Elara’s hands shook as she lit the final lantern. The flame caught—golden, trembling—and the glass dome filled with soft light. A hundred lanterns already glowed in the grove, strung between ancient oaks like a net of stars. Yet this last one—the lantern to hang above Kael—mattered most.

“You’re overthinking it,” teased Maris, the healer’s daughter, as she adjusted a string of blossoms around the archway.

Elara forced a smile. “He’ll notice. He always notices.”

Tonight was Choosing Night, when the Guardians of the valley were anointed by ancient fire: one to heal, one to guide, one to protect. Kael was a contender for Guardian of the Blade. If the spirits favored him, the fire would leap from the pyre and bind to his soul.

It would be the moment people waited their lives for. Choosing Night was more than a tradition; it was the cornerstone of their community, binding the village’s hopes to its candidates. It signified renewal and the continuation of ancient responsibilities, passed down like torches of knowledge. Each selection was a promise: they would be protected, guided, and healed by those the spirits deemed worthy.

And Elara was preparing it for him.

The grove thrummed with anticipation. Oaks whispered in the breeze, branches arching like cathedral vaults. Lanternlight shimmered on mossy ground, painting it with shifting gold and amber. Villagers moved like shadows among the trees, their voices hushed as if fearing the ancient spirits. Even the air changed: sharp with resin, sweet with burning herbs, and metallic with the promise of fire.

The pyre stood at the center, piled with rune-engraved wood. Its embers glowed faintly, warmth pulsing forward like a heartbeat. The High Seer had told her: The spirits will follow the light you prepare. Elara clutched that thought, adjusting garlands to sway perfectly above Kael’s path.

For months, she gathered herbs for garlands, carved runes into lanterns, and whispered old songs as she worked. She told herself it was duty. Every villager contributed to Choosing. But even as she repeated this, a war raged inside her between obligation and emotion. She wondered why her heart raced when she saw him and why her hands trembled as she prepared the lanterns. She tried to ignore the flutter in her chest, calling it the weight of responsibility. When the moon glowed on the quiet village and her duties were done, the truth gnawed at her. She did it for Kael.

Kael—the one who pulled her from the river. She’d slipped on slick stones; icy water shocked her, panic clawed her throat, until his hand grabbed hers with iron certainty. Afterward, he laughed, dripping and unconcerned. But Elara remembered the warmth in his arm around her shoulders as he carried her home. She never forgot.

Kael, who buckled his father’s sword, always knocking it on doorways. Kael, whose laugh broke through clouds and poured sunlight on her heart.

She had loved him silently for years, the way roots loved the tree they nourished: deeply, invisibly, expecting nothing in return.

The villagers gathered, their lanterns flickering in the dusk. The High Seer appeared, her crystal staff glowing faintly, and raised her voice:

“Candidates, come forth.”

Elara’s breath caught as Kael stepped into the circle. He looked different tonight: solemn, almost radiant, the firelight gilding his cheekbones. His eyes flicked across the crowd, and for an instant, they found hers.

He smiled. Just for her.

Her knees nearly gave way.

The first candidate stepped forward, then another. One boy from the southern farms swaggered, his family cheering louder than the rest. A girl from the northern cliffs carried herself with icy dignity, chin lifted as if she had already been chosen. Elara’s eyes flicked across the crowd. The tension pressed against her chest like the weight of the grove.

She adjusted a lantern slightly, smoothing her palms over its rune-carved frame. Steady the path. Guide the fire.

Finally—Kael.

He knelt before the pyre. The Seer’s chant rose, weaving with the crackle of flames. Fire leapt upward, bending toward him as though it recognized something. Villagers gasped.

Elara’s lantern, the one she had hung above him, swayed gently, light spilling down like a blessing. She pressed her hands together and whispered in her mind: Choose him. Please choose him.

The flames surged, wrapping his chest in sudden blaze. For an instant, he was nothing but shadow and fire. Then the light sank into him, leaving only the glow in his eyes.

The grove erupted in cheers. Kael had been chosen.

Hours later, after the feast and music, Elara returned to the clearing alone. Most of the lanterns burned low, their magic fading. She reached up to untie the last one—the lantern that had shone above Kael—and cradled it in her palms.

“Still working?”

She spun. Kael stood behind her, cloak draped over one shoulder, hair tousled. His grin was boyish, tired from celebration.

“I should be with the others,” he said, “but I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Her voice wavered.

“For this.” He gestured around at the lanterns, the garlands, the glowing archway. His eyes softened. “I knew it was you. It always feels different when you’re the one preparing things. Like you leave a piece of yourself in the light.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” he said. Then, before she could answer, he reached out and squeezed her hand. Brief, warm, steady. A promise meant for friends or perhaps something more, though she dared not name it. “You gave me the courage to walk forward tonight.”

And then he was gone, called back to the crowd, to the life that awaited him.

Elara stood alone in the grove, the last lantern flickering in her hands. She hung it back where it belonged, letting its glow spill into the night.

Her chest ached with pride and longing. She gave him her strength in the only way she knew: not with fire or swords, but with quiet preparation. She would remember this moment forever: the way his hand felt in hers, the soft exhale before the flames claimed him, the light she had readied to guide him.

It had always been Kael's moment, not hers. Though she loved him in silence, she took pride in this: when the world saw fire in him, she would remember the light she had readied for him first. In this quiet acceptance, Elara found her own strength. She realized her role was to support others and find fulfillment in shaping paths for those who would walk them. In helping Kael seize his destiny, she had grown too; her spirit had become intertwined with the light she nurtured. Some people are not meant to shine for themselves; they want to prepare the way for others.