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Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon – Leyndell Palace – The Lands Between.

Peace.

That was the only thing Ciri could feel at this moment, an absolute sense of peace and tranquility unlike anything she had experienced since her childhood in Cintra, when everything had been so much simpler.

She was lying in a bed, one so unbelievably comfortable that the young princess never wanted to wake up. It was as though she were sleeping upon a cloud.

Though... Ciri felt as if she were forgetting something important, if she were honest with herself. She tried to remember, but the bed and the overwhelming sensation of peace were simply too much for her exhausted body.

However, just as Ciri was about to drift back to sleep, a deep, powerful male voice reached her ears.

"You say she was in the marketplace during the Festival? Hidden among the alleyways?"

That... voice. Ciri was accustomed to voices like that. The voices of Kings.

Masculine voices accustomed to commanding.

And suddenly, everything came rushing back to her like a lightning bolt. The pursuit, the hunt, Eredin.

The young princess awoke with a scream, desperately searching for her sword.

"AHHHHHG!" she cried out in confusion, falling from the bed and frantically looking around her, unable to find the trusted instrument of death her beloved Father had gifted her.

"Where... where am I?" the princess asked, looking around in astonishment, overlooking, at least for the moment...

It was... the most luxurious room Ciri had seen in a very long time, certainly far superior to the pigsties she had lived in while fleeing from Eredin and his hounds. Everything around her proclaimed a single thing.

Luxury.

Even her old chamber in Cintra looked like a filthy shack compared to these walls, the young Lioness thought as she quickly surveyed the room.

For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming. The chamber was enormous, more like the grand hall of a palace than a bedroom. The black marble floor, polished to the point that it reflected every flame dancing within the candelabras, moved with a gentle, hypnotic rhythm that captivated the young princess. Towering columns of dark stone supported a ceiling lost among elegant shadows, where a crystal chandelier bathed everything in a warm amber glow.

Ciri was no sorceress, but even with her limited understanding of magic she could recognize the monstrous amount of magical power surrounding her. She had no idea where she was, but it was the most magical place she had ever set foot in, even more so than Tir ná Lia.

The young woman shook her head and focused on the room's enormous window, beyond which stretched a majestic balcony protected by a translucent magical barrier, golden filaments floating through the air as though woven from light itself. Curiously, they emitted only a delicate glow, just enough to remind anyone that no danger could cross that threshold without permission.

Beyond that magical protection stretched an unknown city. Enormous stone towers, elevated bridges connecting them, and endless arcane spires emerged from the night mist. Without a doubt, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed.

To one side rested an elegant purple velvet sofa beside a small black wooden table carved with barely visible runes. Nearby stood a discreet bookcase filled with ancient leather-bound tomes, some secured with silver clasps, others engraved with arcane symbols that seemed to pulse gently beneath the candlelight.

"Are you done?" a masculine voice asked, unmistakable amusement coloring his tone, along with the overwhelming power hidden within those simple words.

Ciri turned toward the source of the voice, and the sight before her stole her breath away.

The Princess of Cintra swallowed hard at the imposing man standing before her. Her lips moved, yet no words emerged.

"I am Harry, Lord of this Land. What is your name, traveler?" he asked curiously, and the mere sound of his voice made Ciri shudder beneath the monstrous magical power radiating from this being.

He was tall, even taller than the Aen Elle, perhaps nearly three meters in height. He wore a black robe tailored perfectly to his frame, embroidered with delicate golden threads imbued with magic. His posture radiated serenity and absolute authority. His eyes, one emerald green and the other golden, possessed an almost supernatural intensity, bordering on divinity itself, as though they could pierce straight through one's soul with a single glance.

This man... was a sorcerer. That much was obvious. And a powerful one at that. Ciri would have to be extremely careful not to offend such a mighty being.

He wore no crown. Yet he had no need for one.

Remembering her manners and blushing furiously, the young princess answered.

"I... I'm Ciri," she said calmly, holding her breath as she watched the imposing man approach and gently caress her cheek.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Ciri," he said softly, and the young Lioness could not help but sigh as she felt the handsome King's warm, magical touch.

A moment later, a golden arcane radiance flowed from his hand, coursing through Ciri's exhausted body like a river of liquid light. The beautiful yet battered young woman felt the dust, exhaustion, and scars of a lifetime of misery and pursuit vanish completely as the magic purified every corner of her body. Her old, worn leathers dissolved into countless tiny golden particles, leaving her completely naked and exposed before the King's openly interested gaze.

Ciri blushed instantly, yet she made no attempt to cover herself. The sensation of his magic was simply too intoxicating to interrupt whatever he was doing. Besides, a part of her found herself enjoying the unmistakable desire she saw in the gaze of such a powerful man.

It was nothing like Eredin's or Avallac'h's obsession with her blood or her lineage. This man desired not the descendant of Lara Dorren... but her, the woman.

Something... entirely new, and extraordinarily appealing to the young princess.

She felt her old scars, her battle wounds, even her tattoo... everything vanished completely, restoring her body to one that was practically perfect and untouched, revitalizing her as she had never been before.

A moment later, the magic began working once more, and Ciri felt... golden threads appearing across her now flawless body, weaving themselves into a gown of black silk and gold, with an elegant neckline and bare shoulders, adorned with delicate arcane embroidery that shimmered with a faint glow.

"Much better," the handsome man said, nodding to himself as he admired Ciri's now perfect figure, while she herself continued marveling at her new attire.

"Thank you... but... I have no way to repay you for this," she confessed, hoping he would not demand that she lie with him in exchange for his generosity, though if she were honest... the notion did not entirely displease her.

The man made a dismissive gesture and replied,

"I have no need for wealth, only information, my dear. Follow me, please. I find myself... curious about your arrival."

The man spoke as though it were only natural that Ciri would obey him.

Lord Harry turned around and began walking, and the young adventurer naturally followed behind him, relieved not to see any guards nearby.

The two walked in silence through corridors so immense they made everything Ciri had ever known in her own world seem insignificant. Vast hallways, at least ten meters high, lined with enormous magical doors and elevated walkways that granted the young woman breathtaking views of the magnificent city in which she now found herself.

She had never seen anything so marvelous in her life, and apparently her amazement did not escape the handsome ruler.

"Leyndell, the capital of the Lands Between, sheltered at the foot of the Erdtree, the Alpha of Alphas," Lord Harry declared with complete calm to the astonished Ciri.

"It is... simply beautiful. The most magnificent city I have ever seen," the young woman confessed before continuing on her way. The remainder of the walk passed in almost complete silence, something Ciri appreciated, as it allowed her to organize her thoughts.

Some time later, the pair arrived at an immense chamber illuminated by a central image, an arcane representation of the very tree Ciri had just seen outside. To the princess's fascination, the tree seemed to multiply rapidly, at the same pace as a familiar white mist consumed them, repeating in an endless cycle of creation and destruction.

And everything revolved around the golden tree, the Erdtree, as Lord Harry had called it.

"Allow me to clarify the situation for you, my dear," Lord Potter said as he elegantly waved his hand, causing all the other trees to disappear entirely until only the magnificent projection of the Erdtree remained.

"This is the Erdtree, the one that shelters Leyndell. As you can see, I have taken it upon myself to protect it from dimensional incursions," the handsome man explained as a sort of... barrier appeared around it.

"A powerful and complicated spell, but an extremely useful one, designed specifically to prevent the arrival of people from outside this reality... people like you," he said calmly before focusing his gaze upon the now nervous Ciri, who was beginning to understand exactly where this conversation was headed.

"How did you get through it?" he asked curiously, while making it abundantly clear that he expected an honest answer.

And quickly.

"I... well... that's... a long story... my Lord," Ciri admitted sheepishly, feeling like a little girl again for some strange reason.

The handsome man's response? A simple wave of his hand, causing two comfortable and luxurious chairs to appear in the center of the chamber.

"I have all the time in the world, and apparently, so do you. You didn't seem surprised by the strange magic that has been destroying worlds without end... you're familiar with it, aren't you?" Lord Harry asked as he gracefully took a seat, a gesture Ciri mirrored.

"I am. In my world, it's called the White Frost... the Destroyer of Worlds," she replied with a sigh, preparing herself for what was clearly going to be a long conversation.

Lord Harry leaned forward, looking directly into Ciri's eyes, and commanded,

"Tell me everything."

Ciri nodded, knowing they would be here for quite some time.

And who knew... perhaps... just perhaps, Lord Potter might be able to help her rid herself of the Wild Hunt once and for all.

Only time would tell.

Fleur Delacour, Potter Manor – Britain.

"Are you ready, dear?" Apolline, asked with a smile, looking at Fleur with unmistakable pride.

The young Delacour returned the smile, swallowing nervously. Today was the day Lord Harry would meet the Conclave in person.

A few days had passed since Fleur and the rest of the novices had returned from the magnificent Leyndell, and the young French woman's heart already longed to return to what she now considered her true home.

The magic... so pure and powerful. The city. The Erdtree...

Merlin, the magnificent orgy in the Golden Plaza... Gods, that place had been paradise for a Veela like her, a true home where she could walk freely, without worries beyond experimenting with magic and pleasing her Lord.

"I am, Matriarch," Fleur answered resolutely as she admired the beautiful gown she was wearing.

Although calling it a gown was... being far too generous in her opinion, the French witch thought with a quiet giggle as she twirled before the mirror, admiring herself.

Fleur had always been vain. It was not something she was ashamed of—quite the opposite. She knew she was beautiful, and she knew she was far too much woman for the majority of wizards in the magical world.

She was a witch of exceptional pedigree. Her Veela blood guaranteed an ethereal beauty bordering upon divinity, while the genes of her beloved, though deceased, father provided an outstanding economic and academic legacy, making her both beautiful and deadly.

She had always had suitors, yet none of them had ever been truly interesting. Rich or poor, weak or powerful, wizards greatly overestimated themselves in her opinion, and Fleur had always been extremely selective about those she associated with.

A fortunate thing, considering that her long wait had been rewarded by placing Harry Potter in her path.

Or rather... by placing her in Lord Potter's path, Fleur thought with a smile, sighing and shivering as she felt the powerful Potter magic caress her body, just as a masculine voice made itself heard.

"Fleur, Apolline, I see you're both ready," Lord Potter said, his tone revealing how pleased he was with the outfits chosen for this evening.

Both of them turned toward their Lord, immediately dropping to their knees in submission.

"My Lord," they both said, awaiting instructions, both eager to hear words of approval from the Golden Lion.

Lord Harry let out an amused snort before replying.

"On your feet, my dears. Let me have a look at you," he commanded, his voice soft and seductive, laden with promise and meaning that shook Fleur to her very core.

Both Veela obeyed, straightening their proud backs while Lord Potter inspected them.

"I understand why the Veela consider themselves superior to other witches. You are... perfection incarnate," Lord Harry whispered. His immense height towered effortlessly over Fleur and Apolline, both of whom failed to suppress a moan as they felt his heavy, powerful hands gently caress their breasts.

Fleur knew she looked spectacular. Her hair, long, straight, and shining like a nocturnal star, flowed like a cascade of platinum silk, reaching all the way to the floor and reflecting the light like strands of moonlight, despite the fact that they were indoors.

The beautiful maiden's blue eyes were filled with anticipation, already knowing how this visit to the Veela Conclave would end. Delicate silver tattoos traced their way across her bare arms and legs, glowing with a faint arcane radiance, a magical inheritance from her ancestors, imbued with the power of the Moon, the origin of Veela magic. Her ceremonial robe barely concealed her ethereal elegance, making her appear almost divine. One careless movement and Fleur would expose her freshly shaved and oiled womanhood before her beloved Lord.

Apolline was dressed in a similar fashion, much to the obvious delight of her Lord, who rewarded them both with gentle pinches to their nipples, sending delicious magic directly toward the mischievous Veelas' womanhoods.

"It is time. The Matriarchs are waiting, and I wish to complete the Veela's submission before I lay siege to Azkaban, my loves," Aemon ordered, causing both women to nod as they gracefully took hold of their Lord's arm.

Fleur inhaled deeply as she watched the golden threshold open before her. With practiced elegance, she walked through the magical passage, directly toward the arrival grounds of the Veela Conclave.

For a brief moment her vision blurred, before giving way to the sight that never failed to steal her breath away.

"Welcome to the Veela Conclave, my Lord," Fleur said proudly, her face filled with satisfaction as she watched her Lord admire the beauty surrounding him.

"It is... extraordinarily beautiful, Fleur," he said cautiously, studying his surroundings with obvious interest.

Before the eyes of the three visitors rose a magical metropolis that could only be described as impossible, carved entirely from white marble and bathed in a silvery light that enhanced the mysticism of everything around it.

Monumental terraces descended alongside crystalline waterfalls, flowering gardens, and turquoise pools, while elegant pavilions crowned with crystal domes gleamed atop the cliffs.

Countless statues stood watch over the pathways, notable Veela of ages past, entirely nude and forever dancing to the melody of the waterfalls, an eternal and mesmerizing dance that granted the place an almost divine serenity.

Something that, apparently, Lord Harry was also able to perceive.

"This place... the magic is ancient and powerful, yet decaying. I sense divinity, but it fades with every passing moment, a shame" he said with unmistakable sadness, just as three mature women approached them. Their robes resembled those worn by Fleur and Apolline, yet they were adorned with jewels and silk veils, clearly marking their superior rank within the Conclave.

Upon reaching them, the three women inclined their heads before Lord Potter in a gesture of respect, though not one of submission, at least not yet. That would come later, once the Oath and the ritual had taken place.

The foremost Matriarch stepped forward, spread her arms in welcome, and spoke.

"My Lord, welcome to the Veela Conclave, the home and sanctuary of all the daughters of Aphrodite. It is a true pleasure to have you here today, for I find myself in need of requesting your aid and your protection," the woman said, her voice heavy with desperation, causing Fleur to develop a terrible feeling.

Lord Potter frowned, took a step forward, and asked,

"Protection? Are you in danger? Is something threatening you, Matriarch?" he asked, while his magic began to spread throughout the entire place.

The Veela nodded in resignation before answering.

"An incursion, carried out by the Ministry's wizards and led by Gustave Malfoy. Our defenses are under siege and may collapse at any moment. Our sisters most skilled in battle are reinforcing the passage leading to the Conclave, but the enemy is numerous. Please, exterminate our foes. Protect the daughters of the Moon, and both the Conclave and every one of my sisters shall be yours," the woman pleaded, at the very same moment a tremendous impact shook the entire Conclave, causing the ancient wards to flare brilliantly for an instant, weak and on the verge of giving way.

Something that, evidently, Lord Potter had no intention of allowing.

"Fleur, prepare everything for my return. Inform the Matriarchs of what will happen when I come back," his Lord commanded before vanishing on the spot.

Leaving behind a young Veela with a demanding, yet deeply satisfying task.

To prepare everything for her Lord's return... and the official vassalage of the Veela Nation to Leyndell.

The Matriarch looked first at her mother and then at Fleur before cautiously asking,

"What does our Lord require of us? What is the plan?" she asked, clearly relieved that they once again had a protector among them.

Fleur merely smiled, looked toward her mother with amusement, and replied.

"You will know soon enough, Matriarch. For now, we must prepare everything for the Ascension. Come, our Lord will not be long, and we must be prepared and ready when he returns," the young French woman answered before beginning to walk.

There was much to prepare. Every Veela would be left utterly astonished when they learned of their Lord's plans.

She could hardly wait.