The Witcher: Chimera
Chapter 7: Fire and Ice, Blood and Destiny
…
The ancient, forgotten prison loomed in the heart of the southern wilderness, its crumbling stone walls swallowed by twisted roots and thick, creeping vines. The wind howled faintly, weaving through the jagged ruins, carrying with it the whispers of past horrors.
A contingent of scouts and scholars moved cautiously through the desolate remains of what had once been a hidden fortress, an alchemical stronghold where dark experiments were conducted far from prying eyes.
Among them were elven rangers, Nilfgaardian archivists, and students of Graden, the most loyal and skilled investigators of the reformed Church of Eternal Fire. Their expressions were grim and resolute, steel-clad boots crunching against the debris-littered floors as they delved deeper into the half-buried ruins.
The research wing, though scarred by fire and time, still stood partially intact. Ancient wooden shelves, now cracked and scorched, leaned precariously, while dust-laden tomes and faded parchment scrolls lay strewn across the shattered floor.
Scholar Teyrin Valtris, a Nilfgaardian historian, adjusted his worn spectacles, cold eyes narrowing as he carefully shifted debris aside with his boot. His gloved hands brushed against a faint metallic gleam beneath the fallen stone slabs.
"Over here," he called sharply, beckoning the others.
Two elven scouts, Miraeth and Caelir's lieutenant Eryndir, moved swiftly to assist, clearing away rubble with practiced efficiency.
What they uncovered made them pause.
A massive steel-bound cabinet, its reinforced locks long broken, lay partially exposed, its contents scattered. A strange glyph-etched seal, still faintly pulsing with old, faded magic, glimmered faintly in the torchlight.
"Another archive vault..." Teyrin muttered grimly, brushing dust from the faintly glowing glyphs. "By the gods... what did they hide in here?"
His fingers traced an etched family crest, scarred by deep cuts, as though someone had tried to destroy it long ago. The symbol of an ancient bloodline.
The students of Graden exchanged uneasy glances but held firm, assisting wordlessly as they carefully unsealed the heavy cabinet.
Within... they found parchments preserved by magical stasis wards, scrolls bound with charms meant to endure time's decay. At the center rested a massive, aged tome, its worn leather cover etched with ancient elven runes.
Eryndir's hand hovered uncertainly near the book's edge, but Teyrin's steady voice broke the tense silence.
"Open it."
The ancient tome creaked faintly, its aged parchment whispering like ghostly memories as Eryndir carefully turned its worn pages. Charts, records, and genealogical trees sprawled across the handwritten pages, ink still vivid from enchanted preservation.
The symbol of Lara Dorren's lineage appeared prominently near the first section, its ancestral tree branching outward, documenting bloodlines long intertwined.
The archivists muttered softly, noting the names—legends etched into history, royal heirs, long-forgotten exiles, mysterious wanderers.
Then... everything stilled.
At the tree's lower branches, faint but unmistakable, was another entry... one that didn't belong.
Subject #5... Veylan.
The air grew colder, sharp tension crackling as though the ruins themselves remembered.
Eryndir staggered back, his breath hitching sharply, eyes wide in silent horror.
Miraeth's hand tightened on her sheathed blade, though fear lingered in her sharp elven gaze.
Teyrin paled, fingers trembling faintly as he traced Veylan's name scrawled darkly at the end of the family line... its ink still bold, etched deliberately, as though the writer had known... this would be found someday.
"By the gods..." Eryndir whispered still hearing the silent echo of the words he read.
Silence reigned, thick and oppressive, broken only by the faint crackle of fading magical wards... and the whispered echoes of forgotten of Form
…
The winds of fate carried whispers faster than couriers on horseback, moving from the crumbling ruins of the forgotten prison deep in the southern wilderness to the royal courts of the Continent's great powers. What had been hidden for centuries, buried in alchemical secrets and ancient magic, was now known.
…
The winds of fate carried whispers faster than couriers on horseback, spreading from the forgotten southern prison where dark secrets had been unearthed. The ancient records, hidden for centuries, now resurfaced with monumental implications.
The discovery of Veylan's family tree, etched into faded parchment and preserved in magically protected tomes, ignited a storm of intrigue and fear. The last name recorded: Subject #5, Veylan, marked as "Male Descendant of Lara Dorren." Elder Blood. Higher Vampire Ancestry.
The grand war hall of Nilfgaard's Imperial Palace lay cold and still, its shadowed marble walls reflecting firelight from distant hearths.
At the center, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis stood alone, his steel-gray eyes burning with icy calculation as he read the report held firmly in his scarred hand.
The Imperial Archivist, Teyrin Valtris, knelt in silence, awaiting judgment, his breath tight, knowing any misstep could mean death. He had delivered the sealed records only moments ago, forbidden research documents recovered from Veylan's forgotten prison.
As Emhyr's gaze traced the etched lines of the family tree, his expression hardened. Scrawled notes and faded ink records spoke of mutations, ritual blood-binding, and genetic alterations. Dark secrets carefully hidden from history's light.
But one detail burned through everything else—one fact that shattered expectations and sent cold realization through even his unyielding mind:
Subject #5: Veylan.
Male Heir of the Elder Blood.
His Maternal Grandfather: Higher Vampire (Identity Unknown).
Emhyr's fingers tightened around the aged parchment, his breath sharp and deliberate, though his expression remained unreadable.
"A male heir... impossible..." he thought grimly. "They never survive... they cannot survive..."
His eyes darkened, calculating coldly, but a thought pressed deeper into his mind, heavy and inescapable:
"Could he... not know?"
Emhyr's grip tightened further.
Veylan was only five when he was kidnapped... stolen from his family. He had grown up in a cage, twisted and broken by alchemical experiments meant to warp his very soul.
"A Witcher... forged in torment... yet never knowing... who he truly is."
For the first time in decades, Emhyr felt uncertain.
"Leave." His command cracked like a whip. Teyrin bowed hurriedly, sweat beading on his brow as he departed in silence, relieved to escape the Emperor's gaze.
Emhyr turned slowly, his dark gaze fixed on the storm-choked horizon beyond the palace windows.
"If he doesn't know..."
His mind burned with silent calculations, possibilities shifting like blade edges.
"Make sure I receive reports of his contracts," he commanded coldly, steel-hard certainty cutting through the heavy air. "And keep me updated."
Merchants, spies, and travelers spoke hushed rumors in taverns and courts alike:
"The Witcher from Velen..." whispered a Redanian informant, coin exchanging hands beneath a dim-lit inn table. "They say he's not just a... mutant. He's... Elder Blood."
Kaedweni agents scoffed, their suspicion shifting to genuine fear. "Higher Vampire blood... Elder Blood... That's... too much."
"They found his name..." murmured a spy from Temeria, voice trembling. "He's... tied to Lara Dorren's line... and his grandfather... a higher vampire... a ghost from forgotten times."
Yennefer of Vengerberg slammed shut the ancient tome, her violet eyes blazing with sharp intensity.
"This changes everything," she hissed, fingers trembling faintly as she searched her brain for anything that could possibly explain this lineage.
"Or perhaps..." Philippa Eilhart countered coldly, smile calculating, "...it only confirms what we've always feared since we first heard the name, Veylan."
In the Frozen Wastes, Eredin Bréacc Glas, King of the Wild Hunt, stood silent and still, his icy gaze fixed on the ethereal scrying pool, its surface rippling with magical resonance.
Navigators' voices whispered across the dim, spectral air, confirming what Eredin had long suspected.
"Male Elder Blood... alive."
Eredin's frost-rimmed fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword.
"He lives... and has no idea what he is."
"Prepare the Hunt..." he ordered coldly.
Far beyond mortal reach, deep within forgotten lands, Maric van Breznik... watched from the shadows. His ancient silver eyes, older than empires, gleamed with fierce purpose as the whispers reached him.
"He doesn't know..." Maric murmured, voice trembling with equal parts relief and dread.
His expression hardened, equal parts grief... and silent resolution.
"Hold on... Veylan."
…
The autumn wind bit sharply as Veylan adjusted the straps of his worn leather armor, his scarred hands steady despite the recent battle. His amber-green eyes burned faintly, scanning the forest clearing behind him where three monstrous corpses lay strewn, each hulking form a testament to nature's cruelty and his unyielding will.
The Royal Griffon's massive body lay sprawled, its wings bent grotesquely, its taloned claws twitching even in death, though its headless neck still smoked faintly from Igni's cleansing flame. Nearby, the twisted form of a full-grown Fiend rested in a crumpled heap, its horned skull fractured, deep gouges marking its leathery hide where the Griffon's claws had torn into it during their savage struggle.
Closest to the treeline, the ancient, gnarled remains of the Leshen lay crushed, its antlers shattered and its twisted bark-like skull caved inward, sap-like ichor still dripping from the severed roots along its withered limbs. The air shimmered faintly, haunted by lingering magic from the dark ritual site.
Veylan exhaled slowly, sheathing his silver blade, still faintly etched with glowing runes from his last spell. His features remained unreadable, though exhaustion pressed faintly against his mind.
With practiced efficiency, he moved to signal the retrieval team, raising a sharpened horn from his belt and blowing a short, piercing note that echoed through the quiet forest.
The gatherers from Nilfgaard, experienced field scholars and imperial researchers, arrived swiftly, boots crunching sharply against the cold earth as they dismounted with military precision.
Sergeant Karel, his dark armor gleaming beneath the faint morning sun, nodded toward Veylan, his expression steady but marked with muted respect.
"Three at once?" Karel muttered, dark eyes flicking toward the massive corpses. "And all intact? We were told one was bad enough..."
"They were killing each other..." Veylan replied coldly, his sharp amber-green eyes narrowing. "Until they saw me."
Karel smirked faintly, though his expression darkened as he approached the Griffon's ruined remains. His gloved hand rested briefly on the beast's charred wing before turning back to his team.
"Secure everything," he ordered sharply. "No field dissection. Take the whole bodies... intact."
The Nilfgaardian scholars moved with purpose, deploying enchanted containment crates and reinforced tarps, sealing the corpses for transport to Oxenfurt's research division. Preservation glyphs flared brightly, locking in the magical essences radiating from each monstrous form.
"Fiend's blood." One researcher noted sharply, marking notes in a leather-bound logbook. "Active venom sacs still present. We'll extract them... safely... back at the facility.*"
"Leshen core intact." Another called out, etching runic preservation wards around the withered tree-like corpse. "Roots still pulsing with residual magic... should stabilize in containment."
"Griffon heart still viable... intact organs confirmed." The team lead muttered, carefully marking extraction points for alchemy labs.
Karel returned, his expression grim but satisfied. He approached Veylan, his scarred features steady, though unease lingered behind his hardened eyes.
"We'll have the whole lot sent straight to Oxenfurt for study." His voice dipped, almost thoughtful. "They'll be at it for months... maybe longer."
"Good," Veylan replied, amber-green gaze distant. "Make sure they send the full report... if anything... changes."
Karel nodded, offering one last glance toward the massive corpses before mounting his horse.
"Stay sharp, Witcher," he muttered, tightening his reins. "We'll send word... when the next contract comes through."
Without another word, Karel led the retrieval team, their reinforced carts groaning faintly beneath the weight of the preserved monsters, vanishing into the shadowed woods.
Veylan stood silently, his features impassive, though unease stirred faintly beneath his calm exterior. He felt eyes watching, travelers, villagers, and strangers lingering near the treeline, fear and awe etched deeply into their faces.
The things they see... he thought darkly, ...are nothing compared to what will happen when they eventually come for me." He thought reflecting on what he now knew about himself.
His fingers brushed his silver-forged blade, its scabbard faintly etched with warding runes. He could still feel the lingering magic from the battle... but this hunt had been only the beginning.
The frost-laden air nipped at Veylan's skin as he guided Nimrael through the winding forest paths, the familiar scent of pine and cold earth easing the lingering tension from the battle. His scarred hands rested steadily on the reins, though his mind remained half-alert, ever watchful, despite the quiet calm settling over Velen's winter-stilled woods.
The weathered stone cottage he and Erynn called home finally came into view, warm light flickering from the hearth-lit windows, casting golden rays across the snow-dappled clearing. He could already feel the magic in the air, subtle and old, woven into the land itself in anticipation of the approaching Elven winter holiday.
As he dismounted, the faint sound of soft Elven chants drifted from behind the cottage, melodic and ancient, carried on the cold wind. He rounded the side garden, his sharp gaze softening as he spotted Erynn, her fiery hair shimmering beneath the twilight's fading light, snow-dusted furs draped across her shoulders as she tended carefully to a circle of evergreen wreaths and enchanted candles placed around the old stone altar.
Her delicate hands moved gracefully, tracing symbols in the frost-covered earth, whispering incantations in Elder Speech, her voice low and reverent. The ritual space glowed faintly, imbued with ancient magic meant to honor the spirits of winter and call for the land's renewal after the darkest night.
Veylan approached silently, though Erynn sensed him, her bright emerald eyes lifting, softening instantly when she saw him.
"You're back..." she whispered, relief mixing with warmth.
Veylan nodded, his scarred face softening in a way only she ever saw. "I'm home."
Without another word, he removed his cloak, rolling up his sleeves, his amber-green eyes glinting faintly as he took in the partially prepared altar.
"What needs finishing?" he asked simply, voice steady, though tinged with quiet warmth.
Erynn smiled faintly, grateful in ways words couldn't convey.
"The sacred branches... need binding," she explained, gesturing gently to a bundle of evergreen boughs, mistletoe sprigs, and holly entwined with ivy. "And the warding runes... need reforging along the altar stones... before we light the offering fires."
Veylan nodded, already moving, his calloused hands deftly weaving the enchanted boughs, binding them tightly with red-gold thread infused with protective glyphs.
Magic shimmered faintly, pulsing through the symbols as he traced ancient runes into the weathered stone altar, using precise, fluid strokes, each line etched with care.
Together, they worked in perfect harmony, silent but steady, the old rites feeling as familiar as breathing. Veylan's voice joined hers as they chanted softly, his deep Elder Speech fluency blending seamlessly with Erynn's melodic tone.
"Luin'maer... veylin'aen caran... sha'lyth norien... thys'en torann...
(Light's memory... renew the earth... grant us strength... through winter's grasp...)
With one last whispered incantation, Erynn lit the enchanted candles, their soft, golden glow shimmering through the darkened woods, casting protective light over their sacred space.
Veylan exhaled slowly, his hand brushing faintly against hers, his expression unreadable but quietly at peace.
"It's done..." she whispered, voice soft, her fingers entwining with his.
He nodded, amber-green eyes steady as he studied the glowing altar.
"Good..." he murmured, voice low but calm. "Let them know... we still honor the old ways."
Together, they watched the enchanted flames flicker, magic weaving gently through the cold winter night, as fate's distant whispers stirred faintly on the frost-kissed wind.
Later on he would join Geralt in confronting Olgierd for nearly tricking geralt.
…
Hours later…
The storm-laden sky churned dark and angry, rain lashing fiercely but doing little to quell the raging inferno consuming Garin Estate's crumbling halls. Smoke billowed, thick and choking, its ashen tendrils curling skyward as if reaching for mercy from unfeeling gods.
Geralt of Rivia guided Roach through the mud-choked path, amber eyes narrowed, expression grim. At his side, Veylan rode silently, his scarred features unreadable, though keen amber-green eyes scanned every corner, every twisted shadow of the burning grounds.
As they approached the estate, chaos unfolded in the courtyard—guttural shouts, steel flashing, and desperate curses from grizzled men dressed in Olgierd's colors.
A sudden, sharp sound—the clang of chains tightening—cut through the storm's rage, pulling Geralt's focus toward a macabre scene at the courtyard's heart.
Two menacing brigands, faces twisted with cruel amusement, held ropes taut, securing a battered man at swordpoint against a weathered execution block. Geralt's sharp gaze widened—he recognized the hapless victim, a villager he'd met previously, kind-hearted and simple, now pleading silently beneath the cold steel edge of a pitted axe.
Geralt dismounted swiftly, his steel-gray eyes blazing as he strode forward, fury seething beneath his voice.
"ARE YOU BLIND?!" he bellowed, gesturing angrily toward the flames raging unchecked through the main hall. "THERE'S A DAMN FIRE! DIDN'T ANYONE THINK TO PUT IT OUT?!"
The closest brigand, a scarred, broad-shouldered brute, spat into the mud, his expression twisted with disdain.
"We ain't puttin' out nothin', piss-peapers," he sneered. "Not fer the likes o' you."
Before Geralt could retort, Veylan's calm voice cut through like frost-edged steel.
"I'm going to tell you... how this will go down," Veylan drawled, his tone eerily matching the brigand's mocking cadence, yet far colder... far deadlier.
The men froze, their expressions twisting with sudden uncertainty.
"I'm going to ask you all nice-like... once," Veylan continued, his calm, venom-laced voice echoing sharply through the courtyard.
"Then... you're going to let him go."
The brigands shared uneasy glances, though defiance still burned in their hardened eyes.
"An' just who the hell d'you think you are... bossin' us around?" one of them snarled, stepping forward, hand tightening around his rusted blade.
Veylan's eyes flashed crimson, then shifted insectoid, pupils narrowing into sharp, predatory slits. His teeth sharpened briefly, canines glinting in the dim, fire-lit gloom.
The men staggered back, expressions twisting with growing fear as realization struck.
"Veylan..." he growled darkly, voice edged with malice and fire. "The Chimera Witcher. You've... probably heard the stories... the one with a whole arsenal of monsters mixed into his blood."
A sharp gust of wind tore through the smoke-choked courtyard, scattering embers like fading stars.
Before anyone could react further, a new voice rang out—smooth, commanding, and dangerously amused.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Olgierd von Everec's voice echoed sharply from behind the gathered men, his cane clicking faintly against the stone-laid path.
The brigands stilled instantly, backs straightening as Olgierd emerged, dark coat glistening faintly from the rain, expression calm yet piercing.
"No one's cutting anyone down... yet," he drawled smoothly, icy eyes gleaming with dangerous calculation. "Not until... we work this out."
Geralt's hand tensed near his blade, though he waited silently, steel-gray eyes sharp.
Olgierd's gaze swept lazily across Veylan, studying him with predatory amusement.
"Hmph..." he muttered thoughtfully. "Well now... this is interesting."
After a long pause, Olgierd smiled faintly, tilting his head.
"Tell you what..." he mused. "*Let's settle this... proper-like."
He stepped forward, sword drawn, its edge gleaming faintly beneath the storm's flickering lightning.
"If you... Veylan, Chimera Witcher... truly live up to the legend, then face me."
His cold grin widened.
"Beat me in a duel... and not only will I let him go... I'll throw in a horse... supplies... and compensation for wasting your precious time."
The courtyard stilled, expectation crackling like tension before a storm.
Veylan's hand tightened on his steel-forged blade, expression hardening into deadly focus.
"Deal."
He gestured sharply for Geralt to step back, amber-green eyes locked onto Olgierd's cold, piercing gaze.
Olgierd's smile deepened, already entertained.
The brigands parted, forming a wide circle, their expressions shifting from fear to hungry anticipation.
Olgierd shifted into position, his blade steady, rain streaming from his dark coat.
Veylan drew his steel sword, its gleaming edge slick with rain, ready... steady... unwavering.
The storm surged, lightning flashing across the smoke-choked sky, and fate's cold hand settled over the courtyard... as two warriors prepared to clash.
The rain pounded relentlessly, thick sheets of water drenching the smoke-choked courtyard, but neither Veylan nor Olgierd von Everec seemed to notice. Their gazes locked, amber-green burning against icy steel, the air between them charged with magic, death, and unspoken understanding.
Olgierd moved first, his dark blade flashing like lightning, striking fast with deadly precision. Veylan twisted sharply, blade clashing, steel meeting steel in a shower of sparks. Olgierd pushed hard, forcing Veylan back with a series of brutal cuts, relentless, controlled, and impossibly fast.
Veylan slid back, mud and water spraying, his grip steady, his stance solid. He adjusted instinctively, predicting the next overhead slash and sidestepping with preternatural speed, blade flashing upward in a deadly arc.
Olgierd twisted, unnaturally quick, his expression cold, sword spinning in a vicious counter-cut aimed for Veylan's throat. Veylan ducked low, mud spraying, before lunging forward, igniting Igni's searing flame across his silver-forged blade.
The enchanted fire struck Olgierd's side, burning fabric and flesh, but he didn't flinch, his wounds sealing instantly with dark, blood-red magic. His eyes burned with deadly amusement as he lunged again, blade arcing in a killing blow.
Veylan thrust his hand downward, roots bursting from the mud-soaked earth, ensnaring Olgierd's legs with creaking, thorned vines. For a moment, Olgierd twisted against the binding roots, his expression flickering with surprise... before his sword flashed, cutting free in one brutal stroke, black magic radiating from the shattered roots.
"You're full of surprises," Olgierd sneered, circling sharply, his blade ready.
"So are you," Veylan growled, amber-green eyes gleaming with cold fire.
He vanished into swirling mist, fog curling like claws of smoke, surrounding Olgierd from all sides. Crimson light flickered within the phantom mist, moving fast, relentless, calculating.
Olgierd slashed through the shifting fog, blade slicing through empty air, striking nothing but cold vapor. He whirled sharply, blocking just in time as Veylan emerged mid-flip, silver blade crashing down with brutal force.
The shockwave cracked, splintering mudstone, forcing Olgierd back, though he held firm, his smile widening with growing respect... and hunger.
"You fight well," he hissed, voice thick with dark amusement. "But can you bleed?"
Veylan's blade flashed, striking low, forcing Olgierd back once more, forcing distance. For a moment, Olgierd hesitated, gauging the Witcher's next move.
Veylan lunged again, amber-green eyes blazing, skin hardening into stone-like rock, muscles swelling with rock-troll might as he struck with unrelenting force.
His fist crashed down, splintering stone, forcing Olgierd to leap away, though the rippled impact tore through the courtyard ground, sending stone fragments flying like deadly shrapnel.
Olgierd's blade spun, deflecting shards, but one stone struck his shoulder, cracking bone... only for his dark magic to mend the damage instantly.
"Monster blood..." Olgierd hissed, his icy gaze calculating. "I see it now."
"Good," Veylan snarled, charging forward, blade flashing, ready to end it.
The storm's fury howled, rain slicing through the dark, as steel met steel once more... two warriors locked in deadly dance, both cursed, both broken, both beyond redemption... yet fighting on.
The storm howled, lightning splitting the sky as Veylan and Olgierd circled one another, blades slick with blood, their eyes locked in a deadly dance where strength, skill, and monstrous resilience were the only currency.
Their steel-forged blades clashed again, sparks flashing like dying stars, their breaths ragged but unrelenting. Olgierd's cold grin widened, dark amusement gleaming in his icy gaze as Veylan surged forward, striking hard, forcing him back with increasing intensity.
Olgierd deflected sharply, his dark blade twisting, aiming for Veylan's ribs, but Veylan countered, shifting mid-air with a supernatural grace born of monstrous blood. His form twisted, his eyes flaring crimson, claws extending like razor-sharp talons as he spun low, hooking Olgierd's knee and forcing him down.
Olgierd snarled, recovering instantly, his blade striking upward, slashing across Veylan's chest, splitting armor and flesh.
Veylan hissed, pain briefly flashing through his amber-green gaze, though he did not fall. His blood boiled, wounds knitting faintly, though not fast enough.
He vanished into mist, fog curling like living claws, surrounding Olgierd with predatory purpose.
Olgierd grinned wider, waiting, listening, before he spun sharply, blade cutting through fog, steel crashing against steel as Veylan reappeared, striking fiercely.
The ground splintered, stone shattering, but neither yielded.
Their blades crossed, pushing hard, faces inches apart, breaths ragged, strength waning, yet unyielding.
Then... both struck at once.
Veylan's blade plunged deep, slicing through Olgierd's side, lodging cruelly between his ribs. At the same moment, Olgierd's sword drove forward, piercing through Veylan's chest, the steel edge bursting through his back, blackened tip gleaming in the rain-soaked moonlight.
They staggered, locked together, blood pouring, both panting, neither falling.
For a frozen moment, the storm stilled, rain hissing against their blood-slicked blades.
Veylan gasped, staggering, his hand trembling as pain blazed through his nerves... but death never came.
He stared down, stunned, as blackened steel remained lodged deep, though his heart kept beating, his blood still burned... alive.
"Interesting..." Olgierd mused coldly, his voice disturbingly calm, as he studied their shared impalement like a curious scholar. His expression twisted with dark amusement, his free hand gripping Veylan's collar.
"Very... interesting."
Before Veylan could react, Olgierd twisted his blade, releasing it, and yanked Veylan's head forward—plunging the cursed sword through his neck, steel bursting out through the back of his spine.
Blood sprayed, rain hissing against the severed wound, though Veylan never fell.
With snarling ferocity, Veylan twisted sharply, swinging his blade upward, nearly severing Olgierd's neck, steel cleaving deep, bone cracking before Olgierd staggered back, escaping the killing blow.
His head hung backward grotesquely, half-detached, dark magic crackling faintly through the gaping wound.
For a terrifying moment, all stilled, lightning flashing overhead.
Then...
Olgierd laughed.
His body trembled, staggering upright, as his hands adjusted his twisted neck, snapping his head back into place with a gruesome crack.
He clapped slowly, mocking applause echoing through the courtyard, his dark coat drenched in blood and rain.
"Very... impressive, Master Witcher," he drawled, icy eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "I see... we're not so different after all... are we?"
Veylan's breath hitched, though his blood-slicked fingers remained steady on his blade, his claws twitching faintly as his neck wound knitted slowly, flesh burning with dark, cursed fire.
"What... in the hells... are you?" Veylan growled, voice rasping from his still healing throat.
Olgierd's cold smile widened, dark and knowing, as he adjusted his coat, blood still dripping from his regenerating form.
Olgierd von Everec's smile widened, dark amusement gleaming coldly in his icy blue eyes. He adjusted his blood-drenched coat, his fingers twitching faintly as the last faint crackle of cursed magic mended his still healing neck wound.
He took one slow step forward, studying Veylan, his expression turning thoughtful, calculating, deeply intrigued.
"I could... ask you the same thing," Olgierd mused, his voice smooth as velvet, cutting as steel. "You're no mere Witcher... and certainly no ordinary mutation..."
He circled slowly, his sharp gaze drinking in every scar, every faint flicker of monstrous essence that still burned faintly beneath Veylan's skin.
"You're... something far worse... or far better," Olgierd continued, his smile deepening, dark curiosity gleaming like a knife's edge. "And unlike most... you don't break."
Veylan's amber-green eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening faintly on his steel-forged blade, still wet with blood and rain, though his breath steadied.
"Same could be said of you," Veylan growled, his voice low, rough, though even as his wounds slowly closed. "You're... not like anything I've faced before."
Olgierd's dark laugh rumbled, low and genuine, as he clasped his hands behind his back, cane-sword resting easily against his shoulder.
"Perhaps... that's what makes this..." he gestured slowly to the scorched, shattered courtyard, faint embers flickering through the soaked stone—"...far more interesting."
His expression shifted, deadly amusement fading, replaced by measured curiosity. He nodded once, almost respectfully.
"Enough." His voice rang clearly, cutting through the howling wind and pounding rain. "The fight's over."
The onlookers, Olgierd's men, Geralt, and the bound prisoner stilled, silent, their expressions flickering with uncertainty... until Olgierd raised a hand.
"Cut him loose," he ordered sharply.
The guards hesitated only briefly before slicing through the prisoner's bonds, lowering their weapons as the battered man collapsed, gasping in relief.
Geralt stepped forward, his steel-gray eyes narrowed, ready to intervene, but Veylan raised a hand, silently holding him back.
Olgierd turned sharply, addressing his men with icy authority.
"Give him a horse... provisions... and a sword." His expression darkened faintly, though his voice remained calm. "See that he reaches safety... or I'll have your hides mounted next to his."
The guards scattered, moving swiftly, though stealing wary glances at Veylan, avoiding his gaze.
Veylan exhaled slowly, sheathing his steel blade, though his eyes never left Olgierd, watchful, calculating, yet steadily unreadable.
"Interesting..." Olgierd repeated softly, more to himself than anyone present. He turned slowly, hands resting lightly on his cane-sword, his expression unreadable, though his piercing gaze lingered on Veylan... half-amused, half-respectful, and completely intrigued.
The storm's fury began to fade, though cold rain still fell, soaking the shattered courtyard and dousing the embers scattered across the ruined stones. Veylan and Geralt remained tense, their sharp gazes fixed on Olgierd, though the bound prisoner, now free, was hurried away by Olgierd's men, silent and pale.
Olgierd adjusted his blood-soaked coat, his expression unreadable as he turned back, his piercing gaze still lingering on Veylan, though there was something more now—a deep, burning curiosity tempered by cold calculation.
"Before you go..." Veylan growled softly, amber-green eyes narrowing, voice still rough from the recent fight. "We need to talk... about the contract..."
Olgierd arched a brow, his smile faintly returning, though his eyes remained sharp.
"The toad..." Geralt added coldly, steel-gray gaze fixed. "In the sewers of Oxenfurt..."
Olgierd's expression shifted faintly, interest gleaming behind his otherwise stoic mask.
"You killed it, I assume?" Olgierd asked, his tone casual, though tinged with genuine curiosity.
Geralt exchanged a knowing glance with Veylan, who folded his arms, scarred fingers resting near his belt.
"Not exactly..." Veylan replied evenly. "With Erynn's help... and an Ofieri Mage's... we managed to lift the spell."
Olgierd blinked faintly, his expression flickering, though he masked it quickly.
"Spell?" he echoed smoothly.
"You already knew," Veylan pressed, voice low but lethal. "He was no monster... he was... a prince."
Geralt's tone sharpened, steel-gray gaze burning.
"We prevented a diplomatic catastrophe." He stepped forward, amber eyes narrowing. "But you knew... didn't you?"
Olgierd's features hardened, though amusement faded, replaced by something colder... more guarded.
Before he could answer, a smooth, familiar voice echoed from the courtyard's edge, cold and deliberate.
"Why, of course he knew..."
Gaunter O'Dimm's voice rang out, silk-laced malice dripping from every syllable.
Everyone stilled, turning sharply as O'Dimm emerged from shadowed mist, his dark eyes gleaming beneath the charming exterior, his smile sharpBottom of Form, his presence suffocating despite his calm demeanor.
"He's the one who cursed him..." O'Dimm continued smoothly, hands resting lightly behind his back. "Isn't that right... Olgierd?"
Olgierd's face twisted, though his eyes remained cold, jaw clenched tight, hands twitching faintly near his sword.
"Don't pretend..." O'Dimm's voice darkened, cutting like razored silk. "It was done... out of love."
The air grew colder, frost lacing faintly along the edges of the broken stones.
"You wanted him dead..." O'Dimm whispered, voice dipping into something cruel, personal. "And not just dead... ruined."
Olgierd's fists clenched tighter, though his expression remained still, unreadable, though rage burned faintly beneath the surface.
"After all..." O'Dimm mused softly, eyes gleaming, "What better punishment... than a cursed existence? A prince... reduced to a beast."
"So tell them," O'Dimm hissed, smiling faintly, cold amusement gleaming behind his dark gaze. "Tell them... why."
For the first time, Olgierd's expression faltered, his cold facade cracking... though only for a breath.
"I... loved her," Olgierd whispered, voice rough, low, haunted.
The courtyard stilled, rain falling softly, though the storm raged on in Olgierd's mind.
O'Dimm's voice softened, though still laced with venom.
"And she... loved you..." he whispered, deadly calm. "Once... before...* you changed.*"
Olgierd's eyes burned, though his expression remained cold, empty, untouchable.
He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling faintly, though no warmth reached his deadened gaze.
"I have... no heart..." he whispered bitterly, though something old and broken still lingered beneath the venom-laced words.
"Ah... but you do," O'Dimm smiled coldly, tilting his head. "You've simply... forgotten how it feels."
The wind surged, frost deepening, though O'Dimm's dark smile widened, all-knowing, all-consuming.
And for a brief, shattered moment, Olgierd's cold mask broke... though remorse remained buried beneath stone... and memory's cruel of Form
Olgierd's cold gaze lingered on Gaunter O'Dimm, his expression twisted with barely restrained contempt. The storm-battered courtyard fell silent, rain hissing softly against the blood-slick stones, though tension crackled in the air like lightning still waiting to strike.
"Why... are you here?" Olgierd hissed sharply, his fists clenching, icy blue eyes blazing with deep-rooted anger. "You know... you're not welcome here."
O'Dimm's cold smile widened, mocking amusement flickering across his sharp features.
"Ah... I'm glad you asked," he mused smoothly, adjusting his coat with exaggerated care. "You see... whether Veylan knows it or not... he owes me a debt... of sorts."
Geralt's sharp eyes narrowed, muscles tensing, though Veylan remained still, amber-green gaze steady, scarred fingers brushing faintly against his sheathed blade.
"What debt?" Veylan growled lowly, his voice rough, dangerously calm.
O'Dimm's dark gaze gleamed, cutting through him like a hunter's blade.
"Why... the one you willingly accepted," he drawled softly. "The moment you... took my advice... and saved that poor sap trapped in the body of a toad."
The storm howled faintly, though O'Dimm's voice remained smooth, calm, measured.
"By heeding my warning... you prevented a tragedy. You even received... compensation, didn't you?" His dark smile deepened, mockery twisting every syllable.
"That signet ring... a gift from the Ofieri Mage and by extension his prince himself." His eyes burned faintly with malicious satisfaction.
"No small feat, let me tell you," O'Dimm continued, voice dipping lower. "You earned not only... his gratitude, his father's... but also the unwavering loyalty of his court's most powerful mage. Even now... the Prince personally informs his father, ruler of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world, of the brave Witchers who helped his Chief Mage purge his wretched form."
Geralt exhaled sharply, his steel-gray eyes narrowing further, suspicion burning behind his gaze.
"But that's neither here... nor there," O'Dimm continued, voice darkly amused. "As for why I'm truly here..."
He stepped forward, smile widening into something far colder... far sharper.
"I've come... to collect."
The air froze, breath stilled, though O'Dimm's gaze never wavered.
"By employing you," he said softly, gesturing faintly to Veylan and Geralt, "*to assist... our dear friend Olgierd... with his... little problem."
Olgierd's face twisted, though he remained silent, icy gaze fixed on O'Dimm, burning with loathing.
"The three wishes..." O'Dimm whispered smoothly, words dripping with finality. "Divide and conquer... after all."
He gestured faintly, dark amusement gleaming in his soulless gaze.
"Geralt will handle one wish... Veylan the other... and together... you shall face the final challenge."
Veylan's jaw clenched, though his eyes remained sharp, burning with both suspicion and focus.
"So tell me..." O'Dimm drawled softly, dark delight twisting through his smooth voice.
"What... will you wish for?"
The courtyard stilled, silent except for the faint howl of wind and soft patter of rain.
Olgierd inhaled slowly, expression tightening, though resolve burned fiercely behind his icy gaze.
After a long, deadly pause, he finally spoke, tone cold... sharp... measured.
"First..." he began softly, voice steady.
"Bring back my house."
Geralt frowned, steel-gray eyes narrowing, though he remained silent, listening carefully.
"Second..." Olgierd's voice darkened faintly, memories flickering behind his glacial gaze.
"I want to, Give my brother the time of his life, for one night will do."
"And lastly..." Olgierd's voice lowered into something dark... dangerous... and intensely personal.
"Bring her back."
The storm hissed, cold wind slicing sharply across the courtyard, though neither Witcher spoke.
O'Dimm's smile widened slowly, dark satisfaction gleaming in his cold, empty gaze.
"Done..." he whispered softly, voice cutting through the storm-laden air like fate's whispered curse.
Olgierd exhaled slowly, shoulders tense, though his icy expression remained firm... unreadable.
"There's no rush..." he added coolly, turning sharply toward Veylan and Geralt.
"Seek me out... at The Alchemy in Oxenfurt... when the first two wishes... are done."
He adjusted his collar, blood still staining his dark coat, though his voice steadied, commanding.
"Handle the auction house first..." he ordered. "Geralt will handle the second... and the third..."
His cold gaze burned, dark and knowing, though he did not elaborate.
"For now... return home," Olgierd added sharply, glancing faintly toward the fading storm. "Rest... spend what precious time you have..."
His smile twisted, darkly amused.
"You'll need it."
With one last glance, Olgierd turned sharply, vanishing into the rain-soaked mists, leaving only silence... and fate's heavy hand.
…
The night fell cold and still, snow-dusted wind howling faintly through the frost-rimmed trees surrounding Veylan's home. The fire inside the hearth crackled softly, its warmth steady, casting a gentle glow across the simple but well-lived space. Erynn, her fiery hair unbound, smiled softly, her delicate fingers tracing faint runes across Veylan's scarred hand as they settled near the hearth.
"I still can't believe you survived... that fight," she murmured, voice low, filled with quiet awe. "Olgierd... whatever he is... shouldn't have let you walk away."
Veylan smirked faintly, amber-green eyes gleaming, though exhaustion lingered beneath his sharp features. "Neither of us should have walked away," he admitted. "But... here we are."
He leaned back, expression darkening faintly, memories flashing behind his burning gaze.
Before he could say more, the fire sputtered sharply, its flames shrinking, dimming suddenly as frost traced patterns across the window panes.
The temperature plummeted.
Veylan tensed instantly, his hand drifting toward his sheathed steel blade.
"Stay here," he whispered sharply, voice low but urgent.
Erynn's gaze narrowed, magic shimmering faintly at her fingertips, though she nodded reluctantly, fingers tightening around her rune-etched staff.
Veylan moved silently, slipping through the shadows, his breath steady despite the deepening chill gnawing at his scarred skin.
The front door groaned faintly, frost crackling along the weathered wooden frame as Veylan stepped outside, steel in hand, breath fogging in the frozen air.
There... standing at the edge of the snow-covered clearing... dark shapes twisted against the ice-laden shadows.
Spectral figures... armored, their glittering weapons etched with frost-forged runes, silent and still.
At the center, tall, imposing, and ice-bound...
Eredin Bréacc Glas.
King of the Wild Hunt.
His piercing blue gaze burned, cold as frozen stars, his frost-lined armor shimmering beneath the pale, eerie moonlight.
Veylan exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening faintly around his steel blade, though he stood his ground unflinching.
The air grew still, suffocating, frozen in expectation.
"Veylan..." Eredin's voice rumbled, deep and sharp, cutting through the cold like breaking ice. "Son of none... forged by many... marked by fate."
His mage advisor, Glaeren, shifted uneasily, his sharp, frost-etched gaze lingering on Veylan, studying intensely.
"He carries more... than blood of Elder kind..." Glaeren murmured darkly, his voice low but deadly precise.
Eredin's gaze burned colder, silent but calculating.
"His... mutations are monstrous... a fusion of beasts and Witcher alchemy..." Glaeren whispered, hand resting faintly on his enchanted staff. "But... there's something... deeper... more dangerous..."
His sharp gaze narrowed, piercing through the frost-laden night, fixing on Veylan's unwavering stance.
"Something unkillable..." he continued softly, words edged with genuine unease. "Almost like a Higher Vampire."
The air crackled faintly, ice shifting uneasily, though Veylan remained still, expression unreadable, waiting.
"He doesn't realize" Glaeren hissed softly, fingers tightening around his rune-bound staff. "There's something else something like the White Frost..."
He paused sharply, his breath hitching faintly as he studied Veylan closer.
"But not cold not frozen..." Glaeren whispered , ice-crusted breath fogging sharply. "It's... heat... searing... endless."
His gaze burned brighter, sharper, calculating... unnerved.
"An inferno... held in check..." he murmured, eyes widening faintly. "Like fire... chained beneath mortal skin."
Eredin said nothing, though his cold expression darkened, icy gaze burning with silent understanding.
"He could burn us all..." Glaeren whispered gravely, breath trembling faintly, "...and he doesn't even know."
Veylan's voice cut through the frozen air, deadly calm, amber-green eyes gleaming faintly beneath the moonlit frost.
"I know you didn't come here... to talk."
His steel-forged blade gleamed, cold and ready, though his voice remained steady, unyielding.
"So... make your move."
The icy stillness shattered as two Hounds of the Wild Hunt burst from the shadows, claws tearing through snow and frost-covered roots, their jaws snapping, cold mist curling from their fang-filled maws. Their soulless eyes burned, fixed on Veylan with predatory hunger, their silent charge swift and precise, like death given form.
Veylan didn't flinch.
His amber-green eyes burned sharply, then flared crimson, pupils narrowing into thin, predatory slits, dark veins webbing faintly across his scarred face. Flesh twisted, his fangs lengthened, canines flashing like razor-edged steel, though he remained still, unmoving.
A low, guttural snarl rumbled deep from his chest, inhuman, feral, cold and commanding—a sound ancient, primal, dominant.
The charging Hounds faltered, their steps slowing, claws dragging across the icy ground, hackles raising as their soulless eyes widened in unease.
The bigger Hound snarled, teeth bared, though its movements grew hesitant, its twisted head lowering faintly in instinctive submission.
The smaller Hound whimpered faintly, ears flattening, its blackened claws scraping backward, though its empty gaze never left Veylan.
Predator recognizes predator.
Veylan stepped forward slowly, his burning gaze locked, piercing, unchallenged, his monstrous snarl deepening, fierce, deadly, yet perfectly controlled.
The Hounds shrank back, pacing uneasily, their sharp, clawed feet digging trenches in the frozen earth... but they did not attack.
The temperature shifted sharply.
Frost cracked and melted, hissing faintly as the ice beneath Veylan's boots liquefied, water pooling in the frost-choked dirt.
The snow-covered ground receded, leaving bare, wet earth in a slowly expanding radius, as though the cold itself couldn't withstand his presence.
Steam rose faintly, fogging in the frigid air, curling upward like escaping breath.
The frost-choked stillness shattered further, the icy wind howling fiercely, though its biting chill faltered, steam rising steadily from the wet, thawing earth beneath Veylan's boots.
The Wild Hunt's spectral warriors shifted uneasily, clawed hands tightening on their enchanted swords, their burning eyes flickering faintly, lingering just shy of genuine fear.
Eredin's icy gaze sharpened, his frost-lined armor shimmering, though something dark and calculating burned behind his cold, piercing eyes. This... thing before him was wrong... monstrous... unchained.
Glaeren's breath hitched faintly, his staff trembling as dark frost crackled around its enchanted runes, barely containing the White Frost's failing grasp.
"He's pushing it back..." Glaeren hissed sharply, his voice trembling faintly, eyes widening in realization.
"That's impossible..." one spectral knight growled, though his steps faltered, shifting uneasily beneath Eredin's commanding gaze.
The frozen wind surged again, though its icy breath hissed and broke, melting into steam, unable to touch the slowly expanding radius of burning heat radiating from Veylan's presence.
"What... are you?" Glaeren whispered hoarsely, fingers trembling, icy breath misting in the frigid air.
Eredin's sharp eyes narrowed, though rage burned coldly beneath his stoic expression.
Before he could speak, a spectral rider snapped, his grip tightening around his frost-etched blade, panic flashing through his burning, soulless gaze.
"Monster!" the warrior bellowed, voice twisted with fury and fear. "You don't command us!"
With a chilling war cry, the knight charged, blade raised, his spectral steed pounding forward, claws tearing through frozen earth.
Veylan's burning gaze never wavered.
Amber-green flashed crimson, dark veins searing faintly, teeth sharpening, his beast-like snarl deepening into something far more primal... far more monstrous.
The charging knight swung, blade crashing down, but Veylan moved with inhuman speed, vanishing into swirling mist, fog curling sharply around the onrushing strike.
Before the warrior could react, Veylan reappeared, twisting sharply mid-air, clawed fingers extended, razor-sharp talons tearing through spectral armor with brutal force.
Steel shattered.
Armor cracked.
With a final, violent twist, Veylan drove his claws deeper, ripping through enchanted steel and cursed flesh alike, tearing the rider in half, viscera spraying across the snow-soaked ground.
The spectral knight's broken form crumbled, his twisted scream swallowed by the howling storm, his shattered helm rolling lifelessly into the mud-soaked earth.
The Wild Hunt's remaining knights staggered back, uneasy, gripping their cursed blades tighter, though none dared move forward.
Eredin's cold gaze sharpened, though rage and something darker burned deep beneath his piercing eyes.
Veylan stood tall, blood-slick claws glinting, his expression twisted into something dark, unrelenting, and utterly monstrous.
Steam hissed sharply, melting frost curling upward, shrouding his form in a veil of heated mist, though his crimson-flared eyes burned brighter, locked unflinchingly onto Eredin's frigid stare.
"Leave..." Veylan growled lowly, voice twisted with rage and command.
His snarl deepened, clawed fingers twitching, ready to strike again.
"NOW."
The frozen ground hissed louder, earth trembling faintly, steam rising faster, fire and heat burning back the frost.
"AND DON'T COME BACK."
The storm stilled, silence deafening, though Eredin's calculating gaze burned colder, locking firmly on Veylan as though measuring something far more dangerous.
After a tense, endless moment, Eredin turned sharply, cape snapping like breaking ice.
"Fall back."
The remaining knights shifted, uneasy but obedient, vanishing into frost-laden shadows, leaving only cold echoes... and a lingering, dark promise.
Eredin's gaze lingered one final time, his icy eyes narrowing, burning with frigid intensity.
"We will meet again... Veylan."
With one final, sharp twist, he vanished into swirling frost, leaving behind only the faint hiss of steam... and fate's dark reckoning.