Southern Temeria.
The Mayena Druid Circle was, like all druid circles, a secluded haven where long-lived druids met deep in the forests to meditate and study sacred texts. But druids were by no means isolated from the world. Their accumulated wisdom was deeply respected.
Across the Northern Continent, while larger kingdoms often favored sorcerers to forge closer ties with the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, many smaller nations preferred the elder-like, calm, and conflict-averse druids over the ambition-driven male and female mages.
So even though the druid circles were usually tranquil, it wasn't unusual for troubled nobles to seek them out—for ancient wisdom, mediation in disputes, or healing for livestock and the sick.
But now, the Mayena Druid Circle deep within the mountains had erupted in commotion—not due to the arrival of a noble…
"By Mother Nature! Did you see that?!"
A druid with a full, tangled beard shouted as he burst out of an underground study chamber. His shout tore apart the peace of the druid circle.
Birds nesting in the oaks above flapped into the sky in alarm, circling above the treehouses scattered through the forest.
In the Mayena Circle—or in any druid circle—such shouting was extremely improper.
At best, one would be scolded by the circle's elder. More often, a shouting druid would find himself pummeled by those disturbed in their meditations. In stricter circles, expulsion wasn't out of the question.
After all, meditation was the most sacred pursuit of a druid—the only way to commune with Mother Nature and hear her teachings. But this time, no one blamed or scolded the shouting, bearded druid.
One by one, doors creaked open as elderly druids with snowy white beards emerged. Their robes were coated in years of dust from deep meditation—filthy, yet not defiled.
"I saw it! Who was that? Which druid circle does he belong to? From Skellige, maybe?"
"It must be Skellige. We know every druid circle on the Northern Continent, both young and old. There's no way someone could travel so far and remain unknown."
"Skellige is vast. Could he be from one of the families there?"
"I don't care about that," grumbled the first druid, tugging impatiently at his matted beard. "Does anyone know what that druid's sacred form is?"
"Golden fur, thick and flowing… bear-like but not quite a bear…"
"Why have I never seen such a beautiful and majestic spirit of nature in all the Northern Continent?"
"Has anyone here been to Skellige? What was that creature?!"
The long-bearded druid's voice grew increasingly urgent as he pushed aside his drooping gray brows and scanned the gathering with sharp, glinting eyes.
Silence fell again over the cluster of treehouses.
No one answered.
"No one knows?!!" The long-bearded druid's eyes widened in disbelief. "Elwin, didn't you visit Skellige thirteen years ago?"
"And Ezekiel—you're from Skellige yourself! Have you never seen it?"
The two druids in question lived in neighboring huts. After exchanging looks, they both shook their heads.
Ezekiel replied, "Aedus, I've never seen such a creature in Skellige. If I had—even if I'd just read it on parchment or heard it in legend—I'd never forget."
Elwin nodded in agreement. "I traveled through many of Skellige's isles. Never seen anything like it."
"Huh?" Aedus frowned deeply, puzzled. "Then it's not from the Skellige Archipelago?"
"But… could there really be a spirit of nature on the Northern Continent that none of us have heard of?"
Once more, silence engulfed the Mayena Druid Circle.
The so-called spirits of nature were the primal beasts of the Northern Continent—or more precisely, the wild creatures that embodied nature's will.
Beasts that partake in the natural cycle.
Of course, in recent years, some monsters had also come to be included in that category.
But it wasn't because the druids had grown more open-minded—it was because those monsters, which arrived during the Conjunction of the Spheres from other worlds, had gradually been assimilated into the world of witchers.
In the great cycle of nature, they had found their place.
Among them, the most common type was hybrid beasts.
But whether it was beasts or monsters—as long as they existed on the Northern Continent—it was impossible for them to escape the notice of every druid in the Mayena Druid Circle.
Their footsteps had already, in their youth, crossed every forest, mountain, and valley across the Northern Continent.
Such pilgrimages were undertaken every few years.
They had even set foot in Nilfgaard, let alone the forests of the North. With their accumulated documents and records, the idea that a spirit of nature could exist without their knowledge was absolutely impossible. And yet, anything that could appear within a sacred grove—could only be a spirit of nature.
The druids were silent for a long time.
"Not all the islands in the Skellige archipelago are well-known," Ezekiel said after a pause. "Perhaps that spirit of nature is hidden in some unknown corner."
"Or maybe… it's a creature from Nilfgaard?"
Existence itself was justification.
Regardless of where the golden-furred spirit of nature had come from, if a druid had taken on its sacred form, then it must exist somewhere on the Northern Continent.
"Should we… ask the Grandmaster?" Another druid, his eyes sharp with inner clarity, stood before a treehouse and suggested uncertainly, "In the sacred grove… I seemed to see Him standing at the edge of the glade…"
"He… seemed to move aside."
"So… maybe He knows something?"
"Are you sure?" someone asked. "The Grandmaster hasn't awakened in a long time…"
"This isn't a trivial matter," the hawk-eyed druid said solemnly. "I saw that newcomer… and he was blessed with the Source by Mother Nature."
"You all know what that means."
The treehouses of the Mayena Druid Circle fell silent once more.
"Then let's go. If what you say is true, the Grandmaster may have already awoke—"
Before the sentence finished—
"Dong! Dong! Dong!"
A solemn bell toll echoed through the trees.
The druids looked at each other, their expressions turning grave, and left their treehouses, heading toward the depths of the forest.
—
A deep and distant breath.
The witcher awoke from his dream.
But he did not open his eyes. His eyelids trembled slightly, as if savoring the final traces of that dream—traces imbued with sunlight, fresh grass, water lilies, and the scent of pinewood.
A faint but clear vitality flowed through him like dancing sprites, carried by the blood through every vein and vessel.
That lingering breath relaxed him completely. Every muscle in his body… was breathing calmly.
As if an ancient tree, dormant for a thousand years, had just awakened—stretching its branches, unfurling every leaf of emerald, dark green, or crimson—drinking in the sunlight, soaking up the crystal-clear rays that followed a cleansing rain.
After a long while—
"Hoo~"
Allen let out a deep breath and opened his eyes.
His sapphire cat-like pupils trembled, contracting and dilating, before gradually regaining focus.
"Huh?"
Once he saw clearly, he froze on the spot.
Strands of golden sunlight spilled through the cracks in the window frame into the small cabin.
A faint rainbow bridge stretched between two vines that had reached inside the room.
Sensing his gaze, the vines swayed gently with the breeze, and in just a few blinks, blossomed clusters of translucent purple flowers.
A wave of warmth and childlike affection drifted toward him, carried by the delicate floral scent.
Wisteria—its blooming season should have ended between April and May. Yet now it was already August, the Harvest Festival had just passed—it was the Month of Ripening.
And not just wisteria.
Pink tulips had rooted themselves into the oak-paneled wall. Lavender bloomed in the corners, its fragrance intoxicating. Hyacinths, daisies, and many flowers Allen couldn't even name were in bloom.
Many of them were long past their season—yet here they were, blooming as if this were their time. Their fragrances, whether rich, faint, or ethereal, blended together perfectly.
This ordinary little room in the temple that housed witchers had become—somehow—a sanctuary of flowers, a greenhouse of the world.
Allen was just about to rub his eyes—
A soft, vibrant green vine reached into view, as if offering to do it for him. Startled, Allen leaned back in resistance. But his back was gently supported by something soft.
There was no high-backed chair with cushions in this room—only a simple wooden stool. And yet the vine froze midair, trembling faintly as it withdrew, seemingly hurt.
A cool sensation brushed against his palm.
He looked down.
One of the stool's legs had sprouted roots and grown into an armrest that perfectly fit the curve of his arm and palm, along with a backrest that conformed to his spine.
Several vines—similar to those controlled by the Leshen but greener, softer, and lacking thorns—emerged from the floorboards.
The one that had tried to rub his eyes—was among them.
Allen could clearly sense that with just a stray thought, he could control the green vines.
"What… what is all this?" Allen stared in shock at everything before him.
"Wait… it's the Leshen's Element!"
With a thought, he opened the Witcher's Codex.
-----------------------------------
[Name: Allen]
[Age: 14]
[Title: Child of Miracles]
[Level: 80]
[HP: 100%, Stamina: 930/930, Mana: 1240/1240]
[Attributes: Strength 99, Agility 87 (+3), Constitution 93 (+3), Perception 93 (+5), Mystery 124 (+5)]
[Affinity: Water 15 (Mana Source: Water 5%), Earth 19 (Mana Source: Earth 9%), Wind 11 (Mana Source: Wind 1%), Fire 24 (Mana Source: Fire 14%), Space 2]
[Special Skills: Witcher's Hunt LV6, Spatial Control LV6, Appraisal LV2, Tracking LV1, Spiral (1/5)]
[Special Skill Points: 5]
-----------------------------------
As expected, his body had indeed strengthened.
Aside from Strength, all his other stats were nearing their attribute limits—especially Constitution and Perception, which were only six points away. But…
"No change in Affinity." Allen frowned.
There was no new "Nature Affinity," and his status panel didn't show anything like an "Element" category either.
But he was undeniably different.
Even within the temple, when he focused slightly, he could faintly hear the whispers of nature.
In the past, even using Beast Roar: Wild Speech made it difficult to connect with the Mother of Nature within the temple of Melitele.
After all, while Melitele had domains over agriculture and harvest—things related to plants—she ultimately aligned more with humanity than pure nature.
And yet…
With a single thought—
The sulky green vine instantly twined affectionately around his forearm, following the motions of his fingers, wrapping, pulling, lifting...
It moved even more smoothly than his own body, performing movements no human limb could ever replicate—unbelievably agile.
In the past, he could also manipulate plants to some degree using Beast Roar: Wild Speech, and could even locate targets hundreds of meters away.
But this was different.
Back then, he had to borrow power from the Mother of Nature. Now, he didn't need her—he could directly sense the emotions of plants and command them with his own will. It was as if—
"Swoosh!"
The soft vine suddenly turned hard and sharp, thrusting out like an arrow loosed from a full bow. In the blink of an eye, it pierced through the thick oak table.
Black, jagged barbs erupted—strikingly similar to the ones wielded by the Leshen.
"It's like the Mother of Nature has handed her authority… to me." Allen murmured in thought.
The vine, now turned black-brown, twisted its tip toward Allen as if testing his reaction. Then it returned to a vibrant green and slithered back through the hole it had made, curling around his arm once again with a clingy devotion.
Its humanlike behavior made Allen feel this vine was no ordinary plant.
"Did you come from that forest?" Allen asked.
But the vine, clever as it seemed, couldn't understand such a complex question—it froze in place.
Allen didn't mind.
Lowering his head, he fell into thought.
There was no doubt that the forest had been extraordinary.
Looking back, it almost resembled the golden wheat fields of Melitele's divine realm. But it was different. That forest felt… closer.
It was a hard feeling to put into words—like Melitele's divine realm was a relative's home next door, but the forest was his home. The home of his childhood, before his parents were gone.
A home that undeniably belonged to him, though he wasn't the master of it—his parents were. Now, that master had delegated authority to him—allowed him to operate the household robot, so to speak. Of course, Allen never had such a stage in his orphaned life—but the metaphor held.
If that forest wasn't an ordinary one, then neither were the grasses around him when he woke, nor the birds, nor the deer, wolves, boars, tigers, bears, doves, crows, hawks…
And certainly not the reindeer.
"Druids…"
A single possibility sprang to Allen's mind.
Those intelligent, harmoniously coexisting animals could only belong to the wise beings who revered nature, wielded its mighty powers, and worked to maintain ecological balance—the Druids.
The overall strength of the Druids was not weak—far from it. But unlike the sorcerers who constantly pursued power and influence, Druids were more concerned with the laws of nature. Scattered among the various Druid Circles, they kept an incredibly low profile and remained largely unknown to the public.
Yet if all the Druid Circles were combined, their collective influence would far surpass that of the three largest sorcerer brotherhoods—Ban Ard, Aretuza, and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization.
In fact, throughout the Skellige Isles, it was the Druids—not sorcerers—who most often served as royal advisors to the kings.
That little lake guarded by the reindeer… it might very well be a source. The origin of nature itself—perhaps even the origin of this world.
All of those Druids were walking the path toward understanding the way of nature—some closer, some farther.
That was why they had been so shocked and puzzled when he kept walking forward without hesitation, without pause.
"And that reindeer..."
"Was it... a demigod?"
.....
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