The road was quiet, but Tanthai's heart was screaming.
Rain fell in heavy sheets over the narrow road, blurring the world into streaks of silver and shadow.
He leaned forward on his motorbike,the wind stinging his face, the engine growling louder than his thoughts—but not louder than his pain. Behind him was his father's voice, still echoing in his head.At least I don't live like a robot!" Tanthai had shouted back.
He had stormed out, jumped on his bike, and disappeared into the night. But the anger didn't make him feel strong. It made him feel empty.
He wasn't running away. He just needed to breathe, to think, to stop feeling like a mistake in his own home.
Now, the cool night air wrapped around him like a blanket he didn't ask for. The road outside Chiang Mai was nearly empty, but he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. His eyes were glassy. He blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears burning at the corners.
Then he saw it.
A small shrine stood at the side of
the road, half-buried in overgrown grass and weeds. It looked abandoned—forgotten. The figure in the center was a coiled serpent, its glass eyes glowing faintly green in the dark.
Tanthai slowed down, pulled over, andcut the engine. For a moment, all he could hear was his own breathing and the ticking of the hot engine cooling.
He walked toward the shrine, unsure why. Maybe he just wanted to feel something real. Or maybe he needed someone—something—to listen, even if it was just a stone god in the dark.
The air changed as he got closer. It grew still and heavy, as if the world was holding its breath.
The stone serpent stared back at him
with eyes that seemed almost alive.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against a strange set of carved letters on the shrine's base. They weren't modern Thai—they were older, rougher, carved by a hand long dead.
As soon as he touched them, a sharp pain shot through his finger.
"Ah!" he hissed, pulling his hand back. Blood welled from a thin cut.
But the letters—now glowing faintly—moved under his skin. His blood seemed to feed them.
And then, deep inside his mind, came awhisper:
"Tanthai…"
He spun around.
"Who said that?!"
No answer.
Just the silence pressing in around
him like invisible walls.
The serpent's green eyes seemed to
blink.
Suddenly, light appeared behind
him—headlights.
He turned toward the road.
A car was coming. Fast. Too fast.
Tanthai stepped back, but his foot slipped on wet grass. His body twisted—
And then, everything went white.
No pain. No sound.
Just… weightlessness.
He was floating, suspended in darkness—but not true dark. It was a deep green, the color of river water after a storm. Shapes swam through it. Serpents. Ghosts. Temples. Stars.
A throne of stone sat beneath the
waves.
He couldn't breathe, but he didn't
need to.
A voice echoed through the green.
"You are not the first…
…but you may be the last."
Tanthai woke with a choking gasp.
His back screamed in pain. His legs were trembling. His hands clawed at dirt.
He sat up, coughing, and opened his
eyes.
The road was gone.
The shrine—gone.
He was surrounded by trees. But notthe ones he knew. This wasn't a roadside jungle. This was deep forest—wild,thick, ancient. The smell of wet earth, moss, and something old filled hislungs.
He stumbled to his feet. Every part of his body ached. Was this the afterlife?
He looked down—and froze.
On his right arm, a strange golden
mark had appeared. It shimmered faintly, shaped like a coiled snake, and it was
moving, as if breathing with him.
His breath caught in his throat.
"What… is this?"
His voice cracked. He tried rubbing it
off. Nothing. It was under his skin. It was part of him.
A scream tore from his lips—not loud,
but sharp. His knees gave way, and he collapsed near a stream, shaking.
"I don't understand… What's happening to me?"
The water beside him rippled.
He looked into it and saw his reflection—but it didn't look like him. His eyes had a strange glint. And something was behind him—a tall figure with golden eyes watching from the shadows of his mind.
Another whisper.
"Return to us, child of the flame…"
Suddenly—shouting.
Voices in the trees. Men. Anger.Footsteps crunching through the undergrowth.
Tanthai turned.
Six men stepped out. Their skin was smeared with mud and ashes. Their clothes were old—simple cloth wraps, leather belts, and wooden spears in hand.
They saw him and froze.
Then one pointed and yelled: "Phi Tai!"
A ghost. A spirit of violent death.
They saw him as cursed.
"No, I'm not—" Tanthai began.
Too late.
They charged.
He ran.
Branches tore at his skin. His breath burned in his chest. The jungle felt alive—alive and angry.
He didn't know where he was going. He
just wanted to survive.
Finally, his legs gave out again. He
collapsed, chest heaving, vision swimming.
"Help me…" he whispered.
And the jungle answered.
A voice. Calm. Gentle.
"You are far from where you belong."
Tanthai looked up.
A young monk stood before him, robes orange and eyes full of peace. He looked like a boy and an old man at the same time.
"I dreamed of you," the monk said. "A light fell from the sky, wrapped in serpent fire. It was you."
Tanthai tried to stand, but his legs failed him. "Where am I?"
"This land is called Sukhothai," the monk said. "Long before the world you know."
Tanthai's breath caught.
"That's… impossible."
"Many things are," the monk replied.
"Yet they happen."
The voices of the hunters came closer—sharper now, closer.
"We must leave," the monk said. "They do not understand what you are."
Tanthai looked into his eyes. Calm.
Honest. Like still water under the moon.
"My name is Sangchai," the monk said.
"I will guide you. But the path ahead is dangerous."
Tanthai stared at the golden mark on his arm. Still glowing. Still alive.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered.
"Perhaps," Sangchai said softly. "But it asked for you."
They moved through the jungle together, Sangchai leading with silent steps, Tanthai limping behind. Time seemed to slow. Or bend.
Eventually, they reached stone steps hidden under vines.
A temple stood ahead, broken and covered in moss. Its roof was half gone. Birds circled above.
"This is the edge," Sangchai said.
"Once you step inside, your life will never be the same."
Tanthai looked up at the temple, then down at his marked arm.
He had no home to return to.
He took a deep breath. Not because he was ready…
…but because there was no turning back.
He climbed the steps and stood still.