The Lantern Keeper's Garden

Chapter 4: Whispers from the Past

Aina stood still in the clearing, her fingers still warm from the lantern’s glass. The air around her seemed quieter now, as if the garden had exhaled a sigh of relief. The faint flicker of the other lanterns still pulsed gently in the background, their light now soft and steady, their shadows long across the ground. Yet despite the calm, something deep within Aina stirred—a sense that her work was far from over. She had helped one lantern, one memory, find peace, but there were many more to tend to. How many, exactly, she didn’t know. The garden stretched endlessly, each corner filled with the whispers of souls waiting to be heard.

She took a deep breath and glanced around, feeling the weight of her new responsibility pressing on her chest. The garden wasn’t just a place—it was a living entity, a crossroads for souls, and she was its keeper now.

But what did that really mean? And how could she help them all?

The question lingered in her mind as she turned to leave the clearing. The creature with silver wings fluttered back beside her, its soft, glowing form circling her once before landing on a nearby stone. It chirped again, this time louder, as if trying to get her attention.

“Is something wrong?” Aina asked, squinting as she tried to understand the creature’s gestures.

The creature nudged its wings in a slow arc, as though indicating something deeper in the garden. It flitted toward the shadowy trees at the far end, looking back at Aina expectantly.

“I don’t know…” Aina hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m ready to—”

The creature chirped again, louder this time, its voice filled with urgency. It flicked its wings in a sharp motion, then darted off into the distance. Without waiting for her reply, it disappeared into the trees.

Aina blinked, feeling a flicker of uncertainty deep in her gut. Was she supposed to follow? She glanced back at the lanterns, still steady and warm in the clearing. But the creature’s urgency, the sense that something more awaited her, was too strong to ignore.

With a final, resigned breath, Aina began to walk in the direction the creature had gone. The path grew narrower as she ventured deeper into the garden, the trees growing thicker and the air colder. The soft glow of the lanterns started to fade, and the dense undergrowth seemed to swallow the light, as if hiding what lay beyond.

The further Aina walked, the more the atmosphere around her seemed to change. It was no longer the peaceful, dreamlike world of the garden. The deeper she ventured, the more she felt a faint, unsettling pull—like the weight of something long forgotten, something that had been buried.

Finally, she reached a small, forgotten clearing, its ground covered with thick moss and twisted roots. Here, the lanterns were few, and their light was faint, nearly extinguished. Aina felt a sense of unease settle in her chest as she looked around. Something about this place felt… wrong.

She wasn’t alone.

A faint rustle in the corner of her vision made her turn. At the edge of the clearing, a shadowy figure stood. It was humanoid, but the shape seemed distorted, as if the figure was constantly shifting, its form made of smoke and mist. The faint light from the lanterns reflected off it in strange, unsettling ways, casting long, crooked shadows.

Aina’s heart skipped a beat. The figure didn’t move, but it seemed to be watching her, its presence hanging in the air like an unspoken threat.

“Who… are you?” Aina whispered, her voice faltering.

The figure didn’t answer. Instead, it reached out a long, transparent arm, pointing toward the center of the clearing. Aina’s eyes followed the gesture, and what she saw sent a chill through her.

At the center of the clearing stood another lantern—this one different from all the others. Its light was cold, flickering weakly, and the glass was cracked, as though it had been shattered and hastily put back together. There was something wrong about the way it flickered, as if it wasn’t just a lantern, but a prison for something darker.

Aina took a tentative step forward, her feet sinking into the moss. As she drew closer, the air around the lantern grew heavier, thick with a sense of dread.

The figure stepped forward, its form more solid now, the shadows swirling around it like a cloak. It was taller than before, and Aina could feel a faint pulse of energy emanating from it—a heavy, sorrowful energy, like the echoes of something long forgotten, something that didn’t belong in the garden.

Before she could move any closer, the figure suddenly spoke, its voice deep, hollow, and filled with the kind of grief that made Aina’s bones ache.

"I am forgotten."

Aina froze, the words resonating in her chest. There was something so wrong about the way they lingered in the air, as if the figure itself was both ancient and bound to the garden, but not by light. It was tethered to something darker, something that had been left unresolved for too long.

“What do you mean?” Aina asked, her voice trembling. “What are you doing here?”

The figure’s eyes—if they could even be called eyes—were like empty wells, dark and endless. It gazed at her with an intensity that made her feel small, insignificant. Slowly, it raised its arm again and pointed at the cracked lantern.

"I am the one who was forgotten."

Aina’s stomach churned. The words hung in the air, heavy with sadness. She glanced at the lantern once more, and for the first time, she saw something inside it—a faint, flickering image, like a broken memory struggling to be seen.

The figure’s presence seemed to grow darker with every passing second. It was as if the garden itself, the very air around them, was bending under the weight of its sorrow.

Aina swallowed hard. “What can I do?”

The figure lowered its arm, and a low, mournful sound—like a cry, but twisted and full of pain—escaped from its mouth. It didn’t speak again, but its gesture was clear. The lantern needed to be mended. The broken glass, the flickering flame—it all pointed to one thing: the memory inside was in agony, and it needed to be set free.

Aina’s heart pounded. She had done this before. She had helped the lantern with the man’s memory, the one who had never said goodbye. But this—this felt different. Darker. She had no idea what memory lay trapped inside this lantern, but she knew it wouldn’t be easy to fix.

She stepped forward slowly, the weight of the task pulling at her with every movement. As she reached out to touch the lantern, the figure behind her made a low, guttural noise, a sound that felt like a warning.

Aina took a deep breath, steadying herself. The garden needed her. The lanterns needed her. She had to keep going.

Her fingers brushed against the cracked glass, and a sudden rush of cold flooded through her, freezing her to the bone. The light inside the lantern flickered violently before surging into a brilliant, blinding flare, and the world around Aina seemed to collapse into a thousand shards of light and shadow.

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