The next morning, a knock echoed from the main door of the inn.
It was still early the kind of early where the world felt hushed, like it hadn't fully woken up. Outside, snow drifted lazily in uneven spirals, and the frost clung to the windowpanes like lace. The fire in the lounge had gone out during the night, and the cold nipped at Axel's fingers as he pulled on his coat.
The knock came again. Steady. Measured. Not urgent, but... expectant.
He opened the door to find the innkeeper standing there a quiet old man with silver-rimmed glasses and a woolen scarf wrapped tight around his neck. He held out an envelope, yellowed at the edges, sealed with time more than wax.
"This came in with your name yesterday," the innkeeper said, voice raspy but kind. "We don't usually get mail here."
Axel blinked, still groggy. "No one knows I'm here."
But he took the letter anyway.
The innkeeper didn't press. He simply gave a nod and shuffled back inside, the door clicking shut behind him. Axel stood there for a long moment, staring at the envelope. It felt too light to hold anything important. But something about it made his hands tremble as he opened it.
Inside, written in neat but aged handwriting, was a single line:
> "To the boy with a fire in his heart, even when it snows
You're not alone.
—S."
The letter was unsigned. No return address. Just the initial. The handwriting looked old older than it should have but familiar in a way that made his chest tighten.
He didn't say anything right away. He tucked the letter into his coat and walked out into the snow.
Later, when Emi found him standing beneath the trees, he handed it to her without a word.
She read it in silence, then folded it gently.
"Maybe it's not about who sent it," she said. "Maybe it's about who you've become since."
That evening, Axel played a song none of them had heard before.
It wasn't sad or heavy. It was light—like snowflakes catching sunlight, like a melody that waited patiently to be found. Emi joined in halfway through, adding her voice to the chords like a second heartbeat.
They didn't name the song.
Not yet.
But later, as they packed to leave, Emi looked out at the falling snow and murmured something under her breath:
"If we hadn't met…"
Axel turned. "What?"
She smiled. "Nothing. Just thinking."
He didn't press. But in his pocket, the letter still rested. And somewhere inside, a melody waited for its name.
"In the Glow of Falling Snow"
A faint hush hangs in the lounge. Outside, snow slips gently from the darkened sky, catching hints of lantern light. Inside, warm cocoa steams, boots drip by the door, and laughter lingers like the scent of cinnamon in the air.
Emi tunes the old acoustic guitar they found in the corner of the lodge. Axel sits nearby, quietly fixing a cracked string while Kyomi lounges beside Ito, both sharing a thick blanket, pretending not to shiver.
"Alright, this one's… for our favorite disaster duo," Emi teases, nudging Kyomi with her boot.
Ito groans, "Please, no ballads."
Emi smirks. "No promises," she says and strums.
(The song begins:)
[Intro – Emi playfully singing, light energy building up]
Oh-oh, yeah!
We crash, we spark—every time we start!
Kyomi, Ito, playin' gravity games with hearts!
Kyomi lets out a small laugh, tugging the blanket tighter. "I swear, she wrote this while watching us argue."
Ito smirks. "Accurate."
(The group listens as Emi sings Verse 1 and the Pre-Chorus. Her voice rises gently with each line, emotions dancing in the room like the flicker of firelight.)
[Verse 1 – Emi, slightly teasing tone]
You steal my seat, I roll my eyes,
But somehow you're still by my side...
[Chorus – Emi's voice lifts, and Axel softly harmonizes in the background]
We're spinning, laughing, falling, flying,
Like comets we keep colliding...
As she sings, Kyomi's smile softens. Ito looks away, embarrassed, but doesn't move. Axel catches the moment—and nods to Emi. She knows what to do.
[Bridge – Emi gently, almost whispered]
You hold my hand without a word...
Kyomi glances at Ito. Their pinkies barely touch beneath the blanket.
[Final Chorus – Emi and Axel together, quieter, heartfelt]
We're spinning stories every day,
Axel's calm, Emi's gentle sway...
Everyone grows silent.
[Outro – Emi strums slowly, letting the final words hang]
Oh-oh, gravity games,
We fall, we rise, we stay the same...
November won't forget our names.
When the song fades, there's a long pause.
Kyomi breaks it with a soft whisper, "...I actually liked that."
Ito leans back, pretending not to care. "It was alright."
Emi grins. "'Alright'? I'll take that."
Axel shrugs with a smirk. "She's blushing. That's a win."
Outside, the snow keeps falling—quietly applauding.
The last strum of Emi's guitar still hangs in the air when a soft crackle from the fireplace breaks the silence.
Kyomi glances sideways, and without a word, nudges Ito's arm with her shoulder. "Thanks," she mutters, just loud enough for him to hear.
He pretends not to smile. "For what?"
"For not being completely insufferable tonight."
"You're welcome," he deadpans, then adds, "You still owe me cocoa."
Emi giggles, leaning the guitar against the wall. Axel hands her a mug and whispers, "Think we finally broke through their orbit?"
She hums. "They've always been in it. Just didn't know they were circling the same star."
Outside, snow keeps falling in soft, quiet waves. The wind has settled. A kind of peace has bloomed in the room gentle, unspoken, shared.
Later, as the group dozes off by the fireplace, Emi hums a quiet reprise of the chorus under her breath. The lyrics echo like a lullaby, drifting between flickering shadows and tangled blankets:
We fall, we rise, we stay the same...
November won't forget our names...
And somewhere, wrapped in warmth, laughter, and the scent of old pinewood and stories still unfolding, the night holds them close just for a little longer.