A snowflake glimmered on his halo as Krampus Santa Grimgaros walked down the cobbled road toward Magnolia, each footstep crunching softly against the frost-laced ground. He had taken the form of a child—around five years old by human standards—standing just under four feet tall. His muscles, though smaller and more compact now, were still pronounced, giving him the sturdy look of a tiny warrior rather than a normal child. The thick slated black fur that covered his young body added a plush volume to his build, but left his lean strength unmistakable.
His face was unmistakably leonine, with bright golden eyes, a button-like black nose, and fangs that still peeked from his upper lip—miniature versions of his tusk-like canines. His mane, now smaller but still striking, cascaded in silvery-white spikes down to his shoulder blades, ruffled by the wind. His ram-like golden horns remained coiled around his rounded ears, gleaming faintly under the winter sun, while his snowflake-shaped neon blue halo floated and spun lazily above his head. His thick lion tail bobbed behind him, the tuft at the end matching the hue of his wild mane.
He still wore his spiritual equipment, only sized down. His red sleeveless coat now fell just above his ankles, trimmed in white fur around the hood and hem. Despite the childlike proportions, the coat still fluttered dramatically when he walked. Heavy golden chains clinked around his neck like ornaments too big for a boy his size. Fingerless gauntlets protected his smaller hands, and his camo military pants had been resized but remained snug and fitted. His thick belt clanked with pouches, and his heavy-duty boots—now child-sized—still looked like they were made to kick down iron doors.
Magnolia bustled with a joyous fervor, the town transformed into a winter wonderland as Christmas approached. Glittering lights strung across rooftops and lamp posts cast colorful reflections on the snow-dusted cobblestones. Wreaths, bows, and enchanted ornaments adorned every storefront, while music—lively, festive carols played by magical recorders—filled the air with cheer. Children darted about in scarves and mittens, their laughter mingling with the chiming bells that rang from a nearby parade float shaped like a giant gingerbread house. Food stalls sold warm treats like cinnamon buns, roasted chestnuts, and hot chocolate that steamed against the crisp air.
Through this dazzling scene walked a peculiar figure—Krampus, in the form of a lion cub dressed in a striking red coat and golden chains. His halo spun gently above his head, catching the colored lights and scattering them in crystalline glimmers. People did notice. They slowed, stared, nudged their companions. A few blinked in confusion at the childlike figure that looked both adorable and unnervingly regal. One old man muttered, "Now there's a new one," before shaking his head and moving on. A pair of teenagers laughed nervously, whispering something about cosplay season being early this year. A mother pulling her young son close smiled awkwardly, then continued walking as if nothing were amiss.
After all, this was Fairy Tail's town. They were used to weird. And a festive lion cub with horns and a glowing snowflake halo barely cracked the top ten of strange things they'd seen.
"Fairy Tail really has them vaccinated against weirdness," Krampus mused with a faint smirk. "Good good, I should be able to blend in faster than expected."
He strolled leisurely through the streets, his boots making soft thumps against the stone. As he walked, his thoughts drifted to the strange, beautiful magic coursing through him. Unlike elemental spells or incantations, his powers were deeply conceptual—defined by words and beliefs, shaped by intent more than formula. He called them Rules.
There were four so far:
Rule of Binding. Chains of varying colors could manifest at his will, often golden but sometimes shimmering with other hues depending on the nature of the intent. These chains were not physical in the traditional sense—they were manifestations of conceptual force, born from language and belief. If he uttered a sentence like "You won't move," the chains would act on the interpretation of that phrase and impose stillness. The Rule could target more than limbs or motion; it could enforce silence, sever magical connections, seal abilities, or suspend intent altogether. The breadth of the Rule's potential was vast, shaped by how the word binding was interpreted in context—as connection, as sealing, as silencing, or even as spiritual linkage. With enough practice and refinement, Krampus knew he could evolve this power into an indispensable instrument of control and peacekeeping.
Rule of Rending. A terrifying gift. It allowed him to manifest sharp objects—usually swords or blades—that could slice through virtually anything by default. The most basic interpretation of the word rending was to cut, and so the Rule responded first and foremost to that. But the magic was broader and more insidious than it seemed. Rending could also mean to divide, to sever, to expel, or to cast off. With it, he could disarm, amputate, isolate, or remove—be it limbs, magic, memories, or relationships. These sharp constructs were not bound by physics but by intent. If he said, "Cut this bond," the Rule of Rending would find a way to fulfill it. Its execution was brutally elegant, a blade forged from will and spoken purpose, designed not only to injure but to disconnect in the most fundamental sense.
Rule of Punishment. At its core, it was the Rule of Karma—an intrinsic force that governed moral equilibrium. While it was originally meant to ensure that everyone received both punishment for their sins and reward for their virtues, the magic Krampus was born with had only activated the punitive side. As a result, the Rule currently enforced retribution, ensuring that those who committed misdeeds were met with appropriate consequences through his actions. The more severe the sin, the more devastating his strikes would become. This Rule also granted him specialized senses—his nose could pick up the 'scent' of sin, allowing him to track wrongdoers with eerie precision, while his eyes functioned as the living Naughty and Nice list. In his current state, his sight allowed him to see the good and bad deeds of any individual within view. The full version of this ability—where he could instantly perceive the deeds of everyone in the world—would only unlock after the Rules fused into the Rule of Christmas.
Rule of Christmas. The culmination of the other three Rules, activated only during the sacred window between Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning. During that brief period, Krampus would wield unparalleled power to administer karmic justice with pinpoint accuracy—rewarding the virtuous and punishing the wicked. When the Rule activated, his appearance would shift dramatically: his mane would turn snow white and glow faintly in the dark, the spiky strands flowing and waving as if caught in an eternal breeze. His red coat would transform into a full formal Santa outfit—complete with red trousers, a white dress shirt, a rich green vest, and sleeves now added to his coat. His magical equipment would manifest as well: a time-stretching flying sleigh capable of delivering presents across the world in a single night (and able to transform into any vehicle as needed), a mystical gift sack that generated personalized presents or punishments, and a gift launcher that could hurl gifts directly to recipients while bypassing any obstacle. However, as he had only just been born this year, the power remained dormant—he would act only as a silent observer. Next year, the world would witness his first true Christmas as Santa's successor.
Each Rule was flexible, conceptual. As long as he could form the action as a meaningful sentence—"You will be forgiven," "You cannot speak lies," "This pain is no longer yours"—he could eventually bring it to life. The way these Rules worked reminded Krampus of a game he had loved in his past life: Tokyo Afterschool Summoners. In that game, characters wielded unique conceptual powers also called Rules, each defined by a single word that shaped the form and function of their magic. Krampus couldn't help but notice the uncanny resemblance—not just in his abilities, but in his appearance as well. He looked strikingly similar to the version of Krampus from the game, down to the regal ferocity and hulking beastman form.
It made him wonder: had his fondness for that game, that character, somehow influenced his rebirth? Was this body—this power—a spiritual echo of his past life's passions? Yet even within the game, characters only had one Rule each. Why, then, did he possess several? Perhaps it was a reflection of his old profession. As a lawyer, he had dealt with countless rules, precedents, and clauses—layered and intersecting in complexity. Maybe his soul remembered that intricate dance, and carried it over into this new form.
He chuckled softly to himself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how absurdly complicated the Rules in the game could get—full of nuance, exceptions, conditions, and flavor. If that applied to his own magic… he had a long road of mastery ahead.
"I have a lot to learn," he murmured.
But the seed was there. He wasn't just a spirit of Christmas. He was Earthland's answer to imbalance. A force of karmic reckoning dressed in a red coat and boots.
And right now, that force was heading toward Fairy Tail with every intention of joining.
He wanted to belong—not just as a mascot or magical curiosity, but as a friend, a comrade. Maybe one day, family. Fairy Tail had always been his favorite in his last life. Their warmth, their chaos, their loyalty… it was everything he never had but always longed for.
"I'll win them over," he whispered. "Slowly. One smile at a time."
He clenched a small clawed fist and marched on, snow flurrying around his boots, toward the heart of Magnolia.
Toward Fairy Tail.
As the snowfall gently intensified, Krampus finally arrived before the grand double doors of Fairy Tail's guild hall. From within came the booming sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional magical explosion—a cacophony of warmth and chaos that reminded him of a lion's den full of rowdy cubs. He hesitated.
His tiny clawed hand hovered before the door, heart racing. Despite all his confidence, all his power, this was new. Raw. Terrifying, even. But he had stood before courtrooms full of scrutiny, spoken in defense of the defenseless. He took a breath, steadied his nerves with the mental discipline of a seasoned lawyer, and pushed the doors open.
The Fairy Tail guild hall was as raucous and rowdy as ever—long wooden tables stretched across the tavern-like space, mugs of ale clinking and plates piled high with roasted meats and spiced vegetables. A massive fireplace at the far end crackled with enchanted flame, warming the wide hall decorated with banners, garlands, and magical lanterns that shimmered in red, green, and gold. Makarov sat in his usual spot atop the balcony, sipping from his mug and occasionally scolding or laughing at the antics below. Nearby, Makao and Wakaba were mid-argument over which local girl was prettier this winter, their discussion fueled by ale and punctuated with smoke rings. Gildarts lounged at a far corner table, relaxed and amused, his cloak draped over one shoulder as he tossed peanuts into his mouth while dodging flying cutlery with casual precision.
And then the doors had opened—and everything stopped. All eyes turned toward the tiny figure now standing in the doorway, and the room's chaotic energy froze in place like a paused enchantment.
A four-foot-tall lion cub with gleaming horns, golden chains, and a spinning halo had just walked in, face serious but eyes wide with conviction. The rowdy guild of misfits stared.
Krampus stood tall—well, as tall as four feet could manage. Around the room, guild members exchanged puzzled glances. Some eyebrows shot up, a few jaws slackened slightly, and there was an audible murmur of curiosity rippling across the hall. The sheer oddity of his appearance—the glowing halo, the coiled horns, the regal poise radiating from such a tiny figure—left many momentarily speechless. A few mages blinked in disbelief, others nudged their neighbors, silently asking, Is this real? "My name is Krampus Santa Grimgaros. I am a spirit born of Earthland and bearer of karmic judgment. I would like to join Fairy Tail. I believe I qualify as a fairy—if one considers that spirits from legends are kin to your namesake."
A beat of silence. Then two. Then—
"HAH! A tiny demon lion Santa wants in!"
The entire room erupted into laughter, shouts, and energetic chatter. People debated what species he was, how old he might be, whether that halo spun faster if he was mad. Krampus stood firm through the noise, his ears twitching slightly.
From atop the balcony, Makarov Dreyar rose from his chair and floated down slowly, face impassive. As he landed before Krampus, the noise died once more.
The old Master stared into Krampus's golden eyes, then broke into a wide grin. "You've got guts, kid. That's the first requirement."
He raised his hand, glowing with magic. "Welcome to Fairy Tail."
A flash of warm light, and the crest appeared over Krampus's left pectoral, directly over his heart. It shimmered a pure snow white—standing out boldly against his black fur, like starlight etched upon midnight.
The guild hall exploded into cheer.
"PARTY TIME! WE GOT A NEW CUB!"
The cheer set off a chain reaction. Music flared from enchanted instruments. Streamers shot out from hidden panels in the beams, conjured by gleeful mages. Plates of roasted meats, fluffy rolls, candied nuts, and whole roasted squash began rotating down the tables like a feast from a storybook. Someone summoned snow indoors, turning the ceiling into a sky of softly falling flakes that glistened in the lantern light.
Krampus blinked, stunned by the sudden and jubilant chaos, before slowly smiling.
Guild members swarmed him—not maliciously, but curiously, like eager neighbors meeting a new arrival. Wakaba crouched down and sniffed theatrically. "You do smell like pine and justice. Must be legit." Makao offered a high-five, which Krampus tried to mimic but ended up smacking too hard. Gildarts, chuckling, ruffled the little lion's mane with one oversized hand. "Cute, but I wouldn't want to be on your bad list."
Then came the questions. Where was he from? What did he eat? How old was he, really? Was that halo real? Could he fly with it? What kind of magic did he use?
Krampus answered each one earnestly. He explained his nature as a spirit born of karmic balance, a being tied to the idea of justice wrapped in holiday mythos. He described his conceptual Rules—Binding, Rending, Punishment, and the dormant Rule of Christmas. He spoke seriously and plainly, never once exaggerating, evading, or diminishing the truth. But he made no mention of any past life, because to him, that life was over. He had been reborn, and this was who he was now.
One burly mage with a jagged scar over his eyebrow scratched his head. "That's… actually kinda terrifying. You're sayin' those chains can shut up a guy without touching him?"
"Yes," Krampus replied with a firm nod. "If the statement is clear and the will behind it strong, the chains will enforce that interpretation."
The mage blinked. "Remind me never to trash-talk near this guy."
Laughter rippled through the crowd, mixed with a few murmurs of awe. One younger recruit leaned toward another and whispered, "He's not even trying to impress us… that's what makes it scary."
Makarov watched it all with keen interest, sipping his drink with narrowed eyes. When Krampus finished explaining, the old Master gave a low hum. "A spirit who walks like a man and carries the weight of justice on his back… Sounds like a Fairy to me."
Before Krampus could respond, a small commotion broke through the crowd. A golden-haired blur bolted in, cheeks red from the cold and hair full of static. "Gramps! I'm back! They said the lacrima's fully synced! I'm ready to punch dragons!" A five-year-old Laxus Dreyar skidded to a halt, then spotted the strange lion cub surrounded by guildmates.
His blue eyes lit up. "Whoa! You're so cool! Are those real horns? Can I touch them? Do you have a sleigh? Can it fly? Do you beat up bad guys for real?"
Krampus smiled warmly. Something about Laxus's bright curiosity made his halo spin just a little faster. He knelt down and nodded. "Yes, they're real. And yes, I fly. And yes… I give bad people what they deserve."
Laxus beamed and immediately launched into a flurry of questions that Krampus fielded with surprising patience. For the first time in his life, the little lion felt something bloom in his chest.
Belonging.