"Please wait, both of you!"
Jerome and Keldar froze mid-motion. The slight shift of their swords had already torn deeper into Vilgefortz's flesh and bone, and the added trauma caused him to lose consciousness immediately.
They both turned to look at Ciri.
Ciri stared at Vilgefortz with a gaze seared into memory. Now that the mage's cloak had been thrown back to reveal his face, she was certain—this was a face she would never forget for the rest of her life.
Her hand trembled as she gripped her swallow-shaped sword, but then she remembered the plans Lann had shared with her the day he revealed her origins.
"Lann told me many things—plans for the future..." She suppressed her hatred. "This mage is tied to those plans. Please don't kill him yet. Wait until Lann returns. Let him decide."
The two veteran witchers exchanged glances, then silently released their sword hilts. Since the blades had been forged with dimeritium, they weren't worried that the mage would recover and retaliate under these conditions.
The battle was over.
Vilgefortz—the archmage capable of conjuring sea storms to annihilate entire fleets—had never once cast a full high-level spell throughout this entire fight. And now, he had lost control over his own life.
Keldar rushed to his disciple's side to resume treating his injuries. He nearly failed to restrain himself from giving Vilgefortz a few more finishing strikes out of sheer heartache.
Jerome, meanwhile, observed Ciri with growing satisfaction in his eyes.
Though raised in a royal court and prone to disdaining formality, the princess still carried an innate grace that had been ingrained into her bones. This gave her an air of natural vitality—tempered by a gallant and unrestrained spirit.
"Master Jerome, it's a pleasure to meet you," Ciri said with a squinting smile. Though a princess, she bowed like a proper junior. "Please, just call me 'Ciri.' Lann will be very happy that you've arrived."
As she moved, her lithe figure and sharp motions—products of her witcher training—were unmistakably on display.
Jerome let out a long sigh in his heart. This kid has the style of a Griffin. It's kind of a waste for her to be stuck with those rough Wolfs.
Still, strictly speaking, the child was half Griffin.
So he returned a warm smile. "It's a pleasure, Ciri."
After a few brief pleasantries, reality quickly set back in. Brokilon had been nearly razed to the ground, and there was a mountain of recovery work to do. Ciri couldn't even begin to imagine what the front-line soldiers—or especially Lann—would feel once they returned and saw all this.
But just then, the clay jar in her hand gave a sudden—
[Crack!]
The seal was, after all, hastily made. The clay jar had been emptied of alchemical bombs just to make space, and its crude, makeshift construction had already done surprisingly well in temporarily containing the djinn. But now it was clearly reaching its limit.
Still, the djinn might come to regret its impatience.
With a swift motion, Jerome cast an Yrden Sign, enveloping the newly emerged djinn in a glowing violet glyph that took the form of a cage.
Then he grabbed Ciri and pulled her out of the Sign's range. Keldar had already thrown another dimeritium bomb their way.
[Boom!]
Green metallic dust, crackling with static, filled the air. The previously restless djinn instantly fell into a listless state.
Jerome raised both hands and cast a dual Aard Sign. A powerful wave of cold air surged forth in rhythmic pulses. With this Sign of the Air element, he firmly suppressed the elemental spirit of the Air—forcing it into complete submission.
"Do you have a sturdier jar?" Jerome asked flatly.
Keldar scratched his beard. "We left in a hurry. I'll see what I can find…"
To most mages, capturing such a high-tier elemental required months of preparation and extreme caution. Yet the two witcher grandmasters carried on with an almost casual demeanor.
Keldar had just turned and begun walking toward Vilgefortz—still nailed to the tree—when the djinn, having only recently tasted freedom and now faced with being imprisoned again, suddenly spoke up.
Its voice rumbled like distant thunder. But rather than intimidating, it sounded strained and miserable.
"Three wishes… then freedom!"
Jerome raised a brow and turned to the wide-eyed Ciri. "What do you think?"
"Huh?"
The implication was clear—he was offering the three wishes to her. The young girl was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of joy.
Lann's teacher is… this nice?!
"Consider it a greeting gift," Jerome said with a faint smile, looking completely untempted by the lure of wishes. Keldar, too, gave Ciri an encouraging nod.
"But you've read the records about djinn and their habits, haven't you?" Jerome's tone shifted to seriousness. "Be very careful—your wishes might be twisted."
Ciri took a deep breath, forcing herself to recall everything she had studied. She nodded, her face tense with focus.
Striding forward with feigned fearlessness, she walked up to the djinn. Keldar, having stabilized Coen's condition, crossed his arms and stood beside Jerome. Together, the two witchers observed her with watchful and expectant gazes.
But the first thing Ciri said wasn't a wish.
"Djinn, I know your kind. You often try to manipulate your masters into making quick wishes so that you can be freed sooner. In the process, those wishes are often wasted, distorted… or even backfire."
"But we also both know that 'freedom after three wishes' only means freedom from this particular seal. You'll still be right here in front of us."
"If it were some mage who went to great lengths just to capture you, maybe they'd be caught off guard and you could escape. But as you've seen, behind me stand two witcher grandmasters. If we choose to, we can recapture you the moment you're free of this seal—before you return to the Elemental Plane. And then it starts again: more wishes, more imprisonment."
"Djinn—you don't want that to happen, do you?"
The trapped djinn immediately grew agitated. Jerome narrowed his eyes and reinforced the restraining Sign.
And the djinn's reaction made it clear—Ciri was absolutely right.
But she wasn't finished.
"I am Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, heir to the Elder Blood—destined to stop the White Frost and bring hope to this sphere beneath our feet. The elemental planes your kind inhabit are tethered to this world as well. If the White Frost comes and no one stops it, you won't escape destruction either."
"Helping me means helping yourselves."
"And the Elder Blood will one day grant me immense power—perhaps even the ability to traverse time and space. I've remembered you. If you twist my wishes, even if you flee to the skies, I will find you."
The words came from a delicate-looking face, but the threat in them was chilling.
No one knew who had taught Ciri to say such things.
"I can make you a promise: if you fulfill my wishes honestly, you will be granted your freedom. At the same time, for the next three wishes, I don't want to see any tricks or twists. I expect them to be carried out exactly as I intend."
"Can you do that, Djinn?"
Jerome raised an eyebrow in surprise and exchanged a glance with Keldar.
Then, he gradually reduced the flow of magical energy from his hands. The prison of air began to fade.
And the djinn did not resist.
Ciri's combination of reason and pressure had indeed worked—powerfully so. The djinn fell silent. These elemental beings were no less intelligent than humans; in fact, the older ones were often even wiser.
As the djinn began to reflect, a sudden memory surfaced—the mention of the Elder Blood.
It had only recently been captured by Vilgefortz. And not long before that, the Elemental Planes had experienced a violent upheaval.
At that time, a human had accidentally entered the elemental layers. The energy emanating from that person had drawn the attention of the most powerful elemental entities across all four primary planes.
They had all attacked that human simultaneously.
And they were all suppressed—together.
The djinn still remembered those hands—massive and calm—casually gripping all four elemental forces at once. Overwhelming, mysterious, unstoppable… a power never before seen in the long history of the Elemental Realms.
And if memory served, the source of all that chaos was said to be someone with the power of the Elder Blood.
The djinn suddenly felt something resembling physical sensation. A chill crept through its being.
The light surrounding it softened. The air currents stilled.
"Speak your wish… Three wishes, then my freedom." Even its speech became fluent. "All shall be fulfilled."
In that moment, countless thoughts flashed through Ciri's mind—images of her mother, her grandmother. Tears welled in her eyes.
But she understood the limits of a djinn's power. The ones she had lost—those people were gone forever. And the beautiful, unrealistic futures she dreamed of… they were not something to wish for in this moment.
So she drew a deep breath to steady herself.
"My first wish: I want Kaer Seren Castle restored to its most complete, pristine, and glorious state—as it was before it was destroyed. You know exactly what I mean."
The djinn had full discretion in interpreting and fulfilling wishes. Of course it understood.
It responded dutifully, "Your first wish is granted. Two remain."
Jerome and Keldar both showed surprised expressions—followed by gentle ones.
"For my second wish… I want Brokilon Town, which you destroyed, to be restored to its original state. And those who were killed… no, never mind." Ciri stopped herself. "Just restore the town."
Not far away, it was as if time had reversed. Sand, earth, bricks, beams—each piece lifted by invisible hands and reassembled. A brand-new town appeared before their eyes.
"Your second wish is granted. One remains."
Ciri took a steadying breath. This third wish was the one that mattered most.
"I wish for Lann to remain safe throughout the coming war—and I wish for him to win every battle he fights."
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