Roach's hooves pounded the earth. Flecks of white foam speckled her black muzzle and flanks, and she had started panting horribly. Still, Geralt pushed her on, not wanting to lose sight of the magpie soaring above.

Ducking under branches and low-hanging limbs, the pair flew over rocks, fallen trees, and roots.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

Roach seemed to echo Geralt's thoughts, her hooves kicking up a whirlwind of debris, not once slowing her breakneck speed through the mountain pass.

Faster.

The magpie was always just ahead of them. Just out of reach, taunting them, daring them to go even faster on the treacherous terrain. Geralt bent low in the saddle; trying to reduce drag despite the agony it brought to the wound on his stomach.

He grew blind to his body's torment, his world blurred and Cregennan's increasingly frequent concerns were lost to the wind whistling by his ears.

He couldn't lose her.He couldn't bear to. Nothing else mattered. He had to save her. He had to-

Roach landed her jump awkwardly, twisting an ankle and throwing Geralt from the saddle. He curled on himself to avoid Roach landing on him as she fell to her side. She brayed once - the sound almost apologetic as Geralt pushed himself to his feet.

The witcher checked the sky for the damned magpie. It was still there, just barely a black dot amid the ocean of blue and white clouds.

Roach struggled to find her footing, pain evident in her every attempt to stand.

Geralt searched once more for the magpie. It was getting smaller by the second. He couldn't risk losing any more time.

I'm sorry.

He charged after it, leaving Roach to fend for herself. The echoes of her anguished cries lingered long after she was out of sight.

XxxxX

His heart was near bursting, his legs were bundles of fiery nerves, and his breathing labored.

He pushed back branches, and clambered over stone. Each obstruction only taking more time away from him, more energy he needed to save her. He had to keep moving; couldn't afford to rest.

Geralt looked upward, noting that the magpie had slowed just enough to keep pace. It gave a choked warble then began a slow circle over the area ahead.

Must be close.

His steel slid from its sheath, its blade glowing red from the anticipated bloodshed. The witcher calmed his breath and stepped out of the brush cautiously.

Skj'aera was there to greet him, his grey cloak wrapped tightly around his thin shoulders. "Witcher, I'm glad you could finally join us."

"It wasn't as if you gave me much of a choice."

The elf shrugged, a dangerous shine in his almond shaped eyes. "Yes, well that was the intention."

"Where is she?" growled the witcher.

"Safe, for now. It all depends on your level of cooperation." The elven mage batted away the sabre held in front of his face with his staff.

Much to Geralt's own annoyance, he let him, the sabre instead angling downward clenched in a tight fist.

A smug look of superiority crossed the elf's features, as he made a quick gesture to someone behind him. "I'm glad to see that you can be reasoned with after all."

The witcher's ears perked at the sound of rough shoving and Ciri's strong voice. "Let go of me!"

Geralt's eyes followed the shapes emerging into the clearing. Ciri's face was battered and her hair matted. It hurt to look at her, but it hurt even more to look away.

Their eyes met, and Ciri called out to him. "Geralt!"

Ciri."Lara."

The pain doubled in his heart, shared by Cregennan's own distress.

Why doesn't she teleport away?

"Likely the same reason why Lara couldn't. The gate draws in magic to sustain itself. She won't be able to as long as she is this close to it."

The gate…?

The witcher scanned the clearing again. Tall slender brass poles rose from the ground, each carrying a basin of blue fire. Amid the rows rested a wooden slab atop a stone. The slab, worn from age, bore its ancient markings proudly.

Cregennan shifted uncomfortably in Geralt's head, confirming the witcher's assumption.

"Let her go." Commanded the witcher, his fingers numbing from how tightly he held Iris.

"We will, only after you do something for us first."

His nostrils flared. "Which is?"

"The altar. I want you to kneel at it."

The witcher looked at the stone again, his eyes flicking between it and the elves that surrounded them.

Skj'eara noticed Geralt's indecision. "Make a scene here Witcher, and the girl willdie."

As if to make a point, Geralt heard shifting among the trees and the glint of arrowheads as bows were drawn. They weren't aimed at him, but at Ciri. He couldn't get to her on time if he chose to act against.

Geralt relented. He sheathed his blade, and knelt in front of the makeshift altar.

He almost lost her to the White Frost, letting her go through that portal almost killed him. He couldn't risk her again. Instead he would give the world to keep her safe, even if for just a moment longer . It owed him that much at least.

"You can't!" Ciri pushed at the hands holding her, twisting free of their grip. "Don't do this Geralt!" She cried, her arms reaching for him. "Ger-"

Ciri's plea was cut short, her movements frozen. The wind had stilled, with it, the surrounding forest sounds.

Nothing moved. Not even the elves that struggled to contain the wriggling empress.

A slow clap rose and quickened until it was a full applause. It stopped abruptly, as a voice filled the emptiness.

"It's all so very touching. Wouldn't you agree Geralt? Humans, elves, dwarves you are all so very predictable."

Geralt could honestly say not much frightened him, but he couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine when he recognized the condescending voice. "Why are you here O'Dimm?"

The Man of Glass quirked a smile - as like last time, his features were deceptively nondescript. "If that is how you greet an old friend, it's a wonder you have any at all." O'Dimm steepled his fingers together, the tips touching through his fingerless gloves. "How's Marlene doing these days? I've heard her cooking's gotten remarkably better since my last visit." O'Dimm curled a finger around Ciri's hair and tucked it back behind her ear.

"Don't, touch her!" snarled Geralt, trying to stand. His legs suddenly feeling as if they had grown root, anchoring him in place.

"Ah, ah, ah," O'Dimm tutted, waggling a finger at the witcher, scolding him as if he were a small child. "I just want to talk. There's no need for hostility."

"What do you want?" Geralt ground out between clenched teeth.

"Oh, Geralt. You know it's never about what I want." O'Dimm crouched in front of the witcher, his shaven head cocked to one side. "All this has been for you."

The witcher grinned bitterly. "What are you proposing?"

"Only to set things right." Surprisingly enough, the magpie had swooped in on their conversation landing on the Man of Glass' shoulder.

"Meaning what exactly? I won't be playing word games with you." Geralt spoke slowly, still eyeing the bird and pondering how it remained unaffected by O'Dimm's magic.

It had hopped from O'Dimm's shoulder and was now perched on his crooked arm, its black claws sinking into the Man of Glass' stiff yellow tunic. "Where is your trust? Surely by now you know I keep to my word."

"Unfortunately, I also know you keep it to the letter."

"Very well." The Man of Glass chuckled, amused by Geralt's open distrust. "I will help get you, and your charge, out of this predicament. I'll even make it so that these fools don't see their plans come to fruition." With a cruel grin the magpie on O'Dimm's arm spasmed its head, lurching up at an awkward angle as its feathers fell out in large clumps. Its flesh shriveled in on itself and it let out one last rattling croak.

Geralt watched the bird's skeleton fall, his focus turning back to the Man of Glass as its bones scattered on the impact. "This won't be for free I assume."

"Naturally." O'Dimm affirmed.

"So, what isthe price for this help?"

"Straight to the point as always… You see Geralt, you have something that should have been mine. Something that I ask of you now."

Geralt stiffened. He knew what O'Dimm wanted. It was the same thing the witcher had bargained to save Olgierd's: His soul. The offer was tempting, but then so were all of O'Dimm's deals, and each ended horribly for the wisher. "No."

"No? Geralt do you even know what you are saying no to?"

"I have some inkling, but I'll take my chances; without your help."

O'Dimm frowned. "Just remember Geralt, everything that happens now, couldhave been avoided." The Man of Glass snapped his fingers and vanished, his mocking tone disappearing on the returning breeze.

The world regained its pace, but everything somehow appeared to move in slow motion. Every new detail etching itself into Geralt's mind.

Each step of Ciri's boots that pulled her closer. Each movement of the elves around them as they tried to separate the pair. Her small hand reaching for his. The snap of a taut bowstring. The splash of red flecking his face. The shock twisting her soft features, and the crimson tipped arrow protruding from her throat.

Every. Single. Detail.

"You… can't." Ciri whispered past the blood filling her mouth. "You…" Her body slumped into his, her ashen hair catching in his fingers.

Ciri?!

Geralt felt for a pulse, a breath, anything to prove she was still alive.

No . No!

A primal roar tore from his throat. Pain, rage, grief… sorrow. Feelings a witcher should never have flooded him. They consumed him. Blinded him. Were they even his, or were they Cregennan's?

After laying Ciri down gently, as if she was merely asleep, he rose.

The witcher turned on the closest elf, Iris drawn from its sheath faster than any could hope to react. The surprise was evident on the elf's face as a red line drew up his front, before the elf toppled over.

An arrow struck Geralt's shoulder, but he ignored it.

He spun on the next, his attacker's head hitting the ground as it was severed from its body.

Geralt roared.

His body grew dotted with arrows, each meant to slow him down – to immobilize, not to kill. Not that it mattered: he couldn't feel anything. Not anymore. To the trees he threw his grapeshot bombs, leftover from his scavenging at Kaer Morhen. A few elves dropped dead from their perches, their slender bodies torn to shreds by the bombs' shrapnel.

Skj'aera raised his staff, stamping the ground with its end. The ground quivered, but Geralt was faster. He threw the dimeritium bomb, its deadening power halting the spell. The witcher never gave the elven mage time to retaliate. In a quick stroke, his enchanted sabre cleft Skj'aera's hand, the elf's staff tumbling away with a clatter. Geralt twisted, no movement wasted as his sabre drew a bloody crescent across the skin on the elven mage's chest.

Another elf was rapidly approaching. He kicked Skj'aera away to avoid a deadly blow, the dagger instead tracing the scar across his left eye. The witcher let loose a growl and turned on the attacker, knocking away the elf's blade and running the elf through in a smooth motion.

Dragging himself across the ground, Skj'aera vainly attempted to retrieve his staff, but the witcher wouldn't have it. The witcher tossed his final bomb, the Northern Wind, and as it detonated as it impacted the earth. Icy tendrils snaked across the grass, freezing everything they touched, including Skj'aera's legs. The witcher stood above the elven mage and brought down his steel blade, shattering the frozen flesh.

The elven mage's screams fell on deaf ears; none of the others remained to hear them. Skj'aera flipped onto his back, staring up at the witcher towering above him. "Monster," he hissed. "Do you know what you cost us?"

The witcher wasn't calm enough to offer a coherent reply. His blade whistled down through the air, finally finding purchase in Skj'aera's skull.

There was no one left to challenge him.

Geralt felt his fury fade, leaving nothing behind but emptiness as he surveyed his work. With a sickening slorping sound, the witcher pulled out the sabre, and wiped its flat along the elf's grey cloak.

Ahead of him, the portal waited, its gaping maw just waiting for the witcher to activate it. He moved to the altar without thinking, as if it were drawing him in.

"Cregennan, how do I use this?" Geralt's hands curled around the rough edges of the wooden slab, his head bowed above the intricate carving on its surface.

The mage offered no answer.

"Cregennan…" His voice came out as a low growl, a warning.

"We should destroy it."

The witcher snarled, slamming his palms down on the ancient wood. "Cregennan! How do I use this?"

"It's too late Witcher. She's gone. Go. Tend to your wounds."

"You said this thingcan go back in time." He gritted his teeth, trying to remain calm. "I can still save her."

"Or you could watch her die again. Sometimes the dead are bound to their fate..."

The thought of Ciri lying behind him haunted his vision. "Then I will sever that fate."

"Is this what you truly wish for?"

"Would I ask otherwise?"

"No. If it's what you seek, then I cannot stop you. You have the right to at least try."

"What do I have to do?"

"Place your hand on its center and repeat after me. After that, the gate will bring us to where you need to be."

XxxxX

Geralt rolled with the fall, the harsh sheet of dried earth coming up quickly to meet the pair. The portal spluttered closed behind him, the last of its energy spent. He stood slowly, his dark eyes surveying the parched land. "Where are we?"

"I don-" Cregennan started, but as Geralt continued searching something clicked. "At the Beginning of Everything… this… this shouldn't be possible."

"Why?"

"The gate shouldn't have had the power to go back this far. There shouldn't have been any need…" Cregennan's voice seemed awestruck.

The witcher stayed silent, his own curiosity peaked.

"Best to stay alert Witcher. Ancient things wander here."

Geralt didn't have to be told twice. Everything seemed wrong, like he shouldn't be there. Hulking shapes drifted in and out of the line of the horizon, but never drew closer.

"Ancient? O'Dimm. Could I summon that bastard even here?"

"O'Dimm?" The mage paused, and it felt remotely like he was shifting through Geralt's memories. "I... I do not know… would it even be wise?"

The witcher's lip turned to a half-sneer. "Only one way to find out."

If they were drawn here, then it was for a reason.

XxxxX

Drawing in the dust proved harder than Geralt had anticipated, especially when he was drawing the pentagram with his own blood. The earth drank every drop greedily, fading the painted lines severely.

Geralt grimaced, retracing the lines he had laid out. He felt weak, as if just the act of drawing the circle was draining him. Knowing what he was doing, it probably was. He finished and hoped that it was close enough to the markings he once saw second hand.

He didn't have white candles, but he figured that the white fletching along the arrowhead protruding from his body counted. With a few pained grunts he broke the shafts, pushing the broken arrows into the star's five points touching the circle.

The witcher knelt in the pentagram's center, careful to not disturb his work. He hesitated, before casting Igni, giving silent thanks that he had enough stamina to at least light the five substitute candles.

A cold laugh traveled across the land, joined by distant whispers.

The wind picked up and Geralt was forced to close his eyes. When he opened them again, Gaunter O'Dimm was standing before him.

"To what do I owe this surprise?" He mocked, eyeing the kneeling witcher. "Did things not turn out as you intended?"

This time the witcher was allowed to stand. "You know why you're here O'Dimm."

"Do I Geralt? You rejected my last proposal."

"I want to discuss the terms. You didn't give me the opportunity earlier."

"Discuss? Geralt, you sound as if you have room to bargain."

"I do."

"Oh, do pray tell."

The witcher had succeeded in catching the Man of Glass' interest. It was another matter to keep it. "Our last bet didn't end well for you. I would wager you'd like the chance to redeem yourself."

"'Redeem myself?' That takes some gall." The Man of Glass had begun pacing around the witcher, disappearing and reappearing every so often in Geralt's peripheral. "I'd be lying if I said I weren't surprised by the previous outcome..." Tapping his chin thoughtfully, O'Dimm conceded. "Very well, what do you have in mind?"

"A game. Same as last time. I win; you set things right as you mentioned earlier."

"But if I win?"

"You get what you wanted: a soul, one that comes willingly."

"Oh, I severely doubt it would come willingly..." O'Dimm's pacing stopped and he was once again in front of the witcher. "As to the game… hide-and-seek again? No, you won that far too easily. If the main goal of this gameis to defend my honor, then I shall do so like a gentleman. A duel, surely your time in Toussaint has familiarized yourself with the custom."

Geralt nodded. It wouldn't be the first duel he's had, but he couldn't let his guard down. "What are your terms?"

"Winner takes first blood, granted it would seem I've won that already."

A searing heat traveled along Geralt's spine, and he grunted from the pain. A fleeting panic struck him as the feeling spread, traveling down his nerve endings and into his wounds, exaggerating the pain that was already there. The witcher curled in on himself, his fingers twitching as the arrowheads imbedded into his back squirmed their way out of his flesh.

"There." O'Dimm announced when the ache finally ebbed away.

Geralt moved ran his fingers over where his wounds had been, finding even his armor had been repaired. "Thanks..." He might have been healed, but he was still skeptical of O'Dimm's actions.

As if the Man of Glass sensed the witcher's doubt, he continued. "I would get little enjoyment from of our game if I won against someone who was half-dead." He drew the dagger that was sheathed at his side.

The witcher in turn drew his silver sword.

"You wound me Geralt," O'Dimm teased, the Man of Glass taking note of Aerondight's glowing silver blade. "Silver?"

"It would be a mistake to think you as a man."

O'Dimm toyed with his dagger, its edge growing to the length of a longsword. His dark eyes drew back up to the witcher's. "Fair enough. I guess it doesn't really matter which one you use..." He sounded bored, but the ominous smile told Geralt otherwise. As soon as the words left O'Dimm's mouth, the Man of Glass was upon the witcher.

The distance between them was closed in mere moments. Geralt brought up his blade and blocked the initial strike, the clang of metal on metal echoing far across the empty landscape.

Steel sang as the pair exchanged blow after blow, Aerondight's light the only vibrant color against the dull backdrop.

The witcher ducked under one swing, returning a swipe to where O'Dimm's midriff had been an instant earlier.

At another, he rolled out of the way of, only to leap back towards the Man of Glass.

Their swords met in a tangle, their hilts knocking together. A moment passed as they pushed against each other, neither side backing down. A twist of a wrist and the pair broke apart.

XxxxX

Geralt was panting heavily, but forced himself to not let it show. He couldn't appear weak now.

"It's about time we end this, don't you think?"

Geralt raised his sword defensively, ready for anything the Man of Glass could throw at him. Almost ready for anything.

As O'Dimm continued to circle the witcher, Geralt swore he saw double, triple, quadruple. Four identical clones surrounded him.

"How is this still a duel?" Asked the witcher, his eyes darting between each of the doppelgangers.

"Oh, it very much still is. This is a fight between you and me. No one else has joined us." The clones said in complete sync.

The O'Dimm's converged, a sea of blades stabbing towards the witcher. There was nowhere to go. He blocked the first, dodged the second and head-butted the third. It was the fourth's sword that finally drew blood.

Everything seemed to freeze as both parties watched the small bead of red soak into the ground.

The gleam in the Man of Glass' eyes grew as the doppelgangers vanished one by one. Geralt's body locked up, he couldn't avoid what was about to happen.

He had failed.

O'Dimm drew closer, and Geralt felt nauseous at the feeling of worms crawling under his flesh, feeding off of him.

His wrist burned like a hot brand, the symbols glowing white hot as O'Dimm's magic separated the two souls inhabiting the witcher's body.

Cregennan's voice was just barely a whisper now, and Geralt wasn't sure how much of him still remained. "I'm sorry for everything," and then the feeling stopped. The brand was gone.

The Man of Glass looked momentarily puzzled as Geralt stood seemingly intact. Then he started laughing.

"Hahahahaha. A willingsoul indeed. I must admit I did not see that coming."

Neither had Geralt, but that may have been why the deception worked so well.

As O'Dimm was distracted, the witcher seized his opportunity. His sword sliced the Man of Glass' eye, leaving a bloody socket where the eye once was.

For a long while, nothing happened. Then Gaunter O'Dimm gave a strained smiled, his eye healing almost instantly. "It seems we've come to draw." The Man of Glass' tone dropped to one less pleased. "We willbe seeing each other to finally settle this."

The witcher frowned, biting back the harsh words that came to mind.

O'Dimm vanished amid a sudden snarling gust, leaving behind a small golden ball - one that had caused the witcher so much grief.

He plucked it from where it fell in the dust, and turned it over, noticing that his wolf-head medallion remained still. Cregennan was gone.

Now he was truly alone.

XxxxX

There was nothing. Nothing but the dust that crawled in waves along the cracked earth, blown about by the same bitter wind that stung his sweat-soaked skin.

Not even the sky had been spared of the grey monotony. The sky was choked with it, remaining a twilight haze no matter which direction he looked, or for how long he walked.

XxxxX

His legs carried him autonomously through the dreary landscape, and Geralt drew shaky fingers to his cracked lips and blew. The whistle echoed emptily, and he let out a tired laugh. What was he thinking? There was no way Roach would hear that, or even could.

A small part of him still hoped. Yet, that small part was crushed when nothing happened.

On he walked through the bleak scenery.

XxxxX

Geralt's body ached. His feet screamed at him to stop, each step more excruciating than the last. And, despite all of his body's mortal complaints, he pushed himself further. There had to be something out here.

His lips had long grown dry, but the murky water he encountered was nothing but salt and mud. Geralt removed his armor to try and filter the liquid through the leather and heavy fabric, but it remained undrinkable despite his best efforts.

He was too weary to be frustrated, and instead, he moved on, leaving his witcher gear to be claimed by the dust.

XxxxX

He stumbled, his boots catching on an unseen rock, and he fell. The ground remained unsympathetic as his arms took on the full brunt of the impact.

Geralt lay there, feeling pinned to the ground by the once-comforting weight of his blades. He felt choked, suffocated.

Struggling with his baldric, he eventually undid its buckles flinging both it and his swords away. He couldn't even register the clatter as the dust greedily consumed the discarded metal.

Why did he bother trying? What did he hope to find in this nothingness? These thoughts began plaguing his mind. Unrelenting. Ceaselessly they continued. Their weight dragging down on him more so than his swords ever did, each footfall feeling heavier than the last.

Geralt wanted to stop, what was the use anymore?Everything looked the same. The same lifeless, inhospitable plain. He would die here. Unknown and unfound.

He thought of Yen. He thought of… Ciri. She wouldn't have wanted him to go like this.

On faltering legs he rose, only to fall once more to the dried earth. He tried again, just barely managing to force his legs beneath him.

Move, he commanded his failing body. Each footfall felt like lead. Move. Each step, each sign of progress, quickly erased in the stinging wind. Move.

XxxxX

Finally, Geralt stopped. He could go no further. His exhausted legs couldn't hold him anymore and he collapsed to his knees.

The wind howled its victory, whipping grit and loose grey hairs about his face.

Listlessly, his golden eyes stared out over the horizon once more before his tired body careened to the side. His head hit the ground unhindered.

Geralt lay unmoving, the dust slowly covering him. Inch by inch, it erased his presence from the desolate wasteland.

In the distance, hulking shapes moved in and out of the horizon's line, never drawing any nearer.