The boy in the mirror

El's mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at the reflection before him. It wasn't his face. The person looking back at him from the mirror was a stranger—slender, with soft features, soft dark eyes, and a messydark hair that framed a youthful face. He looked no older than twenty.

"This… This isn't me," he whispered, his voice trembling. His hands moved to touch his face, fingers brushing over smooth skin that felt alien yet disturbingly real. Every detail of the reflection—every movement—matched his actions. There was no mistaking it.

Panic set in. He staggered back, clutching the edge of the sink to steady himself. Memories of his last moments as El Johansen flashed in his mind: the headache, the collapse, the darkness. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Or worse—had he actually died?

The faint sounds of muffled voices outside the room brought him back to the present. The old woman's sobs echoed faintly through the walls, and the doctor's calm tone was barely audible.

El sank to the floor, his breaths shallow and uneven. "This can't be real," he muttered, trying to will himself to wake up. But the cold tile beneath him and the sharp scent of antiseptic in the air told him otherwise.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the door creaked open. The doctor, a middle-aged man with a stern expression, stepped in cautiously. His eyes scanned El with an air of concern.

"How are you feeling, Sir Cael?" the doctor asked, his tone professional but with a hint of hesitation.

El blinked. There it was again—Cael. That name. It wasn't his.

"I…" he started, his voice hoarse. "I don't understand. Who are you people? Why are you calling me that?"

The doctor exchanged a brief glance with the old woman, who had re-entered the room, her face still streaked with tears.

"Sir Cael, you've been unconscious for three days after your accident," the doctor explained carefully. "It's not uncommon to feel disoriented, but you're safe now."

"Accident?" El echoed, shaking his head. "No… I don't know what's going on. I'm not—" He stopped himself, unsure of what to say. Would they even believe him? That he wasn't this Cael they kept calling him?

The doctor frowned but maintained his composure. "Perhaps some rest will help. It's possible you've experienced some memory loss. We'll conduct a thorough examination later after visitation hours."

The old woman stepped closer, her hands wringing nervously. "Young Master Cael, please don't scare us like this again," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "You're the only one left…"

Her words sent a chill down El's spine. The only one left? What had he stumbled into?

As they left him alone once more, El leaned back against the wall, his head spinning. Nothing made sense. He wasn't El Johansen anymore—he wasn't even in his own body.

"Cael…" he muttered to himself, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. "What kind of life have I woken up into?"