The stadium was silent.
Not the silence of waiting—but of collective awe. Eight hundred souls, scattered across stands, elevated pavilions, and floating platforms, stared at the many magical screens displaying the second trial's simulations. Each screen showed a different fragment of magical history: ancient wars, forgotten rebellions, battles that had shaped the fate of the world.
And in each, a competitor and their companion fought—not against enemies, but against chaos.
Screen Three: Anneliese and Lysander
"Look at this!" Tobias exclaimed from the commentary platform, eyes wide as saucers. "They're in the middle of the 1612 Goblin Rebellion!"
The image showed a medieval city in flames—narrow streets, cracked stone buildings, and goblins in armor forged from bone and scrap metal. Anneliese, clad in reinforced leather robes, moved with surgical precision, disabling magical traps while Lysander—ears flattened—sniffed the air for hidden enchantments, their synchrony astonishing.
"She's not fighting!" Mira said, amazed. "She's negotiating!"
On screen, Anneliese raised her hands—wandless—and spoke in ancient Gobbledegook. The goblins, stunned, lowered their weapons.
"She's using the 1613 peace treaty… before it was signed!" an elder cried from the stands. "She's a genius!"
Lysander purred softly and, with a flick of his tail, deactivated an explosion curse about to level a house full of civilians.
"And him!" Tobias added. "Lysander doesn't just understand her—he anticipates her!"
The crowd erupted in applause.
Screen Five: Elisabeth and Nyra
"Merlin's beard!" Mira gasped, switching focus. "They're in Eastern Europe—1902!"
The simulation showed a ruined castle surrounded by snow. Two figures—a wizard and a witch—were chained to a wall, silencing runes carved into their mouths.
"They're husband and wife!" Tobias said. "He's Muggle-born, she's pureblood—and they're being executed for treason!"
Elisabeth, barely fourteen, darted through the shadows, Nyra at her side. They used no destructive spells—only illusions: false screams, echoing footsteps, shifting shadows. Nyra melted into darkness, slipping through the castle's cracks, complementing Elisabeth as one being.
"She's using the Varkos Charm!" an elder wizard cried, astonished. "That spell was lost in 1890!"
Elisabeth freed the couple, guided them through a secret passage, and with one final spell, sealed the entrance behind them—where she found the key to end the simulation.
"She did it!" Mira shouted. "She saved two people history forgot!"
The crowd roared.
But it was Nathael and Celestia's screens that stole everyone's breath.
"Th-this isn't possible!" Tobias stammered, voice trembling. "They're at Père Lachaise Cemetery—1927!"
The image showed the underground crypt, the blue fire, and Gellert Grindelwald's serene face.
"Grindelwald!" a young voice cried. "The second-most powerful wizard of the century!"
On screen, Nathael dodged spells that shattered stone. Celestia, elsewhere in the cemetery, unearthed ancient artifacts with feline precision. Together—unseen, unheard—they moved as one mind.
"I've never seen a cat trace runes mid-battle!" Newt Scamander said from the judges' bench, eyes shining. "It's extraordinary!"
Mira, voice thick with emotion, added:
"Look how they move! They don't need to see each other! They knew exactly what to do!"
And then… it happened.
Grindelwald stopped. He looked at Nathael. And spoke.
"You. You are not of this time."
The entire stadium held its breath.
"What… what did he say?" someone whispered.
"How does he know who he is?" another asked.
But before the image could continue, Sabine raised her hand.
A flash of golden light erupted from her fingertips.
The screens showing Nathael and Celestia went dark.
An uneasy, confused silence fell.
"Why?" an elder asked. "Why did she turn off the screen?"
Mira and Tobias exchanged alarmed glances.
"I don't know," Tobias said. "But something's wrong."
In the Observation Tower
Sabine frowned.
"That shouldn't have happened," she murmured.
Selene, beside her, purred softly.
"What did you see?"
"Nothing," Sabine said. "But Grindelwald recognized him. And that… is impossible."
Because the stadium wasn't meant to allow time travel. It only recreated real events. And in 1927, Nathael hadn't even been born. Grindelwald couldn't possibly know him.
"Do you think the stadium is… broken?" Selene asked.
"No," Sabine replied. "But there's something unclear in the manuscripts. The archives say the stadium only recreates battles—but the last Tournament was eighty years ago. It's hard to know for certain."
"Time travel is forbidden magic," Selene said.
"It was," Sabine corrected. "Until yesterday, Nathael, Anneliese, and Elisabeth's objects only sent their minds through time—but this is entirely different."
She glanced at Newt, who stared at the blank screens with a strange expression.
"He was there," Sabine said. "His younger self. And if the stadium included him… it means it's using authentic memory. Not simulation."
"And if Nathael… was really there?" Selene asked.
Sabine didn't answer. But her gaze said everything.
In the Stands
Newt Scamander rose slowly.
"I don't remember that moment," he murmured. "I was at Père Lachaise, yes. But I don't recall a young Auror with a white cat."
"Maybe you were too focused on Leta," Maeve, the secondary-branch judge, suggested.
"Maybe," Newt said. "But if the stadium showed it… then it happened."
He sat back down, unsettled. For the first time in his life, he felt he'd forgotten something vital.
Minutes Later
A white light erupted in the center of the stadium.
Nathael and Celestia appeared—kneeling, exhausted. Celestia's fur was bristled, but her eyes were wide, alert.
They were the first to emerge.
The crowd exploded in cheers.
"They did it!" Romilda shouted. "They came out first!"
Before Nathael could rise, a second light appeared.
Anneliese and Lysander.
She stood immediately—robes scorched but posture erect. Lysander beside her, a small wound on his ear, yet proud.
Then, a third light.
Elisabeth and Nyra.
The girl laughed, covered in magical snow. Nyra carried a phoenix feather in her mouth.
One by one, the others emerged:
Karl and Orin—robes torn but gazes steady.
Ingrid and her cat—runes glowing on their paws.
Elias and his cat—silent as ever.
Lukas and Kael—boots caked in mud.
Clara and Solène—golden fur smudged with ash.
But all eyes were on Nathael.
Because only he… had spoken with Grindelwald.
Sabine descended to the field.
"I declare the second trial complete," she announced.
Silence fell.
"The judges will deliberate, and results will be announced tomorrow. But it's already clear who masters the bond with their companion."
She looked at Nathael. At Anneliese. At Elisabeth.
"Rest. Tomorrow… will be combat."
She turned to leave.
But before she did, she approached Nathael.
"Come see me at dusk," she said quietly. "We need to talk."
Nathael nodded.
Celestia purred softly.
"It wasn't just a simulation… was it?"
"Apparently not," Nathael replied.