Portal Sack system worked, yes, but there was a rhythm to delivering that no magic could speed up: the soft landing, the careful footfalls, the chimney entry (or window, or, in rare cases, keyhole), and the precise gift selection for each child.

In London, Merrit dropped an entire stack of wrapped dolls into a chimney meant for stuffed penguins.

“My bad!” he whispered as Santa muttered something in Old Elvish and reversed the gift spell.

By the time they reached New York, Merrit looked down at the stack of undelivered name cards.

“We haven’t even touched the western half of the world.”

Santa didn’t answer. He stared out over the rooftops, the sleigh gently gliding above the snow-laced skyline. The world was too vast. Even with teleportation to speed their flight, even with pre-sorted gifts and helpers across Europe, the hours were vanishing too quickly.

At dawn, they hovered in silence above the Pacific, the stars fading into daylight.

Back at the Village, the bells stopped ringing when the sleigh reappeared. Workshop tools fell quiet.

Santa stepped down from the sleigh, exhausted. Merrit clambered out beside him, brushing snow from his scarf.

“We gave it our best shot,” Merrit said, not quite meeting Santa’s eyes. “Still made thousands of kids happy.”

Santa nodded but said nothing. He walked quietly toward the Workshop, stopping only when Bernard met him outside with a mug of hot rootbrew and a concerned look.

“Chris?” Bernard asked.

Santa didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to the table just inside the lab, picked up a small vial, and held it to the light.

Inside, a few grains of blue fairy dust shimmered like falling stars.

If the night wasn’t long enough…
Maybe it could be made longer.