"Hilna!"

This time, Lofna was genuinely upset. "These picture books—Teacher Charles poured his heart and soul into making them for us! How could you just sell them off without asking?"

"It wasn’t me. Teacher Charles decided to sell them." Hilna’s expression dimmed. "I wanted to keep them too. But these pop-up books have been sitting around for years. Some pages are yellowed and cracked. Others are falling apart. They were just taking up space at his place."

"You still shouldn’t have sold them…" Lofna picked up her favorite fairy-tale books, her fingers tracing the worn covers. "I love these stories. I could read them forever. To just… let them go like this…"

"Actually, it’s not a sale. It’s a trade." Hilna corrected her gently. "Teacher Charles was commissioned long ago by a noble who collects rare books. The noble adored his work—called them art pieces. When he heard Teacher Charles had made hundreds of these fairy-tale books, he was thrilled. He wanted to buy them. Teacher Charles refused at first, but the noble promised to exchange something Teacher Charles truly needed. So he agreed."

"The noble said he’d come collect them around the Winter Solstice. They arranged to meet at the market outside town. Teacher Charles is too busy before the New Year to wait here daily, so he asked me to stand in for him."

After hearing this, Lofna felt a hollow ache. "He could’ve at least told me… Let me reread them one last time. Memorize every story before they’re gone."

"Lofna, you’ve read every book here dozens of times. You were always the first to see each new story Teacher Charles made. Every time you visited his house, you’d reread them until your eyes grew tired. You remember every tale. There’s no need to grieve like this." Hilna patted her shoulder. "He’ll make more stories for us. You know how his mind overflows with them."

But Lofna couldn’t let go.

She opened the crate, lifting each weathered book with trembling hands. She flipped through pages one last time, determined to etch every word into memory before they vanished.

Her time ran out too soon.

An old man in a star-patterned robe and a crooked pointed hat appeared at the market’s edge. He swiveled his head, shaking a crystal ball like a modern traveler fiddling with a GPS. Clearly lost, he circled the stalls again and again—until his eyes landed on the small booth. There sat Lofna, absorbed in a fairy tale, and Hilna, idly waiting beside her.

"Ah! Here it is!" His eyes lit up. He hurried over, snatching the book from Lofna’s hands. He cradled it like a sacred relic, marveling at the intricate pop-up scenes. "Teacher Charles wasn’t exaggerating! He truly made over a hundred of these! Magnificent artistry… His hands must be guided by angels! Absolutely brilliant!" He beamed like a child who’d found a shiny pebble, dancing on his toes.

"Hey! Give that back—!" Lofna started to protest, but Hilna yanked her sleeve and whispered urgently, "Teacher Charles said the noble wears a pointy hat and weird robes. He’s eccentric. Don’t offend him—he’s the trader!"

The old man finally noticed the girls. "Ah! You must be Teacher Charles’s students!" He swept off his hat in a comically deep bow. "Your teacher is a genius craftsman. How blessed you are to grow up surrounded by such beauty!"

Lofna’s frown softened slightly—but her heart still ached. This man was here to take her treasures.

He inspected every book in the crate, murmuring praises over Teacher Charles’s storytelling, illustrations, and mechanical ingenuity. After counting over a hundred volumes, he nodded firmly. From his voluminous robe, he pulled a plain iron box—seamless, airtight. Shaking it produced a soft thump, like a single book shifting inside.

"Here. My promised payment for Teacher Charles." He thrust the box at Hilna. "His books for this. A fair trade. Farewell, ladies! May your Winter Solstice be joyful!"

Before they could react, he slammed the crate shut, whistled sharply—and floated skyward with the box tucked under his arm. He wobbled away into the distance. Passersby didn’t even flinch, as if they hadn’t seen him at all.

"Teacher Charles said the noble’s an old Mage," Hilna shrugged. "Levitation and Invisibility spells. Nothing supernatural."

"Oh…" Lofna had no reply.

"Cheer up, sis!" Hilna grinned, pulling Lofna’s hand. "Let’s pick a gift for Teacher Charles! We’ll choose something perfect at noon’s bustle, then visit him this afternoon." She hefted the iron box. "He’ll love it."

"I suppose…" Lofna sighed.

They wandered the market, finally settling on glossy otter pelts from an old hunter.

"These will make Teacher Charles a sturdy winter coat," Hilna declared.

The price made Lofna blanch, but Hilna paid without haggling. "Don’t worry—I’ve saved enough from my illustration gigs." Lofna knew her own coins wouldn’t cover even a corner of the pelt. She stayed silent.

Hilna hummed happily all the way to Teacher Charles’s cottage, cradling the pelts. Lofna trailed behind, her thoughts heavy with the image of a hundred fairy tales flying away in a crate. *What could be worth trading all those stories?*

Ahead, a red-brick cottage peeked through the snow. Smoke curled from its chimney. Sausages and dried meats hung from a wooden rack outside, alongside laundry fluttering in the cold air. The door stood wide open—no thief in Ipoli would dare steal from Teacher Charles.

Inside, the village priest was just leaving after asking Teacher Charles to restore the church’s frescoes. "Consider it done," Teacher Charles promised. "I’ll visit the chapel soon."

Seeing the girls at the door, he waved them in. "Hilna, Lofna! Been waiting long? Come, warm yourselves."

Years had passed, yet he still looked like the youth Lofna first met. Sometimes, watching his profile as he worked, she’d forget he was her teacher—and see only a boy her age. Her gaze had shifted from distant admiration to something warmer, closer.

The hearth bubbled with caramel-sweetened milk. Beside it lay sliced sausages, dried meat, fresh-baked bread, and cheese Lofna’s mother had sent—all her favorites. Teacher Charles gestured to the steaming food. "Hungry? It’s just heated. Help yourselves." His magic kept the hearth ever-burning, a luxury most households couldn’t afford. Winter days here were always cozy.

Before Lofna could speak, Hilna stepped forward. "Teacher Charles! Lofna and I brought you a gift!"

"A gift?" His eyes flicked to the pelts on her back. "The otter fur?"

"Half right!" Hilna grinned. She spread the pelts, took a deep breath—and chanted.

Magic rippled through the room like water. The pelts levitated, tanning and smoothing midair. Golden threads slithered from Hilna’s fingertips like living serpents, weaving through the fur with invisible needles. In a dizzying flurry, they stitched a sleek black coat—and a matching cap from the scraps.

"Happy Winter Solstice!" Hilna draped the coat over Teacher Charles’s shoulders and placed the cap on his head. "Lofna and I picked it just for you. It fits perfectly!"

Inside the coat’s pocket, embroidered in delicate script, read: *To Shel, the best teacher of Hilna and Lofna.*

"Oh… thank you." Teacher Charles ruffled Hilna’s hair, his eyes warm. "You shouldn’t have spent so much. And your magic—truly impressive now."

"Anything to make you happy, Teacher!" Hilna beamed.

"Y-yes… anything to make you happy…" Lofna echoed faintly. She’d watched helplessly as Hilna chose the pelts, paid for them, and wove the magic. She’d contributed nothing at all.