The snow held its breath around the workshop.
The portal shone with three intertwined lights: silver, amber, pale pink.
As if three human traditions were whispering together.
Groubelin watched the light vibrate.
He understood that these fragments from the human world were not isolated clues, but fragments of a path.
Pipette adjusted the hood on her head.
She held the twisted bonnet against her heart, the sleep mask clutched in her hand.
These objects were no longer strange: they exuded a human warmth, a new kind of protection.
Rudolf rested his muzzle against the gate.
"Someone has to come in."
Not to cross completely… but to sense the direction of the missing hat.
Pipette made a sign.
She was trembling, but her gaze shone with a tranquil light.
She moved forward.
One step.
Then a second one.
The wind lifted her gently, like an invisible hand from another world.
She then heard a voice made up of a thousand voices:
candles, children's laughter, knitting hands, patient traditions.
"Go even further... the light awaits you."
A red thread slipped swiftly between her fingers.
Warm, vibrant.
Pulsating like a heart.
When she returned from the halo, she placed the thread in Rudolf's hand.
"Santa's hat is close... but he needs more human light. More warmth."
Rudolf inclined his head.
The end was approaching.
The thread had begun its return.