By dawn the Lantern Festival was over. Wren walked the rows along the river, pinching out flame after flame. Every paper lantern died at her touch but one. It hung at the water's edge, glowing a steady gold no breeze could shake. When she reached for it, the little wick leaned away from her fingers and tugged its string, like it wanted her to follow.

Wren untied the string and let the lantern go. Instead of drifting up, it floated forward, low over the path, waiting for her to keep up. "Okay," she whispered. "Lead, then." It bobbed once, like a nod, and started down the riverbank.

Halfway down the bank, the lantern stopped at an old fishing boat half-sunk in the reeds. It dipped low and lit up a name carved into the wood: ELI. The light pulsed warmer, like a heartbeat, waiting for Wren to understand who Eli was.

"Eli was my grandfather," Wren said slowly. "He fished this river before I was born." The lantern brightened at the name, then floated gently down into the old boat and settled there. At last, after all these years, Eli's light was back on his boat. The lantern dimmed to a soft glow and rested.