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The rippling disc of light spat Ciri out with a dizzying jolt, and she hit the wet stone floor on hands and knees, her skin crawling from the heavy, cloying magic that coated her. She heard Dorian swear behind her, and she regained her footing, turning to see where they were.

It was a far cry from the dimly lit hall they'd just been in, small and cramped with thick stone walls. There was only one entrance, and the iron door of a cell barred their way.

"What did he do?" Ciri demanded. "What did you do?"

"Alexius seemed determined to erase you from history, possibly to prevent you from being at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the first place," Dorian said. He glanced about uneasily. "I...redirected the spell, for lack of a better word. We've been relocated to the closest confluence of arcane energy. The question may not be where, but when."

"You could redirect it? Just like that?" Ciri asked. It had been so sudden. Dorian had shouted, and his spell had struck Alexius' in the blink of an eye.

Dorian nodded. "I did say I was involved in creating this magic. Only the theory, mind you, but that's enough to stop Alexius from wiping you off the face of Thedas."

Ciri turned away to examine the stone walls. "We may still be in the castle. Or in any other castle in Ferelden, honestly."

"There's only one way to find out, and it's through that door," Dorian said, gesturing to the bars blocking their way.

"I may have a way out of this," Ciri said reluctantly. She'd done so well at keeping the truth of her skills hidden, but being thrown into a time not their own seemed dire enough to warrant honesty. "Stand close to me."

Dorian looked curious but didn't protest as he walked to her side. Ciri pulled on her magic, gripping Dorian by the wrist, and readied herself to step into the ether.

Every muscle in her body shrieked as she was forcibly shoved back into the here and now. Dorian wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders as she trembled.

"That didn't go as planned, I take it?"

"There's no in-between," she gasped. "Something's gone horribly wrong."

"Of course it has," Dorian said. "We didn't travel through time so much as punch a hole through it and toss it into the privy. But don't worry. I'm here – I'll protect you."

Ciri pulled away, her legs still weak, and gave him a small smile. "I appreciate that, truly. I'm not one for letting others fight my battles for me, but I don't think I could stand being stranded here on my own."

"With any luck, we can recreate the circumstances that sent us here," Dorian said. "We'll simply have to investigate."

He took a moment to ensure she was able to stand on her own, then wandered off to inspect the door. "We could certainly use some convenient guards bursting in with the key right about now, couldn't we?" he said lightly.

"Perhaps a mind blast on the lock?" Ciri suggested.

"An excellent idea."

The shockwave of spirit energy broke open the door, sending it flying into the wall with a loud clang. Ciri froze, waiting for someone to notice, but when no one came she relaxed.

"Come on," she said. "Let's see where – and when – we are."

They left the stone cell behind, water sloshing around their ankles, and made for the stairs. "Do you have any idea who this 'Elder One' is?" Ciri asked.

"The leader of the Venatori, I suspect," Dorian replied. His voice echoed off the stone walls as they walked upward. "Just another magister with delusions of godhood, hiding behind a title so his activities can't be pinned on him if they fail."

"Are delusions of godhood common among magisters?"

"Fairly uncommon, actually, but delusions of supremacy are rather widespread. Oh, the infighting and petty politicking are something to behold."

Ciri hummed in thought. If this Elder One was behind the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and he was a magister, then it seemed unlikely it could have been caused by a descendant of the ancient Elvhen. "Do any of the magisters claim Elvhen ancestry?"

Dorian laughed. "Not out loud, they don't!" He spotted the serious look on her face and sobered. "There have been elf-blooded magisters, it's true, but the Imperium is ruled by humans. A laetan elven mage might gain status, but they'd never rule anything. The altus families come from the old human dreamers. The Imperium warred with Elvhenan in its early years – we sank Arlathan in one of the final battles. If any of the old families have Elvhen blood, they've kept quiet about it."

The creaking sound of a door opening on the landing above them made Ciri freeze again, and she threw out an arm to stop Dorian.

"–Hate going down to the dungeon," a voice said – a young man, from the sound of it. "I don't mean to be rude, but the lower levels make my skin crawl."

"No, I agree," said another man. "And I grew up here."

"Do you think the wolves are right? That the castle's haunted?"

"No. It's all those blasted demons and all the bad memories from when the Venatori were here. Keep your eyes peeled. They said the amulet indicated activity down in the dungeon, and it could be anything."

Ciri unsheathed Zireael with a quiet rasp of steel against leather and edged around the stairwell to see who the speakers were. Two young men were walking down, one human and one elven, both with staves in their hands. With a start of relief, she realized she recognized the elven man from Redcliffe.

"It's alright," she called out quietly. "It's just us – Ciri, from the Inquisition, and Dorian Pavus. We were thrown here by Alexius' spell."

They stopped and stared, eyes wide. "Lady Ciri?" the elven man said hesitantly.

She nodded.

"You've been missing for almost a year," the human told her. "It's Nine Forty-Two. Harvestmere."

"We suspected we'd been displaced," Ciri said, shooting a look at Dorian, "But we didn't know how far. What's happened? Where's Alexius?" Why can't I travel through time?

"Dead," the human said frankly. "And good riddance. The wolves came with their mages and killed him, freeing us and the Inquisition prisoners. We're one of the last holdouts in Thedas against the Elder One."

"They'll be glad to see you," the elven man said. "Come on, we'll take you to them."

Ciri and Dorian exchanged another look. This didn't feel like a trap. Their body language was open – relieved and welcoming. She sheathed her sword and nodded. "Lead the way."

The two young men introduced themselves on the walk. The elven mage was named Lysas, and the human was Connor Guerrin, nephew to Arl Teagan of Redcliffe. They passed small groups of people as they went, some tending to wounded, others organizing weapons. They all had a lean edge to them, the sort she'd often seen in the mirror after several short nights and a few too many missing meals.

Certain areas made Connor and Lysas tense and look around warily as they passed, Lysas chanting, "Calm thoughts, calm thoughts," under his breath until they'd moved on.

Their wariness was infectious. Ciri and Dorian began to eye their surroundings cautiously, walking on light feet. As they passed through another dusty and disused room, Lysas started his chant again, and Ciri reached for her sword.

"Don't!" Connor hissed. "You'll get their attention!"

"Whose attention?"

"Too late!" Lysas moaned, gripping his staff tightly as the air warped before them.

A terror demon, long-limbed and beady-eyed, was suddenly there among them. Ciri leaped back, drawing Zireael. The demon glared down and lashed out at Connor with its claws, forcing him back a pace as Lysas cast a hasty barrier over everyone.

It shrieked, a high, grating sound that sent shivers down her spine. She ducked its next swing and struck out with her blade as it bent its knees to leap. Blue-white lightning flew from Dorian's staff. It shrieked and leaped again, one long leg limp and oozing ichor.

Connor slammed his staff down as the demon descended, staggering it with a heavy mind blast. Ciri darted forward and pressed the attack, dodging swinging claws as her sword drew ichor again and again.

Finally it fell. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving behind only a puddle of slimy green blood to show it had ever been there.

Ciri turned on her escorts. "What was that about?"

"I forgot you wouldn't know," Lysas said. "There's no Veil. The rifts just widened and widened, until…. After the wolves freed us, we went outside and saw a green sky, with rocks floating in it. The Fade and the physical world are one now."

Connor grimaced. "Demons prefer certain parts of the castle. Places where people died or were tortured. If you keep your wits about you and your mind quiet, you can make it through those areas without summoning one. But often as not, they just show up."

"No – no Veil?" Dorian sputtered. "Kaffas, what in Andraste's name did Alexius do?"

"He broke it," Connor said as they began walking again. There was something bleak in his face, a look that said he'd been through far too much in his short life. "The explosion at the temple started it, with the rifts. The time magic made them unstable. We don't know exactly how, but we think the Elder One did something to tear it down once it was damaged enough."

"If the Templars knew magic could do this, they never would have let us out," Lysas muttered. "These Venatori – I can't look at magic the same way anymore. All I wanted was to...to help make crops grow!"

Ciri felt sick. "But surely they're a minority. Once they're defeated, you can use magic to help people, just as you wanted."

Connor shook his head. "Even if we could defeat them, there's hardly anything left in this world worth saving."

They stopped at a small door, and Dorian looked surprised. "This is how we got into the great hall earlier, with the scouts," he told Ciri.

Connor nodded. "It's better not to go through the courtyard these days, or the ballroom. Most people lose their lunch looking at the sky the first few times, and demons like to pop up in the ballroom almost every day."

"Good to know," Ciri said. She hoped it wasn't information she'd need for long.

"They'll be glad to see you," Lysas said earnestly. "Only...it's been a hard year. On all of us."

"I understand."

Lysas opened the door and led them in. Over his shoulder, Ciri could see a small group of people in battered armor standing around a table in the center of the great hall. They seemed to be arguing, voices kept low. She spotted white hair and a scarred face, and her heart skipped a beat.

"After the wolves freed us," Lysas had said.

"The wolves came with their mages," Connor had said.

"Geralt?" she called out, pushing gently past Lysas.

Her father straightened abruptly, like a bolt of lightning had hit him, and he whirled around. "Ciri," he said hoarsely, face slack with disbelief. Over his shoulder, Yennefer and Eskel pushed away from the table, eyes wide and incredulous.

"Ciri!" Yennefer cried, rounding the table and running to her.

Ciri was in motion before she could think, darting across the hall to fling herself into her mother's arms. She could feel Yennefer tremble as she tightened her embrace. Barely a second passed before Geralt was there, wrapping his arms around them both.

"You need to stop disappearing like this," he said simply. "You're going to turn my hair white."

She laughed and pulled away, smiling. "No fair blaming that on me."

"Oh, darling, it's so good to see you," Yennefer said. She cupped Ciri's cheek with a soft hand, looking at her with tired eyes. "We've been monitoring that amulet the magister had, but we couldn't unravel it for fear of preventing your reappearance."

"Thank you," Ciri said. "For trying."

She looked over her parents' shoulders to see the others who'd been at the table. There was Eskel, his scarred face a welcome sight, and Triss, wearing an expression of unabashed relief. Solas looked staggered at the sight of her, while Fiona just looked exhausted. Cassandra seemed overwhelmed. Olgierd looked as relieved as Triss. And Leliana had a fire burning in her eyes.

"Well," she said and shrugged awkwardly. "I'm sorry we're late."

She wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly Triss was there, then Eskel, firm arms around her and brief, fervent greetings whispered in her ears. Cassandra came over to touch her shoulder tentatively as if she couldn't quite believe her eyes.

"It's really you," she said, her tentative touch turning into a strong grip. "The Maker has brought you back to us. Andraste forgive me, we failed to stop the magister – this is all our fault, Lady Hand."

"Nonsense," Ciri disagreed. "There was nothing you could have done to stop him."

Solas came over then, the shock on his face transformed into something far less readable. "Ciri," he greeted her.

"Not da'len?"

His eyes flicked to Geralt and Yennefer. "The Elvhen are not from your world," he said. "But it is good to see you, nonetheless."

Ah. Of course that cat would be out of its bag by now. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "It was my mistake."

He nodded to her then, and stepped aside, giving her a clear path to see Olgierd. Her friend still stood at the table, watching her quietly. His deep blue robe, the gift from Josephine, had seen better days, and it had clearly been at least several months since he'd shaved the sides of his head. She smiled, and he reached for something leaning against the table – a cane? – and began to make his way slowly, painfully, over to where she stood, limping heavily with each step.

"What did they do?" she asked, staring in horror.

Bitterness laced his smile. "Never you mind, dear. The ones who did it are all dead and rotted."

"The magister's torturers took his scars as a challenge," Leliana said as she joined them. Ciri did a double-take at the sight of her face. Her forehead and left cheek were just shiny, slick patches of scar tissue, like someone had peeled off her skin with a very sharp blade. "The fool should be off his feet, but he hardly listens to us."

"I'll sit when I'm dead," Olgierd replied. It sounded like an old argument.

Fiona still stood by the table, watching the reunion with tired eyes. She nodded to Ciri and turned back to whatever was on it, apparently uninterested in greeting a woman she barely knew. Ciri looked around curiously.

"But where are the others – Lambert and Keira? And Blackwall and Varric?"

"Varric fell in one of the Elder One's assaults on the castle some months ago, along with a dozen mages," Cassandra said. "I was told that Blackwall was lost when your family took Redcliffe from the Venatori."

Damn it.

"And Keira and Lambert?" she asked again.

Yennefer looked troubled. "They went missing two weeks ago. They're the ones who teleport to other enclaves for information and supplies. At this point, we suspect the worst."

"Why did you stay?" she demanded. To lose Lambert and Keira…. Her gut clenched. "Why stay and fight?"

"Because we knew you'd show up again," Geralt said. "We weren't going to leave you to face this alone."

"We stand by our own, kid," Eskel said gruffly. "Even in nightmare worlds overrun by demons."

"When Triss came to get us, we were prepared to burn Thedas to the ground for taking you away," Yennefer said. Her voice shook with repressed anger. "The only thing that held us back was finding that amulet."

Ciri turned to Dorian. "Can you reverse this? Send us back?"

"You say the amulet is here? Then I believe I can," he said and looked at Yennefer. "Dorian Pavus, by the way. You said you were studying it?"

"The magical energies emanating from it were hard to ignore," Yennefer said. "We could tell it did something to time, but what exactly that was, was beyond our reach. Eventually, Solas managed to set up a monitoring spell to alert us when it threw off extra energy."

"We knew something was going to happen today," Triss said. "We didn't dare to hope it would be you."

"We're here now," Dorian said. "Let's change that, shall we?" He looked around, the corners of his mouth turned down in a small frown. "I don't suppose Felix survived your assault on Redcliffe."

"Your friend Felix was unharmed when we took the castle," Yennefer said, "Unlike his father. He passed from his illness a few months ago."

Dorian sighed. "Oh."

Yennefer gave Ciri a gentle squeeze to her upper arm and led Dorian off to the end of the great hall, by the lonely arl's seat upon the stairs. Ciri looked up at Geralt and squared her shoulders.

"You'd best tell me what's happened since we disappeared. I'll need to know everything this 'Elder One' did if I'm to stop him when we get back to our time."

"Where to even start?" Olgierd said. He chuckled dryly, humor absent from his eyes. "Leliana, Cassandra, and I attacked the magister the moment you disappeared, but he held us off long enough for his reinforcements to arrive and subdue us. I don't think any of us saw the outside of a cell for over two months, save the times we were dragged out and 'questioned.'"

"King Alistair arrived just as you were sent through time," Triss said. "I stayed to help, but the magister's forces killed everyone he brought, including the king. I fled back to the village to get Solas and the others, and we retreated to Haven. We launched attacks, but nothing worked, and we kept losing people. After too long trying on my own, I went back home to get help from the Continent."

From the look Geralt shot her, Triss' delay in seeking their help was still a point of contention.

"The Inquisition was splintering at that point," Solas interjected. "The Elder One had Empress Celene assassinated, destabilizing the empire. Then he raised an army of demons tied to mages bound by blood magic, and he swept across Thedas. Ferelden fell first, then Orlais. The Inquisition crumpled in the face of it."

"Triss, Keira, and Yen teleported us into the castle with a few of the Inquisition's people," Geralt said. "Only the ones willing to take the chance. It was a dying organization. For the ones who came, it probably felt like the last stand."

And for Blackwall, it was.

"Your parents and the others freed us," Olgierd said, "And we started making contact with others across Thedas. Quietly, mind. The time for open warfare has long since passed us by."

Yennefer spoke up as she returned, her violet eyes alight with anger. "Which isn't to say that we haven't been doing our part. We took our cues from Roche's men. Quick, hard strikes. We cut off their supply lines, ambushed their scouting parties. And we never leave survivors," she added viciously.

"It's all we've been able to do," Geralt said. At his side, his hand drew into a fist. "Wait for you, and slowly bleed them. Death by a thousand cuts."

Ciri patted his arm reassuringly. "I'm here now. What else is there?"

"We've heard nothing from Val Royeaux since the grand clerics were killed," Fiona said, speaking for the first time. "Our informants on the outside tell us that Lydes is little more than a farm for red lyrium these days. The Elder One feeds it to his soldiers, turning them into horrors."

Leliana nodded. "After the demons laid waste to southern Thedas, the Qun saw the opportunity to strike at Tevinter and the northernmost countries. Antiva and Rivain are all but lost."

"Is there anyone left from the Inquisition?" Ciri asked. "Owain? Josephine? Cullen?"

Olgierd's hand clenched around the handle of his cane. "Nay. No one."

No. Damn it all! "We'll fix this," she said desperately. "We'll go back, and –"

"Don't you get it?" Leliana interrupted her, eyes hot with anger. "This is not something you can fix. You show up and speak of going back, of undoing it, but we have lived every day in danger and misery. This is real to us, whether you care to believe it or not."

"It's real, and it's terrible," Ciri agreed. "And we'll make it so you'll never have to live through it. I'm so sorry, Leliana. If I'd only been quicker –"

Leliana scoffed and turned away. Ciri fumbled for something to say that could make things right, smooth things over, but words turned to ash in her mouth. Leliana was right. She'd disappeared, and the world had broken around the people left behind. For those remaining, the suffering was very real.

"We're all on edge," Solas said quietly, watching Leliana's back. "Briala has been slow getting food to us this week."

"The handmaiden from Mihris' tale?" Ciri asked, surprised.

"Celene's former spymaster," Cassandra corrected her. "We would not have survived this without her, though she puts her own people first. Somehow, the elves of Orlais all but vanished after Celene was assassinated and Gaspard died in battle against the demons."

Ciri nodded her understanding and walked to the table to see what everyone had been looking at when she'd first arrived. In a parallel to the war room in the chantry, the table was covered in a map of southern Thedas. Instead of pewter markers, however, thick lines crossed out entire towns, littering the map with a field of exes.

Haven was gone, she saw, as was Redcliffe Village just next door. There was no Ostwick, no Val Royeaux. Every place she thought to look for seemed to no longer exist.

"Keira and Lambert brought you this information?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"And some scouts," Eskel said. "Spirits." He looked uneasy.

"There's one out there now, watching the Elder One's army," Solas said. "A spirit of adventure. He has never let us down."

"He's late," Olgierd said. The gruffness in his voice didn't quite manage to disguise his worry.

"He'll be fine," Solas assured him. "He always is."

Ciri looked at Olgierd, his face tight with pain. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head. "Best you stay close while that Tevinter mage works out how to get you home."

"Ciri," Triss said, "Why didn't you leave as soon as you came?"

She shuddered and rubbed her arms at the memory of her failed attempt. "I can't. It wouldn't work, for whatever reason. Something's broken in this future."

Solas looked as though he wished to say something, but he refrained, simply watching her closely. His eyes were piercing in his tired, drawn face. All of them looked like they wished to speak, in fact, but they all seemed equally reluctant. She had her suspicions as to why.

"If you have anything you wish me to tell your past selves, I'll just be over there," she said, pointing to a low bench half-hidden in the shadow of a column.

They looked at each other, then away, none of them willing to be the first to speak. She gave a mental sigh and walked to the bench, sitting down on the wooden seat and leaning against the cool stone column.

One misstep, one second too slow, and everything went wrong. She hadn't felt so powerless in years. Even seeing her parents wasn't enough to erase the sting of failure. This – this was her fault. All the deaths, all the loss, it could have been avoided if she'd just been fast enough. The Inquisition shattered, heads of state murdered, Owain and his siblings dead, Lambert and Keira missing –

"Think any louder, they'll hear you on the floor below."

She shifted to make room for Geralt. "Let them," she said bitterly. "It's not as if I'm thinking anything untrue."

"Let me guess," he said. "It's all your fault? Everything that's happened, all the deaths, all the suffering, that's all on your shoulders?"

"How did you –"

"I may just be a simple Witcher, but I know how you think." He gave her a grim smile. "You're not thinking anything that Yen and I weren't thinking about ourselves when we heard you were missing."

She flicked a curious glance at him. "How was any of this your doing?"

"We encouraged you to go, to take the contract to get out from under the Lodge's eyes. Everything that followed is a consequence of that decision."

"You can't blame yourself for encouraging me to take a contract," she argued. "That's what we do. And if I hadn't been there –" She stopped.

"If you hadn't been there, this world would've gone to shit a lot sooner," he said.

"He's right, you know," Yennefer said as she walked over to join them. "They would have been lost without you. But this isn't your fight, Ciri. When you get back, seal the Breach and come home. You've given enough of yourself to this cause."

"I can't leave them!" Ciri looked up at her mother, hoping she'd understand. "If all this happened just because I disappeared, then I must help. Now that I know what's to come, I can do something about it."

"Or you could tell them and let them take care of it themselves," Yennefer countered calmly.

"The Elder One is beyond dangerous," Geralt said, "And his army is enormous. The blood magic means that anyone he captures can be turned against you. Ciri, he broke this world. The demonic plane poured into the physical world. That kind of power is beyond you."

"I stopped the White Frost!"

Her voice rang out through the great hall, and heads turned her way as she snapped at Geralt – louder than she'd intended, but the guilt and fear and anger had come to a head.

"I slew Leo Bonhart and Reince, Brewess and Whispess," she continued. "I faced the Wild Hunt – I've traveled to more worlds than you can imagine, killed vampires and basilisks and griffons. I'm a Witcher, Geralt. Fighting monsters is what I do. How could I live with myself if I walked away?"

Geralt and Yennefer seemed to have an entire silent conversation just with their eyes, then Geralt's shoulders sagged and Yennefer shook her head.

"Oh, Ciri," Yennefer sighed. "You've never been one for neutrality."

"You'll come get us if you need help," Geralt said firmly. "I don't doubt your skill, but this is far beyond a simple hunt or contract."

"If it comes to it, I will," she agreed reluctantly.

Expose her family to the dangers Geralt had just listed? Thedas would have to be in terrible danger for her to even contemplate such a thing. When she got back, she'd have a chance to stop it. No need to bring Geralt and Yennefer into it.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her. "Ciri..."

"Fine, I promise. If I need help."

Someone cleared their throat, and she looked up to see Cassandra standing behind Yennefer awkwardly crossing and uncrossing her arms.

"Lady Hand," she said, an undercurrent of joy in her stern voice. "May I speak with you?"

Ciri nodded, and Geralt stood, giving a firm squeeze to her shoulder.

"Come on, Yen. Let's give them some privacy."

Cassandra waited until Ciri's parents had walked some distance away, then she sat heavily beside her. "It is good to see you again, my lady."

"And you, Cassandra."

Cassandra was silent for several long seconds. "The Maker is greater and more mysterious than I had ever imagined. To think He summoned His Hand from another world!"

"I'm not – never mind." Perhaps this wasn't the best time to argue theology. "You're not angry that we kept it secret?"

"Oh, I was furious at first," Cassandra admitted. "You lied to all of us, lied to the Chantry. I almost attacked the Witchers when I first saw their eyes. They appeared possessed. But they stayed to help, and I came to understand that the Maker was behind your presence in Thedas, just as this fiend of an Elder One and his lackey, Alexius, were behind your disappearance. You are a blessing, Lady Hand. It is surely providence that the Trevelyans reached out to you at the exact moment that they did."

Ciri ducked her head, uncomfortable with Cassandra's stalwart faith. "That's a lot to live up to."

"You will succeed," Cassandra said. "You must. But you cannot keep this secret, Lady Hand. You must tell the advisors the truth of your origins when you return."

"I –" She faltered beneath Cassandra's steady gaze. "I'll think on it."

"I trust you will do the right thing." Cassandra stood again and bowed her head, fist over her heart, then turned and walked away.

Ciri watched Olgierd and Solas speak quietly by the table, arguing in low tones. Olgierd shook his head and gestured with his free hand, and Solas seemed to reluctantly concede the argument. Her elven friend came over slowly, still sharp-eyed and frowning.

"If you are to tell me one thing when you return to your time, let it be that this world is an abomination," he said stiffly. "I have seen what Thedas looks like with the Veil torn away, and it is a waking nightmare. The Elder One must be stopped."

She tried to catch his eyes, but his glance slid away. "Solas?"

"Your magic – you felt familiar," he said at last. "It was a comfort that I took for granted. I'm not accustomed to being so mistaken. I thought – It doesn't matter."

"We are still kin, as you said," Ciri told him. "Did Triss tell you of the Aen Undod?"

"She mentioned the Trevelyans' theory of a unified origin for the elves. It seems unlikely. I've come across no memories in the Fade of such a name." He sighed and relented a little. "Perhaps it's enough that you believe it to be true."

"It must be, for my magic to seem Elvhen to you," she pointed out.

"There is that to consider." He looked away, then back, his eyes intense. "Allow me to believe the lie, Ciri. It would be a kindness."

Somehow, the thought of lying to the advisors came easier than lying to Solas. Yet Cassandra wanted the truth, and Solas wished the lie. Would it not hurt him worse, should the secret get out later? Would he not feel betrayed, as he had in this dark timeline?

"I don't understand," she said. "But I'll do as you ask."

"You have my thanks on behalf of my past self." He smiled at her faintly. "You should rest. Dorian Pavus will have you back in your own time soon enough."

He gave her a nod and went back to the table, passing Olgierd on his way. Her friend limped along, leaning heavily on his cane, and she jumped to her feet to meet him.

"Nay," he said when she gestured to the bench. "I'll not be able to stand again should I sit on something that low."

"What happened?" she asked again. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at his legs.

A humorless smile twisted his lips. "Whoresons broke my legs. The bones didn't set right. When Geralt and the others came to our rescue, they had to re-break them."

"I'm sorry," she said, stricken. "If I'd just dodged, been fast enough –"

"What they did was no fault of yours," he interrupted. "Put it from your mind."

She couldn't, but she wouldn't argue. For his sake.

"You mentioned a late scout," she ventured to say.

"Adventure came when the Veil fell," he said. "Cassandra and the Witchers dislike him, but he gets on well enough with Solas. I'd call him a friend." He glanced toward the tall doors at the end of the hall. "He's never so late returning."

"Is he someone I should tell you about when I return?"

He shook his head. "I've already met him. Whatever comes of it is best left to the vagaries of chance."

She couldn't think of when he would have met a spirit, except perhaps during his Harrowing. But weren't Harrowings about facing demons? Had one of the demons been friendly? Olgierd seemed disinclined to speak further on the subject, so she let it lie.

She looked around the dim hall, at the people clustered around the table, at Dorian at the far end of the hall hunched over the amulet, and sighed. "It's not what we imagined it would be when we came through the portal to Thedas, is it?"

"Things are rarely as we imagine them," Olgierd said, smiling a little.

"Do you regret coming?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nay. Not truly. I've cast my lot in with them. These are my people now. I've done more good since coming here than I have in all the years I've lived on the Continent. That matters to me."

"You're truly staying, then," she said. "After we close the Breach and kill this monster. You'll stay."

"I will, and gladly."

She'd miss him dearly, both the man waiting back in her time and the one leaning on the cane before her. But she'd not argue him out of doing what was best for him.

"Ciri," he said.

"Yes?"

His free hand drifted to his sleeve, where a dirty, blue-edged scrap of fabric peeked out from beneath the hem. "I may never forgive myself for my past. But tell me to try for happiness. I'd like to know if such a thing is possible."

"It is," she told him fiercely. "It is, and you'll find it."

"No one would dare gainsay you," he said, his eyes warm.

You would, she thought. But she'd make him listen. He cast a glance over his shoulder and sighed, smiling slightly at Ciri.

"This is where we part for now. Appears Triss and Fiona wish to speak with you."

She watched as he limped away, her throat tight. Triss and Fiona took his place, both of them looking tired and worn.

"We must discuss your intentions for the mages when you return," Fiona began. "There are –"

The door at the end of the hall slammed open, and Ciri turned to look. A man in Redanian robes burst through, wild-eyed and frantic. There was something familiar about him, something that made her think of Olgierd.

"They're through the wards!" he shouted. "They're in the cast – urk!"

An arrow punched through his chest, and he staggered, a look of surprise on his face as Olgierd cried out in anger. He dropped to his knees, green ichor pouring from his wound. All around her, the hall exploded into movement as people grabbed swords or staves and rushed toward the door.

"No!" Geralt barked at her as she unsheathed Zireael. "Go to Dorian – get out of here, Ciri! Go!"

Geralt and Eskel were the first out the door, holding their hands up in front of them to shape a Quen shield. Cassandra, Yennefer, and Triss were right on their heels, and Fiona and Solas just behind them. Ciri retreated to the steps by the arl's seat, hand clutching the hilt of her sword, and watched helplessly as Olgierd limped into the center of the hall, Leliana at his side.

"We cannot hold them for long," Leliana said sharply, nocking an arrow to her bowstring. "They have come in force. Go now."

Olgierd raised his hand and swept it in an elegant gesture from one side of the door to the other. A roaring wall of flames sprang up from the floor, devouring the wooden frame and cutting off the fight from the hall.

"Dorian?" Ciri asked urgently.

"One more minute!"

Beyond the wall of flames, she heard cries, grunts, the meaty thunk of sword meeting flesh. Spell lights flared and faded. Then a scream of rage and horror – Yennefer's. She took one step toward the door and Dorian's hand shot out to grab her arm.

"Don't," he said, not looking up from the amulet. "You move, we all die."

Something heavy flew through the flames and landed with a thud by the dying spirit.

No.

She saw it, but she didn't – it couldn't be real. It wasn't real.

"Get up," she whispered to Geralt's body. "GET UP!"

The building shook from the force of her scream, but still he lay there, white hair slowly turning red, a hole in his belly the size of a troll's fist and a gaping wound across his throat.

Lambert, blank-faced and dull-eyed, jumped the wall of flames and made straight for Olgierd and Leliana, sword out and at the ready. Leliana's arrows hit their mark, but he kept coming, no sound of pain or protest escaping him.

Dorian grabbed her. "I have it!"

The portal formed behind her as Lambert gutted Olgierd. She leaped through with a sob, never looking away.