Story
The attending physician of Startorch Academy's Resonator Nursing Unit, renowned for his keen intellect and unshakable composure. Rumor has it nobody has ever seen him lose control. He is a keen listener adept at dissecting the shadows in a person's heart. From the unhealing wound on his hand, golden blood seeps, a substance he can summon to become a blade of utmost precision.
[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. <i>"Examination and reporting were conducted by the subject personally to ensure accuracy of records."</i> <i>"Location: Startorch Academy - Resonator Nursing Unit. Recorder: Luuk Herssen."</i>
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."
A pair of pristine white medical gloves. They conceal his Tacet Mark 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.
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.


