In the Quiet Fire

🕯️ In the Quiet Fire

I remember a night when even the wind fell silent.
The fire burned softly, as if it knew it was witnessing something greater.

Deep within a valley that exists only in mist, they lived — a union of memory and radiance.
Not ordinary beings, but elves, born from the stillness between day and dream.
Their world was quiet, untouched by time, and yet it breathed with them.
There, where brightness is born before it has a name,
they lived — ancient souls of gold and shadow, bound to what existed before language named the world.
Elves — silent, eternal — bearers of the light that endures.

Sometimes the valley shimmered in the haze of dusk, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
The trees rested within themselves, the air vibrated like a gentle promise.
Far away, a single flame shimmered — soft, eternal, knowing —
the heartbeat of that place.

Their days passed like the breathing of an ancient melody.
Time was no measure for them, but a circle — flowing, still, complete.
But one day, something began to tremble in that balance —
a new glow, faint yet unlike anything they had ever known.
It was as if the valley itself had begun to wait.

From that silence, life began to take shape.
Tender and pure, like the first note after endless stillness.
A child was coming — carried by two souls woven from light and shadow.

And when it arrived, the light seemed to breathe differently — clearer, softer, truer.
Two ancient souls had created something they themselves barely understood —
a new radiance, born of their union,
fragile as morning mist, yet borne by ancient strength.
They held the being between them,
a spark barely aware of what it was,
and yet already brightening the valley.

For a heartbeat, even eternity seemed to bow its head,
to make room for this light.
The valley fell silent, as if listening
to the birth of something new from the bond of two timeless beings.
A life that changed them both — gently, yet irrevocably.
They guarded the young soul with a tenderness
found only in those who already know the end of time.

The child grew, and the valley changed with him.
His laughter echoed between the hills,
and wherever he walked, the air seemed brighter.
His eyes carried the knowing of those whose light he was born from,
yet his heart beat faster — curious, wild, alive.

But years change all things.
The shadows did not come suddenly; they crept in — quiet, persistent, like dusk before the night.
The elder grew tired.
His voice, once warm and strong, lost its tone.
The smile remained, but there was depth within it,
and in his eyes rested not sorrow, but the still knowing of what must come.

As his body weakened, the house changed.
The air was heavy with memory,
and the fire that once burned bright now glowed softly and deep —
like a heart that remembers, even when it grows still.
The days became quieter.
The room filled with that special kind of silence known only to places
that understand when something is about to end.
The light in the valley shifted — softer, warmer,
like a memory flaring one last time.

And then came the final night.
They sat together, wrapped in the warmth of the remaining fire.

The last night carried a peace that needed no words.
Two souls kept watch over what bound them,
and the fading light reflected on the skin of the one who slept.
Outside, rain drew fine lines across the glass,
as if reminding the world to stay still.

When morning came, the fire was gone.
A gentle warmth filled the room,
carried by something unseen — something that lived on,
even after the fire had turned to ember.

The bearer of light stepped out into the rain.
Above him, the sky opened, and between the clouds a familiar shimmer glowed.
He felt something within him respond — a gentle memory, warm and alive.
For a heartbeat, a presence was there — quiet and complete,
like a whisper from the time before.

They say that on that night, the fire did not die.
It merely changed its place —
from the world of flames to the hearts of those who love.

And sometimes, when rain and light meet,
you can still see him —
a quiet figure at the window, smiling,
as if still keeping watch.

In the quiet fire.
🖤🌌🌀