The walk back feels different.Lighter, somehow. Like the weight I've been carrying for months has lifted just enough that I can almost breathe properly.
Kong is talking rapidly, his voice animated in a way I haven't heard in weeks.
"Did you see how he looked at you? I mean, that was intense. Like, seriously intense. And the way he just knew things without you even saying them—" Kong gestures wildly, nearly hitting a tree branch. "That's real power, right? That's someone who can actually help."
Jiro walks beside me, quiet as always, but there's a small smile on his lips. He looks less tense than he did at Keng's house, like whatever spiritual pressure he'd been feeling has eased."He'll help you," Jiro says softly. "I saw it. In his eyes. He's already decided.
"I want to believe them. God, I want to believe them so badly. But there's something nagging at me, something about the way Keng looked when he touched my hand—like he'd been burned, like he'd seen something that terrified him."What do you think he meant?" I ask. "About not being able to stop it before?"
Kong shrugs. "Past life stuff, probably. Reincarnation and all that. I don't really get it, but if it means he knows how to break the curse, I don't care."
"It's more complicated than that," Jiro murmurs. He glances at me, his pale eyes thoughtful. "Your connection to him is old. Deep. The kind that doesn't break even after death."My chest tightens. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that whatever happened between you two in your past lives, it wasn't simple. And it's not finished."Before I can respond, Kong throws an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
"Hey, stop overthinking. For the first time in months, we actually have hope. Let's just enjoy that for a minute, okay?"
I lean into him, grateful for his warmth, his steadiness. "Okay."
The road we're walking is quiet—too quiet, actually. It's mid-morning, but there are no cars, no people, and no sounds except our footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves. The trees on either side seem to press closer than they did on the way here, their branches creating a canopy that blocks out most of the sunlight.
"Is it just me," Kong says slowly, "or does this road feel longer than before?"Jiro stops walking.I stop too, a chill running down my spine. "Jiro? What's wrong? "He's staring straight ahead, his body rigid, his breath coming in short gasps. "We need to run."
"What? Why—"
"Now!" Jiro grabs my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Run now!"
The temperature drops so fast I can see my breath misting in the air. The trees groan, their branches creaking like old bones, and the shadows—the shadows start to move.Kong swears viciously, already pulling me forward. "Go, go, go!"
We run.My feet pound against the dirt road, my lungs burning, my heart hammering so hard I think it might burst.
Behind us, I hear it—a sound like wind rushing through a tunnel, growing louder, closer, filled with whispers that scrape against my mind. Namping. Namping. Namping.
"Don't listen!" Jiro gasps beside me. "Don't listen to her!"
But it's too late. The voice wraps around me like chains, pulling at me, slowing my steps. My legs feel heavy, like I'm running through water. Through mud. Through concrete. Kong looks back and sees me falling behind. "Namping, come on!"
I'm trying. I'm trying so hard, but my body won't cooperate. My vision blurs at the edges, darkness creeps in, and suddenly I'm not on the road anymore.I'm standing in fog.Thick, gray fog that swirls around my ankles, rising to my knees, my waist. The road is gone. Kong and Jiro are gone. I'm alone in a world of mist and silence.
"Hello, Namping." I spin around, my heart in my throat. She's there. For the first time, I see her clearly. Not just a shadow, not just a silhouette, but a real person. A girl— no, a woman, though she can't be older than nineteen. She's beautiful in a heartbreaking way, with long dark hair and delicate features, wearing a traditional dress that might have been white once but is now stained with something dark and wet. Her eyes are what freeze me in place.
They're black, completely black, like staring into an abyss. And they're filled with rage so pure, so absolute, that it makes my knees weak. "Joonjae," I whisper. She smiles, but it's not a kind smile. It's the smile of something that has forgotten how to be human.
"You remember my name. How sweet." I try to back away, but my feet won't move. The fog holds me in place, tendrils of it wrapping around my ankles like hands."What do you want from me?" My voice comes out shaky, pathetic.
"What do I want?" She tilts her head, that terrible smile widening. "I want you to suffer. I want you to feel every moment of pain I felt. Every moment of betrayal. Every moment of loss."She glides closer—she doesn't walk, she glides, her feet not quite touching the ground. "You took everything from me. My love. My child. My life."
"I don't remember!" The words burst out of me, desperate. "I don't remember what happened! I don't know what I did!"
"Liar." Her voice drops to a hiss, and suddenly she's right in front of me, her face inches from mine. Her breath is cold, smelling of earth and decay. "Your soul remembers. Even if your mind doesn't, your soul knows exactly what you did."
Tears stream down my face. I can't stop them. "Please. Please, I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" She laughs, and the sound is like breaking glass. "You think sorry is enough? You think centuries of hunting you, killing you, watching you beg and plead and die is enough?" Her hand—solid, real, and cold as ice, wraps around my throat. I choke, gasping, clawing at her fingers.
"I've killed you seventeen times," she whispers, her black eyes boring into mine. "Seventeen lifetimes I've ended, and this one will be no different."
"The shaman—" I manage to gasp out. "He's going to help me—"
Her grip tightens, and I see stars.
"The shaman? You mean Keng?" She laughs again, cruel and mocking.
"Oh, Namping. Sweet, stupid Namping. He can't save you. He couldn't save you then, and he can't save you now." She leans closer, her lips almost touching my ear.
"He loved you, you know. In that first life. Loved you so much he was willing to destroy everything for you. And look what it got him. Look what it got all of us." My vision is fading, darkness creeping in from all sides. I'm dying. Right here, right now, on this road with my friends somewhere nearby but unable to reach me.
"No one can save you," Joonjae whispers. "Not the monks. Not your friends. Not even him. You're mine, Namping. You've always been mine." Just when I think my lungs are going to burst, just when I'm sure this is it, this is how I die—A hand grabs my shoulder, warm and solid and real.The fog shatters.
I'm back on the road, gasping, on my hands and knees. Kong is crouched beside me, his face pale and terrified, shaking me.
"Namping! Namping, can you hear me?"
"He stopped breathing," Jiro says, his voice shaking.
"For almost a minute, he just stopped breathing.
"I cough violently, my throat raw, my chest heaving. When I touch my neck, I feel wetness—blood. When I look at my fingers, they're red.
"What the hell just happened?" Kong demands, looking around wildly. "One second you were running with us, the next you just collapsed."
"She was here." My voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Joonjae. She pulled me into—into somewhere else. She said, "I stop, my whole body trembling." She said Keng can't save me. That no one can."Jiro kneels beside me, his hands hovering over my shoulders like he's afraid to touch me.
"She's scared."I look at him through tear-blurred eyes.
"What?"
"Joonjae. She's scared. That's why she attacked you now, why she's getting more aggressive. She knows you've found Keng. She knows what that means." "It means I might actually survive," I whisper, the realization hitting me.
"It means she might lose," Jiro corrects quietly. "After centuries of revenge, after seventeen lifetimes of killing you, she might finally lose. And that terrifies her."
Kong helps me to my feet, keeping a protective arm around me. "Then we get you back to Keng. Now. Screw waiting three days."
"No." I shake my head, even though every instinct is screaming at me to run back to that house, to those dark eyes that somehow make me feel safe. "He said three days. He needs time to prepare."
"Namping—"
"Three days, Kong." I look at my best friend, trying to sound braver than I feel. "I've survived twenty-one years. I can survive three more days."The words sound hollow even to my own ears.We walk the rest of the way home in silence, Kong and Jiro flanking me like guards, their eyes constantly scanning the shadows. The sunlight feels weaker than it should, the air colder.And with every step, I feel her watching.Waiting.Counting down the days until my twenty-second birthday.Until she can finally finish what she started centuries ago.