The Lantern Keeper's Garden

Chapter 1: The Forgotten Path

Aina hadn’t wanted to move. Not really. But her parents had insisted, citing the need for a fresh start after the passing of her grandmother. She was eleven, and the idea of leaving behind the bustling city with its crowded streets and the hum of a thousand voices felt like losing a part of herself. Now, standing in the silence of her new room—surrounded by cardboard boxes and the faint scent of old wood—she stared out of the window at the unfamiliar countryside below.

The house was much older than she had expected. It looked like something from an old painting, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and moss growing between the cracks in the flagstone paths. Her parents had been too busy with the move to pay much attention to her, and Aina had started to feel the weight of being left behind, like a forgotten photograph stuck in a drawer. Her grandmother’s house had once been filled with warmth, smells of cooking, and stories that stretched back into a time Aina couldn’t quite remember. But now… now, it felt like an echo of something that was no longer there.

“Dinner’s ready, Aina!” her mother called from downstairs.

Aina pulled her gaze away from the window and reluctantly climbed out of bed. The house felt too quiet, as though it was holding its breath. As she walked down the stairs, she noticed something strange through the hallway—a faint glow at the edge of the forest, just beyond the backyard. It was too far to be a light from the house, and there was no street lamp out there. Aina paused, the faint glow flickering like a lantern far in the distance. She could almost hear it calling to her, tugging at something deep within her.

She shook her head, wondering if it was just the lingering fatigue from the move playing tricks on her. The town they had moved to was small, with little to offer for someone her age. But the light, no matter how distant, felt… important, as if it was waiting for her to follow.

After dinner, Aina couldn’t help herself. She slipped out of the house while her parents were occupied, her footsteps light on the cool grass. The air was crisp, and the sounds of the night—crickets, the rustle of leaves—whispered around her. The light she had seen earlier was still there, faint but steady, drawing her deeper into the woods.

The path wasn’t marked, and the underbrush grew thick as she ventured further into the trees. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the uneven ground. Aina felt a strange sense of familiarity, as though she had been here before in another life. The trees were ancient, their trunks gnarled and twisted with age, their branches stretching out like fingers. The air smelled of damp earth and something floral—wildflowers, maybe.

Then, she found it.

Hidden behind a veil of hanging ivy, the path revealed itself—narrow and almost forgotten, but unmistakably there. The soft glow seemed to pulse from deeper within. Aina’s heart skipped a beat. She stepped closer, pushing aside the ivy, and entered the path.

The deeper she went, the brighter the light became, and the more the world around her seemed to change. The forest grew quieter, the air thickening with the scent of something sweet and old. The ground beneath her feet softened, and she began to feel as though the earth itself was alive, breathing along with her. Her breath quickened as she moved forward, instinctively drawn to the glow ahead.

Then, she saw it.

A clearing stretched before her, vast and glowing with hundreds—no, thousands—of lanterns. Their warm light flickered in the darkness like stars in a quiet sky. Each lantern was unique, glowing in hues of amber, jade, and soft violet. Some lanterns swayed gently in the air, as though held by invisible hands. Others rested on stone pedestals, their soft glow illuminating the surrounding trees. The air hummed with a strange, soothing energy, and Aina’s skin prickled as she stood there, entranced.

For a moment, Aina didn’t move. She could feel the weight of history in the air, like a song sung in a forgotten language. The lanterns seemed to whisper to one another in soft, flickering bursts. She didn’t understand what they were or why they were here, but she knew that this place—this garden of light—held something ancient, something that belonged to her.

Without realizing it, Aina took a step forward, the crunch of leaves underfoot breaking the quiet. The lanterns shimmered as she approached, and a gentle breeze swept through the clearing, brushing against her cheek like a soft whisper.

“Aina.”

Her heart stopped. The voice was soft, like a breeze passing through the trees, but it carried with it a weight that sent chills down her spine. She turned, searching for the source, but saw nothing at first.

“Who’s there?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

From the shadows emerged a figure—tall, cloaked in robes that shimmered like starlight. The figure stepped forward slowly, and Aina could make out the faint outline of an old woman’s face, her features soft but wise, with eyes that gleamed like twin lanterns.

“The lanterns have waited for you, child,” the figure said, her voice gentle but insistent. “They are the memories of the lost and the forgotten. The garden is dying, and you are the keeper now.”

Aina stared, uncertain of what to say. She didn’t understand. The garden? Keeper? What was this woman talking about?

“Why… why me?” Aina asked, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t even know what this place is.”

The woman smiled kindly, though there was sadness in her eyes. “You are the last of your line, Aina. The keeper of the lanterns was your grandmother. Now, it is your turn to tend to them.”

Aina’s mind raced. Her grandmother. She remembered the stories, the old tales her grandmother used to tell her about the lanterns, about the spirits that lived in the garden. But they had always seemed like just stories—fairy tales, myths. But now, standing in the glowing clearing, she couldn’t deny what she was feeling. The lanterns, the spirits, the voice of the woman—this was real.

“The lanterns need you, Aina,” the woman said, her voice echoing softly in the stillness. “They are the memories of those who have passed, and they are fading. You must help them remember, or they will disappear forever.”

Aina felt a knot tighten in her chest. She didn’t know how, or why, but she knew this was only the beginning. She had stepped into something far older and more complex than she could have imagined. And somehow, she knew it was up to her to save it.

The woman’s figure faded slowly into the mist, leaving Aina alone in the clearing. The lanterns flickered, and she could almost hear them calling her name.

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