Chapter 4: Mastering Aard
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The frost bitten air nipped at Harry's skin as he squared his stance in the training yard, his breath misting in the cold morning light. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he shifted his weight, readying himself for the next lesson. Geralt stood opposite him, arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes sharp and expectant.
"Today we focus on Aard," Geralt said, his voice gruff but steady, the tone that Harry had come to associate with his most intense training sessions.
Harry nodded, focusing his attention. He had seen Geralt use Aard before—a burst of force that could send opponents flying or knock down barriers. It was raw power, but it required control. And that, Harry knew, was the key.
"Signs are different from your wizard magic," Geralt continued. "You need to focus your intent, let the energy flow without forcing it. It's not about power alone—it's about precision."
Harry raised his hand, mimicking the symbol Geralt had shown him earlier. His fingers tensed, and he focused on the space in front of him, visualizing the air bending to his will. For a moment, nothing happened. He furrowed his brow, frustrated. He could feel the magic bubbling inside him, but it wasn't responding the way his spells did. There were no words to guide it, no wand to channel the energy.
"Don't think too much," Geralt said, stepping closer. "Let it come naturally."
Harry exhaled slowly, clearing his mind. He closed his eyes for a brief second, shutting out the world around him—the cold, the sound of the wind, the weight of Geralt's expectant gaze. All that remained was the energy. And then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he released it.
The blast of force that shot from his hand wasn't perfect, but it was strong enough to send the practice dummy staggering back, its wooden legs scraping against the frozen ground.
Harry opened his eyes, a triumphant smile tugging at his lips.
"Better," Geralt said, his eyes gleaming with approval. "You're learning."
Harry shook the stiffness from his fingers, feeling a surge of satisfaction. The Signs were different from his wand magic, but they weren't beyond his reach. In fact, once he let go of his old methods, he found the magic flowed more naturally.
"Try again," Geralt instructed, motioning to the row of dummies lined up before them.
This time, Harry didn't hesitate. He raised his hand and let the energy surge forward, the Aard Sign erupting from his palm with more force. The dummy jerked violently, splintering at the base. A smile crept onto Harry's face as he felt the power under his command, the sharpness of it almost intoxicating.
"You're improving quickly," Geralt said, a rare note of praise in his voice. "But Signs aren't just about power. You'll need to be able to use them in combat, seamlessly. Practice until the motion becomes instinctual."
Harry nodded, his fingers flexing as he prepared for the next round. He could feel the difference in himself already—the strength in his arms, the agility in his movements, the growing connection to the Witcher magic that had once felt foreign.
They spent the next few hours in intense practice. Harry worked through the series of Signs—Igni, Yrden, and Quen—testing his limits with each one. He learned how to control the burst of fire with Igni, casting a stream of flame that, while not as powerful as his more advanced spellwork, provided a swift and lethal option in combat. With Yrden, he summoned a glowing magical trap that slowed anything crossing its boundaries, and Quen cast a protective shield over his body, absorbing blows with remarkable efficiency.
By the time they finished, Harry's muscles were burning with fatigue, but the exhilaration of mastering something new kept him going.
"Good work today," Geralt said, tossing Harry a water flask. "You're adapting faster than I expected."
Harry grinned, catching the flask and taking a long drink. "I had a good teacher."
Geralt gave him a rare, approving nod. "Don't let it get to your head. Tomorrow, we'll begin working on combining the Signs with your own magic. If it's possible."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "You're not sure?"
Geralt shrugged. "Witcher magic and other kinds of magic don't usually mix. But you're different. Your power comes from a place none of us fully understand. It's worth seeing if you can blend them."
Harry nodded, intrigued. He had always felt like an outsider—both in the world of the Witchers and back in his own world. But this... this was an opportunity to forge something entirely new. Something that was uniquely his.
The months slipped by in a blur of relentless training and physical transformation. The icy grip of winter began to loosen, giving way to the brief reprieve of spring in the mountains, and Harry's body changed alongside the seasons.
At fourteen, Harry had grown tall and lean, his frame filling out with the kind of muscle that came from daily combat practice and conditioning. His once-scrawny frame now boasted broad shoulders and a defined chest, his muscles rippling with each movement. His hands, once soft from a life spent gripping wands and Quidditch brooms, were now calloused from swordplay and hard labor.
He couldn't help but smirk sometimes when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror—a brief flash of amusement at the thought that his current fourteen-year-old self looked stronger and more mature than his seventeen-year-old self had back in his world. Back at Hogwarts, he had been slender, even wiry, a boy who spent more time fighting dark magic than building muscle. But here... here, he had become something more.
His face, too, had changed. His jaw had sharpened, his cheekbones more pronounced. His once boyish features had given way to a striking, almost rugged handsomeness. And his eyes—those vivid green eyes—had taken on a harder edge. They were still Harry's eyes, but there was something else there now. Something older. Colder.
Even his hair had changed. The jet-black locks that had always been untamable were still wild, but now, streaks of white ran through them—small, thin strands of silver that glinted in the sunlight. Vesemir had told him it was likely a result of the intense magical strain he had been under since arriving here. Whatever the reason, Harry didn't mind. It made him feel more like a part of this world—more like one of them.
Harry had also grown more comfortable with the Sword of the Witcher. His movements were no longer clumsy, and the blade felt like an extension of his own body. Geralt had drilled the techniques into him relentlessly—swing, parry, feint, thrust—until they became second nature. And now, at the cusp of fifteen, Harry could hold his own in sparring matches with Geralt himself.
"Not bad, Potter," Geralt had muttered during one particularly intense session, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're finally moving like a Witcher."
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains and cast long shadows across the courtyard, Harry found himself standing once again in the training yard, his breath steady as he finished his final set of drills. He sheathed his sword with a smooth motion, the sound of steel sliding into leather oddly satisfying.
Geralt approached, his expression thoughtful as he watched Harry's movements. There was something different in his eyes today—something that told Harry this wasn't just another day of training.
"I think it's time," Geralt said, his voice low but certain.
Harry glanced at him, wiping sweat from his brow. "Time for what?"
"Time to combine your magic with the Signs," Geralt said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've mastered the basics of swordplay. Your physical strength is more than adequate. You've got control over the Signs. But what sets you apart from the rest of us is your wizard magic."
Harry nodded, feeling a ripple of excitement.
Geralt continued, his gaze sharp. "I'm not sure if it's even possible. Witcher magic is raw, instinctual. Wizard magic is refined, calculated. But you've proven yourself capable of adapting to both worlds. If anyone can do it, it's you."
Harry couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "So what's the plan?"
Geralt motioned to the practice dummies that lined the far end of the yard. "We're going to start simple. I want you to cast Aard, but instead of just using the Sign, I want you to channel some of your own magic into it. See what happens."
Harry nodded, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. This was uncharted territory—something even Geralt didn't fully understand. But that was what made it all the more exhilarating.
He raised his hand, forming the familiar symbol for Aard. But this time, instead of simply letting the Witcher magic flow, he called upon the power that had been with him since he was a child. The magic that had saved him more times than he could count. The magic that had marked him as different.
The energy built within him, swirling in his chest and pulsing through his veins. He could feel the familiar hum of power—both from the Witcher Sign and his own innate magic. He focused, visualizing the two forces merging, intertwining like threads in a tapestry.
And then, with a sharp motion, he released it.
The blast that erupted from his hand was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The force of Aard, combined with the precision of his wizard magic, sending a shockwave rippling through the air. The practice dummies were blasted backward with such intensity that they shattered on impact, splintering into pieces as they hit the stone walls behind them.
Harry's breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the destruction before him. The raw power of it left him momentarily stunned.
Geralt, however, merely raised an eyebrow. "Well... that's new."
Harry couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him. He had done it. He had combined the two worlds—the power of the Witchers and the magic of the wizards—into something entirely his own.
"You've still got a lot to learn," Geralt said, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. "But you're ready for the next stage."
Harry nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over him. He had come so far from the boy who had stumbled into this world, lost and unsure. Now, standing on the edge of fifteen, he was stronger, faster, and more skilled than ever before. But more than that, he was ready for whatever came next.
"Tomorrow," Geralt said, "we start working on combining the other Signs with your magic. We'll push the limits of what you can do."
Harry grinned, his green eyes flashing with determination. "I'm ready."
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Hello again! I hope you enjoy another chapter of Death's Champion! I'm debating on Harry and Triss meeting soon so stay tuned my friends and as always God bless!
