Mara found the first lantern just after sunset, hanging from a branch that had never held one before.

The glass was warm. Inside, the flame leaned toward the trail as if it were pointing the way.

In the old village stories, a lantern in the woods never asked to be trusted. It only asked to be followed.

She walked until the trees thinned into a circle of moss and stone. At the center stood a chair, a kettle, and a folded note with her name written in a hand she recognized from childhood.