You stare at the spoon.

It’s not shiny. It’s not enchanted. It’s just… a spoon. A big, slightly bent, stainless steel serving spoon with a faint gravy stain that no amount of scrubbing could ever erase. And yet, something about it feels right. You reach out and take it.

The Keeper of the Ice watches you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly—miraculously—he smiles. It’s the kind of smile that’s rare in the deep freeze. The kind that thaws a little something in the air.

“Going to a potluck without a spoon,” he says, voice low and gravelly, “is like going to the lake without bread for the ducks.” He nods once, solemn and satisfied.

You tuck the spoon into your pouch. You aren't sure why you took it, but you know you'll be glad you did.

You step out of the freezer, the cold air giving way to the crisp mountain breeze. The snow crunches beneath your boots as you make your way to your next destination.