The lantern keeper

The watchers

---

Chapter Two – The Watchers

The fog in Dimhollow had always been thick—but that morning, it felt alive.

It curled tighter around the buildings, drifted beneath doors, and clung to every windowpane like a warning. From her bedroom window, Sela stared into the endless gray. The lantern sat beside her on the desk, pulsing with a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. She hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the robed man’s gaze, heard his words echoing:

You have been chosen.

She wrapped her fingers around the lantern’s handle. It was warm again. Not burning, but comforting—like the hand of someone who wasn’t going to let go.

She slid it into her satchel, layered it with two scarves, and whispered, “Whatever this is… I won’t waste it.”

Downstairs, her mother was already gone, off to the early shift at the paper mill. Jonas still hadn’t come home from wherever he vanished to at night. Their house echoed with emptiness—the kind that wasn’t about sound, but presence. Sela toasted a piece of dry bread and forced it down, her stomach too tight for more.

Outside, Dimhollow was quieter than usual. That wasn’t a good thing.

The fog was unusually thick, and Sela noticed it wasn't moving right. It coiled, circled, and lingered—like it had eyes. She walked faster.

The school loomed ahead, its bricks chipped and graffiti-covered, windows always streaked with grime. Students shuffled in and out, heads bowed, earbuds in, backpacks dragging behind them like burdens.

But something new was happening.

Eyes. Watching.

Not just human eyes—but eyes behind eyes. Sela felt it before she saw it: the prickle along her spine, the sense of being measured.

Then she saw one.

A tall figure in a dark coat stood on the rooftop across from the schoolyard. Too still to be normal. No movement. No breath. Just… waiting.

Sela blinked. It was gone.

She shook her head. “I’m not imagining this.”

In her satchel, the lantern gave a single pulse. Stronger than before.

Inside school, the air was heavier than the fog. The lights flickered. The PA system whined in and out of static. Students moved through the halls like ghosts. Teachers seemed subdued, distracted.

And Sela noticed something else: people were sadder. Or maybe the sadness had always been there, and she just hadn’t seen it until now.

Marla wasn’t in her seat in science class.

Instead, a boy named Isaiah was slumped across the desk beside hers, his hood pulled low, his fingers tapping nervously against the metal leg of the chair. He looked pale—tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. A cold shiver ran down Sela’s neck.

The lantern pulsed again. Urgent.

During lunch, Sela slipped into the courtyard behind the gym, where the fog was even thicker. She knelt, opened her satchel, and uncovered the lantern.

It glowed softly, then brightened.

Then a voice whispered behind her.

"You shouldn't show that here."

Sela jumped, spinning to find a girl watching her. She looked about sixteen, with short silver hair, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes. She leaned against the wall with the ease of someone who didn’t mind shadows.

“Who are you?” Sela asked, quickly covering the lantern again.

The girl smirked. “A friend. For now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re not the only one who sees what this town really is.”

Sela stood, cautious. “What do you mean by ‘really is’?”

The girl didn’t answer. Instead, she looked toward the edge of the fog. “They’ve started watching you. The lantern’s not invisible to them, no matter how you hide it.”

Sela’s breath caught. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“They go by many names. Some call them Watchers. Others call them the Hollowed. They’re drawn to light—but not because they want it.”

Sela looked down. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know. But that’s why you were chosen.”

“How do you know so much?”

The girl tilted her head. “Because I was chosen once, too. A long time ago. Before I let the fog get to me.”

A silence hung between them.

The girl’s eyes softened. “The lantern chooses those who still have fire in them. But the fire’s not just for you. It’s for the broken, the bruised, the forgotten. You’ll have to fight for them.”

“I don’t know how,” Sela whispered

“You will.” The girl began to walk away, fading into the fog.

“Wait!” Sela called. “What’s your name?”

A faint voice came back: “Call me Lys.”

Then she was gone.

Sela stood still, heart racing. She didn’t understand everything—but one thing was clear:

The light inside her was real.

And something was coming.

---