Since the luminous procession of Saint Lucia, something had changed in Santa's workshop.
The light seemed to linger a little longer, as if it hesitated to give way to the night.
Pipette, for her part, could still feel the warmth of the candles on her skin, like a memory that would not fade.
Rudolf watched the gate in silence.
— “Human light has left something here…” he murmured.
"A trace. A presence."
Ludo frowned.
— “A presence? How can a light… remain?”
Groubelin gently closed the small wooden box in which the candle found the day before had been resting.
— “Perhaps it wasn’t just a candle. Perhaps the light came… from someone.”
No one mentioned that name.
But in the air there was still a scent of spices, chocolate and orange.
A hint of Saint Nicholas… like a wink left in passing, invisible but very real.
Suddenly, the portal came back to life.
Not a golden light, like the previous days, but a white brilliance.
Pure.
Net.
Almost silver.
A window appeared.
Further away.
Higher.
The elves discovered a landscape they had never seen before:
a snow-covered mountain, a village nestled at the foot of a majestic peak, lights hanging from the chalets, and a clear sky crossed by an icy breath.
Pipette inhaled gently.
— “It’s Europe… but further south.”
Rudolf nodded.
— “The Alps. Austria, Switzerland… perhaps Northern Italy.”
A human figure then crossed the stage, bundled up in a long coat.
On her head, a thick, wide-knitted hat that seemed to retain its own heat.
Ludo tilted his head.
— "It looks like he's carrying... warmth."
Groubelin smiled.
— “Humans have found their own way of fighting the cold. They knit armors of softness.”
The light from the portal pulsed softly.
Pipette felt the same kindness as that of Saint Nicholas: a presence made of gentleness, discreet and reassuring, almost guardian.
Human traditions continued to guide them.
And the path ahead of them advanced another step.