Ahh...
A dull throb pulsed through his skull.
Cyris Neal sat up abruptly, wincing as he pressed his right hand to his forehead
"What happened... Where am I?"
He glanced around, his vision hazy. The narrow alley was deserted, cloaked in shadow and silence—forgotten by the world.
"An alleyway... Why does everything look so unfamiliar..."
He didn't notice the pool of blood spreading beneath him until the pain struck again—sharp, searing.
Ack!
A cry tore from his throat as a surge of unfamiliar memories crashed into his mind, each one more disorienting than the last.
-----------
"Brother?"
A familiar voice called out.
It was his sister—Rose Everhart, seventeen years old and barely 5'2" (158cm). Her blonde hair shimmered under the afternoon sun, and her violet eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"What happened? Why are you spacing out again?"
She leaned in closer with a playful smile, her hands tucked behind her back as she tilted her head.
"I'm fine," Alaric replied, his voice calm. "Just thinking about something.
Alaric Everhart—nineteen years old, 6'1" (185cm), with tousled black hair and amber eyes that seemed to hold more weight than they should—kept his gaze ahead.
"You're always thinking," Rose teased. "You're gonna give yourself wrinkles."
They strolled along the sidewalk, weaving through the light crowd. On the busy road nearby, cars passed in steady streams. Street vendors lined the edge of the pavement, shouting over one another in a chaotic symphony of salesmanship.
"Fresh fruits! Ripe and delicious! Cheapest in town!"
"Look at this fine jewelry! A treasure for your beloved!"
"Hotdoggies! Red hots! Hot diggity dogs!"
"Ice cream! Cool down with a cone! Summer special!"
Alaric glanced at the ice cream vendor, then turned to Rose.
"Want one?"
She beamed and immediately hooked her arm through his. "You know I do!" she said, tugging him toward the cart.
But before they could reach it, they collided with a group of men.
Three of them, dressed in sleek suits and narrow ties, their eyes hidden beneath wide-brimmed hats. They had the presence of people who didn't belong—too polished for this part of town, yet somehow threatening.
"Watch where your going kid!"
The coffee seeped into the man's suit, a dark blotch spreading across his chest. His face twisted with fury.
"Do you know how expensive this is, huh?" he barked before seizing Alaric by the collar and shoving him into the nearby alleyway.
"H-Hey! That's my brother!" Rose cried, darting after them.
She wedged herself between the thug and Alaric, arms outstretched protectively. "Please! It was an accident! We'll pay for the cleaning—just let us go!"
The thug sneered, unamused. "What are you going to do about my suit? Huh?!"
He shoved Rose aside roughly, making her stumble. His hand disappeared into his coat—and before Alaric could react, there was a flash of silver.
"Alaric!" Rose screamed.
The blade slid between Alaric's ribs with a sickening sound. His breath hitched, eyes going wide as pain exploded through his side. He staggered back, clutching the wound as blood bloomed across his shirt
"Tch. That's what you get for mouthing off," the man muttered, backing away with a smirk.
"A-Alaric—!" Rose caught him before he could collapse, her hands already slick with blood. Panic overtook her.
"Somebody help!" she screamed. "Help us! Please!"
She looked at her brother—his face pale, breaths shallow.
Without thinking, she bolted out of the alley, her voice echoing down the street.
"Help! My brother's been stabbed!"
Rose's voice echoed through the street, shrill with panic.
Back in the alley, Alaric lay slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath him. His breaths grew shallow, ragged. The world around him dulled—muted voices, blurred light, the distant sound of footsteps. Everything felt far away.
He tried to keep his eyes open, to stay awake for Rose's sake… but the weight was too much.
With one last trembling breath, Alaric let his eyes close.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
----------
At present.
Present Day.
Cyris Neal—now known as Alaric Everhart—slowly rose to his feet, his eyes falling to the bloodstained clothes clinging to his body.
The wound was gone. Completely healed.
Yet it felt as if only a minute had passed.