Haren took a piece of a letter from his drawer. The message itself looked personal rather than professional; with caution he ripped its side to open. The contents were two folded sheets of paper; one full of writings, one full of drawings. Abandoning the description pamphlet, Haren examined the five pictures of vials. The art was much wonky and simplistic unlike one of his; how a picture seal will appear often mimics the artistic skill of its user.

I wish I knew what to tell him instead. Haren unsealed the bottles by pulling them from the drawing one by one, leaving a blank paper. It's about time until he confronts me.

The vials were rechecked, all details matched exactly to what he had ordered.

Until when I must make a stronger potion and find them?

With his ability, Haren sealed all the collected vials simultaneously into a drawing of a medium sized bottle prepared beforehand. By the speed of a blink, Haren unsealed the medium bottle from its drawing and tossed it into a sheet with five individual drawings of empty vials. He touched the leftmost one to release the seal, revealing its liquid content as clear as water. Judged by its color, the five different potions have been mixed equally.

His sight strayed to the left part of his desk, reaching the corner near where the tea mug was placed. A discolored metal frame with a sepia photo of two boys, both wearing light colored tunics with ethnic bead necklaces. The taller  older brother stood with a confident smile, the younger one on his left was unsmiling. Behind them was a woman figure whose upper body was cut off to fit the tiny frame.

This unresting futile effort needed to rest. He could not escape this small cage of fate; the cramped room with all the spell papers and seals, randomly pasted onto the wall leaving almost no blank space. Some bland some colored, placed on top of others or in a row; all with different purposes. An unusual and disorderly decoration, as the ornamentation of struggle.

Knock! Knock!

“Yes?!” Haren rearranged the papers in a rush.

“Uncle Haren. . . I heated the soup, please eat first,” Kôra called with a soft intonation, it was almost unheard. “I am going to room to complete night pray.”

“Okay, coming!” Haren put the new vial on his pockets, there are still plenty of the old ones. Old and new should be mixed in a correct ratio adjusting to time, else severe side effects and sensitivity could happen. Haren stepped outside, he checked the door of his nephew’s room from here. The place was closed with the lamp on.

Reminded of a thing, Haren went back into his own chamber to check.

»»-------------¤-------------««

The dining room was empty as expected. The retained warmth in the air was perhaps because of the meal that was heated just recently. Said meal was placed in a big ceramic bowl, arranged with two smaller bowls and spoons on the dining table across the kitchen. It felt artificially static. Everything was in utter silence but the call of house lizards, it felt like a backhanded invitation. There was unforbidding air that made him scan all over the room.

Haren stopped when he noticed the sticky notes were displaced, most were soaked with the soup. The page was unmistakably the one with a sealed vial, looking more crumpled with folds. There are traces of soup droplets on it, fortunately, it could not dilute the waterproof ink.

A sense of uneasiness was lurking from behind.

He checked the glue which is no longer sticky and how much the paper is no longer smooth; better transfer it soon. Haren unsealed the vial in an instant that the tiny thing was now safe in his hand. To make sure he lifted it, tilted it towards the light to examine if there was any damage.

Was it his apprehension, or something was. . .

Haren turned his back, to a surprise.

A head has been sticking out from the half-opened cabinet doors, looking up to observe everything. The face of Kôra was covered with his disheveled hair, through it his eyes sharply glared.

Seeing his uncle's guard was down, Kôra darted to snatch the vial. Their hands reached it to claim, resulted in a crash. Chairs were getting pushed away, objects on the dining table were falling. Haren grabbed it, yet it slipped away from his hand. The eager Kôra used his force to get it. Almost. The fragile thin glass shattered and spilled its content, the cold stings into the scratch wounds both got.

“What is the meaning of this?!” they shouted in unison.

Kôra lifted the soaked paper which his thin fingers could reach faster. His heartbeat raced as he pierced through his uncle’s eyes, demanding.

“It’s a spell for safety,” Haren answered in a stable tone, staying clear.

“Decrease to decease, rest dead with sealed ability” Kôra translated it aloud. “I know spell!”

“It’s true, but—”

“Uncle has been doing this? To make me not know by forbidding many things? Think I can not object?” Kôra barraged at him with questions, his speech was rushed and unstable. “How?! Uncle is only the one family I have now . . .” his voice rippled. It cracked, it broke, it shattered.

“Kôra I understand your worries, let me explain first,” Haren approached his nephew; reaching him, trying to embrace and calm him down. Kôra’s words struck him somehow, it reflected in his wearier tone. “That spell has a different function, it’s not—”

“WERE YOU TRYING TO MURDER ME?!!!” Kôra let out an animalistic screech.

The man could not stay blown away by this extreme behavior. With a bluish glow around his fingers, he approached Kôra. His nephew blocked Haren’s wrist before it touched him, with a push he locked the other hand. That bony hand was icy as if all the blood vessels were strangled, strange just like a lifeless paper. 

After all the potion that had entered from the glass cuts, Kôra was still steady in his violent resolve. Haren underestimated the surge of strength he suddenly had. Either Kôra was doped enough with adrenaline, or it was just Haren starting to weaken due to getting more of the potion inside his wound. However, despite the disadvantages on his side Haren did manage to let go and stand up, steering clear from the deranged kid.

The pugnacious Kôra grabbed his Uncle’s shirt, tried to drag him back. Once Haren let go, the teen started to throw the glassware with a directed aim, not an act of wasting anger. Haren froze when seeing how deep one could be swallowed within impulse, something he is not unfamiliar with. The real question was how to face Kôra without causing harm; his nephew would not listen, and Haren fighting back would only cause further harm. 

“Explain!” he threatened, pointing to the sharpened kitchen knife he picked up from the cutlery drawer.

“Control yourself first, Kôra! Remember what happened at your father’s funeral?”

“Yes! And I do not care! ” Kôra answered, it did not exactly go as Haren expected. “Father cared for me to death while you did this?!” he screamed as he rushed towards his uncle. “I am sick of people making fool of me! Father shames you from his grave!"

The remark surged something inside Haren, it rushed as so did the scrawny men's flash of movement. He managed to reach a sheet of the sticky notes before Kôra was able to prevent it. With Kôra’s attention divided, he stuck it on the knife, sealing it then taking it away for good.

“Unseal! Unseal right now! I will tell this to the police, and you will be jailed,” weaponless Kôra blabbered, trying to threaten. The kid was determined to continue; Haren had to push him away and held him down from reaching the cutlery drawer, or the sealed knife.  He ripped a piece from the paper which the knife was sealed in, then create a spell to lock the drawer. Kôra protested by growling like a captured beast, his head beginning to hurt. His motion was shaky, yet he overcame it for the sake of anger. “You will be gone, so will all my family! I will not lose anyone anymore!"

"Let me go! Murderer! You must have killed people with your potion!"

Those words were a thunder which left Haren shaken, a dart which hit the bullseye. As his weakened mind reflected on his grips, Kôra freed himself. A strike with a chair was enough to strike the man down and put him still. The spell paper however, was still in Haren's tight grip; the boy could not access the drawer either. Kôra was left kicking it in frustration with a clenched fist; those weak seals are a mockery.

The air gradually got cold and colder; instead, the heat inside Kôra felt boiling. The air temperature dropped to a new low that a fog formed on the window glass. The house lizards were falling from the height of their hiding places, dropping dead. 

Kôra opened his clenched fists, exploding a gust of sweeping cold air. In a flash of light. A small sphere of blindingly white light.

He was finally able to snatch the paper from Haren’s trembling cold hand. It was cheered by the noise of broken lamps, glassware, and windows. The kitchen was in the condition of chaos and absolute disorder of damaged and displaced objects. Kôra was not aware nor did he care about it; he sat motionlessly, mindlessly, with his eyes staring wide open.

“Control your ability. . .” Haren whispered. “It’s the defect they seek, he said. . ."  he added before passing out.

The seal was broken in an instant, exactly in Kôra’s grasp who was holding the crumpled paper. It turned in the unfortunate position; he was holding tight the knife blade first. At the same hand wounded by the glass shard, more blood started leaking from the cuts.

Haren was lying motionless on the floor, perhaps unconscious at full. It came into the boy’s realization of his surroundings: the warming air, the blood, the knife, all of these commotions and disasters. Disarray, disaster, distress; and for what had he done those?

Kôra pressed his uncle's frigid wrist, there was no pulse.

»»-------------¤-------------««

Kôra slammed the front door, he left the doorway unlocked without a second thought. Ignoring the fallen hatam from the gate he kicked, the boy attempted to maintain his steady stride. His left hand placed propping his aching head, and the bleeding at the right one should have ceased. The pain clawed inside his wound; he did not care anyway.

Nothing happened. He was going for an errand real quick. His uncle was unconscious and needed help. Unconscious, with such a slow and shallow pulse. Just unconscious with almost no pulse. Just unconscious without any pulse. Just unconscious and will not wake up any time soon. Just. Just now, tears began to well up in Kôra's eyes as he aimlessly roamed. He convinced himself that he will wake up soon. It was just a nightmare

Kôra walked quicker, he sprinted, he ran, ran farther crossing the road. So was his tears which flowed down. His heart sank to his gut, or even lower, lower from the low of what he had done. Thorny bush of distress entangled his mind, much to the point his heartbeats felt merging into one long boom. Cortisol rushed through his system, cold and stinging. Was this choking emotion guilt? Why? he thought. He never meant this to happen.

Worst scenario; Uncle was actually dead. Kôra's own death should be the price of it to make it just in God's eyes. No matter how painful that would be, he feared divine wrath. There was a sturdy rope in his room, his small body would not weigh much for the ceiling to drop. That should be enough for God to forgive him. . . But why was he running away instead? That should. . .  He should. . .

He was too consumed in his thoughts to notice the car moving, or the horn honking, or anything. . .

!!!

Kôra, careless, bumped into the slowing black car. It was a fortunate event that the car slowed down to a stop before approaching him, perhaps the driver wanted to visit a nearby store. The car was a quite elegant model, although Kôra had seen many impressive ones which Tal sometimes dropped off from.

From the car, exit a tall man with pale ashy blond hair reaching down his shoulders. The foreign color aside, the voluminous, curly texture instantly grabbed Kôra's attention to him. He wore a black trench coat which accentuate the pallor hues of his body, to the point he looked almost artificial.

Kôra froze in front of the man there was something unsettling about him that he could not point out, not to mention the ghastly air his appearance radiated.

“Why are you crying?” the man asked. Kôra’s ear twitched; the accent was not something he heard of often, but somewhat recognizable; an Earth accent.

Kôra looked back at him unmoving, out of words.  The sentence was uttered in the least comforting way. It even sounded intrusive; not to mention there was a more crucial thing to be concerned about Kôra.

 The man’s upturned eyes were honey brown, almost orange. Those peered at Kôra to the smallest details. He did not look as having a genuine emotion towards the boy. His gaze was more like that of a scientist examining a unique specimen.

“Why are you crying, Kôra Halin Tsiyura?” He repeated the question with some emphasis, deprived it even more of any hint of sympathy. That man called his full name, now with clearer intonation. He put a grinning smile on his face, showing rows of orderly white teeth. That man has thin lips and a wide mouth. It must be a backfired effort to look less menacing; his current expression made Kôra even more uncomfortable.

The boy turned ice cold, frozen. Those words were far above frightening. How did that man know his name? He even knew the third part of his name that he never wrote again after his father’s death. That man kept smiling a puzzling smile; was he pleased? Was he purposely invoking reactions?

Kôra Halin backed slowly from him; better make a distance first than decipher what in hell this suspicious man was going to achieve. He did not recognize what even was this entire disturbing feeling surged inside him. He started to tremble harder; if only it was the cold or fright. Kôra’s mind floated lighter into the weightless, his vision spun faster. He examined his scratched right hand. Although he had washed it, a portion of the potion must have gotten into the wounds first.

The potion!

From the corner of his eyes, Kôra saw his uncle walking towards him. The man dressed in a thick jacket, walking in full vigor as if something never happened. He was in  a pristine condition without any visible trace of struggle nor injury, except for a worry in his face. Haren's sudden strange presence alarmed Kôra, he almost left an audible gasp. That stranger man too, to a lesser extent, looked surprised.

It was too much for the boy, none of these were good. Kôra decided to just walk away as fast and as far as he could, to run again. The ground was shifting below him and plunged him into the falling sky. All started to reduce even farther into a blur, he wondered how much liquid of the potion got into him. . .