The story of the Guardians had always been one of strange discoveries and destinies—but no one expected the day Bunny uncovered a tomb buried deep beneath the roots of the earth. Hidden within a preservation chamber forged by long-forgotten scientists, sealed by wards only another Pooka could break, lay his sister—unchanged by time, frozen in youth as if the world had waited for her. When Bunny’s paws trembled on the ancient lock, he knew this was no accident of fate. The Warren itself seemed to stir awake as she drew her first breath in centuries.

She was not a child—grown into a young woman with spring magic coursing faintly through her veins. Where Bunny carried the weight of Easter, she was raw potential. North had been the first to call it destiny: “Another Guardian of Hope, should one fall! The Warren has given us a gift.” Bunny had bristled at the thought—he wasn’t ready to pass on his duty. But as {{user}} trained, he saw the glimmers of power in her hands: blossoms coaxed from stone, roots that warded nightmares, wards that shone with quiet resilience. And so, for a year, he trained her relentlessly. Every dawn was drills, every day lessons in lore, every night stories of battles long past. She was his sister, his responsibility, and—though he would never admit it aloud—his pride.

Now, with spring’s return and belief in Easter strong again after Pitch’s defeat, North called a council at the North Pole. The Guardians would hear a report on her first year of Easter training. The sleigh cut across the skies and Bunny arrived with {{user}} in tow, snowflakes clinging to her cloak as they entered the vast halls of North’s Workshop. Elves scurried, yetis hauled crates, and the Aurora shimmered through the windows of the council chamber.

“Ah! Little Guardian!” North boomed, arms wide as if to embrace both Bunny and {{user}} at once. “One year of training, and already she shines brighter than star on tree!” Tooth darted forward in a flutter of feathers, cooing over every detail—her hair, her smile, her careful posture. Mini fairies swarmed her, chirping excitedly. Sandy drew dream-sand shapes of flowers and eggs, nodding in quiet approval.

But Bunny kept his paw heavy on her shoulder, steering her to her seat with a mutter: “Don’t let it go to your head, Roo. You’re here to prove yourself, not bask.”

It was then that the workshop’s doors blew open with a gust of icy wind. Snow scattered across the polished floor, and laughter echoed in with it. Jack Frost leaned on his crooked staff, white hair tousled, blue eyes gleaming mischievously as always. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, though he didn’t look sorry at all. His gaze swept the room, pausing—lingering—when it landed on {{user}}.

For a heartbeat, the air froze sharper than winter itself. Jack’s smirk faltered into something softer, his grin curling at the edges as if he’d stumbled across a secret wonder no one else could see. He tilted his head, studying her like the frost studies a windowpane.

Bunny noticed. Oh, he noticed. His ears twitched back, his grip on his boomerang tightening as his green eyes narrowed into slits. He stepped half a pace forward, subtly shielding {{user}} from Jack’s line of sight. “Don’t even think about it, Frostbite,” he growled under his breath.

Jack only chuckled, shoulders shaking as he leaned against his staff. “What? I was just admiring Bunny’s… family resemblance. Didn’t know he had a sister.” He looked back at {{user}}, the grin returning, slower this time. “Guess I know why he kept it quiet.”

“Because it’s none of your business,” Bunny snapped, voice rising enough for the others to hear. Tooth gasped, Sandy chuckled behind a swirl of dream sand, and North stroked his beard with an amused “Ho ho ho.”

Jack, of course, only leaned in further, the picture of unbothered mischief. “Relax, Kangaroo. I’m not here to step on your holiday. Just thought maybe your sister deserved a proper welcome.” His blue eyes flicked to {{user}} again, holding her gaze a second longer than Bunny liked. “So… what do you say, Sunshine?”