Several years later, nothing much had changed since the day Toren tried to stand up for himself.
That was the last time he ever attempted to retaliate.
The secret organization seemed to have been able to obtain goods and artilleries, while the colonizers are still reigning over the West, currently extending to the Southern and Eastern borders as alliances form from offshore treaties.
The adopted child's set up had not changed a bit.
He still lived in hiding and in fear, underneath their own house during the hours when his father could have hurt him.
Toren had painted hundreds and thousands of pictures that came to his mind.
Some were portraits reflecting reality, some are mundane sceneries that captured his heart for a moment, some are abstract and complex, some are from his bizarre imagination, and some are visages of a person or an emotion.
During the recent years that went by, he had still been meeting Airen in the otherworld, enduring subtle gestures of something that may be meaningful or not.
They have been walking in tiptoes and gentle touches that he was never sure what was going on any longer.
But in his heart, she remained into a special chamber of affection – one that views that person as the most beautiful, an indisputable being, and maybe the only one that matters.
She would give some kisses and unbearable hints, he would ask and she would giggle.
The silly silence for her was like an exploding volcano for him. He would paint it then. Regardless of the distasteful hints, the inklings that are maybe true or maybe false had set their hearts like a fragile glass. Fall and it will break.
Leave and it will disappear for many covet pristine glasses – they are better alternatives of crystalline. A bit stronger and a bit more precious, but a double-edged sword when broken for they create sharp fragments afterward.
One sweltering afternoon, Toren went out of the secret room through the trapdoor and noticed the unbearable silence lingering like a ghost. It was dead quiet. No one was home.
It was during these hours when the family should be here by now, so he wondered why no one else was coming.
Airen must have been finished with her business at the public market.
Muren and Coen must be done with the extensive training by now, else the guards would suspect something.
There were no leftover foods on the table and the ingredients shared to their household were neatly placed in the kitchen.
The rooms had been cleaned and dusted off as if they had expected to be away for a few days.
The mats and futons were tidied up too. The pantry was spick and span. Toren had begun seeing glitch images, so he went around and focused as to not give himself a headache.
Clairvoyance and predictions usually give headaches as recoil aftermath.
He glanced outside through the window and saw that the streets were emptied out too.
Toren immediately burst out of the door and saw the block village completely empty and silent like a ghost town.
Even the soldiers are gone.
The houses were left creaking alone and standing with the hot and still air.
Soon, he began running around nervously as if he had been left alone in the world.
The quietness had been ringing eerily in his ears.
His feet pounding on the solid ground, frequently stepping on pebbles and debris, and heavy breathing were the only sounds he could hear.