Inside a peaceful, sun-drenched room, a young man stood in front of a tall mirror, staring blankly at his reflection.
He leaned in slightly, unsure whether what he was witnessing was genuine.
The face staring back was... familiar, but not.
Somewhere between a gruff street punk and someone who might be mistakenly labeled attractive if the light hits him just right.
His gaze shifted lower.
The frame was also different.
It was taller and wider.
Gone was the scruffy body of a half-starved street rat.
Now his arms appeared to be packed with discrete strength, which could be authentic.
They were not substantial, but had a wiry hardness, similar to metallic cables nestled under skin.
He brushed his fingertips across his exposed chest. His torso, which had earlier been depressed and fragile, was now solidly built. The bones no longer protruded.
The blisters on his chest and back were all healed up.
Instead, there was healthy skin and muscle, light and smooth yet undeniably real.
He flexed his fingers carefully, feeling the tendons ripple beneath the skin like taut wires under silk.
There were no tremors.
No dull ache, no delayed stiffness creeping up his wrist.
No signs of the weakness that once haunted his every movement.
There are no indicators of frailty.
His breath hitched slightly.
"My body is… normal?"
"......."
'Does this mean... those vampires, did they give me that potion? The one those strong humans were whispering about?'
Excitement surged through him like a pulse of electricity. His eyes widened as the realization settled deeper into his bones, warmer than any fever he'd endured.
Raven stepped back from the mirror, turning side to side, inspecting himself as if he were seeing a stranger's body fitted onto his own.
Even his stance has shifted subtly, without intention.
It was no longer cautious or guarded. His weight now rested evenly between both feet, spine relaxed, posture balanced, like someone who didn't constantly prepare for collapse.
He was finally standing steadily, free of the old, unconscious hunch from years of dragging himself through slums.
But what drew him in the most was the hair. It used to be a ragged black mess that appeared forever dirty, no matter how many times you dipped it in water.
Now it fell smoother, softer somehow.
Still black on one side, but streaked white across the other like someone had split a storm cloud in two.
And his eyes-
He froze, leaning closer.
They were no longer the dull black and muddy shades he remembered.
Instead, they now flared back at him, bright and clear, a deep vermillion, like hot iron cooling after being removed from the forge.
The young Raven peered into those alien eyes for a long, silent minute, feeling the weight of something he couldn't identify pressing against his chest.
But a dreadful omen stirred within him. His throat itched faintly but persistently, and he instinctively lifted a hand to his neck, fingers brushing against the skin.
Without wasting a second, he stretched the corner of his mouth with his finger, checking his teeth in the mirror.
Minutes seemed to crawl by as he inspected every inch carefully.
And they were….normal.
There were ordinary teeth. Ordinary canines.
Just to be sure, he bit into his own finger, hard.
A sharp sting, then blood welled up and trailed down.
He watched and waited for the result.
But, even after a full minute, there was nothing.
No miraculous healing, no supernatural regeneration that marked he was one of their kind.
To confirm for the last time, he even licked his own blood, but felt nothing.
"......"
He let out a slow breath, relief washing over him like a tired wave.
But he froze halfway through the exhale.
A gentle weight rested against his shoulder, and thin, porcelain-pale fingertips slipped over his chest, drawing slow circles across the fabric of his loose shirt.
"Do you hate the thought of becoming like us that much?"
A warm breath touched his ear, followed by a whisper.
Raven glimpsed her mirror, the silver-haired woman, her crimson eyes fixed on his vermillion ones.
The way she stared at him was no longer mocking. It was deep and penetrating, as if it was interrogating his very core.
Raven looked at her through the mirror for a long time before finally asking, his voice hoarse from sleep.
"...What's your name?"
The woman smiled softly, as if she had been expecting the inquiry.
"Seraphina," she said, her voice a quiet melody against the heavy air.
Raven repeated it under his breath,
"Seraphina..."
He shook his head slightly, a faint scoff escaping him.
"Then tell me, Seraphina… what would be your thoughts and reaction if one day, unknown to you, you woke up not as a vampire, but as… something else? Take a human, for example."
Seraphina tilted her head, intrigued.
He continued, "You've lived your whole life as a vampire. Now imagine someone just comes along and says, 'That's over. You're human now. Live different, dress different, eat different and think different.'"
He looked at her reflection in the mirror, locking eyes with her.
"Can you do it?"
Seraphina did not respond immediately. Her eyes had lost their fun twinkle and become more thoughtful.
But Raven was not done.
"Besides…" he mumbled, folding his arms. "What's the point of becoming some supernatural being where I've got to drink blood or gnaw on human flesh just to survive?"
He stopped, his voice sounding almost deadpan.
"I just want to have a decent life. A healthy body. A warm home. Good food."
Seraphina stared at him for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle.
"You have surprisingly normal ambitions," she said, amused.
"It is what it is," Raven replied with a small shrug.
He leaned against the wall, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "Unlike you, with your scary mother and your privileged vampire household… I'm just a street rat. No one behind me. No name worth remembering. And if I drop dead one day, the world won't even blink." He paused, a rare softness in his tone.
"Well… except Nemu. That bastard can be surprisingly sentimental sometimes."
Then his brows furrowed. "Speaking of him… where has your mother kept him? I want him back."
The memories came flooding back, bits of pain, a desperate decision. He attempted to destroy his body. But now he was living.
Why?
There were a lot of questions.
Why was he still breathing? What will happen to him? And why the fuck was she calling him darling?
But he did not ask them.
He knew when to stop and suspected the girl beside him was to blame.
Perhaps she intervened or had a significant part in his recovery.
Seraphina did not answer immediately. Instead, her head rose gently from his shoulder.
"Sorry, darling... but you aren't human anymore."
The air stilled.
Silence fell like a heavy shroud.
Raven simply clenched his fist.
He sighed.
But instead of asking what he had become, he asked something else entirely.
"Will I get Nemu back?"
"Yes." She answered instantly.
"…Can I eat human food?"
"Yes."
"Can I walk in the sunlight?"
"Yes."
"Do I have to sleep upside down like a bat?"
"No," Seraphina replied, almost amused.
"…Then it's good."
"That's it?" she asked, tilting her head.
"That's it." He shrugged. "What now? Am I supposed to cry about humanity and have a moral crisis?"
He scoffed.
"I had a disease, and you guys cured it. I'm not such a hypocrite that I'd spit on my saviors."
He paused, frowning. "Though… something in me keeps screaming that curing me wasn't simple."
He met her gaze.
She smiled.
He groaned.
"Ahh, fuck my miserable life."
And as if the world decided the moment wasn't dramatic enough, a loud crash shattered the quiet.
The door practically exploded inward.
A red blur zipped across the room and came to a halt directly in front of Raven.
She stood at his height, hands on her hips, a scowl etched into her tomboyish yet striking face.
Her wild hair bounced as she pointed at him.
"Who the hell are you, bastard?"
Raven blinked, unfazed.
"…Hmm. The one who saved your ass?" he said shamelessly.
Nyxara's eyebrow twitched.