Through the next few days, Airen would always bring the food down the underground room to Toren and would often entertain him before finally leaving.
"Where has Coen gone?" He finally asked, curious for a few days already. "He knows that I am here, but why is he not visiting me again?"
"He had been busy these days," Airen sadly responded. "Your brother had been advancing to a more grueling training set up along with the other members of the organization, so he must be needing more time. And he also needs to rest. Do understand this, my dear child."
"Mother, shall I hide here forever? Until when must I fear my own father's misunderstanding? I can swear in front of him that I will not betray the country like what grandmother told from her prophecy."
Airen heaved a burdened sigh and caressed his soft hair with a worried expression.
"We must wait," She said. "A little more time, we must wait for the prophecy to die down into the forgotten. We must assure that your father has calmed down from it. And I must also look into why he suddenly speculated that it was true so that it may never happen again. Please be patient, my sweetheart."
Toren looked a bit disheartened, but suddenly remembered something.
He took out a canvas cloth and showed his mother a beautiful portrait painting of a family.
It was the En family. Staring at it, Airen's brows furrowed, clearly baffled.
"I can only see Muren, Coen, and myself," She faced her son. "Why are you not here? You are also part of this family!"
Toren shook his head slowly with a smile. "I am there, but I decided that I should not be seen because I was naturally adopted. It was my own hands and my own brush strokes which painted the picture, mother. You might not physically see me in the painting, but know that I was there too. I am here, mother."
Airen let out a sad smile and warmly embraced her second son.
Her expression showed such a tender love, as if her heart was getting squeezed by an overwhelming pain and compassion.
They talked lots about themselves as if they were outside in a public park, feeling the world and what freedom may taste.
The wonder of its metaphysical presence endearingly lingering across their skin, between their teeth, inside their valves, and through their souls. Toren showed all his paintings and how proficient he had become in just a few matter of days.
Even the veteran painters could not possibly achieve some of his images.
The vivid portrayal of reality and the three dimensional world reflected perfectly into his canvas cloths. They were some genius artworks.
Masterpiece by masterpiece, he entranced the eyes of the most beautiful woman from the West.
For once, she had admired something else's beauty aside from her own face.
She would often look at her own reflection through the water wells struck by sunlight if she wanted to have some glimpse of aesthetics in the collapsing world.
And through the fingertips of a young prodigy, she had seen something else – more than herself, more than what freedom or the tales from raindrops could possibly offer.
At night, Airen went to the otherworld.
No matter how wonderful its sceneries had remained, no matter how picturesque they have retained, it all felt dull and pale compared to when she had Muren.
Before, they would run and jump and dance around these glowing flowerbeds.
But now, it seems like the petals had never swayed nor sung with the breeze.