Chapter 72 CRISIS OF FAITH

Chapter 72 CRISIS OF FAITH

POV: Amara

I stop in the middle of the corridor because I cannot remember where I was going.
The lanterns hum softly above me, their light steady, patient. Elves pass on either side, nodding, smiling, pretending nothing is wrong. I nod back because that is what I am supposed to do. Guardian. Symbol. Hope.
The word feels too heavy to hold today.
I turn around and walk the other way. It does not feel like a choice so much as gravity changing its mind.
Since the night I overheard the whispers, everything inside me has gone quiet in the wrong way. Not calm. Not peace. Something hollow. Like a room emptied too quickly, furniture dragged out, echoes left behind.
Maybe they are right.
The thought slips in without warning, smooth as ice.
Maybe I do bring chaos.
Malachi came back because of me. The Council fractured because of me. The North Pole is tense because of me. Every time I arrive somewhere, the world seems to shake, just a little.
Christmas survived for centuries without a Yuletide Child walking around asking questions and changing rules.
Maybe it would survive better without me.
I skip training. Again.
Noelle notices. He always notices.
He finds me in the quiet library, sitting on the floor with a book open in my lap that I have not read a single word of.
“You missed drills,” he says gently.
“I wasn’t up for it.”
He crouches beside me. “That’s the third day in a row.”
I shrug. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
He studies my face, not pushing, just waiting. It makes something tighten behind my eyes. I hate that he knows me this well.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he says.
“I know.”
But I do not tell him about the thoughts. The ones that creep in when I am quiet. The ones that ask whether everyone would be safer if I simply stepped aside.
He reaches for my hand. I let him hold it for a second, then pull away, pretending to turn a page.
“I need space,” I say.
He nods, even though it clearly hurts. “Okay. But I’m here.”
“I know,” I repeat.
The words feel thin.
The days stretch on. Meetings I am supposed to attend feel unbearable. Every time someone looks at me, I wonder what they see. Savior. Problem. Risk.
I start avoiding mirrors.
Helena checks on me once, sitting beside me without speaking for a long while. Ember tries humor. It bounces off.
Santa watches me from a distance. He does not intervene. That somehow feels worse.
By the fifth night, sleep has become optional. I lie awake listening to the palace breathe, my thoughts looping back on themselves.
If I am the problem, then removing myself is the solution.
The idea does not feel dramatic. It feels practical.
That is what scares me.
I leave my room after midnight, wrapping a coat around myself out of habit rather than need. The guards at this hour barely glance at me. No one stops the Yuletide Guardian from walking where she wants.
The path to the barrier is empty. The snow crunches softly beneath my boots. The wind is stronger here, pulling at my hair, whispering without words.
The barrier stretches before me, shimmering faintly. Beyond it, there is nothing. Not darkness exactly. Absence.
One step.
I imagine the North Pole without me. The Council calming. The whispers stopping. Noelle free from worrying whether loving me will get him killed.
Christmas enduring, steady and unchanged.
Maybe this is what sacrifice looks like.
I move closer, toes at the edge. The void seems to lean toward me, patient.
“Don’t.”
The word is not shouted. It does not need to be.
I turn.
Santa stands a few paces behind me, his hands folded in front of him. He looks smaller out here, without ceremony or crowd. Just a man in red, eyes tired and kind.
“How long have you been following me?” I ask.
“Long enough,” he says. He walks to the edge and sits beside me, legs dangling dangerously close to the barrier. “I thought you might come here tonight.”
I laugh once, short and bitter. “Of course you did.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the wind threading between us.
“I heard them,” I say finally.
He does not ask who.
“They think I am chaos,” I continue. “That everything was safer before me.”
Santa nods slowly. “Some people fear change more than they fear danger.”
“Malachi came back because of me.”
“He came back because the world is changing,” Santa says. “You are not the cause. You are the catalyst.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No,” he agrees. “It makes it harder.”
I stare into the void. “If I step away, if I disappear, things might stabilize. They might stop fighting.”
“And what happens when the next threat comes?” Santa asks quietly. “Who stands between Christmas and someone like Malachi then?”
“There were Guardians before me.”
“Yes,” he says. “And every one of them stood where you are standing now.”
I turn to him. “You are lying.”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “I am not.”
He leans back on his hands, gazing upward. “The first Guardian nearly walked into the dark after the first winter famine. The second asked to be stripped of their role after a war between realms. Even your mother-in-law once doubted whether love had weakened her.”
I blink. “Helena?”
“She never told you?” He chuckles softly. “She sat right where you are sitting now and asked me whether Christmas was worth the pain it caused.”
“What did you say?”
“I said Christmas has always hurt,” Santa replies. “Because it asks people to hope anyway.”
The wind picks up, tugging at my coat. I grip the edge of the stone, grounding myself.
“I am tired,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says.
“I do not feel strong.”
“Good,” Santa says gently. “Strength that does not bend breaks.”
I glance at him. “That is supposed to comfort me?”
“It is supposed to tell you the truth.”
He turns toward me, his expression serious now. “You think Christmas would be safer without you. But Christmas is not safe. It never has been. It survives because people choose it, again and again, even when it costs them.”
“What if I fail?”
Santa nods. “You will. Every Guardian does.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“No,” he agrees. “But this is.” He places a hand over his heart. “You care. Deeply. That doubt you feel? That is not weakness. It is responsibility.”
I swallow hard. “What if the Council turns on me?”
“They might,” Santa says. “And I will stand between you and them if they do.”
I look back at the void. It does not seem as inviting now. Just empty.
“I do not want to leave Noelle,” I admit.
Santa’s eyes soften. “Then do not.”
I let out a breath I did not realize I was holding.
“I cannot promise this will get easier,” he continues. “But I can promise this. You are not alone. And Christmas chose you for a reason.”
“What reason?” I ask.
He smiles, small and sure. “Because when the world gets cold, you choose warmth anyway.”
We sit there until the wind dies down. Eventually, Santa stands and offers his hand.
“Come back inside,” he says. “The night is nearly over.”
I take his hand and rise, stepping away from the edge.
As we walk back toward the palace, something inside me shifts. Not hope. Not certainty.
But resolve.
I do not know how this ends. I do not know who will betray me or who will stand beside me.
But I know this.
I am not done.
And if Christmas is going to survive what is coming next, then I will survive too.