In the world under the sun, things are too blunt, lacking the winding paths of sensibility and obscurity, devoid of that hint of mystery.

Thus, most wondrous tales begin in the embracing dark of night.

Beneath darkness's cloak, the storyteller's hands first take to the page, the pen scratching softly in the void, sketching the outline of the tale bit by bit.

Like the first light piercing the night...

"Boom"

Under the tranquil night sky, a piercing screech tears through the silence, a terrifying wave of sound explodes, shattering all the glass in the room as if struck by an invisible fist.

Amidst the screams of men and women, a frightening chaos descends.

Flames follow the blast, rolling madly across the trembling ground, like demons unleashed from hell, howling as they engulf the countryside villa, sweeping the careless into a fiery abyss, their pitiful cries echoing as they pray to every deity they know, to no avail.

Despair spreads through the inferno.

"Wilton, get up, please get up!"

Bathed in the searing glow, a disheveled woman in her nightgown kneels on the ground clutching a baby, trying desperately to lift her fallen husband.

But fallen bricks weigh him down, flames rapidly encroach behind him, his face slick with sweat, eyes wide with panic as he frantically struggles to escape this grim fate.

He cannot.

He is just an ordinary man, a mere mortal.

"Go! May, leave!"

With his hands pressed against the ground, the weight of the bricks crushing him, growing heavier as if heralding hell's descent. In the increasingly scorching room, under the flickering flames, he senses his impending doom.

In the face of disaster, he struggles to save himself, but he refuses to drag his family down with him.

The man feels the fire spreading rapidly behind him, his sweaty face contorts, and a look of determination flashes in his eyes as he yells to his weeping, helpless wife:

"Take the child and go! Hurry, I'm beyond saving..."

"I..."

The woman looks at her husband in despair, wanting to help, but the cries of the newborn in her arms grow more intense. This freshly born life seems to sense the danger, crying out instinctively for help.

The baby's cries jolt the woman into action; she takes one last look at her husband, then, with teeth clenched and tears wiped from her face, she stumbles and turns, shielding the infant with her arms as she charges into the corridor.

Behind her, her love, the father of her child, Wilton Riley, watches his wife and son escape the inferno. In the next few seconds, this man, who fulfilled his duties as a husband and father in his final moments, is swallowed by the raging flames.

"Bang"

Another explosion, the wooden house offers no resistance to the flames, and as the woman is about to escape the blaze, the second floor collapses almost entirely, burying her in the burning embers.

But even as she falls, a mother's instinct compels her to hold her baby close.

Even as flames catch her clothes, even as blood seeps from her wounds.

"No!"

The woman shakes off the embers, screaming in panic, but everywhere she looks is consumed by fire.

There is no hope left.

She and her child have no escape.

"Someone, please save us! I beg of you, save us."

Her cries of helplessness fill the air; she cannot fathom why such a nightmare has befallen them, but prideful fate never deigns to explain itself to mortals.

Yet, in times of despair, prayers... may still hold power.

In the sea of fire, Mrs. Riley's helpless prayers are finally answered at the moment her consciousness begins to fade.

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A response from a higher will.

Mrs. Riley thinks she's hallucinating as the flames before her eyes part bit by bit, like curtains being drawn back.

A phantom figure steps through the fire, approaching her.

He is dressed in a crisp black suit, a white shirt with an upturned collar beneath, and a blue-rimmed gentleman's hat atop his head, with a broad blue cape billowing behind him.

The flames dance around him but cannot touch him; an invisible force repels the fire, forcing it to recede, forming a clear arc around them, a shelter amidst the disaster.

The mysterious visitor stands before the injured woman, looking down at her as she looks back at him. Beneath the wide brim of his hat, she can see a face obscured by shadow and sideburns white as snow.

"Are you here to save us?"

Relief breaks through her sobs. But the mysterious man shakes his head in response to her hopeful inquiry, his magnetic voice intoning:

"I cannot save you, Mrs. Riley."

He pauses, then crouches down, extends a hand gloved in black, and gently wipes the ashes from the woman's face amidst the baby's cries, softly explaining:

"You and your husband will perish in an accidental fire; it is a fate I cannot alter. But..."

His gaze falls upon the crying infant in Mrs. Riley's arms, a glint of light in his eyes as he says:

"Your child, Merlin Riley, is destined to play a crucial role in the future; his life will not end tonight."

The mysterious man's words spark joy in Mrs. Riley's eyes. At this moment, her own fate is of no concern; she extends her hands, severely burned by the flames, enduring the torment as her cheeks twitch in pain, but still she hands her child to the stranger, pleading:

"It's okay... it's enough. Please, take my child and go... save him."

The stranger looks at her burned hands, imagining the pain she must be enduring, but he shows little emotion.

He takes the blood-stained swaddle.

Strangely, the crying baby falls silent the moment the mysterious figure cradles him; he seems to sense that the danger has passed.

"Rest assured, Mrs. Riley."

The stranger holds the baby in one arm, looks down at Mrs. Riley at his feet, and with a flick of his finger, a blue glow sweeps over her, isolating all sensation of pain.

He cannot save her, but he can at least grant her a peaceful return to death. He gently rocks the infant in his arms, whispering:

"I have come for him; I can assure you, he will live safely until at least the age of eighteen..."

"Will my child, Wilton's child, become a great man?"

Mrs. Riley feels no pain now, only tiredness; she yearns for sleep, and before succumbing to it, she struggles to ask one last question. But then, as if answering herself, she murmurs wearily:

"Yes, he must become a great man. Otherwise, why would an angel come especially to save him... Merlin, my son, how your father and I wish we could be with you..."

"But, it's time to say goodbye."

The mysterious man stands amidst the flames, watching as the mother's eyes close, entering her final slumber. He does not shatter this poor woman's last beautiful dream.

In truth, the Rileys fulfilled their mission the moment their child was born. The stranger looks down at the sleeping baby in his arms.

"I am no angel."

The stranger looks around, waves his finger, extinguishing the surrounding flames, then crouches down and places the child back in Mrs. Riley's arms. He touches the baby's head as if saying farewell, then looks up at the starry sky, where countless eyes seem to watch this place, this infant.

A peculiar smile crosses his shadowed face.

"As for you, Merlin, will you... become a great man?"

"So many great beings witness your birth, so many bets placed upon you, what a grand life you lead. But, how will you choose? I'm curious..."

Of course, the sleeping child cannot answer, but the stranger does not require one. He stands up, takes a step back, and like ink dissolving into water, he fades into the darkness.

As he returns to the shadows, his blue cape fluttering, he murmurs:

"Let's wait and see."

Just before he completely vanishes, he glances at his wristwatch, clears his throat, and announces:

"It is midnight, August 17, 1971. As an observer from both sides, I declare..."

"The game..."

"Is about to begin!"

—————————————————

Days later, in Buffalo County, Wisconsin, at the Riley family homestead.

A little girl in a floral dress carefully cradles her baby cousin, making faces that make the infant reach out with glee.

On the sofa beside the little girl, a middle-aged woman veiled in black sits, her face etched with sadness and nostalgia as she looks at the furniture and the room around her.

She is a distant relative of the Riley family and the cousin of Wilton Riley, who perished in the fire days earlier. Having married and moved to New York years ago, she is the last known kin of the dwindling Riley lineage.

Upon hearing of her cousin's tragedy, she immediately traveled from New York with her daughter to their hometown.

"Mommy, Mommy."

The little girl holding baby Merlin turns to her mother, stroking her cousin's head as she softly pleads:

"Can't we take little Merlin home with us? I've always wanted a brother, please."

"Be good."

Mrs. Riley strokes her daughter's hair and says:

"May, I know you love Merlin, but we can't take him with us. Our situation at home won't allow for another child; I have to work, and you have to go to school. No one can take care of him. If you truly love Merlin, I'll allow you to come back once a year to see him."

"What about Merlin?"

Little May pouts, looking at her mother:

"Are we going to send him to an orphanage?"

"No."

Mrs. Riley smiles and shakes her head, checking the time before telling her daughter:

"I've found a new home for little Merlin. I've reached out to James, an old friend who grew up with me and Wilton, a true gentleman. He was Wilton and May's best friend, and I believe he would be willing to help take care of little Merlin."

With that, Mrs. Riley looks up to see a red Chevrolet coupe slowly entering the gates of the Riley estate. She stands, straightens her clothes and the black veil on her arm, and tells her daughter:

"Look, they're here."

"May, be polite, call him Uncle Coulson, understand?"

Little May sees a kindly-looking couple stepping out of the car and walking toward the house. She can't help but hug her baby cousin tighter; she doesn't want to give up her only cousin to another family. But what her mother says makes sense; little Merlin indeed can't go back to New York with them.

Little May looks down at her cousin in her arms, and though reluctant, she knows that perhaps fostering Merlin with Mr. Coulson is the best choice.

She leans down, kisses her brother's forehead, and says:

"Merlin, I'll come back to see you often."

"Little rascal, you better not forget me!"