The Lantern Keeper's Garden

Chapter 6: The Whispering Trees

The night felt colder now, as if the garden itself had exhaled a long, tired breath. Aina stood in the clearing, the lantern warm and steady in her hands, the memory it held now a faint but comforting presence. The silver-winged creature circled her once before flying off into the darkness, its glowing form disappearing among the trees, as though it had been waiting for something.

Aina’s thoughts were still heavy, the weight of the forgotten souls pressing down on her. The woman’s memory had been restored, her peace had been given back to her, but there were more. There were always more. And each lantern she touched, each soul she helped, seemed to deepen the mystery of this garden—this place that was neither fully of the living world nor of the dead.

For a moment, Aina wondered if she had made a mistake. She had only just begun to understand the lanterns, the way they connected to forgotten souls. The question of whether she could help them all loomed large. Was she capable of carrying this burden?

As if sensing her uncertainty, the wind shifted through the trees, bringing with it a low, haunting rustle—like the soft murmurs of voices speaking just beyond the reach of hearing. Aina turned, her gaze drawn toward the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

And then, she saw them.

Tall, twisted trees stood in the distance, their gnarled trunks bent at impossible angles, their branches tangled like a web. They were not like the others in the garden—these were ancient and dark, as though they had been standing for centuries before the lanterns even came into existence. Their bark was dark, almost black, and their leaves glistened faintly under the moonlight, reflecting a deep shade of silver, like ghostly whispers. The trees seemed to pulse with an unseen life force, as if they were alive, aware of her presence.

Aina felt the familiar pull in her chest—the sense that something important awaited her there.

Without fully knowing why, Aina began walking toward the trees. The earth beneath her feet was soft and spongy, the scent of moss and damp wood filling the air. As she drew closer, the soft murmurs grew louder, clearer. It was as if the trees themselves were speaking to her, their voices coming from deep within their trunks. She could hear the faint rustling of words carried on the wind, fragments of stories and memories she couldn’t quite grasp.

She reached out a hand to touch one of the trees, feeling the rough texture of the bark under her fingers. The moment her skin made contact, the ground trembled beneath her, a low, resonant hum vibrating through the air. The voice of the trees grew louder, now more distinct, though still incomprehensible.

"Keeper..."

The word echoed through her mind like a chant, and Aina’s breath caught in her throat. The trees were aware of her, aware of her purpose. They were speaking directly to her.

"You have come to listen. We have stories to share. Stories lost to time. Forgotten."

Aina’s heart pounded in her chest. She had heard of trees like these—guardians of memory, ancient entities that could hold the stories of entire civilizations, their roots entwined in the very fabric of history. The trees weren’t just alive in the traditional sense—they were memories made manifest. But she had never imagined she would encounter them here, in the heart of the lantern garden. These trees, it seemed, held the deepest, oldest stories of all.

"But we are not the only ones who have stories," the trees continued, their voices now more urgent, like whispers carried on a gust of wind. "There is a soul among us. One who has forgotten... who has been lost... He is the last of us."

Aina’s pulse quickened. She stepped closer, her breath shallow. She could sense that something was different this time, something heavier. The trees were not simply speaking of forgotten memories—they were speaking of a soul that needed help, a soul that was still bound to the garden, waiting to be freed.