"Celestia, how are you at deciphering runes and ancient maps?"
Nathael sat on the edge of the family lagoon, knees drawn up, elbows resting on them, watching as the water reflected the evening clouds like living creatures. Beside him, Celestia licked a paw with exaggerated slowness—as if she had all the time in the world… and as if Nathael's question were a minor insult.
"Mrrrgh," she huffed—the perfect onomatopoeia between a growl and a sigh of boredom. "If I declared myself second only to none in arcane decipherment among companions, no sane creature would dare claim to be first."
Nathael smiled but didn't mock her. He knew it wasn't vanity. It was fact.
"And among humans?"
Celestia glanced at him sideways, one eyebrow arched.
"Among humans, Anneliese would make you look foolish before you'd even finished unrolling the first scroll."
"Exactly what I thought," Nathael said, laughing. "So the first trial is in your hands."
"Obviously," she said, leaping onto his lap. "It's not that you're bad, Nathael. It's that you get bored after the third line if nothing explodes or someone isn't running away screaming."
"You're right," he admitted. "I'd rather have maps talk to me while I'm running—not while I'm dozing over them."
"Then today, we practice synchrony," Celestia said, standing up with determination. "Because if we're going to win, it won't be enough for me to understand the runes. You must understand what I understand—without me saying a word."
Nathael nodded. He rose, brushed the dust from his trousers, and assumed a serious stance.
"Where do we start?"
"With the basics," Celestia said. "Simultaneous movement. No words. Only instinct."
And so it began.
First, walking. Nathael took a step. At the same instant, Celestia stepped forward with her left front paw. Then another. And another. Until their movements were so identical they seemed like a single being with two forms.
Then, running.
They bolted around the lagoon—Nathael with long, silent strides, Celestia at his side, her paws barely brushing the ground. No shouts, no commands. Only synchronized breath, shared glances, unified intent.
Next, jumping.
A low rock. Nathael pushed off. Celestia launched into the air at the exact same moment. They landed in perfect unison—without a sound.
Then, stopping.
Nathael halted abruptly. Celestia, without hesitation, stopped beside him—tail high, ears alert.
And then… the absurd.
"Now," Nathael said with a deadpan expression, "we're going to meow and say 'Good morning!' at the same time."
Celestia looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"Seriously?"
"It's part of the training," he insisted. "If we can do something ridiculous without breaking synchrony, we can do the impossible."
So they tried.
"Good morning!" Nathael said.
"Meow!" Celestia said.
They failed.
"Again."
"Good morning!"
"Meow!"
Failed again.
On the fifth try, they almost got it.
From the garden path, two younger cousins walked by. Seeing them, they stopped, exchanged a look, and burst into laughter.
"Are they… rehearsing a play?" one asked.
"I think Nathael lost a bet," said the other.
Celestia snorted.
"Ignore them. Mediocrity always laughs at what it doesn't understand."
Meanwhile, in the west tower of the manor, Anneliese watched the scene from a high window. Her expression was impassive, but her eyes tracked every move of her brother and his companion.
Behind her, the door opened softly.
"Anneliese!" Lysander said, stepping in with light feet. "Look! Nathael and Celestia are practicing synchrony! They look incredible!"
He bounded over and leapt into her lap, as he'd done since they were children.
Anneliese stroked him behind the ears—an automatic gesture, full of affection.
"Yes," she said. "They look… coordinated."
"We should do something like that!" Lysander said, excited. "We could run together! Or meow at the same time!"
Anneliese looked at him. Then slowly shook her head.
"We'd lose face in front of the family."
Lysander blinked.
"Why? Isn't practice good?"
"Of course it is," Anneliese said. "But not like clowns. Synchrony isn't shown by running around a lake. It's shown in silence. In decisions. In what isn't seen."
Lysander frowned, confused.
"But… they looked happy."
"Happiness doesn't win tournaments," Anneliese said gently. "Discipline does."
Lysander looked down, thoughtful. Then sighed.
"I wish I understood half of what you do."
"You don't need to understand everything," Anneliese said. "You only need to trust me."
He nodded—though doubt still lingered in his eyes.
By dusk, Nathael and Celestia returned to the manor—sweaty, tired, but satisfied. They headed to their chambers, where house-elves had already prepared steaming baths infused with moon salts and warmed towels.
"We trained hard today," Nathael said, collapsing into a chair.
"Too hard," Celestia said, shaking water from her fur. "Tomorrow, we rest all day. We need to be fresh for the Tournament."
"Agreed," Nathael said. "We won't practice combat. We're ready."
"Of course we are," Celestia said. "Although… I've heard some interesting rumors."
"About what?"
"About who's competing. Almost all the elders have withdrawn. They say if they lose to someone young like you or Anneliese, they'll lose their prestige. They'd rather keep their pride at home."
Nathael laughed.
"Wise."
"But the young ones… ah, they want to test themselves."
"Who?"
"First, Elias," Celestia said. "Your younger cousin. Fifteen years old. His cat has a small golden mark on its ear. They say he's a master of stealth. He's recovered treasures without anyone noticing. And when he fights… he's fast. Deadly. Like a shadow with claws."
"I know him," Nathael said. "Once disarmed a curse-trap in the Sahara without touching it. Just watched the wind."
"Then there's Ingrid," Celestia continued. "Your cousin. Twenty-two. Her cat's paws are faintly silvered. They're natural strategists. It's said she once retrieved a grimoire from the Balkans by making the guardians betray each other. She just walked in, collected the prize, and left. Didn't even draw her wand."
"Ingrid was always cold," Nathael said. "But effective."
"And finally, Lukas," Celestia said. "Twenty-seven. His cat wears a leather collar inscribed with speed runes. They're lovers of velocity—attack fast, steal fast, vanish fast. It's said he once crossed the Gobi Desert in three days… with a dragon chasing him."
Nathael whistled.
"Impressive."
"So for now, eight competitors," Celestia said. "Eight wizards. Eight companions. All from the main bloodline."
Nathael sighed.
"At least it's a small number. If they'd included the secondary branches, there'd be over thirty. That would've been chaos."
"Don't get complacent," Celestia said seriously. "These aren't just anyone. They're the elite of the Grauheim elite. Each has proven their worth in the world. Each has stories that would make an Auror tremble."
"I know," Nathael said, gazing out the window. "But it doesn't matter how many there are. Only who's with me."
Celestia leapt onto his lap and settled in.
"And I'll be there. As always."
"Then we'll win," Nathael said.
"Or die trying," Celestia added.
"That sounds very dramatic."
"I'm a cat. Drama is my second language."