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Prologue

The Massacre

Pairo had been in the main library when it happened.

He'd been trying to keep himself occupied; without Kurapika around, there was no one to drag him on any crazy adventures. He still woke at odd hours, half expecting his blonde friend to be there, shaking him awake for another exciting bout of mischief. During mealtimes, he still set out a serving at Kurapika's place, and it left a small bit of disappointment whenever Pairo would think of something funny and turn to his friend, only to find he wasn't there.

However, lonely or not, he was still happy for him. He knew that Kurapika had wanted to see the outside world for so long. For years Pairo had listened to him fantasize about escaping their settlement, smiled at his friend's enthusiasm, and helped him plan how to beat the exams needed to be allowed out. Yes, he was elated that his childhood companion had been able to go, he kept telling himself.

He tried to focus back on the book in front of him. He ran a finger down it's cover, smoothing down the heavy, navy-hued silk and pretty embroidery on the front. It was one of his favorites; well, one of Kurapika's, at least. He had read through just about every one of his own most-liked ones in the first few days anyway, so he had resorted to some of his friend's. He wasn't much for myths and folklore, but the blonde sure was. This particular one was about a fallen star that had lost its way to heaven. Although throughout the story the fallen star missed its friends and family, he went on with his journey, for he knew that they were watching over him always from their place in the night sky. Skimming through the text, a swell of nostalgia curled around him, a memory of Kurapika animatedly reading it out to him resurfacing.

It had been a sunny afternoon in their ninth year, the forest lush and green, with more than a few flowers nudging out of the rich soil. It had been Pairo's birthday, and after a quiet party comprised of both Kurapika's family and his, they taller boy had dragged him out into the woods, his newly acquired ruby earrings glinting merrily in the light (he'd gotten them from his parents as a birthday present a month prior). He'd led them to a patch of trees beside a small pond, jewel-bright dragonflies zipping around overhead. There, his friend had sat them both down on the soft grass, taking a small book out of his tunic, no doubt smuggled out from under the head scribe's nose. Then the blond began to read, his steady voice sweet and calming. Between the quiet rippling of the water and Kurapika's smooth voice, he had been lulled into a deep sleep before he knew it.

Pairo ran a hand down his face, yanking himself out of his sentimental stupor. He sighed. He really was bored. Pairo decided to take the book with him to read later. He had to be more careful now, because if he read too much, he would run out of books to read before Kurapika returned. Which he hoped was very soon, of course.

He made his way to the door, only to have it yanked open by one of the scribes named Ulmon, the man wide-eyed and panting. Pairo didn't know who was more surprised at the other: himself, or Ulmon.

"Ulmon? What's going on?" Pairo took in his tattered robes and glowing scarlet eyes. "You're bleeding!" he stated dumbly.

"Get out of here! Run, dear one!" Ulmon shouted, staggering forward. "It's those damn Spiders; we've been attacked!" Pairo just gaped, stunned.

"Spiders? What do you mean, Spiders?" The scribe shook his head, as if it were too complicated to explain.

The man surged forward, pushing away a bookshelf to reveal a dark hallway lined with ancient tomes. "Get in! Quickly, now." He lowered his voice in a calmer manner, as if understanding that causing the boy to panic was not wise in the current situation. Pairo remained still, confused as ever. "Come on!" Ulmon shoved him inside.

"Stay quiet, do you hear? No matter what, don't make a sound, okay? Everything's going to be fine." A faint crash and a muffled scream sounded in the background. Ulmon cursed, giving Pairo one last glance before closing off the passageway. "Remember, no matter what, we will be with you, just like in that story you like to read." The boy opened his mouth as if to say something, but the door slammed shout and locked, throwing him into pure darkness.

Pairo felt like he had been trapped in there for centuries, each minute passing much slower than the next. And the sounds, the sounds. Almost as soon as Ulmon had sealed the room shut, he could hear that something, someone had begun attacking the scribe. The battle was mostly silent in the beginning, with only a few grunts and the whistle of knives through air reaching his ears, but that made the waiting even worse. A quiet part inside him knew it was inevitable, however, as Ulmon was not known as a very competent warrior among the Kurtas, although very skilled by regular standards, which was why he chose the life of a scribe.

Still, Pairo felt something in him reel in surprise when the fight suddenly ended with the scribe's strangled yell, the heavy fall of a body accompanying the shout. He choked back a scream of indignation at that point, eyes flashing bright, bright red at the death of his fellow clansman. Yet, following Ulmon's final orders, he kept silent, his whole body shaking with the effort.

A foolish part of him wanted to pretend it was all a dream. Surely, he'd wake any moment now, with his mother calling him out of his room for breakfast before setting him off to his studies. Everything would be fine.

But as minutes turned to hours, he lost hope in such wishful thinking. He could still hear some of his people still struggling outside, although one by one they, too, fell at the hands of their aggressors. Pairo let two quiet tears slip down his face, and no more. He knew it would serve to only tire him further if he got upset. He slid down the stone walls, cupping his elbows as he sat upright, letting exhaustion take over his tired body. He settled into an uneasy sleep, waking every few minutes or so at the slightest sounds.

He remained in the hidden room for three days, having felt around the walls blindly and found a small store of emergency supplies. Finally, it was restlessness, and not the lack of resources, that drove him out of the dark space. Having heard no signs of live beyond the doors for the past two days, or what he felt was two days, he slowly lifted the bolts and chains to unhinge the lock. Bracing himself, he painstakingly pushed the heavy bookcase open, letting a sliver of golden light enter the chamber. Encouraged by this, Pairo continued his actions, eventually creating a big enough gap to fit through. What was waiting on the other side of the door, however, was something that nothing could have prepared him for.

Pairo stifled a sob. Bodies were thoughtlessly strewn on the library floor, the eyes of each carefully extracted. Blood was splattered along the pretty murals, and Ulmon's cold fingers were still tightly clasping his weapon. A mass of bodies lay in the main hall, mostly the Kurta elders and scribes, all hunched over in a sick pattern of death. Similar scenes greeted him throughout the village, family members dragged out, bloody and tormented, into the streets. One of every two houses burned or pulled apart.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

And his parents, his parents. Something shattered in Pairo's chest, deep and painful, and his already weakened legs gave out, the rest of him following suit as he crumpled to the ground. His mother and father sat propped up facing each other, his mother showing more serious wounds than his father. They had went with their hands still reaching for each other, kept apart by their captors. Pairo wanted to cry, scream, anything. But not a sound left his lips, as if too spent to have anything left for grief. He remembered reading with his mother, his father cleaning up after dinner, just a few days ago. It felt like just yesterday that his parents had tucked him in, his mother pressing a kiss on the side of his head while his father ruffled his hair.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, drowning a bit in his memories, but soon an urgent part of his mind prompted him to get up. You can't stay here.

He quickly combed through the area, rifling through the village stores and treasury to find provisions. As he expected, all of the money and riches kept from the vaults had been carefully picked through, only a few scant pieces of tarnished silver left behind.

Pairo's house had been ransacked, too. The cupboards had been overturned, looking more for sport than for an actual search. His mother's favorite china, brought back a few years ago by one of the merchants, he found shattered on the floor, pale blue shards sharply glittering. Of course, all of the Kurta's jewelry, the pretty things they were so fond of, were taken also; snatched from their still-cooling bodies. His father's golden armband, dripping with rubies, had been pried off of his arm, as had his mother's emerald earrings. Pairo felt something akin to disgust pool in his stomach, a feeling so foreign to him; a boy whose worries should have been focused on what books he should read, or what kind of supper he would have. He shouldn't have had to think about such terrible things; have had to see his parents' empty eye sockets peering up at him, their expressions still frightened and scared.

The armory had been burned, the remains still smoldering in the afternoon light. Broken spears were laid on the stone floors, still held in the hands of their warrior owners. Arrows were scattered around, tips impaled into the muddy earth. By his luck, Pairo freed a few knives from the wreckage, the metal of their blades burnt an ugly black. They smelled foul, and their tips were blunted, but they were better than being unarmed. He slipped them into his rucksack, a light thing he had plucked from one of his neighbors, a mantra of sorrysorrysorry loud in his head.

The so-called "Spiders" had neglected to destroy the village's food supply, however. Pairo loaded up as much as he could carry; he had a long journey ahead of him. Trying to steer clear of the perishable items, he instead chose mostly light-weight items swimming in vinegar. He wrinkled his nose. It would have to do. He dug out Sheila's old books as well, hoping they'd be useful in his first encounters outside of the Lukso Province. Just in case, he snagged a few of the ancient volumes from the secret tunnel, squirreling them away in his tunic along with Kurapika's beloved book of stories. The thought of his friend brought a pang in his chest, and he shouldered on in hope of a chance to see him again.

With one last glance behind at his broken home, Pairo turned to the road to the outside world, an unspoken promise to return at his lips. First: finding Kurapika.

Finding Kurapika took Pairo three years. Three years of navigating blindly throughout a world that was so new to him. Thirty-six months of falling over himself to avoid unsavory encounters and dodging curious, almost predatory stares. A world that had seemed tantalizing and glamorous, now disillusioned as cruel and unfair. Thieves lurked in every alleyway, making quick work of unsuspecting people. Because of his small stature and childish face, Pairo was a on the receiving end of such exploits for the first few months. Or at least until stories traveled around the alleyways that a twelve-year-old beat the crap out of them.

The longer time he spent out of his village, the more anxious he became about finding his friend. His heart ached for Kurapika. He didn't want to imagine what horrors he'd faced, such a sharp contrast to his lively hopes of an exciting adventure. Even Pairo, who hadn't come in with such grand expectations, felt disappointed at the shameless and illegal acts he'd seen. Hell, some man had propositioned him off of the street. With Kurapika's even more delicate stature and almost girlish features, Pairo shuddered to think about what his friend had gone through.

He knew he had to do something about his limp and poor eyesight, however. It was his staggered walk that had made him seem like an easy target in the first place. It had taken a lot of borrowing (he refused to call it stealing) to secure an appointment with a doctor, along with another bribe to keep him quiet. Pairo hated using such illegal methods to get what he wanted, but he supposed he had no other options. It was either take money from the pockets of those who wouldn't miss it, or slowly waste away. He decided he would do what he needed to if it meant locating Kurapika.

Pairo eventually ran into to him near the outskirts Severajn city, gathering supplies at an open market. It had been by total accident, with Pairo just dropping by to barter for information with the few pieces of pottery he's salvaged from his village. Kurapika had mentioned the city before, having found it in one of maps brought by Sheila, enamored by its splendorous trading economy (Pairo had zoned out while Kurapika had explained the details). However, he was less than charmed by Severajn, as most of the place was made up of factories and dingy buildings, definitely unlike the picturesque location by the sea that he and Kurapika had pictured.

He had seen Kurapika first, and the sight of his friend was like breathing in fresh air after years of imprisonment. Of course, he had known Kurapika was alive, but being able to lay his eyes on him was a different matter entirely.

He had gone back to check on his village a few times in the past few years, and on his first return trip, he was shocked by what he saw. It had been two weeks since he had left, and he had went back to bury the bodies, not having found his blond friend yet. But, instead of the piles of corpses he was bracing himself to see, neat rows of newly-dug graves were in their place,each done with the traditional Kurta burial rites. He immediately knew that it was Kurapika's handiwork, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest, sorry that his childhood friend had had to witness such terrible things. Who knew how long it had taken him to bury so many bodies?

Kurapika had grown in the past three years, his round face becoming more angular; his eyes were sadder, having lost their usual sparkle. His tribal wear had been changed, also, having discarded his old robes for a shorter red and blue tabbard. From where he had gotten the clothes from, Pairo wasn't sure. He himself had outgrown his old tunic, and had had to stitch a new set for himself. Kurapika had grown a few inches taller, too, but not enough to still have the gain on Pairo, which he inwardly noted with almost childish glee. He was stunned, unable to move, as Kurapika turned, catching sight of him. The blonde stepped back in surprise, face pale as if he had seen a ghost, which he probably felt he had.

"Pairo?" Pairo smiled, still looking at his friend in wonder. Oh, how he had missed him. Kurapika dropped his things, running forward to embrace him. Pairo wouldn't have cared if the world ended right then and there; he was finally with his friend again. He clung to his friend, laughing even as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"When I didn't see you then, I thought...I didn't dare to hope, but…" the blond whispered, for once lost for words. "And oh, your parents, my mother and my father, why would someone do that?" For a second Pairo glimpsed the child that Kurapika had been, could have been, in the fragility of his voice.

"I know, I know. I was so scared, but I escaped, Kurapika. I'm alive," he said in a rush, pulling back, clasping his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"But how did you get all the way here?"

Pairo, rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. "To be honest, I had to...um, 'borrow' the funds." His now shorter friend looked like he was about to laugh. "Hey, it was a better option than accepting those shady offers in the alleyways." Kurapika sighed.

"Yeah, those encounters were particularly...unsavory. Some thought I was a girl; others just wanted something pretty to play with," Kurapika confessed, cringing. "Either way, I turned them down. Sometimes I had to revert to more violent means of getting them to leave me alone."

"That sounds like something you would do," Pairo teased. Kurapika's eyes widened, noticing something.

"Pairo! Your eyes! You can see?"

He nodded. "My legs got fixed, too." It had been a grueling process, but he felt it had all been worth it seeing the look of happiness on his friend's face.

"The first thing I did when I got out was try to look for a doctor for you. But when I finally found one, I thought you were dead." Kurapika punched the other boy's arm. "At least you were helped in the end."

"Well, the first thing I did when I left was try to find you. It's taken so long to locate you, where have you been?" Kurapika looked around quickly, scanning their surroundings before dragging the both of them into an abandoned storefront.

"I've been traveling around. After burying all of our dead, I-I became restless," Kurapika fidgeted. "I've been searching for the eyes," he blurted. "I have a few good leads."

Pairo shook his head. "I've been wanting to look for them too, but all the trails I've followed grew cold after the first few weeks. Those Spiders are a bit of a pain, covering up their tracks so well." He didn't need to mention the card-board box that bumped around in his bag, filled with newspaper clippings and articles about the Kurta Massacre and the current whereabouts of the Scarlet Eyes. From what he knew, a few pairs were privately distributed to high-ranking mafia dons, while the rest were sold off to the highest bidder at the annual black market auction.

"Well, that's probably because you weren't looking in the right places."

"What do you mean?"

"First of all, they're not known just as the 'Spiders', that's their common name, the one that rings most bells," the blonde stated, as straight-to-the-facts as usual. "They're officially known as the Gen'ei Ryodan." Oh, no. scholar-mode of Kurapika had been switched on.

"The Phantom Troupe? That seems a bit ominous, don't you think?"

"I do believe that's the point," Kurapika sighed again. "Second of all, I don't think you have the best contacts either."

Pairo laughed. "What, and you do?" He couldn't really imagine his friend obtaining such high-clearance information, if he was still the same kid who refused to go swimming because of the chance of flesh-eating fish in the water.

"Actually, yes." Kurapika lifted an eyebrow. "I have enough to know a few of the buyer's names."

"Then what's holding you back from getting them?" Kurapika dipped his head, expression serious.

"That would be very illegal and resort in me getting arrested before I even get close enough to see a pair."

"Okay, then why did you say you had some 'good leads'?"

Kurapika smiled, and Pairo took a moment to familiarize himself with the expression. "I do, but following them is another feat entirely. However, I have a plan."

"Oh no. I recognize that face." Pairo started uneasily. "That's the expression that you got right before you made me take a dive on that mingol-infested lake."

His friend laughed. "Relax, it's not going to be like that, although that was very funny. My plan is that we take the Hunter Exam. With a Pro Hunter license, we can get access to information and supplies that we wouldn't be able to before. Also, the law becomes much more flexible when Hunters are involved."

Pairo pondered this for a bit, swirling the idea around in his mind. "Okay, that seems logical. But how do you suppose we'll train for such a thing? The exam is in three months, if it's still the same as what Sheila told us."

"I'm not saying we taking it this year. I'm open to a two year training time frame. That way we'll be seventeen by the time we take it, which seems like a plausible age to be risking one's life to be a Hunter."

"Alright, then. Two years."

To be Continued...

Added Notes:

1) In this work, Pairo and Kurapika are both 12 when the massacre happens

2) Pairings are not decided yet: please let me know if you have any requests

3) Kurapika will be less rash when it comes to the Phantom Troupe, and will be able to handle them easier

4) Yes, Pairo will be accompanying Kurapika to the Hunter Exam