Kôra dropped the last bag from Keane’s car. This day was the moving day. However, his mind is still inside his Uncle’s house, worrying him in specific. Kôra did not tell the peculiar phenomenon which choked down his neck yesterday. He wanted to depart from Uncle with a peaceful feeling, not to burden him with more unease. The boy touched his neck; the mark had disappeared, yet the sensation lingered.

The boy opened the vibrating phone in his pocket, a message from his uncle. Haren has promised to contact him often and give him visits. He also told Kôra not to tell specific details of his temporary moving to anyone he knows. In case they are wondering or notice a thing, just say he is staying in a relative’s house.

 It is a common custom for Tôryaemaen youngsters to live in a relative’s or family friend's house for a certain period to learn about the custom of other households or regions. In some professions, people also do that as a form of apprenticeship. That practice however, is starting to be outdated and deemed rural.

He looked at Keane, now in an olive collarless shirt and matching gray trousers after taking his black jacket off. Kôra thought that the man had an affinity to black color. Keane’s bandaged neck looks strikingly visible that way, inviting some stray thoughts. That man invited him to go inside the lawn after helping Kôra with his bags.

The building was in minimalist style, a medium-sized one with two stories and a decent-sized lawn. There was a balcony on the upper floor and a small terrace, all decorated with hanging potted plants that blossomed. It had a light mint and lemon color combination that gives a cool and cheerful vibe, while the window and door trims are clean white. The scheme of the colors, matching decorations, and the architecture made the house feel hospitable to Kôra.

“Keane, is this really your house?”

“It is,” he affirmed. He took off his sunglasses. “Are you disappointed it’s not a dark mansion with acres of gardens?”

The kid was startled. He started to think this guy can read his mind to some extent. “It looks very nice,” he praised it, “I thought you live in scary house.”

“Every house can be scary depending on what’s inside,” Keane inserted a card to the door slot with a wide grin, like implying he was the ghost of a haunted house. “Let’s get in.”

Kôra mumbled a prayer under his breath before entering, a wish for a blessed new start.

»»-------------¤-------------««

“How’s your room?” Keane asked Kôra who was heading downstairs from his room. The kid had changed into a loose white T-shirt and khaki shorts as his home attire. He soon joined Keane who was sitting on the living room sofa, drinking a cup of tea. On the coffee table had been prepared a teapot and cups for two, with some assorted sweets.

“It is very nice and comfortable! I have unpacked and transferred all my belongings,” Kôra answered contently. He decided to finish tidying his room first before evening, so he can take a break for the rest of the day. It took him a long time since his right hand was wounded, Keane offered help but the boy insisted on doing it himself.

The boy recalled the lemon-colored room, with wide windows facing an empty grass field. It was much spacier than two previous rooms he had, not to mention the convenience of having an inside bathroom. The double bed was snug, the desk had many shelves, all the furnishings looked neat and fitting in color just as seen in magazines.

“Great,” Keane remarked with a smile. “Now enjoy your time to rest,” he put a cup of tea and its saucer in front of Kôra, a dainty decorated one which shape differs from what the kid usually uses. That boy tried to figure out what is the function of matching a small plate below the rose-patterned cup, or what was the strange aroma arising. He checked the label, it was earl grey.

Kôra took a sip of the smooth tasting tea while looking around. This living room is cozy and Kôra loved the green furnishing theme, it is his favorite color. It was plentifully furnished with sofas, a coffee table, bookshelves, television, and a home theater set. At the middle wall hung a medium family photo, framed with white in a pleasing composition.

He stared at the portrait; child Keane with his parents. A tall father with brown hair and full beard was holding Keane’s shoulder; he has the child’s eyebrows. The mother has an exact shade of hair with Keane;  her eyes look distant like his son. Keane himself looked about ten at the moment, had shorter hair and a smile. His face reminded Kôra of the rich snobby kids from neighbouring villages. They all looked rather dignified, yet something. . .

"Keane, Wh—"

“My family,” he pointed, noticing Kôra’s attention. “It’s a shame I can’t introduce you to all of them,” he handed Kôra the biscuits.

“I am sorry to hear that, my apologies for asking.”

“Why? Whether or not you ask me, they’ll stay dead.”

“That is. . .  Just,” Kôra halted, it was mournful to bring up this topic for him. “Thank you for answering, anyway.”

“You may still have other questions.” 

“Sorry if I sound rude, but there are two other rooms at the second. . . Yes, second ground,” Kôra said, forgetting the exact word. “Are those empty?”

“They are, but one of them is my sister’s,” he answered. “She’s currently not here for a. . . Some days? A week? Ah, whatever.” He could not recall.

“You have a sister?!” 

“I have, what’s the big deal?”

“No! But. . . She is not. . .” Kôra looked at the family photo again. Among the three people there was not even a slightest bit of any shape resembling a girl in it. The only woman was also too old to be one.

“This is my house, so I get to decide whose face gets to be displayed and whose is not.”

“That is very mean, she is your sister!” Kôra chided, hearing the surprising answer. “Do you have any bad relationship with her?”

“I don’t, she’s a good person.” Keane answered nonchalantly. “The thing is, that photo is about me, not her.”

Again, Kôra examined the family photo. There was only one family photo and none of a girl. He started to think Keane was lying or joking. Probably she was dead like his parents and Keane was suffering from grief. At this point, he might have projected some loss he has went through; that he synthesized such outlandish thoughts.

Moving on, Kôra decided to point out something about the picture which has been bothering him.

“Now what’s the next question?”

“Why is only her have neck not covered? And why you wear bandage on your neck?” Kôra asked, taking one biscuit. "The blond woman is your mother, correct?”

“There’s an intrinsic reason which I can’t overlook,” Keane said with a solemn tone. He fixed his position and sat upright, putting down his teacup. "Why did I accept your uncle’s request? Maybe because we are the same after all.” 

“What do you mean?”

“In 1523 England, there were riots caused by widespread crises—you can look it up. I was George Vernon then. Because of our family’s wealth and close connection to the royal family, we became a target to the angry mobs,” he unraveled.

That was sixty-five years ago, but this man looks young.

“It was a horrid time. They beheaded us in the street once they got us,” Keane moved his finger horizontally across his throat, in addition to his immersive intonation. “My father Thomas, my sister Anne, along with me; except my mother Lyudmila who was not there,” he added with a longing gaze.

It cannot be. . .

“This might be hard to believe for you."

“Keane can go on.”

“My mother couldn’t accept that we were dead, so she smuggled our corpses to her hometown in Irkutsk during the dead of winter. She managed to resurrect us there — I don’t know how exactly and how many sacrifices, but it left a grisly scar around our necks. Afterwards, we changed our identities and fled here.”

Kôra gaped. So. . . He was dead! My reflection said I was dead too! Kôra connected. This man can be a key for knowing all.

Keane’s delivery and tone convinced him. How he looked at Kôra in the eyes was swaying and sympathetic. It all made sense that Kôra’s parents would befriend his family for their similar backgrounds. He still had doubts and questions about some details, however; for example, the name of the foreign city sounded fake. Kôra passed it through because he is not knowledgeable about the Earth; this man also might elaborate in more details later.

“How did people exactly resurrect the dead?”

“Earth people have a different magic ability system than you. We don’t follow the partition system,” he mentioned. “And for resurrection, I heard my mother’s method needs sacrifices. To resurrect a boy your age, you need at least five people to die. For me, maybe nine."

The fact shuddered Kôra; an uncomfortable one. No! I hope I do not come from that. Or better, the reflection is wrong! If so, I need to cleanse myself from sins. . . No. . .

“So this why you came to help? You know my origin, right?” Kôra asked, which the latter affirmed by Keane’s nod. “I am really sorry to hear that. It is an unfortunate thing that happen to you.”

“It is unfortunate, indeed. . .” Keane reiterated with a solemn tone. Kôra’s eyes widened in anticipation of what he was going to say next. “. . . That the story is not true.”

It astounded Kôra, his jaw dropped. The boy needed to mentally repeat the sentence to make sure. Touching his cheek; he was sure his face was slapped with unseen hands. Just how easily the lies went through the man’s teeth and how easily he thought it was the truth, he wondered. 

“Gobsmacked, aren’t you?” Keane grinned widely at his blatant lie. He chuckled; It was like he took some kind of joy by telling weird and obviously untrue stories. “I made the story as I go, I can’t believe you fell for it!”

Kôra sighed in irritation with a background noise of Keane’s laughter. The kid should have expected from the moment they met; living with this man was not going to be easy. “What is so funny about this? Lying is fun?” he rebuked.

“Sorry, you are just so gullible,” Keane remarked with a gentle smile after laughing. About a word, Kôra did not understand.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a French word meaning ‘Capable of self-restraint’,” Keane explained. “This might sound rubbish, but I know you have disapproved of me since the start.”

Of course, you are suspicious.

“Still, you put up with me for the sake of your uncle. You love him and don’t want to see him suffer, do you?”

“Yes. I do it for him. He has done too much for me.”

“Despite what you’ve been through, you are a mature lad and have incredible self-restraint,” the blond man applauded in a warm tone. “I apologize for my unpleasant actions two days ago, I provoked both of you on purpose to assess your personalities. You particularly left a good impression.”

“Uh. . .” Kôra touched the back of his neck. Those kind words somehow moved him so that his sentence stalled. “I accept Keane’s apology, I will try to be more gullible around you next time.”

Keane chortled. 

That moment Kôra knew he had been duped. If this man was saying the truth about his sister, Kôra felt especially bad for her. The boy gulped the entirety of his tea and slammed the cup down in frustration. He took a deep breath and tried not to entertain that guy further by showing his obvious vexation. Breathe in, breathe out; think of another thing. 

“Okay, I’m really sorry this time. I’ll say the truth,” the man attempted to appease Kôra; it was answered by the boy’s glare. “You want an answer about this, don’t you?”

“I do! I am curious,” Kôra asked again. “What is below your bandage? Please do not lie or trick me. You are not making a good impression!”

“So, why don’t you find it yourself.” Keane pointed at his neck, signaling him to undo the bandage.