Whisper of a lantern

Chapter 1

The wind moaned through the narrow streets of the village, shaking the paper lanterns that hung from every wooden post. Their light flickered like the heartbeat of the night itself. Most villagers had gone to bed, but the elders whispered among themselves, their voices hushed, trembling with fear.

“...it’s the Lantern of Death,” an old man muttered. “They say it awakens once every hundred years. Those who look upon it... never return the same.”

Far at the edge of the village, a dim, eerie glow shimmered at the forest gate. Akira, barely sixteen, paused mid-step. His dark hair whipped across his face as he squinted into the mist.

“Why is it glowing tonight?” he muttered to himself.

Before he could take another step, movement flickered from the shadows. Slithering through the underbrush came a creature unlike anything he’d seen before—a snake-like beast with scales that shimmered like black onyx and eyes like burning coals. It hissed, a sound that made the hair on Akira’s neck stand.

“Stay back!” he shouted, but instinct took over. A flare of red-orange fire burst from his palm, hitting the creature squarely. It screeched and recoiled, then vanished into the mist, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

The villagers stirred awake, alarmed by the commotion. Some peeked from windows, some from doorways, whispering frantically.

Akira’s heart raced. He had always known he was different. That fire inside him wasn’t just a gift—it was dangerous. And tonight, it had revealed itself in a way he couldn’t ignore.

As he stared at the glowing lantern at the forest’s edge, a shiver ran down his spine. Something ancient was stirring, and for the first time, Akira felt the weight of destiny press upon his shoulders.Inside his family’s small hut, Akira pressed his face against the shutters. Fourteen summers old, restless and curious, he wasn’t content with hiding. His older sister, Hana, tugged his sleeve.

“Don’t look, Akira. Mother said the Lantern of Death awakens once in a hundred years. If you see it, it sees you back.”

Akira smirked, though unease crept into his chest. “Stories to keep kids quiet. It’s just a lantern.”

From the corner, his mother’s voice cut sharp. “No. It is a curse. Your father saw it, years ago. He never returned from the forest.”

The words fell heavy. The hut grew cold, as if the fire had dimmed. Hana lowered her gaze. Akira clenched his fists, torn between fear and defiance.

Later, while the village slept, Akira slipped out.

The fog curled around his ankles. Every step on the dirt road sounded louder than it should, echoing in the silence. He carried a small wooden torch, though the flame seemed to shrink the closer he got to the gate.

And there it was—

The pale lantern swaying slowly, though there was no wind. Its glow spread across the ground in rippling circles, as though it were floating above water.

Akira’s breath caught. He thought of his father, of the stories. He reached out—his fingers trembling—

—sssssshhhhhhh

A whisper slithered through the mist. Not words, but a sound like scales on stone. The grass rustled. From the shadows near the trees, two gleaming eyes opened.

A low hiss followed.

Suddenly, something lunged from the dark—a snake-like creature, its body thick as a man’s arm, its fangs dripping with venom. Akira stumbled back, torch shaking in his hand. The serpent coiled, ready to strike—

And then, without thinking, fire burst from Akira’s palm.

The torch flared into a whip of flame, lashing across the serpent’s head. The beast shrieked, its body burning into black ash that dissolved into the mist.

Akira staggered, staring at his own hand. The flame still flickered around his fingers, wild and alive. His heart pounded.

“Wh-what was that…?”

From behind, a voice spoke calmly.

“So. The flame chooses you.”

Akira spun around. At the edge of the mist stood a tall man with a halberd on his back—Haruto, his clan’s wandering warrior, watching with grim eyes.

“You shouldn’t have come here, boy,” Haruto said, stepping closer. “That lantern is not meant for mortal eyes. Every time it shines, death follows.”

Akira opened his mouth to protest, but the lantern’s glow pulsed once, twice, like the beat of a heart. In its pale light, he thought he saw figures moving—shadowy silhouettes—watching from the forest.

Haruto’s hand gripped his halberd. “Go back. Wake the elders. Tonight, the clans will stir.”

The lantern swayed again, and the whisper returned, louder this time—like voices calling Akira’s name from the mist.

He couldn’t tell if they were pleading… or mocking.

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