The address Jiro gave us leads to a house that looks like it's been forgotten by time.
It sits at the end of a narrow dirt road, surrounded by overgrown trees that lean toward it like they're trying to whisper secrets.
The building itself is traditional—dark wood, curved roof tiles covered in moss, and paper windows that glow faintly from within. Wind chimes hang from the eaves, their sound sharp and unsettling in the morning stillness.I stop walking about ten feet from the front gate, my feet suddenly refusing to move.
"Namping?" Kong glances back at me, one hand already on the weathered wood of the gate. "What's wrong?"Everything. Everything is wrong. My skin prickles with awareness, like static electricity dancing across my arms. The air here feels different—thicker, somehow. Weighted. Like stepping into a temple during prayer, except instead of peace, I feel scrutinized. Watched.
"I don't know if I can do this," I whisper.
Kong walks back to me, and Jiro—who's been silent the entire walk here—finally speaks. His voice is soft, almost dreamy. "He's already seen you."I look at Jiro sharply. He's staring at the house with those strange, unfocused eyes of his, the ones that always seem to be looking at something just beyond what the rest of us can see.
His pale fingers clutch the strap of his messenger bag, knuckles white."What do you mean he's already seen me?"
"Your energy," Jiro says simply. "It's loud. Desperate. He felt you coming before you even left your house."A chill runs down my spine. I'm not sure if that's comforting or terrifying.
Kong puts a hand on my back, warm and steady. "We're doing this. Together. Come on.
"I force my feet to move.The gate creaks when Kong pushes it open, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. We walk through a small courtyard—neat, minimalist, with a stone path leading to the front door. There's a garden to the left, filled with plants I don't recognize, their leaves dark and waxy.
Some of them have white flowers that look almost luminescent in the morning light.
Before Kong can knock, the door slides open. And I see him. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, the world narrows to just him.He's younger than I expected—maybe twenty-four, twenty-five at most. Tall and lean, with sharp features that look like they've been carved from stone.
His hair is dark and slightly long, falling just past his ears, and he's wearing simple clothes—black pants, a loose gray shirt, and prayer beads wrapped around one wrist. But it's his eyes that pin me in place.Dark. Endless. Ancient.They look at me, and I feel like I'm being dissected, every layer of my soul peeled back and examined.
My pulse hammers in my ears. My hands start to shake."You're Namping," he says. His voice is quiet and controlled, but it resonates in my chest like the deep note of a temple bell. I can't speak. I just nod.His gaze doesn't waver.
"Come inside."He turns and walks into the house without waiting for a response, leaving the door open behind him. Kong exchanges a glance with me—uncertain, protective—but I'm already moving forward, drawn by something I don't understand.
The interior of the house is dim and cool, lit by paper lanterns that cast soft, flickering shadows on the walls. There's an altar against the far wall, covered in offerings—incense, fruit, candles, and small wooden carvings.
The smell of sandalwood fills the air, mixing with something sharper, more medicinal.
Keng leads us to a low table in the center of the main room and gestures for us to sit. We kneel on cushions, Kong on one side of me, Jiro on the other. Keng sits across from us, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable.For a long moment, no one speaks.Then Keng's eyes find mine again, and I feel that same pull—like gravity, like falling, like something buried deep inside me is waking up.
"Tell me about the haunting," he says. My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and try to find words. "She… she comes every night. At 3:47 AM. I wake up, and I can't breathe, like someone's choking me, but there's no one there. And I see her. A shadow at the foot of my bed. She says my name.""Always the same time?""Always."
"What else?"I glance at Kong, who nods encouragingly. I swallow hard. "Sometimes I wake up in places I don't remember going to. I have bruises I can't explain. Last week, I felt like I was drowning even though I was in my bedroom. And the dreams—" My voice cracks. "The dreams are getting worse."
"What do you see in the dreams?"Fire. Screaming. A woman's face, beautiful and twisted with rage. Hands reaching for me, tearing at me. And sometimes, just for a moment, I see someone else—someone standing beside me, someone whose face I can't quite make out but whose presence feels like safety, like home."I don't know," I lie. "It's all confused. Fragmented.
"Keng's eyes narrow slightly, and I know he doesn't believe me. But he doesn't push. Instead, he reaches into a small wooden box beside him and pulls out a thin stick of incense and a piece of parchment covered in symbols I don't recognize."Give me your hand," he says.I hesitate. Kong tenses beside me.
"It's okay," Jiro whispers. "He needs to read your energy."Slowly, I extend my hand across the table. It's trembling. I try to stop it and fail.
Keng's fingers wrap around my wrist—and the world explodes.A rush of images slams into me, so vivid and overwhelming I gasp out loud:A temple courtyard at night.
Peach blossoms falling like snow. Two figures beneath a tree, their bodies pressed close, fingers intertwined. I'm one of them. The other—His face. I see his face clearly now. Sharp features, dark eyes, lips curved in a rare smile. Keng. It's Keng.
"Promise me," I hear myself say, my voice younger, softer. "Promise me we'll always find each other."
"In every lifetime," Keng whispers against my mouth. "In every world."Then the scene shatters. Fire everywhere. Screaming. A woman clutching her stomach, blood on her hands, her face contorted in agony. "You did this!" she shrieks. "You took everything from me!"
Darkness. Cold. The feeling of falling, falling, falling—I rip my hand away, gasping, my heart slamming against my ribs. The room spins.
Kong grabs my shoulder, steadying me, his voice distant and frantic."Namping! Namping, what happened?"But I can't answer. I'm staring at Keng, who has gone completely still. His face is carefully blank, but his hand—the one that was holding mine—is shaking. Just slightly. Just enough for me to notice."You saw it too," I whisper. His jaw tightens.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." The word comes out sharper than I intended, and Kong looks at me in shock. But I can't stop. "You saw it. You were there. In my past life. We—"
"Enough." Keng's voice cuts through the air like a blade. He stands abruptly, turning his back to us. His shoulders are rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "This session is over."
"What? No!" Kong stands too, angry now. "We came here for help. You can't just—"
"I said it's over." Keng doesn't turn around. "Leave."
"Wait," Jiro says quietly. He's still sitting, his eyes fixed on Keng's back. "You're afraid." Keng freezes.
Jiro tilts his head, his voice gentle but certain. "You're afraid of what you felt. Of what you remembered. You weren't expecting it to be this strong."
"Jiro—" Kong starts, but Keng speaks over him."Get out." His voice is low and dangerous. "Now." Kong grabs my arm, pulling me to my feet. "Come on, Namping.
This was a waste of time."But I can't move. I'm staring at Keng's back, at the tension in his shoulders, at the way his hands are shaking even as he tries to hide it. Something inside me aches, a feeling I can't name. Recognition. Longing. Loss.
"Please," I hear myself say. "Please, I'm running out of time. My birthday is in four months. If you don't help me, I'm going to die.
"Silence.Then, so quietly I almost don't hear it: "I know." Keng turns around slowly. His face is still carefully controlled, but his eyes—his eyes are full of something raw and terrible. Pain. Fear. And something else I can't quite identify.
"I know you're going to die," he says. "Because you've died before. Many times. And every time—" His voice catches, just for a second. "Every time, I couldn't stop it."My breath stops.
"You remember," I whisper."Fragments." He looks away, his jaw tight. "Enough to know this is dangerous. Enough to know I shouldn't get involved."
"But you will." Jiro stands, his expression serene. "Because you can't help it. Because your soul won't let you walk away from him again.
"Keng's eyes snap to Jiro, and for a moment I think he's going to throw us out again.
But then something in him crumbles, just a little. Just enough."Three days," he says finally. "Come back in three days. I need time to prepare."
"Prepare for what?" Kong asks. Keng looks at me, and the weight of his gaze makes my knees weak."To break a curse that's lasted for centuries," he says. "And to make sure that this time, when you turn twenty-two, you actually survive it."