“Beautiful,” he murmured, tugging gently on the reins to bring the sleigh into a glide above the rooftops. The hour was late, well after supper. Lights were out in most homes, but here and there a candle flickered in an attic window. Santa landed lightly atop a broad chimney with cracked brickwork, balancing on the ridge like a snowflake.

He climbed down quietly and peered into the narrow alley below. No one. Good.

He began selecting houses by feel—by instinct, by warmth, and sometimes by the sound of a sleeping child’s breath. His magic was still tuned to Dondavar, and it didn’t always interpret Earth’s homes correctly. At one point, he dropped a cloth doll down a flue that led to a bakery, not a bedroom. Another time, he left a toy wagon in a home where the children had moved out years ago. But in most places, the gifts landed where they should.

He was just beginning to lower another gift sack into place when he heard a sneeze—tiny, muffled, but unmistakable.

Santa turned, brow raised, and pulled aside a stack of bouncy balls. From beneath a fold of red velvet, a small figure emerged, blinking in the moonlight. A young Shoe Elf, barely past apprentice age, rubbed his nose and gave a sheepish smile.

“Bobbet Leathershoe,” Santa said slowly. “You stowed away.”

“Only a little,” Bobbet admitted, climbing out. “I just wanted to see Earth. I figured I could help, maybe fetch things or untangle ribbons. Please don’t be mad.”

Santa stared at him for a moment, then gave a quiet chuckle. “Well, you’re here now. No turning back. But stay out of sight, and no wandering off.”

“Yes, sir!” Bobbet saluted, then tucked himself beside the sleigh’s front bench, eyes wide with wonder.

A single lamplighter trudging home looked up just in time to see a sleigh drift between the chimneys. He froze mid-step, gasped, then shook his head and kept walking. “Must be the schnapps,” he muttered, and didn’t mention it to anyone.

By the time Santa had looped through the southern and central districts of the city, his sack was more than half empty. He counted as he went—he always counted. Two hundred and thirty-seven toys delivered. A success. A beginning.

He stood at the edge of a steepled church tower and took out another pinch of Yellow Fairy Dust. “Next stop,” he whispered. “London.”

Fog and Fireplaces

With a pop and a shimmer, the sleigh emerged from the sky over the Thames, bathed in the glow of gaslights and fog. London sprawled beneath him like a tangled ball of twine—chimneys and alleys, roofs pitched at odd angles, neighborhoods like mazes of slate and soot.

This was more complicated.

Santa took a moment to adjust. The rooftops were higher here, the smoke thicker, the city’s pulse somehow faster despite the hour. The reindeer were beginning to tire, but they pressed on.

In this city, he made fewer mistakes. He’d begun to recognize Earth’s patterns—what warmth and kindness felt like here, even if the magic wasn’t yet tuned to the frequency of the children’s dreams. He crouched on windowsills and shimmied down thin chimneys. Sometimes he used the Yellow Dust to blink through walls, a trick he’d just started mastering.

One child, a girl no older than five, stirred as he left a carved fox on the foot of her bed. Her eyes opened just a crack—but all she saw was a shadow near the hearth, and then it was gone.

Twice he nearly got caught—once by a wide-eyed boy clutching a wooden soldier, and once by a sleepy dog that growled until Santa left behind a small rubber ball as a peace offering.

By the time the eastern horizon began to faintly glow, Santa had placed 319 gifts.

He rose back into the sky and circled once, looking down at the enormous city, still heavy with sleeping hearts. “Two cities,” he whispered, “and already I’m nearly empty.”

The Long Glide Home

The return to Dondavar took only a breath and a spark. The sleigh materialized over the Londloan Steeps, gliding silently past familiar peaks before descending into the snowy fields near Santa’s Village. The reindeer touched down with practiced grace, snow puffing up around them.

No fanfare met him this time—only the quiet hush of dawn.

Santa stepped down from the sleigh and walked the length of it slowly. Only a handful of toys remained—leftovers or mismatched ones, perhaps. He reached into the sack and drew out a single jack-in-the-box, turning its crank thoughtfully. The tune played soft and slow until the little clown popped up with a squeak. Santa smiled, then gently closed the lid again.

Bobbet had fallen asleep curled beside the bench, still clutching a bit of ribbon in his hands. Santa draped a blanket over him and let him sleep.

Bernard arrived minutes later, coat half-buttoned, parchment already in hand.

“How’d it go?” he asked, not yet looking up from his notes.

“Amsterdam and London,” Santa said simply. “Five hundred and fifty-six gifts total.”

Bernard did look up then, brow raised. “That’s… impressive. But it’s only a start, isn’t it?”

Santa nodded. “A start. A good one. But we’re going to need more toys. More elves. A better system. We barely covered two cities—and only parts of them.”

He looked to the sky, where dawn’s first light painted the clouds in gold and blush.

“I can feel it, Bernard. This isn’t just a one-time adventure. This is the beginning of something bigger. The world is wide. And it’s waiting.”

He paused, then added with a thoughtful smile, “Next time, I may bring along a helper. Not Bobbet, mind you. But maybe… maybe each year, the most deserving elf gets the honor. A new helper every time. Never the same one twice.”