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For as long as he can remember, Luuk treaded a path paved with betrayal and deceit.
Of the man who called himself his Father, blind and maddened with grief from the loss of his real son, pouring gold into an open wound that never heals. Of the child that Father called his ‘brother’, sickly and too young to understand what was being done to him, chosen for the same reason Luuk had been and damned for it.
Of himself, who had just been a child, too, believing in the illusion of a family because he had nothing else but a body that doesn’t turn to ash even if it’s made to burn over and over again.
The one good thing about him, the only redeeming thing.
Empty eyes, the stench of sickness. Hatred scorched into their depths, the only thing that is left of him after their father has forsaken him.
And it had also been the one thing that damned him.
-
…He didn’t want to kill Rhein.
In a life of make-believes, this is the one truth Luuk holds close to his chest. He is his brother, no matter what Rhein himself may think of him, no matter how much he may hate him, and if there is the slightest chance that he could save just one life for every single one that has been sacrificed for the blood that runs through his veins, then Luuk would lay down his life to try.
“There is another way.”
This time it will be different. He swore that he was done sacrificing people. That this time, he’d be the one using it, instead of being used for it.
“Because I am like him. Because we carry the same blood.”
Because he is my only family.
So Luuk tries.
With his body as the anchor, he drives his brother into the frozen earth. He hopes, praying to the very same gods that have abandoned them as he wills fate itself to yield and submit to him like the ichor in his veins. To change, as his Father has always desperately wanted it to.
His Father had failed. Luuk will not.
Luuk will be different.
-
A world devoid of color. A life filled with lies. His blood, a cure, in exchange for the lives of hundreds. There is a price for truth, and Luuk is willing to set his body aflame until there is nothing left of him to pay for it.
Somehow, in the midst of it all, there was always him.
"We'll make a promise,” he hears him say in the wake of his battle with Rhein. No matter how many winters it took, they'd see each other again. Luuk would open his eyes, and he would be standing right here, just like today.
For some reason, he remembers the day he brought Rhein to a garden at the edge of the estate. It was his birthday, and he’d made a small cake. Pitiful and terrible, but it had lit up Rhein’s eyes like stars. It’s the only gift he’s ever given and made in his life, and it was the last time he would ever celebrate his brother’s birthday.
"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."
As Luuk’s eyes fall shut, he can’t help but compare the molten gold in his eyes to the flickering flame of Rhein’s birthday candle. He feels like a child again, nothing more than just Rhein’s brother, unburdened by the truth. Make a wish, then blow it out.
Come back, Luuk wishes. Come back to me. I will wait, no matter how long it takes.
A gentle hand brushes over his hair. It’s warm, but it doesn’t burn. It doesn’t hurt.
It would be nice, he thinks, if he could stay like this forever.
-
When Luuk wakes up, Rover is nowhere to be found.
-
In the many months that followed his recovery, Luuk figures out how to be gentle with himself.
It’s a steep learning curve, the traumas from his past casting a dark shadow over every decision and step that he takes. He turns to psychology, and he learns it’s not so different from what he intimately knows. That it, too, could be just as rewarding to stitch the pieces of people back together as it is to sew open wounds close. He sees himself in every story, in every hopeful dream and honest fears, and the surprising thing is that in helping others, Luuk learns to heal.
He finds himself, again, in the midst of his bloody obsession in his pursuit of truth. Not for the first time, it feels like the breaking of dawn, a shade of gold so vivid it nearly hurts to look at. Not for the first time, Luuk thinks of him, who had led him here, thinking that it would do him some good to have a change of pace.
And of course, he’s right. He is rarely ever anything else.
“You’ve changed, Dr. Luuk,” a student says, a bright grin plastered on their face. “You smile more these days—well, you’re always smiling, but you seem so much happier now. Have you finally gotten used to us?”
Luuk touches his mouth, having not realized it. Does it… seem that way?
He thinks of him again. Always one call from his terminal away, whenever he wanted to talk about something. He would always answer, listening carefully to every word, a steady pillar and presence whenever Luuk felt like what was left of his world was falling apart.
Would he think the same if he saw Luuk himself? Would he be happy for him, too?
“Getting used to you is not a good thing as your school doctor,” Luuk admonishes, clenching his fist and hiding it away with the rest of his thoughts. His smile takes a playful edge. “I’d appreciate it if you could show up around here a little less.”
The students laugh. “Meanie!”
“You’ll get lonely if we’re not around to bother you, Dr. Luuk!"
"Yeah, you need your adorable students to keep you company!"
-
…Lonely, huh?
-
Luuk stares at his terminal. He doesn’t call anyone. He just lets it sit in front of him, an anchor to an old friend. A person to whom he owed his life. Someone whom he'd sworn to weather the unyielding blizzard and walk through the depths of hell itself with.
“I never celebrated my birthday,” he says, apropos of nothing. In the space of his empty room, the terminal blinks as the only source of light. “Or anyone else's birthday, really. The only time I ever celebrated one was—”
Luuk abruptly stops. He clears his throat, thumb digging into the tender area around the wound on his palm. It takes him a while to speak again, his voice slightly thick.
“The birthdate on my papers isn’t mine,” he says instead, as if he were rehearsing through the lines of a fractured script. With how frequently he's thought about it, it wouldn't be that far-fetched. Surrounded by students who liked to take any excuse to throw parties and have fun in between the grueling academic work, Luuk's gaze would often be drawn to them.
“It’s for Father’s real son,” he admits. A confession that he has never told anyone before. Words that have festered, spilling out of him so easily in the privacy of his room, with that man in mind.
Predictably, there is nothing but silence. Knowing why doesn't make it hurt any less.
“I’m not sure if you remember, but today marks exactly one year since… since that day.”
An ashen-colored landscape. His brother, buried beneath the ice by his own hands. And then, a promise.
Luuk lowers his head. It’s difficult to hold a conversation when the other person isn’t here to listen, he thinks. There are so many things he wants to say. He wants to tell him about his students, a force to be reckoned with and bright-eyed, just like him, about the new dishes he has learned to cook without the threat of burning them to an unknowable crisp, about the interesting things he’s found in Lahai-Roi in the year he has learned to call it home, about the people living in it, about Mornye being recognized widely by the faculty for her scholarly contributions to the institute, and about so many more—
A birthday is an important day to some. He'd tried his best for Rhein, copying what he'd only ever seen in other families because he never experienced it for himself.
For someone like him who didn't have a birthday to celebrate, the promise on that day is all he has. He was all he had, a remnant from a time when he'd lost everyone else.
“...Rover,” Luuk says, voice breaking quietly as gold drips down his hand. The shade of dawn, the warmth of the sun, the color of his eyes. The one thing he gets to keep of him that isn't just a memory. He smiles, his throat aching, the emotions and thoughts inside of him too honest and raw for words.
He's healing, and things are getting better for him. He's learned to let go and let loose a little, like he always wanted. He's learned to treat himself better. The nightmares don't keep him up as much as they used to, the pain in his palm doesn't make him think about turning into an irredeemable monster, but still, despite it all, he finds himself desperately calling for someone who won't answer.
“I’m lonely," he whispers.
"We'll make a promise. No matter how many winters it takes, I'll come back to you."
When he would call to tell him about Rhein refusing to talk to him, Rover would comfort him. When he had felt like he was losing his grip on his humanity and purpose, Rover was there to remind him. He'd never had a moment where he felt truly alone, because Rover was there to pick him up and hold his broken pieces together.
He wishes he could comfort him again. Wishes that he could reassure him, like he always does.
He wishes that he could hear him. That he could see him.
Luuk wishes that he were here.
The terminal blinks like a flickering candlelight. No one answers.
No, he thinks, there's no one on the other side at all.
There is only Luuk, bleeding and wounded by the silence, and the faint echo of a promise shared in the midst of thawing snow.
"One day, when you open your eyes, I'll be standing right in front of you, just like today." Rover smiles. His back is lit by the gentle light of the sun, his eyes the warmest and most beautiful shade of gold Luuk has ever seen. His own sun, in this never-ending landscape of blinding snow. "When that day comes, could you welcome me back?"