The Lantern Keeper's Garden

Chapter 3: The Keeper's Task

The following morning, Aina awoke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the window. The world outside was quiet, peaceful—the birds were beginning their chorus, and the air felt fresh with the promise of a new day. But inside, Aina’s mind was still tangled in the events of the previous night. The lanterns, the spirit, the strange creature—it all felt like a dream. A dream she couldn’t shake, no matter how much she tried to convince herself it was just a figment of her imagination.

She lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she had imagined the entire thing. But the sensation in her fingers—the faint warmth of the lantern she had touched—lingered. It was real. It had to be.

A soft knock on her bedroom door interrupted her thoughts.

“Aina? You up yet?” Her mother’s voice called from the other side.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” Aina replied, sitting up quickly. She tried to push away the unease that had settled in her chest, but it was hard to ignore the pull of the garden, beckoning her from deep within the forest.

Her mother entered, holding a tray of breakfast in her hands. “I thought you might be hungry. You’re still adjusting, right? New house, new routine…” She set the tray down on Aina’s desk and gave her a gentle smile. “How are you doing?”

Aina hesitated. She wanted to say something—something about the garden, about the lanterns—but she couldn’t find the words. It all felt too strange, too impossible to explain. “I’m okay,” she finally said, forcing a smile. “Just… tired. I didn’t sleep well.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Well, you should take it easy today. Maybe go out for a walk, explore the town a bit. Get some fresh air. You know, before we get buried in unpacking again.”

Aina nodded absentmindedly, though she wasn’t sure she could shake the sense of urgency gnawing at her. The garden. The lanterns. She had to go back. She had to learn more.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, forcing herself to focus on the present. She picked up a piece of toast, but her mind was already wandering to the glowing garden in the woods, a place she couldn’t fully understand, but that she felt inexplicably tied to.

After breakfast, Aina did as her mother suggested. She wandered out into the town, trying to distract herself with the quiet, charming streets. The town was small, with cobbled streets and small shops that looked like they had been there for decades. Aina didn’t mind the calmness—it was a stark contrast to the city, where everything had felt so rushed. Here, it was slower, gentler, as if time itself moved differently.

But as much as she tried to immerse herself in the mundane, her thoughts kept drifting back to the garden.

She walked to the edge of the woods, her feet carrying her almost without her conscious decision. The path was familiar now, the way the earth underfoot shifted and changed. The trees, ancient and towering, felt less intimidating now that she knew their secret. When she reached the spot where the path began to open up into the lantern garden, she hesitated for only a moment.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, but this time, there was something else too. The soft murmur of the lanterns seemed to call to her, drawing her forward with a subtle, quiet power.

Aina stepped onto the narrow path and felt the familiar pull—this time, stronger, as if the garden itself recognized her presence. The trees around her seemed to lean in closer, and the soft glow began to warm her skin as she walked deeper into the woods.

As she entered the clearing, the lanterns shimmered, their soft, colorful lights flickering in the growing dusk. The silver-winged creature from the night before flitted past her, this time pausing on a nearby stone pillar. It chirped softly, as if acknowledging her, then flew off again, disappearing between the trees.

Aina approached the lantern she had touched the night before. Its flame still burned brightly, steady and calm, a stark contrast to the flickering uncertainty of the others around it. She knelt down, her heart heavy with the memory of the voice that had whispered to her.

"I never said goodbye..."

The words echoed in her mind, and for a moment, Aina could almost feel the woman’s sorrow as if it were her own. She shivered, unsure of how to help. The woman’s regret lingered in the air, a tangible weight.

But before she could think more on it, a sudden movement caught her eye. One of the smaller lanterns, one near the edge of the clearing, began to sputter. The flame inside it faltered, flickering weakly. Aina could feel the panic rising in her chest as the light dimmed further, barely a glimmer of flame left inside.

“No,” she whispered, stepping toward it. “Not again.”

She crouched down, reaching for the lantern. This one was different—it wasn’t just the light fading, but the entire shape of it was crumbling, as if the glass casing was cracking. She could feel a pulse of energy, faint but urgent, radiating from the lantern, and she understood at once: this memory—this soul—was slipping away.

Aina’s hand hovered above it, unsure of what to do. The silver-winged creature reappeared, hovering beside her, its glowing eyes watching intently. Then, as if by instinct, it nudged her hand toward the lantern, its tiny body glowing with a soft, encouraging light.

Aina took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if summoning something from deep inside her. She had no magic. She wasn’t a healer. But she was the keeper, and that meant something. Somehow, she knew she could do this.

With trembling fingers, she touched the lantern’s cracked glass. The warmth of the flame surged into her palm, and she felt a strange pull—a connection, like a thread linking her to something beyond this world. The flame flared to life, brighter and steadier than before. The cracks in the glass began to mend themselves, slowly at first, then more quickly. The energy in the air swirled around her, and Aina felt a sudden clarity, as if she could see the memory locked within the lantern.

A vision filled her mind—a young man standing alone in a dimly lit room, holding a letter in his hands. His expression was filled with longing, but there was fear too. He hadn’t had the courage to speak his heart. He hadn’t told someone he loved them before it was too late.

"I never said goodbye..."

Aina understood then. The man had carried his regret with him, and now, his memory was bound to this lantern, flickering in the garden. He had been waiting for someone to help him, to give him the chance to move on.

The flame in the lantern steadied once more, the cracks fully healed. The energy that had surged through Aina slowly ebbed away, leaving her breathless, but at peace. The lantern’s glow was strong, vibrant again. And, deep within her, Aina felt something shift—a quiet sense of completion, as if the memory had finally found its way to rest.

The silver-winged creature chirped happily and flew off, disappearing into the distance, as though satisfied with the outcome.

Aina stood up slowly, feeling the weight of what she had just done settle in her chest. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but it was clear now—this place, these lanterns, needed her. And whether she was ready or not, she had to help.

The keeper’s task had only just begun.

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