Author's Note: So this chapter was inspired by a recent show I saw at Centrepoint Mall... Much thanks go to Deni Yang, whom this chapter is dedicated to. Although he won't see this, I want to thank him for the fantastic Friday (:
((Oh, um, sorry for the late reply, but this fic doesn't have any Guardian of Childhood element in it. To be honest, I haven't read any of it yet, but I will, once I get to a library...TOMORROW :D ))

Warning: Some religious element. Uh, don't flame me? Please?

Everything written is entirely fictitious. I don't own ROTG. Stuff written below never happened.

The voice was heavily accented. Russian, Jack knew.

It echoed, as if Jack was in a tunnel, deep and fatherly.

I loved children.

I loved their infectious laughter, the exuberant joy painted on their faces, and their honest, innocent smiles.

I loved how their eyes sparkle in delight, how easy it is to light up their smiles and how happy they were, no matter the circumstances.

Children, are Nature's wonder. They are that little bundle of joy, that little ball of unlimited energy. Optimists, full of hope, full of joy, full of innocent wonder. Cheerful everyday.

Today, I knew, was going to be one of those days.

Before I picked up the hoops, my father, General Zolnerowich wanted me to join the military. I was a Russian boy, eighteen then, with a good education funded by his salaries from the army. Back then, being part of the army paid well and gave one immediate nobility. My father's father, and his father and his father before him were all Generals, with an undisputed reputation. The name Zolnerowich spread like wildfire; everyone knew who we were and everyone respected us.

We had to live up to our name after all. Zolnerowich, in Russian, literally meant 'son of a soldier'.

So when I was born, you could imagine how thrilled and proud my father was. A son meant a future heir; a son meant legacy. The thought of free will had never crossed his mind, I guessed. He declared me as Maximoff Zolnerowich: The greatest son of a soldier.

When I grew into my senses, I realised science fascinated me. I liked observing ants as they march to their food source and back to their anthill. I liked firing questions at my teachers until they grew frustrated and equally baffled at my inquisitive outbursts. Back then, science was not very accepted into society.

I believed that science was an answer to mankind's mysteries. Why was the sky blue? How do clouds form? Only science knew.

However, my father disapproved of my "hobby". He asked, or rather, demanded, that I enlist and join the army and dedicate my life to serving Russia. I refused, of course. I would love to dedicate my life to Russia, but not pick up weapons and learn how to throw grenades. What I desired was to indulge myself into science and discover things I never knew. I would make Russia proud with my discoveries.

You could imagine the shades of red on my father's face. He was a General, one of the higher ranked soldiers, and he would not be refused. In fact, he had never been refused. He had yelled, roared, bellowed, until our entire mansion shook. But I inherited his stubbornness and I stood my ground. And on that final note, he disowned me.

My mother was terrified of my father, but yet, on shaky legs, she stood up for me. I loved my mother dearly, as she was the one who nurtured my love for science. So when he hit her, something within me exploded.

I flung myself at him in such a rage that all I saw was a burning red. But he was a General, served Russia for thirty years; I was just an eighteen year old boy. Within the matter of minutes, I was bruised and bloodied, and thrown out of the house in tatters.

I was no longer Maximoff Zolnerowich.

I was just Maximoff.

And with that name alone, I grew famous.

That was thirty good years ago. I was no longer youthful; with white hair and an impressive beard. My tyrant of a father might have passed away, who knew? I was no longer that weakling in my home, unable to protect my mother when she defended me. I had put on weight- a lot of it, you might say- because I now had a good round belly.

You might have heard of the Great Maximoff. Well, that was me, obviously. My love for science never wavered and with it, I invented, rediscovered, a new source of entertainment. Every night, people, mostly children, flock to the town square to catch their favourite show. And that show was none other than me.

I towered above all of them on my wooden stage. I bowed as they gave a round of applause and the children giggled in anticipation. I winked at them as I waved my handmade loop, made out of unused pipes, and dipped it in a bucket of water. With a gentle blow, the water caught on my loop rippled and burst into bubbles.

There was an instantaneous reaction as children tried to scramble onto stage, but I shooed them back politely. They settled for the bubbles that were floating above their heads and each of them squealed in delight as they popped every single of them. I smiled and dipped my loop back in again. The water was no ordinary water. It was mixed with soap and the solution gave birth to bubbles.

I took out a bigger loop and I saw that even the adults could not stop the smiles breaking out upon their faces. I dipped it into the bucket again and when I drew it out, a long trailing bubble seemingly grew out of the bucket. There were oohs and ahhs and I smiled again. I waved it around, like some huge serpent coiling around me. When it burst, huge bubbles took its place and floated over to the excited crowd.

"And that concludes today's show!" I announced, bowing as thunderous applause broke out from the crowd.

"Oh, that was amazing!"

"Did you see how the bubbles followed his every command? It was brilliant!"

"Let's watch it again tomorrow!"

I grinned at those comments and I began to pack up as the crowd dissipated. Loops, check. Bucket, check. It was all I needed for a show- and some money. I had left a life of luxury and suffered the consequences. Yet, curiously, I harboured no regret, only satisfaction.

"Mister?"

It was quiet and small, but unmistakable. I spun around and spotted a small girl with freckles and two ponytails at the bottom of the stage.

I knelt down, wearing a huge smile that, I hoped, looked friendly. "Hello there. Did you enjoy the show?"

She glanced up at me, with trembling eyes. "I-it was beautiful," she blurted out. "Is- do- Is it magic?"

I burst out into laughter. "Magic doesn't exist, lass. This-" I swept my beefy arm over my equipment. "-is science."

Inch by inch, her irises rippled wider as I demonstrated how it worked. I didn't know if she was able to understand it, at her age of four or five, but she was fascinated. I had never seen a child like her respond so attentively and approach a stranger so confidently.

I knew, immediately, that she was a special child.

And I knew, that she would be my protege.

I realised that she was an orphan.

Like me, she was forced into a life full of bitter suffering, so I took her under my wing. I taught her tricks and "magic", as she would so fondly put it.

Maria. Call me Maria.

Maximoff and Maria. We were an instant hit. The girl impressed the adults and children so much, that before long, we collected no more silver, but gold. Gold coins! I could hardly believe my eyes as yellow glints flew through the air and at our feet. Before long, we gathered enough money to afford a horse-drawn caravan. We travelled out of town and to other places. We brought our bubble show to different towns and villages, and finally, we were famous in the whole of Russia.

The journey was tedious, but enjoyable. Maria was an unusually active child; we would sing songs along the way and our horse, Bubbles, would snort at our childishness. We even blew bubbles on the way there, gasping in wonder as the sun shone through each bubble, reflection rippling rainbows that brightened our lives.

We started afternoon shows, where the sun would be at its highest and brightest. The wonder of the bubbles increased dramatically as people gazed, stared, gawped in surprise as rainbow bubbles floated past them.

It was two years later. I was finally fifty, a well-rounded fifty. Maria often teased me about that- half a century old, she'd call me. She was seven, but still preserved her child-like charm.

Maria performed alone in our new morning shows. It was designed specifically for children around her age. I used the extra hours to nap in our caravan as she performed bubble tricks that we had been practicing for two years.

It was the third morning while we were in a small town that Maria shook me awake frantically.

"Papa, Papa!" she cried out. I snored, blearily opening my eyes at the sudden intrusion. I frowned slightly.

"Maria," I said. "How many times have I told you to mix an extra bucket of solution? You know how children are when they get excited." Maria always woke me when she had insufficient volume of bubble solution to entertain the children. She was forgetful at times, but this was the third time and it was getting annoying.

"No, Papa!" she shook her head, and to my shock I saw glistening crystals at the corner of her eyes.

"Maria? What's going on?" I jerked awake, thumbing away her tears. "Did we get robbed?"

"No, Papa!" she sobbed. "W-W-they called me a w-w-"

"A wretch?" A bubbling anger surfaced in my chest, growing like a hot sun.

But her reply extinguished my anger and ignited fear. A stone cold fear.

"Witch, Papa," she choked, glancing up at me tearfully. "They called me a witch."

I stormed into the town square, bellowing, "Who dared to call my daughter a witch?"

I had left Maria back in the caravan, in case things got ugly. My eyes burned with a flaming anger as they darted side to side, glancing at the crowd which had silently disappeared at the front of our stage.

"I did." A voice called out.

I whipped around and glared at the speaker, a mousy brown haired boy who visibly squirmed under my gaze. I strode up to him in the most menacing manner I could.

"And pray, tell me, why?" I gritted my teeth.

To my surprise, he met my gaze evenly and returned coolly, "Because what she does is impossible. She captured the sun rays in those bubbles of hers and burst them. The bubbles follow her movements. This is obviously the work of magic."

"This is science!" I roared and he flinched, taking a step back. "Magic does not exist!"

"Of course," he answered matter-of-factly. "Magic does not exist, pardon me. On the other hand, witchcraft does."

He glittered his innocent eyes at me. I stared at him in disbelief. Who was this boy that could speak against his elder? His challenging tone had the spike of toxic that crescendo gradually. I was suddenly aware that our "debate" had drawn quite a crowd, more than what the bubble show attracted. With a stunning revelation, I realised that it was the whole town that was gathered here. And they did not look very pleased.

"You speak of lies," I fired back. "My daughter does not dabble in black arts. Witchery is nothing but a lie!" That sent gasps across the crowd.

The boy looked hurt. "Does this mean you do not believe in Christianity?"

"No," I said. "I said-"

"Then why do you say witchery is a lie?" he demanded. "Witchery exists. Witchery is the art of the Devil, Satan himself!" At the mention of that name, murmurs of "Lord, bless me" wove through the crowd.

Smirking, he continued, "When you say witchery is a lie, you indirectly say that the Devil is a lie and therefore, God is a lie, is it not?"

"That is not what I meant!" I protested. "Bless be the Lord, I never said such a thing!"

"But you did!" he shouted. "Everyone heard you say it! You blasphemed against our One True God!" A livid atmosphere began to build.

"This is ridiculous!" I growled. "You say an innocent girl does witchery? An innocent lamb in the eyes of our Lord? Who do you think you are to point your finger at a girl a few years younger than you? You are nothing but a bully, boy!"

There was a stiffening silence. I hoped that I had turned the tide, but it was a futile attempt.

"Boy? Oh, dear Maximoff, you have no idea, do you?" he sneered and this time it was me who took a tentative step back. "I am the Witchfinder! Have you not heard of me? I find witches and hunt them down! I kill them!"

The Witchfinder was a name only to be spoken in whispers. I knew who he was, but I never expected him to be a boy this age! And then I knew, I was done for. Nobody spoke against the Witchfinder unless they wanted a death sentence. I knew, this time there would be no help. He must have heard of me as well, hearing that he knew my name.

"So you know me," I said, my voice hard and guarded. "I must be quite famous for my name to reach your ears."

"And Maria as well," he eyed me carefully. "I heard of your...tricks. Bubbles that trap the sun rays. I knew instantly it was the art of Satan! No one captures the light of God!"

"I taught the tricks to Maria!" I said loudly. "But these bubbles use science! They are science! We do not capture the sun rays; the sun rays shine through them! This is all an misunderstanding!"

"You taught Maria? So you "invented" this science?"

"I did not invent science! Science is all around us! Your sight, speech, the wind, the sky: it's all science!"

"Enough!" he hollered with such a reverberating power that my jaws clamped shut."I will not hear your blasphemies any longer! God gave us sight, speech, the wind, the sky, everything! Science did no such thing!" Then he smiled the most displaced smile. "And science will not save you from your fate either."

Fate...?

"Maximoff Zolnerowich-"

How long ago had it been since I last heard my name?

"You have been sentenced-"

No.

"-to death."

A single word floated through my mind.

A dear single word encased in a tear.

Maria.

"Papa, Papa, no, Papa!" I heard her sobs echoing, but I knew she wasn't there. I gave her instructions to leave.

"No, Papa!" she begged. "Let me die with you! Take me with you! I don't want to be alone again!"

"Maria," I said softly. "Listen to me." I retrieved a bag of money from my belly and her eyes widened. "Papa-"

"Take it, start a new life, far away." I repeated it at least three times. "Stay alive. You won't be alone- Bubbles will be with you. She will be your companion."

"No, Papa, please..."

"Maria." I shook her firmly. "You will never be alone. Remember what I told you before. Follow the North Star. Don't stop. Keep moving forward. You are my strong, strong daughter."

"Papa..." Sobs racked her tiny frame. Tears threatened to fall out of my eyes like an endless waterfall, but I held them back. I had to be strong. For my daughter Maria.

"Maria, look." I pointed to the shining North Star in the distance, flickering. She looked. "I will be with you. Spirits of the dead fly to Heaven and are reincarnated into stars. I will be that fat star right there. So follow it."

She threw herself at me, hugged me, cried onto me. And I held onto her.

My dear sweet daughter, Maria.

Now tears fell beneath the black hood.

My brave Maria.

I felt the noose tightening around my neck.

My wonderful daughter Maria.

The ground gave way.

I love you.

I remember a light at the end of the tunnel.

I remember opening my eyes.

I remember the bubbles.

But most of all, I remember Maria.

The elves were gifts from Man in Moon. The yetis, well, were an accident. Long story cut short: elves decided to shoot rockets, yetis got caught in the crossfire, and I had to step in. Curiously, yetis were good with their hands so I recruited them. The elves and yetis have annual toy contests though.

The first country I visited was Russia, my home. I chose reindeers as my mode of transport, natives to my home country, so that I would never forget where I came from. I popped in and out of every chimney, leaving gifts of wonder I created. With my reborn hands, I could create anything out of nothing. Ice crystal trains that chugged on invisible train tracks in the air; robots that marched on tables with a spin of clockwork and rubber bubbles that could bounce on floors.

But as much as I roamed the world, I often wondered about Maria.

I never saw Maria again.

Everyone called me Santa Claus.

I was Santa Claus, to the children and the adults alike.

To Maria, I was the North Star.

To myself, I was North, the Guardian of Wonder.

Jack stood, numb with shock and sorrow.

Were all of the Guardians' pasts so sad and terrible? He couldn't move himself to touch the next symbol.

He didn't want to pry into their pasts; it seemed like he was invading their privacy. With a shaking arm, he pushed himself away from the Globe, hoping to pull away from the secrets each Guardian concealed. But then, a feathered hand caught him as he turned to leave.

"Jack?" A quiet voice froze him for a brief second.

He turned back, to see Ingrid- no, Tooth, he corrected himself mentally- clutching his arm. Her violet wings fluttered behind her back as her eyes stared at him, full of concern.

"T-tooth!" he stammered out, his mind reeling with excuses. "Uh, what, um, it's a beautiful day! I should probably go and people snowballs-I mean, snowball people." He quickly pried himself free and started to zoom off, before North's voice called out to him. He ignored him, and leapt out of the open window. Or at least, he tried to.

A golden whip lashed out and drew him back to the ground gently. Oh, not good, Jack gulped. He met the familiar gazes of Bunny, North, Sandy and Tooth Fairy as they bore down on him. He was almost certain he was going to get scolded.

"Er, sorry about the frosty elves and the angry yetis," he burst out. "Uh, I can unfreeze them right now actually. Uh give me a-"

"Jack. What did you see?"

The question caught him off guard as North locked gazes with him. He was going to reply with a nothing until North sighed.

"You saw it, didn't you? The past."

Jack gave a sheepish nod. "Although I stopped at yours," he admitted feebly. Then, "I'm sorry about Maria."

There was a pregnant silence. "Haven't heard that name in a long time," North chuckled weakly. "Well, you better continue with the rest then." He gave a good slap on the shoulder as his eyes darted upwards.

"Hey wait a sec-" Bunny tried to interrupt but North shot him a look. "Jack must see everyone's. It is the tradition." A pause. "And then, it will be his turn."

The Guardian of Fun stared at him confusedly. "My turn? I don't understand."

North sighed. "Just finish what you started. Then we'll talk."

"But-"

"Go, Jack."

Numbly, the winter spirit flew up. Inspecting the next symbol, he understood Bunny's unwillingness.

He felt guilt weighing down upon him, but nevertheless, he pressed.