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The Grounds weather was always weird, even inside the dome that the Kamutari sits in. Winter was even weirder, the area they were in outside the dome didn’t get all that cold. The area it was in got cool, but not cold.
Inside the dome, it was cold. The controlled environment tried to mimic the seasons as best as they could from what books from years ago described them as, but it didn’t fit the rest of the ground outside the dome.
Goka looked at the ‘sky’, feeling the cool breeze against his reddened cheeks. He’d gotten done training with Kyouka, he had a huge ass bruise on his side. Kyouka got a really good hit on him, mainly because he was distracted.
It was his fault.
He just needs to get better, less distracted.
Needed to be what was expected of him.
He wondered what snow looked like, was that odd to ponder? He had books. Those books have pictures. He knew what the snow looked like. He knew it was white, if it was anything else then do not touch it, and very cold.
But he’s never seen it, not in person. He wanted to. He wanted to go to the north and look up at the sky that would no doubt be dark but he would get to see those white flakes fall around him. He bet it’d feel amazing, too.
Kyouka approached, her arms folding into the sleeves of her red kimono, “It’s getting cold.” It was an absent minded statement, maybe a hint to remind him to dress warmer.
Goka didn’t need a reminder. He wasn’t a child and knew to dress warmer.
“Do you think it’ll snow?” He asked, almost just as absent mindedily. He continued to look at the top of the dome, the lights hurting his eyes in a way he was familiar with.
He turned to look at Kyouka when he got no answer, tensing up when he saw that look on her face. Hard and cold, as cold as he imagined snow might be. Her red hair covering half her face, totally not making her look scarier.
Goka wasn’t scared of all things. No.
“Don’t be childish, Goka.” She scolded, Navy blues never looking so dark before.
Maybe they have, if he thought hard enough.
“Sor-” the apology would be useless to say, “yes, sister.” He looked at the ground, that mix of sand and dirt far better than the icy depths he felt bore into him.
Perhaps he should stop being so childish.
Goka just woke up Zanka, walking out into the training ground with the smaller. He was always so small.
Zanka rubbed his eyes, shivering as the cold air soaked through his clothes. Goka didn’t feel it as much anymore, but he remembered a time when he did. He knew Zanka would adjust soon, kinda why he didn’t tell Zanka to dress warmer.
Zanka looked around, hair quite long still. He looked so much like Kyouka. Maybe Goka needed to cut it soon, the boy needed to keep his hair from his face after all.
“Aniki,” Zanka called, though Goka told him to stop addressing him in such ways, “is it going to snow?”
Goka paused, steps stalling on the engawa. Snow didn’t happen on the ground, not in these parts at least. Goka knew in the north it snowed quite often, but not even the controlled environment could make snow.
It was a childish thing to ask. Foolish even. Zanka surely paid attention to his lessons, no? It was explained in such lessons on how the dome worked. What it could and couldn’t make.
Had Zanka not been paying attention?
What has him so distracted if he wasn’t?
This was unbecoming of a Nijiku son.
Had Goka not taught him anything?
Had Kyouka’s lessons been for nothing?
“Don’t be foolish, Zanka.” Goka said, glancing back at the boy. Those big, navy blue eyes looking up at him. Didn’t they used to be brighter?
Zanka tensed, willing himself not to flinch back at the look he got. He was confused as to why Goka was so upset, but he didn’t say anything about it.
Didn’t ask why.
Didn’t try to ask again.
“Yes Goka.” Zanka replied simply, because he knew that’s what was expected of him.
Goka just turned away, continuing to make his way to the training ground. He heard Zanka quickly follow him, the soft sound of his shoes hitting the wood. Goka’s footsteps were heavier, impactful and carried weight. Zanka’s didn’t. Not as much as Goka’s did. Not as much as Kyouka’s did.
Goka needed to work on that, perhaps up the training. It sounded like a gust of wind could carry him away and Goka couldn’t have that.
How many nights has it been? Goka couldn’t count them if he was honest. The cold seeped into his dark room, but for some reason it’d gotten slightly more uncomfortable.
Some nights, like this one, he found himself walking around. Wondering like a lost child when he should be sleeping.
He was in the Hell Guard.
He was a Nijiku son.
The only Nijiku son.
He had a role to fill, a path to follow, and expectations to be met. He couldn’t waste time doing this every winter.
Yet here he found himself, time and time again. It was clockwork by now, routine if he dared to consider. Standing outside a door that hasn’t been opened by its owner in so long, but it has been opened by Goka. Sometimes Kyouka too, he could remember the nights seeing her standing in front of the door just like he does.
Standing there wondering why? But the question too vague to be fully placed.
Why did he come here every winter?
Why does he waste his time?
Why can’t the cold lull him to sleep like it used to?
Why did Kyouka come here?
Why couldn’t he make himself forget that failure?
Why did he have to leave?
Goka’s mind was never quiet. Hasn’t been for seventeen years, he remembered when it started all too clearly. It has been seventeen, no?
Goka opened the door, the room on the other side dark and stale but there was this feel. The room had a fine layer of dust on everything, Kyouka refusing to let the servants so much as walk inside it.
Goka didn’t truly understand why, but he never asked.
It was small and didn’t have a lot of personal touches to it, but then again Goka’s room didn’t have any either. The only thing personal was the things left behind.
Clothes hanging in the wardrobe and folded in the drawers. He only liked certain fabrics, Goka never understood why though.
Shoes left neatly by the bedroom door. It was something they all did, Goka could remember making sure he knew that.
Pencils in a row on the desk. Goka could see Kyouka’s influence, she had a place for everything too.
Small drawings that should have never been made. Both Goka and Kyouka scolded him for that, but no matter how ugly they were Goka found himself trying to tape it back together if it ripped.
Books left half finished. They’d never be finished because Goka knew he’d never come back.
This was pointless, right? Coming here, wasting his time, looking at useless shit. What was the point? Goka couldn't help that Zanka couldn’t live up to the expectations. It irritated Goka to no end.
What irritated him though?
Hell if he knew. Who cares anyways. Emotions and attachments made one weak and as a Nijiku son, you can’t be weak.
He found himself standing there, in that fucking room, for a good hour. He only turned around and headed back to his own room when the smell started to fade, the smell of the candied blueberries Zanka loved to eat.
Goka liked blueberries too.
His own room felt just as cold as he remembered it, but now he was tired.
Why?
Why was he tired now?
Nevermind, he needed to get some rest anyways.
He was a Nijiku son, after all.