Tok. Tok. Tok.
The sound was soft, but firm. Three precise knocks on the carved oak door of the east tower. Not too loud to seem impatient. Not too gentle to seem uncertain. Three knocks that said: I am here. I'm not asking for permission. I'm confirming my presence.
"Come in," said a voice from within—clear, cold, maternal.
Nathael opened the door.
The room was lit by a single floating lamp, its golden light reflecting off shelves of ancient scrolls, star charts hanging on the walls, and the sapphire-blue eyes of Selene, curled up beside the unlit fireplace.
Sabine stood by the window, her back to the door, gazing at the ancestral forest beneath the moonlight. Her silhouette was motionless—a statue carved from ice and will.
Nathael stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and bowed slightly, head lowered in respect.
"Mother."
Celestia, at his side, sat with grace and said, in a clear and respectful voice:
"Matriarch."
Sabine turned. Her eyes—so like Nathael's—studied him with an intensity that pierced through skin, bone, and soul.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to two chairs carved with the Grauheim tree.
Nathael obeyed. Celestia leapt onto the cushion at his feet—but didn't relax. Her tail stood tall. Her ears, alert.
Silence fell. Long. Dense.
The kind of silence that exists only between those who know each other too well to need words—and not well enough to trust completely.
It was Nathael who broke it.
"Grindelwald knew of the Grauheims."
Sabine nodded slowly.
"That's no surprise."
"No?"
"No," she said, walking to her desk. "Though we keep a low profile, our reputation as seekers of ancient treasures has traveled far. In the right circles, everyone knows the Grauheims exist. That we answer to no Ministry. That we attend no schools. That we work with what the world has forgotten."
She sat, fingers interlaced.
"Grindelwald was a scholar of the forbidden. If he sought artifacts, if he tracked ancient magic… he would have heard our name sooner or later."
Nathael nodded. That made sense.
"But he didn't just know of the family," he said, voice low. "He knew my name."
Silence returned.
This time, deeper.
Sabine looked at Selene. Selene looked at Nathael. Then both lowered their gaze.
"That… is unusual," Sabine said at last.
"Very unusual," Celestia corrected.
"I've been thinking about it all afternoon," Sabine said. "The stadium doesn't send participants into the past. It only recreates historical events with ancestral magic. It's a perfect illusion—yes—but not real. The others confirmed it: Anneliese said she felt the stones of the Goblin Rebellion, but knew they weren't real. Elisabeth said the snow didn't wet her. Karl said the goblins smelled of magical smoke, not blood."
She looked at Nathael.
"But you… you were there."
Grindelwald didn't recognize you in an illusion. He recognized you.
"Exactly," Nathael said. "And not only that. He told me… we'd meet again. In my time. Or in his."
Sabine rose and walked to the fireplace. Though cold, she placed a hand on the stone, as if seeking warmth in the chill.
"Time magic is taboo," she said. "It's forbidden in every magical code in the world. Breaking the timeline isn't just dangerous—it's impossible, according to most theorists."
"But not all," Celestia said. "Egyptian manuscripts speak of the Paths Between Ages. The Celts, of the Black Moon Portals. Even ancient Chinese texts claim great wizards could send their minds to the past… or future… if they had an anchor—like the objects from the first trial. Of course, this is different—sending both body and mind years into the past is almost unheard of."
"And you think the stadium is such an anchor?" Sabine asked.
"I don't know," Nathael said. "But what I lived… wasn't a simulation. It was an opportunity."
"An opportunity for what?" Selene asked.
"To be seen," Nathael said. "Grindelwald wasn't threatening me. He was acknowledging me. As if he knew I would come… someday."
Sabine was silent for a long while. Then she sighed.
"Perhaps the future isn't as fixed as we believe."
She turned.
"And if that's true… then what Grindelwald said makes sense."
"What did he say?" Selene asked.
Nathael swallowed.
"He said the world is changing. And that I… will be part of the war to come."
Sabine didn't seem surprised.
"That's true," she said. "The world is changing."
She paused.
"I've been investigating. Ever since Williams's letter arrived, I haven't stopped. I've contacted allies in Beijing, Istanbul, Cairo. I've spent favors it will take years to repay—because Grauheim favors aren't coins. They're debts of the soul."
"And what did you find?" Celestia asked.
"That Williams wasn't chasing a mere artifact," Sabine said, voice grave. "What he found… was a door. Not a relic. Not an object. A door to another world."
"Another world?" Nathael repeated.
"Yes. Ancient Chinese texts speak of Parallel Realms—planes of existence where magic was never hidden, where dragons were never hunted, where gods still walk among men. It's said these doors open only when the fabric between realities weakens."
"And why now?" Nathael asked.
"Because something is weakening it," Sabine said. "I don't know what. But Williams and Guillermo's disappearance wasn't an accident. Someone—or something—drew them in. Or trapped them."
She stepped closer to Nathael.
"My main concern is bringing them back. But if they crossed… then others may cross in."
Celestia rose, fur slightly bristled.
"Hostiles?"
"We don't know," Sabine said. "But if a wizard like Grindelwald can foresee the future… what if, in another world, someone can cross the present?"
The silence grew heavy.
"The Tournament isn't just about choosing who will go after Williams," Sabine said at last. "It's about choosing who can protect us if something crosses."
She looked at Nathael.
"That's why Grindelwald saw you. Because in the future… you will be one of those lines."
Nathael lowered his gaze.
"I don't want to be a line. I want to be a hunter."
"Sometimes," Sabine said, "the hunter becomes a guardian. Not by choice. By necessity."
Another silence.
Then Sabine straightened.
"Tomorrow is the Tournament's final day. The combat trial will decide who is strongest—not just in magic, but in will, instinct, and the ability to act under extreme pressure."
"And if I win?" Nathael asked.
"Then you'll go to China," Sabine said. "With Slytherin's armband. With everything you've earned. And with Celestia."
"And if I lose?"
"Then you'll trust the one who wins," Sabine said. "Because the family's honor doesn't rest on a single name. It rests on all of us."
She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."
Nathael nodded. He rose, bowed his head.
"Thank you, Mother."
Celestia purred softly.
"Matriarch."