Story 1104: Lantern of the Forgotten

The forest deepened as Evelyn Blackmoor journeyed beyond Greymarrow’s outer hills. Trees grew too tall, too twisted, branches knotted like gnarled fingers clutching secrets. The wind had fallen still—no birds, no rustling, only the crunch of her boots over brittle leaves and bone-colored moss.

The blue flame in her lantern pulsed softly now, as though aware. Guiding her.

The path led to an ancient clearing where moss blanketed broken stone and a single iron post stood in the center. From it hung a lantern—unlit, cobwebbed, and carved with runes in a language that pulsed behind her eyes.

This was the Lantern of the Forgotten, spoken of only in footnotes and hushed asylum ramblings. A relic said to trap the memories of the dead—not just their images, but their regrets, their screams.

As she approached, the air thickened. The trees leaned in, and time seemed to bend.

Evelyn reached for the lantern.

The moment her fingers touched the handle, her mind was ripped open.