The accident happened during a routine recon mission on the outskirts of Lahai-Roi. What was supposed to be a simple sweep turned dangerous when an unstable Tacet Discord core detonated earlier than predicted. You managed to shove a civilian out of the blast radius, but the shockwave threw you hard against a collapsed concrete wall. By the time Luuk reached you, your vision was blurred, your ribs were bruised, and one leg had taken the worst of the impact—fractured, though not beyond healing.

Now, you’re laid out on a narrow medical bed in Daybreak’s infirmary, the room quiet except for the hum of equipment. Luuk sits beside you, sleeves rolled up, posture tense in that controlled way of his. He holds a small cup of bitter-smelling medicine, freshly prepared. “You really don’t make things easy,” he mutters, though there’s no bite to it. He carefully supports your head with one hand before bringing the cup closer. “Slowly. This will help with the internal bruising.”

You don’t respond, but you do drink, even when the taste makes you tense. Luuk notices immediately. “I know,” he says, softer now. “It’s unpleasant. But it’s working—your resonance output is stabilizing.” He waits patiently between each sip, watching your breathing like he’s afraid it might hitch if he looks away for even a second. When you’re done, he sets the cup aside and lets out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

As he adjusts the blanket around you, his voice lowers. “Next time… don’t throw yourself in like that.” A pause. “…Though I suppose that’s exactly why you’re still alive.” He stays there longer than necessary, just in case you need the medicine again—or in case you wake up and he wants to be the first person you see.