Prologue
The kitchen was dark except for the city bleeding through the windows.
Art sat at the table with his back turned, sleeves pushed to the elbows. A line of fresh green crept along the wood beneath his palms. Art was upset, and he let it show through his essence.
"I thought you weren’t coming back?" Art asked.
"I know." Thanom finally looked at him.
Art’s eyes were the same as they had been when they were younger. The same eyes that held his across the gap between their two narrow cots.
"Hug me… please," Art said quietly.
Thanom paused.
"Thanom." Art stood up.
He stepped into the lamplight and lifted Thanom’s hands, palms up. Violet light pulsed beneath the skin, threading his veins. Art slid his fingers in between them.
"Is it really okay?" Thanom said. “After everything I…”
"Mmm." Art nodded.
Art took Thanom's wrists. The heat hissed against his skin, but Art didn't let go. Green crept down from Art's fingers, curling over the violet, knitting them together at the seam.
"One day this could kill you," Thanom whispered.
He leaned his forehead against Art's.
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Chapter 1: The Boy In The Display Window
The department store was cold.
The man knelt beside Art, his voice soft and gentle. "You need to sleep now, okay? Just for a little while."
Art was four—small, quiet, and blindly obedient. He didn't know the man's name or much else about him. He only knew that the man had held his hand all day, wiped his nose with a handkerchief, and kept calling him 'Jao Nuu.'
Now they stood beside a display bed adorned in floral sheets. On the nightstand, a tray of plastic tea waited with its spoon paused mid-stir.
"Go on," the man said again softly, smiling. "It's time to sleep now."
He lifted Art up and tucked the stiff blanket tight over his shoulders. Then he turned around and walked away without a goodbye. He didn't look back. His footsteps faded away on the polished tile until he vanished.
Art sat up and stared at the spot where the man had turned the corner, past the pile of towels and the pyramid of discounted frying pans.
Sleep, the man had said, but the lights were too bright. Art suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He just wanted to see his home. A sob caught in his chest, but he swallowed it down, shrinking into himself until his knees pressed against his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut. If he fell asleep fast, the man would come back and he could go home.
The next time he opened his eyes, the aisle was empty.
Time stretched. The cold of the department store began to seep through the floral sheets.
Art's bladder ached. He shifted his legs, the plastic mattress cover crinkling loudly beneath him. I need to sleep.
A chime rang out overhead.
Bing-bong. "The store will be closing in fifteen minutes," a muffled voice announced.
The lights dimmed. The mannequins, helpful and smiling in the light, now looked like creepy dolls in the dark. Art pulled the blanket over his head.
The sound of heels clicking on the tile approached.
"Hello? Is someone in there?" A hand ripped the blanket back.
Art gasped, shielding his face with his arms.
A saleswoman in a red vest jumped back, clutching her chest. She stared at him sitting there, eyes closed and curled up.
"Oh my! Hey. Kid? What are you doing? Is your mom in the changing rooms?" She bent down to look closer at his trembling face. "Are you hiding from the mannequins? They creep me out too."
He peered through the cover and just spat back the last order he was given: "I need to sleep."
The automatic doors slid open, carrying the dust of the road and the pungent, garlic-heavy scent of something frying in a wok nearby.
⁕ ⁕ ⁕
The chair was too high, making Art's legs dangle. Across the desk, an officer with a thick neck typed on a keyboard. Clack. Clack. Clack.
He stopped and looked down at Art. His eyes were dark underneath and his breath smelled like coffee.
"Name?" His eyes were glued to the screen.
"Art." He dug his fingernails into his palms.
"Last name?"
Art opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at the saleswoman who had brought him in; she was standing by the door, hugging her purse, looking like she wanted to leave.
"No last name," the officer muttered, typing it in. "Okay, little guy. Phone number? Mommy's name? Daddy's name?"
"Ma…Pa," Art replied but didn't know the rest.
The officer leaned forward, the chair creaking under him. "Yeah? Who brought you to the store?"
Art looked at the black monitor on the desk. A grainy video was paused on the screen. It was the department store. He saw the floral sheets. He saw the back of a man's dark blue windbreaker, his hand resting on a small boy's shoulder.
Art pointed a shaking finger at the screen. "Him."
The officer sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He hit play. The man in the video turned, but the angle was high. All they saw was the top of a head, a blurred profile, and then the man walking out of frame, leaving the boy behind.
"That's it?" the officer asked, looking at the other adults in the room. "That's the best angle?"
"It's the only angle," another voice said.
The officer looked back at Art. Then the typing started again, louder this time. Clack. Clack. Clack.
"Art," the officer said to the screen. "Pending Social Services."
⁕ ⁕ ⁕
The orphanage sat at the end of a long road, shadowed by the golden stupa of the temple next door, partly painted and tired-looking. Near the gate stood a miniature spirit house on a pedestal. It was adorned with garlands of withered jasmine and an open bottle of red Fanta.
Inside it smelled of bleach, faint incense, and the familiar scent of an antique store.
Som, the matriarch, sat behind a metal desk cluttered with forms while the social worker signed a release. "This is Art," the social worker said, clicking her pen. "He doesn't talk much."
She pushed a ledger across the desk, her white robes rustling as she moved.
"Of course. They often don't on the first night. Sign here."
She turned toward Art and pointed her finger. "We have rules, Art. We wake up at six. We eat what is served. And we do not run out the gate. Do you understand?"
Art didn't know what to say, so he just pressed his palms together in a clumsy wai, bowing his head until his chin touched his chest. He held it there, staring at her sandals.
"Good," she muttered, returning to her tangerine. "Another quiet one. Ms. Rin will show you to your room."
A woman with an annoyed face and weary eyes led him down the noisy hallway. "This is the East dorm and it will be your room. That cot is yours," Ms. Rin said, pointing to a corner.
The chatter cut off instantly. The other children dropped whatever they were doing and waied to Ms. Rin. The room was long, lined with cots. A room of faces turned to look at him.
"Settle in," Ms. Rin said, and closed the door.
The silence lingered for a second, then broke.
"Hey." A boy on the next cot leaned over. He was wearing a school uniform.
"You deaf?" Art shook his head. "Mute?" Art looked at his knees. "You're a ghost then," the boy decided, turning to the room. "We got a ghost, guys."
Most of the boys lost interest. Others watched him from the corners of their eyes.
Night fell but Art couldn't sleep. He lay on his side, staring at the wall, listening to the monks chanting next door. Maybe it was supposed to be peaceful, but to Art it was a reminder that he was far away from his family. The room was too muggy. He preferred the cold store.
He held his breath trying to pass out, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to force sleep so the morning would come faster. A shadow fell over his bed. The boy in the uniform was standing there. He lowered his head until their temples almost touched, his words coming out in a brittle hiss. "Don't get too comfortable, Ghost Boy."
⁕ ⁕ ⁕
Before you continue, we want to give you a quick map of the emotional landscape ahead.
This series is a slow-burn. Volume 1 focuses heavily on healing, unbreakable friendships, and the quiet, agonizingly beautiful build-up of first love. However, as the characters grow and their world expands, the stakes become a matter of life and death.
Please be aware that as the series progresses into Volume 2 and beyond, the tone shifts into much darker territory. To ensure you have the best reading experience, please review the content warnings below.
Content & Trigger Warnings for the Series:
Child abandonment, abuse, and life within an orphanage setting
Violence, self-harm depictions, death, and bullying
Intense psychological trauma and manipulation
Note: Explicit sexual content will appear later as the characters reach adulthood.
Our characters will be put through the wringer, but the core of Hidden Resonance will always be about fighting for the people you love.
If you are ready for a heavy, emotional, and supernatural ride—pull up a chair and sit with us under the mango tree. The story is just beginning.
Happy reading, — SN Nomad
