The Night Lily Keeper VI: Flames Beneath the Petal

The night air pulsed with a strange energy, as if the forest itself held its breath.

Branches overhead swayed gently in the windless sky, whispering rumors only the stars could hear. The village lay behind, quiet and distant, its torches flickering faint against the velvet dark. But the figure moving through the trees didn’t glance back.

Not once.

They were young—but worn. Not by age, but by something harder. Betrayal had sunk its teeth into them weeks ago, and ever since, the flame inside their chest had been fed with gasoline thoughts of they’ll pay and I’ll show them. That flame had a name now:

Revenge.

They’d heard stories. Whispers told in hushed tones by campfires and old pub stools.

The Night Lily Keeper.

A myth, most said. A ghost, some believed. But all agreed: if you found him—if—he would grant you something. Wisdom. Strength. Perhaps even power.

And power was exactly what they sought.

“COME OUT!” the traveler shouted, fists clenched. “I know you’re here! I know the stories! I want to talk!”

Their voice echoed like a challenge into the woods. “You grant people wisdom? Well, I want power! Someone I trusted betrayed me—they hurt me! So give me something! Show me how to hurt them back!”

Silence.

Then—movement.

The traveler’s breath hitched as a figure emerged… not a man, but a wolf.

He stood still in the middle of the path. Tall. Silver-gray fur shimmering under the starlight. Eyes unlike anything they had ever seen—calm, piercing, full of a knowing older than time.

The traveler stepped back at first, heart racing, but the wolf did not bare teeth. He only stared. Then… gently, Zane nudged his head forward. A simple motion.

Follow me.

Drawn by something they couldn’t explain, the traveler obeyed.

Through shadowed thickets and trails dusted with moonlight, they walked. And at last, the trees parted—and there it was.

The garden.

Bathed in soft glowing hues, lilies shimmered like stars fallen to earth, swaying gently in the night breeze. At its edge stood the old cottage. And beside it, seated on a carved stone bench, was a man—white hair brushing his shoulders, long coat settled over him like moss over stone.

Callahan.

As Zane approached, the old man knelt to pet his companion with a fond smile. Then he looked up at the traveler.

“You brought a friend,” he said gently.

The traveler hesitated. “Are… are you the Night Lily Keeper?”

“I am.”

“Then I came for something. I want wisdom. Power.”

Callahan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Power, you say?”

The traveler nodded sharply. “Someone close to me—they betrayed me. And I… I just want the strength to get even.”

Callahan’s expression softened. “Then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.”

He stood and gestured around them. “This is a sanctuary of healing. A garden for the wounded and weary. Power has no root here.”

The traveler’s face twisted. “Then what good is this place?”

Callahan stepped closer, eyes kind. “I sense your pain. It runs deep. Like fire behind your ribs. But revenge?” He shook his head. “Revenge burns everything, even the one who carries it.”

He turned and walked into the garden.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s walk.”

The traveler followed, still fuming, still uncertain.

They walked in silence, the path glowing beneath their steps. The night lilies pulsed faintly, blue and violet and white, their petals like little lanterns of peace.

Callahan stopped beside a cluster of lilies.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he said. “They only bloom at night, when the world is quiet and still enough to hear what truly matters.”

The traveler remained silent.

“These flowers,” Callahan continued, “they bloom in darkness. But not out of hate. They’ve learned how to grow despite it. How to shine without it.”

He turned.

“You said you want revenge. But can I ask—what is it you really want?”

The traveler faltered. “I… I don’t know. I just… it hurts. What they did. And now… hate is all I feel. It’s all I can feel.”

Callahan nodded slowly, then reached into his coat and pulled out a small folded cloth. Inside, a single Night Lily petal. It shimmered softly, faint as a whispered lullaby.

“Take this,” he said, pressing it into the traveler’s hand. “It’s not magic. It won’t grant you power. But when the fire rises in you—when the hate flares so hot it feels like it’ll burn you alive—hold this to your heart.”

He paused.

“And let it remind you that you are more than the pain they caused you. That forgiveness isn’t weakness. It’s healing. Not for them—for you.”

The traveler looked down at the petal. It almost looked like it breathed. As if it carried some small, quiet strength within it.

“Why… why forgive someone who hurt me?”

“Because if you don’t,” Callahan said softly, “you carry them with you forever. And you let them keep hurting you… long after they’ve left.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, slowly, the traveler nodded.

Not because the fire inside them vanished—but because for the first time… it dimmed.

Callahan led them to the edge of the garden.

“This place cannot walk the path for you,” he said. “But it can remind you which path is worth walking.”

The traveler turned, their eyes wet with unshed tears.

“…Thank you,” they whispered.

And with the petal clutched tightly in their palm, they walked back into the woods—steps steadier than before.

Callahan watched until the trees swallowed them whole.

Then he looked down at Zane, who had quietly returned to his side.

Another traveler’s heart lifted.

He reached down to pet the wolf again.

“Come on, old friend,” Callahan murmured. “Let’s tend to the lilies.”

And somewhere in the garden, a bud that hadn’t bloomed in years slowly began to open.