Chereads / Evolution: Harbinger of Chaos / Chapter 27 - Homecoming

Chapter 27 - Homecoming

Ethan and Kira had both been there to see Daniel off. Their goodbyes were a mix of warmth and a tinge of awkwardness, Ethan's usual boisterous nature filling the gaps of silence while Kira lingered, offering few soft-spoken words.

Immediately after a simple black sedan with tinted windows pulled to a stop in front of them—the ride Maxuel had called—the Jason brothers parted ways with the James twins.

The journey away from the hospital was quiet, save for the muted hum of the city as they drove through District Ten. Daniel spent most of the ride gazing out the window, taking in the familiar yet oddly distant sights.

The towering skyscrapers, the bustling crowds, the street vendors calling out their wares—it all felt surreal, as if he were watching a world he no longer belonged to.

Before the accident, Daniel rarely ventured out of their house unless it was for school. His prosopagnosia, coupled with his meek nature, had made him a shut-in of sorts. The world outside was a constant reminder of how different he was, how apart he felt from everyone else.

The drive to district six took a while, the bustling city slowly giving way to quieter, tree-lined streets. When the car finally pulled into their driveway, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple.

As the vehicle came to a stop, Daniel's gaze fixed on the familiar sight of their one-story home. His heart tightened, a storm of emotions swirling within him.

On the porch stood an elderly woman, her wheatish skin glowing softly in the twilight. Her raven-black hair was tied back in a single knot, and she wore a simple black dress adorned with white polka dots.

Mrs. Aalia.

"Oh right," Maxuel said as they prepared to step out. "I forgot to tell you, but Mom and Dad asked Nana to watch over us after the accident."

There was a trace of dissatisfaction in his tone, but Daniel didn't respond. His eyes remained glued to the house.

Mrs. Aalia stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her chest, her lips trembling with unspoken emotions. "Welcome home, Daniel," she said, pulling him into a warm hug. "I'm so, so happy you're okay."

Her embrace was gentle, her scent a comforting mix of lavender and spices. Daniel felt a weak smile tug at his lips.

"Thank… you, Nana," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

The elderly woman tousled his hair, her own eyes glistening. "Come. You must be tired."

As Maxuel twisted the doorknob, Daniel sucked in a deep breath. When the door swung open, he froze, his eyes drinking in the sight of their house—his house.

The familiar layout greeted him like an old friend, each corner and crevice imbued with memories. He walked inside slowly, his hands brushing against the walls as if to reassure himself that they were real.

A large framed photo on the wall caught his attention. It was of his family: his mother's warm smile, his father's comical seriousness, Maxuel's goofy gesture.

He didn't remember the event—it was a memory stolen by his amnesia—but the picture was still dear to him.

This family was dear to him.

It was all he had.

And he had almost lost it.

Daniel pushed open the door to his bedroom. The familiar space greeted him, almost unchanged, yet somehow different.

Posters of his favorite football team and video game characters adorned the walls, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted emotions swirling within him. A shoe rack stood neatly by the door, his favorite sneakers lined up with care.

His desk was clean and organized, books and writing utensils arranged neatly. The glowing light of his PC in sleep mode cast a faint glow on the otherwise dim room.

His bed sat against the far wall, neatly made with a pristine blanket draped over it. The faint scent of laundry detergent and air freshener lingered in the air—clean and familiar, yet almost too strong for his heightened senses.

Daniel walked around the room slowly, his gaze lingering on every detail. He guessed Mrs. Aalia had been cleaning it regularly, even in his absence.

From the hallway, he heard her voice. "He needs to be alone for now. Let him have this moment."

Maxuel's reply was quiet, and their footsteps retreated down the hall.

Daniel clutched his chest, his heart tightening as the weight of everything pressed down on him.

He walked to his bed and sat down slowly, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. His gaze drifted to the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Yes, he had almost died.

Maybe he had.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. His current state—his body, his senses—it all felt like a cruel twist of fate.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that he was here.

In his home.

In his room.

A choked sob escaped his lips, his chest heaving as tears spilled down his cheeks.

He crawled onto the bed, pulling the blanket over himself as the sobs came harder, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

For the first time since the accident, Daniel allowed himself to cry.

He was home.

~~~

Daniel's return home was a mess. In the first forty-eight hours, he went through many adjustments, realizations, and an ever-growing awareness of just how much he had changed.

Being back in the company of his family—people who knew his habits, quirks, and idiosyncrasies—only magnified the incongruities between who he had been and who he had become.

Firstly, Daniel's struggle with food had apparently nothing to do with the hospital's cuisine.

Despite the love and care Mrs. Aalia put into preparing his favorite meals, the result was always the same.

He couldn't keep anything down.

One evening, after several failed attempts, Mrs. Aalia had placed a steaming bowl of curried lentils and rice before him, her usual warm smile strained with concern. "Just a bite, my dear," she urged softly.

Daniel hesitated but relented under her imploring gaze. The moment the food touched his tongue, the now-familiar wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. He managed to stumble away from the table before heaving into the sink.

His Nana had been beside herself with worry. She called the hospital again, but the doctors gave her nothing more than a "textbook" explanation about post-trauma eating disorders.

Though Daniel assured her he was fine with just water, he could tell she wasn't convinced. Even so, she gradually stopped pushing him, though she still set the table for three at every meal, the uneaten plate a silent reminder of her hope.

Another glaring change was his newfound strength—or rather, his lack of control over it.

"Ah…" Mrs. Aalia said ruefully, staring at the shattered pieces of a glass cup in Daniel's hand and the shards scattered across the floor. "You broke something again."

Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping. This was the third time that day. Cups, plates, collectibles, even his phone—everything he touched seemed to crumble under his grip.

At first, he thought it was a fluke, but the pattern soon became undeniable. His strength wasn't just abnormal; it was unnatural.

He remembered the doctor's vague theory about superhuman strength being linked to his body's incongruity. Who would have thought that explanation might actually hold some merit?

~~~

On the fifth day, Daniel stood in front of his bathroom mirror, his reflection staring back at him. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose black sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

Before the accident, he had been lean to the point of frailty—a pale, gangly frame that earned him unkind nicknames at school. But now…

Now, his body was an entirely different entity.

The muscles lining his abdomen were taut and well-defined, his chest and arms sculpted with a firm, natural tone that seemed impossible for someone who hadn't engaged in any significant physical activity in weeks.

Daniel ran his fingers over his abs, pinching the skin lightly. His once-skinny frame had been replaced by a healthy, slim figure that exuded strength and vitality. With his fair skin and strikingly symmetrical features, Daniel looked like a young male supermodel straight out of a magazine.

But he wasn't scrutinizing himself out of vanity.

Earlier that morning, Maxuel had paused at the doorway, his backpack slung over one shoulder. "You kinda look bigger, you know?" he remarked casually. "I thought it was just me yesterday, but I'm almost certain you're taller. What I am sure of is that you've definitely gained weight."

Daniel had blinked, stunned by the observation. His younger brother was rarely wrong about such things.

Mrs. Aalia's measurements had proven his younger brother right. Before the accident, he'd stood at around 171 or 172 centimeters, however, Mrs. Aalia's measurements today put him closer to 176.

The doctors had been baffled by his weight during his hospital stay. Despite his lanky appearance, Daniel had weighed a staggering 247 pounds—a fact that had left everyone scratching their heads.

How could someone with no discernible fat or excessive muscle mass weigh so much?

Now, the implications of his sudden growth gnawed at him. Human growth was dependent on an intricate balance of genetics, hormones, environmental factors, and, most importantly, nutrition.

Daniel hadn't consumed anything but water for days.

So where was his body finding the energy to fuel such an explosive transformation?

Mrs. Aalia had tried to rationalize it. "Perhaps the accident triggered a growth spurt?" she offered, though her tone carried the weight of doubt.

But Daniel wasn't convinced. The changes in his body weren't just inexplicable; they felt wrong.

He leaned closer to the mirror, his fingertips grazing the edges of his reflection. His eyes, once reddish-brown, now seemed brighter, almost a shade of amber. The faint lines of his face had sharpened, giving him an otherworldly air.

[I see it now.]

As he stared into his own eyes, a familiar voice echoed in his mind:

[I'm changing.] "I'm changing," he whispered, his breath fogging the glass.