Back? # **Chapter Fifteen: We Need A Little Snappy Happily-Ever-After!** *The Magispace, 12:00 PM* --- Song(s): **We Need A Little Christmas - Idina Menzel** --- “This is hopeless.” Burgundy slumped down on the edge of the ruined stage, sighing deeply. Fileran rolled his eyes. “We’ve barely been working for two hours.” “Yeah, but it’s not like we’ve accomplished anything! Every time we try to put something up, it just falls. Right. Back. Down.” Burgundy wrapped a piece of garland around a steel beam as she spoke, but it instantly blew away, illustrating her point. “Face it, Fi. We’re screwed. That stupid demon will win, Mirina’ll be stuck as an ice statue in his collection forever, and the rest of us will freeze to death.” She put her head in her hands, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Fileran didn’t answer her, and after a moment, she realized her surroundings had gone eerily silent. She raised her head, only to find she couldn’t see a thing. Suddenly, her vision lurched, and she gasped as the world filled in around her. Vivid, colourful lights dotted the horizon as far as the eye could see, and soft sunbeams broke through the dark clouds, coating the landscape in glittering diamonds. A hum of electricity filled the air—the power was back. And since the power was back, so too were the portals. A massive, eclectic crowd streamed from the terminal, amassing near the stage. These people were united by something vital -- whether young, old, heroes, villains, Justaeans, Faeries, or anything else. They had all come to help. At the head of the crowd was Taron, unwinding a string from his ring finger as he lifted his illusion magic from Burgundy’s senses. “Surprise,” he smirked, putting his hands out in a ‘voila’ motion.” “Taron, you bastard,” Burgundy grinned, raising her hand in a rude gesture -- which Taron returned immediately. “Miranda, language!” Another voice chastised her. She turned to see her twin sister, Olivia, her hands clasped firmly over their little brother Felix’s ears. Felix smiled sheepishly, embarrassed. “Oli, I’m in junior high.” “Yeah, Liv, lay off the kid. He hears worse on a daily basis, I guarantee you,” Burgundy laughed, nudging her twin before lifting her brother and twirling him around, giggling. “Hey, guys. Glad to see you.” Meanwhile, Fileran got an earful from his lifelong friend and fellow Commander, Kinsi. “You did WHAT?!” “I…erm…threwaknifeatademonpleasedon’tbemad…” Fileran mumbled, flustered. Kinsi’s face was red. “I swear, between you being reckless and your brother being stupid, you two are going to be the death of me. I told Nuro not to fly back on Feast Eve! Didn’t I, Ameralo?” “Yeah, you told him, and he did what he always does; ignore you completely. You’re not his mom, ‘Kins.” Ameralo, the fourth Commander, answered in a laid-back drawl. “Yes, Kinsi, darling, you’re not our mother. Thank you, Ameralo,” Fileran nodded, satisfied. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ameralo interjected, laughing. “I’m defending Nuro, not you. You threw a knife at a Demon Lord. Kinsi’s not your mom, but she has every right to call you out for that.” “I…” Fileran’s cheeks blushed, and he hung his head before the three Commanders burst into laughter and a group hug. “...I’m so glad you’re here.” Spencer stood by, watching his friends’ reunions with their families, when someone tapped his shoulder. “Hey, cuz. We’re not too late, right?” His cousin, Storm, asked, tucking their neon-pink bangs behind their ears. Next to them was their sister -- Willow’s rival, Demeter. “Oh! No, not at all -- good to see you, Storm! And…Demeter? Isn’t this kind of a conflict of interest?” He gasped. “Oh, gods, did OLYMPUS send you?!” He reached for his wand before Storm stopped him. “Chill. Dem’s here to help. Plus, she’s pretty pissed that Willow got chosen as the Lord’s vessel and not her. Kinda messed up, if you ask me, but whatever.” Spencer looked at Demeter, skeptical. Demeter shrugged. “What? Storm’s telling the truth. I don’t hate Christmas. If anything, I’m just…indifferent towards it.” “Besides,” a new voice answered, “I doubt Miss Highmore will try anything under this level of scrutiny, Mister Denton.” The crowd parted, allowing five figures to approach the stage carrying massive tote bags filled to the brim with decorations. Four were dressed identically -- sleek black suits with matching dark sunglasses. One was a tall, pale, redheaded woman. The second, a short tanned blonde with a mane of curls. The third had dark skin contrasting starkly with their neon blue and purple mohawk, and the fourth was a man with short yellow hair and a square jaw. The fifth wore a slate-blue turtleneck, grey dress pants, and a long white lab coat, his grey-and-white ombre hair pressed against its collar. They laid their boxes in front of the stage, and each gave a short, sharp salute. The redhead, their leader, spoke first. “Agents Foster, Davis, De La Cruz, Clark, and Dr. Stone of the RCA, at your service.” “And before you ask,” Dr. Stone added, “No, this is not an Agency-sanctioned mission. We just…thought we should help.” “We’re so gonna get in trouble for this once Providence finds out,” Agent De La Cruz muttered. “Screw Providence!” Agent Davis exclaimed, and Agent Clark nodded. “Don’t let her hear you say that, but yes. Screw Providence. Now, are these enough decorations for you? There isn’t much selection this close to the 25th, but we tried our best.” Agent Foster teased, gesturing to the mountain of boxes. “More than enough, thank you!” Mirina beamed. “No problem at all. I saw how stressed you were at the Denton house and got these guys in action as soon as I returned to the base. I told you; I’ve got your back.” Filled with a newfound determination, Burgundy motioned for Mirina, Fileran, Spencer, and Taron to join her at the foot of the stage. Addressing the crowd with the spirit of a leader, she organized the gaggle of volunteers into teams, assigning her friends and family to lead each one. Kinsi and Ameralo led the charge to the kitchen, helping Melanie churn out batches upon batches of cookies, cakes, cocoas, ciders, and soups. Mirina and Fileran commanded the decorators: Mirina organized the swarm of faeries, hanging lights and garlands from every branch, roof, and light pole, while Fileran directed those without wings to their tasks on the ground. Taron and the members of Greek Chorus, with the aid of Symphony3—an eager Jilaiya and Mara and a begrudging Nimue—tackled the stage, rebuilding the metal structure and hooking up audiovisual equipment. Spencer put his cousins to work alongside him, helping a team of ice mages shape snowbanks and smooth the pond’s surface for skating. And Burgundy flitted from team to team, overseeing their progress, her siblings hot on her heels—not quite matching their sister’s exuberance but trying their best. All the others fell into place where they felt their services could best be used, from elementals growing evergreens and lighting lamps to the RCA agents adding an extra, hidden layer of security at the grounds’ perimeter. Slowly but surely, through the help of many hands, the effects of Eira’s attack began to vanish. The grounds became clean and pristine once more, the remaining decorations were restored to their proper places, and an improvised replacement was always close at hand if something wasn't salvageable. The organizers’ carefully curated, coordinated atmosphere was gone, but in its place was a heartfelt patchwork as unique as those who had built it. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. All that mattered was that it was theirs. And bit by bit, although everyone was far too busy to notice, every piece that fell into place helped strengthen the shield warding off the storm, the icy rage of winter no match for the fires of their determination.