Late in the afternoon, Toren visited a library far from where he resides. It was a few miles from the village, so the journey was quite exhausting and draining.
When he arrived there, the establishment was run-down, almost abandoned with the cracks on the wall and dirt around it.
He entered bravely despite the collapsing pillars and saw the piles of books and document papers and written journals.
A lot of ancient archives were successfully preserved, but some were hopelessly tattered and soiled.
He saw at a certain section the journals of shamans and mediums that have allegedly interacted with aliens and supernatural entities. They jotted down some familiar instances that even Toren had encountered himself.
The description of abilities and the gateways beyond one realm to another.
They were all perfectly written in old texts with ancient writing styles.
Yet for some reason, Toren could decipher them easily.
He could only imagine the crowd treating these people as laughingstocks and lunatics who had lost their minds over what they could not comprehend.
But Toren knew they were all true.
He searched curiously about the author of the young prince and the poisonous flower, yet he found nothing. He tried rummaging the fiction books and autobiographies, but he had not been successful in tracking down the strange tale's author.
In the end, he returned to the captain's residence and went down to the basement, completely exhausted after the long journey he went through.
He did not even have the time to eat the dinner that was left for him.
Drifting straight to slumber, he went to the otherworld and felt all his weariness soothed by its air and scenery.
Everything about that place was letting him heal.
That night, he had not seen the woman he was looking for.
It was quite a dejecting day, he thought. He laid down at the daisy flower beds and rested for what felt like forever.
When he woke up, he was back to reality, underneath the dusty and moldy basement.
He started off his day by painting.
The first picture he created was that memorable run-down library.
Its broken and collapsing figure somehow entranced him; the crushed pillars and walls that once housed thousands of unprecedented knowledge from history. It was quite a novelty to think of.
Later on, feeling his stomach grumble out of famishment, he glanced at the door and wondered why the colonist soldier had not yet delivered him some breakfast.
Routinely, he would just barge in and put a tray of meals for the boy.
Today was different, though.
Toren gently put down his painting materials and went up to the living room. It was empty.
Only the sunlight was filtering through the tidy, polished floors. It must be one of those days, he thought.
A war or a shootout must have occurred and the soldiers are gathered by emergency call. Or the captain could probably be deployed too. There were too many probabilities he could not rule out, but what mattered to him was the fact that Toren was alone in the huge house that day.
The place looked more comfortable than their usual household.
Captains are privileged by the colonists for they are 'necessary' and 'needed'.
Toren tried that same hint of privilege around the house. He cooked some tasty foods for himself using the abundant ingredients that were stocked in the pantry.
Whether he took out two or three ingredients, it seemed like it would not even matter. It was too rich to even notice that some of them went missing.
He studied the advanced utilities and served himself with dashes of luxuries.
He felt like a king when he had his delicious breakfast at the large table, sitting at a cushioned chair.