Claude and Mishka moved steadily through the snow, the unrecognizable prints guiding their path. The blizzard made it difficult to see far ahead, but Claude’s sharp eyes picked out faint disturbances in the otherwise pristine drifts.

The tracks were erratic—sometimes straight, sometimes weaving unpredictably. It was as though the creature had been disoriented or in pain. Claude frowned, his mind racing through possibilities. None of them made sense.

Mishka stopped abruptly, her ears swiveling. Claude followed her gaze to the dark line of trees ahead. The snowstorm made it difficult to see, but the silence was unnerving. He adjusted his pack and checked his rifle, his senses on high alert.

“We’re getting closer,” he murmured. “Stay sharp.”

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As they walked, Claude’s thoughts turned inward, unbidden memories surfacing in the cold. Santa had always been a larger-than-life figure in his world, but there had been moments—brief, fleeting—when the magesto had shown him something deeper.

It was years ago, during one of the rare quiet seasons at the North Pole. Claude had been immersed in his usual duties—managing Mrs. Claus’ ledgers, organizing supply lists, and keeping the operation running smoothly—when Santa had approached him unexpectedly.

“Claude,” Santa had said, his voice unusually gentle. “Come with me.”

They had walked out into the snow, the cold biting but invigorating. A young polar bear had waited for them, her white fur glowing faintly in the aurora’s light.

“She’s yours,” Santa had said simply, gesturing toward the bear.

Claude had stared, stunned. “Mine? Why?”

Santa had smiled, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve always been more than just one of my helpers. You’ve done more for this family than anyone gives you credit for. And I trust you to take care of her, just as you’ve always taken care of us.”

The words had stayed with Claude ever since. He wasn’t like the other elves, and Santa had seen that. Mishka wasn’t just a gift—she was a partner, a reminder that Claude’s role in their world mattered.