Back? # **Chapter Nineteen: Christmas Is Starting Now!** *The Magispace, 5:00 PM* --- Song(s): **Christmas Is Starting Now – Big Bad Voodoo Daddy** **‘Zat You, Santa Claus? - Bear Ghost** --- It had been a day full of twists and turns, highs and lows, and—most of all—uncertainty. No one knew what would happen, but they each tried their best to ensure everything would turn out in their favour. As the clock struck five, the crowds gathered again before the stage. The four organizers took their places to address them. Mirina spoke first, calling on her years of public speaking lessons -- a crucial skill for a princess. “Welcome back, everyone! First of all, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming to our aid at this time of need. It’s safe to say that we couldn’t have done this without you.” “Yeah, thanks for lending a hand, everyone!” Burgundy added. “Now, Fi, would you do the honours?” Fileran nodded as Spencer held up the microphone for him. “Gladly.” He glanced at his clipboard. “Let’s see here. Culinary team: everything is in order. Decoration team: a phenomenal job. Construction team: better than I could have ever imagined. Musical team…well, most of us are here.” Raising his head, he grinned at Burgundy. “I think we’re good to go!” Burgundy returned his grin. “Hell yeah, we are!” Facing the crowd, she exclaimed: “As of this moment, the Magispace’s first annual Festival of Hope is back on!” The organizers retreated backstage as the crowd erupted in cheers. They would have stayed to bask in their success, but their job still wasn’t done. And now, it all fell onto their shoulders. Fileran placed himself by a rack of garment bags, handing each one to its owner. He had expected there to be four left over—those meant for Astral, Mercury, Nuro, and Pyx—but once everyone had received their outfit, the rack was empty! He was instantly sent into a tizzy of panic. Those costumes needed to be in place if their owners miraculously returned in time for the concert. What could have happened to them?! Eira had promised he wouldn’t interfere, but coming from a demon, that promise meant next to nothing. Oh, gods, this was terrible. This was a disaster! This was-- Amidst his panic, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Fileran,” Yemi Auclair consoled him. “The costumes are fine. I gave them to a friend of mine.” “You…you what?! Yemi, why would you do that?! Why did a friend of yours need them? And…couldn’t you have at least ASKED me first instead of giving me a heart attack?!” Yemi shrugged. “No time. And besides, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission. So, sorry, I guess. It was important -- you’ll see soon enough.” “I guess I have no choice, do I?” He spat through gritted teeth. Still, he had no time to stand around and dwell on it. There was still far too much to do. The vicinity of the stage was engulfed in a flurry of activity. Backstage, the performers donned plush fur and glittering silk garments before styling their hair, applying makeup, and warming up their vocal cords. Meanwhile, the audiovisual team set up their equipment, tuned the performers’ instruments, and ensured every light and speaker was calibrated. While everyone milled about, deeply invested in their tasks, Eira perched on a hill overlooking the grounds, leering at the proceedings in contempt. Against all odds, they had done it. Those pathetic mortals had managed to salvage their equally pathetic festival. Even worse, he could feel himself growing weaker by the second -- if the heroes could put their plan into motion, he was doomed. “It would seem they just don’t know when to quit,” he muttered bitterly before smirking. “Unfortunately for them, neither do I.” He snapped his fingers, and a bitter winter wind blew behind him, sweeping up the loose flurries that blanketed the ground. The icy maelstrom swirled, freezing into the form of ghostly, glacial horses. Spectral riders -- lesser demons at his beck and call. They pawed at the ground with their hooves, eagerly awaiting their master’s orders to ride out and cause havoc. “Hello, you beautiful things,” Eira cooed, stroking one of the creatures’ manes. “You’ll feast on the blood of heroes tonight, my lovelies.” While he’d been invisibly wandering the Festival grounds, he’d caught wind of the next stage of the heroes’ plan. His archenemy, Nicholas, was soaring through the skies on his way to retrieve the final performers for the night’s concert. He and his own team of spectral riders -- stolen from Eira himself! -- were the only ones capable of navigating through the storms. Eira didn't stand a chance if he succeeded in bringing those heroes home. If he succeeded. Eira wasn’t giving up that easily. Even with Nicholas’ phenomenal powers, the travellers weren’t due to arrive until well after the terms of his deal had elapsed. Eira would be free to cause as much destruction as his bitter, vengeful heart desired. And he had a feeling that seven people plunging to their deaths and meeting a gory end at the jaws of bloodthirsty demons would undoubtedly put a damper on whatever pitiful sense of hope the Festival managed to garner. Eira cocked his head towards his eager steeds. “Fly, my darlings. Patrol the skies and alert me to the first sign of that meddlesome Paladin. Once you spy him, show no mercy. Earn me my victory!” With a cackle, he watched the demons dissolve into icy, wicked winds and swept away into the inky twilight sky, anxiously awaiting their promised prey. “Looks like our little travellers won’t be coming home for the holidays after all,” he exclaimed, vanishing into a flurry of snow, leaving his raucous laughter echoing into the night.