Toren hid along with his butler in the deep forest quite distant from the chaos that was currently occurring.
They ran and ran until their feet had also given up.
When they reached the depths, they were surrounded with towering trees, darkened environment, and ghost dead silence.
The cicadas chirped sharply along the rhythm of their panting, catching air for their breaths.
Resting at the grassy meadow with branches thrown pell-mell, they mutually decided to stay for a while until the looming threat of getting burned eventually dies down.
While Toren was staring against the shadow-shaded leaves from atop, his world started twirling around once more. He desperately clutched his consciousness one last time and finally gave up at the ends of his might.
The butler took care of Toren while he was unconscious by gritting his own survival skills.
He had collected fruits and medicinal herbs from trees and even managed to filter the contaminated water from ponds using the scattered debris stones and the cotton fabrics from his clothes.
The improvisation somehow worked, but they would likely not be able to stay any longer.
Meanwhile, Toren had been transported to the otherworld as his subconscious mechanism intended to. Airen was by the lilies flower bed again, waiting patiently for him.
He purposely made a sound by rustling the flowers to catch the beautiful woman's attention.
It has been a while since they have met and Toren thought that she was a bit more fascinating during those hours.
Airen silently gestured to him to come and she smoothly slid her fingers around his waist.
Soon, they were already dancing like loons all alone at that pretty place.
It was romantic and soft and mellifluous.
He had never felt so much in ease before until now when she locked him down her arms through a few sways and dances.
When it was finally time to go, Toren struggled slipping back and forth again from his consciousness, so it took some time.
And something was igniting, he knew. A fire was blazing around, but it was angrier and much fuller with spite.
Toren thought that it was coming from a completely different soul.
It was not across a wildfire, but a concentrated and condensed pent up emotion trying to extinguish itself vainly.
Something about it frightened Toren's wits, making him wake up immediately.
Toren instructed the butler to stay where he is, while he checks out the headquarters.
He was naturally opposed at first, but Toren told him that he has a duty to fulfill and he needed help by securing their safe hideout.
And so, he ran out of the forest in a different direction and went straight to the organization's underground hideout.
The villages were like a labyrinth, but the abstract compass had lingered to him like a sticky substance across his veins.
The snake was correct – he knew what his feet had landed upon.
The ground that was conquered, the ground where the citizens were supposed to freely walk on, and the ground that was stolen away by foreigners. He knew exactly what he was treading on.
Soon, he arrived there and silently hid from a familiar figure.
In the middle of the restricted area, there was Coen sitting calmly at a chair, burning canvas sheets one by one.
When Toren glanced at the sheets, he recognized his own paintings which he had left at their house.
Muren's portrait, some undesirable outcomes, and pictures he had long abandoned in that sickly place.
Toren's stomach churned up and he felt like throwing up.
It felt like a piece of his soul was burning away because of those pictures getting incinerated by his dear brother.
He did not want to pass out in that place, so he ran away once more.
He did not want to be seen by his brother in that way.