The frost on the windows caught the morning light, scattering it into faint silver. Inside, the orphanage smelled faintly of cocoa and warm bread. Laughter drifted through the hall as the children argued over where to hang the paper star.
Lucas held the chair steady while one of the smaller boys reached up with the tape. The star tilted slightly when it stuck.
"It's crooked," the boy said.
"It gives it character," Lucas replied.
The boy grinned, satisfied with that answer, and jumped down.
The old string of lights flickered once before settling into a soft, steady glow. A caretaker passed behind them with a tray of cookies. "Good work, both of you," she said with a smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.
The tree in the corner blinked gently, colored lights reflecting on the nearby window. Outside, faint snow began to fall.
By evening the orphanage felt warmer than usual. The air carried the scent of baked bread, pine, and melting sugar. A few local volunteers arrived with wrapped packages and boxes of fruit. The dining room filled with voices, coats draped over chairs, and the hum of cheerful confusion.
Lucas helped pass out small gifts. A spinning top here, a book there, a scarf to replace one someone had lost last winter. The caretakers moved between tables, smiling and teasing the children, making sure everyone had enough to eat.
When he finally sat down, the room still buzzed. One of the caretakers placed a folded gray scarf in front of him.
"For you," she said.
Lucas hesitated before touching it. "Thank you."
"You earned it," she said. "Now you'll stop freezing every morning."
The door opened then, letting in a gust of cold air and a quick burst of laughter. Momo stepped inside with her father, snowflakes still clinging to her hair. She smiled wide when she saw the lights and the small tree. Her father carried two boxes, exchanging greetings with the staff before setting them down by the kitchen.
Momo made her way to Lucas's table, eyes bright. "You fixed the lights."
"They were loose," he said.
"That's still fixing them." She pulled a candy cane from one of the boxes and offered it to him. "Here. For being helpful."
Lucas took it carefully. "Thanks."
"Is that your scarf?" she asked, pointing.
"It is," he said. "A gift."
"You have to wear it," she said. "Otherwise it's bad manners."
"I will," he promised.
"Good," she said, satisfied. She leaned in a little, lowering her voice. "My dad says if I eat five cookies, he'll make me clean the house for a week."
"Then eat four," Lucas said.
She laughed. "You sound like you've done this before."
He didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth lifted. They stood there for a few quiet seconds, watching the children unwrap gifts and chase each other around the tables.
Momo tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We're watching the fireworks at the park on New Year's Eve," she said. "You should come."
"The park by the bridge?" he asked.
"The same one. It's the best view. It'll be our last night before we move."
Lucas thought for a moment, then nodded. "If I can."
"You better," she said, trying to sound stern but smiling anyway. "I'll be mad if you don't."
"I'll try," he said.
"Good." Her father called her name, and she turned toward the door. "See you then," she said, waving.
He waved back. "See you."
The night grew slower after that. Once the guests left, Lucas helped stack the chairs and wipe the tables. The head caretaker watched him for a moment, broom in hand.
"You always help without being asked," she said. "You're reliable, Lucas."
He shrugged a little. "I like when things are calm."
"So do I." She smiled, soft and tired. "Go get some rest. You've done enough for tonight."
He nodded. "Good night."
"Good night," she said.
Upstairs, the dormitory was dim. The gray scarf lay across his chair where he had left it. He touched it once before sitting on his bed and closing his eyes.
The quiet deepened until the sound of his breathing matched the still rhythm of the building. Then, without effort, the familiar shift began.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing in the pale expanse again. It was not a dream. The ground beneath his feet was smooth and faintly warm, the horizon a soft blur of light. The space had grown since last time, stretching farther, clearer. It felt balanced, real, alive.
He thought of a table and pictured its weight and grain. The surface rose from the floor, solid and true. Then he imagined a lantern and shaped it with care—a frame, a small wick, and glass that caught the faintest light. When he pictured flame, it bloomed softly, steady and quiet.
He set the lantern on the table and stepped back. The way the light fell across the floor made him pause. It was gentle and complete.
He stayed there for a while, just looking. The world he'd made didn't demand anything from him. It simply waited.
When the edges began to blur, he let it go. The light faded without collapsing, folding back into silence.
Back in his room, moonlight washed across the floor. Outside, snow drifted in slow patterns through the lamplight. The air felt colder now, but calm.
Lucas stood at the window, hands in his pockets, and watched the flakes fall. He thought about the lantern still glowing in his world and about the fireworks Momo wanted him to see.
He pictured the night sky over the park, full of color and noise, and the way she'd laugh when it started. The thought made him smile.
He pulled the blanket around his shoulders, lay down, and closed his eyes. The warmth of the room, the sound of sleeping breaths nearby, the faint glow from the window—everything settled into perfect balance.
For that night, it was enough.
The snow kept falling.