The triumphant return to Vizima, Temeria's bustling capital, was a carefully orchestrated spectacle of military prowess and royal authority. King Foltest rode at the head of his victorious vanguard, his chest swelled with a renewed confidence. General Natalis, pragmatic as ever, analyzed the strategic implications of their recent success, attributing it solely to his refined logistical insights. Triss Merigold, though still harboring a faint, unidentifiable unease, was fully engrossed in the court's political machinations, her suspicions about Alaric momentarily overshadowed by the dizzying currents of power. Aizen, in his role as the quiet, exceptionally insightful ward of Lady Seraphina, was a silent passenger in this procession, observing every facet of the grand illusion he had set in motion.
Vizima itself was a revelation, even for Aizen. Unlike Dravograd's provincial bustle or Seraphina's secluded estate, Vizima was a true heart of power. Its massive stone walls, sprawling market districts, and imposing royal castle pulsed with a vibrant, complex network of ambition, intrigue, and desperation. Mages and nobles of higher standing congregated here, their auras brighter, their political games more intricate. This was the stage Aizen truly craved, a nexus of influence far greater than any he had previously controlled.
His primary objective upon arrival was to secure unfettered access to Vizima's Royal Library and Archives. Reputed to be one of the largest on the Continent, it promised a wealth of information far exceeding anything he had yet encountered – forbidden lore, ancient magical treatises, detailed records of inter-kingdom espionage, and perhaps even the most obscure references to the true nature of the Conjunction of Spheres and the Elder Blood. Leveraging Foltest's newfound trust and Natalis's pragmatic nods of approval, coupled with Lady Seraphina's fervent, if subtly influenced, endorsements, Alaric found himself swiftly granted privileges within the royal archives typically reserved for the highest scholars.
His days became a relentless pursuit of knowledge. He devoured texts on advanced magical theory, dissecting the intricate rituals of the highest mages, searching for the underlying principles of their power and, more importantly, their inherent limitations. He found tantalizing, if cryptic, references to extra-dimensional entities, beings whose very presence could warp reality, confirming his own growing theories about the true architects of this world's chaotic events. He sought any and all information on Ciri, piecing together the fragments of her movements since Cintra's fall, tracing the whispers of her Elder Blood's chaotic manifestations. Every detail, every rumor, every ancient prophecy related to her became a crucial data point in his grand equation.
Aizen also began to focus his Kyōka Suigetsu on the more prominent figures of the Vizima court. Count Vissig, a powerful, but notoriously indecisive, member of the Royal Council, became an early target. Vissig was perpetually plagued by self-doubt, constantly seeking validation. Aizen subtly influenced his perception, making him 'see' specific strategic documents in a more favorable light, 'hear' phantom words of approval from imagined allies during crucial debates, and 'feel' an inexplicable surge of confidence when making decisions that aligned with Aizen's hidden agenda. Vissig, convinced of his own newfound clarity, became a surprisingly effective, if unwitting, advocate for policies that further destabilized Temeria's external alliances, playing directly into Aizen's hands.
Triss Merigold, now residing within the castle, found herself inexplicably drawn into a whirlwind of political crises – minor rebellions instigated by subtly manipulated local lords, unexpected Nilfgaardian incursions in previously quiet sectors, and a sudden, bizarre resurgence of monster activity in regions far from the front lines. These were all diversions orchestrated by Aizen, minor chaos designed to consume her formidable magical and investigative talents, keeping her attention firmly away from his own clandestine activities. She would exhaust herself combating these fabricated threats, never once suspecting their true source.
One evening, as the court buzzed with news of a particularly bold Nilfgaardian raid far behind Temerian lines – a raid that had, in fact, been subtly guided by Aizen through falsified intelligence reaching Nilfgaardian scouts – Triss passed Alaric in a quiet corridor. Her eyes, tired but still sharp, met his. She felt that familiar, chilling void, that sense of something utterly wrong that defied her understanding. This time, however, Aizen didn't just deflect her. He briefly, almost imperceptibly, allowed a sliver of his true aura – a momentary flash of unfathomable spiritual pressure, cold and vast as the void – to emanate from him, only to snatch it back before her mind could fully process it.
Triss stumbled, a gasp catching in her throat. Her eyes widened, not with fear, but with a profound, existential terror. The air around her felt impossibly heavy for a single, fleeting second, as if the very concept of her magic had been rendered meaningless. Then, it was gone, replaced by the familiar castle air. She clutched her head, her mind reeling, trying to reconcile what her heightened senses had perceived with what logic dictated was impossible. She dismissed it as a sudden, overwhelming magical surge from the ongoing war, a manifestation of the Continent's suffering. But the memory, raw and terrifying, lingered at the edge of her sanity.
Aizen observed her reaction with a detached, clinical interest. He was testing his limits, pushing the boundaries of what this world's most powerful mages could withstand before their minds broke. Triss was resilient, more so than he anticipated, but even she was susceptible to carefully applied psychological warfare. Vizima was his greatest challenge yet, a grand theatre where he would pull the strings of kings, generals, and mages, all moving towards the inevitable crescendo of his ultimate, unseen ascension. The city, unbeknownst to its inhabitants, had become a massive, intricate puppet show, and Aizen, the master puppeteer, was ready for his final, glorious performance.