Kris Kringle, Saint of Nicholas sat at his desk poring over a small piece of glass, which glowed as names flashed by too quickly for anyone to ever have a hope to be able to read. He wasn't just anyone, though, as he made a mental note next to each one. Nice. Nice. Naughty. Naughty. Very naughty. Nice. Nice. Nice. Naughty... With his final approval, the names would be sent to the research department where Humphrey, his Chief Elf Officer, would coordinate production. They'd gone paperless over a century ago, and the process was streamlined to perfection.
He sighed and put down the device as he removed his glasses and pinched his nose. He had a headache--something that was usually pretty common this time of year, but they seemed to be getting worse. He took a bite of one of the cookies Mrs. Clause had devised, with a special blend of healing and numbing herbs, before washing it down with a big gulp of milk.
Picking up the device once more, he made a futile attempt to focus, frowning. Usually spending any of his time--which was getting more and more precious and scarce as global population exploded--with the reindeer gave him an emotional and spiritual boost. He knew, loved, and felt responsible for each and every one. He had, after all, been a large influence on their advancement as a race. Not the source, of course, but a heavy catalyst. Which was why he felt such a bond.
Visiting Eric, however, left him feeling conflicted and guilty, though he'd never show it. When he'd first ducked into the room, he couldn't help but flash back to the horrifying sight of the boy, his lifeless body pinned and mangled by the sled as Clyde struggled to pull him free.
-
For all intents and purposes, Eric had died that night. But what use was being an Ancient One if it didn't come with its perks? He had pulled the sleigh away before kneeling next to the buck, swirling his fingers as snow and wind whipped past his face and beard, exerting his will on the very forces of nature to coalesce and return Eric's life force to the crumpled corpse.
The process weakened him, and he only used it in absolute emergencies. Plus he'd have to endure interrogations and chastisements at the next Gathering of the Ancients, but he would have done it again without question, given the chance. Re-summoning life was a delicate process, and the soul would have to choose whether or not to return to endure the trying battle of healing, but he nodded with satisfaction as Eric had begun to breathe shakily once more as he pulled him into his arms. The reindeer was still bleeding and without quick action, he'd have acted in vain. But he trusted Otso's abilities.
He'd never, ever reveal the grisly truth to any of the reindeer, of course. Clyde had been so hysterical there wasn't a chance he remembered. It would be just the latest addition to his growing list of secrets. Anyone living that long would have such a list, and no one was better than he was at keeping things close to the chest.
Mrs. Clause noticed immediately, however. She always knew.
-
Kris felt guilty. He should have sensed the blizzard, but he'd been distracted. The whole situation felt eerily familiar to the Great Fog all those years ago.
The visit to the United Nations in New York had not gone well as the leaders of the world--they were all on the Naughty List year after year--hurled insults and accusations at each other across the room. If they couldn't treat members of their own species with the respect they so deserved, how could he expose the Tribes to the risk? He hadn't even brought it up, resorting to stick to the script. The Flight was approved, of course, despite the hostile environment. He was a Master, after all.
He rubbed his forehead, feeling drained. The high from the Thanksgiving Parade was lasting less and less each year. He was too old to be getting too old for this. At a spry 1,741 years old, maybe he needed a break. Christmas Spirit was dying, as Humanity leaned more and more into Capitalism, echo chambers, and partisan rifts. Would they even notice if he didn't come on Christmas Eve?
The lights dimmed in his office in a sudden brown out. They flickered for a second before returning.
Oh no. The last time that had happened was in 1940.
He picked up the glass once again, returning his glasses to his nose. No. He was Santa Claus. The one. The only. The forever. And millions of children were counting on him.
He knew without needing to even glance at the large clock behind him.
26 Days to Christmas