The last funeral

The rain was pouring heavily on the other side of the city.

Humbert pressed on despite the fierce storm.

The shore was still several miles away.

He couldn't see the road clearly—he didn't even know if he had taken the wrong path yet.

The dense fog ahead had blurred the tracks beyond recognition.

Those memories surged over him like raging waves—Camilla, Arto...

How had he never taken advantage of those days to grow closer to Arto?

He hadn't yet taught him how to fish, or anything else.

All Arto knew was washing corpses and burying them.

He'd never once told him he loved him.

The horse quickened its pace, causing the carriage to overturn after hitting a hidden pit.

But this didn't stop Humbert.

He climbed out, brushing off his clothes, pulled out his bag, and began walking briskly.

By his calculations, he was close to his destination.

Minutes later, he finally saw the shore.

That massive body lay sprawled there, dead as it ought to be.

He approached the whale with quick, uneven steps and entered its mouth without hesitation.

He pulled out several pieces of wood, poured some kerosene he had brought with him, and lit a fire.

Then he took out his notebook and several items which he arranged around him.

He was racing against time, pushing aside his fear—and the foul stench.

He opened the worn leather-bound book, its edges frayed and threatening to fall apart, its cover barely hanging on by age.

He searched for the page on summoning spirits through dead whales until he found it, tattered like the rest.

Taking a deep breath, he began reciting the words written there in a trembling voice.

Nothing happened during the first fifteen minutes.

But after repeating it more than five times, he saw something moving beneath the flesh of the whale's jaw.

It resembled quicksand, opening a fissure downward.

The movement ceased as a small boy emerged from within the gap.

He stepped out slowly—a child with twisted feet, or rather, severed feet!

Yet he walked like a normal person toward Humbert.

He stopped before the fire and stared silently at Humbert.

Humbert swallowed slowly and said,

"You are Aster?"

"And you are Humbert. I know you. You tried to help the children."

"So it is you! I've come all this way to speak with you."

"I know you're here for Arto..."

Humbert studied the boy's face carefully.

His eyes were violet—almost red.

Strands of his hair were matted with blood; the parts not covered were white as snow.

He'd never seen a human like this before, but he had heard of cases where humans looked this way.

The boy's age seemed close to that of the other orphans, except Arto, who looked much younger.

"My son—you are hurting him. Please leave him alone."

"Hurt? I never hurt anyone."

"How can you say that when more than seven children have died?

Do you even realize what you're doing?

You torture them so they die from the pain!

Why do you do this? What are your intentions?"

He could hardly believe he was speaking to a spirit.

His hands trembled lightly, yet in this moment, he felt a strength that made him forget everything before.

"To live—I want to live."

"But you're already dead!"

"Don't say that. I will live.

I just need the right body..."

He said coldly.

"What do you mean by that?"

Humbert asked in astonishment.

"All of them were unsuitable.

They were affected by what I lost.

And what I lost were my feet."

Humbert looked down at his own feet—yes, below the knees was a gruesome stump.

The missing parts appeared to be there, but translucent.

"How… how did you lose your feet? Is it true that your father…"

He noticed Aster's features change the moment his father was mentioned.

His eyes widened as if a painful memory and violent shock had returned to him.

He tapped his thumbnail against his pinky nail, as if trying to tear the latter out.

"My father… cut off my feet with a saw and wanted to graft horse hooves instead.

He hated me. He never loved me."

He spoke quietly, then after a moment said,

"He thought I killed the horse.

He saw me as a curse, robbed me of my life… and I want to take it back."

When ignorance mixes with hatred, madness, and the power to do as one wishes—

this is what can be called a curse, or perhaps the work of the devil.

"Your father was surely mistaken!

Luck is never tied to the children themselves.

He truly doesn't deserve to be called your father."

He said warmly—unusually so—imagining his own little son.

"Aster, you are the unlucky child to have that man as your father.

And there are many children like you in this world—born into such conditions.

Some are thrown into rivers at birth, others left on shores to be found and cared for.

As for you, your father was different… he was mad in his mind."

He noticed the boy's fingers beginning to squeeze so tightly that he tore part of his nail.

He didn't know how to handle these memories that brought such pain.

"Do you love your son?"

He asked.

"Very much.

Since Arto entered my miserable life, much has changed.

You would love him if you knew him.

He can be talkative when excited, but you wouldn't want to block your ears to what he says.

He's smart and funny.

Also… he wanted to learn carpentry, but I know nothing of it, so I forced him to work with me burying the dead.

I regret it deeply.

And when all this is over, thanks to you, I'll make sure he learns carpentry like he wanted."

He paused for a moment to catch his breath.

How long had he been inside the whale? The air was growing heavy.

Then he said,

"That's why you must leave him alone. Please… leave them all.

I truly don't want to lose anyone I love again."

The sound of raindrops struck the dead whale's back, the stench growing stronger inside with every passing minute.

Sweat poured down the forehead of the man sitting by the fire, waiting for the boy's answer—that he would stop.

But there was no reply—only those large violet eyes staring.

"Please…"

Humbert begged with a noticeable pleading tone.

After a moment, a smile spread across Aster's face, and he said softly,

"I wish you were my father."

He turned his gaze away—out from the whale's mouth toward the storm beyond.

"Very well. Arto is yours now."

A relief unlike anything Humbert had ever felt washed over his heart, bringing back his breath.

Then he said,

"And the others! You won't hurt them, will you?"

"You are here only for Arto…"

"No! You must stop hurting the rest, too.

They're all children like you—innocent and undeserving of this pain.

No child deserves to suffer… and neither did you."

"There must be a sacrifice to make you stop…"

"And what is that?"

He fell silent for a moment and sighed.

"Don't worry—the last child already sacrificed himself. I will stop."

He stepped back toward the gap he had emerged from.

Before he left, he raised his left hand and waved farewell,

moving only his pinky finger in a strange way, then said,

"Go and hold your son. That's what I always wished my father had done for me."

Then he vanished completely..