Chapter 2: Into the Unknown

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Harry awoke slowly, a dull ache spreading through his limbs as if he had run for miles. He blinked, trying to make sense of the darkness around him. The last thing he remembered was a sense of icy weightlessness, Death's presence suffocating and reassuring at once.

He pushed himself up, his hand brushing over a forest floor littered with brittle leaves. Tall, twisted trees surrounded him, their gnarled branches stretching out like skeletal arms. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind. Harry's heart beat faster; this was not Hogwarts.

"What…?" he whispered, trying to piece his thoughts together. The memory of Death's voice, cold and unyielding, echoed in his mind: "You shall be my blade…"

He clenched his fists, feeling something small and solid in his right hand. His wand. Relief flooded him as he looked it over, yet the comfort was fleeting. His familiar holly wand now looked almost foreign—its wood was dark, almost black with gray streaks running along the length. It felt cold to the touch, radiating an eerie chill that settled into his bones in a way that felt disturbingly natural.

"Feels like… death…" he muttered to himself, unsettled by the way the wand's new form resonated with him. He gave it an experimental flick, and the energy that pulsed through his fingers was sharper, more potent—like a blade honed for a specific purpose. Harry swallowed, unease settling in his stomach.

Just then, a voice whispered from the shadows, so ancient it seemed to slip between the folds of reality itself.

"Death?"

Harry's head snapped up, his hand instinctively tightening around his wand as he scanned the trees. There was no one there, but he felt an all-encompassing presence, a cloak of darkness settling around him. His pulse quickened.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice echoing in the silence.

A low, amused chuckle resonated, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Be not so foolish, my blade… you know…"

The chill that swept over him was deeper than fear, colder than anything he had ever felt. Yet, somehow, it calmed him, like a familiar touch.

"Where am I?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "And what have you done to me?" He winced at the sound of his voice—higher, younger, like it hadn't sounded in years.

Was I always this whiny? he thought to himself, annoyance flickering briefly.

Another soft chuckle drifted through the trees. "Yes, champion, you were." The amusement was unsettling, as if the voice were sifting through his memories. "But now… you are more…"

Harry's breath hitched as the voice faded. "Wait!" he called, but the words only dissolved into the darkness around him. An uneasy silence settled once more, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was something watching him.

A low, sinister growl rumbled from the shadows. He froze, the sound of padded feet rustling through the leaves growing closer. His pulse thundered in his ears as he steadied his grip on his wand, heart hammering. The shadows shifted, revealing a hulking figure crouched low to the ground.

The creature was like a grotesque mix between a werewolf and a gorilla, massive in build with limbs thick as tree trunks. Gray fur covered its body, darkened by streaks of red, and its eyes gleamed a vicious, unnatural red. It bared razor-sharp teeth in a snarl, lips pulling back to reveal fangs dripping with malice.

Harry swallowed, his mind racing. This wasn't anything like he'd encountered before—it was feral, powerful, and fast. He felt his magic coil within him, a sensation both familiar and foreign, sharper and colder than before.

"Protego!" he shouted instinctively, raising his wand just as the beast lunged.

A shimmering, almost crystalline shield burst forth, colder and more brilliant than he remembered. The creature slammed into it and was thrown back, snarling as it landed in a crouch, sizing him up with blood-red eyes. Harry took a shaky breath, adrenaline surging through him as he evaluated his options. He needed something powerful, something that would hit hard.

His mind raced through spells—something explosive, destructive. "Confringo!" he called, aiming carefully as the creature bounded toward him once more. A brilliant orange bolt of light shot from his wand, striking the beast in the chest and erupting in an explosion that sent it hurtling backward, howling in pain.

Harry's heart raced as he lowered his wand, waiting to see if it would get up. Smoke rose from the creature, its fur singed and smoldering, but it staggered back to its feet, snarling with renewed fury. It crouched low, preparing to pounce.

He didn't have time to think; he thrust his wand forward, his thoughts a jumbled mess of fear and determination. Die, he thought, desperate for the thing to end.

For a split second, everything around him seemed to slow. Then, from the tip of his wand, a bolt of dark purple energy—so deep it was almost black—exploded forth, striking the beast square in the chest. The creature froze, its limbs going rigid as a look of primal fear flickered in its red eyes. Then, it began to shrivel, its skin tightening over its bones as if the life were being drained from it. Within moments, it crumbled into ash, collapsing in a silent heap.

Harry stared at the remains, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His hands trembled as he looked at the spot where the creature had fallen, the weight of what he'd done settling heavily on him.

But it wasn't the death itself that horrified him. It was the emptiness he felt—no guilt, no remorse, just… nothing. He clenched his wand, feeling the cold pulse of power radiating from it. The emptiness was terrifying.

A whisper cut through the silence, colder than before. "O Champion of Death… become my blade once more…"

He didn't move, his gaze fixed on the ashes, his expression unreadable.

From the shadow of a nearby tree, Geralt of Rivia watched with wary fascination. He had tracked the beast through the forest, expecting a gruesome hunt, but what he saw instead left him speechless. The boy—young, dark-haired, and disturbingly calm—had destroyed the striga with a power Geralt hadn't seen even in seasoned mages.

He muttered to himself, "I've never seen anything like that… not even Yen could… but he's just a kid?"

The calm with which the boy had dispatched the beast, and that final spell—if he could even call it that—was unnatural. It was as if Death itself had been present in the boy's magic, a force that defied logic.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt stepped forward, deliberately letting a twig snap under his boot to announce his presence. The boy turned sharply, wand raised in a defensive stance, his green eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Who are you?" he demanded, voice steady but wary.

Geralt held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I'm not here to hurt you… My name's Geralt of Rivia. I'm a Witcher."

The boy looked at him, unimpressed and confused, yet he didn't lower his wand. Geralt could see the flicker of caution in his eyes, the look of someone who had learned not to trust easily.

"You're not from here… are you?" Geralt asked, his tone gentle but curious.

The boy froze, his gaze sharpening. He shifted his stance, his body language defensive. Geralt sighed, noting the hardness in his young face, a hardness that shouldn't belong to someone his age.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Geralt repeated calmly, nodding toward the ashes. "That creature… a striga. I saw what you did to it. Impressive… that was magic, wasn't it?"

The boy nodded slowly, his expression still guarded. Geralt could sense his hesitation, his distrust, but there was a spark of interest in his eyes—a spark of need, perhaps.

"All right…" Geralt began, choosing his words carefully. "I can help you. You'll need it if you're to survive in this world. Creatures like that striga… they're only the beginning. There are things out here even more dangerous. I can help you, make you stronger… if that's what you want."

The boy's eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across his face. "How do I know I can trust you?" he asked, his voice carrying an edge of defiance. "What's stopping you from stabbing me in the back?"

Geralt smiled slightly, recognizing the boy's fierceness, his will to survive. "The way I see it, you have two options. Trust me and come with me… or stay here, alone, with no water or food. It's up to you."

The boy's gaze softened just slightly, though his wand remained aimed. After a tense pause, he spoke, his voice darkly ominous. "If this is a trick… I'll make you pay."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, both amused and concerned at the raw brutality in the boy's tone. He had no doubt that, one day, the boy might be able to follow through on that threat. Still, he nodded, extending his hand.

"Right. You're coming with me… to Kaer Morhen," Geralt said, watching the boy's face as he took his hand cautiously. "It's where I'll train you—to help you survive… and to make you stronger."

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Hello people, i hope you like the new chapter, and the direction I've decided to take the new story, please let me know, thank you all for the support and as always God bless you.