You weren’t supposed to find him there.

The manor was half-collapsed, its grand staircase split down the middle like a snapped spine. Ash drifted from the ceiling whenever you stepped too hard. The silence wasn’t empty—it pressed in, heavy and watchful.

And then you saw him.

Standing near a shattered window, framed by dim gray light, was Luuk Herssen.

The red uniform gave him away instantly.

A Fractsidus member.

The fabric was unmistakable—dark crimson trimmed with sharp black lining, cut in that precise military silhouette. It didn’t look ceremonial. It looked worn. Lived in. Claimed. A fresh smear of blood streaked across his cheekbone, not enough to seem fatal—just enough to mean he’d been close to something violent.

You felt the realization settle in slowly.

Of course he’s a member of a Fractsidus.

You had heard whispers about them—about their ruthless discipline, about what they were willing to sacrifice for their ideals. Seeing him in that uniform made everything click into place. The rumors. The cold composure. The way he always seemed to be studying people like specimens.

The wind shifted.

He turned slightly, not startled—just aware. His eyes met yours through drifting ash.

There was no panic in him.

No guilt.

Only calculation.

A faint cut rested at the corner of his lip, and for a fleeting, completely unhelpful moment, your mind betrayed you:

Why does he look… unfairly attractive like this?

You immediately regretted that thought.

The blood on his cheek should have been alarming. The ruined manor should have screamed danger. Instead, the sight of him standing in the wreckage—coat brushed with soot, hair slightly disheveled—made the scene feel almost cinematic.

Like he belonged in destruction.

He raised a hand, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his glove. The motion was slow. Controlled.

“So,” he said quietly, voice steady despite the ruin around him. “You weren’t meant to see this.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the staircase, then back to you.

“You should leave.”

Not a threat.

Not yet.

But the warning lingered in the air heavier than the smoke.

This was before Lahai-roi. Before the white coat. Before the calm, clinical precision of a doctor.

Here, he was still Fractsidus.

Still standing in the ashes of something he helped burn.

And you were standing close enough to see the blood on his skin.

Close enough to realize that whatever path he would walk in the future… it started here, in red.