Artit slowly entered the master bedroom and carefully placed Toffee on the bed.
But Toffee wouldn't let go, his hands were gripped tightly around Artit's half unbuttoned shirt. Toffee refused to release him.
Because Toffee wouldn't let go, Artit had to lean down onto the bed along with him.
Artit slowly kissed Toffee's forehead and gently pushed his hair back.
"Toffee... don't be scared... I'm here..." Artit's voice was trembling and weak. He felt like he wanted to cry, but he was stuck. He couldn't let the tears out.
Suddenly, Auntie Ja entered the room.
Seeing Artit like this, she silently walked over and touched his shoulder. Artit looked up at her. Auntie Ja used sign language to speak to him.
"It's alright", she signed. "You can cry... it's alright, son. Let everything out."
With just those few signs, Artit finally broke.
He sat at the edge of the bed and cried without making a sound. He leaned down toward Toffee, his tears falling onto Toffee's face as he hugged him close.
Auntie Ja kept her hand on his shoulder, her touch saying, "It's okay."
After preparing a wet towel and fresh clothes for Toffee, she quietly stepped outside, leaving them alone.
Artit carefully undressed Toffee to wipe his body, leaving not a single spot untouched.
He changed Toffee into clean clothes just as Toffee slowly opened his eyes. Toffee's face was pale as white, and his lips were the pale pink of a dying rose. He was in so much pain.
"It hurts... it's hot..." Toffee whispered. He began touching his own body, moving uncontrollably as if he were burning from the inside.
Artit was terrified. "Toffee... it's alright...It's going to be okay."
Suddenly, Artit's face went stone-cold and serious. He shouted a name, his voice echoing through the massive house.
"RAK!"
Downstairs in the grand hall, someone was busy. He was preparing for a ceremony—arranging offerings, food, and incense with perfect care.
Auntie Ja walked toward him, her face full of sadness.
The man looked at her. "Auntie Ja, what happened? Why do you look like that?" he asked in sign language.
"Rak... I can't stand to see Artit like this", she signed back, her hands trembling. "How many years has he lived this way? I don't know what to tell that poor kid anymore."
Rak walked to her and gently wiped her tears. He wore a simple white shirt and grey leather pants, he looked like someone who hated bright colors. He wasn't very tall, his hair was a bit messy, and his hands were rough. He smelled like someone who spent all his time indoors, away from the sun.
Suddenly, a roar came from upstairs.
"RAK! RAK!"
Rak's eyes widened." Phi is calling", he signed quickly. He turned and ran.
The mansion was so vast that the long stairs and wide halls felt endless as Rak raced toward the master bedroom.
Phi..." Rak hurried inside.
Artit was tense, his voice filled with frustration. "The incense isn't helping. It's not calming him at all." Artit looked as if he were withering away alongside Toffee.
"Phi... let me see." Rak moved closer to the bed. He sat on the floor by the bed, took Toffee's hand, and closed his eyes as he started chanting the mantra.
Closing his eyes, Rak began to whisper ancient mantras, his voice a low hum in the quiet room.
Artit stood there like a statue, his face expressionless and frozen.
Finally, Rak opened his eyes. "Phi... the mantras are not helping. We have to calm his body down, or this fever will break him."
Rak looked at Artit with deep worry. "I will prepare a medicinal bath."
Rak paused, looking at his brother. "Phi... you always told me to have hope. Why do you look like someone who has already lost everything?"
Rak bowed his head in sadness. Artit reached out and gently touched Rak's head. When Rak looked up, Artit gave him a tired, sad smile.
"I think I'm losing it, Rak," Artit whispered.
"Go, prepare the bath. I need a moment alone with him. Make sure everything is ready."
Artit closed his eyes as Rak slowly backed out of the room.
Rak walked down the long, outside corridor and stopped to look at the large lotus pond. "The night was going to be very long."- he said.
"If I weren't cursed... I could truly help my Phi," Rak whispered to the darkness.
His face was expressionless, but even nature seemed to hold its breath, knowing that something was about to change.
At the Wat Nirand Temple...
The light went out. A heavy silence followed, carrying the weight of ancient secrets.
A monk hurried from the courtyard into the inner temple, his voice trembling with age and fear. "How can this happen? Master... it has never gone out. Never once."
To the world, Wat Aranda was just a temple. But to them, they were the Gatekeepers, the ones who guided the trapped souls.
"A soul with a vengeance," the Master said, his voice cold and steady. "It is not just revenge. It is coming to take back what was once his."
His voice was heavy, like someone who had lived through a thousand years of experience.
"Master... I can feel it," the monk whispered. "Something ominous is approaching from the outside."
"Light the guardian lamps," the Master ordered. "Chant every mantra. Call everyone inside. Make sure no one—no one—is left outside tonight."
The Master walked slowly out of the temple into the dark. It was a darkness so thick it felt like it could stab you. There were no stars, only a cold, chilling wind. Nature was no longer calm, the trees were shivered as if they were afraid.
Smelling the air, the Master could feel that something had emerged from a realm it should never have left.
He stopped. In the distance, an unnatural figure was standing still.
The Master gasped, his eyes wide with shock.
"Why..." he breathed. "Why is that thing here?"
The figure moved... just a little.
It had no head. It was a man wearing a traditional shirt soaked in blood. His hands were raw and bloody, with no fingernails left. In his right hand, he gripped a sacred white thread—broken, withered, and forcefully cut."
"Wira..." the Master whispered, his voice shaking. "A blood soul. A soul that refused to leave even after death... a powerful one." He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Why is he in this realm?"
The headless soul seemed to look at the Master, though it had no eyes. But before the Master could act, the figure vanished into the wind, disappearing along with the thick darkness.
Suddenly, the atmosphere returned to normal. The monks stopped their chanting.
One of them standing inside the temple quickly stepped out and walked closer to the Master, waiting for an order.
The Master hesitated, his face pale. Then, he spoke with a heavy heart.
"Call him," the Master commanded. "He is the only one who can take back what has been lost."
"Call him... now."