Chapter 73 SANTA'S STORY

Chapter 73 SANTA'S STORY

POV: Amara

The door closes behind us with a soft click, and the quiet presses in.
I want quiet right now. I want something steady to hold onto after the night at the barrier, after the thought that maybe the world would be easier without me. Santa leads me into a smaller chamber off the main hall, one I have never been invited into before. The fire is already burning, low and patient. He does not ask if I want tea. He knows I would not drink it.
“Sit,” he says, not like an order, more like an offering.
I sit.
He lowers himself into the chair across from me, folding his hands. For a moment, he just looks at me. Not the Yuletide Guardian. Not the symbol. Just me.
“You asked earlier why I knew you would be at the barrier,” he says. “It’s because I have stood there myself.”
I look up. “You?”
He nods. “More than once.”
The fire crackles. I wait.
“The first Christmas I ever tried to protect,” he begins, “I thought I was going to destroy it.”
I blink. I have heard a thousand stories about Santa Claus. None of them start like that.
“I was younger than you are now,” he continues. “I had no Council, no rules written down. Just a bag of gifts, a promise to a handful of families, and a winter that refused to be kind.”
He lifts a hand, and the air between us shimmers. Not magic meant to impress. Something quieter.
The room fades.
I am standing in snow that is rough and uneven, not the smooth white of the North Pole. A small village huddles nearby, roofs sagging, smoke thin from chimneys that barely hold heat. I feel the cold in my bones even though I know this is not my body.
“I thought gifts would be enough,” Santa’s voice says around me. “Food, blankets, toys. I thought if I brought joy once a year, that would fix things.”
I see him, younger, broader in the shoulders, eyes full of doubt. He walks through the village, placing small bundles at doors. A child peeks out and smiles. Another does not.
“When I came back the next year,” he says, “half the village was gone.”
The image shifts. Graves. Simple markers. Snow piled high.
“I failed them,” he whispers. “That is what I believed.”
The memory dissolves, and we are back by the fire.
I cannot speak right away.
“I almost stopped,” Santa says. “I thought, if I cannot save everyone, then maybe I should save no one. At least then the failure would end.”
My hands curl into my sleeves. The words feel too familiar.
“What stopped you?” I ask.
He smiles, small and tired. “A woman.”
Of course.
“She lost her husband that winter,” he says. “When I apologized to her, she looked at me like I was foolish. She said, ‘You brought my children one good night. That mattered. Do not take that away because you wish you could do more.’”
He exhales. “So I went on. Afraid. Doubting. Trying anyway.”
He lifts his hand again, and more images bloom around us.
Guardians I do not recognize. Some human. Some not. One crying in a corner after a city burned. Another standing alone on a mountain, hands shaking. A woman with silver eyes laughing through tears as snow falls for the first time after a long drought.
“They all struggled,” Santa says. “Every one of them.”
“They seem stronger than me,” I murmur.
“They were not,” he replies. “They were simply less honest about their fear.”
The images fade.
I stare at the fire. “I am not like them.”
Santa does not interrupt.
“I hated Christmas,” I say. “For sixteen years. I avoided it. I resented it. I wanted it to disappear so it would stop reminding me of what I lost.” My voice drops. “What if that comes back?”
He leans forward. “It will.”
I look up sharply.
“The darkness never fully leaves,” Santa says. “Nor should it. You know despair. You recognize it when you see it. That is why your light reaches people who others cannot.”
“That does not make me safe,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “It makes you necessary.”
I press my palms together, grounding myself. “What if I fail again? What if Malachi is right and I just bring destruction wherever I go?”
Santa’s eyes soften. “Do you know why Malachi hates Christmas so much?”
“Because it weakens him,” I say.
“That is part of it,” Santa replies. “But more than that, it proves him wrong. Christmas insists that people can choose hope even when the world teaches them not to.”
I swallow. “I am tired of choosing.”
“I know,” he says gently. “That is why Guardians do not stand alone.”
The fire pops, a spark lifting and fading.
“You do not have to be perfect,” Santa continues. “You have to wake up and choose again. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”
The words settle into me slowly. Not like a command. Like permission.
“I am scared,” I admit.
“Good,” he says. “Fear means you understand the cost.”
We sit in silence for a few breaths.
Then the alarm sounds.
It is sharp, slicing through the calm like glass.
Santa is on his feet before I am, already moving. The walls pulse with red light, and the distant hum of the North Pole shifts into motion.
Ember bursts through the door, hair wild, eyes bright with urgency. “He’s attacking again!”
My heart jumps. “Where?”
“Three locations,” she says, breathless. “Manhattan. London. Tokyo.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
“He’s spreading us thin,” Santa says.
“He wants to overwhelm us,” Ember adds. “Force mistakes.”
I stand, the quiet resolve from moments ago snapping into focus. Fear is still there. Doubt too. But beneath it, something steadier.
“Then we do not react blindly,” I say. “We choose.”
Santa looks at me, a question in his eyes.
“I can reach Manhattan fastest,” I continue. “Noelle will come with me. Helena can coordinate London. Ember, Tokyo is yours.”
Ember grins. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Santa nods once. “Go.”
As we move, the weight returns, but it no longer crushes me. It sits on my shoulders, heavy and real.
At the doorway, I pause and glance back at Santa.
“Thank you,” I say.
He smiles. “Go choose hope, child.”
I step into the corridor, already reaching for Noelle through the quiet thread that connects us, already bracing myself for what comes next.
Malachi wants to break me.
He will have to try harder.