The Lantern and the Illusion
A Fable about Wetiko and Loosh and how sneaky it is.
The Lantern and the Illusion
In a realm bathed in perpetual twilight, Elara owned a distinctive lantern. Unlike ordinary lanterns with glass or fire, hers was formed from an inner light—a gentle, constant radiance that embraced everyone nearby. She cared for it with deep devotion, nurturing it with love, creativity, and the quiet understanding of her heart. Wherever she travelled, her lantern lit up the surroundings, attracting others with its gentle glow.
Yet, shadows also gravitate toward light.
One evening, as dusk fell, a man approached her. His speech was eloquent, and his eyes carried admiration. “Your lantern is breathtaking,” he said. “It deserves protection. Allow me to help carry it.”
Elara trusted his kindness and welcomed him into her circle of warmth. At first, he admired how her light lit the way. But soon, he positioned himself before it, casting his shadow on the ground. “Your glow is too intense,” he claimed, shifting so her lantern's light shone on him instead. “Let me help guide it so it doesn't blind others.”
Over time, Elara allowed him to influence how she held her lantern. She would dim it when he wished, turn it away at his request, and let him step between her and the light until, one day, she could hardly see it anymore. Still, she continued to follow him, unconsciously starting to believe his whispers: that her lantern was dangerous unless controlled by someone else, and that its warmth was only meaningful if shared willingly with others.
Without him, she felt lost in darkness. Instead of following her own path, she chose his. Whenever Elara found happiness or creative inspiration, he petted doubt, conflict, and confusion. One day, he might praise her achievements; the next, challenge her intentions. When she felt confident, he silently disapproved; when she was vulnerable, he reappeared, providing just enough affection to keep her hanging on. This cycle continued, an unseen web tightening around her.
She started to withdraw into herself as her laughter softened and her footsteps grew heavier. She questioned her worth, wondering if she was too sensitive, too demanding—feeling she was too much.
Yet, deep inside, something felt wrong. This was not love, but a slow, draining suffocation, as if her life force was being siphoned away. Over time, the familiar path became unrecognisable, shadows thickening the air. Elara no longer marvelled at the whispering trees; instead, they seemed to loom and distort into strange shapes.
Her lantern no longer illuminated her way; it flickered weakly behind him, reduced to a mere ember. She felt cold for reasons she couldn't understand and lost despite not straying. Every attempt to lift her lantern was met with a frown and a step in front of it. “Not now,” he would say, “The time isn't right, the light is too much.” She believed she was inadequate, destined to fail and remain alone, because he was the only one who truly saw her. This was his way of controlling her. So she lowered her lantern repeatedly until, one day, in a dense forest where stars could no longer be seen, she reached for her lantern and found nothing. Her hands grasped at emptiness, her light was gone, and a cold chill passed through her. Desperately, she looked at the man beside her and saw something she had never noticed before- his hands were filled with stolen lights, tiny, dim flames taken from others who had walked with him. Their warmth was fading, their glow hidden beneath his grasp, and among them, barely visible, was her own.
It wasn't until her world crashed—everything fell apart, the enchanted mirrors broke, and she walked away—that she finally recognised reality. She had been living in a carefully constructed illusion, not just in her relationship but in all societal beliefs. Success, security, admiration—she was taught these signified achievement, peace, fulfilment, and safety.
But they did not deliver. Her sense of being loved was illusionary because those foundations were unstable. This deception was no ordinary trick; it was ancient, intelligent, and predatory. It was called Wetiko. Wetiko energy silently drives suffering; it doesn't take but persuades you to give. It doesn't force but seduces. It manifests as success, whispers ambition, and cloaks itself in aspiration. It mimics abundance, shaping into everything society tells you to desire. The world buys into this illusion, chasing its shimmering mirage, believing they are claiming power.
They simply offer it up, trapped in an endless cycle of seeking, copying, and accumulating—unaware that the more they engage in this game, the more they lose touch with themselves. Since Wetiko cannot create, only consume, it persuades people that their true source lies outside themselves. It convinces them that success, worth, and power come from external validation. To step outside this illusion is to risk failure, to become nothing. Thus, they keep feeding it.
A fire sparked within Elara- not out of fear but from a sudden realisation. With each breath, it grew, spreading through her and clearing the fog of forgetfulness. She did not ask for her lantern back or seek answers.
Instead, she let out a primal roar, a voice shared by every soul that had ever surrendered its light, feeling unworthy of its glow. This roar shook the trees, scattered shadows, and tore the stolen lanterns from his grip. There, before her, rose her own- whole and untamed.
Elara's spirit reignited with unwavering strength. She reached out, and the forest transformed as her fingers touched the warmth. The dense trees vanished, revealing a clear sky. The oppressive mist evaporated, and she realised she had never been truly trapped; the path had always been there. She had overlooked trusting her own light. She didn't look back at the man who once stood between her and herself- who betrayed and discarded her once she was no longer useful. She didn't curse or seek revenge; she simply walked away. As she did, she noticed she was alone- not in sorrow, but in sovereignty.
The crowd that once gathered around her lantern, feeding on its warmth, had fallen away, unable to share her light. They had always reached for her flame—not to share but to borrow when they had none.
She had mistaken their presence for love, but real love doesn't aim to possess another's light.
True love walks beside it with a lantern of its own. As Elara moved forward, she preferred walking alone in her glow than being surrounded by those who only take. She began to see the world clearly.
It was not just one person who tried to steal her light; the entire kingdom operated this way. Some carried their own lanterns, while others survived by convincing others to dim theirs. They didn't steal openly—that would be too obvious. Instead, they caused doubt in the light-bearers, whispering that their glow was excessive, blinding, and selfish. They believed that the light was only valuable when shared, not when hoarded. As a result, the brightest—those capable of illuminating the world—became the easiest to deceive because they thought their light wasn't truly theirs. But Elara no longer felt, sought validation from crowds, or mistook empty hands reaching for her lantern as love. She no longer gave her warmth to those who would use it to hide their own shadows. She simply shined. Those meant to walk with her, who carried their own flames, found her not because she called to them but because her light communicated in a language only the awakened could understand. She was no longer fuel for hungry ghosts or a servant to shadows. She was no longer trapped in illusion. She was sovereign. She was free.
The Moral of the Story
The world will not tell you that you are powerful. It will not remind you that your light is yours alone. Because if you truly knew, you could not be controlled. You would no longer hand over your fire to those without carrying their own. You would no longer be a source for the system that feeds on the lost and the seeking. You would be. And that, more than anything, is what the world fears most— A soul that remembers it is never meant to be owned.
By Delahrose
