Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

Early 1259, Castlevania, Velen

Castlevania stood hidden, a fortress concealed by layers of illusions and magical defenses. No mortal could see it, no army could march upon its walls, and no spy could uncover its secrets. It was a citadel of knowledge and power, a sanctuary where I was free to shape my own path without interference from the world beyond.

But isolation, no matter how powerful, was not enough.

I had built weapons, crafted artifacts, and created artificial life—but none of that changed a simple truth. Magic, true magic, was dying in this world. The great mages of the past were few, and those who remained were hunted, controlled, or bound by the politics of sorcerer circles and royal courts. Magic was feared, restricted, its potential locked away behind archaic traditions.

That would not do.

I did not seek merely to hoard knowledge. I sought to shape the future.

If I wanted to build something that would stand the test of time, it could not be ruled by me alone. I needed successors—students—disciples. And that meant finding those with potential. Children, unshaped by the constraints of old magic, ones who could be molded into something greater.

Thus began my next great undertaking.

I would gather the magically gifted. I would find them, shelter them, train them.

And in time, they would become my first true order of magi.

Not scattered witches hunted by kings.

Not pawns of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.

They would be mine.

Mid 1259, Castlevania, Velen

The first step was secrecy.

If I simply revealed myself and declared my intent to gather mages, I would attract too much attention. The Brotherhood of Sorcerers would investigate. Nilfgaard's spies would take notice. Even Redania's mage-hating fanatics would be drawn to rumors of a hidden sanctuary for magic.

So I worked in the shadows.

I sent my Iensbern Homunculi out into the world, disguised as traveling scholars, healers, and merchants. Their task was simple: find the gifted—children aged four to fifteen.

Magic was not common, but it was present. Some bloodlines carried latent potential, remnants of elder magic passed down through generations. Others manifested magic through sheer force of will, their abilities raw and untamed. Many of these children were misunderstood—branded as cursed, abandoned, or hidden away by frightened parents.

It did not take long before the first reports came in.

A girl in a Redanian village who could command the wind but was seen as a witch by her people. A boy near the Mahakam mountains whose touch could turn water to ice but was forced to hide his gift in fear of being burned as a demon. A child in a Nilfgaardian border town who saw visions of the past and future, locked away in a cellar to keep the world from knowing what he was.

And these were just the first.

By the time autumn arrived, I had identified over one hundred magically gifted children across the Northern Kingdoms.

The second step was persuasion.

Mortal rulers claimed that power belonged to them, that magic was something to be regulated, controlled, used. But power was its own law. The world belonged not to those who claimed dominion by birthright, but to those who could take it.

I would not beg these families to hand over their children. I would offer them something greater—something no king, no sorcerer, no god could promise.

Safety. Knowledge. Purpose.

Each Iensbern Homunculus envoy approached the families with an offer:

"Your child is special. In this world, magic is feared, hunted, and shackled. But I offer something different—a place where they will be safe, where they will be trained, where they will rise beyond the limits this world would impose upon them. You may accompany them, live within my domain, and witness the future that awaits those who embrace power instead of fearing it. Or you may refuse, and leave them to the mercy of a world that does not understand them."

Some refused outright. Fear controlled them more than love for their children. They would rather risk their son or daughter being persecuted than trust an unknown benefactor. Those families were left alone.

Others hesitated. They asked for proof. They wanted assurances.

And I gave them what they needed.

A demonstration of power—a spell beyond what any court mage could conjure. A simple ward placed over a dying field, restoring its crops within days. A healing potion beyond what even a skilled alchemist could craft.

When faced with undeniable proof, their resistance crumbled.

By the end of the year, over fifty families had accepted my offer, and the first arrivals made their way toward the hidden sanctuary of Castlevania.

The world was moving toward war. Slowly, at first—like the first crack in the ice before an avalanche. Kings and emperors played their games, oblivious to what lay ahead. Nilfgaard's ambitions had not yet fully materialized, but the signs were there. The North was a house of cards—each kingdom at odds, each ruler scheming to outmaneuver the other.

And through it all, I remained in the shadows. Hidden. Preparing.

The outside world did not know of Castlevania's existence. As far as the Northern Kingdoms and the Empire of Nilfgaard were concerned, Velen was a miserable, war-torn wasteland with nothing of value except its strategic location. And that was exactly what I wanted them to believe.

But my time in the shadows would not last forever. A kingdom could not be ruled by a single man, no matter how powerful. I had learned that much. Relying solely on my Iensbern Homunculi, my magic, and my knowledge would not be enough. If I wanted to create something lasting, I needed people—real people, flesh and blood, who could carry my will into the future.

Not just any people. I needed mages.

The world feared magic. The Brotherhood of Sorcerers, despite their power, had allowed themselves to be leashed by kings and emperors, forced to serve as court advisors and political pawns. The mages who refused to bow were hunted, burned, or driven into exile.

This world had no place for magic.

So I would make one.

The First Recruits

By now, my butler-class Iensbern Homunculi had long since spread across the land, disguised as scholars, merchants, and traveling healers. Their mission had been simple: find the gifted—children aged four to fifteen.

And they had succeeded.

For the past two years, I had gathered reports of magically gifted children across the Northern Kingdoms. Most of them were hidden—either by their parents, who feared the wrath of the Church of the Eternal Fire, or by small communities that whispered of their abilities but dared not expose them. Some were already hunted.

A girl from Redania, no older than ten, had been born with the ability to summon wind at will. Her village called her a demon and tried to stone her to death before my Iensbern Homunculi intervened. A boy from Mahakam, taken in by dwarves, had displayed an unnatural ability to freeze water with a touch. A Nilfgaardian noble's bastard child, locked away in a tower, had been born with the Sight, able to glimpse into past and future alike. A young boy from Cintra could control small flames, but his parents feared the Church and kept him locked away. A girl from Temeria, orphaned and living on the streets, could communicate with animals, a gift she kept secret for fear of exploitation.

These were just a handful of the hundred children I had chosen. Not all were prodigies. Some had only the faintest spark of magic—barely enough to light a candle. Others had power, but no control. Some had gifts that even I did not fully understand.

That did not matter.

What mattered was potential. And now, they were coming home.

The Arrival at Castlevania

Their families came with them. That had been part of the bargain. Many of these children were feared, not loved. Their parents, desperate and afraid, were willing to give them up in exchange for the promise of safety. But others had refused to be separated from their children, demanding to accompany them.

I had agreed—not because I needed more people, but because it ensured loyalty. A child might be trained, might be grateful for my teachings, but the bond of blood was powerful. By keeping the families close, I ensured that these young mages would have no reason to turn against me.

The first arrivals were hesitant.

They stepped through the magical veil that concealed Castlevania from the outside world and saw a city unlike any in the North or South. Towers of black stone, gothic arches, glowing blue runes illuminating the streets. Unlike the dirt-covered roads of peasant villages or the cold, gray fortresses of lords, this place was alive with magic.

And then they saw the Iensbern Homunculi.

There was fear at first—whispers of demons, of creatures not of this world. Some of the children clung to their parents. Others stared with wide eyes, curious but cautious.

I stood before them, watching.

These were the first true citizens of my future order.

I did not greet them with grand speeches or false warmth. Instead, I spoke simply, directly.

"The world fears you. The world would use you, chain you, or kill you. Here, you are safe. Here, you will become strong. And when the time comes, the world will fear us instead."

Some shivered at my words. Others held their heads