The Lantern Keeper

You wake up.

A certain heaviness fills your chest. True, it's always been there- but the weight feels heavier today, as if it were to crush you beneath it. Your insides feel hollow. Around you is nothing. And by nothing I don't mean the absence of anything, it's just…nothing- as if the world is moving on without you, and you're stuck, sinking deeper into a void.

You sit up with your breath hitching, looking around and feeling the coldness of the abyss wrapping around you. That's when you see me. 

"Where am I?"

"The truth within," I said, matter-of-factly. 

Your brows knit in confusion. "Am I dead?"

"Sort of"

"And, you are-" 

"Death," I finish for you. My tone is neither cruel nor kind- just certain.

"I- I didn't mean to," a flicker of panic crosses your face, remembering all those times you wished for death to cut short the weariness of being.

I tilt my head, studying you. "No one ever does, not really. But the call is clear."

"Still, I'm not here to take you- not yet. There's something unfinished in you, a spark you've forgotten."

"What spark?" you ask, your voice trembling.

I point to a dim lantern in my hand, one you're certain wasn't there before. The flame flickers, desperately burning for survival amidst the stark cold, "Your light. It's weak, yes, but not gone. To reclaim it, we'll have to traverse through what you've hidden."

A weight settles over you, heavy with both dread and yearning. A part of you- deep beneath the darkness- wants to believe. It claws for something to hold on to.

You nod.

I extend out a hand to your shoulder, gently nudging you forward. "Walk with me."

The world dissolves, and when you blink again, you're standing in a twisting labyrinth. Its walls a dark obsidian sheen, so smooth you can see fragmented reflections of yourself in them.

The lantern now rests in your hand, its flame barely alive. I remain beside you, watching.

I stand beside you. "This is your mind, raw and unfiltered. Each path leads to something you've buried. Every truth you face shapes the way. Your light will grow brighter as you face them."

"What happens if I can't?"

My eyes glint. "Then you'll remain here, trapped in this…hell, until there's nothing left of you."

A faint shiver runs through you.

With hesitant steps, you take the first step into the labyrinth, and I follow close behind.

We walk. We walk through twists and turns, the air growing heavier with each step. The flame trembles in your hands, a fragile thing barely holding against the weight of the suffocating air. The obsidian walls slowly reflect distorted versions of you- warped and fragmented. Shadows gather, crowding closer, their hisses threading through the air.

You are a nobody

You don't deserve love

You'll never be enough

You are a burden

The words swell, starting as a whisper and then into a chorus, until they're a roar. You clutch your ears, trying frantically to shut them off. Your knees buckle under the weight of the taunts. 

"Make it stop," you plead, desperation thick in your voice.

"These are your own voices," I say calmly. "The doubts you've fed, the beliefs you've nurtured in the shadows. They thrive because you've given them power."

I kneel beside you, my voice soft. "They are as real as you make them. Speak back. Challenge them. Show them they no longer control you."

You shake your head, your eyes darting to the dark reflections, each one a memory of your past failures. The college entrance exam. The girl you loved. The classmate you bullied.

"I don't know what to say," you murmur.

"Then start with the truth."

"I failed," you say, your voice fragile, trembling in the darkness. You swallow, trying to steady your breath. "But...that doesn't mean I'm useless. It doesn't mean I'm unworthy. I...I'm human." 

With every word, the labyrinth seems to shift. The air grows warmer as the light from the lantern pulses, illuminating the space around you. The shadows shrink, unravelling at the edges, and their grip on you loosens.

"I am flawed," you continue, the words coming easier now. "I've made mistakes. I'll probably make more. But I'm not broken. I can still try. I can still grow."

The obsidian starts to fracture, seeming to implode upon itself. The shadows shriek as they are pulled into the gravity of the implosion. A blinding light erupts, swallowing the shadows, and the labyrinth dissolves.

The lantern's light steadies, casting a faint warmth across your face. You meet my gaze with broken hope. 

Hope. That is why you are here. It is what makes you strong. It's what you fight with even in the darkest dark.

We move forward. A new challenge awaits.

A mirror.

It towers above you, its surface rippling like liquid silver. But something is wrong. The reflection staring back at you is you- but younger, smaller, a child.

Your throat parches as your eyes meet his- those wide, fearful eyes. It's you. The boy who got everything wrong. The one who failed at everything he did, no matter how hard he tried.

You step closer, unable to look away, unable to stop the rush of memories that flood back- of nights spent crying into a pillow, of a silent wish for someone to save you.

The boy in the mirror trembles, just as you did back then. He's holding a notebook, his hands shaking as he tries to read aloud, his voice cracking. "Five times thirteen...fifteen. No… no, it's wrong, it's wrong…"

You watch the boy flinch as an angry voice fills the air.

And then the blows- sharp and loud. The same anger. The same disappointment. The same fear. The boy in the mirror drops to his knees, tears falling. "I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over again. 

The memory stabs at you, each moment as fresh as it was all those years ago. You press your palm to the cold glass, feeling a sharp ache in your chest. 

"You believe it's your fault, don't you?" I ask. 

You nod, your throat tight. "I wasn't enough."

"It was never about being enough. You never had to be," I sigh softly. 

"That boy? He never stopped trying. The fault lies not with you, but with the hands that struck, with the world that demanded more than any child could give. That boy didn't deserve that pain. Neither did you."

You feel your heart break at that moment. You want to reach out to the boy, to wrap your arms around him, to tell him everything will be okay- but you can't. Frozen in time, the reflection remains, a painful reminder of everything you couldn't fix.

"I tried," you choke back a sob. "I tried so hard…"

"And that's all you could ever do," I say, quietly now. "And it was enough. But you've carried that weight for so long- this burden of guilt, like a stone you couldn't put down."

For a moment, there is silence. Then, barely audible, you whisper back to the boy. To yourself. 

"You were enough. I was enough"

The child hesitates, his small hand reaching toward yours. As your fingers touch, the mirror shatters.

The pieces fall away, dissolving into nothing. The lantern's glow intensifies with each passing moment. The moment's weight lingers in the air, but something has changed. 

An eerie silence, reeking of premonition.

The path before you blurs, the ground trembling as the air thickens with a alive, howling storm. Sand stings your skin, and you raise your arms in futile defence as the chaos overwhelms you. Through the roar, my voice cuts through, distant but clear.

"The storm is inside you. It's the rage, the violence, the moment you became what you feared the most."

You struggle forward, each step heavier than the last, the storm suffocating you. But then you find it—the eye of the storm. Silence. The sand and winds cease. 

A single memory emerges, sharp and cutting.

You hear shouting- your father's voice, venomous and unrelenting, and then your mother's cries. You've heard this too many times before, hidden in the shadows, paralysed by fear.

"But not this time," I murmur. "No, this time, you moved."

The memory becomes vivid: your father's raised hand, your mother crumpled beneath him. Something snapped within your younger self. You don't think, you act. Your voice tore through the air as you shoved yourself between them, fists flying, releasing years of anger. 

For the first time, he looked afraid. You pinned him down, your hands at his throat, feeling the power surge through you. You became something else, something primal.

"You tasted it then," I say. "The power. The ability to hurt him the way he hurt her. And a part of you wanted more."

Your hands tremble as you relive the moment, the primal fury, the terrible clarity. A disturbing thought booms like a thunderclap through your mind. 

I could have killed him. I could have ended this right then.

"And yet," I say, "you stopped. Why?"

Her voice. That's why.

"Stop," your mother begs with clasped hands, firm but trembling. "Please, stop."

The fire inside you dims, replaced by cold emptiness. The storm inside quiets, leaving only shame. I stand beside you as you witness this painful memory. The lantern in your hand flickers weakly.

"I wasn't him," you say, voice trembling.

"Not then," I reply. "But you've feared it ever since. That you are more like him than you'd ever admit."

The weight of my words crushes you. "I was angry," you say. "I wanted him to pay. I lost control."

"Anger doesn't make you him," I reply, stepping closer. "Nor does fighting back. This moment doesn't define you; it reveals what you could have become. And what you chose not to."

The storm stirs again, weaker now- as if its fury has drained away.

"You didn't hurt him," I remind you. "Not because you couldn't, but because you knew what it would make you. You stopped. You chose."

Something inside you shifts. Once flickering weakly, the lantern bursts into life, its glow burning brighter than the sun. It engulfs your hand, then your arm, then your chest, until it envelops your entire body. The light pours out of you, radiant and unrelenting.

You stand there, bathed in the incandescent brilliance of the lantern. With each breath, the glow intensifies. And in that moment, you realize that the power to shape your future was always within you; that every step from here is yours to take

You are whole.

"What now?" you ask, your voice heavy with a newfound fervour. No longer do you fear the unknown, for your heart now beats with hope. A once foreign determination is now the very essence of your being.

"You are ready," I reply, my voice steady as if it's been waiting for this moment all along.

"...to die?" you ask, your words hanging in the air, testing the waters of this strange certainty.

"No," I say, with a quiet yet undeniable power. "To live. Fully. Devotedly."

The void fades entirely now, replaced by a profound calm. You can feel it: the world ahead of you, taking shape.

"We will meet again," I continue, my voice soft but resolute. "When the time is right, we will meet again."

You nod. "Yes," you say, a faint smile touching your lips. "Hasta la Muerte."

You feel yourself gently pulled away from this realm of shadow and light.

You wake up.