Sleep did not come easily after that night.
Aerin lay in her bed, eyes wide in the dark, listening to the faint creaks of her old house. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the twisted shadows reaching for her lantern. The soundless shrieks echoed in her head, scraping along her thoughts like claws against glass.
But worse than the shadows was the memory of the girl in white. Pale eyes, voice like a bell, and words that sank deep: The forest gives only what you are willing to carry.
Aerin didn't know if she was strong enough to carry anything at all.
Yet when the next night arrived, she found herself drawn back to the bridge. Her lantern waited on the windowsill as though it had never left, its flame unburned, unweary. She didn't remember setting it there, but its presence filled her chest with both dread and longing.
And so, once again, she crossed the water and stepped into the mist.
The forest felt calmer tonight. The air was cool and sharp, the scent of pine needles and damp soil fresh in her lungs. The trees whispered as always, but their voices were softer, like lullabies carried on the wind. For the first time, Aerin didn't feel like an intruder. She felt… expected.
The lantern glowed brighter than before. Its golden light reached farther into the fog, revealing details she hadn't noticed on earlier nights: the delicate curve of ivy winding around the trees, the shimmer of dew on spiderwebs, even faint carvings etched into the trunks. Symbols she couldn't understand.
Her steps slowed. She brushed her fingers over one of the carvings. The shape was circular, lines radiating outward like a sun or perhaps an eye. When she touched it, the bark seemed to hum faintly, alive beneath her skin.
The lantern flickered.
"Don't linger."
Aerin spun.
The girl in white stood once more at the edge of the clearing, mist clinging to her form. Her pale eyes seemed sharper tonight, less sad and more urgent.
"You frightened me," Aerin said, heart racing.
"You frighten easily." The girl's voice was not unkind, but blunt, as though truths came more naturally to her than comfort. "That can be dangerous here."
Aerin's hands tightened around the lantern's handle. "You said I'm chosen. If that's true, then why not explain what's happening? Why not tell me everything?"
The girl tilted her head, her dark hair sliding like silk over her shoulder. "Because you would not believe me. Not yet."
Frustration burned in Aerin's chest. "Then at least tell me your name."
Silence. The girl's lips pressed together, and for a heartbeat, Aerin thought she would vanish again.
Finally, she whispered, "Lira."
The name clung to the air like a secret finally freed.
Aerin repeated it softly. "Lira."
Something shifted in the girl's expression—an echo of surprise, even vulnerability. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
"You should not call me carelessly," Lira warned. "Names have power in this forest."
Aerin wanted to argue, but before she could, the lantern pulsed in her hands. Its glow flared, spilling light across the clearing.
And the whispers began.
At first, they were faint, no more than murmurs in the leaves. Then they grew louder, overlapping, a thousand voices tangled together. Aerin pressed a hand to her ear, but the sound was inside her head, vibrating in her skull.
Don't forget me… Don't forget… I wished… I begged…
She staggered, knees weakening, nearly dropping the lantern. Its weight grew heavy, unbearable, as if it held all those voices within it.
"Make it stop!" she gasped.
Lira's pale eyes glowed faintly in the lantern light. "No. Listen."
"I can't—!"
"You must."
The voices crashed over her like a wave. Aerin shut her eyes, tears leaking as she clutched the lantern to her chest. The whispers filled her, pressed into her, clawed at her mind.
And then—through the chaos—one voice rose clear.
It was soft, trembling, but steady enough to pierce through the storm.
Aerin…
Her eyes flew open. Her name. She had heard her name.
The whispers quieted, fading back into the background hum of the forest. The lantern steadied, warm against her chest.
Aerin stood shaking, her throat dry, her heart slamming against her ribs. She turned to Lira, her voice cracking.
"Someone—someone called me."
Lira studied her closely, expression unreadable. "Not someone. Something."
"What do you mean?"
"The wishes know you now. They see you." Lira's gaze flicked to the lantern. "And some of them remember your name."
Aerin's stomach twisted. She wasn't sure if that was comforting or terrifying.
Lira stepped closer, her white cloak brushing against the moss. "This is only the beginning. Every night, more will reach for you. More will demand to be remembered. You must learn to bear their weight—or the lantern will consume you."
Aerin's breath hitched. "Consume me?"
"The light you carry is not endless. It feeds on you as much as you feed on it."
The thought made her chest ache. She looked down at the lantern, its flame flickering innocently, as though it couldn't possibly harm her. Yet the memory of the whispers, the way they had nearly crushed her mind, told her otherwise.
Her grip tightened. "Then teach me. Teach me how to carry it."
For the first time, Lira's expression softened, almost like pride. "Perhaps you are stronger than you believe."
But the moment passed quickly. Her gaze drifted into the shadows, wary. "Not here. Not tonight. The remnants grow restless."
She stepped back, her form already fading into the mist. "Return tomorrow, keeper. And listen to the silence when the voices fall."
And just like before, she was gone.
Aerin stood alone in the clearing, the lantern's glow warm against her chest. The forest hummed around her, alive, waiting.
She drew in a long breath, her pulse still unsteady. Tomorrow. She would return tomorrow.
But tonight, as she walked back through the mist, she couldn't stop hearing that single whisper.
Her name.
Spoken by something she had never seen.