Allen, who had just found the way out, froze when he heard those words.
No one worships the gods anymore… because the gods themselves have already fallen. The reason was so clear, so merciless, that for a moment he had no idea how to respond. He could only keep moving forward.
"Boom!"
Invisible telekinetic force widened a small crack in the gargoyle's waist, just enough for two people to stoop and walk through.
Allen lowered his right hand, brushed away the dust stirred up by the Aard sign, then steadied himself against the wall and stepped inside first.
What lay behind the golem was nothing like what they had first seen upon entering.
The walls were pocked with craters from heavy blows. Broken dark-green vines appeared every few meters, along with scorched marks, melted iron, and frozen crystal.
The ground itself was carved into furrows a full meter deep, like the plowed fields of farmland, running all the way to the chamber at the end.
A dim firelight flickered quietly there, completely undisturbed.
Allen couldn't help but doubt—was Jerome Moreau really imprisoned here?
Ida Emean steadied herself on the wall as she squeezed out from the narrow gap.
"Was it… because of humans?" Allen reached out a hand, pulling the elf sorceress free and watching her dust off her pale-yellow dress.
He couldn't imagine how she had fought such a fierce battle with the golem in clothes so ill-suited for combat.
"Thank you." Ida waved her staff, and a gust of wind blew the grime off both their garments. "But no—it wasn't because of humans. The Elder Folk came to this world more than two thousand years before mankind's ancestors."
"The older the god, the greater their power. Compared to the deities of the Aen Seidhe, mankind's new gods are nothing."
"And haven't you noticed?"
"Other than the Church of the Eternal Fire—martial, hostile toward non-humans—most of mankind's gods are… soft. Melitele is a 'mother.' Freya champions fertility, love, beauty, harvests…"
"Beyond that, humans have no other notable gods."
She paused, chanting softly.
The stone rubble left by the golem's furrows melted into soil, filling the trenches and leveling them into a smooth path.
Allen blinked.
That much transmutation—turning stone to soil in such volume—was enough to raise a small fortress. The magic cost was incalculable.
Any faint condescension he had felt earlier, after slaying the gargoyle, vanished at once.
Sorcerers' strengths and weaknesses were obvious, but if Ida Emean had enough time and space—and didn't have to worry about him—she could destroy far more than a single golem. A human city, perhaps.
It was probably for this reason that Tomas Moreau designed this "prison" as he did. He was, after all, a sorcerer too.
Ida pressed her foot against the firm earth, nodded in satisfaction, and continued walking as she spoke: "Allen, you're young, so perhaps this doesn't strike you as odd. But to anyone with even a little knowledge of theology—it's very strange indeed."
"The need for faith among sentient beings is limitless. Anything they see—the rivers, mountains, seas, the sun and moon, the stars, even birds and insects—can become divine domains."
"Even the things they create themselves—commerce, forging, weaving, brewing, art…"
"The Elder Folk's gods were once as countless as the stars. Dwarves too had their vast pantheon."
"So why is it that mankind, who now dominate the world, have only a handful of gods?"
Allen hesitated.
He had met Melitele, but in truth, the realm of gods was too distant for him to dwell on. Witchers were neither priests nor Oxenfurt theologians—he had never considered the question.
But hearing Ida say it now, what once seemed natural suddenly felt deeply strange.
"Why?" he couldn't help but ask.
Ida glanced at him, smiling softly.
"Because most of mankind's gods were arranged."
"What?" Her words were so shocking that Allen actually stopped in his tracks.
Ida seemed pleased with his reaction, her lips curling faintly as she went on: "From clay idols to sacred flames, mankind's gods—Melitele, Freya, even the Eternal Fire—all were guided to the altar step by step by the Elder Folk."
"Of course, the excessively aggressive ones were excluded."
"The Eternal Fire's earliest doctrine praised honor and restraint. Through harsh discipline, believers were meant to purge their flaws and resist evil. Their hostility toward the Aen Seidhe and dwarves came later, after the Great Change."
"It was doctrine shaped by gods adapting to their followers and the world."
"And besides…"
"In those early days of closeness between humans and Elder Folk, the gods of the Aen Seidhe were mankind's gods as well. At that time, many humans were even more devout than the elves themselves."
Allen listened in stunned silence, instinctively wanting to argue.
He had read some of the Continent's histories and chronicles—never once had this "origin of mankind's gods" appeared.
Not in the books. Not in the old tales. Not in the games.
But then again—how could such a secret ever be allowed to spread? Human rulers would suppress it at all costs.
And in truth, mankind's current faith looked exactly as Ida described.
It fit the history he knew far better.
After all, how could the same race as the Wild Hunt—the Aen Elle, who raided worlds in blood and fire—be the bumbling, complacent elves that human history described?
A dominant race at the peak of its power, ruling a continent—overthrown by mere humans, simply because of a few mixed-blood descendants?
Absurd.
This was a world where strength ruled—where magic, not numbers, was the true foundation of power.
And the Aen Seidhe had possessed the deepest reserves, the most sorcerers, the greatest strength.
How could they possibly have lost?
And besides—this world had real gods.
A pantheon developed over two thousand years, versus a species that had barely arrived a century or two ago…
How could mankind ever compete?
Ida's explanation—control through intermarriage and faith alike—was the only thing that made sense. It was exactly what one would expect from the Aen Undod: cold-blooded, subtle, and efficient.
The more Allen thought, the more interested he became.
The history of the Aen Seidhe might not matter much to a witcher—or to his strength. But for a miracle-born traveler like him… it mattered a great deal.
For it was the Aen Undod, the forebears of the Elder Folk, who had fled their homeland to escape the White Frost, wandering from world to world.
If we speak of this continent, who could possibly understand the White Frost most clearly…
Not any human, not even Melitele, not any god of humankind—but the Aen Seidhe, and the gods they had long since lost.
After thinking it through, Allen didn't argue. Instead, he noticed a particular word in Ida Emean's explanation.
"The great Cataclysm… it was the reason your Aen Seidhe gods fell?" Allen asked as he walked beside her.
"That's right." Ida Emean nodded lightly, her eyes thoughtful. "The Cataclysm began four hundred and seventy-three years ago, on the last day of the Moon of Souls—the day before the Winter Solstice."
"On that day, the Sun God of the Mountain Folk did not respond to the High Priest's prayers. The High Priest wasn't alarmed at first—after all, gods did not always answer their worshipers."
"But by dusk, an eclipse appeared above every palace of the Mountain Folk."
"That was no ordinary eclipse."
"Though the Solstice had not yet come, the temperature plummeted to freezing, and the activity of the free elements in the air suddenly dropped by half at the moment of the eclipse."
"When the world was finally shrouded in darkness, the activity of the elements fell to an unprecedented low, as if the world had suddenly lost both elements and magic."
"It was then that the priests realized this was no accident. It was the beginning of disaster."
Ida paused, then continued when she saw Allen listening with full attention.
"The palaces in every city fell into chaos. Priests prayed desperately, hoping for even a single word from their gods."
"But that day, all the gods of the Mountain Folk fell into complete silence."
"The following week, in the palace of the Sun God, the divine idol suddenly collapsed, its broken edges covered in cruel frost."
"The High Priest froze to death in the prayer chamber. The other priests, depending on their rank and devotion, were grievously wounded in spirit."
"In the third month, the Moon Goddess, the Winter Queen, and then Summer, Autumn, and Spring—the most ancient Four Seasons gods—all followed the Sun God into silence. Their statues crashed down, their chief priests froze to death, the rest of their clergy were shattered."
"On the very day the statue of the Spring Maiden fell, the Mountain Folk could no longer suppress the turmoil within. First the dwarves, then the few goblins and halflings among them…"
"By the fourth year, as the magical tides warmed again, the Mountain Folk finally crushed the rebellion at home. But with the deaths of the Lady of the Lake and the Mountain God, the downfall of the gods resumed."
"Thus began a twilight of the gods that dragged on for nearly three centuries. In the beginning, almost every year you could hear the sound of statues breaking, and the screams of priests."
"The Aen Seidhe were thrown into panic. Every priest lived in dread, fearing that the next to freeze to death would be them."
"The Mountain Folk tried countless methods, but nothing worked."
"Under that crushing pressure, suicides began to appear among the Aen Seidhe."
"Some followed their gods into death. Some grieved for their dead kin. But most were those who saw no future, no hope."
"And only a few years later, humans rebelled…"
Ida Emean paused, drawing in a deep breath.
Allen, too, unconsciously took a breath at that moment. When he touched his forehead, he found it covered in cold sweat.
The elven sorceress's voice was calm, without a trace of emotion.
But within those plain words, he heard the deepest terror.
What despair it must have been!
To watch, day by day, as the highest gods once worshiped in awe fell silent one after another; as wars flared, rebellions erupted—while some mysterious, dreadful, irresistible force drove a once-great race headlong into the abyss.
Allen could not say what choice he would have made in their place.
When he first arrived here, though the Wolf School's future was bleak, its foes—though powerful—were still mortals. The situation still held some hope of recovery.
But the elves?
At that time, all they seemed to have left was endless dread and despair.
"Humanity struck precisely when the Mountain Folk were weakest—turning their blades upon their lords, teachers, parents, and brothers, then sweeping across city after city."
"They faced strong resistance, yes—but when the High Priest of the God of War suddenly froze to death on the battlefield, right in the midst of battle, no Mountain Folk could stop humanity any longer."
"After that, the fall of the gods slowed, but it did not cease."
"And finally, when Aelirenn was crushed at Shaerrawedd, the Mountain Folk lost the Sea Goddess as well—the last of their deities."
"Humanity claimed the entire continent."
The tale of the Mountain Folk's brief yet sorrowful decline ended, and both Ida Emean and Allen fell into sudden silence.
The weight of history manifested in that moment, pressing heavily upon both their hearts.
It wasn't because Allen was empathizing—it was because he suddenly realized something—
Ragnarök was not over.
"Child of Miracles," said Ida Emean as they reached the bend where they had first seen the golem, "do you know why Ithlinne Aegli aep Aevenien, a prophecy of the Aen Seidhe, has been passed down in the human world, spreading across the entire continent to this very day?"
Allen froze for a moment, then asked instinctively, "Why?"
"Because Ithlinne was the priestess of the God of Prophecy, and the only one who conveyed His oracle…"
"Could it be…" Allen gasped.
"That's right," Ida Emean nodded, "that oracle is the prophecy."
"More precisely…"
"Ithlinne Aegli aep Aevenien's Prophecy is the God of Prophecy Himself. After the Great Cataclysm, it is the only last testament left behind by the pantheon of the Mountain Folk."
"Child of Miracles, you should now understand what I truly mean…"
The elven sorceress halted, then turned, her eyes—young yet ancient, carrying the weight of millennia—locking onto him.
"Child of Miracles…"
"The White Frost is not the delusion of some elven madwoman. Rather…"
"It has already descended!"
.....
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