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Cintra
Port Voyavar

Vandal pulled his mount to a halt and took a moment to breathe in the salty air of the Cintran coast.

Port Voyavar lay just ahead, and he could see the main mast of the barquentine ship that Dagorad provided for him and the soul-bound army. The ship was large enough to hold him and a hundred men for the journey towards the world shard, and should the royal army lend him their reserves as promised by the king, they would have at least two hundred more souls to back them in the coming battles.

He hoped it would be enough. The armies of Saggrel mustered thousands more, and still they barely turned the tide when they faced Lorosi and his legions.

The baron, having achieved his moment of clarity, rode on and met up with his merry band of friends at the Voyavar moor. The knights Sir Weyland and Sir Kane, along with Enris and his mercenaries, shook hands with the young lord as they reunited after being months apart. With greetings exchanged and stories swapped, the warriors rejoined the others at the pier. The barquentine, their ship, named The Steadfast, stood ready for departure. When Vandal reached the gangplank, he noticed that Dagorad indeed provided the royal army reserves along with six brigs to take them across the sea.

Lord Strauss commanded them personally, on orders from the king to ensure that the threat of the Iron Revenant would be the last one he'd have to deal with in his reign. But judging from the Lord Protector's expression, it was fairly obvious that he didn't approve of the king's decision. Vandal decided he didn't care, he got what he needed. All he had to do now was lead them into the heart of the world shard and strike down the Iron Revenant.

As the baron passed the marketplace situated close to the docks, he spotted the white-haired witcher perusing the wares of each booth. Ever since the attack on the capital, artifacts and ingredients of dragon origin began to flood the market, ranging from the simplest grounded dragonbone to the highly coveted dragonscale armor. Geralt didn't have the money for the top-shelf goods, but he had enough to stock up on his collection of potions and oils.

"Geralt!" Vandal exclaimed, pleasantly surprised to see that his friend made it after all. He approached him with his arm outstretched, "I went back to look for you in the city. When they told me you rode out, I thought you've gone for good this time."

Geralt grasped his arm firmly in turn, "Oh I was tempted, believe me. But then again, slaying monsters is my job. Wouldn't earn me much, considering how close the crown's getting to bankruptcy, but let's just call this a favor for a friend."

"Fret not, slayer." Vandal put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Dagorad's coffers may be near-empty, but mine hold enough to serve as compensation for your efforts. See us through this, as you did when we faced Idlekkarnhamth, and I'll fill your pockets with enough gold to last the whole month."

"A month?" The witcher's lip twitched into a humorous lopsided smirk, "Why not a year?"

"Haha!" Vandal laughed, understanding his need for gold to purchase all the tempting things on sale from every store in Port Voyavar. "No."

"Don't promise me that much, though. Judging from what I saw at the capital, your women are readily spending half your purse in properties."

"Investing." Vandal corrected him, looking rather proud of himself for having that bit of knowledge. "They're investing half my purse in properties."

"Oh?" Geralt's brow arched, "And how'd you learn to become an economist?"

"Lenicord Dunsten's Guide to the Economical Wilderness. Volumes one to thirteen." The baron declared, "What? A year's plenty of time to sit down next to a fire every other night in a week. Try it, pick up a book every once in a while. You'll be surprised how much you can learn in the world."

"If it doesn't teach me how to kill monsters better, those books are wasted on me." The witcher grunted.

"Learning how to manage money is never not important."

"Hmph. So how'd that gift-giving of yours go?" Geralt changed the subject, "Reckon it gave the nobles a scare."

"It did, but it worked out in the end. Just the first step into bridging the two races together. Pretty soon, Cintra's skies will be filled with dragonriders, just like my home in Saggrel."

The two friends chatted for a bit longer, until the call for all to come aboard was sounded. They both headed for the ship, still swapping tales of their adventures throughout the year, but were stopped at the docks by a group of pilgrims dressed in worn-out roughspun cloaks. From the amount of dust that still clung to their clothes, the pair could tell that they've traveled a long way. For what reason, they had yet to find out.

The eldest among them, a man who looked so ancient that his face was an incomprehensible mass of wrinkles and frizzy white hair, approached the baron. With a shaky hand and an even shakier voice, he asked him who he was. "A-Are you t-t-the o-one they c-call Vandal? The d-dragonslayer?"

Vandal nodded slowly, still unsure of the group's intentions. "Yes, that is what they call me."

Geralt rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Upon hearing him confirm his identity, the pilgrims all knelt before Vandal. Some reached for his hand, begging him to bless them, while others grasped the hem of his cape to kiss the red fabric as though it was a holy relic. Astonished, and a little embarrassed, Vandal bid the pilgrims rise and quietly asked for an explanation.

"The prophet of the Church told us of your deeds..." One of the pilgrims spoke up, "He spoke of your kindness, your valiant efforts to defend Cintra from the undead as well as the dragons who destroyed our city. Is it true, your body is the vessel of the Eternal Flame's ember?"

"I... I don't know anything about that, but..." Vandal replied, "I am the vessel of the last Vestige of Warmth, if that means anything to you."

"Then show us. Please..." The pilgrims begged, "Show us the Enkindling Breath that defied the dragon's flames."

Seeing that the pilgrims would not let them leave without a little demonstration, and feeling eager to get underway, Vandal removed his helmet and lifted his face to the sky. With a strained huff, he expelled a gout of flame from his mouth, causing many onlookers to gasp in shock at the baron's power. The pilgrims, seeing their faith rewarded, prostrated themselves before Vandal and declared him a living saint.

Confused, Vandal threw Geralt a questioning look, one that the witcher returned with a disgusted grimace. It had become apparent that the words of the fanatical demagogue from the streets of Cintra found its way into the hearts of the common folk, who were all too gullible to gobble up his dogmatic sermons. Later, a crowd began to form around the scene, with port villagers joining in on the excited chatter shared by the pilgrims. An exasperated Vandal tried to dissuade the people, as he felt that they'd wasted enough time at the port and should best be heading out. But the more he tried, the more zealous the pilgrims became.

Soon, it became clear that someone had to intervene, and so Geralt called for Lord Strauss to help save Vandal from the pressing crowd.

Before noon, the ships raised anchor and headed for open sea, much to the baron's relief. Their heading was clear, for the fog hadn't settled in over the waters just yet- the silhouette of the world shard which lay over the horizon. To pass the time, sailors worked the riggings ceaselessly and sang sea shanties as they scurried over the decks like rats in a cornfield. The kingsmen, who shared quarters with the sailors, busied themselves with keeping their weapons and armor clean and ready for battle. For although the voyage across the sea remained relatively calm, it was well known that they were entering hostile territory.

Yet onwards, they sailed, undeterred by the potential dangers they would soon face. The little fleet reached the little rim of icebergs, debris scattered from the world shard's descent, and the men atop the decks leaned out to peer at the curious shapes that moved above them.

"Bugger me, are those... mermaids?" A sailor asked, pointing to the shadowy figures draped across the icy ruins of castles and towers sticking out of the waters like reeds in a pond.

Mermaids would've been a bit of a welcome sight as opposed to what they expected to face. But mermaids didn't drag themselves across surfaces, without elegance or finesse, or stood up on broken and weak legs. They didn't claw at the air or moan like drunkards fighting the light of the morning. No, they weren't mermaids at all.

"Shamblers." Lord Strauss said, "Undead. We're headed in the right direction, alright."

The shamblers started spilling into the sea like refuse pouring out of a sewage pipe. Vandal watched them with mounting concern, feeling that the sea would hold more than its fair share of monsters should the shamblers scatter and drift about with the tide.

Geralt caught on to his look and offered a small word of reassurance, "Shamblers are at the bottom of the threat chain, Vandal. If they scatter, they scatter. If they prey on a village in some far-off riverbank somewhere, the local militia can handle them. Best keep your mind focused on the real threat."

"Yeah." The baron leaned forward and pointed to the skies above the world shard, "Like that one?"

For the first time, since its descent from the heavens and subsequent plummet into the face of the Continent, the world shard opened up and unleashed an unholy storm that shook the murky depths of the sea. A bright blue light filled the sky, and the heavens parted to reveal the vast star-lit space between worlds.

Then, the fog descended on the fleet.

Geralt wrapped a black fur coat around his shoulders and sat down on the deck with his feet tucked in under him. Then he drew his sword, the silver one, and placed it over his lap. His cat eyes closed and his breathing slowed. The witcher decided to meditate, save his strength for the coming battle, while everyone else started to lose their nerve.

The fog dimmed their heading so much that the sailors couldn't tell whether an iceberg was in their way until it was way too close. Pretty soon, The Steadfast ran aground, as did the whole fleet.

They made landfall on the graveyard of kingdoms, and the dead rose up to welcome them.

"To arms! They're coming for us!" Lord Strauss bellowed, his sword emitting a loud hiss as he drew it from its sheath. The kingsmen trotted out of the ship's hold, arms raised and ready to strike as the shamblers started climbing over the taffrails. They came by the dozen, even by the hundreds. All of them so eager to meet Cintran steel.

The only one who wasn't eager was Geralt. As the Cintrans fought the shamblers off, the witcher remained where he sat, seemingly oblivious to the danger all around them.

"Witcher! Are you just going to sit there and do nothing?!" The Lord Protector roared as he lopped off an undead soldier's head with his sword. "Get up and fight!"

The witcher ignored him and kept on with his meditation. Through the clamor of steel striking ancient and rusted iron, the growls and moans of shamblers swarming over a screaming kingsman, the slayer did little else save for keeping his rhythm in check. Soon, he heard an incredulous Vandal trying to shake him out of it. "Geralt? What are you doing?"

Without even bothering to open his eyes, Geralt answered. "Bottom of the chain, Vandal."

Confused still, the baron returned to assist in repelling their foes. As the battle dragged on, a woman climbed out of the hold and lit up the foggy air with a blinding torrent of fire. The sudden burst of flame surprised both the undead horde as well as the kingsmen who fought on deck. All eyes turned to the sorceress who stowed away on The Steadfast, and many recognized her as the one who led the assault that killed the greater dragon Skarner at the Amell Pass.

Lord Strauss knew who she was, and although he was grateful to have the mage on their side, he was not amused to see Lady Belen's apprentice. He had the suspicion that Vivien had been sent to spy on them. The Mistress of Mirrors was not above using lackeys to do her mirrors' work.

Vandal, on the other hand, held no such reservations. He greeted the mage and welcomed her into their ranks, as did the rest of the grateful kingsmen. Unfortunately, even though her magic forestalled the undead onslaught, the battle was far from over. A cacophony of blood-curdling shrieks from within the fog unnerved the Cintrans, and they quickly bunched together as dark shapes descended from the cloudy skies. Vandal saw them too, and he ignited Ashseeker. It didn't take long for him to understand the exact reason why the witcher was saving his strength.

The world shard held more horrors than just shambling undead, it held the abominations birthed from Lorosi's own unholy arsenal.

Winged horrors that looked like haggard, mishapen women with tattered and fraying feathered wings that brandished old and rusty spears, swooped down over the ships like a flock of opportunistic crows. Men screamed as they were pinned to the decks with ancient javelins, or thrown overboard to drown in the icy waters. They were so many, too many. They even looked like they were too much for the archers or Vivien's magic to handle.

Fortunately for The Steadfast, a predator sat waiting on its deck. Cunning like a viper, strong as a bear and ferocious as a griffin. Geralt of Rivia pounced and vaulted off the masts, a whirlwind of steel and silver that cut through the air with the grace of a cat. But of all the animals his strengths could be compared to, Geralt was a wolf. A hunter, no mere gloryseeker.

There was something unnatural there that needed correction. Through steel and silver, by brutality or guile, Geralt rid the Continent skies of the harpies until the flock dispersed into the fog to regroup.

"They'll be back." Lord Strauss observed as he kicked a harpy corpse off the ship. The act proved to be futile, as hundreds of shambler corpses filled the decks of every ship in the fleet. He inspected the state of the vessel and finally decided to abandon The Steadfast, "We can't stay here, they'll pick us off until there's nothing left. Best we make for shore with the longboats."

"Agreed." The witcher said, wiping the blood from his swords. "Word of advice; keep away from the icebergs."

And so the shaken and cautious Cintrans cast off from their grounded vessels, all mindful of the towering ruins that dotted the sea around them. Men muttered prayers to their many gods as day quickly turned to night. Carried by the gentle tide, the little fleet of longboats ventured deeper into the final world shard's domain. All the while, the kingsmen had to listen to the horrid choir of shambler moans and tortured groans. For the unseasoned soldiers, it felt like it was enough to drive one mad.

Just when it felt like the journey through the fog would never end, a sailor called out suddenly. "Land ho!"

That was when the fog eerily lifted, revealing the icy shore littered with Skelligean shipwrecks. When the Cintrans pulled their boats off the surf, they stopped to inspect the corpses found among the wrecks. A total of 67 Skelligean warriors, all bearing signs of a very recent battle, filled the shore from one end to the other. Some were butchered and impaled on old spears, others floated over the surf like sacks of wool- sacks studded with frayed and ancient arrows.

"Warriors of Skellige." Enris observed, reaching for his maul as his eyes warily scanned the wreckage. "Looking for new raiding grounds. No raids here. Just slaughtered fools."

"If we're not careful, we'll soon join them." Vandal said, warning his men to stay away from the corpses lest they find themselves waist-deep in shamblers once more. "Don't wake the dead. Let's press on."

Suddenly, the distinct cry of a dragon pierced the eerie silence, threatening to rouse the corpses from their slumber. Out of the snow-capped hills came a massive golden-scaled dragon, which quickly made its ascent into the stormy skies of the world shard. It didn't even stop to search for prey, but headed out to open sea.

Geralt peered closely and thought he saw someone riding the creature.

"Well..." Lord Strauss said, feeling relieved that they didn't have to face a dragon again. "Thank the gods that thing's not after us."

The army of the living marched on, through the snowy slopes and into the icy labyrinth filled with all manner of ruin and desolation. They had crossed the watery gravestones, now they walked upon the grounds of a veritable necropolis. The cold monotony of snow had an end, but at its edge lay only the beginning of the greatest evil the men of Cintra had to face.

The Iron Revenant's realm was of black ice, dark ichor that flowed from the eyes and mouths of contorted statues, and ironically brimming with activity. The cursed denizens, all undead and chained to the Revenant's dark will moved with a purpose. The shamblers who first greeted the army of the living did as shamblers did. They wandered, they scattered. There, in the heart of the world shard, the undead moved with the unity of a single mind. The curse that destroyed Saggrel gathered strength and was at its most powerful when Vandal and his friends confronted it.

There, they built, they worshipped, they prepared to bring their master's glory into the lands across the sea.

And when they were done, they would bring it further into the worlds beyond.

When the army of the living proceeded cautiously on unwelcome ground, the undead paid them little heed. Vandal's soul-bound warriors eyed them warily, for the deeper they ventured into the necropolis, the higher the likelihood that they'd soon find themselves surrounded by the undead hordes. And if they moved like the living, the dead would undoubtedly add them to their number.

"That tower." Vivien observed, "If I'm not mistaken... it seems to be of pure star-metal."

"I wonder why." Vandal said.

"Welcome to oblivion..." The mocking voice of the Iron Revenant echoed from the black ice spires that dotted the streets of the necropolis. His words reverberated with a supernatural chill that shook the bones of every man marching behind the baron.

Upon the surface of the black spires, his blasphemous image appeared. A towering, menacing brute adorned in obsidian black armor. His visage, obscured by a helm with the jagged teeth of a crown hammered around his head. Eyes of hateful blue peered through the slits of the helm, shredding the sanity of many weak-willed men among the unwelcome visitors.

Suddenly, the undead ceased in their activities and slowly shifted their gaze towards the intruders. The Iron Revenant's knights, each towering at a frightening height of eight feet, brandished their weapons and attacked the Cintran kingsmen first. The howling mob of undead fell upon the soul-bound, effectively separating the strong from the weak.

The baron and the witcher, along with the soul-bound who chose to rally to them, fought hard to bridge the gap but found to their frustration that such progress towards a hard goal proved to be torturously slow. Vandal and Geralt could only look on in horror as the giants pounded the Cintrans into the ground, turning the streets of the necropolis red with the blood of the fallen.

It was a good and near thing that there were mages among the ranks of the soul-bound, among them being Vivien. The sorceress called upon the most powerful of her spells and burned a path through the undead to reach Lord Strauss. Quickly, the witcher stepped in just as a giant knight raised its massive twin-bladed axe to cut down the Lord Protector.

Geralt knocked Ubrich aside and twisted his body in a way that the blade of the axe cut the air inches from the front of his body and into the ground below. The axe buried itself deep into the icy earth, allowing the witcher all the time he needed to run up the giant's arm and drive his silver sword into its head. The blade pierced its right eye and went cleanly through to the back of its head, killing it instantly.

"Big guy. Would've been a big payday." He muttered.

The giants, seeing the witcher succeed in slaying one of their own, abandoned their mission in killing the kingsmen and instead focused their wrath solely on Geralt.

Vandal attempted to follow, to aid his friend, but Enris and his mercenaries had other ideas. There was a path up the iron tower, open and unguarded. The Iron Revenant, they assumed, lay within the center of it all. The army could hold off the majority of The Iron Revenant's forces, but the source of the evils of that place was well within their reach.

"Lad, this way! We kill that evil bastard, we end this nightmare!" Enris called.

"Go! I'll follow you in!" Vandal decided, unwilling to leave the witcher and the others without offering a little assistance.

Enris nodded and parted ways with his men in tow. Vandal fought alongside the others, effectively stemming the tide of undeath until they left little but straggling abominations in their place. The baron and the witcher, together, slew all of the Revenant's knights and drove his minions back into their graves. Then, they paused to catch their breath.

The battle exhausted all of the Cintran kingsmen and they suffered the most losses. Lord Strauss made a total head count and arrived at a staggering number of one hundred lost souls. A costly victory for the price of freeing the Continent from the icy grip of the Revenant.

"Let's go." Geralt beckoned, leading whoever still possessed the strength to fight inside the heart of the black necropolis, which weren't at all many. Strauss and the Cintrans decided to remain at the foot of the tower a little longer, thinking it best to defend a fallback point should their allies need to regroup. The band of warriors ascended the stairs of the haunted tower, coming across the remains of Enris' mercenary band.

Although they had parted briefly, it became apparent that Enris bit off a little more than his crew could chew. His men lay dead among their enemies, butchered and torn apart. The man himself was not among them, and Vandal could only assume that the stubborn sellsword pushed even further into the heart of the tower, no matter the enemies he had to face.

Fearing the worst, Vandal broke into a trot. The warband followed soon after, and they found even more traces of Enris' bold advance towards the Iron Revenant. Scores of undead lay broken along the path to the peak, all victims of Enris' maul. And still, the mercenary was nowhere to be found. So onwards, the band ventured. Up and up the stairs, until they reached the top.

The Iron Revenant's throneroom.

"Enris!" Vandal cried out in horror upon seeing the mercenary dangling from Lorosi's iron hand.

The Revenant laughed, his voice an ugly thrum of hollow metal. Enris' lifeless body, covered inexplicably by frost, was cast aside. The enraged baron boldly approached the giant with his sword raised, behind him followed the witcher and the soul-bound warriors.

The Revenant, who was iron made manifest, stood before a throne of crumbling ice that preceded a great pit. From this pit emanated the blue light that pierced the skies of the Continent and brought the unnatural chill of winter to the world shard. The tower itself, which served as some form of conduit for the Revenant's dark power, trembled and pulsated with eldritch energies. With every passing moment, the air grew colder and colder. Even the witcher, who possessed superior physical properties, shivered from it.

"I have bent the realm of the dead to my will... This world will be next."

Lorosi hefted a powerful greatmace of prodigious size, which hummed with the same magic pouring out of the great pit behind him. The Revenant, who was no fool to suffer the assault of overwhelming numbers, raised his greatmace as if to challenge the baron and his witcher friend. He conjured a great wall of ice to bar the rest of the soul-bound from entering his throneroom, sealing Vandal and Geralt in with him for a duel of the fates.

"Lady of Light..." Vandal muttered a prayer, "Give me strength."

The Revenant tilted his head mockingly, "Naïve men pray to the gods. You will learn to pray to me."

The baron replied by fanning the flames on his sword to white heat. He and Geralt exchanged looks of determination, then attacked the Mad Sorcerer King. Vandal went low, while Geralt went high, aiming for both Lorosi's head as well as his knees.

The Revenant moved impossibly fast for someone so big, and surprised Vandal enough to feel the greatmace smash into his body and hurl him across the room. The baron hit his back against the icy wall, and he felt his bones break on impact.

Geralt snarled at the Revenant and continued fighting, knowing that Vandal would recover from his injury in time to rejoin. He drew his steel sword so he could wield both in the duel. He found, to his frustration, that his blows proved insufficient to pierce the Revenant's iron hide. No matter how hard or how carefully calculated he swung and stabbed, the thrice-damned armor held all too true.

When the witcher swung his swords one final time, they shattered against the enchanted metal.

The Revenant chuckled, "I am unbreakable!"

Geralt didn't stop to ponder on his mistake, and he dove down for Vandal's fallen sword, which lay discarded on the throneroom floor several feet away from where the baron fell. As soon as he grasped the handle, the black-blade's flames burst to new life, as though drawing strength from the witcher's boundless vitality.

"Yeah? We'll see about that in a bit..." The White Wolf crouched low, grabbed one of his bombs from his belt, then twisted the fuse to ignite it with a little igni.

When the Revenant hefted his greatmace, the witcher threw the lit bomb at his face. The resulting explosion sent a burst of black smoke that obscured the tyrant's vision, allowing Geralt to strike with Vandal's enchanted sword.

First, he went for the giant's legs. Ashseeker cut deeply into the Revenant's knee, dispelling the enchantments keeping it whole and sending the giant toppling over clumsily onto the floor. To Geralt's puzzlement, there was no blood gushing out of the Revenant's wound, and even more puzzling was the fact that there was nothing inside the armored leg.

Lorosi had become pure magic and forsook a mortal body, yet chose to encase himself in armor. Such was the nature of magical beings, all of them needed a corporeal form at the very least to affect the mortal realm. It was their weakness, a weakness the tyrant shared. Geralt had to ensure an end to the Revenant's reign, and he knew exactly how to do just that.

He cut off the giant's arm, then proceeded to drive the weapon home into the Revenant's chest.

Lorosi grunted, more out of annoyance than out of pain. His baleful blue eyes stared deep into Geralt's soul, in an attempt to shred his sanity as he did with some of Cintra's men. The witcher knew better than to look into them and refused to meet his gaze. He drove the weapon in deeper, allowing Ashseeker to melt away the Sorcerer King's armor and sever his mortal coil in the realm of the living.

The Revenant's voice grew dull, like a fading hymn in an empty cathedral. "Fool. You cannot stop this. I bring the White Frost, and it comes for you..."

Upon his death, the icy wall crumbled to nothing, allowing the soul-bound to enter undeterred. They had gotten what they've come for, they slew the Iron Revenant and ended his reign. They had won!

But their victory somehow felt hollow.

"Could it be..." Vivien, the sorceress, approached the pit behind the throne. Her face paled upon seeing the eldritch energies course with increasing intensity. She'd seen the conduit before, although on a smaller scale. Lorosi's kingdom had been full of towers like this, which drew on the life of Saggrel itself. Now, this tower of his drew on the life of the Continent, just to summon the world-ending storm that roamed the cosmos.

It was indeed the White Frost, and it was scratching at the door, eager to be let in.

"What? What's wrong?" Geralt asked.

"It... we're too late..." The sorceress said, "If only we reached this place sooner, before they completed it, we could've stopped them."

The witcher glanced around the throneroom for anything of note. A lever, a switch or even some magical glyph to turn it off. "Can't we destroy it?"

"We can't." Vivien replied sorrowfully, remembering her last days on Saggrel when all the kingdoms descended on Lorosi's realm. "This tower is made of star-metal. You'll need to have the power of a hundred sorcerers just to pull it apart."

There was a loud creak as Vandal regained consciousness and pulled himself to his feet. The others ignored him as they argued and searched for a way to halt the conduit in its process of summoning the White Frost. The baron listened quietly as Vivien explained what she could about the futility of their efforts.

"We wouldn't even be able to dislodge a single spire from this tower!" She fumed, feeling defeated and frustrated that she couldn't offer anything to help. "Unless someone among you possesses the power of the First Flame."

Vandal looked up at her, then glanced at the pit.

"So that's it? It's the end of the world?" The witcher scoffed, "Lady, there's always a way."

"Yes, indeed." The baron said, his words causing every head to turn his way. "There is but one path, and I shall take it."

He approached the pit slowly, but the witcher put a restraining hand on him before he could reach the edge of its mouth. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Vandal stared at his boots for a moment, then met Geralt's gaze. The glowing golden orbs looked on with resignation at the witcher's cat-eyes, then the baron smiled. "Someone's gotta do something, Geralt. I have the power, I can feel it and I know it's the only thing that could turn this around. If I don't try, this world dies. Just like Saggrel. I don't want your world to suffer that same fate."

Geralt frowned, "Then what? You're just going to jump into that pit, hope for the best?"

Vandal nodded slowly, "Pretty much."

"Do you have the slightest idea how ridiculous that plan is? Think, Vandal, think! What if nothing happens? And worse, what if this time you actually die?"

"Then... if I die and nothing happens, there truly is no hope for this world."

Geralt fell silent, feeling stumped by the simplicity of it all. It was either Vandal tried or he didn't, and in the face of armageddon that bit of self-sacrifice didn't seem all too unnecessary.

"Sometimes, I think to myself that there is a purpose to my gift." The baron said wistfully, "That it isn't a curse, and that the gods made one final effort through me to end Lorosi's madness. There should be no reason for you to be sad, Geralt. Nor should there be a reason for you to resist my decision, albeit I hold the utmost appreciation for your concern."

"I'm not concerned." Geralt denied gruffly, "I just... I think it's stupid to throw your life away needlessly."

Vandal saw through his lie, but didn't call him out for it. "Is it, though? Is it needless?"

"You have so much to lose if you do this." The witcher argued, still bent on saving his friend's life. "Have you forgotten what's waiting for you back home? Think about Serah, think about Sandy! And not just them, your children too!"

Vandal closed his eyes to fight back the tears. Indeed, he had not forgotten. They were all he was thinking of, "Yes, I have much to lose. But so do you, so do all of you."

Geralt growled, withdrawing his hand from the baron. There was nothing left for him to say, and so he kept his peace.

"I am touched by your devotion, Geralt. I am honored to have you as a friend." When the witcher moved to return Ashseeker, Vandal politely declined. "Keep it. That weapon will serve you well in your work as a witcher, far better than it has served me."

Geralt held the black-blade, whose flames had long disappeared from its edge, and silently thanked the baron for his final gift.

"Do me a favor, tell them my story." Vandal said to him, his voice breaking as the realization of his impending sacrifice dawned on him. "To Serah and Sandy. Tell them both, tell my sons... I love them."

The witcher nodded. The soul-bound bowed their heads to salute their departing master, and their enduring devotion gave Vandal the strength to finally approach the pit's mouth. Standing there, so close to the edge with the magics pouring out of the gaping hole in the center of the throneroom, Vandal once again felt the biting cold that wrapped the surface of Saggrel.

He was afraid, much more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. But he never let that stop him from taking that leap into the abyss, directly into the heart of the Continent from which the dark tower siphoned its power to call on the icy storm.

Vandal watched as his body slowly disintegrated through the long plummet into the pit. He left a burning trail of bright red and gold, transforming winter's bite into the warm caress of summer. The power of the bonfires, which smoldered within his soul, burned hotter than it ever did. Within this realization, Vandal found comfort in his decision.

He would die, but in the end he would save the Continent.

His thoughts turned towards home, the one he made for himself and the two women who held his heart.

He didn't think or worry about a hereafter. Serah and Sandy, they were his heaven.

No regrets. He'd given his all.

Now, he would rest.

}!{