Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of the Abyss...You know I wish I did...

Summary: When Luke was "born", he wasn't entirely himself. Bits of thoughts he never had littered his mind; when he spoke, however, the transformation was complete. Innocence to unexplained bitterness. It can all be traced to this.

Chaotic Blades: You're welcome. I couldn't write Van without making him into the psycho he is!

Kal Ancalas: Thanks! Zoloft?...[Google, I love thee Yep. He is the "Ashes of the flame" or whatever he calls himself...

And to all who've seen these and have been waiting for the next installment, I'm sorry! This is really the first time anything I've done has gotten chaptered...:shiver:

Thought

First he'd thought.

It was the peak of the summer, the semi-sweltering heat bringing the guards out of their armor, and into leathers and cotton. The maids tittered around nervously, ducking into rooms and out, knowing naught what to do with the excess of energy that burst through their veins and pled with them to escape the manor, into the vibrant world outside the drapes and tapestries. The gardens and yards of greenery glistened with water, Pierre not letting up his attack on the summer sun, which drove the rain away for long spans of time. The air carried with it the scent of excitement, and tourists from all over buzzed into the towering capital of light, to stand in awe of thousands of years of history. It was an eventful summer afternoon, but he had just woken up.

He stumbled around his room, over loose articles of clothing that had fallen to the ground in an awkward search for clothes to wear. They were of all sizes and color; apparently he'd been a very picky person when it came to fashion and clothing. Now he couldn't care less as long as he wasn't dressed by the maids and servants. He was not a child; he had learned the artes of politics, and learned the ways of war. He'd be damned if he was treated like one now!

He knew the commands with which he used to direct his body; it was just the hand eye coordination that had escaped his understanding. Swordsmanship, he had taken it up to work on his balance and poise. . He took his hand and mentally counted off what he was supposed to be wearing. White, was the long shirt he wore with a golden trim. Black, was the pair of loose shorts that he wore underneath. Red, the hair that interfered with his eye sight, but was still too short to bind with a simple string. Luke nodded in mute satisfaction, but lost his balance in the process, and fell without a sound; a pile of sleepwear had broken his fall.

His breathing was even, and he sat up and was still. His arms hung limply at his sides, and his legs were not much better, but he was confused. With a wide eyed stare Luke looked around the decorated walls of his room, trying to think about what the proper response to the situation was. A childhad once fallen in the park he'd been to, water had come out of its eyes. Was he supposed to do that? 'Don't cry honey!' a woman and rushed forward and said. Cry—crying?

He fell back onto his back and stared at the white ceiling, willing the same thing to happen. But how was he to begin? The pain, the cold, it hurt so, so much. The numbness he had felt evaporated, and when he closed his eyes, tears slipped from underneath and fell onto the ground. He opened his green eyes and watched as a blue nightshirt absorbed the liquid and was instantly turned into a darker shade of blue. That was it? Crying, he mouthed, unable to speak aloud as of yet.

With uneven jerks and after several failed attempts, Luke finally stood. He stomped his feet, amused by the feeling of carpet wedgingitself between his toes. The concrete was a biting cold, and the side he was resting on was soon numb and unfeeling. He shivered, and put his arms around himself when the temperature seemed to drop several degrees. A gentle wind blew into and mixed with the stagnant air that had settled itself neatly in his room. The blood, the putrid stink. It smelled so bad, it was making him gag and—

"Luke, are you alright?" A voice floated in from the now opened window and a head of yellow peeked in with a cocky grin. His throat had closed for a few seconds before he had been addressed, and his body trying to compensate by making him take heavier and deeper breaths. The hand over his mouth--He couldn't breathe! Where were they taking him? In response to Guy's concern, he shook his head lightly up and down, the annoying red strands making him blink rapidly before actually reaching up to sweep them aside. "Sleeping in again then? Van won't be pleased."

Van? The man with the hair on his chin—beard who had brought him to this place, home? The bastard! He had looked up to him, trusted him with his life, and now this— A frown had spread over his face, and with tentative hands he touched it amazed. "Luke?" Guy peered at him with ill-concealed wonder, and then jumped from his perch on the wide windowsill to enter the room.

"Are you okay?" He enunciated louder and slower, as if thinking he hadn't understood the earlier query. He wouldn't stand for this! He knew more than the green haired urchin could ever know. He nodded quickly with great fervor, equally surprised that his face had actually shown something other than its usual lack of extreme expression. Luke did not understand what the point to emotion was yet, that very fact perplexing the white men in Sheridan who had claimed that the amnesia shouldn't have been so complete and thorough.

The larger man with red hair, father, had shouted and demanded to know what could have caused it. One man in white, doctor, had shied away and began a whispered conversation with one man who remained in background of the machines and large instruments. Keep it away: I don't want to! What are you doing? I don't want—. He soon returned and softly amended his previous statement and had said that in rare cases, it was known to happen. The answer had slightly mollified father, and Luke had returned to softer voices and pitying glances in the large manor in which he was imprisoned. Space, I need space. The bars, what am I, a criminal? Let me out, it's too small!

It was all a bit above him, he realized, as Guy's face relaxed when the blank expression he had taken to usually wearing slipped back on. Unnoticed by his keeper, his hand had clenched, but he bit down on the need to scream. It was a delicate machine, living. He had all the buttons, but didn't have clue as to which one ones to press yet.So very easy to die, isn't it? But also possible to lose one's life without body dying at all.

"Lets go for a walk, eh Luke?" His friend extended an arm towards him, smiling brightly and looking at him intently with his eyes of blue. Luke stared at them, wondering where he'd seen some almost the same color before. In a picture, a girlstood with a staff at attention, but soondisappeared with a slam as Van flipped it down and glared at him. He accepted the hand and when it moved to his forearm he wasn't alarmed. Whenever he left his room, there was considerable concern that he'd accidentally harm himself, so father had ordered anyone in the household on hand to escort him so he didn't fall. He didn't truly care. All he wanted was an heir to preen and parade about. So what of he had stayed with him when he was sick that one time with—.

They stepped out of the room, and took the stairs one at a time with Pierre in the far ahead, waving with a hand not carrying his numerous sharp instruments. For a second, a brief spark of worry flashed in Guy's eyes, and with an encouraging nod from Luke, who was slowly comingto understand familial relationships; he leapt off the rest of the stairs and rushed to help the gardener before he was impaled by his own tools. A sword so sharp it could slice anything. That was what he held in his hands. Power.

Luke dropped onto the step he was on, halfway up the stairs to his room. Looked up at the sun, and quietly enjoyed the breeze that toyed with his loose clothing and hair. He always like going outside, it was refreshing compared to constancy of the manor's insides. Though he had been in there for only a few months, he had grown used to the scenery, and only the courtyard had given him something new and fresh to think about everyday. It was somewhat of a driving force that pushed his passive mind to search for new sights and new knowledge; to commit all that he could to his memory.

With a jolt, he was struck with a sense of oddness. The blue that was up above him…sky. He was sure he had known what it had been called before. Luke quickly looked for something else, and he spotted the brown wrinkles on the cover of the………tree. He stiffened as the sense of utter wrongness spread to everything he was feeling and thinking. He knew, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Something was off. What the hell is going on?

Stars burst into his vision, and he stood shaking and tumbled down the remaining steps. Everything began to spin until only one foreign entity voiced its thoughts in his aching head.

…CHILD—REN… I AM…S–ORRY. YOU…H–AVE SUFF—ERED...

Pain, it hurt!—What was this, it was too much it!—Stop it!—Stop the hurting!—Make it stop!

"Luke!" He felt arms encircle him and lift him up in the nothingness. He was floating, he was sure like, like that one time he and Natalia snuck out to the coast and—the doctors had tried and experiment to see if he had retained muscle memories which were believed to be connected to actions like swimming—he had nearly drowned. He had failed and they were forced to declare him a lost case—Van leered at him, dragging the tip of his sword along his neck and then he snapped around and left with only a mocking sigh. Everything felt so slow…Why wasn't today a training day?

His eyes snapped open and with terrified shriek, he clung to the person who sat on the side of his bed. Guy was taken aback by the sudden need for comfort, but he wrapped his gloved hands around the shaking boy's shoulder and rocked him back in forth. Luke trembled for a few moments before loosening his grip, and he pushed away with a shaky sigh.

"Luke. You're okay." He said, trying to calm him down. Blue eyes appraised him, and with a wince, the blond began again. "I'm sorry I left you like that!" he said quickly, "I should have known that—" Luke cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"It's my fault," His voice cracked from lack of use, "I thought I was lost." But the message was still delivered. His companion stared uncomprehendingly for a few moments, shocked into silence by the younger boy's first words.

"You talked." Guy said simply, a shadow falling over his features. Luke nodded, unsure as to what Guy's reaction was supposed to mean. A wry smile crossed his friend's face, and with a voice filled less with understanding and with more of a servile tone than Luke believed he'd ever become accustomed to, he spoke. "Welcome back Master." With seemingly nothing else to say, Guy got up and closed the window before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

It was the first time he'd ever been treated like this, by Guy of all people, so Luke wilted and dropped onto the bed like a doll before flipping on his side and sighing. Ignore him? He'd show them he was someone to pay attention to—It made him slightly angry when he thought about it.

"Why is everything so complicated?" The world was against him, so he'd be rotten to it when he could spare the time.

And then he spoke.

A/N-Made this for a contest over at devArt, but half way through I realized it could be considered part of this series...I felt guilty for not creating something about Luke personally since I made one for Natalia, Guy, Jade, and Luke, so I suppose this will do.

The italic and bold is supposed to be Asches thoughts or memories popping up whenever Luke encounters something similar or familiar to the corner of his mind that is Asch's [the guest room. The problem is that Luke doesn't realize that those aren't his lines of thought, so they subconsciously affect his behavior and actions. The plain bold that suddenly appeared was supposed to be Lorelei, turning this telepathic semi-conversation into a party line, and thus overloading dear Luke's mind and pushing him closer into obnoxious stuck-up longhair!Luke. The last part was supposed to illustrate that.

I suppose I just came up with this idea because I don't see how two people (or three beings if you look at it) so intricately connected couldn't have had a connection that somehow transcended the fonslot sealing that stopped communication between them until Choral Castle. I also thought that Lorelei might have utilized his awesome communication skills to act as the link himself in order to prepare Luke with basic skills and knowledge for what was going to happen. I mean, from what I understand, in most cases Replica's are blank slates, so wouldn't he have to learn how to a lot of things we take for granted? Luke would have a lot to learn in just seven years if he was going to imitate a teenager.

I know there are quite a few Luke-is-replica-recently-rescued-and-learning-special-lessons-that-seem-ironic-if-you-know-what-happens-later fics. I like those a lot, but I hope mine has a different twist to it.

Read and Review!...Please?...