Mythic Light — Stories of Construal and Luminous Worlds: 2 Beyond the River: The Dream of the Two Lights

That night, after her meeting with the River of Shadows, Liora dreamt that her lantern floated above her bed, humming softly, as though remembering something it had never forgotten.

Then, with the sound of a breath between waking and sleep, the lantern opened.

The two lights—golden and silver—rose from it once more.

They drifted into the valley air like fireflies learning their names.

The golden light flew upward, delighted by everything it could see: the gleam of rooftops, the dew on leaves, the sheen of moonlit snow high on the mountain peaks. Wherever it went, the world became vivid and sure, drawn into clear edges and radiant forms. “This is what is,” it sang, bright and confident. “This is the way the world must be.”

But the silver light lingered closer to the earth. It glided through the quiet fields and listened to the soil. It peered into wells, into shadows under the eaves, into the glimmer of fish sleeping beneath ice. “This is what might be,” it whispered. “What hides in plain sight, what waits in the dark to be named.”

At first, they each felt complete. But as the night deepened, the golden light noticed something strange: its brightness began to hollow out. The more it shone, the less it felt. Its certainty grew lonely. And the silver light, wandering in soft reflection, found its glow dimming into mist—it could sense everything, but touch nothing. Possibility without shape.

They began to call to each other across the valley.

“Without you,” said the golden light, “the world is bright but brittle.”

“Without you,” replied the silver, “the world is deep but lost.”

Their voices trembled in the air until they met at the river’s edge. There, the water mirrored both lights perfectly—and for a moment, the river itself seemed to pause, waiting.

The two lights circled above their reflection, then descended, touching the surface at the same time.

Light folded into water, water into light, until there was no telling which was which.

And from that mingling rose a third light—a soft, breathing shimmer—the colour of dawn seen through tears.

When Liora awoke, that same shimmer filled her room. Her lantern sat quietly by the window, neither golden nor silver now, but alive with both.

She didn’t remember the dream exactly. But when she looked out at the mountains, she noticed how every shadow glowed faintly at its edge, and how every beam of light carried a hint of darkness in its heart.

And she thought: perhaps the world dreams us, too.

Perhaps meaning is just the light learning to see with both eyes.