Interlude - The Roar of the Lioness
Ciri's boots skidded across wet cobblestones as she materialized in yet another reality. Rain hammered down, mixing with the acrid smoke from a burning building somewhere nearby. She had maybe a few seconds before they tracked her again. She heard in the distance someone trying to capture a Captain Sparrow? and focused back in the moment.
The Wild Hunt burst through behind her, frost crackling across the ground where their spectral horses touched down. Five riders only this time, their armor shifting between forms too quickly for mortal eyes to track. Antlered helms and bone masks. Eyes that glowed with frosty cruelty.
"The Elder Blood cannot run forever," the lead rider called, his voice carrying harmonics that made reality shiver. "You will return to us, Zireael. It is your destiny. Your place is among us".
Ciri's hand went to her sword, then she stopped. She had been fighting them long enough that they'd learned to be familier with her blade work, almost anticipating every move Vesemir and Geralt had taught her.
She'd struggled with the signs when she was at Kaer Morhen, the simple spells that every Witcher learned and she'd failed at over and over because she was putting too much power into them causing them to fail, until Lambert had suggested she give up entirely.
Geralt had already told her she was a Source, a living conduit for magical energy, and the signs that had been parlor tricks in other witchers' hands had finally became something else entirely when she used them.
The riders charged.
Ciri thrust her hand forward, fingers splayed. "Aard!"
The telekinetic blast that erupted from her palm was a concussive wave that tore up the earth infront of her, catching three riders and their mounts and sending them tumbling backward like leaves in a hurricane. One horse screamed, the sound wrong and terrible, as it crashed into a building hard enough to crack stone.
Two riders remained charging at her, they split to flank her on either side. She spun, tracking the one on her left. "Igni!"
Fire roared from her outstretched hand, a large column of white-hot flame that would have melted steel unlike a normal Igni it was three time the size of a regular one she was shown. The rider raised a hand, frost meeting fire in a detonation of steam that obscured the street.
The second rider quickly closed in from her right a lance leveled at her chest.
Ciri dropped to one knee, slamming her palm against the cobblestones. "Yrden!"
Purple light exploded outward in a perfect circle, runes burning themselves into the ground. The magical trap was supposed to slow enemies, disrupt their movements, maybe weaken their magical defenses.
Instead, the rider's horse hit the boundary and stopped, frozen mid-stride as if time itself had ceased within the circle. The rider struggled, trying to force his mount forward, but the Yrden held with a strength no witcher sign should possess.
The three riders she'd knocked down were recovering. More portals were opening behind them, reinforcements arriving. She could see the shimmer of reality tearing, more Hunt members preparing to flood through.
The Elder Blood was exhausting, each jump draining her more than the last. She'd collapse eventually if she kept using it, she needed a brief break before her next usage.
She looked down at the sandals she'd been carrying since that strange encounter in Tradegate. The craftsman with kind eyes and a knowing wink had tossed them to her with a two word that had somehow translated itself in her mind: Fly and sigil.
She pulled them on quickly, fumbling with the straps as frost arrows whistled past her head.
The moment she secured the second sandal, wings erupted from the heels, golden and shimmering with power that felt ancient and foreign and completely unlike anything she'd encountered before. The sandals lifted her off the ground before she could even think about how to control them.
"Up!" she shouted.
She shot into the air like an arrow released from a bow, the sudden acceleration forcing the breath from her lungs. The city dropped away beneath her, the Wild Hunt's riders shrinking to toy-sized figures that wheeled their spectral mounts in frustration.
One rider tried to follow, his horse launching itself skyward on wings of frost and shadow. Ciri twisted in the air, the sandals responding to her intent with fluid precision.
She dove, picking up speed, then pulled up sharply. The pursuing rider followed, trying to match her maneuver. She waited until he committed, then activated the sandals' full power.
The acceleration was incredible. She shot forward so fast the air screamed past her, buildings blurring into streaks of color. The rider fell behind, unable to match her speed.
She climbed higher, above the rooftops, above the smoke, into clear air where she could see the full scope of the city below. And beyond it, the telltale shimmer of portals, dimensional boundaries she could feel even without her Elder Blood active.
She picked one at random and dove toward it, the sandals carrying her faster than she'd ever moved before. The Hunt tried to intercept, but they were too slow. She hit the portal boundary going at least a hundred miles per hour.
The world dissolved into light and wind.
Kaer Morhen, Years Ago
"Again," Vesemir commanded, his weathered face showing no sympathy.
Ciri raised her hand, focusing on the training dummy fifteen feet away. She formed the sign for Aard carefully, fingers positioned exactly as Lambert had shown her, breathing controlled.
She pushed.
only massive sparks happened.
"Concentrate," Vesemir said. "Feel the energy flow through you. Shape it with your will, imagine a tea pot and your pouring energy instead of water in to the cup, pour to much and the cup oversflows and spills."
She tried again. A slight breeze stirred the dummy's straw filling.
Lambert snorted from where he lounged against the wall. "Face it, princess. Some people just can't do magic. No shame in focusing on your sword work."
"I can do this," Ciri insisted, trying again. This time the dummy shifted slightly Less sparks coming out of her hands, knocked back perhaps an inch.
"That's progress," Vesemir said, though even he sounded doubtful.
Later that evening, she'd practiced Igni until her fingers cramped. The best she'd managed was a spark, barely enough to light a candle. Eskel had been kind about it, suggesting that perhaps her talents lay elsewhere. Geralt had said nothing, just watched with those amber eyes that seemed to see too much.
She'd cried that night, alone in her room, convinced she'd never be a real witcher. Never be good enough.
If only they could see her now, she thought bitterly.
The memory faded as she crashed back into reality.
Glorium
Ciri tumbled through the portal and immediately realized she'd made a mistake. She was still moving at incredible speed, the sandals carrying her forward with momentum that hadn't dissipated during the transition.
She was going to hit the ground at terminal velocity.
"Stop!" she shouted at the sandals. "Slow down!"
The wings folded slightly, air resistance increasing. She decelerated rapidly, the sudden change in speed making her stomach lurch. The ground rushed up at her, green grass and rolling hills near a city built like a fortress.
She managed to pull up at the last second, skimming across the grass at maybe twenty miles per hour instead of a hundred. Still too fast. She hit the ground running, stumbled, rolled, and came to rest in an undignified heap at the base of a massive tree.
She lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky, the air smelled like pine and cold stone and something wild she couldn't name.
The sandals' wings folded against her heels, going dormant. They'd saved her life, easily gotten her away from the Hunt and carried her to somewhere new. She touched them gently, almost reverently.
"Thank you," she whispered, "Whoever you are, thank you."
A woman approached, tall and muscular, wearing armor that looked like it had seen many battles. She carried an axe that glowed with faint blue light.
"That was the worst landing I've seen in hundreds years, even baby Valkyries are better," the woman said, Her expression was amused rather than hostile.
"You saw that?" Ciri pushed herself to her feet, wincing.
The woman grinned. "Welcome to Glorium, girl. Gate-town to Ysgard."
Ciri felt her muscles unlock slightly. "How long can I stay?"
"Long as you like, Glorium welcomes warriors and wanderers." The woman extended her hand. "Name's Sigrid Shieldbreaker. You look like you could use a drink and a meal, and then maybe some practice with those fancy flying shoes."
Ciri took the offered hand, letting Sigrid pull her to her feet. "My names Ciri, A drink sounds perfect. And yes, I definitely need practice. I thought I was going to die when I came through the portal."
"You would have, if those sandals hadn't slowed you down. Where'd you get artifacts like that?" Sigrid started walking toward the city, and Ciri followed, limping slightly.
"Someone gave them to me. A craftsman in a city called Tradegate. He just... tossed them to me and told me to fly." She shook her head. "I don't even know his name."
"Sounds like you owe someone a debt of gratitude." Sigrid glanced back. "The Hunt doesn't give up, you know. They'll wait outside Glorium's boundaries for as long as it takes."
"Let them wait." Ciri touched the sandals again, feeling their dormant power. "I'm tired of running. Maybe it's time I learned to fight back properly."
"Now that's a warrior's attitude." Sigrid's grin widened. "Come on then. First round's on me, and you can tell me how you pissed off the Wild Hunt badly enough to chase you across planes. That's usually a story worth hearing."
The Wild Hunt could wait outside Glorium's boundaries for as long as they wanted.