Was he wrong?
After five-year-old Chaisi had run a few steps in a panic, he suddenly remembered his injured mother was still lying by the side of the road.
He instinctively stopped, turned on his heel without a second thought, and rushed back, wanting to help his mother up so they could run together—shouldn't he have done that? Was he wrong?
"I told you to run!"
His mother's shriek was so loud and sharp, it hardly seemed to come from the same person who had been too gravely injured to speak just moments before.
"Mom—"
He grabbed his mother's arm, only managing to get out that single word.
The next second, he was looking down at his own feet dangling in midair, swaying farther and farther from the ground.
His mother tilted up a face half-blackened with blood, her expression frozen for a moment in shock and terror, before she roared, "Let him go!"
The thing wasn't gripping Chaisi, nor was it lifting him.
