Anuchit Thepsuang

That night was a moonless night. The wind blew softly, like any other night.

Anuchit was twenty years old. He woke before dawn as always, walked to sit in meditation beneath the old bodhi tree at the temple's entrance. The abbot was always awake when he arrived. The other monks had already begun their morning chants — the sound drifted from the hall.

Nothing was wrong that day — except that the dogs from the neighboring village had been barking since two in the morning, and had not stopped.

He remembered clearly how the abbot looked up at the sky for a moment, expression thoughtful, then spoke softly: "Tonight... the forest is too quiet."

At half past three, screaming erupted from the hall.

Anuchit ran toward the sound. He found one monk fallen on the floor — eyes wide, breath already gone, a long gash across his throat. No one else in the room.

"...Leave." The abbot spoke in a voice Anuchit had never heard from him before. "Boy. Leave the temple. Now."

He did not leave. He stood frozen — because he saw shadows moving in the corner. Shadows that belonged to no one. Shadows that had eyes.

They came out of the darkness. Not one — many. Each as tall as a grown man. Skin the grey-black of charcoal. Eyes glowing red. Claws long and iron-grey. They did not speak. They made no sound. They moved in silence, like fog.

The monks fought back — some former soldiers, some trained as Anuchit had trained. They answered with staves, bare hands, chanted prayer. None of it worked.

He watched Phii Chan — the man who had taught him his first strike in life — get torn in two in the temple courtyard. He ran to help. The abbot seized his arm. "Don't. He is gone."

The hall began to burn.

The largest demon walked slowly into the hall. It stood taller than any of the monks. No clear face — only a mouth too wide for its head, and three red eyes. It walked straight toward the abbot.

The abbot rose. He held his old walking staff — not a weapon, just an old man's stick. He looked at Anuchit once. A faint smile.

"Boy — remember this night well. Do not let anger consume you."

Then he walked toward it. Anuchit ran after him, but his legs felt like they were not his own. Everything slowed. The abbot struck once — only once — recited an old incantation Anuchit did not know, and then the demon seized him. It lifted him with one hand, like lifting cloth.

Anuchit reached him just as the claws drove through the abbot's abdomen. The abbot did not scream. He only looked at Anuchit. His eyes were still calm. He moved his lips — no sound — but Anuchit could read them. "...Run..."

The demon hurled him to the floor. The abbot's body struck the burning wood. He reached one hand toward Anuchit one last time.

And then he was still.

Anuchit only remembered that something inside him broke.

Not a sound. Not pain. Like a great fire that had been locked in his bones his entire life — finally let out.

His forehead burned. He heard his own voice screaming, but that voice did not sound like his.

Golden light — bright as the sun — burst from him in every direction, destroying the darkness in the hall. The great demon stepped back once. It made a final, hoarse sound — the first sound Anuchit had ever heard it make — something like a frightened animal.

The smaller demons evaporated in the light. The large one fled into the forest.

Anuchit stood in the burning hall, his body glowing gold, not knowing what he had done, not knowing where the power came from.

Then the light went out.

The sky brightened slowly.

He sat beside the abbot's body through the night. He did not cry. Did not speak. Did not move. He only watched the sun rise over the ash and ruin of what had been the temple. In his hand he still held the abbot's walking staff — the one the old man had struck the demon with, one final time. Now it was his.

He buried the abbot in the garden the old man had loved to tend. He buried the other monks with his bare hands. He chanted the prayers he still remembered.

Then he walked into the forest. He told no one. He did not look back. His forehead was still warm from the light of the night before.

He never returned to look at the ruins of the temple.

And three years later, he still did not know the answers.