🎄 Day 8 — A light that is not our own

That night, none of the elves managed to get a wink of sleep.
Something was brewing, something they couldn't yet name. An opening. A passage. A waiting period filled with silence and light.

When the winter moon reached its peak, a strange gleam crossed the workshop.
The tablet — the one that one of the geeky elves had forgotten on a workbench — began to vibrate gently.
A golden halo formed around her, a halo that seemed to breathe cinnamon, orange, and honey.

Ludo approached, trembling slightly.
— “It still smells like humans… but it… is less frightening than yesterday.”

Pipette placed a finger on the edge of the screen.
The image changed immediately.

The elves discovered an illuminated world:
decorated houses, luminous arches hanging from windows, stalls laden with fabrics and bonnets, and passers-by wrapped in colorful coats moving through a market vibrant with sounds and heat.

Groubelin gave a small sigh of surprise.
— “It looks like… a market… but not like ours.”

Rudolf approached gently.
The light from its muzzle reflected in the screen.
— “It’s a Weihnachtsmarkt. A Christmas market. Very common in Germany and several neighboring countries. People celebrate light, cold, and warmth of heart there. Perhaps that’s where our common thread led us.”

Pipette felt something spring up inside her.
The human world was so alive, so bright, so deeply woven with traditions. Every window seemed to tell a story, every light carried an intention.

And suddenly, amidst all that glittering, she saw him.

A beanie.
A very bright red hat…
But that red was not still: it blinked gently, as if it were breathing.

The elves froze.

Ludo jumped back.
— “Aaaaaaah! He looks like he’s possessed!”

Groubelin, fascinated, had not moved.
— “Or… lit from within.”

Rudolf smiled kindly.
— “This isn’t black magic. It’s a human object. But it carries a light. And it’s through light that messages pass between our worlds.”

For the first time, they had a real clue.
Not a thread, not a scent, not a subtle trace.
But an object.
A hat that shone.

And who seemed to want to tell them something.