One hour had passed.
The sun, now beginning to dip below the horizon, cast sharp shadows across the ancestral valley. The air smelled of burnt grass, residual magic, and anticipation.
Nathael and Celestia walked toward the stadium with measured steps, as if each one were a heartbeat of the same heart. Nathael wore a dark, lightweight tunic—unadorned. His boots made no sound. His wand, in its sheath, seemed to breathe with him.
At his side, Celestia held her tail high, ears slightly tilted forward—not from tension, but from focus.
As they entered the arena, a wave of sound greeted them.
"NATHAEL! CELESTIA!" a high-pitched voice cried.
It was Romilda.
The Fan Club had brought magical loudspeakers, enormous banners depicting Nathael and Celestia in elegant poses—him with arms crossed, her in a blue velvet cape—and a banner that read: "THE BEST! THE ONLY! OURS!"
"Look at that!" Karl called from the center of the stadium, grinning broadly. "Nephew, you're more popular than a phoenix in a parade!"
Nathael shrugged.
"Handsome people always get that kind of attention."
Celestia purred, a mix of pride and exasperation.
"One day you'll fall off that cloud."
"Not as long as you're with me," Nathael said, smiling.
Karl laughed. Orin, at his side, regarded Celestia with respect. Both cats gave a slight bow—an ancient gesture of acknowledgment.
Sabine entered the field, followed by Selene. Instant silence fell.
On the commentary platform, Mira and Tobias trembled with excitement.
"This is historic!" Mira said, her voice shaking. "The old versus the young! Decades of wisdom against the fire of a new generation!"
"Karl is one of the greatest talents of the older generation!" Tobias added.
"And Nathael!" Mira continued. "The finest of his! Hunter, strategist, master of both ancestral and modern magic!"
"The bets are even!" someone shouted from the stands. "Fifty-fifty for each!"
Sabine raised her hand.
"The first semifinal of the Tournament of Ancient Blood begins now!"
The stadium transformed.
The stands rose higher. The ground cracked open. And in the center, a ruined castle emerged—collapsed towers, fractured walls, rubble everywhere, and an open sky above.
Perfect for magic… and for traps.
Nathael and Karl faced each other. Both raised their wands in the traditional dueling salute.
Celestia and Orin locked eyes. Both nodded.
"Now!" Sabine commanded.
Nathael didn't wait.
He struck the ground with his wand.
Dozens of black chains erupted from the earth, snaking toward Karl and Orin with lethal speed.
At the same time, Celestia cast a wide-area spell:
"Impedimenta Magna!"
A red wave surged outward, slowing Karl and Orin.
But Nathael was already doing more.
He pointed his wand at the largest castle ruins.
"Transfiguratio Arcana!"
The stones shifted. Merged. Transformed.
From nothing, a Zouwu emerged—a Chinese magical beast with the body of a tiger, the tail of a lion, and a roar that shook the ruins.
The crowd erupted.
"A Zouwu!" Newt Scamander cried, leaping to his feet. "One of Asia's most ancient magical creatures! Nearly extinct!"
Karl, though slowed, didn't lose composure.
"Confringo!"
An explosion shattered the chains.
But Nathael was already weaving more magic.
The chains returned—stronger, faster.
Meanwhile, Karl scanned the rubble around him.
"Transfiguratio Draconis!"
The stones melted. Rose. And a Hungarian Horntail emerged, roaring—black-scaled, eyes blazing with fire.
The Zouwu and the dragon clashed instantly, colliding midair, demolishing more ruins.
"This is impossible!" Mira shouted. "Creating a magical creature is hard enough—but maintaining it in combat… that's colossal magic expenditure!"
"Karl and Nathael are draining their reserves!" Tobias added. "As if they each have an ocean inside!"
But while the world watched the two magical beasts, Orin acted in silence.
From the start of the duel, he'd been laying traps—not with a wand, but with ancestral magic, claws, and runes drawn in the air.
Now, with a low purr, he activated his network.
Traps spread across the field: living shadows, energy thorns, pits of silence.
One triggered near Celestia.
A shadow erupted from the ground, trying to drag her into the abyss.
Celestia dodged with an agile leap.
"Reducto!" she yowled—and the trap disintegrated with a crack.
But as she retreated… she triggered a second trap.
Nathael had already anticipated it.
"Protego!"
A golden shield enveloped Celestia, absorbing the impact.
That one second of distraction was enough for Karl.
"Expelliarmus!"
A red beam, charged with power, shot from his wand.
Celestia lunged forward—straight into one of Orin's traps.
But it wasn't a mistake.
It was strategy.
The trap, activating, released a pulse of energy that deflected the Expelliarmus.
"He used the trap against him!" Newt cried, astonished.
Meanwhile, Nathael and Celestia locked eyes.
And began to chant.
In Ancient Celtic:
"Brìgh na gealaich, cum rinn!"
"Fuil an t-samhraidh, thoir an cumhachd!"
The words vibrated in the air.
Thick fog rolled over the battlefield—so dense even the magical mirrors couldn't pierce it.
"Again!" Mira shouted. "The forbidden magic from the first match!"
Inside the mist, Nathael and Celestia saw everything. Felt every heartbeat, every breath, every intention.
But Karl and Orin… were blind.
Yet they weren't like Lukas and Kael.
"We split up," Karl whispered.
Orin nodded.
They dispersed into the fog.
Staying still meant vulnerability.
And wisely, Karl dispelled his transfiguration.
The Hungarian Horntail vanished.
"No point wasting magic if you can't see," he muttered.
But Nathael and Celestia felt it.
"They're alone," Celestia said. "No support."
"Then," Nathael said, "let's freeze them."
They raised their wands in unison.
"Glacius Maxima!"
A wave of ice spread in all directions—freezing the ground, the air, the ruins.
And with it… activated Orin's traps.
Because the traps responded to movement… and to cold.
Karl and Orin—blind, unable to see or sense the trap magic—became victims of their own creation.
Shadows wrapped around them.
Thorns ensnared them.
Silence immobilized them.
"I surrender," Karl said with dignity.
The fog lifted.
Silence held for a heartbeat.
Then the stadium exploded in applause, cheers, and roars.
Romilda snapped photos with her magical camera, tears of joy streaming down her face.
"This goes in my scrapbook forever!" she cried.
Sabine raised her hand.
"Victory to Nathael Grauheim and Celestia."
She turned to the field.
"First finalists of the Tournament of Ancient Blood."
Nathael ran to Celestia and lifted her into his arms.
"We did it."
"Only one left," she said.
And from the shadows, Anneliese watched them.