The fall of Vergen echoed not just through Vizima, but across every remaining Northern stronghold, a death knell for hope. The strategic collapse, inexplicable in its suddenness to all but Aizen, cemented the pervasive despair that now gripped the Continent. Refugees, a ceaseless tide of human misery, swelled Vizima's population, bringing with them tales of atrocities and the chilling certainty of Nilfgaard's inevitable conquest. Aizen observed the city's slow, agonizing surrender to hopelessness, a process he had meticulously accelerated. The populace was being softened, made pliable for the 'salvation' he intended to offer.
King Foltest, once a figure of decisive action, now appeared increasingly isolated and erratic. The purges he had enacted, fueled by Aizen's subtly placed suggestions of betrayal, had stripped his court of many loyal, if sometimes critical, voices. His remaining advisors, paralyzed by fear and suspicion, hesitated to offer meaningful counsel. General Natalis, despite his tactical acumen, found himself constantly battling unforeseen logistical nightmares and misinterpretations of reconnaissance reports – all meticulously crafted illusions by Aizen that led Temeria's armies into less advantageous positions, ensuring their slow, agonizing bleed. The kingdom, ostensibly united under Foltest, was a hollowed-out shell, its true strength eroded from within.
Triss Merigold, though still performing her duties with characteristic diligence, was a shadow of her former self. The elusive terror she had experienced, combined with the relentless, unexplainable psychological phenomena plaguing Vizima, had pushed her to the brink. She sought solace in the company of other mages, but her attempts to articulate the 'wrongness' she felt were met with dismissive reassurances. Her once sharp focus was now often fractured, her spells occasionally faltering from sheer mental exhaustion. She was no longer a threat; she was a victim, unwittingly contributing to the very chaos she sought to combat.
Aizen's research in Vizima's Royal Library had reached its zenith. He had now fully grasped the theoretical framework for opening and stabilizing dimensional rifts using a concentrated spiritual catalyst. The ancient texts spoke of specific astral alignments and geometric patterns that, when combined with immense raw power, could manipulate the very boundaries between realities. He understood the Elder Blood's role: it was a naturally occurring, volatile expression of this latent power, a key that could unlock or shatter these boundaries. His focus shifted from merely finding Ciri to understanding how to harness, replicate, or even absorb that innate dimensional capability for his own ascension.
Reports of Ciri's chaotic travels continued to filter through the court's intelligence networks. Her accidental bursts of power, warping local realities and leaving behind traces of impossible events, were meticulously cross-referenced by Aizen. He mapped her approximate trajectory, noting the magical anomalies that followed her, and calculating the most probable nexus points she might inadvertently activate or pass through. The Lodge of Sorceresses, in their fervent pursuit of her, were inadvertently herding her towards these very locations, doing Aizen's legwork for him.
The war against Nilfgaard reached its grim crescendo. With Temeria internally fractured and strategically undermined, the Imperial forces launched their final, overwhelming offensive. The Northern armies, exhausted by internal purges and constant, draining skirmishes, met the full might of Nilfgaard's legions. The Battle of Brenna, a name that would soon be etched in blood into the Continent's history, was imminent. Aizen had worked tirelessly to ensure that Temeria's and its few remaining allies' forces would be at their most vulnerable, their commanders plagued by misdirection, their morale at its lowest ebb.
This climactic battle was not merely a military confrontation; it was the final, devastating act of Aizen's grand design for the Northern Kingdoms. He orchestrated the final pieces of their collapse. He subtly imbued key Temerian officers with exaggerated confidence in flawed maneuvers, while simultaneously planting seeds of doubt and despair in the minds of their most reliable units. He caused critical messages to be 'lost' or 'misread,' ensuring reinforcements arrived late, or supplies never reached their intended destinations. He made the very landscape seem to shift to exhausted eyes, causing units to lose their bearings or perceive phantom enemies where none existed.
The battlefield itself became a canvas for his ultimate illusion. As the armies clashed, Aizen, from a distant, hidden vantage point, projected a powerful, omnipresent Kyōka Suigetsu over sections of the conflict. Soldiers would glimpse their allies turning into monstrous forms, hear the commands of their officers warp into terrifying, alien pronouncements, or perceive enemy lines as suddenly impregnable walls of illusion. The result was widespread panic, insubordination, and self-inflicted chaos, causing entire flanks to collapse not from enemy action, but from overwhelming, self-generated terror.
"The climax is at hand," Aizen observed, his eyes gleaming with a cold, almost religious fervor as he witnessed the unfolding catastrophe. The Continent was shedding its old skin in a torrent of blood and despair. "Their futile struggle. Their desperate cries. All merely vibrations in the tapestry of their self-destruction. This is not defeat; this is cleansing. From this absolute void of order, the path for true evolution shall emerge."
The sounds of distant battle, the screams of the dying, the roar of the Nilfgaardian advance – it was a symphony of destruction, a prelude to the new reality he would forge. He was no longer merely manipulating from the shadows; he was the unseen conductor of an entire world's demise. The Northern Kingdoms were shattering, their last vestiges of defiance crumbling. And in the ashes, Aizen would finally step onto the desolate stage, ready to claim his inheritance and remake the Continent in his own image, ushering in an era of perfect, absolute control. The era of the Architect had truly begun.