The town of Elmsworth was small enough that people noticed when a lantern appeared where none had been before.
It was late November, the air sharp and brittle, the kind of night that wrapped its fingers around your throat and turned every breath into smoke. The river ran dark and silent beneath the old wooden bridge at the edge of town, its surface broken only by drifting leaves that had lost their fight with autumn.
Aerin had walked this path a hundred times, usually with her school bag heavy on her back and her headphones blocking out the world. Tonight was different. The air hummed with a stillness that pressed against her skin, and though she had no reason to, she slowed her steps as she reached the bridge.
That was when she saw it.
The lantern sat squarely on the middle plank of the bridge. Its glass was fogged with age, its handle bent and rusted, but the flame inside burned steady and golden. No breeze touched it, though the wind was sharp enough to whip strands of Aerin's hair into her eyes.
She stopped. No one else was around. The houses of Elmsworth huddled far behind her, their windows glowing faintly, but here there was only her, the river, and the lantern.
Her first thought was that someone had left it as a prank. Kids in town sometimes did strange things when boredom clawed at them. But as she stepped closer, her pulse quickened. The flame inside didn't flicker like fire—it glowed, as if the light came from within the glass itself.
And then it moved.
The flame bent, not with the wind but as though it had seen her. It curved toward her like a flower leaning into sunlight.
Aerin's stomach tightened. She should have walked away, should have gone home and shut her door against the night. But her feet carried her forward, plank by plank, until she stood before it.
The lantern's glow spilled across her shoes, soft and warm. Her breath clouded in the air, but in that circle of light, she didn't feel cold. She crouched, hesitating only a moment before reaching out.
Her fingers brushed the handle.
Warmth surged through her palm, racing up her arm, into her chest. It wasn't burning—it was steady, strong, like holding someone's hand after being alone too long.
The river below groaned, the wood of the bridge shuddered faintly, and in the distance, the forest stirred.
Aerin gasped and yanked her hand back.
The lantern didn't move. But the flame flared, brighter now, almost expectant.
Her thoughts scrambled. This was impossible. Nothing in her life had ever been impossible. Elmsworth was ordinary—school, homework, her job at the bakery on weekends, the dull hum of routine. Her parents worried about bills, her teachers worried about grades, and Aerin worried about nothing more than fitting in. Magic belonged in books, not in her hands.
Yet here it was.
She stood frozen until a sound broke the silence.
A whisper.
It came from the trees on the far side of the river, faint and curling through the air like smoke. Her skin prickled as she turned her head. The forest stood dark and endless, a wall of black trunks and tangled branches.
The whisper came again, soft but clear this time.
Aerin.
Her blood ran cold.
No one was there. She knew it. And yet her name had been spoken, pulled into the night by a voice she didn't recognize.
She stumbled back a step, her heel catching on the uneven wood. But the lantern pulsed, the flame leaning toward the forest, toward the sound.
She shook her head. "No. No, this is—this is crazy."
Her words fell flat in the air.
The whisper rose again, joined now by others—layered, overlapping, like a chorus. Not all spoke her name, but the weight of them pressed against her chest, urging, pleading.
Don't forget me.Please… remember.Carry me.
The air grew thick. Aerin clutched the bridge's railing, her knuckles white.
Then the lantern lifted.
Slowly, impossibly, it rose from the wood, hovering just above the planks. The glow spilled farther, casting long shadows across the bridge.
Aerin's mouth went dry. "What are you?" she whispered.
The lantern drifted toward her hand.
Every nerve in her body screamed to run, but she didn't move. When the handle pressed against her palm again, she gripped it.
The warmth returned, stronger this time, filling her chest, spreading into her bones. Her vision blurred, not from tears but from light—the lantern's glow seeping outward, weaving through the fog.
And then the world shifted.
The forest across the river no longer seemed silent. The mist thinned, revealing faint lights flickering among the trees, like distant stars caught in branches. The whispers grew louder, not frightening now but mournful, yearning.
Her pulse hammered. She should go home. She should drop the lantern and run until her lungs burned. But something inside her—a pull she couldn't name—anchored her in place.
She stepped forward.
The bridge groaned beneath her weight. She crossed slowly, lantern raised, its glow steady in her hand. With each step, the whispers guided her, threads of sound weaving together into a path.
By the time she reached the far side, the mist parted like a curtain. The forest loomed before her, vast and waiting.
Aerin hesitated at the edge. Every instinct told her this was madness. And yet the lantern's warmth anchored her, grounding her fear.
One step.
Then another.
The trees closed around her, swallowing the moonlight, but the lantern lit her way. The whispers hushed, fading into silence, as though holding their breath for what she would do next.
Her throat tightened. She raised the lantern higher, the flame gleaming bright against the endless dark.
And for the first time, she felt the truth in her bones:
This was not an accident.
The lantern had been waiting.
For her.