Then the third reindeer stepped forward. He was the color of a thunderstorm. Dark brown verging on black, with legs that could probably kick through stone without noticing. He stopped in front of me and snorted once, hard enough to move my hair. The stare that followed communicated a single, unmistakable message.
You are going to lose, and I am going to enjoy it.
I’d trained apex predators that had friendlier dispositions. Well, I hadn’t expected this to be easy.
“Each competitor will race against their designated pacesetter,” Oberon continued. “Five miles throughthe Spring Realm. Your time against the reindeer’s time will determine your speed ranking. You will simultaneously document your journey on CrystalGram for the engagement ranking. The Herald’s Title will weigh both metrics alongside the Joy Coefficient to determine the victor.”
A young kobold materialized at my elbow. She was maybe three feet tall, drowning in an oversized press vest. The three devices she carried resembled the ones the crews had been using in Grix’s mine. They were phones in the same way Barnaby was a rabbit. The basic idea was the same. The actual substance? Quite different.
“Enchanted capture devices,” the young kobold explained. She held one up with the reverence of a priestess presenting a sacred artifact. “Point and tap the crystal to capture the image. Swipe left to add a caption. Swipe right to post. Your content goes live on CrystalGram in real time, and the audience is already watching.”
I took the device and turned it over in my hands. Grix had spent months trying to iron social media literacy into my skull. I understood how accounts worked, what engagement meant, and how hashtags functioned. I had CrystalGram and FaeBook profiles, both of which Grix managed. My patience for content strategy ranked somewhere below my patience for clients who skipped leg day.
The kobold’s ears twitched with enthusiasm. “Now, for maximum engagement, you’ll want to consider your content strategy. Hashtags are critical. I’d recommend #HeraldsChallenge, #SpringVibes, and #ReindeerRace as your foundation tags. Then you’ll want to layer in audience-specific callouts, maybe some interactive polls during rest segments—”
“I’ll take photos of things that matter to me.”
She blinked at me with the stunned expression of someone who’d just watched a client refuse a spotter on a max-effort bench press. “But your engagement metrics—”
“Will be whatever they’ll be.” I tucked the device into the pocket of my training shorts. “I appreciate the briefing.”
She stared at me for another three seconds. Then she shrugged and scurried off to deliver Vixen’s device. I could hear Vixen asking about filter options before the kobold even reached them, which surprised absolutely no one.
The starting positions were marked with glowing flowers set into the grass. Barnaby bounced on his toes at his mark. Three months ago, that bouncing would have exhausted him in thirty seconds. Now he was warming up. I felt so proud of him that it hurt.
Vixen crouched low beside their reindeer with the coiled energy of a predator about to spring. Their amber eyes were already scanning the course entrance.
My reindeer positioned himself beside me with the focused intensity of an athlete who considered this beneath him. If he had been physically capable of sneering, he probably would have.
Around the meadow, the crowd had the energy of spectators who already knew what they were about to watch. Most of them were tracking Vixen. A few were watching Barnaby. Those looking at me did so with a vague air of either sick fascination or benevolent pity.
I didn’t need either.
Oberon raised his hand. The horn sounded. “The Challenge begins!”
All three reindeer fired in the same instant. Within seconds, the gap between us and Santa’s beasts was already enormous and growing. Barnaby sprinted after his pacer with exactly the stride mechanics we’d built together, the chocolates doing their job. He and Vixen were soon racing for the first spot.
And then there was me, driving my legs into soft spring grass one stride at a time, watching my reindeer become a dark smudge near the forest edge.
Everyone probably thought I was an embarrassment, but I knew for a fact that someone out there didn’t. I pulled the device from my pocket without breaking stride and kept running. This was for Hazel, and that was why I would win.
The supernatural world had tuned in expecting a showdown between two top-tier magical entities. A graceful fox against a gentle rabbit. It was a clean narrative with obvious stakes, exactly the kind of content that crashed CrystalGram’s well-maintained kobold servers. The orc had registered as a curiosity. A footnote. The kind of entry that gets a sympathy follow before everyone goes back to watching the real competition.
Then the horn sounded, and the feeds went live.
@Osterfuchs4ever:The hunt begins. #HeraldsChallenge #SpringVibes #NewEraOfJoy
@FaerieDailyNews:This shot alone. I am not okay.
@CrimsonAntler:They launched before the horn finished sounding. That is not legal in any realm I know of.
@OberonsBiggestFan:IT IS LEGAL! IT IS LEGAL! VIXEN IS JUST FAST!
@enchanted_lurker:The composition. The motion. The fur. Vixen ate and left no crumbs.
@HollowOakHag:The Osterfuchs is going to win this in a landslide. I’mcalling it now.
@BarnabySprings:We’re doing this together. #HeraldsChallenge #SpringJoy
