The Essence Flow-Christmas Special (I): An Undecorated Tree

The Essence Flow-Christmas Special (I): An Undecorated Tree

Snow fell outside the academy, a soft and steady curtain of white that slowly buried the green fields, turning the world into a hushed, pale canvas. The air was crisp and still, carrying the clean scent of winter.
Our group had gathered in a small, cozy house nestled just beyond the academy grounds—a place that seemed to exist between the world of study and the quiet of the countryside. Lamplight glowed warmly from its windows, a small defiant sun against the encroaching dusk.
The door swung open, bringing in a gust of cold air and the faint scent of pine needles. Elliot stepped inside, brushing snow from his shoulders with precise, distracted motions. Towan followed close behind, his boots tracking in melting flakes onto the worn wooden floor.
“Why were we called here?” Elliot asked, his voice carrying the mild, scholarly puzzlement of someone presented with an unscheduled event. He removed his glasses, fogged from the sudden warmth, and began polishing them with a cloth from his pocket.
Towan grinned, already unwinding a thick scarf from his neck. “To celebrate Christmas!” he replied, his voice bright with uncomplicated excitement. He gave Elliot a playful nudge with his elbow. “Come on, have a little spirit, bro. Not everything needs a tactical briefing.”
Around them, the room was already alive with quiet activity—the soft murmur of conversation, the clink of mugs being set out, the rustle of someone unpacking bundles of greenery. The scent of spiced cider and baking gingerbread hung in the air, sweet and promising.
Elliot’s brows lifted slightly behind his now-clear lenses, not quite convinced, but willing to file the occasion under
Cultural Observation – Seasonal Festivity
. A faint, reluctant smile touched his lips. It was, after all, hard to resist the warmth of the room—or the infectious energy in his brother’s eyes.
Two brothers, one festive house, and the gentle, persistent snow outside—framing a moment of peace before the world turned again.
The door burst open again, letting in a swirl of cold air and a flash of festive red.
“Hey, guys!” Alira greeted, her voice bright as sleigh bells. A fluffy white-trimmed Christmas hat sat perched playfully atop her head, slightly askew. She was already in full celebration mode, a stack of colorful hats tucked under one arm. “Have some of these too!” she announced, plucking one and extending it toward Towan with a flourish.
“Everybody’s here, huh?” Towan said, taking in the room with a wide, appreciative grin. The space was now fuller—bodies shifting, laughter bubbling, the cozy house humming with familiar energy.
“Yeah!” Alira chirped, nudging the door shut with her hip. “You guys are quite late, too.” She shot them a mock-stern look, though her eyes sparkled with mirth.
Elliot sighed, accepting a hat with the careful reluctance of someone handed a live animal. “Well,” he said dryly, placing it on his head without any attempt to straighten it, “Towan wasn’t waking up from his nap.” He rolled his eyes, the gesture carrying the weary fondness of a sibling long accustomed to such delays.
Towan just grinned wider, adjusting his own hat at a rakish angle. “Naps are strategic. You’ve gotta be well-rested to properly celebrate.”
The room felt warmer already—not just from the fire, but from the reunion of friends, the easy teasing, and the simple, shared joy of being together on a snowy night.
As they stepped into the main room, the warm, golden glow of lamplight and the soft crackle of the hearth fell across a gathering of familiar faces. The air was rich with the scent of pine boughs, mulled wine, and the faint, comforting aroma of roasted chestnuts.
Behind the polished wooden bar, Herb stood in his usual post, a clean glass in one hand and a soft cloth in the other. His movements were slow, rhythmic, almost meditative. His eyes lifted as the brothers entered, crinkling at the corners with a quiet, steady warmth.
“Hey kiddos,” Herb said to the brothers, while he, as usual, cleaned a glass with a piece of cloth.
“Great to see you, Herb!” Towan added, his voice carrying an open, earnest warmth that matched the room’s glow. Herb gave a low, rumbling chuckle in response, the sound as familiar as the hearthfire.
Elliot nodded as a gesture of greeting—a brief but respectful motion that spoke of shared history and unspoken understanding.
Then, movement from the kitchen doorway drew their attention. A head of tousled, sun-bleached hair appeared first, followed by Lytharos’s easy, lopsided grin.
“So they finally came?” Lytharos said as he approached, leaning against the doorframe with relaxed familiarity.
He was followed by a smoother, drier voice from behind him. “Took them long enough,” Selene said as she also came out behind Lytharos from the kitchen. She moved with a quiet grace, her expression cool but not unkind, her gaze flickering over the newcomers with a look that was both assessment and subtle welcome.
The soft murmur of the gathering seemed to fade into a distant hum as Len stood apart, near the large, undecorated pine tree that stood waiting in the corner of the room. Its branches were full and fragrant, a blank canvas of deep green needles and quiet promise.
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From a few paces away, Rellie watched her friend with an unwavering, observant gaze. Sylra stood beside her, her expression calm but edged with quiet encouragement. They had all silently agreed—this moment was Len’s.
“So? What are you waiting for?” Rellie asked Len—as they stood at a distance, her voice low but clear, cutting through Len’s hesitation.
Len’s plan was simple: invite Towan to help her decorate the Christmas tree, a tradition she had always loved but now felt layered with unspoken meaning. The others had deliberately left the ornaments untouched, hanging back to give her this chance.
But now, faced with the reality of it, Len stood motionless, her usual confidence replaced by a sudden, unfamiliar stillness. The warmth of the room, the laughter behind her, the expectant quiet of the tree—it all felt suddenly immense.
“I… can’t do it!” she said to her friend, her voice barely above a whisper. She began to turn away, as if to retreat into the safety of the crowd.
In one fluid motion, Rellie stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Len’s shoulder. A moment later, Sylra mirrored the gesture from the other side, her touch gentle but grounding.
“Listen—take this chance,” Sylra advised softly. Her eyes were kind, yet held the steady certainty of someone who understood the weight of small, brave moments. “I stopped my ‘decorating operation’ so you could carry out your plan,” she said with a soft smile, a gentle reminder that this was no accident—it was a gift, carefully arranged by friends who believed in her.
Between them, Len felt anchored. Not trapped, but held—by loyalty, by hope, and by the quiet courage that friendship sometimes lends when our own runs thin.
Len took a deep breath, the cool, pine-scented air filling her lungs as if trying to steady the flutter in her chest. The warmth of the room seemed to press gently against her back, a soft encouragement from the friends gathered behind her.
“All right,” she said slowly, the words measured, more for herself than for anyone else—as she turned back toward Towan’s way. Her gaze fixed on him across the room, where he stood laughing with Herb, haloed by the warm glow of the hearth.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered aloud, the declaration a fragile pact with her own courage. “
(I can’t waste this chance)
” she thought, the words sharp and clear in her mind, a reminder of the quiet conspiracy of kindness that had made this moment possible.
She started walking—one step at a time—her boots whispering against the wooden floor. Each stride felt heavy, deliberate. But halfway there, her will wavered once again. The distance seemed to stretch, and the easy hum of the room suddenly felt like a barrier.
“
(Nope. I can’t do this)
” she thought, her steps faltering as she was about to turn, retreat already softening her posture.
From the edge of the room, Rellie and Sylra looked at each other and nodded—a silent, swift agreement. There was no time for second-guessing.
In one fluid motion, Rellie stepped forward and gave Len a firm, forward push between her shoulder blades. At the same moment, Sylra flicked her hand slightly—a subtle, almost invisible gesture—and a gentle gust of wind caught Len from behind, not forcing, but
guiding
, impulsing her several steps further into the room, right into the soft circle of firelight where Towan stood.
It was less a shove and more a nudge from fate—or from two friends who’d had enough of watching hesitation win.
Len’s eyes widened in a flash of sheer, wordless betrayal.
“
(WHY YOU TWO MOTHERF—)
” her internal scream was cut short as she stumbled forward, propelled right into the soft glow where Towan stood. Her balance wavered for just a second before she steadied herself, cheeks already warming with more than the hearth’s heat.
Towan turned at the shift in the air, his expression brightening with genuine surprise.
“Oh, hey Len!” he greeted, his voice warm and easy, as though she’d simply appeared by magic—not by a well-timed push and a flick of wind.
Behind the bar, Herb lifted a knowing eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing beneath his beard. He dried his hands slowly on the cloth, his gaze lingering on the two of them for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“I’ve got to get the drinks,” he announced, his tone deliberately casual as he turned and ambled toward the cellar door, leaving the space around them noticeably quieter.
Near the kitchen entrance, Lytharos nudged Selene with his elbow. “Yeah, we have to do the cooking too,” he commented, already steering her away. Selene glanced back once, catching the unmistakable signal from Sylra—who stood at the edge of the room, tilting her head so emphatically it was a miracle her neck didn’t crick.
Not far from them, Alira swooped in with graceful social precision.
“Elliot—I think there are some asymmetrical lights on the window. Mind helping me?” she asked, her tone convincingly perplexed.
Elliot blinked, his analytical mind latching onto the problem. “Asymmetrical lights?” he repeated, already turning to scrutinize the offending decorations. “That can’t happen.” With a slight frown of concentration, he followed Alira toward the far window—completely oblivious to the gentle conspiracy unfolding behind him.
As she guided him away, Alira threw a quick, encouraging wink back at Len.
In what felt like mere seconds, the space around Len and Towan had cleared, leaving them in a pocket of quiet intimacy amidst the soft murmur of the Christmas gathering. The tree stood waiting beside them, its branches bare and full of potential.
Behind Len, the tall Christmas tree stood quiet and undecorated, its evergreen branches a deep, shadowed green against the warm light of the room. It caught Towan’s eye—a stark, beautiful emptiness amid the festive clutter.
“Why isn’t the tree decorated?” he asked, turning his gaze back to Len. She stood shyly in front of him, her eyes slightly lowered to the floor as though studying the pattern in the woodgrain.
“Uhm… well… I hoped we—“ she spoke slowly, the words soft and halting, each one carefully measured.
Then—Towan gently grabbed her hand, his touch warm and sure. “Let’s take this chance to decorate it!” he said, his eyes shining with the kind of excitement that felt both youthful and wonderfully sincere. In that moment, Len’s cheeks flushed a deep, rosy red, warmth spreading from where his fingers curled around hers.
At a distance, partly hidden in the soft shadow near the doorway, Rellie and Sylra exchanged a glance. Rellie’s lips curved into a rare, satisfied smirk. Sylra gave a small, steady nod. Together, they celebrated silently—bumping their fists in a quick, solid gesture of triumph.
“Good job, Towan,” they said, their voices barely above a whisper, meant for no one but each other and the quiet understanding between them.
Towan knelt beside a large wooden box overflowing with ornaments, his expression one of delighted awe. “I’ve never had so many decorations to use!” he said, lifting a delicate glass bauble that caught the firelight in a prism of color.
Len watched him, her earlier nerves softening into something tender. “Oh… really,” she replied, her voice warmer now, touched by his genuine wonder.
And just like that, they fell into an easy rhythm. Len would choose an ornament—a silvery star, a painted wooden bird—and Towan would find the perfect branch. They strung lights together, their fingers brushing occasionally in the tangle of wires. The tree began to glow, slowly transforming from empty to alive, each ornament a shared decision, each light a small point of connection in the soft, festive dark.

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Christmas Special (I): An Undecorated Tree