The ancient, snow-blanketed mountain trembled slightly—not from a blizzard or quake, but from the long-suffering sigh of Chief Askasleikir, leader of the Alfar tribe of Alfheim.
He stood proudly, arms crossed, brows twitching beneath his long silvery eyebrows, as he stared at the yellow robed chaos gremlin that just broke their holy barrier. "Saint," Askasleikir grumbled through gritted teeth, "are we truly going to let this young god desecrate our sacred factory?"
Hermes—still fully disguised as Santa Claus—sweated bullets. His jolly red coat suddenly felt three sizes too warm. "Ho ho ho... Askasleikir, my oldest friend, come now," Hermes replied with forced cheer, "Let's think of this as... a rare opportunity to relive our glory days! You know we're still on probation to deliver magical gifts this cycle anyway... right?"
Aska didn't budge. "Even if he is a young god, this place is sacred, not only to my people, but even to you."
Hermes chuckled nervously, tugging his collar. "Indeed, indeed. But—what if this becomes a new pilgrimage for us? A revival of spirit! Besides... what better way to distract him than a tour?"
That did it. The eyes of the surrounding Alfar lit up like Yule trees, gleaming with the joy of long-dormant purpose. It had been centuries since they guided anyone through the Factory of the Twelve Gifts.
Askasleikir straightened his fur-lined collar, let out a sigh, then walked toward Jack, his boots crunching across the snow-dusted floor. He stopped two paces from Jack, then saluted—right hand over his heart, head bowed slightly. "Young god," Aska said with the formality of a true Alfar warrior, "I offer my deepest apologies for our aggression. It was a misunderstanding."
Jack sniffled dramatically. He wiped at his dry nose with the back of his sleeve and mumbled, "Yeah, sure. I forgive you… but only because it's Christmas." He tilted his head with his signature feral grin. "But I'll say this—violence should never come from Christmas elves. You're supposed to make toys, bake cookies, and sing off-key carols at awkward intervals. Violence... is my job."
He stared straight at Aska. A glint of something ancient—something unhinged—danced behind Jack's golden eyes.
"Aska, my friend," Jack said in a low, philosophical mutter, "Do you know what violence is? It's truth—without etiquette. It's music played with your bones. It's an orchestra conducted by my staff, and each scream is a hymn."
Everyone went still. Even Zephyr paused mid-bob.
"…Okay," Aska muttered. "Noted." He rubbed his temples. "And for the record, we are not Christmas elves," Aska said sharply, "we are Alfar, descendants of Alfheim, keepers of craft and sacred gifts. Have some respect."
Hermes added quickly, "Yes, yes, please use their proper title. I would appreciate that."
Jack tilted his head. "Oh! So if I say 'Alfar' instead of 'Christmas elves,' I get to see the Naughty List, right?"
Hermes' composure faltered. His internal monologue screamed: WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF LEAP IN LOGIC—
But he held character. "Sure… sure," Hermes wheezed, "Whatever it takes—as long as you back off a bit, okay?"
Jack's face lit up like the Rockefeller tree. "YIPPEEEEEE!!" he shouted, spinning with joy. "Alright, let's go, Alfar warriors! I want the factory tour of a lifetime! And I better see elves riding battle deer!"
Aska muttered something in Old Alfar that translated loosely to "May Yggdrasil strike me down for this…"
He turned and gestured to the others. With stiff shoulders and haunted eyes, the Alfar formed an escort line around Jack, leading him down into the spiral staircase that descended into the underground.
Zephyr floated beside Jack, blue scarf fluttering proudly. Jack, ever in a festive spirit, started to belt out a song with off-key glee.
🎶
"Come with me… and you'll be…"
"In a world… of pure decapitation!"
🎶
The Alfar winced. The factory tour had begun.
…
Inside the humble little cottage atop the snow-draped peak, Hermes, Messenger of Olympus, God of Speed, Thievery, and Questionable Decisions, was losing his divine mind. He stumbled into the lounge, collapsed onto a fur-draped couch, and let out a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a dolphin squeal. What the hell is going on.
He had managed—miraculously—to keep up the Santa Claus act in front of Jack Hou, but internally, Hermes was rolling around in a mental dumpster fire.
He looked up at the ceiling and groaned, realizing once again just how deep this rabbit hole went. "I never should've let this go this far," he muttered.
The truth was simple and stupid in equal parts. Hermes never told the Alfar who he really was. Not once. Not even vaguely. As far as the Alfar knew, he was Saint Nicholas, a wise old spirit who appeared to an ancestor of their tribe centuries ago.
It started as a joke. A prank, really. He met a lone Alfar elder—a remnant of their tribe—stuck on Midgard, specifically the North Pole, of all godsdamn places. Alone. Lost. Desperate to return to Alfheim.
Hermes, being Hermes, saw an opportunity for what he thought would be a prime Olympian-class prank. "I'll help you return," he told the Alfar. "But first, build me… a flying sleigh." He fully expected despair. Maybe some groveling. Just a nice little gut-punch to Odin's rep, really.
But what happened instead? The Alfar—using his nature-based magic, had somehow summoned a branch of Yggdrasil itself.
In one afternoon, the crazy bastard built a sleigh that could fly, glide over mountain ranges, and hum like a harp when soaring through aurora skies. "What the fuck," Hermes had muttered then, too.
And so the conditions kept coming. "If you want me to help, build a cottage." Boom. A beautifully carved log cabin appeared overnight. "If you want my aid, create toys." Done. Board games, wooden swords, music boxes, marble mazes, and weird little puppets that told jokes in five languages.
He added more requests—half out of panic, half curiosity. A new harp. A gold-trimmed drum. A mechanical owl. A golden sack with impossible storage. Everything he asked for? Granted. The Alfar didn't complain. In fact, he loved it.
But then came the moment Hermes didn't expect. Right when he was about to reveal he wasn't Saint Nicholas, not even close, the old Alfar—worn and wrinkled but still proud—looked at him and said. "Thank you. I never knew giving could feel so fulfilling. I didn't realize that watching you open each gift would make me... happy."
Hermes had blinked. "What... do you mean?"
The Alfar gave a humble chuckle. "In Alfheim, we all make what we need. No one ever asks for anything, so no one ever gives. But giving something made by your own hands… and watching someone light up… It feels like magic."
Hermes stood there, still in disguise—beard, belly, red coat and all—frozen like a mortal child who just got struck by a truth bigger than Olympus itself. Wtf, Hermes thought. WTF?!
Now here he was—centuries later—still in this Christmas scam, but somehow… part of it. How did this become wholesome!? I was just trying to mess with Norse Pantheon!
He let out a long sigh. "And now I've got a murder gremlin god rummaging through my toy factory, trying to erase his name from a literal list of ethical metrics." He pinched his nose. "I miss when my worst problem was me stealing Apollo's cattle."
"…I need a drink."
…
Somewhere beneath the mountain, where permafrost met carved stone, the Alfar Toyworks stood dormant. Or at least, it had been dormant. Until now.
Jack Hou darted from station to station like a god-shaped bolt of mischief.
The factory was a strange harmony of nature and magic—wooden vines curled like ivy around chimneys that hissed soft bursts of steam, giant cogwheels lazily turned, rusted with centuries of disuse, a river of liquid starlight flowed in aqueducts along the walls, powering the intricate mechanisms of crafting tables that once sang with purpose.
It was beautiful. It was sacred. It was completely wasted on Jack.
"Here," began Aska, the chief of the Alfar, his proud old voice echoing through the glowing chamber, "is the Hall of Assembly, where for centuries our kind shaped toys—wood, tin, thread, and joy—into vessels of delight for children of Midgar—"
"OOH! SPINNY TOP!" Jack turned his staff back into an earring and sprinted toward a dusty shelf. He spun the faded top, watching it wobble drunkenly. Then he grinned and started spinning all of them. One by one. Dozens.
Zephyr hovered behind him, its cloudy form rippling with pure secondhand embarrassment. It tugged Jack's sleeve like an exhausted babysitter. But Jack just turned and gasped. "ZEPH LOOK! A SHINY BOLT! IT HAS EYES!" It didn't. But Jack still pocketed it.
Aska rubbed his temples. He leaned toward Zephyr, whispering in serious tones. "Tell me, cloud spirit... is he a god of crows? He is... very drawn to shiny objects."
Zephyr shook violently, as if denying the accusation, then gave Jack a sharp tug. Jack shouted, "OW! Okay, okay, I'm moving!"
They passed the Enchant-o-Matic, a cobbled-together contraption with a mallet hand and conveyor belt legs. Jack stared, blinked—then opened the hatch. Inside was a giant wooden hammer. "...Why is there a WARHAMMER inside a TOY MACHINE?" Jack muttered in awe. "Is this... Santa's Wrath?"
"That's not supposed to be in there!" one of the Alfar hissed.
"Can I have it?"
"NO!"
Aska cleared his throat, attempting nobility again. "Here, Young God, is where we crafted our greatest gifts: the star-sung violins, the lullaby bears, the self-humming harmonicas..."
But Jack had wandered off again. This time to a shelf full of wooden squirrels with acorn launchers. He triggered one by accident and an acorn hit him square in the forehead.
Zephyr, now vibrating with sheer please help me energy, dragged Jack back with a huff.
Jack said, "Come on! It's an awesome factory. But I feel like... I don't know, maybe one of us should've died by now in a cautionary song-and-dance number?"
A silence fell over the Alfar.
Aska squinted. "...Why would one of you be dying?"
Jack shrugged. "I dunno, just has that vibe, y'know? Like… 'one of five kids gets sucked into a candy tube and no one helps him' vibe."
He then broke into song. 🎵 "Oompa Loompa, doompety doo, I've got a perfect puzzle for you—" 🎵
One Alfar leaned over and whispered, "Is this a summoning spell?"
Aska, defeated, palmed his face. "Come. Let us go to the Reindeer Auto Barn."
Jack froze mid-twirl. "Wait... did you just say... REINDEER?" Aska turned to see Jack's eyes sparkling with divine glee. "Can I ride one?" Jack whispered.
The stone tunnel curved down like a spiral shell, the temperature rising gently as they descended deeper into the earth. And then—Light.
Jack blinked, adjusting his golden eyes. They stepped into a cavern the size of a city stadium. But it was no ordinary cave. This was a paradise in secret. Lush grass blanketed the floor, dotted with small wildflowers that shimmered faintly like starlight. Gentle hills rolled under the weight of soft wind, and above them…
A sun. A glowing sphere of white-gold light, suspended in mid-air, bathing the cavern in warmth and brilliance. "Where's that sunshine coming from?" Jack asked, neck craned.
One of the Alfar, a quiet warrior with a long braid, answered. "It's an artificial sun. Crafted from the breath of Sol himself. It should hold for a while."
"Until when?"
"Until your star dies."
Jack's eyes widened. "So... basically forever. But how can it—"
"REINDEER," Aska interrupted, expertly steering Jack's focus.
A great barn door creaked open, revealing the heart of the pasture. Jack gasped. Rows of reindeer, massive and regal, stood with calm strength. Their coats shimmered in every shade of winter—ash-grey, snow-white, chestnut brown. Their antlers twisted like ancient tree roots, some glowing faintly with runes carved long ago.
"ZEPPH!" Jack shouted, already jogging toward the herd. "LOOK! CHRISTMAS REINDEER!" The herd startled.
Jack took off, laughing hysterically, chasing the reindeer as if it were the first snow day of his life. The reindeer darted, but Jack danced after them effortlessly—zigzagging, vaulting, spinning mid-air, keeping up. Zephyr puffed and flared, whirling like a dog chasing a squirrel.
The Alfar stared. "He... he can keep up with them," one whispered.
Aska watched, stroking his beard. "Young god indeed…"
Jack skidded to a stop, his face flushed with glee. He turned to the Alfar with that manic, golden-eyed grin. "Hey! How fast can they run at full speed?"
One of the Alfar warriors, leaning smugly on his spear, smirked. "Don't worry. You can't catch them anyway."
The air shifted. Jack turned slowly, hair messy, lips curling into a grin that clearly smelled like trouble. "Oh? Is that what you think?" He pointed the tip of Ruyi Jingu Bang at the reindeer herd, then swept it into the air. "Let's race. Me... versus all your reindeer."
There was silence.
Aska sighed like a tired grandfather. "You can't be serious."
Jack bowed with mock elegance. "I never joke about a challenge."
The reindeer bristled, hooves pawing the earth as they lined up at the edge of the field. Jack stood barefoot, staff planted beside him like a flag. Zephyr floated nervously above him, forming a tiny cloud hat that read, "oh no."
Aska muttered to his warriors, "I suppose racing around the North Pole is enough?"
"Absolutely," Jack said, skipping in place like a child hyped on hot cocoa.
"Then let it be so," Aska declared. "The Challenge of Hooves and Hubris begins at the next sun chime."
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**