In a deep cave hidden within the tangled forest, the sound of dripping water echoed through the cold, damp chamber.

Buakes sat weakly against the rock wall, her hair in disarray, her garments stained with dirt and dried blood. In her arms lay a single wooden doll—its face twisted grotesquely, its long, thin body like deadwood, and its eyes hollow and dark.

A soft whisper echoed from the shadowed depths of the cave.

"O maiden... do you still crave what your heart desires?"

Buakes tensed and turned. From the darkness emerged an old woman with wild white hair and bark-like skin, her crimson eyes glowing in the gloom.

Buakes clenched her jaw.

"I want to leave this place. I want what is rightfully mine. The queen's throne... and him!"

The old woman chuckled, a raspy sound that floated through the cavern like a demon's song.

"Then... offer me blood."

"You must seal the pact with your own blood. Only then will I open the path to all that you desire."

Buakes was silent. Her fingers gripped the doll tightly. A part of her hesitated—but the light of greed in her eyes flared brighter still.

She reached into her matted hair and retrieved a silver hairpin, hidden since her days in the palace. The sharp tip gleamed. Her hand trembled slightly before she pressed it against her pale arm. The faint sound of slicing flesh, and crimson blood seeped from the shallow cut.

"If this blood will lead me to what I long for... then so be it."

The first drop fell onto the doll's dry wood, absorbing like parched earth. The old woman lifted her head, inhaling deeply, lips curling into a satisfied smile.

"Good... very good. This blood pact binds you. You shall have what you seek—but remember, all things come with a price."

A sudden chill swept through the cave.

Buakes clutched her arm. The doll trembled in her grasp as if alive. The old woman stepped back, her figure dissolving into the darkness.

Buakes sat unmoving. Blood trickled from her wound, but her heart burned with a fury and greed that would never fade.

"I will take back everything... that was meant to be mine!!"

The echo of her curse filled the cave, repeating endlessly like a vow of vengeance.

...

A soft flute melody drifted from the edge of the forest. Cool wind rustled leaves like whispers from unseen spirits.

Under a great tree by the encampment, Prince Rachasiwong stood with hands clasped, watching the forest through the thin morning mist.

Then—

Footsteps approached. A soldier knelt before him.

"Your Highness... the patrol has discovered the cave where the Black Tiger bandits are hiding!"

The prince raised a brow.

"What did you say?"

The soldier spoke quickly, his voice shaking.

"They concealed the cave with dark magic, but a shift in the wind broke the illusion. It's now fully visible, Your Highness."

Prince Rachasiwong narrowed his eyes and turned toward the riverside pavilion.

He entered without hesitation.

Inside, Prince Wihokrat was bent over a map, the torch beside him blazing.

"Perfect timing," he said. "I’ve already prepared the forces, supplies, and mobile tents."

The prince nodded slowly.

"Excellent, little brother... Tonight, those bandits will not escape me."

His voice was deep and resonant, laced with long-harbored wrath. Soft footsteps approached.

Both princes turned.

KhamIn, clad in his blue servant robe, emerged from the shadows, face flushed by lantern light. He folded his hands and spoke gently.

"My lord... I heard you’re going to chase the bandits tonight. I pray for your and Prince Wihokrat’s safety."

The prince met his gaze.

"Thank you, KhamIn."

"You must stay here. Don’t go anywhere. Wait for me to return. Understand?"

KhamIn nodded, offering a faint smile that warmed the prince's heart.

"I will wait for you to come back safely."

The prince stepped forward and gently placed a hand on KhamIn’s shoulder.

"I promise..."

Then he turned and led the soldiers, dressed in black camouflaged silk, into the forest.

A stream snaked through the moonlit forest. The warriors of Wiang Phasom moved like shadows, silent as they followed the water’s path to the hidden cave—where chains of vengeance awaited release.

...

A pre-dawn wind fluttered black cloaks. Moonlight shimmered on the cliff face and the cave ahead.

Prince Rachasiwong led the silent advance.

The cave mouth loomed like a beast’s jaw, but tonight it would be the trap.

Rustling came from inside. A silent signal was passed.

"Surround every side. Let none escape."

The prince crouched and gave the command.

Suddenly—a cry. Royal soldiers surged forward. Steel clashed, arrows screamed, dust filled the air.

The Black Tiger bandits were caught off guard. Some drew weapons. Others fled like hunted beasts.

In the deepest corner of the cave, Buakes and her maid Kaew panted for breath. Buakes clutched the doll to her chest. The chaos grew louder. She knew this might be her end—or her escape.

She scowled and pulled out a frayed white cloth hidden in her sash—stained with old menstrual blood. Her pale hand lifted it slowly, then flung it onto the head of the bandit chief locked in battle.

A howl rang out.

The chief collapsed, convulsing violently as if cursed. The black magic cloaking the cave shattered in an instant.

Seeing this, the prince struck.

Moonlight flashed along his blade—and with a single strike, the chief's head was severed.

His scream died in his throat. His body fell limp, lifeless.

The soldiers swarmed, clearing the remnants.

Silence fell. Only ragged breaths and pooling blood remained.

The prince glanced at Buakes. She was freeing herself, staggering.

"Take her and her maid. Gather the villagers held captive. We return to the city tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

Buakes stumbled toward him, face streaked with dust and scratches, but her gaze still proud.

"Please don’t tell anyone I was captured... I am ashamed."

Her voice was low, pleading.

The prince regarded her a moment. Then removed his black sash and handed it to her.

"Cover your head... to hide your face."

She accepted it quickly and bowed faintly, eyes lowered.

With preparations complete, the procession began its journey back—across streams and stones, toward the forest camp. And with it, fate turned once more toward Wiang Phasom... with secrets yet hidden from dawn.

...

Before golden rays lit the forest, morning mist cloaked the streams.

The royal army marched silently. Hooves tapped against the damp earth. At the head rode Prince Rachasiwong, victor over the Black Tiger bandits.

By the riverside camp, KhamIn was already waiting—modestly dressed, hands clenched. As the soldiers approached, relief flooded his chest.

He ran forward.

"Brother... are you alright?"

His voice was soft, filled with concern.

The prince smiled gently. His eyes warm, as only KhamIn had ever seen.

"I’m here... standing right in front of you."

KhamIn bowed, restraining himself, knowing someone followed behind.

Buakes, dressed in old garments with her head covered, dismounted carefully. She glanced at KhamIn—then looked away.

"I only sought a place of safety... Thank you, Your Highness, for not abandoning me."

Her voice was clear, heard by all. Her face composed, but envy flickered in her eyes.

"You served the kingdom. That is my duty."

The prince answered formally, then turned to the guards.

"Take her to a temporary tent. Do not let anyone disturb her."

The command was swiftly carried out.

Buakes bowed politely and walked away. Her departing figure colder than ever.

Once out of sight, the prince turned back to KhamIn.

"Don’t worry... I’m fine."

His voice was gentle, reassuring. He placed a hand briefly on KhamIn’s shoulder.

"Tonight... I might finally sleep in peace."

KhamIn offered a faint smile. The worry in his heart began to ease. Morning breeze passed through the fog. The road to Wiang Phasom awaited... with stories yet untold.

...

The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the carved stone path to the royal hall.

Prince Rachasiwong, simply dressed, walked steadily toward the twin-lion teak throne.

King Silawet sat high above, his eyes powerful and unreadable. Beside him, Queen Inthranin smiled softly, her gaze full of pride.

The king spoke, his voice low and resonant.

"You have done well, Rachasiwong. Wiang Phasom is safe because of you."

"I hoped you would grow strong—to bear this kingdom’s burdens."

The queen added gently:

"My son has grown. He returns with victory, without needless bloodshed."

"A blessing to our people."

The prince bowed deeply.

"Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother."

He raised his head, eyes firm.

"Today... I have another request."

"I ask for a royal pardon for Buakes, daughter of Phapang. Though she has sinned, she risked her life to help us. Even if not by intent, her actions aided Wiang Phasom’s survival."

The king paused, his eyes sharp.

"Wrongdoing remains wrong. Merit cannot erase it."

Silence fell.

Then slowly, he continued:

"Let her repay it—as a servant in the royal kitchen. Let her sweep, scrub, carry water and wood. Until I see true remorse, she shall repay her debt with toil."

The queen nodded in agreement.

Prince Rachasiwong bowed again. Though he knew her fate was harsh, it was a rare mercy.

With the decree accepted, he stepped from the hall with quiet resolve.

Outside, KhamIn stood waiting. He bowed respectfully.

The prince stopped before him and spoke softly:

"It’s done. No need to worry."

KhamIn’s eyes reflected the light of the setting sun. Silent faith. Quiet devotion.

...

In the royal kitchen, beneath a smoky wooden roof, Buakes sat silently peeling vegetables. Her face was calm, her once-delicate hands now calloused. Around her, other servants worked quietly, some avoiding her gaze.

She slowly lifted her face. No longer full of fury—only a shadow of something dark and endless.

In her small wooden room, Buakes sat alone. A tiny oil lamp cast long shadows. Before her—a small cloth bundle. Inside, the twisted wooden doll still lay.

She unwrapped it slowly, gently running her hand over its cracked form. Her lips whispered a low chant.

"O spirit... my offering. All I’ve ever wanted was to share love with Prince Rachasiwong."

She reached for a small offering tray. On it lay a raw chicken, still bloody.

Buakes lifted a thin knife, glinting in the firelight, and calmly slit the bird. Fresh blood dripped into an old brass bowl at the doll’s feet.

She raised the bowl, letting the blood trail down her pale arm, then poured it slowly onto the doll.

The flame flickered. The doll seemed to twitch—only for a moment.

Buakes smiled faintly. A smile of emptiness and darkness.

"Soon... those who stepped on me, who crushed my heart... I will feed you fresh blood. You shall be full."

A breeze slipped through the wooden slats. Banana leaves rustled in the corner.

Something… was quietly taking shape.

...

Flags wave above a field soaked in rain,The prince faced darkness, and light reclaimed.With sword of virtue, he freed the plain—A knight on horseback, peace regained.

In a hollow shrine where shadows call,Blood from a chicken stains the floor.Buakes bows to her cursed oath once more—Trading her soul to darken the soil.

...