Ida Emean was neither in the witcher research laboratory nor on the battlements of the north tower.
When Allen finally found the rare surviving sage of the Aen Seidhe, she was standing on the outer wall of the fortress, arms braced against the cold stone, gazing northward.
Her cinnabar-red hair hung down, veiling her face like a flame burning quietly.
To the north lay the towering peaks of Kaer Morhen's valley, wrapped in ribbons of mist—sometimes green, sometimes gray, sometimes pure white. Hawks circled and cried, surveying the vast mountain range.
Farther still shimmered a lake, half veiled by mountains.
It was beautiful—sparkling beneath the evening sun—but bore a grim name: Killer Lake.
Your home's been stolen, and you're still admiring the view?
Allen couldn't help but grumble inwardly as he stepped closer.
When he was barely five paces away, Ida's pointed ears twitched slightly beneath her scarlet hair, but she did not turn around.
"That is Palasioris. In the Elder Speech, it means 'the place closest to the sky,'" the elven sorceress's voice was clear and distant. "Or rather—the highest place the Aen Seidhe could reach, closest to the heavens."
Allen came to stand beside her, following her gaze—yet all he saw were mountains.
"I've never heard of the name Palasioris," he frowned.
"Of course you haven't," her tone gave nothing away. "Even the Aen Seidhe themselves have forgotten both the name and the place. Palasioris was once the final destination of your Wolf School's Trial of the Mountains. Now, you call it the Circle of Elements."
The ruins beneath the Circle of Elements… Allen's mind flashed with recognition.
"Do you know why the Aen Seidhe are called that?" Ida turned to look at him. "In truth, it should be the dwarves—those who live with stone and mountains each day—that deserve the title."
He paused, then shook his head.
Ida looked back to the misty mountains and sighed softly.
"Because we name every remote peak. And whenever we conquer a place, the first thing we seek out is its highest point."
"Why?"
"The Aen Seidhe were not natives of this world. Our ancestors arrived aboard the White Ships, yet their hearts still longed for their homeland. The lofty mountains made them feel a little closer to it."
"And what about the Aen Seidhe now?" Allen asked. "Do they still wish to return?"
Ida did not answer.
After a moment, when it became clear she would not speak, Allen opened his mouth, intending to tell her about Ban Ard's recent movements.
"Tissaia de Vries and Vilgefortz brought bad news."
It was a statement, not a question. She turned, the hem of her emerald gown swaying, her eyes calm.
Allen froze, then nodded, recounting exactly what Vilgefortz had said.
Through it all, beneath the blue sky, Ida's expression never shifted.
"You're not surprised. Why?" Allen asked after finishing, unable to hold back.
The beautiful elf sorceress gave a faint smile. "Don't forget—I am the sage of the Aen Seidhe."
"You saw the prophecy?"
"Not I," Ida shook her head. "It was Enid's father, Auberon's counselor, Simlas Finn aep Dabairr."
"He walked further down the path of prophecy than anyone else. Before I accepted Vera's invitation to Kaer Serin, he had already shared it with me."
Indeed, if Simlas Finn aep Dabairr hadn't seen Aelirenn's tragic defeat in his crystal ball a century ago, the Aen Seidhe might not even exist today.
Allen exhaled in relief. "So, it seems Ban Ard won't be much of a problem for the Aen Seidhe."
Ida Emean said nothing, but her expression wasn't one of confidence—it was more as though she had finally let something go, a release.
Just as Allen sensed something was off, she abruptly changed the subject.
"But prophecies only ever show fragments. Your news is very important to the Aen Seidhe. Thank you."
"It's… it's nothing. We are allies after all—we just signed the pact," Allen replied with a frown.
Ida Emean nodded, then turned her gaze back toward the rolling mountains.
"It's a pity I must leave now. The matter of teaching you the biology of constructs will have to wait until our next meeting."
With that said, the elven sorceress waved her hand lightly.
An orange-red portal shimmered into existence upon the wall.
"Give my farewells to Vera and Sol."
"Wait!" Allen suddenly called out, stopping her just as one foot had stepped into the portal.
He opened his reagent pouch, pulled something from its innermost pocket, and handed it to her.
"This is…"
"A messenger bird." Ida Emean looked at the crystalline bird in her palm with a trace of nostalgia.
The moment it touched her hand, it came alive, affectionately rubbing its short beak against her slender finger.
"Didn't Vera and Sol tell you?" she chuckled when she noticed Allen's surprised look.
"This pair of messenger birds—I only gave them up because Vera pestered me for ages back when Sol was still at the witcher stronghold of Morgraig Castle."
Pestered you for ages… Allen arched a brow. Another utterly useless bit of trivia added to his memory.
"If…" he hesitated, then said, "if something goes wrong, you can use the bird to contact me. I might be able to help."
Ida Emean studied him quietly for a long moment before asking, "Do Sol and Vera agree to this?"
"I'm the future Chief of the Wolf School," Allen answered, meeting her eyes steadily. "But this isn't in the name of the School—it's in my own name."
Her gaze softened.
With her left hand she gently stroked the bird's crystalline feathers, making it shiver vividly.
"Thank you," she whispered, then, playfully, she winked at him.
"I'll personally deliver it to Francesca."
Under the sudden heat of her gaze, Allen awkwardly turned his head aside.
"That's not really…"
Before he could finish,
Woomph—
The orange-red portal vanished without a trace.
Only the mountain winds remained, howling through forest and peak, crashing against the gray, frozen walls with a hoarse lament.
"Aen Seidhe…"
The witcher gazed at the mountain the Aen Seidhe called Palasioris and sighed softly.
-----------------------------------
After meeting Ida Emean, Allen lingered a while on the empty wall passage before leaving.
He didn't return to Sol's lord's hall, nor did he go to see Mary after she finished absorbing the spirit of the Aeromancer Ronnie Dickinson. He also didn't head to Old Speartip's cave to use the two Conjunctions of the Spheres he still had.
King Lado of Kaedwen was now in Kaer Village. Vesemir, Danthe, Jerome Moreau, and the ever-scheming, power-hungry Philippa Eilhart were there as well.
The whole matter felt like a buried volcano.
Whether it was extinct—or waiting to suddenly erupt with a "surprise"—no one could say.
Since he had given his messenger bird to Ida Emean, Allen had no magical item left on him for timely communication. If Mary's bird happened to fly to Ban Ard instead, to the Aen Seidhe' camp deep in the Blue Mountains…
That scene would be far too beautiful—and disastrous—to even imagine.
And it would delay serious business.
So, when Allen crossed paths with Aristo, who was arranging lodgings for Tissaia de Vries's group, he left instructions about his next steps. He told Aristo to have Vesemir and the others come find him once they returned, and then went straight back to his own chamber on the third floor of the tower.
Not that he really needed Aristo or the other witcher masters to remind him.
Once Philippa Eilhart returned, she would surely fly back immediately.
Thunk—
He closed the door softly.
Allen's wary eyes swept the room, even checking the beams overhead.
Then he lit the candles, walked to the balcony, shut its door, and finally sat down at the oak table in the high-backed chair, facing outward.
Once all was quiet,
Allen took a deep breath and drew out the gift Vilgefortz had given him from his chest.
"Vilgefortz, what do you mean by this?"
He didn't open the envelope right away. His gaze flickered with uncertainty as he studied the noble flourish of the Elder Speech letters written upon it: "Aen Hen Ichaer (Elder Blood)."
"The world shall perish in frost, and be reborn beneath a new sun."
"And in that rebirth, the seed of Hen Ichaer—Elder Blood—shall be sown."
"This seed shall not sprout, but shall kindle flame."
"Ess'tuath esse! So it must be! Watch for the signs!"
"And to know the signs, hear me: first, the blood of the Aen Seidhe—the Elves—shall drown the earth…"
As his fingers brushed the lines, a woman's voice rang in his mind—ancient, sorrowful.
It was as if he were no longer in the warmth of a chamber, but standing in the ruins of some forgotten battlefield, listening to a bard sing of Ithlinne's prophecy.
That prophecy spoke of no miraculous child born in frozen lands, no savior of blood and flame.
Only Elder Blood.
The bloodline traced back to Auberon Muircetach, king of the Alder Folk, and Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal, the elven seeress with the power of prophecy and of traversing time and space.
"She is no child."
Suddenly, a deep male voice echoed in his mind, repeating:
"She is flame—the White Flame that shall ignite the world."
"She is Elder Blood, Hen Ichaer. Elven blood."
"This seed shall not sprout, but shall kindle flame. The blood shall be tainted… and that shall be the age of ending. Tedd Deireadh shall come. Va'esse deireadh aep eigean!"
-----------------------------------
"Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon…"
The candle flame flickered.
The witcher pulled himself from his memories, murmuring the name of the girl who spanned the entire witcher world in his past life—the bearer of Elder Blood.
Even if no one else knew, ever since the Trial of the Grasses, when Vera had recited Ithlinne's prophecy to him, Allen had always known.
He was a substitute, someone who had taken another's place in this witcher world.
Of course, Allen didn't fear the appearance of Elder Blood. On the contrary, once the first shock passed, he actually felt relieved.
Because in the original timeline, it was Elder Blood who held the key to stopping the White Frost.
If Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon was truly going to appear in this world as well, then that was good news for him.
To be honest, the witcher world Allen now lived in was far more magical than what the books or games had shown—
Whether witchers, sorcerers, or monsters, their power was greater than in the original.
The Vesemir of the books had never been able to blow drowners off a wall with a single Aard sign.
Griffins didn't beat their wings and unleash gusts filled with elemental power.
And the Wild Hunt hadn't been able to destroy half of Ellander with just a few spells.
Yet even so, Allen didn't believe he could defeat Elder Blood—Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon—in her later years.
After all, she could prophesy, blink, and travel across time and worlds, both past and future.
She had even, alongside a unicorn named Ihuarraquax, brought Geralt back from death after he was killed by a pitchfork in Rivia, and with Yennefer, who had exhausted her very life force trying to heal him.
That was not the same level of power Allen commanded now.
And so, he hoped for Ciri's existence.
The reason for his initial lapse was simply that he had never expected Ciri's name—the one displaced by him—to appear before him in this way, and by Vilgefortz's hand, no less.
"Vilgefortz must already know my identity as the Child of Miracles…"
"Then why send me this letter?"
"To test me?"
Allen pressed his lips together, his eyes solemn as he stared at the envelope.
He hesitated for a few seconds, then checked it once more with the wolf medallion's elemental sight before carefully breaking the wax seal.
Inside lay a sheet of chiffon paper, folded neatly within.
Rustle—
As the delicate paper slid free, Allen unfolded it—then froze.
"Why… is it blank?"
The front of the sheet was pure white, without a single mark or trace of ink.
Simply put, Vilgefortz had sent him a sheet of empty paper.
"Something's wrong…"
Allen studied the blank page for a long time, but saw nothing unusual. And yet faintly, where there should have been no scent at all, the chiffon carried a subtle fragrance.
Ancient, old—like incense smoldering in some forgotten temple.
The moment he noticed it, the scent surged, flooding in like a calm stream turning to a stormy sea.
Whsshh!
The page flared with blinding green fire, a twisted, intricate magic circle glowing upon it.
"Not good!" Allen's expression darkened. He was about to throw the paper aside and blink out of the room.
The world spun upside down.
The sea roared, waves crashing against jagged cliffs, spray bursting into the air.
He beat his wings, chasing the salty wind. A joy beyond words filled him as he dove, catching up with his kin, brushing his talons across the waves before soaring once more, droplets flying as he glided with the gale, the wind whistling through his feathers.
He saw a swallow, darting through the storm.
-----------------------------------
Meanwhile, in a guestroom balcony of Kaer Morhen, Vilgefortz was fastening a canvas for Lydia van Bredevoort.
"What is it, Vilge?"
Lydia looked at him curiously as he suddenly stopped moving.
But Vilgefortz didn't hear her at all.
Suppressing a flood of dread and exhilaration, he murmured under his breath: "That thing… it's real?"
......
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