Phantom Lantern Novels & Stories

"So Echa and I played on the old slide because Daniel and Alaska wouldn’t share the new one. Echa was sad, Mommy, but then her dad bought her a swing!" "Echa is so lucky. Do you want a swing too, sweetheart?" I asked, sipping my sugar-free tea. I was on a diet because later in the afternoon, I would be playing the piano at someone's wedding. "Mm... No. I don’t like swings. But can we have a haunted house, Mommy?" Alvin asked, his eyes pleading. Lately, Alvin had been obsessed with horror comics and loved ghost movies. "Of course, my darling!" I said. Yeah, I would decorate his room later with fabric and props, pretending to be Bloody Mary. Maybe Orion would join in?

But I didn’t want to ruin the moment, and maybe she didn’t either, because she tugged me toward a stall selling lanterns. “Look,” she said. “They’re doing the lighting ceremony at ten. We should pick ours.” Rows of paper lanterns glowed under warm bulbs, some plain, some painted with little constellations, some shaped like animals. Gal held up a pale blue one. “This one’s cute.” “It is,” I agreed, even though I hadn’t looked at the lantern. My eyes were already on her. She felt it, because she didn’t meet my gaze either. We bought our lanterns and found a quiet corner at the edge of the square. The grass was cool, and the hum of festival noise felt distant.

He was just one more traveler, adding his own story to this silent chronicle of human endeavor. The darkness pressed in on him, a suffocating blanket that threatened to smother his spirit. He pulled out a small, salvaged lantern, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows that writhed and twisted, adding to the eerie atmosphere. The light was meager, barely enough to illuminate a few feet ahead, but it was enough, he told himself, enough to keep him moving forward.

She could not shake the sense that whatever words lay inside were not meant to bring her peace, but to unmake her. Elsewhere, within the quiet walls of the Sunlit stronghold, Liam sat alone in his chamber. The fire before him was little more than embers now, glowing faintly against the dark. He cradled a cup of wine untouched, his thoughts drifting further back than he had allowed them in years.

One lantern. One Keeper. Every lantern represented someone who had accepted the burden before him. Some glowed brightly. Others had already gone dark. One lantern drifted lower than the rest. Its brass surface gleamed softly. The engraved name caught Adrian's breath. THOMAS VALE Unlike the others... Its flame was still burning. Not fading. Not flickering. Steady. Alive. Adrian stared upward, unable to look away. Then every lantern in the chamber suddenly swung in the same direction...

“The lantern still works if nobody insults it directly.” Dean leaned over. “Does it respond poorly to criticism?” “It responds poorly to being dropped by people who say they’re taking point under protest.” “I feel judged by equipment now.” Caleb handed the lantern to Evelyn. “It has a shutter. Not pretty, but you can make short and long signals if your fingers don’t freeze.” “What about distance?” “It depends on rain, mist, angles, and whether the wall is actually watching.” Caleb glanced toward the hidden shape of Frostfang. “So awful.”

I NEED to know who he is, and something tells me I won’t discover much if I approach him as Phantom Reaper. I don’t really even know who I actually am, to be honest. I never indulged in friendships or relationships with others. It’s just always been survival. The only person I had any kind of positive relationship was my mother. I don’t know my father but because of my hair color, I’m fairly certain my father was Christian Bartoa. I know he frequented the slave cells whenever he was bored, and the urge arises so it doesn’t surprise me, but I don’t intend to ever claim him nor carry his surname. The thought of actually SPEAKING to Damien makes me feel a weird sense of anxiety. I’m unsure if i

The Lantern of Hidden Truths had been lit in the manor’s ancient lantern grove — a secluded woodland clearing where guests carried small, enchanted paper lanterns inscribed with one secret they wished to release. The lanterns were then set adrift on the still black pond at the center, their glowing confessions rising into the night sky like fireflies before vanishing. It was a quiet, introspective festival meant to unburden the heart before the solstice’s final, most powerful rites.

“There it is!” From afar, Zen spotted the flowing paper lanterns. Although the craftsmanship was clumsy, the goblins managed to put together a raft that floated with all the shamans’ staff. The paper lantern was closer to shabbily wrapped torches, but it worked. With the warrior’s help, the gamer reeled his haul in.