The Last Lantern of Liora

In a world where the sun had disappeared a hundred years ago, the people of Liora lived beneath a sky of endless twilight. Crops had adapted, animals had evolved, and humans had survived—barely. But what remained constant was the fear of the ever-creeping Shadowlands, dark regions where light could not reach, and where strange creatures whispered from the void.

Every village had its own Lantern Keeper—an honored protector of the sacred flame. These were no ordinary lanterns. Forged in the Age of Sunlight, they held the last remnants of true sunlight captured in crystal glass. As long as the lanterns stayed lit, the shadows stayed away.

Seventeen-year-old Kael had always dreamed of being a Lantern Keeper, like his grandmother, Mira, who carried the flame for their village of Thorne Hollow. She was old now, her steps slow, her hands trembling. But the light in her eyes had never dimmed.

“You must be ready,” she told Kael one cold evening, her breath fogging the air as they stood beside the lantern post in the village square. “The flame chooses its bearer when the time comes. You don’t take it—it takes you.”

Kael nodded, though he didn’t understand what she meant. All he knew was that he wanted to protect his people. He wanted to keep the darkness away.

One morning, the village woke to silence.

The lantern had gone out.

No one had seen Mira since the previous night.

Panic spread like wildfire. Crops withered by noon. Children wouldn’t leave their homes. The shadows around the village crept closer with every hour. And from the edge of the woods came faint, inhuman whispers.

Kael searched everywhere for Mira but found no trace—until a boy from the east farms stumbled into the village screaming. His eyes were wide, his face pale as ash. He kept saying the same thing: “The forest… she went into the forest.”

The Blackroot Forest.

No one entered it. Not since it had been swallowed by the Shadowlands. But Kael didn’t hesitate.

With nothing but a dagger, a flint, and his grandmother’s old cloak, he stepped into the trees.

The forest was colder than he expected. Shadows shifted like they were alive. He kept a torch lit, but the flame sputtered with every step deeper into the darkness.

Then he saw her.

Mira stood by an ancient tree, its bark blackened, its branches clawing at the sky. She held a crystal in her hand—the heart of the lantern—but the light inside it was almost gone.

She turned to Kael, and for the first time, he saw fear in her eyes.

“I thought I could rekindle it,” she whispered. “I thought the Tree of Origins still held enough memory of the sun.”

Kael stepped forward. “We still have time.”

“No,” Mira said, shaking her head. “Only one path remains.”

She opened her cloak and revealed a book—leather-bound, old, and humming with soft golden light.

“The Book of Flame,” she said. “It tells of one final ember—hidden deep beneath the mountain of Ashrend. If you can reach it, you can relight the flame.”

“But Ashrend is days away—”

“Not for you,” she interrupted. “The path will open to one chosen by the flame.”

She handed him the crystal.

It pulsed weakly in his palm—like a dying heartbeat.

Suddenly, the shadows surged around them. The tree groaned. Mira pushed Kael back and raised her hands, summoning the last of her strength. Light exploded from her chest, forming a dome that held the shadows at bay.

“Run!” she cried. “Before the light fades!”

Kael turned and fled. Behind him, the forest erupted in screams.

By nightfall, he reached the base of Ashrend. The crystal led the way—glowing a little brighter with each step. He climbed for hours, pushing through wind and darkness until he found the cave.

Inside, at the deepest chamber, he saw it: a single ember, floating above a stone pedestal.

He stepped forward, breath held. The crystal in his hand burned, then shattered—its pieces swirling into the ember.

The cave shook. Light poured from the ember, flooding every corner of the mountain, then spilling out into the sky like a sunrise reborn.

Back in Thorne Hollow, villagers cried out as golden light lit the streets. The crops began to bloom. The shadows fled.

Kael returned days later, carrying a new lantern—crafted from the mountain’s crystal, glowing with fresh sunlight.

He placed it on the post.

The people gathered around him, silent, then broke into cheers.

That night, Kael stood alone beside the lantern, watching the stars blink into view—stars not seen in generations.

He didn’t cry for Mira. He knew she was part of the light now.

And he would carry it forward—for her, for Liora, and for all who still feared the dark.