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Summary
He is loved from the moment he is born.
There is a candle in his lungs, lit from the first inhale taken within his mother’s embrace, his father’s hand gentle but firm against the crown of his head. That torch grows steady against the beating of their hearts, licks of flame clasping together in a pointed tip like hands in prayer. The midwives—whom he will soon know as his neighbors, fellow clansmen, friends—cheer with the release of nervous energy and in their raucous celebration, he begins to cry.
He loves from the moment he is born, and nothing will hurt him more.
Or: Kurapika, and a future cemented in the past.
Series
- Part 1 of Kurapika Can't Communicate Without Grass