It was late autumn in Bergen — the kind of evening when the sky turns silver and the air carries the scent of pine and cold water. Soren was sketching at the edge of the fjord, notebook open, coffee long gone cold. Elara arrived with her photography gear, searching for the perfect angle of the last light.

She photographed the fjord. He drew the light. They talked until the aurora appeared overhead, pale green ribbons shifting slowly across the dark. Three winters later, we are still watching the sky together — and now we are asking you to watch with us, as we begin the truest chapter yet.