Chapter 1

The Black Whale is sinking.

Amidst the screaming and crying and chaos accompanying one of the greatest passenger ships in the world descending into the ocean, Kurapika stands against the railing of the uppermost deck. Ahead of him, the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow along the surface of the water. It would be an admirable sight, if not for the fact that it would be the last for many of them.

The Kakin royalty are being ushered into the lifeboats, followed by those of the fairer society. The deck is crowded with passengers making their escape, but even the Zodiacs coupled with the Kakin soldiers aren't enough to handle the situation. Progress is inevitably slow.

A woman attempts to board Prince Woble's lifeboat, and Kurapika holds up a hand. "Leave all possessions behind."

Her eyes are hesitant, almost wary. Her intricate gown and jewelry speak of how she had no time to change from the banquet, but there's two large bags in her hands, their contents threatening to spill over. "I hold my family's inheritance in my hands. I can't possibly abandon them in the water!"

"Then feel free to join them in the ocean," Kurapika answers relentlessly. "There isn't enough room for everyone, let alone worldly possessions. Leave them behind, or you'll be the one remaining behind."

She chokes on a disbelieving laugh, or perhaps it's a sob. Her deliberation doesn't last very long, because there are passengers growing impatient behind her, more than willing to take her seat. Thrusting the bags towards a Kakin soldier, she ultimately relinquishes her belongings. The two bags are dropped into the water along with everything else. A woman's sun hat floating on the surface of the water. A lone briefcase packed with family heirlooms. Sheets of papers scattered by the wind.

The woman lifts her skirt to climb over the lifeboat. It leaves a bitter taste in Kurapika's mouth that they need to defer to people like her. People who don't understand the gravity of the situation—bemoaning the discomfort of congested lifeboats, catching colds, abandoning their belongings—rather than the hundreds of thousands of lives below them. Those who have nothing to lose but their lives.

There's not that much time left. A few more individuals board that very lifeboat, until the expected capacity has been met. An uneasy tension settles in the air, driven by a couple grasping onto each other tightly, so young and inseparable. The realization that Kurapika has not joined them makes Queen Oito rise from her seat, though Bill presses his hands against her shoulders, encouraging her to sit down.

"What is going on?" Queen Oito's hands fist into her skirt, her knuckles going white.

The hands on her shoulders tighten ever so slightly. It takes tremendous effort, but Bill manages to answer, "Kurapika is staying behind."

His words are a death toll, striking fear into Queen Oito's heart. "What do you mean?" Her hands are trembling now, a habit that has never left her. "I swear upon everything I hold dear, if Kurapika doesn't come with us, I will throw myself into the ocean—"

"Your Highness, please calm yourself." Only the railing separates them now. Kurapika looks at her as softly as he is able to, as if he hasn't resigned himself to his demise. The ache in his chest eases with the knowledge that Bill will remain by her side. "You have to understand that I don't have much time left. I have nothing else to offer you."

"No! How could you say that—" Her voice is laced with more desperation than Kurapika ever heard of before. She reaches out to Kurapika fiercely, struggles to wrench herself from Bill's hold, but her efforts are futile. A sob breaks apart in her throat, a sound that tears from inside her, and she's shaking with the force of it. "I refuse to lose anyone else. Don't you dare do this to me—"

"I'm sorry." Bill tries not to let his voice falter, because there's a deep-rooted ache that mirrors her own. He refuses to let her go, smothering her attempts to drive her elbows into his ribs and twist away from his grasp. "I promise," he says to Kurapika, with the same endless, impossible faith that once drew Kurapika away from his seething hatred, that reminded him of what was most important, "that I'll protect them."

There are furious tears stinging at Queen Oito's eyes, because this is the ultimate betrayal, but instead of being concerned for her mother, Prince Woble looks at him with that same curiosity as when they first met. The golden sun feathers her hair with light, lends a softness to the swell of her cheeks, making him consider how much she's grown throughout this journey. She will be just fine when she has her mother, Bill, Shimano at her side. She might not even remember him when she grows older.

"Thank you." Kurapika allows himself to smile and it falters around the edges a little. He's never said farewell before, not even to his clan, and wonders if this is how it should go. Should it feel like the gentle wind tousling his hair, the taste of sea salt on his tongue? He's so apologetic yet heartened by the promise of a better future. "That's all I could ever ask for."

Grief bleeds into their gazes, and then—

The lifeboat drops.

Kurapika turns away and pretends that he doesn't hear his name.

His task here is over. From the corner of his eye, he recognizes a pair of familiar white scrubs, sees Leorio assisting a heavily pregnant woman and her husband onto a quickly filling lifeboat. His limbs feel heavy when he walks past them, but his heart feels lighter than it's ever been.

It's as difficult to push past the crowd of people as it is to wade through sea water. He wonders if any of the lower passengers have been informed. The impending aftermath chills him—the endless ocean robbing air from thousands of people, filling their lungs with water, swallowing them down without anyone to come to their aid. It's a terrible way to die.

Kurapika's vision blurs with each step he takes, and it's not because of tears. He hasn't cried since his homeland fell, had forgotten how to cry, but perhaps it was indignance that burned all of his tears away.

Slipping past the Kakin soldiers, he slides open a door to return to the indoor cabins. The silence is so sudden and deafening that it makes his head spin—a contrast to the air outside, so tense with panic and desperation. No one is going to return here, and Kurapika isn't going back outside.

Kurapika keeps a hand against the walls of the hallway to steady himself. Not because of the way the ship slowly lists, but because it is difficult to stand upright after exhausting himself for most of the day. The fatigue in his bones has dulled to a low throb, but he forces himself to move onward.

The rooms he passes are dark and still, devoid of any presence. Eventually, he finds himself in front of a door at the end of hallway, a stream of weak light coming from the gap. The remnants of fresh blood are stark against the white floor. A long breath escapes him before he pushes the door open, letting it fall soundlessly behind him. The metallic scent of blood saturates the air.

"How kind of you to join me."

Kurapika levels an even gaze at where Kuroro is leaning against the wall, clothes torn and stained from a extensive, gruesome laceration running from his collarbone to his ribs. He never thought it possible for Kuroro to grow paler, but he seems to have done so. His eyes are dark beneath a fringe of even darker lashes, though there's a weariness that wasn't there before. It had taken only one day for Kuroro to go from one of the most powerful individuals in the world to a dying man.

"I'm not here for you," Kurapika answers, when there are ten canisters at his side, each with a vibrant eyeball suspended in formaldehyde. "I'm surprised that you haven't left this world yet."

Kuroro laughs, but it isn't cruel. It's soft, desiccated. "I couldn't possibly die before seeing you again."

The slope of the ship is more noticeable now, and Kurapika watches with an abstract horror as the canisters begin sliding on the floor. Without a second thought, he throws himself forward to gather them all, preventing the shattering of glass with his own body. He kneels by Kuroro's side, carefully lining them against the wall.

"You are a fool," Kuroro says through shallow breaths, "for watching your friends leave and staying behind."

Kurapika leans back against the wall, right beside him. "If I leave, I would only end up as a dead body. An unnecessary weight." He doesn't look at Kuroro, only glances at the clock adjacent to them, watching the minute hand increment. If he's calculated the time he has left accurately, then he should only have an hour. It would be better to succumb to the restrictions of his abilities than let the ocean swallow him first. "This is the price that these Eyes have demanded I pay."

Kuroro tips his head back and closes his eyes in thought. "My companions are dead. You can still give closure to yours."

Kurapika thinks that he hears something akin to respect in his words. The animosity between them has been long suppressed, but that doesn't mean he could ever respect Kuroro in turn. If things were the same as two years ago, then he would be dying at Kurapika's hands. But he isn't.

"If my clan couldn't afford a proper burial," Kurapika says, staring at the Scarlet Eyes looking past him, "then why should I have the privilege?"

He can only imagine the burden that would come with carrying his body ashore with them, having to bury him despite being their youngest, and the memory haunting Queen Oito for many years to come. It's better this way. With no grave to visit, perhaps moving on will be a little easier.

A shift, and then there's a gentle pressure on his shoulder. Kuroro presses his face against his shoulder, and while being touched by Kuroro should leave him feeling filthy, he lets him stay there. Sweat pools at Kuroro's collarbone, blending with the blood that seeps from his wounds. There's no catharsis in seeing him like this, and it's a wonder how he's somewhere between alive and dead.

"You are too young," Kuroro murmurs, breath against Kurapika's skin. "Too kind." A pause. "If things were different—perhaps we could have been companions."

It's not an apology, and it draws a pained laugh from Kurapika. "You've lost so much blood that you're speaking nonsense now."

If things were different, perhaps Kurapika would not be dying because of his bloodline.

He would return ashore with the rest of them, see Queen Oito and Prince Woble off to safety, free from the circumstances of the succession war.

He would visit Killua and Gon one more time—Gon, especially, because he never did visit him at the hospital, never met his beloved Aunt Mito in the backwaters of Whale Island.

He would watch Leorio at his graduation ceremony, donning his black cap and gown and accolades, hearing his name being read aloud in the auditorium—Dr. Paladiknight, that's who he will be, because he's going to fulfill his dreams of saving people's lives.

He would fall in love with someone, someone that loves him more than he does himself, and have a family of his own so that his bloodline would not die with him.

In another life, a different life, perhaps certain things would have meant more to him. There are people who need things of material and sentimental value to ground them, need photos to remind themselves of their friends and family. But Kurapika's family burned on a pyre and died for their eyes. He only has ghosts.

It's enough, the way things turned out. He did not have to die a torturous death during an encounter with Kuroro, let alone Tserriednich. He did not have to take another life—Kuroro's life, because someone else wanted him dead just as much.

"Perhaps we could have been more." Kuroro lets out a soft sigh. "This feels too much like a lovers' suicide pact."

Kurapika doesn't have the capacity to be offended anymore. There's a bone-deep weariness within him that even sleep could not appease. He's been tired for far too long.

"This isn't the end," Kurapika says, in finality. "We'll see each other again in Hell."

The end of Kurapika's story will be found in the endless water; in the slow, steady beat of his heart; in worn, forgotten books. There was never any happiness for him, no hope for him, when he only burned himself out for retribution, willing to die for memories of his ghosts. The end will be found here, but perhaps, there will be another beginning.

As he hears a soft hum in agreement, Kurapika closes his eyes.

A gentle darkness is the last thing he knows.

Notes: Here's my obligatory time travel fic. Contrary to Kurapika's expectations, I did want to give him a calm ending. He deserves peace.

I would say, that in the end, Kuroro and Kurapika were able to work together somehow. Tserriednich is gone, and the Scarlet Eyes were able to be retrieved.

Please free to leave a comment—I would love to know what you think. You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna!