The Unwritten Chapter

The sound of running water echoed softly in the spacious bathroom as steam began to rise, curling like delicate tendrils against the glass walls. Cael stood in front of the mirror, his reflection staring back at him, illuminated by the warm glow of the vanity lights. His soft, porcelain skin gleamed under the light, untouched by blemishes, like a canvas kissed by the divine. Every curve of his body was gentle and smooth, his figure framed with an ethereal delicacy that seemed almost otherworldly. The faint peach fuzz along his arms and legs caught the light subtly, a testament to his youth and the meticulous care he had taken of himself in his past life.

He reached for the shower knob and turned it, letting the warm water cascade over his hand before stepping in. As the first stream of water poured over his body, he shivered slightly, the heat soaking into his skin and relaxing his tense shoulders. His mind, however, was anything but at ease.

The shower became a sanctuary of silence, save for the rhythmic patter of water against tile. Cael tilted his head back, letting the water drench his hair and stream down his body. His thoughts spiraled, weaving through the haze of emotions and realizations that had plagued him over the past few days.

Patricia and Clide. His parents—well, the original Cael's parents—had left behind a trail of unanswered questions. Their deaths, while tragic, didn't sit right with him. The whispers at the funeral, the fleeting glances exchanged between relatives, the unspoken tension in the Chang household—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle he had yet to assemble.

He rubbed his hands across his arms absentmindedly, the slick lather of soap gliding over his skin. His body was strikingly different from the one he had as El Johansen. Where El was sharp, angular, and commanding, Cael was soft, delicate, and almost fragile. He felt like a different person entirely, yet he carried the weight of two lives on his shoulders.

"Why does everything feel so… incomplete?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

His thoughts drifted back to the old woman at the hospital, the one who had left abruptly. Mrs. Chang had said she was his nanny, someone who had cared for him as a child. Yet, her departure seemed sudden, almost as if Patricia's death had been a tipping point. Had she known something?

Cael sighed and leaned against the cool tiled wall, letting the water wash away the soap and any lingering tension in his muscles. The Chang family had been nothing but kind to him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they, too, were holding back. He had noticed the way Mrs. Chang's gaze lingered on him during quiet moments, a mixture of sorrow and protectiveness in her eyes. And Mr. Chang—he was kind but distant, as if burdened by something he couldn't share.

Finishing his shower, Cael turned off the water and stepped out, the cool air of the bathroom wrapping around him like a thin veil. He grabbed a towel and began drying off, his movements slow and deliberate. His reflection in the mirror caught his eye again, and for a moment, he stared at the person he had become.

"This life," he whispered to himself, "it's not mine. But it is now."

Dressed in a loose shirt and soft sweatpants, Cael left the bathroom and made his way to his room. The house was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it carried the weight of unspoken words. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window at the moonlit garden below.

For now, he decided, he wouldn't pry too deeply. Not yet. There was something fragile about the threads connecting him to this world, and he didn't want to risk unraveling them too soon. But the questions gnawed at him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd need answers.

As sleep began to claim him, Cael made a silent vow: he would uncover the truth about Patricia and Clide's deaths, not just for himself, but for the family they had left behind.