Breglio and the Toad of a Thousand Wishes

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The path led Breglio out of Fennbirn, past fields glittering in the haze. His lantern was dim, but that was enough – for those who shine too brightly at night are seen by the wrong things.At the edge of the forest, a sound waited, deep and throaty, like a hundred voices at once: the croaking of a toad. He followed the sound and came to a clearing. There it sat, as large as a barrel, its skin gray and shimmering with greenish streaks. In its mouth, crystals sparkled like pieces of glass. Around it lay coins, shards, mirrors – things that seemed to have been carelessly spat out. "You are Breglio," boomed the toad. "They call me the Keeper of Wishes. I have a thousand in my belly. But whoever takes them always loses more than they gain." Breglio placed his lantern in the damp grass. "If you just swallow them and spit them out, they're not wishes, but illusions. What's stopping you from letting them go?" The toad laughed hoarsely. "People themselves. They come, bringing words, whispering greed. Each wish settles in me like a stone. I grow heavier and heavier. But I can't stop taking them in." Breglio examined the pile of things: a broken amulet, a rusty key, a doll without eyes. Each piece vibrated faintly, as if it still breathed the remnant of a longing. "These are wishes no one should ever have spoken," he murmured. The toad groaned, and a new wish fell from its mouth—a small golden star that immediately disappeared into the mud. "See?" it cried. "I spit out dreams that never come to life." Breglio picked up the star, held it close to his lantern. The light filtered through, showing no gold, only a grain of salt. "They are empty words that have knotted themselves inside you," he said softly. "But words without heart weigh heavier than steel." The toad writhed. "Take them from me! Otherwise my own belly will crush me." Breglio took a deep breath. He knew he couldn't carry a thousand wishes. But he could do something else. He removed the glass from his lantern, and the flame leaped free, trembling in the night wind. "I can make them visible. Not disappear. But visible." He placed the small star in the open light. Immediately, a swarm of whispers rose—voices calling for wealth, for love, for vengeance, for eternal sleep. The chorus swelled, but the flame remained steadfast. And little by little, the voices faded until only a low hum remained. The toad sighed, a sound like breaking wood. "It is quieter," it murmured. "It hasn't been this quiet in years." Its eyes glowed dully. "But what happens to the wishes?" Breglio took the glass again and placed it on the lantern. "They stay where they belong: outside, not inside you." The toad closed its eyelids. Its body seemed smaller, its skin less taut. "Perhaps now I can jump again, without the weight of greed." Breglio nodded. "Jump, but be careful. Wishes return like flies to the light."