"Oh? Is Aren-baby upset Geralt didn't give him pocket money?" Triss cooed, tilting her head with exaggerated pity.
"Uh—no?" Aren blinked, genuinely confused. He had just been enjoying the sight of Ciri angrily poking Geralt in the shoulder about her not agreeing to Hogwarts yet. Geralt, of course, responded only with a grunt—which made Ciri even angrier.
"Well," Triss said sweetly, stepping closer, "if you say that I look like a young, beautiful sixteen-year-old maiden, I might… consider giving you something nice."
Aren fought the urge to sigh. Right—she definitely hadn't forgotten his jab about her age.
And he did need money for Hogwarts supplies. His measly stash of a few gold coins wouldn't cut it. Vesemir was practically broke, Geralt was allergic to banks, and Ciri was only newly rich. That left… Triss.
Time to swallow his pride.
"You're more beautiful than any girl I've ever seen, Triss," Aren said smoothly, flashing a charming smile. "Truly—like an innocent, unplucked virgin flower."
"PFFF—hahaha! Virgin—flower—!"
Vesemir nearly fell off his chair laughing.
Triss's eye twitched. "Old man, worry about keeping your joints intact first."
She flicked her wrist—her magic toppling Vesemir's chair and sending him to the ground with a thud.
Then she turned back to Aren, smiling radiantly.
"And thank you, Aren, for such an… honest compliment."
She reached into her satchel. "Someone asked me to deliver this to you."
Aren accepted the small brown pouch. "What is it? A pouch…? It's empty."
"Why don't you open it?" Triss said, amusement glinting in her eyes.
From her tone, Aren instantly realised that this was no ordinary bag. He loosened the drawstring and slipped his hand inside—
And kept going.
His arm sank in far deeper than any pouch should allow. When he pulled his hand back out, it was full of gleaming gold coins.
"…Whoa," he breathed, staring in awe.
He quickly stuffed the coins back inside, mentally screaming that he would count them later—privately.
"Eh? Is that a Bag of Holding—but small as a coin pouch?" Vesemir said, climbing back onto his feet.
"Yes," Triss said, pleased with herself. "You can store anything you don't want to carry around."
"Cool. I always thought carrying these swords was a pain in the ass," Aren muttered, grabbing his silver sword and casually lowering it toward the pouch.
"Haha, that's just a money bag, boy. A sword would be way too big for—eh!?"
The sword slid in smoothly and vanished without resistance.
Vesemir's jaw dropped.
Triss blinked once. Twice.
"…So it's not a basic Bag of Holding." She hurried over, eyes wide. "How many extension charms are layered on this thing?"
"You're the one who gave it to me," Aren said suspiciously. "Shouldn't you know?"
"No, I didn't check it." Triss frowned, studying the pouch with surprising seriousness. "It was sealed… meant specifically for you."
Vesemir whistled low. "Doesn't something like that cost a fortune?"
"Oh, absolutely," Triss said without looking up. "Judging by the spatial integrity, this is at least Type Two—possibly Type Three. If you sold it, you could buy a decent house in a major city like Whiterun… or maybe a small shop in King's Landing."
She handed the pouch back to Aren with a sigh.
"She really does spoil you."
"Hey, kid," Vesemir said immediately, strolling up with the smile of a man about to make a terrible suggestion, "how about we sell it? You can always buy yourself a big suitcase for school."
"Go away—your breath stinks," Aren said, pushing the old Witcher's face aside.
Then he turned to Triss. "She asked you to give this to me, right? So why didn't she just… give it herself?"
"Well…" Triss's smile turned awkward, eyes slipping away. She clearly wasn't going to answer.
Aren didn't push.
He already knew who had sent it.
Even if he had been just a baby fifteen years ago, he could still remember the first face he ever saw in this life—dark hair, violet eyes, and a beauty that no memory could ever blur.
He had never met her again.
And everyone always avoided talking about her.
Which only made the knot in his chest tighten with confusion… and frustration.
"Anyway, tell her I'm extremely grateful," Aren said with a small smile. He wasn't going to act like some brat and pretend he didn't need such a gift—especially when it was exactly what he lacked. "If a time ever comes in the future… I'll do my best to repay her."
"You're such a sweet kid," Triss said, reaching up to gently pinch his cheek. "Makes me want to gobble you right up."
Her teasing smile was quite seductive.
Aren only rolled his eyes and stepped aside to inspect the pouch properly—and more importantly, to see how much money he actually had.
"…Eighty gold coins," he muttered, eyebrows shooting up. "That's… insane."
That amount alone meant he wouldn't have to worry about finances for a long while.
"Hey, Vesemir said you got a magic pouch—show me!"
Ciri suddenly popped up behind him, hanging over his shoulder. "Oh, is that it?" She reached for it immediately.
"Ask before touching other people's stuff," Aren said, pulling the pouch out of her reach. "And weren't you arguing with Geralt just now?"
"Hmph. I decided I'll try going to that stupid school for a year," Ciri mumbled, still stretching to reach the pouch. "If I don't like it, I'm not staying. Geralt agreed."
She jumped, stretching harder. "Now show me the magic pouch!"
Aren sidestepped smoothly.
Ciri flopped onto the ground with an indignant grunt.
"Alright, you two. Stop fighting," Triss said sharply, clapping her hands once. "I don't have all day. Let's go finish your school shopping."
"Fine—I'm getting ready!" Ciri said, scrambling up and darting toward the small side cabin to find something to wear.
"Pick anything that isn't fancy!" Triss called after her.
"I think I'm already ready," Aren said, tightening the pouch at his waist. He had already stuffed all his gear inside—he was growing more attached to the little thing by the minute.
They still had to wait nearly half an hour before Ciri finally emerged from the cabin, spinning once in a white dress.
"I'm ready!" she announced, smiling brightly.
"Dear… I told you not to wear anything fancy," Triss sighed, rubbing her forehead. "You'll have to hide yourself under cloaks anyway."
She handed each of them a brown, plain travel cloak with a deep hood.
"But…" Ciri looked at her dress with deep betrayal, but after a moment she deflated and put on the cloak anyway.
"Alright. I'll bring them back before dark," Triss said, directing her words to Vesemir—standing outside with his arms crossed—and Geralt, leaning against the doorway.
"Hey, cheer up," Aren whispered to Ciri as she sulked beside him. "You still get to see the city you've been begging to visit."
He had even loaded all her weapons and money into his pouch for her—she looked too defeated to carry anything herself.
"Yeah, but I wanted to go to the festival," Ciri grumbled. "Not walk around some tiny city dressed like a fugitive."
"I'm sure you'll love this place too," Aren said, unable to hide the excited grin tugging at his lips.
"We'll see," she muttered. "And why are we walking? Can't we take the horses? Or one of your portals?"
"Portals are traceable, dear," Triss said, glancing back with a small smile. "We walk until we're far enough from here… then I'll open one."
"Oh. That makes sense," Ciri said, nodding.
Triss continued talking as she led them down the forest path.
"You know… I'm still shocked Geralt agreed to send you to Hogwarts," she mused. "Yes, it's safe—but it's not the only safe school. There's Aretuza—the all-girls academy where I studied. Beauxbatons is prestigious. There are several excellent magic schools outside Westeros if you wanted distance."
She huffed. "And what baffles me most is that I asked him to send you to a magic school just last month. I told him plainly that teaching you was beyond my ability… and he rejected the idea immediately. So what changed?"
Ciri shrugged helplessly. "I asked him the same thing. But neither Geralt nor Vesemir will say."
Aren couldn't help the faint, wry smile tugging at his lips.
He had a very good idea what changed Geralt's mind.
Him.
After Ciri's powers had flared uncontrollably again—and after another one of their safe houses had been attacked just last month—everyone had been shaken. Geralt and Vesemir had been at a loss for what to do, and Ciri had been crushed with guilt, blaming herself for all of it.
That was when Aren had finally gathered the courage to tell Geralt and Vesemir some of what he knew about Ciri… from his meta knowledge.
He had avoided doing so for months.
Partly because this merged world wasn't identical to the Witcher games or the series—so his knowledge could very well be completely wrong.
And partly because he had no way to explain how he knew any of it without sounding insane.
But watching Ciri fall apart, he knew staying silent would haunt him later.
So he told them.
Not everything—just the parts that mattered.
He told Geralt that Ciri's Elder Blood wasn't simple magic, but part of an ancient elven genetic experiment on her ancestors—elves not of this world, but another entirely.
Elves powerful enough to cross worlds—and powerful enough to hunt her for it.
He told them they were nearly unstoppable to anyone except someone with Elder Blood.
And he told them another truth:
that the Emperor of Nilfgaard—Emhyr var Emreis—might be Ciri's own father, and that he could be hunting her as well.
He didn't mention the world-ending prophecy tied to her.
That was too much for now.
When Vesemir asked how Aren knew all this, Aren simply said… he couldn't tell them.
He didn't try to lie with some "prophetic dream" excuse—he was terrified magic would expose it instantly.
He fully expected them to laugh it off.
Instead, both Witchers had exchanged a heavy, knowing look.
Geralt had stood up, said he needed to speak with someone, and left for several days.
When he returned, he said nothing—only insisted they immediately leave the old house and move here.
Aren had a theory.
Geralt must have gone to confirm what he said—about Elder blood—and found proof.
Enough proof that he finally agreed to send Ciri to Hogwarts, where she could learn to control her power… for the threats that might one day come for her.
Aren was still lost in that thought when Triss suddenly stopped walking
"We're far enough," she said, turning to Ciri. "Now, dear, put these on."
She handed over a pair of small crystal earrings.
"A gift? Thank you! I can't even remember the last time I wore jewelry," Ciri said, smiling as she took them.
"They're not just pretty trinkets. They're enchanted. Here—watch."
Triss lifted Ciri's hood, placed the earrings onto her ears, and they clicked into place with a soft magical hum.
"Ugh, I don't have a mirror…" Ciri muttered.
"Here," Triss said, producing a handheld mirror from her pouch.
Aren raised an eyebrow. So she had a Bag of Holding too.
Ciri held the mirror up and gasped. "They're beautiful! Thank you, Triss."
"Good. Now pull your right ear," Triss instructed.
"Like this?" Ciri tugged lightly—
And Aren's eyes widened as her ash-grey hair, usually shimmering like silver in the sun, suddenly dulled into a plain, muddy grey.
"W–what!?" Ciri sputtered, staring at her changed reflection.
"It's a minor glamour enchantment, it can work the whole day by siphoning a very small amount of your magic," Triss explained. "Pull your left ear to switch it back. Your natural hair color is far too distinct—you need something like this to help you blend in."
Ciri tried it, watched her hair shift back, and sighed. "Thanks… I guess."
"Keep your hood up anyway," Triss warned, her tone turning serious. "The place we're going to is crowded. All sorts of people gather there—and not all of them are kind. Some may have seen your wanted posters. They won't hesitate to try their luck."
Ciri nodded.
Then Triss turned to Aren. "You too. Hood up."
"Why me?" Aren blinked. "No one's hunting me."
"Just do as I say," she said sharply.
Aren shut his mouth and obeyed.
"Good."
Triss lifted her hands, murmuring a spell in the Elder Speech. The air shimmered and tore open into a glowing portal humming with magic.
She stepped through first.
Ciri and Aren exchanged a glance—hers nervous, his buzzing with anticipation.
Then they followed her in.
Aren's heart raced.
At long last…
he was finally going to see Diagon Alley.