It was an evening like any other when the wanderer appeared, though none in the town of Dunwick could have known the significance of that moment. The cold wind blew through the cobbled streets, and the faint glow of lanterns flickered against the darkness. A market stall sat on the corner of the main square, unremarkable except for one odd detail: an array of candles, each one more intricate than the last. Their wax seemed to shimmer, as though holding secrets just beyond the surface.

The stall’s only occupant was a tall, thin man with a face veiled by a dark hood. His clothes were of a strange fabric, dark as midnight, and despite the chill, he bore no cloak to protect himself. His hands moved deftly, placing new candles in the same quiet manner one might arrange delicate treasures. There was no banner proclaiming his wares, no advertisement to catch the eye—only a simple sign reading, "Candles of Fate".

Curiosity, however, began to stir in the town, for the strange merchant had not been seen before. As the evening wore on, more townsfolk wandered toward the stall, drawn by an unseen force. They stopped, peering at the candles with growing interest. Each one was different: some flickered with strange colors, others seemed to pulse, and a few even emitted a faint hum when touched. But none could match the allure of the candle in the center of the stall. It was unlike any other—a wax of deep crimson, crowned with a black wick that looked almost alive.

A young woman named Lyra, new to the town and still finding her way, approached the stall hesitantly. She’d heard whispers of the strange merchant, of how he’d sold candles that showed glimpses of the future. She had laughed at the notion, thinking it nothing more than superstition. But today, something in her heart told her it was no mere story.

"How much for that one?" Lyra asked, pointing to the crimson candle. Her voice trembled with a mix of skepticism and a strange yearning.

The man’s hood turned ever so slightly toward her, his voice soft yet clear. "For you, a bargain," he said, lifting the candle as though it weighed nothing. "It will show you what you most desire to know. But remember, once it burns, your fate is sealed."

Lyra’s breath caught. “My fate?”

The man nodded, his face still hidden beneath his hood. "The future it reveals is not without consequence. Once the flame dies, so does the freedom to change what is shown."

She hesitated. What if the candle showed her the truth of her life, the one thing she’d always been too afraid to face? What if she saw nothing at all? But there was a pull—a voice inside her urging her to find out. What would it reveal? She had spent too many nights wondering about her own destiny, too many moments searching for answers in a life that seemed always on the edge of a turning point.

"I’ll take it," Lyra said, her voice firmer now, as if some invisible hand had made the decision for her. She reached into her purse, pulling out the last of her savings. The merchant didn’t flinch. He accepted the coins with a knowing look, then handed her the candle. It was warm in her hands, though the night was cold.

“Once you light it, remember that you are ready to face whatever it shows you," he said. His voice carried a weight she couldn’t explain.

Lyra nodded, pocketing the candle and turning away. Her heart raced with anticipation, but as she walked into the darkening streets, a single thought lingered in her mind.

What if the future was something she wasn’t meant to know?

That night, as the winds howled outside her small cottage, Lyra could not sleep. She had placed the crimson candle on her table, watching it for what felt like hours. It was more than just an object now; it seemed alive, almost pulsing with a quiet energy that called to her. The flickering light from the hearth seemed dim in comparison to the candle’s glow. A soft hum filled the room, and for the first time, Lyra felt the weight of her own uncertainty.

She rose from her bed, drawn toward the candle like a moth to a flame. The merchant’s words echoed in her mind: Once the flame dies, your fate is sealed.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was the night her life would change, the night she would finally learn what lay beyond her reach. Her hands trembled as she picked up a match, her fingers brushing against the delicate wick. The crimson wax shimmered under the light, as though it had been waiting for her all along.

Without further hesitation, Lyra struck the match and brought it to the wick. The flame flared to life, warm and bright, and for a moment, the world around her seemed to vanish. The crackling of the fire in the hearth, the howling wind outside—everything faded. It was just her, the candle, and the flickering flame.

As the candle’s light grew, so did a strange sensation. Lyra felt as though the room was stretching, bending, warping. Shadows danced on the walls, swirling in patterns she couldn’t quite understand. She felt a pull in her chest, a sudden force drawing her closer to the candle. Her breath quickened.

Then, the flame flickered.

For the briefest of moments, it was as though the world outside her home no longer existed. A vision appeared before her, like a window opening into another time, another place. In the vision, she saw herself—standing in a grand hall, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. The room was opulent, with golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, but the air was thick with tension. Lyra’s heart pounded as she watched herself in the vision, her eyes full of fear.

She was about to speak, to call out, but then something shifted. The vision changed, and she saw herself standing at the edge of a cliff, gazing out at an endless ocean. Her heart sank as she recognized the scene—it was a moment from her childhood, a memory long buried. Her father had stood by her side then, whispering words of comfort, telling her that the future was hers to shape. But the words in the vision were different. Her father’s face was pale, his eyes distant.

“Choose wisely, Lyra,” he said, his voice a distant echo. “You can’t change what’s already been decided.”

Suddenly, the flame flickered again, this time threatening to die. Lyra reached forward instinctively, but before her fingers could touch it, the candle’s light flared one last time—bright, blinding. The vision fractured, breaking into shards of light, and in an instant, everything was gone.

The room was silent once more. The flame of the candle still burned, but the image of the future had disappeared. Lyra’s breath came in ragged gasps. She stumbled backward, her legs weak, her mind racing with confusion. What had she just seen? Was it her future—or a warning?

Her gaze fell to the candle. It had not extinguished, though its glow seemed dimmer now, as if it had lost some of its power.

For a moment, she wondered if it had all been a dream. But as her hands gripped the edges of the table, her thoughts slowly began to clear. She understood now. The future was not something to be taken lightly. She had glimpsed what was to come, and yet she felt more uncertain than ever.

The flame would burn out eventually. And when it did, her fate would be sealed.

Lyra had not expected to see the wanderer again. After that night with the candle, she felt a sense of dread whenever she thought of him—of the strange, cursed objects he sold and the ominous warning he had given her. The more she reflected on her vision, the more she realized how little she understood about what she had seen. The vision of the hall, the cliff, her father’s distant words—they all seemed like pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite put together.

Still, despite the confusion and unease, there was something about the merchant that kept drawing her in. She needed answers. Was the future really set in stone? Could she change it? Was there any hope of escaping the fate that the candle seemed to have shown her?

So, the next morning, after a restless night, she set out to find him.

The town of Dunwick was small, and the wanderer’s stall had been easy to find the first time. But when she arrived at the marketplace, she found that his stall was gone. Her heart sank. Perhaps he had already moved on, as mysterious travelers often did. Or perhaps she was too late—he had already vanished, just as quickly as he had appeared.

Determined, Lyra wandered the streets, asking anyone who might know where the merchant had gone. The townspeople were hesitant to speak of him, exchanging nervous glances whenever his name was mentioned. The only thing they knew was that he had passed through once before, selling his strange candles, but no one had ever seen him leave.

After hours of searching, just as she was about to give up, Lyra stumbled upon a small alleyway on the edge of town. There, in the shadow of a tall stone building, was the wanderer’s stall, now abandoned but for a single candle resting on the counter—the crimson candle that she had bought.

Her heart raced as she approached. The candle was still warm to the touch, though the merchant was nowhere to be seen. There were no signs, no banners—only the faint scent of wax and something that felt like magic in the air.

“Looking for something?” a voice called out from behind her.

Lyra turned sharply. Standing in the shadows was the merchant, his dark hood still obscuring most of his face. Despite his absence from the marketplace, he had somehow known she would come.

“Why do you hide?” Lyra asked, her voice a mix of frustration and curiosity. “Why do you sell these candles if you know what they do?”

The merchant stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. “I don’t hide,” he replied softly, his voice carrying a weight of sorrow. “I simply live where fate leads me. And as for the candles, they are not what you think.”

Lyra felt a surge of anger, but she quickly suppressed it. “Then tell me what they are. What do they really do? What is this curse you keep speaking of?”

The merchant sighed, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world rested upon them. “You know what they do. You felt it, didn’t you? The moment the flame flickered, the vision... it was not your imagination. But it’s not the vision itself that is dangerous.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “It is the choice that comes after.”

Lyra frowned. “Choice? What do you mean?”

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, delicate box. It was carved with intricate designs, each detail seeming to shift as he turned it in his hands. “These candles,” he continued, “show a path, a possible future. But once the flame burns out, the path is no longer just a possibility. It becomes your fate. You can’t unsee what you’ve seen. The moment you light it, you accept that future, whether you like it or not.”

Lyra’s heart pounded. She had thought she had control—she had believed that knowing the future might give her power over it. But now, as the merchant’s words settled in her mind, she understood: the future was not a gift. It was a chain.

“So, what happens when it burns out?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“The choice is gone,” the merchant replied. “You will find yourself walking that path, whether you wish to or not. The future is set, and the candles force you to follow it. Those who have bought them before you have tried to fight it, to change it. But none have succeeded. They are drawn toward what they fear, what they desire. And in doing so, they seal their own fates.”

Lyra felt a shiver run down her spine. She thought back to the vision—the distant future she had seen, where she stood alone, surrounded by strangers, holding something in her hand. It had been so vivid, so real. Had it already been decided for her? Could she even change it?

She stepped back, her mind whirling with questions. “But you sell these knowing the consequences. Why? Why do you do it?”

The merchant’s expression darkened. “I didn’t choose this. I didn’t ask for the curse that binds me to this task. But now, I have no choice. I can’t escape it. I can’t stop others from buying the candles. I can’t stop them from seeking the truth, no matter how much it destroys them.”

Lyra felt a pang of sympathy for the man, though she still couldn’t fully understand. “So, you’re trapped. But I’m not. I don’t have to buy another candle. I don’t have to play this game.”

The merchant’s eyes locked onto hers. “No, you don’t. But be careful. Once you know the future, you’ll never be able to live in the present again. You’ll always be searching for what comes next, always haunted by the choices you didn’t make.”

Lyra swallowed hard. The weight of the decision seemed impossible to bear. She could feel the pull of the unknown, the lure of seeing more. But she also knew the cost.

“What happens if I destroy the candle?” she asked, her voice quiet but resolute.

The merchant shook his head slowly. “The curse cannot be undone. Even if you destroy the candles, their power remains. And the path you’re meant to walk will find you, in the end.”

Lyra turned away from him, the words heavy in her chest. She couldn’t unsee the future she had glimpsed, but now she understood the danger. There was no simple answer. No way to stop the curse once it was in motion.

As she walked away, she looked back over her shoulder, the merchant’s shadow lingering in the alleyway, watching her. And for the first time, Lyra realized that she wasn’t just running from the future—she was running toward it.