The days after Aerin first stepped into the forest blurred together like threads of half-remembered dreams.
Each night, when the moon rose, she found herself standing at the edge of the bridge, lantern in hand, drawn by a pull she could neither resist nor explain. And each night the forest welcomed her, its mist curling away from her path like smoke from a flame.
By the third night, she no longer questioned why she came. The lantern's weight in her hand felt as natural as breath, and though fear still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, it no longer ruled her. The forest had woven itself into her heartbeat, into her blood.
Yet questions gnawed at her.
Why had the forest chosen her? What did it mean to be keeper of forgotten wishes?
The answers never came easily. The voices that whispered in the branches gave her fragments—nothing more. Sometimes she thought she heard laughter, sometimes weeping, sometimes only her own name carried through the stillness like a prayer.
But on this night, the forest felt different.
The air was heavy, thick with tension, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. Aerin crossed the bridge, lantern glowing, and the mist parted reluctantly instead of eagerly. It was like walking into a chamber where secrets had been hidden too long.
She pressed onward, boots damp from moss and earth, until she reached the clearing with the great silver-veined tree. The lanterns at its roots shimmered faintly, their lights flickering like dying stars.
And then she saw her.
A girl stood by the tree, cloaked in white, her hair long and black as ink. She was not a shadow—Aerin could see the way her breath stirred the mist, the way her bare feet pressed softly into the moss. Yet there was an otherness to her, something that made the hairs on Aerin's neck prickle.
The girl turned slowly, as though she had been waiting all along. Her eyes gleamed pale blue, too bright, too piercing, as if she carried the reflection of another world within them.
"You've come." Her voice was a whisper, but it carried through the clearing like a bell.
Aerin swallowed. "Who are you?"
The girl tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "No one remembers. That is why I am here."
Aerin clutched her lantern tighter. "You… you're one of them, aren't you? The forgotten?"
The girl's lips curved faintly, not into a smile, but into something softer, sadder. "I am what remains of a wish. A wish spoken long ago, abandoned before it could bloom. The forest does not let such things vanish. It holds them, keeps them, until someone dares to find them."
Her words pressed against Aerin's skin like the touch of wind, light but insistent.
Aerin took a cautious step closer. "And my lantern? What does it mean?"
The girl's gaze flicked to the glowing light in Aerin's hands. For a moment, her face seemed to soften, her pale eyes reflecting the flame like water catching sunlight.
"It means you are chosen to carry what others cannot. To bear the weight of their forgotten promises."
The thought made Aerin's chest tighten. She had never thought of herself as special, never thought the forest would see anything in her. And yet, the way the girl looked at her—like she was both fragile and bound to something greater—left her unsteady.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"You will," the girl said. Then, after a pause, she added, "But not tonight."
The mist stirred sharply, as though the forest itself bristled at her words. The lanterns at the tree's roots flickered, and in the distance, a low moan carried on the wind.
The girl's gaze darted into the shadows. "They are coming."
"Who?"
But before the girl could answer, the clearing shifted. The shadows thickened, seeping into the ground, rising in tendrils that wrapped around the nearest lanterns. Their light dimmed, smothered, until only Aerin's glow remained steady.
Shapes formed within the shadows—tall, twisted figures with limbs too long, faces blurred and hollow. They moved slowly, but their presence carried a weight that made Aerin's breath falter.
The girl stepped back. "These are the remnants. Wishes turned sour, poisoned by neglect. They hunger for light. For yours."
Aerin's pulse roared in her ears. Her first instinct was to run, but her feet rooted to the moss. The shadows inched closer, drawn by the lantern's golden glow, their hollow faces tilting as if sniffing her fear.
"What do I do?" Aerin gasped.
"Hold on," the girl urged. "Do not let the lantern falter."
The figures stretched long arms toward her, claws of darkness brushing the edge of her light. Her chest tightened with terror. The lantern trembled in her hands, its flame flickering wildly.
"No—no, stay with me," she whispered to it, clutching it close. Her voice shook, but her heart thundered with something fierce. "You're mine. I won't let them take you."
The flame steadied.
Golden light surged outward, brighter, stronger, forcing the shadows back. They hissed, twisting violently, their hollow faces warping with rage. One lunged forward, but the light struck it directly, unraveling its form into mist.
The others recoiled, shrieking soundlessly, before dissolving into the fog.
The clearing fell silent again.
Aerin staggered, her chest heaving, her hands aching from how tightly she had gripped the lantern's handle. Sweat dampened her brow, though the night was cold.
The girl in white stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "You did well."
Aerin's voice cracked. "What… what were those things?"
"Forgotten wishes," the girl murmured. "But not all wishes are gentle. Some rot when left too long. They twist, they hunger. They become something that devours instead of dreams."
A shiver ran through Aerin's body. She looked down at her lantern, still glowing warm in her hands. "And this light… it can protect me?"
"For now."
The girl reached out as if to touch the lantern, but stopped short, her fingers hovering just above its glow. A shadow crossed her face, brief but unmistakable.
"You must learn to listen," she said softly. "Not just to the whispers, but to the silence between them. The forest gives only what you are willing to carry."
Her words sank into Aerin's bones, heavy, puzzling, and yet undeniable.
Before Aerin could ask more, the girl stepped back into the mist. Her white cloak melted into the fog, her dark hair vanishing like ink into water. Within seconds, she was gone.
The clearing was empty. Only Aerin, the great silver-veined tree, and the lanterns remained.
She stood there for a long while, breathing hard, listening to the silence the girl had spoken of. It pressed against her ears, vast and endless, like the echo of a world she had only begun to glimpse.
Finally, with trembling hands, she turned back down the path.
The lantern's glow guided her through the forest, steady, unwavering. Yet the girl's words clung to her mind with every step.
The forest gives only what you are willing to carry.
And Aerin realized, with a weight that both frightened and steadied her, that she had already begun to carry more than she understood.