Jōki:The Forsaken Gift

Five years had passed, and Luka had grown into a quiet, curious child.

He sat alone on a large, weathered rock at the edge of a forest cliff, his small legs dangling over the side. Below, the ocean stretched endlessly, its waves rolling against the shore in a rhythmic, soothing pattern. The salty breeze tousled his dark hair, carrying the scent of damp earth and brine.

The waves spoke in whispers.

He didn't know why he came here.

He didn't feel drawn to the sea the way others might feel attached to a place. But he liked watching the waves,how they moved without purpose, how they came and went with no emotion.

They were calm. Like him.

But peace never lasted long in the Viazemsky household.

"Luka! Where are you?!"

A voice rang through the trees, sharp with worry but tinged with exasperation. Sasha.

Luka turned his head slightly, listening. Footsteps pounded against the dirt, growing closer. He knew what came next.

"Luka!"

Sasha burst through the trees, breathless, her cheeks flushed from running. She planted her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

"Mama's calling for you! What are you doing out here all alone?"

Luka said nothing. He simply slid off the rock, landing lightly on the grass.

Sasha sighed, rubbing her forehead. "You always do this. Mama's going to scold you again, you know?"

Luka knew.

She stepped forward and hugged him, squeezing tight as if he might vanish if she let go. "Let's go home," she murmured.

Luka didn't resist.

When she pulled back, she grabbed his hand automatically. But then she looked down and gasped.

"Luka! Your feet!"

Luka blinked.

Sasha groaned. "Not again! Mama told you a million times to wear shoes! What if you step on something sharp?"

Luka glanced at his feet. They were dusty and a little scraped from walking barefoot, but nothing felt wrong. He looked back at Sasha, waiting for her to finish.

She huffed. "You don't even care, do you?"

Luka wasn't sure what she expected him to say.

Sasha muttered something under her breath, then crouched down and turned her back to him. "Come on."

Luka stared.

"Piggyback ride," she said impatiently, wiggling her fingers. "You're small, so you might as well take advantage of it."

Luka hesitated, then climbed onto her back.

Sasha grunted but stood, adjusting his weight. "You're heavier than you look," she grumbled. But a small, fond smile tugged at her lips as she carried him down the dirt path home.

The path home wasn't far.

Their house stood between the forest and the sea, a charming wooden structure with a sloped roof and small herb gardens lining the path. It was warm and full of life, an odd contrast to the towering steel-and-glass hospital that loomed in the distance—a symbol of the technology Svyatoslav refused to embrace.

Inside, the scent of fresh bread and chamomile filled the air.

Agata stood by the entrance, arms crossed, her foot tapping against the wooden floor. "Sasha, where was he this time?"

Sasha set Luka down with a soft thud and straightened. "Near the cliff again."

Agata sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This child will be the death of me." She knelt in front of Luka, her sharp expression softening. "Luka, sweetheart, you can't just disappear like that. And where are your shoes?"

Luka blinked.

Agata sighed again and cupped his face gently. "What am I going to do with you?"

Luka didn't know the answer to that.

So instead, he did what he'd learned worked best,he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

Agata melted instantly. She scooped him up, hugging him tightly, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You're lucky you're cute," she muttered against his hair.

Luka didn't feel lucky, but he let her hold him anyway.

Just then, the front door creaked open, and heavy boots stepped inside, tracking dust across the floor.

"Welcome home honey"

"Papa!"

Sasha rushed forward, launching herself at Demid. He caught her with ease, laughing as he lifted her into the air. "How's my favorite daughter today?"

"I'm your only daughter," she said, giggling.

Demid set her down and turned to Agata, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. Then his gaze landed on Luka, who was still nestled against his mother's shoulder.

Demid chuckled, ruffling Luka's hair. "What's this? Another escape attempt?"

Agata groaned. "Again. I found your little Escape Artist near the cliff, staring at the sea like it's his best friend."

Demid knelt in front of Luka, resting a rough, calloused hand on his head. "Well, I can't blame him. I did the same thing when I was his age. Stubborn little thing takes after me."

Agata sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Her smile lingered, but for a moment, something flickered behind her eyes. She glanced at Luka, at his serene, unreadable expression, then at Demid.

"But, honey... he doesn't smile like other kids do. Do you think it's because of... that?" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if saying it aloud might make it more real.

Demid's smile wavered.

But only for a moment.

Then, he reached for Agata's hand and squeezed it. "You don't have to worry about that, Agata."

Agata hesitated, then nodded. "...He's just our little Luka."

The family moved to the table, where a simple but hearty meal awaited them.

Dinner was warm and full of laughter, though Luka never contributed to it.

He sat quietly in his chair, observing. Watching how Sasha's face scrunched up when she laughed, how Papa's deep chuckles rumbled through the room, how Mama's eyes softened as she listened to them talk.

He didn't fully understand why they smiled, why they found things funny, why their voices carried different emotions.

But he watched.

And when Demid turned to him, grinning wide, Luka knew what was expected of him.

"So, Luka," Demid said, leaning forward. "Once you're a bit older, I'll take you hunting. Or maybe fishing down by the shore. You'll love it, don't you think?"

Luka blinked.

He didn't know if he'd love it. But he could see the joy in Papa's face, the excitement in Mama's smile, the way Sasha bounced in her seat, eager to hear his response.

So he nodded.

Demid laughed, slapping his knee. "See? He agrees!"

Sasha pouted. "That wasn't a real answer, Papa. He just nodded like a little robot!"

Luka tilted his head. Robot?

Agata chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Luka's hair. "Well, even if he's our little robot, he's still part of this family."

Sasha huffed but grinned. "Yeah, yeah. He's lucky I'm his sister."

Luka didn't feel lucky. But he stayed quiet, taking another bite of his bread.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and the ocean hummed its endless song.

Luka listened.

He still didn't understand emotions.

But maybe, just maybe, one day, he would.

..

..

..

Later that night, Luka lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The oil lamp on his nightstand flickered, casting soft, uneven shadows across the wooden walls. Outside, the waves crashed gently against the cliffs, their rhythm steady and unchanging.

He liked the quiet.

But tonight, the quiet wasn't the same.

Through the thin walls, muffled voices drifted into his room.

At first, they were soft, almost too low to hear. But as he listened, he recognized them.

Mama and Papa.

He closed his eyes, not because he was tired, but because listening was easier that way.

"He's just a child, Demid, but… something is wrong. I can feel it."

Agata's voice. Shaking. Heavy.

"He doesn't laugh, he doesn't cry, he doesn't…he doesn't feel things like other children do."

There was a long pause. Luka heard the wooden floor creak, as if someone had shifted their weight.

Then, Papa's voice calm, steady, but quieter than usual.

"He's different, Agata. But that doesn't mean something is wrong with him."

Mama let out a trembling sigh. "But what if it does? What if….what if he's never happy? What if he never smiles, never feels love, never—"

Her voice broke.

Luka's eyes flickered open.

Silence. Then a soft sound a muffled sob.

Luka knew crying.

He had seen Sasha cry when she scraped her knee. He had seen the neighbor's baby cry when he was hungry.

But this was different.

This wasn't loud or desperate. This was quiet and hidden, like Mama didn't want anyone to hear her.

He didn't understand.

She had Papa. She had Sasha. She smiled and laughed at dinner. Why was she crying?

Luka sat up slightly, his small fingers gripping the blanket.

Should he… go to her?

Would that fix it?

But he didn't move.

He just listened.

"I love him, Demid. I love him so much."

"I know."

"But what if… what if he never loves us back?"

Luka tilted his head.

What did that mean?

He lay back down, staring at the ceiling once more.

The oil lamp flickered again, the flame growing weak. His mother's sobs faded into the night, swallowed by the sound of the sea.

Luka closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure why…

But the quiet didn't feel as comforting anymore.