The Witcher: Chimera

Chapter 13: The Alchemists and The Lead

…

The next night, after following the leads from the alchemists notes…

As the first rays of dawn pierced through the mist-shrouded ruins, the trap was set. Hidden amongst the thick forest brush and crumbled elven stones were Nilfgaardian soldiers, Scoia'tael scouts, and a few handpicked operatives from Oxenfurt and Novigrad. They all stood tense, crossbows loaded, spells ready, and blades drawn.

The air was charged with a sense of anticipation as the ruins finally stirred. Veylan, crouched beside Geralt behind a fallen stone column, glanced toward Erynn, who nodded, keeping her eyes peeled for every vibrations of movement.

The rusted iron doors of the ancient ruins creaked open. Out stepped Olthar Valrik and Thaelith Rorn. Their appearances were twisted mockeries of humanity. Olthar's gaunt face was streaked with veins glowing faintly with alchemical fluids, and his skeletal frame was supported by a grotesque, spider-like apparatus fused into his back. Each movement he made was accompanied by faint, unsettling clicks of gears.

Thaelith's form was no less horrifying. Her skin seemed intertwined with plant-like tendrils, pulsating as if alive, and her eyes glowed an unnatural green. Her movements were unnervingly graceful, her hair appearing more like twisting vines than strands, writhing in response to her every thought. Vials containing mysterious glowing substances lined her belt, and in one claw-like hand, she held a staff covered in intricate runes.

Between them lumbered skeletal abominations, grotesque parodies of human form. Their bones had been fused with mechanical components: gears whirred in their exposed ribcages, and their glowing alchemical spines pulsed faintly as if trying to mimic life. Their claws glistened with dark ichor as they moved in eerie synchronization.

Veylan's amber eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. These weren't ordinary adversaries. The alchemists had achieved the unthinkable—merging dark science, alchemy, and forbidden magic into horrifying creations.

"They hardly look human," Geralt muttered under his breath, gripping the hilt of his silver sword.

"Because they aren't," Veylan replied grimly.

The skeletal abominations began to fan out, their mechanical limbs moving with precise coordination. The alchemists seemed oblivious to the trap awaiting them, engrossed in their conversation about testing their newest creations.

Geralt gave a subtle signal, and the trap was sprung. Crossbows fired from the shadows, bolts finding their marks in the glowing spines of the skeletal constructs. Explosions of sparks and fluids erupted as the abominations reeled from the assault. Veylan and Geralt charged in unison, their swords slicing through metal and bone.

Veylan's blade struck the first abomination with a resounding clash, sending sparks flying as it hit the metallic framework embedded in its chest. With a grunt of effort, he drove his sword deeper, severing the machinery within. The creature collapsed in a heap of metal and bone, twitching as its internal mechanisms went haywire.

Geralt's silver sword cleaved through another abomination, his precision strikes targeting its runed spine. As the creature fell, he whirled around to parry a clawed strike from another. "They're tougher than they look!" he shouted.

Veylan nodded grimly, narrowly dodging a swing from another construct. With a swift motion, he plunged his dagger into its glowing core, the alchemical fluids spilling out in a sickly green spray.

As the skeletal constructs fell one by one, the alchemists realized the danger. Olthar's hollow voice rang out, his tone more annoyed than fearful. "We've been found."

Thaelith sneered, her vine-like hair writhing. "No matter. These fools have no idea what they've unleashed."

Before they could react further, Nilfgaardian soldiers and Scoia'tael scouts emerged from their hiding places, weapons drawn and spells at the ready. The alchemists found themselves surrounded, their creations destroyed or incapacitated.

The Nilfgaardian commander stepped forward, his armor gleaming in the morning light. Beside him were Graden and Roach, their expressions baring glares as they locked onto the two alchemists.

"By decree of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis," the commander announced, his voice echoing across the clearing, "and by the laws of this land, Olthar Valrik and Thaelith Rorn, you are under arrest for crimes against humanity, alchemical atrocities, and forbidden experimentation."

Olthar's mechanical appendages twitched as he glared at the commander. "Arrest? You think you can simply shackle us?"

Thaelith let out a dark laugh, her glowing eyes narrowing. "You should have brought more soldiers."

"Try anything," Veylan said coldly, stepping forward, "and you won't make it out alive."

The alchemists hesitated, their expressions dark as they weighed their options. The soldiers and Scoia'tael raised their weapons, ready for any sudden movement.

The tension hung thick in the air as the alchemists finally raised their hands in mock surrender. "Very well," Olthar said with a sneer. "Take us. But you've only delayed the inevitable."

As the soldiers moved to restrain them, Veylan glanced at the ruins. Whatever horrors these two had been creating, they had to be stopped, for good.

…

The stone prison cell beneath the Nilfgaardian outpost was dimly lit, the flickering torches illuminating the space that they had spent hours trying to extract information from the two occupants. In the center of the room stood two heavily reinforced chairs, more like mechanical restraints than simple seating. Olthar Valrik and Thaelith Rorn sat bound, their unnatural forms held tightly in place by silver-enforced shackles and anti-magical wards etched into the stone floor. Veylan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his amber eyes glowing faintly in the darkness as he observed.

Geralt paced slowly in the background, his silver sword strapped to his back, his face set in a grim frown. Several Nilfgaardian officers, Scoia'tael representatives, and alchemists stood nearby, watching the proceedings with wary eyes. They had all witnessed the horrors these two alchemists had unleashed, and now, the focus was on extracting information about the remaining three associates who had helped create the nightmare of Veylan's existence.

"You're wasting your time," Olthar said, his voice cold and metallic, his gaunt features twisting into an eerie grin. His skeletal frame shifted slightly, the mechanical appendages on his back twitching in response to his movements. "Pain doesn't work on me anymore. It hasn't for years."

Thaelith chuckled, her vine-like hair writhing as though in amusement. "Oh, let me guess. More needles? Another dose of that delightful serum you concocted, Master Witcher? Go on. I'm curious to see what happens this time."

Veylan's jaw clenched as he stepped forward. He grabbed a syringe from the nearby alchemical kit, the fluid inside glowing faintly. This was one of his strongest mixtures—designed to dissolve mental barriers and compel truth-telling. Without hesitation, he injected it into Thaelith's neck. She flinched slightly but then let out a delighted laugh.

"Oh, that burns," she said mockingly, her glowing green eyes meeting Veylan's. "Do it again. Please."

Geralt stopped pacing and muttered under his breath, "Great. Sadistic and unbreakable. Fantastic combination."

The guards standing nearby shifted uneasily, their hands on their swords. One of the Nilfgaardian commanders stepped forward. "Perhaps we escalate our methods," he suggested, his tone dark. "They are not ordinary beings, but they still have limits."

Olthar tilted his head, his pale, cracked lips forming a smirk. "Oh, I'd love to see you try."

The guards hesitated, unsure, but Veylan nodded. "Do it," he said coldly. "They won't break easily, but I want them to understand we're not backing down."

The guards brought in tools, blades, hammers, clamps, but what followed defied logic. Olthar's mechanical limbs were systematically damaged, his skeletal fingers crushed and bent in unnatural angles. But instead of screaming, he chuckled as he snapped his broken digits back into place with a series of sickening clicks. His mechanical appendages whirred to life, pulling his fractured limbs into alignment as though nothing had happened.

Thaelith's punishment was equally ineffective. Her arms and legs were slashed and stabbed, but the vine-like structures beneath her skin writhed and healed, knitting back together with a grotesque efficiency. At one point, a guard attempted to cut one of the vines outright, only to find it regrowing in seconds, coiling like a serpent around her wounds. Her laugh echoed through the chamber, sharp and mocking.

"Is this supposed to frighten us?" Thaelith sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "I've inflicted worse injuries on myself in my experiments."

Graden, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. "You might be able to shrug off pain," he said, his voice calm but carrying an of Form

"But everyone has a weakness. Somewhere. We'll find yours."

"Do you know how many times I've heard that before?" Olthar replied, his hollow voice laced with amusement. "And yet, here I am."

Veylan exhaled slowly, his claws momentarily extending as his frustration grew. "You're buying time. Hoping we give up. But I promise you, we won't stop until we find out what you're planning and who your associates are."

Olthar's grin widened. "And what will you do when you find them, Witcher? More torture? More experiments? You're not so different from us, you know."

That struck a nerve. Veylan's eyes burned amber as he grabbed Olthar by the front of his tattered shirt, yanking him forward. "I'm nothing like you," he growled. "You turned innocent lives into abominations. You've corrupted everything you've touched. You're a monster."

Olthar's expression remained smug. "And what are you, then?"

Veylan shoved him back into the chair, stepping away to compose himself. Erynn, who had been standing quietly in the corner, placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "They're trying to rattle you," she said softly. "Don't let them."

Veylan turned sharply away from Erynn, his frustration barely concealed as he stormed over to the alchemical kit on the nearby table. The names of the other three associates echoed in his mind, elusive shadows with far too little detail. He wasn't willing to give these two monsters the satisfaction of toying with them any longer.

He uncorked two vials, each containing a glowing mixture, one a deep crimson and the other an eerie silver-blue. Carefully, he combined them, the liquids swirling together in an ominous reaction that let off a faint shimmer. To this mixture, he added a small shard of powdered dimeritium, watching as the potion hissed and darkened, taking on a sickly green hue.

"Veylan, what are you doing?" Erynn asked warily, as she watched with concern.

"Something drastic," he said coldly, pulling a syringe from the kit and carefully drawing the liquid into it. His gaze flicked to the smirking faces of Olthar and Thaelith. "This concoction should bypass whatever alchemical fortifications they've got and put them in a permanent subservient state. If this doesn't work, nothing will."

Geralt, leaning against the far wall, raised a skeptical brow. "And if it backfires?"

"It won't," Veylan said firmly, though a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes. He approached the restrained alchemists, his steps deliberate.

Olthar grinned as Veylan loomed over him with the syringe. "Oh, the Witcher's getting creative now. How exciting."

"Save your breath," Veylan said, his voice a growl as he jammed the syringe into Olthar's neck, injecting the mixture with a swift push. He turned to Thaelith and repeated the process, the alchemists flinching slightly as the substance was administered.

For a moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hum of the torches. Olthar and Thaelith's faces went slack, their eyes glazing over as their bodies stilled. Veylan's sharp gaze flicked between them, waiting for signs of success. The tension in the room was immense.

Then, without warning, both alchemists heaved violently, their bodies convulsing as they bent forward. Veylan stepped back just in time as Olthar retched, expelling a vile, steaming bile that splattered across the floor. Thaelith followed suit, hurling an equally foul substance across the room. The stench was unbearable, sour and acrid, a nauseating cocktail of rot and chemicals.

Veylan's lip curled in disgust as he wiped at his armor, trying to rid himself of the splatter. "What in the-?"

His words were cut off by the sound of laughter, harsh, guttural, and grating. Olthar and Thaelith leaned back in their chairs, their faces split into wide, toothy grins as they cackled uncontrollably.

"Oh, that was priceless!" Thaelith wheezed between laughs, tears of amusement streaming down her face. "You should see your face, Witcher. Absolutely worth it."

Olthar, his skeletal frame shaking with laughter, added, "Best reaction we've seen in years. Bravo, truly." He mockingly clapped his bound hands, the sound a faint metallic rattle. "Do it again. Maybe this time, we'll burp instead."

Veylan's fists clenched, his claws momentarily extending as his amber eyes flared with frustration. "You're playing games," he growled. "But this isn't over."

Thaelith smirked, her vine-like hair writhing lazily. "Oh, but it is, darling. You can't win against us. We're too... resilient for your crude methods."

From the corner, Geralt sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, that was disgusting. And completely ineffective."

Erynn stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Veylan's arm again. "They're baiting you," she said softly. "We need another plan."

The room was still tense, the alchemists' mocking laughter echoing off the stone walls, their taunts cutting deeper than the Witcher's patience could tolerate. Olthar's skeletal frame shook with mirth, his metallic hands rattling faintly with every mocking clap. Thaelith reclined in her chair, a smug grin plastered on her pallid face as her vine-like hair lazily twisted around her.

Suddenly, their laughter ceased. It was as if an unseen hand had clamped their mouths shut. Olthar's smirk faltered as he glanced down at his arm, his sunken eyes narrowing at the sight of his pallid skin beginning to shift and bubble unnaturally.

Thaelith let out a sharp gasp, her amusement melting into panic. "What… what is this?" she stammered, watching as blisters began to erupt across her skin, spreading rapidly like wildfire. The vines that twisted along her body recoiled, writhing and snapping as if in agony.

Veylan straightened, his predatory gaze locking onto the scene unfolding before him. "Finally," he muttered under his breath, stepping back instinctively. Geralt, ever observant, pushed off the wall, his hand moving to the hilt of his silver sword, though he made no move to draw it.

Olthar's mechanical limbs began to whir erratically, their movements jerky and uneven. Steam hissed from the joints, and a faint red glow emanated from within his chest as the alchemical fluids coursing through his veins overloaded his systems.

"What did you do to us?" Olthar snarled, his voice cracking with pain and fear as he clawed at his arms, trying in vain to stem the swelling and bubbling of his flesh. "What—what is this!?"

Thaelith's shriek pierced the air as her body began to swell grotesquely, her pale skin stretching to its limits. Her vine-like tendrils writhed violently, snapping apart as her form expanded unnaturally. Her eyes darted wildly, filled with sheer terror as she clawed at her chest, trying to hold herself together.

The room grew hot as a metallic screeching filled the air, Olthar's machine parts spinning faster and faster, smoke billowing from the overloading mechanisms. Sparks flew as the gears began to crack under the pressure, the alchemical fluids inside him boiling and surging.

Erynn stepped back quickly, pulling Veylan with her. "It's the chemicals," she whispered, her voice urgent. "They're reacting-"

Her words were drowned out by a guttural scream from Olthar as his chest exploded outward, sending shards of metal and flesh flying across the room. His mechanical limbs convulsed violently, their movements spasmodic as his body reached critical mass.

Thaelith's wails reached a fever pitch as her swollen body began to pulsate ominously. Her eyes locked on Veylan, wide with desperation and rage. "You—" she began, but the words died on her lips as her entire form expanded one final, horrifying time.

"Get down!" Geralt barked, diving for cover as the inevitable happened.

BOOM!

The explosion was deafening. A sickening wave of heat and pressure swept through the room, coating the walls and those within it in a thick, steaming layer of melted flesh, metal, and plant matter. The stench was unbearable, a nauseating blend of burned chemicals and scorched meat that made even the hardened warriors gag.

As the dust and viscera settled, silence fell over the room. Veylan stood slowly, his armor splattered with gore, his face a mixture of grim satisfaction and disgust. Erynn, crouched beside him, wiped a streak of foul-smelling ichor from her cheek, her smell more attuned to the others made this experience particularly foul.

"Well," Geralt said, his voice flat as he emerged from behind a table. He surveyed the carnage with a wry smirk. "That's one way to get them to stop talking."

Veylan exhaled, his amber eyes scanning the remains, or what was left of them. "At least they won't be a problem anymore."

Graden stepped into the room cautiously, his face pale as he took in the scene. "Eternal Fire preserve us," he muttered, holding a handkerchief to his nose. "What… what just happened?"

"They underestimated us," Veylan said coldly, wiping a chunk of flesh off his shoulder. "The chemicals finally caught up to them."

Roach, standing in the doorway with an equally horrified expression, shook his head. "I hope you got something useful out of them before… this."

Veylan shook his head, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Not much. But we know their associates. And this… this confirms just how far they're willing to go. We're dealing with something beyond anything the Continent's ever seen."

…

By noon, the grime and gore of the morning's ordeal had been washed away. The lingering stench of the alchemists' gruesome demise was gone, but the weight of the events remained, etched into their minds. Veylan and Erynn made their way back to the quiet solace of their cottage just outside Novigrad, where the air was still and the world seemed far removed from the horrors they had faced.

Inside, Svanrige Tuirseach sat at the wooden table, a thick tome spread open before him as he read. as he meticulously read through pages detailing the varied customs and traditions of the Continent. His dedication to mastering these nuances had grown in recent weeks, ever since he'd decided to find work at the nearby tavern that served as a hub for Nilfgaardian soldiers and merchants. It was a far cry from the life he'd once imagined for himself, but it gave him a sense of purpose, a chance to forge a new path away from the politics and intrigue that has destroyed his family due to his mother's ambitions.

Hearing the creak of the door, Svanrige looked up, his sharp blue eyes immediately catching the subtle tension in Veylan's and Erynn's postures. They moved like people carrying an invisible weight, their steps heavy, their expressions drawn. Erynn let out a long breath as she set her bag down by the door, and Veylan's gaze lingered on the hearth, his amber eyes distant for a moment before he shrugged off his cloak.

"You've had... a long day," Svanrige remarked carefully, closing his book. His tone was calm, but his curiosity was evident as he studied their faces.

Veylan gave a faint, tired chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he collapsed into one of the chairs by the table. "That's putting it mildly."

Erynn joined him, resting her elbows on the table and rubbing her temples. "You don't want to know," she murmured, her posture exhausted. "It was... foul. In every sense of the word."

Svanrige raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not sure whether to ask or just offer you a drink."

"A drink," Veylan said immediately, his tone dry. "Then dinner. And maybe a week of sleep."

With a small smile, Svanrige rose from his seat and moved to the kitchen area. He began to pour them each a glass of the honeyed mead they kept on hand for nights like this—when the weight of the world pressed too heavily on their shoulders. "I heard some of the Nilfgaardians talking earlier," he said casually as he worked. "Something about mechanical ghouls and explosions. I take it that was your doing?"

Erynn snorted softly, shaking her head. "Not quite our doing. More... something we dealt with."

Veylan leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as the smell of the mead filled the room. "The alchemists," he said simply, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "They've been turning monsters into... abominations. Mechanical, alchemically enhanced nightmares. We took care of two of them, but it wasn't clean."

Svanrige paused, turning to face them with a faint frown. "And the alchemists?"

"Let's just say," Veylan replied with a grim smile, "they got what they deserved. Though not before making a complete mess of things."

Svanrige handed them their drinks, his expression thoughtful as he returned to his seat. "It sounds like a tale that'll make the rounds in taverns soon enough. If the Nilfgaardians are already talking about it, you can bet it'll spread."

Veylan took a long sip of the mead, savoring the warmth that spread through his chest. "Let it. People should know what's out there. What we're up against."

Erynn nodded in agreement, though her gaze drifted to the window, where the golden light of the afternoon filtered through the trees. "It's not just what we're up against," she said softly. "It's how far they're willing to go. Those two... they were void of any remorse for their actions. They were monsters all on their own.

Svanrige studied her for a moment before leaning forward slightly. "Whatever happens next, I'm sure you'll handle it, I mean… you've come this far."

The sincerity in his voice brought a faint smile to Erynn's lips, and Veylan reached over to ruffle the young man's hair affectionately. "You're picking up that Skellige stubbornness again," he teased.

Svanrige smirked, brushing Veylan's hand away. "Just trying to learn from the best. Now, how about I get started on dinner? You two look like you need something more than just mead."

…

Veylan was up early, sharpening his silver sword under the warm glow of the morning sun. The rhythmic scrape of whetstone against metal echoed softly through the woods surrounding his cottage. Erynn sat nearby, flipping through a book on elven rituals, her eyes reading the book in concentration. As the quiet morning unfolded, a messenger arrived on horseback bearing a sealed letter.

Veylan unfolded the parchment, his amber eyes scanning the contents. It was from Geralt.

…

Veylan,
I've found something that might lead me to Ciri. Meet me at Crow's Perch. There's more to discuss there, and your expertise may prove useful once again. Also, Philip and Anna have been asking about you, they owe you much.
– Geralt

…

Veylan tucked the letter away and glanced at Erynn. "Looks like we're heading to Crow's Perch."

By midday, Veylan and Erynn approached the gates of Crow's Perch. The fortress loomed over the surrounding swamplands, its familiar silhouette bringing a sense of déjà vu. Veylan had been here just over a week ago, helping make sure the baron's family recovered from the scars of their past.

The guards recognized him immediately, their stern expressions softening as they waved him through. "Master Veylan," one of them said with a nod. "Good to see you again. The baron's been asking after you."

Inside the courtyard, Baron Philip Strenger himself emerged to greet them, his broad face breaking into a grin. His wife, Anna, stood beside him, her once-haunted eyes now clearer and more confident. Tamara, the baron's daughter, was also present, her witch hunter's garb a stark contrast to the familial warmth radiating from her presence.

"Veylan!" the baron bellowed, extending a hand. "You're back, and not a moment too soon. I've been meaning to thank you again, for Anna, for everything."

Anna stepped forward, her hands clasped in gratitude. "I... I can't thank you enough for what you did," she said, her voice steady. "The nightmares are gone. I feel... whole again."

Tamara gave a small smile. "It's good to see you. I've been stationed nearby, and I figured I'd drop in while I had the chance."

Erynn, standing beside Veylan, offered a warm smile to the family. "It's good to see you all together. You've come a long way."

As they exchanged pleasantries, a strange noise interrupted them, a series of grunts and mutterings from the far side of the courtyard. Veylan's sharp gaze turned toward the source of the sound.

There, waddling awkwardly on short, malformed legs, was a grotesque little figure. Its hunched back twisted unnaturally, and its face was a jumbled mess of features, yet there was an odd, almost otherworldly presence about it. The creature's bulbous eyes darted toward them as it muttered in a guttural, almost childlike voice. "Uma... Uma uma..."

Veylan tilted his head, studying the creature with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Erynn, too, stepped closer, her sharp eyes narrowing as she sensed something just beneath the surface of the creature's bizarre appearance.

"This... is Uma," the baron said, his tone tinged with embarrassment. "Picked him up a while back. Poor thing's been like this since we found him. Doesn't say much else. Just... Uma."

Erynn's eyes widened slightly as she stepped closer, her hand resting on Veylan's arm. "There's something about him," she murmured. "He's... not what he seems."

Veylan nodded, his enhanced senses picking up faint traces of magic radiating from the creature. He crouched to Uma's level, his amber eyes studying the grotesque figure intently. "He's cursed," Veylan said after a moment. "Deeply cursed. But beneath that... he's elven."

The baron's eyes widened. "Elven? You're saying this poor soul's... an elf?"

Erynn knelt beside Veylan, her voice steady but filled with certainty. "Not just an elf. There's powerful magic masking him—magic tied to the Elder Speech. If I had to guess... he's an elven sage."

At this, Geralt, who had been leaning against a nearby post, straightened abruptly. "An elven sage?" His tone was sharp, his golden eyes narrowing. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be without breaking the curse," Erynn replied. "The magic surrounding him is ancient. Old enough to suggest someone powerful—someone like an elven sage."

Veylan stood, dusting off his hands. "Geralt, didn't you say Ciri was traveling with an elven sage?"

The Witcher nodded slowly, his mind clearly racing as he connected the dots. "Avallac'h. She was with him. If Uma is who, or what, I think he is, he might be the key to finding her."

The baron, Anna, and Tamara exchanged bewildered looks, clearly struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "So you're saying," the baron began, scratching his head, "this... Uma might know something about Ciri?"

Geralt nodded, "It's possible. But we won't know until we break the curse."

Veylan glanced at Erynn, his expression thoughtful. "If this curse is as strong as it feels, it won't be easy to lift. We'd need someone with deep magical knowledge. And maybe... Kaer Morhen."

Geralt nodded. "It's as good a place as any. Vesemir's seen plenty of strange things in his time, and with Yennefer coming this winter, we'll have the resources we need to figure this out."

Erynn added, "We'll need to tread carefully. Breaking a curse like this could have unforeseen consequences."

The baron clapped a heavy hand on Geralt's shoulder. "Whatever you need, Witcher. If this little guy can help you find Ciri, take him."

Geralt smirked faintly. "Thanks, Baron. And for what it's worth... you've done good here. For your family."

…

The morning air was crisp as final preparations were being made for the journey to Kaer Morhen. The stables of Crow's Perch bustled with activity, horses being saddled and provisions loaded. Geralt stood near Roach, securing his saddlebags while Veylan and Erynn discussed the route with Tamara, who had come to see them off.

The quiet rhythm of the preparations was interrupted by the sound of a regiment approaching. The heavy thud of hooves and the gleaming black armor of Nilfgaardian soldiers heralded the arrival of someone important. All eyes turned to the approaching procession.

At its head rode Emperor Emhyr var Emreis himself, his dark, regal figure unmistakable. The soldiers dismounted swiftly, forming a protective perimeter around their ruler. Emhyr dismounted with grace, his cold, calculating eyes sweeping across the courtyard as he approached the group.

"Witcher," Emhyr said, his deep voice calm but commanding. His gaze lingered on Geralt before shifting briefly to Veylan and Erynn. "It seems you've made progress."

Geralt, ever composed, stepped forward. "Emperor. I wasn't expecting you to come in person."

"I don't delegate matters concerning my daughter lightly," Emhyr replied, his tone as sharp as steel. "You've been gathering leads for months. I've come to hear them firsthand."

Geralt nodded, motioning for Emhyr to follow him to a quieter corner of the courtyard. Veylan and Erynn followed at a respectful distance, their curiosity piqued. Once they were away from prying ears, Geralt began to recount the events leading to this point.

"I've tracked Ciri across half the Continent," Geralt began. "Every lead pointed to her being pursued by the Wild Hunt. She was seen in Velen, Novigrad, and Skellige. Each place gave me fragments of the puzzle."

He gestured toward Uma, who was being carefully secured in a specially constructed crate for the journey. "This creature, Uma, is the key. He's cursed, but underneath that curse is an elven sage. From everything I've learned, he was with Ciri. He knows where she is."

Emhyr's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Uma's grotesque form. "An elven sage," he said, his tone measured. "And you're certain this... thing holds the answers?"

Geralt nodded. "Certain enough to bet everything on it. The curse on Uma is powerful, Elder magic, tied to the Elder Speech. We need the tools and expertise at Kaer Morhen to lift it. Once the curse is broken, we can question him."

Erynn stepped forward, her voice soft and carrying respect that is due. "Geralt's right. The magic binding this sage is ancient and complex. If there's any chance of finding Ciri, it lies with him."

Geralt continued, "It's taken time, months of tracking and piecing together information, but this is the strongest lead we've had. Once the curse is broken, I believe Uma will tell us where Ciri is hidden."

Emhyr was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to the surprise of everyone present, he gave a faint nod. "You've done well, Witcher," he said, his tone grudgingly respectful. "Better than some of my own advisors, who seem to think progress is measured by the weight of their reports."

Geralt arched a brow but said nothing, taking the rare praise in stride.

Emhyr turned to his closest advisor, a man standing quietly at his side. "Prepare the necessary paperwork. Ensure their passage across Nilfgaardian borders is smooth. No misunderstandings."

The advisor bowed deeply and stepped away to carry out the order.

Emhyr's attention shifted to Veylan and Erynn, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. "And you two," he said, addressing them directly. "Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. Veylan, your reputation precedes you. Your contributions to this matter have been invaluable."

Veylan inclined his head respectfully. "I'm only doing what needs to be done."

Erynn added, "We want to see Ciri safe as much as anyone."

Emhyr's expression softened—just a fraction. "For that, you have my gratitude. Not just as a ruler, but as a father."

The words hung in the air, a rare glimpse of the man behind the emperor's cold facade. With a nod to his soldiers, Emhyr began to turn away, but not before leaving one final instruction.

"Find her," he said, his voice quieter but no less commanding. "And ensure her safety above all else."

As Emhyr mounted his horse and the Nilfgaardian procession began to retreat, the group was left to reflect on the weight of the emperor's words. Geralt adjusted his swords, his expression more resolved than ever.

"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "we've got our orders. Let's get moving."

Veylan and Erynn exchanged a glance, both understanding the gravity of the task ahead. With Uma safely secured and their supplies ready, they mounted their horses and set off, the journey to Kaer Morhen.