The forest did not speak after Ana came.
Not because it refused her.
But because, sometimes, old things choose to look before judging.
Paul felt the change that same evening.
Not as a threat.
But as an alignment.
The air had become colder, cleaner, and the smell of wet earth was mixed with something new — resin, faint smoke, and a memory he had never experienced, but which he recognized.
Winter.
Not snow yet.
But her promise.
The children felt it differently.
Oana was the first to notice.
— My light no longer trembles, she said, surprised. It's like… waiting.
Paul nodded.
— Some things don't have a name. They come by themselves.
Alex hadn't said anything since he'd returned with Ana. But that night, he suddenly stood up from the small fire they'd lit.
— Something's coming, he said.
Not fire.
Not water.
Something else.
Vlad and Alexandra instinctively moved closer to each other. The shadow between them was quieter than it had ever been, as if listening.
Ana watched the forest carefully.
— In my village, she said quietly, bad things came before the holidays.
Paul turned to her.
— And good things.
Ana smiled faintly.
— I didn't catch those anymore.
Then Codrion spoke.
Not with words.
With cold.
The wind passed through the trees like a deep breath, and the remaining leaves began to fall all at once, not like autumn, but like a bow.
Paul understood.
The coming night was no ordinary night of fighting.
It was a night of passage.
— Stay close, he said. And don't take anything that isn't offered to you.
Oana blinked.
— Like in a clearing.
— More dangerous than in a clearing.
They set off when the sky had completely darkened.
Not on a road.
But in a direction.
The forest was changing as they went. The trees were getting rarer, older. The roots were sticking out like old signs, and the air was getting colder.
Alex stopped first.
— Here, he said.
The clearing was round.
Perfectly round.
In the center, there was no fire.
There was a warm, reddish light that burned nothing.
And next to her — a figure.
An old man.
With a white beard.
His coat was red, but not garish. It was old, sewn, patched as if it had been through hundreds of winters. His eyes were clear and tired.
Vlad took a step back.
— It's not…
— It is, Paul said quietly.
Santa turned to them.
He smiled.
— Late this year, he said. But the forest is never wrong.
Ana felt her knees weaken.
— You… are you real?
Santa laughed softly.
— It depends on who asks.
Paul stepped forward.
— Who's attacking him?
Santa's smile faded.
— Something that hates gifts, he said. Something that feeds on what wasn't received.
The shadow between Vlad and Alexandra moved.
— I know the smell, Alexandra said.
The earth cracked.
From the edge of the clearing, dark shapes began to appear.
Not ordinary shadows.
But voids.
Things that took the form of broken gifts, discarded toys, forgotten promises.
Oana raised her hand.
Her light turned golden.
— It doesn't burn, she said in amazement.
— Because now you're not defending, Paul said. Now you're offering.
Alex knelt by the light.
The water in the air gathered, not like a wave, but like a mirror.
— I see them, he said. All the children who didn't receive anything.
Santa sighed.
— That's why I need you.
Paul felt the roots moving underground.
— Then let's not delay.
And the forest closed the circle.
Santa was in no hurry.
As the hollows approached the circle of light, he knelt down slowly and touched the ground with his palm.
— Many people think that I bring gifts, he said calmly. The truth is that I guard them.
Paul looked at him carefully.
— From whom?
Santa smiled without joy.
— From time. From forgetfulness. From those who take without leaving anything behind.
The hollows stopped suddenly, as if the words had held him in place.
Oana felt a shiver.
— He doesn't attack us directly.
— I can't, said Santa. As long as someone remembers what he's offering.
Alex looked up.
— But what if there's no one left?
Santa stared at him for a long time.
— Then the world slowly closes. Without noise. Without fire.
Ana moved closer.
— My village… didn't burn out of hatred, she said. It burned out of oblivion.
Santa nodded.
— Exactly.
The voids began to move again.
This time, faster.
Paul raised his hand.
The roots came to the surface, but they didn't attack.
They formed a mass.
A barrier.
— We can't stop them with force alone, said Paul. Tell us what to do.
Santa stood up.
From his cloak he took a sack.
Not big.
Not full.
— Every gift must be chosen, he said. Not given at random.
He looked at the children one by one.
— Oana.
He handed her a small box.
— Don't open it.
— What is it?
— The courage to stay good when you could burn.
Oana's light became stable, warm, like a lamp in a window.
— Alex.
He offered her a transparent sphere.
— You see the future. But you have to learn to choose which ones are worth changing.
The water around Alex became crystal clear.
— Vlad and Alexandra.
Santa gave them a black ribbon.
— Your shadow is not a curse. It is a bridge.
The shadow between them settled.
— Ana.
The girl flinched.
Santa put something invisible in her palm.
— I am not giving you anything new. I am letting you keep what you lost.
Ana began to cry.
The hollows howled.
Not out of anger.
Out of hunger.
Paul felt the forest tightening the circle.
— Now, Santa said. Offer.
They did not throw the gifts.
They placed them on the ground.
The hollows approached and… fell apart.
They didn't disappear.
They filled up.
They became memories.
Toys.
Holding hands.
Laughter.
The circle lit up.
Santa leaned on his cane.
— This is the real fight.
Paul felt tired.
— And the price?
Santa looked at him.
— You're already paying for it. Staying.
In the distance, it started to snow.
The first snow.
— The chapter doesn't close here, Santa said. Not for you. Not for me.
He turned back to the forest.
— We'll see each other again.
And the light went out.