Toren felt a glitch in reality. He felt his soul throbbing from the distance. It was definitely not where he is, but somewhere rather far and unreachable.
He could not measure the extent, but his heartbeat tells him that it must be located in a different realm. Must be in that cold void.
Calling out, painfully throbbing, fluctuating in speed – quickening and slowing down. Toren tried to gasp for air, but his lungs were nowhere to be found.
The internal organs that once stuck to his flesh all his life since he was given birth, now flailing and missing. In front of him was the deep blue flower.
The imaginary pictures that were brought to life from his brain suddenly flashed like the unfolding sky above. Everlasting in space, catching up even towards the flow of time.
Toren was completely entranced and tempted to approach the flower.
He knew about the dangers, the consequences, and the outcomes. He knew all about it, but what else could he do?
His soul was craving for it. Dying for it.
He slowly took a step forward, immersing himself into the seducing melody it exudes.
The mellifluous song slowly lured him in, melting his consciousness to twine with it and flow with it. When his fingertips had touched the soft, lovely petals, his spirit throbbed even wilder. There was a beast – an untamable beast intelligently crawling out of his flesh.
One that dangerously lurked from the beginnings, scheming things out uncharacteristically. Right when he was about to pluck the beautiful flower, another strong hand stopped him by gripping on his wrist.
Toren looked up and was too surprised to speak when he saw his brother Coen, glaring at him, as if sharply boring through his eyes.
"Do not touch that flower," Coen authoritatively warned, almost as if threatening with something so heavy, something too serious to even mention.
Like a taboo, a hidden one. "Y-You can see me?" Toren exclaimed, enduring the iron grip on his wrist.
"For now, I can," His brother responded, letting go of his wrist. "You have turned into a ghost now."
Toren examined himself one more time and noticed the familiar sensation electrifying his consciousness. He really turned back into a ghost, he knew.
The feeling of exhuming out of a body shell and remaining on earth had returned to him. He was not a mere nonexistent spectator now, but a bona fide, lingering ghost.
It was his own soul, his own perceptions, his own spirit.
"Let us go to the house first," Coen said. "A shaman might suddenly pass by and decide to extinguish you. I cannot help you with that. There are a lot of spiritual gatherings nearby, so you must be careful. Your very existence is dangerous to be just lingering outdoors."
Toren glanced at his brother, feeling a strange sense of warmth.
He suddenly felt like going back to being a child when things were not as complicated as now.
Back when they were merely building some sandcastles together with everyone else.
Reckless, youthful, and happy.
When they arrived at the En household, Toren waited at the dining area while his brother went to the kitchen to make himself a barley tea.