Back? # **Chapter Four: Hardly Dashing Through The Snow** *International Transport Terminal, 8:00 AM* --- Song(s): **Fairytale of New York - The Dollyrots** --- The International Transport Terminal was the crown jewel of Itraviel’s scientific accomplishments, a phenomenal testament to the spirit of collaboration and innovation that kept the alien society moving forward peacefully. The vast complex of towering metal-and-glass buildings housed a network of portals, allowing instantaneous transport between the kingdoms. Its newest addition even took visitors to and from another planet entirely—the Magispace, a world away on Earth. Travellers were hustling and bustling through the crowded halls, eager to check in for their reservations and join their loved ones to ring in the season. Some even went off-world to visit those who lived at the Magispace or attend its grand Festival that evening. Despite the massive influx of holiday travellers, wait times were kept to an absolute minimum. Portal travel was quick, easy, and painless—book a reservation time, step through the gate, and instantly arrive at your destination! Everything was working perfectly efficiently, just as it always did. Itraviel’s most remarkable minds had collaborated to devise the technological and arcane masterwork, and it rarely encountered even the slightest hitch. Of course, today was just one of those days. Anyone waiting in the Earth wing of the Terminal was greeted with the sight of thick veins of ice creeping through each of the Magispace-bound portals as a frigid breeze swept through the drafty hall. Loud sirens echoed off the vaulted ceilings as the vortexes shut one by one, severing the tendrils and letting them fracture against the marble floor. Angry red warning messages lit up the information screens, accompanied by an automated voice. “Attention, all ITT travellers. Due to an unforeseen technical error, all travel to Earth has been suspended until further notice. I repeat, all travel to Earth has been suspended. Do not attempt to enter the Earth-bound portal bays until permission has been given. We at the ITT will restore normal operations as soon as possible and sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.” The gathered crowd worked itself into a tizzy of confusion and frustration. Most could not recall a time the portals had ever closed. If they did, something was severely, dangerously wrong at their destination. Amidst the ruckus, a short, stocky woman bullied her way to the check-in desk. She was trailed by two other women, their chestnut space buns and bubblegum ponytail bobbing frantically as they tried not to lose sight of their friend’s lilac updo in the crowd. “Nimue, wait!” The taller, ponytailed woman called in vain. Nimue Carlisle, frontwoman of the world-renowned girl group Symphony3, had been en route to the Magispace with her bandmates, Jilaiya Bronwen and Mara Hearthoak, to prepare for their concert at the Festival. To put it nicely, Nimue was not gifted with the virtue of patience, and was about to give the poor receptionist a piece of her mind. Fortunately for the quivering young woman behind the desk, her bandmates intercepted her mid-tirade and dragged her away, apologizing profusely as they went. “Girl, we’ve talked about this,” Jilaiya sighed as she returned from a nearby cafe kiosk with a muffin and iced coffee. “We know you’re hungry and pissed off, but that nice lady was just doing her job. Take this and try to relax, okay?” “You better have gotten this right,” Nimue huffed prissily, snatching the cup from her hand and taking a sip. “Two creams and enough caramel syrup to kill a horse. Not my first rodeo, drama queen. And for Mara,” Jilaiya handed the muffin to her pink-haired bandmate, “the last wildberry muffin they had in the case. I know they’re your favourite.” “Ooh! Jilaiya, you’re the best.” Mara broke the muffin in half, then paused. “Wait, nothing for you?” “Nah, portal travel makes me queasy. Best to do it on an empty stomach.” “Aww, at least eat something,” she frowned, passing Jilaiya half her muffin. “Yes, love, wouldn’t want you to starve,” Nimue added. “Besides, we’re not getting out of here anytime soon.” “Listen, I’m okay, really! Besides, the portals could reopen any moment now.” “Not bloody likely,” Nimue groused. “Just eat the damn muffin, Jil.” Rolling her eyes, Jilaiya took the half-muffin. As much as she didn’t want to concede to Nimue’s grumpiness, it didn’t look like the portals would be back up and running anytime soon. A little snack wouldn’t hurt. As the trio savoured their snacks, someone slumped into the seat next to them, parking his carry-on at the end of the row. “Oh, morning, Taron! I almost thought you weren’t going to make it!” Mara greeted her childhood friend. “Hey,” Taron grunted, flicking strands of split-dyed hair -- half dusty rose, half copper-green -- out of his eyes. His thin lips were firmly set in his trademark scowl, and his brows were furrowed. “The hell happened here?” He gestured to the minefield of ice blocking the way to the portals. “I thought I was going to be late too -- that’s what I get for being an idiot and not setting an alarm -- but I guess I didn’t have to worry.” “Dunno,” Jilaiya mumbled through a mouthful of muffin. “There were some weird icy spikes, and then the portals snapped shut.” Taron rolled his eyes. “What kind of weird, world-threatening mess have Fi, Burgh, and Miri gotten themselves into now?” Nimue opened her mouth to speculate, but shut it just as quickly. She stood up and strutted over to a far corner of the chamber, tossing her empty iced coffee cup into the recycling bin as she left. “Oh, gods, where’s she going?!” Mara shot out of her seat, and Taron and Jilaiya followed suit. They understood once they caught up with Nimue and saw what she saw. A small group was gathering away from the vast majority of the crowd. The air around the group was thick and sweet, a sure sign that the separation was magically enforced, beckoning anyone meant to join -- and warding away anyone who wasn’t. At first glance, this group was entirely random. They were from different kingdoms, generations, and walks of life. From members of the world’s royal families to an average middle-schooler, there was nothing visibly in common between them. But, there was a real, potent connection between them. Although most of Itraviel believed that tales of power and corruption, gods and demons, and ground-shaking battles for the world's fate were entirely fictional, this group knew they held more truth than met the eye. They not only knew about the secret battles that raged in the shadows, however -- they fought them. Some were heroes, some were villains, others -- like Taron -- allies for either side, and a few -- like the ladies of Symphony3 -- fell somewhere in between. But no matter where they were on the battlefield, they each had their part to play and knew all the others did, too. In light of this, seeing everyone getting along so well was surprising. Everyone in that little group was perfectly civil, even friendly, with each other. The heroes made no accusations of accountability for the sudden shutdown, nor were any dramatic, responsibility-claiming boasts made by the villains. The Feast of Hope was the only time of year that both sides held a genuine truce. The villains had their reasons for this -- a desire for peace, a need for relaxation, or simply a lack of motivation chief among them. Simply put, the Feast was such a peaceful, benign occasion that no one bothered to ruin it. It was a line even the most despicable wouldn’t cross. In return, the Festival was open to anyone who wished to attend, even those who would otherwise be the Magispace’s enemies as long as they behaved. The Peacekeepers, protectors of Earth’s magical community, had debated extensively over extending the invitation, but eventually decided in favour of it -- with the caveat that the privilege would be swiftly revoked at the first sign of abuse. So, seeing as the unofficial truce was in place and no one was leaving anytime soon, both sides settled down to wait it out together. As the terminal’s food options began to deplete and boredom set in, villains shared their travel snacks with hungry heroes, and heroes helped entertain the villains with stories and jokes. Unfortunately, it was to no avail, as the sense of annoyance and helplessness in the room grew out of control at an oppressive rate. It was as if hope itself was draining from the crowd, reducing them to listless souls, entirely disinterested in everything except sitting and waiting in futility. And to certain people, the root of this sudden bout of despair -- coupled with an instantaneous drop in the hall’s temperature -- became apparent. The Lord of Frost and Despair was free. Gods help them all.