(short story)

In the small, rain-drenched town of Osnewood, everyone knew of the Lantern Keeper. His shop, nestled between a bakery and a cobbler’s, glowed softly at all hours, its windows fogged with a gentle golden haze. No one could recall the Keeper’s age or when the shop first appeared, but for as long as memory stretched, he had been there, selling lanterns that never seemed to need fuel or flame.

Eliza, a curious child with a gap-toothed smile, had always been drawn to the shop. Her grandmother whispered that the Keeper’s lanterns held pieces of people’s souls, protecting them from storms both real and imagined. Eliza didn’t believe her, of course,—souls weren’t things you could put into glass and brass. But on her eleventh birthday, as the rain poured harder than it had in years, she found herself stepping into the shop for the first time.

The Keeper, an impossibly tall man with a beard like tangled ivy, greeted her with a knowing smile. “What brings you here, little one?” His voice was low, like the hum of thunder in the distance.

“I need a lantern,” she said boldly, though she didn’t know why.

The Keeper nodded and gestured to the shelves. Each lantern was unique: one shaped like a birdcage, another like a cluster of stars. One, small and round, pulsed faintly, as if alive.

“This one,” Eliza said, reaching for it.

The Keeper’s smile faded for a moment, replaced by a look of something that might have been sorrow. “This lantern is special,” he said. “It will guide you when you’re lost, but it will not show you the way.”

Eliza didn’t understand, but she nodded. She handed over the single coin her grandmother had tucked into her pocket that morning. The Keeper placed the lantern into her hands, and for a moment, it felt warm, like a heartbeat against her palm.

Over the years, the lantern remained by her side. It never dimmed, even in the deepest darkness. It flickered when she cried, glowed steady when she was brave, and once, when she wandered too far from home, it cast shadows that shaped into arrows, pointing at her back.

It wasn’t until years later, when Eliza stood on the edge of a great decision, that she realized the truth. The lantern wasn’t showing her the future or the past—it was reflecting her heart, whispering the choices she already knew she had to make.

And at that moment, she understood: the Keeper hadn’t sold her a light for the world, but for herself.