At the system notification, Arwen let out a long breath.
Viris returned the parchment scroll to the shelf and glanced at Arwen's excited eyes. Without reading his mind, she knew he had memorized it all.
The sunlight on the mahogany desk had shifted to its corner.
Viris glanced outside. The sky was rapidly darkening.
"That concludes today's instruction. I have opened the door to magic for you. How far you go will depend on you."
"But remember, this meditation method is extremely precious. You must not teach it to anyone without my permission."
Arwen came back to himself and immediately bent into an apprentice's bow, his voice full of gratitude.
"I understand. Thank you, Lady Viris. I will keep that promise. I wish you good health."
Viris's lips curved slightly. "You too."
Not long after Arwen left, the sky quickly grew dark.
Viris raised a hand and lit the magical chandelier overhead, bathing the entire room in soft light.
Suddenly, she looked up toward the wooden door. No footsteps sounded in the corridor, but she knew she had a visitor.
Knock, knock...
The knock came a moment later.
Viris closed the book on her desk and called, "Come in."
The door slowly opened, and a tall man walked in.
His face was aged, his short gray-white hair lay against the back of his head, and a wolf's-head medallion hung on his chest.
The wolf's-head medallion began trembling the moment he entered the room, but its movement was so faint as to be almost imperceptible, as though an invisible hand were forcibly holding it still.
As a master witcher, Vesemir naturally noticed the medallion's unusual movement. His amber cat eyes turned warily toward the woman seated behind the mahogany desk.
Viris leaned back in her wooden chair, settling into a more comfortable position.
"Well, look who it is. Master Vesemir of the School of the Wolf. What brings you here?"
Vesemir heard the teasing in her tone, but he was not angry. He merely frowned slightly and reached back to close the door.
"I wouldn't dare call myself a master before you."
Viris gave a soft snort. The hood over her head dissolved into starlight, revealing silky black hair that fell like a waterfall and dignified features.
A gold necklace quietly appeared on her chest, its red gemstone gleaming with an uncanny light.
She regarded Vesemir haughtily with her ink-black eyes, every movement exuding nobility and composure.
Had any young wizard or sorceress seen her countenance, they would surely have cried out.
Vesemir bowed. "Esteemed..."
"Lady Viris. Just call me Viris here. There's no need to mention those empty titles."
Vesemir drew a breath. He was unaccustomed to such worldly formalities himself. "It's an honor to meet you, Lady Viris."
Viris nodded in response. "Likewise, witcher."
"What brings you to see me? Are you afraid I'll steal your little witcher away?"
"You can rest assured about that. I don't share your custom of picking up children everywhere."
Vesemir paid no mind to Viris's aggressive manner. One could even say he was long accustomed to it. He continued.
"No. I came here with just one question: why would a sorceress who has always loathed witchers come to Kaer Morhen-a witcher stronghold-and stay for two whole months?"
Viris sat a little straighter, her expression turning serious.
"A witcher stronghold? Surely you haven't forgotten that Kaer Morhen is an Elder Speech term meaning 'Keep of the Elder Sea.' In ancient times, this place was an ocean. Elves built this keep."
Vesemir stared at her. As the current head of Kaer Morhen's household, he knew these things, of course.
Viris changed tack. "You're right. Sorcerers loathe witchers."
"And so do I. I have always considered you failures of mutation experiments, mutant killers fit only for slaughtering monsters."
"Your cruelty once sickened me. Look at the road leading here. Just how many bodies lie buried there?"
"How many belonged to enemies, and how many to your apprentices?"
"And you even gave it a grand-sounding name: the 'Killer Trail.'"
Vesemir's cat eyes darkened.
Viris rose to her feet. "Still, you aren't entirely hidebound. At least you didn't turn me away."
Vesemir muttered inwardly.
Turn you away?
You teleported straight into Kaer Morhen's hall. How were we supposed to refuse you?
Vesemir knew some apprentices called him the School of the Wolf's living fossil.
But he could hardly compare to the woman before him.
Her age could only be described as ancient. She was one of those closest to the mages of legend.
Even Alzur, the founding father who had created witchers, would have had to show her some deference.
Who would dare refuse someone like her? Who could?
Seeing Vesemir look as though he faced a formidable enemy, Viris shook her head with a smile.
"Vesemir, I have no designs on your mysterious mushrooms or mutation formulas."
"Besides, you ought to thank me. If I remember correctly, the Trial of the Grasses only has a thirty- or forty-percent success rate."
"And this time, with my assistance, six of the seven apprentices survived, didn't they?"
Vesemir said in a low voice, "Indeed. Thank you for coming all this way to help."
Viris raised a hand. "Spare me the sarcasm."
"Since you want to know why I came here, I can tell you."
"Have you heard of Ithlinne's Prophecy?"
"Ithlinne..." Vesemir thought for a moment. "The legendary elven prophetess? The prophecy of the White Frost?"
Viris spoke aloud, every syllable carrying a unique melody that stirred the heart, as though she were reciting a poem.
"The age of sword and axe, the age of contempt, draws near. Then the leaves shall fall, the buds shall wither, the fruit shall rot, the seeds shall turn bitter, and the clear waters of the valleys shall become solid ice."
"The White Frost shall come, followed by white light, and the world shall perish in raging winds and snow."
Hearing this, Vesemir felt a surge of irritation.
For hundreds of years, elven prophets and northern priests had proclaimed the end of the world countless times. How many races had kings wiped out using this as their excuse?
The School of the Wolf's witchers held neutrality as their guiding principle and had always steered clear of such talk of the world's end.
Witchers trusted only the swords in their hands.
Had he not been standing before this legendary sorceress, he would certainly have picked at his ear.
Viris saw the disbelief in Vesemir's eyes and merely said, "Ithlinne's Prophecy is true. I saw it with my own eyes, at Aretuza Academy, in Ithlinne's portrait in the Glory Corridor."
"That night, I was making my usual rounds through the Glory Corridor when I fell into a vision. It was just as Ithlinne had said. Frost swept over and destroyed the entire world. All life would be buried."
"Until someone appeared. I couldn't make out that person's face. I only knew they stood apart from the world, bore a silver sword on their back, and cut through the frost, restoring life to the world."
Vesemir suddenly raised his head, astonishment flashing in his eyes.
"Standing apart from the world, carrying a silver sword? You mean a witcher?"
Viris walked to the window and gazed at the stars gradually emerging in the sky.
"I don't know..."