Luuk Herssen

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.

Luuk realized something was wrong years after his father's death.

Though he bore the title of heir to Novialle Regenerative Group, the board's seasoned veterans saw him for what he appeared to be then: an underage figurehead. Naturally, they dismissed him as no threat. But...

Page by page, Luuk sifted through seemingly unrelated financial discrepancies, lab procedures just shy of scrutiny, and itineraries of his father's final months that had been erased. Like puzzle pieces, they slowly assembled into a fractured, chilling image, one called the "truth." His gaze hardened.

In fact, it was no different from surgery. Cut open a surface that looked intact. Inch a sharp blade deeper. Carve out the rot where it festered against the bone.

He had done it before, and he was good at it.

To the public, all they saw was a new executive far too young for the role. He carried himself with composure and steered the conglomerate with an iron will. The initial whispers of doubt soon fell silent in the face of results. Drug development accelerated, while labs once dedicated to researching "Golden Blood" were shuttered, one after another.

At night, alone, Luuk peeled off his gloves and watched the Ichor bleed from his palm. The golden blood spilled across his skin, coalescing into the hardened shape of a blade. Then, with a turn of his wrist, it dissolved back into a docile fluid.

After all these years, the "change" his father had obsessed over had finally appeared. And it answered to Luuk.

"But I'm done sacrificing people for you," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the golden gleam. "I'm going to... use you."

"Infiltrate the Fractsidus?" The voice from the Terminal clearly wavered.

"Yes." Luuk stood at the edge of the rooftop, the wind whipping at his coat. "Too many threads lead back to them. I suspect they're connected to my father's death."

"...Have you thought this through? Once you go in, there's no turning back."

Luuk looked down at the lights scattered below. How many lives, sustained only by medication, flickering weakly like candles in the wind, waiting through an endless night for illusion to burn away and dawn to finally arrive?

"There's no turning back," he said as he leapt into the night, voice fading into the wind, "That's why it's worth doing."

The air in this Fractsidus outpost was always thick with dust, mildew, and a metallic tang.

Luuk Herssen walked down the dim corridor wearing thin, silver-rimmed glasses, an old medical case swinging at his side. His steps were light, deliberate, perfectly in character: a quiet, unassuming young doctor, skilled enough to be useful, timid enough to be ignored.

The door closed behind him. What greeted him next was the heavy stench of blood and the acrid bite of disinfectant.

Several injured members of the Fractsidus were slumped against the walls or lying on cots. As he approached, someone clicked their tongue impatiently. "Took you long enough."

Luuk hunched his shoulders, kept his head down, and quickened his pace until he seemed to shrink into his medical coat.

The medical case opened with a soft snap. He carefully took out the forceps and antiseptic swabs and began to clean a gash on one member's arm. In the corner, a few of the less injured members spoke in hushed tones.

"Shhh!" Someone cut in sharply, eyes darting warily toward Luuk as he worked.

The speaker froze for a moment, then scoffed. "What's to worry about? Him?" He raised his voice deliberately. "Last time he treated my shoulder, he was so nervous he was practically panting. Look at him, timid as a mouse. He'll never amount to anything."

Right on cue, Luuk pushed his glasses back up his nose. His gaze remained lowered, focused entirely on the bandage in his hands as if he had heard nothing.

"Still, better safe than sorry," someone muttered. "All outposts are on high alert. Word is, a rat's slipped in..."

Their voices faded into indistinct murmurs. Luuk maintained his unthreatening posture, but his hands never lost their precision. Disinfecting, medicating, bandaging, each step executed without flaw. Only occasionally did he let a hint of nervousness slip: the faint clink of forceps, a bottle cap fumbled once or twice.

When the final bandage was tied, the injured men rose and began to leave. The loud one from earlier clapped him on the shoulder in passing. "Thanks, Doc."

"...Just doing my job." His throat bobbed as he replied softly.

Footsteps faded. The door closed. The treatment room fell quiet again, the smell of disinfectant hanging faintly in the air.

Luuk Herssen slowly straightened. The air of timidity evaporated. He removed his glasses, wiping the lenses as he walked toward a pile of medical supplies in the corner. Freed of the disguise, his eyes, red as pigeon blood, lifted toward the top of a cabinet.

He reached into the clutter and retrieved a listening device no larger than a button.

The net was beginning to close.

After confirming the transmission, Luuk moved to the window and parted the heavy curtain slightly. Outside lay the Fractsidus's grim compound, the last ray of twilight dissolving into night. He put his glasses back on. One by one, distant lights flickered on, reflected in the lenses like the eyes of beasts in the dark.

He stood at the border between light and shadow, letting his eyes curve with a faint satisfaction behind the lenses.

The show had only just begun.

Winter was ending, but the cold refused to leave. When Luuk finally pulled himself away from the mountain of corporate matters and covert investigations, he pushed open the door to the special care ward, barely recognizing the emaciated figure on the bed.

Rhein lay against the pillows. The curls that had once been soft and voluminous now hung yellowed and brittle against his forehead. At the sound of the door, his eyes shifted slightly. No sound followed.

Luuk suddenly recalled his father's words: "You should feel lucky. The Ichor chose you."

Despite the color blindness and the intermittent bouts of searing pain, Luuk remained the only person truly healed by the Ichor. Without exception, the others had all followed the same grim trajectory as Rhein.

Luuk took the chair by the bed. The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of monitors. He tried to break the suffocating quiet.

"I studied psychology for a while," he said. "I thought... it might help me understand things better. Help people better." After a pause, he added, "I've also gotten much better at cooking. I don't burn cakes anymore. Is there anything you want to eat? I can make it."

Silence. Luuk didn't give up. He changed the topic.

"I've... met someone recently. A friend. Clever, reliable. He's/She's challenged a lot of my old, stubborn ideas. I think maybe I should try to change..."

"Do you really need to?" Rhein's voice cut in, hoarse and brittle as an ice pick. "Aren't you the one who's always been exceptional? Not like the rest of us ordinary people."

Luuk's breath caught. The calm he had been holding together collapsed. He looked into Rhein's eyes, once bright and lively, now dulled to near emptiness. And beneath that still surface churned something unmistakable—hatred.

"He refuses to speak to me again," Luuk said quietly.

The response from the Terminal was, as always, calm. "What he hates isn't you. It's everything the name 'Herssen' stands for. You're just the only safe target for that hatred."

Luuk was silent for a moment. "...Thank you."

"Have you found anything?"

"The dots are starting to connect," Luuk replied, looking out the window. Dark clouds coiled and thickened, promising a storm. "Tonight... I'll confirm the truth."

That night, rain fell as if trying to hammer the entire world into the earth. Luuk walked alone into a deserted cemetery. White lightning tore open the sky, illuminating the gravestone ahead. It was his father's.

And then he saw it.

Through the curtain of rain, a figure stood silently before the grave, umbrella in hand, as if they had been waiting. Raindrops exploded against the fabric, flowing down its edges like a waterfall. Yet through the blur of gray and black, Luuk could see the eyes looking back at him with perfect clarity.

...Gold. Like molten Ichor. Like the first ray of sunlight upon the frostlands.

The only vivid color in an ashen world.

"If you've truly uncovered something," he/she said, stepping through the pooled water toward him, "then you'll need a witness."

Afternoon light filtered through the window glass, casting bands of light and shadow across the floor. Students fresh from training crowded around the treatment bed, watching as Luuk Herssen wrapped the ankle of their particularly unlucky friend.

"Dr. Luuk, how are you bandaging like that?" the injured student grinned through clenched teeth. "Can you teach me how to do that?!"

Luuk finished with a clean knot and tapped his shoulder. "Sure. We'll bundle the lesson with your medical bill." At the boy's frozen expression, Luuk curved his lips. "I'm joking. But remember to warm up next time. I'd hate to see you competing from a wheelchair."

Laughter rippled through the room.

"Dr. Herssen, we're heading to the Royan Market later! Coming with us?"

Luuk glanced at the clock and shook his head with sincere regret. "Not today. I've got other appointments coming up." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "And I heard the cafeteria cakes are half price today. If you're late, there'll be nothing left."

The students smacked their foreheads and filed out in a burst of noise. The infirmary door shut behind them, cutting off the chatter. In the sudden quiet, the scent of disinfectant stood out somehow. Luuk turned to the window, recalling the last time he'd seen sunshine like this.

That was also the last time he saw Rhein.

Or rather, it was hard to say whether the "creature" whose skin was veined with gold could still be called Rhein. The treatment plan that had consumed the conglomerate's lifetime of effort had failed to cure any rare disease patients except Luuk Herssen. In his final moments, Rhein didn't even die from his illness. The Ichor, once believed to be his salvation, had completely consumed him. Driven mad, he had injured several people and fled the ward, teetering on the edge of a total, violent breakdown. Luuk felt the Ichor in his palm grow searing hot, eager to become a blade. But…

Was there truly no other way?

Luuk stared into eyes that had once sparkled over a piece of candy and found no trace of the boy left. The Ichor burned, urging him on, but he hesitated, thinking of a way to stop Rhein without killing him.

A blizzard of snow and mindless roars crashed over him, whiting out his vision.

"There's another way." He clenched his fist.

"Because I am like him. Because we... carry the same blood."

In that final instant, Luuk reversed the state of the Ichor in his palm. Using his own body as the anchor, he drove Rhein beneath the frozen earth. The solidifying gold bound them both. Frost spread from his feet as burning pain surged from his palm. Within him, the two forces met in a violent, silent standstill.

As his consciousness began to fade, he sensed someone rushing to his side. A soft voice asked if he could still see. He nodded. In a bleached world, he saw the sun rising over the distant frostlands, and much closer, eyes even brighter than that dawn.

"We'll make a promise." he/she had said. No matter how many winters it took, they'd see each other again. He'd open his eyes, and he'd/she'd be standing right here, just like today.

He thought, that must be…

Click.

Luuk turned. A flood of sunlight spilled into the room, outlining the figure in the doorway. A familiar warmth seeped into his monochrome world, shattering the grey expanse within him into a shower of golden light.

...That must be when the sun rises once more.

Luuk smiled and walked toward the light. Outside the window, a new leaf, loosened by a soft spring breeze, drifted down and came to rest on the sill.

The long winter had finally passed.

[Filed from: Spacetrek Collective: Startorch Academy Faculty Records]

[Forte Examination Report RA2462-G]

Name: Luuk Herssen

Forte Overview: Examination confirms the subject's Tacet Mark is located at the center of the right palm, marked by a chronic, unhealing wound. Physical signs and bloodwork indicate the presence of an anomalous energy fluid—an "Ichor"—circulating within the subject. This substance can rapidly alter its phase state under conscious will. Activation is accompanied by a burning sensation and transient high temperatures. Long-term use has resulted in color blindness. Currently, the subject perceives only the color gold, with all other hues rendered in grayscale.

The subject reports stable symptoms and declines further treatment.

"Examination and reporting were conducted by the subject personally to ensure accuracy of records."

"Location: Startorch Academy - Resonator Nursing Unit.

Recorder: Luuk Herssen."

Analysis Performed: Rabelle's Curve Fluctuation Stability Test

Result: Rabelle's Curve test sample exhibits an elongated elliptical waveform with considerable amplitude. However, a clear periodic rhythm is observed, and Resonant Criticality thresholds have not been approached.

Assessment: The subject demonstrates stable control under high-load conditions, with data indicating exceptional self-regulation and mental focus. No indications of loss of control were observed.

Conclusion: Subject stability is excellent. No present risk of Overclocking. Psychological counseling is currently deemed unnecessary. Scheduled follow-up testing with continued monitoring of neural fatigue indices is recommended.

The subject has expressed willingness to cooperate with subsequent observation.

"Dr. Luuk... is this wording all right? It feels a bit too official."

"It's perfectly acceptable. You did a good job."