A/N: Hey guys, it's me again! Welcome to this fanfiction that will grow to be a collection many, many stories - 100 in fact - that probably won't have anything to do with each other, save for maybe a few exceptions. Because this is my attempt at the 100 Themes Challenge. You've probably heard of this challenge before, so I won't explain it for everyone - if you do not know about it, though, feel free to ask me about it and I'll explain it to you :)
As I've stated before in my fanfic "The day Allen lost his appetite", this will not be uploaded regularly, but no worries - since every "chapter" covers a new prompt from the challenge, you won't be bothered with going back to the last chapter to check where the story left off; awesome, right? :D
Also, IF there is a connection between two chapters, I will say so at the beginning of the chapter! I'll also state the pairings that can be found in the chapter so you can skip chapters with pairings that you don't like, but there will mostly be Laven, if any pairing at all, which is why this challenge will keep being in the Lavi & Allen character section for now. Now that I think about it, I'll also state the genre for you.
Pairing(s): mentioned KandaxLenalee, aand maybe slight Laven, but only if you squint REALLY hard. xD
Genre: Uh, how should I put this? It's sad, melancholic and depressing. Or at least it's intended to be xD
Disclaimer: I don't own D. Gray-man. However, I do own the random little OC I created for this oneshot...
The first theme on my list is "Introduction". Enjoy!
100 themes challenge - 1 - Introduction
The more often I see him sit there in the library reading that book, the more I wonder what's so special about it. I don't remember a time where he didn't frequently go to the library and sit in that old, worn out armchair with the same book in his hands, eyes so full of nostalgia, grief and sorrow that I can't even begin to comprehend.
He is a very nice person, he's always been like an uncle to me even though we aren't really related, but whenever I see the look on his face as he reads that book, I can't bring myself to ask him about it.
I asked my mom about the book a few days ago, and she just smiled ruefully and said that it was Uncle Allen's story to tell. She had had that same look in her eyes that she got whenever someone accidentally called her "Lena-lady", I had noticed back then.
I didn't want to ask my dad about it after what I heard from my mother, for he was even less likely to tell me what I want to know. He likes to pretend that he doesn't get along with Uncle Allen, but there definitely is something there that connects them in some way or another. I just don't know what it is, exactly, or how they manage to keep up that connection even though they're arguing almost constantly. It's not as if my parents have told me that much about their past, only that they worked together to help people. They never got any more specific; I wonder if they worked in a hospital or something, but I can't really imagine my father doing something like that.
I sigh softly. I'm standing just outside of the small library now, debating whether or not to go in and ask. I can see my uncle sit in the same armchair with the same book again. Something about his posture makes my heart clench – he looks so forlorn. His white hair is tied in a small ponytail, but his fringe is falling over his eyes so that I can't see the expression he's wearing.
I once asked him why his hair was white even though he wasn't an old man yet – he just laughed and said that it's been that way for almost all of his life. I don't think that the white hair is what makes him look like an old man, though. What makes him look much older than he really is are his eyes – these silvery gray hues that tell of past hardships and pain so much greater than anyone of his age should have experienced. I'm still young, but even I can see that.
I wonder if he knows that someone as young as me can read him like this – at least as long as he doesn't know that I'm watching him. When he knows that I'm looking at him, he is always smiling kindly. I'm quite good at reading people though, if I may say so myself.
I take a deep breath and enter the library. The door squeaks as I push it open wide enough to slip in, alerting my uncle to my presence.
"Ah, Kouta-kun. What brings you to the library at this hour?" he smiles at me as I go and sit down at an armchair opposite of him.
"What are you reading there, Uncle Allen?" I ask instead of answering. After all, I don't have a purpose for being here other than asking about that book.
"Huh? This?" he gestures to the book in his lap, "Ah, it's.. a history book, kind of."
I raise an eyebrow. "A history book? It must be a really interesting book, then." I state, my tone making clear that I'm not in the least bit satisfied by his simple answer.
He sweatdrops, and his expression tells me that he's probably inwardly sighing because I didn't stop my questioning. I feel kind of bad for being persistent even though he seems like he doesn't want to talk to me about it, but my curiosity is too great to ignore.
"Why would you say that?" he asks innocently. Answering a question with a question, huh? Well, nice try, but I know more than you think I do.
"Well, for example because ever since that day when Uncle Komui came by and gave it to you, I've seen you reading in it frequently? If it was just an ordinary history book, I don't think you'd be this interested in it."
I notice that his eye is twitching and try not to grin smugly. Caught him.
"Okay okay, you got me. You're much too sharp-witted and nosy for your age, you know that? No, it's not an ordinary history book. But it still is a history book – sort of, like I said. It's difficult to explain." he sighs, not aware that his mask of kindness is cracking slightly – enough to let part of the sorrow in his eyes show. Suddenly I'm not so sure anymore if it was the right decision to get it out of him today.
Hesitant, I say, "Will you try and explain?"
He is silent for a while, thinking. I busy myself with letting my eyes follow the fine line of the old , odd-shaped scar around his left eye, wondering if he's going to answer my question at all. But then he suddenly speaks up again, bringing me back to reality.
"When I was your age, maybe a few years older, I had a very good friend," his voice cracks at the last word, "he was also a friend of your parents, and we were all... working together. He belonged to a group called the 'Bookman Clan'. These people were travelers of sort, going from place to place to record the 'hidden history of the world', as they called it. At that time he was just an apprentice, but he was supposed to succeed the Bookman he was traveling with. They stayed at our... working place.. and helped us out, and while they did that, they recorded our history."
I nod, to show that I understand, before I voice a question that I probably already know the answer to, at least if I interpret Uncle Allen's tone correctly.
"Did he... die?"
My uncle just nods softly, sadness and grief apparent in his eyes. Well, that explains why he always looks depressed when he reads it – sort of. Uncle Allen speaks up again and interrupts my train of thought.
"This book – it wasn't written by a bookman. Or rather, it was written by a bookman, yet it wasn't. That doesn't make much sense, does it?" he forces himself to chuckle, a pleasant sound even though it's overshadowed by sadness.
"I don't really understand," I admit, "what do you mean?"
Instead of answering my question, he asks, "Have you asked Lenalee about the book?"
He knows me too well. "Yes, but she said that you have to be the one to tell me about it.."
"I see. I suppose that means she's more or less okay with it if you learn about our past, then. I guess you're old enough now. Must've been hard for her, though, to accept that you have a right to know even though she'd rather you didn't..."
My head snaps up at that. He'll tell me? Finally! But...
"Eh, what do you mean, hard for her?"
"Well... I don't think our past is what you expect it to be," he sighs, but then an amused grin creeps up his face, "Let me guess – you thought of us working in a hospital?"
"Yea, but I can't really imagine my dad doing something like that, so I wasn't sure."
His laughter echoes through the room. "Ha ha, yeah, Kanda's probably more likely to kill his patients than to help them..." his laughter dies down suddenly. "Ah, but I'm being unfair. I know he wouldn't do that. Not since he has met your mother at least, of that I'm sure. She's been a good influence on him."
I frown at his sudden mood change, but then I remember that a dear friend of him has died early and come to the conclusion that death probably isn't a topic he's willing to joke about too much.
"Anyway, if you didn't work at a hospital, what did you do that was supposed to help the people?"
I'm really, really curious now. After all, it concerns the people I'm closest to – my parents and my uncles, and my parent's old friends, too, probably.
"Hmmm..." Uncle Allen seems to be contemplating something. I wait, trying to be patient. Then he says, "Instead of telling you, would you like to read this book?"
I look at him, my eyes as big as saucers. He'd give that book to me? That book he holds so dear?
He smiles at me again and stands up before I get the chance to respond, walking over to me and placing the book on my lap.
"Why don't you start reading now?" he asks and sits back down while I carefully open the book.
I notice that the paper is slightly wavy at some parts and briefly think that it must be from tear stains. Were those my uncle's? The book is handwritten, I notice immediately – the words had been placed on the paper with utmost care, as if each of them holds a treasure.
I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach as I begin reading.
Introduction
This book holds a part of the history of the Black Order, an organization that was founded under the Vatican to defeat monsters called Akuma.
It tells of a holy war that took place in secret, hidden from the rest of the world.
It tells of many finders and scientists that supported a small group of exorcists, which were also known as "Apostles of God". These exorcists wielded unique weapons formed from "Innocence", a divine substance that is the only thing able to destroy the Akuma, and fought against the manufacturer of these monsters, the Millennium Earl, and his family.
And it tells of a young boy with white hair and a cursed left eye that was predicted to be the "Destroyer of Time".
But more of that later. Before you read on, there is something you need to know.
I myself have until recently been aspiring to be a bookman. But then I got caught up in this war, wielding Innocence myself, living, laughing, grieving with all of these people and fighting alongside them, and my opinions changed.
As a bookman, I have to stay objective. I'm not allowed to grow attached. People are supposed to be just ink, mere ink on paper. During my travels with Bookman, we kept recording war after war after war and there seemed to be nothing worth recording other than that.
I thought that humans were stupid, doing nothing significant except killing each other.
And whenever we went to a new place, I got a new name, a new alias, and the old one was cast away. During my stay at the Order, my name was Lavi. It was my 49th alias, and I don't think I'll ever take on another.
Bookmen are supposed to record facts, and facts only. But I don't want to do that anymore.
Because there's one thing I realized:
It wouldn't do these people justice.
During my stay at the Order, I stopped pretending to be Lavi, and started to be Lavi. It's thanks to all those I'm allowed to call my friends now that I found out that there was more to humans than just ink and war, and that a place exists where I can come home to and feel like I truly belong.
So before I began writing down this part of history, I asked myself:
What's the use of recording their history, if I only write about facts, statistics, dates and numbers?
If I do that, wouldn't it be too shallow, too hollow, too half-assed?
Think about it.
How are you supposed to know how hard it was to be confronted with death day after day?
How are you supposed to understand what it feels like to know that every second, one of your nakama could be killed?
That every second could be your last?
How are you supposed to even begin to imagine how the people feel that are left behind in the headquarters when the exorcists go on missions, wondering if they'll ever come back again?
How are you supposed to understand how our Branch Chief Komui feels whenever he sends his own little sister on missions?
How are you supposed to know how it feels to be completely and utterly useless and what it means to be forced to watch your friends fight, get hurt and die for you?
How are you supposed to comprehend how it feels to return to the headquarters after a mission and receive a warm welcome from the people every exorcist considers their family?
How are you supposed to know that our little Allen was affectionately called beansprout because he was smaller than almost all of us, and that he always yelled at me for calling him that even though he was usually so polite?
How are you supposed to know how much he could eat and how happy he was whenever the Order's cook made his favorite food?
How are you supposed to know that all of us meant the world to Lenalee and she would've gladly died if it meant protecting us?
How are you supposed to know about the sacrifices Kanda made, the grief Krory carried around with him, the times Miranda broke down, crying, sobbing, apologizing because of what it meant to stop using her Innocence's ability on us?
How are you supposed to know that the scientists worked 24/7 in order to help the exorcists the best they could? About Jerry, the cook, doing his best with every meal he prepares and going out of his way to make everyone's favorite food, for it could be the last we ever get to eat? About Komui straining to protect us from the higher ups who don't see us as people and give a damn about how many of us die?
How are you supposed to know anything about the sad and the happy times we experienced, about the people we lost, about the times we almost lost hope, about the times when all we could do is try to comfort each other and continue walking forward for the sake of everyone who lost their lives in that war? About the hardships we went through, about the grief and the guilt and the sadness?
How are you supposed to understand the bonds everyone shared?
You can't.
And that's why I'm not recording the Order's history as a bookman, but as Lavi, the exorcist.
And I'll try my best to convey what experiencing all of these events really meant for everyone, how it felt to be part of the Order, even though it's of course still impossible to make you completely understand.
I want this story to live on, to be more than mere ink on paper. If you decide to read this, I want it to live on inside of you, for these people should never be forgotten.
They do so much for humanity in secret, putting their lives on the line without ever really receiving anything in return, they are the reason I now feel that I belong to them and to this story, and they are the reason why I want to tell this story personally – as Lavi, not as a bookman.
Because they deserve it.
Only time can tell if I'll live to see the end of this war, but if I don't, I hope that my friends will live on to read this.
Moyashi, Yuu, Lena-lady, Kro-chan, Miranda, Komui, Marie, everyone -
I love you, all of you.
Never forget that.
- 1 - Introduction - FIN -
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! A review would be nice, for I'm really using this challenge to try out new things and improve my writing, so feedback is very highly appreciated! :)
Also, a good friend of mine, Padlock, is also taking on this challenge, so if it interests you how different these prompts can be interpreted, I suggest you take a look at her version, too! :3
~ bakaxusagi