Non-Prescription Glasses

Used primarily as part of his cover while tracking the Fractsidus. Officially, they're to keep a low profile. Unofficially, he finds the act itself entertaining, almost ritualistic. Someone once joked that the glasses made him look like a hack scholar out to swindle people. In response, he adjusted the frame with studied restraint and replied, with complete sincerity, "You're absolutely right."

Medical Gloves

A pair of pristine white medical gloves. They conceal his <te href=850072>Tacet Mark</te> and the old, unhealing wound from which flows the golden blood he calls "Ichor." To him, this blood is a source of power. To others, it is a searing danger. So he keeps that gleam, and the history it represents, neatly contained beneath the spotless fabric.

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. Back when he was a child, his father would give him this candy as an occasional reward. Now, that man is gone. That home is gone. The candy, too, is no longer in production. He smooths the faded wrapper and uses it as a bookmark, compressing a childhood of conflict and pain into something fragile yet enduring enough to quietly slip between the pages of memory.

"Brother"

The cold light glared deep into the night. Luuk sat beneath it and held out his hand without protest. The man known as his "father" gripped his 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 tolerate the Ichor," his father murmured. The words shook the child's eardrums like thunder. "It's the most promising cure we have for rare diseases... Even after everything we've invested in this... Why is there never any change?" That was when Rhein joined the "family." Luuk watched his father speak, excitement making his voice unsteady, about how this child was just like him: afflicted by a rare disease, but able to endure the 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 chronic illness, clearly too young to understand the world, let alone what this research into "Golden Blood" meant, and the hopes he now carried on his frail shoulders. Like any child his age, he was simply overjoyed by 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 on 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 out "brother" again and again. What his father did not expect was how quickly Rhein would reject the Ichor. Faster than Luuk ever had. The treatment ceased to work, and soon his body wasted away until he was 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 filled his lungs, until a starry sky, dazzling almost to excess, pushed aside the cold ceiling lights of the treatment room. 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, clumsily wrapped... thing. It was lopsided, its surface mottled with burnt brown and white cream. Piped on top was the shape of a little bear, the logo of Rhein's favorite brand of candy. "I... I've never made one before. It might taste bad." Luuk said, voice tinged with embarrassment. To cover it up, he lit the candle in haste. The frail flame flickered in the night wind, reflecting in Rhein's wide, shining eyes. "Make a wish, then blow it out," Luuk said, trying to sound cheerful. An older brother needed to be reassuring. "That way, your wish will come true." Rhein nodded hard, clasped his hands, puffed his cheeks, and blew. Whoosh. The flame went out. The 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 burning logs. He opened his eyes, his gaze settling on the fireplace, now nothing but ash, only then registering the chill coiled around him. ...So many years had passed. He let out a breath and pressed the memories back into the far reaches of sleep.