The North Pole was never truly quiet, but tonight it felt different. Santa moved through the corridors with purpose, his cardboard boxes tucked under one arm. The red suit—his identity for three centuries—hung heavy on his shoulders like a costume he'd finally decided to shed.
He made his way to the equipment room where the sleigh was housed, that magnificent vehicle of magic and engineering that had carried him across every sky on Christmas Eve. The reindeer stalls were empty; they'd been retired to pasture years ago when he'd started rotating through younger herds. The sleigh itself sat in its dock, polished and ready for a Christmas that would now be someone else's responsibility.
Santa ran his hand along the sleigh's wooden frame, feeling the grain beneath his fingers. How many times had he sat in this seat? How many children had he thought about while riding through the night? The questions felt distant now, like they belonged to a different person entirely.
He left the sleigh as it was. Reginald could figure out what to do with it.
The exit tunnel—the one that led away from the North Pole toward the human world—stretched before him like a passage into a new life. Santa had rarely used it; his entire existence had been the North Pole. Leaving it felt like stepping off the edge of the world.
The December night air hit his face as he emerged, cold and sharp and real in a way the Workshop never was. The boxes in his arms suddenly felt very light. Behind him, the magical dome that concealed the North Pole shimmered and solidified, a barrier between his old life and whatever came next.
Santa stood at the threshold for a long moment, his white beard catching the starlight. He could still turn back. Could still march into Reginald's office and demand his position. Could still fight.
But the exhaustion was deeper than any fighting spirit could reach. Three hundred years was a long time to carry the weight of Christmas.
He turned away from the North Pole and began walking toward the distant airport, toward the possibility of somewhere warm, somewhere quiet, somewhere that didn't require him to be Santa Claus.
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