AN: Written for the Commentfic LJ community. Prompt was: D. , any: What if the Niwa and Hikari families had chosen to become allies instead of enemies? Thank you Jordanamorgana for all the lovely DNAngel prompts. ^_^
"Symbiosis," Daisuke's mother says to him when he is six, just old enough to start questioning why he has to learn to become a thief. "Two creatures existing and supporting each other because neither would survive on their own."
Emiko brushes Daisuke's bangs from his face. His face tilts up, eyes wide with the need to understand. "The Hikari create; the Niwa steal. It's a compulsion we both share, but one that's dangerous to both of us. So we protect the Hikari from themselves and the works they create. We care for their works of art after they have moved on to the next work and keep the dangerous ones from causing harm."
"And the Hikari?" Daisuke asks.
"The Hikari protect us from the law and keep us from being too greedy." She smiled. "We balance each others' worst traits to bring about our best."
Once upon a time there was an artist who created beautiful paintings that enchanted the viewer. But no matter what the artist created, it was never enough, and bit by bit, he lost himself in his art.
Once upon a time there was a thief that fell in love with an artist's works. Piece by piece he amassed a collection of stolen art, but the more art he stole, the more he longed to have more. And so the thief waited for the artist to paint his masterwork, watching the canvas fill brush stroke by brush stroke.
"We must be careful," Satoshi's mother murmurs, "what we create." Her brush glides across the canvas, a smooth arc of color in an expanse of white. "We breathe life into our art, but for what? To create for the sake of creating? Or are we striving for a pinnacle much like our ancestor did?"
Brush stroke by brush, wings appear, black and white with highlights or red and blue and gold and purple. Feathers fight for dominance, but from where Satoshi sits he can see the painting as a whole and the balance within it.
"Our art can be something wonderful, or it can drive us to madness." She sets the brush down into water, picks up a new one, thinner, for fine details. Motes of dust come into being, light and shadow creating depth and mystique. It is not clear what the wings belong to as the wings fill the canvas in its entirety. "Krad and Dark are a legacy of our clans' madness."
This Satoshi already knows. There is a boy his age in the Niwa clan. They have not met yet, but he knows that when they do, Krad and Dark will surface to acknowledge the ties between the clans.
"Some say that Krad and Dark are curses, spirits bound to our DNA born from the painting that started it all. Some say that they are the spirits of the first members of our clan; an artist that lost himself to his art and the thief that lost himself stealing it."
"Which do you think, Mother?" Satoshi asks, the first he has spoken since she began painting.
She smiles, pausing in her work to meet his eyes. "I do not know since Krad and Dark's genes skipped this generation in the main branch. But I do know that Krad and Dark have equal capacity to do good and to cause harm; it's up to us to never call on them with the darkness in our own hearts. So long as our ties are strong and our hearts at peace, our clans will be strong."
Once upon a time there was an artist that created great and terrible works of art, and once upon a time there was a thief that stole them. To the artist and the thief, there was no greater acknowledgement than the attention of the other. But as the artist poured life into his works, the less he had in himself until he had one last masterpiece to create.
To the thief challenging from afar, it would be his finest heist.
And so both brought ruin upon the other.
There were branches and secondary lines in both families, but only the true, direct bloodline held Dark and Krad and would do so until each line died out. This Daisuke learned as a child.
They said Dark would come when he met the Hikari heir, brought about by emotions of loyalty and the tug of the bond that binds their clans together, two halves of a whole. But Grandpa told him that Dark answered to many calls, loyalty and love only part of what draws him out. That is why when Dark appears to save a girl Daisuke loves, he is not surprised.
It is strange to share his mind with another person, and his body stranger still. They are one person yet not, one body yet not, moving in tandem and the slightest bit out of synch as wings unfold and dip into magic reserves Daisuke has only peripherally been aware of.
The girl lives and after, Dark looks through Daisuke's eyes and they share fondness and relief before the wings melt away.
You're an interesting one, Dark says as he melts back into Daisuke's mind. But it's too soon to come out and play.
Daisuke is left wondering if all of Dark's hosts felt as overwhelmed and yet at peace when Dark's mind filled their own.
Once upon a time a thief stole too soon and an artist brought life to his work too late. But their failure created new life, binding the two together. For as the thief disrupted the ritual that would breathe the last of the artist's life into his work, the artist disrupted the art from stealing the thief's life in his stead. In doing so each cursed the other by saving the other's life.
"Be careful how much of yourself you put into your work, Satoshi," his mother says. Her skin is pale and her wrists look fragile, too thin as she painstakingly cuts hairs to form a new brush. "Our art is our greatest gift, but it is also our greatest downfall." Her hands shake once, and she stops until they are steady again. Satoshi can see the bitter twist to her lips as she lifts strand after strand of horsehair into place. "An artist only has so much life to give. While we do not bring all our art to full life like with masterpiece works, every artwork holds a little life. And that little adds up."
Satoshi, working on his own brush, says nothing. He sees the years of art in her face and her bones. He sees it in the tension of her shoulders and the way her brush snaps across the canvas these days instead of gliding.
"The temptation grows to leave a mark on the world," she says. "To create a great work even at the cost of what little life we have left."
He feels cold. Deep inside him something stirs and he knows that now is the wrong time to reach for it. This is not the right emotion to call Krad with; it would taint the bond and warp it in ways that he—they, the clan—could not afford.
"Promise me you won't give yourself to your art, Satoshi," she says. The bristles, straight and even, go into the metal ferrule.
"I promise," Satoshi says. He wonders if he can keep this promise. Then he wonders that if Krad could manifest in his mother and Dark in the Niwa this generation if her time would be longer or shorter. Did it matter if the results of an early death would be the same?
"I'm glad," she says, the glue and handle matching up with the ferrule to complete the brush. "I'm glad you won't face this burden alone."
Once upon a time there was a work of art. On the moment of its birth, it split in two, leaving each half forever orbiting, unable to merge.
The Niwa heir looks nothing like what Satoshi expected a thief to look like. Compared to his grandfather who visited to keep track of inter-clan relations, Niwa Daisuke does not seem to have the innate grace or presence of his relative. He is small and round-faced and looks too innocent by far though he must know why their two clans work together to keep their worst sides suppressed. Niwa smiles as their eyes meet. It is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Ironic since it is Satoshi whose family is connected with light.
"Go," his mother says. Her fingers are too frail on his shoulder, all bone without strength. She is looking past him toward Niwa Emiko. There is grave understanding between them that Satoshi refuses to comprehend.
"I'm Daisuke," Niwa says as Satoshi steps forward.
I know, he could say, but he says, "Satoshi. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Niwa holds out a hand, smiling, and Satoshi takes it. Inside he feels the fluttering presence again and this time, with the warmth of Niwa's smile and hand surrounding him, he lets go.
In a study room in the Hikari mansion, Daisuke paints with brushes Satoshi's mother once used. Satoshi watches like he used to watch her. Daisuke's art is not effortless perfection but it still holds a spark of life, an odd defiance to the roles their life has set them up for. Some days Satoshi finds he prefers Daisuke's art to the Hikari art surrounding him. The warmth in Daisuke's paintings can push back the urge to create and for a little while he can understand what Daisuke's ancestor must have felt in wanting Hikari artwork for his own.
"Do you think," Daisuke asks, "that if I paint enough I can fix our balance?"
Satoshi doesn't answer because he isn't sure there is any way to fix the push and pull between the clans. Inside him Krad stirs, soft protectiveness laced with lunacy.
Daisuke paints blue shadows on snow and Satoshi knows he feels the thread too.