Ghost Hunters, assemble."
Mizukane's voice cracked like thunder inside the aircraft cabin low, resonant, threaded with a quiet authority that made the air feel heavier.
At the rear of the passenger deck, a woman rose.
Her movement: fluid, elegant, deliberate. Like silk slipping from a spellbound loom.
She wore a sleeveless white dress with a vintage cut something out of an enchanted archive, the kind you'd expect behind enchanted glass in a magical fashion exhibit. The bodice hugged her frame with such precision it might have been stitched by sorcery.
Her hair, soft and voluminous, cascaded past her shoulders, swaying with the subtle turbulence like waves responding to the breath of the sea.
On her feet: rounded-toe shoes with low heels and dainty bows, so perfectly tied they seemed charmed into place.
She walked the aisle with the regal grace of a pureblood aristocrat head high, spine straight, arms swaying with effortless rhythm. She didn't just move through the plane she shifted the atmosphere around her.
Then she stopped. Right in front of Mizukane.
Without a word, she drew a breath.
And, to the stunned silence of the cabin, she gripped her bodice and tore it open.
Gasps rippled through the pressurized air like an unseen gust storming through the fuselage.
But beneath the immaculate white fabric, there was no lace, no ceremonial armor.
Only a tight, blood-red shirt.
Its center is emblazoned with a symbol: a skull jawless, eyeless, raw. No flourish. No warning. Just death, staring straight ahead.
The mark of a Ghost Hunter.
With a seamless motion, she reached for the hem of her dress, unzipped it, and let it fall away, revealing matte-black jeans underneath sleek, combat-ready, deliberate.
For a beat, the entire aircraft held its breath.
Then
"What is Merlin's soggy beard ?" muttered an elderly man in first class, tightening his grip on a dragon-wood cane.
A teenage boy stared, mouth open.
"My mum said Ghost Hunters wear cloaks and talismans, not... whatever just happened."
"Did she unzip reality?" whispered a girl in a Ravenclaw-blue scarf.
"She looked like a bride from Diagon Alley five seconds ago," another murmured, nudging his friend.
"Now she looks like she eats poltergeists for breakfast."
In the back, a snarky witch leaned to her seatmate.
"This better not be performance art."
Mizukane stepped forward, unfazed, his voice smooth as a wandstroke:
"Passengers, meet THORNESSA. The Blooming Death."
The name lingered in the cabin like wand smoke curling above a duel.
He turned slowly, commanding the room without raising his voice.
"This is not a routine turbulence advisory."
He let the silence stretch.
"One of the flame pockets we passed through… has struck the fuel tank."
GASP
. A woman clutched her partner's arm. A child whimpered.
"If we increase speed," he continued,
"pressure will trigger an explosion. Immediate."
The murmurs swelled. Fear. Confusion.
Then Thornessa spoke voice cold and clear, slicing through panic like a blade:
"And if we maintain this pace, we'll run out of fuel in under thirty minutes. Then we stall and fall."
Her violet eyes scanned the cabin.
"Rush to our deaths… or drift into them."
Silence. Thick and brutal.
Mizukane's gaze swept across the terrified faces.
Then he nodded.
"There is a third option."
"We repair the tank. Mid-air."
An older man sputtered near the cockpit.
"Repair it? While flying? Have you lost your mind?"
"NO," Thornessa replied, already pulling gloves from her belt.
"We're Ghost Hunters. When death tries to show up early we make it wait."
"Don't go. It's risky."
The voice was quiet. Fragile.
She turned.
A boy stood just outside the lavatory alcove, barefoot in olive shorts and a too-large white shirt. His cheeks were soft, his eyes far too wise.
"I'll be right back," Thornessa whispered.
"Come fast," the man answered, inching toward the emergency hatch.
"You are the one who can cover the tank with vines. I'll fight the vapor."
He cracked open the airlock just enough to slip through. Then gripped the edge
and let go.
He fell.
He felt like the truth merciless.
Wind tore past him. Flames licked his sleeves. His red shirt, emblazoned with the skull, glared out against the roaring sky.
Then
BOOM.
From nothing: water.
It erupted skyward in a pressurized spiral, answering no logic but his will. Fire kissed steam an instant storm.
He remained steady. Silent. Calm.
Raising his right hand, fingers folded into an ancient mudra.
A blue-silver glyph pulsed beneath his feet, glowing th
rough the mist.
Hydro-symbols spun around him sigils dancing like gravity-defying calligraphy.
Mist condensed into a perfect sphere of water.
He whispered a single word:
"Abyss Aqua."
CRACK.
The orb shattered.
From the shards, a water dragon surged upward scales of light and glass, body spiraling with transparent majesty. Its roar was soundless, but the force shook the wind.
As it climbed, it began to evaporate, leaving vapor trails like celestial ink.
BACK INSIDE THE AIRCRAFT
a boy watched from the window.
Callum (quietly, tugging his shirt hem):
"Umm… Miss Thornessa?"
She crouched beside him.
"Just Thornessa, sweetheart. What is it?"
"Are you really going outside? It looks… smoky. And scary."
She smiled gently.
"It is. But someone's got to patch the tanks. And someone else "
(taps his nose)
" has to be our lookout."
"I can do that!" he said proudly.
"I'll guard the snacks too. Just in case smoke tries to eat them."
She laughed.
"Perfect. I was worried about the cookies."
He tugged her sleeve.
"But… will you come back?"
Her eyes softened.
"Of course I will."
"Promise with your pinky? Mum says those are stronger than spells."
She linked her pinky with his.
"Then it's unbreakable."
A pause.
"You smell like warm leaves. And cinnamon toast."
She chuckled.
"Is that good?"
"It's my favorite now."
He suddenly hugged her tight, face pressed to her coat.
"Just… don't be gone too long, okay?"
"You're the nicest person I've ever met."
She held him close.
"And you're the bravest I've ever known."
She kissed his cheek. His face turned crimson.
Callum (stammering):
"Th-that was… umm… I liked it."
She rose, turning toward the exit. The mist had already begun to creep beneath the door.
Callum (calling out):
"I'll be right here when you get back!"
Thornessa (raising a hand without turning):
"And I'll be running back just to hear that voice again."