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Khem’s funeral was as quiet as his twenty-one years of life. The villagers - who had known him only for a short while but loved him as if he were one of their own - stood alongside his classmates, who had only recently left his side when the camp ended. Grandma Si and his father were behind the house, in the yard at the back. Up front stood Jet, barely keeping himself upright as he leaned against Charn for support, and before them all was Pharan - who hadn’t moved from the spot since Khem’s coffin had been placed there that morning.
Everyone could feel the cold silence that hung in the air. A young boy had died in the spring of his life. Though his classmates and the townsfolk were told he had fallen suddenly ill, only a few knew the truth - and even they wished, deep down, that the lie had been real.
A sickness might have had a cure, or at least its suddenness could have been accepted - but they could not bring themselves to accept that a hateful karma had taken him away from them.
For years, Khem’s father had seen this moment in his nightmares, and now he was forced to face the pain of breaking the promise he had once made to Khem’s mother. Losing his wife had already made him feel as though the whole world had collapsed around him - yet that sorrow was nothing compared to what he felt now. The poor man could barely stop himself from clinging to the coffin and screaming that he wished he had died instead. But he stayed still, motionless, because he wanted his beloved son’s soul to leave this world in peace.
Grandma Si, who had already lost so many people dear to her, was tormented by the helplessness of knowing there was nothing she could do but pray. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that the sweet, gentle boy she had known for only a few months was gone. As a white witch, she could feel Khem’s still heart - though she didn’t need her power to know it; they all knew he wasn’t coming back. But because of that very gift, Grandma Si could feel more than just Khem’s silence - she could also sense the shattered hearts of three souls whose will to live had died with him.
Jet leaned against Charn, staring at the coffin before him. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, his face pale as ash. Since the night before, the only word that had left his lips was his friend’s name. He had promised to protect him. Khem had been his first true friend - and he had died right before Jet’s eyes, before Jet could even reach out to save him. Jet couldn’t accept it. He refused to believe that the heart now stilled inside that coffin belonged to Khem.
Even the spirits that lingered around them had withdrawn from the forest, standing still as they waited for Khem’s funeral to begin. They, too, could not help but grieve in the face of so much sorrow.
Thong and Ake were there too, crying for Khem - someone they loved deeply and saw as a true friend.
As Charn held Jet, his own tears fell quietly into Jet’s hair. He had met Khem at the same time as the others from camp, yet he had spent more time with him - cared for him more deeply, shared his worries with him. He had been the first to want to help him, and now he was the first to lose him. It all felt meaningless, as if every effort had been in vain. If only I had sensed that something was going wrong earlier, he thought, but it was far too late - what was done could never be undone.
And at the very front stood Pharan - silent since the day before, never leaving Khem’s side, following wherever his body was taken. He seemed barely alive himself, as though even breathing had become too much to bear. The wind tugged at his already disheveled hair and the fabric of his shirt, yet there was no movement in his face, no rise or fall in his chest. “I promised your mother, Jet, Charn, your father - and most of all, myself - that I would protect you. But now you’re there… and I’m still here.” The thought filled his mind like a waking nightmare.
All he had ever wanted was to be with him - to win, just once, in this life. To stay by his side. But now, he didn’t feel the pain of an ordinary person mourning someone they loved; it felt as though his very existence had been stripped away. Seven lives. All ending the same way - in sorrow.
Pharan’s pain was unbearable - it burned inside him like fire. He wanted to take Khem out of that box, to lay him back on the bed where they had once fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Khem shouldn’t have been lying in that cold coffin; he should have been beside Pharan. This wasn’t fair - none of it was.
Pharan, who had spent his whole life respecting and helping every living and unliving thing, now hated them all. He despised the grandfather who had taught him those values, the family who had brought him into this world, the village, the spirits - life itself. He was sick of everything. All he wanted was Khem. For the first time in his life, he had fought so hard for a purpose - and in the end, he had lost not only that purpose, but also the person he loved.
As white smoke began to rise from the chimney, the heavy silence was shattered - Pharan’s ears filled with a sound so piercing, it felt as though someone were screaming directly at him.
“Don’t cry. Peem, please don’t cry. I love you so much,” said the voice.
The moment Pharan heard the voice, his knees nearly gave out beneath him. It was as if someone had suddenly shoved him, sending a tremor through his body. He pushed himself up from the ground and looked around frantically - but there was nothing. He couldn’t see Khem’s spirit anywhere.
Startled by his sudden movement, Jet and Charn rushed to his side, each grabbing one of his arms to steady him. But Pharan didn’t respond. He didn’t even seem to hear them. His eyes darted desperately around, searching for any trace of the one he loved.
When the villagers and the children noticed the movement in front of them, they began whispering softly among themselves. With the support of Khem’s father, Grandma Si rose from where she was sitting and walked toward the three young men standing before her.