A week of peace and quiet went by. The caravan had passed through the shifting wilds, clear, gurgling streams, short hills, and juniper woods, but no Squirrel showed up. The witcher's protégés were getting along with the dwarves well. Every night, they would gather around the bonfire, listening to the dwarves talking about their days of adventure, with Yarpen often in the lead.

The children were regaled with tales of deadly battles with basilisks almost as towering as dragons, duels with ogroids that devoured at least two humans every meal, relentless drinking that lasted for days during a drinking contest in Ard Carraigh, and how they came out victorious against the sailors from Skellige. And how they gained the prize of free refills for life.

Vilfrid would chip in as well and talk about his thoughts of Kaedwen's situation as well as his opinions on Scoia'tael, but most of the time, he would listen quietly, much like the witchers.

All dwarves could tell great stories. They would stroke their beard and speak of their adventures between mugs of liquor, their voices as lively and spirited as warriors going into battle. Even the stuttering Barney managed to regale the children with a few tales of his adventure.

Compared to the more practical witchers and their straightforward way of telling tales, the children preferred the dwarves who used superlatives and a lot of comparisons in their stories.

On a few nights, the apprentices would sleep on the rugs beside the dwarves' bonfire, even though the dwarves snored like thunder and passed gas a lot. It brought them closer together. Roy, however, would glance at the crates in the caravan and the wheel tracks on the ground. Then he would fall into his own thoughts.

***

It was an overcast day. The air itself felt heavy and gloomy. Through a deserted forest the caravan went, then the dwarves and witchers pulled on their reins at the same time, slowing down. They came to a clearing. There were no trees. Only some sort of ruins was in its place. Smooth granite and cracked marble were strewn across the ground, the engravings on their surface almost erased by the constant exposure to the elements. The freezing winters had cracked the stones, and roots slithered in, further breaking them apart.

Deeper in the ruins, underneath the thick layer of greenery were broken pillars and white arches. On their surfaces, ivy and moss thrived.

"What is this place?" Vicki asked Lytta curiously.

"Shaerrawedd."

"Is it a castle?" Carl rubbed his chin, looking at Yarpen.

"No, brat. Elves don't build castles. This was a palace." The dwarf looked at the ruins solemnly. He was cautious but at the same time respectful.

"Can we check it out, then?" Carl turned to the witchers. The protégés and the children were looking forward to some sightseeing.

It'd been nothing but barren land for a while. They were sick of plants and muddy paths. This palace was one of the famous places here, making it a good chance to delve deeper into this land's history.

Roy looked to Vilfrid for his opinion.

"It's a sacrosanct location for the elves and Squirrels." Vilfrid was refusing gently. "It's a dangerous place, so we should leave right away."

"Ah, just a look won't kill anyone. Ain't wastin' too much time either," said Yarpen.

Vilfrid took a deep breath, a hint of resignation filling his eyes. "We'll set off in half an hour. Horses can't travel through rubble, so we'll do this on foot."

The children whooped and cheered. Roy, Coral, Geralt, Yarpen, Vesemir, and Felix followed them, while everyone else stayed back to protect the caravan.

"Slow down, children. You don't want to break anything here."

Leaves squelched under their feet. They walked toward the ruins for about five minutes and ascended a flight of marble stairs. What greeted them afterward was a moss-covered stone path and ruins that looked distinctly elven.

The children walked around, curious about everything. The witcher stood around them, keeping them safe.

"This is a beautiful place." Renee caressed the patterns of leaves and ivy engraved on the fallen pillars. Loudly, she asked, "Why was it destroyed?"

"The elves themselves destroyed this place. Before they left, though." Vesemir brushed his hand across the leaf pattern on the ground. Patiently, he explained, "More than two hundred years ago, after the abject defeat of the elves in their war against humanity, they tore down their magnificent structures and palaces before they retreated into the mountains. It was done in a bid to prevent humanity from stealing their civilization's gems. Gems like Valley of the Nine and Est Tayiar. All were destroyed."

"Not all. Many of their civilization's structures still stand." Yarpen had a conflicted look on his face. "And humans built their cities upon these elven structures. Vizima, the capital of Temeria, for example. Oxenfurt, the North's beacon of academia. Aed Gynvael, the home of a tribe on the edge of the world. Maribor, Cintra, and the most famous city of all, Novigrad. All were built upon the land of the elves."

Yarpen was envious, and a little sardonic. "You humans are gifted in the reproduction part. Not much else, I'm afraid. You breed like rabbits. No, more prolifically than that, I daresay. You took over the world with sheer numbers and killed most nonhumans. Chased elves into the barren Blue Mountains and holed most dwarves and gnomes in Mahakam and Tir Tochair. Kicked halflings into the remote wilds too. And in every city, humans have set up gathering spots for nonhumans. Like the discrimination isn't blatant enough."

Roy shot Yarpen a glare. "You should be watching your tongue. Talking about reproduction when children, witchers, and a sorceress are present? Talk about insensitivity."

"Sorry." Yarpen shrugged, but he didn't seem sorry at all. "Forgot you're worse than dwarves when it comes to offsprings."

The witchers skewered Yarpen with glares, while Lytta gave Roy a look. She knew he had an Unexpected Child. After his third Trial, he ran off to Skellige just to see her. But I can't ever have a child with him.

***

"Lotsa folk are suggestin' that under Nilfgaard's rilin', the elves who got holed up in the mountains have made a comeback. They want revenge." Yarpen waved his arm ahead, motioning at everyone to follow him.

They stepped past the rough ground and entered the center of the palace. A bizarre fountain and deformed stone slabs were separated by alder and birch trees. The place almost resembled a gigantic flower made of trees and stones.

Small shallow ditches flowed behind this patch of greenery. Some formed little streams on the ground, while some fell down the stairs, forming little waterfalls that washed away the leaves and debris on the structures.

Behind the ditches was an arch made of marble and clay, half buried in the ground. It still shone beautifully, as if it were newly built instead of buried for two centuries.

The group formed a line and entered the archway. Greeting them was the most magnificent part of the palace. A relief stood in the chamber, and flowerbeds sat around it. Between beautiful chunks of clay was a patch of roses. White roses. Dewdrops glimmered on its ivory petals like transparent pearls.

The roses' branches clung to a marble relief that depicted a regally gorgeous female elf. The gold and gemstones were all stolen, of course, but the elf still looked breathtaking.

"Aelirenn. Or better known to us as Elirena." Yarpen pointed at the elf. He explained to the curious children, "She was the rebel leader in the war two hundred years ago."

Even though it was just a relief, the depiction of Aelirenn still commanded respect, as if it were magic.

"After the elves' defeat, their king, Filavandrel aen Fidhail led his people into the Blue Mountains, but Aelirenn refused to listen to him. She led the younger elves into a rebellion. They took up arms and challenged the human army. 'For Shaerrawedd!' they would shout, and into the human army they charged. Despite being outnumbered one thousand to one, the elves valiantly brought the fight to humanity in a bid to reclaim their lost home."

There was excitement in Yarpen's eyes. For a moment, he took on the pride of a nonhuman. Despite being humanity's allies, he still had respect for the predecessors who laid down their lives to defend their homeland.

"Of course, they were defeated and culled. The same fate will befall the Squirrels if they stubbornly go ahead with their operations."

The crowd stared at the beautiful Aelirenn in silence, wondering why she had so much courage within her. Their opinion on the Squirrels changed slightly. Everyone wondered if they were only terrorists who killed the innocents or liberation fighters who wanted to reclaim their lost home.

"Aelirenn sacrificed herself for the freedom of nonhumans. She and the fallen palace of Shaerrawedd is now a symbol of resistance for nonhumans. Do you see these flowers? Know why they bloom throughout the year despite living in ruins?"

Before anyone could answer, Yarpen continued, "Because all the nonhumans who pass this place pay tribute to this place, taking care of the roses."

"So you're saying Squirrels will come as well?" Carl asked.

"That's right, kids. What'd Wenck say? Right, this place is dangerous." Yarpen looked around, warning, "That's half an hour. Storytime's over. Let's go." The dwarf spun his axe and strode back the way they came.

"Hey, you guys." Monti stiffly followed him, but he turned back to Roy and the other witchers. "Are Squirrels really terrorists who kill indiscriminately?"

The other children had the same question as well. The story of Aelirenn and Shaerrawedd was a tragically heroic one. And now the Squirrels seem to have a reason to rain down vengeance on humanity. To the people who took away their homes. There was justification for even their attacks in Novigrad.

The witchers and Lytta were silent.

"This is why we have a code of neutrality. It gives us the liberty to take no sides in this war." Vesemir looked at the perplexed children and shook his head. He exchanged a look with Geralt. "Their hatred runs deep and ancient. It's a complex issue with no exact answer."

"But…" Felix's eyes flickered coldly. He patted Carl's head, staring at the caravan in the woods. With resolve, he said, "Scoia'tael, humans, I don't care. Try attacking us or our family, and they're dead."

"Don't think too much about it." Coral patted the girls' heads. She said, "Nothing's more important than your own survival. Do not show any mercy when none will be afforded to you."

They left Shaerrawedd, following Yarpen. Roy stared up at the looming skies, then he turned his gaze to the caravan in the clearing. Solemnly, he said, "People, I have an ominous feeling. Something's giving me the chills. Be on high alert tonight."

***

In a shrub far away from Shaerrawedd, a glisteningly black sparrowhawk flew down onto a petite elven woman. It perched upon her shoulder and chirped clearly.

The elf was dressed like a bard, but she had a beautiful strip of cloth around her waist. The colorful cloth extended down to her knees. She tilted her head, listening to the sparrowhawk, and her face fell. "Eveline, Kenzafa, Varselie, listen. Caru just told me a group of people just went inside the ruins of Shaerrawedd." The elf's braids swayed around her shoulders. "What are they up to? Are they going to destroy the ruins?"

"How many of them are there?" The elf in the bush tensed up. She had mahogany hair, beautiful curves, and a pair of long, beautiful legs. The elf was equipped with yellow leather armor and long boots.

"A caravan. About a hundred monkeys. Humans, dwarves, children, and…"

"And what?" The male elf who'd been munching on his turnip greedily turned impatient. He rasped, "Did you get a cold, Toluvair? Stop stammering."

"And witchers. More than twenty of them."

"What? You sure about that?"

The elves stopped breathing for a moment. Fear creeped onto their faces, and then hatred took over. How could they forget the humiliation these mutants rained down upon their brethren who valiantly died in Novigrad?

The elf with mahogany hair pursed her lips. Her eyes flickered with remembrance.

"What now, Eveline?" Toluvair glanced at her comrades nervously. "There's only two hundred or so of us here. I don't think we can win this."

"So you'll let them leave?" Kenzafa shook his head tersely. "They desecrated the relief of Aelirenn right in front of us. If we don't do anything about it, we'll be nothing but cowards. They have a heap of cargo with them. If their supplies reach the soldiers of Kaedwen, who knows how many of our brethren will fall? We cannot let them go!"

"We just fought the soldiers at the bridgehead a week ago. We need rest." Eveline shook her head, hesitant. "And it's odd that there's a bunch of children with the caravan."

"So? Do you think humans will spare our children?" Kenzafa's face flared with violence. "So many of them died in Novigrad, and they didn't even get a proper burial. No, their bodies were hung for everyone to see! You cannot keep showing them mercy, Eveline!"

"Kenzafa's right." Varselie, a middle-aged female elf with pallid skin and long eyelashes shook her head. Dubiously, she said, "The bards claim that the witchers are powerful fighters. So did the Eternal Fire guards, but we've never seen how they fight."

Layers of leather belts were wrapped around her neck, and a golden birch piece was skewered through the belts. A wooden staff with complex flower engravings on it sat beside her, blinking with magic.

"Because everyone who fought them died," Toluvair muttered under her breath.

Varselie ignored Toluvair. Adamantly, she said, "Humans and a part of our dwarven brethren love to exaggerate everything. Perhaps the truth is different. Perhaps they made up that story to hide their own weakness. We have ten times the number of the witchers and twice the number of this ragtag caravan. All our soldiers are elites, and we're in the dark here. If we use the element of surprise, they'll be dead before they know what is happening."

The bushes behind these four leaders rustled, and hate-filled eyes poked from underneath. Two hundred Scoia'tael members had blended in with their surroundings. They were draped in cloaks made of tree bark and grass, their faces covered in green paint and patterns of sticks, preventing any light from reflecting off their skin.

There were also bearded dwarves and petite, babyfaced halflings among the platoon.

"Give the order, Eveline. Follow that caravan. Once night comes and they fall asleep, we'll strike. For Aelirenn. For our brethren. For Shaerrawedd!"

"For Shaerrawedd!" A quiet, collective cheer came from the bushes.

Kenzafa chomped on his carrot, his eyes flickering coldly. Toluvair held her wooden bow tightly, falling into her thoughts. Eveline was silent, concern flaring in her eyes. There's a bunch of witchers there. Could he be there too? No. There's no way he can be. And I cannot betray my brethren. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and she nodded.

***

***