Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kurapika should have died with the rest of his clan. He’s only spared by the random chance of a cruel and uncaring universe.

He didn’t even leave their carefully isolated village for a particularly good reason. He’d been selfish. He’d just turned 20, the official age of majority in the secretive magical community, and he was chafing at the way his clan still refused to treat him as an adult.  

So he’d picked a fight with the elder - frustrated, as always, by the Kurta’s seemingly irrational caution when it came to the outside world. Obviously, as one of the few remaining sorcerous bloodlines, they’d always be in some danger from the wider magical community; but Kurapika had naively assumed this was mostly ingrained paranoia. 

When the elder denied his birthday-week request to travel to the local city and study in the Wizards’ Council’s branch library, it had been the last straw. Kurapika, with Pairo’s help, had simply slipped through the wards and snuck out anyway. 

He returned home with an armful of borrowed tomes and spellbooks, expecting to be lectured yet ultimately forgiven.

He returned to find that he no longer had a home. 

The carefully constructed wards that generations of Kurta had woven together, one on top of the other, a living tapestry of their people’s ancient magic - that barrier now lay in tattered pieces. Some hostile spell had simply torn them asunder with brute magical force - not bothering with an attempt to unravel the charms but simply destroying them. Even the most powerful kind of wizard or magical beast couldn’t have done this. It had been a group effort. An entire gang who’d come hunting for Kurtan blood.  

The elder had been right and Kurapika had been so, so wrong.

The remnants of the invaders’ magic hangs dark and heavy about the village. Kurapika’s skin crawls with every step. It feels like pushing through a thick, malevolent fog and yet he swallows his nausea and forces one foot after the other. He must see. He must know.

And he sees: that every single Kurta had been dragged out of their home and forced into a ritual circle in the center of the village; all one hundred and twenty eight of them, minus only Kurapika himself. 

That their freshly fallen corpses are discarded in a careless heap. That the invaders had gotten what they’d wanted - using the sorcerous blood to cast whatever the fuck this ritual was - and left the bodies where they’d fallen. 

That the murders hadn’t even had the self-preservation or common decency to burn the remains - an unwritten rule in the magical community, if only to avoid the vengeful spirits of those who died violently. Had it been arrogance or were they truly that powerful? 

Kurapika forces himself to confirm each and every death, putting hands on every single body and feeling for the life force that was drained away. He is distantly aware that he should probably have broken down - a normal person would probably be screaming or sobbing or trembling - but he doesn’t feel anything at all, just a hideous numbness, an emptiness in his soul, as his body moves almost of its own accord.

In the course of his examination, he notices that the bodies are free of any actual injury. Each Kurta had died in horrific pain - he can see that from their frozen expressions of agony - but there were no apparent wounds, neither blood nor bruises. Their life force, their precious sorcerer’s blood, had been drained directly via the ritual magic. 

Kurapika is no Clairvoyant, but as a sorcerer, his magic tends to react to his own emotions in unexpected ways. And as he reaches out with trembling fingers and carefully closes Pairo’s sightless eyes, he experiences a sudden vision of the future, painful in its clarity. 

Two paths are laid out before his feet, diverging sharply from the decision he’s about to make. They veer away from one another - two roads that will never again overlap. 

Option one: Kurapika will devote his life to avenging his slain clan. He will spend years tirelessly training to hone his magic, becoming the most powerful of sorcerers. He will trade favors and become entangled with the politics of the Council of Wizards and the Vampire Lords and the Faerie Courts - sometimes he will be caught up between them for years but he will never lose sight of his ultimate goal, the fact that he is using them to gain information on the killers of the Kurta. 

Eventually, decades from now, he will track them down. He will slaughter them all, including the then-infamous Phantom Lord, master of dark magic; the one who lead the murderous gang and drank his the power of undying from Kurtan blood. Kurapika will sever that immortality - using his own blood, at the cost of his own life. 

It will be a worthy sacrifice. He will not fear his own death - only failure. And that is why he will succeed and have his vengeance. 

Option two: Kurapika will let the murderers roam free, to torment the wider magical community and eventually perish at the hands of others (or potentially succeed in placing the Phantom Lord above the gods themselves - the vision is hazy on this matter, because it is no longer Kurapika’s concern on this path). 

His clan’s intact bodies are a key to this. Necromancy is an option. It’s forbidden magic, of course and it will take considerable time and effort to learn it, but Kurapika will succeed in due time. He will use his own soul as payment to the gods of death - trade his life for that of his clan. He will not flinch. To give his single soul in order to restore 128 others - a good bargain and a worthy death. 

And, even as he is still mentally reeling from experiencing an entire life’s work compressed into the space of mere moments, he sees a third option: Kurapika will turn aside from both his revenge and his mad quest to restore the dead to life, and he’ll- 

He shakes his head and dispels this vision as quickly as it appears, while the outlines of happiness and friends and family are still fuzzy, before they can tempt him properly. He knows why his magic conjured this - with both paths ending in his own demise, some part of his soul seeks desperately for a way he can survive - but it does not matter. His own life is now forfeit; that is the way it will be, because turning aside is not an option. 

Which is it to be, then? His vengeance or the restoration of the Kurta? 

As he ponders it, Kurapika’s magic conjures another vision, though this one is hazy. He catches only brief glimpses of the many alternate universes in which he does not even have the luxury of this choice. Where the dead are dead and there is no power imaginable that will restore them to life again and Kurapika himself drowns in a sea of blood and chains and disembodied eyes. It makes him realize the rare and beautiful thing that is within his grasp now - to actually re-create the life of those he loves, rather than simply take it from his enemies. 

Very well. Necromancy it is. 

Kurapika lifts his hands and lets the magic flow out of him, powered by his own desperation and his sudden new resolve. He casts a spell that will place the entire village into a magical stasis. The buildings will remain in ruins and the blood will stay wet and red and pungent, but most importantly of all, the bodies of his clan will stay as they are, intact and preserved and sustained by Kurapika’s own mana.

It’s rough work and it won’t last for long - maybe a week or two - but that’s fine. That’s all the time Kurapika requires to figure out his next step. 

It turns out that there are many unexpected restrictions to raising the dead.

He reads about this in one of the tomes he’d borrowed from the Wizards’ library - not that the Council allowed any real study of Necromancy but this particular text is permitted since it doesn’t tell its reader anything but the most basic concepts. 

The first restriction is one Kurapika already learned in his vision. Necromancy cannot be cast from mana, not even if you were a sorcerer like him. The wizards’ aphorism when discouraging too-curious pupils is ‘only death can pay for life’ and while this is an oversimplification, it apparently holds true. Death is one of those universal laws that magic is not permitted to interfere with under ordinary circumstances, and the only way to work a spell is to drain one’s own life force away. The vast majority of Necromancers refuse to accept this and turn to increasingly extreme alternatives in an attempt to sacrifice the lives of others in their place, but without reported success. 

Kurapika, by contrast, accepts this easily enough. He is fully prepared to die.  

The second problem is one that he’d instinctively anticipated when he placed his clan into the magical stasis - that being that Necromancy does not heal. It simply wrenches the souls of the dead from the underworld and places them back from whence they came. If the Necromancer has been so foolish as to allow the mortal vessel to decay, the soul will be trapped inside anyway, a twisted sort of zombie; and if there is no longer a body the soul will become a ghost, trapped forever between life and death. 

Kurapika’s stasis spell is a temporary measure and it wouldn’t be possible to cast it over and over again. It would leave him with neither the time nor energy to actually study Necromancy. No - he needs a long-term solution, something that will preserve the bodies of his clan as they currently are while he goes about his business. 

He sets down his current book and picks his way through the village, now deadly silent, frozen in time and space. A couple of wild animals stand stock-still; a flock of birds is trapped in the sky above. Kurapika murmurs an apology - it won’t do them any permanent harm, probably - and steps inside the elder’s hut.

It feels like a violation and he tries to avoid looking at the wise man’s personal effects. The elder had been in the middle of writing a letter when the invasion started. He’d knocked over the ink well in his haste, crushed his quill underfoot as he hastened outside. Kurapika ignores the churning in his gut and pulls the elder’s desk open.

He finds what he’s looking for immediately - the Directory. A listing of all magical practitioners in the immediate area. The handwritten book has been enchanted to automatically update whenever the master copy, maintained by the Wizards, is altered. By this mechanism even a clan as isolated as the Kurta can keep track with current events and who is who in the wider magical community. 

There’s only one local entry under Magical Stasis/Preservation, a specialized institution that is located on the city’s medical school campus. It looks like a small operation; there’s a scribbled note warning that the institution doubles as the city’s morgue and is likely to have all sorts of ‘normals’ coming in and out during the day. Magical community members are strongly advised to arrive at night instead. 

Kurapika can work with that. He’d ordinarily teleport himself straight into the city but he’s drained and exhausted from the stasis spell; he’ll have to walk. It will be midnight or later by the time he arrives. 

He takes one last look around the dead, silent village; then he walks through the shattered wards and takes the first steps of his quest. 

Chapter Text

Kurapika has been to the city before but almost exclusively during the day and to visit the wizards’ library, located at its outermost edge and disguised to ‘normals’ as a second hand bookshop. It was a sleepy little street that rarely had any other visitors. The medical school is positioned downtown, and the young sorcerer quickly discovers that despite the danger that midnight signifies, ‘normals’ are not inclined to shelter behind their thresholds. 

These… intoxicated party-goers would be easy prey for any vampire or werewolf. They lack the inhibitions to turn down a one-sided deal with a Fae. Their lack of caution is alien to Kurapika. But then again… there probably aren’t many magical creatures who hunt among such crowds. Perhaps they truly have nothing to fear.

It’s a simple fact that real magic and human technology don’t mix. The latter may lack sentience but it does have immense power, because it is what modern ‘normal’ society has chosen to worship as its god. For a time the magical community had adapted, incorporating electricity and radio and telephones and even the occasional vehicle. But the advent of the Internet and those tiny little electronic devices put an end to that; Technology had simply become too powerful. Magical beasts’ keen hunting senses are dulled when in its proximity. And while wizards can simply choose not to use their magic around these devices, a sorcerer like Kurapika, whose power has no off switch, can’t even look at a computer without damaging it 

There are only a few cars on the street but one swerves wildly, the driver losing all control  as Kurapika walks past it. The young sorcerer winces. He hadn’t realized the vehicles had those little computers now, too - what was the point of that? 

At one point Kurapika has no choice but to cross through a four-way intersection. All of the traffic lights start flickering wildly - green to yellow to red and eventually giving up and turning purple. He escapes to a chorus of confused and honking drivers.

He winces, but he keeps walking at a steady, unhurried pace. Cities are not good for Kurapika and he is no good for them… but he doesn’t have any other choice, now does he? The lives of his clan are worth a couple of traffic accidents. 

Thankfully the medical school campus is quiet and, for the most part, the electronics have already been switched off. The morgue itself has no other light except for an old-fashioned oil lamp hanging over the door. The ‘normals’ doubtless think this is a historical curiosity, a preserved piece of the older architecture - but the lack of electronic light doubles as an implicit signal to the magical community. 

Kurapika squares his shoulders and steps inside.

Entering someone’s home without permission is never a good idea. The threshold is the most basic form of magical protection; even ‘normals’ create one without realizing it, conjuring it into existence simply by considering a residence their safe place, and from their love of family and friends. Weaker magical beings can’t break through at all and even the stronger ones will forfeit a great deal of their power at the door. The same protections don’t apply to a public building like this, but as Kurapika enters, he does feel… something. It isn’t a threshold but it’s a certain level of… defensiveness. It tells him that someone here is capable of magic and takes the safety of what is inside quite seriously. 

It’s an encouraging sensation. He doesn’t intend to trust the physical safety of the bodies of his clan to just anyone.

That said, when Kurapika gets a look at the man behind the front desk he starts to wonder if he’d been mistaken.

The guy doesn’t look very magical. He’s dressed like any other ‘normal’ on their way to some office job - in a white collared shirt and tie. A navy-colored blazer hangs over the back of his swivel chair. The desk, meanwhile, is covered with textbooks and paper. Kurapika catches a brief glimpse of what appears to be an anatomy diagram; the man is scribbling notes over it, idly pushing small round glasses further up his nose with a free hand. 

He hasn’t reacted at all to Kurapika’s entrance. Did he… not set up any magical wards that would warn him of intruders? 

Kurapika stares at him for a moment longer, completely nonplussed; then when the man still doesn’t react he clears his throat. 

The sudden sound causes the man to flinch violently. One long arm jerks out and knocks the textbook over; even longer legs propel him upright, without accounting for the fact that he was hunched over the desk. Both his knees hit wood with an audible impact. The man promptly starts swearing in a language Kurapika has never heard before but is clearly ‘normal’ rather than magical. If he’d put his mind to it he could’ve used his magic to instantly translate - but he thinks he gets the basic idea… 

“Good evening,” Kurapika says coolly in the city’s local language. 

“Shit, fuck, you scared me,” says the man, switching languages mid-rant with no apparent difficulty. He eventually manages to stand up straight and look at Kurapika properly. His eyes are a warm sort of brown that the panes of glass do little to obstruct. Aside from his cartoonish height, he looks fairly ordinary - reinforcing Kurapika’s initial reservation. 

“Did you not sense me coming in?” he asks, making no effort not to sound judgmental. He is a judge at this moment - he’s deciding if this institution is worthy of protecting the Kurta. 

The tall man looks at Kurapika as if he’s grown a second head. “... Should I have?” 

“I’d assumed that your wards would have alerted you.” 

“We don’t have any wards,” the student says, speaking very slowly and as if Kurapika is an idiot. “There’s nothing valuable here - only bodies.” 

“The preservation of the dead is incredibly valuable,” Kurapika says sternly, hands on hips. He immediately dislikes how tall the other man is and how he has to actually tip his head back in order to glare at him properly. “What would you have done if I’d expressed hostile intent?” 

“... I’ve got a switchblade?” the other says, a question masquerading as his answer.

Kurapika snorts. “Unless it’s made of silver, it would hardly avail you against my magical assault.” 

The tall man rolls his eyes. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know where you came from or why you’re here, but we don’t get attacked. We barely get any magical customers period. That’s why Ms. Cheadle lets a first-year med student like me work the desk at night. Mostly, I just sit here and do my homework.”

“I see,” Kurapika says, thinking out loud. “I suppose the relative anonymity of this place could offer its own form of protection. The lack of wards act as a kind of bluff, and your obvious incompetence is the second layer of deception…” 

“H-hey, who’re you calling incompetent? I’m a wizard, y’know! A White Mage - uh, in training, but I’m powerful! I’d heal the shit out of you, pal!” 

“... why did you make the offer of aid sound as though it was a threat?” 

“Cause you don’t know what you’re talking about,” the student says, sounding well and truly offended, though Kurapika can’t fathom why. He’d merely been offering an observation. “You can’t just walk in here and call me weak!” 

“I did no such thing,” Kurapika says coolly. “Not yet. Your childish insistence on your own power is certainly telling, though. A truly competent mage should always be modest - not boast like a schoolyard bully.” 

“Oh yeah? Guess you think you’re strong, huh?” 

“I don’t think, I know,” Kurapika snarls. He’s not exactly sure how they got here - he certainly hadn’t come here intending to pick a fight, and yet he can’t help himself in the face of the other man’s aggressive ignorance and prickly pride. “I am an incredibly talented sorcerer and you would not stand a chance against me.” 

“That’s it,” the student/wizard growls back, “you wanna go, huh? Step outside and I’ll show you talent, mister!” 

“Very well - if you insist upon this humiliation, I will oblige.” 

As the tall man’s fist connects with his face, Kurapika concedes that he may have underestimated his opponent. 

He’s fought wizards before - never with serious intent to kill but in the sort of territorial spars that come part and parcel of the magical community. Flexing one’s power to assert their position and court respect from an unknown practitioner. Kurapika was typically at a significant advantage during any such duel, because he could cast his magic as easily as breathing, while wizards had to prepare their spells - either drawing ritual lines on the spot or, more commonly, making use of an artifact they’d crafted for specific purpose and infused with their mana for weeks and weeks until it was ready. Once you figured out what the artifact did and its limitations, the fight was as good as won. 

All of which to say he’d expected the student would start scuffing lines in the dirt or perhaps pull out some sort of talisman. He hadn’t expected the other man to forgo magic and simply lunge at him as though this were… some sort of street brawl. 

What sort of wizard was he, anyway? He certainly wasn’t acting like one now. 

Kurapika’s magic gives him inhuman speed and strength but he’s also very tired - the stasis spell had drained him almost completely and the long walk here left him physically exhausted as well. Still, he’d been far too proud to back down when presented with the challenge. 

He just has to end this quickly.

The student grins at the success of his first punch and follows with a second, straight into Kurapika’s stomach. The sorcerer sees it coming and chooses to take the blow instead of evade. Even as the air is knocked out of his lungs, Kurapika infuses his breath with his magic and directs it at his attacker. The student’s grin promptly fades as he realizes-

“Hey, what the hell? I can’t see anything!” 

“That’s right,” Kurapika wheezes. “That’s called magic. You should try it sometime.” 

He kicks the tall man’s stupid long legs out from under him - once he’s on his knees they’re actually face to face - and Conjures the first thing that comes to mind, the weapon that he saw in his vision earlier today. The student flinches as the cold metal of the chain wraps itself around his neck - it’s loose enough not to restrict his breathing yet but he knows how easily Kurapika could end his life now. 

“Do you yield?”

“Yeah, yeah, I yield. Jeez, you didn’t have to try so hard,” the student grumbles. Bizarrely, when contrasted to his earlier genuine anger, he doesn’t actually sound that upset. It’s almost like he’s… enjoying this? 

“... Very well. Then, in accordance with the Laws, I demand your True Name and your Vow that this matter is resolved.”

There’s nothing more powerful than one’s True Name, though a self-inflicted magical Vow is a close second. Kurapika is asking for both to ensure that he and the student will never fight one another again. Once he knows the other man’s Name, it’s all he needs to redirect any magical attack attempted against him. 

“Dude,” the student wheezes, “we clearly had very different ideas of what I meant when I said you wanna go? I guess that’s on me, though…”

“Were you… were you not challenging me to a formal duel under the Laws?” 

“No, idiot! Did it look like we were dueling!?” 

“Ah,” Kurapika says, a little red in the face. It does appear that he’d missed something here. He promptly banishes his chain and removes the student’s blindness. “I… I may have misread the situation. You do not have to-” 

“That’s okay,” the other man grins. “My name’s Leorio. Leorio Pal-” 

“Stop it. What are you doing!?” 

“... introducing myself?” Leorio blinks at him, nonplussed.

“Don’t you know any better? You should never freely offer your True Name to anyone! The intonation and pronunciation from your own lips are all I’d need in order to destroy you!” Kurapika can’t believe what he’s hearing. Did this man’s master not teach him anything? 

“I mean… you don’t look like you’re gonna harm me. And I was just being polite. But sure, we can stick to Leorio. What should I call you?” 

“Kurapika,” the sorcerer says easily. When he says it in the local language instead of Kurtan, it’s not close to a True Name, so he feels no reservation in offering it. An enemy magic-user could translate the characters, of course, but without actually hearing how he says it, it wouldn’t avail them. Names are personal like that - the power comes from their unclouded reflection of one’s core identity, and not the combination of letters one’s parents had assigned them. Change your actual name or your title and your True Name would adjust, too. 

“Nice to meet you, Kurapika,” Leorio says, actually managing to get the pronunciation right on the first try. He sticks out one big hand.

Kurapika regards it as though it’s an unusual species of insect. As unusual as it seems, this is doubtless some other perfectly ordinary gesture that the Kurta Clan simply did not practice. “What are you doing now?”

“Offering to shake. We’re friends now.” 

“Excuse me? A moment ago you were punching me in the face, and now we’re friends?”

“Yeah,” Leorio says with an easy grin. “We disagreed and we settled it. It’s all water under the bridge now. Let’s start over.”

“You are a completely ridiculous man.” Kurapika still can’t bring himself to actually touch the other man and Leorio seems to get it after another few minutes; he pulls back, hand unshaken. But he’s still grinning and after a moment Kurapika finds himself smiling, too.

“I actually get that a lot,” the wizard says.  

“That does not surprise me.” 

Leorio laughs - loud and warm. It obviously comes easily to him and Kurapika’s heart hurts when he remembers, suddenly, why he is really here. He has a mission to complete, or he’ll never hear Pairo’s laugh ever again. 

“May we go back inside?” he asks, his own face strictly schooled into polite neutrality. “We got… side-tracked… but I am a potential client and I wish to make use of the Stasis magic that this institution offers.” 

“Oh shit! Right. I gotta give you the whole tour. Believe it or not, the street brawl isn’t part of our usual package.” 

Kurapika doesn’t smile at the attempted joke and Leorio seems to get the message quickly enough. He keeps the commentary to a minimum as he shows Kurapika around the facility. The young sorcerer stops them frequently to closely examine the stasis receptacles - they’re shaped like coffins to fit in among the morgue but infused with powerful White Magic that will both heal and nourish any body placed inside. 

“This whole thing is Ms. Cheadle’s idea, and it’s her magic,” Leorio explains. “She re-casts once a week and I’m just here to perform emergency patch-up spells if anything goes wrong… Which it hasn’t!” 

The way he talks is oddly reluctant - as though it hurts him to admit his own part in this is so small and insignificant. There’s also the fact that he seems kind and yet had reacted with such immediate anger when Kurapika challenged his magical capability. The sorcerer decides that Leorio is an odd bundle of contradictions - but also that he doesn’t have the time nor inclination to unravel them.  

He’s not looking to make any friends and unless something goes horribly wrong, this will be a one-time interaction… despite the young wizard’s easy offer of comradery. The man is simply a fool and does not actually realize what he’s asking for, Kurapika decides. 

After all, Kurapika is about to ask him for something that could get them both executed by the Wizards’ Council if they think Leorio served as a willing accomplice… 

“We usually book these for a few days but I know funeral arrangements can take even longer than that. Family and friends flying in… or crossing over from Faerie… I’ve heard it all. So if you need a couple of weeks, that shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“... do you take longer reservations?” Kurapika asks. No point dancing around it - it’s either sort the matter out now, or deal with Leorio growing suspicious when Kurapika continually renews a weeks-long contract. And he doesn’t like the idea of lying. He obviously won’t tell Leorio what his true end goal is; but that’s a practical necessity to save the man’s life by keeping him ignorant, and not Kurapika’s first choice.

“Like I said, we don’t get many customers. What do you need, a month? And how many bodies are we looking at?” 

“There are one hundred and twenty-eight,” Kurapika replies, “and I will most likely need the space for several years.” 

“Well, that’s not a problem… Ms. Cheadle cast a pocket dimension and automatic Duplication of the receptacles so theoretically, we could house any number of-” Leorio stops talking abruptly, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. It’s fairly obvious that his brain is catching up with what he just heard, knocking him out of his recited, practiced sales pitch. 

“Years, huh? What, are you waiting for… extraterrestrial relatives? Or opening a Path into a mirror universe?”  

“No, there won’t be a funeral at all. I am the last survivor of my clan. Every single one of them was slaughtered by a Warlock and his posse,” Kurapika says. He keeps a lock down on his roiling rage and grief by speaking as coldly and clinically as possible, but the white mage’s face still falls with sympathetic grief. 

 “Jesus, I’m sorry to hear that,” Leorio says earnestly. He lifts one hand as if to set it on Kurapika’s shoulder but stops himself halfway through the motion, for which the sorcerer is grateful. It would’ve been too much to bear. “When did this happen?”

“... I found the bodies earlier this morning.” 

“Jesus,” the wizard repeats. “Are you… well, are you okay is a stupid question… I mean, shouldn’t you be resting? Or finding some friends to stay with? You don’t have to make these sorts of arrangements right away. This place isn’t going anywhere.”   

“Absolutely not,” Kurapika says, studiously ignoring the part about friends and the way his heart aches to hear it. Every single friend he’d had is now dead - albeit temporarily, if he plays his cards right. “I need to settle the matter so I can turn to my next steps.” 

“Uh, right. Hunting down the Warlock who did it, right? And you need to know your people’s bodies will be safe until you finish the job and return for them. But - I still don’t get why you don’t just burn or bury them or whatever it is your beliefs call for… no offense, but what if you don’t make it back?” 

It would be easy to lie. Leorio has never met a Kurta in his life and their culture and religion are virtually unknown even to well-informed wizards. Kurapika could easily take the offered explanation, add the ‘detail’ that a Kurta could not find true peace as long as their murderer still walked the earth, and been on his way.

Yet for some inexplicable reason… he does not. He has his reservations about lying, of course, but this wouldn’t have even been a lie, just letting Leorio have his assumptions.

“I will not be hunting down the Warlock, so I will not die. But otherwise, you are correct. There is something I must do before I return and it will likely take years.” 

“Something, huh… that wouldn’t be Necromancy, would it?” 

Kurapika meets Leorio’s gaze defiantly, but instead of the expected judgment or anger or fear he sees something much, much worse: pity. Leorio’s eyes shine with it. And Kurapika does not need to be an Empath to read the wizard’s emotional state - it’s written plain as day on his expressive features. 

“I will neither confirm nor deny that assumption. What I have planned does not matter to you.” There - Leorio will now be able to pass a Truthseer’s test and he will not end up decapitated when the Council’s wardens come for Kurapika. 

“Right,” Leorio drawls, still staring at Kurapika. The sorcerer refuses to flinch under Leorio’s scrutiny, glaring back with the full force of his righteous indignation, daring the extremely junior wizard to start lecturing him- 

“Well, it’s gonna cost you. We have a standard rate per body and per day. This situation is… pretty unusual… so I’ll see if I can get you some sort of discount.” 

Kurapika blinks. “That’s it? All you want is money?” 

“Uh, yeah? That’s how it works. We charge clients and they pay us,” Leorio smirks, and he’s definitely misunderstanding the question on purpose. 

Kurapika sort of wants to push him on it - it’s a rare breed who will call out a suspected Necromancer and then just… not follow up on it at all. True, Leorio might be playing for time and will rat him out to the Council as soon as the bodies are in storage, but realistically… he doesn’t seem capable of that sort of deception. 

“What about your boss?” he asks, still unwilling to believe that it’s this easy. Why exactly is Leorio so willing to help him despite all these crimson-red flags? 

“Ms. Cheadle? Don’t worry about her. Like I said, the Duplication is automatic and the pocket dimension is all set up. She doesn’t check what’s inside.” 

Kurapika continues to glare at him but Leorio just weathers it. He’s not giving anything away. Could Kurapika actually let himself trust this man? 

Well - what other choice does he have? The Stasis and Preservation spells cast by this… Cheadle person… are very complex. It would take Kurapika a long time to find their match in another city - perhaps too long, his own hasty spell unraveling before he could return to his ruined village. 

“... Very well. The money is no object,” he eventually says. He’ll sell every treasure the Kurta clan owns if he has to. His people will understand. “I will agree to this arrangement if you do. But I want your Vow that you are not attempting to deceive me and that the details of our pact remain between us alone.” 

“Okay. I’ve never made one of those. How does it work?” 

Kurapika resists rolling his eyes with great effort. If Cheadle is also Leorio’s master, she has certainly been a less than thorough teacher. “Simply infuse your words with your mana when you speak the promise. I would advise you not to make them lightly, as breaking one could strip you of your magic entirely.”

“So you’re saying it’s a bad idea to make a Vow to some sketchy stranger I’ve never met before, even if I do like ‘em.” 

“... Precisely,” Kurapika murmurs, choosing to ignore that last part. “In all honesty, your wisest move is to reject the notion and cast me out-” 

“Then it’s a good thing we’re friends now,” Leorio interrupts him, and before Kurapika can continue arguing against it, the fool speaks the Vow into existence. 

Chapter Text

Leorio and Kurapika moved the clan into stasis that very night. The morgue’s hearse, a vintage vehicle that had been assembled sometime in the 1920s and thus was safe for Kurapika to travel in, had been magically modified so that its trunk could fit a theoretically infinite number of bodies. They only require one trip. 

It’s still tough and tiring work to load them all up and when Leorio insists on helping, Kurapika doesn’t have the energy to refuse. At first he watches the white mage like a hawk but, despite his loudness, empty bluster, and other obvious and numerous flaws, Leorio is very respectful and handles the corpses with care. 

Leorio also keeps his mouth shut about what he sees in the secretive Kurta village, for which Kurapika is grateful. He does not have the energy to answer any questions, nor could he stomach a stranger’s attempts at sympathy. In fact, he barely speaks two words to Leorio the entire time but the med student has the good sense not to push it. 

When Kurapika has seen each clan member’s body loaded into their own “coffin,” he hands Leorio his money - a bag of old silver coins, so rare now as to be worth hundreds of times more than their face value - and promptly trudges out of the morgue. He intends to be on his way and to never return - not until he needs to retrieve the corpses for the ritual, at least, by which time Leorio will hopefully no longer work there. 

Kurapika’s resolution lasts for all of a few days before he finds himself loitering suspiciously outside of the morgue. The sun is setting, light draining away from the bustling city, and still the sorcerer stands stock-still, staring at the oil lamp illuminating the entrance.

He’s just here to check on his clan - that’s all. 

The fact that he’s waiting for Leorio to come into work is simply because of their bargain, so that he does not have to explain himself to this Ms. Cheadle and risk discovery. 

It has absolutely nothing to do with how lonely Kurapika has been this past week. He's the last survivor of his clan and incredibly paranoid that he, too, will be hunted for his sorcerous blood. So not only does he not know anyone in this city, he doesn’t dare to risk getting to know them, because he cannot bring himself to trust their intentions…

… with one notable exception - a certain boisterous fool who’d gone and sworn a Vow to aid him, who literally could not betray him and, most importantly, clearly never had any intention of doing so. 

When Leorio’s long strides do eventually carry him into Kurapika’s field of vision, the sorcerer holds his breath for a moment, suddenly irresolute. Then, he chides himself for his own reluctance and steps out of the shadows.

“Good evening, Leorio.” 

Leorio promptly screeches like a banshee and drops the object he’d been holding - to Kurapika’s perfect night vision, it appears to be a ring of very old-fashioned keys. They thud onto the cobblestoned street with a weighty clang. 

“Fuck, Kurapika, you scared me.” 

“I was making no attempt to conceal my presence. If you had the bare minimum level of wizard’s wards-” 

“Yeah yeah, I’m an incompetent mage, I get it,” Leorio grumbles, bending down to scrabble for the keys. As tall as he is, stooping that low to the ground is an almost comical sight. Though Kurapika mostly feels bad. “You regret leaving your people’s bodies with me-” 

“That’s not what I meant,” he says softly, but Leorio’s mouth snaps shut anyway the moment Kurapika starts talking. “I apologize - I spoke out of concern for your safety, that is all. It may be less dangerous at night with all this… technology, but it’s still concerning that you’re walking around without protection.”

As for the bodies - well, that’s why he’s here. The only reason he’s here. To check up on them. Nothing else.  

Leorio waves it off. “You’re fine. I just had a really shitty day. Got into it with a professor about the insurance industry…” 

He launches into an entire spiel recounting his earlier argument. Kurapika has no idea what he’s talking about and his attempt to nod along sympathetically immediately triggers Leorio’s self-proclaimed ‘bullshit detector.’ He pauses halfway through his rant, and as an afterthought, invites the sorcerer inside the morgue and out of the cold.

Once they’re settled - Leorio behind his desk and Kurapika in one of the lobby chairs which he’d dragged over to the other side - the wizard clears his throat. 

“So I’m guessing… you’ve never been to a hospital for ‘normals.’”

“Correct. A sorcerer is capable of any type of magic, so healing injuries was no issue. Most of us could do it ourselves and failing that, the elder was quite skilled.” 

“Damn,” Leorio says reverently. “I didn’t know sorcery worked like that.” 

Kurapika nods. “It’s an inherent part of us. Magic comes as easily as breathing. Which is not without its drawbacks - young sorcerers who have not yet learned to control their gift are a great danger to themselves and those around them. Imagine a toddler who is furious at his parents and whose tantrum is accompanied by literal flames…” 

Leorio winces. “I see what you mean. I’d probably have burned our house down. Mom always said I was a difficult baby.”

“A trait which continued into your young adulthood,” Kurapika smirks.  

“H-hey! Shut up,” the wizard grouses, with absolutely no real heat in it. “For your information, everyone loves me now.” 

Kurapika pretends to think about this - and really commits to it, one hand propped under his chin and everything. “Hmm. Yes. I suppose I can see that. You do seem like you might be capable of a certain charm… assuming you make a significant effort…” 

“For your information,” Leorio says, wearing a smirk of his own now, “it's an effortless charm. I walk around exuding pure charisma.”

“I have yet to see any…” 

“You’re a special case,” the wizard shoots back. “I know we barely know each other, but there’s something about you… Like, I don’t have to pretend everything’s great all the time. Most people, they ask ‘how’s your day doing’ but they don’t care, they just want to hear ‘it’s good’ or, at worst, ‘it’s fine.’ So you just paste a smile on and push through it. But with you… I dunno, I get the feeling you actually wanna know.” 

Kurapika’s face burns. For Leorio to unload something so personal - it’s suddenly embarrassing just being next to him. “I… dislike deceptions on principle, that’s all. Even ‘harmless’ white lies intended to spare the other’s feelings. I prefer honesty.” 

“Was that a Kurta cultural thing?” Leorio asks, then winces and stammers, “You don’t have to answer. Sorry, that was out of line-” 

“It’s… it’s alright.” And Kurapika, who’d just made a whole speech about lying, finds himself meaning it. He would not be so open with a stranger but Leorio… is doing him a favor, a big favor. He doesn’t mind indulging the wizard’s curiosity. He knows that Leorio is genuinely interested and not probing for a way to use the knowledge. 

“... it was not a cultural norm of ours. In fact I was often chided by my parents and the elders for my blunt manner of speech. I could be… very rude.” 

“Yeah… you know, I believe it.” 

Leorio looks like he wants to add something else - sorry they’re gone, perhaps - before he visibly pauses, remembering that Kurapika is probably a Necromancer and that the whole reason they met is that the clan won’t be dead forever… in the end he can’t seem to think of anything to replace it with, and his mouth snaps closed.

It suddenly feels awkward to be sitting here and talking to a mortuary employee as though they’re friends. Kurapika stands abruptly, stammering out something about checking on the bodies, and flees the room.  

But then he returns the next week. And the week after that. And the week after that. 

It’s getting pretty obvious that the bodies are perfectly safe. The Warlock and future Phantom Lord already possesses his immortality. He and his minions have no reason to return for more. And his ritual was a one-time deal; anyone else seeking power from Kurta blood could not wring more of it from a mere body. It didn’t work like that. 

His visits to the stasis chambers now last no more than a moment or two before Kurapika returns to the quiet lobby and resumes talking to… his friend. Yes, Leorio is his friend.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… why are you going to medical school? I’ve seen the list of practicing White Mages in the Directory and none of them are also doctors.” 

Leorio’s face lights up - almost literally - and his stooped posture straightens. Kurapika almost smiles at the wizard’s sudden animation. The forthcoming rant will clearly be on a topic of great interest to the other man. 

“Isn’t it obvious? How the fuck do you think I can get everything to knit itself back into place if I don’t know how the human body works? I gotta tell it where to go!” 

“Good point, but the others in your field get around it somehow. Perhaps they layer in additional spells to do it for them.” 

Leorio snorts. “I’ve met a lot of white mages, Kurapika, and lemme tell you something - most of them are lazy assholes with no imagination! They grow up going to magical boarding school and get indoctrinated into magic society and content themselves with coloring between the lines. Breaking curses, fixing up major injuries… Tell me, have you ever heard of a magical cure for ordinary little diseases?” 

Kurapika has to think about it. “No… No I haven’t. But I know very little about healing, since all of mine is pure instinct. I had assumed it was impossible to use white magic on actual disease.” 

“You and everyone else!” the young wizard says. He’s become so animated that he’s basically shouting now - though Kurapika doesn’t mind since the ire is obviously directed at societal forces in general and not Kurapika specifically. “It’s not impossible at all! It’s just the same old selfish shit you always get with mages. Wizards can draw some chalk lines and eliminate a cancerous growth in five minutes. So why should they care when 10 million ‘normals’ per year are dying of something we could prevent?” 

“Leorio, you know what happened the last time the magical community attempted to coexist openly with the rest of humanity. We keep ourselves separate for our own survival.” 

“It was a thousand years ago, Kurapika! People didn’t know anything back then. They won’t burn us at the stake now - well - not if we can also give them a scientific explanation for how we fixed it. And that’s why I’m going to medical school. Once I understand the theoretical basis for curing something, I can blend that with white magic and make it happen!” 

“You’re… extremely ambitious,” Kurapika says carefully. He feels like he’s about to bump up against something that Leorio would rather not talk about. 

But to his own surprise, Leorio seems to calm down a little, offering a rueful grin. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m crazy? I thought you didn’t like lying.” 

“No, you’re obviously not insane. You just - think about things very differently from most wizards. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it and I’m honestly not always sure what to make of it.”

“Oh - oh yeah. Well, if it ain’t obvious by now, I didn’t grow up a wizard. My parents were as ‘normal’ as it gets and the only magic in my family was my one witch grandma-” 

“Wizard is a gender neutral term, Leorio-” 

“I know that! I mean she was an actual Witch. Folk remedies and traditional knowledge versus academic study of magic.” The wizard smirks when Kurapika is forced to nod and concede the point. “But yeah, I didn’t even know what she was until much later. I grew up without any inkling of magic being real.” 

“That’s certainly uncommon, but you aren’t the only one who discovered their potential later in life,” Kurapika says quickly. He wants to reassure Leorio for some reason - and he’s not entirely certain why. He is starting to realize why the white mage was so offended during their first meeting. Kurapika would not have been the first one to question his capabilities, given most mages’ open contempt for ‘normals’... 

Leorio waves a hand as if to dismiss the notion. “The other people like that are some of the worst. They try to out-do themselves in hating ‘normals’ to make sure everyone knows they’re real wizards now. Not me. I still go home every Sunday. I still have friends who’re as ordinary as it gets. And that’s why I’m gonna be the doctor who uses white magic to cure cancer - even if I have to tell the Council where to shove it!”

“Forgive me for asking, but this sounds… very personal. Did you lose someone?”  

“... Yeah. I did. He was named Pietro - and he was my best friend. We were inseparable. But right after my sixteenth birthday, he got sick, really sick. By the time they caught the cancer it was just - too late. Nothing medical science could’ve done and even if we’d known about magic, no white mage would’ve bothered. That’s why… That’s why I’m gonna make sure nobody has to die like Pete did. Never again.” 

“It’s an admirable goal, Leorio. Your friend would be proud of you,” Kurapika says quietly.

It also makes sense that this man would befriend a potential Necromancer, he thinks, but doesn’t say. Both of them have a mission they’re passionate about - one that they’ll put before any Council regulation that might stand in their way… 

In due time, Kurapika exhausts the resources available to him in the city - which hadn’t been much. He teleports around the country but each Council library is the same story. The prohibition on Necromancy means that there won’t be much to be found via officially sanctioned sources.

He’s going to need to get creative. He needs to find others who have attempted the forbidden magic and are being hunted by the Wardens as a result. 

Even with his ability to instantly transmit himself to any location, so long as he can visualize it, he’s often gone for weeks at a time. He’s attempting to locate people who very much do not wish to be found, and have isolated themselves at the very edges of the world. He explores the deepest reaches of the Amazon, spends several days wading through the snow of the Antarctic, and flies high above the sands of the Sahara. 

Between each trip, Kurapika returns to the morgue. It’s ridiculous - he doesn’t even sleep here, and he never stays for very long, but the cheap little office is starting to feel more like home than anywhere else in the world. 

And it’s all because of Leorio. 

The wizard always greets him warmly, no matter how long he’s been gone or what sort of material he’s tracked into Leorio’s place of work (mud, sand, snow, and, once, the slimy remnants of a magical creature who had attempted to eat him). For Leorio’s own safety, Kurapika never gives him any details but Leorio doesn’t seem to mind. He can talk about anything, and Kurapika finds himself enjoying just sitting here and listening.

“I’m kinda surprised you’re still at it,” Leorio says one night, speaking with an uncharacteristic care that immediately makes Kurapika sit up and take notice. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ve had… potential you know what's come in before. But they all gave up after a couple of weeks. I almost felt bad for taking their money - not quite, though.” 

“I am unlike anyone you’ve ever met, Leorio,” Kurapika says with what he considers an air of extreme dignity.

For some reason the proclamation just makes Leorio smile, so softly and warmly that it actually makes Kurapika uncomfortable - to see that expression on another’s face and know he’s the cause of it. “You can say that again, sunshine.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

But Leorio doesn’t stop using it and Kurapika eventually concedes the point. It’s actually kind of nice… even if it’s a dumb nickname. 

At one point it strikes him that they’ve known each other for two entire years. It’s the longest Kurapika had ever spent with someone outside of the Kurta Clan… and yet, for all their talk, he still knows so little about Leorio, not really. 

“You told me before that you grew up with no knowledge of magic. How, then, did you become a wizard?” 

“Oh - well, that was Ms. Cheadle,” Leorio says quickly. A little too quickly. If Kurapika didn’t know him so well he’d think that Leorio was hiding something. “She’s one of the only white mages I’ve met who gives a damn about medical science, so she’s always hovering around medical schools to brush up on her knowledge. She guest-lectured a pre-med class of mine, sensed my ‘squandered potential,’ and snatched me up.” 

“Ah - so you only began training when you were…” Kurapika pauses, realizing he doesn’t actually know when ‘normals’ start their formal education or when exactly they would be in “pre-med.”

Leorio eventually takes pity on him. “Eighteen. Already an adult by ‘normal’ standards.”

“I see,” Kurapika murmurs, running the calculations in his head. The wizard is only two years older, making him… twenty-four. Twenty-two when they’d first met. Four years was hardly sufficient, and given Leorio’s background, he’d always have gaps in his knowledge that other mages considered basic knowledge.    

That first night is making more and more sense. Kurapika would apologize for his behavior if Leorio would permit him, but the white mage had brushed over all of his previous attempts, not even wanting to hear it. After their ridiculous street brawl Leorio apparently considered the matter well and truly settled. It must be a ‘normal’ thing. 

Or perhaps just a Leorio thing. He was a very kind man. 

“Yeah, so, I got a late start,” Leorio says, “and there’s still a lot I don’t know, since I’m so focused on white magic specifically, but I’m getting by.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Kurapika fires back, with considerable heat. “You are extremely skilled when it comes to blending magic and inanimate objects, including devices with a high degree of technology. That is not something that comes easily to most wizards.” 

Just look at the man’s ridiculous little glasses, Kurapika points out, warming to his theme. They’re prescription and made of a material that adjusts to how bright it is outside, which is apparently standard among ‘normal’s’ eyewear. But Leorio has also enchanted them to see through any magical illusions without compromising their day to day functionality. 

“... which is clearly a result of your background manifesting itself in your magic. You stand with one foot in two worlds and your magic stands with you, seeking to formulate the connection you desire in your heart. It is a rare talent!” 

Leorio just stares at Kurapika, with an expression that the sorcerer has never seen before. 

“You know,” the white mage says eventually, just when the silence is starting to become unbearable, “I think that’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard from you. And…” He grins. “It was all about me.” 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Kurapika sniffs. “I was merely offended on your behalf.” 

“‘Hey Leorio, you’d better be nicer to my friend, Leorio!’” 

“... What are you talking about?” 

“It’s a meme, haven’t you ever - what am I saying, of course not. You make computers explode just by looking at them. I have to keep my cell phone in a lead box,” Leorio complains. “I’m still never gonna forget the one time I took it out and it literally disappeared. I had to buy a new one - and these things ain't cheap!” 

Kurapika just shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Speaking with me is more entertaining than your… devices, anyway.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Leorio says, and for some reason his soft voice causes a shiver to run down Kurapika’s spine. 

Eventually, after literal years, Kurapika’s globe-spanning search pays off. He tracks down a wizard named Melody, on whose head the Council has placed one of its highest bounties. After navigating an incredibly powerful protective maze woven from her sound-based magic, Kurapika somehow manages to convince her that he’s not a warden and he’s merely here to inquire as to the nature of her crime.

Melody is not stupid - even before accounting for her incredible auditory power. She knows the secret that Kurapika is seeking and is very reluctant to give it to him. Kurapika is forced to dig deep and speak from the heart. How much he loves and misses his clan. The injustice of their massacre. How he wishes to use Necromancy to restore life, never to take it.

She still forces him to swear a Vow to that effect but after that, she relaxes and is positively chatty. Apparently could hear the truth in Kurapika’s heartbeat - whatever that means. Either it’s a power she actually possesses or the years of isolation have driven her just a little insane. Perhaps it’s both. 

“I finally have a lead,” he tells Leorio when he returns. “Melody gave me the outlines of a ritual and pointed me to the location of some ancient Babylonian texts on the subject. I’ll be off again tomorrow morning.” 

“This might be a stupid question at this point,” Leorio says, “but why do you need all this stuff? I thought sorcerers could just… make magic happen.”  

Kurapika shakes his head. “It’s true that my magic does not require the same focus but I still need to know what I intend to do. Which is why I need to understand the full extent of how a wizard would do it before I can replicate the magic.”

“Oh, okay…” 

There’s a strange reluctance in his voice that Kurapika is not used to hearing. The sorcerer is not inclined to let the matter drop, either.

“Why do you ask that now, Leorio?” 

“Nothing,” the white mage lies defensively, automatically. At Kurapika’s unimpressed glare he shifts in his seat. “I mean, it’s just… I’m worried about you. You always look so exhausted these days. This whole search really seems to be wearing you down and I was hoping once you finally talked to Melody, that would be it.” 

“... I appreciate your concern, Leorio, but I know what I’m doing.” 

Besides, his life is only temporary, until he exchanges it for that of his clan. As long as Kurapika can physically keep going… that is good enough. He certainly is not concerned for his long-term health. 

From the look on Leorio’s face he might suspect more Kurapika’s inner thoughts than he lets on… but he doesn’t raise the point. He just changes the subject - asking what they should order on a pizza - and they begin to argue about various toppings for the sake of it.

It’s kind of nice. Comforting. Familiar. And suddenly Kurapika realizes, for the first time, that there is someone who his quest is going to hurt besides himself. Who is a close friend and who will really miss him when he’s gone.

He promptly ignores it. 

Chapter Text

Kurapika’s twenty-fourth birthday passes almost unnoticed - he certainly doesn’t do anything to celebrate, and no one else knows about it, not even Leorio. Over the course of their friendship the wizard has attempted to wheedle the information out of him multiple times but Kurapika has always resisted, even though they’d celebrated Leorio’s own birthday a month prior.

They’d both had a little too much to drink that night, and it left Kurapika even blunter than usual - and curious enough to finally ask: 

“Why are you spending today with me? You’ve mentioned family and other friends…” 

“Oh, uh… well you know, we did a whole thing for twenty-five, and it was just exhausting. I’d rather keep it low-key this year.” 

“Ha! You’re lying,” Kurapika says triumphantly. 

“I am not!” Leorio protests, waving his arms for emphasis and almost knocking his plastic cup to the floor in the process. 

“Yes you are because I am using my magic currently.” It’s a wonder Leorio didn’t already notice - it’s not as though Kurapika’s eyes are usually glowing crimson. Just to emphasize the point, the sorcerer extends one hand and shows Leorio his outstretched fingers.

“What, uh… what am I looking at, exactly? I mean, it’s a nice hand and all - you obviously moisturize - and I like the shade of red you picked for your nails -” 

Kurapika sighs, interrupting the other man’s babbling. “I am using my fingers as a divining rod of sorts. If someone attempts to lie to me, they’ll twitch. Go on - try it.” 

Leorio looks a little skeptical but gamely forges ahead. “Okay, let’s see… My family isn’t originally from this country. I graduate from medical school in a couple months and I have an internship lined up with Ms. Cheadle at the hospital.” 

Kurapika’s fingers remain outstretched, unnaturally still, as if actually frozen in place. “All of that is true, obviously.” 

“I know! I’m doing that… that thing you do with a polygraph, where you establish a personality baseline.” 

“This is literally magic, Leorio. That’s not necessary.” 

“Whatever,” the wizard grumbles. “Okay, okay, uh… I don’t like you and you aren’t somehow my best friend.” 

Kurapika’s middle finger instantly twists itself up into an extremely recognizable gesture. The sorcerer holds it together for all of a second before bursting out laughing at his own incredible wit. “You… you actually… believed me!” 

Leorio’s face flushes a deep pink, and it’s obviously not just from the alcohol. “Oh you - you little shit. That ain’t fair. And to think I almost said-” 

He seems to abruptly think better of it and clamps his mouth shut. When Kurapika attempts to press the matter, he quickly changes the subject. A few drinks later and neither of them remember the incident.

Kurapika remembers it now, though. And he mostly just feels terrible about it. 

He may have grown up sheltered in an isolated clan but he isn’t completely ignorant of… sexual attraction. He knows that Leorio cares about him in a way that goes beyond friendship. But it’s not something that Kurapika can afford to consider, himself. Not when, if everything goes according to plan, he won’t be making it to 25. 

He should keep Leorio at arm’s length. He shouldn’t have ever come back at all. He always knew it would end this way and it was unfair to the white mage to act as though their friendship didn’t have a firm expiration date.

But Kurapika is selfish - and not nearly as strong as he’d like to be. He could never bring himself to cut Leorio off completely. He couldn’t resist coming back, over and over again. Even though he’d known it was a bad idea and known it would only hurt Leorio more in the end. 

Give him this - he will at least refuse to acknowledge the wizard’s deeper feelings. He hopes that it will help Leorio to move on more quickly… afterwards. 

“The ritual that I will be attempting is, strictly speaking, impossible,” Kurapika explains. 

He stands before a chalkboard in the basement of the morgue - despite no longer technically working here Leorio still has all the keys and even agreed to keep checking on the Kurta once per week. Now, as the day draws nearer and nearer, the two of them have been meeting here almost every evening, walking boldly past the uncaring undergraduate at the front desk. 

“Why’s that?” Leorio asks, studying the line patterns carefully. There are times where it’s easy to forget just how intelligent he actually is - he tends to downplay it or act the fool - but there are other moments, like now, where his glasses do little to conceal a sharp, calculating stare. 

“Necromancy must be cast from one’s own life force - a very finite resource, obviously,” the sorcerer explains. Over the years - he can’t pinpoint exactly when - he’d stopped even pretending, his defenses worn away by Leorio’s gentle but unyielding curiosity… much like a sheer rock that was slowly eroded by the wind. 

“No ritual I uncovered had a way around that,” Kurapika continues, discarding his own overly-poetic thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. “So I had to get creative. What if I combine Necromancy with Chronomancy?” 

“I’d say ‘that’s impossible’ but you sorcerers are like… a cheat code.” 

“... Not exactly the way I would phrase it, but yes - unlike wizards we are capable of combining multiple types of spells. Our main limitation is our own willpower and concentration.” 

“And you’ve got that in spades,” Leorio says softly, an odd look in his eyes that reminds Kurapika, with sudden painful clarity of That Night.

He drops his own gaze away from the white mage’s, suddenly unable to bear the scrutiny.

“Well,” he coughs. “To vastly over-simplify, I am going to manipulate Time itself. I will cast the Necromancy spell one hundred and twenty-eight times, and revive every single Kurta, before my own body realizes that it doesn’t have the resources to do so.”

“Kurapika… that’s insane. Burning through all your life force with something like that - it will kill you.”   

Kurapika scowls at Leorio. And to think he’d just been mentally complimenting the man’s intelligence. “Of course it will. It was always going to - that’s how Necromancy works! Don’t tell me you haven’t realized it by now - or were you merely deluding yourself? I’ve been a dead man walking from the moment we met, Leorio.”

“No, I… I mean… well…” 

The sorcerer braces himself for the argument but Leorio seems strangely hesitant. He attempts to formulate some coherent thought a couple more times before giving up entirely. He looks away from Kurapika, staring at his own hands.

“I… I realize this is very unfair of me,” Kurapika says, his own anger dissipating. He mostly just feels tired. Ready for it to end. “And please feel free to refuse. But you… you’re my only friend, Leorio. You’re the only one who will be able to answer their questions. If you could visit the village sometime… afterwards… I’d be very grateful.” 

Leorio laughs, a sharp bark of sound with absolutely no humor or warmth in it. “No you won’t. You’ll be dead. Your people will look at me and know that I helped you to kill yourself - that I was a damn accomplice.” 

“Leorio… My clan knows better than anyone that it is impossible to talk me out of something once I’ve set my mind to it. If I hadn’t found you… I would have pursued even more dangerous options. I would have made a pact with a Daemon, consigning myself to eternal Hell.” This is no mere speculation - it’s a fact; Kurapika has seen it in a prophetic nightmare. 

“You’re not an accomplice - if anything, you saved my soul,” he concludes, in a soft voice that he hopes conveys his earnest belief of what he’s saying. 

The wizard turns away - though not fast enough to hide his tears. “Kurapika… you can’t just say that shit, you - you asshole.”  

“I’m not afraid of death,” Kurapika says, needing to emphasize the point. “It’s not an ending - it’s a new beginning. The Kurta believe in reincarnation. Since I’ll die with my soul still in my possession, I will eventually return - as I have many times previously.” 

“If that’s the case, wouldn’t your clan-” 

“No. Please don’t attempt to talk me out of this now of all times, Leorio. I will leave.” 

“... Right. Okay. I got it.” Leorio passes one arm over his eyes and sniffs loudly. “But I’m staying with you.” 

“Leorio, I… you shouldn’t…” 

“This is non-negotiable, Kurapika. I’m not gonna help you haul their bodies all the way over there and then just leave . You just asked me to talk to them and help them understand - I’m gonna be right there when they wake up and I want to have seen everything.” 

“Well… okay,” Kurapika eventually concedes. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Leorio by forcing the wizard to watch but, then again… he’d be hurting him no matter what. He can at least give Leorio this. 

“When are you doing this?” the white mage asks. When are you killing yourself, is what he means. 

“I was thinking… tomorrow. The four-year anniversary of their death.” The day after his birthday. Perhaps he’d been lying to himself. Perhaps he’d marked the date after all. 

“Jesus… fuck, Kurapika. That’s not enough time.” 

“Leorio. This is happening no matter what. Further delay will only hurt both of us.” 

“But, if it’s your last night on earth… we should at least-” 

Kurapika dreads whatever Leorio is about to propose, fearing it might have something to do with those unspoken and unacknowledged feelings . A repeat of That Night but with Leorio completely sober. “And to think I almost said-” 

“No. I need to rest,” he blurts out, interrupting whatever Leorio was trying to say. “I will… I will see you tomorrow morning.” 

And he runs away. There’s really no other word for it. 

While they’re loading the bodies into the hearse, Kurapika notices something different about Leorio. It takes him a moment to pinpoint the change - the wizard’s entire magical aura has shifted and he suddenly feels much more powerful than he had ever before. Kurapika concentrates on this sensation, and-

“You’re wearing a ring.” 

Leorio glances down at the plain silver band on the fourth finger of his right hand - an otherwise unremarkable piece of jewelry if not for the magic radiating out of it like a miniature sun. “Oh. Yeah. It belonged to Pietro. I usually just keep it in a drawer, but something told me… I should wear it today.”

“It seems unnecessary. The ritual should be of no danger to you so long as you remain outside of the boundaries of the circle.” 

“Huh? I didn’t grab it for magical protection, Kurapika. It’s just a ring,” Leorio says, looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

Kurapika stares right back, equally nonplussed. “It is far from ordinary. Do you not sense the raw energy in it? It is one of the most powerful artifacts that I’ve ever encountered.” 

“No, I… I had no idea. That doesn’t make any sense. Pete was as ‘normal’ as it gets.” 

“Evidently not. Forgive my bluntness, but - was he wearing it when he died?” 

Leorio nods, not seeming troubled by the old memory of pain. He even smiles a little. “Yeah. See, we nicked it from some rich old dude and tried to pawn it - but it turns out that it was worthless, some sorta artificial metal, not actual silver. So he just kept it and wore it everywhere. Before he passed, he told me to take it - called it our good luck charm.” 

Kurapika nods. “Here is what I believe - Pietro had magical potential but was untrained, much like you were. And as you know, at the moment of their demise, wizards are able to unleash one last spell, regardless of preparation or focus. Typically a Death Curse is a final attack directed at one’s killers… but in rare cases, it can be an act of love and have a beneficial effect.” 

“You mean…” Leorio spreads his long fingers out, examining the ring with new eyes. “He enchanted it, without even realizing it.” 

“Exactly. With his last conscious thought he wished to protect you, and his latent mana obeyed him. I’m not certain exactly what form his magic took, but it’s… something for you to examine more closely… afterwards.” 

“Right.” Leorio’s good humor immediately dissolves, replaced with a carefully neutral expression. “We should get on with it.” 

Kurapika bites his lip but says nothing. He knows better than to try to force Leorio to talk with him. He’s asking for entirely too much as it is. 

As Leorio drives Kurapika to his death, the sorcerer closes his eyes and prepares himself - mentally and magically - for the ritual to come. He hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t afraid to die. He’s been prepared to do this for four years and his resolve has never once wavered. If he has any regrets at all it’s only for what that death is going to do to the soft-hearted man beside him. 

In silence, they unload the bodies from the hearse. In silence, Kurapika draws the ritual lines with chalk, adding a pinprick of his own blood to enchant the circle. In silence, Leorio leans against the hearse and cleans his glasses - over and over again, a nervous tic, the need to have something to do with his hands-

Kurapika stops looking at Leorio. He stops thinking about him entirely, forcing his mind to flip the switch and concentrate on the ritual. He has work to do. 

As a sorcerer there is no need for complicated incantations. He simply needs to reach out and want, and doing that is simplicity itself. For four years, his murdered clan is (almost) all that he’s thought about. His love for them, and his pain for their loss, is near at hand. 

And there was nobody closer to his heart than Pairo. Kurapika has only been concentrating for perhaps a minute (sixty hours) when his best friend’s corpse jerks up, like a puppet on strings. Pairo’s weakened eyes snap open and Kurapika’s heart breaks at the confusion and pain written in them. 

“Where… where am I? Kurapika, what are you doing?” 

Kurapika almost sobs at the sound of someone else speaking Kurtan. He never thought he’d ever hear something that beautiful again. 

“Bringing you back,” he answers in the same language. “Bringing you all back. Just be patient with me for a few more moments, Pairo, and I’ll-” 

His friend ignores him and lunges forward on wobbly legs - his gait most closely resembling a newborn deer learning to walk for the first time. Kurapika has to stop what he’s doing and put his arms out just to stop Pairo from treading over the chalk lines and ruining everything. 

“Stay back! If you take one more step, you’ll-” 

“That’s the plan, idiot!” Pairo says - it’s the most forceful rebuke he’s ever heard from his always-gentle friend. “You can’t do this, Pika!”

Kurapika sees the worry and hurt in his friend’s eyes and suddenly can’t bring himself to meet them. “I’ve already made my decision. The die is cast. Now, step back and I’ll-” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Pairo proclaims, digging his feet into the dirt for emphasis. “You need to stop this right now. I can see the shape of this ritual. Every second we stand here talking is another, what, an hour of your life down the drain? And for what?” 

“To bring you all back!” Kurapika cries. “Because you never should’ve died! Or at the very least I should’ve died alongside you! I am… rectifying that error, so stop trying to distract me and step back, Pairo!” 

Pairo slaps him across the face.

In their twenty years together, Pairo has never lifted a hand against Kurapika. It’s so shocking that the sorcerer almost steps out of the circle himself, preventing himself from smudging the line of chalk by sheer luck. 

“You idiot,” Pairo repeats, in a gentle voice this time. “We’ve all been watching you this whole time. Wishing desperately we could reach out to you and tell you to stop it, already. Do you think any of us want this? Do you think we’d enjoy being brought back to life and knowing that it came at the cost of your death, Pika? Of course not! We love you too much for that!” 

“One life for one hundred and twenty-eight is-” 

“Shut up. Not one more word . Don’t you know where we are right now? It’s not as though we’re in Hell. We’re just watching and waiting - waiting so that all one hundred and twenty nine of us can reincarnate together, Kurapika. We don’t want to come back early - not without you. We want you to live this life to the fullest and then, when you see us again, to tell us all about it. To tell us that you enjoyed it!”

“Pairo, I…” 

For the first time in four years, Kurapika’s resolve starts to waver. This is… not something that he spent any time considering. He’d told Leorio not to fret because he would return - but he’d never thought about how it would permanently separate him from the rest of the clan. Now he’s hearing it directly from Pairo’s lips, and Pairo would never lie to him. If the rest of the Kurta are truly not suffering in the underworld, if they can choose to wait for him… 

And that’s when Pairo takes advantage of his sudden indecision and shoves Kurapika hard. The sorcerer doesn’t catch himself in time and stumbles right over the edge of the circle, breaking through the chalk line and shattering the ritual. 

There’s an explosion of light and sound as wayward magic flings itself in all directions. Pairo manages one last triumphant grin before his body collapses - the puppet’s strings have been cut. Kurapika curls in on himself, not even thinking of using magic to protect himself. But none of the wild power hits him - none of it gets close.

He cracks one eye open to see Leorio standing over him, one hand outstretched. The wizard hadn’t had any time to prepare a spell so he did the only thing he could, and trusted their safety to Pietro’s gift. The magic rages all around them, but the two of them are safely enclosed in a semi-transparent bubble issuing forth from the enchanted ring.

Then it’s over, as suddenly as it began. There’s no longer any wild power surging through the air. Just two men - and one hundred and twenty-eight bodies, carefully preserved but empty of their souls. 

“Thank god,” Leorio says, slumping down against the trunk of the hearse, utterly drained from calling on the artifact. 

Kurapika lies there in the dirt. The idea of standing up and continuing on - now that the last four years have all been for nothing - is somehow, too much to bear. He’s happy that the Kurta aren’t suffering, of course, but… what does he do now? 

“Six months,” Leorio says.

“What?” 

“You only wasted six months. Approximately. I didn’t have a stopwatch but I was counting down,” the wizard says. “It’s not that bad. It could’ve been a lot worse.” 

“I don’t care about that,” Kurapika snaps back. Arguing for the sake of it. “I would’ve traded everything I had left.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. Whatever,” Leorio grumbles. “I’m… I’m glad that a friend of yours was the first one back. I didn’t understand what he was saying but it seems like he talked some sense into you before he pushed you out of the circle.”   

“Pairo. He took the choice away from me…” 

“Wasn’t it his to make? It was his soul you were trying to yank back into his corpse.”

Kurapika doesn’t have a good answer for that so he says nothing. He glares at Leorio with the full force of his wounded dignity.

“Quit pouting,” Leorio says ruthlessly. “We’ve got one hundred and twenty-eight corpses to bury. Leaving ‘em out like this is just unsanitary. Unless your people have another funeral tradition…?” 

“Typically cremation. The body is now a mere vessel and burning it away releases their soul,” Kurapika says, slipping into explanation mode despite his current funk. “There’s also a waiting period though… under the circumstances… I believe that is more than fulfilled.” 

“Right. Okay. I don’t do fire, so this one’s all on you…” Leorio pauses and looms over Kurapika, clearly at a loss despite all his earlier prodding. Doubtless he’d been looking forward to dropping a shovel on the sorcerer and ordering him to work.

“As expected - you’re useless,” Kurapika says, with more affection than bite. It’s much, much easier to lose himself in the old banter than be vulnerable and admit how much Leorio has helped him through the worst time of his life.

Leorio seems to get it. He just grins at Kurapika and stoops down to help him up. 

Chapter Text

“You know,” Kurapika says evenly, “You aren’t a stupid man, Leorio.” 

It’s the day after they cremated the Kurta’s bodies. Kurapika’s will to continue on now that all his Necromancy study turned out to be for nothing is still worryingly low. Perhaps Leorio sensed that, as he insisted that the sorcerer not return alone to his hotel room but stay with him that night. The excuse he gave was that they’d both had ‘one hell of a day’ and should stick together in case of probable mana exhaustion. 

Certainly, Kurapika had been exhausted. He’d collapsed onto the fold-out couch bed before Leorio was even finished trying to argue that the guest should take the real bed and was asleep a moment later. He didn’t wake up for twenty-four hours, either - not unusual in cases of mana over-use but Leorio was determined to be fretting about it all the same. The tall man was a natural worrier. 

He was also quick to anger, as demonstrated now when he interpreted Kurapika’s comment in the worst possible way. “What the hell? Why’re you saying that like it’s a sudden revelation? Why I oughta-” 

“Oh, be quiet and listen,” Kurapika snaps, and for once Leorio complies, his empty bluster subsiding into relative silence. Which is to say he’s still making a damn racket in the kitchen with various cooking utensils, but it’s the best Kurapika is going to get. 

“I should have realized it earlier, but I was distracted yesterday. When I explained how I intended to use Chronomancy, your response was ‘it will kill you.’ At the time I merely shouted at you that I had always intended to die so the manner in which I did so was irrelevant. But I’d missed something crucial.” 

“Oh yeah?” Leorio asks casually. Way too casually. He’s not a very good liar - he wears his emotions on his sleeve too openly for that. 

“As I said, you’re not stupid enough to make a mistake like that. You were well aware of Necromancy and its cost. Why would you suddenly be concerned for my life then and only then? The answer is actually simple. You knew that my ritual would fail.”

Leorio drops his spatula, bits of egg following suit and coating the kitchen floor. The wizard curses instinctually but doesn’t bend to pick it up. He’s busy staring at Kurapika, an odd expression on his face - like he’s not sure if he should smile or frown and his features are caught in-between. 

“Relax, Leorio. You know that I of all people have no intention of reporting you to the Council,” Kurapika says, lifting both hands in a calming gesture. It’s not a Vow - he doesn’t take those lightly and won’t enter into one voluntarily - but he’d swear on it if he had to.  

“Nothing to report about,” the wizard says unconvincingly. “I’ve never messed around with illegal magic. Didn’t even know I had it until Ms. Cheadle approached me.” 

“Leorio. My entire life has been an open book to you these past four years, in spite of my own best efforts. Please do me the courtesy of being honest with me at long last.” 

“Hey, that’s not fair. It’s not… it wasn’t like I was trying to lie to you, Kurapika. It’s just… I mean, yeah, I knew the Kurta wouldn’t want to come back. The dead never do. Why consign yourself to more earthly suffering when you’re finally at peace?” 

Kurapika says nothing. Just folds his arms and waits for Leorio to continue.

The tale comes in fits and starts, but eventually the wizard gets to the point and once he does, he doesn’t stop. His love for Pietro is obvious in every word. Losing him had devastated a younger Leorio. But as Kurapika had begun to suspect, that wasn’t the end of the story. In some ways it was only the beginning. 

“I still didn’t really believe in magic,” Leorio explains, “but I was desperate and so, so angry. I was willing to try anything. I stole a spellbook from that grandma I mentioned. It didn’t have anything on Necromancy but I taught myself the basics of a ritual circle and I just… made up the rest.” 

“I can’t believe you’re alive. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? There’s a reason wizards don’t improvise their rune-work!” 

“Hey, no need to shout at me. I know it was idiotic. Past Me didn’t care, though. He was gonna drag Pietro’s soul back into his body or die trying.”

“Did you… succeed?” 

Leorio snorts. “Unfortunately, yes.” 

“Unfortunately?” 

“Don’t make me spell it out, Kurapika. You know more about Necromancy than I do.” 

“The soul is returned to the body in its exact condition…” Kurapika sighs. “Of course. The cancer.”

“Still spreading,” Leorio confirms. “It was past the point it should have killed him and yet here he was, trapped in a decaying body. It must have been hell - dragged from a place with no pain and forced back into constant agony. Pete could barely speak but when he did, he was begging me to release the spell. I hadn’t saved him at all - I’d just forced him back against his will and made him suffer.” 

“You’re still alive. Does that mean…?” 

“Yeah, it was the same as you. I let him go and the life I’d used up came back to me. I guess it only kills you if you try to take them out of the circle. I dunno. I’m not messing with it again - I dodged a bullet as it is!”

Kurapika frowns. “Which brings me back to my original point. You knew full-well that Pairo and the others would not want to return and yet you chose not to share that information with me.” 

Instead of looking upset, Leorio just smirks at him. “Oh yeah, because you totally would’ve listened to me.”

“Well, I…” Kurapika pauses. Reluctant as he is to concede the point he can hardly lie to himself about his own mental state at the time. 

“You totally wouldn’t have just bitten my head off for daring to try to talk you out of it and flounced off for good.” 

“You’ve made your point, Leorio. No need to sound so smug about it.” 

“Yeah, well… At least this way I could keep an eye on you, and make sure your clan’s bodies were treated with respect while you were off searching for answers that didn’t exist,” Leorio concludes. “I honestly thought you’d give it up before actually attempting the spell but, as usual, I underestimated your… your…” 

“Strength of will?” 

“Stubborn little-shit-ness. Emphasis on little.” 

Kurapika scowls at him. “A height joke. Really.” 

“Oh yeah. You better brace yourself. I didn’t want to kick a guy while he was down, but I’ve been saving these up for years.” 

“Presumptuous of you, to assume I will stand by and suffer the indignity of your attempts at humor.”  

Leorio shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “You’re my best friend, Kurapika. Whatever comes next for you… I wanna help. I mean, I’m gonna be working 80 hour weeks at the hospital so I hope you don’t expect too much, but… yeah. I’m here.” 

Kurapika knows that the white mage is understating it, that Leorio’s feelings for him go beyond friendship… but he appreciates the wizard’s rare restraint. He’s not yet sure how he wants to handle that. He’d never let himself think of the possibility, avoiding it even on what he’d thought was his last night alive. He needs more time to sort it all out. Leorio’s waited this long - he can wait a little longer. 

“I have no idea what I want to do now,” he confesses in a whisper. “Pairo told me to live for them, but I’ve wasted so much time already.” 

Leorio shrugs, finally remembering the meal he’d been preparing and turning back to the stove. Luckily it hadn’t burned too badly in the low heat. “You don’t need to have it all figured out right this second, sunshine. Just take your time. Thanks to Pairo you have plenty of it.” 

“Yes. I suppose I do.” 

Kurapika does not experience any grand revelations over the course of their meal, but he does manage to enjoy Leorio’s fumbling and half-burned attempts at cooking, and that’s an accomplishment in and of itself. 

He can figure out what comes next starting tomorrow. Or even the day after that. He does have plenty of time. 

For now his only real ambition is to spend that time with… a friend. His best and only friend. A man he cares for a great deal - more than anyone else left to him in this world - even if he hasn’t said it. 

But Kurapika gets the impression that Leorio is well aware, anyway.