The tavern was quieter by the time Lucien finished his second pastry and the last drops of cider. The musicians had set aside their instruments, and the laughter had mellowed into sleepy chatter. Lucien leaned back in his chair, dazed and drowsy, but for the first time in his life, it wasn't because of sickness. It was the good kind of tired—the kind that came with warmth, food, and comfort.
Noelle returned with a tray balanced on one hand. She set down mugs for the lingering patrons, then leaned across the table to him with a sly grin.
"You've had enough sitting for one night. Come on—I'll show you the town."
Lucien blinked. "Now? It's late."
She laughed. "Late? There's no such thing here. Didn't you notice?"
He frowned, glancing toward the window. Snow still drifted lazily outside, yet the sky glowed with a gentle light—not quite day, not quite night. He had assumed it was moonlight or lamplight, but now that she mentioned it, it was brighter, warmer, like the horizon was locked in a never-ending sunset.
Lucien stared. "The sky… it hasn't changed since I got here."
"Exactly." Noelle tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, I'll explain."
---
The streets of the elf town sparkled as they stepped outside. Lanterns swung from every post, casting golden halos that mingled with the soft glow from above. Snow crunched beneath their boots, powdery and clean. The air was crisp and cold, but not biting—not the cruel, lung-stabbing cold Lucien remembered from Earth. Here it felt almost gentle, like a playful nip.
Lucien pulled his cardigan tighter around him. "So… what's with the sky?"
"It's called the Eternal Twilight," Noelle said, tucking her braid into her scarf. "Our world never falls into complete darkness. It stays like this all year round—always a little day, a little night. That's why our festivals and markets can go on forever."
Lucien tilted his head back, mesmerized. The sky glowed in soft bands of pink, lavender, and indigo, as though frozen mid-sunset. Stars winked faintly above, refusing to be outshone. It was beautiful, endless, unreal.
"But… wouldn't the crops die? Or the snow never stop?" he asked, slipping into the old logic his mind clung to.
Noelle smirked knowingly. "That's where the Barrier comes in."
"Barrier?"
She pointed toward the horizon, where faint shimmering waves pulsed like ripples of heat. "A magical barrier surrounds the whole valley. It balances the weather—keeps the snow from drowning us, keeps the rivers flowing, and makes sure the air stays crisp but not cruel. It's why you can breathe easy here, even in the cold."
Lucien froze. Breathe easy. The words sank into him. He inhaled deeply, realizing again that his lungs didn't rattle, his chest didn't ache. He could smell woodsmoke, pastries, snow—everything sharp and distinct.
Noelle noticed his sudden stillness. Her eyes softened, but she didn't press. She simply said, "It's thanks to the old mages who wove the barrier. Without them, we'd have nothing but endless storms."
Lucien nodded faintly, still half-lost in awe. "It's… perfect."
---
They wandered through the town square. Wooden stalls stood shuttered for the night, but decorations still hung from every awning—strings of bells, wreaths woven with silver ivy, little lanterns glowing softly in the eternal twilight. Snow crunched beneath their boots, leaving perfect prints that filled with light frost as the barrier's magic whispered across them.
Lucien touched everything. He ran his fingers over carvings in the stalls, pressed his palm to lamp-posts, bent to scoop up handfuls of snow. It was cold, yes—but it didn't burn his skin like it once had. He laughed, delighted, letting the flakes melt on his tongue.
Noelle giggled. "You really are new here. Snow isn't a delicacy, you know."
"I—I know," Lucien said quickly, cheeks reddening. "It's just—where I'm from, snow was something I could only watch. Never touch."
That silenced her for a moment. Then, more gently, she said, "Well, you'll touch plenty now."
Before Lucien could answer, a shadow fell across the square. A waddling figure approached, lumpy and uneven, with a carrot nose slightly off-center. Two button eyes blinked merrily from a face of packed snow. Sticks jutted from his round body like haphazard arms. He had a lopsided grin that looked permanent.
Lucien's mouth fell open. "Is that—"
"Yup," Noelle said cheerfully. "That's Feld."
The snowman waved a stubby stick-arm. "Hiiiiii!"
Lucien startled backward. Feld waddled closer, each step making his head wobble dangerously. "You're new! I like new people! Do you like snow? I love snow. It's all I am. Heh. Get it?"
Lucien gawked. "He talks?"
"Of course I talk," Feld said proudly. Then he leaned forward and whispered, loudly enough for the whole square to hear, "But don't tell anyone I also sing."
Lucien blinked. "You… sing?"
Without hesitation, Feld threw back his stick arms and bellowed, horrifically off-key:
"SNOWWW IS SOOOO NICE, IT MELTS ON YOUR FAAAAAACE—"
"Feld!" Noelle hissed, doubled over with laughter. "You'll wake the whole square!"
Feld stopped mid-note, tilting his head so far to the side it nearly fell off. He straightened with a cheerful wobble. "Oops. Sorry! But you liked it, didn't you?"
Lucien was laughing too hard to answer. He clutched his stomach, the sound bubbling out of him uncontrollably. It was the kind of laughter that left him dizzy—the kind he never thought he'd live to feel.
Feld leaned in, grinning so wide his carrot nose wobbled. "You have a nice laugh. Wanna be friends? I'll keep you cool in summer. Ha! Get it? Cool?"
Lucien wheezed, tears in his eyes. "He's… he's completely ridiculous."
"Comedically stupid," Noelle agreed, grinning. "But he's everyone's favorite. Feld's been around forever. Nobody knows how he hasn't melted."
"Because I'm too chill!" Feld declared, throwing his arms wide. His head promptly toppled off, landing in the snow with a soft plop.
Lucien yelped, horrified. "He—he's dead!"
"Nope!" Feld's head chirped from the ground, smiling even wider. "Happens all the time."
Lucien stared in open disbelief as Noelle casually plopped the head back onto Feld's body. The snowman blinked, adjusted his carrot nose, and went on as though nothing had happened.
Lucien shook his head. "This place is insane."
Noelle laughed and patted Feld's lumpy arm. "And you haven't even seen half of it yet."
---
As they continued their walk, Feld waddling cheerfully alongside them and humming tunelessly, Lucien felt something settle in his chest. A warmth that wasn't from food or fire.
He was still overwhelmed—by the sights, the magic, the eternal twilight—but for the first time, the weight of the hospital bed, the smell of antiseptic, the fear of his final breath… all of it felt far away.
Here, he wasn't dying. Here, he was just a boy in the snow, with a friend who smiled too wide and a girl who seemed to know exactly how to make him laugh.
For Lucien Corvin, that was more miraculous than any magic barrier in the world.