Pitch's suspicions were proven valid not two weeks later. Strange rebel attacks began popping up, nightmares kept mysteriously getting picked off (although that was like trying to empty the ocean with a bucket,) and children were expressing a strange phenomenon of sleep free from nightmares, or even pleasant sleep.

The fact that plesant dreams existed didn't bother Pitch. He'd created and perfect his nightmare sand out of dream sand, and such an opposite process could be created under the right circumstances. But the fact that there was a rebel group with enough nerve to use the icon of his polar opposite was worrying indeed: not only that, but these rebels also possess the ability to take down nightmares, ward off his patrol forces, and always dissapear without a trace.

He was almost impressed.

Almost.

But Pitch was many centuries old, and he knew how to handle such things. He made secret orders: they were kept hidden from the media to deny these pesky rebels the chance prepare against them. Pitch would slowly, carefully, bring these rebels into a trap. He was patient. He always had been.

His kingdom had survived other rebellions, though none quite as threatening as this one was suggesting to be. Pitch could wait.

It was a couple more weeks before his work bore fruit. Sarah, Chief Commander of her division, had just arrived at the sight where the vandals had escaped again in broad daylight. As always, she had been just moments too late. Sarah snarled, trying to keep in her temper: regardless of her efforts, the soldiers and guards felt the temperature drop a couple degrees. "Any injuries? What's the damage around here?"

"Mitch fell and broke his arm. A couple cars got dents in them now, and I think a window broke, but nothing else I know of."

Sarah sighed. At least it could have been much worse. "Alright. Alert the owners of the damaged property: direct them to the usual source of compensation for damages."

She was walking around, helping clean up and manage the dirty details, when a soldier timidly walked up. Mitch was new enough, had only been serving for about a year now, but he had proven to be a good man. "Pardon, Mam?"

She nodded once. "Yes?"

Mitch shuffled around a bit, fiddling with the sling temporarily holding his broken arm. "I... I don't mean to seem unsatisfied in my work, or to question Lord Pitch, but... how are we supposed to fight an enemy we cannot see? I'm not the first injury since these vandals showed, and I doubt I'll be the last."

Sarah looked long and hard at him. He was genuinely telling the truth, and she knew in her heart that he was right: she'd been thinking it herself for a while now. Sarah sighed and placed a hand on his unbroken shoulder. "I know. And this injury is my fault. I was temporarily called a couple streets away, and didn't stop to think that the vandals would attack then. But trust me. We're going to put a stop to this. We have a plan." Sarah tightened her grip a little. "I will get you all through this. You may never be able to see them, but they will be dealt with, swiftly."

Mitch smiled. He nodded once, then turned back to the waiting medics.

"Mam?" Another soldier called. Sarah resisted the urge to sigh: 500 years of this and she still wasn't used to the constant flow of problems. "Mam... I don't know what I'm looking at over here."

"Don't touch it. I'm coming over." Perhaps it was part of the vandals gear or weapons, or perhaps even some of the dreamsand. Sarah made her way over to the crouching soldier and looked down at what he had found.

If she hadn't been a Winter spirit made primarily of ice, Sarah would have said her blood ran cold. The temperature of the whole block instantly dropped several degrees, leaving pedestrians and soldiers alike suddenly shivering in the cold. Sarah froze what she saw in a sheet of ice. She locked eyes with the soldier. "You did not see this."

The soldier looked back. He had been serving for years now, much of his time spent under Sarah, trusting her judgment and skill. There was no one who didn't respect her for who she was. She was invincible. Sarah was the unbreakable ice of Pitch's Elite.

He looked into her eyes, and for the first time, he saw true fear there.

He blinked, nodded once, and walked away, leading his fellows away. "Alright! Let's wrap up men! Nothing to see over there."

By the time he had turned around, Sarah was gone.

She reappeared in the Great Hall of Pitch's castle. Bitter cold emminated from her body, instantly sending shivers through the bodies of everyone present save the King of Darkness himself. Sarah strode to before his throne: nobles, press, officers, and inner rings of command parted before her, most sending small bows her way: they looked side to side, anxious. Sarah fell to one knee. "My Lord. I have urgent news."

Pitch shrugged, his eyebrows knitting. "What is it?"

Sarah swallowed hard. "Nothing you will want heard outside of privacy."

"Hmm." Pitch leaned forward. After a moment's thought, he rose to his feet. "Leave us." Everyone made themselves scarce. Pitch turned to a chamber behind his throne, Sarah immediately following without question or command. She felt her chsst vibrating and wondered briefly if she was about to start getting cracks in her icy body: she wasn't truly immortal like Jack or Pitch after all.

Suddenly Sarah wished more than anything that Jack was there with her right then. He would calm her, pacify Pitch, even hold her hand if he needed to.

But he was on the other side of the world; and she had no way to bring him near.

Pitch began to pour himself a glass of wine. "You have news about the vandals? Something quite serious I imagine."

Sarah nodded. "They... they are not vandals at all, My Lord."

Pitch frowned. "How so?"

Sarah fished the sheet of ice out of her vest. With a trembling hand, she offered it and the evidence trapped inside to Pitch. He took the glass-like ice, not bothered by the cold in the slightest. He peered into the clear ice in an attempt to see what was so concerning.

His blood ran cold; and it had nothing to do with the ice user in the room.

He dropped the ice like it burned him. It shattered on the floor.

Inside, trapped away like a strange mememto, was the crumpled remains of a brightly colored egg.

-- that evening, elsewhere --

"Ya can't keep watching that television all day North."

St. Nicholas North hummed in dissatisfaction at Bunny's comment. He had been watching the news, and something was striking him as wrong. "They are pulling all military units and guard patrols back to his capitol, one by one."

Bunny frowned. Walking over to where North sat on the couch, his new cybernetics clicked on the stone floor. "That can't be right. What do ya reckon he's up to now?"

North shrugged. Life had been strange since they had woken up in the moon's base. Their cybernetically enhanced and sustained bodies wasnt' the only change: Sandy hadn't been able to be saved; Pitch ruled over the world; Jack Frost was in league with Pitch; and somehow, the people continued to live their lives. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

They had yet to establish a true plan of attack. To test their new abilities and gain an understanding of their new power, the three Guardians had been transported down to an underwater base on Earth and had been doing odd attacks here and there.

Before they had left, they had scoured the surface and internal maze of the Moon for Tsar Lunar, but the little man was no where to be found. His presence was somewhere, but he had locked himself away. North hypothesized that he had been weakened and was hidden away to recuperate... much like he had forced them to do.

But they were on Earth now, watching a news broadcast. Bunny sniffed. "We best keep on our toes. Whatever he's planning, it ain't good."

North hummed. "You are right as always Bunny. It's just..." his voice faded.

"You're thinking about that backstabber Frost, ain't'cha?" Bunny sighed heavily. "North, why do you keep getting hung up 'im? We trusted him not to rat us out to Pitch, and he freaking SOLD us to him!"

"Do you think Pitch has him under some magical control?"

Bunny's jaw fell to the floor. "... has reincarnation made you lose a few braincells North? Look at him!" Bunnymund gestured to the screen: it showed Jack working to bring about a lively fall of snow up in Canada, laughing alongside his Winter Sprite brethren. By all accounts he looked nearly exactly like they remembered from 500 years ago. The only real difference was his clothing: instead of tattered jeans and loose fitting hoodie, he wore nice yet flexible pants, a still loose fitting robe-like jacket, and a head garment that he had pulled up over his pearly white hair. "He looks the exact same! If he was under some dark magic control, we would have felt it."

It was hard to argue with Bunny's assessment. "... perhaps... perhaps you are right... but I stlll feel we are missing several pieces to our puzzle."

Bunny scoffed. He plopped down on the sofa next to North. "Heh, definately. But we'll fix all this North. We have to."

With a defeated sigh, North shut off the television. "You are right!" He tried to force some of his old bolster into his voice. "The world needs us!"

A/N

So I realized that I completely forgot to update last week, and I'm terribly sorry. I've been struggling to write anything at all, and updates have completely skipped my mind. Its been crazy.

So I really don't have too much to say. Anyways, Yoihino, glad you like the story! Even tho it's being a pain to be productive in anything, I'm still trying my best.

Don't be surprised if I fail to update next week, or maybe even the week after. Tbh, work is getting really stressful what with it being retail in the Christmas season. I'm happy if I can even write part of a scene.

So long Lovies!