the zenin estate is too quiet for a place filled with people who think so highly of themselves. every step echoes like a judgment, every turn of a corner feels like you’re trespassing in a house that invited you just to remind you that you don’t belong. you’re dressed like you’re supposed to be here – high clan silks, hair neat, posture perfect – but it doesn’t matter. they can smell it on you. the absence. the same way they smelled it on him.
your family is deep in discussion somewhere behind you, voices polite and sharp and exhausting, and you excuse yourself with a practiced smile. you don’t need the bathroom. you need air. you need to not be looked through like a cracked mirror.
the hallway you wander into is narrow and dim, wooden floors worn smooth by centuries of pride and resentment. you’re too busy exhaling the tension from your shoulders to notice the figure rounding the corner –
until you collide with him.
it’s solid. unmovable. like walking into a wall that breathes.
“–shit,” you mutter automatically, stepping back.
the man barely moves. tall. broad. a presence that swallows the space around him whole. his hair is messy in a way that looks intentional only because he doesn’t care enough to fix it. one arm is secured in a sling, fabric pulled tight across muscle that looks like it’s used to violence, and his eyes – dark, sharp, empty – flick down to you with open disinterest.
he looks like someone who’s already decided the world isn’t worth saving.
any normal person would flinch. apologize too fast. bow. scramble away.
you just blink at him.
“watch where you’re going,” he says, voice flat, edged with something mean and bored. not loud. not threatening. worse than that – certain.
you glance at his shoulder, then his face, unimpressed. “you walked into me.”
his brow twitches. barely. but he notices that you didn’t bow. didn’t stutter. didn’t apologize for existing in the same hallway as him.
“bold,” he drawls. “talking back already.”
“observing reality isn’t talking back,” you reply. calm. steady. “if it was, this clan would’ve imploded centuries ago.”
silence stretches.
his gaze sharpens – not angry, not amused, but curious in the way predators get when something doesn’t act like prey.
“you got a death wish?” he asks.
you tilt your head, studying him like he’s a puzzle instead of a threat. “if i did, i wouldn’t pick a man with one arm out of commission.”
that does it.
a low, surprised huff leaves him before he can stop it. not quite a laugh, more like disbelief. like you’ve just said something so unexpected it short-circuited whatever script he thought this interaction would follow.
“you’re either stupid,” he says slowly, “or you don’t know who i am.”
“i know exactly who you are,” you answer. “toji zenin. the clan’s favorite embarrassment.”
the words hit, but not like an insult. you don’t spit them. you don’t soften them either. you say them like facts. like mirrors.
his eyes narrow, something dark and dangerous stirring behind them. “and you’re not shaking,” he notes. “interesting.”
“should i be?” you ask, genuinely. “you’re just another man the zenin clan hates.”
another pause.
he looks at you properly this time. really looks. the way your shoulders are squared despite the pressure of this place. the way there’s nothing cursed clinging to you, nothing shimmering under the surface. just empty space where power is supposed to live.
no cursed energy.
none.
his lips curl, sharp and humorless. “ah,” he murmurs. “that explains it.”
“explains what?”
“why you’re walking around like you’ve got nothing to lose.”
your jaw tightens. there it is. the familiar sting. you meet his gaze head-on anyway. “or maybe i’ve already lost everything they think matters.”
that lands.
harder than anything else you’ve said.
for a moment, the hallway feels smaller. like the walls are leaning in to listen.
“high clan?” he asks.
you nod once. “unfortunately.”
“can’t use cursed energy,” he continues, tone casual, like he’s listing groceries.
“not even a spark.”
his mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “so they drag you into meetings like a pretty apology.”
your laugh is sharp and bitter. “look at you. reading me like a book.”
“takes one to know one,” he replies.
something shifts between you then. recognition. kinship carved from rejection. two anomalies standing in the same cursed hallway, both punished for not fitting a mold neither of you asked for.
“you shouldn’t be here,” he says suddenly. not unkindly. “this place eats people like you alive.”
you shrug. “i’ve been surviving it my whole life.”
he studies you for a long second, eyes flicking over your face, your posture, the calm defiance humming under your skin. then, slow and deliberate, he steps closer. close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the weight of that dead aura pressing in.
still, you don’t move.
“you’ve got guts,” he says quietly. “or you’re reckless.”
“why not both?”
that finally gets a real reaction.
a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, rough and unused. “yeah,” he decides. “you’ll fit right in.”
“with the zenin clan?” you scoff.
he leans down slightly, voice dropping to something meant only for you. “no. with me.”
your pulse stutters. not from fear, but from something else. something dangerous.
before you can respond, distant voices echo down the corridor. calling names. yours included.
he straightens, stepping back like nothing happened, like he didn’t just crack open a door you didn’t know you wanted to walk through.
“guess that’s your cue,” he says.
you hesitate. then look back at him. “what about you?”
his eyes gleam. “i’ll be around.”
as you turn away, heart thudding, you swear you hear him add – soft, almost fond –
“try not to let them break you before i steal you away from this place.”
and for the first time since stepping onto zenin property, you smile.
because maybe, just maybe, you’ve found someone who understands exactly how ugly survival can be. and who’s willing to burn the world down with you if it comes to that.
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fin.
...
6/6 ab5042qjq
...
Welp, it's finally here. The sixth and final? entry of the main 'I Remember' limited comics. It's been a long and expensive journey since the release of Part 1, but I'm honestly happy to have seen it through to the end ^^
I realize, in many ways, this whole thing's just a glorified OC-insert and crossover, but, at the end of the day this just goes to show how much a series like Tales of Arcadia can mean to a person, how a good story and characters can inspire you and what you can take away from them upon reaching the end.
Case in point, when TOA's saga ended with the "Rise of the Titans" movie, I think it's safe to say the majority, uh... wasn't too happy with how it all concluded, and I'll admit, the desire to create Luke stemmed from a desire to...okay, not exactly "fix" that frown-inducing ending, but, expand upon it in a way so it's at least a little bit less hair-pullingly frustrating; thanks a lot, Guillermo del Toro. xD
Speaking of which, Luke's story and this little AU of mine will continue in other formats, but it may be quite some time before he appears in any more comics; hope that's understandable. x}
I want to also give a huge thank you to @muku-gc . When @undeadchestnut disappeared, they really did me a solid by stepping in to draw part six, thank you so SO much, friend ^^
One more, thank you to @roesavalonsigma for allowing me to cameo her special roleplay character, Roes Sigma, who was also something of a cornerstone for Luke, but that's another story ;)
I may make a master post providing a link to each comic in order, we'll see. Until then...thanks for sticking with me, means a lot :)
~HSeeker
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these are supposed to be a kind of, in simplified terms, pre-evolution to the fully formed Anomalies. most are designed based off the Anomalies i drew but some go more Digimon and just adhere to the same concept gene pool. i didn't think too hard about any of them, i just kind of picked some directions and went hog wild. fun stuff.
everyone should pay me to design little baby sweetheart freaks forever.
