The Lantern Keeper's Garden

Chapter 5: The Forgotten Soul

The moment Aina touched the cracked lantern, the air around her shifted, warping and twisting like a storm was gathering. She felt the coldness seep through her fingers, creeping up her arm, until it consumed her entire being. The garden, the trees, and the lanterns all faded into a distant blur, leaving her in a vast, empty void—a place of endless darkness and fractured light.

Her heart hammered in her chest, a low hum of panic rising within her as the light from the lantern pulsed violently in her hand. It felt like the very fabric of reality was unraveling, each pulse of the lantern’s light pulling her deeper into something ancient and sorrowful. Aina tried to pull her hand back, but it was as if the lantern had a grip on her—its cold, flickering flame an anchor that held her in place.

Then, a voice—deep and hollow—rose from the darkness around her. The same voice that had spoken earlier, only now it sounded more broken, more desperate.

"You cannot leave. Not yet."

Aina’s breath caught in her throat. She spun around, but there was nothing. The darkness was absolute, suffocating. She tried to call out, but her voice was swallowed by the oppressive silence. She felt weightless, floating in a space that felt both infinite and suffocating.

"I am forgotten," the voice whispered again, but this time, Aina could feel its pain, its hopelessness. It wasn’t just a voice—it was a soul, bound to this place, trapped in a memory that had been abandoned.

Aina’s hands trembled around the lantern, its flickering flame now a constant pulse of light in the inky blackness. She tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the words, the soul's cry. It was a plea. A plea for recognition, for release.

“Who are you?” Aina asked, her voice shaking but determined. “Why are you here?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, the darkness seemed to hold its breath. Then, the voice returned, faint but clearer now, like a whisper carried on a forgotten wind.

"I was once... someone important," it said. "But I was cast aside, buried in the past. No one remembered me... No one mourned me."

Aina felt a pang in her chest, a sympathy she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t the first time she had encountered a spirit full of regret, but this one felt different. This one wasn’t just lingering in the garden. It was suffocating in its own silence, unable to find peace because it had been forgotten, cast aside by time, lost in a void where no one could find it.

“Your memory,” Aina whispered, “it’s trapped inside the lantern, isn’t it?”

A soft sound, almost like a breath, escaped the darkness. The air shimmered briefly, and Aina’s surroundings began to shift. She felt herself moving, though she couldn’t see the path, only the flickering light that seemed to guide her.

In the distance, a silhouette began to form, rising from the blackness. Slowly, a figure came into view—a person, but blurred, like a reflection in shattered glass. It was hard to make out details, but Aina could tell it was a woman—tall, with long hair that seemed to flow like water. She was dressed in a gown that shimmered faintly, but as Aina looked closer, she saw the woman’s face—pale, hollow, her eyes dull and vacant.

The woman reached out toward her, her hand a gesture of desperation. "I am the one who was left behind," the voice spoke again, but this time it was no longer a whisper—it was a mournful cry, echoing through the void. "I had dreams, I had hopes. But I was forgotten, buried in time. Now, I exist only as a shadow."

Aina’s heart ached with the sorrow in those words. She felt the weight of the woman’s pain press against her chest, the sadness heavy and suffocating. The memory was so fragmented, so broken—it was as if the woman had never been allowed the chance to say goodbye to her own life.

The figure’s hand reached out, brushing the edge of the lantern’s flame. Aina felt a surge of energy pulse from the lantern, almost as if it were reacting to the figure’s touch. The woman's shadowy form wavered, flickering like the flame inside the lantern, caught between existence and nothingness.

Aina knew what she had to do. The lantern wasn’t just a container for the woman’s memory—it was a bridge, a way for the lost soul to find peace. The garden was meant to help the souls that had been forgotten, but it couldn’t heal them unless they were willing to confront their own memories and regrets.

Aina squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the figure in front of her, on the sorrowful voice that still echoed in her mind. She reached out with her free hand, trembling as she grasped the lantern more firmly.

“You weren’t forgotten,” Aina whispered. “You’re here. You’re not alone anymore.”

The figure’s form shuddered, its edges softening as if the darkness surrounding it was being pushed away. The pulse from the lantern grew stronger, and the shadowy figure seemed to begin dissolving, its presence lessening with every passing second. The sadness that had once filled the air now seemed to lift, replaced by a faint, warm glow.

For a moment, the darkness that had enveloped Aina was gone, replaced by a soft, golden light that radiated from the lantern itself. It was warm, comforting—like the first rays of sunlight after a long storm.

The figure’s voice, once heavy with sorrow, softened. "Thank you," it whispered, almost like a prayer. "Thank you for remembering me. For seeing me. For giving me peace."

Aina’s hand, still gripping the lantern, began to feel warm again. The light inside the lantern steadied, its flame no longer flickering erratically. Slowly, the vision of the woman faded into the light, dissolving like mist in the morning sun.

Aina stood there for what felt like an eternity, her heart racing as the last echoes of the soul’s presence drifted away. The lantern, now whole and glowing brightly, felt lighter in her hands. The cold, heavy energy that had surrounded her vanished, leaving only the faintest trace of the woman’s memory behind, like the aftertaste of a dream.

When she opened her eyes again, Aina found herself back in the clearing, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The trees stood silently around her, their shadows stretching long in the dim light of the lanterns. The silver-winged creature appeared once more, fluttering in front of her, its eyes gleaming with quiet approval.

The lantern she held was whole again—its glass smooth, its flame bright and steady. Aina exhaled a shaky breath. The woman had found peace. She had remembered her, given her the chance to move on.

But as the creature chirped and fluttered around her, Aina couldn’t shake the feeling that there were more souls waiting—more lanterns in need of tending. The task of the keeper was far from finished.

Aina took a deep breath, her resolve hardening.

The garden was vast, its paths winding through forgotten memories and lost souls. She was the keeper, and there was much more work to be done.

---