Lights of Faith🔊

Yvette's life had never been a straight line. On days when the world was still dark, she stumbled through the labyrinth of alleys that made up the slums of Jivara, her home. She dreamed of a life beyond the overfilled trash bins and leaking roofs, a life where a hot meal and a warm bed weren't scarce commodities.

It was on one such dawn that she met Benoit. Benoit, with his twinkling green eyes with an odd sparkle, and a contagious laughter, who said he was a wandering minstrel. What caught Yvette was his sincere smile that reflected an optimism she'd rarely perceived in her world. They quickly became friends, sharing stories, dreams, and the meagre food Yvette could scrounge up from her job at the groceries.

With Benoit, Yvette felt her world expanding even within the confinement of the ghetto. He spun stories of the places he'd been, bursting with colorful descriptions of sunlit beaches and snow-capped mountains. His words made her feel the salty wind against her face and the thrill of sliding down slick snowy slopes. Yvette loved the way he lit up as he told his stories, and though she longed to see the world, the light in his eyes was enough for her.

One day, Benoit pulled out an object: a tiny sparking flame shimmering in multicolor, like a tiny trapped star, cradled inside an old bottle. He uttered in a conspiratorial whisper, 'In my hometown, they call it the Flame of Ardera, a beacon for lost souls and a guide to the promised land. I stole it when I began my journey.'

Although dubious, Yvette couldn’t tear her gaze from the mesmerizing little flame. In its light, she felt an unwavering warmth she hadn’t known existed. That night, as Yvette lay staring at the ceiling, she felt a firm resolve growing in her heart. She would break out of her squalor, with the light of the Flame of Ardera pointing the way.

She started to pinch and save every penny she earned. Living on even more meagre meals, she ignored the gnawing hunger in her belly, preferring the nourishment of her dreams. Benoit protested against the realm of her endeavours. 'Trust the flame, Yvette. Have a little faith,' he would chuckle as he strummed his old guitar, his green eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Two years passed in this pattern till Yvette had saved enough money to leave Jivara. Nights of starry dreams nurtured by the tales of Benoit and the shimmering Flame had steeled her resolve. She held the Flame of Ardera, the beacon that promised a brighter tomorrow, tighter than ever.

Bidding a painful goodbye to Benoit and her tedious life, she stepped into an unknown world full of uncertainties. She batted away every obstacle, the image of the twinkling Flame burned in her heart, leading her journey onward. She found work as a seamstress in a nearby town. With every stitch she sewed, she worked on weaving her dreams into a tapestry of reality.

Years slipped away until one frosty dawn, as Yvette stared out at the panorama of a snow-capped mountain from her modest but comfortable home, she realized she had made it out of Jivara. She'd built a better life with steady food and a warm bed. She'd found a contentment she had only dreamed of. The Flame of Ardera, now aged and dimmed, still held its place on her mantlepiece, the beacon that had guided her to her promised land.

Just as the sunrise painted the world amber, a familiar melody floated in on the breeze. Following the sound, she found Benoit, a bit more grizzled but with the same twinkling green eyes, standing right there, playing his worn-out guitar, smiling at her. 'Told you. You just needed a little faith,' he said. Faith. It turned out to be the most potent magic there was. The magic that had transformed Yvette's world - one little flame at a time.