whirlwind at his back. 

Eventually, however, Kurapika can no longer press forward and he’s forced to draw his sword, hacking away at the wraiths that now block the pathway, their forms half-human, half-shadow. As he works, he hears Leorio muttering curses and casting spells in the same breath, pausing every now and then to whack a wraith with his bag. A few moments later, a golem of fire bursts forth from the ground in front of Leorio, dripping with magma. Leorio grunts and points in the direction of the shadows surrounding the gate and the golem lumbers off, leaving a trail of scorched and glassed earth. 

Kurapika doesn’t have time to question Leorio’s spellwork before they are surrounded again, all his concentration taken up by ensuring neither of them get hit by the wraiths. We’re in a battle of attrition as it is, Kurapika thinks grimly, ducking the sword of a wraith and slashing at another’s ankles. No need to add in life-force drains on top of that. Though, if we can’t stop the caster soon, the whole castle grounds will be filled with wraiths, with no end in sight. 

A shrill screech of pain echoes climbs over the din of the battle and the wraiths’ material forms begin to waver. Not one to overlook an opening, Kurapika presses his advantage, wiping out the horde in front of him with a blast of controlled, super-heated fire. By the end of it he’s trembling lightly, the spellwork much larger than anything he’d attempted before, let alone in one go, but the wraiths are gone and the way forward is clear once more.

Determined to find and end Chrollo, Kurapika begins to trudge forward but Leorio halts him with a hand to the shoulder. “Not yet,” he yells over the hissing of arrows flying through the air. “Wait until the golem’s finished.”

Kurapika blinks in confusion, then looks to the gate where Leorio had pointed the golem to. The shadows, once blocking the gate in a dense mass, flicker with molten fire, screams and curses tumbling out. Kurapika’s mouth drops open in a little “o” of realization as he watches the shadows morph into the form of an angry, blond haired vampire, skin blistered and burnt, eyes red as blood, fangs bared in a snarl. 

With an angrily, dismissive wave of the vampire’s hand, the golem bursts into a pile of flaming rubble, then the vampire’s head swivels sharply their direction. 

“Move,” he half-whispers, half-yells to Leorio, but even as he’s pushing Leorio out of the way, the vampire dashes across the field at a supersonic speed, appearing in an instant as if he’d teleported instead of ran, hand outstretched with wickedly sharp nails. Having just barely managed to push Leorio out of the way, Kurapika winces and grits his teeth, determined not to scream, as the vampire’s nails pierce his armor and rake his skin.

“Kurtan,” the vampire snarls, mouth twisting at the corners in a mockery of a smile. “I should have guessed. No one breaks my puppets’ control that easily. Shame the boss wants you for himself. You would have made a wonderful addition to my collection. Perhaps, if I’m lucky and bring you to him, he’ll let me play with you after he’s through,” he taunts, nails digging deeper into Kurapika’s chest.

Kurapika fights the scream with every fiber of his being, but it still slips out, loud and tortured. The vampire grins, his small but no less sharp incisors on full display, but his amusement is abruptly cut short as a blur of black and blue barrels into him with a yell.

“Get your filthy hands off him, bloodsucker,” Leorio snarls and Kurapika falls to the ground with a pained whimper as the vampire drops him in his surprise. Forgotten for the moment, Kurapika struggles to his feet, swaying with exertion. It takes all his strength to push past the hot, radiating pain in his chest and the lightheadedness of blood loss but stand he does, only to see Leorio fly backwards through the air, thrown by the vampire who looks, thankfully, the worse of the two, with scorch marks and burns a dark red against his otherwise porcelain skin. Kurapika wastes no time, readies his most powerful fire spell, and prays Leorio can catch himself mid-air before he hits either the rampart or a tree. Then, with as much power he can muster he sends a fire tornado towards the vampire.

It’s a gruesome sight and it takes an awfully long time for the vampire to stop screaming, but eventually only a pile of ash and scorched earth remain where he once stood. One down, Kurapika thinks wearily as he releases the spell and nearly faints from mana depletion and blood loss, eight more to go. 

“Are you okay?” a warm, familiar voice full of worry asks, strong hands stabilizing him on his shoulders from behind. Leorio. Thank the heavens. He’s alright.

“About as much as I can be,” Kurapika replies dryly, turning to look at the other man. 

Leorio grimaces and pulls out a strip of bandages from his pack. “Don’t move. I need to bind that chest wound before it gets worse. Not that there’s much I can do, and I’ll need to be quick before the enemy sees us, but it’ll hopefully be better and hold you until we can find a more secure location.”

Kurapika grunts in acknowledgement, knowing that there won’t be another chance to dress the wound before the end of the battle, and lets Leorio peel off a layer of his armor so that he can reach it. While Leorio works frantically to staunch and bind the wound, Kurapika surveys the battlefield, keeping a close eye out for any enemies that might be coming their way. 

To their left, along the bottom of the wall, a group of soldiers grimly battle the cait-sith and dryad, losing and gaining ground within the span of a breath, the battle too close to tell who’s actually winning. Behind them, the wizard and werewolf duo work with a vicious, harmonious efficiency, the mages and soldiers of Whaleand hard pressed and falling fast. Chrollo, the yuki-onna, and the jorogumo are nowhere to be seen, but their presence permeates the battlefield nonetheless. Everywhere Kurapika looks, he sees fire, ice, and spider silk wreaking havoc on each front.

Leorio finishes Kurapika’s binding in under a minute, then helps him re-don his armor. The brief respite over, Kurapika and Leorio join the fray once more, breaching the gate now that the vampire’s out of the picture. 

Figuring their best bet to find Chrollo will be to get to higher ground, Kurapika and Leorio pass the lower gatehouse and head for the stairs to the wall. Upon entering the lower town however, Kurapika finds a sight that makes his blood first run cold, then boil. Where just a few weeks ago his people stood frozen in various states of distress, some still alive just immobile, now all lie rigid in death, their eyes pillaged from their bodies, which are haphazardly strewn along the streets. A message, Kurapika thinks, mind staticky and unaware of the magic gathering in his hands. A damn cruel message, from thrice-cursed Lucifer. It’s sacrilege what’s been done, in addition to defilement. For the Kurtans, their eyes were considered windows to the soul, a reflection of a person’s inner turmoils and joys, as well as the source of their magic. To take that from them even, and especially, in death…one has to be soulless, depraved, cursed. 

Leorio nudges Kurapika, bringing him back to the present. “You’ll avenge them, Kurapika. Later. Focus on finding Chrollo for now.”

No sooner had he spoken, however, than Chrollo appeared in the sky above them, hurtling towards them like a meteor, roaring with a fury that let Kurapika know he’d discovered the vampire’s demise. Good, Kurapika thinks viciously as he and Leorio throw up a barrier to counteract the fire and impact of Chrollo slamming into them. He deserves to know what loss feels like. 

“You incinerated Shal,” Chrollo hisses, not bothering to shift to his half-human form, but rather staying in his bone-white dragon form, tail lashing out at the barrier. “For that you will pay, Kurtan.” 

“You massacred and desecrated my family first, you worm,” Kurapika snarls back and drops his half of the barrier, trusting Leorio to hold it well enough without him, so that he can unleash his full repertoire of offensive magic on Chrollo. Not much can injure a dragon, Kurapika knows, but surely something will stick sooner or later. 

Nothing does. In fact, the more Kurapika casts, the stronger Chrollo seems to grow, until the barrier Leorio’s holding finally cracks and gives way under the strain of Chrollo’s attacks. 

“Stop using your magic,” Leorio yells at Kurapika as they roll for cover, Chrollo’s breath attack burning so hot now the flame is nearly completely a blue-green. “It’s only feeding him!”

Kurapika, who’d come to the same conclusion just moments earlier, yells back in frustration, “Well, what would you have me do instead?!”

“Use your sword!” Kurapika can practically feel Leorio rolling his eyes as he responds, which sets Kurapika’s teeth on edge. As if it’s that easy!

“Do you want me to die?!”

“Use. Your. Damn. Sword!” Leorio screams as Chrollo’s claws nearly slice him in two. “It’ll work, just trust me!”

Frustrated, but out of any other ideas, Kurapika draws his sword and immediately notes the blade now emits a deep ruby red glow to it. Deciding now is not the time to question Leorio on when and how he got Kurapika’s sword, Kurapika grimly braces himself and prays that whatever Leorio had dosed it with will work against a dragon.

As Chrollo roars, maw glowing in preparation of another fiery breath, he also lashes out with his tail. As it nears Kurapika, instead of dodging the massive limb full of scales and spikes, Kurapika puts all his strength into slashing downwards, cutting deep into the flesh of Chrollo’s tail. Chrollo screams in pain, then shudders as whatever magic on the sword takes hold. 

“Now,” Leorio yells at Kurapika. “Kill him now! Before the Shackles wear off!”

Kurapika blinks in surprise, looks at his sword and then at Chrollo, whose form is now glowing the same ruby red as the sword, a link of scarlet chains winding from the blade to where Kurapika had struck him. Kurapika feels a chill course through him as he recognizes just what potion Leorio had doused his sword with.

Eternal Shackles. Of course the only thing that can halt a dragon is a cursed potion. And now Chrollo is mine to control, Kurapika realizes, mine to command. Oh the possibilities… Visions of Chrollo picking off his Troupe members one by one, killed by his own hands after hours of torture, flash before his eyes. Of making Chrollo watch, helpless and bound, as Kurapika executes the Troupe members before beheading Chrollo. Of—

“Kurapika, now!” Leorio’s screaming, and Kurapika’s wrenched back to the present moment as Chrollo strains against the chain holding him, the long chain now down to only a couple of links as his dragon-constitution eats through the magic bindings. 

“Chrollo Lucifer,” Kurapika orders, voice brimming with power, “submit yourself to me. Tell me how I may kill you.”

Chrollo’s jaws work furiously as he tries to fight the command, but eventually he grinds out, “Only by striking my breast true can you kill me, Kurtan. There is a pattern which hit correctly will force my scales to shed, leaving me in my weaker, human form. From there, I am as human as the next person.”

It takes several commands and re-applications of the potion later for Kurapika to force Chrollo into revealing the pattern and bare his chest at an accessible height, but from there things move quickly. One minute Chrollo Lucifer, leader of the Phantom Troupe, White Dragon and bane of Kurapika and all the Kurtan people, is alive. The next he’s dead, Kurapika’s sword driven through his heart.

From across the battlefield screams ring out as the magic binding the Troupe to Chrollo shatters. Some—the wizard, werewolf, and dryad—fight to their very last breath, and determined to make their last stand count, kill half of the Island company. Others—the cait sith and jorogumo—disappear into the shadows whence they came. The last two—the giant and yuki-onna—go so still with grief that Killua is able to bind them before they come back to their senses.

Standing over Chrollo’s corpse, Kurapika registers none of this. It’s over. It’s finally over. …It doesn’t feel like it’s over. There’s no triumph, no sense of peace. His anger towards Chrollo and the Troupe hasn’t cooled any, but now with Chrollo dead there’s nowhere for it to go. There’s nothing but exhaustion and the pain of his chest wound making itself known on the edges of his consciousness. There’s nothing left, Kurapika realizes wearily as he looks across the lower town. My family, dead. My people, dead. My enemy, dead. What is there left to live and strive for?

A strong hand clasps his shoulder and Kurapika lets the weight settle him. Leorio.

“It’s over now,” Leorio says, echoing Kurapika’s thoughts. “Chrollo and his Troupe will bother you no longer. But the hard part’s just beginning.”

“Oh?” Kurapika asks, leaning back a little so he can tilt his head up to look at Leorio. 

“Living,” Leorio replies, a weary smile on his face. “Living and rebuilding. I promised you I’d help with the restoration, didn’t I? Unless… you’d rather I not stick around?” he asks hesitantly.

The memory of Leorio’s vow and subsequent kiss against his skin come flooding back, causing Kurapika to blush bright pink and duck his head. He’d almost forgotten about that, what with all the battle preparations and strategy discussions that had passed between them since then. It feels like it was so long ago, but in reality that had been only a few days prior. 

“Right,” he mumbles, then blinks. “Wait. No. What? Of course I want you to stay, but what about your apprenticeship?”

Leorio chuckles sheepishly and avoids Kurapika’s gaze. “Um, yeah. About that… so you remember the flowers we got?”

Kurapika’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in suspicion. “Yes…”

Leorio shifts nervously from foot to foot, then mumbles, looking off to the side, “So there’s another draught you can make from them and normally I wouldn’t touch the thing, but Bisky told me to brew it instead, after telling me I was never to brew it again, and that she was allowing it this once because it was a more useful potion to have on hand for going up against a dragon, and the brewing skills are basically the same so if I did it correctly it would count as my final project and so—“

“She had you brew Eternal Shackles instead and you doused my sword with it,” Kurapika finishes for him, with a raised eyebrow. 

Leorio blushes and nods shyly as he apologizes. “Yes. Sorry I didn’t ask your permission first but I only finished the process while we were on the road and I didn’t have time to ask and then you weren’t using your sword anyway so I thought it might not matter and then we started to fight Chrollo and—“

Leorio rambles on and Kurapika can’t help but feel his remnant unease at the realization of which draught Leorio had used fade in favor of endearment. This man, Kurapika thinks fondly as Leorio waves his hands around in explanation, desperately trying to justify his actions to Kurapika. Absolutely ridiculous and fiercely brave, loyal but ruthless, he’s constantly taking me by surprise. Then Kurapika realizes with a jolt that he does still have something to live and strive for.

“Will you marry me?” he asks Leorio, cutting the man off from rambling yet again. 

Leorio gapes at him, but that’s understandable. The question is a bit out of the blue, but Kurapika’s exhausted and doesn’t want to dance around what’s been building between them any longer. Even if he does turn me down, he’s already vowed to stay with me, Kurapika thinks a little fatalistically, so at least I won’t be alone anymore.

Leorio’s face contorts and Kurapika realizes that now it’s his turn to blurt out his inner thoughts, filter gone. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking down at the ground. “I don’t mean to pressure you. You can stay or go as you please.”

Before Kurapika can leave, this conversation clearly poorly timed on his part, Leorio grabs him by the upper arm. “Wait. Do you—that is to say—are you sure that’s what you want? Marriage, that is. With me?” he finally bites out, eyes wide and faintly hopeful. 

Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking on my part, Kurapika thinks a little melancholically, observing Leorio. He nods once, then waits for Leorio’s reaction.

To his surprise, Leorio just narrows his eyes. “I need a verbal answer, Kurapika. Do you really want to…marry me? Not just for my company, but for all that marriage entails? Because I’ll stay with you no matter what. If you need a companion, someone to bicker with and help you rebuild, someone to talk and debate with, someone to be your friend, you don’t even need to ask. I’ll stay. But if you l-l-li—“

“Love you?” Kurapika supplies, just as Leorio blurts out, “like me?”, causing the taller man to blush crimson. Kurapika blushes too when he realizes that Leorio hadn’t even had love in mind, but refuses to take back his words. If there’s anyone he will ever grow to love, who he’s pretty sure he’s already half in love with, if not fully, it’s Leorio. “I do,” he tells Leorio, voice soft but no less sure. “I love you. I want to marry you. You temper me. You bring me back from the edge of my anger and help me remember there are things worth living for. You enchanted my sword with an illegal, black market draught so that I could kill my sworn enemy and you have not baulked at the darkness I have inside. I love you, Leorio Paladiknight, and so I will ask you once more, will you marry me?”

Leorio’s struck speechless, but just as he had given Kurapika time and space to process with the vow, so now Kurapika too gives Leorio time. Thankfully, however, Leorio recovers much quicker than Kurapika had and answers with a “Yes!” eyes full of awe and wonder.

“Perfect,” Kurapika sighs, and draws closer, hoping for a kiss. 

Leorio bends his neck, dipping his head towards Kurapika’s and gently presses their lips together in a soft, featherlight kiss. Kurapika smiles against his lips and he feels Leorio chuckle lightly in response, the moment surreal and perfect, but before either can do anything more, Killua catches sight of them and starts snickering.

Leorio groans in frustration and pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against Kurapika’s. Kurapika rolls his eyes in sympathy, as Killua’s snickering increases, then sighs when the fairy begins to tease and taunt them.

“Took you two long enough!” he starts with, then continues on saying, “But really, here? In front of Chrollo’s cooling corpse? Gross, you two. Have some respect for the dead.”

Leorio grits his teeth and takes a deep breath. Kurapika does the same, feeling his irritation at the comment bloom.

“Killua,” Leorio warns, drawing away from Kurapika’s face to glare at the fairy, but Killua just smirks.

“Le-or-io~” he chimes, mockingly, then sticks out his tongue before running away, and Kurapika can feel the moment Leorio’s patience snaps. 

“Come here you little imp!” Leorio roars, chasing after the cackling fairy. Kurapika shakes his head at the sight, but then Gon comes up beside him with a wide grin and mischief dancing in his eyes and Kurapika instantly becomes wary.

“So,” Gon says cheerfully, though his tone has a bit of bite to it as well, “you’re going to marry my cousin then?”

Kurapika’s eyes widen in shock at the relation, then remembers Leorio grousing good-naturally about the prince trying to adopt him into his family at one point so that Leorio would be castle-bound. “Yes,” he replies strongly, without hesitation.

“Great!” Gon chimes, then smiles sharply at Kurapika and says, tone never once deviating, “If you ever hurt him, I will have Killua hunt you down.” 

Kurapika blinks at the threat, then nods, and apparently that was the right answer because Gon then beams at him and tells him in no uncertain terms that, “Glad we have an understanding! You’ll be having the wedding this summer, at my castle, of course.” 

Gon leaves Kurapika with no chance to reply, dashing off after Leorio and Killua, calling out for them to wait up. Left behind, Kurapika stands for a moment, stunned at that whiplash of a conversation, mouth parted in surprise at Gon’s audacity to tell him when and where the wedding will take place, then runs after him, demanding that Gon be reasonable. 

“But where’s the fun in that?!” 

“Gon!”

“Waah! Killua save me!”

“Leorio, get them!”

“Get off me you old man! Ugh, you are so heavy!”

It’s a scene of levity amongst ruins, incongruous but desperately needed. It’s the happy ending to a bitter enmity but also the beautiful beginning of a new journey. It tastes a lot like peace, and Kurapika finds it sweet. 

Later, when things have calmed down, he will take a trip with Leorio out to the Sapphire-Astriola Nigella field under a blood moon and harvest some of the amethyst blooms once more. Together they will lie down and stare up at the stars, trading leisurely kisses, hands intertwined, undisturbed by friends or family. Still later they will return home, to the small cottage they had built on the outskirts of the Kurtan castle for the ongoing renovations. A place with no memories but their own, memories of laughter and love instead of blood and pain. They will brew a draught once assigned as a graduation project, then smile and drink at the same time, a bright, red ribbon wrapping around both their wrists and binding them ever closer together. 

“By mine heart, I do vow,” they will promise, then and every anniversary after, “to love you through eternity with all the strength and devotion I possess. May this bond of love between us grow ever stronger day by day until we return to the dust from whence we were formed.” And saying so, their lips will meet, sealing the vow with a kiss, as all love vows of any lasting nature are. When Gon hears about it two months later, he will throw a fit, demanding that they perform a proper wedding ceremony as befits a prince and his consort.

Needless to say, Kurapika and Leorio could care less. For what more do they need when they have each other? Still, they humor Gon and everyone cries, and they concede after a long, long, long week of festivities that perhaps an official ceremony wasn’t too bad after all. Even if it did take place halfway between the two kingdoms and was a logistical nightmare.

But that is a scene that takes place later, and now, all Kurapika can think of as he chases after Gon is how fortunate he is that Leorio, his knight in shining armor, climbed all those stairs of his tower and then tripped over the threshold, waking Kurapika from his sleep.