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He's not sure who he is anymore, if he's dreaming or imagining reality, what day it is or if he's even alive. He spaces out a lot, maybe too much; when people try and talk to him he answers with empty eyes and a far-away voice. Shimada Hanzo is not here. Shimada Hanzo was never here. Shimada Hanzo is not real.
Is his body his? Is it the dragons'? Is he still a child or teenager or young adult or dead? He can hear his mother calling softly from inside, but he isn't inside, is he? His father instructs him to come home. He has no home. Home was lost on that day and will never be found.
He looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize the person looking back. Maybe he should cut his hair. Maybe he looked different. How did he look before? Is the mirror real, or is his still a dream he hasn't woken up from? The mirror is not real, but he can see it. Can touch the glass, feel the cracks radiating from the chip in the corner. His hair is dark and limp; he only faintly registers the feeling of the strands being severed by a razor blade and falling onto his shoulders. He grips his hair harder, desperate to feel something that might be real. He doesn't know if the strands that fall are ripped or cut - it doesn't matter, anyways. Nothing matters because it's still a dream, right?
He will wake up soon with long hair and his brother and mother and father will greet him in the dining hall. He will not wake up alone in an abandoned apartment again. Shimada Hanzo will wake up.