Chapter Text
Zanka's stomach twist. Needles dig into it as the acid sloshes around like greedy mouths ready to consume anything, even itself.
He has long gotten used to the hunger. He doesn't deserve to eat. He deserves to die in this damn hole like the loser he is. The raindrops hitting his head, soaking his hair and shoulders and mud under his feet occasionally roll down his cheeks. His tongue darting out to catch them in the corner of his mouth is a coincidence - he tells himself that.
After all, he doesn't deserve water either. Yet his body craves it.
He craves it.
It’s on the fourth day that Kyoka finds him. She drags him out of the well by his scruff, because he doesn't listen when she tells him to climb out himself.
Her eyes are cold as she stares down at him, his head lowered. He doesn't have the strength to feel any more shame than he already does.
Disappointing.
Disappointing.
Disappointing.
That's what he is.
He never lets go of that worn, beaten, old staff as she pulls him home, picks up Goka on the way. He looks at him with cold eyes, the same as Kyoka's, his statue is so much bigger than Zanka's he might as well be a mountain.
But Zanka is small and slender and weak and picked a simple, stupid stick instead of a proper weapon, because he wanted to be special.
Disappointing.
Disappointing.
Disappointing.
Goka doesn't need to say it, his expression in the shade of his fortified hat that has the rain drops spring off it like they're afraid of the strength he exudes, speaks loud and clear.
They drag him home, to that big mansion he hasn't been to in months, because he has his room at the Hellguard Academy, where the constant pressure feels different, because his body doesn't tense with the fear and anticipation of running into his siblings.
Now he is forced home, in that stained, dirty uniform of his, probably to be confronted by his father for his failings, forced to tell him how much of a fuckup he is - even though he was doubtlessly already informed of how Zanka made a fool of himself during weapon selection.
Zanka wishes Hyo had never shown up. Then he could have kept up that lie of being gifted for a little longer before he was eventually revealed in front of everyone, because frauds are always brought to light.
His father's face is like a mask made of stone, his eyes shadowed by his thick, red brows. Zanka kneels because that's what he always does, his body moving on its own.
Kyoka and Goka stand behind him. Kyoka tells their father where she found him and his father's eyes are on him, piercing so cold to the point they feel hot.
He needs to explain himself.
Zanka realizes that he doesn't have the strength to speak - or that he doesn't have anything to say. But his father expects him to. He is a Nijiku, he is supposed to have all the answers, to be strong and perfect and have everyone look up to him.
But he isn't like that. He is a failure and a loser, who picked a damn stick and clung to it for dear life. It suits him. It's just as much of a failure as Zanka himself. Worn and unremarkable. Average.
"Your instructor informed me that you disappeared after the weapon selection. What were you doing in that well?"
Zanka hasn't heard another human speak in so long that hearing his family feels strange. He has trouble comprehending the words.
"You're not hurt. Don't tell me you were so weak you couldn't climb out yourself," Goka scoffed. His voice is like a rock, like the mask of flesh on their father's face.
Zanka’s fingers tighten on the stick still held in his hand.
Goka grabs it like the resistance of his weak grip is nothing. "Why did you pick this worthless stick?"
It's not worthless.
For the first time since Kyoka had found them, Zanka moves on his own: his hands shoot out and rip the staff from Goka’s grip with such force, it sends Zanka falling backwards and landing on his butt, stick tightly clutched to his chest.
A deafening, oppressive silence spreads in the room. Kyoka knows that look in Zanka's eyes, his body language, that manic, animalistic fear when he grabs the staff and holds onto it for dear life. She – they - don't want to believe it, but she is no fool. She throws the subtlest, unnoticeable glance at their father and sees only darkness in his face. Things such as this, must be nipped in the bud.
"Zanka, give me that staff," their father says.
It's mine.
Zanka doesn't want to. It's like tearing a piece out of his soul when he doesn’t feel it in his hands. But this is his father, never is he allowed to deny him. His father's word is the law and he must obey.
He shuffled over like a man led to the gallows, and hands it to him before he steps back and kneels again. Seeing his father's hands on it as he stands up and swings it expertly makes him nauseous.
That's mine.
Don't touch it!
"This useless piece of wood won't serve a Nijiku. Anything can be a weapon in times of need, but this… is worthless."
A flame sparks in his chest. And his eyes.
It's not worthless. It's him. It-she's part of him!
His father's brow knits and time slows down as he raises the staff over his knee. Zanka's eyes widen.
NO!
He jumps to his feet. Goka grabs his wrist. Zanka spins around and slams his fingers into the bend of his elbow, forcing him to let go. He all but tackles his father, grabs his staff with both hands.
"Give it back to me!"
The grapple back and forth, Zanka's eyes are wide and wild, his heart races in his ears and his voice shakes - he has never raised it like to his father, or in front of his family.
"You must not get attached to an object; it will become a weakness."
She is not his weakness; she is his strength! He needs her!
He yanks at her, not afraid she would break between their hands because he knows she can take it, he knows where to grip to avoid the weight becoming too much on the worn wood.
"Give her to me!"
"This is for your own good, Zanka!"
Zanka feels the air change as it moves with Kyoka and Goka rushing at him. His heart is hammering in his chest, he can't hear over the shrill noise of his own thoughts. He can't let them take her! They were going to break her right in front of his eyes, eviscerate and burn her - burn him!
"NO!"
He let's go with his right, throwing his father off balance, pulls back and his fist collides with his jaw. He feels bone crack under his knuckles, the sensation of teeth shifting out of place. The force of the punch sends his father flying against the oni mural he always sits in front like it's a damn throne.
Silence spreads through the room once more. Zanka hears nothing but the drumming of his own heart trying to break through his ribcage.
He has her back. He's the only one holding onto her beautiful wood that's sparking blue from his hand. He wants to smile with relief, caress her and check for any blemish, get to know her better until there's not an inch of her he isn't familiar with.
Reality hits him like a bucket of ice water dunked over his head. His father's body sagged against the mural, momentarily dazed from the impact, the blood coming from his lip, the soreness of Zanka's knuckles, the energy he feels from his staff.
He turns from his father, to his siblings, back and forth - if he could he would have turned to himself as well - his face of pure panic as the realization sinks in. He meets his sibling's eyes, his own as wide as those of a rat just seconds before meeting its end under a truck's tire, seeking advice, any encouragement, words that somehow, things would turn out okay!
Kyoka stares at that bright blue flash in his eyes and the unmistakable aura of anima exuding from her little brother. Goka sees it too. It hasn't awakened fully yet; there is still a chance to stop it!
And the second Zanka feels their hostility, he's gone. He leaps out the window, jumps down the eaves, and bolts through the garden.
"Zanka!" He hears Goka shout, but doesn't listen.
He just runs faster and faster. Hear's Kyoka's whip shatter the bark of a tree behind him, but the weapon is useless in the woods he veered into.
He needed to go. If they catcht him, they'll take her from him! He can't stay in the city, in this prison! Anywhere is better than in this damn city, that damn academy, that family that wants to take a part of his soul away like it's worthless!
So he runs. He doesn't stop - steals a bottle of water from a stall he sprints past, a gas mask from a traveler he barrels over. They're bound to chase him - the Hellguard normally doesn't care much for teenage runaways, but he is a Nijiku; they won't allow him to just disappear and bring shame to the family. He needs to get as far away as possible, from them, and from people.
As long as he has his staff - he needs to give her a name, a good one - he doesn't need anyone else.