Chapter 1 – The Lantern Follows
They call it The Lantern That Follows.
The name shifts from port to port, shaped by the salt and wind of each tongue. In the northern dialect, it is The Light That Walks Behind. In the fishing quarter, they call it The Glow That Pulls the Tide.
But no matter the name, the tale is always the same.
It begins in the dark — always in the dark — with a small, swaying light in the distance.
The color is what draws you in: not the orange of a streetlamp nor the cold blue of an electric bulb, but a reddish-gold, like the last breath of sunset before night swallows the sky.
Most will tell you it belongs to a watchman or a late fisherman, nothing more. But the old ones… the ones who've seen it and lived… they will lean close and whisper:
"Never look into that light. Never follow it."
The first to vanish were strangers. Travelers unfamiliar with the narrow streets, drawn toward the glow like moths to a flame. Then came merchants. Then children. They would wander toward the shimmer, and the next morning their homes would be empty, their beds cold.
And then there is the story of James and Jenny — the one that makes even the hardest dockhand fall silent.
They were not from Mare Rosso. James was a clockmaker's apprentice, hands always smelling of oil and brass. Jenny was the daughter of a glassblower, her fingers forever marked by tiny burns from her father's kiln. They met during the Summer Festival, when lanterns hung from every street and music danced across the water.
It should have been a love that lasted a lifetime.
But one evening, James did not return home. Jenny swore she had seen him at the pier just before sunset, waiting for her. Between them stood a figure, tall and thin, carrying a lantern whose glow caught in the mist like molten gold. She blinked — and James was gone.
Every night after, Jenny returned to that same spot. Some say she believed the lantern could lead her to James. Some say the figure whispered to her in her dreams.
On the seventh night, she followed it. Witnesses claimed they saw her step into the water, eyes fixed on the light drifting out beyond the breakers. The sea was calm. She never came back.
And here is the part no one agrees on:
Some say the next morning, two sets of footprints were found on the wet sand, leading away from the shore. Others claim that if you stand at the pier at last light, you will see them — James and Jenny — walking together just beyond the edge of the world, the lantern swaying in front of them.
The old ones finish with the same words, the same warning passed through generations like a curse:
"The lantern will not guide you home. It will only guide you away."
A bird took flight with a sudden clap of wings, scattering the mist.
Ren flinched at the sound, the movement catching in the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see a black-feathered shape vanish into the fog above the rooftops. "Guess the pigeons here are jumpy," he muttered.
"You're jumpy," John shot back, though the way he kept glancing over his shoulder betrayed him.
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Are both of you going to keep this up all morning?" Elli's voice was sharp, but her attention wasn't on them She was studying the lines of the street ahead — how the cobblestones curved differently than yesterday, how the familiar buildings seemed emptier, the sidewalks quickly clearing as if the city itself was retreating.
"Because in case you haven't noticed, this isn't the same route we took yesterday."
Max slowed his pace until he was slightly ahead of them, his eyes sweeping the narrow alleys to either side. "Could just be the fog making things look different."
"It's not the fog," Elli said.
Her tone was final.
Liza, walking a few steps behind, tightened her scarf against the morning chill. "I don't remember that sign," she murmured, nodding toward a tea shop with its name painted in curling, barbed letters none of them could read. The wood of the sign was dark, almost black, and the paint shimmered faintly, as if still wet.
Elli's brow furrowed. "That script… it's old. I've only seen it in restoration archives. Centuries old."
Ren stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Maybe they're just trying to look vintage. Sell more tea." He forced a smirk, but it faded when his eyes caught on something else — a small brass lamp hanging above a doorway, flickering with a reddish-gold glow that seemed too warm for the cold air.
The mist curled low around their boots, clinging and shifting like it didn't want to let go. Somewhere in the distance, a low, wordless tune floated through — slow, rhythmic, the kind of hum you'd use to soothe a restless child.
"Do you hear that?" Liza asked, slowing her steps.
Max nodded but didn't turn toward the sound. "Yeah. I just… can't tell where it's coming from."
John stopped walking entirely, spinning once to check the streets behind them. "It's moving. Every time we turn a corner, it's still… there."
Ren ran a hand through his hair, voice low. "Look, it's morning. We're all still running on last night's adrenaline… exhausted from everything we went through. That's why the streets feel so empty."
Elli adjusted the strap of her satchel and stepped closer to the wall as a cart creaked past them, the driver's face hidden under the brim of a wide hat. She watched it disappear into the fog, noticing how the wheels left no tracks on the damp stones.
Max slowed to match her pace. "We should stay in busier streets. Fewer blind spots."
"Fewer blind spots for what?" John asked.
Max didn't answer.
The road began to slope downward, pulling them toward the harbor district. The fog thinned enough for the faint outline of ships' masts to appear in the distance, black lines against a pale sky. But the air didn't smell like the sea — no salt, no tar, no fish. Instead, there was a faint scent of burnt metal, like overheated clockwork.
Ren stopped walking, turning in a slow circle. "Okay… someone tell me how the hell we got here."
"What do you mean?" Liza asked.
"This street — it's supposed to end at the central plaza, not… whatever this is."
Ahead, the road ended not in the bustle of the square but in a small, unusually empty plaza… as if the city had pulled back overnight. At its center stood a black stone archway, unmarked except for faint chisel lines that formed no words.
The air beyond the arch shimmered faintly… reddish-gold.
"Looks like the city decided to redecorate overnight," Ren muttered, though his voice was quieter now, less mocking.
Max stepped forward slowly, scanning the edges of the plaza. "Stay here. Just in case."
John moved closer to Liza, lowering his voice. "This feels wrong. Like… nightmare wrong."
Elli crouched slightly, running her fingers along one of the chisel marks in the stone nearest her. "This carving—" She stopped, frowning. "It's unfinished. Or maybe… erased."
The hum returned, louder this time, and for the first time, they all turned toward the sound. It wasn't coming from the harbor. It wasn't coming from anywhere they could see. It was simply there, in the air around them.
Max's hand flexed slightly at his side. "We need to decide if we're going through that arch or turning back."
Ren glanced at the others, then at the reddish-gold shimmer just beyond the stones. "What if… this is where the tour gets interesting?"
"Or where it ends," John muttered.
The hum deepened, and a faint flicker of light passed across the surface of the archway, like a lantern swinging somewhere just out of sight.
None of them moved.