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Desmond Kiaran-Kimberly never considered himself much of a family man. It didn't matter that he was the second eldest child of his four siblings, nor did it matter that his parents were still happily married. He was the sort of private person that formed very few interpersonal relationships with anyone for any reason, preferring to keep to himself and his own business. His family did not think much of it when a month went by without word from him. He was a grown man, they reasoned. He was living his life. He was too busy to contact them.

But then another month went by with no word. He was declared missing. Then another month. Then a year. Then seven. He was declared legally dead.

But the Kiaran-Kimberlies had moved on with their lives, unaware that Desmond had seen things that prevented him from living a similar life. For him the shadows came alive, growing, twisting, shaping themselves into monstrosities that his imagination worsened. No amount of therapy would help him forget, no drug would ease his suffering.

But that was fine with Desmond Kiaran-Kimberly. He was doing something far greater than living a normal life. While his siblings were growing up and starting their own families, Desmond was doing his part to protect them. He was a Hunter. He lived to serve and protect; he had no regrets.

Content and legally dead, he discovered that he was not the only death in the family. His second-youngest sibling had passed away, leaving behind a child that was currently being shipped off between their legal parent and the other still-living aunt and uncle. Under normal circumstances he would have let them deal with it. He was a Runic Hunter. He didn't have time for a family.

And yet... And yet there was something in him that made him pause, to press his lips together in a thin line in consideration. There was something about the entire situation that did not sit well with him. People died every day, and orphans were made every day. This one happened to be related.

Desmond Kiaran-Kimberly never considered himself much of a family man until that day. It could have been a random act of kindness on his part, or an answer to the deep-seeded guilt of never telling his family good-bye when he joined the hunters. It could have even been done to soothe his fear of his own mortality, of dying without ever leaving a mark behind.

It was simple enough to bribe a Mist hunter to hack into a bank and set up a trust fund. It was child's play to make it look like it was simply overlooked: a small inheritance left for the child, consisting of the meager holiday pay wages that the Moon Runic Hunter had saved up and never spent.

Desmond Kiaran-Kimberly never knew what became of that child. He simply didn't live long enough to find out.

Her fingers hooked onto the noose around her neck, gripping the knot gently before pulling it away. The black tie relinquished its hold on her neck, giving her enough freedom to shrug her jacket off and toss it aside. It didn't matter where it landed. All that mattered right now was that it wasn't on her. Aria fell backwards onto her bed with a sigh, one arm resting across her eyes. She was content to lie still, focusing on breathing in and out. It didn't take long before she moved her arm slightly, one eye peeking from beneath it to stare at the ceiling she was still becoming familiar with.

How long had it been again? Aria closed her eyes to think. Nearly a half a year ago her father had joined her in the attic of her mother's house to give her the news. There were going to be some changes, he said. Aria was growing up to become a fine young lady, and she could take care of herself soon. It wasn't that they didn't love her anymore, no. It was simply that they were going to be moving away; he was going to return to the states with his wife and child because of his job. It wasn't that they didn't want to take her with them. Now was a hard time for her, for all of them. They didn't want to rush things with her, to bring her to a new place. A new environment. Her situation was delicate. Delicate. Even now she felt stung, insulted. They didn't know what she was going through. They couldn't understand that the brief flash of pain followed by the dull, throbbing ache was the only thing that brought her mind to focus, to pay attention and feel alive. To them, she figured she was nothing more than an oddity. Freak. Step-child from hell.

But that was fine, Aria reasoned with herself. She was perfectly happy where she was, being herself. Besides, she didn't want to go to the United States anyway. While it was another country, it lacked the foreign appeal that other countries had. It was too boorish, too crude. England was classy. Posh. It was certainly more cultural, what with other countries less than a stone's throw away. Proverbially at least. Or at least that's how she always viewed it.

Her view didn't change when she was moved from aunt to uncle's house and back, constantly shuffled between them like a misplaced object. Who did she belong to? Where could she stay? Where should she stay? Who would take care of her? She was nearly sixteen, couldn't she fend for herself? It was chaotic. Aria learned to leave things behind, to pack light and keep with her only her most essential and precious objects.

Thankfully that period of time was brief. Was it one month? Two? Less then that? Aria couldn't recall the exact details. It wasn't as if either "home" (if it could even be called that) treated her unjustly or cruelly. She was left alone when asked, given space when requested. They were fine. Not great, but just fine.

She couldn't remember where she was when she received the letter. It wasn't odd that she received mail. In fact, she had a pile of "Thinking of you," "Miss you," and generalized sympathy cards collected, stashed, and thrown into a box to be forgotten. She even had her own pile of "thank you" cards to send out in reply, prewritten with a generic message and with space to write her own. This letter in particular wasn't like the other ones. It was a simple letter of invitation to attend an up-and-up boarding school. Room and board were already paid for, set up and maintained by a trust fund her mother had set up for her some unknown time ago, forgotten and lost until the lawyer had taken a moment to go through her accounts again.

The opportunity was pounced upon, seized. It was easy to pack her things and leave without looking back. By now it was easy to shift her brain into automatic mode, to stuff her possessions into a bag and heft it over her shoulder. She was ready to go.

Her hand reached down towards her leg, running along the side of it to touch the knife secured there. She still had them. Her mother's knives, the mysterious blades small enough to conceal on her person. Aria was very careful with them, wearing them beneath her panty hose and positioned beneath her skirt. She even wore a pair of shorts under that. There would be no risks, no chances of either object being discovered on her person by anyone or anything. Aria had grown attached to the knives. She found them; they were her inheritance, her right.

Even now she could feel the cold bite of their sharp edge sinking into her skin, the sensation followed by a warmth as

Aria jolted upright on her bed, eyes wide as she scanned the room. Her heart beat loudly against her ribs as she searched. Was her mind playing tricks on her? She could have sworn she heard a sound, the telltale click of a doorknob slowly twisting open.

The sixteen year old blinked and stared, shivering. It was dark. She must have fallen asleep. Aria shook her head and slid off of her bed, standing up.

Her scream was smothered, cut off as something grabbed her leg and swarmed up her back, wrapping itself around her. She grew colder as it felt like something was squeezing her tighter. Her legs were shaking, body trembling as her mind raced to try and figure out what the hell was going on. She was going to die. She was going to die.



She was going to die right here. Right now.



Oh God. Oh God. She didn't want to die. Not yet.



She did cut herself, yes. But that wasn't to kill herself. It was the only way she could figure out she was alive. She didn't mean anything by it. It wasn't the same as feeling the fabric against her fingertips oh God oh God please help her.



Aria didn't have the breath to cry out as she drew the knife back, the blade tracing its way up her leg. She managed to pull the knife free of its sheath, but that wasn't enough to stop it from crushing her.

The voice laughed.

There was a warmth. A feeling of something inside her, an emptiness being filled. The realization was enough to bring her to tears: she was no longer alone.

The knife in her hands shifted, the metal contracting and expanding to reshape itself around her hand. Her grip shifted; she was no longer holding onto a handle. One finger was crooked, nestled on a trigger.

She did.

A bright flash of blue light bit into the darkness, the temperature dropping as the cold blast forced the creature to release its grasp. Aria fell to her knees, shaking as she clutched the freezing... flamethrower?

The voice roared at her. Point me at it! Don't look at me -- look at the creature! Let your arm do the fine aiming! Now PULL!>

Aria did as she was instructed, using both hands to lift the flamethrower up. She pointed it at the creature and pulled the trigger, crying out at the intensity of the bright blue flame. The voice snapped at her.

The teenager sobbed, scrambling to her feet and blinking quickly. It was difficult to see. The blue fire was too bright, the shadows too dark to see anything.

A sharp pain in her side knocked Aria off balance, forcing her onto the floor. She rolled, scrambling to try and put distance between herself and the creature.



It was difficult to see. Aria pointed in the direction where she thought her desk was, pulling the trigger. She was rewarded by the sight and chill of cold fire burning. There was a shared feeling of satisfaction upon seeing it, one that intensified as her closet, wardrobe, then bed were set on fire too.



Aria pointed the flamethrower at the ground and sprayed, her face lighting up in a grin as she heard something shriek. She got it! She hit it! She --



The shadow had seemed to grow in size, expanding against the bright light. Her breath was already forming a fine mist in the air as she stared it down. It was oddly silent. The fires did not crackle and hiss, the fire alarm in the dorm room did not go off. The only sound she could hear was the hammering of her own heart over the ragged gasps for breath.

will hurt. Brace yourself. Are you ready?>

Aria shifted her stance, raising the gun. What do you mean?

She pulled the trigger. The rune on the flamethrower was glowing bright, brighter than she had ever seen it. Did it light up before? No, it wasn't. She was distracted by the flurries of snow that seemed to whip and spin around the muzzle of the gun. It was almost as if it was pulling the cold air towards itself, gathering energy for something.

Aria cried out as an intense bright light edged with blue shot out from the flamethrower, the force of it sending her flying. Her head cracked against the wall, and Aria knew no more after that.

1999 Part One: On That Day

1999 Part Three: On That Day