Chapter 4: New Morning, New Self
The sun began to rise on the horizon, its rays piercing through the cracks in the old apartment window where Ronan lived. The morning air was cool, but to Ronan, the chill barely registered.
His eyes slowly opened. For a few seconds, his mind was blank—the only sound in the room was his own quiet breathing. But then, like a flood, the memories of the night before came rushing back.
Blood. Screams. Shattered bones.
His eyelids twitched.
He let out a sigh, got up from the creaky bed, and walked toward the tiny bathroom in the corner. A twist of the rusty faucet brought a rush of cold water, and without hesitation, Ronan splashed it onto his face, letting the sting wash away what remained of his sleep.
He lifted his face and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror.
It was the same face—familiar, but something had changed.
His dark hair, always neatly trimmed in an undercut style, was the same. His eyebrows were still sharp, and his face still held a firm, well-defined structure. He couldn't be called extraordinarily handsome, but his appearance was striking in its own way.
However, the most striking feature—his eyes.
His once black pupils had turned into a deep crimson, as if a hidden flame burned within them.
Ronan narrowed his eyes, inspecting them closely. This wasn't a trick of the light. Not an illusion. It was real.