Damn Your Dark, Damn Your Light

Chapter One

It's a vast empty area, and the sunlight is burning his eyes when he attempts to look up. He frowns, because he's allowed to, and soon enough, there's a hand soothing down his back that he has to turn to the side to see the kind smile directed at him. A tall figure stops a few steps ahead and turns to look at him over his shoulder. He's sharing the same kind smile, a promise of some sort, but he keeps the frown on his face. He hears his name being called from his side, and he turns again to gaze into those caring eyes, but he knows. He might be only eight, but he's not foolish, and those smiles he sees today will only turn apologetic tomorrow, but the words don't come out of his throat. What good would they do anyway? He deepens his frown and turns his head away, aware of the sigh he hears from his side, and feels more than sees the shoulders slumping down before the figure stands up again to their full height. He still feels a hand ruffling through his hair gently, an invitation for him to keep moving forward, and since he has no other options, he follows the two further into his new home.

A drop of water falls over his skin, trailing down his cheek before another hits his forearm, and he removes the arm covering his eyes to look at the sky. It's been a full year now of cloudy skies, and the sun from his childhood is no longer seen. How many years have passed? He stopped counting the days long ago, and as more drops fall from the sky, he forces his body into a sitting position, allowing the water to pour over his head and damp his clothes. It's not cold, he doesn't exactly hate the rain; the thin layer of clothing can be discarded when he gets home. It's not like there's anyone waiting for him when he gets there. Heavy footsteps snap him out of his haziness, and he turns his head slightly towards the sound; splashing of water over their boots makes their presence known, and he's soon looking at two alerted faces as they try to catch their breaths when they come to stop once they see him. He isn't familiar with the entire force, but their formal uniform is all he needs to see for him to know that they're from the military force.

"Kuroo," one of the two speaks up. "You're Tetsuro Kuroo, right?" There is probably no one else that lives nearby the entire place, but Kuroo still sighs when the man asks. They don't notice the huge mark over his back, yellow letters printed carefully of his family name over the black color of the fabric. But his scabbard is also very noticeable as it sits still beside him on the grass, and it's what catches the other man's attention as his eyes stray over it. "We need your help," the man speaks up again, and the rain starts to get heavier. "A prisoner escaped from the island," he gulps when he informs him, eyebrows tilting up in his forehead, and Kuroo's silence prompts him to tell him more. "It's Tsukishima." There's a moment when something flashes in front of Kuroo's eyes. A familiar gaze, ripped mask as it reveals one eye, an earring dangling in the air with the full moon behind him, and his own voice strangled and forgotten as he chokes on his own blood. His hand is gripping the scabbard in the following second, and he rises slowly to stand on his feet before he gazes up at the sky again. How many years has it been? He's asking himself that question again for the second time today, but he's calm. He needs to be.

"Did you get a trace?"

"We've scattered our forces across the area," one of the officers replies, but Kuroo knows it won't be useful.

"Just make sure no more prisoners escape the island," he tells them as he turns to leave. "I'll take care of this." He looks at them one last time before he sprints into the forest, and the wooden base of his geta collides with the now-turned muddy grounds as his eyes scan over his surroundings. A gun goes off, and he stops immediately as he looks towards where he heard the sound. There's a line where birds fly away, and it's where he heads to, grip tightening over the sword handle once he's able to spot a figure, and he unsheathes his blade as he runs, aim missing the flying figure as his eyes spot blood on the ground, and there's no mask this time, no dangling earring to reflect the moonlight, but the black face he stares at is enough to make his blood boil. His sword slashes into a tree instead, and it cuts the thick wood in half, the leaves blocking his view for a couple of seconds as the figure looks at him, and his eyes catch on the slight movement of the figure lying on the ground. His eyes are glaring, but his feet are rooted to the ground, and it allows the ninja to escape. His chest is heaving, but not like it did all those years ago, and he's allowed to make a decision now that he's an adult with a functioning brain, so he kneels next to the figure on the ground, finding it to be of a young man with dark hair and freckles adoring his face, but what Kuroo sees first is the blood dripping down his neck from an open wound, and he hurries to press on the wound but it doesn't seem to be a fatal one. The bullet must have caused the ninja to miss his target, and it saved this man's life. Well, the military seems to be of use today.