For the fourth day in a row, the ocean made its intentions clear. For the fourth day in a row, it sent waves crashing against the lighthouse. They encompassed the building whole, swallowing it in a single gulp, only releasing it from its depths when its endeavor proved unsuccessful. Like teeth, white froth bit into the concrete, only falling shy of devouring it entirely.
Still, the Flamekeeper remained unbothered. Of course, they were more than bothered by the fact that they had been without sunlight for four days. But, the Flamekeeper was unbothered by the roar of the ocean. By its battlecry. By the shrieks and the yells escaping the waves as they tried their damndest to drag the whole lighthouse down to the seafloor.
Bang!
A door slammed on its hinges, handle denting the gray-gray colored wall. The Flamekeeper pushed out from the spiral red and white colored building, raising a hand above their eyes to provide some shield against the rain. They hugged their yellow rain slicker closer around their shoulders, not even bothering to button the great swathe of rubber. The Flamekeeper reached into the depths of their pockets to reveal a cylindrical object. Where it was once gilded and glowing, the metal was colored something dingy and dulled beyond all belief.
In their haste, they fumbled with shaking hands. The metal jumped from their grasp when they pried it apart, cold fingers just barely curling around it in time to catch it. They raised the spyglass to their eye. Where rain plastered the glass and obstructed their vision, there was burning intuition. Intuition enough to recognize trouble.
Thick and heavy, they knew trouble in every form it came in.
This though… It was a new low.
A ship of a bygone era crested a wave, silhouette just briefly illuminated by lightning elsewhere. The body of the ship crashed down against the ocean in its own violent battle, and for a moment, they feared it to be too violent. The Flamekeeper held their breath, watching helplessly when the ship’s bow fell too low beneath the water. It was the silence. The same one that ate away at her very being, watching what very well could’ve been the end.
Like a resurgence in itself, the ship broke above the waves. Just as quick as fear had ensnared their very being, it disappeared all together. Urgency, then, began to flood their mind. Their job, now, was a moral obligation more than an oath. The Flamekeeper forced the spyglass to a close and pocketed it just as quick, turning their gaze upward.
They stood at the base of what was reliably the only true, physical embodiment of a beacon in the dark. Old metal rungs protruded from the cement. The Flamekeeper pressed the toe of their boot against the metal, testing their weight. When the ladder didn’t fall away at first contact, they breathed relief. “Okay,” they whispered to themself, closing their eyes for a single moment. They they nodded once, coming to terms with their own thoughts. “Okay, okay, okay.” Their gaze snapped up toward the top of the lighthouse. “Least it’ll be the fall that kills me.”
With a white-knuckled grip, the Flamekeeper spurred themself into action, climbing the rungs two at a time. The wind pushed and pulled their body in every direction, urging them away from the partial safety that was two hands and two feet balancing upon unmoving metal. They refused the open invitation to give up. Because of course they did. One foot ahead of the other. One arm higher than the other. They climbed, never once daring a look down.
They reached the top not a moment too soon. The very moment their foot cleared the boundary leading to safety, a great, ghostly gust of wind blew through the whole of the lighthouse, threatening to knock them into the ocean below. They grappled for the railing in a hurried attempt at survival. A Flamekeeper has never fallen. They pulled themself upright with a well-practiced ease.
The Flamekeeper stumbled for the glass panels at the center of the elevated platform. With that same hand raised to block the rain from their eyes, they fumbled for the latch once, twice before practically tearing the door open. They all but fell inside, slamming the glass panel behind them. For a moment, they allowed themself to breathe. For a single moment, there was some semblance of peace. The next though…
They drew their attention to the glass. From their newfound vantage point, there was more to see. More to fear. The ship. Its sails were ancient by all means. Large and built for oceanic travel. Certainly not the oceanic travel that involved getting lost in the realm between oceans. Still, they saw it clearly. The way it struggled against the waves. Struggled against powers that be that were slowly turning it toward the near-invisible rock crest.
So the Flamekeeper did the one thing they were taught to do time and time again. Nimble hands reached for the elaborate switch in the center of the small room. With a strength far beyond them, they urged the ancient contraption down, falling away just in time for an inferno of light to burn into existence, flaring out from the warped metal at the center of the room. From the ground, they watched as the flame licked the glass panes, spreading across the surface until it enveloped the whole of the lantern room for all of five seconds. Five seconds of darkness turned to five seconds more of light.
On their hands and knees, the Flamekeeper crawled across the grated floor, doing well to avoid the fireshow above them. They pressed themself firmly against the glass, fumbling for that same spyglass they held so dear. They watched the ship then. Just as they were taught. Watched as it veered away from the rocky expanse that spelt doom and gloom.
Distant travelers never deserved to meet their end in an unknown land.