The Lantern Keeper’s Gift

In a village nestled beneath the great shadow of the Whispering Pines, there lived a lantern keeper named Elara. Her lanterns were famed far and wide, their golden light said to hold a touch of the stars. Each evening, she would wander the village paths, tending to the lanterns, ensuring no corner of the night was left in darkness.

Elara’s care for others was unending. She patched torn nets for fishermen, brewed healing teas for the ailing, and sat by the weary to share comforting stories. Yet her own lantern — the one she carried close to her heart — grew dimmer with every passing day. Its glass was clouded, its flame sputtering faintly.

One winter’s eve, as frost crept over the village, an old traveler arrived, cloaked in robes stitched with constellations. He watched as Elara lit the village lanterns, her movements slower than before, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

“Why does the lantern at your heart burn so dim?” the traveler asked, his voice like the rustle of ancient parchment.

Elara paused, startled. “My light is for others,” she replied. “As long as the village shines, I do not mind.”

The traveller’s eyes glimmered like the North Star. “Child, do you not see? A lantern untended cannot light the way for others forever.”