Sezel stared at the door, its cold metal surface mocking his confusion. The man in sunglasses' parting words "I'll be waiting for you"—lingered like a riddle.
Is he a good guy, or just the one who gets to pull the trigger later? In my experience, they're usually the same person.
His cynical train of thought was derailed by the sweet, sweet sound of freedom. With hesitant, suspicious glances, the soldiers unfastened his shackles. The metal cuffs fell away, clanging against the bedframe with a finality that felt entirely too good to be true.
Sezel sat up, rubbing his wrists, his gaze darting to his left arm—once severed, now whole.
The tall soldier, face etched with unease, met his eyes with a grimace, as if Sezel were a beast unshackled.
Easy there, big guy. I'm the one who should be scared of you.
He swung his legs off the bed, his bare feet dangling a comical distance from the floor. He was too short to reach.
Sezel observed the room more freely now. It was a stark, sterile box of atlas-white walls, with four bright lights in the ceiling all pointed at the metallic bed in the center. So, is this what a five-star prison cell looks like? Fancy.
He spared another glance at the armed men. They were still staring at him with a twisted expression, their eyes sharp with a disgust that bordered on hatred. It wasn't fear, he realized. It was revulsion.
He sighed. Right. I'm the alien here.
A soldier tossed a bundle of fresh clothes at him—a plain shirt and trousers, so clean and new they felt like a costume.
Two others, their faces pale with an unease they couldn't quite hide, gestured for him to follow. They led him down a corridor, their heavy boots clicking on the polished floors, their silence a wall thicker than any language barrier. Sezel wanted to ask a thousand questions, but more than that, he just wanted them to see him as human.
They stopped at a door. The bathroom. The door swung open, and Sezel froze, his mouth agape.
Damn. Is this a bathroom? Or a palace?
Sezel had only seen the broken, sludgy bathrooms of the slum. Not in his entire lifetime did he think that he would see a bathroom like the one he was witnessing right now.
The small room was cleaner than anything he had ever seen, the floor covered with white tiles that glinted in the light. It had two separate rooms—one for a toilet that actually flushed, and another for a shower that promised hot water. For a boy who considered a bucket of lukewarm, murky water a luxury, this was paradise.
The two soldiers exchanged a confused look, their expressions clearly asking, Why is this brat so excited about a bathroom?
You wouldn't get it, Sezel thought, a pang of sadness cutting through his awe.
One of the soldiers twitched his lips and gestured for the other to follow, leaving Sezel alone in the glorious, white-tiled sanctuary.
He let the warm water cascade over him. The hot stream washed away the black pond's taint, the blood of beasts, and his own wounds. He scrubbed, relief flooding his battered body.
Sezel wondered how much he smelled, and out of curiosity, he sniffed his discarded rags—a mistake he wouldn't dare do again. The stench, a mix of ichor and decay, nearly knocked him out.
Damn, it must be because of that black water. he cussed, scrubbing his body clean with hot water. That's a new lesson, Eau de Spirit Realm is not a marketable fragrance.
He laughed, Okay what the fuck is even that? I think i am going insane.
After the refreshing bath, his body felt so in relief. Clean at last, he stepped out, steam curling around him.
In the corner of the room, a wide, polished mirror reflected something dangerous. His breath hitched, a shriek dying in his throat as he stumbled backward, his heart pounding against his ribs. Who... who is that? The reflection mimicked his every move—raising a hand, tilting its head.
He gulped, his throat suddenly dry, and walked closer, leaning on the pristine white counter. "Is that... me?" he whispered.
He examined his face by moving it around, "White hair? Red eyes? How?"
The image in the mirror showcased a little young man. His damp white hair clung to his face, streaming down to his shoulders, and the red pupils burned like embers, alien in their intensity.
A terrifying look, indeed. No wonder the soldiers were scared. I'm scared of myself. For all he could remember, he was just a normal-looking slum rat. But the reflection didn't lie. The faint scar on his chest, where the knight's blade had pierced him, was proof.
He traced the mark. "That's where the damn beast stabbed me." He turned, his eyes falling on his left arm. The arm that had been cut off. A thin, silvery line marked the spot where it had been severed, but it was whole. It was real.
It wasn't a dream. The thought was a dizzying mix of relief and terror. How did his injuries heal? How did his arm grow back?
What kind of miracle is this? Or is it a curse?
The first thing Sez could think of was that it was the effect of his awakening. Yeah, he was supposed to awaken—or maybe not. He did feel a new kind of strength flowing in his body, but that could be because of proper rest and the warm bath.
And he didn't know how to confirm his awakening, though he faintly remembered that he used spirit energy in the spirit realm. It was because of the mysterious girl.
Was it her doing? That girl in the pond—who was she? Why help a nobody like me?
He looked back at the stranger in the mirror, a single, terrifying question hanging heavy in his mind. I'm still human… aren't I?