There was chaos. Like the abstracts he had once smashed into the sheets.
A viewpoint from different lights casted a different form of silhouette, resulting in a completely different perspective.
He had to fix things – because he did not want to run away for the nth time.
The next day, Ross and Toren went to the rooftop of the laboratory to watch the sunset.
A gush of memory paraded through Toren's brain and it was with the same scene. He was on the rooftop, watching the sun die with a friend beside him. But it was definitely not Ross.
They were not in a laboratory either.
A castle and a beaded necklace and a butler.
He had recalled that exact moment. It was the same scenario, as if repeating the history itself.
Toren glanced beside him and saw Ross, his only friend now in this era.
Centuries ago, with this same scene, the one that was going to die was Toren. This time, it was his friend. He remained there, dead, yet somehow alive.
Toren realized that life must have been so exciting if only he had a little ounce of courage.
Because eternity exists, nothing else would be built. The sense of urgency diminishes and the world to him will remain stagnant forever.
It would not be as beautiful, as cruel, or as fascinating as it is now.
Because life becomes meaningful with death. Something with motion becomes significant because it could stop one day. That is why lives are supposed to be short.
Toren realized that his life had been less meaningful than how his father Muren described his own. It was because he could not end it, but his father could.
When the sun had finally settled somewhere else, the sky was left with grey clouds and dimmed horizon.
They were left with something dull, yet exciting. They were left with a blank sheet of canvas.
That night, when Ross went to bed and fell asleep, Toren went to Airen's lair and met her.
She was as calm and pretty as he had left her.
A sense of sweet fragrance toppled over the built up iron-clad in Toren's heart.
And there, he confronted her, "I recovered some of my memories."
Airen smiled, elegantly drinking on her cup. "That means you have broken the spell I put in you. After the effort I gave just to fulfill your request, you have decided to smash it? Dear, that is like breaking a promise."
"I am sorry. I did not want to run away anymore."
"Well? What have you found out?"
"Father once mentioned that your parents died due to an accident while working with the government."
"That is true. It seems like your father had spilled out a lot of my secrets during your childhood days. It was before the prophecy had been said and both you and your brother were still attending that ridiculous training at the secret organization then."
"You were the one who killed your own parents, were you not?"
Airen stopped drinking.
She put his glass cup among the flowerbeds and suppressed a looming outburst. She inhaled sharply and calmly let go of it, glancing at Toren. "What makes you think so?" She gently asked him.
Toren sat across her at the chrysanthemum fields with a serious expression splayed out of his face. "Coen was right. You truly are a demon. And because you needed a flesh, you had to be conceived by mortals and murder them afterwards because you did not need them anymore then. That was when you claimed a family and lured me into you."
"Let us stop with the accusations, shall we? You should know, if you have truly recovered your memories, how excruciatingly painful it is to be accused with baseless opinions, right? What did you see? A prophecy? A nightmare? A vision?"
"I did not see anything. I have heard you. The poisonous flower's voice belongs to you."