Skeleton Flower | kurokura time travel AU | chrollo x kurapika

Chapter 2

There are no beginnings in the comfort of a seraphic forest; in the warmth of a summer with sunlight caressing his cheeks and grasses beneath his feet; in the scent of wind carrying morning dews; in grassland birds taking flight and finding freedom in a vast sky.

Kurapika's eyes snap open. The sudden flood of awareness is just as overwhelming as the pain searing throughout his body. He's sprawled over the arid ground, aching down to his bones, and he can't distinguish where one pain starts and another ends.

There's no water in his lungs—everything is so dry when he takes his first full breath—and his throat hurts as if he had swallowed a handful of thorns. The air speaks of drought, but life still persists around him. When he lets out a cough, the black birds pecking at his soles rustle their wings and retreat to the sky. It's impossible to tell where he is from their cries and calls alone.

Another breath, and it's easier now. Kurapika doesn't know how long he's been lying here, his back on dead leaves and jagged rocks, his face upturned to the darkening sky. Perhaps a moment, perhaps an eternity. Time has vanished from the forefront of his mind despite how much it meant to him, when he always measured the passage of it.

The remnants of a dream follow him into wakefulness. There's a litany of voices in his ears, people he can't discern, fragmented images flowing through his mind. Kurapika slides a hand through his hair and—remembers a phantom warmth, a gentle kiss pressed to his forehead. Remembers looking into the eyes of a young woman, only a few years older than him, but when he measured time in years, she looked the same as when he last saw her.

The memory comes with a stark, aching clarity.

It's not your time yet.

Breathe.

It hits him so hard that his heart stutters. His chest suddenly feels too tight.

He can't possibly—

Breathe.

Kurapika chokes on his next breath, a strangled gasp, and his hands fist into his hair. He wants to sob the way he hasn't been able to in years, too caught up in the throes of grief and vengeance without release. He can't cry, not now.

Catching his breath seems impossible, but he manages to take slow, deliberate breaths, until the panic begins to slide away.

Stay safe. I'll be waiting for you.

A shudder wracks through his body, and he doesn't know if it's because of relief or regret or something else altogether. He presses a hand against the ground, feeling the imprint, the depth, and forces himself upright. He can hear his joints crackling in protest. The weight of return settles on his mind, reminding him what exactly happened before he closed his eyes for what he assumed to be the last time.

Letting go of his life was much easier than expected, when the exhaustion of his abilities only left Kurapika connected to life by a thin thread, before it severed altogether. He simply didn't expect to wake up in an unfamiliar place when he should be buried thousands of feet beneath the water.

When there's no water to be found, Kurapika can't be anywhere close to the Black Whale—not even a distant island. A breeze scatters dead leaves onto his lap and he picks one up between his fingers. It crumbles with the slightest pressure, leaving nothing in his hand but a stem and veins. Kurapika gazes towards the direction of the wind. Beyond the mounds of rubbish and filth, a city rises in the distance.

If this is supposed to be Hell, then he's seen far worse than Hell. Slowly and carefully, he gets his feet under himself and rises, dusting the dirt from his clothes. A wetness seeps through his suit jacket and he gingerly presses his hand over it, expecting the worse.