THE SUMMON AND THE STORM
The morning began the way only a mountain spirit garden could allow:
quiet enough that even the wind hesitated before brushing past the sacred cherry trees.
Rafael sat on the veranda in loose training sweats, Frostfang curled against his legs like a guardian lion. The infant Barioth's fur rippled in pale blues with every soft exhale, tail tapping the wood rhythmically as Rafael scrolled through the message Hermione had sent him three hours earlier.
Her words appeared in neat lines, always slightly too formal at first, then warmer by the second paragraph—as if she was always fighting her own nerves before letting her heart peek through.
"Today was difficult… Ron made comments again, and the girls in my dorm said some awful things… but when I held the device you made for me, it warmed in my palm. I don't know how it works. But it made me feel… safe."
Safe.
Rafael's breath stilled.
His thumb brushed the screen. "Of course it did," he murmured. "It's synced to me."
He typed his reply slowly, deliberately.
You never have to thank me.
You deserve peace.
I'll always try to make sure you have it.
Frostfang rumbled approval as the message left the screen. Rafael chuckled despite himself.
"You're getting too smart," he told the Barioth.
Frostfang suggested—by batting Rafael's hand toward the training yard—that it was time to spar again.
Rafael stood, stretching his arms overhead. He was about to step off the porch when his device vibrated violently.
Not Hermione.
Not Luna.
Not any of his friends.
His mother.
Frostfang instantly froze, hackles raised.
Rafael swiped the message open.
Son.
Stay calm.
Your father and I are in Britain.
We are handling something.
Do NOT worry.
Continue your studies.
His heart—so rarely shaken—stuttered.
"Mother," he typed immediately, "what happened?"
The message sent.
No response.
Frostfang whined.
Rafael's chest tightened. His mother was ancient calm incarnate. His father was a general born.
If THEY were sending short messages?
It meant danger.
Real danger.
The wind shifted.
Not a natural shift.
A fate-shift.
Something across the ocean convulsed like a cornered predator.
Rafael clenched his jaw. "Whatever it is… please be safe."
He didn't know, as his pulse raced, that three hours earlier the storm had already exploded.
—
⭐ THREE HOURS EARLIER — LONDON
Ministry of Magic — Courtroom Ten
The Wizengamot marched into the chamber believing themselves the apex of magical civilization.
They would leave knowing their entire world was prey.
Dumbledore stood adjusting his robe collar. Fudge sweated beside him. Dolores Umbridge fluttered around like a smug, pink parasite.
"This meeting will be brief," she crooned. "Foreigners must understand their place."
The torches dimmed.
Frost crept across the stone.
Every witch and wizard in the chamber turned toward the entrance.
Two silhouettes stood framed in the archway, illuminated by cold blue fire.
Lord Thomas Alexander Redmane.
Military posture. Dark coat. White gloves. Eyes like iron forged under pressure. Magic coiled around him like a slumbering dragon beneath ice.
Lady Yuki Raijinko-Redmane.
Hair tied in a warrior's knot. Silver lightning pulsing across her scar. A presence so old the stones themselves groaned.
A murmur rippled through the Wizengamot.
"That's—"
"It cannot be—"
"Merlin save us—"
Dumbledore took a single step forward.
"Lord Redmane… Lady Raijinko… your letter—"
Thomas's voice cut through him like a guillotine.
"We did not respond to your letter."
The temperature plummeted.
Yuki stepped forward.
"We came here," she said softly, "because you insulted our son."
Silence.
The kind that comes before execution.
Dumbledore opened his mouth—
Thomas released his aura.
There were no sparks. No chanting.
Just one instant of peace—
and then a tidal wave of battle-forged magic slammed into the room.
Stone pillars cracked.
Benches snapped.
Robes fluttered violently.
Several Wizengamot elders collapsed, clutching their chests.
Dumbledore staggered back two full steps.
Two.
The Elder Wand vibrated violently in his hand.
A wand that had faced grindylows, dark lords, basilisk shadows, the arcane horrors of lost centuries—
and now it trembled like a frightened rodent.
Thomas stepped closer.
"You threatened my son," he said, his aura swirling like a contained star. "A child. A scholar. A creator whose work has revolutionized two civilizations."
He looks at Dumbledore.
"You accused him of seducing a friend."
He looks at Fudge.
"You accused him of undermining your authority."
He looks at Umbridge.
"And you told him to remember his place."
He lifts his hand.
"And now you will remember yours."
Yuki moved next.
Directly to Umbridge.
Dolores tried to smile.
"My dear," she simpered, "about your son… perhaps we mi—"
Yuki leaned closer.
"You compared my son to 'dangerous foreign pollution.'"
Dolores blanched.
"You implied he corrupted his friend Hermione."
Yuki's fingers crackled with lightning.
"You implied that being born outside Britain made him lesser."
Dolores took a stumbling step back.
Yuki followed.
Her voice rose—
a blade forged from ancient mountain storms.
"We—Raijinko—have been magical for thousands of years.
Before the founding of Hogwarts.
Before Celtic rites.
Before Rome.
Before Merlin was even a thought in his father's eye."
A collective gasp.
Half the Wizengamot choked.
Dumbledore's eyes widened—not with anger, but recognition.
Ancient.
Untouchable.
Beyond the reach of British arrogance.
Yuki's smile sharpened.
"And if you threaten my son again—OR Hermione Granger—"
Lightning exploded from her feet, licking up the walls.
"I will show your brittle little island exactly what it means to anger a clan tied to the Muggle Queen."
Every witch in the room froze.
Every wizard flinched.
Even Dumbledore swallowed.
"Queen… Elizabeth?" one elder whispered in horror.
Yuki winked.
"Ah. So you CAN count."
Thomas's aura pulsed once more—
hard enough to make the Elder Wand spark.
"You will not interfere with our son again," he said. "And if you endanger the Granger girl—by neglect, ignorance, or bigotry—"
His voice dropped to a whisper colder than frostbite.
"We will visit again."
He didn't need to explain what that meant.
Together, Thomas and Yuki turned away.
Not retreating.
Simply done.
The chamber doors slammed shut behind them as if fleeing.
Dumbledore sank into his chair.
The Elder Wand whimpered.
—
BACK AT THE MOUNTAIN — PRESENT
Rafael read the single word his mother finally sent.
Handled.
He exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders.
"Thank you," he whispered to no one.
Frostfang nudged him gently.
Rafael rubbed the cub's ears.
"All right. Training first. Then—"
The System chimed.
A golden ripple spread across his vision.
SUMMON TOKEN — READY.
A COMPANION ANSWERS YOUR CALL.
Rafael's pulse stilled.
A wind surged around him—spiraling, hot, sharp like flames licking lightning.
The torii gate at the forest edge glowed.
Frostfang growled—
not in fear.
In anticipation.
Rafael stepped forward.
Lightning flickered across his skin.
Sky Flames swirled around his feet.
The Summon Circle rose from the earth like a blooming sun.
Ancient runes spiraled.
Phoenix fire licked the edges.
The center burned bright gold.
He placed his hand over the heart of the circle.
"I'm ready," he said softly.
The circle detonated in a brilliant pillar of white-gold light.
Something stepped through.
A silhouette—
feminine
strong
armored
with long dark hair
and eyes burning like embers in a storm.
She landed in a low crouch, one fist planted firmly in the ground.
Flames curled around her knuckles.
Her aura was raw power—
tempered by discipline,
softened by heart.
She rose.
Maki Oze looked at Rafael with wide eyes.
"…Where am I?" she whispered.
Her flames dimmed.
Her gaze softened.
Rafael blinked once.
"What the hell…" Maki murmured. "Did I get summoned by a kid with the aura of a demon god?"
Rafael blinked again.
"…Yes?"
Frostfang yipped.
Maki spun—eyes widening.
"What—IS THAT A SABERTOOTH BABY?!"
Frostfang chuffed proudly.
Rafael hid a smile.
"Maki Oze," he said quietly. "Welcome to Mahoutokorou."
Maki straightened.
Her expression changed instantly—
fear → respect → determination.
"Well," she said, tying her hair back, "if I was summoned here… then I'll fight with you."
Rafael stared.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't hesitate.
Hermione's device buzzed.
He lifted it.
Hermione's message:
"Rafael… are you okay?
Your power suddenly dropped on my end.
What happened?"
Rafael looked at the warrior standing before him—
strong
brave
kind
a storm of controlled fire.
He typed slowly:
I, was training hard.
Hermione's reply came fast:
"Are you ok?"
Rafael looked at Maki.
She offered a bright, warm smile.
"I'll protect you," she said softly.
He typed one word.
I will be.
The mountain wind carried the meaning toward the horizon.
A new bond had formed.
A new era had begun.
And Rafael's legend took its next step.
---