SUNFIRE, LETTERS, AND THE WRAITH UNSHEATHED
The letter arrived with the morning mist.
Rafael was sitting on the veranda outside his room, Avalanche curled at his feet like an oversized, overgrown snow-leopard, when the estate wards chimed softly. A moment later, a pale barn owl glided under the eaves with the arrogant ease of a creature well accustomed to ignoring borders.
It landed on the railing in front of him and stuck out its leg.
Rafael frowned. "You're early," he murmured, unknotting the cord.
The envelope was thick, the parchment slightly uneven. The handwriting on the front was looping, neat, and scattered with tiny doodles of stars and moon phases around his name.
To: Rafael Y. Raijinko-Redmane
From: Luna E. Lovegood
His shoulders loosened before he even opened it.
"Thanks," he said. The owl nipped his knuckles affectionately, then took off again, flying back into the gray.
He broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
Dear Rafael,
The nargles have been unusually noisy this term, which is usually a sign that people are being unpleasant again. It turns out the nargles were right.
Most of the Ravenclaws still call me "Loony." I don't think they mean it kindly, but I've decided not to give them the satisfaction of seeing it hurt. It does, a little. Well. A lot. But Daddy says the truth often sounds mad to people who are afraid of it.
The good thing is, I'm not alone.
Hermione has scolded them more than once on my behalf. Harry has, too. Susan and Hannah usually flank me like very determined badgers. Daphne pretends she doesn't care what people think but sits with me anyway when the whispers get loud, which is very Slytherin of her. Neville worries more than he speaks. Dean drew a very rude caricature of one of the worst bullies and "accidentally" left it where they would find it.
You were right finding new friends at Hogwarts. They're good people.
I miss you. The castle feels different without you here. Quieter in some ways, noisier in others. I think your flames unsettled the place in a way it might have needed. Hogwarts can go to sleep on itself if no one shakes it.
Ron Weasley complains about you constantly, which is one of the ways I know you matter. He says you're trying to steal Hermione from their House (which is a funny thing to say about a person, really). Hermione turns the color of a ripe tomato and denies everything, which is another way I know you matter. You should see the way she looks at your device when she thinks no one is watching.
Please come visit at winter break like you promised. I've already seen you in the snow and I would rather it not be a metaphor.
Your god-sister,
Luna
P.S. The stars feel louder when you're awake. Try to sleep sometimes.
By the end of the letter, Rafael's jaw was clenched so tight his teeth hurt.
Avalanche rumbled low in his throat, feeling the flare of emotion through their bond. Frost-laced breath puffed in front of his muzzle as he nudged Rafael's knee.
"She's still being bullied," Rafael said quietly. "Even with Hermione and the others there."
Avalanche blinked slow, patient eyes.
Rafael stared at the letter again. Hermione defending Luna. Harry stepping in. Susan, Hannah, Daphne, Neville, Dean. Luna, calling him her god-brother like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He folded the parchment very carefully and tucked it into the inner pocket of his shirt, over his heart.
"Winter break," he murmured. "I'm coming. I swear it."
His device buzzed in his hand, a faint reminder of other work waiting. The System's interface flickered at the edge of his perception, quietly presenting pending projects.
Fenrir's Chains.
Familiar Summoning CAD.
Sword Project: Stygian Crystal Phantom.
Rafael exhaled, steadying himself.
"All right," he said to Avalanche. "We have work to do."
The great Barioth purred in agreement.
He headed down toward the CAD labs.
The lab smelled of metal shavings, etched stone, and ozone. Soft light floated above the workbenches, illuminating rows of tools and scattered schematics. Rafael's station near the back was organized into precise columns: CAD housings, rune templates, spare crystal cores. Fenrir's Chains lay on the table, separated into segments, their black metal bands webbed with luminous orange-gold lines.
He picked one up. It felt lighter than it should.
"Too light," he muttered.
When he'd first integrated the Mash template, walking with the limiters engaged had been like wading through wet concrete. Every movement fought by invisible hands. Now, even with the seals at full capacity, they felt like training weights he'd long since outgrown.
He pulled a fresh sheet into the drafting frame and began adding new sigils to the schematic, layering gravitational runes over the existing limiter script. Where Mash wore his weights proudly, Rafael needed something that could grow with him and still betray nothing to outside eyes.
Fenrir's Chains: Version Two.
Hidden limiters. Gravity amplifiers. One more mask over the truth of what he was.
He reassembled the bands and slipped them back over his wrists and ankles. The effect was immediate. His knees nearly buckled under the sudden increase.
"Better," he breathed.
He took a step. Heavy, but manageable. Another. The lab floor trembled faintly under the forced weight. Avalanche watched him with gleaming eyes, tail swishing thoughtfully.
"Don't smirk," Rafael said. "You're next."
Avalanche made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a scoff.
Rafael moved to the side bench, where a half-finished leather and steel construction lay spread out—straps, padding, crystal anchors, soulsteel buckles.
He ran a hand along the spine piece, measuring it against a recent imprint of Avalanche's back.
"You're growing faster than I expected," Rafael murmured. "If I don't get this saddle right, you're going to throw me off a cliff."
Avalanche chuffed, rumbling with something that might've been laughter.
Rafael smiled faintly and went back to work.
By the time a distant chime signaled mid-afternoon, Fenrir's Chains were properly recalibrated, Avalanche's saddle was close to finished, and his muscles ached from moving under the new weight. He was still adjusting one of the gravity seals when a page ran in, bowed, and relayed a concise message from the Headmaster.
Training arena.
Now.
Rafael wiped his hands, gave Avalanche a last pat, and headed toward the courtyard.
The arena was already ringed with students when he arrived, gossip carried on in tight clusters across the stone tiers. Maki stood in the center of the ring, barefoot, hands on her hips, fire simmering under her skin like magma waiting for a crack.
She caught sight of him and grinned. "Took you long enough."
"I had to make sure I wouldn't fall over the moment I stepped forward," Rafael said, the increased pull of gravity turning each step into measured control.
Headmaster Takeda stood at the far edge, his white hair and black robes stark against the dusky stone. A single talisman floated above his head, ready to record.
"You both volunteered," he said, voice carrying without effort. "Second-year assessment duel. No lethal force. No external weapons. No magic beyond your own bodies and internal amplification. I expect discipline. Begin on my mark."
Rafael and Maki faced each other.
The world narrowed to the circle of stone between them.
Shirogane lifted his hand and dropped it.
Maki didn't hesitate. Fire exploded from her heel as she launched forward, eyes alight. Rafael shifted his weight, letting the extra gravity anchor him as he met her charge.
She threw a straight cross; he deflected with his forearm. The impact sent sparks scattering along the ground. She pivoted, leg sweeping toward his ribs, flames trailing from her foot; he stepped inside, blocked with his knee, and drove a short jab toward her centerline.
She twisted away.
Heat washed across his skin in shimmering waves. His lightning answered, crawling beneath the surface, restrained only by the chains on his wrists.
They circled, feet whispering against stone.
Sunfire against sky-storm.
Her strikes were heavy, each one meant to end a fight decisively. His responses were economical, every motion honed, every angle calculated. Maki's fire kata flowed from drill to instinct, and meeting it, Rafael let his mixed styles unravel into something that belonged to him alone.
A rapid exchange near the center of the ring ended with both of them sliding back, breathing hard. Someone in the crowd whispered, "Did you see that? He just vanished—"
He hadn't vanished. He'd simply moved faster than their eyes could follow.
"You've been sandbagging in class," Maki said, chest rising and falling. "Rude."
"You punch like artillery," Rafael replied. "I was trying to be polite."
She laughed and came in again.
Rafael let her close, then stepped through the arc of her punch instead of away from it. He slid past her, two fingers extended, and tapped lightly against the tense muscle at the top of her shoulder.
Lightning flared.
For a heartbeat, the entire arena flashed white-blue, the sound of crackling thunder folding in on itself like a held breath.
Maki dropped to one knee, more in shock than pain, arm spasming from the precise disruption of nerves and mana channels. Then she started laughing, bright and delighted.
"Oh, that was beautiful," she said. "You absolute menace."
Rafael exhaled, letting the last of the lightning fade.
Headmaster Takeda lifted his hand again. "That is sufficient. Rafael takes the exchange by control. Maki, by tenacity. I'm satisfied."
No one spoke.
Then the whispers began.
"Wraith."
"The Wraith of Mahoutokorou."
"Did you feel that pressure? That wasn't normal."
The name clung to the air like mist.
Takeda gestured, and the talisman containing the recording floated down into his hand. He turned it over once between his fingers, considering, then extended it toward Rafael.
"Send this to your parents," he said. "It's time they see what their son has become with their own eyes."
Rafael took it, inclining his head. "Yes, Headmaster."
Takeda's gaze sharpened.
"You've chosen your path," he said quietly, so only the two of them could hear. "Whether you meant to or not. The Sky Path isn't gentle. Your enemies will not be easy—they wouldn't be open about wishing your demise, with the blessings hanging around you like armor. They'll be clans. Families. People with too much pride and too little sense. They will watch you, scheming in the dark, and wonder how best to cut you down."
Rafael thought of Luna's letter, folded over his heart. Of Hermione, defending her. Of Harry and the others, standing up when they didn't have to.
"They can try," he said.
One corner of Takeda's mouth lifted. "Good. I prefer my students arrogant in the right direction." He looked to Maki. "You fought well."
"Always do," she said, pushing to her feet.
"You'll both be seeded in the upcoming combat ranking exams," the Headmaster added, voice now for everyone. "Rafael at fifth. Maki at ninth. Official postings go up tomorrow. Dismissed."
The crowd erupted into chatter.
"Fifth?" someone hissed. "Without even fighting third-years?"
"He has a living Barioth."
"And the Headmaster's niece at his side—"
Rafael ignored them. The weight on his wrists seemed just a little heavier with every word.
Maki bumped his shoulder as they stepped out of the ring. "That was fun," she said. "Next time, no rules."
"Next time, we don't crack the arena floor," he replied.
She glanced back at the spiderweb of fractures radiating from their last clash. "Yeah, all right. Maybe a few rules."
called Maki's name then, gesturing her toward his office. She went without complaint, tossing Rafael a lazy salute as she disappeared around the corner.
For the first time that day, Rafael found himself alone as he walked back through the outer corridors. Some of the tension had bled out of him in the fight, leaving him almost relaxed.
Which, as it turned out, was exactly what his enemies had been waiting for.
They stepped out from behind one of the shrine pavilions—five of them, all older, all wearing that same mix of arrogance and calculation that marked them as heirs to various underworld-affiliated families. Kuroda Jin led them, his arm still bound from the last time he'd tested Rafael's patience.
"Leaving your new guard dog behind?" Jin drawled. "Bold."
Rafael stopped, expression flattening. "I'm not in the mood."
"That's all right," another boy said, spinning a wooden practice sword in his hand. "We are."
None of them had their wands drawn. He noticed that immediately. They were all armed with training weapons—wooden swords, staves, weighted batons.
Trying to avoid any excuse for official magical discipline.
Trying to make it look like a simple sparring match if a teacher happened to walk by.
They were also very clearly not bright.
"You're supposed to be smart," Jin said. "So you must know this school doesn't belong to you. To your foreign tech. Your little Western pet project at that British mudblood school."
Rafael's fingers curled once at his side.
"Choose your next words very carefully," he said.
"Oh, that's right," another heir sneered. "Can't call her that. Little Hermione would cry if she heard it, I'm sure. Luna, too. The freak with the ghosts."
They had done their homework. Dug around his life. Not enough to be dangerous. Just enough to be insulting.
They moved a step closer, spreading out, weapons loose in their hands.
Rafael appeared unarmed.
That lasted until one of them lunged.
He didn't move backward.
He stepped in.
His left hand—bearing a plain silver band on the middle finger—twisted, and the ring flared with contained light. Space warped for an instant. There was the brief glint of crystal, the whisper of displaced air, and then a straight-edged blade slid into his palm as if it had always been there.
The sword looked grown rather than forged—its blade a single piece of clear, faintly darkened crystal shot through with threads of deep violet, as if starlight had been trapped inside stone. The edges were so sharp the air around them seemed to bend away. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, simple and clean, the guard shaped like a pair of spread, angular wings.
The Stygian Crystal Phantom Sword.
The heir's wooden sword hit the crystalline edge.
It snapped in two.
Rafael moved, chains on his wrists screaming against the sudden acceleration. Lightning poured through him, down into the blade, lighting the crystal from within in a violent, electric blue. He didn't give them time to regroup. The first heir staggered; the second found his staff cut neatly in half, the third stumbled as a shallow line appeared along his sleeve, cloth parting without touching skin.
He moved like a storm given human shape.
When Kuroda finally came at him, roaring, Rafael stepped into the arc of his swing and brought the Phantom down in a clean, vertical cut that didn't touch flesh at all.
The lightning did the rest.
It shattered the air in front of Jin like a chain of detonations, a line of thunderous impacts slamming into the ground at his feet. The Stone split in a jagged trench where the energy traveled, stopping a hair's breadth from Jin's toes.
The boy fell backward, eyes wide, the remains of his weapon smoking in his hands.
Rafael held the sword one-handed, the last of the lightning arcing along the edge like a living thing. The technique hadn't been perfect—not yet—but it had carried enough of Sinbad's thunderous elegance to make his point.
The courtyard was very, very quiet.
"I told you before," Rafael said softly, looking down at Jin. "You don't touch my work. You don't touch what's mine. You don't speak that way about my friends."
He let the blade drop to his side. Lightning withdrew slowly, the crystal dimming back to a more natural shadowed glow.
"If I ever hear Hermione's name come out of your mouth again," he added, voice like ice under pressure, "you won't have to worry about the Headmaster's discipline. You'll have to worry about me."
No one moved.
He twisted the ring again. The sword flowed back into nothingness, drawn into the storage space within the band. Six by six cubic meters of compressed reality, disguised as a plain silver ring.
A storage ring was common enough in high-level circles.
One hiding that much armament and attached to a boy walking around with limiters on his limbs was something else entirely.
Rafael turned his back on them and walked away, the weight of Fenrir's Chains digging into his bones in a way that felt almost comforting now.
By the time he reached the estate shrine that night, the recording talisman had already arrived from the Headmaster. His parents sat beneath the lantern light, the Rathian and Rathalos resting a respectful distance away like two living statues.
They watched the duel with the kind of focus only soldiers and predators had.
When it ended, Thomas sat back, whistling low. "You fight like you expect to be outnumbered," he said.
"I do," Rafael replied.
Yuki's eyes gleamed. "You chose the Sky," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I was never going to crawl," he said.
She smiled. "Good."
He set a new device on the shrine stone—the circular panel etched and inlaid with more care than anything he had ever crafted.
"The familiar summoning CAD is ready," he said. "We should test it here, where the wards are strongest, before I take it to Britain."
His parents exchanged a glance and then identical sharp, eager smiles.
"Ladies first," Thomas said.
Yuki rolled her eyes and placed her hand on the panel.
Light flared—red and gold and white. The circle's edge glowed with layered kanji and rune structures as it reached out, far beyond anything visible, seeking something that matched the woman at its center.
A shadow passed overhead.
A pre-adolescent Rathalos dropped onto the grass with a roar that shook the lanterns, wings flaring wide. It lowered its head to Yuki with a deep, rumbling sound that might have been a greeting.
Yuki's expression softened. She reached up and laid a hand along its scaled jaw.
"Yes," she said. "You'll do nicely."
Thomas stepped forward next. His hand pressed to the warmed metal. Emerald light curled around his fingers before racing outward along the summoning circle.
A young Rathian answered, appearing in a flash of green and gold. She walked calmly to Thomas and sat at his side, foldings her wings against her back with martial precision.
"Perfect," he said, satisfaction rich in his voice. "We'll have to reinforce the training grounds."
Rafael reached for the CAD to deactivate it—
—and Maki, who had padded in quietly behind him to observe, set her palm casually on the circle.
"Wait, it's still—" he began.
Too late.
A shot of deep blue light, almost black at the edges, burst from the panel. The air whistled. Something small and fast swooped past Rafael's face, looped once in a dizzying spiral, and landed squarely in Maki's arms as if it had always belonged there.
It was sleek and black, with huge green eyes and a rounded snout. Tiny wings flicked at its sides. Its tail swished once, twice, then wrapped around her wrist.
Maki stared down at the infant Night Fury.
"Oh," she said softly. "Oh, you're precious."
The Night Fury tilted its head and chirped.
"I'm keeping him," she declared.
Avalanche huffed, padding closer to sniff the newcomer. Frost and faint lightning crackled around his tusks. The Night Fury responded by puffing a tiny plume of plasma, more light than heat, like a sparkler.
Rafael scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm going to need bigger stables."
His parents laughed quietly.
Later, after the dragons had settled, after Maki had taken the Night Fury to show it the sky from the highest balcony, Rafael retreated to his room. The dorm was quiet. Avalanche coiled himself near the sliding door. The recording talisman from the duel lay on his desk beside Luna's letter and the half-finished schematics for a simple silver ring.
Not a limiter.
Not a storage band.
Something else.
Something he wasn't ready to craft yet, not until he saw Hermione in person, not until he knew whether the flames that whispered around her would bend toward moonlight or ocean or ice or the deep stillness of old forests.
For now, there was the CAD he had already given her.
He picked up his own device and opened a message thread.
Luna's words sat in the back of his mind as he wrote.
You weren't wrong about the nargles, he typed. People here are being unpleasant too, but they're more careful about showing it in front of the Headmaster. He has a terrifying niece.
He hesitated, then opened a second thread.
Hermione.
He stared at her name for a long moment, then began typing.
I had an assessment duel today. It went well. I wish you could have seen it.
He paused.
If you had been here, I'm fairly certain you would have been taking notes instead of watching me, though. Which would have been adorable.
He imagined her reading that. The way her ears would go pink first, then her cheeks, then the indignation choked in her throat.
His mouth tugged up at one corner.
He added, One day, I'll show you what I can do in person. Until then, try not to let that redheaded idiot steal my place at your side just because I'm not there to stop him.
He almost deleted that line.
He sent it instead.
Far away, in a stone castle that had never seen a barioth or a dragon from beyond its own myths, a girl with bushy hair and ink-stained fingers sat on her bed and felt her device vibrate. She read his message once, then twice, then buried her face in her pillow and groaned.
From the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet, she turned the color of a cherry.
Lavender Brown, walking past her open door, heard a strangled noise and poked her head in.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Hermione squeaked.
Lavender glanced at the glowing device in her hand and smirked. "I'll leave you to… studying, then."
Ron tried to snatch the CAD later that evening in the common room, muttering about "stupid foreign gits" and "showing her what's good for her," but Professor McGonagall's hand shot out like a striking cat.
"Weasley," she said. "Try that again and you'll be polishing the entire Quidditch pitch with a toothbrush. In January."
Hermione held the device a little tighter that night when she fell asleep.
Back in Japan, Rafael finished tweaking the last few glyphs on Fenrir's Chains, feeling the weight settle into his bones like a challenge accepted. He checked the calibration on Avalanche's saddle, now lined with shock-absorbing wards and balanced perfectly along the dragon's spine. The Night Fury peeked in through the open shoji screen and chirped impatiently until Maki's shadow dragged him away.
In the morning, when he stepped into the main corridor on his way to breakfast, a crowd had gathered around the central notice board. Voices buzzed—excited, nervous, angry.
Rafael edged closer.
A fresh parchment had been pinned to the board, stamped with the Mahoutokorou seal.
COMBAT RANKING EXAM — PARTICIPANT LIST
SEED POSITIONS:
1st – Third Year, "Thunder-Spear" Hayato
2nd – Third Year, "Lotus Blade" Miyasato
3rd – Second Year, "White Tempest" Kazama
4th – Second Year, "Silent Fang" Roku
5th – Second Year, "Wraith" Rafael Y. Raijinko-Redmane
9th – Second Year, "Sun Fist" Maki Oze
A hush fell as people realized he was standing there.
Rafael studied the list for a moment, expression unreadable.
Maki appeared at his shoulder, hair still slightly damp from morning drills. She took one look at the board and snorted.
"Ninth?" she said. "That's insulting."
"Fifth feels generous," Rafael replied.
She considered him. "You gonna make them regret it?"
He thought of Luna's letter and Hermione's blush, of his mother's Rathalos, his father's Rathian, the Night Fury coiled in Maki's arms, the way Shirogane had watched him with the weight of centuries in his eyes.
He nodded once.
"Yes," he said. "I am."
Maki grinned, sharp and bright.
"Good. I'd hate to be the only problem child in this exam."
The whispers around them grew louder.
Sky.
Sun.
Wraith.
Fire Witch.
The names didn't matter yet.
What mattered was the path.
And Rafael had already set his feet on it.