The Last Light

In a village nestled between towering mountains, a single lantern stood at the edge of an ancient forest. Its soft, golden glow had burned for as long as anyone could remember, casting a protective halo over the village. The elders often spoke of the lantern’s magic — a gift from the forest to keep the darkness at bay. No one dared question it. No one, that is, except Mira.

At twelve years old, Mira was known for her curiosity. While the other villagers feared the dense woods, Mira spent her afternoons wandering as close as she could to the edge, watching how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, how strange flowers bloomed in spirals, and how tiny lights flickered at twilight — fireflies, she thought, though they glowed with colors no ordinary insects should.

But one evening, as winter crept into the valley and snowflakes began their slow descent, something unimaginable happened — the lantern flickered… and went out.

The village was thrown into chaos. Bells rang as people scrambled to light torches, but their flames felt weak, like shadows themselves feared the growing dark. The elders gathered in the square, their faces pale. “The light was our protection,” one of them whispered. “Without it, we are vulnerable.”

Mira felt a strange pull toward the now-dark lantern. While everyone else huddled together, she slipped away, her heart racing. She carried a small glass jar, one she had filled the previous summer with glowing fireflies. She didn’t know why she brought it — only that it felt right.

The forest, without the lantern’s glow, looked deeper, darker. But Mira wasn’t afraid. As she approached the extinguished lantern, a soft rustling echoed from the trees behind her. She turned sharply, holding up her jar like a makeshift lantern.

Out of the shadows stepped an old woman. Her skin was lined with deep creases, her hair long and silver, but her eyes—her eyes glowed like molten gold.

"You came," the woman said, her voice gentle and echoing, as if carried by the wind.

Mira’s hands trembled. “Did you… did you put out the light?”

The woman shook her head. “The light was never meant to burn forever. It was only a guide, waiting for the next to carry it forward.” She stepped closer, her gaze soft but piercing. “The forest chose you.”

Mira’s heart pounded. “Me? But I’m just…”

"Curious. Brave. Open-hearted." The old woman smiled. “All the things a guardian needs.”

Mira looked at the dark lantern. She opened her jar. The fireflies, dormant for months, stretched their wings and floated upward. But instead of drifting away, they swirled in a glowing dance around the lantern. One by one, they slipped into its glass core. A soft hum filled the air, rising to a gentle crescendo until—whoosh—the lantern ignited.

But this time, the light was different. It wasn’t just golden — it shimmered with blues, greens, and soft purples, like the aurora borealis had been captured inside.

The old woman smiled. “You see? The light was never about keeping darkness out. It was about bringing life in.”

As the lantern’s glow spread, Mira noticed the trees weren’t ominous shadows anymore. They shimmered with tiny lights, like the fireflies had woken something deep within the forest.

Mira turned back, but the old woman was gone.

From that night on, Mira became the keeper of the last light. She tended it not as a shield against the dark, but as a bridge — between the village and the magic of the forest, between fear and wonder.

And the lantern never flickered again.

"The lantern no longer kept darkness out. It welcomed life in."