The silence lingered after that whisper — Your turn.
The fire reignited on its own, a faint blue flame that danced like a soul in the wind. Rivan and Diran stared at each other for a moment before Diran chuckled — maybe out of nerves more than amusement.
"Damn, that was creepy," Diran said, rubbing his arms.
"Yeah," Rivan muttered, still glancing at the window. "I think I'll keep the lights on tonight."
They laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that people use to hide unease.
Then Diran said, "You told your story, huh? Guess it's my turn."
Rivan grinned. "Yeah. Let's see if you can top that."
Diran poked the fire with a stick, watching sparks leap and vanish.
He took a deep breath.
"Alright then," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave.
"Let me tell you the story of the Lantern in the Fog."
---
It happened long before the kingdom wars — before the age of dimensional crossings or heroes and demons.
There was a small village on the edge of a nameless lake. The kind of place where mist hung low even on sunny days, and people spoke in whispers after sunset. The villagers were fishermen and woodcutters, simple folk who didn't go out once the fog rolled in.
They said the fog wasn't just mist.
It was the breath of the dead.
At the center of the village lived a young man named Kairan.
He was quiet, dutiful, and always the last one to come home from the lake.
His mother often scolded him. "You'll bring the fog spirits on your back one day," she'd say.
But Kairan only smiled. "If they come, I'll offer them my catch."
One evening, the fog came early.
Thick. Pale. It moved like something alive, swallowing houses whole.
Kairan was still out on the lake, alone in his small boat. The air grew colder, and the oars began to feel heavier. He looked around, and all he could see was white — no stars, no moon, no shore. Only silence and mist.
Then… a light appeared.
It was a small lantern, floating far ahead, bobbing gently above the water.
Kairan thought someone from the village had come to find him. He called out —
"Hello! Who's there?"
No answer.
The lantern drifted closer. Its light was soft, almost silver, unlike any flame he'd seen before. It reflected on the water like liquid moonlight.
Then a voice — faint, like the fog itself was speaking.
"You're late."
Kairan froze.
He couldn't tell if the voice was male or female. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"I'm… sorry?" he said. "Who are you?"
The light moved closer. He could see now — it wasn't just a lantern.
A figure held it. A woman in a pale robe, her face hidden behind a veil. Her bare feet barely touched the water.
"You shouldn't be out here," she said. "The fog remembers."
Kairan swallowed. "Remembers what?"
The woman tilted her head. "The ones who don't return."
Before he could reply, the mist thickened. The boat rocked violently.
He blinked — and the woman was gone.
Only the lantern remained, floating beside his boat.
Kairan hesitated, then reached out. The moment his fingers touched the handle, the light surged — and he saw them.
Faces.
Dozens of pale faces below the surface, staring up at him.
Mouths open, whispering through the water.
He screamed and pulled his hand back. The lantern dropped into the lake with a hiss — and the fog screamed with it.
When the villagers found him the next morning, he was unconscious in his boat, drifting near the shore. The water was calm, the fog gone. But his hair had turned white overnight.
He didn't speak for days.
---
Diran paused, watching the fire flicker. Rivan leaned forward, eyes fixed.
"Okay… that's creepy. But that's just the start, isn't it?"
Diran smirked faintly. "Yeah. That was only the first night."
---
After that day, Kairan changed. He stopped going to the lake.
At night, he'd wake up suddenly, drenched in sweat, claiming he could hear the water whispering. His mother thought he'd gone mad.
But one night, when she came to his room, she saw it too — a faint glow at the window.
The same lantern.
It hung there in the air, swaying softly, as if waiting.
The next morning, they found footprints leading from Kairan's house down to the shore. Bare, wet footprints — but they didn't belong to him. They were smaller. Delicate.
From that day on, the fog never left the village. It clung to the trees, the roofs, even the wells. People began hearing voices when they drew water, seeing shapes in the mist. Fishermen who went to the lake vanished, their boats found empty days later.
The villagers blamed Kairan.
They said he had angered the spirits of the lake.
One night, they tied him up and took him to the dock.
They were going to throw him in, hoping it would calm whatever cursed their home.
But as they lifted him, the fog thickened again — so heavy they couldn't see their own hands. Then came the voice.
Soft. Female. Whispering.
"Return what you took."
Everyone froze.
Kairan screamed, "I didn't take anything!"
The voice replied, "You took the light."
And then the lantern appeared — floating right beside him, its flame flickering blue.
One of the villagers panicked and tried to strike it with a stick.
The moment he did, the flame split into dozens. Each became a hand. Pale, watery hands that dragged him screaming into the lake.
The rest fled.
When the fog cleared at dawn, there was no sign of Kairan.
Only the lantern — still burning, gently swaying above the water.
---
Rivan muttered, "So… that's how it ends?"
Diran shook his head. "Not quite. There's a saying in that region — 'If you follow the lantern, you'll find what you lost.'"
Rivan frowned. "What does that mean?"
Diran leaned forward, voice lowering again. "A hundred years later, travelers still pass by that lake. On foggy nights, they see the light floating near the surface. Some say it shows them the faces of their loved ones. Others… say it shows them what they fear most.
But all who try to follow it vanish. And their faces join the ones beneath the water."
---
The rain had stopped outside. Only the faint sound of wind through leaves filled the silence.
Rivan chuckled nervously. "You're getting good at this horror thing."
Diran shrugged. "It's something my grandmother used to tell me. Though she said the story was older — from before even the written ages."
Rivan smirked. "You sure it's not real?"
Diran didn't answer.
He only stared into the fire, watching the blue flame twist.
And for a moment — just a moment — the flame bent into the shape of a small lantern.
Rivan blinked. "Oi. You see that?"
Diran looked up, frowning. "What?"
The flame returned to normal.
Rivan shook his head. "Nothing."
But when they turned to the window — the fog had returned.
And through the mist, far beyond the glass — something glowed softly.
A faint, floating light.
Diran muttered, "Hah… now that's just unfair."
Rivan stood up slowly. "You think it's—?"
The whisper came again, clear as a bell, from somewhere deep within the fog:
> "Return what you took."
---
The blue flame in the fireplace flickered violently.
Diran's ten weapons rattled in their sheaths.
Rivan's eyes narrowed, instinctively sensing distortion in space.
"Dimensional disturbance?" he muttered.
"No," Diran whispered. "Something older."
The fog pressed against the windows like a living thing.
A shadow passed by — not outside, but within the mist itself.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.
The fog lifted.
The weapons quieted.
Only silence remained.
Diran let out a shaky laugh. "Guess she didn't like my story."
Rivan sighed, sitting back down. "You think that was… real?"
Diran shrugged. "Sometimes stories are just stories," he said, echoing Rivan's earlier words. Then he smiled faintly, his tone darkening. "Until they aren't."
They both stared into the fire, neither saying another word.
Outside, somewhere far in the woods — a faint lantern light shimmered once… then vanished into the night.