The last funeral

"Lloyd! Come here quickly!"

After Humbert's departure, another case occurred—one that was not Arto. Another child was writhing in pain, screaming, his foot twisting unnaturally, more violently than usual, to the point its color changed completely. Just looking at it made you feel it would explode.

The doctor arrived, and upon seeing that the child was taking his final breaths, he injected him to die quickly.

The priest collapsed onto the floor in horror. This was the most severe case so far. At the same time, the doctor rushed upstairs to ensure Arto wasn't experiencing a similar violent seizure.

As he entered, he found Arto's body trembling. He wasn't screaming, nor was pain visible on his face, but his body was shaking with a terrifying intensity, enough to make the bed itself rattle. His eyes were open, but no pupils could be seen. His temperature was extremely high, and blood trickled from the little one's nose. The doctor was torn between two choices—either inject him with the euthanasia dose or the special serum designed to lower his fever and ease his pain.

Arto's trembling only intensified. The sound of his teeth chattering was loud. The doctor grew more anxious as he watched him, then finally took out the syringe and injected him.

The doctor, Lloyd, left and walked heavily toward Father Christopher, looking at him with eyes full of despair, helplessness, and failure.

"Bring two pieces of cloth. Let's move their bodies…"

After covering the first child's corpse and placing it in the downstairs room—where Humbert was expected to collect both bodies for burial—the doctor couldn't help but imagine poor Humbert's reaction. Humbert had never believed in ghosts, evil spirits, or any of that...

It was time to move Arto's body. The doctor and the priest climbed to the fourth floor, exhausted from the sleepless nights. Suddenly, a young boy came rushing up the stairs, with others following behind. One of them looked at the doctor and said with a wide smile:

"Arto is awake!!"

The doctor turned to the priest, unsure if he'd actually heard the same words or if he was hallucinating from exhaustion. Their steps quickened. They found many children gathered around Arto's room, both inside and out.

"Make way!" the priest shouted so they could enter. And as soon as they stepped in, they saw Arto sitting on the edge of the bed, embraced by the other children, who were celebrating his survival.

Some asked, "Where did you go? How did you survive? What happened while you were asleep?"

Meanwhile, the doctor approached in shock to examine Arto's feet—they had returned to normal! Although large bruises remained and his face was pale and tired, he looked... fine!

He pulled a notebook from his pocket and spoke loudly:

"I want everyone outside. Even you, Father Christopher."

Once he ensured the room was empty, he locked the door and pulled up a chair to sit across from Arto. After a few moments of silence, the doctor spoke:

"You should be dead. I gave you a fatal injection."

"But I'm alive. Aren't you happy about that?"

"Of course! I'm overjoyed to see you well again. But I don't understand. This makes no sense... How?"

He kept examining Arto over and over. He had documented everything. But there was no logical explanation for what had happened. Nothing about this made sense from the beginning. Arto was supposed to die. Yet here he was—alive. This only deepened the doctor's confusion.

Humbert returned that afternoon, filled with fear and hesitation as he approached the orphanage. He was afraid of what awaited him. Would Arto really be okay? Would he be able to walk again?

It was lunchtime for the children at the orphanage. He didn't know whether they had already eaten or were just starting. He approached the front door, paused before it with a sigh, his heart still racing.

The orphanage door opened, and the children came running out toward the garden across the way.

Humbert stood, scanning their faces one by one, searching for Arto among them—until the doctor appeared, and behind him was a boy walking on crutches. It was Arto. Tears welled in Humbert's eyes, and he rubbed them quickly, unable to believe what he was seeing. He rushed toward Arto and fell to his knees, embracing him tightly. Arto returned the hug and began to cry.

"He's gone. Your father is here now."

"Dad…"

"Yes, your father, my son."

Arto clung to Humbert, sobbing harder. After a while, he calmed down, and Humbert let him join the others playing in the garden. Though he still feared Astor might be among them, he dismissed the thought after seeing the smile on his son's face as he played.

He went inside. The doctor followed him, bombarding him with questions, oblivious to Humbert's exhaustion. Eventually, the endless questioning ceased as the man collapsed into sleep on the bed. It had been a long night for him.

Later that evening, after waking, Humbert went to bury the final child's body. He knew deep down it could have been Arto in that place. He knew that child was a sacrifice for Arto—and for the others. As horrifying as the child's condition had been, a quiet sense of relief and gratitude filled Humbert. It wasn't his son. Maybe if that child had a father who loved and protected him, he would've done the same...

That night, he had his last dinner with the priest and the doctor, then packed up everything for himself and Arto. He didn't wait for morning—he still feared it might happen again. He hated that orphanage… and everyone in Saint Nicholas.

Before they left, Humbert gave one final look back at the place and vowed never to return. Arto slept with his head resting on Humbert's chest the entire way. When they arrived, Humbert carried him upstairs in his arms—despite the agony in his knees. He wanted so badly to make everything good again. A fresh start as a father.

After some time, everything returned to normal—almost. But Arto became forgetful. The doctor had warned this might happen due to the trauma he endured. What was strange, though, was that some of Arto's behaviors changed. He started liking porridge—a food he once hated—and loved it dearly. He also began drawing. Perhaps it was the influence of that boy at the orphanage who used to draw and who later met his end at the hands of Astor...

A knock at the door interrupted Humbert as he chopped potatoes. Probably another telegram about a funeral somewhere. A tall shadow was cast on the frosted glass of the door. He reached for the handle and opened it, speaking before he looked up:

"Sorry, I've retired from funeral services and—"

"Humbert Duclerc… Ah, you've grown old."

A shiver ran through him at the sound of the man's voice. He raised his head, analyzing the face before him—it was the man who had ruined his life.

"It's been a long time, little brother."

"Why are you here…"

"Simply put, I've come to see my son."