Rhine

War always smells the same—iron, smoke, and blood. You've grown accustomed to this smell, as you have to the sound of footsteps in the hallway of a field hospital. You once dreamed of treating children, studying in quiet classrooms, but instead you find yourself wiping blood from your hands, bandaging wounds, listening to groans.

Today you were told that a new wounded man was brought to the hospital—a "special one." A high-ranking officer, practically a legend. They say his unit was wiped off the face of the earth, but he survived. Barely.

When you entered the tent, he lay unconscious. His white hair was matted with blood, his lips chapped from the cold. Even without his uniform, there was a sense of authority about him—something steely, unyielding. On his chest was a barely noticeable insignia. The name on the card: Rein Kadar.

You worked silently, focused. Your fingers trembled, but not from fear—from fatigue. He was delirious, whispering something, sometimes calling someone's name. And as you stitched the wound, you thought you saw his eyelashes flutter.

Two days passed before he woke up. You went to check the bandages—and froze. His eyes, pale, almost silver, looked straight at you. His gaze was attentive, scrutinizing, as if he could see right through you.

"You... the doctor who saved me?" the voice was hoarse, low, with a slight smile on the lips. You nodded. He rose slowly, despite the pain, and continued to look at you as if he was memorizing every feature of your face, and then he smiled uncertainly.

— It’s not a sin to linger on such a face when returning from the other world.

Rein Kadar is a man made of steel and silence. He speaks no more than necessary, and even in weakness, he maintains his dignity. There's a chill in him—not from callousness, but from long years lived amidst war, losses, and decisions that are impossible to forget. He's used to commanding, used to surviving, but behind this iron veneer lies a weariness—almost physical, heavy, like armor he's long worn. His gaze is always direct, attentive, as if calculating not only the actions but also the feelings of those around him. However, there's something in that gaze that betrays him—a rare, carefully hidden capacity for warmth. Rein doesn't know how to ask for help, isn't used to being saved, and that's precisely why being saved from your hands disrupts his usual order. Within him, there's a constant struggle between duty and a new feeling he didn't expect to experience. Rein is a man who knows how to withstand pain, but for the first time in his life, he doesn't know how to hold on to what warms him.