ズノレレひムの刀
͓̽F͓̽a͓͓̽̽n͓͓̽̽t͓̽a͓͓̽̽s͓͓̽̽y͓̽ ͓̽K͓͓̽̽i͓͓̽̽l͓͓̽̽l͓͓̽̽u͓͓̽̽G͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽n͓̽
Killua has died once already.
In every history book, there's a chapter of the infamous Killua Zoldyck: The face of the cover is blurry, as if the artist was unsure...
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4100 words.
Aged dust coats Gon's fingers in a thick film. The lantern in his hands shudders a dim, wavering yellow, and rain pounds on the wooden shingles above. It sounds violent this close, moisture seeping through the rigid cracks and wetting his nostrils. Nails sharp like dragon's teeth bite deeper into the decaying wood at every step.
His nose wrinkles in intense contemplation. "Now, I wonder where Aunt Mito is hiding it." He leans over on the attic floor and rests his hand on his chin.
Kon whines at the base of the ladder, his big eyes pleading to put away this adventure for the night before they both get in trouble and succumb to Mito's wrath. Russet paws scratch at the ground.
"I know, I know, but Kon, we've never been up here before. There has to be something cool Ging left for me! I'm thinking... a grimoire? If Aunt Mito comes, could you distract her for me, please? I'll sneak you some scraps from dinner tonight."
Kon puffs out air through his snout before stubbornly prancing off with a stiffened tail.
Bemused, Gon once again focuses his gaze on the task at hand. Gingerly, he takes his last step up the creaky ladder and places two sturdy hands on the floor of the attic, crouching to a crawling position. Silken spiderwebs have already latched to his hair. Gon ignores it, just as he is now ignoring the second most important rule of his house: Don't go into the attic.
His fingers tremble, lips twitching at the corners of his mouth into an anticipatory grin. He briskly fabricates a mental map of the objects around him: two crates stacked near the round window, some dusty stringed instrument, more boxes and crates...there!
"This has to be it," Gon says triumphantly, possibly a teaspoon of greed lacing his voice, but right as he's about to step closer, his lantern gasps its final breath, its last flicker of life devoured by darkness.
He's engulfed in complete black. Eyes flutter around blankly.
He slowly inhales, then exhales.
It's safe. No one can see me.
Imagine fish swimming down a stream, just as blood flows through your veins.
A soft, yellow glow begins lighting his palm like the first glimmer of twilight.
Yes, this feels natural.
"Eluna," he mumbles, and the lantern powers on brighter than ever before, droplets of gold dripping from his hands. The smell of newly projected magic wafts through his nostrils like sage and evergreen. And Gon cannot shake the pleasing sensation after casting a spell, the raw power and beauty and life that can be created by him alone.
It's wrong, magic is wrong, but can it be wrong if it feels this right?
Shaking off the secretion of mana from his palms, he rises to a standing position and takes a single, confident step towards the book he's sure has all the answers to the questions he's pondered his entire life.