luminary

In the time before stories were told, when the world was cloaked in endless night, people wandered lost—no sun, no stars, just silence and shadow. Fear grew heavy, and hope was a forgotten word.

Then, one night, a single light appeared—soft at first, a faint pulse against the void. It wasn’t a fire blazing or a hero’s torch. It was the Luminary: a living symbol born from every soul’s courage, every whispered promise to stand tall in the dark.

People didn’t see a face or hear a voice. Instead, they felt its meaning—a quiet strength that stirred deep inside, a flame kindled by every small act of bravery and every silent prayer for dawn.

The Luminary became a myth not because it was true, but because it needed to be. It taught that light isn’t given—it’s chosen. That even in loneliness, even when unseen, the spark inside refuses to die. It urged the lost to rise, to carry their own flame, to become beacons for others wandering through the dark.

 TO BE CONTINUED...