The Witcher: Chimera
Chapter 6: The Toad and The Truth
…
The mid-morning sun struggled to pierce through the ashen-gray skies over Velen's harsh landscape, casting a cold, muted light across the weathered hills and twisted glades. Crows circled lazily overhead, their harsh cries echoing through the wind-swept plains as Veylan rode slowly but steadily toward the Nilfgaardian outpost, guiding a heavily laden cart pulled by two sturdy draft horses.
Behind him, two massive bodies lay shrouded beneath canvas tarps, their stone-like forms bulging beneath the thick fabric. Jagged, rock-like limbs jutted partially free, still marked with the deep rents and battle scars from the brutal fight that had claimed them.
The outpost gates creaked open, revealing watchful Nilfgaardian soldiers clad in dark armor, their expressions hardening with instinctive wariness until they caught sight of Veylan... and the two enormous forms he dragged behind him.
"By the gods..." one soldier muttered, stumbling back in stunned disbelief. "Those can't be..."
Veylan dismounted silently, his boots hitting the dirt with a solid thud. Amber-green eyes glinted sharply as he motioned toward the carts, his scarred hand resting lightly on Nimrael's reins.
"Earth Elementals," he said simply, his deep, weathered voice cutting through the cold air.
He yanked back the canvas covers, revealing the monstrous forms beneath—massive stone torsos carved from ancient rock, their limbs jagged with crystal veins still faintly glowing.
Their faces, twisted in frozen rage, seemed to snarl even in death, splintered stone jaws locked open as though cursing the earth itself.
"Both of them," Veylan added coolly, reaching into one of the crates strapped securely to the cart's side. With practiced precision, he lifted two heavy objects, their rough, mineral-rich surfaces glinting faintly in the dull sunlight.
Two massive Elemental Hearts, crimson-streaked and still pulsing faintly with earth-bound magic, held aloft like war trophies.
Commander Liora Veyth, the station's senior scholar, stepped forward, her gilded armor gleaming, her expression unreadable but filled with sharp curiosity.
"You retrieved... both hearts?" she asked, voice tight with disbelief, and something close to admiration.
"Ripped them free," Veylan replied, his voice steady despite the lingering exhaustion he barely showed. "Didn't have much of a choice."
Her keen eyes narrowed, tracing the dark mineral veins running through the elemental cores.
"You've done... more than expected," she admitted. "By far."
A courtier noble, Lord Marien Esteth, stepped forward next, robes lined with gold-threaded symbols marking him as one of Nilfgaard's chief alchemical patrons. His features twisted with calculated greed as he examined the prizes, already calculating their worth in rare components.
"These bodies..." he murmured, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Their cores... their minerals... priceless."
He glanced up sharply. "You'll be paid... double."
But then Commander Veyth raised her hand sharply, silencing him.
"Triple pay... and rights of salvage," she declared, her voice steady. "You've earned it."
She paused, watching Veylan closely.
"And... whatever you did... to bring them down..." she added slowly, sharp curiosity flickering behind her cold eyes. "I'd like to know... someday."
Veylan shrugged faintly.
"Just... got close," he replied dryly, turning away as Nimrael snorted softly, readying to ride again.
As he mounted his horse, Erynn emerged quietly from the outpost gates, her fiery hair aglow, soft smile forming on her face.
"Long hunt..." she murmured warmly.
"Long pay," Veylan replied, his lips quirking faintly as he offered her his hand.
The two riders vanished into the darkened woods, leaving stunned scholars and calculating nobles still frozen in disbelief... and greedy anticipation.
But far beyond the hills, hidden among the cursed glades, something watched silently, its hollow gaze gleaming faintly through the twisting mists.
As the autumn wind whispered through the forest, Veylan and Erynn rode silently through the wooded path leading back to their cottage, their mounts moving steadily despite the long day's ride. The scent of fallen leaves, damp earth, and smoky hearth fires drifted through the air, signaling the waning days of autumn as winter's edge loomed faintly on the horizon.
The cottage nestled quietly at the forest's edge, half-hidden by ancient oaks, its stone walls weathered but sturdy, windows glowing warmly with the soft flicker of firelight. It was home—hard-earned and fiercely protected.
Veylan dismounted, his boots sinking into the soft earth, steadying Nimrael with a faint pat. Erynn slipped down from Ashbloom's saddle, her graceful hands brushing her mount's mane, whispering softly in Elder Speech.
Inside, neatly stacked letters awaited them, piled high on the weathered oak table. Contracts, invitations, and official missives sealed with noble crests, all addressed to Veylan, Witcher of the Chimera Sigil. His fame after Radovid's fall and his relentless work in Velen had spread far and wide, though he cared little for titles or courtly games.
"*Another feast... another 'generous opportunity...'" Erynn remarked dryly, sorting the letters, slight amusement glinting in her emerald-green eyes.
"More contracts," Veylan added simply, setting two marked scrolls aside.
"Let them wait," Erynn murmured, her expression softening. "*Tonight... is ours."
With Forefather's Eve approaching, Erynn's thoughts shifted to Luineth'laerna, an ancient Aen Seidhe holiday held deep into autumn, dedicated to remembering the lost, honoring ancestors, and offering thanks for survival through the turning seasons.
Veylan watched silently as she gathered herbs from the dried bundles hanging near the fireplace, her delicate hands weaving charms from silver-threaded ribbons and sprigs of elderflower.
"We'll need... more foxglove," she whispered thoughtfully, adjusting the ribbons as soft autumn winds stirred through the open window.
Veylan nodded faintly, already retrieving his worn satchel.
"I'll... hunt tonight," he offered, scarred hands fastening the leather straps. "Meat for the offering fire."
His voice lowered, thoughtful.
"And... something for the Forefather's Eve rites."
Erynn approached, softly placing her hand over his, her fingers curling gently.
"We'll face it together... whatever comes."
Though Geralt had cleared the cursed island, shadows still stirred in Velen's wilds. The Pellar, ever wary of the restless dead, had requested aid during the night of remembrance.
With spirits drawn by sorrow, regret, and unfinished fates, Forefather's Eve required powerful protection. Blood offerings, ritual charms, and sacred rites would be needed to appease the dead... or face their wrath.
Veylan tightened his cloak, amber-green eyes glinting beneath the fading light. He had battled monsters, cursed men, and dark forces, but ancient spirits... they were different. Memory-bound. Restless.
He would protect Erynn, the Pellar, and those gathered... no matter the cost.
As the fire crackled softly, Erynn's voice rose in Elder Speech, chanting softly as she bound protective wards into woven charms, silver-threaded hope glinting faintly beneath the moonlit sky.
Together, they prepared... for what the night would bring.
…
The night air lay thick with frost, the moonsilver glow filtering softly through ancient oaks twisted by centuries of storms. The forest clearing near the sacred glade flickered with soft candlelight, wards etched into weathered stone altars faintly glowing as Erynn's steady hands placed woven charms in carefully marked patterns.
Veylan knelt silently, his scarred fingers tracing protective runes carved deep into the earth's surface, reinforcing the ancient wards with alchemical salve, its sharp scent mixing with the crisp autumn air. The night felt alive, charged, as though something unseen stirred just beyond the veil.
"The wards hold," Veylan whispered, standing slowly, his amber-green eyes sharp yet calm. "It's time."
Erynn nodded, her fiery hair catching the moonlight, gilded leaves woven through her braids. Her emerald-green eyes burned softly with ancient purpose as she lifted her hands, chanting in Elder Speech.
Veylan stepped beside her, his voice steady, joining the ancient invocation, rooted deep in Aen Seidhe traditions. His fluent words wove seamlessly with hers, their chants merging, twisting through the wind like whispers carried on forgotten trails.
Veylan lifted the carved iron brazier, firelight flickering, casting jagged shadows across the clearing's edge. He placed it gently before the central altar, where Erynn scattered wild herbs, foxglove, and elderflower petals, her delicate hands steady.
Together, they lit the sacred fire, its orange flames crackling like spirits awakened, spirals of silver smoke rising toward the night sky.
Erynn's voice lifted, calling to the Ancestors of the Lost, guardians unseen, and spirits bound by memory.
Veylan's sharp gaze swept the shadows, ever watchful, his fingers resting lightly on his silver-forged blade, though he didn't draw it yet, tonight's visitors were not monsters... but memories.
The first spirit emerged slowly from the ancient trees, her translucent form woven from soft moonlight and autumn leaves. Her face was calm, features elven and timeless, her worn traveling cloak shimmering faintly.
She paused briefly, silent recognition flickering in her ethereal eyes, before she lowered her head in solemn thanks.
Erynn stepped forward, offering gently a woven charm bound with foxglove and elderberry.
The spirit accepted silently, her hollow gaze softening before she vanished slowly, her form scattering like wind-blown petals.
Two more spirits followed, elders cloaked in ceremonial robes, their expressions worn yet proud, etched with ancient wisdom. They bowed faintly, their voices echoing softly in Elder Speech, though their words drifted like forgotten songs.
Erynn murmured back, her hands steady, offering simple gifts of herbs and woven tokens.
The final spirit lingered, a younger elven warrior, his silver-etched armor worn but untarnished. His burning gaze fixed on Veylan, silence stretching, though understanding passed between them without words.
Veylan inclined his head, offering a single vial of blessed water, its surface shimmering faintly in the firelight.
The warrior's stern gaze softened, his form fading slowly, returning to the shadows from whence he came.
Erynn exhaled softly, her breath trembling faintly, though her hands never faltered. The ritual fire dimmed, its embers glowing softly, settling into warmth rather than wild hunger.
Veylan stepped closer, his scarred hand resting gently on her shoulder, offering silent reassurance.
"It's done..." he whispered quietly, his voice steady, though his gaze lingered on the darkened treeline.
The spirits had accepted... departing without malice.
But far beyond, where the night grew deepest, something watched... still waiting.
Silent. Patient.
And far more dangerous than anything summoned this night.
…
The morning sun rose slowly over Velen's marshland, its pale light barely breaking through the rolling mist that clung stubbornly to the dark waters surrounding Fyke Isle. The distant cries of crows echoed, breaking the eerie silence as Veylan and Erynn rode steadily toward the small fishing village of Oreton, where pellers and mystics from across Velen had gathered to prepare for Forefather's Eve.
Villagers watched warily as Veylan dismounted, his weathered cloak shifting, the distinct glint of his Chimera medallion catching the faint light. Erynn, graceful yet alert, followed closely, her fiery red hair glowing faintly beneath her hooded cloak, staff resting easily across her back.
The Peller of Midcopse, an older man with weathered skin and piercing eyes, stepped forward, his expression equal parts respect and relief.
"Witcher... Lady Erynn," he greeted, his gnarled hands tightening around his charmed staff. "It... means much... that you've come."
"We're here... to make sure nothing stirs," Veylan replied evenly, amber-green eyes scanning the fog-choked shore. "Nothing gets through... if we can help it."
…
The fishing boats rocked gently against the rotting docks, half-swallowed by the mists. With quiet efficiency, Erynn raised protective wards, runes glowing faintly as she etched them carefully into weathered planks and stone markers.
"Let's hope the dead stay content," she murmured, fingers tracing ancient symbols.
"Hope won't stop them," Veylan answered grimly, checking his crossbow, its reinforced metal gleaming faintly with runic etchings. He loaded three silver bolts, each tipped with diiridium shards, designed for rapid-fire precision against specters and necrophages.
He secured his silver-forged sword, its weathered hilt worn smooth by countless hunts. Experience had taught him well, spirits rarely rested, even after curses were broken.
The small fishing boat rocked gently as they crossed the marsh's dark waters, Fyke Isle's silhouette looming like a jagged beast in the fog-choked distance.
Erynn's sharp gaze lingered on the broken tower, its ancient stones crumbling, scarred by dark magic now long purged thanks to Geralt's work.
"The plague maiden rests now..." she whispered, her voice distant, thoughtful.
"Good," Veylan muttered, his expression grim. "Let's keep it that way."
They arrived at the island's edge, silent and wary, hauling supplies from the boat's hold as ritual fires were prepared along the windswept shore.
The other pellers, mystics, and folk healers gathered reverently, arranging offerings of herbs, charms, and animal bones, chanting softly in Elder Speech.
Veylan watched silently, keeping his distance, ever the hunter. He paced the shoreline, his crossbow cradled carefully, his keen eyes scanning the dark water's edge, where swamp reeds trembled in the damp wind.
The air grew colder, heavier, as nightfall crept closer, clouds swirling in ominous spirals. The winds shifted, low whispers stirring through the reeds, though nothing emerged... yet.
With practiced calm, Veylan's sharp gaze traced the darkened waterline, his fingers resting lightly on his silver-forged blade, ready for anything.
After a moment Erynn approached, "They'll... be safe," she whispered, though her green eyes flickered with unspoken worry.
Veylan nodded faintly, his expression unreadable. "We'll make sure of it."
The night deepened, the winds shifting into whispers, carrying forgotten names across the mist-choked waters surrounding Fyke Isle. Fires crackled within stone-lined braziers, ancient symbols glowing faintly, their runic wards etched deep into the weathered stone circle. The ritual site thrummed with unspoken power, a place long feared, now reclaimed by ancient rites of remembrance.
Erynn stood gracefully, her fiery red hair gleaming like ember-lit silk, her hands steady as she raised her staff, its silver-etched runes pulsing faintly with protective magic. Veylan's vial of blood, mixed with blessed herbs and ritual oils, burned brightly within the central brazier, its dark crimson essence sparking wards far stronger than any earthly offering.
The gathered Pellers, cloaked in charms and protective talismans, formed a protective circle, chanting slowly, their voices low and resonant, weaving the ancient invocation.
"Spirits of the forgotten... wanderers lost... we summon thee... Cross the veil... hear our call... Seek no vengeance, but find peace... Through the flame, through the smoke, through blood and earth's gift, we offer memory's embrace."
Erynn's voice rose, fierce yet soothing, casting the binding invocation.
"Ancestors of the fallen... souls unclaimed... come forth through fire's light... We honor thee... lay down thy burdens... Find peace beneath the open sky."
Veylan watched silently, pacing the shoreline, his amber-green eyes sharp, ever alert. His crossbow rested firmly in his hands, its loaded silver bolts gleaming faintly beneath the flickering firelight. Waves lapped softly against the stony shore, though something darker stirred beneath the still waters.
A low hiss echoed faintly—wet and guttural—a water hag's twisted form slithered from the depths, her clawed fingers twitching eagerly toward the ritual circle.
Veylan moved swiftly, muscles coiled, crossbow rising smoothly. He took aim with deadly precision, his breath steady, his eyes cold and focused.
The bolt loosed sharply, piercing the water hag's skull, splitting her malformed brow as she slumped backward, her body sinking beneath the dark, rippling water, lifeless.
The ritual continued, undisturbed, unbroken by death's silent interruption.
…
The first spirit emerged, softly shimmering, an elderly elven woman clad in ethereal robes, her faded features lined with sorrow and wisdom. Her faint voice trembled, speaking her long-forgotten name as she approached the altar, reaching out with aching hands.
One of the gathered villagers, an elf that lived on the outskirts, tears streaming, stepped forward. "Mother...?" she whispered brokenly, her knees buckling as she fell to the earth.
The spirit smiled faintly, touching her daughter's face, fingers passing gently through her tear-streaked cheeks before fading slowly, peacefully released.
…
A sudden splash shattered the solemn stillness, two drowners surged up from the dark waters, twisting grotesquely, their clawed hands reaching.
Veylan turned sharply, bolts loosed instantly, the silver-tipped projectiles piercing their throats, sending the creatures sprawling, their bodies sinking silently beneath the darkened tide.
…
The next spirit emerged, a young hunter, his spectral form clad in leather armor, bow clutched loosely in his fading grip. His hollow gaze softened when his long-waiting betrothed stepped forward, her trembling voice calling his long-forgotten name. They clung silently, weeping, their spirits entwining before vanishing into the night's embrace.
…
A harsh snarl echoed behind Veylan, and he whirled instantly, silver blade flashing as a ghoul charged, fangs bared and blood-matted claws extended.
Fire erupted from Veylan's outstretched hand, casting Igni's burning wrath, engulfing the charging beast in a wave of flames.
Another alghoul surged forward, its spines extending, but Veylan moved faster, silver blade singing through the cold air, slicing cleanly through its twisted neck.
The ritual never faltered.
…
The seventh and final spirit emerged, half-forgotten, a wandering warrior, his scarred face lined with battle-worn pride. His hollow eyes burned with silent longing, his form flickering faintly, caught between memory and oblivion.
Veylan paused, lowering his blade, his steady gaze meeting the warrior's haunted eyes.
"Rest now... your war is over," he whispered softly, his voice steady but weighted.
The warrior nodded slowly, his features softening with hard-won peace, vanishing quietly into the darkened wind.
The ceremony waned, its power settling, firelight dimming, its embers glowing softly like dying stars.
Erynn lowered her staff, her fingers trembling faintly, though her voice remained strong, offering final thanks in Elder Speech.
Veylan sheathed his sword, exhaling slowly, his amber-green eyes gleaming softly beneath the quiet, moonlit sky.
The veil closed, spirits at peace... and Veylan remained, ever-watchful, ever-ready... until dawn.
…
The autumn wind stirred gently through the quiet village of Oreton, carrying the lingering scent of charred herbs, sacred oils, and burned offerings left from Forefather's Eve. The ritual's power faded slowly, leaving solemn gratitude and hushed prayers in its wake as villagers dispersed toward home under the silver-lit sky.
Near the edge of the village, warm firelight spilled from the rickety windows of the old tavern, its weathered walls worn smooth by time and storms. Laughter and muted conversations rose faintly, tempered by the day's strange reverence.
Veylan pushed the heavy wooden door open, his amber-green eyes scanned the smoky, crowded room, ever-watchful, though he allowed himself a breath of calm.
He felt Erynn's steady presence beside him, her fiery hair still bound, though her emerald-green gaze softened in the comforting warmth of the firelit room.
They slipped quietly toward an empty table near the hearth, allowing worn travelers' habits to guide them without thought. Veylan's shoulders remained tense, muscles coiled, senses sharp, though he eased slightly as they sat down.
A barmaid approached, tray balanced effortlessly, offering mugs of mulled wine and bread still warm from the oven's hearth.
"You've earned your rest," Erynn whispered, her lips quirking faintly despite lingering weariness. "If only for a while."
Veylan nodded faintly, though rest felt distant, uneasy. The forest's silence had felt too watchful... and tonight's ritual had drawn something closer... something familiar.
The door creaked softly, its worn hinges groaning, though no chill wind followed. The fire dimmed faintly, its glow flickering strangely, as shadows stretched longer than seemed natural.
A figure stepped inside, unremarkable at first glance, clad in simple traveler's garb, his broad-brimmed hat casting deep shadows across his sharp features. His dark, calculating eyes gleamed faintly, touched by something ancient, something wrong.
He moved with casual grace, calmly weaving between drunken patrons and boisterous hunters, until he paused deliberately at Veylan and Erynn's table.
"Mind if I sit?" His voice was smooth, unassuming, yet heavy with command. Dangerous.
Veylan stiffened, instinct prickling, though he motioned faintly toward the empty seat with measured caution.
The man smiled faintly, removing his hat, and settling gracefully, his hands resting lightly on the weathered tabletop.
"You've done well," he remarked lightly, his tone polite, studying Veylan with unnerving interest. "Two earth elementals, cursed spirits, and a rather nasty water hag... quite the harvest, don't you think?"
Erynn's hand tightened beneath the table, her fingers brushing faintly against her hidden dagger.
"Who are you?" Veylan asked coldly, his voice sharp, though controlled.
The man's smile widened, though his dark gaze remained unreadable.
"A... friend," he offered smoothly. "Gaunter O'Dimm... though I've been watching you for quite some time."
The firelight flickered strangely, shadows twisting, though no one else noticed.
"Watching me...?" Veylan's voice dipped, muscles tensing.
O'Dimm chuckled softly, fingertips tracing idle patterns across the table's worn surface.
"You're... interesting," he mused, his tone almost admiring. "A being that—by all reason... should not exist. Yet... you do."
Erynn's breath hitched, her gaze narrowing, though O'Dimm's cold, polite smile never faltered.
"You were... someone else once," he continued smoothly, his dark eyes gleaming, piercing through Veylan's guarded soul.
"Before the prison... before the experiments... before... they made you what you are."
He paused deliberately, letting the silence stretch, savoring the moment.
"I believe... I knew them," O'Dimm added softly, his voice dipping into something colder, more intimate.
"Rhaellen... and Thyros..."
Veylan froze.
His breath stilled.
Two names... burned into his mind like forgotten scars... buried memories long lost in shadowed corners.
O'Dimm smiled wider, though nothing about it was warm.
"Your parents... I believe you... forgot them."
The room felt distant, far away, cold despite the fire's crackling warmth.
Erynn's hand found Veylan's, steadying, though her own gaze burned sharply.
"What do you want?" Veylan hissed, amber-green eyes narrowing, though his voice remained steady.
O'Dimm's dark eyes gleamed, his smile widening ever so slightly.
"To talk... for now."
His voice softened, though its weight pressed down like iron chains.
Gaunter O'Dimm's dark eyes gleamed, sharp and predatory, though his tone remained light, almost pleasant, as though discussing the weather rather than weaving fates with invisible threads.
"Your... good friend Geralt of Rivia..." he began smoothly, his voice curling softly, dangerously intimate. "At this very moment... is on his way... toward a very dangerous man named Olgierd Von Evric... toward destiny, as some might call it."
Veylan's amber-green gaze sharpened, fingers tightening faintly on the worn wooden table, though his expression remained unreadable.
O'Dimm's smile widened, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns across the table's scarred surface, his piercing gaze never leaving Veylan's hardened features.
"He's been... contracted, shall we say... to eliminate a beast haunting the Oxenfurt sewers." His smile twisted, dark amusement flickering behind his calm facade.
"A rather large... bloated toad," he continued, his voice dripping with mocking detachment. "Filthy, wretched thing."
Erynn's sharp gaze flicked toward Veylan, concern flashing briefly behind her guarded expression.
"But..." O'Dimm's voice dipped, low and dangerous, "...what Geralt doesn't know... is that the poor beast in question... is no ordinary monster."
He paused deliberately, letting the words linger like poisoned barbs.
"No... It is... a prince."
Veylan's breath stilled, his jaw tightening faintly, though he remained silent.
"A... cursed heir of Ofir," O'Dimm explained coldly, his dark eyes glittering with malicious delight. "Royal blood. An unfortunate soul twisted by dark magic, trapped far from home... forgotten... discarded."
Erynn exhaled sharply, her fingers brushing faintly over the hilt of her staff, though she held her tongue.
"And should... Geralt slay this beast..." O'Dimm continued slowly, "...he'll do so moments before the Ofiri king's envoys arrive, guards and mage both, sworn to bring back their prince... alive."
His smile twisted cruelly, faintly bemused, like a hunter watching a rabbit step into a trap.
"And naturally... they'll see Geralt standing over the prince's corpse, blade bloodied, and judgment swift."
Veylan's gaze narrowed, his fists clenching, though he forced himself still.
"They'll seize him immediately," O'Dimm concluded, his tone soft, almost regretful. "After all... he killed a prince." His smile widened, sharp and dangerous. "And royalty... always demands payment."
The fire crackled faintly, though the room felt colder, its shadows lengthening unnaturally as O'Dimm leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking on Veylan.
"But..." he continued slowly, carefully, "this... could be... interesting."
Erynn stiffened, her green eyes blazing, though Veylan remained still, studying O'Dimm with lethal calm.
"Why tell me this...?" Veylan asked coldly, his voice low, edged with danger.
"Why indeed..." O'Dimm mused, smiling thoughtfully. "Perhaps... because Olgierd von Everec... the one who ordered the contract... intends for Geralt to take the fall."
His dark eyes burned, faint amusement flickering, though something sharper lingered beneath the surface.
"Perhaps... I grow tired of Olgierd's games."
He leaned back slowly, fingers steepled, his expression calculating.
"And perhaps..." he continued, voice soft, cutting like cold steel... "you've piqued my interest."
Veylan's breath hitched faintly, though he hid it well.
"You..." O'Dimm murmured softly, smile widening, "...are... fascinating. A being that should... not exist."
He rose slowly, adjusting his hat, dark gaze gleaming faintly beneath the shadowed brim.
"The Ofiri guards and mage... they're outside... now." His voice dropped, heavy with finality.
"Will you help them...?" His smile twisted faintly. "...Or let fate play out?"
His dark eyes glinted coldly, though something flickered deeper, a dangerous challenge... a game played on unseen terms.
"The choice is yours."
Veylan cursed under his breath, already moving with predatory precision. His senses sharpened as he threw on his gear, strapping his silver blade securely across his back while checking the lock mechanism of his modified crossbow. Erynn followed without hesitation, her expression tense but focused, her staff glowing faintly with protective runes.
They pushed through the tavern's worn doors into the cold, mist-laden night, their boots crunching against damp earth. Just as O'Dimm had warned, a group of Ofiri guards stood near the village's edge, their armor glinting faintly under the flickering torchlight. At their center was an Ofiri mage, his embroidered robes shimmering with arcane glyphs, accompanied by a stern-faced interpreter who were apparently looking for him already.
Veylan wasted no time, raising his hands in a gesture of urgency as he approached. His deep voice resonated with practiced fluency in Ofiri, steady but commanding.
"Jaax'nehs fe'var Zakh'ari, Ny'as fer ekhir tha'zohn!" (Your prince is in danger, there's a contract on his life!)
The guards exchanged startled looks, their hands hovering near their curved blades. The interpreter quickly translated, though the mage had clearly understood Veylan's words from the start, his dark eyes narrowing sharply.
"Va'Daqil shan'ash? Va'Nohar fe'reth?" (What contract? Who is after him?)
Veylan stepped closer, his voice urgent but controlled. "The Northern Witcher Geralt of Rivia has unknowingly taken a contract on his head. He believes the beast to be a simple monster and he doesn't know that he's a prince trapped in the body of a toad, he doesn't know the truth. If we don't move now, he will kill your prince before you can intervene."
The Ofiri mage's eyes widened faintly, though his expression remained composed. He exchanged rapid words with the guards, who stiffened, clearly recognizing the gravity of the situation.
"How do you know this?" the interpreter demanded in Common, suspicion heavy in his tone.
"I have hunted monsters my entire life. I know a cursed soul when I hear its tale... and I know men like Olgierd von Everec," Veylan growled, his amber-green eyes gleaming with intensity. "He will let the Witcher take the fall to save himself. You don't have time to doubt me. You need me... and my blade."
The mage stared for a long, charged moment before giving a sharp, authoritative nod. "We will listen. If you deceive us, there will be no forgiveness."
"I Understood," Veylan replied, "We must hurry, now!"
Erynn exhaled slowly beside him, her grip on her staff loosening slightly, though tension still radiated from her slender frame.
The guards swiftly prepared their mounts, the mage muttering commands in Ofiri. Veylan turned to Erynn. "We ride for Oxenfurt... now!"
With a single nod of agreement, they mounted their horses, the Ofiri cavalry flanking them as they thundered into the night, bound for the dark underbelly of Oxenfurt... where fate of Form
…
The damp air of Oxenfurt's sewers hung heavy with the stench of stagnant water and rotting vegetation, thick mist curling through the low-ceilinged tunnels. Faint torchlight flickered, casting twisting shadows along stone walls slick with decades of filth.
Geralt of Rivia moved steadily, his silver blade dripping ichor, his expression calm yet focused. Shani followed close behind, medical satchel secured, crossbow readied, her sharp eyes scanning the darkened corners.
The drowners' corpses lay strewn across the stone floor, lifeless and oozing, their clawed hands twisted in death's final grasp.
Ahead, the main chamber loomed, its arched entrance yawning like a hungry maw, water echoing faintly from the massive cistern beyond.
Before Geralt could proceed, bootsteps echoed sharply from the path behind them, steady yet urgent, the clatter of armored hooves resounding faintly from far above.
Shani tensed, crossbow raised, though Geralt's hand shot up, silencing her as familiar senses stirred, recognizing both footfalls and purpose.
Out of the shadows, Veylan emerged, his amber-green eyes burning, his silver-forged blade gleaming faintly, though still sheathed, for now. Erynn followed, her fiery hair dimly glowing, her staff etched with protective runes, and faint traces of magic lingering around her fingers.
Behind them, Ofiri guards fanned out, swords ready, their embroidered cloaks gleaming faintly under the torches' dim light. The Ofiri mage strode forward, his crimson and gold robes shimmering, hands poised near glyph-etched scrolls, his expression calm but serious as he assessed the surroundings and slime from the toad prince.
Shani lowered her crossbow just slightly, though her fingers still hovered near the trigger. "Who are they?" she couldn't help but mutter to Geralt.
"There's no time," Veylan snapped, urgency crackling in his voice. "You're walking into a damned trap."
Geralt's eyes narrowed, his blade held steady. "Explain. Now."
Erynn stepped forward, her voice steady and calm, cutting through the tension like a blade. "The creature you're hunting... it's not just a monster. It's a prince—the cursed heir of Ofir."
Geralt's expression hardened as he processed her words, though he didn't lower his blade. The Ofiri mage advanced a step, his sharp, commanding tone ringing out in his native tongue. "Raa'mahr fe'reth... Zahrak!" (He is cursed by dark forces!)
The interpreter translated swiftly, though Geralt's mind was already racing ahead.
"We don't have time," Veylan pressed. "The prince is cursed into something grotesque, something twisted. If you kill him... the entire of Ofiri will come seeking retribution.
Shani paled, her eyes widening as she grasped the gravity of what she was hearing. "Geralt... if this is true..."
"The prince is marked," Erynn continued, her green eyes blazing with urgency. "We believe Olgierd von Everec set this up, knowing you'd take the fall."
Geralt sheathed his blade slowly, his wolfish gaze never leaving Veylan's. "You're sure?"
"I wouldn't be here otherwise," Veylan replied.
The Ofiri guards shifted, tense but silent, their hands tightening on their curved blades. The mage watched Geralt with piercing intensity, waiting for his decision.
Geralt exhaled slowly, nodding once. "All right... let's try not to kill the prince."
Geralt's sharp gaze swept over the gathered Ofiri guards, then back to the robed mage whose piercing eyes gleamed with arcane knowledge. His grip on his steel blade relaxed slightly, though his mind raced. "Do you have a plan? Any way to break the curse?"
The Ofiri mage inclined his head, his voice calm but edged with urgency. "There... is a way. But it is... complicated." His Common Speech was clipped but precise. "The curse... ancient, bound with dark magic. To break it... we must force the prince's true form to surface... before the beast consumes what little humanity remains."
He turned to Erynn, his gaze sharp yet respectful. "Your power... needed. Your craft... essential."
Erynn stepped forward. "Tell me what must be done."
The mage extended his hand, conjuring a shimmering glyph of intricate runes suspended in the air. "His form is twisted... bound by foul alchemy and dark sorcery. We must craft a binding ward... something powerful enough to shatter the chains holding his soul."
He gestured toward Veylan. "You... are unlike any being in this world. Your blood... tied to the unnatural. It will act as the binding's anchor, both monster and man intertwined."
Veylan didn't hesitate. He unsheathed his small dagger with practiced ease and dragged its edge across his palm, crimson blood welling instantly. He retrieved an empty vial from his satchel and let several drops fall within, sealing it tightly. His expression never wavered, though the air seemed to hum faintly in response to the offering.
Shani, already understanding what was needed, knelt by the wall's slimy, fungal growths, scraping fresh mucus-like residue into another vial. "This stuff is thick... definitely something magical about it."
"Good," the mage nodded approvingly. "The cursed slime, combined with his blood, will form the base of the cleansing essence."
Geralt's voice cut in, low and steady. "What about the ritual itself?"
The Ofiri mage's eyes darkened, his fingers tracing glowing symbols mid-air. "It will require... immense magical power. Both of us—" he gestured to Erynn and himself, "—must weave the binding spell while keeping the beast inside the sigil. It will resist—violently."
Erynn's fingers brushed across her staff, its etched runes glowing faintly in response. "We'll manage."
The mage's gaze locked onto Geralt and Veylan. "While we cast... you two must... distract it. Keep it trapped within the circle. Do not let it escape... or everything will be lost."
Geralt smirked grimly. "Distract a cursed prince turned monster. Simple enough."
Veylan sheathed his dagger and drew his silver blade, its deadly edge shimmering like frozen moonlight. "Keep it in the circle... I've done worse."
Shani secured her satchel and loaded her crossbow, her expression grim yet determined. "Let's move before we lose the chance."
…
Minutes later…
The cursed cistern's wide chamber echoed with the crashing of water and the hissing roars of the monstrous Toad Prince as it thrashed violently within the etched glyph circle. The air reeked of stagnant decay mixed with potent magic as shimmering runes carved into the damp stone flared brighter with each passing second, fueled by the enchanted mixture of Veylan's blood and corrupted slime.
Geralt circled warily, steel-gray eyes locked on the monstrous form as the toad lunged toward the edge of the glowing sigil. The prince's bloated, grotesque body gleamed with oily mucus, warts pulsing with dark, corrupted magic. His massive tongue lashed out like a whip, forcing Geralt to dive to the side with practiced agility, his silver blade held in a ready guard.
"Keep him in the circle!" Erynn shouted, her voice ringing with magical authority as she lifted her staff, runes blazing fiercely. Beside her, the Ofiri mage traced ancient sigils through the air, his hands trembling from the sheer magical strain but his resolve unshaken.
They began chanting in unison, their voices weaving together in powerful harmony, one speaking in Elder Speech, the other in Ofiri:
"Sidh veylin'anen, lethy'aen thys heill..." (Chains of fate, break this dark seal...)
"Vahn'iarath kah'narah zha'tem uthra'tesh..." (Let the cursed bonds shatter into light...)
The ancient runes flared brighter, surging upward like spectral chains, crackling with purifying power as they anchored the monstrous prince within the glowing circle.
Veylan darted toward the beast's flank, his amber-green eyes narrowing with deadly focus as he fired twin silver-tipped bolts from his modified crossbow. They struck the ground just inches from the beast's path, driving it back toward the center of the containment sigil with furious roars.
"Ny'aresh nar fehn vathrala'shil..." (Let the darkness be burned away...)
"Krahl'ien zhor'mash thri'varesh!" (Cleanse the tainted soul from its chains!)
The Toad Prince howled, its massive tongue striking out like a spear. Geralt twisted in place, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike as he drove the beast back with a calculated thrust, forcing it toward Veylan's side of the circle.
The monstrous prince reared back, bloated chest swelling grotesquely before it spat a massive glob of toxic venom directly at Veylan. The Witcher barely twisted aside, but the searing liquid splattered across his armor and exposed skin, sizzling on contact.
He staggered for only a moment, gritting his teeth as veins along his neck darkened, pulsing with burning intensity... before his eyes shifted—pupils narrowing into deadly slits like those of a basilisk. His skin hardened faintly along his arms, taking on a faint reptilian sheen as his mutated blood worked against the venom's effects.
Snarling, Veylan surged forward, brushing the corrosive slime from his skin with grim resolve. He sheathed his crossbow and unsheathed his silver blade with one swift motion. "You're not getting past me," he growled.
The Toad Prince bellowed in frustrated rage, charging again. Geralt was already moving, his blade a blur of silver light as he deflected another strike from the beast's thrashing limbs, forcing it back toward the glowing sigil's center.
"Tel'anneth tharan thys letha..." (Let life be restored through light...)
"Vorath ith'kaar kah'rel'tesh!" (Return his true form from shadows' grasp!)
The Toad Prince shuddered violently, its body beginning to convulse as purifying magic seared through its cursed form. A brilliant flash erupted from the engraved runes, sending pulses of silver-white light crackling across its grotesque flesh.
Erynn's staff blazed like a beacon, her emerald eyes blazing with magic. Her words rose with the force of a hurricane as the Ofiri mage's chants intertwined with hers, surging into an unyielding crescendo.
"Sha'laran me'thra ean thys maresh..." (By the binding of fate, be free...)
"Zhora'tal tharan shiel tesh'haem..." (By light's will, shed the dark soul's chains!)
The beast convulsed, its roars turning to something desperate and... human. Its form collapsed inward, shrinking rapidly, dark magic dissipating like dying embers scattered on the wind. The runes burned brilliantly one last time before dimming into faint, glowing remnants.
The massive, twisted shape spasmed violently before collapsing with a final, echoing gasp.
Geralt lunged forward just in time, catching the frail form of a young man now lying unconscious where the monster once stood. His breathing was shallow, his slender frame trembling, his forehead was damp with sweat. Thin, faded tattoos of Ofiri royalty marked his arms, still faintly glowing from the remnants of the spell.
The prince's eyelids fluttered weakly as he stirred, his dark, hollowed eyes glancing up at Geralt with exhausted confusion. His lips trembled as he rasped faintly, his voice thick with exhaustion and his native tongue. "W-where... where am I...?"
Before Geralt could answer, the Ofiri mage and guards rushed forward, their expressions torn between relief and grim determination as they surrounded their prince with protective vigilance. The mage knelt by the fallen prince's side, already chanting softly, weaving healing glyphs with trembling hands as the guards secured the area.
Breathing heavily, Veylan sheathed his blade, still grim and watchful, while Erynn slowly lowered her staff, her shoulders trembling from the immense magical strain. Geralt exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he stepped back, casting a wary glance toward Veylan.
"Well... that was a bit more complicated than I expected."
…
On the surface…
The cool night air of Oxenfurt's docks felt sharp and clean, a stark contrast to the stench-ridden depths of the sewers they had just escaped. Faint torchlight flickered along the weathered wooden piers, reflecting off the dark waters of the Pontar River, while guards patrolled cautiously, still on edge from the chaos below.
Veylan stood silently near the water's edge, his scarred hands resting on his sides as he helped inform the guards of what went on down there. Erynn leaned heavily against a nearby crate, her fiery hair damp and her shoulders trembling faintly from exertion. Her staff's runes dimmed, its magic spent after the intense ritual.
Near the main dock, Geralt of Rivia spoke quietly with Oxenfurt's Nilfgaardian captain, his gravelly voice steady, though worn from exhaustion. The captain's expression shifted from skepticism to grave understanding as Geralt recounted the dark events that had unfolded beneath the city.
"If... they hadn't intervened..." Geralt growled quietly, steel-gray eyes narrowing, "...I'd have killed him... thinking he was just another cursed beast."
The captain stiffened, his fingers twitching toward the hilt of his sword, though he held back as realization set in.
"A prince... of Ofir..." he muttered, voice tight, "...killed by a Witcher... in our jurisdiction... Gods."
Geralt's expression remained grim. "It would've started a war. No treaties, no negotiations, just blood and retribution."
The captain exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging, his face pale beneath the dim torchlight. He glanced toward Veylan, who stood silent and watchful, his sharp amber-green eyes unreadable.
"Veylan knew?" the captain murmured, half-wary, half-awed. "He knew... how...?"
Geralt's expression darkened faintly. "He just did. Trust me... he's been through worse."
Near the central dock, Prince Sirvat stirred, still pale but steadier after receiving healing wards from the Ofiri mage. His dark eyes gleamed faintly, haunted but sharp, as he listened to his guards' whispered reports.
"You... saved me," Sirvat spoke softly, voice rough with fatigue as he turned toward Veylan and Erynn. "You... knew what I was... even when... I... didn't."
Erynn stepped forward, her expression calm but kind. "We knew the signs," she said gently, "and we weren't about to... let fate decide."
The Ofiri mage approached slowly, robes still damp, though his cold demeanor softened faintly. He bowed deeply, forehead touching his hand in solemn reverence.
"We... owe you... great debt," he said in measured Common Speech. "Our prince... lives... because of your courage."
"He lives... because we got lucky," Veylan muttered, though his tone softened, measured and genuine. "But... this was a unified effort. Your skill... your decision-making... that's what broke the curse."
The mage's sharp expression flickered, though he remained composed, his dark eyes gleaming with something deeper, respect earned.
"You... speak truth," he replied, his accent thick but clear. "Without your will... your blade... he would be... lost."
With deliberate calm, the mage reached inside his embroidered satchel, withdrawing a ring forged from darkened gold, its surface etched with glowing runes inscribed in Ofiri script. The signet's center bore the crest of the royal house, its shimmer faintly magical.
He extended it slowly, hands steady, though tradition weighed heavily behind the gesture.
"This symbol," he said, Bottom of Form"...marks you as friend of the crown and our people. If fate's will ever leads you to our lands show this. You will be honored."
Veylan studied the ring silently, its weight far greater than its physical form. His fingers brushed its cool surface, tracing the ancient etchings.
With measured reverence, he slipped the ring onto his left ring finger, its fit secure, as though meant for him.
"Thank you," he murmured quietly, voice rough but sincere.
The mage bowed deeply, his expression unreadable but bore great respect.
"The debt... endures," he replied, voice steady, "...until... the winds call... once more."
Prince Sirvat, still weak but conscious, offered a silent nod from beneath his fur-lined cloak, his dark eyes gleaming faintly with faint recognition. His guards stood ready, flanking protectively, their loyalty fierce yet measured.
Without another word, the Ofiri retinue turned, their figures disappearing into the shifting fog, boots echoing softly against the cobblestone docks.
Erynn exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing lightly against Veylan's hand, her emerald-green eyes warm yet wary.
"You did... more than most would've," she whispered softly. "And... they know it."
Veylan's gaze lingered on the vanishing figures, the glinting ring catching the faint torchlight. His expression remained steady, though something deeper stirred beneath his scarred features.
"Let's... go home," he said quietly, turning slowly, his voice steady despite the lingering weight of the night's events.
…
The night was cold, still heavy with the lingering scent of autumn leaves and faint woodsmoke drifting from their distant neighbors' hearths. The darkened path to their cottage twisted through ancient trees, their knotted branches whispering secrets carried by the wind. Veylan and Erynn rode silently, exhaustion still weighing heavily from their ordeal in Oxenfurt. Nimrael snorted softly as they approached the edge of their clearing, the familiar sight of their home finally within view.
The soft, flickering glow of the hearth's firelight spilled warmly from the cottage's windows, but something felt... wrong. Erynn stiffened first, her fingers tightening instinctively around her staff. Veylan caught the change immediately, his sharp amber-green eyes narrowing as he drew his blade in a single fluid motion.
They dismounted silently, boots crunching faintly against frost-touched grass. The air felt heavier, charged with something far older than magic... something ancient and watchful.
A soft, deliberate clap echoed from the front porch. Slow. Measured. Mocking.
"Well... home at last," a familiar, smooth voice drawled with polite amusement.
Emerging from the shifting shadows of their porch stood Gaunter O'Dimm, his dark, calculating eyes gleaming like shards of black glass as his hands rested lightly behind his back, his expression one of quiet satisfaction, like a hunter watching prey step into a carefully laid trap.
"You've been... busy," he mused softly, his voice cutting through the cold night air like a razor's edge. "Saving princes... thwarting curses... weaving fate's ever-tangled threads. How... quaint."
Veylan stepped forward, his blade still held at the ready. "What do you want?" His voice was low, dangerous, steady.
O'Dimm chuckled faintly, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Want...? Such a... simple word... for complex matters. Perhaps... I'm curious. Intrigued, even."
The night was cold, still heavy with the lingering scent of autumn leaves and faint woodsmoke drifting from their distant neighbors' hearths. The darkened path to their cottage twisted through ancient trees, their knotted branches whispering secrets carried by the wind. Veylan and Erynn rode silently, exhaustion still weighing heavily from their ordeal in Oxenfurt. Nimrael snorted softly as they approached the edge of their clearing, the familiar sight of their home finally within view.
The soft, flickering glow of the hearth's firelight spilled warmly from the cottage's windows, but something felt... wrong. Erynn stiffened first, her fingers tightening instinctively around her staff. Veylan caught the change immediately, his sharp amber-green eyes narrowing as he drew his blade in a single fluid motion.
They dismounted silently, boots crunching faintly against frost-touched grass. The air felt heavier, charged with something far older than magic... something ancient and watchful.
A soft, deliberate clap echoed from the front porch. Slow. Measured. Mocking.
"Well... home at last," a familiar, smooth voice drawled with polite amusement.
Emerging from the shifting shadows of their porch stood Gaunter O'Dimm, his dark, calculating eyes gleaming like shards of black glass beneath the wide brim of his hat. His hands rested lightly behind his back, his expression one of quiet satisfaction—like a hunter watching prey step into a carefully laid trap.
"You've been... busy," he mused softly, his voice cutting through the cold night air like a razor's edge. "Saving princes... thwarting curses... weaving fate's ever-tangled threads. How... quaint."
Veylan stepped forward, his blade still held at the ready. "What do you want?" His voice was low, dangerous, steady.
O'Dimm chuckled faintly, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Want...? Such a... simple word... for complex matters. Perhaps... I'm curious. Intrigued, even."
His gaze shifted toward Erynn, lingering for a fraction longer than comfort allowed. "After all... it's not every day one finds such interesting threads woven together."
Erynn's grip on her staff tightened, faint magic humming beneath her fingertips. "What do you know about us?" she demanded, her voice colder than the night air. "Truly."
O'Dimm smiled wider, his dark eyes gleaming with sinister delight. "Everything."
He stepped forward slowly, deliberate and precise, his voice dipping into something far colder, far more dangerous. "But since you ask... allow me to... enlighten."
With unnatural calm, he began listing, each word falling with the sharp precision of a dagger thrust.
"One. Veylan... born under a blood-red moon, marked before your first breath."
"Two. Erynn of the Kitsune tribes... exiled at fourteen for refusing the sacred bond... yet still you endure."
"Three. Geralt of Rivia... unwanted son of Visenna, who abandoned him on Kaer Morhen's steps."
His smile widened ever so slightly.
"Four. Veylan... last son of Thryos, who fell in battle defending a village long erased from history."
"Five. Erynn's father... Valtheon Silhara... lost to the Wild Hunt while seeking forbidden knowledge."
"Six. Geralt's father... Korin... a nameless wanderer who never learned of the son he left behind."
He circled slowly, never breaking his gaze.
"Seven. Veylan... cursed by fate before the first experiment ever scarred your soul."
"Eight. Erynn's first love... fallen to dark magic's price—forgotten but never forgiven."
"Nine. Geralt's first contract... a bruxa, spared not for mercy, but understanding."
His voice turned silkier, darker still.
"Ten. The elder blood you carry... an inheritance far older than Witcher mutations."
"Eleven. The prison's hidden vault... where secrets buried deep still whisper your name."
"Twelve. The forgotten prophecy... already written... already sealed."
Erynn's breath hitched, though her stance remained firm.
"Thirteen. Veylan's mother... Rhaellen... taken by men who feared what she carried... what she protected."
"Fourteen. Erynn's hidden bloodline... tied to the lost heirs of the Aen Seidhe."
"Fifteen. The pact denied... yet still waiting... patient... timeless."
His voice dipped lower, silk turning to ice.
"Sixteen. Your future already seen... but not yet claimed."
"Seventeen. The fate that hunts... and the fate that hides."
"Eighteen. The truth you were never meant to know... bound by blood long cursed... and a legacy still chained."
Veylan stepped forward, blade raised, his amber-green eyes blazing. "Enough." His voice trembled, barely restrained rage curling beneath the surface. "You're playing a dangerous game."
O'Dimm's smile widened into something far colder—something not meant for mortal comprehension. "Ah... but it's my game." He tilted his head ever so slightly. "And you, Veylan... are my most interesting player yet."
Veylan's breath stilled, his mind racing, amber-green eyes narrowing with dangerous intensity as the meaning behind O'Dimm's calculated revelation clicked into place. His grip on his silver-forged blade tightened, his fingers trembling with restrained fury.
"The elder blood..." he hissed, his voice low but edged with something sharp, lethal. His pulse pounded in his ears, his heightened senses blazing as his inner monstrous instincts flared to life, awakening something primal buried deep in his very bones. "What... exactly do you mean by that?"
Erynn stiffened beside him, her sharp green eyes blazing with protective magic, though her expression betrayed a flicker of uncertainty—fear not for herself, but for Veylan. She could feel the ancient power shifting within him, dark and untamed, stirring in response to the impossible truth O'Dimm had so casually revealed.
O'Dimm regarded Veylan with something far colder than curiosity—understanding. His dark, glass-like eyes gleamed with something ancient, predatory, yet endlessly amused by the tangled web he had begun to unravel. His smile widened, cold and dangerous, like frost creeping over forgotten graves.
"It's exactly as I said..." he replied, his voice soft but ringing with finality. "You... are... a child of the Elder Blood."
The wind stilled, the world narrowing into suffocating silence.
"A male... child of the Elder Blood," O'Dimm repeated slowly, savoring the weight of the words as they fell like iron chains. "Unique. Impossible. And yet... here you are."
Veylan's breath hitched, his claws itching beneath scarred skin as his heartbeat pounded like a war drum. "You're lying," he growled, though the tremor in his voice betrayed a part of him that knew, had always known.
O'Dimm chuckled faintly, tilting his head ever so slightly, amusement glittering in his dark gaze. "Lies... are for men afraid of consequences," he mused smoothly. "I... have no need to lie. Why would I... when the truth is so much worse?"
Erynn's voice trembled faintly, though her grip on her staff remained steady. "The Elder Blood... only passes through the Aen Seidhe. Male heirs don't survive... they can't."
"Correct," O'Dimm agreed lightly, his tone soft but cold as winter's breath. "They... don't survive." His gaze sharpened, cutting into Veylan like a blade. "Except... you."
The firelight reflected faintly off Veylan's blade as he took a slow, measured step forward, his amber-green eyes blazing like molten gold. "How... is that possible?" he hissed. "The experiments... the mutations... they should've killed me."
O'Dimm's smile twisted into something far more sinister, more knowing. "And yet... they didn't," he murmured with dark satisfaction. "Because your blood... was already extraordinary... before they twisted it further."
His voice dropped into something colder, more absolute. "A legacy... ancient and cursed... written into your very being. Survival, resistance, power beyond understanding... all because your line was never meant to die out."
Veylan's breathing turned ragged as flashes of old memories, torment, experiments, desperate survival, surged through his mind, sharp and merciless.
"You carry... what even they could not comprehend..." O'Dimm continued smoothly. "An inheritance... older than Witchers... older than the experiments. You were made for survival... because fate... would not let you fall."
His gaze darkened, his voice dipping into something chillingly intimate. "Your grandmother... was Aen Seidhe, tied to Lara Dorren's forsaken line... and your grandfather... well..."
O'Dimm's dark eyes gleamed with predatory amusement, his smooth voice dipping into something more dangerous, intimate, inevitable. He took another step forward, his presence suffocating as he loomed just within the circle of firelight, cold and calculating.
"Your... grandfather," he murmured with silken malice, savoring the tension hanging thick in the air. "A being... just as unique... as you."
Erynn stiffened, her fingers twitching faintly around her rune-etched staff, protective magic stirring at her fingertips. Despite her readiness, she felt how useless it would be against him. Against... this.
Veylan's sharp amber-green gaze narrowed dangerously, his hand tightening on the hilt of his silver blade. "Who... what... was he?" he hissed, voice low and edged with mounting fury.
Gaunter O'Dimm's smile widened, slow and deliberate, like a hunter savoring a trapped beast's final struggle. His dark gaze gleamed with ancient knowledge, cutting through Veylan's defenses like a blade.
"Maric van Breznik."
Gaunter O'Dimm's smile widened into something far colder, something meant not for mortal comprehension, but for those who know the truth. He circled slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his dark eyes gleaming with predatory amusement as he watched Veylan process the impossible name that had just shattered his world.
"Maric van Breznik..." O'Dimm repeated smoothly, savoring the weight of the name as though tasting an exquisite vintage. "You wouldn't have heard of him... not unless you belonged to the ancient circles of the Elder Courts... the very heart of Vampire politics." His voice softened into something more intimate, almost reflective.
"Maric... was... unique, even among his kind. Older than most of his peers... wiser." He tilted his head ever so slightly, as though seeing through layers of time. "*Not as bound by the savage ways of his brethren... and far more... * compassionate."
Veylan's breathing slowed but didn't steady, his grip tightening around the hilt of his blade despite the storm roiling within him. Erynn stood tense and ready, though she couldn't help but be transfixed by the depth in O'Dimm's voice... as though he'd been there.
"He was a... rare thing," O'Dimm continued softly, almost reverently, his tone dipping into something that felt... genuine. "A vampire... with a heart still beating, burning fiercely for... one person." His dark eyes gleamed dangerously. "Your grandmother."
The wind hissed softly through the darkened trees, the fire crackling faintly as O'Dimm's expression darkened, shifting into something more calculating.
"She was... Aen Seidhe," he whispered, his voice like a blade tracing old scars. "Of noble blood... a distant relative of Lara Dorren herself. She carried... potential."
He paused, savoring the gravity of his next words. "And he... saw her. Not as prey... not as a means to power... but as... everything."
Erynn's breath hitched, her sharp green eyes widening despite herself. Magic trembled faintly at her fingertips, though she felt it dim beneath the weight of what O'Dimm was weaving.
"Their love was... impossible," O'Dimm continued softly, cold nostalgia lingering in his voice. "*By every law... of the Aen Seidhe... by the ancient pacts of the Elder Courts... they should not have been together."
He tilted his head ever so slightly, his voice dipping into something darker... something edged with inevitability.
"But he loved her anyway. Fiercely. Desperately. With a devotion that would have put... human poets... to shame."
Veylan's claws twitched, burning under his skin, though his mind was fixed on every word.
"They hid... for a time," O'Dimm continued, his dark eyes gleaming faintly, reflecting the past. "Fate is rarely kind to those who defy it." His smile twisted into something sharp, something dangerous. "They were found... hunted... betrayed by those who feared what their union might create."
His gaze pierced through Veylan like shattered glass.
"Which eventually led to you through the daughter they had."
The wind hissed sharply as Veylan staggered, reeling from the weight of the revelation crashing over him. His breath hitched, claws digging into his palms as his mind burned with fractured memories, flashes of a soft voice, warm arms, a song long forgotten.
"Maric fought," O'Dimm whispered darkly, savoring the memory. "He burned the land to ash to keep her safe. But even the strongest cannot fight fate forever."
Erynn's voice trembled faintly, though she forced herself to speak. "What... happened to them?"
O'Dimm's dark eyes gleamed faintly in the flickering firelight, shadows twisting unnaturally around him as though responding to his very presence. His voice softened into something almost reflective, though the edge of cruelty never left his sharp features.
"After Maric... loved her," he began, coldly measured, deliberate, "...your grandmother bore a child... a daughter." His dark gaze flicked toward Veylan, piercing through him like a blade seeking marrow. "Your mother."
Erynn's breath hitched faintly, her sharp green eyes widening, though her grip on her rune-etched staff remained steady, protective magic humming faintly at her fingertips.
"Your grandmother..." O'Dimm continued smoothly, "...died giving birth to her. The price of love... is always paid in blood." His voice dropped lower, colder. "Maric... vanished after her death, consumed by grief... or vengeance, depending on which tale you believe."
The flames crackled softly, though the chill in the air deepened, gnawing at the edges of reality itself.
"Your mother..." O'Dimm said, his voice like silken steel, "...was raised among elves, sheltered... hidden. They thought her... safe."
His smile widened darkly, sharp and knowing. "But destiny... is rarely kind."
Veylan's jaw clenched, old memories burning faintly behind his amber-green eyes, though they remained locked on O'Dimm's ever-shifting expression.
"One day..." O'Dimm whispered, "...your mother met... a human. Fierce. Defiant. Determined." His gaze sharpened, almost predatory. "A man who stole her heart... and against all odds... they had you."
His cold smile deepened. "Born... from two impossible bloodlines... forged in secret... destined for things even they couldn't comprehend."
Veylan's breath stilled, his hands tightening on the hilt of his silver blade, though it felt... distant... meaningless in the face of this.
"And then..." O'Dimm continued softly, with dark, silken malice, "...you were taken."
His smile widened into something almost fond, though its sharp edges gleamed with something far darker. "Stolen... torn from them... ripped away, before you even understood who you were."
His voice dropped into something low and absolute, soaked in ancient inevitability.
"And that..." he whispered, deadly soft, final, "...is how your story began."
The wind howled faintly, sharp and cold, scattering frost-kissed leaves across the clearing, though O'Dimm's gaze never wavered.
Veylan stood frozen, breath shallow, his amber-green eyes burning with pain, rage, and unspoken truth. The weight of memories long buried surged through his mind—flashes of warmth, a distant lullaby, a mother's touch, all shattered by darkness, chains, and endless suffering.
Erynn's trembling hand brushed his, steadying, though her voice trembled with raw emotion.
"Why... tell him this?" she demanded, her voice edged with fear and fury. "What game are you playing?"
O'Dimm chuckled softly, the sound cold and hollow, like gravel shifting beneath frostbitten earth.
"Game...?" he mused smoothly. "I play no game, my dear..."
His smile sharpened, dark and endless.
"I merely... set the stage."
With one final look, his dark gaze burned with something far older, far crueler, and Gaunter O'Dimm vanished into the shadows, leaving only silence... and the crushing weight of truth revealed.