The Boy and the Lantern (Scotland, 1832)

The storm had been raging for hours when young Callum realized his father hadn’t come home. The man was a fisherman. He knew the sea’s moods better than most, but even seasoned sailors could misjudge a storm like this.

Callum’s mother had lit the lantern and placed it in the window, the same way she always did when his father was at sea. “He’ll see the light, and he’ll come home,” she murmured, though her hands trembled. Callum watched her for a moment before making a decision. If his father needed light, he’d take it to him.

Wrapping his coat tight against the wind, he took the lantern and climbed the hill near their home. It was foolish, dangerous even, but he didn’t care. If his father was out there, maybe he’d see the glow. Maybe it would be enough to guide him home.

By the time Callum’s father staggered through the door, soaked to the bone but alive, the storm had begun to ease. “Saw the light on the hill,” he muttered, gripping his son’s shoulder. “Thought it was the stars at first.”

For years after, the fishermen in their village told the story of the boy with the lantern. Not every sailor made it home that night. But Callum’s father did.