Deep within Brokilon Forest, in the heart of the Forest—Duén Canell.
Clear spring water shimmered with golden light under the sun, a gentle mist rising from its surface.
Nearby, a slender dryad healer practiced magic at the edge of a stone spring chamber. Threads of enchanted water coiled upward around her fingers, swirling in controlled motions.
Lann stood with arms crossed atop a massive oak, its wide trunk supporting five wooden huts nestled within the branches. Concealed beneath a canopy of leaves, he gazed silently down at the sacred Brokilon Spring.
He paid no mind to the dryads with their 'natural' garments. His focus was on the center of the spring—where three children floated.
Children that young should never be left immersed in magical water without protection, even under supervision.
And yet these three were different.
The sentient waters of the Brokilon Spring cradled them with a gentle will of its own. A translucent hand of water elemental magic held them aloft, rising and falling softly with their slumbering breath like a cradle.
Bathed in rippling sunlight, the scene possessed a surreal, almost poetic beauty.
Lann took a long breath.
The moment he laid eyes on them, he knew. The bond of Elder Blood ran deep—just as he shared with Ciri—an unmistakable resonance that defied logic.
These children were his.
Lann stopped concealing his presence. With no restraint, he released his aura into the world around him. The chaotic energy of the forest collapsed inward, surging toward him in a rush, forming a miniature vortex. Though he had cast no spell, twin beams of bright emerald light began to pulse from his eyes.
Panic rippled through the dryads in an instant.
The crowns of the great oaks trembled as if swept by a storm. In response, the Brokilon Spring surged—water spiraling into the air, twisting midair into the form of a woman with green skin.
The Lady of the Lake clutched the three children to her chest.
[Swish, swish, swish—]
Dryad guards appeared from all directions, bows in hand. Swift and silent as wind, they surrounded the spring. The silver-haired, silver-eyed Dryad Queen stepped forward with her sister, Ellie, taking position before the Lake Spirit and the children. Bows drawn, expressions cold and grim, they prepared for battle.
But their expressions quickly stiffened.
The Dryad Queen's eyes widened in shock.
"Child of Elder Blood…"
"My complacency regarding Ellie's actions was due to my lack of power at the time," Lann interrupted.
"I don't even need to guess to know what you were thinking when you ordered your sister to act that way. I may have turned a blind eye back then—but now, there are few left who can truly threaten me. And those who covet the power of my bloodline—or Ciri's—are no longer a real danger."
Lann took a slow breath.
"I will take my children. They are my blood…"
But Lann didn't notice how the two dryad sisters—who had moments ago been poised for battle—were now staring at him with shifting expressions.
They looked upon the emerald light shimmering around his body, the vortex of forest magic converging endlessly into him, and the terrifying aura that radiated from him with every breath.
And their gazes slowly turned… fervent.
"Elder Blood!"
They suddenly interrupted him, then—before Lann could even react—dropped to their knees in full prostration, faster than he thought possible.
And behind them, the entire dryad host followed suit, lowering themselves in the most humble gesture of submission.
Even the Lady of the Lake gently set down the children and offered Lann a deep, distant bow of reverence.
"You have done it… No, You have done it," the Dryad Queen cried out, voice trembling with reverence.
"You have awakened the true power within your blood—you now wield a might unparalleled in this world!"
"You will fulfill the ancient prophecy. You will become the one power capable of resisting the White Frost… the one who will save this world!"
We understand where you stand, but it was never our intention to withhold the children from you. We admit our ambition, the selfish motives we harbored when you were still weak. We hoped that, through whatever means necessary, we could strengthen our dying race by aligning with your power. So we took your blood—by disgraceful means."
"But because of that, the Elder Blood now flows stronger than ever! Raised within the heart of Brokilon, these three may be young, but their powers have already begun to stir. They will become your mighty allies… the sword at your side when you face the White Frost!"
The Dryad Queen did not raise her head.
"I know the dryads must pay for what we have done."
"From this day on, the dryads shall become your personal vassals. All of Brokilon's assets—its timber, its ores, the waters of Brokilon itself—even we—shall belong to you."
The Queen bowed even lower.
And the Lady of the Lake, hands raised high above her head, proclaimed solemnly: "When these three children come of age, they will become our queens. And perhaps—our goddesses."
...
"Duke Lannister." Foltest lifted his chin. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit today?"
His Majesty the King turned slightly, revealing a profile handsome enough to be stamped onto coins and kept as collectibles.
"Or perhaps," he added, "you've come to give me personal instructions about the upcoming 'Cintra Summit'?"
Temeria, Capital City Vizima — Royal Palace.
Once again, Lann sat across from King Foltest, face-to-face.
The king's posture and tone were almost enough to make Lann burst out laughing.
Fortunately, he managed to restrain himself and quickly adjusted his demeanor.
"If my messenger's wording was in any way offensive to Your Majesty," Lann said as he rose and offered a slight bow, "then allow me to apologize on his behalf. I'll see to it he's properly reprimanded upon my return."
"As for the upcoming Cintra Summit, I'll still need Your Majesty's generous support."
"Oh? And what exactly can I do for you, Duke Lannister?"
Lann gave a light chuckle. "Though I've achieved some 'minor' results in the fight against Nilfgaard, Cintra has only just been restored. Compared to a nation as storied as Temeria, our foundations are still quite shallow."
"While the other Northern Kingdoms have begrudgingly agreed to attend the summit out of courtesy, when it comes to actual negotiations, we'll need a king of true stature to gain their trust—someone like you."
King Foltest let out a cold snort, but the sharpness in his expression eased. "So you want me to back you? To lend support to proposals you haven't even shown me yet—in front of all the little kings of the North?"
Lann gave his forehead a light smack. "A lapse on my part. I should have prepared the agenda beforehand. I'll make sure to draft it and send it to you formally soon."
Foltest nodded with aristocratic pride and waved a hand dismissively.
Behind him, the wine attendant stepped forward and expertly refilled the king's goblet.
"Give him one as well."
Lann was thus granted a glass of the finest snowberry mead.
"No need to bother with official channels once the agenda's ready. You have sorcerers, don't you? Just have them send it through a portal."
"As Your Majesty wishes."
"And don't bother punishing your messenger. I'm not so petty."
"He'll be grateful for your mercy."
"Well then, let's hear it."
The king waved again, dismissing the wine attendant and motioning for the doors to be shut.
In the now quiet room, only the King of Temeria and the Duke Lannister remained.
"What brings you rushing over again? Here to see Adda?"
Lann paused briefly in his movements.
"If she's open to deepening our... connection, I wouldn't object."
The expression Foltest had just managed to relax began stiffening all over again.
"I came today partly for personal reasons, but also for matters concerning Temeria."
Lann spoke plainly, without playing any games.
"I mentioned to Your Majesty before that there are three monsters in Velen pretending to be deities. I was wondering how that situation is progressing?"
At those words, Foltest's face darkened even further.
…
Lann quickly learned what had happened.
In short: even though he'd provided the intelligence nearly two months ago, the three witches of the forest were still alive.
Velen was the kind of place that gave any ruler a headache.
On paper, its geography was exceptional—coastal territory, situated between the commercial hubs of Thanedd Island and Gors Velen, and a key stop along the Novigrad trade route.
It had all the makings of a prosperous city.
But anyone who actually conducted a field survey would leave shaking their heads in dismay.
Roughly one-third of the region was swamp, another third dense forest, and the remaining third—barely inhabitable—was overrun with drowners, ghouls, water hags, godlings, and even minor foglets.
This terrain severely limited the movement of any large military force. Only small guerrilla units could navigate through it—and once those small squads encountered the never-ending hordes of monsters, the casualty rate would spike to a horrifying degree.
No commander in their right mind would allow their soldiers to die at the hands of beasts. In their eyes, that was the most meaningless form of sacrifice.
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---