luka chesterton - wanderer - FIN

"Hello, Lyra."

The words brought back sharp memories, still too fresh to touch, but he said them anyways. Luka Chesterton, his strong chin tipped to the heavens, greeted the Lyra constellation warmly every night. Maybe he was mad for doing it, but he knew that his sister, who shared the name with that collection of stars, would love it. She seemed to love everything. Luka missed that delight in her eyes when he presented her with feeble gifts and silly songs. He supposed growing up with nothing gave Lyra an excitement for anything.

Luka smiled a sad smile, his chapped lips stifling the frown begging to appear. Lyra didn't deserve to die like she did, coughing up blood and breathing so raggedly she might as well not breath at all. That's what she did, in the end, but she was strong enough to brave the four months of torture and still grin. She'd laugh at his stupid jokes even though it hurt her chest, she'd wait eagerly for his return from school. Lyra Camille Chesterton embraced death at fourteen ( "I'm not scared, Luka. I'm gonna see Mom. And I'll see you soon enough if you keep stealing from the baker," she laughed at herself before doubling over and vomiting ). Luka stayed by her bedside, telling her about the stars outside and how she was more beautiful than all of them until the last shallow breath. He sat in that chair, too numb to cry until morning.

Luka couldn't stop the tears from pooling in his hazel eyes, couldn't resist drawing his thick brows together. His throat struggled to stay open, but he spoke anyway, his words lost in the inky abyss.

"I would have taken you, you know? You always wanted to go past the fence, anyway. We'd live off the land fine, like I have. You'd have the time of your life. There's no fear or starvation or games. Just us and the stars," Luka's voice cracked and he buried his head in his calloused hands. "Am I selfish for leaving them behind, Lyra? Should I have taken them with me? Am I terrible person?"

Luka could only wonder where his brother and father were. When he left, he thought he didn't care for them ( "You didn't even shed a tear!" He had shouted at them, at their stone faces and stone hearts. "You didn't even say goodbye!" ) but he couldn't help but think of them. Were they punished for his disappearance? Did they miss him? When he left one year ago, did they even blink? He hoped they missed him. Maybe it was out of spite that he hoped the losses, two years in a row, would break them. He scolded himself for feeling this way, but the anger was still boiling in the back of his throat. Grudges, grudges, they seemed to have a vice like grip on him. Luka didn't let go of hatred easily. He was the dam kind of person. He let things build up, retained it for a while, before breaking. He knew loading them was bad, but maybe it was the only thing keeping him from the burden of guilt on his shoulders.

He let out a long breath, still focusing on the night sky. He'd had many one sided conversations with Lyra ( or her constellation, but oh well ) and he couldn't help but miss her. They were two very similar people, especially in appearance. Thick, wavy brown hair, untamed but not too unruly. Hers went down to her shoulders, but Luka's was cropped close, just short enough to stay out of the way but long enough to keep the curl. He knew that in the sun, Lyra's hair sometimes looked auburn, but he had never checked for himself. ( It was entirely possible, but it's not like he had anyone to ask out in the wilderness ) Their eyes were a little different, but they shared their largeness and dark, long lashes and heavy lids. He had even started to see faint laugh lines, just like his.  Luka knew that underneath his own eyes, however, were dark crescents of sleeplessness, especially now ( he needed to stay up for the stars! ). Lyra always looked bouncy and energetic, even on her last few nights, but Luka knew he had a darker looked to his face, all harsh angles and straight edges ( "Cheekbones sharp enough to cut. I'm sure the ladies love that," she mused one night. They both laughed before hers smoothed over into a cough. Luka never thought he was attractive, at least in the conventional sense, but Lyra was very keen to tell him otherwise. He wished he had her confidence. )

But doing what he did took a lot of confidence. Leaving that infernal district was one of the bravest thing he had ever done. Luka did a lot of things on impulse, looking for adventure. ( "You're just looking for trouble, Luka." "No, Lyra, trouble comes looking for me, so I might as well find it before it finds me." ) Maybe he had an unhealthy lust for a thrill, but he figured he was going to die sometime, anyway, so he might as well live along the way. Stealing from the baker a few blocks down, while it did give him an almost full stomach, also provided him with a kind of unique rush he almost craved. Luka often wandered out to the forest, beyond the fence, just to see how far he could get before he got too paranoid to keep on going. ( "You're going to get yourself killed, you know. One day." "I don't think you understand. Everyone dies, but not everyone lives. I want to live, Lyra. I want to see the world. Because really, I'd rather die living an adventure than live forever standing still." ) It was reckless. Selfish. It endangered his family, but he did it anyway. All just to feel alive.

Luka didn't think much before he left. He just knew he had to leave, leave his emotionless, Lyra-less family, leave his fate in the mines so that's what he did. A few weeks after he turned eighteen, he just disappeared. He didn't say goodbye. It was simply this: Luka Chesterton was there, and then he was not.

Walking away was easy enough. Not looking back was harder.

It took a few hours for Luka to second guess himself, but it was already too late to head back. The sun was swallowed by the horizon, the sky turning a beautiful shade of obsidian. And the stars. It took a half an hour or so to find the Lyra constellation, but he finally did. He made his camp, a pathetic collection of his few possessions and a rudimentary shelter of sticks. He stared up, and let himself talk. It was almost therapeutic, and he imagined his sister listening and laughing and rolling her eyes with that slow precision she always had. His chest felt remarkably lighter afterwards. Despite the rough ground and dropping night temperatures, Luka slept well. Every day onwards, he'd vent to his sister's constellation, talk about his day, talk about how much he missed her. Every night he'd end with a signature, "Good night, Lyra. I'll see you tomorrow," feeling much better than before.

The open forest changed his body. He lived off the spoils of the land, finally adding some meat to his bones. Before, he had been a thin thing, just a sallow sack of skin and bones. But now he was well fed and worked, and a mixture of fat and muscle actually made him look healthy. So many hours under the sun gave him a tan, bringing out the faint freckles that dusted over his cheeks. A constellation of moles specked his jaw and neck, blemishing the skin there, but he hardly minded. He grew quite a bit with the extra nutrients growing to 5'10" where he was almost sure he'd stay. Luka often wondered what Lyra would look like, away from the malnourishment of District 12. She had had sparrow bones and sunken eyes, and his heart ached when he realized she never had experienced a full belly. It made the guilt crawl in him further.

A crash in the bushes nearby made Luka flinch, stand up from the scruffy grass. He could only relax once he saw the deer prance away. He had yet to stumble upon another person in the woods. Loneliness crept up his throat, even if he didn't like to admit it. He remembered back home, remembered his Seam friends, and frowned. Despite the hellish living, Luka was very much a people person. Loud and outspoken, he realized he hadn't said much other than when he was talking to Lyra. He'd hum sometimes, but he lived a nearly wordless existence. He liked to think he was very good with words, especially when persuading, but he realized his speech probably wasn't as well tailored anymore. Not that he'd had a lot of charisma in the first place, but fancied himself a good conversation holder, considering his nightly routine.

He ghosted a hand over his crooked nose, a habit formed by breaking it twice ( once when he and his brother, Blake, were fighting, and another time taking a big fall from a tree in the forest ). Both times were when his mother was there to help him, soothe him to sleep despite the pain. She died when he was 15 from something unpleasant that made her skin rash and her eyes turn yellow. She was a great mother, patient and sweet ( she was very bad at cooking but at least she tried ). It was her who taught Luka about the stars and the constellations. It helped on sleepless nights. He sobbed when she died, and so did Lyra, who was only 12 at the time. That was when Luka started to hate his father and brother ( "Toughen up, kid. Real men don't cry." His dad had said, and Blake, 17, nodded gravely behind him. ) The only reason Luka didn't leave then and there was Lyra, who would cling to him every night. He would teach her about stars and she'd look fascinated. She would always doze off at around midnight, snoring loudly as Luka carried her to her bed.

Luka finished the night off telling about his day, which was undeniably boring, and about some flowers he found by the river bed. When his lids started to feel heavy, he parted with the same words he always did.

"Good night, Lyra. I'll see you tomorrow."