At night, on the second floor of the Lindenvale inn, beneath the roaring noise of drinking contests and the clatter of dice and gambling downstairs, a knock sounded at the door—tap, tap.
The door opened. Angoulême accepted the meal tray with both hands and smiled. "Thank you, Brave Charlie."
Charlie, the owner of the Lindenvale inn, bared a horrifying grin in return, then headed back downstairs.
His face had taken a sword cut during the Battle of Brenna. His nose had nearly been split in two, the torn flesh twisted and vicious-looking—so people called him "Brave Charlie."
That nickname carried two meanings: one praised Charlie for fighting fearlessly enough to get his face carved open; the other meant that if you wanted to look at that ruined face without flinching, you had to be pretty brave yourself.
Angoulême set the tray on the table, then handed the milk and bread to Victor. "So you're saying that once this mess blows over, we can swagger right back into Temeria like nothing happened?"
Victor lifted the milk and took a long gulp first. "Yes. On the ride here I kept thinking about why no warrant was issued, and about the whole chain of cause and effect. In the end, I'm sure of it: going back to Vizima might be a little annoying, because I offended Director Thaler too hard. But everywhere else in Temeria, we can move freely."
After Victor laid it out, Angoulême finally understood what had happened more than ten days ago—why the Bond Seven Plan had suddenly been activated, and all the subtle dangers woven through it.
"Then you said you figured out a lot through meditation. What was it?"
Victor set the cup down and let out a long breath. The seriousness in his face made Angoulême straighten up and take him seriously too.
"Mm… you know how people say times change, and people change with them.
"Before I entered Vizima, my goal was to learn traditional alchemy and find the right formula to make a safe Grass Draught.
"But in that city I met a lot of people, and a lot happened. And in the end, I found a doorway toward mastery through something as simple as making the Batman outfit.
"And if I can become a master of miraculous alchemy, I won't have to torment myself over how to mix the Grass Draught anymore.
"It'd be like brewing Swallow: throw every ingredient we know works into the pot, stir, strip away the side effects, and the finished product becomes exactly what I need. No need to agonize over complicated interactions, stabilizers, counteragents, or balancing tricks—simple as making tomato soup."
Angoulême listened with a stunned expression, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She nodded.
"So the situation shifts to one question—how to become a master of miraculous alchemy.
"I told you before: my grandmother liked helping people, my third aunt loved traveling, and I like freedom. Now I'm going to fuse those three together—travel freely, roam wherever I want, and do things that help people.
"The original plan of keeping a low profile got turned into a complete mess by Dandelion. If he hadn't dragged us into trouble, we could've lived in Vizima until I reached real mastery.
"But this isn't bad either. That city has too many conspiracies wrapped around it, and forces you can't possibly match. It's not a place for a straightforward, sincere young man like me to live."
After saying that, he lifted the milk again to wet his throat and swallowed down bread.
Angoulême blinked and decided not to comment on "straightforward, sincere." After being separated and meeting again, it was obvious the boss, tempered by meditation, no longer felt like hiding his strange humor and even stranger sense of aesthetics.
The outfit he wore now did look good—just far too loud. She really didn't want him to lose his mind and insist on making her a matching set. The last time, that "Catwoman" thing had left her traumatized.
"Alright… then let's talk about what happened this afternoon. Why did you suddenly say you were going to open a shop, and why invite Yoana to be the master?"
Victor set down his empty cup, closed his eyes, and stayed quiet for a long while before speaking.
"It's time to tell you. I'm a prophet. I can see fragments of the future."
Prophecy wasn't rare in the witcher world. Almost everyone had heard of Ithlinne's Prophecy, or the Curse of the Black Sun that had caused countless tragedies. And more recently, Jacques de Aldersberg had preached about the end of the world as well.
Victor wasn't the type who avoided nonsense—no, correction, he loved talking nonsense. But when he spoke like this, at moments like this, there was usually at least some credibility to it.
So Angoulême asked calmly, "What kind of prophecy?"
"Certain people or events can trigger visions for me," Victor said. "Like today, when you were arguing with Fergus, I suddenly saw that woman was the real master—then I saw her forging armor for us at Crow's Perch in the southwest.
"I can't explain why the image showed Crow's Perch. I can only guess they might end up working there later."
Angoulême nodded. "That explains why you were willing to wait ten days in the village. But if we invite them to Novigrad now, does that mean the prophecy stops being true? Is changing the future really that easy?"
Victor opened his eyes, looking at a "future he'd already changed"—a living, breathing present right in front of him.
He answered softly, "Some futures are easy to change. They can even shift suddenly, without warning. But some futures… no one can do anything about. That's the inevitability of history. Or you could call it fate."
...
That afternoon, thanks to the enthusiastic introductions of the two kings—Foltest and Radovid the Fifth—Yoana agreed to join Victor and Angoulême and head to Novigrad to start a new venture.
After that, Victor took Fergus in as well, offering him wages at one quarter of what Yoana would earn. Partly because he'd squeezed Yoana for years—or if you preferred, he'd "looked after" her—and as a fire-tending assistant, he was still useful.
And partly because even in Novigrad, having Fergus around would save trouble. Most people refused to believe a human woman could forge truly fine weapons. They superstitiously trusted dwarven work.
Still, closing down the smithy would take time, and the materials needed to be sorted and cleared out. So Victor placed orders with Yoana: a new steel sword and a silver sword, two sets of heavy leather armor, and iron plates that could be fitted into the "Van Helsing" outfit.
The "Van Helsing" outfit was flamboyant, but it looked good—balanced right on the edge of what people of this era could still accept as "fashion."
...
Back on the subject of prophecy, Angoulême asked with curiosity, "So what other fragments have you seen, Boss?"
Victor shrugged, leaned back with casual ease, and started speaking as if it cost him nothing.
"I've seen Nilfgaard marching north. I've seen Aedirn fall, Temeria fall, and Velen turned into wasteland…
"I've seen the North launch witch hunts, and the mages driven to disaster…
"And I've seen the Wild Hunt tearing across the sky…"
At that point Victor stopped with a grin, because Angoulême was looking at him like he was an idiot.
The boss really was good at spouting nonsense, she thought, shaking her head.
Then she yawned. "Thanks for your prophecy. I'm going back to sleep. I can't wait to get to Novigrad."
Victor watched her leave, then lightly nudged his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"How much of your fate can I change… and how much fate can I change at all?"
...
At the same time, outside the city of Ellander—at the Temple of Melitele.
Rain hammered down in sheets and thunder rolled, just like the weather on the day that side-parted boy had first placed "that thing" in her hands.
Nenneke adjusted her plump body, searching for a more comfortable position in the armchair that looked like a throne.
Tonight's visitor to the High Priestess was a druid. He had come from far away, from Skellige, to the Temple of Melitele for one reason: to request a secret medicine that had recently risen sharply in fame among the upper circles of the Northern Kingdoms.
He bowed.
"Honored lady—Megatron. I've come for it."
Lightning flashed, throwing his face into alternating light and shadow.
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