The night the power went out, Labubu knew something unusual was coming.

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The night the power went out, Labubu knew something unusual was coming.

The house fell silent in a way that felt bigger than quiet. No humming refrigerator. No soft glow from Mina’s nightlight. No distant city sounds. Just darkness—thick and complete.

From her place on the shelf, Labubustared into the black.

She didn’t mind the dark.

But Mina did.

A small voice drifted across the room.

“Mom?”

No answer.

Footsteps shuffled. Blankets rustled.

Labubu felt the air change—the way it always did when fear entered the room. It was colder somehow, thinner.

Mina curled tighter under her blanket.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered.

That was all Labubu needed.

She blinked awake.

Carefully, she climbed down from the shelf, landing softly on the desk. The moon was hidden behind clouds tonight; even the windows were dark mirrors.

She padded across the floor and climbed onto the bed.

Mina’s eyes were open, wide and reflecting nothing.

Labubu placed her tiny hand against Mina’s forehead.

The dream world unfolded instantly.

But this time, it wasn’t colorful or strange.

It was a forest.

A vast forest at night.

Towering trees stretched endlessly upward, their branches tangled like reaching fingers. Fog drifted between the trunks. The ground was soft with fallen leaves that made no sound when stepped on.

And there was no moon.

Mina stood in the middle of it, small and uncertain.

“I can’t see where I’m going,” she murmured.

Labubu appeared beside her.

“I’m here,” Labubu said brightly.

Mina looked down, startled—but not afraid.

The forest shifted.

From between the trees came a slow, heavy movement. The shadows themselves seemed to peel away from the trunks and gather together.

A massive shape formed—tall, hunched, and made entirely of darkness. Its edges flickered like a candle about to go out.

“I am The Unknown,” it rumbled. “I grow when lights disappear.”

Labubu squinted up at it.

“You’re very dramatic,” she said.

The Unknown’s eyes glowed faintly.

“You cannot see what lies ahead. You cannot predict what moves in the dark. That is where I live.”

Mina took a small step backward.

Labubu felt it immediately—that tightening in Mina’s chest, that freeze of not knowing.

Fear of the dark is rarely about the dark, Labubu knew.

It’s about not knowing what’s inside it.

Labubu reached into her satchel.

Tonight she carried something different again.

A tiny lantern no bigger than her palm.

A piece of chalk.

And a folded map that was completely blank.

The Unknown let out a low laugh.

“A lantern? Against me?”

Labubu held it up.

The lantern flickered weakly at first—just a soft golden glow.

It did not banish the forest.

It did not erase the shadows.

But it carved out a small circle of light around them.

The trees nearest became visible—rough bark, twisting roots, harmless leaves.

The Unknown hissed as part of its arm dissolved where the light touched.

“You cannot light the whole forest,” it growled.

“I don’t need to,” Labubu replied calmly. “Just the next step.”

She handed Mina the lantern.

“Hold it.”

Mina’s hands trembled, but she took it.

The circle of light grew slightly stronger.

Labubu knelt and used the chalk to draw a small X on the ground where they stood.

“What are you doing?” Mina asked softly.

“Marking where we began,” Labubu said.

The Unknown shifted around them, circling.

“There is no path here,” it said. “You will get lost.”

Labubu unfolded the blank map.

“Exactly.”

She handed the chalk to Mina.

“Draw where you want to go.”

Mina hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s allowed,” Labubu said gently. “Just draw the next step.”

Mina slowly drew a short line outward from the X.

The moment the chalk touched the map, a faint trail appeared on the forest floor in front of them.

The Unknown recoiled.

They took one step forward.

Another short line appeared on the map.

Another visible stretch of ground revealed itself.

The forest didn’t shrink.

The darkness didn’t vanish.

But the path—small and steady—began to exist.

“You cannot see the end!” The Unknown roared, its form towering higher.

Mina paused.

“No,” she whispered.

She lifted the lantern slightly.

“But I can see this.”

She took another step.

The Unknown’s edges flickered violently now, pieces breaking off like smoke caught in wind.

Labubu walked beside Mina, her stitched smile glowing softly in the lantern light.

“Dark doesn’t mean danger,” Labubu said. “It just means undiscovered.”

As Mina continued drawing small lines on the map, the forest subtly changed. Fireflies began to appear—tiny pinpricks of light blinking into existence between the trees.

One by one.

Then dozens.

The Unknown stumbled backward.

“You are not supposed to move,” it said, its voice smaller now. “You are supposed to wait for morning.”

Labubu tilted her head.

“Morning is lovely,” she said. “But courage works at night too.”

Mina took another step.

The lantern flared brighter—not because the forest was shrinking, but because she was holding it steadier.

The Unknown was now no larger than a tall shadow cast by a single tree.

“I return whenever the lights go out,” it whispered.

“I know,” Labubu said kindly.

She reached out and touched its fading form.

“And every time, she’ll bring a light.”

The Unknown dissolved completely, scattering into harmless wisps that drifted upward and became more fireflies.

Soon the forest wasn’t frightening at all.

It was simply nighttime.

Quiet.

Wide.

Full of space.

Mina looked down at the map.

It was no longer blank.

A small, winding path stretched across it—unfinished, but real.

At the far edge of the paper, a faint golden glow suggested somewhere yet to be explored.

Labubu squeezed Mina’s hand.

“Ready to head back?”

The forest softened.

The fireflies rose higher, becoming stars.

The trees thinned into shadows of bedroom furniture.

The lantern’s glow became the faint gray of early dawn.

Labubu opened her eyes.

The power was still out.

But the sky beyond the window was lightening.

Mina shifted in bed.

She sat up slowly.

The room was dim—but not terrifying.

She reached toward her bedside drawer and pulled out a small flashlight.

Click.

A steady beam cut through the dark.

She glanced around the room, breathing evenly.

Then she looked at Labubu on the shelf.

For a moment, she studied the doll’s fluffy ears and mischievous smile.

And she smiled back.

“It’s okay,” Mina whispered to herself.

The flashlight beam swept across the room, turning unknown shapes into familiar ones—desk, chair, bookshelf, cactus.

Just objects.

Just space.

Just night.

On the shelf, Labubu sat perfectly still.

But if you looked closely, you might notice something new resting beside her.

A tiny piece of white chalk dusted her paw.

And if you ever wake in the dark and feel that heavy stillness pressing in, remember this:

You don’t need to see the whole forest.

You only need enough light for the next step.