The Witcher: Chimera Chapter 15, a witcher fanfic

The Witcher: Chimera

Chapter 15: King of the Wild Hunt No More…

…

Kaer Morhen was alive with activity as workers carried crates of rare materials out of the storage rooms, and scholars moved between the lower levels cataloging specimens. The echoes of hammer strikes and the hum of scholarly discussion blended into a backdrop of purpose and focus. But the harmony was abruptly interrupted by the sound of hooves echoing against the mountain path leading to the keep.

On the battlements, Vesemir and Lambert exchanged a glance as a lone rider emerged from the mist. The figure was clad in muted, spectral armor, its dull gray surface almost blending with the eerie fog that trailed him. His horse, a pale and unnatural steed, snorted misty plumes of air as it approached the gates. The rider slowed as he neared, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

"An emissary," Vesemir muttered, narrowing his eyes. "But from the wild hunt, and he's alone?"

Veylan and Erynn appeared behind him, their senses already attuned to something unusual about the approaching figure. Veylan's amber green eyes flared as he scanned the rider, searching for any signs of deception. Erynn, her fiery hair catching the morning light, rested her hand lightly on his arm, signaling her own unease.

The gates creaked open just enough to allow the rider through. He dismounted with deliberate slowness, removing his helm to reveal a pale, angular face. Despite his otherworldly appearance, there was something... almost human in his expression. He looked wary, uncertain, and his eyes darted around as if he, too, was unsure of his purpose.

Graden, standing near the gates with his hand on his pommel leaned forward, his expression guarded. "Not a single rider from the Hunt comes without purpose," he murmured to Vesemir.

The rider stepped forward, clutching a sealed letter stamped with a sigil that none could mistake: the mark of Eredin, King of the Wild Hunt.

"I bring a message," the rider said, his voice low but clear. "From my king."

Vesemir stepped forward, his posture rigid with distrust. "What message could Eredin possibly have for us?"

The rider hesitated, glancing nervously at the pointed weapons surrounding him. "I was told only to deliver this," he said, holding out the letter. "Its contents are not known to me."

Graden took the letter, his expression skeptical, and handed it to Avallac'h, who had appeared at the edge of the gathering. The elven sage's sharp eyes scanned the seal before he carefully broke it. As his gaze moved across the words, his expression shifted from intrigue to thinly veiled contempt.

"Eredin requests a parley," Avallac'h said, his voice laced with disdain. "He wishes to meet at a neutral location to discuss terms of... mutual benefit."

"Terms?" Vesemir growled. "He's never been interested in terms before."

Erynn stepped closer, her green, fox-like eyes narrowing as she studied the rider. "Something about this feels... wrong," she murmured to Veylan.

"Agreed," Veylan said, his gaze fixed on the messenger. "But he doesn't seem to know anything. He's just a pawn."

The rider shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. "I speak only what I was ordered to speak," he said, his tone defensive. "I was told to bring the letter and nothing more."

Avallac'h's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "And do you truly believe your king seeks peace?"

The rider hesitated, his earlier confidence faltering. "I... do not question my king's orders."

Avallac'h snorted softly and turned to the others. "This reeks of desperation. Eredin would never stoop to diplomacy unless he believed he had no other choice."

"Or unless it's a trap," Vesemir said darkly.

"Which it most certainly is," Lambert added with a grim chuckle. He turned to the rider, his tone cold. "What happens to you now that you've delivered the message?"

The rider stiffened, his discomfort growing. "I am to return with your answer."

"Tell him nothing," Vesemir said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of his authority.

"Wait," Veylan interjected, stepping forward. His voice was calm, but his amber eyes burned with intensity. "We need to think carefully about how we respond. If this is a trap, we can use it against him. And if it's not... we need to know what he's planning."

Avallac'h inclined his head slightly, considering Veylan's words. "A calculated risk, then."

Erynn glanced at the rider again, her unease growing . "Even if he doesn't know the details, he's still part of Eredin's web. We can't afford to overlook anything."

Vesemir grumbled but relented. "Fine. But we don't give him any real answers yet."

Avallac'h returned his gaze to the rider. "Tell your king we will consider his offer. But know this—if this is a trap, you'll be the first to pay for his treachery."

The rider's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "I will relay your words."

Vesemir gestured for the guards to escort the rider out. As the gates closed behind him, the air in the courtyard grew heavy with tension.

"What now?" Lambert asked.

"We prepare in case it's a trap," Vesemir said grimly. "Or something worse."

"And keep an eye on that rider," Veylan added. "If Eredin sent him, he might have more tricks up his sleeve than we realize."

As the group dispersed, Avallac'h lingered, as he watched the fading silhouette of the rider. "Desperation makes fools of even the greatest kings," he muttered. "But to make Eredin of all people try something like this... something must be going on back home?"

…

The winds howled across the frozen clearing as the group approached the predetermined meeting point. Snow crunched beneath their boots, and the biting cold seemed to sink into their bones. Veylan walked at the forefront, flanked by Vesemir and Graden. Lambert and a handful of guards held the perimeter, their eyes scanning the treeline for any signs of an ambush. Erynn lingered close to Veylan, her fox-like eyes darting nervously.

They arrived at the clearing to find Eredin already waiting. The King of the Wild Hunt stood tall, his polished armor gleaming faintly in the muted light. Beside him were three figures: his mage lieutenant, a soldier clad in spectral armor, and another of his trusted commanders. They were tense, , their tension betrayed by their stiff postures and the way their eyes never left the arriving party.

Avallac'h's gaze immediately swept over the scene, taking in every detail. His eyes lingered on Eredin, narrowing slightly. "He came unarmed," he muttered to Veylan.

"And yet, I don't trust it," Veylan replied under his breath.

Eredin stepped forward, his movements deliberate and measured. "Welcome," he said, his voice carrying a strange calm. "As you can see, I've honored my end of the agreement. I've come unarmed, with only my closest advisors."

Avallac'h's sharp eyes flicked to Eredin's hands and sides. It was true—he carried no weapon. Even the mage beside him carried no visible staff or weaponry. Eredin's voice carried a ring of sincerity, but his mere presence exuded an aura of dominance and control that couldn't be ignored.

"State your terms," Vesemir growled, crossing his arms.

Eredin nodded. "Straight to the point. Very well." He spread his arms in a gesture of openness. "I am here to propose a truce, a true truce. I will call off my riders, cease the hunt for Cirilla, and withdraw my forces from this world."

A silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the wind.

"But," Eredin continued, his tone calm but insistent, "I need something in return. You see, my kin are not as fortunate as you and yours. Our world... is dying. The White Frost will consume it, as it will all worlds, unless we find a way to stop it, or to escape it."

He let his words hang in the air for a moment, studying the reactions of his audience.

"We sought Cirilla for a reason. Her Elder Blood is a key to our survival. Without her, or someone like her, we will perish. A whole civilization of elves, lost. Innocents, families, children..."

Veylan's amber eyes locked on Eredin's, the weight of the words sinking in. He felt Erynn's hand brush against his, grounding him.

Eredin continued, his voice steady and unyielding. "But you have shown us something we never anticipated. Your abilities, your very nature, repel the frost. You burn it away, as fire devours ice. You could do what even Cirilla may not be able to. You could help us survive."

Graden stepped forward, his expression sharp with suspicion. "And why should we trust you? You've done nothing but bring death and ruin."

Eredin turned his piercing gaze to Graden. "Because I have no choice. My kin have no choice. You think I take pleasure in this? In watching my people suffer and die? I would not be here if I saw another way."

"Convenient," Lambert muttered, earning a glare from Vesemir.

"You don't have to decide now," Eredin said, ignoring the interruption. "Take your time, discuss it with your allies. But understand this: if you do not help us, we are doomed. And without us, the frost will eventually find its way to your world, no matter how powerful you believe yourself to be."

Avallac'h stepped forward, his voice sharp. "You speak of mutual survival, yet your hands are stained with blood. Why should we believe that this is anything but a manipulation?"

Eredin met his gaze, unflinching. "Because I am not a fool. I know the consequences of pushing you further. And as much as it pains me to admit it, you hold the power here."

The mage at Eredin's side shifted slightly, his lips tightening. It was clear he hadn't been fully informed of Eredin's intentions until now, and his unease was.

Veylan finally spoke, his voice calm but cold. "You're right about one thing, innocent lives are at stake. But your actions have made it nearly impossible to believe that you're acting in good faith."

Eredin inclined his head slightly. "I expected no less. But I will leave you with this: you are not just choosing between our survival and your peace of mind. You are choosing whether or not an entire world of innocents will be consigned to oblivion."

His words cut deep, their weight undeniable. Veylan's mind raced, torn between his instincts and the moral dilemma Eredin had placed before him. To save his own world, could he truly condemn another?

"I'll consider it," Veylan said finally, "for your peoples sake."

"Take your time," Eredin replied, stepping back. "But not too long. The frost does not wait for anyone."

With that, the parley concluded, and the two parties began to separate. As they walked back toward Kaer Morhen, Avallac'h turned to Veylan, his voice low.

"He's manipulating you," Avallac'h said. "Using your morality against you."

"I know," Veylan replied. "But that doesn't make what he said any less true."

As the gates of Kaer Morhen came into view, Veylan's mind remained heavy with the weight of the decision ahead. For now, all they could do was prepare, for Eredin's desperation, for the frost, and for the battles yet to come.

…

Eredin's mage, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel, walked silently beside his king as they returned to the confines of their temporary encampment. The tension between them was apparent, and once they stepped into the seclusion of the dimly lit command tent, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel spoke, his voice laced with restrained frustration.

"This plan of yours," Caranthir Ar-Feiniel began, his tone cautious but still respectful, "it's reckless. Desperation does not suit you, my king."

Eredin removed his helmet, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the brazier in the center of the tent. His piercing eyes locked onto Caranthir Ar-Feiniel, unyielding. "Reckless?" he repeated, his voice cold. "You misunderstand, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel. This is pragmatism."

"Pragmatism," Caranthir Ar-Feinie echoed, stepping closer, "would involve crafting a solution that doesn't risk our annihilation. Parleying with them, perhaps, though risky, is understandable. But this... gamble of yours? It reeks of madness."

Eredin smirked faintly, a humorless expression that didn't reach his eyes. Without a word, he reached into a small, locked chest at the side of the room. The metallic latch clicked ominously as he retrieved a small vial no larger than the palm of his hand.

The liquid within the vial was unlike anything Caranthir Ar-Feiniel had ever seen. It shimmered and pulsed with an otherworldly energy, shifting colors like an oil slick. Wisps of dark vapor coiled within the glass as if alive, and the faint hum of power emanating from it was enough to make the seasoned mage step back instinctively.

"What... is that?" Caranthir Ar-Feiniel asked, his voice lowering with unease. His sharp eyes narrowed as he examined the vial from a safe distance.

Eredin held it up, the light from the brazier catching on the swirling concoction. "This," he said softly, almost reverently, "is the backup plan. A creation of the Crones of Crookback Bog, distilled from the remains of their 'Mother,' the Whispering Oak, and fused with a symphony of alchemical nightmares."

Caranthir Ar-Feiniel's jaw clenched. Even he, ruthless as he was, felt the weight of the malevolence contained within the vial. "You trust the Crones?" he asked sharply. "Their treachery is legendary."

Eredin's smile remained cold as he replied, "Oh, I trust them to act in their own interests, as they always do. But their interests align with mine for now. They, too, have grievances with Veylan—grievances they have been eager to see... addressed."

Caranthir Ar-Feiniel's gaze flicked back to the vial. "And what, precisely, does this... potion do?"

Eredin's expression turned grave. "It's a poison," he admitted. "A masterpiece of hatred, designed to turn Veylan's own strengths against him. His mutations, his Elder Blood—it will all unravel under the weight of this. It's said to corrupt the very essence of what makes him formidable, twisting his power into agony."

The mage took a step forward, his voice growing harsher. "This is not pragmatism. This is cruelty."

Eredin's eyes flashed with irritation. "Do not mistake necessity for cruelty, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel. If they refuse to help us, they condemn an entire civilization to death. If I must sacrifice one abomination to save my people, then so be it."

"And if this fails?" Caranthir Ar-Feiniel pressed. "If his resilience surpasses even your worst expectations, what then? We will have lost everything."

Eredin's tone dropped, his voice a chilling whisper. "That is why it is a last resort. The parley is genuine. I would prefer to avoid this... unpleasantness. But if they refuse us outright, we will have no choice but to use every tool at our disposal."

The mage's lips thinned as he regarded the vial, its dark power sending a chill down his spine. He crossed his arms, his tone bitter. "You're playing a dangerous game, Eredin. And you're not just risking their lives, you're risking ours."

Eredin stepped closer to his lieutenant, his gaze unyielding. "You question me too much, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel. Remember your place."

Caranthir Ar-Feiniel held his ground, though his expression was laced with displeasure. "Your own arrogance may be what undoes us in the end."

The two elves stared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut. Finally, Eredin stepped back, placing the vial back into the chest and locking it with a metallic snap.

"Pray it does not come to that," Eredin said, his voice cold and final. "But if it does, we will be ready."

Caranthir Ar-Feiniel said nothing further, his disapproval clear as he turned and left the tent. Outside, the cold wind bit at his face as he looked toward the campfires where their soldiers rested. His mind raced with doubts, his unease gnawing at him. Eredin's desperation was clear as day, and Caranthir Ar-Feiniel couldn't shake the feeling that the consequences of this plan, should it be enacted, would ripple far beyond anything even Eredin could anticipate.

The gates of Kaer Morhen creaked open, the cold mountain wind sweeping into the courtyard. Geralt rode in first, followed by Eskel and Letho, and, seated just behind Geralt on Roach, was Ciri. She looked around, taking in the ancient stronghold with a mix of awe and apprehension. Her silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, the telltale mark of her Elder Blood lineage unmistakable.

Veylan stood near the steps leading into the keep, his amber eyes fixed on the group. Erynn was by his side, her fiery red hair catching the light as she glanced at the newcomers with curiosity. The Nilfgaardian scholars and guards stationed nearby paused in their work, bowing slightly as Ciri passed. Though the gesture was respectful, it was enough to make her tense, her hand instinctively moving closer to her sword.

Geralt noticed her unease and gave her a reassuring glance. "They're not here to harm anyone," he said. "They're just doing their job."

Veylan stepped forward, his tall frame imposing but his expression calm. "You must be Cirilla," he said, his voice warm but measured. "I've heard a lot about you."

Ciri slid off Roach, her green eyes locking onto Veylan's. For a moment, she studied him, her gaze flicking to his green eyes , the faint scars on his face, and the medallion hanging around his neck. She finally smiled, extending a hand. "And I've heard a lot about you, too."

They shook hands, and Ciri could feel the strength in his grip. "So you're the Witcher that everyone's been talking about," she said, her tone light but curious. "I didn't think anyone could outdo Geralt in reputation."

Veylan smirked faintly. "I think it's more that people like to talk. Half of what you've probably heard is exaggeration."

Ciri chuckled. "I'll be the judge of that."

As they moved into the hall, Yennefer greeted them with a warm, if slightly guarded, smile. She placed a hand on Ciri's shoulder, guiding her toward the long table where Vesemir, Lambert, and Graden were already seated.

Once everyone was settled, Geralt took a deep breath and began. "Ciri, there's something you need to know. Your father, Emperor Emhyr, has had enough to deal with over the past few months. But despite everything, he's made it clear he's not going to interfere in your life anymore."

Ciri stiffened slightly at the mention of Emhyr, but she remained silent as Geralt continued.

"He respects your decisions," Geralt said, his tone steady. "Whether you choose to become a Witcher, stay here, or forge your own path, he's not going to stand in your way. All he wanted was to know that you were safe. And, honestly, he was worried about you. Visibly worried, every time your name came up."

Ciri blinked, her expression softening as Geralt reached into his pouch and pulled out a sealed letter. The black wax bore the unmistakable insignia of the Imperial Sun. He placed it gently in front of her.

"He asked me to give you this," Geralt said. "The seal's unbroken. It's yours to read."

Ciri stared at the letter for a long moment, her fingers hovering over the seal. Finally, she broke it and unfolded the parchment. The room fell silent as she read.

…

My dearest Cirilla,

I write to you not as Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, but as your father, a flawed man who has made mistakes, both in the name of duty and out of pride. I know that my choices, my actions, have caused you pain. For that, I will carry the burden of guilt for the rest of my days.

You may not believe this, but everything I've done, however misguided, was meant to protect you. In my arrogance, I thought I knew what was best for you, but in truth, I was blind to what you truly needed, freedom, trust, and love.

You are my daughter, Ciri, and despite everything, I have always loved you. It is a love I realized far too late, and for that, I am deeply sorry. I wish I had told you this sooner, shown you this sooner. But know this: my love for you is not tied to my throne, my crown, or my ambitions. It is simply because you are my child. You always have been, and you always will be.

I do not ask for your forgiveness, though I hope one day you might find it in your heart to grant it. All I ask is that you live your life on your terms, make your own choices, and know that I will respect them.

Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will always be your father.

With all my love,
Emhyr

…

As she finished reading, Ciri's hands trembled slightly. She stared at the letter, her green eyes shining with a mixture of emotions, anger, sadness, and a flicker of something softer.

She looked up at Geralt, her voice quiet. "He... he actually wrote this?"

Geralt nodded. "Every word."

Ciri took a deep breath, setting the letter down carefully. "I never thought... I mean, he's always been this larger-than-life figure in my head. The Emperor of Nilfgaard. I never thought of him as... just my father."

Yennefer placed a hand on Ciri's shoulder. "People can surprise you. Even those you think you know."

Veylan leaned forward slightly, his amber gaze steady. "You don't have to decide how to feel about him right now. Take your time."

Ciri nodded, her expression still conflicted but more at ease. "Thanks. All of you."

Geralt stood, his hand resting on her shoulder for a moment. "You've got a lot to think about. But you're not alone in this, Ciri."

She smiled faintly, a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. "I know."

As the fire crackled in the hearth of Kaer Morhen's main hall, Veylan leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes focused on Avallac'h. The room was tense with thought, the silence broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers or the creak of leather as someone shifted in their seat. Yennefer, Geralt, Ciri, Vesemir, Lambert, and a handful of Nilfgaardian scholars sat in quiet contemplation as Veylan finally spoke.

"I've been thinking about what Eredin said," Veylan began, his voice steady but edged with uncertainty. "He's not wrong. If we refuse outright, Ciri won't know peace, and his world will eventually be consumed by the White Frost. And with it, every family, every innocent in his sphere. That much is true."

He exhaled deeply, his frustration evident in the way he rubbed the ring on his finger, a habit he had developed when deep in thought. "But I also know that if we agree to help him, Eredin will betray us the moment it suits his needs. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when."

He exhaled deeply, his frustration evident in the way he rubbed the ring on his finger—a habit he had developed when deep in thought. "But I also know that if we agree to help him, Eredin will betray us the moment it suits his needs. It's not a matter of if—it's a matter of when."

Avallac'h stood, his gaze sharp and calculating. "I'll make contact with the Viceroy. It won't be easy, but he's the best chance we have to ensure Eredin is held accountable. In the meantime, prepare yourselves. If we're venturing into our world, it will not be without its dangers."

Veylan stood as well, his expression determined. "Then we'll be ready."

…

The missive to King Eredin was sent swiftly, its language firm but cooperative. Veylan and his allies laid out their terms: they would aid in destroying the White Frost, but only with assurances of mutual adherence to the agreement. To that end, they requested the involvement of Lord Ge'els, a figure respected among the Aen Elle, to mediate and ensure the pact was honored. The reply came quickly, with Eredin agreeing to the terms, deeming them "more than reasonable."

The clearing where the Wild Hunt had first parlayed with Veylan and his allies became the staging ground once again. Eredin arrived with his trusted mage, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel, and another of his high-ranking soldiers. Their cold, imposing figures were a stark contrast to the vibrant forest around them.

Caranthir, ever pragmatic, stepped forward to greet the assembled group of Witchers, sorceresses, and Veylan. His tone was measured, a hint of respect in his words. "Your decision is wise. Cooperation spares us unnecessary conflict."

"I'd say it's more necessity than wisdom," Geralt remarked dryly, his arms crossed as he stood near Yennefer. "But we'll take what we can get."

Eredin, his towering presence unshaken, spoke with the smooth confidence of a king accustomed to control. "Ge'els will be brought in to mediate as agreed. I assure you, his reputation as a voice of reason is well earned. Let us move forward without delay."

Caranthir raised his staff, the air rippling with magical energy as he cast an incantation. A portal opened, its swirling energy casting eerie shadows across the group. "This will take us directly to our world, to the royal palace," he said. "Ge'els is waiting."

Erynn exchanged a glance with Veylan, who gave her a reassuring nod. Together, with Avallac'h, Geralt, and Yennefer in tow, they stepped through the portal.

The Aen Elle's world was different from the continent. Continent. The sky shimmered with hues of green and gold, and the architecture of the palace loomed ahead, a blend of impossibly intricate spires and seamless natural forms. A faint hum of magical energy lingered in the air, a constant reminder of this realm's unique nature.

At the gates of the palace, the Aen Elle guards stood alert, their silver armor gleaming. Their sharp, angular faces hardened at the sight of the arrivals, but they did not move to block the group.

Eredin strode forward, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. "Inform Lord Ge'els that I have arrived with our honored guests," he said, his tone polite but used to commanding those as his subjects. "We are here to finalize an agreement concerning the White Frost."

The guards exchanged a glance, their tension visible but restrained. One stepped back into the palace, returning moments later with a respectful nod. "Lord Ge'els awaits you in the main hall."

The main hall of the palace was vast and breathtaking, with its high ceilings adorned with starlike patterns that seemed to shift and sparkle as they moved. Lord Ge'els stood at its center, a regal figure with an air of quiet authority. His pale complexion and silver hair marked him as Aen Elle, but his expression was less cold than those of his kin. He inclined his head slightly as the group entered.

"King Eredin," Ge'els began, his voice calm and resonant. "And our esteemed guests. Welcome to Tir ná Lia. I understand we are here to forge an agreement of great consequence."

Eredin gestured toward Veylan and his companions. "Indeed. This is Veylan, son of Elder Blood, who has agreed to aid us in our plight against the White Frost. To ensure the terms of our agreement are honored, we request your presence as mediator."

Ge'els's sharp eyes moved over the group, lingering briefly on Veylan. "A son of Elder Blood," he murmured. "And one so… uniquely gifted. This is an unexpected but welcome development."

"I'm sure it is," Veylan said, his tone steady. "But let's ensure that one thing is clear in this agreement, this isn't about loyalty or allegiance. This is about saving lives. All lives."

Ge'els smiled faintly, a glimmer of approval in his gaze. "A noble sentiment. One I share."

Caranthir, standing slightly behind Eredin, spoke up. "The terms have been laid out. Mutual cooperation to end the threat of the White Frost, with no further hostilities between our people."

"And should Eredin betray those terms?" Yennefer interjected, her piercing gaze fixed on the Aen Elle king.

Ge'els raised a hand. "Rest assured, my role here is not merely symbolic. Should any party break this pact, they will answer to the full authority of the Aen Elle Council. Even a king must face consequences."

Avallac'h, who had remained silent thus far, finally spoke. "Then let us proceed. We have much to discuss, and the White Frost will not wait for our deliberations."

…

Later in one of the ritual chambers…

Inside the portal, a swirling vortex of blue and silver energy, shimmered with an otherworldly chill that seemed to seep into the very walls. Beyond it lay the frozen wasteland of the White Frost, its endless blizzards visible through the rippling boundary.

Veylan stood before it, his expression calm. His amber green eyes glowed faintly showing his Elder Blood surging through his veins. He nodded toward Avallac'h, who stood among a circle of sorcerers weaving intricate spells to keep the portal stable. "Keep it open," Veylan reminded them. "No matter what happens."

Avallac'h hesitated but finally inclined his head. "We will. Just… come back."

Erynn stood behind a protective barrier, her fiery hair catching the light of the swirling portal. Her emerald eyes glistened with concern as she reached out toward Veylan. "Be careful," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I'll be here when you return."

Veylan turned to her, a soft smile breaking through his otherwise stoic demeanor. "I know," he said simply. "That's why I'll come back."

With that, he stepped forward, the frost creeping out from the portal's edge recoiling as he approached. The freezing air seemed to hiss as it neared him, melting into steam that rose in twisting spirals around his boots. The sorcerers murmured incantations, reinforcing the barrier that kept the deadly chill at bay for those remaining behind.

Erynn's hands clenched as she watched him step through the portal, the shimmering light swallowing him whole. The temperature near the portal's edge plummeted, frost forming on the walls and floors, only to melt in rhythmic pulses as the cold tried and failed to breach the magical shield.

On the other side of the portal, Veylan emerged into an endless wasteland of ice and snow. The wind howled, carrying shards of frozen air that could cut flesh like knives, but they dissolved into harmless mist as they touched him. The ground beneath his feet glowed faintly, melting with every step he took. Steam rose around him like a protective shroud, the very presence of his Elder Blood burning away the frost's touch.

The center of the storm loomed ahead, an ominous vortex of swirling ice and wind. The sound was deafening, a cacophony of roaring blizzards and cracking glaciers. Veylan pressed forward, each step a battle against the relentless force, his amber eyes fixed on his goal. The power of the White Frost radiated from the vortex, a malevolent force threatening to consume everything in its path.

But as Veylan drew closer, the vortex began to falter. The ice beneath him cracked and split, glowing with the same fiery energy coursing through his veins. The storm recoiled, its once impenetrable form dissipating like smoke caught in a gale. The snow ceased its relentless fall, the wind grew silent, and the frozen wasteland began to thaw.

At last, Veylan reached the center. He stood for a moment, his hand raised, the energy of his Elder Blood radiating outward in a fiery cascade. The White Frost shuddered as if resisting one final time, but it was no match for the primal force within him. With a final surge of power, the frost disintegrated, its icy grasp breaking apart and vanishing into nothingness.

Back at the portal, the howling chill suddenly stopped. The frost on the walls melted, the blizzard on the other side of the portal stilled, and the chamber grew eerily silent. Erynn, Avallac'h, and the others stared at the portal, their breaths held in collective anticipation.

Then, through the dissipating snow and steam, Veylan's silhouette emerged. His steps were slow but steady, the frost beneath him melting into water that pooled and evaporated as he walked. The light of the portal bathed him as he stepped back through, his amber eyes glowing faintly as he surveyed the group.

"It's done," he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet finality. "The White Frost is no more."

For a moment, the chamber remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Then a collective sigh of relief swept through the room. Erynn rushed forward, throwing her arms around him, her voice breaking as she whispered, "You did it."

Avallac'h stood back, his expression a mixture of awe and reverence. "We owe you more than we can ever repay," he said quietly.

The grand hall of the Aen Elle shimmered with light as the celebration commenced. Goblets clinked, and the air was heavy with an uneasy mix of merriment and tension. It had been hours since Veylan had stepped into the White Frost and extinguished it, a feat that would be spoken of for generations. Yet, in the shadows of the revelry, the seeds of betrayal had been planted.

Eredin, poised and composed, raised his goblet high, his voice cutting through the noise. "To the destruction of the White Frost and the courage of those who have made it possible. We stand at the threshold of a new era, one where our people may endure, where we may thrive."

The crowd responded with a resounding cheer, though Avallac'h and Ge'els exchanged wary glances. Veylan and his companions sat at a long table near the back, their eyes scanning the room. There was something wrong, a shadow that lingered behind Eredin's words.

It began subtly. A group of Eredin's elite guards slowly encircled the table where Veylan, Geralt, Yennefer, and Avallac'h sat. Their weapons remained sheathed, but their posture was unmistakable—ready to act.

Eredin's voice carried once more, this time tinged with a subtle edge. "Yet, even as we celebrate, there are those among us who seek to undermine our unity. Who conspire to bring ruin from within."

The crowd quieted, murmurs rippling through the hall.

"I speak of betrayal," Eredin continued, his piercing gaze landing on Veylan. "A plot, hatched by those who call themselves allies, but who bring nothing but poison to our midst."

Ge'els stiffened, his brows knitting in confusion and disbelief. "What is this madness, Eredin?"

The king gestured dramatically, and one of his soldiers stepped forward with a tray holding a collection of vials. "Evidence," Eredin proclaimed. "Vials of poison, discovered in the chambers of our supposed friends."

Gasps filled the room as the soldiers at Veylan's table drew their weapons. Yennefer and Geralt both stood, hands poised near their weapons, but Veylan remained seated, his expression unreadable.

"This poison," Eredin said, his voice rising, "is unmistakably of witcher origin. Designed to kill in silence, with precision. And who among us wields such tools? Who but those who claim to protect this world while wielding its darkest secrets?"

Ge'els stepped forward, his tone sharp. "This is absurd, Eredin. Poison in their chambers? They've been under watch the entire time. And what motive would they have to strike against us now?"

Eredin turned to Ge'els, his face a mask of calm authority. "Motive? You need only look to their past. How many elves have fallen to their blades, how many of our kind have suffered at their hands? They were never here for us. They've bided their time, waiting for the right moment to strike."

Ge'els opened his mouth to counter, but the murmurs of the crowd grew louder. The evidence was damning, and the elven people, desperate for stability, began to sway under Eredin's words.

"Enough!" Eredin barked, silencing the room. "Guards, seize them. They will answer for their treachery."

As the guards advanced, their blades gleaming in the torchlight, a sudden and unnatural stillness swept through the hall. The torches that once burned brightly flickered violently, their flames shrinking into faint, trembling embers. Shadows writhed on the walls, twisting and contorting as though alive. The temperature plummeted, a biting chill clawing through the grand chamber, making even the seasoned warriors shudder.

Then, from nowhere and everywhere, a voice resonated—a low, commanding timbre that seemed to pierce the soul.

"Seize them if you wish," the voice said, calm yet laced with a warning that brooked no defiance. "But I'd advise you reconsider."

The very air seemed to warp, a shimmering distortion rippling at the far end of the hall. Slowly, as though emerging from the shadows themselves, a figure materialized. He was impeccably dressed, his dark attire pristine and timeless, the fabric catching the dim light like the surface of obsidian. His sharp, angular features were illuminated with an unearthly glow, and his eyes, two pits of flickering light, burned with a power that was both captivating and suffocating.

The weight of his presence settled over the room like a shroud, crushing and inescapable. Conversations ceased, the murmurs of confusion and fear dying instantly as every gaze turned to the stranger.

Eredin, standing tall despite the tension crackling in the air, turned sharply, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword before he stopped himself. His expression hardened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

"And who are you," Eredin demanded, his voice steady but edged with caution, "to interrupt my court?"

The figure smiled, though the gesture held no warmth, only a calculated cruelty that sent chills down the spines of those present. He began to walk forward, his steps echoing ominously in the hushed chamber.

"I go by many names," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the silence. "Some call me a merchant of souls, others a devil. But you, King Eredin, might know me by my first name. I am Chernobog."

The name fell like a thunderclap, reverberating through the hall. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathered elves, even the most hardened of Eredin's warriors exchanging uneasy glances. The tales of Chernobog, ancient and steeped in terror, were whispered among their people, fables of a primordial entity, older than any sphere, older than even the Aen Elle's long history.

Eredin's composure faltered for the briefest moment before he masked it with a hardened glare. "Legends and stories," he said coldly, though his voice had lost some of its earlier confidence. "I do not bow to myths."

Chernobog stopped in the center of the hall, his hands clasped behind his back, his burning gaze fixed on Eredin. "Oh, you'll find I am very real," he replied, his tone almost conversational. "And I do not ask for your bow. I simply came to correct a few... misunderstandings."

Chernobog's gaze swept across the room, landing briefly on the accused—Veylan, Geralt, and their companions—before settling back on Eredin. "You have woven an impressive lie," he said, his voice tinged with mocking admiration. "Poison in their chambers, weapons coated with toxins only a witcher would wield. A clever story, really. But as with all lies, it unravels under scrutiny."

Eredin's expression darkened. "You bring accusations without proof."

Chernobog's smile widened, the light in his eyes flaring brighter. "Proof? Oh, I have proof. Shall we begin?"

With a snap of his fingers, the heavy doors to the hall burst open. The guards stationed outside entered, carrying a small, unassuming chest. They placed it on the ground before the gathered elves, the sound of its placement echoing loudly in the tense silence. Chernobog gestured toward it.

"In this chest lies the vial you used to poison your former king," he said smoothly, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "The same vial you so cleverly concealed, thinking no one would ever find it."

Gasps erupted from the crowd, their earlier murmurs of doubt now replaced with stunned disbelief.

Ge'els stepped forward, his face a mask of fury and disbelief. "Eredin… is this true?"

Eredin's lips curled into a sneer. "I did what was necessary. The king was weak, unfit to lead us through the trials ahead. I acted for the survival of our people!"

"Oh, spare us your noble justifications," Chernobog interjected, his tone dripping with disdain. "Your treachery doesn't end there. Shall we discuss the poison you received from the Crones of Crookback Bog? The one you so eagerly coated on your soldiers' blades, unaware of its true nature?"

Eredin's eyes darted to the guards nearest Veylan, whose faces blanched as they hastily examined their weapons. The glowing residue was faint but unmistakable, and panic rippled through their ranks.

Ge'els, who had remained composed despite the mounting revelations, now turned to the crowd. His voice rang with authority. "This is not just betrayal. This is madness. Poisoning our own, framing our allies, and consorting with the darkest forces. Eredin has endangered us all with his reckless ambition."

The room erupted into chaos, shouts and accusations flying from all sides. Eredin's soldiers wavered, their loyalty shaken by the revelations. Some lowered their weapons, while others simply stepped back, their expressions conflicted.

Eredin, sensing his control slipping, drew his sword, its dark blade gleaming ominously. "You think I'll fall so easily?" he snarled. "I've fought for our survival-"

Chernobog raised a single hand, and Eredin froze in place, his body rigid as though held by invisible chains. The room fell silent once more.

"You've fought for yourself," Chernobog said, his voice low and deadly. "And now, your time is over."

Guards surged forward, seizing Eredin's weapon and dragging him to his knees. Ge'els stepped forward, his expression resolute. "Eredin will answer for his crimes. The Aen Elle will not fall to chaos under his rule."

Chernobog turned to Veylan and his companions, his expression softening slightly. "Your innocence is proven. Leave this place knowing justice will be served."

Veylan met his gaze, his tone steady. "And what will become of him?"

Chernobog's smile returned, cold and merciless. "That, young Witcher, is for his people to decide."

With that, the one that Veylan and Geralt know as Gunther O'dimm, Master Mirror, Man of Glass, Chernobog turned, his form dissolving into shadow as he disappeared, leaving the hall in stunned of Form

…

The sentencing of Eredin and the political upheaval within the Aen Elle unfolds in the grand halls of Tir ná Lia, now an uneasy blend of relief and tension. The White Frost's destruction had brought an end to one existential crisis, but the revelation of Eredin's betrayal thrust the Aen Elle into another. This time, the threat was internal.

The council chamber of Tir ná Lia was packed with elves of all stations, soldiers, mages, nobles, and commoners, all gathered to witness the outcome of their disgraced king's trial. The once-proud figure of Eredin sat shackled in a chair carved from gleaming white marble. His restraints, etched with intricate runes, glowed faintly, nullifying any attempt at magic.

The hall was silent, save for the murmurs of uncertainty as Ge'els, now the acting leader of the Aen Elle, stepped forward. His silver hair caught the light, his calm demeanor masking the weight of the moment.

"Today, we decide the fate of Eredin Bréacc Glas," Ge'els began, his voice carrying through the hall. "The man who once promised to lead us to salvation has betrayed our trust, poisoned our kin, and sought to twist alliances into tools for his ambition. Let the evidence speak."

Two guards entered the chamber, bearing the vials of poison found in Eredin's possession. The elven crowd murmured uneasily as they were displayed.

Ge'els gestured to Caranthir Ar-Feiniel, Eredin's former mage lieutenant, who reluctantly stepped forward. "Caranthir, you served under Eredin. Tell us what you know."

Caranthir's expression was grim as he spoke. "I followed him because I believed in his vision of survival. But I see now that he cared only for power. The poisons found in his quarters, crafted with the help of the crones of Crookback Bog—were meant to manipulate and destroy. I regret my part in supporting him."

Eredin sneered. "You speak of manipulation, Caranthir? What of your blind loyalty?"

"Enough," Ge'els interrupted. "The evidence is clear, and your words condemn you, Eredin. You've poisoned our people, literally and metaphorically, and sought to frame those who sought to help us."

Eredin leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. "You would all be dead without me. The White Frost may be gone, but the world is still hostile. You'll crumble without a king willing to make sacrifices."

"You were no king," Ge'els retorted, his calm breaking. "You were a tyrant."

The vote was swift and nearly unanimous. Eredin's remaining supporters were few and far between, and even they hesitated to defend him after the overwhelming evidence.

Ge'els stood at the head of the room as he delivered the sentence. "Eredin Bréacc Glas, for your crimes against the Aen Elle, you are hereby stripped of your title and sentenced to eternal imprisonment. You will be confined to a dimensional cell, beyond magic, beyond time. You will live with the weight of your actions and never harm another."

The crowd erupted in a mixture of quiet discussions and solemn murmurs. Eredin's expression betrayed a flicker of fear, quickly masked by his usual arrogance. "You think this will stop me? You think you can erase me so easily?"

"It is not erasure," Ge'els replied, his tone like steel. "It is justice."

…

Later that evening, in a secluded part of the palace, the cell was prepared. Caranthir and the other mages worked tirelessly, weaving spells to ensure the prison was unbreakable. The void shimmered, a tear in reality that led to a timeless, featureless dimension.

Eredin, still shackled, was brought forward. The air was thick with tension as he was marched to his fate.

"You'll regret this," Eredin snarled, his voice low but venomous. "The Aen Elle will fall without me."

Ge'els stepped forward, meeting Eredin's gaze with unflinching resolve. "We will rise without you. And we will thrive."

Eredin was pushed into the portal, his defiant glare the last thing visible before the rift closed. The room was silent as the mages sealed the cell, ensuring it could never be reopened.

With Eredin gone, Ge'els addressed the people once more in the main hall.

"We have faced betrayal, but we have endured. The White Frost is no more, thanks to the bravery of our allies. Now, we must rebuild. As allies, not as adversaries."

Caranthir stood quietly at the edge of the hall, his gaze distant. He approached Veylan later, his voice low. "I owe you my thanks. And an apology. I see now that following Eredin was a mistake."

Veylan nodded. "Redemption is earned, Caranthir. You've most certainly have earned the chance to have it."

…

The familiar silhouette of Kaer Morhen came into view as Geralt, Yennefer, Veylan, and Erynn crossed the final stretch of their journey. The gates creaked open, revealing Vesemir, Lambert, Letho, and the others waiting for them in the courtyard. Relief washed over the returning group as their companions stepped forward to greet them, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

Vesemir approached first, his sharp eyes scanning their faces. "Well? How did it go?"

Geralt exchanged a glance with Veylan before speaking. "The White Frost is no more. Veylan destroyed it at its source. Ciri no longer has to fear it, or the Wild Hunt since they've agreed to cease their pursuit of her, there's no longer any reason to."

Veylan added, his voice steady but weary, "Eredin is no longer a threat. He's lost his position, his power, and his freedom. The Aen Elle chose to imprison him after he was exposed for treachery. For now, their leadership is in more reasonable hands."

Lambert let out a low whistle. "So, you mean we're not getting chased by spectral riders every other week? I could get used to that."

Yennefer stepped forward, her voice cutting through the banter. "Don't celebrate too much. The Wild Hunt may have backed off, but things will always inevitably happen in our world. "

Vesemir nodded. "And Ciri? Is she safe?"

Geralt's expression softened. "Safe. She can finally breathe easy for once."

As the group dispersed to share more details over drinks and dinner, Veylan slipped away with Erynn to the baths. The steam curled around them as they stepped into the warm water different to the freezing wastelands they had just left behind. Veylan leaned back, letting the tension melt from his muscles, while Erynn settled beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You did it," she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of pride and exhaustion. "The White Frost is gone."

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. "We did it. I couldn't have done it without you."

For a moment, the weight of their responsibilities faded, replaced by a sense of peace. They didn't need words, just the comfort of each other's presence as they recovered from the ordeal.

The next morning, the keep was alive with activity. Researchers who had been working tirelessly in Kaer Morhen's newly equipped laboratory approached Vesemir and the group with a discovery that sent ripples of astonishment through the room.

One of the researchers, a middle-aged alchemist with ink-stained fingers, stepped forward. "Master Vesemir, Lady Yennefer, Geralt, everyone—I believe we've uncovered something extraordinary."

Veylan, still nursing a cup of tea after the long night, arched an eyebrow. "What is it?"

The alchemist held up a carefully sealed vial containing a faintly glowing liquid. "In studying the effects of the potions we developed with your blood, Master Veylan, we've found a particular reaction when combined with regenerative alchemy. It appears to repair sterility."

The room fell silent.

"Sterility?" Lambert repeated, leaning forward. "You mean…"

The alchemist nodded. "Both physical and genetic damage. This could potentially reverse the sterility caused by the Witcher trials. And it's not just limited to Witchers. We believe it could also work for sorceresses."

Yennefer's eyes widened, her normally composed demeanor breaking for a moment. "Are you certain?"

The alchemist nodded. "We've tested it extensively in simulations and with minor samples. The results are consistent. It could mean… a future, for Witchers and sorceresses alike."

…

As discussions continued late into the night, plans were made to further study and refine the newfound potions. Veylan and Erynn, having shared the details of their next steps, prepared to return to Velen. They had lingering business there, but for the moment, the respite at Kaer Morhen gave them a rare chance to breathe.

Before leaving, Geralt handed Veylan a fresh flask of the new potion, his expression one of rare camaraderie. "For the road. You've done enough for us to last a lifetime, but knowing you, you'll keep finding more."

Veylan smirked, slipping the flask into his pack. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

As the gates of Kaer Morhen closed behind them, the Witcher and his companions rode out ready to head back to their home.