Eldric walked on. The night was thick now, the road curling through Brindleford's wheat fields like a silver thread. Lantern after lantern burned behind him, casting long, gentle pools of light and yet the darkness between them felt endless. He had known this stretch of road for longer than most living souls had been alive, yet each year, the shadow between flames seemed a little wider, a little hungrier.
He adjusted the strap of his pack, feeling the worn leather bite against his shoulder. His staff pulsed faintly, as if aware of the shifting dark.
Eldric had carried it for so long that he could feel the flame's heartbeat in his own veins. Every wick, every lantern, every night, the rhythm was etched deep inside him and it had been so for more lifetimes than he could count.
A sound stirred him from thought: a rustle in the wheat, quiet but deliberate. Eldric froze. His golden eyes caught a glimmer between the stalks, something darker than shadow moving in the distance. Not a fox, not an owl. He remembered the first time he had seen it, a creature that seemed to exist only to sniff at the edges of lantern-light.
A shadow wolf.
It had been centuries ago, near Ashwell. The memory was sharp, a young miner screaming, coal dust in his lungs, Eldric lifting the flame of his staff like a shield. He had driven the creature back, yet it had returned every winter for decades.
The memory did not frighten him now. Fear had grown dull after centuries. But caution had sharpened, honed to a needle-edge.
He stepped forward and the wheat rustled again. A pair of glowing eyes blinked in the darkness. The flame at the staff's tip flared briefly and the shadow wolf's shape hesitated before melting back into the night.
Eldric did not speak. The creatures of darkness did not answer words. Only fire and will kept them at bay.
By Hollowfen, the marsh had begun to whisper. Waterlogged reeds bent beneath the weight of mist and Eldric could hear the faint singing of something beneath the water. Long ago, the swamp spirits had learned not to challenge him. Not because he was strong, though he was, but because he had tended these lanterns for lifetimes and every creature beyond the flames knew that a Keeper would always return.
He remembered walking this same path when the village was young, children laughing along the banks.
He had carried them safely past every hidden rift in the bogs. Now the children were grown, their children now the ones who left charms dangling from the lanterns, still remembering his unseen protection.
Eldric knelt beside a lantern half-buried in marsh mud. He scraped away the thick slime, relit the wick with his staff and whispered a quiet blessing.
"Flame before me, burn bright and true. Light within me, shield them through. Darkness flee, you hold no claim. They walked protected by the light's domain."
The flame responded, glowing brighter as if acknowledging a promise made long ago.
For a moment, he closed his eyes.
Centuries of roads, nights, and lanterns pressed behind him, stretching into memory like a river of light. Faces, dozens, hundreds, came and went. Villagers, travelers, apprentices long gone. Names and laughter, the fleeting warmth of mortal life. And yet the road remained and the lanterns waited.
When he opened his eyes, a chill ran down his spine. The flame ahead flickered unnaturally. Eldric had walked this path countless times, yet he could sense something new pressing against the light.
He did not rush.
There was no need.
The dark was patient.
But so was he.
By the time he reached Ashwell, the air smelled of coal and soot. The miners had long since gone home, leaving only the echoes of hammer and pick. Eldric checked the lanterns along the narrow streets.
Each flame steadied under his touch, yet something had shifted: the smoke rose in heavier curls, shadows seemed to linger too close to the glass.
He remembered a conversation long ago with Master Halvik, the old miner:
"The darkness moves differently now. It's learning."
Eldric had not understood at the time. Now, as he walked past tilted lanterns, feeling the cold whisper of wind, he understood. The dark remembered every flicker of light he had ever cast. It learned from centuries of vigilance, and it waited for moments when a flame might falter.
He paused at the last lantern before the open fields that led toward Wyrmgate. The glass was unbroken, the flame steady. Yet he could feel the gap ahead, the stretch of road beyond which no human eyes had seen what lay in the shadows. Eldric inhaled, feeling the weight of millennia in his chest.
The Keeper of the Lanterns had walked this road longer than memory itself and tonight, for the first time in centuries, he wondered if even he might not be enough.
He raised his staff, the wick glowing softly and continued his journey.