Esteemed Master Librarian,
In case you are unaware, I have retired from my scholarly pursuits. However, something unexpected has occurred. Please accept this first-hand account as proof that Weather Wielders exist, and I have the key to unlocking their potential.
It began last summer, when an elf knocked on my door, disturbing my mid-day tea.
Here’s a fact: Santa Claus isn’t one person. He was, once, as far as we can tell, but now, he’s five, and they go by S.A.N.T.A.
Sven, Antonio, Nielson, Tantony, and Archibald—Five, because expecting one man to do all they do in one night is ridiculous, even if he did have magic to help.
Every January, for one week, the North Pole sleeps. Elf families tuck in with enough firewood to last, the kitchen elves pass out reheatable frozen meals prepared before the break, and if an elf so desires, he doesn’t have to see another soul for seven blissful days.
This is my favorite week…
Nearby pines shiver, wind whipping through frost-encrusted needles. Wrapped in furs, I ignore the breeze. I’ve got more important things to worry about. Breath misting, I hold my bow ready.
In the distance, the arching mouth of a cave juts from the edge of a rocky, frostbitten foothill. A thick splatter of ice rims the rough-hewn edges.
“I don’t know what to do.” Margo peeked around the doorframe.
Her son lounged in his hammock, one leg dangling over the edge.
She adjusted the conch shell against her ear. “All Birch does is sit in his room and listen to fairy pop. Neither of his brothers were this—”
“Lazy,”
Ever since his first death day—the day he’d seen his parents slaughtered—Vel had possessed a fascination with mortality. As a result of what he’d witnessed, he had two options: either go absolutely bonkers from the atrocities he’d seen that day or view each death as a celebration. Infuse some humor to the occasion,
Read it now
Nova trailed after Aster, her current guardian, as he strode down a road in the light of the evening sun.
“My legs are tired,” Nova said in case Aster hadn’t heard her the first seventy times.
Her purple, four-fingered hand reached for his special Darknight cape: a magical fabric that concealed their true nature
Birds sing joyous melodies in the courtyard outside my window. A fine day for a wedding! It’s a shame our beloved king’s betrothed wants him dead.
Feet scurry through the palace hallways, and nervous voices bounce off the walls as servants rush about making preparations. If only they knew the truth.
But I know.
“I come bearing grave tidings.” Suraeldor the elf swept into the workshop, clutching a candy cane-striped telescope.
Tiggles set aside a half-built jack-in-the-box and focused on his friend. “Can I guess why? Is it because you stole the big guy’s Kringlescope?”
The tall elf handed the device to Tiggles. “Fear not—I will
Read it now
Gray studied the coarse texture of rubble under his feet. His elven ears twitched at the distant sound of buildings groaning. An acrid stench wafted in the air smelling of ash and decay.
At his side stood Amelia Slyhart, a tall human with red hair and blue eyes.
Je’hir blinked and blinked again, tears leaking out the sides of his eyes, past the tops of his ears, down the sides of his head. Sky, turquoise with wispy fluffs of pink clouds filled his vision. Directly above him, however, a wavering black dot broke the serene beauty.
“No, no, no,” he moaned, punching the ground beneath his fists and wishing the tangible evidence of his father’s treachery would just disappear.
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