Chapter 40: When Fear Falls

Grief. Loneliness. Despair. Hopelessness. Fear. Those were feelings Pitch knew well. Not because he was the Nightmare King, but because he had witnessed it and experienced it throughout his life. Long ago when he had been Kozmotis Pitchiner, Lord High General of the Galaxies, he had seen many gruesome deaths, deaths that left an empty, hollow feeling in his chest. During that time, Pitch had thought about taking his own life like so many of his men had after spending years witnessing one terrifying sight after another. But then a certain Fae would whisper tiny reminders of what he was fighting for. When his spirits were lifted he would then be reminded that death was not the end, it was not the end of life, it was merely the beginning.

But if that was the case, then why did it still hurt knowing that he would no longer get to hug his brother, to talk to him freely, to see him smile, to see him cry, to see him love? Jackson was now part of the winds, the ancient ones. It truly was an honor. No spirit or human had ever been given the gift of being in the King's service. But…

Pitch gazed at the sky, despair filling his eyes. Jackson would never be able to be seen by anyone. No one could see the winds, they were more invisible than he and the other spirits that live on the human plain. No one even knew they were living, breathing spirits. If Jackson had chosen to have gone to the Land of the Dead with Death, Pitch would have been slightly less pained. Pitch wound not have been able to visit him in Death's corner of the realm, but he knew Jackson would one day be reborn. They would have had the chance to be reunited again, even if Jackson would not remember him in his new life. Although, Pitch would have preferred his brother living on this plain with him, as a spirit, just as they'd planned. At least, this way, they would always be together. But destiny was cruel that way.

"Pitch!"

Pitch stared at the snow that continued to fall around him in some sort of detached state. Hours after his brother's presence had left, the blizzard had begun to recommence with Pitch at its mercy. Pitch should have returned to the gigantic German Palace located in the heart of the South Pole. His longtime friend would have certainly figured out by now that he had sneaked out of the palace, while he and his elves were distracted caring for Susanna, making sure she was stable as she slipped into her hibernation state. But he didn't. For the first time in a long time, Pitch wanted to die, to fade away, just like everyone wanted.

Pitch closed his eyes, vaguely feeling the shadows moving closer to his cold, numb, body in an attempt to protect and heal the wounds caused by the blizzard. The cold was making their efforts difficult. When they realized they would be unable to heal him like this, they attempted to use their wispy words. Their words were almost faint to his ears as they spoke, a sign that should have alerted him that something was wrong. "You shall not fall asleep," several said, almost worriedly. Sleep actually sounded pretty good right now.

"Return to the lair." Why? There was nothing there for him. "Darkness is your friend."

"Darkness will comfort you."

"Heal you."

Pitch shivered, not because of the coldness of the snow, but of the fear he felt, fear of those memories and fear of the truth he would be forced to face. For the first time in centuries, Pitch was afraid of his own lair. It did not feel like home, not anymore. It felt like a prison covered in acid.

"Pitch, you idiot!" The distinct sound of bells could be heard over the whooshing of the winds. Pitch opened his eyes a bit. His vision was blurry as he tried to search for the sound. The sound sounded far away, but he had a feeling it was actually close, really close. "Where are you?"

At first, Pitch thought it was the dreaded Christmas Guardian, but the voice was off. The voice didn't have that jolly tone or filled with that annoying wonder the other liked to preach about. The voice was deeper, serious even. It was familiar. Something red soon flew across his blurry vision as he gazed at the open sky, followed by a voice: "Krampus down there!"

It took Pitch several long seconds to register the second voice as they made their way over to him. When six large and bulky Yule Goats pulling a red sleigh landed several feet away from him, he silently cursed under his breath. If Pitch knew his friend as well as he liked to believe he did, then he was in for a world of hurt.

The sound of hooves caused a sudden splitting headache as the other got off the sleigh and made his way over to him. Pitch winced slightly just as Krampus came into view as the other stood over him. Krampus wasn't exactly the devil he was often described as by the humans; although, he could see why many believed he was. Krampus was a tall and bulky man with long horns that curled back on his head. He had thick reddish brown eyebrows, a unique shade of red eyes, and a long white beard and mustache that's identical to the Christmas Guardian. Krampus was currently wearing his signature red robe with white fur trimming around the hood, arm cuffs, and the bottom of the robe.

Krampus gazed down at him with a snarl, which showed his obvious displeasure and slight concern. "You are an idiot, Pitch."

"I know," Pitch replied hoarsely. Something was wrong with his voice, but he couldn't figure out why, nor could he figure out why he felt so detached.

Krampus bared his white teeth at him. "Are you trying to end up in Helheim?" It was a rhetorical question, so Pitch didn't bother answering, knowing full well that Krampus didn't have a good relationship with his mother at the moment. "You are not a winter spirit. The cold doesn't affect as it does others, but we are not immune to it." Krampus didn't yell at him, but he was pretty loud to cause another sudden headache to split across his temples.

Pitch allowed himself to groan this time and ended up closing his eyes for the fourth time that day, or was it five? However, as he did so he was met with a spinning sensation. Ugg. He didn't feel so good either.

Krampus gave a long exasperated sigh, followed by a single German curse before claw-like hands wrapped around his middle and all but lifted him over the man's broad shoulder. The sudden action caused everything to spin faster and faster, so fast to the point that Pitch had to press his hand to his mouth to prevent himself from puking.

"Puke on me and I will feed you to Uncle Jörmungandr."

Pitch grimace. "I would rather face your mother."

He scowled at that. "No, you don't. She'll rip you to shreds and keep you as her prisoner until you beg for mercy. Not even Pluto will be able to help you."

"I thought you and Hel were not on speaking terms."

"We're not." The empty tone in his voice told Pitch not to bring her up anymore just as the other placed him at the back of the sleigh where two of Krampus' elves were sitting. Unlike North's elves, Krampus' elves were about two feet and often wore loose-fitting black trousers with green or red shirts. When out in public with Krampus, they wore the signature red robes. As of right now, the two elves were wearing said robes and also had a first aid kit and blankets. As Krampus got into the front of the sleigh, instructing his goats to take them back to the palace, the two elves throw the thick blanket over his shoulders, but it did nothing to chase the chill that filled his entire being, nor did it stop the intense shivering.

As the elves tended to his various wounds, Pitch was only vaguely aware of the three conversing about his condition. "Krampus, he's burning up!"

"He…a fever?"

A full round of curses was heard as the sleigh was swayed a bit. "Pitch don't fall asleep! Pitch!"

The world soon grew dark as the Boogieman fell into a feverish sleep.

The room was dark as he awoke, gasping for air. The nightmare had been too vivid, too real. Grayish eyes traveled around the room, searching for the Fearlings that had appeared in his dream. His eyes traveled along the desk, where unfinished letters to his wife and parents rested, his small closet, his nightstand, where he kept a few of his books and journals, the doorway that led to his office, and finally his cot.

Kozmotis let out a small sigh, but he could not push the uneasiness away. Something had happened, something terrible. As the uneasiness grew in its intensely, the General got out of bed, automatically reaching for one of his twin swords. The swords glistened brightly under the green glow as they rested against the wall near his cot.

Kozmotis looked up at the door quickly as that thought sank in. The door was indeed glowing slightly. On instinct, Kozmotis walk to the door, sword ready, and slowly opened the door. No one was on the other side, only the faint glow. The strange green glow was seen on every wall and door he could see.

He frowned, puzzled. What is this?

On his own door, Kozmotis could see strange symbols forming in the strange glow as he gazed at it. He touched it a second later, realizing he could read the strange symbols.

"No evil shall pass for as long as I decree. Love always love with force the tainted darkness to flee. Nature will thrive. Life will continue on, for with love in every being Light will never fall." As he read the strange language, he found himself startled by the power radiating from it, realizing that it felt familiar. This magic was powerful, more powerful than himself, Sanderson and the other Dream Weavers, the Lunanoff, and the Pookas combined. It was almost otherworldly, ancient even, and so very familiar.

Kozmotis gazed at the strange magic under his fingertips, he felt as if he had heard these words before from an old childhood friend. He frowned as he thought about the dream. There had been a figure in his dream. The one his parents had been caring for after finding him injured in the forest. The one his parents had given Jackson to as the Fearlings attacked from somewhere beyond the forest. This being felt so familiar. Almost as if they had met at some point, not as acquaintances, but as friends.

After a few moments of silent puzzlement, his hand fell to his side and just gazed at the strong protective magic. Regardless of who this being was, this being was going to great lengths to place such a powerful spell around his ship. But what could be happening to cause this being to cast this type of old spell? And then he heard it: the screams of his men as they prepared for a bloody battle, the clashing of swords as they collided with dead flesh and whispy forms, and the distant sounds of the Fearlings.

An overwhelming fear filled Kozmotis entire being as he recalled the dream. No not a dream. A vision. Someone had been trying to warn him and if what he saw in his dream were true then his parents and his baby brother were in grave danger.

The overwhelming fear was soon replaced with rage as he snatched his armor and other sword and ran down the hall and towards the deck above. There wasn't a spot where the protective magical glow wasn't touching. It stretched down every hall, every corner of the ship, and even down to the low levels of the ship. As he got closer to the desk, the glow got brighter and brighter until it was almost a protective bubble around the entire ship. When he got above ground, the fear for his family and crew returned upon seeing millions of Fearlings covering the village in a blanket of darkness.

The Fearlings screamed and roared as the green bubble surrounding the ship burn them upon touching it. They could not get through. This only seemed to anger them as thousands, millions of them came charging at the massive galleon ship, in hopes of breaking the protective barrier surrounding them.

"General Pitchiner!" Kozmotis turned his gaze towards his men. Many of them were wearing their night clothes, while the rest of them had hastily put on their armor upon hearing the Fearlings approach. Many of his men were on the edges of the ship, slices and cutting every Fearlings that got within their reach or blasting them with their muskets or cannons. In the middle of the main deck, where the rest of his men who were in charge of getting the sails ready, raising the anchor, and wiping the deck, was a small oval green stone encased in a box made of ice.

Kozmotis briskly walked over to them, while keeping a watchful eye on the Fearlings. The dark creatures hissed at him as they attempted to rip him to shreds with their sharp bloodstained claws, but the protective barriers got in their way. No one dared touch the ice, for fear it could make the barrier protecting them disappear. But as he got closer, he realized he had seen this stone before, but he couldn't figure out where.

"General, thank god, we were afraid the Fearlings may have gotten to you." Kozmotis gazed at the red-eyed teenage boy, puzzled. Jacob was one of the newest members of his crew, having been abandoned by his parents at the age of eight. The boy had been the small village's thief and had only gotten caught when he attempted to steal from him. Instead of punishing the boy, like the rest of the upperclassman and women, would have done, Kozmotis took the boy in as part of his crew. The boy had changed his ways for the better and had looked up to him as a father and mentor ever since.

"Why you say that Jacob? The Fearlings can't get through the protective barrier," he pointed out.

"Your quarters were blocked off by the strange glow, General. No one could get close. We feared the worst," Fergus Bishop said, his brass spyglass telescope held firmly in his hand. Fergus was a tall man of six feet five inches. He had long red untamed hair tied into a braid and a scruffy appearance. Normally, Fergus was laidback, even when they fought the Fearlings throughout other worlds and across space. However, a firm frown was on his features and a hint of despair was in his eyes.

"How bad is it?" Kozmotis already knew the answer, but he still had to ask.

"The Fearlings have already covered the entire village," Fergus said gravely. "I had sent a team out earlier, but they couldn't find any survivors. There's nothing but blood and corpses everywhere." Kozmotis gazed out into the horizon, a sickening feeling developing in his chest as he taught about his parents and his little baby brother. Where they dead too? Had they been devoured by the Fearlings as well? He couldn't stomach the thought of losing his family like this. He was hopeful that they were well and alive, his parents were more than capable of protecting themselves and Jackson from the Fearlings. But his heart ached as the dream replayed in his mind. What if they are dead...?

"General, there's something you need to see." Kozmotis forced himself out of his dark thoughts and returned his attention to his right-hand man.

"Other than the Fearlings?"

Fergus nodded as he directed him towards the poop deck. "I believe the being that is protecting us is still on this planet."

This caught his attention. "Really?" He nodded as they reached the poop deck, where Edgar Arias, the helmsman, was glaring at the Fearlings with his single brown eye. Edgar was an older man in his early eighties, who had battled thousands of monsters and villains in his day. It was an honor to have him as part of his crew.

"This strange barrier is keeping them away from the sails, the generator, and the back of the ship. It seems they don't want us interfering."

Over my dead body, Kozmotis thought darkly as Fergus handed him the spyglass.

"Look in that direction. There a strange light up ahead." Fergus pointed towards the forest just beyond the village, where a strange light, similar to the one surrounding his ship, resided. Kozmotis did as he was told and gasped. Fearlings, all different types of them, were going in the direction of the forest, where Kozmotis knew a small cottage of his childhood resided and where the light was coming from. Kozmotis lowered the spyglass as he continued to gaze at the Fearlings that were going into the forest.

They were merely a distraction. Their true goal was the beings hiding within the forest, the one his parents were helping.

"General? What's wrong?" Fergus asked, trying to make out what he saw. "My parent's cottage is there."

"Shit. We were just the distraction," Edgar swore under his breath before yelling out, "Raise the anchor!"

Kozmotis closed his eyes for a brief moment. Mother. Father. Jackson. Hang on, please. When he opened his eyes a newfound determination filled them. There was soon a flurry of motion as the crew prepared the ship just as Kozmotis barked out commands to his crew. There was still time. He could still save them. He just had to hurry.

When she was a little girl, she had always dreamed of wanting a younger brother or sister, growing into her powers, and one day aiding her brave father in battle against the Fearlings and Nightmare Pirates. It had been a childish dream to think that things would be all peaches and rainbows the day her father had brought Jackson home, unharmed. Unlike this plant's humans, her kind could grow up to be almost five hundred years old without looking a day over twenty. Her father's parents weren't exactly old. They had him when they were young, way before they got married. When she was born, her grandparents seemed to be in their thirties, physically. It was no surprise that they eventually had a second child, but it was so sad they had never gotten the chance to meet him or to watch him grow.

Her father had been stationed near his parent's village to gather supplies and rest for the night. Claira and Eugine Pitchiner had been very successful leaders and advance magic users. It wasn't uncommon for news to travel fast during this time, especially when it came to the leaders giving birth to a second son. When Emily Jane and her parents learned of her grandparents giving birth to their second child, her father had decided to visit his parents and see his baby brother before continuing on to his next destination the following day.

No one had expected the Fearlings to invade overnight and so suddenly. The Fearlings came in from the shadows, killing off people in the dead of night. Their screams were silent as the villagers were killed one by one. Why her father and his crew hadn't been killed that night? She wasn't sure, but she knew he had a guardian angel or should she say Fae? When her father searched his ship that day, The Lady, he found an odd enchanted green stone with an odd symbol engraved on it, resting on the main deck of his ship. He swore to her he had never seen the stone before. Her father had always been a horrible liar.

Her fingers gently touched the smooth stone that rested within the mesh-like pouch around her neck. The stories of the Faes were mixed among her people. Some thought the leader of the Faes was a woman with long flowing blond or brown hair, green eyes, thin figure, and wore a beautiful long gown, while others thought it was a male. The history of the Faes was so all over the place and vague that it had to be a story made up by someone just to get attention or their moment of fame. Emily Jane assumed that was on purpose. This was why her father never believed in the stories his parents told him as a child. He had not believed in the Faes until he met the King on that fateful day.

The sound of her little comrade tweeting, obviously wondering why they had stopped moving, caused her to turn her attention to her. "He's close by." Mother Nature gazed at the small Tooth Fairy on her shoulder, who was now gazing at the forest curiously. They were currently somewhere within the Amazon Forest. She gazed at the trees hoping their guides would come soon; she had to speak to him. The old trees had guided her to this spot, somewhere within Amapa, Brazil, informing her that she must remain here until their guides arrived. She did not push in regards to the King's exact location. The trees nor the animals nor Gaea (or Gaia as some Human's refer to her as) would tell her no matter how much she begged and asked.

The Faes preferred to work out of the public eye of both Spirits and Humans, especially the King. Emily Jane didn't feel an ounce of annoyance towards those who were keeping the King's location a secret. Just as the animals and tree saw her as their nurturer, they saw the King as their creator.

Mother Nature gently traced the small green stone that rested innocently between her breasts, hoping the King would be able to help them. They had spent the last several hours searching for one of the many tunnels that led to one of the many liars her father owned. Unfortunately, every lair she went to was either caved in or closed. The only one that was open was the one near the lake in Burgess. Getting into the underground tunnels was not the problem, it was navigating the massive maze of caverns and passageways without any help from her father or one of his Nightmares. Emily Jane and the small Tooth Fairy had spent several hours in the underground tunnels until they finally found one that led outside. Emily Jane knew her father must have sensed her presences in one of his lairs, but instead of directing her to him, wherever he was, he led them back to the entrance of the lake. Frustrated that her own father refused to see or talk to her, Emily Jane had come to the decision that she had to seek out the one person that would know how to find her father: the King of the Faes.

Emily Jane knew finding the King would be difficult, he didn't spend time on one planet for very long as he had millions of other planets to attend to. Today, however, it was as if he was expecting them, guiding them to him. She wasn't all that surprised. The King was very knowledgeable, more so than Odin, himself, and Father Time, and just knew when she was in desperate need of advice.

The last time she had been this desperate was when she first arrived on this planet when she was still young, still mourning the loss of her father, her mother, and the rest of her people. She had stumbled upon the King, his guards, and some other Faes as they gave life to various plants and animals to thrive within the continuous cold planet. All the Faes, but the King, had been startled by her sudden appearance. At the time, no one but Old Man Winter lived on the planet, who tended to control the weather from his castle somewhere in what was now called the South Pole. The King, much to her surprise and immense relief, helped her, guided her until she understood how to survive on this plant on her own. She wouldn't be the women she was now if it hadn't been for his wisdom and guidance. In a way, she saw him as a second father.

There was another twitter again, only this time it was out of shock, surprise. Emily Jane blinked, confused, before realizing that the stone was glowing. Her eyes widened, remembering her father talking about the strange stone protecting him and his men long ago with its magical glow. It was not long before the glow engulfed them, revealing a single memory, one her father had left out.

"Mother! Father!" Mother Father and the little Tooth Fairy found themselves floating within a destroyed living room. Furniture was shredded and mangled. Blood, guts, ad some type of black substance covered the walls. And the smell of the death covered the room, causing the two viewers to fall to their knees in horror as their stomachs turned from what they were seeing.

Emily Jane covered her mouth as her father rushed into the room, his swords in his hands as he killed the Fearlings that surround the small cottage. Kozmotis continued to call out his parents' names as he made his way to the middle of the room, where an injured man, holding a small baby within a small energy force field resided. Upon closer inspection, Mother Nature noticed how regal the man looked. He had colorful wings on his back, violet eyes, and purplish-bluish hair. He was wearing some type of regal looking white outfit and a crown made out of golden leaves was seen on his head. He had a powerful aura, a powerful presence, one that opposed the Fearlings. He was a man of great power, a being that was older than the stars despite his youthful, gentle appearance. This man was the creator, the King of the Faes.

Outside the ball of energy was her father's parents as they fought to protect themselves, their child, and the injured Fae, they had been nursing back to health. The two viewers could only watch as the Fae told them to return within the force field, that what they were doing was suicide, but they would not listen. They continued to fight the Fearlings even as their eldest came rushing in, trying to get to them, but it had been too late.

"Kozmotis, protect your brother." Tears fell down her cheeks as Emily Jane watched the Fearlings devour her grandmother.

"No, mother! Father!"

"Goodbye, son!" And then her grandfather was gone, the only thing left was their wedding rings as they hit the cold bloody floor.

Mother Nature gasped as the vision faded with her and her comrade gasping for air as tears fell down their cheeks. Emily Jane gazed at the stone with a mixture of emotions. What had they just witnessed? Why now after all this time?

"Emily Jane Pitchiner. Tooth Fairy. Come sit with me." The two looked up, noticing they were not standing outside the Amazon Forest anymore but within a beautiful meadow. The meadow was separated by a river of some kind, which separated the island they were on from the rest of the forest. In the middle of the meadow was a man. Appearance wise, he looked to be in his mid-twenties, but he was far older than that. The man had fair skin, gentle violet eyes, and wavy shoulder-length hair that were several shades of purple and blue. The man had a lean figure that often made others misjudged his strength, but for as long as she had known the King, he was a formidable fighter and protector of his people and of all living things throughout the various universes and worlds out there. The man was currently wearing a white sleeveless tunic and pants, golden flakes embroidered the edges of his clothing and several symbols decorated the sash on his waist. On his head was a golden leaf crown and protruding his back were a pair of butterfly-shaped wings. The wings were stunning and unique. The wings were transparent, yet colorful with every color one could imagine.

Not far from the Fae were his two loyal guards: Geraldine and Baldemar. Geraldine was a fairly tall woman that looked to be in her early thirties, while Baldemar seemed to be in his early twenties and about an inch or two shorter than Geraldine. Geraldine had very dark magenta hair that rested just above her shoulders and rose-colored eyes; Baldemar had wild brown hair with a strand that refused to stay out of his eyes and the strangest amber colored eyes she had ever seen. The two Faes' wore armor made from some type of lightweight metal that was not seen on this planet. On their skin rested a symbol, which represented what type of Fae they were. The symbol of a mountain and a moon rested on both of Baldemar's arms, while a flame and three swirls rested on Geraldine's shoulders.

Despite meeting the two a couple of time over the decades, Emily Jane couldn't say she knew them very well. All she knew was that Geraldine was the former leader of the Sister of Flames and Baldemar was a blacksmith before becoming King Kendrick's personal guards. The Faes were very secretive as she had come to learn. The only one that she felt she knew best was the King himself, but then again, he could only be revealing what he wanted her to know.

Mother Nature glanced at the two Faes, noticing that they were smiling at her and waving before returning their attention to their post. Mother Nature had to take a moment to regain her composure before she and the little Tooth Fairy made their way to the King. The Fae was currently weaving his magic into the ground, giving birth to new plants this world had yet to see. It was a technique Mother Nature had learned from the Fae long ago and still used it today. The three of them sat in peaceful silence as the King created. It was not long before the King offered them a fruit when he was finished with his latest creation.

"You seem disturbed, Emily Jane. What's the matter?"

Mother Nature gazed into the Fae's warm, kind eyes, hoping he would be able to help her. If he couldn't help in finding her father, then maybe he could help Jackson. "I need your help."

To say that Krampus was livid with a certain Boogieman was a complete and utter understatement. If Pitch wasn't in a fever-induced coma, he would have been strangling the other by now. But no, he just had the spend who knows how long outside in a blizzard. The idiot!

Krampus took a bite out of his fruit salad as he glared at said spirit. "You truly are an idiot, Kozmotis. Why did you not come to me sooner? Don't you realize what would happen if you die?"

For centuries he had been watching the former General from afar. For centuries he had been helping the other as the Guardians raged war against him. Pitch had always come to him for aid when he needed help in the past. So why hadn't he when the boy died?

Krampus spooned another helping of fruits and stuffed it into his mouth, his mind swirling between strangling or yelling at the other when he awoke. When the alternate just didn't seem cruel enough, he gave up, for now. He couldn't do anything until the other woke up. If he woke up. Krampus shook the thought away. The alternative was not a good outcome. Rather Pitch knew it or not, he was the reason the cruelest, the most merciless of evil entities were kept at bay. They feared him and as long as he walked the world, sending his Nightmares out, they stayed put and did not dare cross his path. But if Pitch stays like this for more than a few months, the balance would certainly tip for the worse.

Krampus with a worried gazed reached for the cloth on Pitch's forehead and dipped it into a bowl of water before placing it back on his forehead. His fever was still high and had not shown any sign of going down any time soon. With an annoyed sigh, Krampus leaned back in his chair and just studied the Man of Fear with a small frown. The shadows were moving ever so often to inspect the wounds they treated several hours ago. Krampus knew about the Fearlings, or what was left of them to be more precise. They were a part of Pitch now, meaning it was their sole duty to protect and heal him and to do his bidding. So why didn't they take him back to the lair? There were at least four, maybe five of them. He could have easily gone to one of them to escape the blizzard and heal.

Unless…

Krampus' red orbs softened. "The death of your brother really broke a part of you, didn't it?" Krampus didn't have any siblings, but he did have a very close relationship with Nicholas at one point. They had been so close, in fact, that they had considered each other brothers.

Krampus leaned back in his chair, his food, forgotten, as he remembered his old friend. Long ago, way before Nicholas had taken the oath to be a Guardian, the two of them had traveled to each and every village together, gifting the children gifts or coal and birch branches. Krampus wasn't sure how the legend started, but many children believed if they were bad, he would beat them with birch branches in front of their families or he would take them to his workshop in the South Pole to torture or eat them. Krampus grimaced at that. He wasn't sure how that legend started, considering he was a vegan, but it kept the children in line. He guessed. But that didn't explain why Nicholas had acted as if he had hurt him, had lied to him, had betrayed him in some way or form? Why had he called him a monster? A killer?

The Pooka.

Yes, it was only after Nicholas introduced him to the Pooka did things spiral so out of control. There was something about the other that had just rubbed him the wrong. This Guardian of Hope, upon their very first meeting, had gazed at him with loathing, distrust, and something else.

Krampus stood up then, the chair squeaking slightly when his weight was removed from it. Krampus didn't want to remember the way Nicholas had looked at him, had treated him. In all honesty, he should feed the man to one of his uncles for the way he threw their friendship away like it was nothing. But he didn't. That was not who Krampus was. He may be the Shadow of Saint Nicholas, the Christmas Demon, but he was no murderer.

The demigod gently placed a hand on his friend's arm and gave him a small squeeze. "Everything will be alright. Young Jackson is in a better place now, you'll see."

Krampus then left the room, leaving the door slightly open in case the woke up. "Here, you can finish this." He handed the bowl to his elf, Ketkrokur, who had been silently guarding the door for the past hour. "Keep an eye on him and let me know when his condition changes."

"Of course, Krampus," Ketkrokur said with a small nod before entering the room to occupy the chair he had been sitting on earlier. Krampus gazed at the closed door for several seconds before walking down the hall. The hall was dark with only a few torches to light the silent hallway. He walked aimlessly down the hall for what felt like hours before he came to a stop in front of his workshop. Krampus and his elves had been very busy creating toys for the children, while Nicholas had been neglecting his duties. He didn't have the amount of help that Nicholas had, but he and his twelves elves managed to create enough toys of all the good children Nicholas did not get to and mined enough coal for all the bad children.

Silently Krampus entered the workshop and made his way to a flight of stairs that would take him to the balcony above, where his office was located. Confetti and streamers littered the floors from the elves month-long Christmas celebration. Krampus smiled as he opened his door. They all worked hard. They deserved the must need rest and celebration. But once February came, it was back to the mines, toy designs, and spying on the children of the world.

"What a day." Krampus sat heavily in his chair, exhausted from the day's events. Unlike his elves, Krampus had been busy working on new toys for the children and keeping an eye on the war. But with Pitch's sudden appearance at his workshop, he knew something bad had happened. He had not been in the right state of mind when he asked Pitch what had happened. All he would say was that Jackson was dead and that he was going to lose her too. That hadn't really helped, so when the Snow Queen was stable and when Pitch disappeared, Krampus had looked into his snow globe to see what really had happened. It had not been pretty.

Krampus gently touched the delicate snow globe on his desk. The clear snow globe was decorated with swirls of red and gold and on the inside was a miniature version of the Russian Palace. Krampus moved his hand in front of the clear orb and watched as the snow moved, creating a viewing portal. Within minutes, Krampus could see that Nicholas was currently in his office. He was slumped over his desk, his eyes gazing blankly at a photograph of the two of them when they were younger. Krampus frowned seeing his old friend looking so drained, guilty, defeated. This was not the Nicholas St. North he knew. He didn't know the person he was now and he did not like it.

"I'm so sorry," Nicholas said. To whom he was apologizing for was debated, but Krampus could not keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"What have you done, Nicholas? What have you done?"

The sun slowly rose from behind the mountains that littered the landscape, painting the sky in an array of colors of pink, orange, blue, purple, and red. In the distance, the rays of suns gently touched the ice sickles that some of the other Sprites were placing around the trees. Many of the animals looked up at the glistening light it produced. The sight was truly beautiful and Jack found himself proud to be a part of it. It was beautiful in its presentation and breathtaking as the natural beauty of day broke in, reminding everyone of what new wonders awaits them.

This was how Jack spent his morning, gazing at the sky just before the sun made its way over the horizon, forcing the moon to return to its natural slumber as night brought forth dawn. But Jack knew the moon was there, hiding in plain sight, simply waiting for it's time to shine when day returned to night. But when the moon shines above the castle in the sky, Jack felt an odd emptiness in his chest. Someone was missing. Someone who loved the night sky just as he did. But who that person was, Jack could not say. He was one of the many mysteries that plagued his mind, almost like a nightmare wanting to take form.

But at this very moment, Jack found himself not thinking about the strange man in his dreams or the girl that calls out for him to follow or the disappointing looking ice sickle he had made. Right now Jack was entranced by the story of how Sprites were created, what they did, and more importantly how these three new Sprites had come into being.

"Wow. That amazing." Jack shifted from his spot on a snow-covered branch to gaze at the Winter Sprite. Every Winter Sprite, as Jack had come to learn, had their own unique job that contributed to the success of Winter and the continuing balance of the four seasons. There were Sprites that were in charge of creating sleet and frost. There were some in charge of crafting snowflakes and ice sickles. There were Sprites that were in charging of guiding the snow down to the ground and guiding the clouds to the right position. There were even Sprites that aided the various animals both in hibernation and those roaming the plant through the cold season. But the most important job of the Sprites was aiding the Head Seasonal in spreading winter.

Jack was grateful he would not be doing this alone, but it was also daunting knowing that he would have to learn all of this and so much more. The season hadn't had a seasonal in centuries, resulting in harsh and unpredictable snowstorms and blizzards. The sad part was that blizzards, gentle snow storms, and even dusting of snow that were supposed to be so beautiful and graceful were being feared, even by the spirits and animals that were meant to create and love them.

Jack turned his gaze to the object in this hand as his mind drifted away from the three happy Sprites. A small ice sickle that was barely formed, cracked, splinted in certain areas, and close to falling apart was held innocently in his hands. As he gazed at it, he realized that there was so little time for him to learn everything by the time the next Winter Solace came around. By the next Solace, Jack would need to have somewhat mastery over his powers. He would need to understand his position as a Head Seasonal, what he should and should not do, and how to work effectively with the Sprites and other Elemental Spirits within his own season and those from others.

Am I really expected to learn of all this within one year? That was truly an unnerving thought. Jack wasn't against responsibility, but knowing that the whole season was on his shoulders and everyone in it was unnerving. Thankfully, his personal teacher's voice cut through the never-ending fog of thoughts after several minutes of silence, diverting his attention, thankfully, to the present.

"Yes indeed, " Whittaker said with a fond smile as he gazed at the three Sprites happily playing an odd form of snow tag with Night and the North Wind. The three Winter Sprites were about the size of his foot, as transparent as the ice they were born from, featureless, and female. Jack gazed at the small Sprites with newfound amazement as Whittaker returned to the lecture of his kind.

"You see, Master Frost, unlike Spirits, who are originally born as humans or as animals before choosing to live on the human plain as spirits. We, Sprites, are born from the magic of our Head Seasonal." Whittaker's azure colored eyes met his. Jack took a sudden intake of breath as he felt an intense power washing over him. It was as if he was being surrounded by a blanket of snow as his winter magic merged with Whittaker's and, at that moment, Jack could hear a familiar voice speaking an odd language in his head and surprisingly he could understand it. "They were born from your magic. The moment you became a Spirit, they were born," Whittaker's voice echoed in his head.

Whittaker smiled at him as the intense power that allowed Jack to feel and hear the Sprite disappear. "They are connected to you, just like the rest of us. In time you will be able to communicate without words, without your voice." He squared his shoulder, relaxing his muscles as magic swirled in his palm, completely dissolving the ice sickles they had been making into formless water. "Until that day comes, we will speak your language." With that said, the two of them went back into their lesson. They crafted ice sickles well into the mid-morning, while Night, the North Wind, and three Sprites went from playing snow tag to snow castle building to making snow angels.

As the hours passed by Jack found himself growing curious. "Will they always be like this?" Whittaker's blue eyes glanced up, allowing Jack to study him further. The Winter Sprite, unlike himself, was about the size of a small child, with azure-colored eyes and short messy white hair. He was slightly on the chubby side, yet somehow very muscular. His dress suit was a variety of shades of blue and white that sparked little snowflakes or ice sickles when they hit the light.

"No," he said, reaching out his palm to inspect his ice sickle. Jack gave the other his creation, slightly pleased that it was a lot better then it was before. "They will get their final forms when you are ready." Whittaker nodded in approval. "Very good, but there's too much weight on this side. Apply a little more ice to the right side to prevent it from cracking on this side."

"What you mean when I'm ready?" Jack took his ice sickle back, his feature reflecting his puzzlement.

"Master Frost, remember, Sprites are born from the magic of our Head Seasonal." Jack nodded. "Meaning only you can give us our final shape. Our final features. Only you have the power to create new Winter Sprites, as well as destroy as."

"Destroy?" An unsettling feeling filled the pit of his stomach as Whittaker gazed at him with a sad smile. The smile did not stop the cold chill that filled his soul.

"Yes, destroy," he said his face tight around the eyes as he stared grimly at his Seasonal. "Unlike Spirits, who are reborn upon dying in this plain. We, Sprites, return to the snow and ice that we were made from as a result of having our magical cores taken away from us by our Head Seasonal." He paused, a sign that he was debating if he should wisely keep his mouth shut or tell the new Winter Seasonal the grim truth. "It has happened before," he admitted. "Master Winters has done it many times when he was unpleased by our work. He would simply make new Sprites to replace the ones he destroyed." It shouldn't be possible for Jack to get paler than he was. But as the Sprite told him the grim truth, Jack literally felt what little pigment he had on his face drain completely. His distress was so severe as he shook his head slowly at first before pure anger trailed in that Night stopped what she was doing comfort him.

"Why?" That was all Jack could say without screaming. It was a shame the other was gone, Jack desperately wanted to give the other a few words about respect and then he would throw a snowball or two in the other's face for good measure. "Why would he do something so cruel?" Night hovered next to him and nuzzled him over so slightly. The anger slowly faded, turning into heart-wrenching sadness, but not fast enough to dull the anger in his voice and expression.

"It is simply how things are, Master Frost. The old must be removed for the new." Jack shook his head again. As much as he wanted to argue, he knew there was no point. The Sprites had dealt with this abuse for who knows how long when the old geezer was alive.

"It still isn't right," he stated flatly, his voice boarding anger, hatred, and sadness all at the same time.

"What happened when he faded?" Night ask, which he had to translate since only he could understand her.

"When Master Winters began to fade, it was very painful. Our cores were literally being torn apart from within as his magic disappeared from existence. Those who were not strong enough to hold a strong will, returned to Gaea or Gaia, whichever you prefer to call her as."

Jack frowned, unhappy how badly the Sprites had been affected by this elder spirit. Desperately wanting to change the subject, Jack decided to ask about the other Head Sprites. Due to it currently being winter, the sprites were guiding winter the best they could without their Seasonal. As of currently, Jack had only met two.

"Whittaker, who are the other Head Sprites? I know you're one and I met Alba the other day briefly when she returned to the castle to gather some of the Sprites to aid her, but I'm curious about the others."

"You'll meet them soon enough, once the height of the season is over, but it doesn't hurt to tell you about them," Whittaker said as he placed his ice sickle down. "There are five of as in total: Wren, Frostine, Alba, Yas, and myself. I am the Head Sprite of Ice Sickles. It is my job to craft the ice sickles we delicately place on houses and trees as well as teaching any new Sprites or Winter Spirits of our ways. Wren is the Head Sprite of Snow Direction."

"Snow direction? Doesn't snow fall on its own?"

"Yes it does, Master Frost. But without knowing how to redirect snow, it can dangerously bury houses or entire villages in ten feet of snow, or worse, covering part of the planet in nothing but snow and ice. I can't afford to have another ice age. The last one was just too great."

"That would be bad," Jack commented, allowing the other to continue.

"Next is Frostine. She's the Head Sprite of Frost and Sleet. You seem to have somewhat mastery of frost, but she will make sure to teach you some of the advanced skills you need to know. Alba, as you know, is the Head Sprite of Snowflakes and Yas is the Head Sprite of Cloud Formation. "

Jack lifted up his ice sickle, inspecting it as he realized he had a long way to go. "Ice sickles, snow, frost, sleet, snowflakes, and clouds," Jack started slowly as he tried to wrap his mind around everything he had to learn before the next solstice. "That a lot to learn before next year," Jack finally admitted with a sigh. Truth be told. He was pretty nervous right now. What if he made a complete fool out of himself in front of Winter. Had the wintery season ever rejected it's Head Seasonal before?

"Master Frost, no one expects you to master everything in a year." Whittaker had a kind smile as he spoke, one that was wise beyond this ageless appearance. "Being the Head Seasonal is a very important job, as well as the most difficult. You are required to know all aspects of our wintery duties and be able to perform them when something goes wrong. But no one expects you to master everything in a year." He shook his head. "It had taken Master Winter about fifty years to master his abilities and Mother Nature a tad longer than that, even with her limited abilities of the seasons."

Whittaker paused, allowing him to take that information in. "So, what am I supposed to know by next year?" The Winter Sprite had mentioned this a couple of time throughout the week, but Jack just wanted to be sure.

"Well, the basics mostly," he said. "You don't have to master your abilities right away; mastery comes with time and practice. But you need to know the basics of forming ice sickles, frost, sleet and snowflakes and guiding the clouds and snow with the North Wind. These small skills will help you when you have to help create and control any blizzards Mother Nature and Winter will require of you. Although," he added with an encouraging smile, "you are picking up far quicker then Master Winters when he was your age."

Jack nodded slowly in understanding and with slight pride as he returned his gaze to the sky. The sun was now fully in the sky as it neared lunchtime. But that didn't make it beauty any less pronounced. No, it just made it better as the various animals took to the sky as carefree and happy as he was. Blue eyes trailed over the landscape, noticing the little details the other Sprites had done to bring the beauty of Winter to life. One day he would be the one, out in the world, guiding the clouds to create the perfect snow day, creating frost and sleet that was both elegant and precise in its message to the Humans of an upcoming storm or blizzard. And one day, he would be the one to bring joy to the world with his snowflakes and snowballs. A swell of excitement filled him at that thought.

As the Winter Seasonal, it was his job to craft the snowflakes that were unique, special, and beautiful. Old Man Winter, as the Sprites had informed him, had once crafted every snowflake, but as his heart turned cold and his view of the world became bleak, he poured less time into them and instead left that job to the Sprites, who could only create snowflakes that were simple, basic. Their snowflakes were beautiful, but they didn't hold the magical joy of Winter.

The corners of his lips lifted up into a bright smile as the North Wind gently played with his hair. He laughed as she swirled around him, whispering words of fun time and snow time into his ears, words only he, the Sprites, Mother Nature, and the other Seasonals could hear. Jack was more than happy to play with her, their coordination was a lot better now than it was a week and a half ago.

"Come, Child," North Wind said in excitement. "Mother Nature has returned!"

"Really?" Jack asked as he stood up.

"Yes! And she brought the King! Come! Come!" Without even being told, or even looking at Whittaker to get confirmation that Mother Nature had indeed returned after being gone for so long, Jack jumped off the tree branch he had been sitting on and flew into the air. Jack did not ride Night as he usually did. He fluttered like a snowflake all on his own. It was an exhilarating experience, one he would proudly do over and over again for the rest of his life.

"Come on, Night!" Jack flew high in the air, his staff in one hand and his loyal friend at his side. The two of them squealed in joy and happiness as they flew above the trees and towards the castle in the distance.