The Lantern Festival
The sun dipped low behind the trees, painting the sky in streaks of gold and pink. Smoke curled from the villagers' chimneys, and in every hand, a glowing lantern swayed gently round, delicate, made of thin rice paper stretched over willow frames. Some were painted with birds. Others with stars. Lucy's had no painting at all. Just pale white, like a moon waiting to rise.
She stood near the edge of the crowd, lantern held tightly, her palms damp. Children ran between the adults, laughter trailing behind them like ribbons. Lucy didn't laugh. Not tonight. Not ever, really.
This was the tenth year she had come to the festival. The tenth year without her mother. And tonight, like always, she was the only girl in the crowd whose lantern glowed without being lit.
The elders said it was because she was "touched." They never said whether they meant blessed or cursed.
"Light your lantern," someone whispered behind her. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just tired of waiting.
Lucy stepped forward. Her bare feet brushed the cool grass at the edge of the riverbank, where reeds bent in the evening breeze. She crouched and touched the bottom of her lantern to the water.
The other lanterns floated gently, drifting down the stream, their warm lights like stars caught in the current.
Lucy's lantern did not float.
It hovered.
Just above the surface, trembling softly. Then, without warning, it jerked upward sailing high into the air, higher than the trees, spinning once and then shot toward the forest.
The villagers gasped.
The forest stood tall and silent beyond the river, thick with ancient oaks and silver-leafed ash trees. No one went there. Not even the bravest hunters. It was a place of lost things of stories swallowed and never returned.
Lucy's lantern vanished into that darkness without a sound.
The whispers started before she turned around.
"Not again."
"She shouldn't have come."
"It's unnatural."
Lucy didn't answer. She held her breath, heart pounding. She could still feel the weight of the lantern in her hands, even though it was long gone.
A single thought echoed in her chest like
a heartbeat:
The forest is calling me.
The forest did not return her lantern.
It didn't return anything. Not ever.
Lucy sat by her window that night, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the treetops in the distance. The villagers had gone quiet. No one knocked on her door. No one brought her warm bread or smiled the way they used to when her mother was still alive.
She hadn't belonged here in a long time but tonight made it clear. The lantern had chosen the forest over the river. Over the sky. Over peace.
She hadn't told anyone that it wasn't the first time the forest had spoken to her.
Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, just before sunrise, Lucy would hear voices in the wind. Not words, exactly more like feelings that hummed through the air like broken music. Sorrow. Hunger. Hope.
But tonight, it wasn't just a whisper.
It was a name.
"Lucy..."
She flinched, dropping her candle. The flame snuffed out against the wooden floor, but she didn't move to pick it up. Her eyes searched the room. Nothing.
Again, softer, closer: "Lucy."
Her breath hitched. She stood, slowly, barefoot on the creaky boards, and opened the window.
A breeze stirred her hair. Moonlight bathed the trees in silver. The forest stood like a wall of shadows unmoving. But the wind smelled like lantern smoke. Faintly sweet. Familiar.
Then she saw it.
A single lantern floated outside her window. Pale white, like hers. But instead of drifting, it hovered still, as if waiting.
Lucy reached out. The moment her fingers brushed the edge, the lantern blinked and a memory exploded behind her eyes.
Her mother. Laughing. Turning in a slow circle in their kitchen, her skirts swaying. Music playing softly in the background. The smell of spiced tea. Her hands warm as they tucked Lucy's hair behind her ear.
Then flames.
Screaming.
Darkness.
Lucy gasped and fell back. The lantern vanished.
Her heart thundered as she backed away from the window, trembling.
Not just a memory.
A warning.
She didn't sleep that night. She sat with her back to the wall, eyes fixed on the stars, wondering how much of herself lived in the forest now.
Because something had awakened. And it was looking for her.
The following morning,
It started with a flicker.
Lucy was sweeping the floor of the old teahouse where she worked in the mornings, watching clouds gather over the horizon. They were darker than usual, bruised and heavy. The air had that thick, waiting silence the kind that presses against your skin and whispers something is coming.
Mark came running in before the first raindrop fell.
"Lucy" he shouted, shaking water from his hair. "You have to come see this!"
She leaned her broom against the doorframe and followed him out into the square. Other villagers were already standing in small clusters, staring up.
The lanterns.
They were back.
Dozens of them floated just above the rooftops, their pale lights glowing dimly even in the daylight. All white. All the same. Like hers.
But they didn't float calmly this time. They spun, twitched, pulsed like frightened birds. Then, as one, they turned facing the forest.
The first crack of thunder split the sky open.
People screamed. Children were pulled indoors. Someone shouted that the gods were angry. Another blamed Lucy outright.
She stood frozen in the rain, mouth dry, watching the lanterns pull toward the forest as if drawn by an invisible thread. One by one, they vanished into the trees.
All except one.
It hovered just above her head, the same pale white as before, then darted behind her and disappeared this time into the village well.
The storm came in full then. Wind whipped the trees sideways. Rain fell in sheets. Roofs groaned. Windows shattered.
And through it all, Lucy ran.
Not away. Toward the well.
Because something told her she needed to. Not a voice, this time but a feeling in her bones, like her feet already knew the way.
Mark caught her by the arm halfway there. "What are you doing?" he shouted over the wind.
"I have to see it."
He hesitated, eyes wide. "You saw it too, didn't you? The lantern?"
Lucy nodded. "It went into the well."
They reached the stone edge just as a great shudder rolled through the ground beneath them. The wind howled louder, and in the flash of lightning, Lucy saw it:
A hand.
Reaching up from inside the well.
She gasped. Mark didn't wait he pulled her back. "We need to go! Now!"
But it was too late.
A second bolt of lightning struck the old oak by the well. The tree split down the middle, its burning branches crashing to the ground.
Lucy and Mark were thrown back. Her head hit something hard, and for a moment, all she saw was light and ash and floating lanterns in the sky.
When she came to, the storm had passed.
So had Mark.
He was gone.
All that remained was his necklace an old bronze charm shaped like a crescent moon left hanging on the stones of the well, warm to the touch.
The forest was silent. Not peaceful. Not calm.
Just… waiting.
Lucy stood at its edge with the weight of Mark's charm in her pocket. No one had seen him since the storm. No one wanted to look. And no one spoke to her anymore.
The village had turned its back.
So she turned hers, too.
The grass beneath her feet gave way to earth darker than coal. Roots twisted underfoot like veins. Trees leaned in, their branches long and thin, like fingers whispering secrets above her head.
She didn't know where to step.
The path didn't begin it swallowed.
Every breath she took inside the forest felt thick, as if she was inhaling stories instead of air. Every step forward made her feel smaller, quieter.
Then came the lights.
Lanterns.
Hundreds of them.
They hovered midair, scattered between branches like stars that had forgotten the sky. Some flickered. Some pulsed with a slow rhythm, like sleeping hearts. Their glow wasn't golden it was ghost-white, like breath on glass.
One floated down in front of her, close enough to touch. Inside, it shimmered with movement, like smoke trapped in glass.
Then it cleared.
And Lucy saw herself.
A memory barefoot, five years old, chasing Mark through the market with a stolen plum in her hand, both of them laughing. Her mother's voice calling from behind.
The image vanished. Another memory flickered in.
Mark s face, bruised and scared, the night he told her he didn't believe in the forest's curse anymore. "If it calls you, maybe it's because it remembers you," he'd said.
She stumbled back.
The lantern floated away without sound, like it had only come to remind her what she had lost.
A rustle came from the underbrush.
Lucy froze.
Another step. Then another.
A figure stepped forward tall, cloaked in shadows, his eyes glowing faintly from within a hood. His voice was soft, but steady.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I'm looking for someone," Lucy said. "A boy. His name is Mark."
The figure tilted his head. "The forest doesn't give back what it takes."
She stood her ground. "Then I'll take him back myself."
Silence.
Then, from under the hood, she heard something like a tired laugh. Not cruel. Just sad.
"You don't even know what this place is, do you?"
He stepped closer. She could see him more clearly now skin dusted with ash, veins glowing faintly like silver threads. Not fully human. Not anymore.
"I'm Tim ," he said. "Guardian of the Lantern Path. And if you want to survive, you'll need to learn the rules."
Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Then teach me."
Tim stared at her for a long time.
Then finally, he turned and walked into the deeper woods.
The lanterns shifted above them.
And Lucy followed.
The forest did not begin with a path.
It began with silence.
Lucy stood at the edge of it, her boots just touching the mossy line where the village fields ended and the forbidden trees began. Behind her, the wind carried the faint hum of village life the clang of pots, the cry of a baby, the thud of wood being chopped. But none of it belonged to her anymore.
She reached into her pocket and closed her fingers around Mark s charm.
The crescent moon pendant was warm, as if it still held a piece of him. Her throat tightened. She couldn't picture his face without also seeing the flash of lightning, the hand from the well, the burning tree.
She took one step forward.
Then another.
The trees swallowed her whole.
It was not dark, not exactly but it was the kind of light that felt wrong. Like the forest made its own version of day. A pale green glow shimmered through the thick canopy, and the air hung heavy with the smell of moss, ash, and something older something wild.
The roots twisted underfoot like snakes frozen mid-slither. The ground was uneven, soft in some places, sunken in others, and it forced her to walk slowly, deliberately, like someone being watched.
She was being watched.
Lucy didn't know how she knew, only that the hairs on her arms stood up and the breath in her lungs didn't feel like it belonged to her anymore.
Then came the lanterns.
They didn't appear all at once. The first one floated from behind a crooked tree, spinning slowly, its white glow soft and eerie. Then another. And another. Soon, there were dozens no, hundreds drifting silently above her like strange stars caught in a dream.
Each lantern shimmered with a faint pulse. Some were cracked. Some looked newly lit. But all of them moved as if they could see her.
One dipped down in front of her.
She froze.
It hovered at eye level, glowing slightly warmer now. Inside, the light swirled like mist and then formed an image.
A memory.
Lucy saw herself smaller, younger, wearing a patched dress and muddy boots, laughing as she ran through the village market with a plum in her hands. Behind her, Mark gave chase, yelling playfully, "You're the worst thief ever!"
She smiled, stunned.
The image faded.
Another flickered to life. Her mother's hands braiding her hair, soft humming in the background. The smell of cinnamon and old paper. Her mother's voice: "Your name means light, Lucy. You remember that."
Her chest ached. The warmth, the love it was all gone.
The lantern floated back into the trees as silently as it had come, as if it had only come to remind her: You've already lost more than you realize.
Then came the sound.
It was faint at first like a foot brushing fallen leaves but it didn't come from her.
She spun around.
A tall figure stood just beyond a cluster of twisted trees, cloaked in dark fabric that shimmered like bark in shadow. His hood was pulled low, but Lucy could see his eyes silver, glowing faintly, like embers that had never cooled.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice like quiet thunder.
Lucy didn't step back. "I'm looking for someone. A boy. He disappeared the night of the storm."
The figure tilted his head. "They always disappear. The forest remembers what the world forgets."
"I don't care. I'm going to find him."
He stepped forward, revealing more of himself. His skin looked human, but it was marked ash-colored lines ran along his arms and neck like veins made of smoke. His presence felt old. Bound.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Tim," he said. "Once a prince. Now a guardian. This forest is not what you think it is."
"I don't care what it is," she snapped. "It took someone I love. I'm not leaving without him."
Tim looked at her, really looked. His eyes softened slightly not pity, but recognition.
"Then you need to learn the rules. This place listens. It lies. And it remembers you, Lucy, whether you remember it or not."
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
But he was already walking.
She hesitated then followed.
Behind her, the lanterns shifted slightly, like a thousand eyes turning to watch the girl who dared to enter the forest of forgotten light.
And ahead of her, for the first time, a path began to form.
Tim didn't speak for a long time.
And Lucy didn't ask.
The path he led her through wasn't a path at all. It twisted and shifted underfoot, not made of dirt or stone but something stranger pale, soft ground like pressed petals, whispering faintly with each step she took.
The trees grew taller here, their bark silver-veined and gleaming faintly in the green light. The leaves above were so thick that the sky had disappeared entirely. Lucy felt like she had left the world behind. Maybe she had.
Tim moved like he belonged here. Silent. Measured. As if the forest bent to let him pass.
Eventually, the path widened into a glade, and Lucy gasped.
Hundreds of lanterns hovered between the trees, each one cradled in a hanging vine of silver thread. They pulsed softly, lighting up the glade like breath trapped in glass. At the center stood an ancient tree, its trunk black and glossy like obsidian, and from its branches hung the oldest lanterns dim, cracked, some nearly extinguished.
Tim stopped at its roots.
"This is the Heart Tree," he said. "The forest's memory."
Lucy stepped closer, staring up at it. The lanterns swayed gently in the still air, whispering names she couldn't quite hear.
"What are they?" she asked.
"Souls. Moments. People who entered the forest and didn't leave. Some gave themselves freely. Others were taken."
Lucy felt her chest tighten. "Is Ren one of them?"
Tim's expression didn't change, but his voice softened. "Not yet. But the forest has marked him. And you."
She took a step back. "Why me?"
"You were born on the border of forgetting and remembering," he said. "That makes you a key. You can pass through places others can't. The forest doesn't know what to make of you."
Lucy stared at the lanterns, each one glowing with a faint pulse. "Can I talk to them?"
"Not yet," Tim said. "But if you're quiet, you can listen."
Lucy sat at the base of the Heart Tree. She closed her eyes.
For a moment, there was only the hush of the wind, the faint creak of branches.
Then a voice.
It was young. Familiar.
"Lucy ?"
Her eyes flew open. One lantern near the top flickered brighter.
"Mark!" she shouted, standing.
Tim reached out and stopped her. "You can't pull him out. Not like this. If you rush, the forest will close around you. You'll lose yourself before you reach him."
Tears burned in her eyes. "I saw him. I heard him. He's close."
"Yes," Tim said. "But close in the forest is not the same as close in the world."
Lucy turned away, anger burning in her chest. "Then why bring me here? Why not let me go alone?"
Tim was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Because I once tried to save someone, too. And I failed. The forest let me live, but only if I stayed. Now I serve it. Guard it. Wait."
She looked at him. "Then help me. Don't just wait. Please."
Something shifted in his face like a locked door quietly clicking open.
"There's a place deeper in," he said finally. "The Lantern Vault. It's where the forest hides the memories it fears. If Ren is trapped, that's where you'll find what's holding him."
Lucy nodded. "Then take me there."
Tim didn't move. "It's not that simple. The Vault is protected. There are riddles. Shadows. And the forest may ask for something in return."
Lucy's hand tightened around the charm in her pocket. Her voice was steady now.
"Then let it ask. I'll answer."
Tim studied her for a long time.
Then he turned toward the deeper woods
and raised his hand. The lanterns above them shifted.
And a new path opened.
The forest deepened, and so did the silence.
Lucy followed Tim l through a narrow passage between two gnarled trees whose trunks curled inward like ribs. It felt like stepping into a different world a world that had forgotten time. The light was stranger here, dim and flickering, as though it filtered through water instead of air.
She wanted to speak, to ask where they were going, but something about Tim made words feel too loud. He didn't look back. He didn't speak. He simply walked, as if he had walked this path a thousand times before and each time it cost him something.
They came to a glade at last, and Lucy's breath caught.
Lanterns.
So many lanterns she lost count.
They hung from vines that grew downward from the trees like silver hair. They floated between branches, curled into tree hollows, hovered above still pools of black water. Each one pulsed faintly as if alive. As if breathing.
And at the very center of the glade stood the Heart Tree.
It was unlike anything Lucy had ever seen. It didn't look alive. Its bark was black and glassy, like obsidian, and its roots curled out like skeletal fingers, each one cradling a lantern. The lanterns in its highest branches were faintest of all some barely flickering, others completely dark. And yet none of them fell.
Tim stopped at the base of the tree. For a moment, he didn't speak. He simply placed his hand on its trunk, eyes closed, like greeting an old friend too heavy with memory to hold.
"This is the Heart Tree," he said finally, his voice low, reverent. "It's the memory of the forest."
Lucy stepped forward slowly, her boots sinking slightly into the soft moss.
"Are these... people?" she asked.
"Pieces of them,"Tim said. "Stories, faces, moments. The forest keeps what the world forgets. Sometimes it takes memories by force. Other times... they're given willingly."
She walked closer to one of the lower branches. A lantern there pulsed softly. The glow inside shimmered with shapes she couldn't quite make out like a dream half-remembered.
Tim watched her carefully. "Touching them can be dangerous."
Lucy's hand froze mid-air. "Why?"
"Because you might see something you're not ready for. The forest doesn't filter truth. It just keeps it."
She let her hand fall.
"You said the forest marked me. That it remembers me. Why?"
Tim's expression shifted, the corners of his mouth tightening like he wanted to say something but couldn't.
"You were born in the season of broken moons," he said. "That makes you a Threshold Child one who can pass between remembering and forgetting. Between worlds."
"I'm not special," she said, more bitterly than she meant to. "I'm just a girl who lost everything."
"And that's exactly what the forest loves most," he said. "The ones with holes inside. Because it fills them."
She turned away from the Heart Tree, fists clenched. "Then maybe I'll burn it down."
Tim didn't flinch. "Many have tried. Fire dies here. So does vengeance, if you're not careful."
His words struck something raw.
Lucy stepped back, closing her eyes, trying to breathe. But the air felt too full of stories old griefs hanging in the leaves, sighing through the branches.
Then she heard it.
A voice.
So soft, she nearly missed it.
"Lucy?"
Her eyes snapped open. A lantern midway up the tree flared brighter. Inside it, for a single heartbeat, she saw Mark's face. Pale. Frightened. Calling her name.
"Mark!" she cried, reaching for the nearest branch to climb.
Tim caught her arm. His grip was strong not cruel, but firm enough to hold her still.
"You'll lose yourself," he said. "This tree doesn't give freely."
"But he's there!" she shouted, heart pounding. "I saw him!"
"I know. But if you reach for him without understanding what holds him, you'll vanish into the lantern next to his."
She stared at the flickering orb where Mark's image had already faded.
"I have to save him," she whispered.
Tim released her arm slowly. "Then you'll have to go deeper."
He turned and looked toward the dark part of the forest, where no lanterns floated.
"There's a vault," he said. "Buried at the center of the forest. It holds what the forest doesn't want remembered. What it fears. If Ren is bound, the answer is there."
Lucy didn't hesitate. "Then take me."
Tim shook his head. "I can't walk that path again. Not yet. But I can show you the door."
She looked at him. "Why help me at all?"
For the first time, he seemed uncertain. His voice dropped.
"Because once, a girl like you came looking for someone she loved. I failed her. She became a lantern."
Lucy swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "Then don't fail me."
Tim held her gaze. Then slowly, he raised his hand. The lanterns above shifted, like birds rustling in a sleeping tree. The vines parted. The forest opened not with light, but with shadow.
A narrow path appeared.
Lucy stepped forward.
Behind her, the Heart Tree whispered
softly. Names. Memories. Warnings.
But ahead of her lay the path to the Vault.
She didn't look back.
The path was narrow and cold.
Lucy could feel the temperature drop with every step. The trees here were bare branches like brittle bones, bark faded to white. No lanterns floated above. No birds called. Even her footsteps made no sound, as though the forest had swallowed noise itself.
Behind her, Tim stood at the edge of the path, watching. He didn't follow.
"The Vault is alive," he had warned. "It doesn't just hide memories it tests them. It will show you your truth. And it will demand something back."
Lucy had nodded.
But now, walking alone into a forest that had no color, no sky, no sound, she wasn't so sure. Her breath came out in pale clouds. The charm in her pocket Mark's grew colder.
Soon the trees fell away entirely.
And the world became stone.
Massive cliffs rose around her, covered in ancient etchings that pulsed with silver light. The ground flattened into a path carved with symbols that moved beneath her feet, shifting patterns that seemed to recognize her.
At the very end stood a door.
Not made of wood or metal, but of shadow.
It rippled as she approached, like a pool turned upright. And above it, engraved in silver script:
"To remember is to bleed. To forget is to vanish. Choose."
She reached out and the shadow parted like silk.
Lucy stepped into the Vault.
Inside, there was no room. No shape. Only space, vast and endless. Stars spun above her. Water rippled below her feet. And floating all around her were lanterns hundreds, thousands except these were different.
Dark.
Not unlit, but wounded.
Each one trembled with a memory too painful to fully hold. Faces twisted in grief. Hands reaching. Screams trapped in glass. Some memories played endlessly loops of heartbreak. Others flickered once and vanished.
The Vault didn't just store forgotten light.
It fed on it.
Lucy moved carefully, her heartbeat loud in the silence. And then there. A lantern glowing brighter than the rest. Its pulse was familiar.
She stepped closer.
Inside, she saw Mark.
Not just an image but a memory.
The storm.
He stood by the old well, shouting for her. She wasn't there. Then came the flash of lightning. A voice in the wind. The ground cracked open and the forest reached for him.
Lucy reached for the lantern.
But the moment her fingers touched it, the Vault changed.
The stars above flared white. The water beneath her feet turned to mirrors. And one by one, reflections of herself stepped forward.
They were three.
The first Lucy was younger hopeful, laughing, hand in Mark's. "Remember this?" she whispered. "Before the grief?"
The second Lucy was twisted with anger. "You abandoned your mother. You let them bury her without a tear. You forgot who you were."
The third Lucy was silent, broken eyed. She held a mirror in her hands and showed Lucy a reflection she barely recognized her now, hollowed out by fear.
"You cannot save him," all three said together. "Not until you face yourself."
Lucy wanted to run. But she stood.
"I am not whole," she said. "But I am still here. I remember. I bleed. I choose."
The mirrors shattered.
The lantern flared.
And from its center, Mark's voice called again: "Lucy?"
She reached in not just with her hand, but her memory. She gave the Vault her pain. Her fear. Her guilt. Her truth.
The lantern cracked.
And Mark's memory fell into her arms like smoke turning solid.
He was unconscious, pale, but breathing. Not in body, but in soul.
The Vault let her leave.
Just like that, the shadows peeled back. The stars dimmed. And she was standing once more at the path's end, Mark's lantern pulsing faintly in her hands.
Tim was waiting.
"You found him," he said.
"I found myself," she replied.
And together, they began the journey back toward the Heart Tree.
The cold grew sharper with each step.
Lucy walked alone, the forest behind her fading into a dull, gray hush. The trees thinned, then vanished entirely, leaving only pale roots clawing at the frost-bitten earth. It felt like the world was unraveling around her. Like she was no longer inside a forest, but inside a memory that didn't belong to her.
The silence pressed against her ears. Not peaceful, but empty.
And yet, her heart beat louder than ever.
Tim's words echoed in her mind:
"The Vault doesn't just guard memories it reveals them. All of them. Yours, too."
She wasn't ready. But Mark needed her.
The path gave way to stone massive slabs of it, etched with silver lines that pulsed faintly beneath her feet. They formed symbols that shifted as she stepped forward. They moved like thought, like memory.
The stone rose into cliffs that loomed like forgotten gods. And ahead, carved into the cliff wall, was a door made of shadow. It rippled as though alive, and over it, written in curling, ancient script:
"To remember is to bleed. To forget is to vanish. Choose."
Lucy stood before it, breath shallow, her hands trembling.
She reached out.
And the door melted at her touch.
Inside, there was no air. No ground. No sky.
Just space.
A vast, starless void filled with floating lanterns thousands of them, suspended in silence, each one holding something broken.
These were not like the others.
These lanterns didn't glow they wound.
Their light flickered like dying flames. Their glass cracked and wept silver tears. From some, whispers spilled: sobs, screams, names lost to time. From others, nothing at all only silence so deep it throbbed.
Lucy stepped into the void, her feet brushing across a floor made of shifting mirrors. Her reflection stared up at her from every direction. Older. Younger. Feral. Fading.
And all around her, the Vault waited.
She walked forward, drawn toward a lantern that pulsed more steadily than the rest. It hovered low, trembling like it was caught between letting go and holding on.
When she came closer, her chest squeezed.
Inside was Mark,
Not just his face but a moment. A memory.
He was standing by the well behind her grandmother's house. Rain poured around him. Lightning streaked the sky. He was calling her name.
"Lucy!"
He turned. The wind howled.
And the forest opened.
Roots coiled around his feet, too fast to fight. His hands reached upward, desperate for help, for her but she wasn't there.
Lucy staggered forward. "Mark..."
As soon as her hand touched the lantern, the Vault reacted.
The stars above ignited, flooding the space with searing white. The mirrors below her shimmered and then began to rise.
Three figures stepped out.
Each one was her.
The first Lucy was younger carefree, laughing, eyes wide with wonder. She wore a ribbon in her hair and held Mark's hand like she'd never let it go. She whispered:
"We were happy, once. Don't you remember?"
The second Lucy was wild-eyed, furious, soaked in rain. Her voice cracked like thunder.
"You let her die. You shut the door. You chose to forget because remembering made you weak."
The third Lucy was barely standing. Her eyes were hollow. She held a mirror that reflected Lucy as she was now: thin, afraid, uncertain.
"This is who you are," she whispered. "Half-light. Half-lost."
Lucy's legs trembled.
"I don't want to see this," she said, voice shaking.
But the Vault didn't care what she wanted.
It demanded truth.
"Fine," she whispered, stepping toward them. "Then look."
She faced the younger Lucy first.
"I remember being happy," she said. "But I can't live there anymore. I loved Mark. I still do. But holding onto who I used to be won't bring him back."
Then she turned to the angry Lucy.
"I didn't let her die. I was a child. I was afraid. I didn't know how to fight the dark. I still don't but I'm learning."
Lastly, she looked into the mirror held by the broken Lucy.
The reflection trembled. Her eyes filled with tears.
"I am not whole," she whispered. "But I'm trying. And that matters."
The mirror cracked.
And one by one, the three reflections dissolved into light.
The Vault fell silent.
The lantern containing Mark pulsed once twice and then split open with a soft shhhk.
Light poured out. Not blinding but warm.
And there he was.
Mark.
His soul-form was faint, like mist given shape. But his eyes opened.
"Lucy?"
She caught him as he fell forward, barely able to hold him. He felt weightless. Like memory. Like moonlight.
"I'm here," she whispered, holding him close. "I came back."
He looked at her with the softest smile.
"You remembered me."
"I never stopped."
And just like that, the Vault began to fade.
The stars dimmed. The mirrors sank. The lanterns pulled back into darkness, and the door behind her opened again.
She stepped through it, carrying Mark's spirit like a lantern reborn
Outside, Tim stood waiting at the edge of the frost.
His expression didn't change, but Lucy saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"You returned."
"So did he," she said.
She held up the pale, glowing shard that remained of Mark's lantern.
Tim reached out to touch it, then stopped. "He's still not whole."
"I know," Lucy said. "But I am. Or closer,
at least. That's enough for now."
Tim gave a single nod.
And they turned back toward the Heart Tree.
The forest, for once, did not whisper.
It watched.
The forest breathed differently when they returned.
The path that had once bristled with thorns and warning now parted with silence and ease, vines curling back like eyelids waking from sleep.
Lucy held the shard of Mark's lantern close to her chest, its glow flickering gently with his breath. Though his body was not yet whole, his spirit remained warm in her arms light tethered to memory, not yet lost to the dark.
Tim walked beside her, his expression unreadable.
"You crossed the Vault and came back whole," he said at last. "Few ever do. Fewer still bring someone with them."
"I didn't come back the same," Lucy replied quietly. "But maybe that's the point."
She could still feel the echo of her other selves broken, angry, innocent haunting the edges of her thoughts. They hadn't vanished. They had become her. A chorus of grief and growth stitched into her spine.
When they reached the Heart Tree, the forest shifted.
The lanterns above stirred as if sensing something new, something returned. The tree's glassy bark shimmered with soft pulses of color blue, green, silver as if exhaling its centuries of silence just once.
Tim stepped aside.
"This part is yours now."
Lucy approached the Heart Tree with cautious reverence. She could feel its ancient presence watching her not with eyes, but with memory. It knew her. It had always known her. And now it waited.
She placed Mark's lantern shard at the base of the tree.
The roots parted slightly, revealing a hollow shaped like a cradle.
She laid it down gently.
And then the tree responded.
A single branch bent low. A lantern, half formed and empty, lowered toward the shard. As it touched, a bloom of light exploded between them not harsh, but radiant.
Mark's spirit flickered once... then again.
And slowly, he began to re-form.
Not fully flesh. Not yet.
But not only memory.
He opened his eyes.
"Lucy," he said softly.
His voice sounded like her name had always lived inside it.
"I'm here," she whispered, tears streaking her cheeks. "You're safe now."
He looked around, eyes wide with awe and fear.
"I remember the storm... the forest pulling me under. I thought I was gone."
"You almost were," she said. "But the forest remembered you. And I did too."
Tim stepped forward, his tone gentle but serious. "His soul has been restored, but the forest still holds part of his essence. He won't survive long in your world not unless the bond is fully healed."
Lucy turned. "How do I do that?"
Tim paused. "There's one more trial. Not of memory, but of sacrifice."
Lucy stood, wiping her eyes. "What kind of sacrifice?"
"The forest gave you a part of itself," Tim said.
"You carry its mark. To give Mark back his full life, you must offer it something in return."
She already knew the answer before he said it.
"My memories," she whispered.
Tim nodded. "The ones that made you strong enough to find him."
Lucy looked at Mark.
He was fading, ever so slightly. She could feel it.
But in her heart, something stirred not fear, but clarity.
"No," she said. "There's another way."
Tim's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
She stepped forward, placing her hand on the Heart Tree's bark.
"I will give the forest a new memory. Not a sacrifice but a story. Ours. Let it remember both of us not in pain, but in light. Let it hold what we've survived, not what we've lost."
The lanterns above trembled.
And the tree responded.
A soft wind circled the glade. The sky above them shimmered with strange constellations. The lanterns flickered like stars being rewritten.
The forest accepted.
A new lantern began to form golden, vibrant, whole.
Mark stepped beside her. He was solid now. Tired, but real.
"You did it," he said.
"No," she replied, smiling through tears. "We did."
The lantern rose slowly, settling in the tree's crown. A new light in the Forest of a Thousand Lanterns.
A story remembered.
A bond unbroken.