His parents were gone, and that was a fact that Luke knew. Having any hope would be pointless. They were no longer here, and they never would be again.

He would never hear his father give a lecture about various rocks and their classifications, or walk around town with his mother, or have bedtime stories be read to him, or have a family dinner, or anything family again.

At the mere age of ten, his family now consisted of himself, and no one else. It was just him in this lonely, quiet house.

Luke loved his mother dearly. Luke loved his father dearly.

Why had they been reduced to this?

Luke was overtaken by blind hope and willful ignorance as he got closer to his mother. He saw her eyes, wide open, and shivered.

"Mum…?"

There was no response or flicker of recognition. His father was similarly laying on his back, but facing away from Luke. He'd arrived late, but never thought that this would await him upon his return.

How long had he stood there, anyway? The concept of time became meaningless, and he was so transfixed by the remains lying before him, the splatters and horrific details, that he'd barely noticed someone was coming up behind him.

When he did notice the creak of a floorboard, he froze, suddenly filled with terror. Were the people who did this coming back? Would they hurt him?

There was nowhere to hide in this room, at least nowhere that he could recognise. He was running on pure fear and couldn't even move. His breathing, too, quickened, as he heard the new presence get closer.

He stole a glance behind him, and found there to be a man. This man was masked, with an elaborate attire, though the room was admittedly dark and Luke wasn't entirely sure on the finer details. All he really knew, as his breathing hitched, was that this man did not belong. Was this man responsible for what had happened? Was he going to hurt him? They stood staring at each other for hours, or at least that's how time passed for Luke.

Then, the man approached, slowly and deliberately, and Luke pondered surrendering to his fate. There was nothing he, a mere child, could do against him.

But, when the man was upon him, there was no ill will. Luke's breathing steadied as they stood alongside each other. His gaze drifted back to the scene in front of him. The awful, bloody tragedy which had already unfolded.

If this man was not the perpetrator, then the real one must have been long gone. And Luke was still his own family at this point. Luke broke the silence with his only thought on the matter; "They're… gone."

He looked back up at the man, "My mum, and… my dad… they're just…"

Luke had never processed it fully in the first place. A future without his parents was impossible. Completely and utterly implausible. Yet, here he was. He was going to live that future.

And he started to tear up. This was his future, a nothing-family comprised of only him. How could he go on like this, really?

Luke found himself involuntarily leaning against the man next to him, and the man in question did not resist. Finally, Luke's pent-up and hard-to-process thoughts and feelings came spilling out. He wailed, though he still couldn't fully understand why, why this was happening, why he was sad, why anything, really.

He was faintly aware of the pat on the back he received, the fact that he'd been embraced in turn. All he was aware of was his own torment and misery.

Luke was still in the company of a complete stranger, but with his mind preoccupied, he was barely concerned about this.

Finally, he blinked and rubbed away another round of tears from his eyes.

"What now…?" He wondered aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. What was he to do now? Luke continued to cling to the man, his only lifeline at the moment. His grip was currently a vice hold around the man's arm, as he once more surveyed his parents.

Maybe, as he considered this man next to him, he could go with him instead?

"Uhm… can… can I…" Luke began, but immediately the idea felt awkward. He couldn't just ask such a thing, could he? He tried to continue, unsure, "I… I don't know what to do…"

Luke adjusted his grip on the man's arm. He really, really didn't. Maybe he'd worn himself out when he let his emotions flow out, because he was exhausted as well.

Descole considered the young boy who was currently holding onto his arm as though his life depended on it. The scene he'd walked into was nothing short of horrific, and had immediately reminded him of a few events from his own life that he'd much rather forget about.

The poor kid was shaking, staring wide-eyed at his own parents' bodies. Occasionally, his gaze darted between them and Descole.

Despite his initial intentions, any hopes of still accomplishing that plan were gone now, and he was left with a terrified, traumatised child. While he contemplated how to continue, the boy sunk further into his side, his grip loosening slightly.

Descole couldn't fathom simply abandoning this child, who had already seen the remains of his mother and father with his own eyes. It was another part of him shining through for once, that sought to protect this child as if he were his own, perhaps to fill the aching void that had festered for many, many years.

When he finally prepared to address the boy, Descole realised that he'd fallen asleep against his side. That one part of him still refused to leave the boy behind. So, his decision was easily made—he shifted his arms so as not to wake the boy and ended up cradling him in his arms. He seemed so small and vulnerable in this state, which only furthered the existing hate that Descole found himself feeling for who could have caused this, which he was aware of who did.

It was no coincidence that Clark Triton, an archaeologist, had unwittingly flown too close to the metaphorical sun and drew the ire of a certain group, who had decided the best course of action was to murder him and his wife, and leave their son traumatised.

He turned away from the remains, making a small mental note to properly bury the bodies, and not just leave them haphazardly laying around like that. But for now, his main concern was this boy.

Descole had once lived through a similar experience, and then another, and he was now filled with nothing but burning hatred. He and this boy shared horrible traumas caused by the same group, but if Descole could have any say in it, he would prefer the boy not end up as hateful as he.