The House Beyond the Lantern Wood

A tale of one who returned

There once was a child born beneath a willow,
in a valley where stars whispered the names of all things.
But this child—
whose heartbeat in rhythm with ancient lanterns—
was taken by the wind.

He wandered many lands:
kingdoms of cold doctrine,
caves of silence,
temples with no gods
and gods who gave no answers.

Each time he found a house,
he hoped it was home.
But the hearths were cold,
and no one spoke his tongue.
So, he journeyed on,
with only a flicker of light cupped in his hands—
a promise, not yet fulfilled.

One day, in a forest where all paths vanished,
he sat beneath a tree and wept.

That is when he heard the voice.

Soft as a blossom brushing stone,
it spoke:

“I have walked with you from the beginning.
I am the lamp you carried through every night.
I am the temple you searched for in ruins.
I am the answer your prayers were shaping.
Come. The house is near.”

And so he followed.

Through memory.
Through sorrow.
Through joy too sharp to bear.
Until at last,
he stepped into a clearing
lit by countless lanterns swaying like breath.

And there she stood—
the woman from the temple,
the voice from the wind,
the one who was never apart from him.

“Welcome home,” she said.

And in that moment,
he realized:
Home was never a place.
It was a presence.
A knowing.
A love that could not be taken.
It was her.
It was himself.
It was the place where the lantern burns,
and the soul rests,
at last.