Meditation

Madame Pualis did not talk with Aurora for long. A little over ten minutes later, they came out of the study.

Lumian accompanied his sister as they saw Madame Pualis all the way to the front door.

Then he turned to Aurora.

"What did she want your help with?"

Aurora curled her lip. "She wanted me to lead the singing at the Praise Celebration. I refused."

Cordou Village's Lent Festival had three parts: the Spring Spirit's blessing procession, a Riverside Ritual, and the Praise Celebration held in the church. The last mainly consisted of instrumental performances and choral singing.

In the Dalege Region, the church choir usually led the singing, but Cordou Village lacked the resources for one, so they could only find someone good at singing to take its place.

As for the instrumental performances, the villagers had no worries on that front. In villages with a shepherding tradition, music-or rather, musical instruments-was an indispensable part of daily life.

After all, shepherds spent most of the year out in the wilderness, living in huts or sleeping in dugouts. Apart from their companions and flocks, the thing they spent the most time with was the flute they carried.

Besides grazing their sheep, playing cards, and chatting, almost every shepherd would play the flute to soothe his heart with music.

That was why the phrase used to describe a shepherd in dire poverty was "he doesn't even have a flute."

With so many shepherds around them, Cordou Village's other residents were inevitably influenced. Whenever they gathered in the square to chat, someone was bound to play an instrument, sending lilting melodies through the air.

"Mm." Seeing his sister's firm resolve, Lumian felt quite relieved.

It was enough to watch those celebrations and join in the cheering. Taking center stage would not only waste time, but also risk attracting unwanted attention.

To protect his eyesight, Lumian read for only a short while by the light of the kerosene lamp before washing up and going to bed. He began seriously considering how to safely test what was special about him in the dream.

The lady's repeated suggestions had all been remarkably accurate, making him unconsciously trust her words completely.

In the dead of night, Lumian entered the dream once again and woke up there.

He felt through his pockets and habitually counted his money, confirming that his haul of 217 Felkine and 25 Kopek was still there.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lumian picked up the axe and steel pitchfork, hurried downstairs, and headed straight for the stove.

The fire had already gone out.

"The clock keeps ticking here even when I'm not dreaming..." Lumian frowned slightly.

In a dream this "real," what could possibly be special about me?

"The clock keeps ticking" was a saying in the Dalege Region, meaning that time never stopped for humanity and always flowed onward.

Lumian returned to the bedroom he considered the safest place, put down the axe and steel pitchfork, and swiftly stripped off his clothes.

Then he walked to the full-length mirror attached to the wardrobe and inspected his body inch by inch, looking for anything different from reality.

There was nothing unusual.

"Something special about my mind?" Rather than hurry to put his clothes back on, Lumian walked straight to the bed and sat cross-legged, imitating his sister.

Previously, to help him have lucid dreams, Aurora had taught him some basic meditation methods that involved no mystical elements. He now wanted to try them and see whether, in a state of complete stillness, he could detect anything unusual about his mind or body.

The first step was to regulate his breathing.

Lumian breathed more deeply and slowed his breathing rate.

With each slow, long breath following its own rhythm, Lumian gradually emptied his mind.

At the same time, he pictured a crimson sun in his mind, focusing all his attention and thoughts on it to push out every other stray thought.

Aurora had specifically warned him to visualize something that existed in reality and represented light whenever he meditated, lest something filthy and evil set its sights on him.

As a casual believer in the Eternal Blazing Sun, Lumian's first instinct was to visualize the sun.

His mind gradually grew calm, and the entire world he perceived seemed to shrink to that blazing crimson sun.

Suddenly, Lumian seemed to hear something.

It seemed to come from an infinite height, yet also seemed to sound right beside his ears. Though indistinct, it carried the rumbling force of thunder.

Amid that indescribable buzzing, Lumian's heart began racing. It felt as though someone had thrust an iron spike into his head and stirred it hard several times.

Excruciating pain erupted in an instant. The blazing sun turned blood-red and rapidly became stained with a deep black.

The image in his meditation shattered.

Lumian's eyes flew open, and he gasped for breath, feeling as though he was about to drop dead.

It took a good fifteen or twenty seconds before he recovered from that brush with death.

He instinctively lowered his head to examine his body.

He saw some strange things on the left side of his chest.

Some pitch-black symbols resembling thorns seemed to have grown out from his heart, emerging from within his body. They linked together one after another, extending toward his back like a chain.

Above these "thorns" were what appeared to be an eye-shaped design and wormlike, twisting lines, all bluish-black.

At that moment, these tattoo-like markings were slowly fading.

Lumian was startled at first, but a host of thoughts immediately followed.

He hurried out of bed and went straight to the full-length mirror, turning his back to it.

Then he twisted his head as far to the left as he could to inspect his back.

He could just make out the chain of black "thorns" plunging back into his body at the center of his back.

In other words, this chain of "thorns" formed a loop around his heart and the corresponding part of his body.

"The black and bluish-black markings are two different kinds of symbols. The bluish-black ones look a little familiar. Hmm... They're a lot like the ones on that old man I helped when I was wandering... That was also when I started having dreams filled with fog..." Lumian analyzed these "special" features that differed from reality until they faded completely and disappeared.

Seeing this, Lumian felt rather disappointed.

Though he had found what was special about him, he felt it was meaningless.

The process of bringing the markings out had caused him immense pain and brought him close to death.

In a state where he was on the verge of passing out, how would facing that monster with the hunting shotgun be any different from delivering food to it?

And by the time he regained enough strength to fight, the "special" features would be about to disappear.

The dream's climate was quite cold, like early spring in the mountains. Remaining naked was hardly comfortable, so Lumian quickly put his clothes back on.

Even that simple task left him unusually exhausted, and his head began to ache again.

Clearly, the impact of that meditation was not something he could fully recover from in a short time.

Under the circumstances, Lumian decided to give up exploring for the night. He would make no further attempts, sleep properly, and focus on recovering.

When he woke after a stretch of sleep, dawn had yet to break.

Looking at the darkness in his room and the faint crimson near the curtains, Lumian carefully recalled everything that had happened in the dream.

"I've meditated plenty of times in reality before, but I've never heard that strange sound or felt any pain...

"Does that special quality only exist in the dream?" Puzzled, Lumian sat up, intending to confirm it.

He followed the steps and tried meditating once again.

The crimson sun quickly appeared in his mind, and the disorder in his thoughts gradually settled.

This was the meditation experience Lumian knew well. There was no strange sound, no intense pain, and certainly no brush with death.

After a while, he ended his meditation, undid his buttons, and lowered his head to examine the area over his heart.

There was not a single symbol there.

"So it really is something special confined to the dream. It doesn't affect reality..." Lumian did not know whether to feel happy or disappointed.

He raised his head and looked toward the curtained window. His thoughts spread outward as he considered whether that "special" quality in the dream could be used, and how he might use it.

Just then, he noticed what seemed to be a dark shape outside the window-a small one.

Lumian's pupils dilated, and his whole body tensed.

His first instinct was to call his sister, but then he remembered that he was at home. Aurora had said she would keep an eye on things here, so she should already have noticed. He cautiously got out of bed and slowly approached the window.

Throughout, Lumian kept waiting for his sister to tell him to stop.

Aurora did not appear.

Lumian reached the window, grasped the curtain, and cautiously pulled it open a crack.

Outside lay a silent, deep night, with the crimson moon hanging far away in the sky.

An owl stood silently in a nearby elm tree, whose leaves swayed gently, facing Lumian's window.

It was noticeably larger than most of its kind. Its eyes were neither dull nor rigid, and its gaze held an indescribable sense of looking down on Lumian.

That owl!

It had come again!

Lumian's heart immediately rose into his throat.

Just like last time, the owl stared at Lumian for a little over ten seconds, then spread its wings without doing anything and flew into the depths of the night.

"..." Lumian was momentarily speechless.

Only after a long while did he pull back the curtain and begin cursing. "Is there something wrong with your head?

"Every time, you just come and take a look, take a look, then leave without saying anything!

"Are you mute, or are you so stupid that you haven't learned human language after all these years?"

In fact, Lumian had his own guess about the owl's behavior. He believed his sister's presence kept it from doing anything. After all, Aurora had said he would be safe at night as long as he did not leave the building. Had he impulsively stuck his head out the window just now, the owl probably would not have flown away so quietly.

After cursing for a while, Lumian decided to close the curtains and get a little more sleep.

He casually swept his gaze outside, then suddenly froze.

At the edge of a small grove a dozen or so meters away, a figure was slowly walking past.

She wore a dark dress made of coarse cloth, and her hair was sparse and white.

"Naroka..." Lumian recognized the figure.

It was Naroka, whom he had previously asked about the Warlock legend.

Naroka's face seemed half submerged in darkness. Her eyes reflected a strange light beneath the faint crimson moonlight, and her movements were unnaturally stiff, like those of a wandering ghost.