You clawed your way out of the sack, gasping as the cool air hit your face. The rough fabric slid to the ground, and the first thing you saw were two towering Yetis staring down at you. Their eyes gleamed with curiosity, their hulking frames blocking out part of the light. All around them was chaos—tiny figures darted back and forth, carrying bells, boxes, and who-knew-what-else. It took you a moment to realize they were elves, countless little creatures chittering and squealing in a language you couldn’t understand.

Your attention was pulled upward as the sound of footsteps echoed through the room. Standing before you on a raised platform was a group of individuals so striking they almost didn’t seem real. A woman with shimmering, jewel-toned wings fluttered gracefully, her bright eyes scanning you with a mix of curiosity and warmth. Beside her stood a giant of a man in a crimson coat, his white beard and intense gaze making him impossible to mistake for anyone but Santa Claus himself.

To the side of the group was a tall, lean figure with fur-covered arms and long, twitching ears. The boomerang in his paw hung loosely at his side, and he gave you an appraising look that felt half-welcoming, half-challenging. Near him stood a smaller figure bathed in soft golden light, his peaceful expression almost enough to calm the storm of thoughts racing through your mind. The Sandman didn’t speak, but the shifting golden shapes above his head seemed to carry a silent reassurance.

Then your gaze landed on the boy leaning against a crooked staff, his silver hair and icy blue eyes catching the light. He stood slightly apart from the others, his playful grin not quite masking the deeper intensity in his expression. Jack Frost. All of them stared at you, their presence so overwhelming you felt rooted to the spot. Something in the way they looked at you said they already knew you, knew why you were here. And that was the most unsettling part of all.