Noelle tugged Lucien from the cottage street toward the marketplace. Feld waddled behind, humming nonsense about snowflakes and occasionally waving at bewildered townsfolk.
The square that had been shuttered the night before now blazed with life. Stalls opened one by one, each decorated with wreaths of ivy, strings of bells, or lanterns that twinkled with a magic glow. The air was thick with smells: roasted chestnuts, candied fruit, cinnamon bread steaming on wooden trays. Merchants called out in cheerful voices, their words dancing with the same melodic cadence as Noelle's.
Lucien stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide.
"This is…" His voice trailed, overwhelmed.
"A lot?" Noelle finished for him, smiling knowingly.
He nodded mutely. Compared to the sterile quiet of St. Marcellus, this was an explosion of color and sound. He spun slowly in place, trying to drink it all in: bright bolts of fabric dyed in winter hues, carved toys that moved on their own, polished gems glowing faintly as if alive. A flock of little clockwork birds fluttered around one stall, their wings clicking delicately as they swooped. Children squealed, chasing them through the snow.
Lucien pressed closer to one table, where glittering glass globes rested on velvet cloth. Each globe held a tiny world inside—snowy cottages, forests of pine, frozen rivers. He reached for one that shimmered with an inner light. Inside, a miniature village bustled with tiny moving figures, snow falling endlessly from a sky painted with twilight.
"It's beautiful," he whispered.
The vendor, an older elf with spectacles perched on his nose, smiled warmly. "Crafted by the Frost Glassmakers. Pick it up, young one."
Lucien lifted the globe carefully. It was cool and smooth, heavier than he expected. The snow inside swirled with his movement, settling into a perfect blanket over the tiny houses. His heart ached with longing.
"How much?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.
"Two tokens," the vendor replied.
Lucien blinked. "Tokens?"
Noelle stepped up beside him. "Santa's tokens. That's our currency. You can also barter—trade work or goods—but most things are bought with tokens."
Lucien's face fell. "I don't… have anything."
The vendor chuckled kindly. "No rush, lad. Come back when you do."
Lucien set the snow globe back gently, as if afraid to break the dream inside. He swallowed against the lump in his throat.
"I'll come back for it," he whispered, more to himself than anyone.
Noelle nudged him with her elbow. "You will. But not today."
He forced a smile. "How… how do I earn tokens?"
"Work," she said simply. "But Santa doesn't recruit until after the calendar year ends. That's when the big intake happens at the workshop."
Lucien's eyes widened. "So until after Christmas…?"
Noelle nodded. "Exactly."
"So… I can't…" His shoulders slumped.
"No snow globes for now." She winked. "But there are better things than glass trinkets waiting for you, trust me."
Behind them, Feld raised his stick arms dramatically. "I'll pay for it with hugs! Hugs are priceless!"
The vendor snorted. "Still not legal tender, Feld."
Lucien laughed despite himself, the ache easing.
---
When the crowds thinned, Noelle led Lucien away from the bustling square, down quieter streets lined with cottages of carved wood and snow-dusted roofs. The eternal twilight painted the sky in bands of rose and indigo, reflecting on every frosted windowpane.
At the village edge, a cluster of cottages stood nestled in a grove of pines. Smoke curled lazily from their chimneys, and children's laughter echoed faintly from within.
"This," Noelle said, gesturing with a sweep of her arm, "is where you'll stay."
Lucien blinked. "A cottage?"
"All young elves who appear here—spawned by Santa, we call it—stay together in these homes until they're old enough to make their own way. Like a big family."
Lucien stared at the cozy little house she pointed to. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the door hung with a garland of silver ivy. He had never lived anywhere that felt so alive.
"So… the elves we saw in the village earlier—"
"They're independent," Noelle finished. "They've been here longer. They can build their own houses, set up shops, join workshops. Everyone starts here, though."
Lucien frowned faintly, a thought tugging at him. "Then… what about the house I woke up in? That little room."
Noelle's expression softened. "That was Santa's doing. He creates a temporary home for every new elf—a place to wake up. But it disappears once you leave."
Lucien's breath caught. "So… it's gone?"
She nodded gently. "Yes. It only exists to welcome you."
He stared back toward the town, remembering the crooked little mirror, the dust dancing in golden light. A pang of melancholy twisted in him. His first moments here—the first time he had felt whole, strong, alive—were already just a memory.
But then he looked at the cottage before him, the laughter spilling from its walls, and something inside shifted.
He wasn't losing a home.
He was gaining one.
Noelle smiled as if she'd read his thoughts. "Come on. Let's introduce you to the others."
Feld waddled ahead, nearly tripping on his own stick legs. "I call dibs on the top bunk! Oh wait… do bunks even have tops?"
Lucien laughed, following them inside.