The Night Lily Keeper VII: Where the Scars Fade

The wind curled through the trees like a sigh that had waited years to be heard.

Somewhere beyond the hills and quiet fields, a boy walked.

He was only sixteen.

But his heart was older. Tired. Worn thin from sleepless nights and silence too loud to bear.

He walked with his hood up, hands buried deep in his coat, not to hide from the cold—but from the weight of the world that pressed against his bones. For months now, the voices in his mind had shouted louder than anyone in his life. And the people who were supposed to care—his people, his family—either didn’t notice, or didn’t want to.

So he’d begun to believe the voices.

You’re worthless.

You’re broken.

You’ll never be enough.

Each word had cut deeper than the last, until the blade in his drawer wasn’t just temptation—it was relief. A scream let out through skin. A whisper of control in the chaos.

But that night—something changed.

That night, he remembered a story.

An old tale his grandmother once spoke of while braiding his hair as a child. A girl who once wandered into the woods with a heavy heart. And the man she found there. The Night Lily Keeper. A name too mythical to believe—until you needed something so badly that belief was all you had left.

He needed peace.

Even if it was just a lie wrapped in moonlight.

So he walked.

The forest stretched wide and silent, the moon high and watching. For what felt like hours, he trudged, barely noticing the branches that scraped his legs, or the ache in his feet.

Then—something shimmered.

Not firelight. Not a trick of the wind.

A soft glow. Gentle and pulsing.

He followed it.

And when the trees finally parted, he saw it—the garden.

The Night Lilies were real.

Dozens, maybe hundreds of them, swaying like they were breathing. Their glow wasn’t harsh. It didn’t blind or boast. It welcomed.

He stepped forward. The moment his foot hit the garden’s edge, something happened.

The voices—

stopped.

He blinked, stunned. The pressure in his head quieted. The throb in his chest eased. For the first time in months… silence didn’t hurt.

He wandered slowly, careful not to step on the glowing blooms. His hands trembled. His breathing came shallow. But he didn’t turn back.

Then—bump.

He gasped as something nudged his leg.

Zane.

The silver wolf stood tall, wise eyes locking with his. But there was no threat in them. Only understanding.

The boy dropped to his knees.

And Zane didn’t move.

Instead, the wolf curled beside him, offering his thick fur like a blanket, a wall, a friend. The boy leaned into him, arms wrapping tight around Zane’s neck, tears finally escaping in heavy silence. Zane let him cry. Let him rest.

Eventually, the boy’s eyes fluttered shut, cheek pressed to warm fur, the lilies glowing around them like soft lanterns in a broken world.

That’s how Callahan found them.

He had come looking for Zane, worried the wolf had wandered too far. But as he stepped into the clearing, his expression softened.

A boy, curled beside his old companion. Eyes red. Heart cracked wide open.

Callahan approached gently, kneeling beside them. He reached out and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The boy stirred.

His eyes widened. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” Callahan interrupted, voice warm and steady. “There’s no need to apologize, young one. I saw the weariness on your face before you ever opened your eyes.”

He sat beside him. “This is a garden of peace. And something tells me that’s exactly what you came looking for.”

The boy swallowed, lips trembling. “I… I don’t know what I came for. I just… I wanted the voices to stop.”

Callahan listened quietly.

So the boy spoke.

About his parents. The way they talked over him. The way they never really saw him. About the nights spent alone, the blade in the drawer, the red lines on his arm that had become too familiar.

About how tired he was of hurting.

Callahan’s face remained calm, but his eyes shone with deep, aching compassion.

“May I see?” he asked gently.

The boy hesitated. Then nodded.

He rolled up his sleeve.

The scars were fresh. Faded and healing—but there. Proof of every silent scream.

Callahan reached out.

From a nearby bloom, he plucked a single Night Lily.

And softly, reverently, he pressed its petal to the boy’s arm.

The glow deepened. A warmth spread over the skin.

And one by one, the scars… faded.

Gone.

The boy stared, breath stolen.

“No one your age should carry scars like that,” Callahan said quietly.

The boy’s lip quivered—and he broke.

He fell into Callahan’s arms, sobbing.

Not just for the pain—but for the fact that someone finally saw him.

Callahan held him close, strong and still, like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

When the boy finally pulled back, wiping at his eyes, Callahan smiled and stood. He picked another lily, this one placed gently into a small pot.

He handed it to the boy.

“Take this home,” he said. “Keep it by your bed. And when the voices come again—and they will—don’t reach for the blade. Look at this instead. Watch it glow. Watch it breathe. And remember tonight.”

The boy nodded, holding the pot like treasure.

“It’s not magic,” Callahan continued. “It’s a reminder. Of who you are. And that you’re not alone.”

The boy blinked up at him. “Will… will I ever see this place again?”

Callahan smiled.

“Maybe one day. When you’re older. You just might make a fine apprentice, if the lilies take to you.”

Callahan glanced at Zane.

“Take him home, old friend.”

Zane nuzzled the boy’s hand, then turned toward the woods.

The boy followed.

He laughed once—genuine—as Zane started chasing his own tail, then leapt up dramatically as if to challenge a squirrel that didn’t exist. He rolled, barked softly, and wagged his tail.

The boy laughed again.

And it felt good.

By the time they reached the edge of the village, he turned to thank Zane—

—but the wolf was already gone.

Only a faint howl echoed through the trees.

And the boy smiled.

He entered his house quietly, crept to his room, and set the potted lily on his nightstand.

Then he sat beside it.

And for the first time in a long time, he just… watched.

Back in the garden, Zane returned, padding softly to Callahan’s side.

Callahan nodded as he watched the stars overhead.

“That boy,” he murmured, “might just be the one.”

He reached down and stroked Zane’s fur.

“But that’s for the future.”

He looked out over the glowing lilies.

“For now,” he whispered, “another heart has been lifted.”