The scent of steeped tea drifted through the air, earthy and faintly floral, with a hint of bitterness lingering at the edge of each breath.
The sound of a cutting board could be heard from the kitchen. It was lively, natural. Even though it was a simple sound, it evoked memories of family meals, early mornings, and the aroma of spices that permeated the air. It briefly reminded him of nature itself—gentle, recognizable, and constant.
Atama stayed, looking toward the kitchen.
There she stood, framed by the morning light, the glaring sun casting a soft glow across her skin. The light shimmered on her shoulders, making her look almost ethereal, and there was a sense of warm radiance and gracefulness.
Atama stepped into the kitchen, and then she asked her mother,
"Mom..." Atama's voice was soft, hesitant.
She looked up from the counter, the light still dancing across her face.
"Are you sure… Father will be alright?"
Her hands stilled for a moment, the knife resting quietly on the cutting board. Turning around, she stared at Atama with a wistful smile, "Dear… I don't truly know if your father is safe," she said softly. "But I believe in him. I know… somehow, he'll come home to us."
"Oh… right, I almost forgot," she said, bringing over a plate of cooked chicken and setting it gently on the counter. "I made this for you." She smiled softly. "I know it's not much, but… I thought maybe we could enjoy a little feast together—try to lighten our hearts, even just a bit."
He took a seat, and Atama took a bite of the chicken. It was tender and soft, yet the taste was Immaculate, blending with the spices and juiciness.
While Atama ate, his mother stood nearby, quietly watching him. There was a softness in her eyes, a mix of relief, love, and something deeper.
Gazing through the window, looking at the forest, her eyes felt distant and grew dissonant. Her smile faded, but despite that, looking back at her son, she rejoiced.
Bamm!!!
Both Atama and his mother were shocked, the sound of a door slamming hard from outside. Atama froze mid-bite, the taste of chicken still on his tongue, then clenched his fist around the handle of a kitchen knife, his instincts flaring.
"Breaking in while I'm eating nu uh…" Atama gripping the knife tightly and munching the chicken that was still in his mouth.
Looking from afar, in the living room, he saw that it was his father's tired and covered with sweat, his clothes that were clean now stained by dirt.
Atama, lowering his guard, closing toward his father.
"Father, are you ok?"
But his father didn't answer right away. His eyes were sharp, almost cold, locked onto Atama with suspicion."Stay back," he rasped.
"Prove you're my son."
Before Atama could respond, a voice came from behind him, gentle but firm."Hey, hey, it's us, Shaun." Slowly coming toward and closer.
She stepped closer, her hand reaching up to gently touch his cheek, her fingers brushing away the sweat and grime. Then, without a word, she leaned in and pressed her forehead against his.
Shaun closed his eyes, letting out a his breath. Shaun knew this feeling very well; the way she touched, her presence, had always calmed the storms inside him.
Shaun shifted, Leering at Atama, standing right there, motionless. Atama's father stood closer to him
"Atama…" he said quietly, voice rough with exhaustion. He was relieved in his eyes, but also guilt… and fear.
"I'm glad you're safe…" Shaun said, his voice trembling slightly. "I—uh… I thought I'd never see you standing like this again. This… this is a miracle."
Shaun stepped back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, searching for words.
"I thought the doctor… well, I mean… he said you'd be fine eventually," Shaun muttered, avoiding Atama's gaze.
It was a weak excuse, and they both knew it. Atama narrowed his eyes, watching him closely.
"You knew something was wrong," he said quietly. "You knew, didn't you?"
Shaun said nothing at first; only the silence answered.
"What do you mean, Atama?" Shaun asked, his voice low, uncertain.
Before Atama could respond, his mother stepped in gently.
"It's okay, dear," she said, placing a hand on Shaun's arm. "He knows everything. I told him… some of the truth."
"Then where did you both go?" Shaun asked, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion.
"I thought… I thought you were gone." He looks at Atama, and her wife feels fear through his eyes
"I searched everywhere, thinking that both of you were taken."
Atama's mother shifted uncomfortably, guilt flickering in her eyes.
"We… were shopping at the market," she said softly, her voice small.
"I'm sorry, Shaun." She looked down, unable to meet his gaze.
Atama's father experienced what it was like to let go of his body's burden. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall and sat on the floor. He sighed once more, but this time steam erupted from his skin and swirled into the air like steam from a boiling pot.
"Father, are you alright?" Atama worried and looked at his father's body, steaming.
The steam from Shaun's body began to dissipate, turn to bluish particles, glowing specks that shimmered for a moment before fading into the air. Those particle was connected by a string and cut off when they ended.
Shaun, looking at his son staring at him, was worried. Shaun gave a faint, reassuring smile, though he could barely hold it. Exhausted, he was Shaun slowly rested his eyes.
"Let me rest, Atama, I will tell you anything that I know when I finally recover."
* * *
Hours go by, Atama sat outside in the tree's shade looking at his home and the concrete road stretching those who seek the journey. Above him, the sun hung high in the sky of his eyes, half-lidded, lost in thought.
A sense of boredom held over him.
He sighed, watching the sunlight flicker through the leaves, staring at his hand, contemplating his Father.
"I wonder how Father did that trick…" he muttered to himself.
"Like those particles, is it exhaling the negative senses?" Curious about his father, he began fidgeting with his hand, "If I have to guess may be… maybe I can do it too?"
He sat up straighter, curiosity sparking beneath the boredom.
"I mean… I must be able to, right? If it's in my blood, surely it will be easy for me."
Atama tried to remember what his father did. How does he do it? What he saw, he just stayed calm. There should be more to it.
Atama closed his eyes. He sat still, drawing in a slow breath, trying to remember exactly what his father had done.
He sighed first… right?
Atama exhaled deeply, letting the breath flow from his chest, trying to mimic it. And another exhaled release.
Then.
Slowly, Atama opens his right eye a little bit and tries peeking at his body. Nothing happened.
Feeling foolish, he sighed one last time, letting the breath slip away with his disappointment. He leaned his head against the rough bark tree.
Above him, he heard those soaring gusts of wind swirling around the air, followed by the noise of cracking branches and leaves. There, Atama began to hum a lullaby, remembering those notes when he was a kid.
A sound approached from afar, soft footsteps, steady and familiar.
"Hey, son… that song," a voice called gently.
Atama's eyes opened. He turned toward the sound—and recognized it instantly.
His father.
Shaun stood a few paces away, tired but calm, a faint smile on his face. "Mind if I sit with you?" he asked.
Atama shifted to the side, nodding. "Yeah, Dad… sure."
Shaun settled down beside Atama beneath the tree, gazing toward Anapados, while the wind swayed the trees.
"So what do you want to ask for?" asked his father, looking at Atama
Atama hesitated for a moment, the questions swirling in his mind finally rising to the surface.
"So how do you do that thingy… eh... like that energy?"
He was excited to make him agitated.
"Well… It's not easy to explain," Atama father murmured.
"It was part of a deal when I borrowed strength from someone I once knew. He was skilled at finding things, tracking what was lost, and I begged him to lend his power, trying to search for you both."
"The last trace was home, so get me back and check it."
"Then, after I found out that you and Mom were just going to get groceries, and not eaten by dyviak," He let out a soft, almost bitter laugh.
"That's when I felt relief—and let go of the power I borrowed. In a dream, I left him a message. What I said was thanks to him, but he kinda ignored me."
Shaun sighs, feeling disappointed.
Then he glanced at his son, those distant eyes staring down at the dirt. Seeking, thinking about something for a prolonged time to question.
"Are there any questions you want to ask, Atama…"
His head raises, Atama looks again toward his dad
"I have two, actually," he said, raising a hand and counting on his fingers.
"One… Is there any magic or power within me? Two… could you tell me about that world?"
He paused, then added, "And lastly… who is Viona Caine?"
Shaun raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
"That's three questions, son."
Then, Atama's father was shocked after hearing that name.
"How do you know that name?"