"Allen?"
Mary's voice suddenly pulled him back to reality, making him tighten his grip on the letter in his hand.
"What is it, Mary?"
Allen turned, instinctively hiding the letter behind his back.
Mary didn't notice anything unusual, nor did she pay attention to the strange object that man had just given him.
Instead, she lowered her head, fiddling with the lace on her blue dress, her toes brushing against the floor as she whispered like a mosquito, "You said… you'd give me something…"
"Oh—right," Allen finally realized. "I did say I'd give you something."
For a moment he had almost forgotten because of Vilgefortz's sudden intrusion. Taking a deep breath, he tucked the letter into his chest pocket.
With a thought, he opened his Witcher's Notebook inventory and retrieved the Songstone.
"A… ring?" Mary froze at the sight of the emerald-studded ring in Allen's palm, her cheeks flushing scarlet. "Is this… is this for me? Isn't it… isn't it a little… too early…?"
In this age, a ring wasn't just jewelry. It was a symbol of power, faith, and binding destiny.
The Bishop's Ring signified church authority above kings.
The Serpent Ring of nobles carried judicial power.
Guild Rings enforced monopolies.
Some even served as encrypted bank accounts.
But most of all, rings were used for personal contracts—marriage above all.
"Too early for what?" Allen blinked, then saw her expression and understood her misunderstanding. He quickly explained, "This is a Songstone. A magical artifact—it's very useful."
"Try it on first."
So… it wasn't because of that… Mary felt a wave of relief, but at the same time, something hollow stirred in her chest, leaving her oddly unsettled.
Forcing herself not to dwell on it, she looked down at the ring in Allen's palm.
By candlelight, the green gem shimmered with a faint glow, strangely captivating.
Songstone… Mary searched her memory of magical gemstones and instinctively looked toward Vera.
"There's no such gem among known magical stones…" Vera shook her head gently and walked closer. "May I see it?"
Allen nodded and handed it over.
"Nature, divinity, magic…" Vera closed her eyes to sense it, her voice filled with growing astonishment. "Allen, is this… your alchemical creation?"
"How could you think that?" Allen was more surprised than she was. "My alchemy skills aren't nearly advanced enough to make something like this."
Vera's hand froze mid-examination.
You've driven out an evil god, subdued a griffin, and even summoned a Conjunction of the Spheres—what's so impossible about forging a unique alchemical artifact? she thought to herself.
"Then… is it a gift of Melitele?" she asked again.
Allen shook his head. "It was created by the elven goddess of spring, Gwendolyn, one of the Four Season Deities. She used a natural source of power as its core, condensed divine essence into it, and forged this artifact.
Even non-believers can use this Songstone to bypass Gwendolyn herself, invoking the divine rites once wielded by her priestesses—called Singers."
The goddess of spring? A power source as a core? Using divine magic without the god's consent?
Vera and Mary both looked utterly bewildered.
"It's complicated," Allen sighed, giving up on a lengthy explanation. "I found it while exploring the place where Jerome Moreau was imprisoned by his father.
Jerome's mother was likely one of Gwendolyn's priestesses. She was killed by Tomas Moreau and left behind relics there."
"This… this is too precious!" Mary quickly waved her hands.
She didn't fully grasp the Moreau family's tangled history, but the terms "power source," "divine essence," and "artifact" were enough for her to recognize a treasure of legend.
More valuable, even, than Allen's famed blade Balmur—said to be passed down from the epic hero Zatret Voruta.
"And since this was Jerome's mother's relic, shouldn't we… return it to him?" she asked carefully.
Allen was silent for a while, then sighed softly. "Jerome doesn't yet know his mother has passed. Lady Ida Emean and I have kept it from him.
When fate carried me to Kaer Seren, I stopped being anyone's child. I became only a witcher—a witcher of the Griffin School."
At those words, Vera and Sol exchanged a glance. Vera's eyes dimmed slightly.
"That's what Jerome himself once said," Allen continued. "So we don't intend to tell him yet. But in the future, when he learns the truth and comes for it—then, and only then, will you return it."
"For now, keep it. Yennefer needs you to use this Songstone to solve her problem."
In truth, the Songstone was just something Allen had drawn from a chest—it might not even be the one Jerome's mother owned. He felt no moral burden.
Besides, the artifact's restrictions meant Jerome couldn't use it anyway.
But if Jerome ever asked, Allen would hand it over without hesitation.
For now, the Songstone's only clear purpose seemed to be fixing little Yennefer's appearance.
"Yennefer?" Mary blinked in confusion. "What does this have to do with her?"
"Because of a divine spell…" Allen didn't explain further. Instead, he used telepathy to transmit the Breath-Song of the Maiden of Spring directly into Mary's mind.
Mary's eyes flew wide at the sudden voice in her head—Allen's voice. Her mouth dropped open. "You… you can use telepathy…?"
"Yes. I can," Allen interrupted calmly, as if expecting her shock. "I've created dozens of new potion formulas and subdued a griffin. Is it so strange that I'd know a few spells as well?"
"Now focus. Recall what I just shared with you."
"O-okay…" Mary still felt something was off, but under his steady words, she reluctantly closed her eyes and began to concentrate.
After a few seconds, she opened her eyes again.
"I've memorized it, but it may take some time before I can actually learn it."
After all, in the original history, she was the sorceress who could one day replace Tissaia de Vries and become headmistress of Aretuza.
Mary's talent was still exceptional—she learned everything quickly.
The reason she often seemed to lack presence was simply because her original path had never been combat, but alchemy.
To force a complete shift within just half a year was asking too much of anyone. But the dark circles around Mary's eyes, which could no longer be hidden, already spoke volumes.
Unfortunately, not everyone was Allen.
"That doesn't matter, you can take your time with it," Allen pressed his lips together, hesitated for a moment, then slipped his hand back into his chest pocket. "I have something else to give you now."
"Another one?!" Mary's slender brows lifted, her large eyes shining even brighter in the flickering candlelight. Looking into those eyes, it was as if joy itself would overflow.
"But you said there were only two things before?"
"The Songstone and Breath-Song of the Maiden of Spring count as one," Allen didn't explain further. Instead, he pulled out a fuzzy orb of light and pressed it toward Mary's brow. "Don't resist. This will be very good for you."
Mary instinctively wanted to pull back, but upon hearing Allen's words, she obediently stayed still.
The fuzzy orb of light radiated a suffocating allure, and she unconsciously leaned in closer.
Allen's lips curled slightly. Before Mary could ask anything, he pressed the intangible orb—the Spirit of Ronnie Dickinson, Aeromancer—straight into her brow.
The room fell silent in an instant…
Bzzz—
The wolf medallion let out a violent hum.
"Ahhh—!"
Mary, her face full of bewilderment and panic, suddenly screamed in agony as her body lifted from the floor, floating midair.
Immediately, a fierce wind rose out of nowhere inside the sealed room, howling and scattering the candle flames.
Snap!
With a flick of her fingers, Vera stopped the gale. A blue magical barrier instantly enclosed Mary.
"Allen, what is that?" Vera asked, moving closer through Mary's screams.
"The spirit of Ronnie Dickinson, the Aeromancer," Allen answered openly. "It will let Mary learn all of Ronnie Dickinson's air spells, and also increase her ma… increase her magic power significantly."
Since Vera and Sol had revealed their true identities, the greatest benefit was that Allen no longer had to be suspicious or secretive.
He could expose most of his secrets in front of them without worry. Vera and Sol would even help him conceal and explain things away.
Of course, that had already been the case after the Trial of the Grasses, but back then, Allen had been on guard precisely because of it.
The Spirit of Ronnie Dickinson… Sol looked at Vera in confusion. Can mages really inherit skills and power like this?
Vera's gaze was equally perplexed, though she still found a comparable example: "Like when Ida Emean extracted Tomas Moreau's techniques with her mental enchantments?"
"There are some differences, but that's roughly it." Allen nodded.
"Is it safe?"
"Safe."
"That's good then."
With that short exchange, the room fell back into silence.
This time, even Mary no longer screamed.
From between her brows emerged threads of blue—not the blue of seas or streams, but the harsh, crackling blue of thunder—spinning outward like a silkworm weaving a cocoon.
Before long, Mary was completely wrapped within a cocoon of blue-violet light.
That aura swirled within the magical barrier Vera had cast.
"In just half a year, I can no longer understand you," Vera looked at the strange phenomenon around Mary, her expression complicated. After a soft sigh, she changed the subject: "What do you think about Lado from Kaer Village?"
"The School of the Wolf shouldn't interfere directly," Allen glanced at Sol, thought for a moment, and replied, "But we also shouldn't simply drive him away. Better to wait until Vesemir, Danthe, and Jerome return to decide."
Vera and Sol both nodded, and the room once again fell silent.
An awkward silence. Allen looked at Mary's cocoon, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere…
Perhaps Vera didn't really care about Lado's fate or the School of the Wolf's future. She only wanted to talk to him.
Allen tried to think of something to say, but he had never been in a situation like this before. For the moment, he could only remain quiet.
Maybe time—time would soften the distance. He told himself so.
Mary, now encased in her cocoon, made no further movement.
Minute by minute passed. If not for the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, Allen might have suspected something had gone wrong.
But after waiting for nearly an hour, he decided not to stay and see her emerge from the cocoon.
He was busy. Truly busy.
"Vera… my lady," Allen spoke awkwardly, "do you know where Lady Ida Emean is now?"
Leaning against the window sill, Vera replied softly: "Either in the underground laboratory where she studies witchers—she's been very interested in witchers and secondary mutations lately—or on the battlements of the north tower, where elemental energies are strongest."
"Thank you," Allen nodded. He rose, preparing to seek out Ida Emean. "I'll leave Mary in your care. I need to inform Lady Ida about Ban Ard's movements."
"Go. I'll watch over Mary," Vera forced a thin smile, which somehow made the atmosphere even more uncomfortable.
Allen only nodded, glanced once more at Mary's cocoon, then turned toward the door.
"The School of the Wolf owes nothing to the Aen Seidhe. All debts are paid."
As he reached the doorway, Vera suddenly spoke a sentence that seemed to come out of nowhere.
Allen's steps faltered.
Vera hesitated briefly, then chose her words carefully: "Don't get too deeply involved. The mountain folk are long-lived. Witchers, no matter how extended their lives, are still human—only human."
The candlelight trembled in the darkness, scattering glimmers across the crystal goblet.
Wax dripped down the candlestick like a tiny waterfall.
Allen stood silent for a few seconds, then left behind only: "I understand." After that, he quickly departed.
"You know he won't listen, don't you?" Sol said quietly, gazing at the cocoon in the center of the room.
Vera didn't reply. She only pressed a hand against her chest, staring wistfully at the closed wooden door.
"'Since fate cast me into Kaer Serin, I've no longer been anyone's child—only a witcher, a witcher of the Griffin School.'" Sol murmured Jerome Moreau's words that Allen had once repeated.
Vera lowered her head: "He isn't Jerome. You aren't Tomas Moreau. And I am not Lydia…"
"Of course we're not. Of course we never were, and never will be…" Sol gently put an arm around her shoulder.
They sat in silence for a long time, the candlelight flickering.
"Sol, I think I've become a little greedy…"
The sorceress clung tightly to his waist, curling into his arms.
Sol lifted his gaze toward the snowcapped peaks of the Blue Mountains and let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Who isn't?"
.....
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