The night was deep. The rain had stopped at some point, leaving only the sound of water occasionally dripping from the eaves.
Inside the dilapidated thatched hut, an utterly exhausted woman was slumped over the child's bedside. At some point, she had fallen into a deep sleep, the corners of her eyes still damp with tear stains.
The child on the bed's breathing grew ever fainter, like the flame of a guttering candle, as if it might be snuffed out at any moment.
Just then, a strange light quietly appeared outside the window.
It was not moonlight, but a faint, yet constantly pulsing, purplish-red spark, only about the size of a candle flame. It drifted erratically, exuding a malevolent aura.
Like a living Ghost Fire, it silently approached the hut. It paused for a moment before the window, which was riddled with holes, then flowed like water, slipping noiselessly through a slightly larger crack.
The spark fell into the room, and its light suddenly flared!
The next moment!
