The owl landed gently on the windowsill, folding its wings with elegance. Nathael studied it closely: tied to one leg was a scroll bound with black silk ribbon. On its back rested a small package wrapped in parchment, sealed with red wax.
Nathael approached cautiously.
"That seal…" Celestia said, rising to her feet, "is the family crest."
Indeed, the wax bore the Grauheim tree—its roots shaped into ancient runes that glowed with a faint blue light.
Nathael took the letter. At his touch, it pulsed with a subtle wave of magic. This was no ordinary letter. It was sealed with blood magic—only a true Grauheim, or their ancestral companion, could open it. Any other attempt would destroy it instantly.
With a gentle motion, he broke the seal.
The parchment unrolled itself, revealing Sabine's firm, precise handwriting:
My son,
I hope your stay at Hogwarts has been fruitful. I trust that even in a place so bound by rules as a school, you have found at least one benefit… or one secret worthy of remembrance.
But I do not write to you today out of courtesy. I write because there is news.
Anneliese and Lysander returned three days ago.
They traveled to the Yunnan mountains as planned. There, they found the entrance Williams described in his letter—not a simple door, but the gateway to an ancestral sanctuary hidden behind a waterfall that flows only on special days.
Inside, they discovered four altars. On three of them rested a bracer. Each emanated magic so profound it warped reality around it. The fourth altar… was empty.
Williams must have taken it.
Anneliese—with all her brilliance (and believe me, my son, she is the sharpest mind of our generation)—told me the sanctuary's protective runes are so complex it would take her at least two years to fully understand them… starting from nothing.
This confirms what Williams suspected: the sanctuary belongs to a magical civilization predating all known records—one that wielded magic not as a tool, but as a natural law.
But its protective magic was weakening. Williams sensed it. That's why he went.
At first, Anneliese considered using one of the remaining bracers to cross into other worlds and search for your father. But leaving two objects of such power unguarded… would be a danger to all—especially if someone with ill intent found them.
So they returned.
Using the magic of the ancestral oak—the force even the first Grauheims never fully understood, yet has always been our root—they partially sealed two of the bracers.
You know, as hunters, we never keep two treasures of the same kind in one place. It invites disaster.
One sealed bracer remains in the family vault, protected by layers of ancestral magic not even ten dragons could breach.
The other… we send to you.
Because you, Nathael—and you, Celestia—are strong enough… and discreet enough… to protect it.
With both sealed bracers secured, Anneliese and Lysander took the third bracer—the one they did not seal—and activated it. They have departed once more. This time, not to China… but to other worlds.
We do not know how long they will be gone. But in the meantime…
Guard what we have sent you.
With hope and trust,
Sabine Grauheim
The silence that followed was dense, almost sacred.
Nathael lowered the letter slowly. His eyes—usually calm—now gleamed with a mix of awe, concern, and reverence.
"Two months…" he murmured. "And they're already in another world."
"Anneliese doesn't stop," Celestia said. "Not even for fear."
She stepped to the package and, with a careful claw, broke the seal.
Inside lay a simple silver bracer—no engravings, no visible runes. But as Nathael touched it, he felt a subtle pressure, as if the air around him had grown heavier.
"It's unadorned," Celestia said, "but powerful. I feel it in my bones."
Nathael picked it up and slid it onto his right wrist. The metal adjusted itself, as if recognizing him.
Then he looked at his other wrist.
There sat the black obsidian bracer, its silver Beithir coiled in a spiral—the gift from Salazar Slytherin, won in the first trial of the Tournament.
Two bracers.
One from Europe's oldest magic.
The other from a lost civilization in China's mountains.
"At least," Nathael said with a soft smile, "they match."
It wasn't a joke. It was a way to ease the tension. Because now, on his wrists, he carried not just power… but responsibility.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
Nathael raised an eyebrow.
"Come in."
The door creaked open.
It was Draco Malfoy.
He strode in with firm steps, but his eyes were clouded with irritation. His robes were perfectly pressed, but his knuckles were white from clenching his fists.
"Have you heard?" he said without greeting. "Potter's got a Nimbus 2000."
Nathael leaned back in his chair, curious.
"And that bothers you?"
"Of course it does!" Draco snapped. "I asked my father for one, and he told me to wait until Christmas! And that—that famous brat gets one like it's a reward for breathing!"
Nathael studied him in silence for a moment.
"Why do you care so much about Harry Potter?"
Draco frowned.
"Because he acts so special just for surviving You-Know-Who. He has no real talent—just luck. And he runs with blood traitors. So you see the kind of company he keeps."
Nathael was quiet.
Then, calmly, he said:
"Professor McGonagall told me about his flying. She saw him catch Neville's Remembrall with ease even fifth-years couldn't match. And professors like Flitwick mention he has instinctive talent—not learned, but born. And if it's nurtured… he could become powerful."
Draco paled.
"You're defending him?"
"I'm not defending him," Nathael said. "I'm observing."
He stood and walked to the window.
"But you, Draco… you're different. You have technique. Control. Your magic isn't wild—it's disciplined. And you're intelligent. Prudent. I know this… because I'm your teacher."
He paused.
"But your pureblood superiority blinds your judgment. And that… makes you weaker, not stronger."
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Nathael raised a hand.
"Pureblood means nothing if your magic doesn't reflect wisdom… or virtue. And I, in you… see uncommon potential."
Celestia, from her cushion, nodded.
"Yes. Rarer even than in our own Grauheim line."
Draco looked down. He said nothing. But his jaw relaxed.
"Think on it," Nathael said. "Not to please me. For yourself."
Draco gave the faintest nod and left without another word.
When the door closed, Celestia purred softly.
"Do you think he understood?"
"Not today," Nathael said. "But one day… yes."
And with that, he looked once more at his two bracers.