Muren was completely shocked and angry at the news.
Meanwhile, Coen did not express any specific emotion regarding the news. He seemed to be deep in thoughts, but neither angry nor happy.
The days went by completely pedantic and ashen.
Their routines had returned, the secret organization activities and training were halted, and a looming mix of jealousy, hatred, and bliss had lingered throughout the household.
Meanwhile, Toren stayed inside his private room at the headquarters, who seemed to be quite soulless and pained despite the comfort he had achieved.
He is currently painting a picture of a cupboard full of accessories.
He made the jewelries spark brightly against the luminesce of artificial light.
Despite the superficial nature of the materials portrayed, he made it look so elegant and majestic.
His room was spacious and was made of marble floor. The sunlight could penetrate through and the bedsheets were soft and cozy to lie down to.
Once in a while, a maid would put a tray of full meal and he would pause to eat a quarter of the food. A butler would collect the unfinished meal and end up throwing it away.
The ruler would instruct them to serve him the amount of food unchanged and let him eat what he only could.
Toren was silent and obedient and almost motionless.
He would only paint and paint and paint endlessly.
One afternoon, Captain Brochille visited the boy to ask how he had been doing.
Toren answered that he was fine and an unbearable silence followed.
The soldier noticed the boy's ashen behavior compared to his once brazen and passionate approaches, so he invited Toren to a veranda. The boy was a bit reluctant, but the soldier had been too determined to get him out of the room.
When they reached the top of the building, bordered with wooden balusters, Captain Brochille proudly presented it as an exceptionally special place where one could either watch in the best view the heaven's stunts or cross the heaven's gates by jumping off from above.
Toren chuckled at the thought, but got too entranced with the slow sunset.
He had to agree that the best view was always the top.
When the soldier invited to come back down for he had to leave, Toren insisted on staying.
Alone, he pondered, "Is this not what you have always wanted? The view from the top, the opportunity to let everyone see your paintings, and to live with both passion and comfort. Now that you have achieved it all, why are you hesitating? Why are you getting uneasy? What the hell is stopping you now from feeling like a god? You have everything, don't you?"
Suddenly, a tear fell down from his eye.
As soon as he frowned, almost as if begging the sunset to answer his questions, he cried and sobbed until it was dark.
It felt like some metaphysical talons were clutching his heart, squeezing it as the blood squelched out from the flesh. He felt a burning sensation crawling up across his throat.
Flames incinerating his breaths of comfort, continuously asking himself, "Is this not what you have always wanted?"
That night, he went to sleep with an exhausted body, especially his damped eyes.
Entering the otherworld, roses had comforted him despite their pricking thorns.
At the distance, he saw his mother, Airen kneeling at a flower bed with her eyes closed and both her palms clasped together.
Toren slowly neared her, careful of the meadow rustles and glowing flower beds.
"Have you finally made your decision?" Airen suddenly spoke with a deep, yet soft voice.
Toren gulped a lump in the throat and nodded. "I want to keep what I have right now. The privilege, the comfort, the fame, everything. I want to put up with everything if this is what it takes to be a renowned painter."
"Very well," Airen opened her eyes and gave a wickedly pretty smile towards him. "Shall we seal the deal then, my dear?"