The forest had become a ruin of splintered bark, smoke drifted low between the trees where Avallac'h's magic had torn the ground apart, leaving glowing fractures through the soil and broken branches still burned with pale blue embers.
Geralt stood between the sage and Ciri, chest rising hard beneath his torn armor. Blood ran from a cut near his brow, tracing slowly down the side of his face before vanishing into his beard. His sword remained raised despite the tremor beginning to creep into his arm.
Across from him, Avallac'h looked almost untouched.
His shattered mask lay somewhere among the debris now, revealing sharp elven features and long hair moved gently in the wind, and though Geralt's slash had cut across his face earlier, the wound already seemed unnaturally shallow. Only the blood staining his cheek proved it had happened at all.
Behind Geralt, Ciri struggled to steady herself against a tree.
Her breathing had turned ragged.
Every pulse of Elder magic she forced through her body made the veins near her temples darken faintly beneath her skin. The power inside her was still answering her calls, but barely. It was becoming unstable.
Avallac'h watched her carefully.
Then he looked back toward Geralt.
"Just as I expected," he said quietly.
The sage lifted his staff.
Green light gathered around the ancient runes carved into its length.
"You leave me no choice, White Wolf.. I prepared for this encounter long before today. There was only ever one possible outcome." His silver eyes narrowed slightly. "I swear again that I will not harm the girl."
The magic around him intensified.
"But I cannot promise the same for you."
Geralt moved before the last word finished leaving the elf's mouth.
His boots crushed ash beneath him as he surged forward with terrifying speed, blade flashing through the smoke.
"Is that a threat?" Geralt growled.
Avallac'h answered by thrusting his staff forward.
A blast of force exploded outward.
Geralt cast Quen instantly. Golden light wrapped around him a fraction before impact, and shattered.
The magical shockwave slammed into him like a battering ram.
Geralt flew sideways through the trees, crashing through one trunk hard enough to splinter it in half before rolling violently across the forest floor.
"Geralt!"
Ciri forced herself forward despite the agony tearing through her body.
She blinked, and vanished.
she emerged right behind Avallac'h, sword aimed directly for his neck.
The sage twisted with impossible grace, her blade scraped sparks across his shoulder instead of severing his neck.
Avallac'h spun his staff low and struck her across the ribs.
Precisely enough to destroy her balance.
Ciri stumbled, gasping sharply, the world around her distorted for a moment, and suddenly her legs gave out beneath her completely.
She hit the ground hard and her sword slipped from her fingers.
"Damn it.."
She tried to rise and couldn't.
Her arms shook violently beneath her own weight.
Avallac'h looked down at her silently.
There was no cruelty in his expression and that somehow irritated her even more.
"Rest now," he said softly.
He spoke then in Elder Speech, "Feainnewedd luned vaen... dorme, Hen Ichaer!"
The spell wrapped around her, Ciri's eyes widened.
Then slowly, her body went limp.
"Take your hands off her!"
Geralt came back, he burst through the smoke with brutal force, sword cleaving downward toward Avallac'h's spine.
The sage turned sharply, too late.
Geralt's blade crashed against the staff instead, and split it clean in half.
The crack echoed through the forest and Avallac'h's eyes widened.
Geralt followed immediately with another strike.
The blade cut deep across Avallac'h's hand, the sage hissed sharply in pain as the ruined half of his staff fell uselessly into the dirt.
"Damn you, Gwynbleidd!" Avallac'h breathed, clutching his bleeding hand. "Why can you not see that I am not your enemy!"
Geralt pressed forward relentlessly, steel met magic in a storm of sparks and force.
"You attacked us in the woods and now you are trying to kidnap my daughter!" Geralt snarled. "You're doing a poor job convincing me otherwise!"
Avallac'h suddenly thrust out his wounded hand.
A pulse of pale light struck Geralt directly in the chest.
The witcher staggered instantly and his vision blurred, the forest tilted sideways in his eyes.
Geralt planted his sword into the dirt to stop himself from collapsing.
"What..." he muttered hoarsely. "What did you do..."
Avallac'h stood there breathing harder now, exhaustion finally showing across his features.
Blood dripped slowly from his injured hand.
"My staff was merely a tool," he said quietly. "Not the source of my power."
Geralt tried to move again.
His limbs no longer listened properly.
The spell was crawling through his mind like fog.
Avallac'h stepped toward him slowly.
"Listen carefully, vatt'ghern," he said. "Because this might be the last time we see one another for many years."
Geralt's eyes fought to remain open.
"I will take Cirilla to Tir ná Lia."
The name itself was strange to Geralt.
"A city beyond your world. A place where the Child of the Elder Blood can finally understand what she truly is."
Avallac'h glanced briefly toward the unconscious Ciri.
"She possesses power capable of saving worlds... or destroying them entirely. Here, she stumbles blindly through abilities neither your mages nor you witchers understand."
His gaze returned to Geralt.
"And our enemies already search for her."
Geralt clenched his jaw.
"No..."
"Yes," Avallac'h said calmly. "The Aen Elle know of her existence. The Wild Hunt will come eventually. Hiding her here only delays the inevitable."
He lowered his voice slightly.
"You may think it madness to bring her closer to danger. But I have learned something over centuries, Gwynbleidd... the safest place from monsters is often directly beneath their noses."
Geralt's knees finally buckled.
Still he tried reaching toward Ciri.
"Don't... take her..."
Avallac'h's expression shifted faintly then. "She will return one day stronger than you can imagine," he said quietly. "And when she does, perhaps you will understand why this had to happen."
Geralt's vision darkened completely.
The last thing he saw was Ciri lying motionless in the grass.
Then everything vanished.
Silence settled over the forest.
Avallac'h stood there for several seconds watching the unconscious witcher.
Then slowly, carefully, he picked up Geralt's fallen sword.
He cleaned the blade with a flick of magic before sliding it back into its scabbard across Geralt's back.
A gesture of respect, or apology, perhaps both.
Finally, the sage bent down and lifted Ciri gently into his arms.
Green light began forming around them.
A portal and before stepping through, Avallac'h looked once more toward the White Wolf lying unconscious among the shattered trees.
"Va fail, Gwynbleidd." 'Farewell, White Wolf.'
Then the portal closed,
and both he and Ciri vanished from the world.
.
.
.
.
After few hours, the first thing Geralt became aware of was pain a deep ache spreading through his bones. His ribs burned every time he drew breath, his skull throbbed, and his limbs felt as though they had been buried beneath rubble for days instead of hours.
Then came the smell.
Burned earth. Splintered wood and magic.
Geralt's eyes snapped open, grey clouds drifted slowly above the treetops, and for a moment he simply stared upward, disoriented, his thoughts sluggish and scattered. Pine branches swayed overhead, creaking softly in the wind, while somewhere nearby horses snorted nervously.
Then memory returned all at once.
Avallac'h.
Ciri.
Geralt surged upright so violently pain shot through his side hard enough to nearly force him back down again. His hand immediately reached behind him for his sword.
Still there.
That alone made his expression darken.
The elf had returned the blade.
Mocking him.
A frightened voice suddenly spoke nearby.
"Gods above, easy now!"
Geralt turned sharply.
A merchant stood a few paces away beside a wagon loaded with sacks and crates. The man looked pale as death itself, one hand clutching the reins of his horse while the other held a small waterskin uncertainly.
"I thought you were dead," the merchant muttered. "Whole forest looks like a battlefield. Trees blasted apart, earth torn open… never seen anything like it."
Geralt ignored him completely.
His eyes swept across the clearing.
The devastation stretched everywhere.
And there was no sign of her.
No sign of Ciri.
Geralt stood slowly, jaw tightening and his eyes moved over the broken ground again and again, desperately searching for anything. Tracks. Blood. Cloth. Anything.
Nothing and he knew it.
The merchant shifted nervously.
"Witcher… what in the hells happened here?"
Still Geralt didn't answer.
He walked forward several steps before suddenly stopping dead.
There, pressed into the dirt near the center of the clearing, was the faint imprint of where Ciri had fallen unconscious.
Geralt stared at it in silence.
Then his fingers slowly curled into a fist.
"Fuck!"
The merchant visibly flinched.
Geralt turned away sharply and paced several steps, running a hand across his face. His mind raced violently now, piecing everything together through the haze left behind by Avallac'h's spell.
The elf had planned this.
For months. Maybe longer.
Watching Kaer Morhen. Watching Ciri. Waiting.
And Geralt had let him get close enough to take her.
His jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
The merchant cleared his throat carefully. "Was… was someone with you?"
Geralt stopped moving.
For a moment he said nothing.
Then quietly:
"My daughter."
The merchant's expression shifted immediately. Fear gave way to something closer to sympathy.
"Oh."
The merchant hesitated before speaking again. "Can… can you track her? I know you Witchers are some of the best trackers out there.."
Geralt looked toward the forest.
Toward nothing.
Toward emptiness.
"No."
That answer tasted bitter.
Because he almost always could, but not this time.
Not against something that could move between worlds themselves.
The wind stirred softly through the ruined clearing.
Geralt closed his eyes for a brief moment.
He saw her again as a child at Kaer Morhen racing through the halls. Sparring with Seb, and covered in mud after training. Laughing at Lambert's insults. Sleeping by the fire after exhausting herself during lessons.
Then he remembered her lying helpless on the ground while Avallac'h carried her away.
A rare emotion flickered openly across Geralt's face then.
It was guilt, cold and vicious guilt.
The merchant seemed to realize he should leave before he became part of something far beyond him. He awkwardly climbed back onto his wagon.
"Well… uh… good fortune to you, master witcher."
Geralt gave no response.
The wagon slowly creaked away down the road toward Vizima, leaving Geralt alone in the ruined forest.
For a long time he simply stood there. Silent and motionless.
Then finally he reached into one of his saddlebags and pulled out a folded letter, the one meant for Triss and his grip tightened around it.
"Avallac'h…" he muttered quietly.
The name sounded poisonous coming from him, then Geralt mounted Roach, pain or no pain, and pulled the reins sharply.
/-\
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