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The horse huffed in protest as Vandal spurred it forward at breakneck speed. He didn't care that the horse was getting increasingly frustrated with its rider, nor the fact that as soon as a chance presented itself his mount would throw him off his saddle. Vandal only cared about getting to Serah and Sandy in time, for he knew that the dragons didn't focus on the city alone.

The fields and valleys were just as scorched as Cintra, a mark left by the dragons. Orchards and wheat-fields, so carefully worked and grown, were set ablaze within hours. And the hands that toiled on them, not even they were spared the wrath of the dragons. All over the roads, the grass and blasted earth, the ripped and torn bodies of Cintran peasants littered Vandal's path.

The baron's heart became filled with sorrow over their deaths, then his face became a storm of brewing rage. The telltale howl of dragons reached his ears, and he pulled the reins on his mount to drive the horse in its direction. The sounds came from the lonely little settlement he'd given much of his wealth to see rise on behalf of the refugees. It too burned in the fires of the attack, but its inhabitants remained very much alive.

Although, this too was not without cost. The brave kingsmen sent to protect the settlement bore the brunt of the assault, and the dragons slew them to a man. The dragons devoured them all, then proceeded to make their next meal out of the hapless refugees. Only Sir Boshly, the man who once was called Craven, remained to stand against the beasts. Vandal saw him guarding the door to the barn, where the folk were sure to have taken refuge.

Boshly stood on unsteady legs, half-burnt on one side of his body where dragon-flames struck him. A broken sword he held in one shaky hand, and with the other he gripped at his wounds. Four lesser dragons, each of them as big as a full-grown stallion, crouched in a circle about the knight. Their maws widened to show their wet and gleaming teeth, still red with the blood of the slain.

As soon as Vandal rode past the wooden archway opening into the settlement enclosure, he dismounted and drew his sword. He didn't care that he would face the dragons alone that night, his concern for his loved ones and his people outweighed his thoughts for self-preservation.

Sensing an attack from behind, the dragons whirled around and saw the lone figure approaching them with a flaming sword in hand. Vandal strode forward without even slowing pace, raised Ashseeker and roared. "Come at me, fiends! I am right here!"

Accepting his challenge, the dragons unfurled their wings and swept up a violent gust of wind. Then, they bathed the baron in dragon-flame as one, immolating the bold figure in seconds. The peasants taking refuge in the barn gathered the courage to peer through the cracks of the wooden walls, among them were Serah and Sandy.

The golden-tressed woman, seeing her lover in flames, covered her mouth in shock as tears welled up in her eyes. Serah, on the other hand, looked on in anticipation. She hoped that Vandal's gift would do as he said it would, even prayed that he'd emerge triumphant over the dragons.

Vandal fought through the pain and closed the distance between himself and the beasts. The dragons shrank back, astonished that the man was still standing. Even on fire, the baron was still able to swing his sword. The weapon proved to have another ability to contribute to its wielder, as it sapped the flames from his body and burned even hotter with the stolen fire. As Vandal's wounds healed, he pressed the attack while the dragons were yet distracted and stuck his blade through the mouth of one.

In an instant, the other three lunged forward and attacked the baron from all directions. One went for his throat, the second went for his belly and the third went for his legs.

Vandal braced the first attack with his free arm, willingly sacrificing his flesh to close the distance. He ignored the other two as they sank their teeth into his armor, biting both his midsection and right leg. His cursed heart beat wildly, and pressure started to build up in his chest. The baron opened his mouth and poured fire right into the face of his would-be-murderer.

With Ashseeker he lopped off the snout of the beast biting down on his waist, driving it far from him as blood spurted free from its ruined visage. And with eyes blazing with hate, he glared at the last dragon holding his leg between its jaws.

The dragon, meeting his gaze, paused for a moment then let him go. Quickly, it retreated and seized its chance to flee.

As soon as the fight ended, Vandal got down to one knee and stuck his sword through the earth to lean against it. The full weight of his exertions pressed heavily on his shoulders, sapping him of all strength for the moment. Breathlessly, he fought to regain what strength he'd lost and rose up to survey the aftermath of the carnage.

The dragons smashed through the woodworks and crumbled stone. What they couldn't break, they burned. And what they couldn't burn, they devoured. All in all, fifty bodies were scattered all across the settlement, mutilated by tooth and nail.

But there were folk who lived, thanks all to Vandal's timely intervention. Once it was safe, the peasants opened the barriers and poured free from the doors of the barn. They too beheld the devastation of their home and wept bitterly for all that was lost. Vandal longed to comfort them, every one of the grieving peasants, but he knew that their sorrow must run its course.

Kind words weren't what they needed.

"Vandal, are you alright?" Sandy asked, her face creased with worry. The woman put her hands on his soot-covered face, amazed to see that the dragons' flames no longer left their marks on him.

"Of course he's alright." Serah said, offering only a small smile of contentment at the sight of her lover all safe and sound. "He promised he would be."

"Boshly!" Vandal turned to the injured knight, who staggered back against the barn wall and slid down in a heap. The baron knelt beside him to judge how grievous his wounds were.

There were burns all over his body, a few bite marks and a large gash in his side... he looked like he was at the threshold of death's door. The man had truly redeemed himself, he was truly no longer the coward his peers once called him. Even Boshly knew this, and he smiled through the blood trickling out of his mouth. "It... it doesn't hurt anymore... Why doesn't it hurt anymore?"

Behind him, Vandal could hear the gallop of distant riders. Turning his head, he spied a relief group of kingsmen coming to secure the settlement on orders from King Dagorad. "Steady now, Boshly. Hold on for just a little while longer, we'll get you patched up."

Thankfully, the riders came with a pair of healers, both licensed doctors from far-off Oxenfurt. Vandal helped carry the wounded back to the barn so that the healers could do their work.


All across Cintra played the same scene over and over. Patricians and peasants alike were burned, slaughtered and buried beneath the rubble. It didn't stop just in the capital, but for all the villages and towns that lay beyond its walls. The total fatalities numbered in the hundreds, whole generations wiped out in a single night. The grim work of gathering the dead for burial had to wait, for those that yet lived remained trapped among the toppled buildings.

It was fortunate that many of the soul-bound sorcerers, who were protected heavily by both the Cintran kingsmen and their soul-bound brethren, survived the onslaught. Through their magic, many lives were saved in the battle and many more were saved from the aftermath.

Clearing obstacles or righting toppled establishments, work that could've taken weeks, was cut short through their spells. Great piles of rubble, or burning debris, were swept aside to free the trapped Cintrans. It was through their good deeds that the shared distrust for mages faded within the coming days. At least for the people of Cintra, that is.

Even the demagogue, who held the ear of the downtrodden folk, preached in the ruined streets of how the Eternal Flame burned within the hearts of the soul-bound. He spoke good things, although leaving out the fact of the witchers dealing the killing blow on Idlekkarnhamth. Instead the demagogue proclaimed that it was Vandal, a human blessed with the touch of the Eternal Flame, who killed Idlekkarnhamth. The people readily believed them, preferring to hold a fellow human as a hero as opposed to mutants.

Neither Geralt nor Eskel paid any heed to the lies or to the glory stolen from them, for they've both lived long enough to know that witchers were never meant to be hailed as heroes. They were monster-hunters, and they did their job. At the very least, Dagorad rewarded them both with coin to send them back on the Path heavy of purse and free of attachments.

Weeks stretched into months as Cintra, and all the surrounding regions affected by the attacks, slowly recovered from the devastation. Idlekkarnhamth's ilk, long bested at the death of their leader, retreated to the seclusion of the Amell Mountains while some simply scattered to the Four Winds.

The cities and towns were put back together, all the work paid and provided by the king's own coffers. Ignoring the advice of his inner circle of lords to do otherwise, Dagorad willingly spent the last of his coin to balance the growing need of his homeless subjects. Although light of purse by the end of the year, Dagorad's name would be honored for many generations to come. With his gold, Cintra was rebuilt and her people could smile once more, with a roof over everyone's heads and full bellies.

The blight, which affected most of the land following the arrival of the undead scourge, relented as though sensing the Vestige of Warmth burning in the heart of Cintra. The climate was kind, and the harvest gave the kingdom all the relief it so desperately needed.

The skull of the Great Dragon Idlekkarnhamth, who dealt great harm to his kingdom, Dagorad ordered to be removed and placed within his throneroom. The attack on the city had destroyed the former palace, the great ancestral home from which monarchs past had ruled Cintra. The new one that took its place was much smaller, but was undeniably better than the former.

To repay him for his generosity, the people helped construct the new palace, pitching in through coin or through eager hands. Together, Cintran brothers and sisters laid the foundations of the monument that would stand to honor those who were lost on that dark night. And the great skull of the dragon who caused them much suffering, Dagorad mounted and turned into his new throne.

Idlekkarnhamth's Fall, they named the spot where he landed. Tales of the battle, of his defeat at the hands of the Champion, and the prosperity that followed were sung in every tavern from Cintra to far-off Ofir.

And Vandal, who had every cause to be proud of their accolades, retired quietly to his new home outside the capital. He forewent the adulation of his peers, the parties and banquets thrown in his honor, for the simple joy of being present at the birth of his children. The midwives wouldn't let him through the door, so he waited outside impatiently while his paramours groaned and cried out in agony.

Serah and Sandy gave birth on the same day, sharing a kindred pain as they brought the two screaming infants into the world. The midwives let out a joyful hoot, and held two strong baby boys up for all to see.

"Ho! Melitele be praised! You both have given birth to sons!"

Drained, but possessing enough strength to sit up and behold her son, Serah demanded the midwife to hand the child over to her. "Give him here, now!"

Sandy, on the other hand, calmly waited while the midwife cut the cord. She received her own babe, all washed and swaddled up, with tears of joy trickling down her cheeks.

Finally granted entry, Vandal approached the mothers of his children and greeted his family with a proud smile on his face. The midwives left the room, having finished with their tasks, to give the baron and his family some privacy. He first drew close to Serah, who held an angry red-faced bawling infant with the raven-locks of his mother upon his crown. He seemed to hate having to meet the world so soon, and not even the warmth of his mother's embrace could still his cries.

"Fiery little thing, isn't he?" Serah chuckled, pulling the infant closer to her breast. Her heart melted for the child, who bore his father's nose and her cheekbones in his little face. The young mother imagined how handsome he'd look when he came of age, how the girls would fawn over him as she did with his father.

Sandy's child was the opposite of Serah's. Whereas the raven-tressed babe howled without cease, the other slumbered peacefully in his mother's arms. But there was a similarity to the two. Both boys inherited their father's features, as well as his glowing heart.

Both women looked up to the baron, speechless over the discovery.

Vandal didn't share their misgivings, he remained happy and welcomed his children nonetheless. "I do believe that this is the part where we ought to name the boys."

"I've been thinking on one for a long while now." Sandy said with a smile, looking down at the infant sleeping on her breast. "His father's blood flows through him, the blood of gods. I think it's only fitting to name him something royal. I'd like to call him... Reyncourt."

"A good name." Serah agreed, "The playground will be kind to him, call him Little Rey. And when he's of age, men will respect the name Reyncourt."

"I like it too." Vandal nodded, turning to Serah. "And what about this one?"

"Oh him? I don't think he'd grow to need anyone's respect." Serah replied, relieved to see that her son had finally calmed down, having exhausted himself with his fussing. She looked at him for a long time before coming to a decision.

Serah recalled a book she read a while back, about a hero in Cintra's local legends. Nyx DeAveron, a man of humble beginnings and a bastard born from a brothel, who slew a kikimore queen when she and her brood threatened his hometown. High and mighty folk paid little heed to his tale, but the peasants paid much more. They told his story to their children, and they to their own children after. Pretty soon, someone decided to write about it and so all of Cintra had heard of him.

"Averon, we'll call him Averon. The world will know his name, just like his father."

Vandal leaned over and kissed Serah on the cheek, then did the same for Sandy. The future was looking brightly for them all, and although the threat of the Iron Revenant's arrival gnawed at the back of his mind, Vandal enjoyed the respite as best as he could. They all deserved the rest, especially Serah and Sandy. While they were happy, he'd keep them happy.

And when the architect of his world's destruction would finally come, he'd be ready.


The Knight of Saggrel didn't have to wait long for another calamity to strike again.

The final World Shard arrived, and when it did, everyone in the Continent knew it came. After descending ever so slowly over the past months, it found its resting place in the heart of the Great Sea, drawn there by the same Power that gave birth to magic in the Continent. Torn apart by the varying pools of gravity in the sky, and of its own magical properties, the World Shard expelled its icy constituents and revealed itself to be a great iron tower.

Ancient beyond comprehension, but nonetheless brimming with eldritch power, the tower buried itself into the waters until its base tore a gash into the face of the ocean floor. As soon as cold iron met soft earth, the waters snap-froze. A great icy island formed within hours, wiping out all life within a hundred mile radius.

Then, the tower came to life. Its peak opened a tear in reality, drawing in the chaotic elements that first shaped the world around it. The skies wept icy tears, throwing hail and snowstorms to form a protective ring around the island. The earth trembled as a woman in labor, agonized by the chilling wound cut into its belly.

Later, the tremors stopped, only to be followed by a final unnatural phenomenon.

As the skies above the Great Sea transformed into an endless cycle of sleet, blizzard and hailstorm, the people living close to the coast began to experience terrifying nightmares that steadily progressed over the following days. Nightmares of a great iron revenant, encased in blue ice, taunting them of their assured destruction.

Just after witnessing the horrors of the undead scourge and the dragon attacks, the people were close to giving up hope.

There was almost no end to the calamities, no lasting peace for the realms of men.

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A/N

Hello there, dear readers! I couldn't help but notice that the review section's been pretty quiet lately, and I gotta say, I can't help but be concerned.

If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to hear your thoughts on my work so far. Any reviews, positive or negative, is always appreciated.

I hope you've enjoyed the update, and I wish you all to have a great day :)