Lightning God walked across the ocean's bed with an air of calm control, each step measured, unhurried. Though countless tons of seawater pressed from every direction, he radiated his own force — a subtle but unyielding divine pressure — that parted the weight from him like an invisible shield. Not a single ripple disturbed his pace.
His expression was steady, but somewhere behind the cold gleam of his eyes was a faint thread of worry. As a demigod, he had no need for air; his body had long since begun its transition from mortal to divine. The crushing depths, the absence of light, the eerie quiet — none of it hindered him.
"Geralt," a voice echoed through the still water.
He turned toward the sound.
Perched atop a colossal arch half-buried in the seafloor sat a young woman whose beauty was as chilling as it was strange. Her skin was porcelain-white, but dark veins crawled beneath it like cracks in fragile glass. Her eyes, sharp and ancient, studied him without warmth.
