Author's notes: This was written for a contest at the forum the Temple of Kraden, and the genre was a "Kradenmas" story. Kradenmas is essentially like Christmas - except the worshipped one is Kraden himself, and my own explanation for the creation of the holiday is within.

Disclaimer: I do not own Golden Sun.

My time on Weyard has not been long. I was born, I lived, and then I died. I didn't experience much of the world in a physical sense. I didn't meet a great many people or sally forth in an army. I didn't even change the world.

But I think I helped somebody – two somebodies – who did change the world. I can't be certain, but I think I made my mark. And really, that's all I need.

It was the Eve of Kradenmas that I was born.

Kradenmas, I should add, is the holiday of giving. Despite my short life, I learned much about this holiday; both its history and its true meaning. In fact, I believe I contributed to carrying out this meaning.

If I may take a moment from our main tale, I'll explain to you the history of Kradenmas – at least, I shall tell you which parts I am aware of. As you may or may not know, Kraden was the wise old sage who accompanied eight heroes on their quest to save the world. His expansive and invaluable knowledge and curiosity was the first reason the heroes found the elemental stars at all, sparking their quest. Throughout their travels he contributed not in battle, but in puzzles and theories that – naturally – led the heroes in the right direction. You may be wondering why his name is now the basis for the giving holiday – the truth is, without Kraden, none of it would have been possible.

The exact day of giving, Kradenmas Day, is within the cold season of the year. This day is actually the day the Golden Sun rose above Mt. Aleph, signalling the return of Alchemy to a dying Weyard. At first, the heroes' main concerns were their loved ones and hometowns and how the Golden Sun affected their lives. However, as time went on, they realized they ought to recognize the day their world was saved. In the years to come, generations onward should acknowledge this as an important day – the day Alchemy was restored, given back to the world. It was a monumental event, one that brought people together and gave the world the life force it lacked for so long.

There was much debate over what the day should be called. Some suggested the name of their old hometown, Vale, but not all of the heroes came from Vale. Another suggestion was simply the Golden Day – yet the heroes didn't want to encourage the thoughts of grandeur that came with such a name. They wanted something humbler, something that inspired the thought of togetherness, family, giving, wisdom and reflection. Recognition for the sacrifices and contributions made.

The heroes thought back to their days as mere children trying to learn more about their psynergetic abilities. They thought back to the help they had received from various people, the adventures they had been through. In the end, it was decided that there was nobody who was more fitting than the old sage Kraden, who passed on so much of his knowledge to the heroes and supported them with a show of spirit uncommon to most people his age. And so, Kradenmas Day was born.

It can be seen as a relatively new holiday still, as it has only been three years since the rise of the Golden Sun. All the same, there are already rumours that the holiday is blessed, a time where rare miracles occur and the most fervent wishes – of the right variety – come true. I can neither confirm nor deny these miracles, because I did not live long enough and I never saw any more than one of them. I have a quiet hope for the existence of many more than the one I witnessed, however. Perhaps it is truly a blessed season – you may decide for yourself, after you hear my tale. It appears we have plenty of time… After all, you can hear me, can you not? That is strange in itself, as I am very sure I am dead – dead as any being like me can be. A puzzling thought, indeed. At any rate, I shall begin now, and you may tell me if you think I saw – or was – a miracle that Kradenmas Eve.

It's dark, it's cold, and it's never going to end. I can see him there, on the rock floor. I can feel it and his thoughts, share his loneliness. This is what he thinks, staring down a winding cave deep in the Goma range. There's the smell of death around him and on him; he feels like it's in him. Like it's inside his chest and spreading up, down, all around his body. I feel it too, spreading through him through me. Through us. He feels like it's eating him inside, like he's rotting before his time is up.

Is his time up?

He doesn't even know what time it is. He just knows he's been here too long, feeling too dead. Maybe it's the end of the day. Maybe it's night time and she's lonely another night. Just like that, an image of her appears, shimmering, before the both of us. He knows he's lonely another night; he knows he's a wreck. It's tiring to run and tiring to walk – it's even tiring to sit, yet sit is all he does. As he takes another rattling breath of death – sweet, sweet death – he has to wonder why it couldn't be a blaze of glory under the sun. He could have had a hero's funeral – and then she's replaced by the shining sun and bright green grass. Why a dark, newly excavated cave already filled with monsters? Monsters he thought he could handle. Monsters he had handled, their scattered remains all around him and smelling of sweet, sickening death.

They'd handled him as well, though.

He spends all the unknown time waiting for a second chance, a miracle to set him back on his feet again. I did mention miracles, didn't I? He keeps his eyes wide open and stares into the darkness because overtired vigilance is all that keeps him awake. It's a parody of the alert predator, ready to pounce on frozen prey. Frozen, maybe even literally, in the ice and snow outside. I know it first-hand, too, for I had to travel those freezing hills to get here.

There is no insulation here, only cold. Even though it's a tunnel of hell through the mountains, it's a hell that's frozen over. Perhaps once his destination could have been called a hell frozen over, in those ghastly months before Mars Lighthouse was relit. Perhaps once, but no more. Prox is a living flame in the north now, a beacon of light and warmth. I have to trust his experience here, for I never got to visit Prox. Imil equals that warmth in a different way, something he had left behind and expected to return to. It held its own light, lighthouse, and warmth.

A warmth he might never feel again.

In this moment, where he breathes, this moment when he breathes, I take the time to remember how I got here. I had the luck to visit Imil, at the very least. I got to watch the blossoming town hush and sleep from afar. As he stops and thinks about warmth, I follow that thread to my own origins, to the reason I am here.

She is the warmth. She is the one who's walking Imil's borders like a guardian angel, like a lost soul. She's really a guarded soul, yet she looks just like one of heaven's lost angels. All warm blue eyes and soft voice, all gentle movements and ethereal grace. All belief in those who have lost their place.

Yet now, she's losing her place. Unlike him, it is not because she has nobody to welcome her to her hometown, but that she has nobody to welcome home. I can feel it inside of her, a little emptiness where her hands meet and her lashes dust her cheeks. She exhales and it instantly begins to mist, and I marvelled at it the first time it condensed around me. I joined with her and felt it, that longing and worry that has her standing in the cold, praying.

Azure eyes glanced toward a particular house, its walkway untouched and the windows dark. I followed that too, before I knew anything about him and this cave beneath the mountains. It was a humble little cabin, but it felt like it could be home. Could be, but wasn't. Isn't. She looked at me – no, through me – to the could-be home and I saw what she was seeing: a bed too large for one person. At the moment, nobody enjoyed the comfort of those sheets despite the neighbours quietly doing just that in their own homes. I wondered if she wished she were in there, and warm. It was hard to tell, because there was this awful, wistful longing for something like it, but not quite like it. Remember, I was new to this, new even in the perspective of my very short life. I didn't understand her. It didn't occur to me until much later that she wanted that warmth but only with him, for it would have been just as cold without him as if she were out there.

She's probably still out there now. Palms together and breathing cool mists, a guardian angel of Imil.

It's hard to tell just by looking on whether she really believes her prayer will bring him back. There are many sceptics out in the world who would argue against the magic of miracles, even in a world built on psynergy. Some adepts would claim there is no further magic than their own, and these magics have their own limits. After all, when one can control the elements, why put faith into an unseeable, possibly non-existent greater power?

People don't pray just for looks, though. At least, Mia of Imil doesn't. The power of Ply – that ancient Mercurian skill that gave her the title of Imil's guardian – holds a basis in prayer and belief to heal even the worst wounds. It stands to reason she would be the one graced by a miracle of Kradenmas when she's in a time of need.

Oh, I'm sorry, I should continue with my tale. You're a patient audience, you know. I hope you'll reserve judgement for a little longer. Now, where were we?

Mia prayed with all her heart, I could feel it. A humble request: to bring him back safely. She prays even now, far off but resonating through the sleeping land, even through the thick walls of this cavern. He's right; she's warmth like nothing else, warmth in the frozen tundras of the north. I had to leave that to come find him, but I carried what I could with me because he'll need it.

I tune into my surroundings again. He isn't moving. He's frozen cold, deep in a place I can't go. His eyes roam behind his eyelids like he's dreaming, or maybe he's keeping that vigilance even in his sleep. His lips are parted and dry – there's no water here and he hasn't had food since he left Imil. By now, he should have been to Prox and back. The reek of death is as strong as ever. I feel like I need to do something, but what can I do? Lend my strength, perhaps. He needs to wake up, or else he's in that place I can't reach, the dream world I don't understand. I need to get him out of there so he can return, so he can go back to her.

I merge with him one more time. This time, I pass on the strength I have to spark him awake. It needs to give him some spirit, that's all he needs. I hope it's enough.

His eyes open and his lungs heave a gasp. I realize I wasn't sure if he was even breathing. I know he is now – it's harsh and violent and far too loud in this cave. It echoes off the walls. He needs water; the thoughts of her and warmth and home are all gone, replaced by human need. Water, that's the thing he's thinking about, and I watch as he cups his hands before him. His psynergy was tapped, but now he can try a little bit. So I have helped him. A tiny cloud appears above his cupped hands, filling them with water he hastily gulps down. It doesn't last long. His psynergetic reserves are empty again, but he has physical strength. I wonder if there are any more of those cursed monsters around. I did not see many when I came to find him – the few I saw fled from me. It must be something they feel, or just their fear of something alien they have never encountered before. I flit around the man, examining him. Maybe I can guide him out. He cannot stay here.

As if sharing my sentiments, he rises slowly to his feet, shaky but sure. His blade never leaves his side as his breath slowly calms, the repugnant scent of dead things no longer affecting him quite so much. Now is my chance. I will guide him out. I will bring him back to her.

My body appears to him as a glint of light. I see it through his eyes, the shining orb that hovers uncertainly before him. I dodge his reaching hand once – twice, and whisk away from the monsters' mass grave. All he needs to do is follow. I find myself excitedly working ahead in the stale air, glad to leave the filth behind, but I need to keep in mind that he can't move at my pace. In fact, I forget myself and leave him a few times, trying to stay on the correct path. I return and see his mixed relief and wariness on his face, and I wish I could merge with him to tell what he's thinking. I can't, though, or he might realize what I am. He doesn't need to know what or who I am. I just need to do my job.

As we travel the lonely tunnels together, I realize I can feel that warmth of hers drawing nearer. That's not strange in itself, but its proximity is greater than I would have thought… Unless she is also moving toward us. I glance at him. He looks ragged, tired, pale and sunken. She will be good for him, and we're growing closer with each passing moment. He will be in the arms of his angel very soon.

He keeps a steady pace at first, but I can tell he's tiring fast. He slows down or he limps and clutches at wounds. Sometimes I think he's going to sink down against the rocky walls and sleep again – and I can do nothing but bounce furiously in front of his eyes, urging him on. I don't know if he understands. I know he keeps following me though, maybe because he has nowhere else to go.

My mind wanders as we do the same through the twisting passageways. She's getting closer, easier to sense. But something is bothering me. What did I miss? Are there monsters still about? Is there… Oh.

There is the river. It was cold – very cold – this dawn when he left, but the ice on the lake has since softened. I saw it when I was on my way here, soggy and unsteady chunks of ice suspended in freezing slush. He can't cross that in his current state, but it's the only way out toward Imil. At least this leg of our journey is over, as the beginnings of snow cover the ground at our feet. I can see the night sky, and I turn around to see his reaction too. The air here is crisp and alive, but bitter in its bite. He looks relieved to see the sky and breathe fresh air, but that tired expression gradually sours. So he has seen the river, too.

Now what? I can't leave my job unfinished. But he cannot cross, and I don't have the power to help him across. The way around would take far too long. He can't survive a crossing, and he can't survive the detour. Did I take him from the jaws of death in that cave just to leave him here to die? He has nearly expired, and I watch as he retreats to the cave mouth again, sinking down and cradling his head in his hands. I am undecided, but he doesn't seem to be looking at me anymore. She's still getting nearer, but she doesn't know the exact location of this cave, does she?

I imagine I must look amusing as I hover between him and the river, back and forth, undecided. If I am fast, then he will last. I think. It is the only option I can think of. Surely, if I can guide her here, she can help him. She can do what I can't. She can save him, the one they all depend on for help. What burdens a hero must take on.

With a last look at him, I'm gone, and hoping he won't be when I get back. All he needs to do is stay awake. I am racing through the air, over white-coated hills and haloed evergreens, homing in on that sense of warmth, of her that draws ever nearer. I almost miss her, doubling back from high above, diving down toward that lonely little figure. She's moving steadily forward, but she doesn't know exactly where she's going. She must have thought she just needed to go out and search. It's been too long.

I pause above her head, blending with the snowflakes. They're pretty, but I don't have the time to notice them. No, what has caught my attention is another orb of light, a little bit like me, blue and glinting. It spirals around her, darting this way and that, and then it settles on her shoulder. Except, it is no longer a blue ball of light – but rather a strange little creature, mostly blue with a red-clawed tail. It feels like psynergy, like pure concentrated Mercury power, and yet… A little bit like kin. It seems to be able to converse with her. Deciding which direction to take in this snowy expanse, perhaps? This is as good a chance as ever.

I drop down before her now, much in the way I did with him. She seems startled, but almost expectant. "Oh! Are you one of his djinni?" Even if I could respond, I would not know how. The one on her shoulder squints at me.

"You don't feel like a Venus djinni." It says to me.

"Fizz, what are you talking about? It looks like one… That brown… ish glow." She shakes her head.

"It looks more gold to me."

"Don't be contrary, Fizz."

The thing – djinni? – djinni on her shoulder squints at me again. It doesn't seem to be convinced, but we're wasting time. I hope her eyesight is good in this snow, because she can't afford to get lost here. I'm off again, flitting back the way I came, working off of what I just traversed. He has no warm presence to use as a beacon, but I can depend on my memory. She can depend on it, too. I glance back every now and then, there she is following, there is Fizz squinting.

The river, we need to find the river. It's here, it has to be here, somewhere… "Eek!"

Found it.

I turn around to find that she has nearly slipped in, skidding down the icy bank to a halt just before the messy collection of slush and ice. I think Fizz is glaring at me. "The cave is across the river? Is he there?" I bob up and down in the air, my vague attempt at "yes". She glares at the offending obstacle.

"This is going to take some work." She shuts her eyes, resolving herself, and her hands rise up, fingers protected from the nipping cold by her silk gloves. "Frost!" I can see it, a spiral of ice cold power streaming from within her and outward, onto the river's surface. It skims across like a coating, reaching all the way to the other side in a wide, glowing arc. When those blue eyes open again, they alight upon her handiwork – a thick layer of solid crackling ice hugging this strip of river. "Only one way to be sure, I suppose…" A booted foot slides onto it, wiggles, and soon shares her weight with the other. She pushes off the near bank and slides easily to the other side, stepping off carefully onto solid ground. Fizz is leaping ahead of her, having already spotted the cave mouth.

I could leave them now, couldn't I? But I don't. I want to be sure. I cloak myself once again in that invisibility that I kept for so long. There is no need for me to guide them – they have found each other. The only question is whether it's too late. I hope that it isn't, for both their sakes. I shall go ahead and check on him before she makes it there. I will check on him from inside, see if he's in that place I can't reach again. If he is, she had better be able to bring him back.

I merge with him easily, though his eyes are shut. His mind is a fog – it's like the snow has clogged up his thoughts and his senses, so everything is shrouded with this unclear fluff. He can hear something, ringing from far away. He's been here for what feels like forever, after that little light had left him, trapped on this side of the river. So close, but so far. I can feel a little twinge of regret here, but it was necessary. What's important is that he's alright.

"-x! Are you there? Answer me, aren't you there?" She sounds like a half-remembered dream, some sort of mirage like all those other thoughts he had of her earlier. But the voice draws nearer. "-x! Is that you?" The rustle of clothing and shuffling of feet marring the newly fallen snow.

"Fizz! Help him, please!" She's the image of worry, her hands already glowing with healing psynergy. Like I said before. Prayer. She sorts through his tattered pockets, tossing out the useless things like the Douse Drop and Mysterious Card, searching for a reason. She finds no healing items, nothing that he could have used to restore his vigour. So she understands, and returns to his wounds with renewed urgency.

The relief washes over him like a wave, wiping away the fluffy snow and confused thoughts. His fatigue is lessened, the wounds repaired from that critical brink. She made it in time. His eyes open and I see her through his sight, truly an angel without comparison. His angel.

"Mia." She nods in response, still channelling her psynergy to those horrible wounds.

"What happened to you?"

He chooses to ignore that for now. "How did you get here?"

Question for question. "Your djinni brought me." A pause, and I feel his confusion rise up.

"Isaac has all my djinn right now."

Fizz hisses up to her. "I told you it wasn't his! I told you it wasn't a Venus djinni!"

"But it looked like one…" Her doubt is clear in her voice. "A shining ball of light. I followed it. It led me here, to you."

"I followed a similar one out of the caves. I was lost in there, I had no strength."

They share a look of suspicion. I'm doubly glad I chose to be invisible now. I leave his body, watching the two from a safe distance. Fizz glares in my general direction. Oops?

"What could it have been?" He's curious, but I think he's more relieved to be united with her.

"I don't know." She is relieved as well. She is at peace, as is he. They are together. Everything is alright. They will make it back to Imil within the hour.

"It's Kradenmas Eve, you know. It might be around midnight now…" Somehow, this strikes me as important. Kradenmas Day… I ought to go. My job is finished. I can feel it calling, something far away, up there beyond the clouds. They're scattering the snow as ever, but it feels like a peaceful snowfall now. My job is finished.

I begin my ascent, spiralling, watching them down below. They are so small. Their voices fade away as I rise up here, but something else – somebody else takes their place. Deep and powerful, but ever-loving and benign is his voice.

"Well done, my djinni of prayer. My special Kradenmas djinni, well done. You have truly helped Felix and Mia and carried out the true meaning of Kradenmas. Always remember this deed of yours, and perhaps – if you wish – pass it on to the djinn who will come after you. Rest now, for you have done much, and it is time for you to leave."

And that, my fellow, is my tale. I realize now, who you must be, and where I must be. Perhaps this recounting has benefitted us both. I may be dead in one sense, but elementals never really die, and our legacy shall be carried on. You may find others like me roaming this place beyond a being, where the fulfilled and new prayers reside. I am sure they have great tales to tell you as well. Learn from us well, and decide for yourself whether Kradenmas miracles exist or not. When you feel ready, young one, you will be descending to that world too.

She was the reason I was born. There will soon be somebody to need you too, somebody who will pray so honestly that they will give you life. You will go there, with a sole mission – to grant that one true wish of your special person. You will be born, live, and die, then arrive here with your own tales to tell. You will not experience much of the world in a physical sense. You won't meet a great many people or sally forth in an army. You won't even change the world. But you will help somebody who needs it, and that will mean everything. It will be enough.

The season is almost upon us, and soon you may be off. Off to Weyard, where you will make your own miracles happen during the Kradenmas season.