Geralt didn't move as his eyes traced the spaces between trees, the places where light thinned. Ciri stood a step ahead of him, blade drawn, no longer reacting.
Then, a figure stepped out from between the trees.
He was too tall for a man, though not by much. Cloaked in layered fabric with strange runes on them. A mask covered his face, smooth and featureless save for faint carvings on it, clearly elder speech. In his hand, he carried a staff of dark wood, long and polished, its tip faintly aglow with an unnatural glow.
Ciri's grip tightened on her sword Zirael.
"…You see that?" she murmured.
Geralt's eyes narrowed, studying the way that person stood.
"A sage," he said quietly.
There was no doubt in his voice.
"Looks elven too…"
Ciri glanced at him, brows knitting.
"Are you saying that's an elven sage… here?" she asked "In the middle of nowhere?!"
Geralt stepped forward, just slightly, placing himself between the man and Ciri without making it obvious.
"Who are you?" he called out.
The figure didn't respond and didn't move.
For a heartbeat, he just stood there, then he slowly lifted his staff.
And it pointed straight at Ciri.
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
"…Creepy bastard," she muttered, shifting her stance. "Didn't you hear him? Who are you!"
Still nothing, not a word.
Not a sound.
Then the air twisted around his staff.
Geralt felt it a fraction of a second before it happened.
"Move!"
The sage struck without warning.
The ground beneath Geralt exploded as a surge of force ripped upward, splintering earth and stone. Geralt twisted mid-step, rolling out of the blast just as it tore through where he had stood.
Ciri was already moving, she blinked with her powers forward, space folding around her in a sharp, distorted flash and reappeared behind the sage, sword cutting in a clean, precise arc toward his back.
The staff moved.
Too fast and it met her blade with a crack that rang like struck steel.
Ciri's eyes widened as he turned with the motion, cloak sweeping around him as he pivoted effortlessly, staff spinning in his grip the end of it whipped toward her ribs,
She vanished again and reappeared three steps away, boots skidding slightly as she reset her stance.
"…Okay," she breathed. "Not normal... he is no pushover.."
Geralt was already closing in, steel flashed, the sage met him head-on.
Steel met wood and held.
The staff didn't splinter or even bend, and instead, it shifted, sliding along Geralt's blade with controlled pressure before snapping forward in a sharp counterstrike aimed at his shoulder.
Geralt twisted, deflecting it with the flat of his sword, but the force behind it pushed him back a step.
"A mage who fights," Geralt muttered.
"Great," Ciri shot back. "And here I thought they can't do anything without their fancy magic."
The elven sage, spun his staff again, faster now, then he struck low, then high, then straight for Geralt's head in a sequence so fluid it barely seemed like separate movements.
Geralt met him strike for strike.
Steel rang against wood, sparks snapping into the air as their weapons clashed. Geralt ducked beneath a sweeping arc, stepped inside the sage's guard, and drove his elbow forward, The sage shifted just enough to avoid it, bringing the staff down sharply toward Geralt's spine.
Geralt rolled away, coming up in a low stance.
"Ciri left!"
She was already moving.
Another blink, another tear in space and she appeared at the sage's flank, her blade slicing toward his side.
And this time it connected.
Or should have.
At the last instant, a shimmer of magic flared, deflecting her strike just enough that it glanced off instead of biting deep.
The sage turned into her, staff snapping forward in a brutal thrust.
Ciri barely managed to bring her sword up in time.
The impact sent her skidding back across the dirt, boots carving lines into the ground.
"This damn sage is fast!" she hissed.
"Yeah.." Geralt replied.
The sage raised his free hand.
The air compressed.
Geralt's instincts screamed.
"Blink!"
A blast of raw force erupted outward.
Geralt threw up Quen just as it hit, the golden shimmer of the shield flaring violently as it absorbed the impact, but it shattered under the strain, fragments of light breaking away as he was driven back regardless.
Ciri blinked again, the shockwave passing through the space she had just vacated.
She reappeared behind him, breath quick.
"This guy doesn't tire, does he?!"
Geralt's eyes stayed locked on their opponent.
"No," he said. "And he is holding back."
The sage stood still again now, just for a moment.
Watching them.
Ciri's sword was still raised, a fierce edge in her voice.
"But we will not!"
Geralt didn't respond.
But his stance shifted, lower and sharper.
The sage attacked again, and this time
They met him together.
Geralt went straight in, blade flashing in a series of tight, efficient strikes meant to create openings for Ciri.
Ciri was the storm around him, appearing and disappearing in bursts of silver light, her attacks becoming unpredictable, coming from angles no normal opponent could defend against.
For a moment, just a moment the sage was pushed back.
His staff moved faster, intercepting, deflecting, but now he was reacting instead of dictating the fight.
Geralt pressed that advantage.
Steel slid past the staff, cutting the sage and a shallow line opened across the sage's side, dark beneath the cloak.
The first real hit.
The sage froze just for a second.
Then, the forest trembled.
Magic surged again, stronger this time and it felt darker.
Ciri felt it immediately.
"…Geralt."
"I know."
The sage stepped back.
Geralt saw it instantly.
The way his stance changed. The way the glow at the tip of the staff deepened.
Then he spoke.
Not in the Common Tongue, the words were ancient, Elder Speech.
"Aen vaer en'caedh… tor'nael lunedh… vae'rin ess'thal!"
The ground trembled.
Leaves lifted from the earth, drawn upward in a slow spiral.
Ciri felt it immediately, the wrongness of it. The sheer density of power being gathered.
"Geralt!"
"Don't!" He was already moving, protection instinct taking over.
His hand snapped outward and the sign flared,
Quen surged around Ciri in a golden flash, forming a barrier just as the air itself seemed to tear apart.
Ciri didn't even have time to protest.
The spell came down, it was a force a pure overwhelming, crushing force that detonated outward from the sage.
The earth exploded.
Stone fractured, trees bent and snapped like brittle twigs, the very ground caving under the impact.
Geralt was caught at the edge of it, his body was lifted, thrown violently through the air before crashing into the trunk of a tree with a sickening crack. Bark shattered on impact, the force driving the breath from his lungs before he hit the ground and rolled, finally coming to a stop in a cloud of splintered wood and dirt.
While Ciri watched this happen, Quen held for a moment.
The golden barrier flared violently, absorbing the brunt of the spell, its surface cracking like glass under impossible pressure. The force drove her back, slamming her into the ground as the shield fought to contain what should have torn her apart.
Then it shattered, fragments of light broke away and vanished, the last of the impact throwing her across the ruined earth.
Silence followed.
Their ears were ringing and now smoke and dust surrounded them.
The forest was gone, replaced by a crater of broken ground and splintered remains, and lingering magic in the air.
Ciri lay still for a moment, breath ragged, her body screaming in protest as she forced herself to move.
Her vision swam and shapes blurred.
"…Geralt…" she rasped, pushing herself up onto one arm.
No answer.
Only the slow settling of dust.
Then, she heard footsteps approaching.
Through the haze, the silhouette of the sage emerged.
Unscathed.
He walked toward her, staff in hand, the glow still lingering around him like an echo of what he had just unleashed.
Ciri's fingers tightened around her sword as she tried to rise, her legs unsteady beneath her.
"I'm…not done…" she muttered under her breath.
The sage said nothing.
He just kept walking toward her.
Step by step until he reached her and extended a hand to pick her up
then,
A flash. So fast it barely registered.
A sharp, clean arc of steel cut through the smoke.
The sage didn't even have time to react, the blade struck his face, a precise, brutal slash that split the mask cleanly in two.
The sound was sharp, the mask cracked then fell.
Pieces of pale carved surface hit the ground, shattering against the broken earth.
The sage staggered back a step, his hand flying to his face, clutching at the wound.
For the first time,
He reacted.
The smoke shifted.
And through it, a figure stood between him and Ciri.
Geralt.
Blood traced faintly down from his face, his armor scuffed and cracked in places, but his stance was steady.
His sword was still raised, "…You will talk and answer my questions before I kill you," he said, voice roughened.
/-\
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