The Blue Fairy Dust Saga
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Not Enough Time The Ticking Lab Five Days Later Time To Try Again The Longest Night
Not Enough Time
Decembert 24, 1823
The sleigh rose like a whisper against the winter sky.
The reindeer—eight in total, drawn from the third generation—shook their antlers, each lightly dusted with a blend of red and yellow fairy dust. They shone faintly in the moonlight, silhouettes against the vast canopy of stars. Below them, the North Pole sparkled—lanterns casting golden pools across snow-laden rooftops, the Sleigh Yard humming with quiet anticipation. Near the launch platform, Portal Sacks glowed faintly, their magic pulsing in sync with the sleigh’s enchantments.
Chris Kringle leaned forward on the reins. His red coat flapped slightly in the wind, and his breath clouded the air. This was more than just the annual gift delivery. Tonight was an experiment—his boldest yet.
Merrit Cobbleknock, bundled tightly in a green scarf and a hat with too many tassels, climbed into the sleigh beside him. He was a bright-eyed Toyworks Elf with a streak of ingenuity and a weakness for cinnamon crisps. A wooden crate of emergency cookies sat between his boots.
“Ready, boss,” Merrit said with a grin that showed both enthusiasm and nerves. “Let’s make history.”
“We’ll try,” Santa replied, giving the sleigh rails a gentle tap. “Keep your eye on the gift sequence. I want pacing calls before we reach the first chimney.”
They had planned it meticulously. Thousands of gifts pre-packed in Portal Sacks, each connected to the sleigh’s primary sack by dimensional tether. Toyworks elves stood ready back at the Village, feeding toys into the receiving end. Sleigh enchantments had been calibrated to reduce drag. The reindeer had trained on staggered rest cycles. The skies were clear across all known continents. Everything was aligned.
Everything but time.
They started in Amsterdam. The city was still and lovely, its canals mirrored in frost, the gables of houses sharp against the moonlight. Santa dropped quietly to a rooftop and slipped inside a chimney with practiced grace. Merrit waited in the sleigh, flipping through a stack of pre-assigned name cards. The Portal Sack glowed, and the first delivery was complete.
Then the second. Then the third.
By the time they reached Paris, they were already behind.
The Portal Sack system worked flawlessly, but the rhythm of gift-giving resisted shortcuts. Each stop required precision: the descent, the placement of the gift, the adjustment for pets, creaky steps, or unpredictable hearths. It was not just a matter of speed—it was a dance. A quiet ballet of presence and departure, of observation and memory.
Merrit, flustered, accidentally dropped an entire stack of wrapped dolls into a chimney meant for stuffed penguins. They bounced noisily across the floor below.
“My bad!” he hissed, covering his ears.
Santa muttered something in Old Elvish and reversed the gift spell with a flick of his wrist, recalling the errant dolls and redirecting the correct parcel. He didn’t scold. There wasn’t time.
London brought fog. The city was shrouded in thick, curling mist, its gaslamps glowing like fireflies in soup. They had to rely on magical bearings to avoid collision with clock towers and chimney pots.
“This is madness,” Merrit muttered. “Even the fog is against us.”
In a row of brick townhomes near the Thames, Santa paused to retrieve a lopsided rocking horse. “Every child still gets what they need,” he said softly. “No shortcuts in the soul of it.”
But by the time they reached New York, the pace had turned desperate.
Merrit looked at the stack of undelivered name cards in his lap. “We haven’t even touched the western half of the world.”
Santa didn’t reply. He held the reins loosely, eyes scanning the rooftops of Manhattan. Snow dusted the edges of iron balconies and storefronts. Chimneys lined the skyline like sentinels waiting for joy.
His face was solemn. Not defeated, but measured. The sky was lightening at the edges.
At dawn, they hovered in silence above the Pacific. The stars had faded, replaced by streaks of pink and lavender on the water. The world was turning, and with it, the moment was ending.
Back at the Village, the bells stopped ringing when the sleigh reappeared in the sky. The usual cheer that greeted Santa’s return was muted. Elves looked up from their stations, pausing with wrapped bundles still in hand.
The sleigh touched down softly on the snowy platform. Steam hissed from the rails. The reindeer snorted and stamped, their breath like mist dragons in the cold morning air.
Santa stepped down, slow and quiet. His boots left deep impressions in the snow. Merrit followed, brushing sleet from his scarf, eyes downcast.
“We gave it our best shot,” Merrit said, voice uncertain. “Thousands of children are waking to magic today. That counts for something.”
Santa nodded. But he said nothing. He looked out over the rooftops of the Village—the spires of the Workshop, the warm glow of Hearth Hall, the smoke curling from the Candy Cane Bakery chimney.
Then he turned toward the lab.
Bernard met him at the door. The half-elf’s expression was full of knowing concern. He didn’t ask for numbers. Didn’t ask what had gone wrong. He simply held out a steaming mug of hot rootbrew, laced with cloves and a touch of pine honey.
“Chris?” he asked.
Santa took the mug, but his eyes were drawn to the nearby worktable.
There, nestled among parchments and alchemical tools, was a tiny glass vial. He walked over and lifted it. Inside were only a few grains—barely enough to shimmer. But shimmer they did. Blue, like the edge of twilight. Like time just before it passes.
Blue Fairy Dust.
Santa held it up to the light. His fingers were still and steady.
If the night wasn’t long enough…
Maybe it could be made longer.