Outside, it was a clear night with a strong, not-quite-full moon, with the darkness of the field of your home illuminated by seven candlelamps on sticks installed by your parents. The sight of the nearby woods made them look like a sleeping beast, as the trees shook gently in the soft night wind. One of your dad's Focii (Father Sky eye, in the shape of a dagger) was planted on the ground with your mother sitting beside it. Your dad knelt near your shed where the spirit of little Olin slept, positioning himself in prayer as he held onto his glowing Focii of Mother Earth.

The cold wind of coming autumn was the only noise to disturb the assembly; silence was not only a sign of respect for this ritual but vital to its success because right now, your father was thinning the great protective veil of the divines to make it easier for the boy's manifestation.

Your mother took the place of a trained nun, reducing the intensity and individuality of her soul so his spirit could pass through her to regain vitality. A few walks ahead stood Augustine Aurora, mother to the deceased Olin Aurora, holding onto a fist-sized bell. Her soft blue and pink colors stood out sharply against the darkness of night, her expression closed, resolute... ready to crumble.

Having emerged from the bathroom after submerging herself in herbs and a bath to cleanse body and soul, the way her wet, pink hair framed her face made her look gorgeous; yet, the quiet sadness she kept locked up squeezed your heart painfully.

You and your Mamono friends kept a healthy distance to witness the ritual. No great manifestations or miracles occurred, except for brief increases of golden flashes emanating from your father's Focii.

Eventually, your dad lifted his head, moved his long hair out of his face, and nodded to Augustine. One delicate shake of her wrist; one ring spread into the night. Father Sky uses a bell of his own to guide souls into the beyond, the great mystery of existence after a soul leaves its body. This ritual was a simple replica of his sacred duty to help those lingering -but not damned- souls find peace.

The young mother slowly, insistently rang the bell to invite her wayward son.

Ring.
Time passes.
Ring.
Silence.
Ring.
The night remains quiet.
Ring.
''Olin?''
Ring

Eventually, staying so still in the increasing lateness of night had you sit on the grass with Seyraphal imitating you. One of her thin, long white wings buzzed near your back; she allowed you to use it as a makeshift blanket. Fuzzy and comfy.

The light of your father's Focii eventually dimmed. ''I'm sorry, I've misjudged the proper timing for his manifestation.'' He said while getting up. Your mother followed afterward, rubbing her eyes, looking groggy and absent-minded from her trance.