"Lumos Solem!" Hermione shouted.
From the tip of her wand erupted a blinding light—white and pure as the heart of a star. The beam struck the mailbox ahead, where a gremlin, small and twisted, clawed at letters with its sharp nails. The creature shrieked once—a high-pitched sound like nails on slate—before disintegrating into a puddle of green acid that bubbled and vanished into the snow.
A few meters away, Draco already had his wand raised.
"Incendio!" he said, voice firm but tense.
A red flame shot out, engulfing another gremlin charging toward him, clutching a rusty iron bar in its claw. Fire consumed it in seconds. Only the stench of charred flesh and a tense silence remained.
Nathael watched from the center of the street, arms crossed, expression calm but vigilant. At his side, Celestia gave quiet instructions:
"Hermione, don't use Solem in open areas. The snow reflects the light—it blinds them… but disorients you too."
"Draco, moderate your fire's intensity. You're wasting too much magic on one target—just neutralize the threat."
So it had been for nearly an hour.
Kingston Falls—so peaceful and festive when they arrived—had become a hunting ground. Gremlins poured from broken windows, sewer grates, abandoned cars. They were fast, cruel, and hunted in packs. But Hermione and Draco, guided by Nathael and Celestia, had already eliminated fifteen.
"There are too many," Nathael said, frowning as they walked down Main Street. "A single mogwai shouldn't have spawned this many."
"Unless they've been here for days," Celestia replied. "Maybe the first mogwai reproduced… and then some of its offspring broke the rules too."
Hermione swallowed hard. Draco tightened his grip on his wand.
The evidence of chaos was undeniable.
An elderly woman lay in her wheelchair, covered in snow, eyes open and vacant. Her stiff hands clutched a hand-knitted blanket. Further on, the window of a gift shop was shattered. Inside, porcelain figurines and Christmas ornaments lay scattered like victims of a raid.
Draco paled. Hermione stopped, eyes glistening.
"Did they… kill everyone?"
"Only those they caught off guard," Nathael said gravely. "Gremlins don't kill for hunger. They kill for chaos. For fun."
Draco clenched his jaw.
"Then they don't deserve to live."
Hermione nodded, resolve renewed.
They kept walking. The air smelled of smoke, blood, and something metallic—the trail of the gremlins' dark magic.
That's when they saw the tavern.
"Dorry's," read the crooked sign. The windows were fogged, but inside… inside, movement swarmed.
"Merlin's beard…" Hermione whispered.
"It looks like a rat infestation," Draco said with disgust.
It was worse. Inside, dozens of gremlins jumped, shrieked, fought over spilled beer and lit cigarettes. They smashed tables, hurled bottles, stacked themselves into grotesque towers of scaly skin and yellow teeth.
Celestia snorted.
"Disgusting!"
Nathael, however, didn't flinch. His gaze locked onto a figure in the back—a young woman with beautiful brown hair, trembling behind the bar. Gremlins surrounded her, growling, pointing broken bottles, forcing her to pour more beer.
"That's not her fault," Nathael said, voice low and dangerous.
At that moment, the gremlins saw them.
A shrill cry erupted from the tavern.
Dozens of glowing eyes fixed on them. And all charged for the door.
But before they could take a step, a white, translucent, pulsing barrier rose before Nathael and the others.
"Silent Protego," Celestia said with satisfied pride. "He cast it when we entered."
The gremlins slammed into the shield, scratching, spitting acid—but couldn't break through.
Nathael looked at the girl.
"Cover your eyes!"
Paralyzed by fear, she nodded and shielded her face with her arms.
"Hermione!" Nathael called.
Hermione raised her wand.
"Lumos Solem!"
Light exploded inside the tavern. The nearest gremlins disintegrated instantly. Those in the back screamed, covering their eyes—blinded, wounded.
"Draco!" Nathael said.
Without hesitation, Draco cast the spell.
"Lumos Solem!"
A second wave of purifying light swept the room. Only moans and smoldering bodies remained.
Celestia didn't wait. She leapt gracefully onto the bar and approached the girl.
"Follow me," she said, clear and firm.
The girl blinked, astonished. A talking cat—but after everything she'd seen, she no longer questioned it.
"Thank you," she murmured, and followed.
They regrouped at the door. Five souls facing a miniature hell.
"Now," Nathael said, looking at Hermione and Draco, "imagine a fire. Not a small one. A great one. A storm of flames. Visualize it. Feel the heat. The destruction. The purification."
Both closed their eyes. Took a deep breath.
"Now!" Nathael commanded.
"Incendio!" they shouted in unison.
The flames that erupted from their wands weren't red—they were golden, as if the sun itself had descended upon Kingston Falls. Fire spread like a living thing, devouring tables, chairs, walls… and everything that moved within.
They ran.
Behind them, Dorry's became a massive funeral pyre, lighting the snowy night with an infernal glow.
The girl—now calmer—looked at them with admiration.
"Thank you," she said. "I'm Kate Beringer. Those… things… came in hours ago. They threw everyone out. But me… they forced me to serve them. They said if I didn't…"
She didn't finish. It wasn't needed.
Nathael offered a faint, warm smile.
"You're safe now."
Kate looked at him. And for an instant, her eyes were lost in his—blue, deep, like the ocean on a moonless night. His brown hair, slightly tousled by wind and battle, gave him an air between wild and elegant. He was… beautiful. Dangerous. Exactly what Kingston Falls needed.
"Are you… wizards?" she asked, voice trembling.
"Something like that," Celestia said, smoothing her fur with a paw.
Kate nodded. She wasn't surprised anymore. After all, she'd seen a cat give orders and light kill monsters.
"Thank you again," she said.
Just then, a figure came running from the corner.
A young man—about twenty-one, curly hair, a red jacket, a green backpack slung over his shoulder. Seeing Kate, he sighed in relief.
"Kate! You're okay!"
Then he looked at Nathael, Draco, and Hermione with suspicion.
"Who are you?"
"Strangers," Nathael said with a smile. "We came to clean up the mess."
The boy—Billy Peltzer—frowned. But at that moment, a soft sound came from the backpack. A faint chirp. Almost inaudible.
Nathael's eyes narrowed.
Celestia purred, a mix of triumph and disgust.
"There it is."
Billy paled and tried to hide the backpack behind his back.
"Is that the mogwai?" Hermione asked, ever perceptive.
Billy's mouth fell open, shocked they knew the name.
"How…?"
"Hand it over!" Draco demanded, impatient. "This is all your fault! You broke the rules!"
"I didn't do it!" Billy stammered. "It was an accident! A friend spilled water on him!"
"And then you fed him after midnight," Nathael said calmly. "No need to lie."
Billy looked down, ashamed.
"Gizmo's my friend," he murmured.
Nathael raised an eyebrow.
"You named it."
Celestia snorted.
"Oh, wonderful. Naming it doesn't change the fact that it doesn't belong to you."
Before Billy could reply, new crashes shook the town. Shrieks. Sinister laughter. More gremlins.
Nathael glanced toward the noise, then back at Billy.
"No negotiation," he said, voice soft but firm. "When we're done with the gremlins… I'll take the mogwai."
And with that, he walked away—followed by Hermione, Draco, Celestia… and a Kate who couldn't stop glancing over her shoulder, wondering who this man was who'd arrived like a storm to save them all.