Purpose Made Wings
Santa's Village - September 1512
By his third winter on Evela, Neik Klass no longer trudged through the deep snows of the island with aching feet and frostbitten cheeks. His sleigh, originally carved by the Shoe Elves of Cobblerton, had been rebuilt and refined—stronger, sleeker, and more beautiful with each passing season. Still, for all its craftsmanship, the sleigh remained bound to the land.
Until something changed.
It began—as many great changes do—with an unexpected knock and a puff of frost through the door.
Skit, jittery and ingenious, burst into the workshop with eyes wide and scarf askew. He held up a leather pouch that pulsed with a faint internal glow.
“From a mushroom ring near the Deep Hollows,” he whispered. “Saw a squirrel humming lullabies. Three frogs started a barbershop quartet.”
Santa—then still known as simply Neik—raised a brow.
The powder inside shimmered crimson, fine as sugar and alive with motion. Days later, Forlot, the Fairy Sage, confirmed its identity:
Red Fairy Dust.
A rare and unstable byproduct of interdimensional crossing.
The Fairies called it a residue of wonder.
The Elves called it dangerous.
Neik Klass called it a possibility.
🧪 The Fairy Dust Experiments
With cautious optimism, Neik assembled a research team.
Forlot offered intermittent guidance, appearing from the fourth dimension with suggestions and poetic riddles. Tracker Village provided open meadows for testing. Reindeer Village lent its strongest and most spirited beasts. And the elves of Cobblerton contributed enchanted measuring tools and containment vessels—small silver canisters sealed with threadbare spells.
Thus began the Fairy Dust Experiments.
The goal was clear: flight.
Early tests involved enchanted forage—hand-gathered moss, rye grain, and mushroom bits—infused with red fairy dust in measured quantities. Results were unpredictable: some reindeer simply sneezed. Others floated a few feet and sank with confusion. One ran backward for fifteen minutes.
But in time, a formula emerged:
One ounce of red fairy dust per ten pounds of feed.
Duration of effect: approximately 36 hours.
Side effects: minor levitation, occasional midair sneezing, enhanced agility.
Even with all eight reindeer straining, the sleigh remained heavy, burdened by the very purpose it was meant to fulfill: the toy sacks, the warming blankets, the baskets of fruit and cheer. It slid with grace—but would not lift.
That’s when Neik remembered something Forlot had said weeks earlier:
“Fairy dust responds to more than material. It listens to Purpose.”
🎨 The Painted Wish
That night, as the aurora whispered above the workshop and the village slept beneath snow-laden rooftops, Neik climbed into the loft where his sleigh rested in its cradle.
He stirred a fresh batch of red sleigh paint—apple-tinted, sharp with peppermint oil and cedar stain—and added a single pinch of fairy dust. Then, slowly, reverently, he dipped his brush and began to paint.
Each stroke was deliberate. Each pass was layered with memory and meaning: the first gift he delivered by hand… the first tears of joy he witnessed through a frosted window… the first time a child laughed at the sight of a toy he’d made.
With every motion, he whispered not spells—but hopes.
By the time the paint dried, the sleigh didn’t just look different. It felt different. Lighter. Expectant. As though it had dreamed of the sky and now remembered how to reach it.
The fairy dust had bonded with more than wood and lacquer—it had bonded with intention.
🚀 The First Flight
The sun rose on a brilliant December morning, casting gold across the Sleighyard. Eight reindeer stood yoked and ready, steam rising from their flanks. They had eaten precisely one hour earlier, as instructed, their breath curling in the cold air like whispers of things to come.
There was Brisket, strong and unshakable, his hooves firm in the snow.
Beside him stood Frostmane, quick and agile, flicking his ears at every sound.
Hearth came next—calm and enduring, the steady heart of the team.
Thistle, brave and spirited, already pawed the ground with barely contained energy.
Mirth, light of foot and full of laughter, snorted playfully at the sleigh runners.
Beryl, the most graceful and swift, watched the others with eyes like polished jet.
Tunra, sharp and perceptive, seemed to scan the wind itself for instructions.
And at the end stood Solace, gentle and quietly courageous, his presence like a calming bell in the stillness.
They were more than a team. They were a chord in harmony—waiting only for the first note to rise.
At first, nothing happened.
Then Thistle, ever the boldest, gave a surprised grunt as her hooves left the ground—just an inch, then a foot, then two.
She didn’t fall.
Tunra followed, then Mirth, then Frostmane, and suddenly the whole team began to rise—not like balloons or arrows, but like possibilities—drifting upward with a grace that came not from force, but from harmony.
Neik stepped into the sleigh. It bobbed beneath his weight, then steadied.
He took the reins in his hands.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t command. Calluses
He whispered one word, as softly as a promise:
“Fly.”
And they did.
They arced over the rooftops of Santa’s Village, skimmed the crown of the Great Fir Tree, and soared past Tracker Village like a comet of red and silver. They crossed the Rootbeer River in under a minute, their bells ringing in perfect rhythm.
It was not a long flight—just an hour—but it was enough.
✨ Epilogue
To this day, red fairy dust is stored in sealed silver canisters, measured only by the most senior elves of the Reindeer Corps. Every sleigh, no matter how modern or magical, is painted red—not for style, but for magic.
No one knows precisely how much dust must be in the paint.
Only that it must be stirred with intention.
And always, the feed ratio is remembered:
One ounce of red dust per ten pounds of feed.
And only, when it’s time to fly.