Chapter 95: Skellige's Judgment
POV: Adam
The great hall had transformed overnight.
Where last night's feast had created chaos of celebration, this morning brought ordered formality. Warriors stood in ranked rows along the walls, their tattoos and scars on display like medals of honor. Clan leaders occupied elevated positions near the throne, each wearing colors that marked their affiliations. The fire pits had been banked low, creating an atmosphere of sober assessment rather than revelry.
Jarl Crach an Craite sat his black stone throne like a king presiding over judgment—which, I realized, he essentially was.
"Approach, travelers." His voice carried the weight of authority earned through decades of rule. "Present your case before Skellige's assembled clans."
We walked the length of the hall together—Ciri beside me, Geralt and Lambert flanking. The crowd's assessment pressed against us like physical weight, hundreds of eyes cataloging every detail of our appearance, our posture, our worthiness to stand in their sacred space.
Crach spoke first in the Old Speech—the ancient Skellige language that had survived conquest and time. Björn translated from his position near the throne, his gruff voice rendering the formal phrases into words we could understand.
"The Jarl acknowledges Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon as blood of Eist Tuirseach, beloved of Skellige, fallen defending Cintra against the southern empire." Björn's translation came measured. "He expresses sorrow for the loss of a great warrior and ally. He asks what brings Tuirseach's granddaughter to these shores after years of absence."
Geralt stepped forward, assuming the role of diplomatic spokesman. "We seek sanctuary from supernatural threat. The Wild Hunt—known in your legends as ice riders—tracks Cirilla across dimensions. Everywhere we've hidden, they've found us. We hope Skellige's unique magical properties might provide protection that nowhere else can offer."
Murmurs rippled through the assembled warriors. The Hunt's name carried weight here—I could see it in the way hands tightened on weapons, in the sudden tension that ran through the crowd.
"The ice riders." Crach's response came in accented Common tongue this time, abandoning formal distance for direct communication. "Ancient enemies who've raided our shores since time beyond memory. You bring their attention to our islands?"
"They'll come regardless." Ciri spoke for herself, her voice steady despite the pressure. "The Hunt tracks my blood, not my location. Whether I'm here or on the far side of the world, they'll keep hunting. The question is whether I face them alone or among people who understand what they are."
"Bold words." A clan leader—older, scarred, wearing colors I didn't recognize—pushed forward. "But words are wind in Skellige. We've heard claims before from mainlanders seeking shelter. What can you offer in exchange for our protection?"
—Scene Break—
POV: Geralt
The witcher watched the political theater unfold with professional assessment.
Skellige's clans were divided—he could see it in the subtle positioning, the exchanged glances, the careful way certain leaders avoided standing near others. Old rivalries, old alliances, all playing out beneath the surface of formal debate.
"The mainlander controls elements." A younger warrior spoke from near the wall. "Fought sirens with the ocean itself, if the stories are true. That power serves no purpose?"
"Stories." The skeptical clan leader dismissed the claim. "Sailors exaggerate everything, especially after Skellige mead."
"Perhaps a demonstration would settle the matter." Crach's interjection cut through the growing argument. He fixed his gaze on Adam. "You're said to command water, earth, and air. Show us. Prove the stories aren't just tales told to impress."
Geralt saw Adam's hesitation—the young man had always been reluctant to display his abilities like a circus performer. But survival demanded adaptation, and this was a performance that could save their lives.
"I'll need some space."
The crowd shifted, creating a clearing in the hall's center. Adam stepped into it, and Geralt noted how his posture changed—shoulders back, stance widening, the physical tells of someone preparing to channel significant power.
The demonstration began simply.
Stone rippled. A pillar rose from the floor—smooth, controlled, reaching perhaps four feet before stopping. The crowd murmured, impressed but not overwhelmed.
Then water condensed from the air, spiraling around the pillar in a helix that caught torchlight like liquid crystal. The water froze instantly, coating stone in ice that gleamed with internal fire.
Finally, air compressed. The frozen pillar lifted from the floor, hung suspended, then launched toward the far wall with speed that made warriors dive aside.
It shattered against ancient stone, ice and rock fragments spraying harmlessly—Adam had aimed away from the crowd, Geralt noted with approval. The young man understood control as well as power.
Silence held for three heartbeats.
Then applause erupted, warriors stomping feet and clashing weapons in approval.
"Impressive." Crach's admission came grudging but genuine. "Three elements, combined and controlled. Not sorcery as the mainland practices it—something older, if I'm not mistaken."
"Something different," Adam agreed. "I don't know what to call it. But it's real, and it's growing stronger."
"Will you use it for Skellige if we shelter you?"
"I'll use it for anyone who protects Ciri." Adam's answer came immediate and honest. "You keep her safe, I fight whatever threatens you. That's the deal I'm offering."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
The deliberation lasted perhaps ten minutes.
Crach withdrew with his clan leaders to a side chamber, leaving us standing in the hall under the watchful eyes of warriors who couldn't decide whether to respect us or resent us. I used the time to assess my condition—MP depleted from the demonstration but recovering, body still aching from yesterday's exertions, mind racing with calculations about what came next.
[ MP: 860/860 → 720/860 ]
[ Status: Alert, recovering ]
[ Political Situation: Uncertain ]
When Crach returned, his expression gave nothing away.
"Skellige's clans have decided." His voice carried to every corner of the hall. "We acknowledge Cirilla as Eist's blood and honor the debt we owed her grandfather. But hospitality without proof is charity, and Skellige doesn't practice charity."
My stomach dropped. Refusal? After everything?
"Therefore, we offer sanctuary—conditional on the mainlander proving his worth through Skellige trials." Crach's gaze fixed on me. "Three challenges testing strength, honor, and courage. Pass them, and you earn full clan protection. Fail them, and you leave our islands. Those are the terms."
"What kind of trials?"
"Combat without your elemental gifts. Survival in the wild using only wit and will. A final test whose nature remains secret until you face it." Crach's expression held no compromise. "Our way demands proving worth through action, not words. You demonstrated power—now demonstrate that you deserve to wield it."
I glanced at Ciri. Her face had gone pale, but she nodded slightly. We didn't have alternatives. Running again meant returning to the continent, to the Hunt's hunting grounds, to endless flight that would eventually end in capture or death.
"I accept."
"Then the first trial begins tomorrow morning." Crach stood, signaling the audience's end. "Tonight, rest. Prepare. Pray to whatever gods you worship that your courage matches your abilities."
[ QUEST ACCEPTED: Skellige Trials ]
[ Trial 1: Combat (No elemental powers) ]
[ Trial 2: Survival ]
[ Trial 3: Unknown ]
[ Reward: Full clan protection, sanctuary secured ]
[ Failure Consequence: Expulsion from Skellige ]
The hall began emptying, warriors dispersing to their duties while we remained in the clearing like stones in a stream. Geralt's hand found my shoulder.
"You've fought worse odds."
"Have I?"
"Cahir's army. The sirens. The storm." His golden eyes held steady confidence. "Skellige warriors are dangerous, but they're mortal. You've faced things that weren't."
"Without my elements, though..."
"You trained with witchers for months. Learned from the best fighters in the north." Geralt's grip tightened briefly. "Trust that training. Trust yourself."
Ciri moved close, took my hand. Through our bond, I felt her fear warring with her faith in me.
"You'll do this," she said quietly. "You've done everything else."
"Everything else included using powers I won't have tomorrow."
But I kept the doubt internal. They needed me confident. I needed me confident. Tomorrow would come regardless of how I felt tonight.
"Let's find our quarters," I said. "I need to rest."
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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