King Foltest's 'epiphany' regarding the mountain pass rippled through the Temerian court with the speed of wildfire. His advisors, initially hesitant to abandon conventional strategies, found themselves inexplicably swayed by the King's unshakeable conviction. Aizen's subtle yet potent Kyōka Suigetsu had planted a seed so firmly within Foltest's mind that it blossomed into an undeniable truth, radiating outward to influence his most trusted inner circle. Orders were swiftly dispatched, troops redirected, and a strategic gamble that would have been dismissed as reckless mere days prior was now embraced as a stroke of tactical genius.
Triss Merigold, a sorceress of considerable power and a loyal confidante to the King, was among the most observant. She watched Foltest with a critical eye, sensing a subtle aberration in his aura, a faint shimmer around his resolve that was not quite right. His conviction felt too absolute, too sudden, lacking the usual nuanced debate that preceded his major strategic decisions. Her enhanced magical senses, honed over decades, picked up the ghost of an unfamiliar, almost imperceptible spiritual resonance clinging to the King, a residual echo of a power alien to the Continent's known magic. It was a fleeting, unsettling sensation, like a false note in a familiar melody.
Her gaze inevitably fell upon Alaric, who moved with an unnerving grace through the bustling halls of the temporary court established at Seraphina's estate. The boy was always quiet, always observing, his amber eyes too old, too knowing. Triss found herself studying him when she thought he wasn't looking, a faint suspicion coiling in her gut. She attempted a subtle mental probe, a gentle brush of her own magical presence against his aura, seeking to understand the anomaly.
Aizen felt the cautious, almost timid, psychic touch. He allowed it to pass through him, presenting merely the expected shield of an innocent, slightly bewildered child's mind – a mind preoccupied with the grim realities of war, perhaps, but nothing more. Simultaneously, he subtly twisted Triss's own perception of the event. He caused her to feel a sudden, profound wave of fatigue and self-doubt, making her dismiss her suspicions as the ravings of an overtired mind, the stress of war playing tricks on her senses. The faint, alien resonance she had detected became, in her perception, merely the residual static of distant magical conflicts. She chastised herself for her paranoia, retreating into the mundane.
Primitive, Aizen mused, a cold satisfaction unfurling within him. Even their most perceptive are easily misled when their own beliefs can be used against them. Triss's magic, while powerful, was rooted in predictable elemental forces and a reliance on sensory input that Kyōka Suigetsu effortlessly bypassed. She perceived the world as it presented itself, unaware that he was carefully curating that presentation.
With Triss neutralized as a threat for the time being, Alaric solidified his 'insightful' presence at court. Nobles, witnessing Foltest's renewed vigor and decisive action, began to vaguely associate it with the quiet boy who seemed to possess an unnerving wisdom. They'd subtly seek his glance, hoping to divine some hidden truth, or remark on his thoughtful demeanor. Aizen subtly encouraged these notions, appearing at opportune moments, offering a silent nod here, a brief, meaningful glance there, always reinforcing the perception of a profound, unspoken understanding. He was not an advisor; he was an oracle of fabricated truth.
His research continued unabated. With access to the King's personal, highly guarded library – a privilege subtly granted to him by Foltest, who wanted "his little genius" to have every resource – Aizen delved into classified military reports, confidential diplomatic correspondences, and even a few ancient, politically sensitive grimoires that hinted at the true, devastating power of Elder Blood lineages and their connection to the very fabric of dimensional travel. He sought anything that could directly or indirectly lead him to Ciri, or to a deeper understanding of the power that resided within her. He also found unsettling references to ancient, powerful beings that occasionally surfaced from beyond the Spheres, entities that held power far exceeding anything known on the Continent – potential obstacles, or even new sources of power to be analyzed and absorbed.
The war itself escalated. Foltest's strategic shift, guided by Aizen, indeed yielded a temporary tactical advantage against a particular Nilfgaardian vanguard. The Northern forces, buoyed by this small victory, hailed the King's brilliance. But Aizen knew the true cost. This temporary success was merely a distraction, a brief respite before the inevitable. He saw the larger picture: Nilfgaard's relentless advance, the dwindling resources of the North, the inherent weaknesses of their leadership. He calculated the exact moment for their inevitable collapse, not to prevent it, but to perfectly position himself amidst the ashes.
The Continent was a vast, complex mechanism of power, conflict, and illusion. And Aizen, a small, unassuming boy with eyes that saw far more than anyone knew, was quietly, patiently, tuning every gear, adjusting every spring, preparing it for the glorious, violent crescendo that would herald his absolute reign. The King was a pawn, the sorceress a blinded guardian, and the entire kingdom a stage for his unfolding genius.