There was a patch of land in the southern lowlands.
No temple.
No cultivation rings.
No recorded battles.
Just a quiet field, once used to dry rice husks.
It had no flame history.
No known resonance.
But one morning—
A flame appeared.
Not lit.
Not summoned.
Not called.
It just hovered over the tall grass and sat.
It didn't burn the ground.
Didn't flicker in the wind.
Didn't signal to anyone.
It simply stayed.
At first, the farmers ignored it.
They'd heard of sparks appearing in strange places—monasteries, mountains, ruins.
But not… fields.
"It's a trick," one said.
"It'll fade," said another.
But it didn't.
It sat through wind.
Through rain.
Even when the season changed, the grass around it grew taller, greener.
As if the flame's stillness was a kind of nourishment.
Then one evening, a child approached it.
She didn't reach for it.
Didn't bow.
She simply sat near it and whispered:
"Are you lonely?"
The flame pulsed once.
And the field—somehow—grew quieter.
That night, more children came.
They brought no incense.
No gifts.
Just stories.
They didn't speak to the flame.
They spoke around it.
Laughed.
Shared.
Existed.
And the flame never left.
Eventually, the adults came too.
Not to pray.
Not to study.
Just to be near it.
Soon they built a bench.
Then two.
But no shrine.
No altar.
Because the flame never asked for reverence.
It only asked for room.
And in the Soulstream, a new phenomenon registered:
🔹 Location: Southern Field (No known sect presence)
🔹 Spark Class: Anchored Environmental Flame
🔹 Bearer: None
🔹 Effect: Passive growth, social resonance, emotional calm
🔹 Designation: "The Field Where Fire Sat Down"
Across the world, similar spaces began to appear:
A lantern that never needed oil, quietly glowing in an abandoned fishing dock.
A spark hovering beneath a fruit tree, visited by birds, but never disturbed.
A hearth that no one built, in a village that had forgotten how to burn wood—warming them anyway.
And The Fire That Waits—now in no one and in everything—whispered with joy, not longing:
"I no longer wait to be lit…"
"I am already home."