The Light in the Fog by Alisa Yunes

Once upon a time, in a quiet valley

where the sun almost never shone and thick fog filled the air, there lived a girl named Marla. She had hair like smoke and eyes as grey as stones in the river. Marla lived in a small, creaky wooden house with her grandfather, Tom.

Grandpa Tom made special lanterns for the people in the village. These lanterns didn’t need fire—they glowed all on their own. He always said, “These lights are made from memories. Every light tells a story.”

The villagers didn’t understand how it worked, but they knew the lanterns helped them see through the heavy fog, so they kept buying them.

Marla loved her grandpa very much. But more than anything, she wanted to see the sun. She had read about it in old books—how it was a big ball of light in the sky, how it warmed the earth, and how it made trees and flowers grow. But in the valley, no one had seen the sun in years.

Then one cold morning, Tom didn’t wake up.

Marla sat beside him all day. The little lantern by his bed slowly went out, and the house felt darker and colder than ever before. Outside, the fog pressed against the windows like a blanket of clouds.

When people from the village came to say they were sorry, someone asked, “Who will make the lanterns now?”

“I will,” Marla said.

But it wasn’t easy. Her hands were too small, and the wires were hard to bend. No matter what she did, the lanterns stayed dark. One night, tired and sad, she threw a broken lantern out the window and said softly, “I just want to see the sun.”

Just then, something moved in the fog.

A strange figure stepped out of the mist. It was tall and thin, wearing a long silver coat. Its eyes were shiny like glass. In one hand, it held Marla’s broken lantern. In the other, a small blue flame.

“I heard your wish,” the figure said in a voice that sounded like wind in the trees. “Do you want to leave this valley and see the sun?”

“Yes,” Marla said quickly.

“But if you go, you must leave behind all the lanterns. No lights from the past. No memories. Only the road ahead,” said the figure.

Marla thought of his grandpa—his warm smile, his rough hands, the way he whispered stories while he worked. She looked down at the dark house behind her.

Then she thought of the sun.

“I’ll go,” she said.

The figure gave her a small glass ball. “This will help you see for a while. But when it goes dark, you must choose: keep walking without light, or turn back.”

Marla walked for a long time. The fog was thick and cold. This ball glowed gently in her hand like a tiny star. She thought she saw shapes in the mist—faces she knew, voices calling her back—but she kept going.

Then one day, the ball flickered. It blinked once… twice… and then it went dark.

Marla stopped. Everything was quiet. She could go back to the valley, to the stories and the memories. But she had come so far.

So she took a deep breath and stepped into the dark.

She walked until her legs were sore, and her feet were tired. Then, far ahead, she saw a soft light.

It grew brighter with every step. The fog slowly lifted. The sky turned pink. And then—like gold spilling over the mountains—the sun rose.

Marla smiled through her tears. She finally understood what grandpa Tom meant. Light isn’t just something you can see—it’s something you carry inside you.

Years later, travellers spoke of a place at the edge of the fog where the sun always shines. In the middle of that place stands a tall lantern post that glows without fire.

Some say it’s magic.

Others say it’s the memory of a girl who never gave up—shining to guide others home.

Moral: Even in darkness, if you carry love and hope with you, you will always find the light.