The following day, Muren was granted permission to go out for a few hours. He wore the best robe he had and groomed himself a bit.
Airen put a spell over his eyes to grant him the ability to see deceased spirits. Afterwards, he proceeded towards their village and visited their abandoned house.
A butler politely greeted him when he introduced himself as the patriarch of the household and welcomed him inside with a cup of barley tea.
Muren nervously drank it to calm himself whilst waiting at the dining area.
Meanwhile, the butler went through the pantry trapdoor to fetch his master in the underground room.
Toren was quite hesitant at meeting his father once again for the bad impression it left him in his heart.
The last time he remembered they met was during his teenage years when he attempted to desperately clear his name from his father's continuous accusations of being a traitor.
Ever since he was a child, Toren was already tormented with the prophecy's baseless accusations due to some dark nightmares. And with that, the father and child's relationship was sullied with an acrid taste.
Toren put down his brush and set aside his colors to prepare for the meeting.
He straightened out his clothes, groomed his hair a bit, and finally followed his butler's lead towards the dining room.
Toren sat across his father and the first few minutes were just both of them silently sipping on their barley teas, nervous and hesitant.
The world around them was still bombarded with claws of cruelty from war, yet the wooden walls which encapsulated them somehow provided a tinge of solace. The one which they need for their confused and reluctant lips.
"Your paintings were wonderful," Muren finally broke the fragile tension. "I have seen them scattered all over the public markets. Most of the merchandise was embellished with your artworks."
Toren gripped on the cup, as if it was where his tears depended on.
Holding it off, he tried steadying his shaken emotion.
All these years of misunderstandings, all the lonely years he had to hide underneath the world, all the painful hours of struggle over acceptance – Toren could not say it all paid off, but he was somehow grateful that this day finally came.
He held his breath and tightened his guts. "You can see me," The son whispered, trying not to let his voice crack and tears fall. "I thought you would not be able to do it because I died. Coen murdered me."
"I have heard from your mother. She put a spell on my sight so I could see and meet you."
"So it was mother too."
"Looking back, the prophecy mentioned that the traitor would be my son. Coen was the only son I had. But you were my child too, Toren. I apologize for all the ignorant years and for all the sufferings you went through. It must have been so tough for you, my child."
And with that, Toren slowly smiled with silent tears flowing endlessly from his eyes.
After the brief meeting, Muren lightheartedly returned to the concentration camp, seemingly satisfied and at peace despite the chaos around him.