For the first time in years, Zane stood in front of his door, hand hovering over the handle. His chest tightened. His legs felt heavy.
He turned away, catching sight of himself in the mirror.
His reflection looked nothing like the boy who had once dreamed of becoming a mage. His hair was messy and uneven, his clothes wrinkled, his skin pale from avoiding the sun. But what caught his attention most was something new—thin strands of dark purple threaded through his once jet-black hair.
Zane leaned closer. "When did this happen...?"
He grabbed an old comb and dragged it through his hair, grimacing at the tangles but pushing until it looked at least somewhat presentable. After washing his face and changing into something cleaner, he looked at himself again.
"...Better. Still not hero material, but better."
Just as he reached for the door, movement caught his eye. His shadow—the same one that had been with him all his life—was waving at him.
Zane froze. "...What the hell?"
Cautiously, he raised his hand and waved back.
His shadow immediately detached from his feet, sliding across the floor like smoke until it clung to the wall. Then, with a ripple, it stretched into a flat humanoid figure—two-dimensional but unmistakably alive.
It lifted an arm and gestured toward the door.
"You... want me to go outside?" Zane asked.
The shadow tilted its head, then gave a sharp nod.
Zane rubbed his temple, half-laughing. "This is insane. I’m talking to my shadow now..." He glanced at it again and sighed. "Fine. But you stay with me, got it? I don’t want anyone knowing what’s going on."
The shadow gave a small salute before sliding back across the floor and reattaching itself beneath him, becoming perfectly normal once again.
Zane grinned faintly, gripping the handle. "Alright then... time to find out what you eat."
And with that, he opened the door.