The Night Lily Keeper III: Lantern of the Lost

The night was colder than usual, the kind that crept into the bones and whispered old regrets back into the heart.

Jonas had wandered deeper than he ever had before. No destination. No plan. Just the ache of feeling like a ghost in his own life. He wasn’t old—but he wasn’t young anymore either. Somewhere between his children’s laughter fading from the living room and the distant quiet in his wife’s eyes, something inside him had dulled. Work, bills, mistakes, apologies that never fixed anything—it all stacked up. He felt like a failure in slow motion.

So, when he left that night, coat barely buttoned, no note left behind, he didn’t expect to come back.

But the woods didn’t let him disappear.

Branches parted like they’d been waiting for him. The moon hung low, silver and soft, guiding him forward until he stumbled upon a light where no light should’ve been.

A garden glowed like stardust on earth. At its center stood an old man with hair like snow and eyes like memory itself.

Callahan.

“You’ve got the cold look,” the man said, voice calm and weathered. “Eyes that’ve seen too much and believe they’re worth too little.”

Jonas blinked, too exhausted to argue.

“Come,” Callahan said. “The lilies are awake tonight.”

They walked through rows of Night Lilies, blooming like secrets only the moon understood. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was kind, like the pause between heartbeats. Zane, the silver-eyed wolf, trailed close, watching without judgment.

“I once stood right where you are now,” Callahan said, his hand brushing a petal that shimmered blue. “Thought I was done. Thought the world had no place for me anymore. But the lilies…” He paused, looking around. “They showed me different. Not with magic—but meaning. Hope, even when I couldn’t feel it.”

Jonas swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to go back.”

“Sure you do,” Callahan said gently. “You think your family doesn’t see you? You’re their center, lad. Their quiet strength. They’d trade anything to help you—if only they knew how far you’d fallen.”

“But I don’t know how to fix it,” Jonas said, voice breaking.

“You’re not broken,” Callahan replied. “You’re tired. And that’s different.”

Callahan placed a small lily in Jonas’s hand. “This is a reminder, not a cure. It won’t erase your pain. But it’ll help you carry it.”

Then he turned to Zane. “Take him home.”

Zane brushed against Jonas’s leg, warm and steady. As they walked back through the woods, Jonas looked down, murmured a quiet, “Thank you,” and reached to pet the wolf. But Zane was already disappearing into the trees, his soft howl lingering behind like a promise.

Jonas found his house still, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the living room. He stepped inside. His children were asleep, small and perfect in their beds. He knelt beside them, brushing their hair, breathing in the scent of crayons and comfort.

Then he crept into the bedroom, where his wife lay curled on her side, unaware of how close she’d come to losing him.

He kissed her forehead, letting the tears come freely now. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll do better. I want to stay. I’m still here.”

She stirred, not fully awake, but her hand reached for his as if sensing the shift.

Outside, in the distant hills, a wolf howled—not in sorrow, but in welcome.

And somewhere, far beyond the veil of myth and moonlight, the Night Lily Keeper smiled.

Another heart had been lit.