A/N: Sorry for the delays, writer's block is an absolute headache. I still have no idea what I got myself into
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ACT 0
Chapter 3:
Wars and Wounds
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"You cannot run, Zireael. Your destiny is bound to mine."
She was falling.
Endless black stretched in every direction, yet Ciri could feel something pulling her, like a faint whisper she couldn't quite place. And then, through the abyss, she saw it: a face, just out of reach. A faint flash of brown hair and piercing green eyes, almost mirroring her own, within the depths of her subconscious.
Her heart ached as though she had known them forever, though she couldn't recall the details. She felt herself reaching for them, straining to make contact. Just one touch.
Who are you?
Her hand brushed against the figure, and a shock of recognition surged through her body. They were connected somehow, but by what thread of fate? Was it the same magic that pulled her between worlds, or something more? The figure remained elusive, fading into the void just as quickly as it had appeared.
A scream tore from her throat, but no sound came. She continued to fall until the blackness consumed everything.
"Shit!!!!"
Cirilla gasped awake, her body jerking upright, hands clawing at the muddy earth beneath her. She was no longer falling, no longer in the vast emptiness of her dreams. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath, her muscles burning from the strain of their flight.
Where…?
The Lady of Space and Time blinked against the hazy morning light, her surroundings gradually coming into focus. The sickly stench of decay hit her first, followed by the damp, oppressive air that felt heavy in her lungs. Swamps. Easy guess, she was in the shittiest parts of the shittiest region in the continent, Velen. A low sigh escaped her lips.
Ciri had made it—barely.
Her mind reeled, trying to piece together the fragments of the escape. Avallach, the Wild Hunt, the portal. The curse. She clenched her fists, her fingers digging into the muck as guilt gnawed at her. Despite her best efforts, Ciri had left him behind. Again.
But she had no choice. They had planned for this after all, a contingency in case they ever got split up.
Find the tower…
Ciri's eyes scanned the dense, twisted trees, their roots jutting up like bones through the mud. The swamps of Velen were treacherous, and it wouldn't be long before something—monsters or men—found her. The cold of the Wild Hunt's magic still lingered on her skin, a reminder that they wouldn't stop searching for her. Eredin's words continued to haunt her mind, his dark presence a constant shadow over her thoughts.
As the Swallow gathered her strength to move, a whisper of memory flickered through her. The figure in her dreams. Brown hair, green eyes. A tug on her soul that felt stronger here, in this strange, desolate place. Someone from another world. Someone she had pulled into this one.
But who?
Ciri shook her head, trying to dispel the fog of confusion. There would be time for those answers later. Now, she had to survive. She had to find her next move. Avallach had bought her time, but it wouldn't last forever.
….…..
A week had passed after the fateful visit by the two Witchers to the White Orchard inn. The quiet village had become a tense knot of unrest, with the aftermath of that incident at the White Orchard Inn rippling through every corner of its once relatively peaceful existence.
In their attempt to restore what little vestige of order remained, Nilfgaardian soldiers now patrolled the streets more frequently, the clink of their black armor echoing across the dirt roads even more prominent.
For the people of White Orchard, the increased military presence only served to disparage them even further, fueling the unrest that had simmered below the surface. Whispers spread like wildfire: while some blamed Nilfgaard, others also blamed the Witchers. Crops had failed, livestock had died mysteriously, and illnesses clung to the villagers with a cold, merciless grip. The Black Ones, they said, were a bad omen, drawn to their village by the same curse that had drawn the Witchers.
Needless to say, inside the tavern itself was no better. The tables that had once been filled with locals and travelers alike now sat abandoned, after the massacre that had occurred within its walls.
On the few occasions when Ben could sneak in some repairs, his efforts went largely unnoticed. The creaking of chairs and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds that filled the now desolate space.
The shapeshifter watched Elsa move about the inn, her once lively steps now stiff, mechanical, devoid of energy. She went about her chores like a specter, her hands wiping down the counter in slow, listless motions. White Orchard inn, once lively and full of chatter, had become just as hollow as she was—scant tables, dim light, and the constant, despondent silence that clung to the air.
The old lady barely acknowledged him anymore, and when she did, it was with a thin, halfhearted smile that barely touched her tired eyes.
"Hey, Elsa," Ben greeted, trying to cut through the dull atmosphere that hung in the mostly deserted tavern. He gestured toward the empty seats with a faint smile. "Slow day, huh?"
Elsa barely paused in her cleaning, offering only a brief, hollow chuckle in response, one that never reached her eyes. The impact of everything that had occurred recently—it all seemed to weigh on her in a way that made his heart ache.
For a while she brushed it off as a side effect of her frayed nerves, but oftentimes Elsa would shrivel and withdraw into her shell whenever Ben attempted to lighten her moods or offer to help her out.
Ben shifted awkwardly, shuffling his feet as he wracked his brain for the right words. "So, uhhh…" His voice trailed off, the silence between them growing heavier by the second. Definitely not the start he'd hoped for
He had no idea what to say, no clever remark that could break through the fog that seemed to surround her. He knew the signs; Gwen acted the same for a while when they had "lost" Grandpa Max. The ginger barely spoke for a week, her demeanour . It was the kind of silence that gnawed at you from the inside, leaving you an empty husk on the outside
Despite his best efforts, it was clear that Elsa's condition was worsening with each passing day. She had grown quieter, her words few and far between, and even those were usually absent of any warmth or life. Her mind seemed to drift constantly, lost somewhere Ben couldn't reach. Elsa had become shadow of herself, and he found himself longing for the warmth that once defined her presence.
"Maybe... maybe things'll get better," he muttered, though even he didn't believe it.
Elsa barely acknowledged him, her focus drifting off toward the window, her eyes tracking the soldiers patrolling the village. The sound of their boots on the dirt paths seemed to weigh heavily in the room, as if their presence was choking the last remnants of warmth from the place.
"You haven't shaved"
"Huh?" Ben blinked, her observation catching him off-guard.
She looked him over with a hint of concern, the first real emotion he had seen in her for days, though her voice remained flat. "Have you been eating, lad? You're skinnier than usual."
He gave is trademark shrug, trying to brush it off. "I'll manage... but what about you?"
Elsa shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You worry too much for yer age, lad. Look at those bags under your eyes. They're worse than mine." She chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, just a tiredness that ran deep.
Her words stung more than Ben expected. He couldn't help but wonder if he was partly to blame—not just for the brawl, but for the growing distance between them, and the toll it seemed to take on her.
Elsa gave him a long look, her eyes softening for just a moment. "I'll be fine," she murmured, though she sounded anything but. She waved him off, wiping her hands on her apron. "Go on. Go see Tomira, get something for those bags of yours. Besides, I'm sure she'll be wanting company."
He hesitated, wanting to do something—anything—to help her, but she had already turned her back on him, resuming her endless, lifeless cleaning. With a sigh, Ben stepped out of the inn, the door creaking shut behind him.
…...
Ben let out a nervous breath as the shapeshifter found himself at the doorstep of Tomira, the village herbalist. Her cottage, nestled at the east of the Sawmill, was surrounded by the wild scent of herbs and flowers, a patch of calm away from the turmoil of the village. The air around her home always smelled faintly of dried lavender and thyme, a refuge from the hard-edged world beyond.
He knocked gently, and the door creaked open. True to her habits, Tomira barely acknowledged the Omnitrix Wielder as he entered, her mind fully engrossed on the spread of tinctures and salves that covered her table. Ben couldn't help the cheeky grin that cut through his previously dour expression.
"Ben," she said, a note of surprise in her voice. Though she addressed him, her attention remained on the herbs spread across her worktable. "Didn't expect to see you this early."
"Well, I thought I'd just drop by... see how things were going," Ben replied, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped inside.
Tomira gestured vaguely toward the clutter of herbs and drying racks surrounding her small hearth, where a pot simmered softly. "I need some Celandine. Can you fetch it from over there?"
"Uhh... where exactly?" Ben asked, feeling a little lost as he glanced at the jumble of greenery. He'd been here countless times on errands for Elsa, but despite his efforts, herbology always left him more confused than when he started.
The herbalist barely looked up from her work, gesturing with an outstretched point. "The one to the right."
"My right? Your right?"
Her nose flared as she tried to point it out with her back turned to him, "The green one with the stalks."
Ben glanced at the table, then back at her. "Uh… they're all green."
Tomira huffed, much to his chagrin, finally setting aside her work to search for the elusive herb herself. "Why do I even bother?" she muttered under her breath, pushing past him to reach for the Celandine stalks.
Ben sighed in defeat as he watched her rifle through the mess that was her hut before fishing out the sprouts in mere seconds. Unfortunately for Ben, he'd always felt like a lost child in her workshop. The plants and potions all looked the same to him, despite Tomira never failing to give precise instructions and descriptions whenever she could. He couldn't help but think, not for the first time, that maybe he should have paid more attention in biology class.
"Sorry," he mumbled, cringing a little at his perceived incompetence.
Tomira waved him off, letting him off the hook with a warm smile. "It's fine. Honestly, sometimes it's a miracle I can find anything in this mess."
She finally turned to face him, taking note of the tension in his expression. "Something on your mind?"
"Elsa..." Ben began, trailing off as a heavy sigh escaped him. He leaned against the nearby wall, unsure how to express the gnawing worry that had taken root inside him
"How's she doing?"
"I dunno", he answered honestly, "I think what happened to the inn shook her up bad. Tried to help, but she didn't want it."
Tomira gave him a knowing look, one that made Ben feel a little foolish for thinking he could swoop in and fix everything like he was used to.
While she'd reservations towards the strange boy, Tomira had eventually warmed up to Ben, and even grown fond of him—he was earnest, if a little naive about the complexities of the world. His visits were often marked by awkward questions about which herbs did what, though he tried to understand. Moreover, he wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty, and Tomira respected that.
Still, she worried sometimes that Ben's good-hearted nature might not always protect him from the darker sides of life in war-torn lands like this. There was an untamed fire in those verdant eyes, born from a fragile heart that was at odds with this cruel world. At times she wondered just how he'd made it this far without meeting his end at the hand of some cruel machination spun by fate.
Taking a break from her work, Tomira gestured toward a nearby stool as she stared at the shapeshifter. "Sit down"
"You're trying to fix her, aren't you? Like you do with broken things."
She queried the shapeshifter as he sank onto the stool, staring down at the floorboards as if the worn wood held the answers.
"I just want to help, but I can't… I can't fix everything all at once."
Tomira wiped her hands on a cloth, giving him a sympathetic smile as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were permanently surrounded with dark circles, a sign that the constant care she provided took its toll.
She was much like Ben in that way, always trying to mend others, even at the expense of her own well-being. "No, you can't. Sometimes, you've. Grief changes people, makes them afraid of things they can't control."
Ben frowned, the thought gnawing at him. He had always been one to jump in and fix things—whether it was a broken chair or someone's bad day. That was his nature, always needing to help.
"It's just... I don't like seeing people hurt," his words where barely above a whisper.
Tomira's expression softened, her usual sharpness tempered by a flicker of something more tender. Almost maternal. "Aye. But frm my experience, some wounds take longer to heal than others."
As they sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds were the bubbling of the pot on the fire and the rustle of drying herbs overhead. Ben's hands idly fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve, his thoughts clouded. He felt useless here, as if all the strength he had counted for nothing when it came to emotional wounds.
Tomira, perhaps sensing the weight of his thoughts, glanced back at him with a more casual tone, trying to shift the mood. "You remind me of someone I used to know," she said, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. "Claer. She was a friend of mine, years ago. Had that same need to make things right."
The shapeshifter looked up, curiosity lighting up his features. "What happened to her?"
Tomira sighed, setting aside the herbs she had been grinding into powder. "She left the village a long time ago. Went off to chase some ideal, thinking she could change the world. Sometimes I wonder what became of her. But people like that… they often find more hardship than they expect."
Ben nodded thoughtfully. It was hard to walk away when you felt the urge to fix what was broken, even when it wasn't your place.
A faint groan broke through the quiet, catching Ben's attention. He glanced toward a nearby cot where someone lay under a rough woolen blanket, their face half-hidden in shadow.
"Is that…"
Tomira followed Ben's gaze to the cot and let out a weary sigh. "Lena. She's been lucid these past few days, ever since the Witchers left. Got caught in that griffin attack."
She shook her head, her tone laden with an air of frustration. "I've been doing what I can, but it's slow going. Internal hemorrhaging, and my brews... well, they can only make her comfortable."
"Can…can I-", he began, only to be interrupted by the herbalist.
Tomira waved him off gently, her voice firm but kind. "Nothing you can do here, I'm afraid… not unless you've got some secret magic to undo internal damage. Best if you focus on those you can actually help."
Ben winced, her words stinging a little. He couldn't help but wonder, though—could Grey Matter or Swampfire do something? Some kind of surgery? He shook the thought away, knowing it was a long shot. It wasn't like he was a whizz in modern medicine either.
"You're a bit pessimistic for a medic," Ben chuckled weakly, shaking his head.
Tomira chuckled, the sound dry but not unkind. "The Witcher said the same thing."
His ears perked up in surprise, curiosity getting the best of the Omnitrix Wielder, "What was he doing here?"
She busied herself with her herbs, but he noticed the flicker of something in her eyes as she spoke. "Helped him make bait to lure the griffin. White one mentioned there was a cure, but warned that Witcher potions are too strong for normal folk. Left one with me, though. Said it was my decision."
Ben's brow furrowed inquisitively, "Are you going to use it?"
Tomira's eyes softened as she looked at him, the weight of her decision clear in the lines of her face. "Would you, knowing there's a chance she could suffer even more?"
Ben's shoulders slumped, unable to meet her gaze. The hopelessness of it all gnawed at him. Noting his downcast expression, Tomira's lips curled into a sad smile. "It's cute how you always worry, but you should save some of that for yourself."
She handed him a small pouch of herbs, "Here. Chew on these. They'll help you sleep. And eat something, will you? You're skinnier than you should be."
Ben chuckled softly at that, pocketing the herbs. "You sound like Elsa."
Tomira shook her head, but there was warmth in her eyes. "Still worrying about everyone but yourself, I see. You're starting to look like her too—dark circles and all."
"Heh, look who's talking"
….…..
The shapeshifter's trip back from Tomira's was silent and filled with contemplation, the only company being the afternoon sun and the long shadows it cast across the sparse fields of White Orchard.
Ben had always found Tomira a curious contradiction—cynical and sharp-tongued, yet somehow still a source of hope in this bleak world. It was ironic how someone so pessimistic about the future was still the village's only real healer, fighting daily battles with death, even if it was just to make people comfortable in their last moments.
He yawned before absentmindedly scratching at his chin, noting the stubbly bristles that had begun to form. While hygiene had never really been an issue for him- especially when he wore basically the same thing repeatedly back home-, but he couldn't deny he missed simple comforts—deodorant, for one.
"Hmmmmm….think Tomira could whip up something that works like deodorant? Maybe aftershave?", He chuckled at the thought, wondering how exactly he would even begin explaining the concept to a medieval alchemist. She's probably give him a confused look before diagnosing him with delirium. Maybe Elsa was on to something about him not sleeping well.
Then again a bed made of hay was hardly the definition of comfort, especially by Ben's 21st century standards.
CRASH!!!
His musings were interrupted by a loud crash in the distance, somewhere north of White Orchard. Ben snapped his head up, his instincts immediately on edge. At first, he thought it might be nothing—just another farmhouse accident. But as the noise was followed by shouts, he quickly realized it was anything but routine.
As he neared the commotion, the scene unfolded: a small farmhouse, its door hanging askew, with a couple of Nilfgaardian soldiers inside, ransacking the place. Furniture was overturned, crates smashed open, while outside, a pair of farmers—husband and wife by the look of them—stood in a heated confrontation with two more soldiers.
The farmer's wife was yelling, her face red with anger, while her husband tried to keep his voice calm and collected despite the frustration that bubbled near the surface. The soldier captain, taller and broader than the others, stood with his arms crossed, his expression one of thinly-veiled annoyance.
"Ya can't just barge in here an' tear apart our home!" the famer's wife was livid, pointing an accusing finger at the captain before pointing to the slowly forming crowd of onlookers.
"We done nothin' wrong!"
"Tell that to the Nilfgaardian supply caravan that got ambushed near the deserted village yesterday," the captain snapped, his voice as cold as steel. He crossed his arms, watching his men rummage through the house with growing impatience. One of the soldiers, a sneering brute with a twisted grin, carelessly hurled a crate aside, the crash echoing through the room, making the farmer's wife flinch.
"Military supplies don't just vanish into thin air," the captain continued, his gaze hardening as he barked out more orders to his men, invigorating their search efforts. "Those Temerian rats are out here, hiding among you, no doubt taking advantage of the village's proximity to White Orchard. We'll find them, one way or another."
Standing just on the outskirts of the scene, Ben felt himself hesitate for once. Something nagged at him, reminding him that it wasn't his business. The Black Ones had made a habit of intimidating locals, and this wasn't the first time a search had gotten out of hand. But as he watched the soldiers tear apart the farmers' home, he felt his jaw tighten, the same thought swimming in his head.
He couldn't just stand by while innocent people were bullied.
Before he could decide, the captain's next words cut through the air as he addressed the rest of the onlookers. "Anyone caught harboring Temerian rebels will be dealt with!! Severely." The soldier's hand rested ominously on the hilt of his sword in warning, causing the couple to flinch instinctively. Seeing the flash of steel was enough to make many a sensible villager recoil in fear.
That is, unless you happened to be a bullheaded brunette wielding arguably the most powerful device in the known galaxy.
"Hey! What gives?"
The captain turned his head slowly, regarding the newcomer with a mix of annoyance and thinly veiled disgust. It seemed like the unruly punks kepy getting younger, from the looks of things.
"Official Nilfgaardian business that doesn't concern you, boy", one of the Black Ones retorted before stepping in Ben's path and adding with a sneer, "Piss off."
The shapeshifter folded his arms in defiance, glancing at the house as he surveyed the damage inflicted by the overzealous band of soldiers, either driven by paranoia or on a power trip.
"Funny, I didn't realize bullying farmers was part of your 'official business", Ben retorted, gesturing with air quotes as he glared back at the soldier.
"Are you wet in the brain, boy? This is a military investigation, and you're interfering", Another soldier interjected, clearly not used to being challenged by defenseless civilians. The captain's eyes narrowed, holding out his arm to halt the operation, his other hand tightening on his sword.
Ben knew an intimidation tactic when he saw one, and he was about to wonder how well he could "interfere" with Humungosaur, before the second soldier—the sneering one—spoke up, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Hold on a moment... yer not from around here, are you?"
Immediately the brunette could feel the tension shift; the weight of the soldiers' gazes on him, along with the wary eyes of the farmers and a few bystanders who had gathered nearby. He was suddenly aware of how out of place he looked, his clothes, his demeanor—not quite fitting in with the simple folk of White Orchard.
"He's right! He ain't one of us!", someone yelled from the crowd, their words promptly igniting the pit of vitriol that simmered across the surface of the village.
Murmurs began to ripple through the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered at the spectacle. Ben clenched his fists, sensing the growing unease build up due to his intervention. The fear in the villagers' eyes was quickly shifting into something more dangerous—blame. They needed a scapegoat, and Ben had unwittingly presented himself as a rather convenient one.
"He probably brought em there to start trouble!!"
"No damn foreigner gets to speak fer us!!"
It didn't matter how powerful he was, Ben couldn't beat their fear. If they could turn on him so easily, what would happen if he'd gone alien at that moment?
The captain's lips curled into a grin, smug satisfaction from seeing the peasants turn on a dime, and all he'd to do was apply some pressure. "Looks like we've got ourselves someone worth questioning." He gestured towards Ben before turning to his coterie. "Take him in."
Ben took a step back, his hand instinctively drifting towards the Omnitrix. Back when he'd found Napp, he'd bluffed that he had nothing to lose if his secret identity was revealed. But now? His eyes narrowed as he weighed the consequences of actually putting that bluff into action.
Was there anything else he could do?
Before the soldiers could advance, a familiar yet unexpected voice cut through the tension, thick as gravel and twice as gruff.
"Oi! You lot are lookin' in the wrong place!"
The crowd parted to reveal Willis, the village blacksmith, his arms crossed and glaring at the soldiers with all the authority his diminutive frame could muster. "Yeah, he was at the inn, but this lad fought off those rebels. Didn't side with 'em!"
The captain's eyes narrowed, his irritation palpable as he glared daggers at the dwarf. "And who the hell are you to be giving testimony, blacksmith? You think I don't know when someone's covering for a rebel sympathizer?"
Willis let out a short, humorless laugh, folding his arms tighter. "Maybe. But if you're lookin' for answers, terrorizin' farmers ain't gonna get 'em. You're causin' a lotta panic in these parts. People aren't gonna talk just because you stick a knife to their throats."
The captain's sneer deepened as he surveyed the crowd of onlookers, now formed into a rabble audience for the spectacle. "There are plenty of ways to make peasants talk. Fish out one rat, and it'll squeal out the rest." He stepped forwards menacingly, easily towering over Willis. To his credit, the latter never so much as moved an inch.
"Maybe we start with you."
The second soldier, clearly more eager for action, grunted in agreement. "Waste of time jawin'. I say we just take 'em both...get the scrawny one talking first" He shot a quick glance at Ben, the shapeshifter tensing like a strung cord.
He could end it all. Just as easily. One dial twist later and he could shut these bullies up for good.
To his credit, Willis barely flinched at the threat. He let out a huff and jabbed a thumb towards his forge, billowing with smoke from the distance. "Sure, you could try that. But then, you'll have to explain to your boss why the armor quotas aren't met when your only blacksmith for miles goes missin'. Who's gonna shoe your horses? Fix your swords? Patch up that fine armor of yours?"
The captain's face tightened with a scowl, silently commanding his men to cease their advance. This conversation had already worn his patience to the bone--but with resources in scarce supply, they couldn't afford to lose any more assets. Especially not now, with Temerian rebels lying in wait, ready to pounce at any sign of weakness. Nilfgaard may own White Orchard, but not the hearts of its people.
"And what about the pipsqueak?" the soldier beside him gestured snidely at the shapeshifter.
"The lad's with me," Willis maintained, giving Ben a quick yet reassuring glance.
The captain's frustration visibly boiled over, but he managed to keep his composure. Marching closer to Ben, the captain jabbed a warning finger into the brunette's chest. "This isn't over--I'll be keepin' an eye on you, boy. One wrong move, and you're mine."
Roughly shoving past Ben, the captain finally took his leave with his soldiers following in tow, leaving a murmuring crowd in their wake
Willis let out a low growl of frustration, unfurling his stocky arms before turning to the gathered crowd. "And what the fuck are you lot gawking at?", he barked at the remaining villagers, disregarding the dirty looks from some of the onlookers. They never liked him any way to begin with, and he was plenty fine with that.
At least there were still some decent people among this unpleasant rabble. He gestured towards Ben impatiently, urging him to follow. "And you, with me"
….…..
The metallic clang of Willis' hammering echoed across the forge, accompanying the flash of sparks flew as he worked the bellows.
"Y'know, I thought things outta settle down, what with them Witchers gone", Willis chuckled as he adjusted the steaming coals within his forge, his gruff voice breaking the silence, "But seems you've got a knack for gettin' into trouble, don't ya lad?"
Ben leaned against the workbench, flashing a crooked grin. "Yeah, well, my cousin used to say the same thing. Must be my magnetic personality."
Willis snorted, shaking his head. "Magnetic personality, eh? That 'personality' of yours would've bought you a few nights in Nilfgaardian holding cells. Maybe some personal attention from the Black Ones, too."
The Omnitrix Wielder threw a shrug, as nonchalant as one could be. "Meh, I like to see 'em try"
Willis gave him a long look, sizing him up with a raised brow as the shapeshifter's grinned back at him like a cat with a canary."You're either bravest or the stupidest this side of the Pontar, lad. Or maybe yer just suicidal."
However, there was something about the way Ben carried himself— the dwarf couldn't quite put his finger on it, a quiet confidence that made you want to believe he was invincible. Willis's mind drifted back to the arson incident when he'd first suspected something was off about Ben, something not entirely… natural.
Ben's smile faded slightly, the weight of the day catching up to him. "You ever think maybe I am kinda crazy? Trying to help?"
"Ahh, so suicidal then?"
"That bad?"
Willis paused mid-movement, setting aside his tools as he eyed Ben. His initial response was a gruff, bitter chuckle. "Thing is, lad--foreigners like us? They'll never accept" He folded his arms, a tinge of pessimism darkening his tone. "We're not like 'em. No matter how much we help, how much we try, we'll always be on the outside looking in."
Ben opened his mouth to argue, but Willis pressed on regardless without missing a beat. "That's the way of things, y'see...the villagers might look at me like some freak, but the Nilfgaardians? At least they respect talent. Craftsmanship. They see the value in what I do"
"You really think Nilfgaard's the answer?", Ben queried incredulously, " They've invaded, burned homes, torn families apart. You're okay with that?"
Willis's expression hardened as he leaned on his forge, wiping some of the perspiration from his bushy brow. "It ain't about being okay with it, lad. It's about survival. You don't get to choose the world you're born into, or the wars that shape it. Some things are just out of your control, Ben. You can't change 'em, no matter how much you might want to."
The shapeshifter remained silent, slowly chewing on Willis's words. The dwarf's pragmatism was sharp and unyielding, practical; very much like Azmuth. And he couldn't deny there was a kernel of truth in it—however harsh.
"Look, lad', Willis sighed, letting his tone soften a little. No denying the kid had a good heart, no point trying to break it further, "There's a time and a place to help, sure. But don't go thinkin' you can fix everything with that thick skull o' yours, or some idiot 'heroic' gesture. Sometimes, you've gotta work with the world you're in, not the one you wish existed."
He gestured towards the forge, a perfect metaphor to illustrate his point, "Smithing's like that. You don't always force the metal into shape. You change the heat, adjust your tools"
"You change how you work, not just what you work with."
Clutching his chin in thought, Ben considered the dwarf's speech, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Since when did you get all philosophical, Willis? Never figured you for a softy."
Willis grunted, his expression souring as he waved him off before picking up his tongs. "Philosophical? Bah! I'm just a man who's lived long enough to know better. Keep throwin' yourself into danger like that, though…and you'll end up a martyr for people who'll barely remember your name."
His response was a wet chuckle, but Ben's expression sobered as he mulled over Willis's point. "Maybe you're right," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean I can stand by and do nothing."
Willis grunted, clearly still unconvinced but not willing to argue further. "Aye, well. Just try usin' your head more, will ya? Might actually last longer that way."
Ben's grin widened. "Admit it, you'd miss me if I disappeared."
The dwarf snorted. "Miss you? I'd rather not attend your funeral, lad. You keep throwin' yourself into danger, and you'll be doin' them a favor."
Something in Willis's gruff words reminded Ben of Kevin, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter. Before he turned to leave, he paused, his curiosity piqued. "What do you know about the Nilfgaardian caravan that got ambushed?"
"Enough to know it's caused quite the stir", Willis's eyes narrowed slightly, the playful tone in his voice dropping as he continued, "Rebels are gettin' bolder in their fight against Nilfgaard's occupation, trying everything they can to cripple the Black One's hold over White Orchard. And if those Black Ones think they're hidin' here in the village, well…"
"It'll only get worse."
….…..
He'd seen this before.
Mist filled the forest, stretching farther than the darkness that enveloped it's boundaries, like a crude . Beneath him, the shadows began to stretch unnaturally, twisting and flickering as though they were alive
A voice that feels both distant and strangely familiar, echoes in his ear.
"It's you…isn't it??"
His memories were a chaotic blur—flashes of alien worlds, memories of battles past, and echoes of familiar voices.
But this time, the haze gave way to something different, something sharper. Through the murky fog, he saw a girl—a young woman with striking green eyes mirroring his, silver hair whipped by an unseen wind. She seemed to float between clarity and distortion, her features like a half-formed image in a rippling pond.
The images shifted again, this time to White Orchard—a village caught between fields and sorrow. Ciri's voice echoed through his mind, her thoughts seeping into his consciousness like a half-remembered melody.
"They're not safe! No one is!!!"
No…
"What do you mean?! Who isn't safe??!" he called out desperately, his own voice sounding hollow and distant.
"Find me…find us"
With a loud crash, his world shattered like a broken mirror.
….…
Ben woke with a gasp, the scream trapped in his throat dissolving into a ragged breath. His chest heaved as he sat bolt upright, hands trembling against the coarse blanket that covered him.
Cold sweat clung to his pale skin, and for a moment, he wasn't sure if he was still in that dream or if he'd finally clawed his way back to reality. He squinted as his verdant eyes finally readjusted to the moonlight spilling into the cramped attic room, casting long, jagged shadows on the slanted ceiling.
The brunette's pulse thundered in his ears, the echoes of Ciri's voice still ringing in his mind. He rubbed his face with both hands, dragging himself back to the present.
"That girl again…" he muttered out loud as he swatted damp locks of hair from his eyes, hoping to catch another glimpse of the elusive memory in his mind's eye. "Why does she feel so... familiar?"
Ben swung his legs over the side of the creaky bed, planting his bare feet on the rough, wooden floor. The coolness seeped into his skin, grounding him, but it did little to ease the turmoil in his sleep-deprived mind.
So much for Tomira's cure…
Outside the cramped attic, the moonlight casting a pale glow over the distant trees. It should have been a calming sight, but all he could see was the wild, haunted look in that girl's eyes, the desperate plea rattling through his skull.
"They're not safe! No one is!!!"
Not safe indeed. It was the same every day since he'd been flung into this world, the same questions circling endlessly with no answers in sight. He'd no idea how he ended up here, no clue how to find a way back home, and every step forward seemed to drag him deeper into the mire of uncertainty.
Ben Tennyson clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him like a restless itch under his skin.
I don't belong here, he thought bitterly, the brunette's mind drifting back to the empty room around him. The rough-hewn walls, the scent of old wood, the faint hum of the unfamiliar world outside—it was all so different from what he knew. So far from his life, his friends, from Kevin and Gwen and everything he was supposed to protect.
"I'm supposed to be home, saving my world, not stuck in this medieval mess!"
Something in him twisted—a pang of guilt, a spark of doubt. Regardless of how he felt, Ben couldn't ignore the people here, not the way they looked at him with hope or suspicion, not the way they whispered about the monster attacks and the missing villagers. Every time he tried to tell himself he didn't care, that he was only doing this to get out of here, that girl's voice would come crashing back.
"They're not safe!"
A part of him wanted to help, wanted to make a difference here just like he always did back home. It was like a reflex he couldn't shut off, a hero complex etched too deep in his bones. But how could he play the hero when he didn't even know how to get back to his own world? How could he save anyone when he wasn't sure he could even save himself?
"Why did you show me this?" he whispered, staring up at the sliver of sky visible through the window. "What am I supposed to do?"
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar weight of the Omnitrix on his wrist. There were times in his early years the Omnitrix would warn him of danger--even provide warnings through visions he could barely decipher in his slumber.
Right now it felt like nothing more than a shackle reminding him of all he couldn't do. It was a symbol of his power, his responsibility, and now, his powerlessness. Ben let out a heavy sigh and stood, the floor creaking beneath his weight as he moved to the window.
He had to clear his head, get some air.
A flash of energy erupted from his room, cold mist erupting from his new form as he unfurled his moth-like wings.
….…………..
Much like the phantoms that haunted the deserted villages near the town, Ben phased through the walls of the inn and took to the sky, gliding over the sleeping village below. For a moment, he let the quiet night wrap around him, let the cool air seep into his thoughts, letting his doubts air out.
Am I really doing the right thing? he wondered, looking down at the world beneath him. Or am I just running in circles, pretending I can make a difference when I'm lost myself?
The mothman's gaze drifted down slowly, as he noticed Elsa's window below, the flicker of candlelight barely visible through the cracks. She was awake too, sitting up in bed, her face tight with worry. He could see the way her frail hands gripped the blanket, knuckles white, lids shadowed with sleeplessness.
He hovered outside for a moment, watching her in silence as guilt gnawed on him. She deserved better, for all her troubles she was simply trying to eke out a decent life in this war-ridden hell. A ghostly sigh escaped Big Chill's maw as he turned around and flew past, giving her the space he believed Elsa needed.
It wasn't the first time he'd taken these midnight patrols—flying above the rooftops, keeping watch while the villagers slept below. Whenever he couldn't sleep, whenever the weight of his questions grew too heavy, he'd let the cold night air carry him. It was the one thing that gave him a sense of purpose, a feeling of control in this world that seemed determined to keep him in the dark.
Just as he was about to turn back, something caught his eye—a fiery plume of smoke rising from the northwest part of the White Orchard region, seemingly near the bog that mired several bodies from the war. It was faint but unmistakable, dark tendrils curling against the night sky.
"That's not good…"
With a flap of his wings, Big Chill shot towards the smoke, the icy trail of his wings streaking behind him like a comet. Moments later he'd reached the scene only to find the aftermath of what appeared to be another attack.
Several wagons lay splintered across the dirt road, some still smoldering, with scattered goods littered around. Bodies of slain horses and splashes of blood stained the ground. Among the wreckage, Ben could hear them; the guttural growls and howls of flesh eaters, hungry for their next meal. Ghouls and drowners were often drawn by the scent of blood, an ever present feature in the war-torn land of White Orchard. They pounced on the scene like vultures, ready to tear apart everything in their sight.
FWOOOOSSHHHHHHH
With swift precision, Big Chill's arctic breath froze them in place, encasing the creatures in blocks of ice before they could reach their prey. His sharp claws shredded through the frozen sculptures faster than anyone could blink. The fight was over almost before it began, the monsters reduced to flecks of ice drifting in the moonlight.
"By-by the gods…"
His attention snapped to the shaky gasp from a disheveled figure hunched against the nearby tree, clutching his side, his face pale frozen in shock despite the pain. Ben's eyes narrowed as he recognized him; it was the same "merchant" who had been selling goods in the village.
The man's eyes went wide with terror as the Necrofriggian approached, a moonlit specter cloaked in ice. He fumbled for a weapon, but his hands were shaking too much to get a grip and the bow clattered uselessly on the dirt. Ben raised his hands in a calming gesture, forcing a reassuring smile despite his suspicions.
"Easy," he said, dialing the Omnitrix to switch back to his human form with a flash. "I'm not here to hurt you"
"What-what are you?"
"I'm here to help", was the shapeshifter's reply, taking a cursory glance around as he surveyed the wreckage, "what happened?"
A moment passed before the man found his tongue, nodding despite his ragged breath. "I was... on my way to the Black Ones to trade," he stammered out between bouts of groaning, "Monsters from the swamp, they attacked! My horse got spooked, veered off the road... dragged the cart right into the swamp--I... I barely made it out alive. Managed to get a torch, used the flames to get the bastards off me"
Ben's eyes flicked to the man's injuries, then to the scattered remnants of the caravan. Something felt…off about this situation, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Folk said the road was fraught with peril…but I wouldn't listen!", lamented the merchant as Ben reached down, helping him to his feet. Regardless of how Ben felt, he couldn't ignore anyone who needed help
"Can you walk? I know a healer in town, she can fix you up"
"Yes but…what about my goods?! I need to find my box--"
GRRRRRRRWLLLLLLLL
Before the pair could move further, the woods around them erupted in more guttural growls. With the fires gone thanks to Big Chill, more of the Drowners had lost their fear and began to approach. Ben's eyes snapped up in warning, quickly hoisting the man behind cover.
"Stay here!" Ben ordered, his eyes snapping up to the encroaching shadows as he pulled the merchant behind the cover of a fallen tree. "I'll clear a path!"
"But MY BOX—"
"Just hide!" Ben growled, already slamming down on the Omnitrix. The familiar green glow enveloped him, his form stretching and contorting into something far more feral. His form stretched and twisted under the green haze, taking on a more feral form similar to a werewolf save for a quadra lobed muzzle and glowing green eyes.
"Oh f-fuck me!!!", the merchant stammered, shrinking back in terror at the sight of the alien werewolf, pale as a sheet. "—what are you?!"
Ben didn't bother to answer.With a primal growl, he lunged into the fog-draped woods.
….….
Diving into the forest, Ben rushed through the remaining packs of drowners that swarmed the area. His extraordinary night vision could track their movements, their scents and sounds providing even more information to hunt them down.
The Loboan barreled through the swamp before reaching the clearing, the murky water sloshing at his heels. The Drowners didn't take kindly to his presence in their territory and snarled, attempting to overrun the strange beast using their greatest weapon: sheer numbers. Blitzwolfer's eyes narrowed as the swarm of drowners surrounded him, trying to flank from every angle.
Ben's alien maw split apart into four sections before unleashing a violent howl, the sheer force of the concussive blasts sending the rest of the corpse eaters flying. Within a single bound, the alien werewolf slashed through the leftovers, shredding them to bloody bits with his claws.
Each swipe of his claws reduced the attackers to nothing more than a memory—a necessary evil to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. As the last Drowner fell, shredded to pieces, Ben took a moment to catch his breath. He didn't relish the violence, but it was a way to release the frustration bubbling inside him.
He perked up immediately, as something caught his attention—something sharper, more urgent than before. The scent of blood, fresh and metallic, carried on the damp wind.
Ben followed it to the clearing, where he stumbled upon the grim aftermath of an attack. The caravan was a wreck—its carts overturned, splintered wood and broken crates scattered everywhere. The horse lay dead, its sides bristling with arrows.
"Monsters don't use arrows…" Ben muttered, suspicion filling his gaze as he knelt beside the blood-stained dirt. More tracks, definitely not monsters. The scent of blood grew stronger as he went further into the wreckage, finally locating the merchant's precious cargo box.
His mind was already piecing together the clues: the arrows, the merchant's fear, the suspicious desperation. Moments later, the shapeshifter had returned from the bog with the bloodstained box.
"I got your box back…"
But just as the man reached for it, Ben yanked it away, his expression hardening. "Before I hand this over, answer me something—why didn't you mention the arrows? The ones sticking out of the driver's neck?"
The merchant's face went slack for a moment, then his eyes darted left, right, anywhere but at Ben's.
"I—I must've been too shaken to notice," he stammered out, fidgeting in place. Ben merely folded his arms, clearly not buying the act.
"Uh huh…", Ben's eyes followed the man's shaky movements, heavy with suspicion.
"Behind you!". The man yelled out belatedly while reaching toward his belt, pulling out his concealed blade in one swift motion. Ben raised an eyebrow, sighing heavily as the merchant tried to steady the blade in his trembling grip.
"Really?" Ben muttered, half-exasperated at the man's rather pitiful display of sheer desperation, "Knives? Why is it always knives?"
The "merchant" took a step back, his resolve clearly crumbling as he met Ben's unamused stare. He clutched his side and stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet, before turning and breaking into a full sprint. Ben watched him flee, shaking his head as the man's figure disappeared into the foggy gloom of the forest.
"Unbelievable…"
….….
His breaths were ragged and short as he stumbled into the clearing, the adrenaline slowly fading as he reached his camp. The others at the camp were startled at first, drawing their weapons in preparation for attack before the familiar face of their captain stumbled into their midst
"What happened?" one of them asked, warily of the man's disheveled appearance. He looked like death warmed over, and twice as pale. The Captain was clearly wounded from his encounter, but whatever he'd encountered was enough motivation to scuttle back to camp
"There-there was a some kind of f-freak shapeshifter in the woods!," the injured man gasped out, eyes wide and haunted. "I—I think it was a Werewolf or something!"
"You led 'im here??!", one of the men barked, eyes blown wide in apprehension. His gaze darted to the tree line, searching for any sign that their secret camp had been compromised.
The Captain shook his head, his voice wavering as he tried to steady his breathing. "Not sure if I lost him, but I wasn't being followed."
The others exchanged wary glances. These wood were far from a safe haven for them, and the existence of shapeshifters only made their situation even more complicated.
"Do we make a run for the next village?" one of them suggested, shifting nervously on his feet. "We can't stick around if we've been found out"
"We can't just leave," his comrade argued, most of the frustration overtaking his fear as he turned back to their leader, "The others need this medicine, and we don't have time to find another supply. We promised we'd get it back to 'em!"
"Hang the medicine! I'm not going back to that...thing!", retorted the man, cursing his desire to push his luck with Nilfgaard. All it took was one moment and everything was well beyond fucked up for him, and the operation. "You didn't see it. It looked human but it wasn't…it ain't normal!!"
"We were supposed to work as a team!"
"Wait", one of the men suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting to the ground in confusion, before darting upwards in alarm. "...do ya feel that?"
Suddenly, low tremors shook the earth beneath them, and thick, twisted roots exploded from the ground. Panicked yells filled the air as the roots reformed into a humanoid plant wearing vine trap-shaped flaps emerged from the ground beneath them
"Leshen!!!", some yelled out, others scrambling to gather their wits about them. As far as they knew, Ben was some ancient forest horror brought to life before their very eyes, descending on them with the fury of a vengeful specter.
Before they could react, Wildvine's vines lashed out, grabbing weapons, tearing down makeshift tents, and binding the insurgents where they stood. They fought back in desperation and panic, swinging swords and firing arrows, but their blind efforts barely scratched his tough, plant-like hide.
Ben moved through the camp like a primal avatar of the very forest, his attacks swift and precise. It wasn't just about overwhelming them with power—it was a message. He was more than just some shapeshifter in the woods. To these men, he was an unstoppable force, one they couldn't hope to outmaneuver or outfight.
He was punishment, the fury of the forest incarnate.
As the last of the insurgents fell to the ground, tangled and trapped by his vines, Ben approached the trembling merchant who had instigated it all. The man looked up at him, paralyzed with terror, his eyes darting from the carnage around him back to Ben's glowing, unyielding gaze.
"Thought you could run, huh?" Ben growled menacingly, hoisting the "merchant" in the air while glaring at him with his singular eye. "Talk! Who are you, really?"
"Hnnghh…Private First Class…John Geermer", the man gritted out through clenched teeth, unable to anything but dangle helplessly, "Temerian Sixth Division, Second Regiment"
"Figured as much…you're a Temerian insurgent, hiding in the woods", Ben growled, promptly gesturing to the blood-stained box, "—this was stolen. People died for it."
"I'm fighting for my country," he spat back, finally regaining a shred of confidence despite staring down what he could only describe as an Eldritch abomination, "To reclaim our home from Nilfgaard's grasp."
Ben's singular eye narrowed, fury rising under his breath"Innocent people are getting hurt because of what you did!"
"I say no one's innocent in war," the man shot back, despite his voice cracking from the growing lack of airflow in his windpip "I was trying to take back what's ours—what Nilfgaard stole from us! The box? It's medicine, stolen from their supplies! Supplies meant for our people, taken by their soldiers! I'll be damned if I let the Black Ones get to it!"
"You're no different from them", Ben snapped, gritting his teeth in frustration before dropping the man like a hot potato. "Nilfgaard or not, you all justify your actions the same. You don't care how many lives get in the way"
"If you give me that box, I can make sure the supplies reach the right hands", argued the rebel, raising his hands as a show of surrender, "I can distribute them fairly, make sure our people—our sick and wounded—get the help they need. A free Temeria is what I fight for. We're fighting to give people hope again, to stand up against those who trample over us."
Ben's eye lingered on the man for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. He turned his gaze to the camp ruins, the shattered remains of tents and supplies scattered across the ground, the charred wood still smoking from their earlier battle. His alien form seemed to flicker in the dim light, the edges of his silhouette blurring until, with a flash of green light, he finally turned back into his human self.
"The last time I dealt with Temerian rebels," the Omnitrix Wielder spat, a bitter edge to his tone as he recalled the incident at White Orchard "they hurt people I cared about. Innocent people. The very people they were supposed to be protecting. They said they were fighting for a cause, too. Claimed they were different from Nilfgaard. But when it came down to it, they weren't."
"We're fighting for a free Temeria!", retorted the private, staggering to his feet whilst clutching his side as he vented his patriotic ideals, "For our homes, our families! Can't ya see we're not the monsters here--it's bloody Nilfgaard!"
Ben's expression slackened, the hard lines of his face giving way to a flicker of doubt. He sighed, letting out a humorless chuckle with the shake of his head. "I'm not gonna be a part of your stupid war….I didn't ask to be dragged into your mess. All I wanted was to help—help the people who needed it. But now I'm not even sure how to do that."
"If you give me that box, it'll mean something", John attempted to bargain, earning a raised brow from the brunette, "It'll help us. It'll mean one more step towards liberating our people from Nilfgaard's grip"
Giving him the box meant putting the fate of White Orchard in his hands. Letting the rebels continue their ultimately fruitless campaign against Nilfgaard would only lead to more unnecessary bloodshed. But then again, was Nilfgaard really a cause worth defending?
The shapeshifter merely held the box in his hands, still damp with blood. A side
"Look," John's voice was steadier now, as if the Private was making peace with whatever came next. "Either let me go or kill me. Either way, I'll be serving my country. Do what you have to do."
A tense silence stretched between them, each second filled with the unspoken consequences of the decision hanging in the air. Another bright flash erupted through the woods moments later, replacing Ben's form with that of his sleek velociraptor-- XLR8.
"Go," Ben ordered, the weight of his decision clear in his tone. XLR8's visor slid open as he spoke, revealing the alien's narrowed gaze as he glared at the man in warning. "Before I change my mind."
A mixture of shock, gratitude and frustration filled the Private's expression. Realizing his opportunity, John turned and stumbled into the forest, disappearing into the darkness, perhaps to continue his crusade now a few men short. Hardly a problem for the Private; there were always disgruntled folk ready and full of hatred for Nilfgaard to recruit.
A storm of conflicted emotions churned behind Ben's gaze as he watched Geermer flee. He wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing; or if what he did even mattered. The war would still rage on regardless, whether it was Nilfgaard, Redania or even Temeria…but he knew one thing for certain:
He wasn't going to let anyone else get caught in the crossfire. Not anymore.
….…
Morning saw Ben visiting Tomira's again, his sluggish footsteps and dour expression telltale signs of a rather unpleasant night. The usual scent of herbs and poultices drifted through her window, however what was more surprising to the shapeshifter was the state of the hut's owner
Ben couldn't help but smirk as he found Tomira in surprisingly high spirits, a rare smile lighting her features as she carefully sorted through a collection of supplies on her table.
"Ben!" she greeted with a warm grin, clearly having a better morning than he was. "You won't believe what happened—I got a mysterious package this morning, filled with supplies. Enough to last us through the next few weeks, maybe more."
It took Ben all of his effort not to break into the cheesiest smirk possible, though his efforts weren't completely successful. There was always something amusing about seeing Tomira smile genuinely, a smile that actually reached her darkened, weathered eyes. It accentuated her rather pretty features, piercing through the cloudiness that always seemed to shroud her every expression
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, recognizing the shapeshifter's expression before brow raised in curiosity. "Wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
The herbalist placed her hands on her hips as Ben gave her a nonchalant shrug, doing his best to mask his expression with feigned ignorance. "Must've been your lucky day," came his reply, trying to sound casual.
"Lucky, huh?"
As casual as he could manage, anyways. He stifled a blush and looked away, feigning a cough.
At that moment, she felt a twinge of something familiar, something she hadn't allowed herself to think about in a long time. His mischievous grin and good-natured spirit reminded her so much of Goslav. That same spark of defiance in his eyes, the way he seemed to hold onto hope even when the world was crumbling around him—it was as if she was staring at a ghost.
She swallowed hard, shoving the memories down before they could rise to the surface. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past, and she knew better than to let herself get caught up in what-ifs. Regret didn't help anyone, she reminded herself. But helping others—helping the people who still had a chance—that was something she could do.
Tomira's smile softened, but her expression soon grew more serious. "I wish that was the only news," she continued, her tone more somber. "The Nilfgaardian soldiers are getting more violent. They're out for blood, hunting down anyone they think might be involved with the rebels. All because of that caravan raid. It's chaos out there."
Ben felt his jaw clench, his mind flashing back to the camp and his encounter with the rebels, realizing what his decision last night had meant for the rest of White Orchard.
As long as they were free to wage their war in the shadows, White Orchard would be under pressure to force them out. The metaphorical boot of the empire would always be at their necks, in a world that rejected the very idea of hope and optimism.
"At least there's a silver lining," Tomira added with a weak smile, nodding towards the other room housing her only patient. With the proper supplies and treatment on hand, the herbalist could make a breakthrough in treating the poor girl, amidst the dire conditions faced by the rest of the village.
Was it really that hopeless? Ben wondered to himself, Couldn't he do something about it?
"Hey, Tomira…"
She turned to him curiously, meeting his unusually serious gaze, verdant orbs hardened like steel. His jaw clenched with determination, he continued his line of questioning.
"If you had the power to end the war... to stop all the fighting, crush Nilfgaard for good—would you do it?"
To say the herbalist was taken aback would be an understatement. She'd half-hoped he was joking, but the shapeshifter's expression didn't crack an inch. Tomira flinched slightly, a knee jerk reaction to the burning intensity in Ben's eyes, something she'd never been privy to in all her time interacting with the lad.
"I don't…I don't think I-"
"But if you could…would you?", Ben pressed on regardless, his question hanging heavy in the air between the duo. For a moment, it felt like time had stopped and he was just a passive observer, letting the weight of his words sink in her conscious.
He could do it, Ben already knew that much. It wouldn't take half a day with the Omnitrix, a select few aliens could effectively wipe away all of Nilfgaard's forts and camps. He could cut a swath through their forces, reduce the might of the Imperial army to nothing but dust and rubble. It would be fitting, in a rather twisted way.
It certainly wouldn't be the first Invasion he repelled. It would certainly be the easiest, Nilfgaard and Redania were less than nothing compared to the High Breed or the Incursians.
Tomira blinked at him, taken aback by the intensity in his verdant gaze, the weight of his question pressing on her. She saw something almost desperate in those orbs, like he was asking for validation, for someone to make the decision for him. The herbalist sighed, finally placing a gentle hand on his, as if to placate the hunger behind those eyes.
"Ben," she exhaled softly, her words reassuring despite the slight tremble in her hand, "as far as I can tell, there's no magic solution to everything. Even if I could end the war, the cost might be more than anyone should bear. I'm content helping the people I can, one life at a time"
"What if it's not enough?"
"Sometimes, that's all we can do. It's what Claer tried to do—help in the ways that matter, in the ways that are within our reach."
Ben held her gaze for a moment before letting out a defeated sigh. Tomira was right, there was no easy solution that could fix everything, not without introducing a new host of problems. He'd seen the fear in their eyes, the fear in Geermer's eyes, something not so easily dealt with without unintended consequences. Could he fight their fear? Their grief?
He'd had been through adversity before, but he'd never felt as helpless as he did, in the hut of the White Orchard's herbalist. Tomira merely patted him on the shoulder before getting back to her table, leaving the shapeshifter with his thoughts.
The door to her hut creaked open once again, this time ushering in an unexpected guest, clad in the familiar dark and golden armor of the Nilfgaardian soldier.
Ben instantly stood on guard as the man approached, obviously expecting another confrontation. His fingers unconsciously glided over the Omnitrix's plating, expecting another confrontation before the man stopped, staring at Tomira before nodding discreetly. Evidently the soldier hadn't expected Ben to be present at the time of his visit, but was fully expecting something from Tomira.
Even more curious, the herbalist nodded back in discreet approval, not a word shared between them. The soldier trudged past Ben without a second glance, his heavy boots clanking on the wooden floor as he headed straight into the small room where Lena was resting. The metallic echoes seemed to hang in the air, filling the space with an uneasy tension. Ben's eyes darted from the soldier to Tomira, searching her face for answers.
Tomira met his gaze and quickly brought a finger to her lips, signaling him to stay silent. The gesture was small, almost dismissive, but her eyes carried a clear warning—don't interfere. Ben's brow furrowed, confusion simmering beneath the surface, but he stayed put, eyes flickering between Lena's room and Tomira's enigmatic expression. Moments later, the soldier returned and nodded at tomira, his eyes seemingly softer now.
"I was never here," he nodded at Tomira and dropped a few coins onto the table, the metallic clink punctuating the quiet of the room. His gaze lingered on Ben for a heartbeat longer as if sizing him up, before he turned on his heel and left, just as quickly as he'd arrived.
"What was that about?" Ben waited until the soldier left before he turned to Tomira, a puzzled look on his face. Tomira bit her lip in hesitation, wanting to keep her silence for the sake of her promise.
"Tomira?", he queried, noticing her hesitation before quickly adding, "you know you can trust me, right?"
Could she? The herbalist had wondered that quite often. White Orchard offered a fresh start for her, but there were still wounds from her ast that refused to heal properly, casting shadows of doubt that lingered on her mind. She didn't know much about Ben, despite his easygoing nature and friendly demenour she knew that looks could be deceiving.
Almost as deceptive as Goslav.
She sighed, letting the unpleasant memory wash away as soon as it surfaced. Ben and Goslav had merely a passing similarity, but she knew he was nothing like her former lover. Regardless of how she felt about both men, the herbalist instinctively knew she could trust Ben.
"That's the one Lena snuck out to see", she clarified further, noting his eyes widen into saucers, "when the Griffin had attacked"
"You mean he's...," Ben murmured, the realization settling over him like a heavy fog. His face tightened as the pieces fell into place.
Tomira gave a small, silent nod, the corners of her mouth pulling into a bittersweet smile. "Young'uns do stupid things for love, y'see," she added under her breath, the words hitting a little close to home, "Boy's been sneaking away from his camp to check up on her. Risking a lot more than he should, if you ask me."
Ben's brow furrowed, understanding softening his tone. "I'm guessing his buddies from Nilfgaard wouldn't be too happy about their soldier's secret visits while off duty, huh?"
"Neither would her parents,"a shadow passing over Tomira's features. For a moment, her eyes seemed distant, as if lost in a memory that still had the power to sting. She let out a weary sigh before turning back to her poultices, her hands moving almost automatically, the task a comfort against the bitter memories that assuaged her mind.
"Something you can relate to?"
She paused, glancing at Ben as if debating whether to continue before nodding. "My own folks didn't take me back after what happened at the temple…after him," she refused to even say his name, a sour expression on her face.
"When they cast me out, I thought I'd lost everything. But here in White Orchard, being an herbalist—it gave me something to hold on to, something to make all the regrets fade just a little. Helping people... it's what gives my life meaning now."
Ben looked at her, a softness in his expression that wasn't there before. He nodded slightly, turning to the sleeping girl. "Is she gonna be okay, though?"
"As well as I can treat her, at least," Tomira answered, her tone tinged with a sense of weariness tonged with some optimism. The supplies would help, at least for the time being. "The rest is up to her."
She turned her gaze back to him, her eyes locking onto his. "Ben," she said with a trace of pleading in her voice, "promise me you'll keep quiet about all this. If word gets out... well, it won't end well for either of them."
Ben offered her a lopsided smile, his signature touch of mischief barely hiding the seriousness of his promise. "Word about what?" he said, feigning complete ignorance, as if the entire exchange had never happened.
Tomira's lips twitched in a small, grateful smile, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes but spoke volumes nonetheless. She turned back to her work, the familiar motion of her hands grounding her once more, even as the weight of their conversation hung in the air.
She didn't need to say anything; she knew he was being sincere. Their eyes broke contact, before the shapeshifter set off at his own leisurely pace, heading for the narrow dirt path that led back to the ever-troubled town of White Orchard.
Tomira took one last glimpse of the shapeshifter's receding form, walking with a gait that seemed to carry the burdens of the world on his frail shoulders. Some part of her couldn't help but wonder what he'd meant by
….…..
Ciri jolted awake, her breaths coming fast and shallow, the salt-scented air of the sea filling her lungs. She was lying on the deck of a small boat, the cold wind of Skellige whipping through her hair.
The night sky stretched endlessly above her, stars flickering like distant sparks, and the dark water around them seemed to pulse with the same urgency pounding in her chest. Her vision still felt foggy from the sleeping spell, the lingering magic weighing heavy on her limbs.
She forced herself upright, her eyes landing on Avallac'h at the helm, his face set in a stern, unreadable mask. Anger boiled in her chest, the memory of Skjall's lifeless body flashing through her mind—the Wild Hunt had cut him down without mercy. She'd been so close, so ready to go back and help him, to fight for him, for the village. And then Avallac'h's spell had hit her, stealing her chance, stealing her choice.
"You had no right!" she snarled, her voice hoarse with rage. "I could have saved him, I could have done something!"
Avallac'h's gaze didn't waver, his eyes cold and calm, like he was looking at a child throwing a tantrum. "You would have died," he said simply. "There was nothing you could have done for him, Cirilla. The Wild Hunt came for you, not for them."
"So what?", Ciri's fingers clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white. You think I'd just stand by and watch while they slaughter anyone who crosses their path? I'm not running anymore! I can't keep running!"
"You must," the old elf warned, trying to reason past the girl's frustration, "Your power is too valuable to risk. We need you safe, and so does this world."
The Swallow glared at him, her tone burning with frustration and defiance. "I'm not some tool for you to use. I decide who I fight for!"
Avallac'h's lips thinned into a line, but he said nothing. His silence was worse than any argument—it was as if he'd already made up his mind that she was too reckless, too emotional, too human to understand the bigger picture.
As the boat sailed on, Ciri's gaze drifted to the horizon, her thoughts restless and tangled. She knew Avallac'h was right about one thing: the Wild Hunt would never stop chasing her. But the rage simmering inside her told her that she couldn't just keep fleeing, that something had to change. She couldn't bear the thought of more people getting hurt—people like Skjall—because of her.
And then, unbidden, another face crossed her mind. The stranger in her dreams, the boy who shared similar green eyes to hers, who didn't belong to her world but found himself stuck in it nonetheless.
She wondered what his motives were, why he'd chosen to get involved in the wars of this land. Was he running from something, too? Or was he just another pawn like her, pulled into battles he never asked for?
Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword. She felt a pull, a strange kinship in their shared defiance, even though they hadn't met…at least not physically. The ghostly images of her nightly visions wafted through her mind, yet she was unable to fully understand what she saw, other than those piercingly verdant orbs practically brimming with life like she'd never witnessed.
Maybe he'd understand what it was like to fight when running wasn't an option anymore. Or perhaps he was just another complication, another thread tangled in the web of fate she was trying so hard to break free from.
As the distant shores of Skellige faded into the darkness, Ciri made a silent vow. She would find a way to turn the tables on the Wild Hunt, to make them pay for the lives they'd taken. And if the Green-eyed stranger truly was tangled up in all this, if he crossed her path... well, she'd decide then whether he was an ally or another obstacle in her way.
Either way, the Lady of Space and Time was done running.
….….
The door to the White Orchard inn creaked as Ben stepped in, the familiar scent of wood mixed with the faint traces of ale that seemed to stick to the room no matter how many times it was cleaned.
"Elsa?"
He paused when he noticed the old inkeep standing by the window, her frail outlined by the soft light streaming through. She was finally on her feet, a noticeable change from her previous state, wearing a smile tinged with melancholy as she gazed outside, lost in thought.
"Had me worried for a sec" Ben remarked softly as he approached her, concern knitting his brow. "You okay? Look like you've seen a ghost or something"
Elsa blinked twice, tearing her eyes from the window, and forced a dry chuckle. "Oh, Ben. I was just... wandering through old memories, I suppose."
"Is that something I can ask Tomira to whip up a remedy for?"
Elsa's sad smile grew a little wider, appreciating the lad's attempt to lighten the mood. She shook her head, a hint of warmth in her eyes as she finally rose with from the window sill, making her way past the stacked furniture.
"You have a heart like no other, lad," she said, her voice trembling slightly. She reached into her apron pocket, her fingers brushing over a few worn coins, before placing them in the brunette's open palm
"I'm sorry I couldn't pay you the rest of your wages."
Ben's expression turned to confusion as he looked down at the coins, looking back up at this landlady. "What are you talking about, Elsa? Why are you giving me this?"
With a heavy sigh, Elsa turned her gaze to the now empty counter, a place that once bustled with life and laughter. "I'm leaving White Orchard, Ben," she said, her tone a mix of resolve and sorrow. "For good."
"Leaving?", he blinked in surprise, still trying to recover from the bombshell dropped on him, " W-why?"
"Times have changed, Ben," Elsa's eyes, which seemed so bright before, dimmed as she stared at the empty tables. "Ever since the incident with the Witchers, I've been living in fear. And that's no way to live—not for me, not for anyone. I need to start over, somewhere the darkness of this war won't find me."
"Where will you go?" Ben pressed, concern filling his somber tone
She gave him a bittersweet smile and shook her head. "Best if you don't know," came her reply, gentle as a whisper "Perhaps somewhere north, where people still remember what it means to be safe."
Ben's gaze flicked to the empty inn, a place that once felt like the heart of the village. It now stood empty, as if representing the hollow feeling that permeated White Orchard itself, "And the inn? Who'll take care of it?"
Elsa's eyes softened with a hint of nostalgia as she looked around one last time. "Bram will look after it," she said with a sad chuckle as the thought of her cousin trying to cook meal, something he couldn't do to save his life. "Or what's left of it. It's not much, but it's all I can do."
"Elsa, it's dangerous out there," Ben began, his tone laced with urgency as he attempted to reason with the old lady, "You shouldn't be out there alone."
She merely reached out and cupped his cheek, her touch gentle, almost motherly. "You're a good lad, Ben," she said, her eyes locking onto his with sorrow and gratitude intermingled in her gaze. "But your place isn't here. You have a path ahead of you, bigger than this village, bigger than any of us. Don't let my old bones keep you from walking it."
Ben stood there, stunned, words failing him as she took a shallow breath. She turned to leave, her steps slow but determined, the weight of her decision pressing on both of them. He couldn't help but blame himself, the gnawing feeling that his distractions, his inability to see her suffering, had somehow driven her away. Maybe if he'd pushed harder, she'd still…
"That reminds me…"
Just as she reached the doorway, Elsa paused and turned back, dragging the shapeshifter's gaze. She reached into a bundle near the door and pulled out a familiar green jacket with the number 10 emblazoned on it, holding it out to him with a small smile.
Ben's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't worn the old thing since he'd first arrived, opting to keep that part of him hidden rather than discard it fully. It stood out amongst the citizens of the continent, but unlike his sneakers Ben had considered the jacket so invariably "him" that it didn't feel right to part with it.
"Took me some time to get this thing washed," her voice cracked softly as she held up the garment as though it could sprout wings and fly away at any moment, "It's unlike anything I've ever seen, this jacket of yours. I thought it deserved to be cared for."
"How did you—?"
Elsa gave him a knowing look, one last spark of her old self shining through. "An old lady has her secrets too, Ben," she said with a wink that was both playful yet tinged with melancholy. She reached out and tucked the jacket into his arms, her eyes glistening with a mix of emotions—gratitude, sadness, and a flicker of hope.
"Take care of yourself, Ben," she said, her voice softening to a whisper. "And don't try to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You deserve more than that."
Ben opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He could only watch as Elsa gave him one final nod, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned away, trudging past the doorway.
And just like that, she was gone, leaving Ben standing alone in the inn that suddenly felt too quiet, too empty.
….……….
END: ACT 0
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A/N: Sorry if this isn't as action heavy as a Ben 10 story should be. I really wanted this chapter to have some emotional weight, which led to me focusing more on character interactions and history. Hopefully Ben gets to go wild in the next few chapters, provided I actually figure out what to DO in them.
That said, I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out. Like always, I appreciate the reviews and feedback, so I know you guys are still there. It sounds corny but its true!
Oh yeah, don't expect the next chapter soon. College is still busting my ass and I've got a job to worry about. I still haven't forgotten about the Dark World crossover, but lately Fanfiction has mostly taken a back seat in my life, hope you guys understand.
Big thanks to everyone on my Discord as well, you guys are my inspiration. Also a shout-out to Peter James Gabinete, your comments really helped inspire me in this chapter.
There aren't that many new reviews, but I'll still respind to the ones I can:
Nykona Sharrowkyn: Yes, for the most part this is following OV canon. However, there are still some changes to the story overall
Bountyodst: The books were much wilder than I expected, but thanks for the tip!
Reader: Thanks, I think Geralt and Ben should meet again but the circumstances will be drastically different.
EXCELSIOR!