Non-Prescription Glasses

Used primarily as part of his cover while tracking the Fractsidus. Officially, they're to keep a low profile. Unofficially, he just finds the act itself entertaining, almost ritualistic. Someone once joked that the glasses made him look like a fake scholar out to swindle people. He responded by adjusting the frame with studied restraint and replying, quite earnestly, that they were absolutely right.

Medical Gloves

A pair of pristine white medical gloves. Hidden beneath the fabric are his <te href=850072>Tacet Mark</te> and an old wound that has never truly healed, from which flows a golden blood known as Ichor. To him, this blood is a source of power. To others, it is a searing danger. And so, he chooses to keep that gleam of gold and all it signifies carefully contained beneath spotless cloth.

Faded Candy Wrapper Bookmark

Tucked between the pages of a book on his desk is a candy wrapper, its edges faintly curled. Printed on it is a Sunshine Bear design long since discontinued. When he was young, his father would give him the candy as an occasional reward. Now, that man is gone. That home is gone. The candy, too, no longer exists. He smooths the faded wrapper and uses it as a bookmark, compressing a childhood of conflict and pain into something thin and enduring, something to quietly slip between the pages of memory.

"Brother"

Cold light pressed down on the room all night. Luuk sat under the lamp and spread his hand without protest. The man known as his "father" gripped that palm—still unmistakably a child's—and watched as golden blood, "Ichor," oozed from the wound, like molten gold. Luuk knew the man wasn't looking at him, but through him, at another child. The real son who had died of a rare disease. Luuk was only a container to carry that obsession, a chance to fill the vacancy. But the change his father longed for never came. The Ichor flowed on in silence, and the feverish light in his father's eyes slowly dimmed into disappointment. "...Why won't it change? You're one of the few who can accept Ichor," his father murmured. The words shook the child's eardrums like thunder. "It should've been able to cure diseases... After everything we've given... Why does nothing change?" That was when Rhein came into this home. Luuk watched his father speak, excitement fraying his voice, about how this child was just like him: afflicted by a rare disease, but able to endure Ichor treatment. "He's your brother now." Luuk looked at this "brother," unrelated by blood. The boy was smaller than himself, his skin pallid from long illness, clearly too young to understand the world, let alone the meaning of golden blood or the expectations already forced onto his life. He only laughed, like any child, over the candy his new "father" placed in his hand. A child who loved sweets. Luuk Herssen gazed at the soft curls on the boy's head and felt the urge to stroke them. He reached out, then stopped, remembering the wound in his palm that refused to heal. Just as his father expected, Rhein grew attached to Luuk almost immediately. Before he had learned many words, he was already chasing after him, calling "Brother" again and again. What his father did not expect was how quickly Rhein rejected Ichor. Faster than Luuk ever had. The treatment failed, and his body wasted away until he was soon barely able to leave his bed. Then came Rhein's birthday. Luuk carried him on his back, keeping to the shadows along the walls as they slipped through the long corridors and out of the house. He ran and ran, until fresh, earthy air with the breath of living plants suffused his lungs, until a starry sky, dazzling almost to excess, pushed aside the cold, bleached clinic lights. They stopped at a forgotten garden at the edge of the estate. It was littered with broken pots and dead leaves, hardly a beautiful sight. But the soil was soft, the air alive, and for Rhein, who had been confined to sickrooms for far too long, his eyes lit up all the same. "Happy birthday, Rhein." Breathing hard, Luuk pulled something from inside his coat: a small, roughly paper-wrapped... thing. It was crooked and formless, its surface mottled with burnt brown and white cream. Marked on top was the shape of a little bear, the emblem of Rhein's favorite candy. "I... I've never made one before. It might taste bad." Luuk said, slightly embarrassed. To cover it up, he lit the candle in haste. The frail flame trembled in the night wind, reflecting in Rhein's wide, shining eyes. "Make a wish, then blow it out," Luuk said, trying to sound cheerful. "That way, your wish will come true." Rhein nodded hard, clasped his hands, puffed his cheeks, and blew. Fwoof. The flame went out. Cold closed in again, tearing Luuk out of the long dream and back to the present. The room still echoed with the faint crackle of burned wood. He opened his eyes, his gaze settling on the fireplace, now nothing but ash, only then registering the chill coiled around him. ...It's been so many years. He let out a breath and pressed the memories back into the far reaches of sleep.