Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again.

– Paul Simon

The Giving Tree

Hiei's POV

Monster.

"Your Highness, he shouldn't be allowed to live!"

The words were fuzzy at first, fractured pictures that refused to come together. Something rough bit against my back, clawed at my bones, but my eyes refused to open. Angry voices, clanging metal and the scent of stale blood–

Who were they talking to?

"My Lord!" The sound of a shoe close by but my head wouldn't move; I couldn't even twitch a finger. In that space between asleep and awake the voice spoke again; pained, pleading, almost pitiful.

I knew that voice.

"That is not for you to decide." The simple phrase provided no answers, spoken from another familiar throat.

Why was the King here?

"But your Majesty, he could destroy us all!"

"If this child ever attempts to harm my people, I will deal with the matter personally – you of all people should know this."

Liquid tracing a cool pattern along my arm, the tell-tale prickling of a thick brush. Still, my body refused to obey, snatches of conversation coming slowly, as if directed at someone else.

But then the scents of opium and hemlock registered.

And I heard chanting from far away.

Monster.

"Suzaku, can we trust you with this task?"

Finally, my lids peeled back to see the blonde man kneel before Kurama's father, bandaged right hand pressed to his chest. His head remained down but I saw the anger there – it crept from his strained jaw and too-straight shoulders – though none stained his tongue. "If it is what my King would have from me."

This was just like before: when they hurt me, when they TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME. I struggled then, fingers grasping even as my leg lashed out, upsetting the incense pot. The foul mixture burned my ankle but I didn't care; the pain allowed me to think, to return to myself–

I refused to go through with this.

Not again.

"King Yomi!"

Soft hands stopped me, chased away phantoms of filth-laden sewers and her screams. The King's face materialized, fingers gentle at my head and shoulder, stray strands of hair sliding down to brush my cheek. He smiled but the gesture curled my stomach for his lips were pressed thin, unyielding to emotion–

Cold.

"Tell me, Hiei, do you know why you were allowed to stay in Gandara?"

My eyes squeezed shut and I choked on my own tongue, biting back images that came one after another: a metal cage, an ice-packed road leading to the unknown capital; being dressed in the dark only to rush and grovel in a royal hall, praying to be chosen this time. A boy younger than I, wide-eyed and reeking of innocence. He'd asked the King for a friend and . . . A name–

He'd given me a name.

"The Prince."

King Yomi hummed at the strangled words, words I could barely hear over the beating of my heart. "And what would you do for the Prince, our son?"

Memories from before Kurama attempted to creep forth as someone rekindled the opium concoction, tugging at my consciousness with jagged teeth. Choking hands and countless beatings; ice lacing my throat, my wrists, my–

Monster.

"Anything." I rasped, terrified of the images, the look on his face, those too-big hands on me.

King Yomi's smile softened though the creases around his eyes did not. "Even if it caused you pain?"

His fingers lifted to trace the edges of the cloth at my forehead, the scars at my throat, scars I'd done my best to hide through dirt, high collars, even powder. I froze as a nail brushed my larynx, at the fingertip lifting the cloth at my brows, afraid to breathe in the face of that smile. He knew . . . He KNEW and he let me to stay.

It took several moments to remember my voice. "Anything."

The King released me then, the smile that greeted the Prince and I each day returning. "Good." He breathed, running a comforting hand through my sweat-soaked hair. "You are a good child."

His attendants drew closer then and Suzaku came to my side, though he didn't lay down. Rather, he sat facing me and unfastened the leather guard at his left hand with his teeth, glaring blue never leaving me. Everything grew hazy then, the knight's hair and eyes smearing into a sunlit sky, the room slipping into a dim abyss.

"From today forward, you must remember one thing, Hiei."

King Yomi's voice reached through the fog, keeping me on the edge of wakefulness. The low timbre held me when lightning bit my wrist, scenting the air with fresh blood.

"No matter what anyone says,"

Fire lit my veins, singing my brain and stealing the rest of his words. I screamed as black flames coated my arm, mad creatures swirling only to be caught by ink stains. The letters burned, branded themselves on my skin, searing to the bone–

Stirring its rage.

"Never forget that above all else–"

Monster.

"You belong to Gandara."

Like a corpse cresting the water's surface, the waking world called me back without a fight. The ceiling came first, dull gray stones decorated with swirling runes which even now pulsed with violent light, the remnants of cryptic magic. Next came the scent of heady copper and I fought the urge to cough, to expel the bitter herbs caught in my throat. Soft light registered then but I couldn't move my body, couldn't feel anything other than the incessant throbbing in my right arm.

Slowly, my eyes drifted shut and the events from earlier rose, piercing the murky depths. Kuwabara and Yusuke both lost their fight, leaving the Tengu to me. Karasu's thoughtless gaze and Rui's confidence were annoying as ever but I couldn't understand Kurama's fear, the panic lacing his pulse beneath that stare. A whisper of wind, the sting of scythes, the fox's scream; and then–

Nothing.

"Finally awake?"

I bit back a growl, forcing my head to turn until one cheek brushed cold stone. The light grew with the movement, further cementing the headache between my temples. Rather than beside me as in the dream, Suzaku reclined against the far wall, well outside the reach of the luminous circle. Bereft of armor, the knight sat proudly in his pale silk, flimsy material flowing from an upraised knee to pool at his ankles. Tunic sleeves held in place by gold bangles, his chest peeked between folds of cloth – stiff collars and undergarments were unnecessary here. Despite being a warrior, his skin remained barren of scars, something I'd never understood. Fair hair fastened away from his face, twin-dyed bangs touched either cheek, frivolous symbols of his family and name. Those scarlet locks outlined the coronet gracing his forehead, a simple golden ring centered around a gemstone. His left hand rested upon his lap, cursed symbols free for all to see whereas his right remained buried in his hair, safely hidden from view. But I knew what hid in that scalp he was so proud of, the lost appendage that haunted him even now–

The absent leather straps at his wrists proved it.

When I didn't respond he smirked, twirling deft fingers around a putrid bang. "You lost control again, though it was worse than last time."

My eyes widened before I could bring my face into submission. The hint of a sigh escaped as dread weighed my stomach, gaze moving to the ceiling. "What did I do?"

I didn't want to ask the question – to give this arrogant fool more power over me than he already had – but Kurama's screams rang still in my ears, bringing to mind too many things I wanted to forget.

His lips peaked further, fingers languidly twisting a red strand. "Do you really want to know?"

Anger bubbled in my gut, bringing with it memories of discarded fruit and musty books, fierce lightning and too-wide eyes. The circle reacted to the emotion, green light brightening to a putrid shade while the runes hummed viciously against my skin.

Suzaku raised a brow and the smirk slipped as he raised his left hand, letters written in the trees' tongue rustling across a calloused palm. The dragon reacted to their dance, red eyes gleaming as it wrapped tighter around my arm, bunching both flesh and muscle between dark coils.

Welts dotted my spine and arms though I refused to acknowledge the pain; that would only make the circle burn hotter, as any strong emotion did. Eyes fixed on the faded orange and blue script overhead, I forced deep breaths into my nose before letting the air slip from my mouth, continuing until the rage settled and we were wrapped once more in semi-darkness.

Only then did the knight lower his hand, long fingers sheathing the offending symbols. We remained that way for a time, Suzaku watching while I stared at the ceiling, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of speaking.

Finally, he broke the silence, though his voice contained no glee. "You tried to kill the Koorime's manservant."

That earned my attention. I watched as his brow furrowed and the hand fell from his hair, eerie light illuminating the nub where his right thumb should have been. Though rough bandages itched at my abdomen and thighs, I knew better than to survey the damage:

I couldn't rise without Suzaku's approval.

"Of course, if you'd succeeded in slaying him we wouldn't be here right now." He scoffed, gaze falling to the flawed limb in his lap. "Gandara can't afford strained relations with Hyouga," The words trailed away and he raised his head, eyes narrowing to venomous slits. "Especially over something as filthy as you."

The barb passed through, burrowing deep inside where countless dark things dwelt. I stopped the weak voice rising in protest, a speckle of conscience and self-worth instilled by the fox. There was no point in arguing with the truth–

Not when evidence from the night before still tainted my skin.

"What else?" I demanded, noting his defensive stance, sword within easy reach despite my imprisonment. Suzaku may have been many things but he wasn't an idiot:

He knew to fear darkness.

Suzaku leaned against the wall again, any traces of amusement gone from his face. "You ignored a direct order from Prince Kurama and gave yourself over to it willingly. Obviously, the Tengu defended himself – if not for King Yomi's intervention, you'd be dead right now."

I would pay homage to the King later – grovel at his feet if I had to – but Kurama's name banished any other thought, his screams stretching once more through the void. "What of the Prince?"

Icicle dread clenched at his silence and I struggled to raise my head, knowing and uncaring of the consequences. Light flooded the room, burrowing its way into my shoulders and neck but still I forced my neck from the floor, made him look at me. "Was the Prince harmed or not? Answer me!"

He snorted then, nose wrinkling at the display. "You think the King values your life over that of his own son?"

The runes shone brighter, calling to body and blood, but I refused to give in. Bracing both elbows, I forced my shoulders up, jaw grinding against the pain. King Yomi's face flitted across my mind's eye, boasting the same cool smile from years ago. Even now I could feel his hold, fingers pressed to shameful scars, sickening authority tainting his tone:

You belong to Gandara.

Suzaku watched my efforts a bit longer before clasping his left hand into a tight fist, a soft word breaking the enchantment. Green light faded to nothing then, allowing me to sit up without resistance. Rather than rise, however, I remained in the center of the circle, never breaking eye contact with the knight.

"Prince Kurama is fine, though he witnessed what happened along with everyone else."

My gaze shifted then, taking in blood-soaked bandages at my legs and stomach before settling on my right arm, to the dragon settled among pink flesh. "Does he know?"

Another snort. "How could he? The only ones who know the truth aside from you and the King are the royal guard." His eyes darkened then, frown deepening into a scowl. "If you ever tell anyone–"

"I won't." I snapped, bored with his dribble and idle threats.

He remained silent as I rose, taking in the lack of strength in my legs, the rare goose flesh dotting my skin, raw cuticles lining fresh fingernails.

Finally, when I pressed experimentally at the cloth covering my navel, he spoke. "They never should have spared a beast like you."

My eyes found him again, still seated as if posing for a portrait. One hand traced a lock of hair while the other rested at his side, notably closer to his blade. "Then again, so long as you're the Prince's pet, I have no say in the matter." Bitterness trickled from his throat, hatred lining every contour of his face. "But know this: I will do anything to protect this kingdom, even if it means murdering a monster."

For a moment, I simply watched him, this self-assured fool who held my life in his hand. How many times had I heard those words, wishing my mother drowned me the moment I was born? In those times, the fox's voice always found me, gave me purpose, reminded me of my reason for being–

I could never repay that kindness.

"I belong to Gandara." Emotion fled before the declaration. Passion and pride had no place here, not before the truth. "And I will protect it until my dying breath."

He raised a brow, lips curling away in a sneer. "And if you lose control and attack the Crown? Not even the Prince will be able to protect you then."

The implications boiled my blood, though I suppressed the anger. "If I ever raise a hand against my King or my Prince, I fully expect you to kill me. I won't stop you."

Suzaku held my gaze for a time but for how long, I couldn't say. Finally, he stood, glaring down at me with absolute disgust. "You'd best hope that day never comes." His said, voice a low purr, calm and dripping with malice. "If we ever cross blades, your death won't be an easy one."

He strode into the hall, then, leaving me to dress in the dark.

They never should have spared a beast like you.

Cold water shocked my spine, chasing layers of muck and blood from sweat-soaked skin. Breathing through clenched teeth, I glared at the ancient walls, an unwilling participant in my legs lowering me the rest of the way down. Knowing trees hummed at my presence, trunks worn smooth by centuries of use.

One of the few rooms in Schloss Wald composed entirely of living wood, the baths housed seven great pools, each nestled in the roots of a towering willow. The tubers performed multiple functions: from supporting the castle's left flank and filtering in water to acting as reservoirs, the trees had served the monarchy for centuries. Little natural light filtered into this place, so the soothe sayers who weaved Schloss Wald pressed specially selected seeds into the willow bark, giving birth to luminous shoots. Those plants now lined the trunks by the thousands, and though their glow remained indistinct, together they lit the chamber with something akin to dawn's light. An artistic touch, along with a tangible function:

Just what I'd expect from Kurama's people.

Of the pools, five were used for bathing, one for cleansing, while the last remained for healing. I didn't know what separated the last two from the others other than their color but I silently gave thanks for the healing pool–

It was the one I used most.

Without being asked, the roots submitted themselves to me, silently shifting from stepping stones to underwater benches. As always, they kept their opinions to themselves, ever willing to save poor fools from drowning. Slick wood pressed at either hip, cementing me in place as I worked at the bandages at my stomach. Soft hisses seeped out without permission; I cursed my trembling hands, clumsy and slow for the first time in years. The dragon glared up from tired knuckles, eyes hard and angry, though I was used to its ire.

A growl when at last the cloth fell away, revealing a mattered mess of blood, grit and muscle. I threw the soiled linen onto my clothes, forcing myself to sink until water lapped at my chest. The lavender liquid bit at the wound, gently sucking dirt and frayed flesh into clear depths. Biting one cheek, I tilted my head back and forced myself to relax, willing the wounds to heal.

And still the dragon watched.

A sudden sound and I spun around, heedless of the water and the cut marring my abdomen. White pierced my skull and I snarled as both feet slipped on smooth wood, nearly pulling me underwater. Panic rallied with pain when I realized my blades were with my clothes, that there was no way I could–

Then the rustling of feathers, along with a fine musk.

Even before my vision cleared, a question forced its way out. "Why are you here?"

The image came slowly; fuzzy at first, frayed at the edges, before each line finally became clear. Karasu stood at the edge of the farthest pool, skin translucent in the pale light. He wore his customary black though the material hugged his body the same way, cotton having replaced coarse wool. Rather than the revealing one that made the nobles uncomfortable, this tunic covered his abdomen entirely, concealing even the flesh at his throat. The collar attempted to hide beneath the fabric but I saw it anyway, bulging beneath the black, an unspoken death sentence:

A monstrosity he could only shelter here.

One minute passed, then another, but the Tengu didn't move – I knew he breathed only by the fogging of his mask. Karasu's gaze never left mine but something was different about it, too. Today they weren't the eyes of a living corpse. Hints of emotion lingered, things I'd long thought he put off: tinges of anxiety, uncertainty–

And overall, sadness.

Finally, I sank back against the willow root, just enough for the water to lap at the wound. "What, haven't had enough gloating? Did your mistress send you?"

Rather than answer, Karasu took first one step, then another, entering the pool nearest him without hesitation. A root rose to accommodate his steps, boots making a sickening sound as water filled them, though he didn't seem to care. Never breaking eye contact, he continued until he was through the water, soggy shoes squelching against dry wood. He knew to stay away from the emerald pool, though even I didn't know what the blessed liquid would do:

It wasn't for filth like us.

His steps remained graceful, unconscious, pliable to the gnarled wood marking his path around the holy water. The moss responded to his steps though I couldn't fathom what it said, green tufts shivering as an ancient trunk groaned in that strange tongue only the King understood.

A growl rose as Karasu neared my bath, a sound that came as naturally as breathing. He stopped, unnaturally still in those bloated boots, though he didn't back away. No, he continued his lukewarm stare, something resembling pity lurking beneath drooping lids. Like instruments, neither of us could express individual will, could do nothing of value without our patron's say-so.

We were well-trained dogs forever awaiting our masters' orders.

Only then did I notice the swollen right side of his face, purple-hued skin hugging the edges of the mask. A fresh crease marred the metal from top to bottom, and though the mask remained whole, the weld was obviously the work of an amateur.

Who could have gotten close enough to the Tengu to rupture his mask?

You tried to kill the Koorime's manservant.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Forgotten fear trickled in, conjured by the light reflecting off encasing metal. Another sound crept up my throat, desperate fingers raking against my skin. "I won't apologize." He tipped his head, the slight movement sending a handful of black strands over one shoulder. "If that's why you came, you're wasting your time."

I swallowed irrational emotion, gaze fixed on those pale hands. Instinct raved against not watching his face, at taking my eyes off my opponent. Still, I knew better with him:

My body remembered those hands.

When he refused to move, I relaxed the fist at my thigh, warning fading to a soft sigh. "Why are you here, Karasu?"

The question sounded tired to my own ears but I pushed away the fatigue, attention shifting to the shimmering leaves dotting the trees. Slowly, my thoughts were dragged to another place, another time:

Hands pulled at my body, soft and rough hands, big and small hands. Spider fingers squeezed my throat, silencing screams and any thought of fighting back. Knowing nails pressed at just the right places, drawing out whatever response they wanted, all while the bell chimed.

Frigid wind stole their laughter and chiding but their fluttering sighs remained, sighs only women could give. A strangled whimper at a hard touch, a bad touch. Heart pounding, I fought even as pressure mounted, demanding something I didn't understand.

Still, the bell chimed.

Suddenly, one of those hands struck my face, though the rhythm never changed. I didn't know I'd been growling until the sound died. "Don't you want to be a good boy?"

I knew better than to answer, even if I could talk around those slender fingers. The woman smiled, the sky filling my vision as she leaned over me. Teeth at my shoulder, my chest, along with the fresh scent of blood–

For the first time in months, I wanted my mother.

"Only good boys get presents." She purred, hair brushing my belly. "If you don't fight, we'll take you to her."

At first, I thought they meant mother, but that didn't make sense. I had only one memory of her: mother tearing at her beautiful clothes, soft face contorted with pain as they took me away, all while screaming a name, my name–

A name that didn't matter anymore.

No, they could only be talking about one person – her. The girl they tried to keep from me, who crept into this place with sweet treats and icy balm, tokens of friendship. Round rose-tinted eyes, too-thin limbs and the softest smile, a smile I'd do anything to protect. Whenever the sentries caught her, their anger always turned to me; I couldn't count the times they beat me and made her watch. Freely-given crystals clacked against the stone as she screamed, begging them to stop:

Even now, I heard those cries in my dreams.

The familiar creaking of wood near my ear and I lashed out, cursing my carelessness. Her image remained but I tucked it away, banishing her gentle touch and doe eyes. I couldn't think about her, couldn't even speak her name–

Such things were forbidden.

Karasu stood just out of reach, arms at his side, watching with clouded eyes. Wrists facing me, he tipped his head back, larynx protruding beneath thin cloth. I knew the gestures, yet only one hand opened to me, the other squeezed into a tight fist. For a moment, I hated Kaito and his teachings on morality:

They alone stopped me from tearing out his throat.

I bared my teeth, ignoring the pain as my legs drew into a crouch. "Why are you here, hóra? I won't ask again."

He didn't react to the slur; the blow I expected never came. Rather, he lifted his right hand slowly, deliberately, fingers unfurling inches from my face. A black spine lay in that scarred palm, barren of tufts and meticulously sharp. Beside it rested a tiny bobbin, dark thread already weaved through the makeshift needle.

For a second, I stared at the gift. I knew without asking that the spine came from one of his feathers and that the bobbin was probably the only one he owned – slaves were never afforded much. Even with his arched neck and ridiculous height, his gaze lacked condescension, sheltering an emotion I knew all too well.

I had no time for his pity.

"Get out."

The cold command didn't move him, nor did the snarl curling my lip. Suddenly, I wanted to break that beautiful hand, snap every bone, ligament and joint. The only thing that stopped me was knowing he would let me do it. Unless directed by his mistress, Karasu wouldn't raise a hand to anyone, even in self-defense–

Such submission curled my stomach.

Finally, he backed away, bending to place the needle and thread by my clothes. Bowing, he turned, retracing his steps around one pool and through another. Once at the door, however, he stopped, turning back to face me.

Before I could speak, he raised both fists before crossing them over his chest, right hand pressed tightly to his clavicle. Experience demanded a reaction, to avoid an attack or tear him to pieces but I stayed put, staring at those hands.

When he remained in that position, eyes never leaving mine, something stirred in my mind, something I thought I'd forgotten. "'Protect'?"

Karasu nodded, arms falling away. My nose wrinkled, churning the word over and over again. "Protect who?" Surely he couldn't mean Kurama.

He glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid someone would overhear. His fear was well-founded: the walls of Schloss Wald had ears, though they answered to none but the King. Surely he knew that. Was this something he didn't want King Yomi to know?

Brow furrowed, he turned to me and raised his right hand, index finger raised parallel with his body, middle finger slanted at a ninety degree angle. Then, he swiftly tapped that hand to his left shoulder, then the right before bringing it to rest against his right hip, those two fingers elevated all the while.

This, too, took a moment to process. When the word finally came all moisture left my mouth, lips parting to whisper. "The Princess?"

Another nod and his hand came to rest once more against his thigh, eyes lit with a chilling knowledge.

Dread pooled in my stomach and before I knew it I was on my feet, moving toward him. "What do you mean? What about the Princess?"

But he shook his head, hands retreating behind his back as if he'd said too much. Before I could stop him, he fled the baths, leaving me alone.

I cursed, striking the water with my fist. A gentle root nudged my calf, calling my attention to the gift he left behind. Slowly, hand pressed to my abdomen, I left the pool, taking the needle between fingers that still shook. Karasu's cryptic riddle could wait:

There were more pressing matters to deal with.

A/N: Hello again and thank you for your patience! I took a break from both TWB and my other story Hey You last month for the Inktober prompts, most of which focus on these two fics. If you're interested, be sure to check them out! You might find hints to future events in this story.

So, we see two very different relationships in this chapter as well as hear Karasu's 'voice' for the first time! What exactly ties these men to Hiei together, and what's up with the Tengu's message anyway? Back to Kurama next chapter, see you soon!

Hóra – whore