A/N: Shorter than promised. Gomen-nee~~! It's revolving in only a short event so I couldn't expand it much. I think it's too descriptive... and too deep. Sorry for repetitive usage of terms and ideas. Probably did five versions of this thing. Tried to work hard.

Will end at this today. Maybe another week or so before I can update. :| I still have ALH.

Disclaimer: Kurapika and Kuroro (who is a minor cameo in this chapter) is owned by Yoshihiro Togashi. I own the rest, I suppose.

Original word count: 4,567

Chapter Two

~Elegy of the Spirits~

But even still, the memories will refuse to fade.

The fire had killed off all the sounds of remaining life, and the only think you would hear is the crisp crackling of the logs and wood that hat surrendered to it. People lay dead everywhere, staining the grass with their blood. The sight was so gruesome; no one would be able to imagine what happened there. It was like an image from the human's very fictitious, imaginative mind. But it was a terrifying image, one any man would not find fit to reach a thought in his or her mind.

From a distance, a man with a black fluttering cape snapped a book shut, and soon it completely disappeared from his hand. He took a deep breath, a final letting go. He pocketed his hands and made his way downhill, leaving the fire, the corpses, the… everything.

The fire consumed everything, even itself.

Nothing remained of the once powerful nation.

What… happened here?

When Kurapika peeked from between the bushes on top of the hill, the last he caught of a human would be the man's disappearing fluttering cape. He wanted to run, pounce on the man and ask what happened, but his feet felt glued to the ground.

The last memory he had, before running through the bushes, was the order of Sarantsartsral to him, while he was lounging around by a tree. (It was one of those things Saran influenced him in doing – laze around doing nothing.)

"Kurapika!"
"Saran?"
"Do me a hu~uge favor?" she asked.
"Depends."
"Pick me some wild berries," – a pause – "A hundred of them, and only the ripest."
"Huh? Why me?"
"Do I have to send you flying to the mountain?" she said, but her voice faltered at the end, betraying her worry.
To Kurapika, though, it sounded like a do-it-or-I'll-cry. "No, Saran," he said, but did not move until he was pushed.

He was even joyous to be asked to do something. He still had his previous conscience, and he thought lying around doing nothing was completely unproductive and bad. Besides, he had to respond because Saran was forcing him to. He was pushed…no, shoved, to the bushes. It didn't feel right, like there was something hidden behind Saran's words. It felt fishy for him. Nevertheless, not minding to call on Vas, his buddy, he went up to the mountain straight to what he and Saran called the 'Harvest Garden.'

The Harvest Garden was a beautiful, virgin, untouched piece of ground in the forest. It was a small, 100-meter-square patch of flat land. It had beautiful, bountiful bushes of berries around it. Flowers grew between the bushes. Grass greener than anywhere grew there, around a lake where there were two fishes swam side-by-side. Low trees bordered the hangout place for the two, giving just sufficient shade. Everything was beautiful.

He headed to the bushes of berries –a few steps away – and stared at them hungrily. They were beautifully purple, fresh and ripe. Just in season. He started to wonder at what Saran would use with those.

Of a hundred of it.

After whispering a quick prayer to the goddess of harvest, he started by plucking one and popping it in his mouth. It was still sour. He went to the next shrub and tasted it – this time it was bitter. He knew how meticulous Saran was when it comes to taste, and she was only asking one hundred perfect, round, ripe berries. Only. Of course, if he wanted to wake up alive tomorrow, he had to do it.

Even the strongest of all soldiers would melt into jelly when they experience her tongue lashings.

Perfection! The sound of his mind rang him out of his reflections. He stared at the shrub with delicious clumps of round, purple berries. There were around fifteen clumps before him, each clump having around nine berries each. He did the mental math and concluded that the berries were enough. He wondered what Saran would do with those sweet treats. He licked his lips in anticipation. Saran was a great cook, and with great ingredients… He started to greedily collect the clumps into his shirt, bundling them up.

He was humming happily, conjuring up images and tastes of a sweet, freshly baked berry pie that filled the air with its enticing aroma. He got the berries and took one drink from the lake before finally excitedly getting ready to dash back home to return.

But now, where was he to return to? As he looked down, the palace has been reduced to ashes. The houses are nothing but burnt wood. The grass was tainted red. Corpses were strewn everywhere. The remains of the fire burnt what was left to. It was frightening. It frightened him.

He ran down the hill, through the path that led back to the village. He didn't really understand why he ran, he just did. He ran, ran, and ran; he couldn't even see, for his eyes were cloudy with tears. There was a pain in his heart he didn't quite understand, a pain he couldn't quite name. But it was there, and it felt like it would be there forever. It glued to his sanity, to his emotions. It choked him. It suffocated him. But still, it stayed there.

"Father… mother…" he called, wishing for the little chance of them being alive. "Saran…" He wasn't looking, he wasn't paying attention. He tripped and fell face first to the ground.

That's when he couldn't stop it anymore, and the tears flooded out, flushing out of his eyes. Loss was felt between his sad, dark eyes. He started to his the ground with his fist. "Why?" His cries became shouts of anger. Of rage. He knew, somehow, that this was one of the reasons why Saran sent him off to find the berries. Why her tone betrayed all her fear and worry. But why him? And why only him?

When he looked up, he felt like everything had cleared out. He saw, from a distance away, the bodies he had aimed to find… to weep upon. He finally spotted the two bodies of the two most important people in his life. He stood up, stumbling on his own feet. He ran across the tiny remains of the fire, jumping to skip on the people. How it pained him, how each face he could put a name on. Everyone looked familiar, and every time he saw, he could feel like he was breaking. He wanted to close his eyes to prevent himself from seeing. He didn't want to…

"Papa!" his lost calls echoed beyond the mountains that bordered their territory. "Mama!"

He neared the two bodies that looked so familiar to him, the two bodies of the most important persons in his life. "Papa… mama…" He shuffled to them, and his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. His father was dead. His mother was dead. His family was dead. His hands went across his parents' bodies to hug them, and he bathed in their warm blood. He wiped his teary eyes and dirty face with his bloody hands. Everybody who made life 'life,' was now dead. Even Saran was…

Saran?

He walked the entire village; painfully putting names on every dead face he'd be able to stumble upon. The tears that had welled up started to break through. A warm drop slid from his eyes down his cheek, slowly, painfully. It cleaned the blood he had wiped on his face upon hugging his parent's bodies.

His eyes, even though cloudy, continued to search for a sign of his missing friend. His mind flashed scenes of joy – playing in the meadow, talking about life, sky gazing – but none felt real, and he thought all those memories would be fictional thoughts his mind made up for him and his sanity. Why did he think so? Because all he could see was bloody gore scattered everywhere, with no sign of life.

He couldn't even find Vas.

By then he had walked halfway the village, and thunder rolled mightily above him. But today, it didn't spook him like before. It brought his spirit and senses back to earth. It pulled him back to the ground. He was thankful, for he was getting lost in his own dark nightmare.

The trees swayed in a choreographed dance in the beat of the world's natural song. The wind whispered with it, its cool freshness beating upon his face. The wind scattered flowers, their fragrance mingling with the breeze.

He knew the ghosts of this part of his past will haunt him forever; an unending elegy of the ghosts.

The wind whipped more ferociously now, and the gust whipped up the scattered leaves on the ground. The first drops of rain fell on the blood-soaked earthen floor. It wet his skin, his hair, and his clothes. The rain fell not only on his body but also on his soul.

He looked up at the sky and his eyes were wet by tears from the heavens that mirrored his own. The dark heavy hue of the clouds was reflected by his own cloudy ones. His aquamarine eyes were gray as the sky that hung above him ungratefully.

By then, he had walked halfway the village, and thunder rolled mightily above him. But today it didn't spook him like before. It brought his spirit and senses back to earth. It pulled him back to the ground. He was thankful, for he was getting lost in his own nightmare.

The trees swayed in a choreographed dance in the beat of the world's natural song. The wind whispered and hummed with it, its cool freshness beating upon his face. The wind scattered flowers, their fragrance mingling with the gentle breeze.

He knew the ghosts of this part of his past will haunt him forever; an unending elegy of the spirits. Spirits of the people he had grown up with. Spirits of the people he loved. Spirits of the only people he knew. Their memories would disturb him forever. It would stay in his dreams, in his life. It would block his view of the sun in his future.

The leaves whipped more ferociously now, and the wind whipped up the scattered leaves on the ground. The first drops of rain fell on the blood-soaked earthen floor. It wet his skin, his hair, and his clothes. The rain fell not only on his body, but also on his soul. His hair stood in ends out of fear and shock – he wasn't ready for this.

He walked north in a pace that was dead and zombie-like. He wasn't in a rush; he wasn't in any problem at all. But never did he stumble upon his friend's body.

A part of him continued to hope she was alright.

The boy, cold, hungry, and tired, slumped on what remained of his house's burnt wall, putting ashes on his star-white shirt. The rain continued to fall on him, preventing him from shouting angrily at no one in particular. The rain breeze sent wafts of his mother's perfume into his nose. It killed him slowly, painfully; it tortured him.

But still, he wanted it to last. It felt like his mother's last goodbye to him.

'Goodbye…'

As the rain fell, a fog, thick and suffocating, wrapped the rain-soaked village. But to Kurapika, it felt just like another fog – his mind and body was too numb to think. He hugged his knees tighter and drained himself in his tears. The fog merely dampened his soul even more. Well, it wasn't like the sun would brighten him up, no?

"Kuruta." A voice like the soft melody of the seas awoke him from his death-like trance. He was reminded of Saran, and his heart felt like breaking.

"What?" he answered, weakly. He didn't want to engage in any conversation with anyone, for his head and heart and his entire being felt so heavy. He was far too miserable to repair.

The voice sighed, sounding more to Saran in his ears. He was tempted to look up to check if it was really her that came to visit him. If it was, he wouldn't mind. But the fetal position felt comfy to him at the moment, so he didn't budge. "Kurapika," the voice said, sounding tender. "I want to talk to you."

"You already are," he groaned lightly. "What do you want, anyway?" He was trying to keep monotone, but he was starting to tremble.

A cold finger traced his chin as it lifted his head gently. He came face-to-face with a beautiful creature – Second only to Saran, his mind added – that had long, billowing tresses of silver that dangled to her knee. He wore an off-the-shoulder white dress that almost took on the same color of her very pale skin. She had the high collarbones of a fine, cultured princess. But her expression was cold and uncaring – none of the happy smiles Kurapika was hoping to see. "Will you listen to me now?" the girl asked, voice lingering from calm to threatening. It was obvious she was getting irritated, but she kept control.

"I don't have a choice now, do I?" Kurapika sighed. The tenacity of the spirit-girl-like-creature irked him. "But first, who are you? ...What are you? And… what do you want from me?" He crossed his arms across his chest to add the effect.

The spirit smiled at him, but in a way he found uncomfortable. "Ahh, Guardian. You'll know soon enough." She paused a while, staring at him with glistening amber eyes. "I can tell you one, though – I am a spirit wolf, and your fates are interlocked with mine." She breathed, preparing to begin her lengthy explanation. "I am the reincarnation, of the one who fights for justice. I am the one you leave home to search for, yet I am the one you come home to. I am the one who keeps you going. I am. I am intuition. I am open-mindedness, I am loyal heart."

She breathed again, giving time for Kurapika to take in what she just said. He was staring at her with unnervingly empty eyes. Ignoring it, she continued. "I am the one who lives in the future, who comes back to lead you there. I'm the one who cares for you day and night, but you don't care." She smiled sadly, memories flooding her. "But where do you find me? You haven't seen me, now, have you, Kuruta? But I have always been there. This is the first time, isn't it? But well, where was I, you ask? I am everywhere. I am your mother. I am your cousin. I am the trees. I am the forest. I am nature. I am Vas. I… am Saran." Her empty eyes looked up at Kurapika to watch his reaction.

Kurapika couldn't help but gasp. He may not understand what she meant between the lines, but upon the mention of Saran, his heart stopped. Could it be…?

"I've been watching you," the spirit said, voice sounding a little more solemn that earlier, "ever since you were born. Believe me." The spirit paused. "My arrival has marked the change that will start to happen in your life, which had interlocked with us."

Kurapika sighed, and buried his head back between his knees. "I don't want to," he hissed, but it was more of a sob. "Leave me alone." I just want to be back to the life I had before… Tears started to fall again.

The spirit's mouth gaped wide open at him. "Fool!" It cursed angrily. "Why aren't you grateful? Ahh, the forest shall be your new home, and the wolves be thy guardians. Don't be of spite. You should be proud of this, even. Not everybody is given this gift. But no words change the fate of one." The spirit sighed again, the nth time the past few minutes they've been talking. "Listen to me, Kuruta. You must know how to live with the wolves, your ancestors. You must learn how to be with them. You were born to. They will be your family. They will adopt you; they will be your saviors. They will be your new kinsmen."

With that, the spirit disappeared into thin air.

Kurapika wandered off, staring emptily at his soil-dirty hands. Tears washed longingly on his face, and the rain washed them over, too. He was wet head to toe, and he was shivering cold inside and outside.

The forest was no knew thing to him; it was his second home. Every tree had a distinction in his eyes; there was a map of him implanted in his mind. He knew the place better than Saran, and he never got lost. But that day, he felt utterly misplaced and confused, like a lost puppy searching for its home. Saran, who had served as an elder sister and a playmate, was no longer there to give him the comfort and security he was used to. He was whimpering, controlled sobs escaping from his dry mouth. His throat felt dead.

He was walking aimlessly across his forest home, stumbling on roots of trees, wounding himself with the thorns that lay on the forest floor. "Saran…" he uttered. "Mother, Father…" his voice was silent and rattling like a snake's. He was shivering, shuddering. He felt insecure. Safety was no longer a privilege to him. It was lost to him.

Kurapika wandered off aimlessly, staring emptily at his soil-dirty hands. The tears that have fallen from his eyes were washed over by the rain. He was as wet as a chick that has just cracked from its egg, and he was shivering cold inside and outside. He tried to warm his body by rubbing his hands on his forearms, but his heart was as cold as ice, and a sense-numbing feel was enveloping his mind.

He felt weak.

He felt useless.

The forest was nothing new to him – it was his second home, a secret haven he can run off to. Every tree had a special distinction that differentiated them from the rest. A map of the forest was implanted in his mind. He knew the place better than Saran, and never did he get lost in his entire existence.

But that day, it was the opposite. Every tree looked just the same as the one he passed. He felt like he was running in circles. He felt like a misplaced puppy trying to find its way back home – except that he didn't have anywhere to return to now. Saran, who had served as an elder sister, tutor, and playmate, was no longer there to give him the comfort and security he was showered in, before. He was whimpering, controlling the sobs that had managed to escape out of his dry mouth. His throat felt dead.

He was walking in no direction across his forest home, stumbling on the giant roots of the trees that sprouted from the ground. The thorns that lay scattered on the floor wounded him and tore his clothes. "Saran…" his tiny plea of help finally came out. "Mother, Father…" his voice was as silent and as rattled as a snake. He was shivering, shuddering. He felt insecure, and starting that day, Security was no longer a privilege to him. It was indefinitely lost to him.

A haunting song of a wolf howl pierced the night air. It was mournful, it was sad, sorrowful. It sliced the tranquil surroundings. His face showed no features of surprise, but inside, he was a little taken off guard. It eve reminded him of a few of the spirit's words that continued to scare him. "The forest will be your new home, and the wolves by thy guardians." He was having a headache understanding what the spirit told him. He only grasped her frequent usage of the word 'guardian.' But still he did not grasp the hidden meaning, because at that moment he didn't care. He was more focused in getting to his aimed goal, where he wanted to go.

Wherever that may be.

The pathless young boy wandered without a word in the forest. He didn't care about what the spirit meant, unknowing how important it was, how it could change his life.

He was clueless.

He tripped on the muddy ground, barely catching himself with his hands. He sat up and leaned on a trunk of a giant Sierra redwood tree that stood at maybe a hundred feet tall. He felt like he was shrinking.

His eyes drooped slightly, and his mind attacked him with thoughts, making him even drowsier. "The forest shall be your new home," he recited, "and the wolves be thy guardians."

He sighed. It didn't make sense to him.

What do the wolves have to do with this?

What do they want from me?

When he woke up, the sun was beating on him. It was bright and sunny, and the sky was a happy shade of blue, mirroring his own. The clouds were white sheep dancing on a blue field. He blinked three times to get used to the light and started to stand up. He dusted his shirt – which was still wet – and started to look around. He saw himself in the middle of the forest – in an area he couldn't seem to familiarize with. He walked, trying to find a spot he would be able to mark in his mind's map so he would be able to locate himself.

But no matter where he went, everything seemed lost. The surroundings were unfamiliar to him. So he picked on a random path and started to walk through it.

Suddenly, his stomach grumbled, and his face contorted with the pain that came with his hungry stomach's pangs. He clutched his stomach with his right arm, and started to maneuver his way through the unknown forest.

After a few minutes of walking, he stumbled across a rushing river. It was the only border to him to the other side where he saw trees with bountiful fruits. The river was around fifty meters across. And the current was blinding fast. If he tried to swim across, there's a 99% chance he'll just be washed away by the current. And die.

Dying. The thought tempted him for a while then, before he finally shook his head.

Walking by the bank of the river, he tried to find a nice spot where maybe, the two sides will be closer than the 50 meter gap. He noticed the sides were slanting, and were bound to be close to each other at some point. He trotted nearby, and his doubts were confirmed.

At this one little area, the river was only, say, five meters wide, and he thought, maybe, he would be able to jump. But he still wasn't sure. He didn't want to risk his life. He was a calculative person, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to let risks stand in his way. He believed in thoughts before actions, and he has always lived up to that belief.

He started back in the forest, making sure he took note of the direction where the river was. He found a little bamboo grove, with around only ten bamboos, and decided he'd maybe use that to cross the river. But how am I supposed to pull this off the ground?

As he was pondering on his present problem, he heard a bird song, soft, swift, and silent. It was sharp, and ordering. It lasted for only around five seconds. He was wondering what bird that was or so, because he couldn't familiarize himself with it.

Suddenly, he jumped up in surprise when he saw a beaver pass by and nibbled on one of the bamboos. When it managed to cut away the entire bark and sent the eight foot bamboo down the ground, it just scurried away. Kurapika's left eyebrow twitched, and he was amused. His heart felt warm suddenly, with the sudden new emotion to block his sadness and grief.

Fate's play on human life, huh? He thought, and walked.

So for my luck, he said, and started to pick up the bamboo. He was used to carrying heavy things – Saran used to make him carry anything and everything. Carry Vas, carry the sheep, Carry me, were the usual orders of Saran when they were out playing in the meadow.

His face showed pain as his mind replayed a memory of him carrying Saran on his back while running around the meadow. She had her arms outstretched and she was shouting, "I'm a fairy! I'm the goddess of the world!"

He got the bamboo to the riverside. Going to the rear end of the bamboo, he started to push. Sweat trickled from his forehead to his eye, down his cheek, to his neck. It was easy to carry, but the energy was being drained out of his tired body.

He pushed the bamboo so that the other end touched the other side. When he was sure it was fine, he started to cross the river using the bamboo. Step, step, step. He did it slowly, and with every step he made sure he was balanced, and would be able to take one more step.

The current below the bamboo bridge rocked quickly. It scared him, maybe it would topple the entire thing altogether. He was no good at swimming. That was totally his alien field.

Suddenly, the water went up the bamboo and startled him.

He slipped.

What happened? His mind was blurry and he was confused. He tapped the ground beside him and it was soft, comfortable. Grass, maybe? He thought. He didn't feel cold.

Wait a minute. His mind's engines started to gear up. I fell in the water… Then why…? He sat up with his eyes still closed and started to rub his hurting head. He rubbed his eyes. He opened them slowly, and found himself on green grass, wearing new, clean, dry clothes. Even his hair was dry.

He panicked. Where was he? What happened? Who brought him to where he was? He didn't like being as clueless as this is, especially since it was him who was in the hands of… well, whoever it may be. He didn't trust much in his fate, no matter how much luck it had showered on him recently, if you evade counting the good things.

He didn't believe the wolf spirit, too. He couldn't. It was unbelievable. If he was born a thousand years back when his people still believed in animal spirits, maybe he would've given in to the spirit. Maybe he'd be tailing her.

He rubbed his eyes and his eyelids fluttered as he battled to open it. He kept blinking, too, to manage with the bright light. He was halfway through a shade of a tree. His upper half was on the shade, the other half under the cool, spring sun.

He turned his head up to see a girl. She was wearing a light pink skirt that stayed to her knee, and a brown blouse that matched up to the color of her hair. She had a pearl-white face almost like Saran, but this girl's looked more like marble. She had deep, dizzying indigo eyes that stared at him. She smiled at Kurapika.

"Why, hello."