Mira learned quickly.
Too quickly.
Elara noticed it in the way Mira paused before each stair, how her hand hovered a breath above the wall before touching it—like she was waiting for the lighthouse to respond. And it always did. A faint warmth. A subtle hum. Acceptance.
The tower had chosen her.
That night, the fog returned without warning, thick enough to swallow the horizon. The beam cut through it cleanly, but the sound of the sea changed—less chaotic, more deliberate.
Mira stood beside Elara in the lantern room, eyes unfocused.
"It's different tonight," Mira said softly.
Elara nodded."It's listening."
Mira's breath hitched. "It's asking something."
Elara turned sharply. "Asking what?"
Mira swallowed. "If I'll stay."
The words settled like weight between them.
Elara closed her eyes for a moment. She had known this day would come—just not how it would feel. The lighthouse never slept, but keepers did not last forever. Balance demanded continuity.
"Answer carefully," Elara said.
"I know," Mira replied. "That's why I haven't."
Below them, the sea surged, waves slapping the rocks with growing force. The beam flickered once—just once—then steadied again.
Mira flinched."It doesn't like waiting."
Elara reached for the iron ring and placed it in Mira's palm. It felt warmer there than it had in years.
"This isn't ownership," Elara said. "It's responsibility. If you accept it, the sea will test you. Not with strength—but with memory."
Mira nodded, tears bright in her eyes."I've already seen things. Faces. Places I never visited."
"That's how it starts."
A sound rose from the depths—low, resonant, not a roar but a call. The fog outside twisted into long, slow spirals, mirroring the motion of the light.
Mira looked at Elara."What if I fail?"
Elara squeezed her hand."Then I'll still be here. That's the difference between feeding the sea and keeping it."
Mira stepped forward, placing her free hand against the lens housing. The lighthouse responded with a gentle vibration, like a purr felt through stone.
The call from below softened.
Not silenced—acknowledged.
Mira exhaled, steadying."I'll stay," she said. "Not forever. But long enough."
The beam brightened.
Outside, the fog thinned, retreating as if disappointed—but respectful.
Elara felt a weight lift from her chest, replaced by something quieter. Not relief. Continuance.
Side by side, they watched the light sweep the sea.
Two keepers.One tower.And an ocean that remembered its limits—for now.