Trigger Warning: child abuse

In a different mountain range, one veiled by dark clouds with jagged peaks sharp enough to rip the heavens, the midday bells rang out. Killua Zoldyck, age 5, was in the Grand Palace's training arena, with a needle sharp kunai knife clutched in his tiny fist.

He used the knife not to draw blood, but to etch lines and shapes into the stone floor.

Swirling lines and bold shapes, patterns and asymmetrical shadows. The crown prince drew, he drew the mountains that surrounded him, the most prominent thing his eyes would meet when he gazed out onto the horizon. With each stroke of the knife against the arena floor, a scraping sound would tickle his ears, floppy and lopsided in his youth. The small boy hummed contentedly to himself, sapphire eyes sparkling, a song both in his heart and on his lips.

As with anything this young prodigy laid his hands on, the scene he sketched into the ground was flawless, crafted with the skill of a professional artisan. However, unlike most things he laid his hands on, drawing was the one thing that made his heart sing. He enjoyed drawing, loved it. In fact, he was enamored with anything that fell under the artistic umbrella. Not just visual art, but audible art as well. He would hum made-up melodies to himself to fill the silence of the solitary confinement chamber; he would sculpt little birds and animals out of the course dirt on the ground of the escape-training room; and he would draw on the floor of the combat arena.

His fluffy white hair, his defining feature and the trait that earned him title of heir, would be splattered with homemade paints whenever he'd return from an assassination practice run. He kept a garden in between the cracks of the stone making his balcony, and tended meticulously to the eight tiny flowers that grew there.

He found no joy in violence, the trademark of his clan.

He found joy in creation, and artistic vision.

Killua shuffled his silky wings behind him as he shifted to get a better angle. He swished his tail behind him in pleasure, and a smile dusted his lips.

"Well, well."

A cold dread washed over Killua's formerly happy demeanor.

"What do we have here?"

Killua stopped his sketching, and drew his shoulders up to his ears. "Brother Ill," he said in the most emotionless voice he could muster.

"Kill, what is this?" Illumi asked with a derogatory gesture at the mural Killua had been etching into the white-marble arena floor.

Killua drew his wings around his shoulders like a blanket, anything for a hint of safety or warmth. He tightened his tail around his waist and held the kunai tightly against his chest. He tensed as Illumi walked around from where he had been standing behind the silver haired boy to stand at his side. A curtain of black hair swished across his pale forehead as 15 year old Illumi leaned over to inspect Killua's work.

"Were you, dare I say, drawing?"

Killua bit his lip, "Yes."

Illumi gave a condescending laugh, "Drawing? You must be kidding, little brother! Tell me you're kidding, Killua." His voice got dark and threatening towards the end.

Killua shivered, and a look of defiance flashed in his sapphire eyes.

"I was drawing, Illumi."

The silver haired boy refused to meet his brother's imposing gaze, one he knew was swirling with malice as it pinned his face between its razor sharp claws. "Oh, Killua. I'm disappointed in you. Zoldycks do not concern ourselves with trivial, lower class garbage. Leave menial tasks such as art to the commoners, brother. You mustn't dirty your name with such disgustingly dirty pastimes."

Killua bowed his head, tears stinging behind his eyes.

Illumi scuffed his boot across Killua's artistic work, one that had taken hours. Killua watched with wide, heartbroken eyes as his brother continued to spit upon the swirling lines that were the clouds, clouds that hung over sketched horizon line like a sparkling hope, casting light over the shadowy peaks beneath them.

"Disgraceful. And upon the floor of the training arena, no less. Not to worry, I will have this cleaned up," Illumi said in an exasperated tone. He fixed the smaller boy with a sharp glance. "Hand me the kunai, Kill. I'll show you what it's truly meant for."

With shaking hands, Killua handed the knife over.

With a soft yet devilish smile of gratitude, Illumi took the knife.

And then slashed it down across the nape of Killua's neck.

Killua whimpered, and folded in on himself at the sudden flash of pain. Hot blood gushed down his back, making the skin of his wings stick together, and staining his white hair a dirty russet hue.

"Tch," Illumi scoffed. "That's what a knife is for, Kill. Don't forget it… Come now," He kicked the 5 year old in the side. "Get up. Quit your whimpering, weakness is unbefitting of someone of your stature, not to mention it grates my skull."

Killua tumbled across the arena floor, bashing his head and scraping the delicate fiber of his wings, ripping the thin and still forming skin apart in a burst of unimaginable pain. The silver haired boy tried to choke it down, but a cry of pain burst from his lips nonetheless. Trembling, he lay on his side in a ball, helpless and drowning in the conditioning that prevented him from fighting back or even standing up for himself.

Illumi sighed in frustration, and gave his brother a dismissive look. "It appears that another round of pain tolerance training is required."

Killua gasped, dread and fear breaking over his head in waves more powerful than any ocean. His trembling intensified and uncontrollable sobs wracked his tiny body. Illumi glared at the display, and stalked up to the trembling creature on the ground. He looked down his nose at the boy, and added the finishing blow: "Mother and Father will not be pleased to hear of this."

Then he grabbed Killua by the nape of his neck and dragged him out of the arena and to the torture chamber where he would spend the next week in a constant state of pain.

From that day forward, Killua suppressed his artistic side, and never drew again.

From that day forward, Killua turned hard and impassive.

This pattern continued on for years; the silver haired boy would be shamed for certain aspects of his personality, especially as he got older, and would be conditioned into changing them. Would be conditioned into acting like a "proper Valkyrie." Killua hated the Valkyries who did this to him, and in turn hated himself and what he was becoming. One day he snapped.

That was the day he ran away from home.

He left Kukuroo Mountain in an effort to escape those horrible Valkyries and the constant onslaught of self hatred, however running away only proved to intensify it. With no other Valkyrie around, the only one left to take the brunt of his hatred was himself.

Finding peace in the Hidden Oasis had been a great help, but it wasn't until he met Gon and experienced true acceptance of who he was that he was able to begin to quell the negative emotions. The sense of peace and belonging that his new best friend brought him was unparalleled, and Killua would do all in his power to return the favor. He would accept Gon no matter what, and he would make sure that Gon was never in a position such as his own, or the suppression of the purring, ever again.

AN: flash back chapter!

Also, I said this on ao3 so I thought I'll say it here too:

I have a lot already written.. like a lot. And I started posting day by day to buy myself time to finish writing all this mess, however I am impatient and kind of want to be all caught up posting wise. If you want me to post all 64 chapters and 150k plus words (and growing) like, all at once, I totally will. Just lemme know, and I might make the server mad at me, but I will.
If you're weird like me and like reading everything all at once rather than day by day (ayyy, fellow brother/sister/comrade in arms) then I'll do it for you, bro