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The world was fuzzy.
The world was red and fuzzy but the boy— no, the corpse of the boy lying in front of him was as clear as day, possibly clearer than even that.
Kurapika’s body was broken and bloodied and— dear god, where was his head?!
Pairo was certain he was going to be sick. He desperately wanted to close his eyes and wake up in his bed to Kurapika pounding at his door going on about the outside world— because this had to be a dream, some kind of sick and twisted nightmare, but no, he couldn’t take his eyes off the broken body and Kurapika was definitely dead. And it was all Pairo’s fault.
For once, he and Kurapika had stayed inside the village. That's where they had been when it happened. It had started off with a small commotion in the area most travelers tended to enter into. Pairo had initially assumed some poor traveler had gotten lost in the woods and stumbled upon their village (It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time) but soon the commotion grew larger, and suddenly their mothers were shooing them away from the clearing, telling them to run with an urgency neither of them had heard before. In that moment, Pairo had started to hear screams.
His mother hoisted him to his feet, gave him an urgent shove and once more demanded that they run.
Kurapika had grabbed his hand and started sprinting.
Despite being a few months younger, Kurapika had always been faster, stronger, braver than Pairo ever was, than he ever would be, but as he turned to get a glimpse of the commotion behind him, Pairo could only see terror in Kurapika’s eyes.
Pairo had tried to steal a glimpse for himself, but with his ailing vision, he’d only been able to catch swirling reds and oranges and thirteen figures in their midst.
He’d urged his friend to look away, they had to get out of there. There was screaming, so much screaming as one after the other, his fellow Kurta began to fall.
Pairo had quickly realized they were completely in the open. The intruders would notice them quickly if they hadn’t already. He tugged Kurapika between two houses and they wove through yards and around buildings to safety.
Kurapika had been looking back with increasing agitation. He kept saying he had to go back, had to do something, but Pairo knew there was nothing that could be done. If all of the adults in the clan couldn’t handle these thirteen strangers, then what could they possibly hope to accomplish? He shifted his loosening hold to his friend's arm, gripped it tight, and kept running.
“Kurapika has no self control,” Pairo’s mother had told him once, “That’s why he needs someone around to keep him out of trouble.”
That was his job, to keep Kurapika out of trouble, and that was a job he took very seriously, so no matter what, he would not let him run headfirst into the fray.
Pairo remembered very clearly the day of the accident. The very same day his mother had told him Kurapika needed someone to keep him out of trouble. He remembered trying to pull him up from where he was dangling off the side of that cliff. He remembered falling, even if Kurapika thought he didn’t. He saw the guilty, apologetic looks he’d send his way, even though Kurapika had nothing to apologize for. His vision and mobility would never be the same. That would just be a fact of life, one Pairo accepted, as inconvenient as it was sometimes, because it meant he’d done his job properly.
He cursed it now, looking at the headless body of his best friend. He remembered telling Kurapika he wanted to do whatever he could himself, but this time he couldn’t do enough. And that had cost Kurapika his head.
If only he had been able to run faster. If only he had been able to see better. Then Kurapika would have survived, he’d still have his head.
Death was just a part of life, that was what his parents had told him, everything that lived had to die someday. But weren’t things supposed to grow old before that happened? Wasn’t that why they made sure flowers kept their roots when they picked them?
(Distantly Pairo knew his parents were among the sea of corpses that littered the burnt ruins of what used to be their home.)
Kurapika never had the chance to grow old and wilt like a flower did. His parents hadn’t either. In fact, none of them did. No one in the clan was particularly old, aside from the elder and a few others. No one else got to grow old and gain wrinkles and a crown of silver hair as proof of their wisdom.
He and Kurapika used to joke about getting old one day. He told him one day his hair would match the bluish gray of his eyes. Now that would never happen because his friend was dead and his head was gone.
It simply wasn’t fair. Other than sassing the elder a few too many times and doing things he was explicitly told not to do, Kurapika hadn’t done anything wrong. None of them had. So why had they died such awful deaths?
It was almost hard to believe. Kurapika was truly dead. Kurapika, the boy who had run mindlessly through the forest claiming he’d see the outside world no matter what. The boy who’d gotten a taste of the cruelty the world had to offer, smiled and said, “No matter what, there are always people willing to help out.”
He’d seen how mean outsiders could be and found the good instead, and death was his reward. Decapitation was his punishment.
No.
It just couldn’t be. What could Kurapika— sweet, optimistic Kurapika— have possibly done to deserve this? Pairo couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t think of anything any of the eyeless corpses could have done to deserve this.
Then…
This wasn’t their punishment. This cruelty wasn’t meant for them. This punishment, this cruelty, it was all for him.
It was Pairo’s job to keep his best friend out of danger. A job he took very seriously. A job he had failed.
He told Kurapika he wanted to do whatever he could himself. This was his punishment for not doing enough.
He couldn’t run forever. He knew he couldn’t run forever as he dragged Kurapika between houses, getting closer and closer to the forest— to safety with each hurried step. He could hear agonized screams behind him and his cloudy brown eyes stung with tears, from the pained screams or the smoke of the fire he knew was spreading rapidly behind them, he wasn’t sure. He hoped and prayed that adrenaline alone would carry him to the forest, but he knew he couldn’t keep running forever.
Soon enough his legs began to give out, so they sheltered in the stable, where all of the piko were kept until he regained his strength.
Kurapika was never patient. He had never enjoyed sitting around and doing nothing, so of course it didn’t take long for him to grow restless. Once again he insisted on doing something, anything, to help. Pairo wouldn’t let him run headfirst into certain death like that, he just wouldn’t.
The final straw was when Pairo had felt heat reach the stable, the fire had caught up to them. Even worse, he could hear the calm footsteps of the intruders sauntering towards them. He stiffened. Had they been found already?
Kurapika noticed his agitation and immediately leapt to his feet.
“Kurapika don’t,” he’d whispered, as loudly as he dared, but Kurapika didn’t listen, he never did.
He surged forward and Pairo made a grab for him. His robes, his arm, even if he had to grab his ankle and trip him, anything to get him to stop, but his eyesight was worsening, leaving him only able to see blurry shapes and colors and the smoke around them made his eyes tear up and his vision even blurrier than usual. Still he had to try, he couldn’t let Kurapika rush to his death.
He missed.
Thanks to his failing vision, shapes blended into each other and everything was a fuzzy, colorful blur, but he was still always able to recognize the people he knew and loved, especially Kurapika. He was certain he’d always be able to find his best friend with his golden blonde hair and blue-gray eyes and the royal blue tabards he always wore. Kurapika was always easy to spot.
But in the haze of the smoke, one color blended into another and he missed.
He remembered sitting there in fear as Kurapika rushed out of the stable, directly into danger. He remembered sitting frozen, unable to breathe and his eyes the brightest shade of scarlet they had ever been as he heard the screaming, the agonized screaming— Kurapika’s agonized screaming. When the screaming finally stopped, Pairo desperately hoped it was because he’d managed to get away, even though deep down, he knew it was because he was dead.
He didn’t remember exactly how, but he’d made it to the forest, to safety. He ran and ran until his legs gave out. He collapsed against a tree, coughing and sputtering and desperately trying to get the sounds of screams out of his head, desperately hoping his best friend was still alive.
It had taken three days for Pairo to finally muster up the courage to return to the place he once called home. When he returned, it was to rows and rows of corpses, Kurapika’s included.
It was hard to believe he was truly dead. Kurapika had always shined so bright— both visually and metaphorically— that was why his mother used to call him firefly. He was bright in almost every way, and now that light would never shine again.
He remembered Kurapika promising Sheila that one day, they would all be pro hunters together. He wouldn’t be able to fulfill that promise now, not without his head.
He dropped to his knees and pulled the headless corpse into his arms. He didn’t care that it smelled of blood and death and smoke, he hugged it all the same. He hugged Kurapika’s corpse and cried. He cried harder than he ever had.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. ”
He repeated it over and over again until his voice went hoarse. He knew Kurapika would never respond, knew he couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t stop him.
He cried until he had no tears left, and the only noises escaping him were shaky breaths.
As he buried his best friend along with the rest of his clan, all Pairo could think about was how unfair it all was.
And then he wondered what he would do next. All that remained of his family, his friends, his home were a field of corpses and the ashes of what used to be homes. He didn’t have anything left.
His home was gone.
He packed up whatever he could salvage and left the village he’d always called home. He was going to venture out into the outside world like he’d always wanted, but now the thought didn’t bring any joy. He’d never imagined he’d be venturing out into the world without a home to return to. He never wanted it to happen like this.
As he left the lush Lukso forest, all he could think about was how unfair it was that Kurapika couldn’t see it with him.