Page 54 of Kraved By Krampus

My hands shake as I open the grimoire. The pages smell of ink and winter pine, and the handwriting...Mom’s handwriting.

“A Winter grimoire witch?” The words feel foreign to my tongue. “But I write romance novels.”

“You write magic.” Mrs. Redmond’s eyes twinkle.

I flip through the pages, recognizing symbols I’ve absent-mindedly doodled in my manuscripts for years. “The ink stains that never wash off...”

“The mark of a grimoire witch. Your pen is your wand, your words are your spells.”

My teacup on the table starts to frost over, responding to my emotions. “That’s why my tea never gets cold. And why my manuscripts sometimes...” I pause, remembering all the times pages had fluttered without wind.

“Your mother was powerful, but she knew you would be more so. The combination of Winter Court magic and grimoire craft is rare.”

“The winter court has always needed its chroniclers.” Mrs. Redmond continued, voice soft. “Those who can capture magic in words, preserve it, share it. Your mother knew you would be stronger than she was.”

I trace one of the symbols in the book. Frost spreads from my fingertip, forming the same pattern on the table. “All those romance novels I wrote... they were actually...”

“Spells of protection and love, yes. Every story you’ve created has been a spell, woven with words and sealed with ink. That’s why your readers feel such a strong connection—you’ve been enchanting them all along. Though Victoria tried to twist them into something else.” Mrs. Redmond reaches over, closing her warm hand over mine. “But now you can write your true story.”

The revelation settles over me like fresh snow—quiet, transformative, and somehow right. “That’s why Krampus’s magic feels so familiar. We’re both of winter.”

“Indeed. Though his is ancient darkness and yours is written light, they complement each other perfectly.” Mrs. Redmond slides another book toward me, this one bound inmidnight blue leather. “This is blank. It’s time for you to write your own grimoire.”

I open it, running my fingers over the pristine pages. Frost patterns swirl in their wake, forming words I’m not yet ready to read.My story is just beginning.

The Academy materializes before us as Krampus guides me through a veil of shadows. My breath catches at the sight of the sprawling Victorian building, its spires reaching toward the winter sky like crystalline fingers.

“This is where they come to learn?” I clutch my new grimoire closer to my chest.

“Those society labels as troubled or misbehaving.” Krampus’s hand rests warm against my lower back. “Their magic manifests in ways the modern world doesn’t understand.”

A group of children races past us in the courtyard, their laughter echoing off ancient stones. Small bursts of magical energy trail behind them like sparklers. One boy levitates slightly off the ground with each step.

“So when parents say their child is acting out...”

“Often, it’s untrained magic seeking release.” Krampus waves his hand, and a doorway appears in what was previously solid wall. “Some set fires without matches. Others make objects move when upset. A few speak to beings no one else can see.”

Inside, the halls glow with warm amber light. A young girl sits cross-legged in an alcove, her hands cupped around a dancing flame.Just like the fires I used to accidentally start in my wastebasket while writing.

“You don’t punish them at all, do you?” My voice comes out soft with wonder.

“I protect them.” His red eyes soften as he watches the children. “For many, we just give them a place to understand their gifts before returning them to their families with better control.”

We pass a classroom where students practice levitating feathers. Another where they learn to channel their energy into crystals. Each room reveals more of the truth—this isn’t a place of punishment, but of nurturing and growth.

“The chains and bells in the stories...”

“Training tools for energy control. The legends twisted everything into something dark.” His jaw tightens. “It was easier for humans to fear what they didn’t understand.”

A small boy runs up to Krampus, tugging on his coat. Frost patterns spread from the child’s fingers across the fabric.

“Look what I can do!”

Krampus kneels down, examining the intricate ice designs. “Excellent control, Thomas. Your parents will be proud when you return home.”

Return home. The words echo in my mind. “You don’t keep them?”

“Most stay only until they can safely control their abilities. Then they go back to their families, carrying the secret of magic into the modern world.” He straightens, watching Thomas run back to his friends. “Some will become powerful practitioners. Others will simply live quietly with their gifts. But all of them will know they aren’t alone.”

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