Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians or the cover image for this story. Credit for the cover goes to artist Elaine Elder.

Chapter 1:

Death really hated it when the Man in the Moon interfered with his job. Granted the Lunanoff Prince personally hadn't done so before, but people meddling in his affairs rarely ended well.

Death watched as the Moon's newborn spirit settled back to the surface of the frozen pond, the cracks in the ice freezing the instant his feet made contact. The Reaper idly fingered the hourglass that hung in the pendant around his neck.

Jackson Overland, Death mused, had been young. Granted humans didn't last that long to begin with, but the ones Jackson's age usually did fairly well for themselves. Then again you never knew; Jackson himself was proof of that.

He wasn't surprised the boy had died the way he had. Despite his love of tricks and mischief in general, Jackson's protective nature wouldn't allow him to hurt any of the younger children who were often on the receiving end of his jokes. He certainly wouldn't stand by and allow his little sister to come to harm; she meant the world to him. The boy had been scared, that was undeniable. Drowning was a slow way to die. The ice, at least, had sped things up a bit, and Jackson had been unconscious when his lungs had stopped working. Despite the fear, though, his last conscious thought had been at least she's safe. Rare, for a child so young to think of another in such a way with the knowledge of their own impending death.

Which was undoubtedly why the Moon had chosen him.

And a frost spirit! Death knew the Man in the Moon had never changed one of the dead before. Souls of the living and the dead were not the same; while they remained in the living world, the dead were more ethereal, difficult to sense for those who weren't Reapers or necromancers. They were even more difficult to manipulate; Death himself was the only one who could do so with any level of ease. The Man in the Moon had had no idea what he was getting himself into. The circumstances of Jack's death would have left marks on his soul that would have lingered until Death or one of the lesser Reapers came and helped the boy pass on. Given the Moon's lack of experience, and probably lack of ability, in transforming a dead soul, a frost spirit was probably the only thing he could have managed.

Either that or Tsar Lunar had a really twisted sense of humor.

The boy was in the process of creating whorls of fern-like frost on the trees with his staff. Death continued to watch as Jackson- Jack Frost, as the moon had named him- repeated the process on the surface of the lake.

If he'd had a face on which to put the expression, Death's brow would have furrowed. Jack's enthusiasm, his curiosity, was childlike. The boy was still a child, but the way he was excited about absolutely everything, looking at the stars, the trees, the frozen lake, his sheppard's crook as though he'd never seen them before, was too much like a toddler learning their first steps in the outside world.

He doesn't remember. A little bit of amnesia wasn't unusual. Most of the spirits Death and his Reapers assisted experienced some degree of memory loss, but it was unheard of that one so newly dead would have it to the degree Jack seemed to. Another result of the Moon's inept resurrection, perhaps?

A playful cry from the Wind brought Death out of his musings. He was surprised when she scooped the boy up, the frost sprite reacting with a startled, yet joyful, shout. That was certainly unusual; the Wind hadn't responded to anyone this way since Gaia's disappearance.

Jack laughed from above. The Wind's joy bent the tops of the nearby trees. Unfortunately she forgot about her new playmate in her excitement and dropped the boy, who gave another startled shout. The Wind rushed to catch him again; she didn't quite succeed, but she managed to slow his fall.

Death chuckled, a sound like sand blowing across a road. Those two were certainly a good match.

A quiet whicker had him turning away from the frozen pond, walking back into the trees to greet his horse. The steed raised his head as his rider approached and Death obligingly stroked the pale nose. Pleased, the horse shook his head, then observed his master out of one eye. Death recognized the question in the look and gathered up the reins, pulling himself into the saddle in answer.

There was nothing for him to do here. There was no soul needing guidance into the afterlife, no soul to assist in leaving its body, and he was behind as it was; Famine had requested help in France a while ago.

Then why was he still feeling the incessant pull he always felt when a newly dead soul needed him? Jack Frost had been given new life; he was no longer Death's concern.

Unless…

Oh, no.

Death quickly reined his horse around, his irritation at the Moon morphing into true anger as he kicked his steed into a gallop toward the town of Burgess, following the pull of that invisible line. The Man in the Moon may very well have created a ghost, one that was completely unaware of his state of being, and if so it needed to be dealt with immediately. Ghosts that were unaware that they were ghosts often attracted no end of demons and malevolent undead, eager for easy prey. Or, if left alone long enough, they would drive themselves to madness and turn into poltergeists. The best-case scenario was the ghost getting stuck in a time loop until someone helped them pass on. Long story short, it was an issue best resolved before it became a problem.

Death urged his horse on. Their passage was swift, silent and unmarked. Horse and rider cast no shadow in the light of the moon, and Death's steed left no hoofprints in the new snow; not even a flake was disturbed. He pulled back on the reins when they reached the top of a hill overlooking the little village. The horse snorted softly, tossing his head in agitation as his master dismounted. Death patted the horse's neck, running skeletal fingers through the mane before pulling away and walking to the edge of the forest.

He spotted the newborn spirit almost immediately; the child was stumbling to his feet after a decidedly ungraceful landing. Jack's lack of skill didn't deter him, though, judging by the way he was still laughing and grinning like a loon.

"Hi!" Jack said to the first person to come near him. The woman ignored him. To Death it was plain that she couldn't see the boy at all.

Jack didn't notice, though. He continued smiling and greeting anyone who came within five feet of him, completely oblivious to the fact that they didn't acknowledge him.

Well, he's not a ghost, Death thought. Ghosts spent most of their time in a world-between-worlds called, simply, the Between. When they walked the mortal plane, the aura of the Between clung to them like a second skin. Even newborn ghosts would have inhabited the Between for the briefest moments when they were unable to pass on. Jack didn't have even a hint of that aura about him.

But then what was Jack Frost? Death undeniably still felt a pull toward the boy, and if anything it had gotten stronger in the past few seconds. Deciding a closer examination of the situation might yield a few answers, the Reaper set off down the hill at a purposeful, yet unhurried walk.

The people at the outskirts of town noticed nothing but a strange tingling sensation, just below the surface of the skin, that made a shiver run up and down the length of the spine, and later resulted in a laugh with companions about walking through a 'ghost circle'. Death, for his part, ignored the humans he brushed past as he made his way toward the frost sprite he sensed quite prominently near the town's center. He had just reached the edge of the main plaza when he felt a sudden, sharp chill all throughout his being.

Death halted in his tracks, startled and slightly alarmed now. He could feel physical sensations in the living world, but they were considerably muted; not even an Antarctic ice storm would have the effect on him that stab of cold had.

Only when a feeling of hollowness grew in his chest (or the area where his chest would have been) did Death realize the sensation had been an echo, resonating strongly across his tie to Jack. His gaze fell upon the frost spirit almost immediately. The child's eyes were wide, breathing quick and shallow with fear and confusion.

Having seen the same expression on thousands of unaware ghosts, Death surmised a person must have just walked through the boy.

He was proven correct when an oblivious young couple passed through the frost spirit, eliciting a pained gasp from the boy and sending another echo of his pain through the Reaper.

Death felt that if he'd had eyes, they would be comically wide by now. This… well, this was certainly something he had never encountered before. He was already certain that Jack Frost was not a ghost, and yet Death was able to feel his emotions almost exactly as he did a ghost's. But ghosts had to consciously project their emotions for him to perceive them, or he had to consciously search them out. This sort of emotional broadcast, clarity of emotion as well as an impression of thought, only occurred when a person was about to die.

Further probing of this unusual bond showed that the emotional impressions Death received were slightly weaker than those he received from ghosts, and the thoughts he could see were not as clear as the ones he could read in a dying soul.

The moment that thought entered his head, Death had to resist the very human urge to rub his forehead in exasperation at himself for not thinking of it sooner. Pestilence had been keeping him busy recently though, so he supposed that could account for at least some of his slowness.

Death extended his senses so he could examine Jack Frost's soul. Something struck him as off the moment he began sifting through the surface layers. A foreign sense of foreboding wormed its way into Death's consciousness as his perusal took him deeper, closer to Jack's core.

When he discovered just what was wrong, Death found himself vacillating between astonishment at the singularity of this event and an overwhelming rage at the Man in the Moon.

Jack Frost's resurrection was incomplete. Death wasn't certain of the exact reason; it could have been the Moon's lack of knowledge in regards to necromancy, a lack of ability or knowledge in giving a soul new life in addition to transforming it, a lacking of the power necessary to complete the resurrection, or any combination thereof.

Jack Frost wasn't dead, but he wasn't exactly alive either.

Which left him inextricably linked to the realm of the dead and, by extension, Death himself.

As Death stood and pondered this new development, he noted yet another anomaly in the situation. The boy was at this point broadcasting his fear and confusion over his situation so strongly that someone other than Death must have sensed him. The Moon had been observing his new spirit since he'd been "reborn", and yet he was doing absolutely nothing to ease Jack's transition or assuage his fears. He hadn't even explained what he'd turned the boy into, for goodness' sake! Death and his Reapers never left a dead soul like this! Death's anger at the Moon, which had already been simmering heartily, became in genuine danger of boiling over.

Just as suddenly as it had risen, Death pushed his anger aside. Since the boy was technically not alive, and the Moon was apparently leaving things as they were, he saw no issue with taking things up where Tsar Lunar had left off.

First, though, he needed to deter any unwanted attention Frost's panic had attracted. Though still distant, Death could sense several unsavory auras approaching from every direction. Pleased to have a useful outlet for at least some of his anger, Death brought more of his aspect to the fore. The anger he was putting into it would make the expansion of his aura unpleasant and frightening to the spirits of the Moon's ilk he sensed approaching. The hunting ghouls he sensed would recognize his presence and find it downright menacing. If he could have, he would have smirked when he felt every single one of the undead come to a complete halt before bolting quickly back the way they'd come. It was rare he found it necessary to showcase his anger with such displays, but the results were always something like this; even the other three Horsemen would beat a hasty retreat and avoid him until he'd calmed down somewhat.

The other spirits took longer, not recognizing what or who they were sensing, but they got the gist of the message and began moving away within a few minutes.

The entire time he was projecting his threat, Death was extremely careful to make certain none of his threatening aspect reached Jack. He was frightened enough as it was. The poor child was approaching a full-blown panic, stumbling over his own feet as he backed toward the forest, clutching at his chest and breathing so shallowly and quickly he would have been in danger of passing out if he'd been alive. The last thing he needed was to sense a wrathful Grim Reaper.

When the last of the spirits had been turned away- Pitch Black had been stubborn as usual- Death returned his attention to Jack. Proving that Jack wasn't as invisible and intangible as he currently thought and providing some comfort was a foregone conclusion, but approaching the boy with his current appearance would most likely make things worse. All creatures, amnesia or no, knew Death. But humans (and human spirits) were thankfully easy to fool.

Reining his anger back in, Death began pushing his aspect back, caging enough of it so he would be able to assume a human form. The feeling of muscle and skin growing over bone was strange, as it always was. Death had never really made up his mind whether it was pleasant or unpleasant, but he was happy it wasn't as painful as it undoubtedly looked.

Once he felt the change was complete, he took a moment to test his limbs; flexing muscles to move was an even stranger sensation than growing said muscles. Pleased that everything seemed to be in working order, Death returned his gaze to Jack. The boy had managed to make it a few feet into the trees before collapsing at the base of a massive pine. He sat in a small nest created by the tree's roots, his staff leaning against the tree next to him, forgotten for the moment as he hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. His tremors had gotten considerably worse.

Preparing to approach the boy, Death decided to perform one last test. Though he had assumed a human form, he would still be invisible to all but the dead and the other Horsemen unless he desired otherwise. Maintaining that same level of invisibility, he moved out of the shadow of the house he'd been standing next to and walked toward the boy. He slowed as he came closer; Jack gave no indication he'd heard him approach, though the reason for that could also be his distress.

"Hello," Death said, the vibration in his throat and the movement of his jaw feeling just as foreign as the movement of his other newly formed muscles. Thought-form words were easier for him, although he sometimes enjoyed the feeling that came with having a voice-box.

Jack stiffened for the barest moment before his head snapped upward, eyes thoroughly startled as they met Death's. So he can see me. That confirms a bond to the realm of the dead.

In a bid to appear as non-threatening as possible, Death clasped his hands behind his back and smiled gently as he covertly examined the child. Jack had obviously been crying; still-wet tear tracks were visible on both sides of his face. His hands gripped opposite elbows so hard his knuckles were completely white and the rest of his body was so taut he was shaking. His eyes, blue instead of brown, stared at the figure standing before him with an unusual mingling of awe, uncertainty and such raw, innocent hope it was heartbreaking.

Death fought back a grimace, his anger at the Man in the Moon threatening to rekindle. He should not be looking at me like that. NOBODY should look at me like that.

"Can… can you see me?" Jack asked, voice shaking nearly as much as the rest of him.

"Yes," Death answered, still smiling, keeping his expression soft. Jack's eyes widened.

"You can hear me, too?" he said, hopeful now. Death's smile widened marginally, eyes closing briefly as he nodded and hummed an affirmative. When he opened them again, Jack was pushing himself up on unsteady legs. Noticing the frost sprite's slight forward lean and the movement of hands in his direction before they were withdrawn, Death obliged the child's unspoken wish and took both Jack's hands in his own, drawing him to his feet. Jack stared openmouthed at their still clasped hands once he was standing. His eyes flicked upward to Death's face for a second before darting back down to their hands.

Then Jack laughed, disbelieving at first, but the next ones were full of immeasurable relief. Death felt his smile gain a hint of authenticity when the frost sprite suddenly released his hands and danced around in several circles, sweeping up his staff and unconsciously calling down the Wind to share in his celebration. Just as suddenly as he'd started leaping about, Jack came to a halt directly in front of Death, barely a foot of space separating them. Jack craned his neck back so he could look his new companion in the face, smiling so broadly his face was split in two, eyes lit like shards of crystal clear ice in the sun. Jack only held his gaze for a few seconds before something else caught his attention and he looked down.

"What is that?" he asked, staring at the pendant hanging around Death's throat.

"An hourglass," Death answered simply.

"It's beautiful," Jack said, one hand reaching up toward the object of its owner's fascination. Stopping himself before he actually touched the thing, Jack looked up at Death again. "May I?"

Death nodded his assent, pleased he'd had the foresight to create a sphere of enchanted glass around the pendant when he'd shifted forms. Jack reached forward again, slightly hesitant. His fingertips barely brushed over the protective casing that surrounded the hourglass.

The instant he made contact, the hourglass inside the sphere glowed with blue-white light. Jack jumped backward with a tiny shout of alarm. Death, meanwhile, lifted the pendant up to eye level and held it in his palm, studying it.

The hourglass itself was still pulsing with blue light. The sand within, the color of new-fallen snow, was collected entirely within the bottom half. As Death watched, a few grains of sand floated upward as though suspended in water. They floated in single file up through the middle of the glass and back into the top half, where they proceeded to circle like leaves blowing in a gale.

"Well, that is certainly unusual," Death said, more to himself than anyone else.

"What's happening? What's it doing? Did I break it?" Jack said, staring wide-eyed at the glowing thing and unconsciously holding his staff a bit closer to his body.

Death chuckled. "No, Jack, it's only doing what it's supposed to do," he said, tucking the pendant into his robe. He would puzzle over its readings of Jack's fate later.

Jack blinked. "How do you know my name?"

Death's smile became a bit wry. "I know everyone."

Jack's brow furrowed as he pondered the strangeness of the answer. He didn't puzzle over it long, though. In less than ten seconds he was smiling right back, the tilt to his lips playful and slightly mischievous, as it had been countless times in his life before. "Well, it's not fair if I don't know who you are."

Death struggled with the sudden, absurd desire to laugh as Jack continued watching him, gaze intent but completely guileless. He has no idea what a loaded question that is. "I go by many names."

"Which one's your favorite?" Jack said, laughter in his voice as he hopped onto the crook of his staff, balancing as perfectly as a bird on a perch.

Death paused for a few seconds, observing the boy. Though he was smiling, finding fun in the potential of a new word game, his hands were constantly working, clenching and unclenching in an unconscious display of nerves. Previous ghostly happenstances considered, Death considered it most likely he was afraid of saying something that would drive away the only person who acknowledged him thus far.

He smiled at the boy again. "You can call me Ants'nel."

Jack's smile fell and he blinked, brow furrowing slightly. "That's… um…,"

Death's smile gained a hint of mirth as the frost spirit struggled to find something to say. "It's not English, if that's what you're wondering."

Jack's mouth curled upward again. "You don't say." The hint of a smile vanished as suddenly as if it had never been. Jack looked down at the ground, not noticing when he started clenching his hands again. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. "Ants'nel… do you…? Are you…?"

"Jack?" Death inquired gently when the child was silent for a minute. Jack didn't give any sign he'd heard. A few moments later he slid off his staff, holding it close with white-knuckled hands.

"Do you… know what I am? Do you know why people don't… see me?"

Death heaved a large inward sigh, fighting back another wave of anger at the Moon. "Walk with me, Jack," he said, turning away from the boy. Hearing nothing behind him, he stopped after taking three steps and looked back. The child was staring at him, eyes wide and uncertain. Death realized then that he was walking deeper into the forest and, while the shadows didn't bother him in the slightest, Jack had stuck to the moonlit parts of the woods. Scared as Jack may be, Death would prefer to speak to the boy away from prying eyes. Tsar Lunar had no knowledge of his existence, and he preferred it that way.

"We have much to discuss," Death said, voice quiet and gently urging.

Swallowing, Jack hurried over to his side and kept pace as Death walked on. Death wasn't entirely surprised when the boy pressed closer to him the deeper they went into the trees, eyes moving from side to side, grip on his staff tightening as his unease grew.

When Death gently braced him with a hand on his back he stopped abruptly. Death halted in surprise when Jack grabbed a fistful of his robes and buried his face in Death's chest. For a few moments Death could only stare down at the mess of white hair beneath his chin. He tapped into his bond with the child and was struck immediately with waves of Jack's confusion over the situation and his fear of a repeat of the Moon's abandonment. Jack's need for some sort of reassurance was almost deafening.

Having encountered similar things with the souls of young children, Death decided his next few steps. He relaxed, wrapping one arm around the trembling form pressed against him and running his other hand through snow-white hair. Jack pressed closer to him, clutching with both hands now, and Death hummed a wordless reassurance when the boy emitted a quiet sob, continuing to gently stroke the frost spirit's hair.

"Don't leave," Jack whispered. The plea was broken and barely audible.

Death was glad the boy couldn't see the wryness in the smile that crept across his face. "I'm not going anywhere."

After all, I am life's only certainty.