That night, when Muren and Airen had fallen asleep, Coen asked if they could rest in the underground room.
Toren opened the trapdoor at the pantry and they both went in.
The bed was soft and spacious enough for both of them despite growing up throughout the years.
They were staring at the ceiling silently for almost half an hour when Coen suddenly spoke.
"I can see the skies and the stars from here. They were all too visible. As if the ceiling was transparent, I could witness everything."
"I can see something else. It is invisible from everyone but me because I have created it."
Coen glanced at his brother. "Tell me the truth. Will you truly betray the country?"
Toren did not meet his gaze and remained his eyes stuck at the invisible, twirling spirit hues. "Are you referring to the prophecy that grandmother had read when we were children?"
"Yes."
"I do not hold the destiny clearly. But if the situation that shall determine my loyalty were to appear right before me at this very moment, I would not become a traitor at all."
"Toren, I have decided to be completely loyal to my country. I will fight for our freedom until the end, even if I have to die."
"Did your convictions and resolutions falter at the face of that prophecy? Was that the reason why you asked me about it again?"
"If you were to become my enemy, it would be harder to fight. But I will go on despite the pain that I must receive."
Toren sighed and sat up, pondering and staring at his paintings.
"Brother, my only desire is to paint," He said before looking towards him. "Between us, you are most inclined with the war and the country. Say, what if I really was not the traitor? What if your enemy turned out to be more difficult than me? What if it was--"
"Myself?" Coen asked.
"The prophecy never told us who that son was in the first place. What would you do if the traitor turned out to be you and not me?"
"That will not happen, I assure you."
Coen turned away and closed his eyes, gesturing that he was intending to sleep.
But deep inside his awakened heart, he was confused and troubled with the possibilities lurking like monsters. The enemies from outside and the colonizers were pale in comparison with the fear and confusion swirling inside his heart.
Toren could feel everything because he had seen it himself.
That invisible, swirling spirit roaming in the room, underneath the land that was conquered away from them. Toren could visibly see emotions and the demons they bear.
Vividly and frighteningly.
Toren's ambition had been straight and downright inclined into painting pictures.
He wants nothing more.
The feeling of someone seeing his own creations thrilled him to his core. However, because of the great war and the current colonialism, he could not possibly achieve that for now.
He wished, more than seeing invisible things and setting colors alive, that he could travel through time where liberty of expression exists.
He only wanted to be in a world where he could reach onto anyone.
Beyond a village and beyond the borders of countries.
Toren wished to let everyone behold his pictures so badly, he would sometimes feel like a madman.
The next morning, the situation started escalating worse than they had expected.
Yesterday was only calm before the storm.
The defeated soldiers arose like resurrected undead people, angrily pointing at those who were seen with a weapon. The guns left at the villa were confiscated, the investigation included tortures, and the treatment had returned to how it used to be.
The cruelty that haunted them years ago was exhumed from the depths of the insecure partition and with the looming nightmare, the West was threatened with their lives and comfort.
The rationed ingredients being passed on them were reduced and all those who opposed were immediately beheaded.
The ears that could not hear now had a brain that could not function properly and it had been more dangerous than ever.