Silver and Snow

On the first snow of the season, our village gathers beneath the great evergreen. Breath rises in ghostly wisps as we prepare for the ceremony of light, a tradition passed down since our ancestors, the Icelers founded Icelyn. Banished from their homeland, the Icelers followed the stars deep into the Glaciershade Mountains. Here, under the glow of the northern lights, they built a home rooted in love and magic.

That first winter, they gathered beneath the largest evergreen, holding tokens of their past and dreams for their future. As snowflakes fell, they whispered their intentions into the icy air. The magic of the trees turned their offerings into glowing ornaments—each unique, each immortalizing a piece of their creator’s soul. This tradition has endured for generations, marking the start of adulthood for every Icelyn resident. Now it’s my turn. And I feel like I’m drowning.

Everyone in my family takes great pride in the ornaments that they have created and the intention they set. As the last member of our family to craft my ornament, I can’t help but feel dreadful. In fact, the pressure feels overwhelming–everyone in the village takes immense pride in their intention. All I want is to escape. I want to see the world and try new things, but no one ever goes to the base. I always wish to see past the beyond. What lies out there? I am thrown out of my thoughts as my mother yells up to me.

“Skadi! Come downstairs, your grandmother is here!” Mom’s voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. I groan and roll out of bed, dragging my feet down the stairs each step is a silent protest to the ongoing party.

“I hope you were getting your ornament ready up there,” Mom says, shooting a look at me as I reach the last step. I swear if I hear another person mention an ornament again, I am going to rip every single strand of my hair out of my head.

“No, not yet, I will today I promise,” I say reluctantly. I can’t stand this tradition. Everyone else loves it and worships it. Me? I just want out. I glance out our foggy window, my finger drawing random shapes as I daze. What lies beyond the mountain? The question burns my mind like a fire that refuses to extinguish.

“Maybe you and your grandmother can do it together,” Mom suggests, though her smile falters as she studies my face. “It’s your big year!” She adds, too brightly. Everyone’s so excited for you.” Her cheerfulness grates on me.

“Everyone is always excited,” I mutter silently making my way towards the couch where Granny is sitting, I plop down next to her. A smile glistens on her face as I turn and say hi to her.

“Well aren’t you grumpy today” she laughs “Your ornament doesn’t have to match anyone else’s, you know,” Granny says, tapping my forehead. “It’s yours, not theirs.” I offer a weak smile. I know she means well, but she doesn’t understand. I know my intention.

As we gather for lunch, snow begins to fall, signaling the ceremony is near. Anxiety churns in my stomach and I can’t force down a bite.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mom gleams, “Look what finally decided to show up.” She exclaimed. Today, December 18th, is our first snowfall of the season, and perhaps the latest first snowfall I have ever seen in my lifetime. The snow is perfect–silent, soft, beautiful–but it feels heavy, like a blanket I can’t crawl out from under. The ceremony is tonight, and I still haven't made my ornament. Granny notices my unease and whispers “How about we talk in your room?” leading me upstairs.

“You are afraid, aren't you dear?” Granny says gently.

Hot tears spring to my eyes “My intention isn’t normal. I don’t fit here, Granny. I don’t want to make an ornament that ties me to this place forever.”

“You’re not, darling,” Granny says, her voice as soft as the snow falling outside. “This ornament is your chance to be your truest self. No one has to agree with your intention—only you.”

Tears spill down my cheeks and I whisper, “I want to be free, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Granny places a warm hand on mine. “Then there you have it, dear. You already know your intention. Now, be confident in it.” Her gaze flicks to the window, where snowflakes drift lazily to the ground. “It’s snowing, which means the ceremony is tonight. There’s no time to waste.”

Her words echo in my head as I sit at my desk, surrounded by the shiny mountain of ornament supplies. The snow outside, once beautiful and delicate, is now a white blizzard mess. As the sun begins to set, the glow of the evening tries to peer through the rush of flurry. The clock ticks, but the moments slip by me faster than I can grasp. Hours have passed since my mental breakdown, but I’m okay now. However, my ornament still sits incomplete. My body trembles as I place the final black crystal into the delicate frame that I have ever so patiently crafted, a symbol of the freedom I long crave.

I take the deepest breath that my lungs allow me to take, settling my nerves, my heart beating so hard I am convinced it will fall out of my chest. Granny’s words swirl in my mind as I carry my ornament downstairs. My family watches, but Granny smiles.

“Alright, let’s go before we are late,” Mom says, opening the door and eyeing my ornament. “Do not forget your ornament, anyone! We are NOT coming back” she warns my brother.

After a ten-minute walk from what feels like could be the tundra– how would I know? I’ve never been there–we arrive at the evergreen. The whole village gathers around the elder tree for the oldest tradition–the ornament ceremony.

My hand shakes as I clutch my ornament. “This is for you and your descendants, no one else,” Granny says, winking. Still overwhelmed by doubt, I try to push my thoughts as the ceremony begins.

“Welcome, Aruroians, to this year's Ornament Ceremony!” The speaker’s voice rings out. “As we all know our founders, the Icelers, journeyed through these mountains and ended up right in this very spot. It was here that they performed their first ritual, using the sacred tools passed down through the generations. From that moment on, we have celebrated their magic and resilience.”

“Today, we gather with a new set of twenty-year-olds, ready to take part in their first ornament ceremony, each with their intention to share. If those can come forward.”

Only two of us walk up with our vastly different-looking ornaments. “ Let’s all gather around the tree, hold our ornaments close to our hearts, and perform the ceremony together.”

We all hold our ornaments and recite:

We gather, united by light

Forged from solitude,

Awakened by night

A symphony of gratitude

Beneath winter’s glow

The community we share, the love we bring,

Ancestors guide our descendants.

Snow’s beginning fall; here we sing,

With wisdom passed through time’s attendance.

Intentions ignite, future shines bright.

Our Evergreen, standing tall,

Allow our souls to bond as we,

Lighting our path, we never fall.

The old, the new, and those yet to see,

With our tree, we call the stars,

Hope shining above to guide our souls.

As we finish we can all see the magic of our ornaments light up–joy is red, hope is purple, and happiness is yellow. But mine shines silver, a color no ornament has ever shown before. A murmur ripples through the crowd, and everyone's smiles turn to concern.

“Skadi,” Mom says softly. “What was your intention?”

I glance at Granny, who bows her head, then back to Mom. “Freedom,” I say. “I want to see beyond these mountains, meet new people, experience heat, and feel the world. Here isn’t all there is.”

The crowd stands in stunned silence, eyes fixed on the glowing tree. For a moment, I feel the weight of their gazes, but then something shifts. It’s as if the village breathes, accepting my intention as part of the whole. The silver glow deepens, intertwining with the golden veins.

“Maybe,” Granny whispers, “your freedom will bring something we didn’t know we needed.”

The ceremony continues, but the weight of expectation lifts. The air feels lighter, and the snow falls like a promise that we all have a place, within or outside the lines.

And for the first time, I believe it.