The Lantern Keeper The Lantern Keeper

The Lantern Keeper

The village was always gray.

Not the soft, pale gray of morning mist, nor the heavy charcoal of a brewing storm—but a lifeless, suffocating gray that clung to everything like a forgotten memory. The sky never brightened, the clouds never parted, and the air carried the weight of a place untouched by time.

Buildings stood in silence, their wooden frames warped with age, their doors forever shut. The streets stretched empty, lined with cracked stone and creeping moss, the silence so thick it pressed against the ears.

There were no voices. No footsteps. No life.

Except for him.

The Lantern Keeper walked alone.

Shloka/श्लोक/절

तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय ।

tamaso mā jyotir gamaya ।

타마소 마 죠띠르 가마야 。

"Lead me from darkness to light."

Kael’s boots scraped against the uneven cobblestones as he made his way through the abandoned streets, carrying a lantern hook in one hand and an oil canister in the other. Every night, without fail, he lit the lanterns that lined the village—small, flickering islands of light in an ocean of shadows.

His task was simple. Hook the lantern, pour the oil, strike the match.

He had done it for as long as he could remember, but memory was a fragile thing in this place. He did not know when he had started. He did not know if there had ever been a time before it.

All he knew was that the lanterns had to stay lit.

The first lantern stood at the village’s entrance, its metal frame rusted, its glass cracked but unbroken. Kael lifted it with the hook, tilting it forward to pour fresh oil inside. The scent of it hung thick in the cold air, familiar in a way that nothing else was.

He reached into his coat, striking a match against the box. The flame flared to life, small but determined.

The moment it touched the wick, the lantern blazed into existence, casting a warm, golden glow.

Kael exhaled. One down.

The shadows hissed.

It was faint, almost inaudible, but he had heard it. He always did.

The darkness that pooled at the edge of the village never left, lingering like an unspoken threat. It did not like the lanterns. It never had.

But it could not cross them.

Kael moved to the next lantern. And the next. One after another, he lit the way through the hollow village.

The routine was ingrained into his very being. He did not need to think, only move forward, carrying his light through the silence.

Until he reached the square.

This was where the final lantern stood, the largest of them all. It hung in the center of the village, towering above the dry, cracked fountain beneath it. This was the heart of the place—the last beacon against the waiting dark.

Kael raised his lantern hook, preparing to light it.

Then he froze.

Something had changed.

The air was wrong.

The mist, ever-present but predictaBle, was thicker now—coiling unnaturally around his feet, curling toward the lanterns. The flames flickered, stretching in ways they should not.

And then, in the suffocating stillness, came a whisper.

Not words.

Not sound.

But something just beneath them.

It brushed against his ears, faint but undeniable, curling through the fog.

Kael’s grip on the lantern hook tightened.

He turned sharply, scanning the empty streets. Nothing moved.

Yet, the feeling of being watched curled around his throat like a tightening noose.

He was used to the silence. Used to the loneliness. But this—this was different.

For the first time in an eternity, something felt new.

"Not tonight," he murmured to himself. His own voice sounded foreign in the quiet.

He struck another match.

The flame touched the wick, and the final lantern burst into light.

The whisper stopped.

The mist recoiled.

And Kael, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, turned back toward the Keeper’s House.

The Keeper’s House stood at the center of the village, just beyond the square. Unlike the other buildings, it had not crumbled.

Time had taken nothing from it. The wooden walls stood tall, the roof untouched by decay. The door swung open at the slightest push, never locked, never resisting.

A cruel joke, perhaps.

Kael stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

The air was heavier than usual. The silence pressed against his ears, thicker than the mist outside. Something was wrong.

He set the lantern hook down on the wooden table, exhaling. The fire crackled in the stone hearth, though he had not lit it. The room looked the same as always—but the weight in the air told him otherwise.

Then he saw it.

A figure.

Small. Still.

Sitting on the floor, legs crossed, staring up at him with unblinking eyes.

A child.

Kael’s breath caught. That was impossible.

There was no one else in the village.

There had never been.

Yet, the child was here.

And they were smiling.

Their face was partially obscured by the flickering firelight, but their expression was unmistakable. Curious. Knowing.

Kael did not move.

He felt it again—the whisper from the square, curling around him like invisible fingers. But this time, it had form. It had shape.

And it was staring right at him.

"Who are you?" His voice was hoarse, unused to speech beyond his own muttered thoughts.

The child did not answer.

They tilted their head, the way one might when studying something familiar yet strange. Their dark eyes reflected the firelight, shimmering like the depths of something vast and unknowable.

Kael’s pulse thundered in his ears.

The village had been empty for as long as he could remember.

No strangers.

No voices.

No children.

Yet this one sat in his home, watching him as if they had always been here.

Kael took a slow step forward. "You shouldn’t be here."

The child finally spoke.

Their voice was soft, almost amused.

"I was waiting for you."

Kael stilled.

The fire crackled in the silence. The lanterns outside burned on, unwavering, keeping the shadows at bay.