Entry Six: Ashes Beneath the Lantern’s Glow

 The path curved sharply, drawn by the murmuring of unseen waters. Mist rose thick from the earth, cloaking the air in a damp, spectral hush. I followed the sound, careful not to disturb the hush that blanketed everything — even my own footsteps seemed reluctant to echo here.

At last, I reached the river's edge, a ribbon of black glass winding through the hollow. Lanterns floated on its surface — dozens of them — each a small, flickering star adrift in the heavy fog. Their faint golden light barely pierced the gloom, but it was enough to reveal stones along the shore, worn smooth by centuries, each carved with a name. Some letters had eroded away, lost to the slow forgetting of time.

I knelt beside the nearest stone. My fingers brushed the damp moss growing in its cracks, and I felt the strange, steady heartbeat of the river beneath it — as if the water itself remembered those who had been set adrift here.

From the mist, a figure approached — or perhaps only the mist itself shifted. In its folds, something small and delicate pressed into my palm: a lantern, unlit, and a scrap of parchment brittle as dried leaves. No voice spoke, but the meaning was clear.

Write a name.

I hesitated. What name could I offer? Whose memory would I entrust to these waters? I thought of the ones I had lost, of moments that had slipped through my grasp like smoke. With a trembling hand, I inscribed a name — one I had not spoken aloud for many years — and set the parchment inside the lantern.

As I released it, the river accepted my offering. The lantern drifted out among the others, joining the slow procession of light across the mirror-dark surface. Overhead, the willows dipped their long arms into the current, as if blessing each soul carried away.

Ash scattered on the breeze, fine and grey, swirling into the mist. Somewhere beyond sight, a low, mournful hum rose — a sound too deep for words, too old for language. It was the voice of the river itself, bearing witness.

I stayed until the last glimmer of light was swallowed by the mist.

Only when the lanterns had vanished did I rise, the cold breath of the river still clinging to my skin. No one spoke. No one remained. Only the stones and the water, the ash and the quiet memory of what had passed.

And when I left, I did not look back.