The rebuilt workshop glowed with lanterns as Roger and Milo stepped inside, snow still clinging to their coats. The air felt heavy, weighed down with the tension that came with what the night promised. Everyone inside knew why they were here, and the silence reflected it.
Before them were two groups: Santa's veterans — older elves with scarred hands and calm, disciplined eyes — and the younger recruits Roger and Milo had helped gather, nervous but determined. The disparity between experience and inexperience made Roger's stomach tighten. He glanced at Milo. "This is… everyone?"
Milo muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the room. "Looks like it."
Santa stepped forward, his coat dusted with snow, expression both stern and warm. "Thank you for coming," he said, voice carrying through the hall. "I won't sugarcoat this — the goblins have grown bold and organized. If we don't act tonight, Frostholm may never be the same."
Roger's heart thumped. He swallowed hard as Santa's gaze landed on him. "And that's why tonight… Roger, you will lead this mission."
Milo's eyes widened. "Wait — what?"
A murmur ran through the recruits. The veterans simply nodded, their trust in Santa evident.
Roger's chest tightened. He wanted to protest, to say he wasn't ready, but he nodded. "I'll do it."
Santa's faint smile was reassuring. "I know you will. You've seen their caves, understood their patterns, and kept your head when others didn't. That makes you the right leader."
The veterans moved to gather supplies while Santa addressed the room. "We move tonight. Everyone will have a role. This is not about reckless heroics — it's about reclaiming what is ours and ending their operations. The stolen toys, the chaos — it stops tonight."
Roger glanced at Milo, who gave him a firm, determined nod. Santa added, "I'll be with you. The northern entrance is perilous, and I want eyes on the bigger picture. I will not interfere unless necessary, but I will be there."
The room absorbed the weight of that. Santa's presence was reassuring, but it made the reality heavier — the man who had saved countless Christmases, untouchable to so many, would face the same danger as them.
They were led to the supply room, a narrow hallway stacked with crates. When the lids were lifted, their eyes widened: crossbows, reinforced shields, enchanted snow rifles, flare bombs, and smoke pellets. Tools of defense and stealth, designed to level the playing field against the vicious goblins.
"These are not toys," Santa said, voice low. "Use them only when necessary. Every move counts."
Roger ran a hand over a snow rifle, feeling its cold metal. Milo muttered, "Indiscriminate? I think they'll notice if we don't fire."
Santa gestured to the maps on the table. "Your objective is clear: secure the tunnels, disable their toy operations, and push them back far enough for Frostholm to breathe. You have your targets, flanks, and signals. Roger, your team moves through the south tunnel. Milo, the left flank. Veterans secure the exit."
Roger studied the map, memorizing every twist and hidden corner, stomach twisting with nerves and anticipation.
Outside, the sleighs waited — sturdy, dark, stripped of ornamentation. Steam rose from the reindeer's noses, and the North Pole wind bit through their coats. Roger climbed into the front sleigh with Milo beside him.
"You ready?" Milo asked, voice low.
Roger shook his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "No. But I'm going anyway."
The sleighs lifted off, snow exploding behind them, northern lights flickering faintly above. Silence fell, the kind that carried understanding and fear in equal measure.
The cave entrances loomed like jagged teeth. Shadows stretched across rock faces, faint goblin torchlight flickering in the distance. Santa's sleigh landed softly beside them.
"Stick to the plan," Santa instructed, eyes scanning the cave mouth. "I'll be with you until the first choke point. Their goal is not just to fight but to trap you. Move smart, move fast, watch each other."
Roger nodded, heart pounding. "We won't let you down."
Milo gripped his weapon. "Let's end this."
Together, they approached the cave. Snow around their boots sparkled faintly, untouched by goblin chaos, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The tunnels swallowed them, damp and foul, the faint green torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. Their boots echoed softly against stone as the columns of elves split into their positions. Roger signaled: split left, hug the wall, stay quiet.
For a moment, only the drip of water filled the air. Then came the hiss — high-pitched, wet, wrong.
Roger froze. Milo's grip tightened on his crossbow. A veteran hissed, "Incoming—"
A goblin lunged from a shadowed alcove, claws ripping into the first elf they met. Chaos erupted instantly.
Muzzle flashes streaked the darkness as snow rifles fired bursts of energy. Roger fought fiercely, seeing comrades fall, hearing the screams echo. "MOVE! PUSH FORWARD!" he yelled, adrenaline sharpening his reflexes.
Goblins crawled from walls, dropped from ceilings, shrieking with glee. Veterans fought with precision; recruits followed as best they could. Santa's voice rang out, "FORM UP! LEFT FLANK HOLD!" His lantern glowed, runes burning faintly, signaling positions.
The goblins retreated briefly, leaving behind bodies of four fallen elves. Milo's voice shook. "Dude… Roger… this is bad. They're everywhere."
"I know," Roger whispered, realizing his hands were slick with Alder's blood. "But we have to keep moving."
The tunnels opened into a massive chamber. Green fire torches illuminated crude towers of bone, scrap metal, and stolen wood. At the center, the massive wooden toy‑stealing machine loomed. Milo's breath hitched. "They rebuilt it… bigger."
Hundreds of glowing eyes blinked to life. The goblin legion advanced, snarling, claws scraping stone. On a raised platform stood the Goblin Marshal, twin bone blades in hand, armor blackened. A guttural war cry shook the cavern.
"BRACE! HOLD THE LINE!" Roger yelled. The first wave crashed into them like a tidal wave.
Veterans were pierced, recruits thrown, blood slicking the floor. Roger fired, swung, ducked — every move honed by training and necessity. Milo stabbed, ducked, and cursed. Nira, a young recruit, covered their flank expertly — then a goblin pounced from behind, ending her life instantly.
"MILO, DON'T STOP! WE CAN'T LOSE THIS!" Roger shouted, voice raw.
Milo's jaw tightened, angry tears blinding him, but he nodded. Together, they pushed forward, closer to the machine, closer to the heart of the goblin army.
A swinging spiked chain nearly crushed Roger. He rolled, taking the impact against his shoulder, teeth gritting. Milo plunged a short blade into a lunging goblin. The air was thick with blood, fear, and sweat.
"Move! Keep moving!" Roger yelled. They advanced, punching, kicking, stabbing, every step calculated. Training, survival instincts, and sheer will guided them.
The cavern opened into the goblin toy factory. Conveyor belts carried crudely built toys. Goblins added finishing touches frantically, muttering in their ancient tongue. Roger froze. "They're copying Santa…"
A figure flipped off a conveyor belt with uncanny agility. Santa.
Roger's jaw dropped as the old man somersaulted, dodged, and struck goblins with deadly precision. Milo stared. "Did… did Santa just—?"
"Keep moving!" Santa barked, sweeping his staff and clearing their path. Roger and Milo dove forward. Roger jammed a crowbar into the machine's gears, Milo fought off a goblin trying to stop him. Sparks flew; conveyor belts ground to a halt.
Santa wiped his brow, surveying the room. "Well done. These little devils were getting too clever."
Roger and Milo caught their breath, adrenaline still thrumming. "I… didn't know he had moves like that," Roger muttered.
"Neither did I… unbelievable," Milo replied.
Santa's smile was faint but proud. "It's not about moves. It's about knowing when to act, and having courage. You've got both."
Broken toys littered the floor. Goblin screams echoed faintly. Even amid chaos, Roger felt the thrill of doing something that mattered — protecting Frostholm, helping Santa, surviving.
But deep down, he knew it wasn't over. The goblins were clever, their tunnels deep. Somewhere further in, their secret — the thing they worshiped — still waited.
And they hadn't seen the worst of it yet.