The Witcher: Chimera

by abcd12344321

Veylan is not a normal Witcher. He's from the school of the chimera, which resembles more of a prison than a school. It's been years since he escaped, but now he's searching for answers. Answers of why he was chosen, and who made him. Follow his journey across the continent and beyond as he seeks answers, and the occasional monster contract.

11. Chapter 11

The Witcher: Chimera

Chapter 11: Gods, Gods and more Gods

…

The weight of Birna Bran's betrayal still hung heavy over Skellige. Veylan stood on the edge of the keep's main hall, watching as Crach an Craite barked orders to his warriors, druids, and household staff. Despite his unshakable exterior, the Jarl carried the unmistakable weariness of a man forced to clean up after a storm that had torn through both his family and his people.

Veylan had no interest in politics for its own sake, but he understood duty. He had agreed to stay behind while Geralt handled other business on the isles, offering his assistance to the An Craite family in their time of need. By his side, Erynn stood quietly, her sharp eyes taking in every detail as she matched her Witcher companion's resolve.

Crach turned to Veylan, his voice low but filled with gratitude. "I don't like askin' for help, Witcher, but we've got too much on our hands. Cerys and Hjalmar each have their own tasks, and I'd prefer you give them a hand. This mess is far from over."

Veylan nodded once, his tone steady. "What do you need me to do?"

Crach rubbed his temple, as he began to speak, "Cerys has taken it upon herself to investigate Jarl Udalryk. He's been... off, even for him. The other jarls are startin' to murmur, and I can't blame 'em. He was pale as death during the feast, muttering to someone who wasn't there. But there are moments when he's clear-headed, makes me think it might be a curse, or perhaps he's haunted."

Erynn tilted her head thoughtfully. "A haunting could explain the symptoms," she said softly. "But if he's cursed, there's likely a far darker force at work."

Crach gave a grim nod. "That's why I want you to help Cerys. She's sharp, and she'll figure it out, but I'd feel better if she had you by her side. If it is a curse, or somethin' worse, you're the best suited to deal with it."

Veylan exchanged a glance with Erynn, who gave a faint nod. "We'll help her," he said simply. "Where is she now?"

"She's already made for Udalryk's keep," Crach said. "Catch up to her when you can. And when you're done, find Geralt and Hjalmar, they'll need your help with the next task."

Crach turned his attention to his son's mission, his tone growing heavier. "Hjalmar's decided to take care of the Jotunn up on the northern isle. It's been tearin' through the settlements, leavin' entire communities displaced. The storms over the isle have grown worse, unnatural, even."

Veylan frowned, his instincts prickling. "Unnatural how?"

Crach crossed his arms, his face grim. "The winds howl like the gods themselves are angry. Occasionally, bodies wash ashore, sirens, harpies, hacked to pieces, or... crushed. Some of 'em have strange wounds, burns deep in their veins, but not on their skin."

Erynn's expression darkened. "Magic," she murmured. "But not just any magic, something purifying, destructive. Whoever, or whatever, is behind this, it's no ordinary creature."

Crach nodded. "Aye, I suspect the same. That's why Hjalmar'll need all the help he can get. When you're done with Cerys, meet him and Geralt at the northern isle. I trust you'll figure out what's goin' on."

Veylan gave a faint smirk. "If the Jotunn's the source of these storms, I'll see to it that it doesn't trouble your people anymore."

With their tasks clear, Veylan and Erynn wasted no time preparing. As they descended the stone steps of the keep, Veylan adjusted the straps on his armor, ensuring that his swords, steel and silver alike, were secure on his back. Erynn walked beside him, her ritual staff glowing faintly with runes etched into the silver surface.

"Udalryk first, then the northern isle," Veylan said, glancing at Erynn. "Are you ready?"

Erynn gave him a faint smile, her voice calm. "Always. Let's catch up with Cerys, I have a feeling this investigation will be... revealing."

…

The journey to Jarl Udalryk's keep was uneventful but somber. As they approached the stone walls of the keep, the air grew colder, a faint chill that seemed unnatural even for Skellige's harsh climate. Veylan's sharp senses pricked at the edge of something wrong, an unseen force that lingered in the shadows.

Cerys greeted them near the main hall, her expression grim but resolute. "Glad you came," she said simply, her breath fogging in the cold air. "Udalryk's inside, but... he's not himself. I've been asking questions, and the villagers say he's been talking to someone, someone they can't see."

Veylan exchanged a glance with Erynn. "A wraith?" he asked.

Cerys shrugged. "Could be. Or something worse." She motioned for them to follow her. "Come on. Let's figure this out."

The keep's air was thick with tension as Cerys, Veylan, and Erynn followed the sound of Jarl Udalryk's voice deeper into the hall. His words drifted through the stone corridors, low and conversational, as though speaking with an old friend.

When they entered the chamber, the Jarl was seated near the hearth, his pale face illuminated by the flickering flames. He leaned forward, gesturing animatedly as he spoke, but to everyone else in the room, he appeared to be talking to thin air.

Cerys frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing. "He's talking to someone," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "But there's no one here."

Veylan and Erynn, however, saw what others couldn't. Standing beside Udalryk was a man, or something resembling one. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in richly colored red and green garments adorned with intricate patterns. His pale skin gleamed faintly, and his sharp, mischievous eyes glinted in the firelight. When he turned, his lips curled into a sly smile, revealing slightly pointed teeth.

"Well now," the figure said, his voice smooth and light with a playful edge. He turned his attention from Udalryk to the newcomers, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. "More guests! How delightful."

Veylan instinctively reached for his weapon, but Erynn placed a hand on his arm. "Wait," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the man. "There's something... familiar about him."

Cerys glanced between them, her brow furrowed. "You two see something?"

"Not just something," Veylan muttered, his grip on his sword hilt tightening. "Someone."

The man straightened, his sharp smile widening. "Allow me to introduce myself." He took a step forward, spreading his arms theatrically. "Loki. Trickster, shapeshifter, deity of chaos and mischief from the grand halls of Asguard" He chuckled lightly. "Perhaps you've heard of me? I imagine the few vikings who washed ashore here during the last conjunction would know me better, but..." He shrugged. "Legends fade, don't they?"

"Loki…?" Veylan muttered, "Great, just what we needed."

Cerys's confusion deepened as she looked between Veylan and Erynn. "Loki? What in Freya's name are you talking about? There's no one here!"

Veylan ignored her, his sharp gaze fixed on the deity. "Why are you here? What do you want with Udalryk?"

Loki tilted his head, feigning offense. "What do I want? I want nothing! I'm just having a chat." He turned to Udalryk, gesturing with a playful flourish. "Our dear Jarl and I enjoy our conversations, don't we?"

Udalryk, blissfully unaware of the growing tension, nodded with a faint smile. "He's... he's been good company," he murmured. "Better than most."

Veylan's sharp eyes scanned the room, his senses pricking at something else. There was a faint, oppressive energy in the air, like a shadow lurking just out of sight. His gaze shifted toward a dark corner of the room, where a crude chair stood facing the wall. Bound tightly to it was a twisted, shadowy figure, its form writhing and struggling against unseen restraints.

A Hyme.

Only Veylan and Erynn could see the wretched creature, its hollow eyes burning with malevolent fury. The faint, echoing sound of its growls reached their ears as it thrashed against its bindings, unable to break free.

Loki followed Veylan's gaze, his grin widening. "Ah, you noticed. Yes, yes, I took care of that nasty little problem for your Jarl here." He gestured toward the Hyme with a casual wave. "Strapped it down, kept it from whispering all those nasty things in his ear. Took some effort, I'll admit, but I'm nothing if not resourceful."

Erynn stepped closer, her voice low. "You're saying this thing was tormenting Udalryk?"

Loki nodded, his expression turning mockingly grave. "Oh, absolutely. Whispering doubts, feeding his fears, twisting his thoughts. Nasty work, really." He glanced at Udalryk, who remained oblivious to the true subject of their conversation. "Poor man didn't even know it was there. Just thought he was losing his mind."

Cerys's frustration bubbled over. "Would someone explain what's going on?"

Veylan turned to her, his voice calm, "There's a Hyme here, Cerys. A spirit that preys on guilt and fear. Loki-" he glanced at the trickster god, his tone skeptical "-claims he's dealt with it, but..."

Loki raised a hand, feigning innocence. "No need to thank me. I was just passing through, you see, and thought I'd lend a hand. Seemed like the right thing to do."

Erynn's sharp eyes narrowed as she studied Loki. "And what do you gain from this? Tricksters rarely act without an angle."

Loki placed a hand over his heart, his expression mockingly wounded. "You wound me, Lady Erynn. Must everything I do be dissected for ulterior motives? Can't a god of mischief have a little fun without someone questioning his intentions?"

Veylan's grip on his sword tightened again. "You don't strike me as the 'helpful' type. So what's your angle, really?"

Loki's smile faded slightly, his eyes glinting with something darker. "Ah, Witcher, you wound me even more. Let's just say I have a vested interest in keeping things... entertaining. And watching you and your lovely companion unravel the mysteries of this world? Well, that's entertainment worth sticking around for."

Veylan and Erynn exchanged a wary glance, the weight of Loki's words settling over them like a heavy fog. Whatever his true intentions, it was clear the trickster god wasn't about to make their task any easier. And the Hyme, though restrained, was far from a resolved problem.

Cerys crossed her arms. "What's our next move, then? If this Hyme's been tormenting Udalryk, we need to deal with it. Permanently."

The room seemed to darken as Loki's grin widened, and in an instant, he solidified into a physical form. The subtle shimmer that had marked his ethereal presence dissipated, replaced by a fully tangible figure. His richly colored garments now gleamed in the flickering firelight, and the faint scent of ozone hung in the air, as if the very act of his manifestation disturbed the natural order.

He clapped his hands together, his sharp teeth flashing in an eager smile. "Yes! Master Witcher, now we're talking!" His voice was practically buzzing with excitement. "Use that ring of yours, the one that Chernobog, or O'Dimm as he likes to go by these days, gave you. It's no ordinary trinket, you know. It's a symbol of authority."

Cerys instinctively stepped back, her eyes widening as the shimmering figure solidified into flesh and blood before her.

Her breath hitched, and her hand shot to the hilt of her sword, though she didn't draw it. She looked from Veylan to Erynn, then back to the man, no, the being, standing before her.

"What in the gods' names...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her knees felt weak, her mind struggling to reconcile what she was seeing. "Who... what is that?"

Loki turned his sharp grin toward her, his teeth glinting in the firelight. "Ah, you must be the charming Lady Cerys," he said with a theatrical bow, the motion fluid and almost taunting. "Delighted to make your acquaintance. Loki, at your service—trickster, shapeshifter, and occasional chaos enthusiast."

Cerys froze, her heart pounding in her chest. "Loki... as in... the Loki?" Her voice cracked slightly, disbelief threading through her words. "From the legends of Ragnarok? The trickster god?"

Loki straightened, his grin widening further. "The very same. Though I must say, it's been quite some time since I've had a proper introduction. Most mortals these days don't recognize me, let alone remember my name. How refreshing."

Cerys staggered back a step, her hand gripping the back of a nearby chair for support. Her mind reeled, the weight of the moment crashing over her like a tidal wave. She glanced at Veylan, her expression a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Is this real?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Am I... am I actually standing in front of a god? A literal god?"

Veylan glanced at her briefly, his tone calm, "Yes, and he's been here the whole time. You just couldn't see him until now."

Cerys shook her head, her breathing unsteady. "I couldn't see him? How—why—what does that even mean?" Her voice trembled, and she gripped the chair tighter to keep from sinking to the floor.

Erynn stepped closer, her expression sympathetic but focused. "Cerys, calm yourself. He's not here to harm us—not directly, at least."

"Not directly?" Cerys echoed, her voice sharp with incredulity. "There's a god standing right there, casually talking about shadow creatures and... Chernobog? What the hells is that?"

Loki's eyes gleamed with amusement as he clasped his hands together. "Oh, I do love these reactions. So raw, so genuine. Allow me to simplify things, dear Cerys." He gestured broadly, as if addressing an audience. "I'm here because your friend, the Witcher, happens to have caught the attention of certain... let's say, higher powers. And I couldn't resist the opportunity to meet him myself."

Cerys stared at him, her breathing shallow. "Higher powers? This... this is madness. None of this should be real. It's just... stories. Myths."

Veylan turned to her, his amber eyes steady. "Stories come from somewhere, Cerys. Myths are just truths buried under time and retellings."

Cerys shook her head again, trying to steady herself. "But this? Seeing it, him, in the flesh? This isn't just a story. This is..." Her words trailed off as she pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to ground herself.

Loki chuckled, the sound light and almost musical. "Oh, my dear, this is only the beginning. You mortals often underestimate the world around you. You cling to your logic, your limited understanding of reality, but... there's so much more beneath the surface."

Cerys's gaze snapped to him, her fear giving way to anger. "And what are you here for? To mock us? To prove how small we are?"

Loki raised a brow, his grin softening into something almost genuine. "Not at all. I'm here because your Witcher friend-" he gestured toward Veylan "-intrigues me. He has potential, you see. Potential that even beings like me find... fascinating."

Before Cerys could respond, Loki turned his attention back to Veylan, his grin sharpening once more. "Now, let's return to the matter at hand, shall we? That Hyme isn't going to cower forever." He sauntered over to the restrained creature, spinning around it like a dancer in a macabre performance.

"Show it the ring," Loki urged, his tone filled with giddy anticipation. "Go on, Witcher. Let's see if you're as bold as the gods think you are."

Cerys watched the interaction with wide eyes, her fingers digging into the chair as she tried to process everything. Her voice was quiet, almost disbelieving, as she muttered to herself, "What in Freya's name have I gotten myself into?"

Erynn glanced at her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You're not alone in feeling overwhelmed," she said softly. "But this is real, Cerys. And we need to act."

With a shaky nod, Cerys straightened herself, though her legs still felt unsteady. She looked at Veylan, her voice firmer this time. "Do what you have to, Witcher. Let's finish this."

The room was heavy with tension as Veylan stepped closer to the Hyme, the soft glint of the ring on his right index finger catching the dim light. The creature, restrained in Loki's invisible bindings, twisted and hissed, its hollow eyes glowing with defiance and hatred. But as Veylan raised his hand, the Hyme's movements faltered.

The dark metal of the ring seemed to pulse faintly, the carved runes glowing ever so slightly as though they resonated with some deeper, ancient force. Veylan extended his hand, ensuring the Hyme's hollow, malevolent gaze would fall upon the ring.

"Look at it," Veylan said, his voice steady and commanding. "You know what this is."

The Hyme froze mid-snarl, its form trembling as though some invisible force had struck it. Its hollow eyes widened, the glow dimming as it fixated on the ring. A low, guttural sound escaped its shadowy throat, a mixture of shock and awe.

"It is true...!" the Hyme rasped, its voice echoing with fear and reverence. "The mark of Him... the Black God... Chernobog. You... are His chosen."

As the Hyme spoke, its shadowy form began to shrink, its ferocity replaced by an almost pitiful trembling. Loki, standing off to the side with a grin as wide as a wolf's, clapped his hands together.

"Well, well, it seems our little tormentor has finally seen the light... or, in this case, the darkness." He made a theatrical gesture with his hand, releasing the invisible bindings that held the creature in place.

The Hyme collapsed to the ground, its shadowy body pooling around itself like ink spilled across stone. Slowly, it dragged itself forward, inching closer to Veylan. Its hollow eyes never left the ring as it bowed its head low, pressing its twisted form against the cold floor in a gesture of complete submission.

"What will you have of me, Master?" the Hyme said, its voice shaking with a mixture of fear and devotion. "Ask it, and it will be done."

Veylan stared down at the creature, his expression unreadable. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, the reality of what he now represented settling heavily on his shoulders. For all his strength, all his power, he had never considered what it truly meant to wield authority over beings like this.

Erynn stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. "It's waiting for your command, Veylan. What are you going to do?"

Veylan clenched his jaw, his amber eyes flicking to Loki. The trickster god's grin remained, his sharp teeth flashing as he gestured encouragingly.

"Go on, Witcher," Loki said, his tone dripping with amusement. "You're holding the leash now. Give it a tug."

Veylan turned his attention back to the Hyme, his voice firm but calm. "Leave Udalryk in peace. You will torment him no longer."

The Hyme flinched, its shadowy form rippling like a disturbed reflection. "As you command, Master," it said, its voice barely a whisper. Slowly, it began to withdraw, its form fading into the floor like smoke dissipating into the air. Before it vanished completely, it cast one last glance at Veylan, its hollow eyes filled with reluctant respect.

As the room fell silent, Loki let out a low whistle. "Impressive. I didn't think you'd handle that quite so smoothly." He clapped Veylan on the shoulder, his grin as sharp as ever. "Looks like the gods were right to take notice of you, eh?"

Cerys, still visibly shaken by the entire encounter, stared at the empty spot where the Hyme had been. Her hand gripped the back of a chair for support as she turned to Veylan.

"What just happened?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What... what did you do to it?"

Veylan lowered his hand, the faint glow of the ring fading as he turned to face her. "I showed it who holds the power," he said simply. "And it submitted."

Erynn stepped closer, her expression calm but thoughtful. "It recognized the authority of the ring... of Chernobog. That's why it obeyed."

Cerys shook her head, her mind racing to process what she had just witnessed. "This is beyond anything I've ever seen. A god... a Hyme bowing to you... What are you, Veylan?"

Veylan met her gaze, his voice steady but carrying a weight that hadn't been there before. "Just a Witcher. For now."

Loki chuckled, his laughter echoing softly through the chamber. "Oh, Witcher, you're so much more than that now. But don't worry, I won't spoil the surprise. The fun is in the journey, after all." With a final wink, the trickster god disappeared, leaving the group in uneasy of Form

…

Cerys exhaled deeply as she stepped out of the Jarl's longhouse, the crisp, briny Skellige air washing over her. The events inside still churned in her mind, a maelstrom of disbelief, awe, and a lingering sense of unease.

"A Hyme... a god... Loki...," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She had always considered herself pragmatic, rooted in the physical world of axes, ships, and the sharp tang of salt air. But now? She would have to face her father, Crain an Craite, with a story that defied explanation.

She glanced over her shoulder at Veylan and Erynn, who remained by Jarl Udalryk's side. Cerys knew they had their own work to finish, ensuring the Jarl was fully freed from the Hyme's torment. Her gaze lingered on Veylan, the Witcher who had shown her a world she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for.

"I'll speak to my father," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "And let him know what happened here. You've done Skellige a great service, Veylan... both of you." She gave Erynn a nod, then turned and strode toward her horse, her boots crunching over the frost-laden ground.

As she mounted, she glanced back one last time. "And if anyone ever doubts what I've seen," she added with a wry smile, "I'll just send them to you."

With that, she spurred her horse forward, the rhythmic thud of hooves fading into the distance as she made her way back to Kaer Trolde, preparing to share her tale of gods and ghosts with her father.

Inside the longhouse, Veylan and Erynn focused their attention on Jarl Udalryk, who was seated by the hearth, his expression lighter than they had ever seen. The deep shadows under his eyes had faded, and the tension in his shoulders was gone. He seemed... content.

"How are you feeling?" Veylan asked, his tone cautious but genuine.

The Jarl looked up, smiling faintly, "Better," he said simply, his voice no longer carrying the edge of fear that had defined him for so long. "It's like... a weight has been lifted. Like I can think clearly again."

Erynn studied him closely, her sharp eyes catching every detail. "And Loki? Did he leave you with anything... unusual?"

Udalryk chuckled, a sound that felt oddly warm coming from a man who had spent years under a Hyme's shadow. "Unusual? You could say that." He gestured to a small table nearby, where several sheets of parchment lay scattered, each one covered in intricate runes and sketches.

"He filled my mind with... memories," Udalryk continued, his gaze distant. "Not my own, but of things long forgotten. Realms beyond this one. Names and stories that were buried even to the Skelligers."

Veylan leaned over the table, his amber eyes scanning the runes. "These... I don't recognize them. They're not like the ones I've seen on the Continent."

"That's because they're older," Udalryk said, his voice carrying a quiet reverence. "He spoke of Tyr, the god of honor and justice, who once brokered peace with the Jotunn, giants who were not all savage as our legends say. He showed me glimpses of these things... like watching a saga unfold before my eyes."

Erynn picked up one of the sheets, her fingers tracing the runes. "These meanings... they're not entirely foreign. Some of them share roots with Elder Speech."

Udalryk nodded. "He said as much. That there's a connection between the tongues of gods, elves, and men. And he left me with songs, old sagas I'd never heard before, with melodies that seemed to echo from the very bones of the earth."

Udalryk's fingers rested lightly on the lute's strings, his eyes distant as though reaching into the depths of a memory that wasn't entirely his own. He began to pluck the strings, the melody haunting, its raw beauty filling the longhouse like a wind through ancient fjords. His voice followed, low and reverent, carrying words that seemed to echo with the weight of ages past.

…

"Far in the east, where the frost never dies,
The wolf will howl, the serpent will rise.
Blood of the gods, bound by their chains,
The sons of twilight will break through the reins."

"Sail we did, from shores unknown,
Through storms that shook both flesh and bone.
To realms of fire, ice, and sea,
Where shadows wait, where gods must flee."

"The rider comes, swift as the gale,
Eight-legged steed, with death in his trail.
His brother coils, his jaws bite the earth,
While the wolf stirs, herald of rebirth."

"And she waits below, in halls so black,
Her kingdom grows, no turning back.
Hel, the silent queen of the damned,
Will call her kin with an iron command."

"Oh Skellige, oh islands of yore,
Your fate entwined with gods' ancient war.
Remember the runes, the songs, the tales,
For when twilight comes, the strong prevail."

…

As Udalryk's voice faded, the final notes of the lute lingered in the air, a spectral echo that seemed to vibrate against the very walls. Veylan and Erynn sat in silence, the weight of the song pressing down on them like a heavy snowfall. The words had painted a vivid picture, one that felt less like a tale of the past and more like a warning for the future.

Udalryk looked up at them, his eyes brighter than they had been in years. "He said these songs were meant to be remembered. That they were gifts, not just to me, but to Skellige."

Veylan, still leaning against the table, crossed his arms, his expression dark and thoughtful. "Loki gave you this knowledge for a reason. It's not just for the songs, is it?"

Udalryk shook his head slowly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "No. He said... they're a foundation. For what's to come."

Erynn tilted her head, her curiosity sharpening like a blade. "What's to come?"

The Jarl's gaze turned somber, shadows passing across his face as he recited the words he'd been told. "He didn't say. Only that Skellige must remember its roots, its ties to the old ways and the old gods. He said... the future will demand it."

Veylan exhaled slowly, his amber eyes narrowing as his mind worked through the implications. A wolf, a serpent, a rider with an eight-legged steed, and a queen of the dead, figures straight from myth, now entwined with their reality.

"Fenrir," he muttered under his breath, the name tasting strange on his tongue. "The serpent... Jormungandr... and the queen... Hel."

Erynn glanced at him, her expression uneasy. "And Loki... their father, if the legends are true."

Udalryk nodded, his hands resting on the lute. "He said I had an ancestor... one of the first to arrive here during the conjunction. He sang this song as he sailed from the east, from a place he called Norway. He saw it in his dreams, Ragnarok, and the fate of the gods. And now... Loki says it all connects to what is yet to come."

The room fell silent once more, the weight of the prophecy settling over them. Whatever Loki's games, it was clear they had only begun to unravel the threads of a much larger tapestry, one that stretched across time, realms, and even the gods themselves.

…Bottom of Form

The longship glided toward the rocky shore, its prow cutting through the choppy waters with a grim determination. Veylan stood near the bow, his amber eyes scanning the island ahead. The wind carried a chill, but it wasn't the cold that made his skin crawl. Something felt... wrong. Beside him, Erynn tightened her grip on her staff, her fiery red hair whipping around her face as her sharp eyes scanned the dark coastline.

"Do you feel that?" she asked, her voice low.

Veylan nodded. "Yeah. It's... oppressive. Like the air's been tainted with death and something else."

As they neared the shore, the scene came into sharper focus, and a pit began to form in Veylan's stomach. The beach was littered with corpses—sirens, harpies, and drowners—strewn about like discarded puppets. Some were torn apart, their limbs scattered. Others bore scorch marks along their torsos, the flesh seared down to blackened bone.

Erynn pressed a hand to her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper. "What in the name of the gods...?"

The longship came to a halt, its hull scraping against the rocks as the crew secured it. Veylan and Erynn disembarked, their boots crunching against the blood-soaked gravel. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the acrid tang of scorched earth assaulted their senses, making it hard to breathe.

As they moved inland, the devastation only grew worse. A massive Jotunn—easily twice the size of a man—lay crumpled on the ground. Or, rather, what was left of it. Its upper body was missing, as if it had been obliterated by some unfathomable force. Blood and viscera painted the rocks and trees around it, and chunks of frozen flesh were scattered across the landscape.

"What could have done this?" Erynn asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Veylan crouched near the remains, his fingers brushing against the ground. The earth beneath the Jotunn's body was charred, the scorch marks radiating outward in jagged patterns. He looked up at Erynn, his expression grim. "Whatever it was, it didn't just kill it. It annihilated it."

Further along the path, they found more bodies. Harpies with their wings snapped backward, their skulls crushed. Sirens with their torsos cleaved cleanly in two, their innards spilling onto the frozen ground. Some of the wounds were clean, almost surgical. Others were violent, as though their attackers had torn them apart with sheer brute strength.

Veylan frowned, his hand hovering over one of the bodies. "These wounds... they're inconsistent. Some of them are clean, others are... messy. It's like more than one thing did this."

They continued forward until they reached the edge of a clearing. There, they found Geralt and Hjalmar standing amidst the carnage, their expressions dark. A handful of Hjalmar's men were with them, their axes drawn and their eyes darting nervously across the battlefield. None of them spoke, the silence hanging over them like a shroud.

Geralt noticed Veylan and Erynn approaching and raised a hand in acknowledgment. His amber eyes, so similar to Veylan's, betrayed his unease. "You made it," he said simply.

Veylan glanced around, taking in the sheer scale of the slaughter. "What the hell happened here?"

Hjalmar spat on the ground, his grip on his axe tightening. "Wish we knew. Came here expecting a fight with a Jotunn, maybe a pack of sirens. Found... this instead."

One of Hjalmar's men gestured toward the remains of the Jotunn. "That thing... whatever killed it, did so with one hit. Blew its whole chest apart."

Veylan's eyes narrowed. "One hit?"

Geralt crouched beside a pile of harpy corpses, his gloved fingers brushing against the ground. "Not just one hit. Look at the scorch marks." He gestured toward a harpy's mangled body, its flesh charred and blackened. "Some kind of intense heat, but not fire. The wounds go deep, like the heat burned through the veins."

Erynn knelt beside him, her hand hovering over the ground. "Magic?" she asked, her voice uncertain.

Geralt shook his head. "Maybe, but it doesn't feel like anything I've seen before. This isn't a fire spell or anything simple. It's something... older."

As they moved deeper into the clearing, Veylan noticed something strange. Among the mangled corpses was a trail of footprints, large and heavy, leading away from the site of the battle. The tracks were strange—too large to be human, yet too defined to belong to an animal. They followed the trail for a short distance until they came upon a tree split cleanly in half. The wood was blackened, the edges glowing faintly as though they had been recently burned.

Hjalmar gritted his teeth, his voice low and tense. "Whatever did this... it's still out there."

Geralt nodded, his expression grim. "And it's not just killing for the sake of it. These bodies... they're not eaten. They' Hjalmar's face twisted in disbelief as he gestured toward the scattered carnage. "Target practice? You're telling me something went through all this just to... practice?"

Geralt tilted his head slightly, gesturing to the cleaved bodies and the precision scorch marks. "It's a theory. Whatever did this, it wasn't eating or hunting. These kills feel... deliberate. Like someone—"

Before Geralt could finish, the earth shook violently, nearly knocking them all off their feet. A thunderous crash roared through the treeline as a massive boulder sailed through the air, smashing into the water with an enormous splash. The wave crashed against the shore, soaking the edge of their boots.

"WHAT THE—" Hjalmar started, only to be cut off by a booming voice that echoed through the trees.

re not trophies. They're... Target practice?" You're telling me something went through all this just to... practice?"

Geralt tilted his head slightly, gesturing to the cleaved bodies and the precision scorch marks. "It's a theory. Whatever did this, it wasn't eating or hunting. These kills feel... deliberate. Like someone—"

Before Geralt could finish, the earth shook violently, nearly knocking them all off their feet. A thunderous crash roared through the treeline as a massive boulder sailed through the air, smashing into the water with an enormous splash. The wave crashed against the shore, soaking the edge of their boots.

"WHAT THE—" Hjalmar started, only to be cut off by a booming voice that echoed through the trees.

"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?! I'VE FACED LIGHT ELVES WITH MORE BITE THAN YOU GHOULS!"

The words reverberated like a crack of thunder. Moments later, a bright bolt of lightning streaked not from the sky but up from the ground itself, tearing through the earth. The shockwaves rippled outward, knocking loose branches from trees and sending smaller rocks skittering across the forest floor. The group braced themselves, stunned into silence.

And then, just as suddenly, the chaos stopped. The forest grew still, eerily quiet except for the faint hiss of steam rising from charred patches of earth.

A heavy thudding echoed in the stillness, the sound of massive footsteps. The treeline quaked as a tree, split cleanly in half, was shoved aside like kindling. Emerging from the shadows was a figure so massive and imposing that it seemed the earth itself strained under his weight.

The man—or rather, the being—towered over them, at least two feet taller than any Skelliger warrior. His frame was a mountain of muscle, clad in leather and armor that looked vaguely Skelliger but with a strange, otherworldly design. Intricate runes glowed faintly along his bracers and breastplate, pulsating like embers in a dying fire. His red beard was wild, flecked with what looked like frost and ash, and his hair flowed like a river of molten copper. He dragged a snarling ghoul by the throat, the creature's claws flailing helplessly against his iron grip, while in his other hand, he held a massive one-handed hammer etched with glowing runes.

The man released the ghoul with a flick of his wrist, sending it crashing to the ground. It twitched once, then lay still. He planted the hammer head-first into the dirt and let out a roaring laugh, his voice booming like thunder.

"WELL, WELL!" he bellowed, his accent thick and foreign yet clear. "WHAT HAVE WE HERE? A BUNCH OF WARRIORS AND... A PAIR OF WITCHERS, IF MY EYES DON'T DECEIVE ME!" His sharp blue eyes sparkled with mirth as he pointed a thick finger at Geralt and Veylan.

Veylan and Geralt exchanged a wary glance, their hands drifting instinctively toward their weapons.

The giant man waved a dismissive hand, chuckling. "OH, RELAX. IF I WANTED TO SMASH YOU INTO THE GROUND, I'D HAVE DONE IT ALREADY!" He gestured broadly at the field of slaughter around them. "NO, I'VE ALREADY HAD MY FILL OF FUN THIS DAY!"

"Who... are you?" Hjalmar demanded, his voice tinged with both lingering fear and disbelief.

The massive figure grinned, his teeth gleaming. "WHO AM I?" He pounded a hand against his chest, the impact ringing like a drum. "I AM THOR, SON OF ODIN, MASTER OF THUNDER, SLAYER OF JOTUNN! AND I'VE COME TO THIS SPHERE TO HUNT A LITTLE TROUBLEMAKER!"

He leaned down slightly, his massive frame casting a shadow over the group. "AND WHAT DO I FIND? A COUPLE OF WITCHERS AND A BAND OF WARRIORS TREMBLING LIKE LEAVES IN THE WIND!" He laughed again, clearly amused by the stunned expressions on their faces.

Erynn stepped forward cautiously, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Thor... the god of thunder? From Asguard?"

Thor straightened, his grin widening. "AH, SO YOU'VE HEARD OF ME! GOOD! IT SAVES ME THE TROUBLE OF INTRODUCING MYSELF AGAIN." He lifted his hammer, spinning it lazily in his hand as though it weighed nothing. "I'M CHASING DOWN A PESKY JOTUNN WHO SLIPPED INTO THIS SPHERE. TRICKY LITTLE BUGGER, BUT NOTHING I CAN'T HANDLE."

Hjalmar stared at the carnage around them, his voice incredulous. "You... did all this?"

Thor looked around, seemingly just noticing the devastation for the first time. He shrugged, his grin turning sheepish. "WELL, I GOT A LITTLE CARRIED AWAY. THESE GHOULS AND SIRENS KEPT INTERRUPTING ME. FIGURED I'D CLEAR THE PLACE OUT SO I COULD HUNT IN PEACE."

Geralt crossed his arms, his sharp gaze fixed on the god. "You're hunting a Jotunn. Here?"

Thor nodded, his expression growing more serious. "OH, IT'S HERE, ALL RIGHT. HIDING IN THE SHADOWS, PROBABLY WATCHING US AS WE SPEAK. BUT DON'T WORRY, WITCHERS, I'LL HANDLE IT." His grin returned, mischievous and wild. "OF COURSE, YOU'RE WELCOME TO JOIN THE FUN, IF YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP UP."

Veylan raised an eyebrow, his voice dry. "Somehow, I get the feeling you don't need our help."

Thor roared with laughter, clapping Veylan on the shoulder so hard it nearly knocked him over. "YOU'RE RIGHT ABOUT THAT, LITTLE WITCHER. BUT I DO APPRECIATE THE OFFER."

The group stood in stunned silence as Thor turned his gaze toward the distant mountains, his expression hardening. "NOW THEN... LET'S SEE IF THIS JOTUNN HAS THE GUTS TO FACE ME."

Without another word, he hefted his hammer and strode forward, his massive frame disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

…

The path to the caves led them through a narrow, rocky valley that opened up into a clearing. There, amidst the towering cliffs, they found a small basecamp nestled against the edge of a sheer rock face. Smoke curled lazily from a makeshift fire pit where a large iron spit held several roasting rabbits. A large log had been dragged over to serve as a bench, and beside it, various supplies were neatly arranged—an odd juxtaposition of Norse practicality and divine power.

Seated by the fire, tending to the roasting rabbits, was a striking woman. Her hair was a brilliant golden hue, intricately braided and held together with small, decorative clasps that shimmered faintly in the firelight. Her posture radiated calm strength, and her sharp, watchful eyes flicked up as the group approached. She was cleaning a knife with practiced ease.

Beside her stood a young woman with fiery red hair that blazed like molten copper, cascading over her shoulders. She had the broad shoulders and powerful build of a seasoned warrior, but her youthful features were marked by an eager smile and a glint of curiosity in her eyes. She looked over the group, her gaze lingering on Veylan with open excitement.

Thor stood at the edge of the camp, his hammer slung over his shoulder, inspecting a large map pinned to a rock with a dagger. He turned at their approach, his booming voice cutting through the still air.

"WELL, YOU'VE FOUND MY LITTLE CORNER OF THIS REALM!" He gestured toward the campfire. "AND NO SENSE GOING INTO THOSE CAVES ON AN EMPTY STOMACH!"

The golden-haired woman rose gracefully, setting the knife aside. Her eyes swept over the group with a measured gaze, lingering briefly on Veylan. She nodded in acknowledgment. "I'm Sif," she said, her voice smooth and steady. "Thor's wife. And this-" she gestured toward the red-haired young woman, who was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet, "is our daughter, Thrudd."

Thrudd immediately stepped forward, her face lit up with a mix of nervous energy and unrestrained excitement. "Veylan! It's really you!" she blurted out, her words tumbling over one another. "I mean, I've heard stories—so many stories! The Witcher who's a chimera, who faced down Gaunter O'Dimm, freed cursed souls, and—and oh, the fight with that armored champion! That was legendary!"

Veylan blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sudden barrage of enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to respond, but Thrudd kept going, her hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke.

"You've got to tell me what it's like! The mutations, the signs, the way you—oh!" She paused, her eyes widening. "You have the ring, don't you? The one from Chernobog? Is it true it can command lesser denizens of chaos? And how did you even—"

"Thrudd," Sif interrupted gently, placing a calming hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Let the Witcher breathe."

Thrudd froze, her cheeks turning a shade of red nearly as bright as her hair. "Oh. Right. Sorry." She glanced at Veylan, her nervous smile returning. "It's just... you're amazing."

Veylan offered a faint, amused smile, dipping his head slightly. "Thank you. But I'm just doing what needs to be done."

Thor laughed heartily, slapping his hand against his thigh. "THAT'S MY GIRL! ALWAYS FULL OF QUESTIONS! SHE GETS THAT FROM HER MOTHER."

Sif rolled her eyes but smiled fondly. "And you're just a picture of modesty, aren't you, Thor?"

As Thor chuckled and took a seat near the fire, the smell of the roasting meat grew stronger. He grabbed one of the rabbits, tearing off a piece with his teeth and chewing with audible satisfaction. "EAT, WITCHER! AND YOU TOO, LADY FOX." He gestured toward Erynn, who had remained a quiet observer. "NO ONE FIGHTS ON AN EMPTY STOMACH, NOT EVEN ME."

Thrudd, still looking starstruck, hesitated before sitting down across from Veylan. She clasped her hands together, clearly trying to compose herself. "So, um... is it true that you've fought monsters that even other Witchers won't touch?"

Veylan raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly. "You've done your research."

Thrudd's smile widened. "Of course! Your story... it's like something out of the sagas."

Erynn leaned closer to Veylan, her voice low and teasing. "I think you've made an impression."

As the fire crackled and the group settled in, the tension from earlier began to ease. The looming threat of the caves still lingered, but for now, they shared a moment of warmth and camaraderie under the watchful eyes of Thor, Sif, and their eager daughter.

As the meal continued, the fire crackled, its light casting long shadows against the rocky walls of the basecamp. Thor, halfway through his third rabbit, was regaling the group with tales of his past battles, his booming laughter filling the air. Thrudd occasionally chimed in, her enthusiasm making even the grizzled warriors smile despite themselves. Sif, ever poised, added the occasional wry remark, keeping Thor's more exaggerated stories in check.

But amidst the lighthearted camaraderie, Geralt sat quietly, his expression unreadable. He glanced around the camp, his amber eyes flicking between the godly family and the Witchers. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind, a question he hadn't dared voice until now. Finally, he broke the silence that had settled among the other warriors sitting around the fire.

"Exactly... how many of you are there?" His voice was steady but carried a weight that made everyone pause. The men around the fire exchanged uneasy glances, their discomfort more than of Form

Thor looked up from his meal, licking grease from his fingers. He tilted his head, considering the question, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Well?" He leaned back, gesturing vaguely with his hammer toward the group. "You've already met Chernobog, or Gaunter O'Dimm, as you call him now. A nasty piece of work, but effective at what he does. Then there are the elvish gods of these foreign spheres." His gaze shifted meaningfully toward Erynn, who straightened slightly at the mention. "Fickle, mysterious, and annoyingly cryptic, but powerful all the same."

Erynn's eyes narrowed. "The Aen Elle and their gods... are they still active?"

Thor nodded, his expression serious. "Oh, they're around. They just prefer to meddle in subtle ways, keeping to their own agendas. But you already know that." He gave her a sly grin before continuing.

"Then, of course, there are the Dwarven and Halfling pantheons." He gestured toward the group as if it were common knowledge. "We don't see much of them anymore, but they're out there, governing their own realms and keeping their folk in line. The Halfling gods are especially tricky to spot—they like to stay hidden, blending in with the mortals they care for."

One of the Skelliger warriors, sitting near the edge of the fire, muttered, "Dwarves have gods?"

Thor barked a laugh. "Of course, they do! Ever wonder how their forges burn so hot? That's the work of their smith god. I'd introduce you, but he's not one for socializing. Too busy crafting things none of us could dream of."

The group fell silent again as Thor leaned forward, resting his hammer across his lap. His tone grew slightly more serious. "And then there's us, the Aesir, along with our counterparts, the Vanir. We're the gods of war, thunder, fertility, wisdom, and... well, just about anything worth fighting for. We govern our spheres as we see fit, watching over the realms that still remember us."

Geralt's brow furrowed. "And the other pantheons?"

Thor nodded solemnly. "There are a few others, scattered across the Spheres known and unknown.

Every conjunction shuffles some of our followers into new spheres, blending traditions and beliefs. Some adapt. Some don't."

Erynn tilted her head, her curiosity evident. "And the vampires? What about them?"

Thor's grin returned, a flash of teeth against his beard. "Ah, yes. The vampires. A fascinating bunch. Their pantheon is... well-mannered, for lack of a better term. They prefer to keep to themselves, governing their own kind quietly. You won't find them mingling with the likes of us, but don't mistake that for weakness. They're ancient, and their influence runs deep."

Veylan, who had been listening intently, spoke up, his voice steady. "So every sphere has its own pantheon? Its own... gods?"

Thor nodded. "More or less. Some pantheons overlap, especially when spheres collide during a conjunction. That's how we ended up here, after all. A few Viking ships found their way into this realm during one of the earlier conjunctions, bringing our followers with them. And where the followers go, the gods follow."

Geralt leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "And what about this sphere? The Continent? Does it have its own gods?"

Thor leaned forward, resting his massive hammer against the log as he considered Geralt's question. His normally jovial expression turned contemplative, his eyes gleaming with an ancient knowledge that seemed to reach back through countless eras.

"This sphere's gods..." Thor began, his voice rumbling low, like distant thunder, "are... peculiar. Not like the Aesir or Vanir, nor like the elvish or dwarven deities. They were here long before the Halflings or Dwarves or even the Elves arrived during the first Conjunction. They governed over the few beings that truly originated here—beings tied to the land, the water, the skies. The ones that existed before the Spheres collided and brought in creatures like you and me."

The fire crackled as everyone leaned in slightly, captivated by his words. Thor's gaze swept across the group, landing briefly on Veylan and Erynn.

"The old gods of this sphere," he continued, "are elusive. They don't appear the same way twice, unless they choose to. And they are deeply tied to the fabric of this world—shapeshifters, tricksters, guardians of balance. They're not bound by the same rules as the rest of us. Their power doesn't stem from belief or followers. It's... intrinsic."

Erynn frowned slightly, her sharp mind piecing together fragments of lore she'd encountered. "Shapeshifters... Are you saying the Dopplers are connected to these gods? That they... originated here?"

Thor nodded, his expression solemn. "The older ones, yes. They were the first to walk this land, their forms malleable as the shifting sands. The Dopplers you know now are distant echoes of their ancestors, diluted by time and the mingling of spheres. But the originals? They were something else entirely. Beings of pure adaptation and survival, as ancient as the rocks beneath your feet."

Veylan tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "And these gods? Do they still exist?"

Thor's grin returned, though it was tempered by a hint of reverence. "Oh, they exist. But they don't meddle like we do. They watch, they shift, they blend into the world itself. And if you're lucky, or unlucky, you might cross paths with one. But don't expect them to announce themselves." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "They're as much a part of this sphere as the seasons or the tides. And they prefer it that way."

Geralt, ever the skeptic, tapped a finger on his knee. "And what about the Dopplers now? The ones we know? Are they still connected to these... gods?"

Thor shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling like a mountain shifting. "Perhaps. But like I said, they're echoes. The gods of this sphere don't need followers or priests. They don't need anything from us. But the Dopplers... well, maybe they're a reminder of what this world used to be, before the Conjunction changed everything."

The group fell silent, the weight of Thor's words settling over them like a heavy cloak. The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the stillness.

Veylan glanced at Erynn, who seemed lost in thought. He could see the gears turning in her mind, piecing together fragments of her own knowledge with Thor's revelations. The Witcher himself felt a strange sense of awe mixed with unease. This sphere, the Continent, held more secrets than anyone had imagined, and the gods Thor spoke of felt like a thread tying everything together, a thread that might unravel at any moment.

Finally, Thor clapped his hands together, breaking the spell of silence. "But enough talk of gods and ancient mysteries! We've got a Jotunn to hunt, don't we?" His booming laughter echoed through the clearing, lightening the mood despite the lingering gravity of his words.

…

In the dark expanse of Tir ná Lia, the throne room of the Aen Elle shimmered with cold, otherworldly light. The sharp, crystalline architecture loomed overhead, reflecting the pale glow of the spectral projection hovering in the air before Eredin Bréacc Glas, King of the Wild Hunt. The anamorphic projection, an arcane weave of Elder magic, flickered slightly, depicting the events unfolding in the sphere of the Continent.

Veylan stood prominently in the image, his silver and dark hair catching the firelight of the Skellige camp. Beside him were the fiery-haired Thor, his imposing family, and Geralt of Rivia. Their conversation drifted through the projection in faint echoes, interspersed with the crackle of their campfire. The topic—gods, pantheons, the mysteries of the spheres, made Eredin's sharp features contort with disdain.

Eredin's armored hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles audibly creaking. "Enough." His voice was a venomous whisper, though the tension in his tone betrayed his spiraling thoughts. "This... mortal Witcher has become a thorn in my side. A son of Elder Blood, imbued with power that should not exist, and now he's aligning himself with these... these..." He gestured toward Thor's towering figure, his voice rising in frustration. "Things, pretending to be gods!"

One of his closest advisors, Ge'els, stepped forward cautiously. His voice was calm but tinged with concern. "Things they may be, but their presence complicates matters. Their influence over this sphere is undeniable, and their power, though different from ours, is not to be underestimated."

Eredin's eyes, glinting like shards of ice, snapped to Ge'els. "You dare suggest that we, the Aen Elle, should fear them?"

Ge'els inclined his head, choosing his words carefully. "Not fear, my king. But recognize. They are not bound by the same rules as mortals. And their interest in the son of Elder Blood means they have stakes in this sphere that we have yet to fully understand."

Another advisor, Caranthir, stood at Eredin's side, his staff clinking softly against the crystalline floor. "We've been observing Veylan for some time. His potential grows with every step he takes. His connection to the Elder Blood is... unique. It does not follow the usual patterns. If left unchecked, he may become a threat far greater than even we anticipated."

Eredin's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the projection. The image shifted slightly, now showing Thor roaring with laughter as he gestured animatedly at the campfire. His voice, though faint, carried through the magic.

"You've already met Chernobog," Thor said, his tone dripping with amusement. "And we're just getting started. The gods of this sphere, the ones yet to show themselves? They've been here long before any of us."

Eredin's expression darkened further. "Arrogant fools," he spat. "They meddle in forces they cannot possibly comprehend. This sphere will belong to us, as it was destined to be. Veylan is an anomaly, one that must be corrected. And these... gods will crumble before the might of the Aen Elle."

Ge'els hesitated, then spoke carefully. "With respect, my king, their influence here may make that task more... intricate. We must tread carefully, especially if their power rivals that of the Elder Blood itself."

Eredin's laugh was cold, devoid of humor. "Power that rivals the Elder Blood? They are insects. Dust scattered by the winds of time. We have walked the paths of the spheres for millennia. They are nothing compared to us."

Caranthir glanced at the projection, where Veylan and Thor's group were now rising to prepare for their next move. His voice was low, cautious. "And yet... they are watching. As we are watching them."

Eredin's face twisted with rage, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. "Enough of this cowardice! They will fall, as all mortals and pretenders do!"

But as the words left his lips, the image in the projection shifted slightly. Thor, who had been speaking animatedly to Veylan, suddenly paused. His fiery red beard caught the firelight as he turned his head, not toward the Witcher, not toward his companions, but directly toward the projection itself.

The room in Tir ná Lia grew deathly silent.

Thor's blue eyes gleamed with a knowing, almost playful light. His lips curved into a faint smirk as if he could see through the magic, through the distance between spheres, and right into the cold, furious gaze of the King of the Wild Hunt.

Eredin froze, his eyes widening imperceptibly. For the briefest of moments, he felt an unfamiliar chill, a strange, unshakable sense of being watched.

Thor lifted his hammer, pointing it toward the unseen onlookers. His voice, though faint through the projection, was unmistakably clear. "You watching, then? Enjoy the show." He chuckled, the sound rich and mocking, before turning back to the group.

The projection flickered and went dark, leaving the throne room in silence. Eredin's breathing was heavy, his fists trembling with suppressed rage.

Ge'els finally broke the silence, his voice barely being heard. "He knows."

Eredin's eyes burned with fury as he turned away, his cloak billowing behind him. "Let him. When the time comes, even he will kneel before the might of the Aen Elle."

But even as he spoke, a gnawing unease settled in the pit of his stomach. For the first time, the King of the Wild Hunt felt the creeping shadow of of Form

And growing fear… fear that was becoming paranoia.