Allen indeed knew.
The elven rule of Toussaint had ended in the year 781, marking the conclusion of over fifteen hundred years of dominion. The era of the Aen Seidhe officially came to a close that year.
As the human armies pressed in, the elves abandoned the homes they had lived in for centuries, took what they could carry, destroyed the rest, and retreated deep into the mountains.
The last Elven King of the Aen Seidhe, Divethaf, was captured alive by Ludovic, the first human king of Toussaint.
In the very castle the elves had just abandoned, before the bodies of his eternally youthful kin, the proud Elven King wept as he bowed before the human king, offering bread and wine as symbols of sacrifice, along with his sword and shield.
Then, under Ludovic's mocking words, he kissed his feet, swore fealty, and was led outside the palace gates by the guards—thrown down the steps like a beggar.
The pride and dignity of the Aen Seidhe were utterly shattered in that moment, fragmented beyond repair.
It was said that the proud king remained calm throughout the ordeal. But in solitude, after wiping the blood from his face, Divethaf swore a brutal revenge upon the king, vowing to match Ludovic's cold-heartedness.
Unfortunately, true or not, the world of witchers never saw a dramatic reversal like "lying on firewood and tasting gall to avenge defeat."
The following year, before Divethaf could swear fealty again, the humans of Toussaint carried out a bloody purge of non-human races to commemorate the anniversary of the Elven King's surrender. Divethaf and his remaining soldiers drew their last breath together.
From then on, the Aen Seidhe were never unified again, never appearing as a nation.
Elven history took a definitive downturn from that moment.
Before 782, the wars between elves and humans were more balanced. But from that point forward, the elves only retreated—never winning another victory.
And the place where the humans of Toussaint carried out their massacre of non-human races was the Mount Gorgon.
As Allen recalled this history, he looked around.
There were no monuments, no gravestones, no sinister or gnarled plants—nothing that hinted at the rivers of blood once spilled here. The vibrant, flourishing forest showed no trace of the tragedy buried in history.
A small hill blanketed in vegetation—perhaps more beautiful than anywhere in Kaedwen or Temeria—but in Toussaint, it was just an ordinary hill, nothing more.
At least, that was how it felt to Allen.
"Let's go."
Ida Emean obviously had no intention of eliciting sympathy from a witcher. After casting a deep glance toward a certain part of the forest, she took the lead.
The elf woman was, naturally, very familiar with the place.
In a dense forest where every scene looked remarkably similar, she didn't need to look up to find the sun's position, nor down to examine the rings of fallen logs.
Stepping across a pebble-laden stream clear enough to see the bottom, they passed through a grove of oak trees.
With a breeze as gentle as a lover's whisper brushing their cheeks, the path ahead suddenly opened up, like the clouds had parted to reveal the sky.
It was like a moving oil painting.
Fresh green dominated the canvas, while gem-like pale blue flowed like silk throughout, dotted with flower fields in shades of purple, pink, and blue—and bright orange-roofed cottages.
White cooking smoke curled from those orange rooftops, rising into the air and blending into the cotton-like clouds in the cerulean sky.
A fairytale kingdom, not just as a metaphor, but as a living, breathing reality.
The illusion Vera had conjured was already beautiful, but now that they had truly arrived in Toussaint, it was clear that illusions would always lack the Creator's final touch.
As Allen stood once more, awestruck by Toussaint's near-miraculous scenery, Ida Emean didn't stop—she continued downward, walking into another oak grove.
Allen snapped out of it and quickly caught up with a few long strides.
Gradually, the sounds of people and neighing horses grew clearer. Passing two lush oak trees, they came upon a crystal-clear, mirror-like lake. Along the lakeside path, people bustled about.
Merchants, farmers, women, children—and most striking of all, knights in gleaming armor, bearing family crests and holding their heads high.
Allen recognized this as one of Toussaint's distinctive sights—the Ducal Guards.
As he carefully observed this vibrant tableau of life, Ida Emean, with her clearly elven long ears, suddenly and without any hesitation, stepped out of the woods and onto the busy path.
Allen paused in surprise and followed. "You're just walking straight in like that?"
"What else would I do?" Ida Emean brushed the wind-blown strands of hair from her forehead behind her long, pointed ear.
Exposing that face—considered a rare beauty even among elves—under the brilliant sunlight.
She stepped onto the path, and naturally, the passing crowd couldn't ignore her. Quite a few eyes were immediately drawn to her light, graceful figure in the sunlight. However, contrary to what Allen had expected, there were no hostile stares, no startled screams. Instead—
"Such a beautiful lady, I am Elvis of House Cortes. Might I have the honor of knowing your name?"
The knight on the white horse, urged on by his companions, removed his helmet, revealing a head of golden hair and a strikingly handsome face.
Seeing this, Allen raised an eyebrow.
"Miss"…
Ida Emean is probably older than the first ancestor in your family tree.
"No need." Ida Emean cast a glance at Allen, offering a polite smile.
The knight who had introduced himself as Elvis of House Cortes didn't press further.
Noticing Allen's presence, he gave a nod of acknowledgement, then smiled casually, placed his helmet back on, and continued his patrol amid the laughter of his companions.
"Isn't it strange?" Ida Emean suddenly asked.
"A bit," Allen admitted.
In recent times, many nations in the Northern Continent had somewhat eased their attitudes toward elves, but hostility and discrimination were still the mainstream.
Take Kaedwen, or Redania, for example…
Relatively speaking, Temeria—the largest country in the Northern Continent—treated non-human races the best.
After all, Kaedwen and Redania were Temeria's neighboring rivals. With constant border skirmishes, Temeria would never promote the same hatred as its enemies—even if it didn't oppose it outright.
Moreover, among non-human races, the dwarves had their stronghold in Mahakam, which was not only within Temeria's borders but also its biggest supplier of arms and source of non-human soldiers.
To keep its allies from feeling abandoned, and to avoid the "when the rabbit dies, the fox grieves" effect, Temeria had to maintain a certain baseline of respect. More importantly, there weren't any large elven settlements within Temeria's borders—only scattered individuals.
That's why many elves yearning for peace chose to live in Temeria. Allen had met quite a few in Ellander.
Still, from commoners to nobles, the general sentiment remained one of exclusion.
It was nothing like Toussaint now—so natural, as if elves were simply humans who happened to be more beautiful.
"It's because of time," Ida Emean said softly, walking amidst the somewhat crowded street.
"The emotions of short-lived races fade quickly—both love and hatred vanish with alarming speed."
"When the people of the mountains harbor their hatred, watching their enemies from the shadows, humans have already unknowingly passed through several generations, having long forgotten the old grudges."
"It's just like when the Aen Seidhe first encountered humans…"
"We welcomed those fragile human infants, built settlements for them, taught them knowledge, protected their safety… and in return, they adored us, respected us as though we were their parents."
"But in the blink of an eye, those infants grew up… and drove their sharp blades into the hearts of their mothers…"
"It's almost laughable."
"The place that shattered the last hope of the Aen Seidhe's rise, the place that crushed the pride of the ancient races—is now the most accepting place toward the people of the mountains."
There was a hint of confusion in Ida Emean's voice.
Perhaps someone like her, who had watched the world turn for centuries, often found herself reflecting, reconstructing memories, asking questions like "What if we hadn't done that?" or "What if we had been harsher?" or "If only we hadn't been so kind at the start…"
But she had likely never found an answer.
Because humans are "ungrateful."
It was through the gifts and protection of the Aen Seidhe that they managed to settle on this continent—and yet they betrayed their benefactors.
But when you look closely, at each individual, at those who once received that kindness—those people had already been taken away by time in the span of what was merely a nap for a long-lived being.
And when they awoke, what they saw were unfamiliar faces, now filled with a hunger for conquest, slaughter, and war. Faces that felt familiar… yet completely strange.
They were certainly humans, but no longer the same kind Allen remembered the Aen Seidhe once knowing.
The true benefactor and the true enemy—both long dead. So there was no point in talking about revenge or gratitude anymore.
Love, hate, and vengeance had little to do with humanity now.
What the Aen Seidhes had left was perhaps just a large tangle of unresolved debts—and the desire to keep their people going.
In truth, those familiar yet unfamiliar faces all carried the blood of the Aen Seidhe in their veins. So, in essence, was it the descendants of the Aen Seidhe rebelling against their own ancestors?
How was one supposed to face a situation like that?
Was this civil strife, or an external threat?
Allen found the logic and morality of it all hopelessly entangled.
So he said nothing.
The Aen Seidhe didn't expect him to offer an opinion either. After musing aloud, he fell silent. Soon after, the two of them paid a small fee and boarded a merchant caravan heading toward Beauclair.
Riding in the carriage grew dull quickly, and Ida Emean casually sent Allen a telepathic message: "Tomas Moreau gave us clear coordinates, but we can't teleport directly there..."
"Afraid the coordinates he left are a trap?"
"It's possible, though unlikely," Ida Emean replied calmly, unbothered by the suspicion. "The last time he returned to his lab was fourteen years ago."
"That's not ancient history, but long enough to matter."
"Things like rogue gargoyles, shifting geological layers, misfiring traps and mechanisms..."
"A lab buried underground and left in disrepair for years—danger could come from any direction."
"Tomas Moreau's lab entrance is beneath the Sansretour River on the edge of Beauclair, not far from here."
"Half a day at most—not worth risking a direct teleport."
"But Sol..." Allen hesitated.
Ida Emean met his gaze directly and interrupted: "Rather than worrying whether Sol's condition will deteriorate in that half a day, shouldn't you be more concerned about whether the second mutation can even heal him?"
Allen went silent. He didn't have absolute confidence that the second mutation would work.
At best, it was a guess—treating a dead horse like a living one, as the saying went.
Naturally, this wasn't something he could admit in front of someone as insightful as Ida Emean.
So instead—
"How did you recognize me in Ban Ard?" He changed the subject. "Did you foresee I would appear there?"
Ida Emean looked at him for a moment but didn't press the matter further: "No one can predict the Miracle Child. Fate obscures your path—you are a blank space in all divination and prophecy. I'm no exception."
"Then how?"
"Because I've seen you before, Allen," Ida Emean said. "Thirteen years ago, Vera came to me carrying you in her arms, begging me to foretell your future—desperately hoping to defy fate..."
"Wait a minute." Allen's brows furrowed as he interrupted, "You just said no one can predict me. So how could you recognize me thirteen years later based on that one meeting?"
"Exactly," Ida Emean nodded. "But 'blankness' is also a result. I couldn't see your future directly, but I could see the blankness in others' visions."
"Thirteen years ago, I saw Vera's future—she was holding a 'blank space' in her arms as she arrived at Kaer Morhen."
"Thirteen years later, in Ban Ard, I saw you with Vesemir. I read Vesemir's future as usual, but couldn't glimpse yours at all."
"That alone told me who you were..."
Allen's expression darkened slightly.
So anyone who tried divining him and failed would immediately know he was the 'Miracle Child'?
"No need to worry."
Ida Emean seemed to guess his thoughts and offered reassurance: "A newly trained witcher apprentice has no reason to hide their fate from the River of Time."
"But a rising witcher master with many enemies—and a sorceress mentor skilled in alchemy—has every reason to vanish from fate's gaze."
"There are plenty of ways to shield against divination. If others can't see your future, they'll just assume you've grown more cautious."
Allen sighed in relief at her explanation.
But just as he opened his mouth to ask another question, a sudden realization hit him: Vilgefortz.
A little over a month ago, Vilgefortz and Lydia van Bredevoort had found them—surely using divination or similar magic.
Had Vilgefortz noticed anything unusual about him at that time?
"What is it?" Ida Emean asked.
Allen didn't have time to respond with an excuse, as the carriage came to a stop with a creak.
"Honored guests, we've arrived at Beauclair."
.....
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