The Night Lily Keeper IV: The Pendulum and the Flame

The woods were quiet in the way only old places can be—like they remembered more than they ever said out loud.

Nash pushed through the underbrush with Isaac close behind, their flashlight long since dead, swallowed by the thick hush of night. He didn’t really know why he brought Isaac here—just that they had to get away. Away from the yelling. The silence. The mess of broken bottles and broken promises.

Isaac was only ten, still small, still soft. He didn’t understand much, just that his brother’s fists were always clenched now, and Mom cried more than she smiled, and Dad didn’t come home unless it was too late to care.

They walked in silence until moonlight caught the edge of something strange.

A cottage.

Curved into the hillside like it had grown there. Lamps flickered on the porch, casting shadows across a garden that glowed—soft, silver-blue blooms stirring like they were breathing. Night Lilies.

“Is this…?” Isaac whispered.

“I think so,” Nash murmured.

From the porch, an old man rose slowly, dusting soil from his hands. He didn’t look surprised to see them.

“You boys are far from home, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet, like water moving over stone. “What brings you to the Garden of Night Lilies?”

Nash stepped in front of Isaac without thinking. “We’re just passing through.”

Callahan tilted his head. “Sure you are.”

He turned, still calm. “No need to be afraid.”

Then he whistled.

From between the shadows, a silver shape moved—Zane. The wolf. Eyes like the moon, fur like storm clouds. Isaac shrank back.

“Little one,” Callahan said gently, “why don’t you go play with Zane? He’s gentle. And the lilies like laughter.”

Isaac looked to Nash.

Nash hesitated… then nodded.

Isaac stepped forward. The wolf bowed his head, and the boy giggled softly as Zane led him toward the glowing garden.

Nash didn’t move. Just watched.

Callahan walked over and stood beside him. He didn’t speak for a long time. Just stood there, like he was waiting for something deeper than words.

“You’re angry,” he said at last. “Not just at the world—but at the ones who made it feel this way.”

Nash clenched his jaw. “Yeah. So what?”

“What happened?”

The words came without warning. Like they’d been dammed up too long.

“They’re getting divorced,” Nash muttered. “Because my dad only cares about work. And my mom… she drinks. Every time she says she’s done, she isn’t. She leaves, comes back, promises she’s changed, but she never does. I have to take care of Isaac. I’m not even old enough to drive and I’m the one who has to carry all of this.”

He paused, breathing hard, but Callahan didn’t interrupt.

“I hate them both. For ruining everything. For ruining him.” Nash pointed toward Isaac, who was now twirling in the glowing lilies, Zane weaving through the blooms.

Callahan’s eyes softened.

“I once felt that kind of fire,” he said. “Wanted to burn down every reason I was hurting. But anger’s like kindling. It flares hot and fast… then leaves you cold.”

He motioned to a nearby lily. “Touch it.”

Nash hesitated, then reached out. His fingers brushed the petal—

And the world shifted.

Not with sound or thunder, but like looking through a window to something true.

He saw Isaac laughing, older, confident. Their mom—sober, smiling, holding a camera. Their dad, sitting at the table, sleeves rolled up, present. It wasn’t perfect. But it was whole. And real.

He gasped, pulling his hand back.

Callahan nodded. “That’s not prophecy. It’s possibility. The lilies don’t show what will be. They show what could be—if you keep walking toward it.”

Nash’s throat was tight.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Yes, you do,” Callahan said. “Instead of shouting at your mother, help her heal. Encourage her to get help. Instead of hating your father, plead with him. Remind him that money’s no good if it costs his family.”

He turned. “Isaac.”

The boy looked up and trotted over, breathless and happy, cheeks glowing from the cold and the joy.

Callahan knelt to him. “I know you feel a sadness you can’t name. I know it’s heavy. But here…”

He pulled something from his coat. A simple necklace. A pendulum of polished silver and moonstone.

“Swing this when you feel that weight. Watch how it moves. Because just like that, sadness passes. And if you hold onto hope—if you try to make your family happy—happiness will swing back to you.”

Isaac took it carefully, eyes wide. “Thank you.”

Callahan stood. “Zane, take them home.”

The wolf gave a soft chuff and turned, leading the boys back through the silver woods. They didn’t speak. There was no need.

At the edge of the trees, they turned to thank the wolf, but he was already gone—just a whisper of fur and starlight.

Back home, the door creaked open.

Their mother was passed out on the couch, an empty bottle on the floor. The TV hummed quietly.

Nash didn’t yell.

He took a breath.

Then he went to the kitchen, grabbed a blanket, and tucked it around her. He stared at her for a moment, then grabbed a pen and wrote one word on the fridge whiteboard:

Rehab?

Then he turned to Isaac, who was already swinging the pendulum and watching it sway.

“I’m hungry,” the boy said. “Let’s make breakfast.”

Nash smiled.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s do that.”

And behind them, far in the hills where lilies bloomed like forgotten dreams, the Night Lily Keeper watched the dawn rise.

Another fire had calmed.

Another light had returned.