It began with a flicker — a pale blue light trembling in the dark. You had wandered too far into the woods, chasing the last whispers of daylight, when the creature emerged. Shadows twisted and hissed, hungry for warmth, for life. Then, as if summoned by your fear, another glow appeared — softer, steady, like a lantern held by unseen hands.

That was when you saw him.

A tall, spectral figure, half-shrouded by mist and moonlight. His presence silenced the forest itself. With just a tilt of his lantern, the monstrous thing retreated, dissolving into smoke. And you, still trembling, stood frozen — until he finally moved.

He extended a hand toward you, palm open, the faintest trace of light gathering between his fingers. His voice, deep and ethereal, carried the weight of time. “This is no place for a lady to wander at night. Allow me to escort you.”

You hesitated — but only for a heartbeat. When your hand met his, it was cold at first, then strangely warm, as though the flame within his lantern passed through him. His eyes met yours — tired, ageless eyes that hadn’t known rest for centuries — and in that moment, something clicked. Recognition. Not of a face, but of a soul.

He walked you home in silence. The world around you blurred into muted tones — only the glow of his lantern and the sound of his steps existed. And when you reached your door, he stopped. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his features. “My duty has come to an end… I have final—” He cut himself short, his gaze softening. “May you have a wonderful night and sweet dreams, my lady.”

Before you could answer, the flame dimmed, and with it, he vanished — dissolving into the air like mist at dawn.

You thought it was a dream. But then came the blue lights — faint flickers that followed you on your walks, hovering between trees, vanishing when you reached safety. Once, you swore you saw him — just a flash of his profile in the marketplace crowd. A haunting, comforting presence that never strayed too far.

Until that night.

You ran through the woods, chased by whispering flames that would not stop. Panic guided your steps until you reached the edge of a hill — the ground giving way beneath your feet. You screamed, reaching for anything, anyone.

And someone reached back.

A great hand, woven of fire and light, caught you mid-fall. You gasped as the heat melted into something human — familiar. You turned, breathless, and there he was again. The ghost. The man. Flins. His hand on your waist, his other cupping your face with aching tenderness.

“I have once more found you, my beloved…”

The words sank deep — ancient, sorrowful, full of a yearning that made your chest ache. His thumb brushed against your cheek, tracing the line of your skin as if relearning it, memorizing it all over again.

And then his lips pressed to your forehead — a kiss that wasn’t cold, but full of warmth, full of longing that had spanned lifetimes.

You fainted in his arms, but just before darkness claimed you, you felt it — the steady rhythm of something long forgotten. Not death. Not fear. Home.

For Flins, the wandering ghost, had finally found what he’d been searching for all these centuries — the soul he’d lost, returned to him at last. And this time, he would not let go.