The Witcher: Chimera Chapter 17, a witcher fanfic

The Witcher: Chimera

Chapter 17: The Antidote and The Human Sphere

…

The streets of Novigrad were alive with the chatter of merchants, the clink of coin, and the hum of everyday life. Veylan navigated the cobbled paths with ease, Erynn walking beside him, her fiery red hair catching the winter sun. They passed through the markets, her arm hooked through his as they perused stalls brimming with goods.

"I still can't believe I'm craving this," Erynn muttered, clutching her belly lightly with one hand. "Mandrake root? And did I seriously just smell celandine and think it smelled... appetizing?"

Veylan chuckled, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well, you are carrying the child of someone who can drink potions that would kill most people outright. I suppose it's not that strange."

They stopped at an herbalist's stall, where an older man with a thick mustache and sharp eyes studied them as they approached. Veylan gestured to the small array of alchemical ingredients displayed before him. "Mandrake root, celandine, and a vial of wolfsbane extract."

The herbalist blinked. "Wolfsbane? Are you sure? That's—"

Veylan smiled faintly, pulling a pouch of coins from his belt. "Completely sure. Trust me, it's... for medical purposes."

The man hesitated, then nodded, sliding the requested items into a small cloth bag. Erynn leaned closer to the bundle, her nose twitching slightly. "You can add some verbena if you have it," she said, her tone almost casual.

Veylan's grin widened as the herbalist quickly complied, no doubt eager to finish the transaction. "Thank you," Veylan said as they walked away, Erynn holding the bag close like a prized treasure.

Their next stop was a general goods store, where Veylan picked out a few thoughtful items for Ravienne, a warm cloak, some sturdy boots, and a few books about the Continent's history. Erynn added a hairbrush and a set of silver combs, insisting Ravienne deserved a little elegance.

"And Svanrige?" Erynn asked, examining a finely crafted belt with Skellige designs. "He's been good to her. We should get him something."

Veylan nodded, selecting a sturdy leather satchel and a bottle of Skellige mead. "He's earned it. And it's about time we stocked him up on a proper drink."

Their final stop was an apothecary known for catering to Novigrad's more... unusual clientele. As Veylan entered, the familiar scent of herbs, oils, and faintly acrid alchemical brews filled the air.

"I need something for a Witcher's constitution," Veylan said to the shopkeeper, a wiry woman with keen eyes. "But less lethal. Think... pregnant-friendly."

The woman raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to Erynn, whose fox-like green eyes

in amusement. "I can't say I've had that request before," she said, pulling a few bottles from a shelf. "These should be safe. High in nutrients, low on death."

Erynn picked up one of the vials and sniffed it experimentally. "Hmm. Not bad."

Veylan laughed softly. "Not bad? That's as close to a rave review as you'll get from her." He handed over the payment, adding a generous tip, and the two headed back out into the chill air of Novigrad.

As they walked back towards the gates of Novigrad, Erynn leaned into Veylan's side. "You're taking this all remarkably well," she said softly. "The cravings, the bounty, everything."

Veylan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his voice low but warm. "One thing at a time. Right now, I have you and our little one to think about. And that's all that matters."

Erynn smiled up at him, her green eyes glowing faintly. "You're going to be an amazing father, you know that?"

Veylan kissed her forehead. "And you'll be an incredible mother. But first, let's get all this back and make sure Ravienne and Svanrige don't set the house on fire while we're gone."

…

As Veylan and Erynn approached their home, the faint glow of candlelight spilling through the windows told them someone was inside. Veylan's senses sharpened immediately, his amber eyes narrowing as he slowed his pace. Erynn noticed the change in his posture, her own fox-like ears twitching.

"Something wrong?" she asked as she noticed someone else besides the two usual occupants were inside.

"Someone's here," Veylan said, his voice calm.

They stepped inside to find Ravienne sitting at the table, her pale hands clasped nervously in front of her. Across from her stood a striking woman with raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her complexion was alabaster pale, her crimson lips set in a firm line, and her piercing eyes glinted with a protective fire that could not be ignored. Behind her, a broad-shouldered man stood, his Cintrian soldier's armor polished but worn, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword.

Ravienne's eyes lit up when she saw them. "Veylan, Erynn... this is my mother and father."

The woman turned, her gaze locking onto Veylan. She studied him intently, her expression unreadable. "So, you're the Witcher who gave my daughter shelter."

Veylan nodded, stepping forward with calm confidence. "That's right. And from what I've seen, she's done nothing to deserve the kind of bounty that's been put on her head. She only wants to live in peace."

The woman's intense expression softened slightly, though she remained guarded. "Forgive me if I seem wary. We've dealt with enough hunters and zealots to know trust doesn't come easily." She extended a hand, her movements graceful and deliberate. "I'm Alienne, Ravienne's mother. And this is her father, Daren."

Daren offered a nod, his eyes scanning the room for potential threats. "We heard about the bounty circulating through the underworld. We came as soon as we could."

Ravienne stood, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I didn't think you'd come. I... I didn't want to put you in danger."

Alienne placed a gentle hand on her daughter's cheek. "You're our daughter, Ravienne. There's nothing we wouldn't do to protect you."

Veylan stepped aside, allowing the family a moment before speaking again. "You're both welcome to stay here as long as you need. And you don't have to worry—Ravienne is under my protection. The Nilfgaardians and the local authorities are aware of her presence and have agreed to leave her be."

Alienne raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "You've managed to make the Nilfgaardians trust you? That's no small feat."

Erynn smiled, stepping forward to stand beside Veylan. "He has a way with people. And with monsters."

Daren chuckled, his voice deep and steady. "A Witcher with a heart. Perhaps the world isn't as dark as I thought."

That evening, the group sat together over a modest meal that Erynn had prepared. Ravienne remained close to her parents, her nervousness slowly giving way to relief. Alienne and Daren listened intently as Veylan explained the steps he'd taken to ensure Ravienne's safety, as well as his efforts to track down the source of the bounty.

Alienne's protective demeanor softened further. "You've done more for my daughter than anyone else ever has. For that, you have my gratitude, Witcher."

Veylan inclined his head. "I just do what I can to help those who deserve it. Ravienne's done nothing wrong. If anything, she's proven herself better than most humans I've met."

Daren leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. "Still, we can't let our guard down. Whoever placed that bounty won't stop just because she's under your protection."

Veylan's expression hardened. "I'm counting on it. And when they come, they'll find I'm not so easily dealt with."

Alienne studied him for a long moment before nodding. "You have our thanks, Witcher. But know this, if anyone threatens my daughter, they'll answer to me first."

Veylan smirked faintly. "Fair enough. But if we work together, they won't get the chance."

…

Later that evening, as Ravienne showed her parents to the guest room Erynn had prepared, Veylan and Erynn stood by the hearth, the warm glow of the fire illuminating their faces.

"They love her deeply," Erynn said softly, her hand resting on Veylan's arm.

"As they should," Veylan replied. "She's lucky to have them. Not all of us get that."

Erynn leaned against him, her green eyes reflecting the flames. "You're building something here, Veylan. A place where people, monsters and humans alike, can feel safe. That's rare."

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "It's not much, but it's a start. And as long as we have each other, we'll keep fighting for it."

…

The tavern was warm, crowded, and filled with the typical blend of laughter, murmured conversations, and the clinking of tankards. Kael, the Witcher from the School of the Cat, sat at a shadowed table in the corner. He swirled his drink idly, his sharp eyes scanning the room, always on edge despite the temporary lull in his work.

The drink tasted bitter as he downed the last of it. His enhanced metabolism should have burned off any impurities in moments, but instead, he felt a slow, creeping burn spreading through his veins.

Then it hit him.

His vision darkened at the edges as black veins began crawling up his arms and into his face. His heart pounded against his ribs, his muscles locking painfully as his Witcher physiology struggled to purge the poison.

"Shit," Kael managed to growl through gritted teeth. He lurched forward, bracing himself against the table. His stomach churned violently, and sweat poured down his face.

The tavern's atmosphere shifted abruptly. A sudden hush fell over the room as patrons began coughing—one after another. The sound escalated to wheezing gasps and retching. Kael's blurred vision caught the movement of bodies doubling over and collapsing to the floor. The stench of vomit and sickness filled the air, mingling with the acrid tang of his own poisoned sweat.

A figure emerged from the chaos, moving at an unsettlingly slow and deliberate pace. The man's mottled green skin glistened with pus-filled blisters that oozed with every step. His sickly presence seemed to suck the life out of the room. Each patron he passed fell into violent fits of coughing and vomiting, clutching their chests or clawing at their throats.

Kael tried to push himself upright, the pain shooting through his body like fire. His sharp instincts screamed at him that this man was the source of the sudden sickness engulfing the tavern.

The man, Doctor Silas Veylor, sat down at Kael's table, picking up a piece of discarded bread from a nearby plate. His disfigured lips twisted into a mockery of a smile as he casually ate, his eyes never leaving the Witcher.

Kael's hand moved instinctively toward the hilt of his sword, but his strength failed him. He fell back against the wall, struggling for air as his metabolism fought to neutralize the poison coursing through his veins.

Veylor's rasping voice broke the suffocating silence. "Back off," he said, his tone as venomous as his appearance. He drew a dagger, its edge gleaming faintly with something viscous and green. "Or you'll be on the bounty next."

Kael's blurred mind latched onto the name Veylor had spoken. Doctor Silas Veylor. One of the five alchemists responsible for Veylan's horrific mutations and the deaths of so many others. A man wanted across the Continent for his grotesque experiments and his role in illegal alchemical practices.

Veylor leaned closer, his breath reeking of decay. "Consider this... a professional courtesy," he hissed. "I'd suggest all of you", he gestured broadly to the unconscious and vomiting patrons, "get yourselves inoculated. Perhaps with some Witchers present to ensure the cures do their jobs." His grotesque smile widened, revealing uneven, rotting teeth. "I suppose you could say I'm... infectious."

Kael mustered every ounce of willpower to glare at the man, even as he slid further down the wall, his body trembling. The poisonous fire raging through his veins made him want to collapse and retch, but he refused to give Veylor the satisfaction.

The doctor rose to his feet, tucking the dagger into his belt with a slow, deliberate motion. "Remember, Witcher," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This was a warning. Regards from Silas Veylor."

Kael's vision dimmed further as the man turned and stepped out of the tavern. The oppressive air lifted slightly, but the damage had been done. Around him, the sounds of retching and groaning filled the room as the poisoned patrons struggled for life.

Kael forced his trembling fingers to press against a pressure point on his neck, kickstarting his body's natural detoxification process. His metabolism kicked into overdrive, the veins in his arms pulsating as his enhanced body began burning through the poison.

When he finally managed to drag himself upright, his breathing was ragged, and his limbs felt like lead. The patrons around him hadn't fared much better; many still lay slumped in their chairs or curled on the floor, moaning weakly.

Kael wiped the sweat from his brow, muttering under his breath, "Veylan needs to know about this. Now."

…

The authorities quickly arrived at the scene, their expressions a mixture of shock and urgency as they took in the village's grim state. People were doubled over, retching violently, though some began to recover as the mysterious affliction seemed to abate. The air was thick with the stench of sickness and fear, and even the soldiers weren't spared, several leaned against walls, their faces pale and drawn, struggling to stay upright.

The captain of the guard barked orders, his voice tight with concern. "Get the physicians here now! Take blood samples and administer whatever aid you can. We can't risk this spreading further."

Doctors worked methodically, taking vials of blood and tending to the sick. Their ministrations helped stabilize some villagers, but the sheer scale of the event left everyone shaken. As the captain observed the chaos, his face betrayed his growing dread. "I've seen plagues before, but nothing spreads this fast. This isn't natural."

Kael, still recovering, staggered to his feet, his face pale but knew that this could not wait. "It's not a plague," he said hoarsely, drawing the captain's attention. "It's a man. Doctor Silas Veylor."

The captain's eyes narrowed. "A man did this? Explain."

Kael recounted the chilling encounter in the tavern, his voice steady despite the lingering effects of the poison. "He's done something to himself—altered his body to become a living disease. Wherever he goes, sickness follows, but he remains unaffected. I saw it firsthand. He poisoned me and nearly killed me. This village is just collateral damage."

The captain's jaw tightened as he processed the information. "A walking plague... And you're certain of this?"

Kael nodded grimly. "He even boasted about it. Said people should get inoculated with witchers present to ensure the antidotes work. It's clear he's experimenting on himself and others. If we don't stop him, this won't be the last village to suffer."

The captain turned to his men, his voice rising above the chaos. "Spread the word. This 'Doctor Veylor' is now our top priority. Everyone who can still stand, assist the villagers. No one rests until we have answers!

"And lock this village down now!"

…

Veylan, Ravienne, and her parents approached the edge of the village as the setting sun bathed the area in an eerie orange glow. The makeshift camp was a hive of activity. Nilfgaardian doctors and herbalists moved between tents, their faces set with grim determination. Smoke curled from portable cauldrons brewing antidotes and salves, and the air was heavy with the acrid scent of herbs and antiseptics.

The village itself was under strict quarantine. Guards lined the perimeter, keeping onlookers and travelers at bay. Beyond the barricades, villagers huddled together, pale and trembling, many clutching buckets as their bodies recovered from the violent purging they had endured. Despite the chaos, it was clear that the swift actions of the Nilfgaardian medical corps had averted worse disaster.

As Veylan approached, a guard recognized him immediately. "Master Veylan," the man said, his tone relieved. "We need your expertise. Please, come with me."

Ravienne's parents exchanged a glance, their expressions wary but calm, while Ravienne stayed close to Veylan's side. "I'll help where I can," Veylan said, his voice steady. "Let's not waste time."

The group was led into the largest tent, where the head Nilfgaardian physician—a stern woman with silver-streaked hair named Doctor Alessa—was bent over a sample of the green bile the villagers had vomited. She glanced up as Veylan entered, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You're the Witcher," she said, her tone brisk. "Good. We're dealing with something I've never seen before."

"What have you found?" Veylan asked, stepping forward as Ravienne lingered near the entrance.

Alessa gestured to the sample under her magnifying lens. The bile was an unnatural shade of green, flecked with dark, oily particles. "This substance—it's not just biological. It's engineered. We've identified traces of highly volatile compounds, likely designed to weaken the body's immune system while inducing a violent expulsion response. It's a miracle no one died."

Another doctor approached, carrying a fresh batch of samples. "We also found residue of bloodweed extract and ghoul marrow," he added, his tone grim. "Both highly toxic. Whoever created this knew exactly what they were doing."

Veylan frowned, leaning closer to inspect the sample. "This isn't natural. This is a weapon. Something alchemically engineered to spread quickly and incapacitate entire groups." His amber eyes glinted as he straightened. "Doctor Silas Veylor."

The name hung in the air like a curse. Ravienne's mother, standing quietly nearby, bristled visibly. "This is his work?"

"Without a doubt," Veylan said, his tone sharp. "He's a master of biological manipulation. The fact that no one died means this wasn't meant to kill outright. This was a warning."

Doctor Alessa nodded, her expression grim. "We've stabilized most of the villagers, but we're still trying to understand the full extent of this... concoction. If you have insights, we could use them."

Veylan removed his gloves and rolled up his sleeves. "Let me see the residue samples. We need to isolate the active agents and create a counter-serum."

The herbalists quickly cleared space, handing Veylan a series of vials and samples. Ravienne's parents moved to assist where they could, their centuries and studies of experience lending them a unique perspective on the alchemical properties of the substance. Ravienne, meanwhile, busied herself calming the villagers, her presence oddly soothing despite her vampiric nature.

"Bloodweed and ghoul marrow are tricky," Veylan muttered as he worked. "They break down quickly, but their effects linger. We'll need to neutralize the toxins in stages, first the immediate effects, then the residual ones."

Doctor Alessa watched him carefully. "And the biological agent? If this was engineered to spread-"

"It's not airborne," Veylan interrupted. "That much is clear. The villagers were affected through direct contact or ingestion. If this was airborne, the entire region would be quarantined by now."

He held up a vial containing the green residue, watching as it shimmered faintly under the light. "But whoever created this knows how to weaponize fear. They wanted to make a statement."

As the night wore on, a breakthrough came. One of the herbalists, while boiling down a particularly stubborn sample, uncovered traces of a substance that made even Veylan pause. "This..." he said slowly, his expression darkening. "This is corpse wax."

"Corpse wax?" Alessa echoed, her face paling.

"A byproduct of decaying bodies. It's rare and difficult to harvest in large quantities. Whoever made this concoction was willing to desecrate graves to get what they needed." Veylan's voice was tight with anger. "This isn't just an alchemical weapon, it's a message."

The doctors exchanged uneasy glances as Ravienne stepped closer to Veylan. "What kind of person does this?" she asked quietly.

"The kind who enjoys watching people suffer," Veylan replied grimly. "Doctor Silas Veylor isn't just a scientist. He's a sadist. And he's made it clear he's not done yet."

The tense quiet of the medical tent was shattered by a wet, grotesque sound, SQUELCH! All eyes turned toward the corner of the room, where a bucket containing dried remnants of the bile sample had suddenly begun to bubble and ooze. A putrid, puss-like matter seeped from the dried residue, crawling across the bottom of the container like something alive. The smell was nauseating, forcing several nearby doctors to cover their noses and step back.

"What in the name of Melitele," Doctor Alessa began, only to stop mid-sentence as the ooze began to thrum faintly, emitting an eerie, pulsating glow.

"Don't touch it!" Veylan barked, his amber eyes narrowing as he strode toward the bucket. The Witcher unsheathed a small silver dagger, holding it cautiously in front of him as he examined the grotesque substance.

One of the herbalists, clearly shaken, managed to stammer, "It's... it's alive?"

"No," Veylan muttered. "Not alive... but something is holding it together." He crouched closer, his heightened senses picking up faint magical vibrations from the bile-turned-ooze. He gestured for a vial to be brought to him. "Quickly, I need to analyze this."

Within moments, the sample was isolated, and under the magnifying lens, the truth became horrifyingly clear. The substance was teeming with mutated microbes, each one twisted into unrecognizable forms. They moved sluggishly, as though restrained by some invisible force. What caught Veylan's attention, however, was the faint shimmer of magical residue interwoven with the organic matter.

Doctor Alessa leaned over his shoulder, her face pale. "Are those... diseases?"

"Mutated diseases," Veylan confirmed grimly. "Look at this strain here, it's a variant of Red Death, but... engineered. The natural cycle of the disease has been completely disrupted."

Another scholar, visibly sweating, pointed at a different part of the sample. "That's Poxrot! But... but it's not attacking the other microbes?"

"It's not attacking because it's being held at bay," Veylan said, his voice tight. "There's a binding magic in this residue. It's keeping the worst aspects of these diseases dormant. But if that binding were to break-"

The realization struck them all at once, and the tent fell into a heavy silence.

One of the younger doctors, her voice trembling, asked, "He... he neutralized it on purpose?"

Veylan nodded, his expression dark. "He could've made this instantly lethal. A single sample could've wiped out the entire village in hours, if not the region."

Doctor Alessa's face hardened. "Then why didn't he?"

"To make a statement," Veylan replied, his voice low but filled with fury. "This was never about wiping out a village. This was a demonstration. He's showing us that he could destroy us... but he's choosing not to."

Another doctor collapsed into a chair, his head in his hands. "Melitele protect us... He's playing with us."

"He's more than playing," Ravienne's mother said from the corner, her voice icy with restrained anger. "This is a predator marking its territory. He wants you to know he's in control."

Veylan turned back to the sample, his claws momentarily extending as his frustration boiled over. "He's sending a message, yes, but he's also daring us to act. We can't take this lightly. If he has more of this-" He gestured to the sample, now glowing faintly in its vial. "-he could unleash it anywhere."

Doctor Alessa straightened, her composure returning as she faced Veylan. "We need to neutralize this magic, find a way to render these microbes inert. Can you do it?"

Veylan's eyes flickered with determination. "I'll do what I can. But we need to find Doctor Silas Veylor and stop him before he escalates."

Ravienne's father, his voice steady but filled with steel, stepped forward. "And what if he's already planning his next move?"

"Then we make sure we're ready for him," Veylan said, standing. "We've seen what he's capable of. Now it's time to show him what we're capable of."Top of Form

…Bottom of FormBottom of Form

Later, Veylan hunched over his workstation, his movements precise and methodical. The faint glow of magical runes etched into the table illuminated the array of alchemical tools before him, vials, alembics, and mortars filled with various herbs, powders, and liquids. Beside him, Erynn, her fiery red hair tied back, carefully scrubbed her hands with soap and a mixture of lavender and mint oil, the concoction acting as a natural antimicrobial agent.

"Ready when you are," she said, her voice calm as she dried her hands with a clean cloth. "The moment you need a stabilizing charm, I'll cast it."

Veylan nodded, his amber eyes flicking toward her briefly before focusing back on the bubbling mixture in front of him. "This has to be exact," he murmured. "One wrong step, and we'll be dealing with an outbreak instead of a cure."

Veylan carefully poured a drop of the glowing, mutated bile residue into a small vial of sterilized water. The liquid hissed faintly as it diluted, the microbes visible as faint, writhing shadows under the surface.

"Start with the isolating tincture," he muttered to himself, reaching for a vial of shimmering blue liquid. He added a single drop, and the writhing slowed, the bacteria beginning to separate into distinct clusters.

Erynn watched closely, her hands ready to cast a warding spell if anything went wrong. "The magic in that bile is still active. If the tincture doesn't hold-"

"It will," Veylan interrupted, his voice tense. "It has to."

The clusters stabilized, floating lazily in the liquid. Veylan exhaled slowly. "Step one complete. Now comes the hard part."

Veylan selected a small sprig of wolfsbane and crushed it in a mortar with powdered dimeritium, creating a fine, silvery paste. He carefully added it to the vial, watching as the liquid began to glow brighter, the magical residue reacting violently.

"Erynn, now!" he called, stepping back.

Erynn raised her hands, a soft incantation flowing from her lips as a stabilizing charm enveloped the vial. The glow dimmed, the magic within the bacteria slowly breaking apart.

"It's working," she said, relief evident in her voice. "The magic is dissipating."

Veylan nodded, quickly moving to the next step.

With the magical binding neutralized, the bacteria were now vulnerable to natural remedies. Veylan reached for a vial of phoenix ash extract, an incredibly rare substance known for its regenerative and purifying properties. He added a few drops to the mixture, stirring it gently with a silver rod.

"The phoenix ash will stimulate the bacteria to create proteins we can use to generate antibodies," he explained, glancing at Erynn. "But we'll need to extract them carefully."

Erynn gestured toward the centrifuge, a small, rune-powered device. "That's where this comes in."

Veylan transferred the liquid into the centrifuge's chamber and activated it. The runes flared to life, spinning the vial at incredible speeds. After a few moments, the mixture separated into distinct layers, the topmost layer glowing faintly with a soft, golden hue.

"There," Veylan said, retrieving the vial and holding it up to the light. "That's the antibody precursor."

Before proceeding, they needed to ensure the antibodies were safe. Veylan took a tiny sample of the golden liquid and placed it on a slide, examining it under a magical magnifying lens. "The proteins look stable," he said. "But we'll need to test them against a live sample."

Erynn's expression hardened. "Do we have any of the bile left?"

Veylan gestured toward a sealed container on the far side of the room. "Just enough for a controlled test."

He carefully introduced a drop of the antibody mixture into a fresh sample of the mutated bile. The reaction was immediate, the bacteria writhed violently before collapsing into inert particles.

"It's working," Erynn whispered, her green, fox-like eyes widening. "It's neutralizing them."

Veylan allowed himself a small, grim smile. "Now we just need to refine this into a usable serum."

Using a combination of stabilizing agents, including powdered griffon bone and purified draconid oil, Veylan refined the antibodies into a serum. Erynn channeled protective wards over the final product, ensuring its potency and safety.

When they were finished, Veylan held up a syringe filled with the golden serum. "This should inoculate anyone exposed to the bile. And if the doctor tries to use this against anyone else... we'll be ready."

Erynn stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. "You've done it, Veylan. You've turned this nightmare into something we can fight."

He nodded, but his expression remained grim. "Now we just need to distribute it before it's too late."Bottom of Form

…

The operation to inoculate the village began with military precision, thanks to the coordination between Veylan, Erynn, and the Nilfgaardian medical unit. Large tents were set up in the village square, equipped with rows of tables, medical supplies, and magical wards to ensure no lingering contaminants escaped. Villagers lined up anxiously, their pale faces marked with exhaustion but glimmers of hope.

The first round of inoculations went smoothly. Veylan, working alongside Nilfgaardian doctors, personally administered the first doses to the most vulnerable—the elderly, children, and those who had shown the worst symptoms. Each syringe gleamed with the golden serum, a symbol of life wrested from the brink of disaster.

"This will sting for a moment," Veylan said softly to a trembling child, his voice calm and steady. He injected the serum with practiced ease. The boy flinched but soon looked up, his cheeks already regaining a hint of color.

The Nilfgaardian captain, standing nearby, observed the operation with approval. "Efficient," he said, addressing his men. "Spread the word. Every household must receive this serum. No exceptions."

Erynn moved through the crowd, her presence soothing as she reassured worried parents and guided them to the inoculation stations. Her fox-like ears twitched as she listened for any signs of unrest, but the villagers, though weary, cooperated without hesitation.

The Nilfgaardian captain, standing nearby, observed the operation with approval. "Efficient," he said, addressing his men. "Spread the word. Every household must receive this serum. No exceptions."

By nightfall, the entire village had been inoculated. The change was immediate and dramatic. Pale faces regained their color, trembling hands steadied, and weak voices grew stronger. The villagers, who had feared the worst only hours ago, began to smile and laugh again.

One elderly woman, clutching her granddaughter's hand, approached Veylan and Erynn. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You've saved us all."

Erynn smiled gently. "We did what we could. But we're not stopping here."

Word of the cure spread quickly. Nilfgaardian couriers, carrying sealed vials of the refined serum and detailed instructions on its replication, rode out in all directions. Messages were sent to Novigrad, Oxenfurt, and other major settlements, alerting authorities to the potential threat and the cure's availability.

The Nilfgaardian captain issued direct orders to his men. "Ensure this reaches every apothecary, healer, and university. If that madman tries this again, we'll be ready."

As the village settled into an uneasy calm, Veylan stood at the edge of the square, watching the last of the inoculations. Erynn joined him, slipping her hand into his.

"You did it," she said softly. "Not just for this village, but for everyone."

Veylan's gaze was steady. "It's not over yet. But at least now, we're not fighting blind."

…

The brisk mountain air at Kaer Morhen carried a sense of urgency as Lambert and Keira worked alongside Geralt and Yennefer. The ancient fortress bustled with activity, its halls filled with scholars, alchemists, and couriers preparing to distribute the newly developed inoculations to every corner of the Northern Realms.

In one of the makeshift laboratories, Lambert and Keira stood shoulder to shoulder. Keira, her pregnancy now apparent since her last checkup, carefully measured out portions of the refined serum while Lambert ensured the equipment was clean and in working order.

"You're getting pretty good at this, Lambert," Keira teased, glancing at him with a smirk.

Lambert rolled his eyes but smirked back. "Don't get used to it. Once this plague mess is sorted, I'm going back to monster hunting. Way less delicate work."

Keira laughed softly, placing a hand on her belly. "We'll see about that. You might just end up helping out with diapers instead."

Lambert froze for a moment, then sighed dramatically. "If I can handle drowners and nekkers, I guess I can handle that."

Nearby, Geralt and Yennefer were discussing logistics with a group of Nilfgaardian researchers. Yennefer, her dark hair pulled back in a practical braid, rested one hand protectively over her own belly. She spoke with her usual sharp efficiency, ensuring that every detail of the inoculation effort was perfect.

"This batch needs to go to Kaedwen next," Yennefer instructed, pointing to a stack of vials. "We can't afford any delays."

Geralt watched her with a faint smile, his usually stoic face softening. "You're enjoying bossing them around, aren't you?"

Yennefer smirked but didn't deny it. "It's for a good cause."

As Lambert passed by with another crate of supplies, he muttered, "Never thought I'd see the day when Geralt and Yen would settle down, let alone be expecting."

Geralt shot him a dry look but didn't comment. Instead, he turned to Vesemir, who was organizing alchemists and scholars. "How's the production coming along?"

Vesemir grunted, not looking up from his work. "Slow but steady. We'll have enough for the Northern Realms soon. The next challenge will be getting it to places like Kovir and Poviss."

…

In another part of the keep, Eskel and Triss were overseeing the inoculation of the local workers who had helped rebuild parts of Kaer Morhen. Triss, her auburn hair catching the sunlight streaming through a window, paused to speak quietly with Eskel.

"You've been quiet," she said, her voice gentle.

Eskel shrugged. "Just thinking. About everything. About us."

Triss smiled, placing a hand on his arm. "We don't have to decide right now. But... it's nice to think about, isn't it?"

Eskel nodded, his scarred face softening. "Yeah. It is."

…

In a quiet corner of the keep, Avallac'h and Ge'els conferred with Geralt and Yennefer. Both Aen Elle elves had a regal air about them, though Ge'els looked particularly grave as he spoke.

"This cure of yours is revolutionary," Ge'els said. "If we are to maintain any contact with your sphere, it's imperative that my people receive this inoculation. We cannot risk bringing sickness into our world."

Yennefer nodded. "We've already prepared doses for your delegation. But mass-producing it for an entirely different sphere will take time."

Avallac'h's sharp eyes darted between them. "It's a necessary step. The cooperation between our worlds is fragile enough without the threat of disease."

Vesemir approached, holding a set of vials. "Here. This is the first batch for your people. Handle it carefully."

Ge'els inclined his head in gratitude. "You have my thanks. This effort will not be forgotten."

The early evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over Veylan and Erynn's cottage. The hearth crackled softly, filling the room with a comforting warmth. Ravienne was seated near the fire, her expression calm but watchful as she worked through a book Svanrige had recommended. The quiet peace was interrupted by the sharp sound of a horse approaching at a breakneck pace.

Veylan rose, sensing urgency even before the rider dismounted. A moment later, the door burst open to reveal a man dressed in Novigrad finery, his face pale, his breath labored.

It was Sigismund Dijkstra.

…

The usually composed spymaster looked as if he'd stared directly into hell itself. His eyes darted around the room, barely focusing, and his normally unshakable demeanor was frayed at the edges.

"Dijkstra," Veylan said calmly but carrying worry at his disheveled state. "What's going on?"

Dijkstra staggered inside, clutching a rolled parchment in his trembling hand. "You... you don't know how bad it is," he muttered, as if speaking to himself. He collapsed into a chair, his large frame shaking slightly. "I've seen many things in my time. Horrors, betrayal, the worst humanity has to offer. But this... this is different."

Erynn approached with a calmness that belied the tension in the room. "Breathe, Dijkstra," she said softly. "Tell us what you've uncovered."

Dijkstra looked up at her, his eyes haunted. "I've been digging into Borsedi and his associates, and I found something—something I wasn't meant to see." He held out the parchment, which Veylan took, though his focus remained on the spymaster. "These... madmen you're chasing... they're not just trying to play with power they don't understand. They're trying to access a sphere that none of us should ever touch."

Veylan's brow furrowed as he unrolled the parchment. The drawings were a mix of alchemical diagrams and arcane symbols, alongside what appeared to be a crude representation of a portal. "What sphere?" he asked, his voice even.

Dijkstra's voice cracked slightly as he leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Veylan's. "The sphere humans originated from."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in like lead.

Erynn's eyes widened, her fox-like ears twitching in disbelief. "You're saying they're trying to open a portal to... another Earth? A world without magic? Without monsters?"

Dijkstra nodded, his expression grim. "Exactly. A world untouched by the chaos of the Conjunction of the Spheres. A world where humans exist as they once were, but without the means to defend themselves against what might come through. These lunatics are planning to bring monsters and magic into a completely normal, unprepared realm."

Ravienne, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "Why? What could they possibly gain from such destruction?"

Dijkstra laughed bitterly. "Power, as always. Control. And the sheer arrogance to reshape a world in their image. But they don't realize, or don't care, that they'll destroy both worlds in the process."

Veylan tightened his grip on the parchment, his amber eyes glowing faintly with suppressed anger. "Who's leading this?"

"Borsedi is working with these alchemists," Dijkstra replied. "But they're just a fraction of the problem. There's a greater mastermind behind this, someone with the knowledge and resources to pull it off. I don't know who yet, but I will find out."

Erynn placed a hand on Veylan's arm, grounding him. "If they succeed... that world would be defenseless."

Dijkstra nodded grimly. "Not just defenseless. Imagine what would happen if even one monster made it through, a Leshen, a Fiend, even something as small as a Nekker. They'd multiply, they'd fester, and without Witchers, they'd overrun everything."

Ravienne's voice was now laced with anger. "Then we can't let them succeed."

Veylan exhaled slowly, his mind already turning over plans. "We need more information. Where they're operating from, how far along they are. Dijkstra, can you-"

"I'll give you everything I have," Dijkstra interrupted, his voice regaining some of its usual edge. "But you'll need to move fast. If they get this portal working..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "We might be looking at the end of two worlds."

Veylan stood, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face. "Then we stop them. No matter what it takes."

The resolve in his voice seemed to steady the room. Erynn, Ravienne, and Svanrige exchanged determined looks, while Dijkstra leaned back, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe.

"I'll stay in Novigrad," Dijkstra said, his tone more controlled now. "If anything changes, I'll send word immediately."

Veylan nodded, rolling up the parchment and tucking it into his coat. "We'll prepare. And we'll make sure they don't get the chance to destroy anything."Bottom of Form

…

Dijkstra leaned forward, his voice steady but grim, his face illuminated by the dim firelight of Veylan's cottage. He reached into his satchel, pulling out a thick bundle of parchment tied with a frayed red ribbon. "I wasn't sure whether to show you this," he began, untying the ribbon and spreading the pages across the table. "But given what's at stake, you need to see what we're dealing with."

Veylan, Erynn, Ravienne, and Svanrige leaned in as Dijkstra sorted the documents. Each page was filled with sketches, diagrams, and detailed notes in various hands—evidence painstakingly gathered by Dijkstra's network of spies. The first page caught Veylan's eye: a crude but chilling drawing of what looked like a cylindrical tube on a stock, accompanied by text describing its function.

"These are notes intercepted from the rogue alchemists," Dijkstra explained. "They've been observing the human world, their world, through magical projections, and what they've learned is nothing short of terrifying."

He tapped the sketch of the cylindrical weapon. "This," he said, "is called a firearm. A device that uses a substance called gunpowder to propel small metal projectiles at incredible speeds. It can kill a man instantly, punching through armor like it's nothing. Some of their weapons, 'rifles,' they call them, can fire hundreds of these projectiles in a single minute. Faster, deadlier, and more accurate than any bow or crossbow we've ever known."

Erynn frowned, her fox-like ears twitching. "Hundreds of projectiles in a minute? That would render most battles one-sided."

Dijkstra nodded, his expression grim. "That's just the beginning. Their world has entire armies equipped with these weapons, and they've developed far more destructive variations. Weapons that can shred through legions of men in seconds."

He flipped to another page, revealing a drawing of a massive, winged machine. "These... they call them airplanes. Flying metal machines powered by engines. Some are used for transport, but others..." He tapped another page, showing a sketch of bombs dropping from a plane, obliterating entire cities. "...are designed for destruction. They can carry bombs capable of leveling entire towns, maybe even cities, in a single strike."

Svanrige's face turned pale. "That's... unimaginable. Entire cities?"

Dijkstra's tone darkened. "And they don't stop there. They have weapons they call 'autonomous machines.' Devices that operate without direct human control. Machines that can seek out targets and eliminate them."

Ravienne's jaw fell slack at that. "Machines with no soul. Only purpose."

Dijkstra nodded. "They're centuries, millennia, ahead of us in technology. They've achieved what they call 'science,' a means of understanding and manipulating the world without magic. It's spread to every corner of their sphere."

He pointed to another page, showing maps and crude drawings of bustling cities. "The human sphere is vast. Billions of people, organized into countless kingdoms, empires, and societies. Their cities dwarf anything we've built here. Towers that scrape the sky, metal roads that stretch for miles, and machines that carry hundreds of people at once."

Erynn's amber eyes widened. "Billions of people? How could such a world sustain itself?"

"They've mastered agriculture, medicine, and industry to a degree we can't comprehend," Dijkstra said. "But it comes at a cost. Their world is polluted, their air thick with smoke, their rivers poisoned by their own ingenuity. And yet, they thrive."

Dijkstra's voice grew heavier as he continued. "The rogue alchemists see this world as a goldmine. To them, it's an untapped source of knowledge, power, and chaos. They think they can conquer it, exploit its technology, and use its resources to gain ultimate power. They're fools. The human sphere isn't defenseless, it's a sleeping giant. And if they wake it, they'll doom us all."

Veylan's jaw tightened as he scanned the notes. "They're playing with forces they don't understand."

Dijkstra nodded. "Exactly. If they bring even a fraction of that world's weaponry here, it'll shatter the balance of power on the Continent. And if they unleash monsters in their sphere, billions of lives will be lost."

Erynn placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "We need to act quickly. If they're this far along..."

Dijkstra sighed. "I'll continue gathering intelligence, but it's going to take all of us to stop this. And I hope to the gods that we're not too late."

"This isn't just our problem anymore." Erynn said, "If what these alchemists are learning spreads... it could change everything. Plate armor, cavalry charges, even the balance of power between kingdoms. None of it will matter if firearms make their way here."

Veylan nodded, his expression grim. "We'll have to be extremely cautious in who we inform. Knowledge like this, in the wrong hands, could be worse than the alchemists themselves."

Dijkstra, seated across from them, leaned forward, rubbing his temples. "You're thinking of alerting Emperor Emhyr, aren't you?"

Veylan's gaze met his, unwavering. "He's the only one with the resources and discipline to contain this before it gets out of hand. Nilfgaard's infrastructure and control over the Continent could help stop the spread of firearms if they're made aware in time."

Dijkstra frowned. "Careful, Witcher. That's a double-edged sword. Tell him too much, and you risk giving Nilfgaard an advantage no one else can match. Not even the Lodge, the sorcerers, or the remnants of the Northern Kingdoms."

Erynn interjected, her tone thoughtful. "But if we don't inform him, the alchemists will bring this knowledge to whoever pays the most, or whoever forces it out of them. And then it's chaos."

Veylan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It has to be done carefully. A direct audience with Emhyr, where we explain the situation in full. He already respects Ciri's decisions, and he's worked with us before. If he understands the stakes, he'll act decisively without trying to exploit this for conquest."

Dijkstra snorted. "And you trust him to restrain himself? He's Emhyr var Emreis. Restraint isn't exactly his strong suit."

Veylan's amber eyes glinted with determination. "He cares about his daughter. And this affects her too. If the Continent falls into chaos, Ciri won't have a safe place to call home, whether she's a Witcher or not."

Dijkstra mulled this over, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But you'd better make damn sure he understands the risks. If Nilfgaard starts churning out firearms, this war-torn Continent won't just be unbalanced, it'll be unrecognizable."

Erynn reached for parchment and ink. "We'll draft a letter first. Inform him that this is about containment, not conquest. Emhyr values strategic advantage, but he values stability even more. If we frame this as a threat to all kingdoms, including his own, he'll listen."

Veylan leaned over the table, his voice steady. "We'll also need to highlight the alchemists' progress. He has to understand that these aren't just theories. They're on the verge of manufacturing these weapons. If we wait too long, it'll be too late."

Dijkstra stood, gathering his coat. "I'll make sure this gets to him through the fastest channels. But don't think for a second that this'll go smoothly. Nilfgaard isn't exactly known for subtlety."

As Dijkstra prepared to leave, Veylan turned to Ravienne and Svanrige. "This isn't just about politics or warfare. It's about protecting everyone, monsters, humans, and everything in between. If these weapons spread unchecked, there won't be a Continent left to protect."

Ravienne nodded solemnly, her pale face set with resolve. "Then we make sure they don't."

As Dijkstra stepped out into the cold Velen night, Veylan stared into the fire, his mind racing. The stakes had never been higher. The Continent's survival depended on their next moves, and failure was not an option.

…

In the grand, austere hall of the Imperial Palace, the air hung heavy with tension. Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, known across the Continent as the White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes, sat at the head of the long obsidian table. His expression was unreadable, but the slight crease between his brows hinted at an inner turmoil rarely seen.

Dijkstra stood before him, flanked by two of his own agents and a pair of Nilfgaardian guards. Veylan and Erynn were seated nearby, silent for the moment but watching every flicker of the Emperor's reaction.

The table was strewn with documents, sketches, and intercepted notes from the rogue alchemists. Among them were crude yet detailed diagrams of firearms, descriptions of explosives capable of leveling entire cities, and horrifying accounts of weapons from the human sphere: flying machines armed with bombs, tanks impervious to swords, and projections of unimaginable destruction. A particular note described two catastrophic conflicts: "world wars" that had cost billions of lives, followed by ominous theories of a potential third.

Emhyr's fingers tapped rhythmically on the polished surface of the table, a rare tell of his inner agitation. His golden eyes scanned the notes once more, lingering on the sketches of firearms and accounts of the wars. Finally, he leaned back, exhaling deeply as his gaze settled on Dijkstra.

"You're certain of this?" His voice was calm, yet there was an edge to it, a tremor of disbelief and controlled fury.

Dijkstra, not one to mince words, nodded firmly. "My spies rarely make mistakes, your Imperial Majesty. These alchemists aren't just tinkering with dangerous ideas—they're on the verge of breakthroughs. If they succeed, this Continent as we know it won't survive."

Emhyr's hand tightened on the armrest of his throne. "This... human sphere. It is a world without magic, yes?"

Veylan interjected, his tone measured but carrying an air of urgency. "That's correct, your Majesty. A world shaped by technology and science. Without magic, they've had to rely entirely on their ingenuity. And as you can see from the notes, their ingenuity has brought them to the brink of annihilation more than once."

Emhyr's gaze shifted to Veylan, studying him intently. "And these wars, these 'world wars', they were fought with weapons like these?"

Erynn nodded solemnly. "Worse, your Majesty. Entire cities destroyed in moments. Weapons capable of killing millions with a single strike. The alchemists aren't just studying, they're trying to replicate that power."

The Emperor's advisors murmured amongst themselves, their usual composed demeanor fraying under the weight of the revelations. One of them, a seasoned general with silver hair and a scarred face, finally spoke up.

"Your Majesty, if this knowledge spreads... it will render armies obsolete. Plate armor, swords, cavalry, all of it, meaningless."

Emhyr raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. "Enough. I need clarity, not chaos."

He turned back to Veylan. "You've faced these alchemists. You've seen what they're capable of. Do you believe they can succeed in bringing this technology to our world?"

Veylan hesitated, his gaze unwavering. "Given enough time, yes. They're resourceful, and they've already made progress. If we don't act, they'll find a way."

The Emperor's jaw tightened, his mind clearly racing. "And if this power falls into the hands of a single kingdom..."

"It won't matter who holds it first," Erynn said quietly. "The result will be the same. Destruction on a scale this Continent has never seen."

For a long moment, silence reigned in the hall. Emhyr's golden eyes scanned the table once more, taking in every detail. His advisors watched him intently, their unease only growing as they looked at the image of the firearm.

Finally, he stood, his imposing presence filling the room. "This knowledge cannot be allowed to spread. Not to the North. Not to Nilfgaard. Not to anyone."

He turned to Dijkstra, his voice cold and resolute. "You will continue monitoring these alchemists. I want every detail of their operations, every ally they have, every coin they've spent."

To Veylan and Erynn, he added, "You've done well to bring this to my attention. But this fight isn't over. These alchemists must be eradicated, their knowledge destroyed. This Continent must never see the horrors these notes describe."

Dijkstra, for once, seemed at a loss for words. But he managed a curt nod. "I'll see to it, your Majesty."

As Emhyr sat back down, the tension in the room remained thick. For the first time in decades, the Emperor of Nilfgaard appeared shaken, not by an army or a rebellion, but by the specter of a world far beyond his own. And the weight of ensuring it remained beyond their reach now rested squarely on his of Form