What the fuck is going on here?
The thought repeated in my mind nonstop. My mind didn't spiral into panic or freeze in indecision; instead, every mutated synapse fired in hyper-accelerated sequence, dissecting the room, the woman in front of me, and the anxious nobleman hammering against the oak door outside.
Think, Cain.
Why was I trying to evade this? Why was I instinctively looking for an escape hatch?
I wasn't just a Witcher initiate muddling through the mud of the Northern Kingdoms anymore. I was a Sequence 8 Provoker. In less than twenty-four hours, I had orchestrated the psychological unraveling of a corrupt noble house, rallied an entire village into demanding justice, and stood inches from Baron Hector as he personally took the heads of his traitorous wife and brother. The world around me was a stage, and every person upon it was an actor waiting for the right prompt.
Helena was attempting to provoke me, dangling political bargains with a promise of a form of sovereignty and normalcy in front of my face like bait before a starving wolf. But little does she know two can play this game, and I have more experience playing it.
A slow, razor-cold smile spread across my lips.
The predatory shift in my expression was immediate, and I saw the subtle hitch in Helena's breathing. She didn't release her grip on my chest, but the smug, calculating arrogance in her amber eyes wavered just enough for me to see the tension coiled behind her composure.
"Baron," I called out, my voice projecting through the thick timber door with calm, resonant authority. "Calm down. I have informed Lady Helena of her brother's demise. She is in deep shock and weeping, but she refuses to open the door to anyone, save for myself and Callidea."
The heavy pounding abruptly ceased.
Through the heavy oak, my enhanced hearing tracked the rapid, ragged cadence of Hector's heartbeat. There was a long, suffocating pause before his muffled voice answered, cracked with grief and confusion.
"She... she won't see me?"
"Yes she will not. She understands why you executed her mother and Lord Harry," I replied, weaving the lie with steady, rhythmic precision. "She told me she loves you for raising her, but the sight of you right now is too much for her to bear. She wishes you had seen through the rot before so many lives were lost."
A faint, sharp sound reached my ears, the creak of leather as Hector's calloused fist clenched tightly in the corridor. The man was drowning in guilt, exactly where I needed him to be.
"I... I understand," Hector said, his tone hollowed out by sorrow. "I will fetch Callidea at once. Stay with her, Witcher. Please."
"I will," I said.
His heavy footsteps receded down the hallway, accompanied by the clatter of Gregor's escort.
I looked down at Helena. The girl was still standing close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from her skin, her amber eyes searching my face with renewed wariness.
"If you expect me to play along with whatever grand game you're spinning," I said, my voice dropping to a flat, dangerous timbre, "I need to hear the exact same story from Callidea's mouth. If her words diverge from yours by even a single syllable..."
"Then what, Cain the Witcher?" Helena interrupted, her lips curling into a sharp, defiant smirk. "You'll draw your steel and cut down a fourteen-year-old girl in her bathrobes?"
"Death is the least imaginative outcome in my line of work," I murmured.
Before she could process the words, I activated Warp.
Space warped with a faint, imperceptible distortion. In the fraction of an instant, the air snapped, and Helena found herself thrown back onto the center of her massive four-poster bed, pinned beneath the sheer weight of my presence as I leaned over her with one knee braced against the mattress between her legs. The sudden displacement knocked the breath from her lungs, her dark hair spilling across the velvet pillows like ink.
Her amber eyes went wide, flashing with genuine shock before settling into an intense, fascinated gleam.
"Spatial translocation..." she breathed, staring up at me. "Instantaneous, somatic-free teleportation. I didn't know Witchers could wield Chaos like that."
"Witchers can't," I replied coolly. "Which should tell you everything you need to know about what happens if you try to manipulate me. Now keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself. The adults are about to speak."
I heard soft, deliberate footsteps echoed outside the bedchamber. Three light knocks sounded against the wood.
The latch lifted, and the heavy door swung inward. The moment Callidea stepped over the threshold, the ambient pressure in the room shifted entirely.
This was not the gentle, hospitable mother who had welcomed me into her stone cottage with warm apple wine and roasted fowl, nor was it the exasperated parent who had chided Callum for his atrocious table manners over dinner.
Her posture was straight, her emerald eyes piercing and cold as glacial ice. She moved with absolute, predatory silence, radiating an aura of ancient, lethal authority that felt less like a village healer and more like a master assassin unhooking a hidden blade from its sheath.
She glanced at me, taking in my relaxed posture by the bed, noted the sealed envelope clutched in my left hand, and then looked toward Helena, who was sitting up against the headboard smoothing down the silk of her robe.
Callidea let out a quiet, tired sigh. She closed the heavy door behind her, turned the iron bolt, and raised her right hand.
With a crisp snap of her fingers, she whispered a single elven phrase: "Aen me arssatha tel'en."
A shimmering wave of wind rippled across the walls. The faint noise of wind and distant village music vanished completely, leaving the room in tomb-like silence.
"Cain, my dear boy," Callidea said, her voice smooth and devoid of its usual rustic warmth. "I have enchanted the boundaries of this chamber. No ear, mundane or arcane, can pierce these walls. Speak freely. I imagine you have questions, and you have certainly earned the right to ask them."
There it was. An open invitation to pull back the curtain.
I stepped away from the bed, leaning casually against the stone mantelpiece while keeping both women in my line of sight.
"Is it true?" I asked, keeping my tone perfectly measured.
Callidea tilted her head, crossing her slender arms beneath her chest. "You will have to be more specific, dear. I have no idea how much this ambitious little viper has poured into your ear, or how much your Witcher mind pieced together on its own."
"Did you orchestrate all of this?" I asked plainly. "Using Helena as your inside agent, manipulating the timing of the Leshen's exposure, letting the Baroness and Lord Harry dig their own graves so Hector would execute them in the courtyard and clear the castle's board?"
Callidea didn't flinch. Her expression remained serene, almost bored.
"Yes," she answered without a shred of hesitation. "Every piece of it. Though I must confess, you and Callum accelerated the timeline considerably. Your natural inquisitiveness, your forensic instincts, and your sheer combat efficiency did the heavy lifting for us. You handed Hector the proof on a silver platter before we even had to force his hand. For that, Cain, I am genuinely grateful."
She spoke of patricide, treason, and high-level political assassination with such casual indifference. It was chilling, but I couldn't help but admire the sheer, ruthless competence of it. She possessed the intellect of an archmage and the patience of a mountain.
"And this?" I asked, holding up the thick, wax-sealed envelope. "What is this nonsense about an Elven King?"
Callidea's gaze snapped toward Helena, her emerald eyes narrowing into sharp daggers of pure reprimand.
"You foolish girl," Callidea said, her voice dropping into an icy hiss. "I explicitly instructed you to keep that sealed until the solstice. You were supposed to let him leave Hillstead unburdened. Now Huether is dead ahead of schedule, the guards are whispering about assassins, and you've laid our cards on the table before the ink was even dry."
Helena let out a dismissive scoff, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "Huether was an incompetent weakling! The idiot panicked after the executions. He wanted to run to Baron Hector, confess our private trysts, beg for mercy, and promise that we would flee to Vergen to be married! He would have ruined six years of meticulous planning in minutes! The boy had to be put down."
I listened to her justify slitting her brother's throat with cold, unblinking pragmatism. Whatever moral compass normal humans possessed, Helena had severed hers long ago. She was sharp, lethal, and profoundly dangerous.
Callidea shook her head in mild disgust, then turned back to me, her demeanor softening slightly.
"Listen to me, Cain," Callidea said. "How familiar are you with the ancient history of our people? The true history of the Sages, before human conquerors rewrote the scrolls?"
"I know enough," I said calmly.
I pulled from the deep reservoir of lore I remembered from my past life, blending it seamlessly with the fragmented texts I had studied in the Kaer Morhen library.
"Long ago," I began, my voice steady, "the elves were a single, unified civilization known as the Aen Undod. They were forced to abandon their original homeworld due to an impending cataclysm, a cosmic collapse that some scholars believe was the first manifestation of the White Frost. Utilizing the Ard Gaeth, the Great Gate of the Worlds, the entire elven race traversed interdimensional space in a mass exodus."
Callidea's eyebrows arched in subtle surprise, but she remained silent, listening intently.
"During that migration," I continued, "the race fractured into two ideological factions. The first was the Aen Seidhe, the People of the Mountains. They chose to settle upon this Continent, arriving aboard the legendary White Ships. They found the land beautiful and built magnificent marble metropolises like Loc Muinne and Oxenfurt. But by settling permanently, they became stagnant. When the Conjunction of the Spheres occurred centuries later, humanity arrived, multiplied like vermin, and violently conquered the land. The Aen Seidhe were driven into the forests, their cities paved over, reduced to dying, oppressed second-class citizens."
"And the second faction?" Callidea prompted, her eyes gleaming with genuine academic interest.
"The Aen Elle," I replied. "The Alder Folk. They refused to settle on a world they considered primitive and generic. Led by powerful Sages, they crossed into a parallel sphere entirely. They conquered that world, slaughtered or enslaved the native humans they found there, and established their capital of Tir ná Lia. But their dimensional gateways collapsed following the Conjunction. Obsessed with eugenics and reclaiming the ability to traverse worlds before the White Frost devours their new home, they created the Dearg Ruadhri, the Red Riders, what humans call the Wild Hunt, to abduct foreign slaves, all while hunting desperately for the Elder Blood gene to reopen the Ard Gaeth."
Silence descended upon the bedchamber.
Callidea slowly brought her hands together, clapping three times in quiet, genuine admiration.
"Remarkable," she murmured, a faint smile playing across her lips. "Truly remarkable. Most modern elves living in human ghettos cannot even recite the names of their grandfathers, let alone recount the schism of the Aen Undod with such terrifying historical accuracy. Where did you learn this, Cain? Did Aiag share these ancient chronicles with you when you were a child at Kaer Morhen?"
"No," I lied smoothly. "I read fragments in ancient elven grimoires salvaged from elven ruins, and pieced the rest together myself. Now stop deflecting. What does this letter have to do with me, and why is Helena babbling about crowns?"
Callidea let out a slow, measured breath, stepping closer to the fireplace.
"Centuries ago," she explained, "a sovereign order of elven druids and mages was forged in secret. Our founder, an ancient elven sorceress of immense power, was visited in the deep sanctuaries of Dol Blathanna by an emissary of the Unicorns. It delivered a prophecy."
"Ithlinne's Prophecy?" I asked skeptically. "The era of the sword and axe? The White Frost? The seed of Hen Ichaer bursting into flame?"
Helena scoffed from the bed, reciting the ancient lines with melodic, mocking precision:
"The era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard. The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Tedd Deireádh, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be reborn of Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout but burst into flame."
Helena smiled thinly. "A lovely nursery rhyme. Now tell him about the other one, Teacher."
"The other prophecy?" I pressed, my eyes narrowing. How can there be another one/
Callidea's expression turned profoundly solemn. The firelight cast flickering shadows across her high cheekbones as she spoke in low, reverent tones:
"A child of ice, a man of fire. Born of man and elf, walker of worlds, conqueror of blood and flame. Born of the Elder Blood New, favored by the Unicorns, he shall call his scattered people together to be the One once more. Becoming a monster to slay monsters, reborn as a god, he shall stand as the sovereign who brings both frost of change and fire to the rebirth of the Aen Undod, forging the Golden Path across the stars."
My mind paused, rapidly dismantling every single phrase of the prophecy in real-time.
Child of ice? I had been found half-frozen almost attacked by a monster in a no name village in.
Man of fire? My Beyonder Pathway was Red Pries. I was Sequence 8 , but once I get to Sequence 7 and beyond fire manipulation became my absolute elemental domain.
Walker of worlds? My soul was transmigrated from modern Earth, and my Elder Blood trait naturally governed interdimensional space-time traversal.
Born of the Elder Blood New? My status sheet clearly listed my Elder Blood distinct from the standard matrilineal Lara Dorren gene carried down through the Cintran royal line.
Becoming a monster to slay monsters? A textbook definition of me undergoing the Trial of the Grasses.
Reborn as a god? The ultimate culmination of a Beyonder Pathway, reaching Sequence 0 and ascending to true divinity.
The Golden Path? Rescuing the dying races, breaking the cosmic cycle of the White Frost, and establishing a unified dominion across worlds maybe?
Every line aligned with terrifyingly to me in some way. It was as if someone had looked across the tapestry of fate and caught a distorted glimpse of my future trajectory.
Yet despite the staggering revelation, my internal core remained completely unmoved. My Cold Blooded trait ensured that my pulse didn't accelerate by a single beat.
I didn't give a damn about crowns, elven empires, or sovereign thrones. I had zero interest in being crowned king of a dying, xenophobic race that looked down on half-breeds, nor did I intend to become a political puppet for ancient druidic conspirators.
My goals were simple, pragmatic, and entirely my own: master my Beyonder abilities, survive the brutal realities of this altered Witcher world, rebuild the Order of Witchers into a self-sufficient, respected powerhouse that didn't have to beg human peasants for scrap copper, guide and protect young Ciri when destiny inevitably crossed our paths, and gain absolute mastery over my dimensional travel so I could roam the multiverse at will.
And to achieve that, I needed to walk the Path alone for a while. I needed to hunt monsters, build my merchant enterprise, refine my combat arts, and steer clear of continental politics until I was powerful enough to dictate the rules myself.
"You're out of your minds," I said flatly, breaking the silence. "I I don't have the Elder Blood." I lied. "I gain nothing by entertaining your little cult. Slaying the Leshen and exposing the Baroness was a paid contract. I am a half-elf and a mutated Witcher. Humans spit at my feet, and pure-blood elves consider half-breeds an abomination. Why would your ancient Sages bow to a mutant?"
Callidea smiled, unfazed by my blunt rejection.
"You worry about details that will resolve themselves in time, Cain," she said gently. "We do not expect you to march on Dol Blathanna with an army tomorrow. All I ask is that you hold onto that letter. When the emerald wax flares with light, deliver it to the elven sorceress you will inevitably encounter on your travels. Consider it a private courier contract from me."
She reached into her embroidered belt pouch, produced a heavy, clinking leather coin purse, and pressed it into my right hand.
"Two hundred orens as an advance," Callidea continued. "Three hundred more will be paid to you upon delivery. Furthermore, that sorceress possesses vast libraries of ancient arcane knowledge. Calla told me you wish to expand your magical education beyond basic Witcher Signs. This woman can teach you spells that human academies have spent three centuries failing to comprehend."
I hefted the heavy coin purse, feeling the solid weight of the gold. "And what about the claim Helena made? The cure for Witcher sterility?"
Callidea met my golden gaze directly. "The founder of our order spent decades researching cellular regeneration and cellular transmutation. If an answer exists on this Continent, it rests within her sanctuary."
I stared at the coin purse, then looked down at the sealed envelope in my hand.
A soft, crystalline chime echoed in my mind, and the familiar blue holographic interface flickered into existence.
System Notification: Chain Quest Series Unlocked!
Mythical Rank Chain Quest: The Elven Introduction
Objective: Deliver the sealed to Elven Sorceress.
Rewards: To Be Determined upon completion of all connected quest.
Warning: This is a chain quest. Failure to complete even one quest will lock you out of the entire Chain quest sequence, permanently sealing all associated rewards regardless of quest already completed.
Mythical Rank.
I swallowed an internal curse. The system was laying down a massive trail of breadcrumbs, heavily incentivizing me to follow this through. But as long as I wasn't bound by magical oaths or immediate deadlines, carrying a piece of parchment in my inventory space cost me virtually nothing.
"Fine," I said, stowing the letter and the 200 orens into my dimensional inventory with a subtle mental command while making it look like I was placing it in my leather coat. "I'll hold onto the letter. But I am leaving Hillstead tonight. I'm done dealing with the games in this castle."
Callidea's expression softened into genuine warmth. "Thank you, Cain. That is more than fair. Captain Gregor is holding your contract bounty of one thousand orens at the lower gatehouse. Before you depart, please bid farewell to Callum and Calla. They will miss you dearly."
She stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, and leaned up to press a soft, maternal kiss against my cheek.
"It has been a true honor to meet you, Cain," she murmured softly. "Thank you for watching over my son during those brutal years in the mountains. My home will always be open to you as family."
"Thank you, Callidea," I said, offering a respectful nod.
With a final, lingering look, Callidea released the acoustic ward on the room and slipped out into the corridor, shutting the door behind her.
I turned toward the bed.
Helena was leaning back against the pillows, her dark silk robe draped over her crossed legs, watching me with a dangerous, calculating smirk.
"So," Helena purred, her voice dripping with ambition. "Do we have a deal, Cain? You rise to power, and you take me with you as your Duchess?"
I looked at the fourteen-year-old schemer, remembering how casually she had described murdering her own brother she was sleeping with for years. Sticking my neck out for a sociopathic noble girl with a god complex was the fastest way to get stabbed in the back while sleeping. But she could be useful down the road. Or a severe headache.
"Rain check," I said flatly.
Before her smirk could turn into an outraged scowl, I triggered Warp.
In the span of a single heartbeat, I vanished from the third-floor bedchamber and rematerialized silently on the flagstones of the castle's outer gatehouse, appearing directly behind Captain Gregor.
"Good gods above!" Gregor gasped, jumping half a foot into the air with his hand flying to the hilt of his arming sword. He spun around, his chest heaving as he saw me standing there with my arms crossed. "Witcher! Where in the seven hells did you come from? You move like a bloody phantom!"
"I walked down the servant stairs," I lied smoothly. "You were just too focused on the courtyard."
Gregor wiped a bead of nervous sweat from his brow, exhaling heavily. "Right. Did... did you find anything in the boy's room? Any signs of the assassin?"
"No," I replied, keeping my expression entirely neutral. "The killer used high-tier concealment and exited via the cliffside window. Whoever did it is long gone from Hillstead territory. The trail is completely cold."
Gregor stared at me for a few long seconds, searching my golden eyes for deception. Finding only the calm, emotionless stare of a mutated monster hunter, he let out a defeated sigh.
"Aye. If a Witcher can't track them, my lads have no hope in hell. Well... here is your contract payment, as promised by the Baron."
He reached behind his guard desk and produced a heavy, iron-banded wooden lockbox, setting it down on the table. He lifted the lid, revealing row upon row of gleaming Cintran gold.
"One thousand orens," Gregor said. "The Baron retired to his private quarters for the night, the man is utterly broken, poor bastard. He instructed me to ensure you were paid in full, with the gratitude of House Hillstead."
I closed the lid and lifted the lockbox, sliding it effortlessly into my inventory space. "Thank you, Captain. I will be taking my leave of Hillstead tonight."
Gregor blinked in surprise. "Tonight? But the feast is still going down in the square! The villagers are toasting your name, lad. You don't want to enjoy the celebration you made possible?"
"I have business on the Path," I said, extending my hand. "Long roads ahead, and monster contracts waiting in Cintra."
Gregor took my hand in a firm, calloused grip, his weathered face showing genuine respect. "Understood. Safe travels, Cain. May Melitele watch over your swords."
"And may peace return to this valley, Captain."
I broke the grip, stepped out of the gatehouse into the shadow of the stone portcullis, and activated Warp once more.
The night air snapped around me as I reappeared at the edge of the village square.
The bonfires were still burning bright, casting long, dancing amber shadows across the whitewashed cottages. The heavy smell of roasted venison, hickory smoke, and cheap ale hung thick in the air. Down near the center trestle tables, I spotted Callum sitting on a bench with a massive wooden trencher of beef stew in one hand, laughing loudly as a pretty, dark-haired elven girl from the village leaned against his shoulder, whispering playfully into his ear.
I walked over, stepping out of the shadows.
"Brother," I called out quietly. "A word, before you drown yourself in that beauty."
Callum looked up, his flushed, grinning face breaking into a wide smile as he wiped stew gravy from his chin. He excused himself from the elven girl, set his trencher down, and stumbled over to meet me near the quiet perimeter fence.
"Cain!" Callum slurred cheerfully, clapping a heavy, greasy hand onto my shoulder. "Man, that stew you made is a masterpiece! Half the town thinks you're an elven saint sent down from the heavens to teach humans how to properly use cook!"
"Glad you enjoyed it," I said with a faint smirk. Then my expression grew serious.
I reached behind me, mentally accessing my inventory, and materialized a massive, wrapped leather bundle two swords, along with three small vials filled with red liquid.
"Take these," I said, handing the heavy bundle to him.
Callum blinked, his drunken haze clearing slightly as his hands wrapped around the fine, dark leather. He peeled back the canvas wrap, his emerald eyes widening in sheer disbelief as he saw the contents:
A complete, master-crafted Wolf School Witcher Set, reinforced duelist coat studded with silver rivets, hardened leather tunic, steel-plated bracers and gloves, armored boots, and two pristine, perfectly balanced swords: one forged from Mahakaman meteorite steel, and the other gleaming with pure, runic-inscribed silver.
"Cain..." Callum breathed, running his fingers across the silver pommel of the sword. "Where did you... these are brand new! The leather isn't even scuffed! Did you rob a royal armory while I was eating?"
"Trade secret," I said dryly. "I've been assembling and enchanting the pieces in secret since we left Kaer Morhen. The armor and blades are linked through ancient school spell. If you equip the full set together, your physical defense, elemental resistance, and offensive strike speed will be drastically amplified. But you must wear all of it together for the magic to hold. Understood?"
Callum looked from the magnificent armor up to my face. The goofy, drunken grin faded entirely, replaced by a sharp, sobering realization.
"You're leaving," Callum said softly.
"Aye," I nodded. "Tonight."
Callum stood quietly for a long moment, looking down at the swords in his hands. A heavy sigh escaped his chest, and he carefully wrapped the gear back up before looking directly into my golden eyes.
He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around me in a tight, fierce embrace, pounding his fist against my back.
"I figured," Callum muttered against my shoulder. "I was hoping you'd at least stay until morning, have breakfast with Mother and Calla. But... I'm glad you even came here with me. And you've always did your own thing Cain. I know you have a plan, and your gonna make it happen."
He pulled back, his green cat eyes gleaming with emotion as he pointed to the three green vials. "By the way, what are these?"
"Special potions," I explained. "Non-toxic healing elixirs. They restore deep flesh wounds and fractured bones in seconds without overloading your bloodstream with toxicity. They are exceptionally difficult to brew, so don't waste them on tavern brawls."
Callum nodded solemnly, carefully slipping the vials into his inner coat pocket. "Thank you, brother. Truly. I'll wear this armor until it falls apart."
"Take care of yourself, Callum," I said, gripping his forearm. "Watch your back out there on the Path, don't spend all your coin on bad ale, and don't get killed by something stupid."
"Same to you, Cain," Callum grinned, his old humor returning. "I'll see you at Kaer Morhen when the first winter snows hit the peaks."
"See you in winter."
Callum gave me one final nod, picked up his bundle, and walked back toward the bonfires, where the raven-haired elven girl was waiting with an eager smile, and then guided him away from the crowd.
I watched his retreating back for a few seconds, feeling a quiet sense of closure settle over my chest.
Be safe Brother.
"And where is my proper goodbye, Witcher?" a smooth, melodious voice murmured from the shadows behind me.
I turned around.
Calla was leaning against the wooden post of an old hay cart, her vibrant copper-red hair glowing beneath the silver moonlight, her sharp emerald eyes watching me with a mixture of amusement and quiet melancholy.
"You never seemed like the type for sentimental farewells," I said, a faint smirk tugging at my lips.
"Normally, I'm not," Calla replied, pushing off the cart and walking over to stand directly in front of me. "Peasants come and go, merchants pass through, and mercenaries die in ditches. But you're different, Cain. You're completely anomalous. I've spent days with you and saw how well your are with a sword, and how brilliant your mind is leanring, and I still haven't figured out half of what makes you tick."
"Maybe I'll let you solve the puzzle next time we meet ," I murmured.
Calla smiled, a soft, strikingly genuine curve of her lips. She stepped closer, closing the small distance between us, reached up with both hands, and gently took my face between her warm palms.
She leaned up and pressed her lips softly against mine. It was tender and affectionate. She pulled back after a long, quiet second, her emerald eyes searching mine.
"Don't get yourself killed out there on the Path, Cain," Calla whispered softly. "I see vast, terrifying things in your future. Make sure you live long enough to achieve them."
"I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
Calla offered a faint, playful wink, stepping back into the torchlit clearing. "Good. Safe travels, Witcher."
I gave her a final, respectful nod, turned on my heel, and stepped into the deep gloom of the forest line.
I used warpIn an instant, the village of Hillstead vanished, replaced by the cool, rushing roar of falling water.
I stood on the rocky precipice overlooking the narrow river valley, where the waterfall cascaded down into the crystal-clear pool below. The night breeze swept through my snow-white hair, carrying the clean, crisp scents of pine needles, wet moss, and open dirt roads.
Before hitting the main trade route south toward Cintra, there was one minor loose thread I needed to tie off.
I made my way down the rocky trail toward the secluded stone cottage tucked beneath the cliffside waterfall, the residence of the local succubus who had been living quietly with the runaway farm boy.
I stepped to the wooden door and knocked firmly on the timber door.
The door creaked open a moment later, revealing the stunning woman with a naked exposed top, and goat leg and hooves bottom. Her eyes widened fractionally as she recognized me.
"Witcher," she said, her voice rich with velvet caution as she crossed her slender arms. "I felt the malevolent rot lift from the valley hours ago. The ancient horror is dead. Are you here to draw your silver blade and add my head to your saddlebags?"
"No," I replied calmly, resting one hand casually on the pommel of my steel sword. "You haven't harmed the boy, nor have you attacked the villagers. Your presence here is peaceful, and the Leshen's corruption has been cleansed. As long as you keep your appetites strictly consensual and don't leave bodies in the woods, no Witcher will have a reason to take a contract on you."
The succubus stared at me, her sharp gaze dissecting my expression before a slow, seductive smile curved her lips.
"A Witcher with a functional sense of morality and restraint," she purred, leaning against the doorframe. "How terribly refreshing. Are you certain you don't wish to come inside and let me properly express my gratitude? A strong, mutated boy like you would make for an exquisite evening."
"Lead the way."
She let out a soft, sultry chuckle, taking my hand and guiding me inside. "Come hear Witcher and let me taste you."
Minutes after the door close, loud moaning of the succubus was being drowned out by the outside waterfall.
High above the valley, within the private study of Hillstead Castle, three women sat around a polished mahogany table illuminated by the gentle, amber glow of enchanted oil lamps.
Callidea reclined in the high-backed velvet armchair, swirling a goblet of deep red Toussaint wine. Across from her sat Helena, dressed in fresh linen and dark silk, while Calla stood by the arched stone window, watching the distant dirt road through the silver moonlight.
"Well?" Callidea asked, breaking the silence as she took a slow sip from her goblet. "Did he take the bait?"
Helena scoffed, taking a long drink from her own cup. "He took the letter and the gold advance, but he turned down my direct alliance. The boy is exceptionally cautious. He refused to be manipulated, rejected my offers, and vanished using that instantaneous spatial magic before I could even knew what to say."
Calla turned from the window, a knowing, amused smirk resting on her lips.
"Cain isn't an arrogant human noble, Helena," Calla remarked smoothly. "You can't sway him with cheap sex, theatrical promises or political posturing. He likes thinks ten steps ahead of everyone in the room."
"And your associate?" Callidea asked, looking directly at Calla. "Are you entirely certain Neary's report was accurate?"
Calla walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down gracefully.
"Neary is an arrogant, hedonistic drunk when she's off duty," Calla said, her tone absolute. "But her sensory attunement to primal Chaos is second to none in our academy. When she spent the night with Cain in that tavern, she felt a powerful presence from him. When she went back to the school she studied his seed remains from the previous night. She found it had a similar match to the same signs shown in for those of Laura Doren's bloodline, but much different. When she contacted me back while he was traveling with the Raven Caravan, I observe him personally."
Callidea leaned back, her emerald eyes glowing with calculating satisfaction.
"Then the pieces are in motion," Callidea murmured. "Aiag was right all those years ago. The prophecy has begun to manifest. We directed him toward the founding Matriarch's; when his path crosses hers, our covenant will have its sovereign heir."
Helena smiled, her amber eyes blazing with ruthless ambition. "And once he claims his strength, we will finally have the power to bring the Brotherhood of Sorcerers down to their knees."
"And more importantly," Calla added quietly, "we will have the power to break the Red Riders, so our family will never again have to cower in fear of the Aen Elle across the spheres."
Callidea smiled, lifting her crystal goblet high into the warm candlelight.
"Well, my dears," Callidea said, her voice ringing with authority. "At least we have a far better seat to watch the old world order burn from this castle."
Calla raised her glass, the ruby wine catching the light.
"To the new order."
The three crystal goblets met with a sharp, resonant chime, and together, they drank beneath the silent moon.