In a world far far away stood the capital of the Aen Elle, Tir na Lia. A palace stood beyond the dancing willow branches overseeing the river. Unlike most structures built with marble and alabaster, the mainframe of this palace was built with long white lace. It was fluttering, exquisite, and light, as if it were a mirage floating in midair.

A gust of wind blew. Willow branches swayed, mist swam, and ripples spread through the river. The palace felt like it could fly away at any time.

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The palace was decorated with drawbridges with ivy circling around them, openwork fountains, mosaic statues, rails with ivy engravings, corridors, great ceilings, and slim towers that looked like stalagmites.

In the center of the palace was a resplendent room with stained glass windows, mirrors, floral rugs, and a chandelier. A slender man stood within. He was in a black jacket, paired with traditional elven boots. Gray hair tumbled down his shoulder and slipped down his back. His hands, holding the balustrade, were white and fair, his fingers slender as a woman's.

The man was watching swans gliding through the surface of a lake. His eyes were the color of molten lead, and there was long history behind them. He turned to the blond elf before the desk. The sunlight shone from beyond the window reflected incredible light, framing the elf in a sacred halo. "Where are Aen Saevherne, Eredin, and Caranthir?"

"Call me Avallac'h, Your Majesty. The three of them have just finished a long mission. They are cleaning themselves up now. Once they are refreshed and calm, they will request an audience with you, and I bear great news." The elven sage smiled toothily. There was not an incisor in his mouth at all. "We carried out our task and stopped the White Frost, if only just. This world now has six months more of peacetime."

"Avallac'h." Auberon looked at Avallac'h seriously. He spoke slowly, as if every word needed all his strength to be spoken. "I will remember the contributions and sacrifice all of you made for the tribe."

"Your Majesty, this is just our duty." Avallac'h then said, "Alas, safety is only momentary. I do not know what went wrong, but the White Frost is gaining in strength, crossing through the cracks in the universe at unprecedented speeds, closing in to the worlds of Aen Seidhe and ours. It's coming fast for us."

Auberon was solemn, and he was listening.

"For the last six years, Eredin and the Red Riders have given up on the act of pillaging. They placed all their efforts in having the pilot, Caranthir, cross through space-time and lead the White Frost away." Avallac'h's face darkened. He waved his hand, not even chanting any incantation, and cast a spell exclusive to elves. A bright screen appeared before him and Auberon, then it weaved lifelike scenes before them.

There were sounds of whistles and the stampeding of horses. A group of riders were riding through chaos, their horned helmets swaying with the wind, their crimson cloaks billowing behind them like outstretched flags. Cracks with dim light coming out of them appeared before the riders. They went in and out of the cracks, going from a dark realm to unknown domains.

An endless stretch of white ribbon was chasing the Red Riders. Death was always by their side, swift and unstoppable. The ribbon wrapped itself around their rusty armor and broken helm, covering them in a layer of white frost. The chill almost broke through the screen as the horses kept taking steps forward, rings of cold radiating from the riders, but they were determined.

They led the White Frost ahead, riding on the back of their steeds. And then, finally, another crossing into a crack later, they escaped the nightmare behind them, but the dark skies were severely damaged from all the teleportation. It was like a broken mirror held together by nothing but glue. Cracks were everywhere, and the place threatened to shatter and cave in. It felt like a great white creature was hiding behind the cracks, eyeing the riders with malice.

"As you can see, the riders managed to lead the White Frost away, but they had to create more cracks. The more cracks there are, the quicker the White Frost can gather. This stopgap measure will result in destruction eventually." Avallac'h picked up a chalice from the table and swirled its contents. "It's like using a cup to stop rain from falling to the ground. Once the chalice is filled, the water will overflow and drown our world, freezing everything within it."

Auberon nodded solemnly, his face filled with resignation and exhaustion. He looked older and more dejected than ever. "As I recall, the prophecy of the great sage, Ithlinne, proclaimed that no matter how much we fight the White Frost, it will eventually arrive. It is obvious the process has been hastened by a lot. Have you found out why?"

"You have led the tribe of Aen Seidhe for six hundred years. You should know that the White Frost is only interested in one thing. Since the beginning, it has hunted our tribe tirelessly, traveling from one world to the other. All to end that bloodline."

"The Elder Blood." Auberon rubbed his nose. His voice sounded even more dead now. There was resignation and exasperation in his eyes. "But Caranthir is the only pilot that was born to our tribe for the last one hundred years. And his bloodline is incomplete. It does not present enough attraction for the White Frost. It couldn't have hastened the process this much."

Avallac'h clenched his fists, his eyes flickering with passion. "We have enough reason to believe that the reason comes from the world of the witchers, where Aen Seidhe resides. The prophecy states that Zireael, one who could revive the world when the era of the White Frost is upon us, will be born. And now, that Zireael has awakened their Elder Blood, and she has awakened the bloodline a lot. She possesses a hundred times the power Lara Dorren or even us possess. Her existence is what drove the White Frost crazy."

"Zireael. You mean my daughter who was tricked by the brazen human sorcerer?" Auberon had a conflicted look in his eyes. There was tenderness and guilt. "Lara Dorren was supposed to be your betrothed."

"To be exact, it's her descendant." Avallac'h had hatred and love etched on his face. Sex was the biggest source of elven frustration. Over the course of their immortal lifespan, love between people of the same race became boring and unexciting. Some elves would fall for humans. They would be attracted and deceived by them. Lara Dorren, heir of the Elder Blood, was one of those elves, and the most famous one too. She was the culprit who let another world acquire the Elder Blood bloodline that was supposed to be kept within the Aen Elle tribe. She was also Ciri's ancestor.

Avallac'h heaved a long sigh. "Zireael is mature now. And besides fighting the White Frost, I've never stopped searching for her. Through many, many historical records, I've gleaned enough clues to find her whereabouts." The sage created another scene. It showed a family's bloodline in the shape of a pyramid. On the top part of that pyramid was something that read, 'Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal' and 'Creggenan of Lod.' The bloodline showed a few generations, including the sixth generation, Calanthe the Lioness of Cintra and her husband, Roegner de Salm.

The seventh generation was made up of Pavetta, princess of Cintra, and Duny (Emhyr var Emreis). The final line showed a name that read, 'Lion Cub of Cintra, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.’

Silence fell to the room. The ruler of the Wild Hunt and the sage who knew the Elder Blood most stared at that name, saying nothing. They fell into their memories.

"I have looked into the war for Cintra. Calanthe and her granddaughter, Ciri, bearer of the Elder Blood, disappeared. People of that world claimed that she had perished, but it’s not true. Caranthir, on multiple occasions, detected signs of the Elder Blood. In Novigrad, Maribor, and Skellige Isles. The strongest sign happened a few years ago, in Vicovaro in the South." Avallac'h paused, then he stood up, his eyes flaring brightly.

"It was as powerful as the ripple we felt hundreds of years ago, when our tribe's heir of the Elder Blood transported the Red Riders to other worlds. This is proof that our ancestor's bloodline remains in this world, and someone has awakened it fully."

Avallac'h looked at Auberon. "But I had to work with Eredin to lead the White Frost away for the last few years, so I had no time to handle this matter. Now that our crisis is averted for the time being, Your Majesty, I implore you to send our best troops with me to Aen Seidhe. We will bring home the tribe's long lost bloodline. We must spare no expense for this. Just sending the phantom knights of Wild Hunt through the gate is not enough. There are powerful humans who understand the value of the Elder Blood, and they will be our enemies."

Avallac'h pleaded, "I wish Eredin and Caranthir, our strongest pilot, to join hands and send the Red Riders over to that world in their physical forms. There, they will search for Ciri."

Over a few dozen millennia, the Red Riders were the pioneers of finding new dimensions. They were also the strongest warriors among Aen Elle. Not only did they have powerful martial arts and spells (humans learned their magic from elves), but a few of their members had learned how to harness the power of the White Frost in their long years of escaping it.

Once they used that power, everything would die. Auberon held the golden necklace around his neck. It was the symbol of a ruler. In the Elder Speech, it was called 'tor'h.'

A moment of musing later, Auberon's cheeks flushed red, as if he were hit somewhere tender. "When the Red Riders bring her back, then what? Avallac'h, don't tell me you agree with Eredin's idea of having me mate with a half-blood and create a new generation of Elder Blood bearers."

Avallac'h shook his head. "A shame, but the White Frost is fast approaching. It is unrealistic to impregnate her with your child on such short notice."

Auberon heaved a sigh of relief.

"The best option we have is to ask Zireael to work with Caranthir and take our tribe through the gate and move away from this world. We'll move away from the world Aen Seidhe resides in as well. Away from the coming ice age."

Auberon heaved a sigh. Ever since he was a child, the whole tribe was terrified of the White Frost. He was tired of this.

Avallac'h saw through him. He said, "As long as we have Zireael, we'll eventually find a way to deal with the White Frost once and for all."

"Go then, Avallac'h." Auberon turned around, facing the majestic lake again. He looked at the sun hanging high above. "Return Aen Elle to glory. Take Zireael back to the path she is supposed to take."

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