[101-150] Site

But tonight, the lamp wouldn't catch. The gears, rusted by salt and time, groaned and seized. Panic flared in Silas's chest as he heard a distant foghorn—a freighter was heading straight for the jagged teeth of the Black Reef.

The old lighthouse keeper, Silas, never missed a night. For forty years, his ritual was the same: climb the spiraling stone stairs, trim the wick, and let the amber glow pierce the fog. He lived by the rhythm of the waves and the steady pulse of the beam.

With shaking hands, Silas grabbed his old brass emergency mirror. He stood on the gallery, catching the stray moonlight, and began to flash a rhythmic warning. Below, the great ship groaned, its engines reversing just in time. The silence that followed was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.