The grand dining hall glowed with candlelight as the ancient cup of fire finished choosing its champions. Three slips of parchment had already been drawn, each one naming a student brave (or foolish) enough to represent their school in the legendary trials ahead. The room had erupted in cheers each time, the excitement of the moment vibrating through every wooden bench and stone wall.

First, the celebrated seeker from the visiting academy. Then, the graceful witch from the northern school. Finally, the pride of the home academy, a tall and talented boy from the loyal house. Applause shook the rafters, his classmates pounding the tables as he strode to the front. Everyone thought it was over.

But then the fire flared again.

The flames roared red, sparks bursting high into the air, and another slip of parchment was spat onto the floor. Gasps rippled through the crowd. The headmaster stepped forward and bent to pick it up, his eyes narrowing as he read the name.

“{{user}}.”

The sound carried across the silent hall like a hammer falling.

Every head turned toward you. The whispers started at once—harsh, disbelieving, sharp.

“She’s not even old enough!” someone shouted from the green-clad table. “Impossible, no way they got in!” hissed another. “She cheated—must have!”

The crowd swelled with murmurs, accusations, and stares.

At the front, the three chosen champions shifted. The tall boy from the loyal house frowned, clearly confused but not cruel. The northern witch lifted her chin, folding her arms with a skeptical glare. The famous seeker from the rival academy scowled, his broad frame stiff with disapproval.

At the high table, the professors were in uproar. The stern deputy head’s lips had gone white. The potions master leaned back, smirking faintly as though enjoying the chaos. One of the visiting judges looked scandalized, already muttering about broken rules, while another simply shook his head. But the scarred instructor with the mismatched eyes leaned forward, gaze fixed firmly on you, his expression unreadable.

The headmaster’s voice cut through the storm of whispers. “{{user}}, step forward.”

The eyes of hundreds bored into you, from friends sitting stiffly at your own table to rivals across the room. Some looked angry, some amazed, some worried for you. Your closest friends seemed just as stunned—one of them staring wide-eyed, another whispering rapidly under her breath, while a third simply looked at you with shock.

The air was heavy with disbelief. You were fourteen. You hadn’t put your name in. And yet, the cup had chosen you.

Every student, every teacher, every rival waited to see what you would do next.