He slumped into his seat, the joy of the journey fading. He had seen the elves, the toy workshops, and the reindeer, but without the bell, it all felt like a dream he was already forgetting.

But as they climbed into the jagged peaks of the , the boy felt a tug on his heart. He reached into his pocket and found only a hole. The silver bell—the one he had received from Santa himself at the North Pole, the one that rang with the purest sound he’d ever heard—was gone.

To his parents, it was silent. But to those who truly , the sound was the most beautiful music in the world.

The snow fell in heavy, silent clumps as the massive locomotive hissed to a halt on a quiet suburban street. The boy, standing in his pajamas on the frozen lawn, stared up at the impossible sight: the , its iron skin glistening under the moonlight.