After that, the sisters started watching some show on a phone and occasionally scrolling through TikTok. Niran pulled his legs up onto the bed and kept staring at the bubbling liquid. San’s question hadn’t really upset him - but it had the power to throw his thoughts back to the past. He had consciously and completely blocked out those memories. Still, they were exactly what fueled his drive to keep going. Niran also realized he hadn’t thought of his brothers in as long as he hadn’t seen them. They had scattered, and over these years vampire hunters might have caught them. The emotional bond that once connected their kind was long gone, so if they had died, he wouldn’t feel a thing. That fact alone filled him with sorrow.  There was a time when they spent days together. Maybe, just maybe, that was also part of why he wanted to revive the vampire race. He glanced at the clock, surprised to see that nearly two hours had passed. He found San by the window.

“Oh, look, Bamboo stick is coming back to the university? Bit late,” San frowned and glanced at Niran.

“He’s got classes in the afternoon,” Niran deduced, remembering he’d given Dao a ride earlier and the guy had mentioned being in a rush for his classes. “Stop staring out the window. Has your weird green liquid boiled enough?”

“Yes, about ten more minutes. It’s supposed to take on a metallic sheen—should happen soon,” Naam nodded. “Meanwhile, we can start drawing the special signs with paint. Ji, would you handle it?”

“Alright,” she walked over to the vampire. “P’Niran, could you take off your shirt so we don’t get it dirty?” Niran arched an indignant eyebrow but slowly started undoing his buttons.

“I hope I don’t have to take off my pants,” he said coldly.

A vampire’s physical form depended on how well-fed he was. Niran ate well and regularly, with no shortage of fresh blood. So when his shirt no longer hid his body, the witches flushed at the sight of his chiseled, muscular torso. He wore a size up to avoid drawing attention. But even when he merely rolled up his sleeves at a restaurant, someone would inevitably offer him a glass of champagne or a drink. He was popular without even trying. Ji had it the worst. Her hand trembled as she painted spirals on his skin, trying to think about mountains and sheep, so she wouldn’t embarrass herself. But Niran could smell her arousal. While the fortune-teller was finishing all peparations, the other witches stirred the mixture in the pot—until an unpleasant click echoed. They all looked around but found no source of strange sound. At that moment, the liquid finally turned the right color.

“We’re ready. P’Niran, you can sit in front of the pot in lotus position and just look,” Naam started guiding the vampire. “Your main task is to focus solely on the thought of finding your Marked one. Once your mind is clear, lower your face into the liquid with your eyes open. It’s not hot.”

Niran simply nodded and began following her instructions. Clearing his mind of thoughts about his brothers, his family, and the heavy past wasn’t easy for him. He realized he no longer remembered their faces. It had been that long. Still, thoughts of the Marked one began to fill his head, drop by drop, like water filling a vessel. The Marked one became a goal—that one Niran would reach. He had waited long enough, and he wasn’t going to stop now. And maybe the vapors had finally messed with his mind, or maybe the ritual was working, but he saw some petals in the liquid. He leaned forward to dip his face in. In that instant, he found himself in a room. It resembled those he’d seen on the outskirts of Bangkok and in rural villages —filled with old furniture, aded paintings, and dust—but what shocked him was that fact that all was covered with long green leaves. When he reached for one, he realized, to his surprise, he was holding money. And then the vision began to fade. He lifted his head and looked at the witches.

“Ji,” Naam commanded and the marks on Niran’s body lit up with a white glow, as did fortune teller’s eyes.

“Weakness. The current Marked one’s conduit is weakness,” she said in a voice that wasn’t her own. “The soul’s karma demands  reverence. As the Chosen one nears the Marked one, his vampire powers will fade and distance… brings death.” She said. “This applies to all vampires. All four brothers. When the Chosen one finds the Marked one, a flower tattoo will appear on his left shoulder blade. Your flower is Angraecum.” She blinked back to normal and looked at Niran. “That’s all. I don’t know why the sign was so strange. It’s like something broke.”

“Still, there’s hope to find—”

“What the hell is this…” Niran growled, dipping his hand into the water. Between his fingers, he held a pink fingernail. His eyes darted to the witches’ hands. “I think I know why the ritual went strange. Show me your hands.”

Silence fell. None of them showed to Niran their fingers. His eyes flashed—and that was when San suddenly bolted for the door.

“Run, San!” Naam shouted.

Everything became clear to Niran. Normally, no one could escape an enraged vampire—but he suddenly felt weak in his legs. He jumped up to chase her, only to realize San had already left the room and was sprinting down the corridor. The sisters didn’t try to stop him and the vampire continued chasing. The rage was ripping him apart from the inside. Even if the ritual had worked, now he was vulnerable near his Marked one and would die if separated too far. And if San didn’t manage to escape and hide for the next twenty four hours—he’d break her neck.

He burst into the corridor and saw her hair whip as she reached the stairs. Only one other person stood there, also watching her—Dao. But Niran was too angry to care—or notice that his strength had completely left him. He ran forward. Dao turned at the sound of heavy footsteps. His eyes widened, mouth falling open in shock. Niran looked terrifying—like a wild bull before ritual slaughter. Half-naked, red with fury, covered in paint, barefoot and in his expensive trousers. He didn’t mean to touch Dao, but as he rushed past in the narrow corridor, it happened. In that instant, a searing, unimaginable pain pierced his left shoulder blade—and Niran screamed. He hadn’t felt anything like that in centuries—if ever.

His body convulsed, then freezed. The vampire tried to fight for control of his limbs, but they rebelled, carrying him straight into a shocked Dao. He tried to catch and calm him, but everything went wrong. Even weakened by the ritual, Niran’s strong body easily pinned Dao to the floor. Even weakened, Niran’s powerful body easily knocked Dao to the ground, pinning him as he thrashed and screamed in agony. Naam and Ji rushed out of the room, trying to restrain him. They flipped Niran onto his back, but it was Dao—running on pure adrenaline—who straddled him and pinned him down while the girls held his legs. He grabbed Niran’s shoulders. At first, he thought it was a seizure, but Niran looked… possessed. Literally. Then Dao pressed harder—and a miracle happened —Niran’s body began to relax.

“Bamboo stick..?” Niran whispered, stunned and looked at Dao’s hands on his shoulders, then at the witches, and finally at the ceiling. “I…”

“You fell,” Dao whispered, pale. He looked at Niran with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m screwed,” Niran answered, unable to lift his arms.  

He looked into the eyes in front of him— and clearly saw the flicker of violet light.