Somchai’s breath came in ragged gasps as his body shook with the aftershocks of the brutal fight. The jungle seemed to close in around him, the distant cries of his people, the sound of battle, fading away. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he wasn’t in the jungle anymore. He was back in his village—the flames licking at the sky, the smoke choking the air, the screams of his people as they were torn from their homes.
His father’s voice echoed in his mind, weak but filled with wisdom: “Somchai, remember... the Crane does not strike with anger... the Crane strikes with wisdom, with grace. Do not let hate control you.”
The memory of his father’s dying words cut through him like a blade. His heart twisted in pain. The anger, the grief—it had all led him here. To this moment. To this fight. But what was he fighting for? Was it justice? Or was it simply a reflection of his desire for vengeance?