The Lantern Keeper of Miravale

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The rain fell in silver threads from the sky, settling like a gossamer veil over the streets of Miravale. The old stone houses reflected the warm light of the lanterns, and a distant chime echoed from the castle towers. At the edge of the water channel, where water lily blossoms raised their heads fearlessly even in the rain, sat Grilmar, the Lantern Keeper. No one knew exactly where Grilmar came from. Some said he was once an ordinary frog, transformed by a careless spell. Others claimed he had always been like this: a creature with green, shimmering skin, pointed ears, wise eyes, and a voice like raindrops on stone. But what everyone knew was that Grilmar had a purpose in Miravale: He held the light. No ordinary fire burned in his small lantern. It was the heart's light, a flame that never went out as long as he protected it. With it, he could banish darkness, not just that of the night, but also the shadows that sometimes nestled in people's hearts. When a child couldn't sleep because of nightmares, Grilmar would quietly appear on the windowsill. When a hiker lost his way in the rain, his lantern would suddenly appear, pointing the way to safety, and then disappear again as soon as the destination was reached. But on this night, an unusual heaviness hung in the air. Grilmar felt it as one feels a cold current beneath the surface of water. He crouched by the canal, listening to the rain and catching the whiff of something foreign—a shadow that didn't belong there. "They're coming," he murmured, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The people of Miravale suspected nothing. Behind their windows, they laughed, telling stories while the rain drummed against the panes. But Grilmar saw it: Between the drops, reflected in the water's surface, shapes stirred. Dark figures that didn't cast shadows, but were made of shadows. With a deep breath, he raised his lantern. The heartlight flickered briefly, then shone brighter, as if it wanted to defy even the rain. A path of light reflected off the wet stones, and Grilmar followed it, step by step. The shapes gathered at the archway of the old bridge. They crept up the walls like smoke, forming claw-like hands and eyes that were nothing but emptiness. Grilmar faced them, the lantern firmly in his hand. "You have no place here," he said in a calm, deep voice. The shadows hissed, but the heartlight flared up. It cut through the darkness like a golden blade, disintegrating the shapes until nothing but rain remained. When the last trace of the strangers had disappeared, Grilmar sank to the ground, exhausted. The rain cooled his skin, and the water lilies closed their blossoms as if to promise him protection. Behind him, the windows of the city continued to shine peacefully; no one had noticed the danger. Grilmar smiled silently. No one needed to know how close darkness had come.