The air in the library changed.
It wasn't a sound, nor a flash. It was a pressure—as if time itself were holding its breath. The eight competitors, after hours of study, intuition, and silent dialogue with the dead, had crossed the threshold. This was no longer about deciphering. It was about acting.
Each chest, recognizing that its guardian had understood its origin, transformed. The surface runes faded, and in their place rose the final lines of defense: intricate, luminous, alive. They weren't seals. They were final trials. And to open them, mage and companion had to move as a single soul.
First: Anneliese and Lysander
Anneliese didn't speak. She didn't need to.
With a fluid motion, she raised her hand and traced the first rune in the air: the Symbol of Balance, as it appeared in the manuscripts of the Lake of Glass. Lysander, in perfect synchrony, leapt onto the chest and drew the second rune with the tip of his tail: the Rune of Truth, which only glows when its invoker lies neither to others nor to themselves.
"Third," Anneliese whispered.
Lysander meowed. Together, they completed the circle.
The chest emitted a sound like a submerged bell. The runes dissolved into golden light. The lid opened softly—as if waking from a millennia-long slumber.
Inside lay an ancient silver ring, its stone shifting color according to the intention of whoever looked upon it.
Anneliese took it. Instantly, her eyes clouded. Her body froze. Lysander, beside her, did the same. Both were present… yet absent.
The crowd held its breath.
"They did it!" someone cried. "Anneliese and Lysander opened the chest first!"
Second: Nathael and Celestia
Nathael didn't rush. He didn't hurry. He knew Slytherin respected not speed, but precision.
"First rune," he said.
Celestia leapt into the air and, with one claw, traced the Symbol of True Blood—not of lineage, but of loyalty—in the air. Nathael, with his wand, completed the second: the Rune of Silence, which only those who have truly listened to another's pain can invoke.
"Third," Nathael said.
Celestia closed her eyes. And with the tip of her nose, she drew the last: the Rune of Understanding, which shines only when one accepts that even the enemy may be right.
The chest trembled. The runes dissolved like scales in the wind.
Inside rested a black obsidian armband, coiled with a silver serpent.
Nathael took it.
Instantly, his body stilled. Celestia, beside him, fell into the same trance. Their eyes, wide open, did not see the stadium. They saw another time. Another place.
Spontaneous applause erupted from the stands.
"Celestia!" a voice shouted. "Her runes were flawless!"
"I've never seen a cat trace with such elegance!" an elder exclaimed, scribbling notes frantically. "This must be recorded!"
Third: Elisabeth and Nyra
Elisabeth used no wand. Nyra used no claws.
They looked at each other. And smiled.
With hands and paws entwined, they drew the runes together in the air—not as mage and cat, but as sisters. The first was the Rune of Hope, which only glows among the overlooked. The second, the Rune of Courage, born from fear overcome. The third, the Rune of Legacy, binding past and future.
The chest opened with a sigh.
Inside lay a black raven's feather, its tip dipped in ink that never dries.
Elisabeth took it. And instantly, she and Nyra fell into trance.
"Third place!" Mira shouted from the commentary platform. "And she's only fourteen!"
"She's a prodigy!" Tobias added. "The secondary branch is right to adore her!"
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Karl and Orin were close. Ingrid and her cat, too. But none had completed the final symbol. Elias watched the dust in the air, seeking the last key. Lukas still waited for the "right moment."
But the first three… had already crossed into another world.
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In the stands, awe turned to fervor.
"They're in a trance!" a young member of the secondary branch cried, eyes shining. "What does it mean?"
"It means the objects have accepted them," an elder said, voice trembling. "Not all chests grant visions. Only the most powerful."
"Look at Celestia!" a fan club girl shouted. "She's not even blinking! It's like she's dreaming with her eyes open!"
House-elves darted with scrolls and quills, recording every movement, every rune, every expression. Some elder wizards murmured among themselves, recognizing symbols they'd believed lost.
"That rune Anneliese used… I saw it in a temple in Greece," one said. "I thought it was a myth!"
"And Nathael's…" another added. "It's from the Founders' lineage. But not Gryffindor's. Slytherin's."
An uncomfortable silence rippled through the group.
"Slytherin?" someone whispered. "In the Grauheim family?"
"It's not about blood," the elder said. "It's about respect. And Nathael proved it."
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"This is historic!" Mira said, her voice shaking. "The first three didn't just open their chests—they were chosen by them!"
"And look at their faces!" Tobias added. "They're not asleep! They're… traveling!"
Newt Scamander, from his seat, watched with a mix of wonder and understanding.
"It's not a physical journey," he said softly. "It's a journey through memory. The objects aren't showing them the future. They're showing them the object's past. And if they're worthy… they'll leave them a gift."
"A gift?" Mira asked.
"A skill. A vision. A fragment of wisdom," Newt said. "But only if they survive the echo."
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From the center of the stadium, Sabine raised her hand. The murmuring ceased instantly.
"Do not touch them," she said, her voice clear and firm. "Do not interrupt them. They are in communion with the ancients. If you pull them out too soon, they could be lost forever."
She paused, gazing at the three motionless pairs.
"Now… we shall see if they are fortunate enough to benefit from what they've found. Because not everyone who opens a chest deserves what lies within."
Silence became absolute.
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Karl watched his niece with quiet pride. Ingrid frowned—not from envy, but resolve. Elias kept studying the dust. Lukas, at last, opened his eyes.
"Now," he said.
And began to trace.
But the moment had already passed. The first three had crossed the threshold.
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No one clapped. No one shouted. Everyone knew something sacred was unfolding.
The magical mirrors showed the still faces of Nathael, Anneliese, and Elisabeth. Their open eyes reflected lights that weren't in the stadium.
"How long will it last?" a child asked.
"Until the past lets them go," his mother replied.
On the platform, Newt closed his notebook.