In the next instant, without warning, the duel erupted.
Soren swung his wand, unleashing a barrage of lightning bolts toward Erwin. A shimmering shield of almost tangible armor snapped into place around Erwin, deflecting the strikes without a mark. His own wand whipped through the air, firing rapid beams of purple light at Soren.
The dragon beneath Soren's feet twisted with serpentine grace, evading most of the spells. The few that connected were parried by Soren's wand through some obscure incantation.
In mere moments, they'd traded a flurry of blows.
High in Nurmengard Tower, Grindelwald observed from the window, impressed by the young wizard's prowess. Just then, Vinda entered. "Erwin—can he win?"
Grindelwald shook his head. "Hard to say. Their magical reserves seem evenly matched. This is ancient magic clashing with the modern—raw power from forgotten arts, but much of it lost to time. The Solent heir's arsenal is limited as a result. Erwin's no slouch either, but toppling Soren won't be easy. Still, I suspect both are holding back. This feels like reconnaissance."
Vinda's expression hardened. "Solent. No solid proof yet, but the signs point to him. I want him dead."
Grindelwald waved her off. "Don't interfere. Treat this as a trial for the boy."
Vinda blinked. "A trial?"
He smiled faintly. "You brought him here to groom a successor for the Acolytes, didn't you? Let's see if he's up to it. Right now, he's not ready to lead alone—he needs overwhelming strength to keep the old guard in line. Word of this fight's spreading; plenty are watching already."
He trailed off, eyes fixed on the combatants. Though neither matched his own faded might, Grindelwald sensed hidden edges in both that even he might respect. Experience sharpened his instincts, but age blurred the details. Smoke flickered in his pupils as he peered deeper, then sighed. "Can't see it clearly. Growing old, indeed."
Meanwhile, Berlin's wizarding world buzzed with alarm. The magical surges from Nurmengard drew crowds: Ministry officials, German pure-blood families, and remnants of the old Acolytes.
Wizards poured toward the fortress—patriarchs in their seventies, faces grim with resolve, mobilizing their house's full might. Nurmengard was sacred ground, Grindelwald's self-imposed prison. No upstarts would desecrate it.
The chilling waves of magic didn't deter them. Acolytes drew wands without hesitation, foes be damned.
Grindelwald turned to Vinda. "Go greet our old friends. Keep them at bay—these two are about to escalate. Ward off the Ministry fools too. I won't have the next Acolyte leader branded a fugitive before he's even graduated."
Vinda nodded and Apparated away.
In the skies above, after a torrent of spells, Erwin and Soren paused, hovering opposite each other.
Soren smirked. "Erwin, if that's your best, you'll be my guest today."
Erwin chuckled. "Save the taunts. Probing's done—let's get serious."
Soren's smile turned predatory. "Fascinating. I knew it: we're cut from the same cloth. Equal power, equal arrogance. I'm intrigued, Erwin."
Erwin shook his head. "You're not on my level. A servant stays a servant—know your place. Rebels don't get to stand with masters. You're out of line."
Soren's face twisted in fury, a killing intent radiating from him. "I won't kill you, Erwin. I'll bind you until your bloodline matures, then rip it out. As the sole Dragon Rider, you'll watch your precious heritage abandon you."
Erwin sneered. "Prove you can back that up."
Silently, he invoked his innate gifts: "Spell Multiplication activated, Arcane engaged!"
His amethyst wand hummed, vibrating with enhanced power. Soren frowned at the subtle surge—impressive, but not decisive.
Soren tapped the dragon's flank with his wand. Magical energy flooded the beast, turning its eyes crimson and bulging its muscles. He raised his wand skyward, summoning a crackling storm of lightning that crashed toward Erwin.
Erwin vanished in a swirl, reappearing at Soren's back. A purple beam lanced from his wand, splintering mid-flight into six radiant arcs that sped toward his foe.
Soren didn't flinch. He murmured an incantation, and a Protego shield bloomed before him, absorbing the assault.
By then, onlookers had arrived. Vinda stepped forward, blocking their path. "Halt if you value your lives."
The Acolyte elders bowed respectfully. Vinda's authority as Grindelwald's envoy—and her superior skill—commanded deference.
Ministry Aurors trailed behind, halting at her command. They were here for order, but the aerial duel looked far beyond their pay grade. What was that violet bloom in the young wizard's spells? Unheard of. Where had he trained?
One Auror ventured, "Miss Rosier, who are those two up there?"
Vinda's gaze never left the sky, where the true storm was just beginning.
...
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