AND SO THE ELVES GATHERED ONCE MORE – DRIVEN BY A SINGLE PURPOSE: to find the next Santa Claus.
The ancient prophecy provided only a glimmer of hope:
‘’When a Santa is taken, another shall rise. He shall be found under a star - a man of unmatched strength and a pure heart, who had just committed his final act of selflessness.”
So they geared up – whether they were factory elves, home or military elves, they all teamed up to find their next boss.
To say they searched everywhere would be a true understatement.
They searched the skies, the earth, even the planets for a sign - used every tool at their disposal - star charts, enchanted telescopes, weather trackers, ancient sensors, experimental machines … anything that might catch a flicker that did not belong, or a sound that suggested the impossible.
Indeed, the elves used all means necessary to locate when a shooting star pierced the atmosphere. Even in the snowiest and foggiest of days.
No sleep, no hot cocoa, no marshmallows or candy. Just searching and searching – and maybe, some coffee.
Even during the darkest or stormiest nights, they climbed towers, sacred ruins, and mountains, that stood at the edges of Christmastown, and peered through special binoculars fogged by breath and panic. And they waited.
They waited for a shooting star – a sign.
And whether they would hear it, see it, or feel it, the elves had no idea.
They simply stayed awake, they stayed vigilant, as some absolutely refused to blink.
They also searched in every corner of the world for that sign, even went as far as calling up their fellow mythical creatures – Easter bunnies and pumpkins, sphinxes and rock trolls, mermaids and genies, centaurs, and witches from every corner of the globe – keeping them all on the line, just in case someone, somewhere witnessed something … unusual.
Those with the power of divination could offer some little comfort, such as the witches and genies. They said only this: it was coming. And soon.
How soon?
It was hard to tell.
For the elves, soon could be in a few hours, tomorrow, or in a few years. Time bent differently around creatures like them, as most of them were hundreds of years old. Besides, they lived in a place where they only saw the sun every six months.
So who knew what soon was?
Nevertheless, without a single warning …
In the middle of a blinding blizzard, the kind that made everything feel more and more impossible … one that had no business raging in the month of March, even by Christmastown standards …
Something happened.
By a sudden merciless twist of fate …
Soon finally arrived.
And it came across the sky – and with a sudden:
Swish …
Crackle …
Swissssssssh …
What tore across the sky was an enchanted shooting star – red, white, and blue. Shimmering with glitter and an otherworldly kind of magic – so fast, so fleeting, it would have gone entirely unnoticed by the naked eye of an ordinary being.
But the Head Elf saw it with his own eyes – and screamed.
Not politely, not quietly, but with the full, unrestrained terror and awe of an elf who knew Christmas might be saved at last.
The other elves jumped to their feet as they watched him, alarmed.
His little finger trembled as he pointed at the sky, gasping for air, not even knowing how to say it:
‘’It–it–he,’’ he breathed in, breathed out loudly, ‘’It’s–he’s-‘’
‘’What? What are you on about?’’ the Deputy Head Elf asked at once, worried for his friend.
After one deep pant, the Head Elf shouted:
‘’IT'S HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE!’’
And then … silence.
For a faint, fragile moment … Christmastown held its breath.
All the elves of the North Pole stopped on their tracks – mid coffee sip, mid-sentence.
A few froze in shock, and a few froze simply because they had been standing outside for far too long.
Some gathered around the Head Elf.
In his hands rested a super-telescope embedded with a magical hearing machine – a device built to detect the impossible: enchanted frequencies, extraordinary disturbances, etc. Sounds the ordinary world could never produce.
And through its lens, he saw it.
‘’The shooting star!’’ the Head Elf cried again, ‘’It’s here! I saw it! I saw it! I saw it!’’
The elves pressed in around him, shoulder to shoulder, crowding close …
And that was when, a heartbeat later, the device began to hum.
All by itself.
‘’Could it be …?’’ the elves whispered.
‘’The man of unmatched strength and a heart of selflessness?’’ the other elves murmured.
The hum deepened, changed, turning into a low, unsettling rumble.
And out of the blue, that unsettling rumble turned into …
Voices.
Two voices.
And they were speaking!
"I’ve got to put her in the water!’’ The first stranger’s voice said. It was a man’s voice.
Then a second stranger - a woman’s voice followed – shaky:
‘’But you said you couldn’t steer it.’’
The machine flickered as it listened, as everyone listened in, struggling to make sense of voices that did not belong to this world.
Names were beyond it, so it settled for the simplest solution.
There was a man’s voice, and it was called: STRANGER 1. And a woman’s voice called: STRANGER 2.
STRANGER 1 – as the machine managed to decipher it, said through the static:
"I can’t. But I think I can crash it."
Shortly, a sudden crackle burst through the device – the sound of a cable being torn free, perhaps. It wasn’t clear.
Crash what? All the elves wondered.
Shortly, STRANGER 2 – replied at once, her voice pleading:
‘’Don’t do this. We’ve got time. We can figure this out.’’
A pause followed, as heavy breathing filled the device.
Then, the elves heard the faint rustle of paper, like someone unfolding a map that would never be used.
Beneath it, a new sound emerged. Not a sound out of the ordinary – but merely mechanical: metal straining, engines roaring, something vast and human cutting through the northern winds.
The elves exchanged looks, filled with a strange, dawning curiosity.
Shortly, the voices and the static returned:
STRANGER 1 – calm and resolute:
‘’I already did. Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer … a lot of people are going to get hurt.’’
This time, the elves exchanged uneasy, wordless glances.
They just held their breaths.
STRANGER 1:
‘’This is my choice …’’
He said it, his voice trembling with sadness.
A long silence followed. It was as if the two people on the same line, were not in the same place – yet, from miles away, they understood each other without words. Even in the unseen, it felt as if they exchanged quiet glances.
And this time, everything sounded like a final glance.
At that very moment, the shooting star reappeared in the sky, shuddered underneath the clouds – and deflected. Its trail splintered across the sky.
Their enchanted instruments screamed it at once: that this was not its intended course.
The shooting star was now brighter, much brighter. But that felt wrong.
Something told them it was not supposed to be like this. And that worse might be on its way.
It wasn’t meant to fall there.
And more than that – they felt it.
The magic had shifted, rerouted somehow, and not by chance, but by choice.
Intuitively, the elves leaned closer to the communications machine, dreading what might come next.
It wasn’t fear for themselves that tightened their chests, nor the thought that whatever ship he was steering might come crashing down upon the North Pole.
It was him.
The man on the other end of the line.
He sounded calm – too calm – like someone who had already accepted his fate, if it meant sparing the world something far worse. But beneath it lay something else, something heavier: a despair, perhaps, so deep it unveiled his steadiness.
A few of the elves exhaled softly, without realising. Others clasped their little hands together, as if prayer might still interfere with fate.
At some point, they just found themselves rooting for these two perfect strangers.
After a short silence, the machine picked up a signal again:
STRANGER 2:
‘’We’ll send out rescue ships. We’ll find you,’’ she said, still softly, still resolutely.
STRANGER 1:
‘’I don’t think there’s going to be much left to find.’’
His voice was followed with a sudden shift in tone and a mechanical groaning – as if the ship he was steering was being dragged further down to the ground …
As if something massive was being forced downward.
Hearing that, most of the Elves, including the Head Elf, felt their hearts drop.
Was this going to end … just like that?
Was he going to …?
STRANGER 1:
‘’Peggy?’’ he whispered - his voice breaking this time.
STRANGER 2 – ‘’PEGGY’’:
‘’I’m here,’’ she whispered back.
Through the sound of something spinning – metal grinding, the elves heard:
STRANGER 1:
‘’I’m going to need a rain check on that dance.’’
PEGGY – her voice breaking, as though she were at the break of tears:
‘’All right. A week, next Saturday. At the Stork Club.’’
STRANGER 1:
‘’Okay. You got it.’’
PEGGY:
‘’8:00 on the dot. If you’re three minutes late, I’m leaving. Do you understand?’’
She spoke with beautiful devastation. As though she were smiling through looming grief.
The elves didn’t know how to react to that. Having recently known grief themselves, they wished upon all their wishing stars these two perfect strangers wouldn’t know a terrible fate – and would find each other.
STRANGER 1:
‘’I still don’t know how to dance.’’
He still replied so hopefully … so full of warmth, even though the elves could hear through the static the roaring winds of the north, wrecking more havoc on his ship.
At his response, Peggy sighed deeply.
PEGGY:
‘’I’ll show you. I’ll show you everything. Just be there.’’
Still, she spoke quietly – and with hope.
The silence grew deeper and more deafening – even the elves held their breaths. Then, they heard a roar, like rushing wind or an object accelerating.
A muffled hiss from the device, almost drowning the next line.
Then he spoke again, this time with more hope, as clouds whipped past the ship and the engine grew louder:
STRANGER 1:
"Maybe the band could play something slow …’’
‘’I’d hate to step on your—"
Suddenly, the voice cut off.
Static filled the device …
Then came a crash.
It was …
Hard.
Violent.
Almost … lost, fading into the vast, indifferent quiet of the night.
Only a sharp gasp echoed through the receiver …
And then … nothing.
Just silence.
Nothing but one word - one name - in tears, before everything - including the signal - was forever lost.
PEGGY: ‘’Steve?’’
‘’Steve?’’ the elves whispered at one another.
Some couldn’t help it – tears pricked their eyes for those people.
And for a heartbeat, they thought they heard something else beneath it - distant cheering, perhaps? - something faint and unreal, as though it came from another world.
But the merry little sound was effortlessly swallowed by the thunder of breaking ice and rushing water.
Then … true silence.
And that is when they felt it.
The sacrifice and the ending that marked something.
They looked at each other – some confused, some saddened by what they’d just witnessed.
Yet some were also hopeful.
Hopeful that this might be none other than: he who had just committed his last act of selflessness.
The shooting star did not return.
It didn’t need to.
What remained instead was a faint trail – gracefully tracing the skies, the northern lights, the stars, and the snowy plains of the North Pole. It thinned by the second, drifting southward.
That trail was gleaming, glittery, of red, white, and blue. Just like the star.
From only a few miles, it was calling for them. For the elves - guardians of Christmas.
And they knew where to find him.
But still, the elves watched the road reveal itself in awe and tears.
Was it for what they’d just witnessed, the recent loss of their boss, or the prophecy finally unfolding? Perhaps for all of it at once.
‘’The grimoire was telling the truth!’’ some elves choked.
‘’Did that just happen?’’ others whispered, trembling, still in shock.
‘’Are we on the right track, Head Elf?’’ his deputy asked at once, his voice barely above the wind.
The device monitor the Head Elf was holding didn’t beep in red or green.
Instead, it glowed – brighter and more vivid, the more he matched their itinerary to the magical trail, with his enchanted device.
They were on the right path.
‘’Indeed, we are …’’ the Head Elf replied, his voice wistful.
And so the elves began their journey southward, following the glimmering red, white, and blue thread ... as it stretched into the distance. Unsure of what – or who – awaited them.
A/N: Pardon for this late post. 🎅
This chapter was actually ready three days ago but I was travelling.
And honestly, not to be a mood-killer, mostly in this holiday season, these past months have been some tough and lonely months personally, and health-wise, and social media. Even Tumblr, can give me a lot of anxiety due to past trauma related to it. I am still trying to recover from it and go on with my life. But overall, and most times, I truly, really feel okay and so grateful. ❤️😊
But writing is my favourite thing to do, and I adore it. This fanfiction is so fun to write too - like so much fun! And I cannot thank you enough for all the likes in the past chapter.
Thank you so much, truly, from the bottom of my heart! 🎄❤️ 🥹
I don't think I am giving up anytime soon. This is too fun! Although, I really wished I had finished this short story before Christmas. 😔🎄
But I'd like to think I really tried. 😮💨And I did try. Really.
I truly hope you enjoy this and will continue reading this story. I've got soooo much to write about, and I have the feeling the next chapters will be even better. 🪄📖
Lastly, I wish you all a happy holiday and a new year filled with joy, love, hope, wamrth and good health! 😘🎉
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THE STORY BEGAN IN THE NORTH POLE, AND IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSY, BUSY WINTER. The world had known centuries of joy and magic, years of Christmases and dreams come true, the season was coming to an end at once, after yet another successful year … until it suddenly came into an abrupt halt.
Until it, suddenly, came into an abrupt halt, when Santa Claus, Father of Christmas, let’s just say … met his untimely demise in an incident involving a sleigh ride gone completely awry.
Suddenly, chaos spread among the people of Christmastown, North Pole – as they, and all his elves, were left without someone to guide them – without a leader.
Who would deliver hope and joy in the world this year? They wondered, as clouds of hopelessness crept upon the snowy skies of their town.
Surely, they wondered, Mr. Claus would come back one way or another.
Surely, they thought, Christmas wouldn’t end – just like that.
Right?
And the elves, they didn’t know what to do!
And so they waited, they waited days – and months – not knowing what to say when the Easter Bunny came to visit asking for his friend Santa, or when Jack Skellington, King of Halloween, wanted to extend his respect and wish his neighbour good luck for the holiday to come after his.
Not knowing what to do, the more December approached … and the people of Christmastown, the elves, the Head Elf himself, only could do so much.
Shortly, the latter assembled the Council of Christmas from all over the world at the town hall, to discuss the matter at hand – which included the usual elves, reindeers, snowmen, Yule lads, Befana, Jack Frosts, the remainder of the Claus family, and many other notable figures of the season.
‘’These are unforeseen, dark times, my friends,’’ the Head Elf opened his statement, as he marched upon the bench, made for judges and figures of authority such as his. ‘’Traditionally,’’ he said, ‘’the title of Santa Claus would be passed down to his children, but seeing as there is none of the latter,’’ he sighed, then added, ‘’I’m afraid we will have to make the decision to …’’
The Head Elf paused at his statement. Carefully thinking what to say next.
Cancel Christmas? He thought. No, impossible. It would create an outrage.
Or perhaps … somehow, replace Santa Claus? He wondered. That would also create an outrage.
But …
It was possible.
‘’I’m afraid that,’’ the Head Elf continued, ‘’us The Council, dutiful servants of the Order of Yuletide, will have to make the unprecedented and imperative decision to team up, and … find a new Santa Claus.’’
Evidently, his suggestion was met with some outrage:
‘’A new Santa Claus?’’ some of elves shouted indignantly, ‘’That is a scandal!’’
‘’No, no, no, this can’t be happening!’’ The snowmen said, as they wept icicles again. ‘’Why would you want to replace him?!’’
Yet more of the lot agreed. It was of the utmost importance, after all, to save Christmas:
‘’Because we absolutely have to save Christmas!’’ the elves and other creatures on the agreeing side retorted – bellowing back. ‘’’Whatever it takes to make it a magical time’. Isn’t that what he used to tell us?’’
‘’The role of the Befana was never passed down,’’ the Befana chimed in, her voice calm and certain – a figure of ancient wisdom and the most prominent member of the council. ‘’It has always been fate, gift and merit that chose us, century, after century. There is no Santa in Italy – only us. And so, the same may yet be true for you.’’
Many agreed again, and praised her for her wisdom. Yet others were quick to retort:
“But we are talking about the rest of the world!”
“And who could ever replace someone like him?!” the snowmen sobbed dramatically, puddling slightly as the Jack Frosts hovered around them, unsure whether to comfort or refreeze them.
“Order! We need order!” the Head Elf barked through the commotion, hammering his gavel. It didn’t boom - it jingled, a soft chime echoing through the room like an embarrassed Christmas ornament.
Silence fell instantly. Even the snowmen sniffled into their scarves.
‘’Dear people of the North Pole – and my fellow elves, in particular,’’ the Head Elf continued, ‘’you have all been made aware, at some point in your lives, of a certain … prophecy, dictated long ago.’’
A murmur rippled through the room.
‘’What prophecy?’’ some whispered.
‘’The prophecy I am referring to,’’ the Head Elf replied, ‘’states that whenever a Santa Claus is – suddenly taken from us – another is destined to rise in his place.’’
And so silence fell upon the Christmastown Town Hall, quickly followed by question after question:
Who, and how?
And most of all: When?
Christmas was approaching!
With Christmas fast approaching and the North Pole in shambles, the elves grew desperate to find an answer. So they turned to all their advanced technology and tools, scanning the skies for a sign – being the brilliant creatures they are – while others buried themselves in every library and mythical or ancient archive known to man, hoping to make sense of the chaos.
Three hundred and sixty-three days slowly dwindled into three hundred … until, at last, they were left with two hundred and ninety-five days to save Christmas - an important threshold in their world.
By this date, half the gifts in the world should have been selected and prepared, the new sleigh chosen, and the town lights tested. Ready to be lit by Santa himself.
The magic should be there, yet it was fading by the days …
And still – no one to guide them.
No one to spread the magic.
Surely, there had to be sign written in the skies, or some ancient scripture to tell them exactly what to do.
But the elves, the dutiful keepers of the season, searched everywhere. Everywhere they were allowed to search – libraries, observatories, archives, even forgotten workshops buried beneath the now. They even consulted their fellow Council, and friends from far away lands … and still, they found nothing.
And so, inevitably, their incredibly clever minds turned to the one place no elf was ever meant to enter.
Santa’s quarters.
For centuries, his rooms had remained untouched, and preserved as sacred ground. Not out of fear – but out of respect. Not a soul dared to cross its doors.
Besides, the elves knew what lay within.
Each Santa Claus before him had left something behind: a record, a guide, a legacy. One book - one sort of grimoire - passed down through time. It was part instruction, part spells, part diary entries, part stories. Knowledge meant only for Santa Claus alone.
Things, in those quarters, no one else had business knowing.
Well … not until now.
Desperate times, sadly called for desperate measures.
And so, for the first time in perhaps centuries, the doors were opened.
And there it was …
The Book of Christmas.
A tome that answered every question imaginable:
How to Go Through Chimneys?
How to Train Your Reindeers?
The Story of Rudolph the Reindeer?
How to keep your Snowmen frosty?
How Santa Claus was Chosen? (Heir of Santa) …
Everything.
Down to what no one ever wished to read:
What to Do in Case of St. Nicholas’s … Untimely Demise?
And within those pages lay the answer they had been searching for all along:
The Prophecy of the Next Santa Claus
And it confirmed it.
Indeed, a new ruler would come among them. But if he did not appear on his own, they were to seek him instead.
And according to the prophecy written in that grimoire, should they seen the next Mr. Claus, they were to: follow the star.
‘’The star?’’ an elf squeaked, nearly dropping his mug of hot cocoa as they rummaged through the old book.
‘’That’s impossible!’’
‘’Well, not quite impossible,’’ another muttered. ‘’Just … incredibly rare.''
According to the prophecy, the next Santa Claus would appear to them with a shooting star, in the middle of the night – any night. Moreover, it would be an incredibly rare instance.
And that star would guide them to someone who had met the three following criteria:
I. He who shall be revealed beneath a shooting star, crossing the northern skies in the heart of night.
II. He who had been very – and the most – opposite of naughty all his life.
III. He who has inner and outward strength unmatched.
IV. He who has a heart pure beyond measure.
V. And most importantly, he who had just committed his final act of selflessness.
‘’Yes, the star,’’ the Book itself seemed to whisper, in the dark of the isolated St. Nicholas’s quarters. ‘’The one living within every Santa Claus.’’
‘’But that is so rare!’’ another Elf said.
‘’It is possible, still!’’
‘’And when do we expect that star to come?’’ the Head Elf asked the book, as he held its pages.
‘’When the time is right, when you need it the most,’’ the Book of Christmas seemed to have whispered again. And then it almost sang, like an incantation of sorts:
‘’An enchanted shooting star will pass through the heavens, into the north and land upon the earth – leading the way to the next Santa Claus …’’
This left the elves shaken, but not defeated.
Hope still flickered beneath the frost.
And they would find the next Santa Claus.
They were determined to.
Unbeknownst to them, the shooting star was already on its way …
And somewhere in the world, someone had already been chosen.
Somewhere beyond the frozen horizon, destiny would descend from the skies, and indeed, in the direction of the north …
Little did the people of the North Pole know, he would arrive with a plane crashing into the Arctic – only miles away.
Only hours away.
And they were going to find him.
They had to.
They absolutely had to.
🎄Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to my best friend in the whole world who gave me the courage to make this dream come true and publish this story for all you. You're the best @daughterofthesunlands ❤️
Love you, bestie! ❄️
And I thank you all for reading, and wish you all a season full of magic, hope, warmth and love! ❤️ ✨
HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED … what if Captain America, also known as Steven Grant Rogers, were Santa Claus at one point in time? What if his crashing into the Arctic on that fateful night was not a tragedy but destiny? What if his ultimate sacrifice for humanity earned him a second chance at life – one even he couldn’t imagine?
What if he were lost in a snowy wasteland for the sole purpose of being discovered by elves? Elves, who believed he was the new Santa Claus, because he had what they called … ''the star''?
No? You haven’t wondered that? Well, look no further, because I have … and by the end of this book, I will prove that Captain America was none other than St. Nicholas at some point in time.
This is the untold tale of how Steve Rogers, frozen in time, awakened to fulfil a prophecy, becoming none other than St. Nicholas himself – better known as: Santa Claus.
According to recent and famous records, Steve Rogers was found under piles of ice in his original suit and shield, frozen in time practically. What the forensic scientists failed to mention were the particles of tinsel and glitter clinging to his attire, and an otherworldly energy emanating from the ice encasing him.
This wasn’t a standard form of radioactivity or any known cosmic radiation. Instruments picked up faint, rhythmic pulses, like a heartbeat, synchronized with shimmering waves of multi-coloured light refracting through the ice.
The readings defied conventional science, hinting at an ancient, magical force - a power both infinite and inexplicable.
What they also failed to see is that during one of those years, Steve Rogers came out of the ice before returning to it ...
All thanks to one fateful night when a magical shooting star landed on his slumber site ...
