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In the quiet village of Ashwood, old Mr. Harrow kept a rusty lantern that never went out. Every night at 11:11, it glowed brighter, casting golden shadows that danced across his cluttered shelves. Children whispered it held captured starlight; adults said it was just oil and wick. One winter evening, a blizzard trapped the village. Food ran low, hope thinner. At 11:11, Mr. Harrow carried the lantern to the square. Its light pierced the storm, revealing a forgotten path to the valley’s untouched grain stores. No one asked how it knew. They just followed the warm, impossible glow home.(Exactly 1

In the quiet village of Ashwood, old Mr. Harrow kept a rusty lantern that never went out. Every night at 11:11, it glowed brighter, casting golden shadows that danced across his cluttered shelves. Children whispered it held captured starlight; adults said it was just oil and wick. One winter evening, a blizzard trapped the village. Food ran low, hope thinner. At 11:11, Mr. Harrow carried the lantern to the square. Its light pierced the storm, revealing a forgotten path to the valley’s untouched grain stores. No one asked how it knew. They just followed the warm, impossible glow home.(Exactly 1