A/N: This is pretty old. I just never took it out of my hard drive and put it on the internet before. This is just a snippet, there's a lot more. I'm not sure how much of it I want to post--I would probably rewrite it a bit if I did. To forestall confusion, I will tell you that the chapter titles are named after the age of the tamer in that chapter. A weird convention, don't know if I'll keep it. Let me know if you want me to continue.

...

Dark sat on the peak of a trash heap, his legs stretched out and bent against the slope of the filthy hill. His hands rested on his thighs, his wings forming a canopy around him, a curving private bubble to keep the both of them warm. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds that hung heavy in the sky, despite the wind that chilled his wingtips in the junkyard. The child was sleeping, believing himself to be in Dark's warm arms. He could not differentiate the intense experience of their inner mind from the real, cold world around him, and Dark was glad for that. For the past year he'd kept him safe, stolen food to feed him and clothes for the both of them. When the boy was ill, he had nursed him back to health with carefully measured magic. It was a very strange thing to get used to, having an infant tamer, and the circumstances surrounding his abandonment were ones that Dark hated to guess at. Whoever had left him had given them this pendant, one last artwork to take with them, and it was the only reason Dark's new Niwa was still alive. It allowed him to come out in his young tamer, which meant it was a powerful artifact indeed.

He had awoken twelve years too early in the heart of a two-year-old, bawling by the gate of a junkyard. Since then he had become the boy's protector, and the child had not spent as much time in his own body as Dark would have liked. He was young, and it was dangerous, and Dark could not always stop him easily when he put himself into danger. He had taken to putting the boy to sleep with magic since the one time he woke up while Dark was sleeping and cut himself on a piece of broken glass. The child could talk, but Dark could not bring himself to name him, knowing that the boy might remember his real name someday. Instead, he called him "Boy" or "Kid." The child himself called him "Da," which was later modified to "Daku," since Dark really wasn't ready to be a father.

He mainly slept in an old car, but he knew things couldn't continue like this. He had considered taking Boy to an orphanage several times, but each time he saw the sign that said "Hikari Owned" he had to turn back. He wouldn't abandon a child in a den of wolves. And, with the Hikaris now running the streets, that was exactly what the city had become. Today's Hikaris were misinformed about their past and had lost their refinement and much of their wealth, and they were more of a Yakuza Clan now than a family of artists. Still, talent will out, and they sponsored the few shows of art and music that appeared in the city. Dark had been to see a few such exhibitions. A number of the gorgeous pieces were obviously Hikari-made, but credited to "Anonymous," probably to keep up the current rough and cut-throat reputation of the family. Dark had heard some rumors that were almost definitely about Krad, but since the moron hadn't come after him yet, he wasn't worried. Besides, there was no point in catching him now, with the Black Wings destroyed. He wondered if Krad realized that or if the White Wing's instincts were too strong for reason. Either way, Krad hadn't caught wind of him, so he was safe.