When the ancient elves split into factions, they did not all go to the same world. Instead, they divided into two different ones—and there was a reason for that.
The two worlds were fundamentally different.
Lann's world was vaster and richer in resources. It was harder to conquer, but more suitable for long-term growth—a place to build a new home.
The Aen Elle's world, on the other hand, had fewer native inhabitants and was easier to dominate, but it was smaller in scale—better suited as a waystation.
To put it in perspective, the land beneath Lann and the unicorns was no larger than the combined size of the northern and southern reaches of Lann's own world.
At first, the Aen Elle hadn't looked too deeply into this. They were steadily rebuilding their kind, enslaving the natives, and waiting to drain this world of its resources before moving on to the next.
That had always been their pattern.
But once the Aen Elle lost their Gate of Realms—along with the Elder Blood—everything began to spiral out of control.
…
There was a distinctly human trace of mockery in the unicorn leader's telepathic message: [They're trapped here.]
…
The Aen Elle elves are long-lived—each one currently residing in this world is several centuries old.
The Aen Elle elves are highly skilled in magic—they've fully militarized magical equipment at the most basic levels, making their individual soldiers remarkably powerful.
The Aen Elle elves live in leisure—with a vast number of slaves, the elves are entirely freed from menial labor, free to devote themselves fully to the pursuit of magic or the arts.
But—they are trapped in this world.
Like a flock of pampered canaries, abandoned by their masters—gilded feathers, beautiful voices—and yet the food and water within the cage run lower with each passing day.
In the past, their only means of replenishing resources was the Wild Hunt, that dimension-hopping force which sustained the majority of their civilization's needs.
And even that wasn't enough. The elven population of the Aen Elle continued to shrink, to the point where they deliberately diverted some of their mages to focus on less demanding pursuits like art.
Even their long war with the unicorns—besides harvesting rare materials—carried a quiet intention to reduce their own numbers.
But now, the Wild Hunt was gone. Crushed by Lann.
Lann raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "So you're telling me… even if we did absolutely nothing, those long-ears would end up sealing their own fate in here?"
The unicorn leader shook its head with a trace of dismay.
[That's why they've become more ruthless in hunting us—desperate to form a new raiding force.]
[They still have two powerful long-ears they call 'Sages.' If the Sages move alongside their knight legions, we have no way to resist.]
Lann paused, then ventured cautiously, "Then… what if I took all of you to my world instead? Without you, the Aen Elle elves would be truly trapped, wouldn't they?"
The unicorn leader bowed its head, deep in thought.
Then its eyes began to brighten.
[Can you really do that?]
…
The unicorns could not leave this world.
Or rather—most of them couldn't.
They possessed the ability to traverse space, but that racial gift wasn't something every unicorn could awaken or wield freely.
Even those who had awakened it lacked the strength to support a full migration of their kind from the world of the Aen Elle to Lann's nearby world.
At most, only a dozen unicorns could make the journey.
Such a small number arriving in a foreign world would be suicide. And the unicorn leader had never been able to make the decision to abandon the rest of the herd.
And even if they did make it to a new world—wouldn't the threat of the White Frost still be waiting there? In the end, they'd be running in circles.
Back then, the unicorns had come here with the help of the Aen Elle elves, hoping to escape the White Frost. At the time, the Aen Elle were still friendly toward the unicorns, who possessed similar powers.
That changed when the elves lost their control over space-time. And when they discovered that—although not every unicorn could travel between worlds—every unicorn's body contained material infused with space-time power.
Now, the unicorn leader's gaze grew ever more radiant as it looked into Lann's eyes.
But Lann had fallen into thought again—seemingly rejecting the very proposal he had just made.
Just as the unicorn leader's expression began to show signs of urgency, Lann finally spoke.
"You said that while the Aen Elle can't migrate as a whole, certain individuals—like the Sages, or the former leaders of the Wild Hunt—might still be able to reach my world, right?"
[That should be possible.]
"So we can't count on them vanishing entirely on their own. But if we keep dangling a sliver of hope in front of them—make them chase after that dawn long enough—they'll wear themselves out. And once they reach their limit—"
Lann mimed slamming his right fist into his left palm. "We strike like thunder and wipe them out for good."
The unicorn leader looked baffled. It had been able to follow the conversation until now, but when it came to tactics and warfare, such natural beings were entirely out of their depth.
[So… your army isn't coming here?]
Lann fell silent again for a moment, then his face broke into a wide, brilliant smile.
"Nope, they're not. In fact, I just realized—I might not need my army at all to unleash this 'thunderstrike'. I've found a much easier way to deal with them. And what I'll gain from it… will far outweigh the cost."
"I only have one question left: I located this world using the horn of your fallen companion—may they rest in peace. So, can you change the coordinates of this cross-dimensional portal? Move it from the mountaintop to somewhere… a bit livelier?"
This time, the unicorn leader understood immediately.
[We can create an entirely new spatial coordinate.]
Its reply brimmed with confidence.
[How large do you want this portal to be?]
...
Blizzards raged across jagged mountain ridges.
A group of half-grown children, under the bellowing of Coën and the other witchers, swung their wooden training swords in time with shouted commands, balancing precariously on narrow footholds as they repeated the instructors' movements again and again.
Overhead, powerful beasts—part eagle, part lion—occasionally swooped across the sky, disrupting the children's training with playful malice, nearly provoking the witchers to draw steel.
Fortunately, they hadn't actually harmed the apprentices.
This was Kaer Seren, the witcher training camp.
A griffin with golden-brown fur hovered high in the sky, scanning the land below—when its eyes suddenly lit up, spotting a bright emerald flare igniting atop the snowy peak.
Lann's figure appeared beside Coën, but before he could speak, the royal griffin dove straight at him without restraint.
Coën watched as the Grandmaster of the witcher order casually absorbed the full force of the beast's impact, playing with it as if it were no more than a pup. He couldn't help but twitch the corner of his mouth.
"Long time no see, Lann…"
Lambert wandered over with a lazy swagger. "Well, well, our Duke Lannister. What brings you to the Kaer Seren training camp today? Here to recruit more cubs for the School of the Lion?—Wait a second, is that a godling beside you? Seriously, why do you keep bringing weird strays back with you?"
Wrapped snugly in a heavy coat, Johnny raised his little fists. "I'm not a weird stray, cat-eyes! Watch it, or I'll teach you a lesson! I've got powerful friends, you know!"
Lann rolled his eyes and ignored Lambert. He turned instead to Coën, patting him on the shoulder.
"I need to use the comms device here. Watch over Johnny for me in the meantime."
Coën nodded without objection. Lann walked straight into Griffin Keep under the reverent gazes of the apprentices and entered the magical laboratory.
"Uncle Mousesack, I'm borrowing your comm!"
"Go ahead!" the old druid's voice called back two seconds later from behind a sealed chamber door. He didn't even bother coming out to look at Lann.
Lann, familiar with the place, stepped into another compartment. Four crystals, each about the size of a fist, were mounted atop four stone pillars. Beneath them, arcane metal bases forged from magic-conducting alloys supported the structure, all connected by intricate lines and runes.
Lann placed his hand atop one of the crystals and slowly channeled his magic into it.
A shimmering screen of light soon floated before him. From within came faint voices—a conversation between a young woman and an older man.
The moment the light screen activated, the woman's voice faltered, just for a second—then picked up speed. She had clearly realized something.
She hurriedly ended the conversation, and after the sound of brisk footsteps, she seemed to arrive somewhere more secluded.
There were a few clinks and the sounds of fiddling—then, a woman's face appeared on the screen.
A short-haired sorceress in a low-cut black dress. Her eyes radiated confidence and arrogance, as if prepared to look down on everything around her.
But the moment she saw Lann, both emotions melted away like snow under the sun—replaced by reverence.
"Duke Lannister." Fringilla Vigo cast a quick glance up at him, then lowered her gaze again just as swiftly. "Apologies for the delay—I was speaking with my uncle… He still doesn't know about us. I haven't found the right moment to tell him."
"Then you'd better hurry. Artorius Vigo is a critical piece in our plan."
Lann showed no trace of warmth in his tone.
"Yes…" Fringilla bowed her head even lower.
Had any outsider walked in, they wouldn't have seen some bulky magical communicator in front of Fringilla—just a small iron box.
It was the product of Mousesack's refinements after thoroughly analyzing Vilgefortz's original design.
"I'm here to check the progress of your latest mission," Lann said flatly.
Fringilla stared at the lion behind the magical screen. Even with distortion from the projection, those dark-gold lion's eyes were still too commanding to meet directly.
"And I have a new task for you."
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