Morning light crept across the frost-lined windows, painting the orphanage walls with a faint gold hue. The building came to life in its own quiet rhythm. A kettle hissed in the kitchen, and the smell of cocoa drifted into the halls. Doors opened one after another as sleepy voices and soft footsteps stirred the calm.
Children wandered toward the dining room, still wrapped in blankets and laughter. A caretaker herded them along with a gentle scolding, smiling despite herself. Someone began humming a tune, and soon the room felt alive again.
Lucas moved easily among them, helping where he could. He placed bowls on the table, arranged spoons, and tightened the leg of a chair that wobbled when no one else noticed. The gray scarf around his neck was warm, almost too warm, but he kept it there. When one of the caretakers passed by and spotted it, she grinned.
"Finally wearing it?"
"It is warm," he said, a little embarrassed.
"It suits you," she replied before returning to the stove.
By midday, the rooms were full of paper. Streamers in red and white hung from the windows, and clumsy calligraphy lined the walls. The children argued about where to hang the final lantern before deciding to put them everywhere. Bright colors filled the space, crowding the air with the sense that the year was truly ending.
Lucas checked a loose window latch and pressed it back into place until it clicked neatly. Outside, a thin layer of snow covered the yard. A row of sparklers waited in a jar near the door, waiting for nightfall.
In the afternoon, a familiar voice called his name. Momo stood at the entrance with her father, her cheeks pink from the cold and her hands full of small packages. Her father's bag clinked softly when it shifted.
"Delivery," she said, stepping into the warmth. "Official business."
She handed one of the caretakers a bundle wrapped in red paper, then turned to Lucas and opened her palm. A star charm rested on her glove, folded from white paper with a silver thread tied through one point.
"For you," she said. "Good luck for the new year."
Lucas accepted it and studied the clean folds. "Thank you."
"You have to put it somewhere lucky," she said. "Like on your bag. Or your pillow. Or your favorite book."
"I will," he promised, tucking the charm into his pocket.
Her father greeted the staff, exchanged a few polite words, and checked his watch. Momo shifted on her feet, energy radiating through every movement.
"Park tonight," she said. "By the bridge. Don't be late."
"I'll try not to be," Lucas said.
She frowned playfully. "Not try. Come."
He looked at her, then nodded. "I'll come."
"Good," she said, smiling wide. She pulled a small hand warmer from her coat and pressed it into his palm. "Just in case."
"You keep it."
"I have another," she replied, which might have been true or just something she said to make sure he didn't refuse. She closed his hand around it and gave a satisfied nod. "All right. We have to go. See you tonight."
He watched her leave, then placed the hand warmer next to his scarf on the chair.
The afternoon passed quietly. A caretaker invited everyone to help mix batter, and soon the kitchen filled with laughter and the sweet smell of cake. When the trays came out of the oven, the warmth spread through every room. Someone sang an old song off-key, and no one cared enough to stop them.
Later, a few children started sharing their New Year's resolutions. It began as a joke and slowly became something else. One vowed to eat less candy and immediately took it back. Another promised to read three whole books. A small girl whispered that she wanted a cat, then hid her face behind her hands.
"What about you?" one boy asked, looking at Lucas.
Lucas thought for a moment. "To learn something new every day," he said.
The boy nodded like it was the most serious goal in the world. "That's a good one."
When the noise settled, Lucas went upstairs to think in peace. He closed the dormitory door behind him and sat cross-legged beside his bed. The world narrowed around him until it was quiet enough to hear his own breathing. The air grew warm and still, and when he opened his eyes again, the walls of the orphanage were gone.
The space greeted him like a familiar room. The lantern glowed faintly in its corner. The table stood where he had left it. He placed Momo's paper star beside the lantern and waited. The charm stayed solid and bright, refusing to blur or fade. A small success, but a real one.
He tried widening the edge of the space, a small test of control. It stretched with effort, slow but steady, until it felt balanced. The ache in his head was dull, nothing painful. He smiled, satisfied, and shaped a small wooden sword as practice. The grip wrapped neatly, the weight felt right. When he let it rest beside the star, it remained perfectly still.
Satisfied, he released the world. The room around him returned, quiet and safe. The star sat on the table, the scarf draped over the chair. It was enough.
Evening turned gold before fading into blue. Dinner came and went. A caretaker told a story that made everyone laugh, and the courtyard filled with light from sparklers. When one burned too quickly, the children shouted and tried again until they made the sparks last longer.
A caretaker caught Lucas near the door. "Go on," she said. "You'll miss the fireworks."
"I can help clean up."
"You've done enough. Go."
He smiled faintly, wrapped the scarf around his neck, and stepped into the night. The air met him with a soft chill. The sky stretched wide and quiet above Kuoh, lights flickering across the river. His footsteps sounded clear on the road, each one sinking gently into snow.
He crossed the bridge and found the park already filling with people. Families huddled together. Vendors sold sweet rice cakes from carts, the scent drifting over the path. He saw Momo waving from the edge of the crowd, her hand a small streak of white against the dark.
"You made it," she said, proud.
"I said I would."
"You always say that," she teased, smiling anyway.
They stood together as the first firework bloomed overhead, gold spreading across the sky like light on water. One by one, the colors followed, red, blue, white. Momo laughed at the louder ones and covered her ears during the bursts that came too close. Lucas just watched the reflections ripple through her eyes.
When the finale ended, the air filled with drifting smoke and soft chatter. Momo turned toward him. "We're leaving in the morning," she said. "Will you come see us off?"
He nodded. "I will."
She looked pleased. "Good. If you don't, I'll tell everyone you never smile."
He smiled faintly, and she laughed before running to catch her father's hand.
Lucas stayed a moment longer, watching the river swallow the light. Then he began the walk home. The streets were calm, the night quiet. A stray dog barked once in the distance and went silent again. He passed the bakery, the stationery store, and the corner shop, all sleeping under the same layer of snow.
When he reached the orphanage, every window glowed faintly, soft and golden. He paused at the gate, listening to the wind. Inside, the hallways were warm and still. He set his scarf aside, placed the hand warmer by the bed, and lay down. The smell of fireworks lingered faintly in the air. Sleep came easily.
A while later, a sound slipped through his dream. A faint crackle. Then another. He stirred, uncertain, until the smell reached him, no longer powder or smoke, but burning wood.
His eyes opened.
The walls flickered red. Shadows trembled. Somewhere down the hall, a voice shouted. Another answered, smaller, frightened. Heat pressed at his feet, subtle but growing.
Lucas sat up, heartbeat steady, eyes drawn toward the glow creeping through the cracks of the door. The air shimmered softly, carrying the unmistakable scent of fire.
He turned toward the window.
Outside, the night was glowing.