"Do you think I'm ready?"
Lysander's voice was soft, almost trembling—like a kitten who hadn't yet learned to hunt. He sat on the windowsill of his room, the full moon illuminating his white fur and his sapphire-blue eyes clouded with doubt.
Anneliese, standing by the unlit fireplace, looked at him with affection.
"Yes," she said—and in that single word lay more certainty than in any rune ever written. "You're ready. And not because I say so. Because you know it."
She stepped forward and knelt before him.
"Many think we're only good at theory—runes, dead languages, deciphering enigmas no one else understands."
She smiled.
It was rare. Anneliese hardly ever smiled. But when she did, it was like sunlight breaking through winter clouds.
"But they're wrong," she continued. "As heir to the main Grauheim branch, I must excel not only in intellect… but in combat. Because magic isn't defended by knowledge alone. Sometimes… it's defended with fire."
She gently stroked Lysander's head.
"And you… you are my fire. My instinct. My balance."
Lysander looked down for a moment. Then lifted his gaze.
"We'll win the Tournament," he said, a new resolve in his voice.
"Yes," Anneliese replied. "And we'll bring back my father… and yours."
Because Williams was Anneliese's father.
And Guillermo, Williams's companion, was the spiritual father of both Lysander… and Celestia.
They were family—by blood and by bond.
At Dawn
In another wing of the manor, Elisabeth stared at herself in the mirror. Her combat tunic—black with silver trim—was immaculate. Her boots, polished. Her gloves, snug.
But her hands trembled.
Nyra, lounging on the bed with lazy elegance, watched her.
"Nervous," she said—not as a question, but as a statement.
"A little," Elisabeth admitted. "What if I'm not strong enough?"
Nyra stretched, then leapt to the floor and approached.
"You've been in the Tournament since the beginning. You opened a chest even the elders couldn't touch. You rescued a couple history forgot. You've proven you're worthy of the Grauheim name… even though your blood came from the secondary branch."
"But… what if I lose today?"
"Then," Nyra said, "you'll have lost a battle. Not the war. The Tournament doesn't define your worth. Your courage does."
Elisabeth nodded. Then she glanced at the raven feather resting on her desk. Its tip, dipped in ink that never dried, glowed with a soft light.
"Nyra… do you think it's true—what the Empress told us?"
It had happened during the first trial, in the trance. The feather's owner—an ancient witch from the eastern lands known only as the Empress of Shadows—had whispered something to them. Something that still echoed in their minds.
Nyra was quiet for a moment.
"She was a legendary figure in her time," she said. "They say she could see the future in raven feathers. If she said it… then it's true."
"And what if the times ahead are worse than we imagine?" Elisabeth asked.
"Then," Nyra said firmly, "we must be ready—not to win, but to survive."
They looked at each other.
Then, without another word, they left the room.
In the Stadium
The ancestral drum sounded.
Thoom-thoom!
Thoom-thoom!
Thoom-thoom!
The deep, resonant beat—forged from dragonhide and sacred oak—echoed through the valley. The bonfires from the night before still smoldered. House-elves hurried with trays of magical breakfasts. But everyone, without exception, made their way to the stadium.
The stands filled within minutes.
"Today's the day!" a child shouted. "The final combat!"
"I'm betting on Nathael!" another cried. "He defeated five dark wizards in Egypt!"
"I'm betting on Anneliese!" a girl countered. "She's the coldest mind in the family!"
"I'm betting on Elisabeth!" a young woman from the secondary branch declared proudly. "She's our hope!"
On the commentator's platform, Mira and Tobias were already in place—robes pristine, notebooks filled with notes.
"Today, there will be no simulations," Mira said, voice grave. "Today, it's real combat."
"Mage and companion versus mage and companion," Tobias added. "But not to harm—to test who has the best strategy, the best control… and the strongest bond under pressure."
In the center of the stadium, the eight competitors lined up:
Nathael, with Celestia on his shoulder.
Anneliese, with Lysander at her side.
Elisabeth, with Nyra walking behind her.
Karl, with Orin, his black-eared cat.
Ingrid, with her silver-pawed feline.
Elias, with his silent companion.
Lukas, with Kael, his speed-rune cat.
Clara, with Solène, her golden-backed cat.
All ready. All tense. All aware that by day's end, only one would be chosen.
Sabine entered the field, followed by Selene. Behind them stood the three judges: Eldrin, Maeve, and Newt Scamander.
"Before we begin the third trial," Sabine announced, "we will reveal the official results of the second trial: Bond with the Companion."
Silence fell.
"The second trial was judged not only by successful exit from the simulation, but by synchrony, creativity, resilience, and depth of bond demonstrated."
She paused.
"Under normal circumstances, Nathael Grauheim and Celestia would have received the highest score, as they were the first to exit and faced one of the most dangerous figures in magical history."
A murmur rippled through the stands.
"However," Sabine continued, "a critical portion of their simulation could not be observed by the judges due to… unforeseen magical circumstances."
She glanced at Nathael. He gave a slight nod.
"Therefore, we cannot award a full score with complete certainty. But neither can we ignore their performance."
"After deliberation," Eldrin said, "we have decided to award the same top score to the two pairs who demonstrated the deepest bond: Nathael and Celestia, and Anneliese and Lysander—29 out of 30."
The stadium erupted.
"It's a tie for first place!" Tobias shouted.
"Fair!" Mira said. "Both were extraordinary!"
Sabine raised a hand.
"Second place: Elisabeth and Nyra. For their courage, nonviolent strategy, and ability to save lives within a simulation that didn't allow it. Score: 26/30."
Elisabeth smiled, relieved.
"Third place: Karl and Orin. Though they didn't exit first, Karl's tactical knowledge of the Giant Rebellion was flawless. He didn't just survive—he led magical civilians to safety, something even the simulated Aurors failed to do. Score: 24/30."
Karl nodded with pride. Orin purred softly.
"Fourth place: Ingrid and her cat—23/30."
"Fifth: Elias and his cat—22/30."
"Sixth: Lukas and Kael—21/30."
"Seventh: Clara and Solène—20/30."
Clara lowered her gaze—but not in shame. In determination.
"There's still one trial left!" Solène whispered.
"I know," Clara said.
Sabine turned to the eight competitors.
"The third trial is simple: combat.
"Pairs will face off in an elimination tournament.
"No dark magic is permitted.
"No permanent injuries are allowed.
"Combat ends when a participant surrenders or is incapacitated.
"And your bond with your companion will be key—because you won't be fighting alone."
She looked at Nathael. At Anneliese. At Elisabeth.
"May the worthiest win."
The drum beat once more.
And the Tournament entered its final phase.