Fairy tales for young and old ~ English version

The Festival of Lights

(Storytober - Day 23 - Lantern)

 Long ago, in a village shrouded in endless fog, the people lived in a state of quiet despair. The skies had forgotten the touch of the sun, and even the moon was a faint blur behind the thick mist that hung over the rooftops. The villagers' faces grew pale and their laughter was swallowed by the gloom. It seemed the very air conspired to steal away all light and joy.

Among the villagers lived a young man named Ertia, who spent his days toiling in the fields, his hands worn and his spirit heavy. The elders spoke of a time when the village had been bright and lively, when laughter rang out like silver bells and the nights glowed with magic. But to Ertia, these tales seemed as distant as a half-remembered dream, whispered only to ease the pain of present hardship.

One dreary evening, while rummaging through the attic of his family's cottage, Ertia uncovered an old wooden chest, its lock rusted and its lid barely held shut. Inside, he found a bundle of yellowed parchments, all scrawled with curious symbols and delicate drawings. At the bottom lay a small, paper lantern—its surface etched with swirling patterns and a strange, soothing warmth emanating from within.

Curious, Ertia lit a candle and placed it inside the lantern. To his astonishment, the lantern glowed with a soft golden light that seemed to drive back the shadows. The symbols on the parchment stirred faint memories in his mind, tales once told by his grandmother. "The Festival of Lights," she had called it—an ancient family tradition. Each year, his ancestors had crafted lanterns from enchanted paper, and held a grand festival where the people made a wish upon their lantern before releasing them into the night sky.

The thought took hold in Ertia's heart: What if the festival could be revived? Could it bring back the hope that had faded from the village?

He resolved to learn the craft of lantern-making, though he knew it would not be an easy task. For many nights, he studied the old drawings by the dim light of the enchanted lantern. His fingers fumbled with the delicate folds of paper, and more than once, he cursed in frustration. Yet he persevered.

As the days grew shorter and colder, Ertia's preparations drew the notice of the villagers. Some scoffed, dismissing his efforts as a fool's dream, but others watched with silent curiosity. Ertia reached out to these few, sharing what he had learned of the old tradition. "We will craft our own lanterns," he told them, "and at the first night of winter, we shall hold the Festival of Lights. Each of us will make a wish to our lantern and send it into the sky."

Though many doubted, Ertia's determination kindled something in their hearts—a longing for the light they had lost. Slowly, more and more of the villagers joined in the preparations, helping to gather materials and sharing forgotten stories of the festival. The young and the old alike took part, folding and painting the lanterns in vibrant colors.

At last, the night of the festival arrived. The villagers gathered, shivering not only from the cold but from a sense of wonder and anticipation. Ertia stepped forward, raising his lantern high. "Tonight, we honor the old ways," he said, his voice steady. "Tonight, we make a wish for our village, for each other, and for the light that has long been lost."

One by one, the villagers lit and lifted their lanterns, and as each one was released, it drifted gently into the air. The darkness gave way to a thousand soft glows, and the sky, once barren and gray, was transformed into a shimmering sea of light. The lanterns floated higher and higher, as if reaching for the stars, and with them, the villagers' wishes were carried far beyond the mist.

For a moment, it seemed the fog would swallow the lights, as it had so often swallowed their hopes. But then, a miracle occurred—the mist parted. It rolled back like a great veil, revealing a sky of endless black velvet dotted with countless stars. The moon shone brightly, casting its silver light upon the village for the first time in many years.

Ertia watched in awe as the lanterns drifted ever upwards, until they seemed to merge with the stars themselves. His heart swelled with a quiet joy, and he knew then that the festival had done more than revive an old tradition—it had rekindled the spirit of the village.

From that night onward, the Festival of Lights was held each year, and though the fog would still creep back from time to time, it was never able to dim the lanterns' glow. For the people had learned that light and hope were not things that could be taken—they were things that must be made, shared, and kindled anew.

And so, the lanterns continued to rise, carrying the villagers' wishes far into the night, their light forever a reminder that even in the darkest of times, a single spark could shine bright enough to guide the way.