Chapter Text
The sun was teetering.
There once was a blonde boy in his memory who was dazzling as the sun. So the young man under the albizia tree thought, as the scorching golden light pierced his eyes. He was only allowed to see the vague outline of an emerald green countryside behind his glasses' curves, and a dark green forest that was dotted with tender white daisies, sky blue cornflowers, and some yellow flowers that he failed to name.
Deeply fascinated, he stared at the yellow flowers in the green grass as his thoughts traced this newly found thread of evidence: those flowers were identical to the flower crown on the figure's head in the photo he now holds. Ever since that blond youth disappeared in the fire, his mind has been shrouded by a never-ending daydream with no escapes. Before his very own eyes, every blade of grass and every tree seemed to come to life, tapping on his head. Everything alive was guiding him further and further towards a fated destination on this road, until he couldn't see the starting point when glancing back.
Any of his words failed to describe this feeling. Ever since he picked up the photo among the burning ruins, the person in the picture has been hanging above the stream of the Alastor’s consciousness like the never-setting sun in the draught of midsummer, yet gurgling and drifting like petals floating in the endless water.
A pink flower fell from the treetops, caressing the face in the photo with its velvety petals. The young man lifted his head and saw two robins above him. Their calls weren’t pleasant to his ears and wandering mind. A sudden breeze blew, and the flowers danced amidst waves of rustling sounds.
As if hypnotised once again, he returned his sight to the photo and the motionless person in it. He was wearing a blue robe, perhaps according to some traditions, ribbons and vibrantly shining flowers decorating his hair. On his face, the fallen flowers from just then lay quietly. The pink tone was a living reminder of the blond youth’s cheek in Alastor's memory. When he laughed at his old-fashioned jokes to the point where tears would appear in the corners of his eyes, the blush on his face was as vivid as the petals.
Subconsciously, the young man slid his fingers up and down the photo’s fragile edge, scorched by the once fiery heat; only a void outlined surrounded by dark edges remained at the place of the figure’s frozen face.
Another gust of wind sent the dainty flower to the ground. Following its airy dance, his gaze travels through the hole, finally resting on the surrounding fields of fragrant grass and the unchanging blue sky.
Perhaps it was the almost blinding sunlight that made him this idle. Carefully, as gently as guarding a nestling, he returned the photo to his left chest pocket as he reminded himself of continuing his journey. With one swift movement, he opened the door of the car next to him and started the old engine; it was the cheapest price at which he rented this car. Now, the exhaust pipe and its occasional emission of thick smoke somehow became the only trace of civilization on this remote road.
Alastor drove the car half-mindedly, sparing some thoughts on the scenery before him. There were no single cars on this straight road ahead. Curiously, the cement road was built on top of the surrounding fragrant grass, breaking the countryside’s natural harmony. This road seemed to have never been used. Maybe it had been waiting here ever since it was completed many years ago, just for someone to walk along the trail of yellow wildflowers and into the deep forest.
Star-like wildflowers passed through his vision, and he once again thought of the person in the photo. The more he thought, the hotter the photo on his chest seemed to become, scorching his flesh.
He thought of the ruins full of flames and thick smoke, and any remaining items were scattered around them. At that moment, he could only think of Hell, and if it truly existed, it must be like this.
That day, a fire broke out in his classmate’s apartment, the young man with blonde hair. He stood in front of the ruins of the apartment as the bright red fire trucks were putting out the raging fire. He didn’t cry, but felt that a flame took the opportunity to drill into his body, igniting his once dry, straw-like emotions. When the fire was put out, there remained only sad black smoke in his hollow body. He didn’t enjoy experiencing this unknown feeling.
A few days later, the police investigation still hadn’t made any progress. They neither found the cause of the fire nor the body of his classmate. He flew away like a little bird, disappearing in the starry sky of that night.
The school sent an email to mourn his passing, and many students who knew him expressed their regret. Yet no one shed tears for his death, gradually forgetting him.
The strange thing is that they didn’t simply forget him, but it was as if the traces of his existence were erased. Alastor tried hard to fight that feeling. He was more enthusiastic than anyone in the world to imprint that shadow into his mind like an iron brand, no matter where he went.
He was like a spider, trapped in the golden resin of memory and slowly suffocating in amber. Once he woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, he realized that he could no longer remember the blond student's face. Instead, he became just a glowing, vague concept. The thought almost drove him manic, and he tried every way to make himself remember, but nothing worked.
The car drove into a forest, where the road became much narrower, a sure sign that he wasn’t far from his destination.
Yet the blonde youth left a feather for his friend when he flew away. Just two days before he arrived at this strange land, Alastor found an incomplete photo in the mailbox. Although his mind had already forgotten his classmate's appearance, he still recognized him at a glance.
On the back of the photo, a line of small words was written in black ink - June 24, 2023, taken in Wicker Town.
Just as he thought of this, he passed the yellow sign above his head - Willow Town is ahead of you.
He took advantage of the first year’s summer vacation to track down the address on the back of the photo. In his imagination, that place was the most likely place to be the hometown of the missing person.
They talked about the topic of hometown once, and he still remembered the melancholy expression on his friend’s face at that time, and his trembling lips that were about to speak but stopped, like leaves in the wind. "I don't want to go back. Still, I know that I must do so one day. Just like fallen leaves will return to their roots one day, flying birds of young wings will also die, and fall into the soil, becoming one with nature once again..." The phrase broke off as he looked at the blue sky.
Alastor never asked about his hometown again. Nevertheless, his intuition told him that "Wicker Town" must have some secrets that he didn't know.
He had been driving for a long time, and the road was getting narrower and bumpier. He couldn't count how many turns he had made. He was surprised by the remoteness of this place. Picking up the mobile phone on the co-pilot seat, he soon found out that there was no signal. Even though he wasn’t a person who relied on modern technology, he was a little panicked nonetheless to be cut off from the outside world so suddenly.
He came to a halt at an open space where the open grassland seemed to appear out of thin air amidst the forest of silver birch and oak trees. It was as if some unknown existence had uprooted those trees with its palm.
The blinding sun was now hanging high above the top of the forest, shaking, as if it were about to fall. In the beam of light, Alastor saw several small houses painted white from which chimney curling smoke came out before disappearing in the light. Some farmland was scattered between the houses, and the whole pastoral scene was like an ethereal painting.
He drove the car slowly into the village. Some middle-aged and elderly people standing at the entrance of the town looked at him with an empty expression, as if his arrival was fated and they had come to greet him. Several children poked their heads out of the white houses’ windows, and some brave ones even ran up to the car like hares.
Alastor observed those people vigilantly. Their clothes were all white, with different patterns mimicking flowers and plants embroidered on the collars and cuffs. The sun shone through the fibers of their clothes, making them seem to have walked out of the daylight. The small houses looked very primitive. Together with the farmlands, they encircled a huge, sapphire-like lake in the middle of the open space. The water surface was sparkling under the light, and its depth simply couldn’t be guessed.
Alastor lowered the window and looked at an old man standing at the front of the crowd. How strange was the way his eyes flashed in the light, like a salmon. "Good day, Sir." He greeted, "I hope I haven't disturbed your peaceful rural life. Is this Wicker Town, if I’m not mistaken?" He smiled out of courtesy, but his eyes remained solemn.
The old man blinked and grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. "May I ask what brings you to this remote place of ours?"
"No offense, Sir. I'm just here to find my classmate who disappeared a few days ago." With that, he got out of the car. The curious children around the car dispersed, giggling like elves.
He took out the photo from his chest pocket and handed it to the old man, "The person in the photo is who I want to see. I found the address leading here on the back of the photo. Have you seen him?"
"His name is Helel. Helel Morningstar," he quickly added on.
The old man shook his head and handed the photo to his companion with long hair beside him, passing the photo around the crowd.
"But there’s no face here."
"It was burned by fire, but I think there aren’t many young people in such a small village who had the chance for education in universities. Have you seen him?"
The old man looked up at him with an almost fish-like cunning in his eyes. "We’ve indeed seen the person in this picture. But he has never been to 'university'."
"He isn’t named Helel Morningstar, no..." The old man with long hair beside him answered hoarsely.
The young man held his breath unconsciously, "······What does this mean?"
"We do have a 'Morningstar' here." The old man returned the photo to him, who took the photo back eagerly. "It must be him in this photo, I could swear."
Alastor didn't hesitate for even one second; the photo on his chest pocket was burning his heart again. "Where is he? Take me to him."
The old man observed him with emotionless eyes. At last, he pointed to the distance of the lake, "The children shall take you there."
As soon as the old man finished speaking, a little girl in a white dress embroidered with pink flowers approached the crowd. She looked at the outsider curiously, before avoiding his gaze and running away like a swift-footed hare.
"Follow me!" she shouted happily.
The young man nodded to the villagers and then trotted to catch up with the child.
Silently, the villagers' eyes followed his departure like sunflowers.
They traveled on the gravel road between villages. Alastor and the girl ran past the pharmacy, grocery store, and farm tool store, passing by donkey carts loaded with goods and the blooming pansies and anemones that danced in the wind as he ran by. From a distance, the villagers watched their game of chase.
He looked back and saw that those men in white standing beside his car had already scattered like doves. They picked up hoes and rakes, mended fishing nets, and lived like an ancient civilization that had never been disturbed by the secular world.
His thirst for knowledge was burning. With each step, he became more and more curious about Helel’s hometown. Suddenly, the little girl turned around a corner and ran into a hotel.
Following her, he stopped and looked up at the hanging green sign, trying to decipher the words written on it, but the language in which it was written was utterly unknown to him. On it, there was the drawing of the golden sun with a human face and blue pupils in the middle of its semicircular eyes.
He accidentally stared at the sign for too long. The sunlight stung his eyes, forcing him to lower his head so that the senses he lost while running gradually returned to him. The next he knew, the fragrance of flowers already invaded his mind to the point where he felt that his vision and hearing were blurring.
Across the lake, he saw a triangular yellow building in the meadow. Despite this strange, geometrical shape being located unnaturally, he couldn't help but stare at it. In his drowsiness, he heard the creaking sound of the wooden door being pushed open, and then came a voice that he thought he had almost forgotten.
"Sir? Sir?" The voice was as clear as the gurgling of water. To Alastor, it was as if he was suddenly woken up from a long dream. Eagerly, he turned his head to meet the root of this voice.
The person was dressed in a blue robe, reminiscent of the color of morning dew and lake water. On the fabric, some unnamed, yet familiar yellow flowers and daisies adorned the hem. A light yellow shawl wrapped around his neck, in the same tone as the triangular building in the distance.
A flower wreath of blue pansies, daisies, and branches surrounding a freshly-cut sunflower crowned his head, covering half of his face.
"Charlie said you came here just to see me?" he remarked.
The early summer wind toyed with the branches on his feather-like golden hair. From beneath, a pair of familiar golden eyes met his gaze. However, gazing upon them was as strange as staring deep into the stars of the morning light on a sleepless night. He smiled, and the blush on his face was just like Helel's in Alastor’s memory.
"Who are you?" Alastor asked.
The blond figure took a step forward, approaching the outsider; the bells on the white gauze wrapped around his bare ankles chimed melodiously. He held out one hand to him.
"My name is Lucifel," he said, "Lucifel Morningstar."