William woke with a start, his heart pounding violently against his ribcage. The dim morning light filtered through the cracked window of his small room at the orphanage, casting long shadows on the walls. His head throbbed with an intensity that felt like a hammer pounding inside his skull. Beads of cold sweat rolled down his temples, soaking the already damp sheets beneath him.
For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of what had transpired the night before. The events of the abyss played on a relentless loop in his mind: the massive, unblinking purple eye, the oppressive voice of the Shadow Lord, and the gut-wrenching feeling of his soul being laid bare. It was as though his very essence had been unraveled and reknitted, but not quite the same as before.
"What… what the hell happened?" he muttered to himself, clutching his head as the pounding headache refused to subside.
