Delia Bennett didn't believe in Santa Clause. She hated the people filling the streets on last minute present shopping; she hated the overly priced fashion in the front windows; she hated the fake cheerfulness that filled the streets of her hometown these days. Frankly, she hated Christmas. As she dug her keys out of her handbag, she grunted unhappily. Her bottom still hurt from when she'd slipped on the random bit of ice that led up to her house's door.

'Stupid winter,' she murmured and entered. 'Dad, I'm home!'

The house she and her father lived in was old and far too spacey for just the two of them, but Delia would never dare to tell him so. Her Dad had inherited the typically suburban building from his deceased parents, since his sister lived almost at the other end of the country. It was fairly worn, the terrace bleached from the many summers it had withstood, the inside creaky and rather dusty. Between the two of them, there seemed to be more dust accumulating than they could manage to clean out. They even found the odd pile of sand, thought their hometown was a far way from the nearest beach. Delia knew it was too much; too big, too old, too instable should there ever be a hurricane. She knew, but she couldn't help loving the place. It was where she'd grown up, the old walls littered with pictures of her and her father and, occasionally, her mother. The furniture was cluttered here and there, and didn't match at all, but neither she nor her father minded that. In fact, it was one of their favourite pastimes to snoop through the nearest garage sale and acquire the next priceless piece to join their home. Delia took off her shoes and stacked them neatly into the wooden cabinet in the corridor.

'Dad?' She called again, certain he was home. Most probably, he was in his little shed in the garden that he liked to occupy even in the deepest winter. Delia looked out of the kitchen window into the backyard and, sure enough, the light in the hut shone brightly. She sighed, smiling, and decided to boil some water in the kettle.

She knocked on the shed's door and it creaked open. Even though a small radiator stood in the middle of the room it was still pretty cold and Delia was surprised to see that her father was working on yet another of his intricate ice sculptures. How he did it, she had no idea, but they never seemed to melt in the hut, always maintaining their beautiful sheen and mesmerizing structure that caught the light and scattered into millions of tiny specks that covered the wooden ceiling. Her father had caught sight of her and rushed over, smiling.

'Delia, sweetheart,' he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek all the while relieving her of the tray she was holding and setting it on the table. 'How are you?'

'I'm good, thanks, Dad.' Delia smiled. Her father was the most loving person she knew, always affectionate, always caring, always putting his own needs after hers.

'How was school?' He passed her one of the mugs of steaming cocoa she had brought from the house and she accepted gratefully. She blew on her drink as her dad took the other cup.

'Yeah, alright.' She shrugged. 'School, you know…'

'Yes, I know.' He chuckled. 'Nothing like your extra college lectures, right?'

'You know they're far more interesting!' She protested, taking a sip from her cocoa and burning her tongue in the process. Delia had earned a part-time college scholarship from her town's college as a prize for winning the last science contest by a large margin. She had always been proud of her rational mind, as it was one of the things that connected her to her mother still. Her dream was to become a neuroscientist and the beginner's course she was attending at college was both intriguing and challenging and Delia absolutely loved it.

'Anyway, Dad, what is it you're making this time, huh?' Delia walked around her father to get a better look at the sculpture he was making. It was a little taller than her and had a vaguely human shape. She could make out the clothes the figure was 'wearing': a hoodie and torn jeans, no shoes. The head, however, was yet to be given the details, but from the overall shape she concluded it would turn out to be a teenage boy.

'It's Jack Frost,' her Dad said, smiling wistfully as Delia's head spun around to scowl at him.

'Dad,' she complained. 'Not again!'

'Sweetheart, just because you cannot see him, doesn't mean he doesn't exist.' He took a few steps towards her and gently touched the ice sculpture.

'Yes, Dad, that's exactly what it means!' Delia rolled her eyes. She loved her father to pieces, but his constant rambling about Jack Frost, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Sandman and the Tooth Fairy drove her up the wall. She had believed him when she was young, listening in rapture when he told his stories of the Guardians. She remembered her mother laughing gently and telling him not to fill Delia's ears with these fantastic stories, but Delia had loved them. The winter when she was five years old, however, all her faith in these so-called Guardians disappeared and had never since returned.

'Nonsense.' Her Dad kept tracing the icy figure under his fingertips. 'Do you stop believing in the moon when the sun comes up? Or in the sun-'

'"When the clouds cover it?" Yes, Dad, that's what you've always told me. And I will reply what I always reply: I believe in nothing unless scientifically proven. Anyway.' She sighed and walked to the door, the thought of her foolish father to smothering for her to bear. 'I'll start cooking dinner, I'll call you when I'm done.'

Her father stopped her as she was about to leave and kissed her head.

'Thank you, sweetheart,' he said and closed the door after her.

She ran her hand through her hair and stared up into the starry sky. She just couldn't stay mad at him, no matter what he did.

That night she had the strangest dream. She was five years old and her father was playing with her in the snow, building a snowman, throwing snowballs… there was a boy there, a teenager, laughing, beckoning her to throw harder, showing her how to make the perfect snowball… then the boy threw his snowball at a giant rabbit carrying a boomerang. The rabbit got angry, retaliated and tried to hit the two of them with a pile of snow, but his projectile missed. Behind her, a woman's voice chattered in mock anger.

'Oh, just you wait, Bunny, this means revenge!' She resembled a hummingbird with her colourful feather dress and her wings.

'Oh, ho ho!' A voice called from overhead, a deep, booming sound. 'Do not start without me!' Suddenly a giant sleigh stooped from the sky and a round, bearded man, dressed in red stepped onto the snow to join them. Just as he approached them a giant golden ball hit him in the face, then crumbled to dust. The bearded man blinked in surprise, then laughed heartily. 'I see Sandy is also here.'

Delia looked behind her. A very round golden spirit was floating in the air. She rubbed her eyes in wonder, couldn't believe what she saw. The spirit seemed to be made entirely of golden sand.

Another snowball hit the teenager square in the face. He looked surprised for a second, then grinned.

'Jamie!' He turned to her father. 'That was naughty!'

'Oh?' Her father returned the mischievous grin. 'I thought you were the one leading the naughty list.'

'That's not wrong,' the bearded man confirmed in a strong Russian accent.

'Really?' The voice was like oil and ice at the same time, smooth, but incredibly cold.

A shiver ran down Delia's spine and even the five year old her knew that this was an evil so strong she couldn't possibly think of defying it. She looked up at her father and his friends and saw the shock and fear in all of their faces. Then the teenager's face hardened.

'Pitch,' he said. 'What do you want?'

The figure he was speaking to was white-faced, but clad in a cloth so black it seemed to nullify the light of the full moon that had illuminated the night. His eyes were full of rage and madness and suddenly breathing became very hard for Delia. The teenager took a step forward her, spreading his left hand protectively in front of her.

'Oh,' the black man snickered. 'You think I'm after her? No, you fool, the girl is a lost cause! You can only meet her in dreams like these, created by him.' He pointed at the golden sand spirit. 'She doesn't believe.'

'Then whaddaya want, punk?' The giant rabbit asked angrily.

'What do you think?' The black man slowly walked around their front lane, picked a leave off the big holly bush and sneered as it withered between his fingertips. He fixed his dark eyes on her father.

'Daddy…' Delia reached up to grab her fathers sleeve, and he placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

'Leave, Pitch, this isn't your dream!' He said firmly.

The black figure, Pitch, tutted. 'Jamie, Jamie, the last light…' He sighed. 'Indeed this isn't my dream.' He sneered, then fixed her eyes on Delia. 'It's her nightmare!'

Delia wanted to scream, but not a sound left her mouth. All around them shadows erupted, spinning ever closer, forcing the seven of them to stick together.

'Daddy, what's happening!?' Delia cried, desperate to wake up. 'If this is a dream, I don't want it anymore!'

'Sweetheart.' Her father's face was filled with worry.

'Don't worry, Delia!' The teenager said firmly. 'We'll protect you.' He spread his arms, and Delia waited for something to happen, but absolutely nothing changed. 'What?' The teenager looked panicked. 'What's going on?'

'Jack…' Her father looked shocked.

Pitch laughed, somewhere to Delia's left, though she couldn't see him through the wall of black shadows that was closing in on them.

'It's the girl's dream, Jack Frost, and she doesn't believe in you. In here, you are powerless.'

Delia's fingertips were numb, her tongue leaden. She didn't know what was going on anymore. The dark shadows swelled and rose, then crashed down on them. She screamed and covered her face. It was a cold like she'd never experienced before, not the one you could fight with a warm cup of hot cocoa, but a cold that froze your bones and drove your thoughts out of your brain. After a short moment, the cold subsided and Delia opened eyes that she hadn't realised she'd closed to a once again bright night, illuminated by the moon. The five magical beings and Pitch were gone, and so was her father. Delia was all alone in the world.

Her eyes flew open and she stared at the ceiling. Her forehead was clammy and her pyjamas stuck to her skin. She was breathing heavily, still paralysed by her nightmare. She tried to take a few unsteady breaths and spoke up, her voice resonating in her bedroom.

'It's okay,' she whispered. 'It was just a nightmare, nothing to be scared of.' She forced herself to sit up, her fingers still shaking. 'Just a nightmare…'

She got to her feet, forcing herself, angry now, to descend to the kitchen for a glass of water. She was in the hallway just by the steps when an unusually cold breeze blew through her hair. She let out a short shriek and immediately covered her mouth. She didn't accept herself to be afraid of some fantastic creature. She closed her eyes and took five deep breaths. A little calmer, she changed her direction and wandered to her father's chamber.

'Just to make sure,' she told herself. 'He's still going to be there.'

She grabbed the door handle and silently slipped into the room, careful not to wake her father. His sheets lay peacefully on his bed, a glass of water on his bedside table. Her father, however, was nowhere to be seen. Delia took a sharp breath, panic creeping back into her throat. This was impossible. There was no sign of struggle, nothing that indicated her father's absence at all, except the fact that he was, indeed, gone. She balled her fists and sprinted out of the room. The bathroom, certainly he'd be there. No such luck. In this manner Delia inspected every room in the house, growing more desperate by the minute until, nearly out of her mind, she ran into the backyard, and nearly crashed into her father's ice sculpture as she scrambled into the garden hut. The room, just like the others had been, was awfully empty. She could feel tears tugging at the corners of her eyes and blinked them away. No, she thought, there was a rational reason for all that. The turned on the light in the hut and looked around, searching for a hint, something, anything… then her gaze fell upon the sculpture. It almost appeared floating in the air, only one of the feet touching the ground, the other hovering a few inches above. The boy was indeed clad in jeans and a hoodie, a staff in his right hand, a mischievous grin on his handsome face. Though, naturally, the sculpture was colourless, Delia knew exactly what the boy looked like: Icy blue eyes, pale skin and hair as white as snow. Her breath blew white clouds into the cold winter air as she spoke.

'Jack Frost.' She approached the sculpture and gently traced the boy's chin. She could feel a hot tear running down her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the statue away from her.

'No!' The icy sculpture crashed onto the ground and shattered. 'It's all your fault!' She shouted, nut caring if her neighbours heard the commotion. 'You said you'd protect us! My father is gone and it's your fault!'

She fell to her knees, sobbing desperately, tears wetting her palms.

'You know, I'm feeling guilty enough without you telling me that,' a voice said behind her.

Delia gasped and whirled around. She was looking at a boy her age, with features identical to the sculpture she'd just destroyed. His icy blue eyes looked both hurt and surprised and his fingers were holding onto his staff so firmly the knuckles had turned white. Delia couldn't speak, not a single word would leave her throat. The boy blinked.

'Can you… can you hear me?' He asked.

Delia scowled, angry, shocked, desperate, and defiantly shook her head.

'Yes, you do!' The boy exclaimed. 'You can hear me!'

'Shut up!' She told him. Her entire reality was being reshaped just by the existence of this one boy. She noticed he was hovering a few inches above the ground, held up by a steady winter breeze.

'Can you… see me as well?' He asked, ignoring her former comment.

Delia clenched her jaw and wiped the tears out of her eyes. 'You're dead ugly,' she lied. 'You look nothing like Dad's sculpture.' She knew she was being childish but she had basically just been thrust back into her childhood. The twelve years that had passed since the moment she'd stopped believing seemed to have been reverted in an instant.

'Really?' The boys' eyes narrowed slightly. 'I thought it was rather spot-on. After all, I spent the entire afternoon standing still just for Jamie.'

'You… were here?'

The boy looked at the ground. 'Yes.'

'Even… even just then?'

He seemed to understand, as his face distorted painfully. 'There was nothing…' he began. 'My powers didn't work…' He stared at his hands, apparently desperate for an explanation.

The absurdity of the situation and her panic led Delia into mad laughter.

'No,' she finally said, getting to her feet and staring at the boy. 'You're not real, none of this,' she gestured around, 'is real.'

The boy looked at her, exhaustion clouding his icy blue eyes. He walked past her and put a hand on the broken sculpture. It glowed blue and instantly mended itself. The boy placed the statue back on its feet and Delia found herself amazed, despite her negative emotions, at how well her father had covered his features. Once again, tears streamed down her face.

'Why?' She asked.

'Jamie,' the boy answered. 'Has saved us once before. He was the only one who never lost faith, the last light.'

'Us?'

'Yeah, us. Santa Claus. The Tooth Fairy. The Easter Bunny. The Sandman. And me.'

'Jack Frost.' The words were like a whisper on Delia's lips, but in an instant, the boy seemed to almost start glowing.

'Yes,' Jack agreed.