While the stadium still vibrated from Nathael and Lukas's duel, the young victor and his companion retreated to the family chambers. Celestia rested in Nathael's arms, the wound on her shoulder already sealed with ointment brought by the house-elves.
"You need to rest," Nathael said, closing the door behind him.
"And you need a dry tunic," Celestia replied, pointing to the ice and ash stains on his chest. "The semifinals are today. We can't waste time."
As they changed in silence, the sound of the ancestral drum echoed once more through the valley.
The second match had begun.
Second Match: Karl and Orin vs. Ingrid and Calypso
"Attention, family!" Mira announced from the commentary platform, eyes sparkling. "The second match of the day pits two of the Tournament's most strategic minds against each other!"
"On one side," Tobias said, adjusting his glasses, "Karl Grauheim and his companion Orin. Forty-eight years old. Williams's brother. It's said he's disarmed more lethal traps than any European Auror—and not only that, he's turned them against his enemies. They're old sea wolves."
"And on the other," Mira continued, "Ingrid and her companion Calypso. Twenty-two years old. Natural strategists. It's said she once retrieved a Balkan manuscript by making its guardians betray each other… without even drawing her wand."
The stadium transformed.
The prairie vanished. In its place rose an ancient Greek temple—marble columns, broken staircases, statues of gods with hollow eyes. The air smelled of burnt laurel and sacred dust.
"Perfect," murmured an elder in the stands. "A field of traps. Where every stone could be a snare."
Sabine raised her hand.
"Let the second match begin!"
Karl, in his dark tunic and silver-flecked beard, took position at the base of the stairs. Orin, his black-eared cat, sat beside him, pupils dilated, scanning every shadow.
Ingrid, elegant and cool as ever, positioned herself before a statue of Athena. Calypso, her silver-pawed cat, slid behind her like liquid shadow.
No greetings. Only stares.
Then Ingrid moved.
"Impedimenta!" she cried—not at Karl, but at the ground before him.
The spell triggered a hidden trap. Stone spikes, sharp as spears, erupted from the earth.
But Karl was no longer there.
"I knew you'd do that," he said, appearing behind a column. "Traps don't activate on their own. They need a magical trigger."
Meanwhile, Orin purred softly.
From the ceiling, golden binding nets dropped onto Ingrid.
She dodged gracefully—but Calypso wasn't so lucky. The chains ensnared her… for a second.
"Liberio!" Ingrid shouted, and the chains disintegrated.
But by then, Karl had already cast an ancestral spell:
"Vinculum Umbrae."
Living shadows rose from the ground, encircling Ingrid and limiting her vision.
"It won't work!" Ingrid said. "Calypso!"
Calypso leapt, and as she landed, her silver paws touched the ground at four precise points. A circle of Greek runes flared to life.
"Counterbalance magic," a judge murmured. "She's using the temple against him!"
The shadows began to recede.
Karl smiled.
"Good move. But Greek temples were built to protect secrets—not reveal them."
He raised his wand.
"Piertotum Locomotor!"
Four temple statues sprang to life.
Not as giants—but as guardians. They moved slowly, yet precisely, cornering Ingrid and Calypso between columns.
"We have to get out!" Calypso said.
"No," Ingrid replied. "We have to understand."
She studied the remaining statues. Noticed they all faced the rising sun—even though it was midday.
"The equinox!" she cried. "The temple only deactivates during the equinox!"
But Karl already knew.
"And today… is the summer solstice," he said.
He raised his hand.
"Lumus Maxima!"
A beam of pure light shot through the open roof, striking the temple's center.
The statues froze. The shadows dissipated. But the columns… collapsed.
Ingrid and Calypso ran—but one pinned them down.
Karl didn't crush them. He simply immobilized them.
"Surrender," he said.
Ingrid looked at Calypso. They both nodded.
"We surrender."
The crowd erupted.
"Karl and Orin!" someone shouted. "Old wolves never fail!"
Sabine raised her hand.
"Victory to Karl and Orin."
Third Match: Elisabeth and Nyra vs. Clara and Solène
"And now!" Mira announced, voice vibrating with excitement. "The third match of the day!"
"On one side," Tobias said, adjusting his glasses, "Elisabeth and Nyra—the young prodigy from the secondary branch, whose bond with her companion is almost supernatural."
"And on the other," Mira continued, "Clara and Solène—the only Grauheim of this century trained at Beauxbatons, where she mastered elemental magic with an elegance few can match."
The stadium transformed once more.
This time, into the citadel of Machu Picchu—stone terraces, narrow staircases, Andean mist wrapping the peaks. The air was cold, charged with the energy of the ancients.
Sabine raised her hand.
"Let the third match begin!"
Clara didn't wait.
"Ventus Magnus!" she cried, and a freezing wind swept down from the mountains, slamming Elisabeth against a stone wall.
At the same instant, Solène leapt to a higher terrace and, with a resonant meow, activated her ancestral magic:
"Ignifera Oxygeni!"
A sphere of blue fire formed in the air—not to burn, but to draw oxygen from the surroundings. Elisabeth felt the air thicken, hard to breathe.
"They're using the environment!" Mira shouted. "Clara controls the wind, Solène controls fire! Together, they're disrupting the air's balance!"
Elisabeth coughed—but Nyra was already moving.
"Aguamenti!" Nyra said, and steam and water surged from the ground, neutralizing the fire.
But Clara and Solène didn't stop.
They began circling the field, casting spells in perfect synchrony:
"Glacius!"
"Fulmen!"
"Ventus!"
"Ignis!"
Each spell intertwined with the last, creating a lethal elemental vortex: ice turned to steam, steam electrified, electricity feeding fire, fire fueling wind.
It was a deadly dance—beautiful, relentless.
"They're draining the field!" Newt Scamander cried from the judges' bench. "If this continues, there'll be nothing left to breathe!"
Elisabeth and Nyra defended as best they could, casting shield after shield—but exhaustion was clear.
"We can't keep this up," Elisabeth panted.
"Then," Nyra said, eyes gleaming, "let's use what we were given."
Elisabeth nodded.
As Clara and Solène prepared their final attack—a combined spell meant to trap them in a sphere of wind and ice—Elisabeth and Nyra clasped hands.
Yes—hand and paw.
And closed their eyes.
"Gravitas! Amplifico. Centrum firmum esto…" they whispered in unison.
The ground trembled. Gravity intensified, making every movement heavier, every spell harder to cast.
"It's forbidden magic!" Eldrin, the judge, cried. "It alters gravity, weighing down bodies and weakening magical output!"
Clara and Solène's spells began losing power. By the time Elisabeth and Nyra's enchantment fully activated, all elemental effects faded.
Clara looked at Solène, stunned.
"It's not possible!"
They were exposed.
Their mistake was overconfidence.
Because Clara, accustomed to absolute control at Beauxbatons, expected the field to obey her commands. And Solène, in her desire to protect Clara, had intensified the elemental spell beyond safety.
Now vulnerable, Solène stepped forward to shield Clara—and left her flank open.
It was a move of loyalty.
And it became their weakness.
Elisabeth and Nyra saw it.
And struck.
"Fulminis Tempestae!" they cried.
Pure-energy lightning descended from the sky, enveloping the area around Clara and Solène—not striking them directly, but cutting off their escape.
They fell to their knees, immobilized.
"We surrender."
Silence fell.
Then the stadium roared.
Elisabeth ran to Clara and offered her hand.
"I'm sorry," she said. "We didn't want to use that. But you… forced us to be better."
Clara smiled, exhausted.
"Then… you succeeded."
Sabine raised her hand.
"Victory to Elisabeth and Nyra."
And from the shadows, Nathael nodded.
"Not bad. They know how to strike at the right moment."
"That's what makes a true Grauheim," Celestia said.