The Month-Long "Great Earthquake"

Sorceresses were always fond of sleeping in.

Sleep slowed the flow of the Magic Veins inside the body, letting them forget the uncomfortable cold and heat in their lower abdomen—the strange sensation of life being slowly eroded by Chaos Magic and gradually remade into something inhuman.

Vesemir was a Sorceress, so naturally she shared all the traits common to sorceresses.

Yet ever since coming to the Druid Circle of Myna, she had not slept in during the morning for a long time.

The other woman in the room probably had not either.

"Tissaia, shouldn't you be at Kaer Morhen, reviving your Henn Gedimidis?"

Vesemir sat on an oak stool, propping her forehead up with one arm as she gently massaged her temple. With a headache, she glanced at Tissaia de Vries across from her.

Tissaia de Vries sat upright, taking small sips of steaming tea. Her chin was raised and her chest held high, like a noblewoman attending a social banquet.

"Watch your words, Vesemir." Tissaia de Vries gently set her cup on the table and shot Vesemir a dissatisfied glance. Steam curled from the cup's mouth and dissolved into the air. "Henn Gedimidis is not mine. Besides, he has been alive and well all this time. He did not die; he was merely seriously injured..."

"It's been a month. He still hasn't woken up?" Vesemir asked.

"Henn Gedimidis was indeed injured during the Wild Hunt's first arrival..."

"The third!" Vesemir corrected her. "The first was at Gors Velen, the second at Arland, and Ban Ard was the third."

"Fine, the third arrival..." Tissaia de Vries shrugged, wearing an expression that said whatever you say.

The supernatural world and the mundane world viewed the Wild Hunt differently. The supernatural world—mainly the Brotherhood of Sorcerers—believed there had been only one arrival: