What is a story that contains foreshadowing?

The old lighthouse keeper, Silas, sat on the rickety porch, his gaze fixed on the churning sea. The air was thick with the smell of salt and the mournful cry of gulls. He knew the storm was coming. He’d seen it in the clouds, felt it in the rising tide, heard it in the distant roar of the wind. His bones, old and weathered like the lighthouse itself, ached with a familiar premonition.

He’d been keeper for fifty years, long enough to know the whims of the sea. He knew the stories, whispered in hushed tones by the fishermen, of ships swallowed whole by the waves, of lives lost to the ravenous ocean. He knew the lighthouse was more than just a beacon; it was a sentinel, a protector, a last hope against the unforgiving fury of the sea.

The storm arrived with the fury of a vengeful god. Wind howled, rain lashed, and the waves rose like towering, monstrous hands, reaching for the sky. Silas, his weathered face set in grim determination, climbed the narrow, winding stairs to the top of the lighthouse. He lit the lantern, its beam piercing the darkness, a tiny spark of defiance against the raging tempest.

As the storm raged on, Silas watched, his gaze drawn to a distant speck on the horizon. A ship, caught in the maelstrom, tossed like a toy. The captain, a young man named Liam, fought desperately to control his vessel, his face pale with fear.

Silas, remembering the stories, knew Liam's fate. He remembered the stories of the lighthouse, too, of its own fate. The storm, he knew, was not just a natural phenomenon. It was a test. And the lighthouse, and the keeper, were not just observers, but participants.

The ship, battered and broken, began to sink. Liam, clinging to a piece of wreckage, was swept away by the current. He was lost to the sea, his desperate cries drowned out by the wind and the rain. Silas watched, his heart heavy with the weight of his burden, the weight of the knowledge that he couldn't save them. He could only watch, and wait, for the dawn.

As the first rays of the sun broke through the clouds, the storm abated, leaving behind a sea that seemed to sigh with relief. Silas, his face etched with the lines of sorrow and weariness, descended the stairs. The lighthouse, battered and bruised, still stood. He knew, however, that his time was coming to an end. He had served his purpose. He had kept the light burning, a beacon of hope, even as the storm raged around him.

He knew, as he stood on the rickety porch, the sea still churning with the remnants of the storm, that the stories would continue. New storms would come, new ships would be lost, and new keepers would rise to face them, all because he, Silas, the old lighthouse keeper, had held the light against the darkness.