
Daniel Brighten
@danielbrighten7
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In the time before stories were told, when the world was cloaked in endless night, people wandered lostâno sun, no stars, just silence and shadow. Fear grew heavy, and hope was a forgotten word.
Then, one night, a single light appearedâsoft at first, a faint pulse against the void. It wasnât a fire blazing or a heroâs torch. It was the Luminary: a living symbol born from every soulâs courage, every whispered promise to stand tall in the dark.
People didnât see a face or hear a voice. Instead, they felt its meaningâa 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 isnât givenâitâs 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.
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