— –Alexander Montclair– —
"Oh gather close, my friends tonight,
And hear of a man from lands afar,
Whose mind burned bright, whose heart burned right,
A spark that rose to meet the star.
Beside him rode a silver flame,
A child of fate, both fierce and free,
Together sworn through storm and shame,
To face the Hunt, and not yet flee."
"Hmm…" Dandelion leaned back in his seat, strumming a few lazy notes on his lute. "It's poetic, but it feels wrong. Is this meant to be a ballad?"
"I mean, given that we're about to commit several war crimes…" Dudu said, shrugging as he adjusted the metal tube of the makeshift grenade launcher, a slightly adjusted version of a potato gun, on his lap, "I'd say it's something more along the lines of—"
"A song of freedom." Alex cut in quietly, eyes drifting toward the carriage window. "We do what we have to. The Hunt started this fight."
His tone ended the conversation. Dudu glanced up at him, the smile fading slightly before returning in a softer form.
"Well, then." He said, tapping the side of the launcher. "We do what we must, because we can."
If Alex were being honest, the closer they got to the abandoned village Ciri had cleared, the more that uneasy pit in his stomach grew. He'd told himself this was necessary, the only logical move left, yet reason had a funny way of twisting itself when you were staring down what you'd built.
"So now we end it." Dudu said, breaking the silence as he stuffed gunpowder into another canister. His hands moved with casual precision. "I'm just curious to see how these things work. It's simply fascinating. And the bombs, think of the applications they could have in war. I mean, you could probably conquer an entire continent, if not the world with these things."
"No, nobody is going to make any more of these." Alex warned sharply, the edge in his voice cutting through the low creak of the carriage. "Mess with them, and you are going to kill more people than the Hunt ever will."
That was enough to quiet the room.
"Sheesh." Dudu muttered, leaning back with exaggerated caution. "Fine. I'll behave." He lifted the launcher slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. "You want one too, Dandelion? I could make you a matching model. You could help us with the Hunt."
"I think I'll stick to writing songs, Dudu." Dandelion said dryly, pretending to tune his lute. "Besides, someone has to watch over the escape route."
"Which one?" Dudu asked, causing the two of them to get lost in conversation.
They were going to set explosives and traps along their escape paths to earn themselves more time and distance. Enough to leave the Hunt behind. But the alternative was to use Ciri to teleport them all far away. To the coast, where they had sent a letter to another of Dandelion's friends to set up a boat for them to escape on.
And even if the letter hadn't arrived on time, there should be enough small boats coming and going from the area for them to steal one and escape via water. Since, according to Ciri, they shouldn't be able to follow them that way, at least not until they reached land again.
Alex didn't join in as they talked about other possible escape routes, or even as Dudu began to list possible contingencies for the plans. His hand lingered in his coat pocket, brushing against the small card O'Dimm had left him.
Belasco was one thing, but he was about to stain his hands with the blood of the Wild Hunt. At least if everything went according to plan. And it wasn't going to be pretty. No, he was crossing a line and he knew it.
But there was no honor in what they wanted to do with Ciri. There was no honor on what they would do to accomplish it.
No, he'd made his choice that night.
And now, he would live with it.
When the carriage finally came to a stop, Alex stepped down first. The air hit him like a slap, cold, sharp, heavy with the stink of rot. The village was silent, nothing but the crackle of distant fire and the whisper of wind moving through half-collapsed roofs.
A small fire burned near the center of the square, its light painting the fog in shades of orange and grey. Ciri stood beside it, cloak drawn tight, her sword slung across her back. She looked up as they approached, giving him a faint smile.
He followed her gaze to the burning pile, twisted shapes and blackened bones, the remnants of ghouls and drowners. The stench clawed at his throat. She must've wanted to make sure they stayed dead, he thought. From what Ciri had told him, it wouldn't be strange if the monsters could claw their way back up if their corpses were not disposed of properly. Or worse, draw more to the smell of death.
"Master Witcher." Alex said, forcing a grin as he approached. "I see you've done a fine job here."
The joke earned a soft chuckle from her.
"What was it we agreed on?" He continued, tilting his head. "A hundred coins?"
"Two hundred." She said easily, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "And an extra fifty for the cleanup."
"Tsk, you Witchers are so greedy." Alex muttered, though there was a trace of warmth in his voice. He glanced over his shoulder where Dandelion was paying the carriage driver, a friend of his he'd said they could trust, before watching the man turn his horse and disappear into the mist. "Unfortunately, I'm a little short on coin."
Ciri's smirk returned, sharp and teasing.
"I'm sure we can find another way for you to pay me." She said as she passed him, giving him a wink, her boots crunching over the dirt. "By helping me with the Hunt, of course… unless you had something else in mind?"
Alex blinked, caught for a second before shaking his head.
"Who knows?" Alex answered, causing her to chuckle as she walked over to check on the supplies they had brought along with the spare horses for their escape.
Turning toward the largest structure in sight, Alex spotted what had once been the village tavern. The sign still hung above the doorway, cracked and blackened, swaying gently in the cold wind. It was the biggest building left standing solid enough for them to plan and prepare for the Hunt.
Taking a deep breath, he felt himself relax slightly as he entered.
It was time to work.
— –Eredin Bréacc Glas– —
The White Frost would soon claim his world and his people.
Even now, he could feel it clinging to him, to his riders. Everywhere they rode, the frost followed. Each hunt left behind more than corpses; it carved ice into the soil, into the bones of the land itself.
The White Frost was not a plague, nor a curse, nor the wrath of any god. It was a force of nature, cold, patient, absolute. An endless winter that devoured suns and kingdoms alike. It was the death of worlds, the quiet end that came for all things. And in time, it had chosen theirs.
Just as the prophets had promised.
Perhaps, if Auberon had acted sooner, if he had not hesitated when faced with the human girl, things might have been different. The Elder Blood child would be theirs, their salvation secured, their exodus prepared. But Auberon, in his weakness, had failed.
Eredin could almost pity him. To lie with a human was unthinkable, an act beneath the dignity of their kind. The very thought turned his stomach. Yet duty had no regard for disgust. It demanded sacrifice, and a king who could not make one was no king at all.
And so, Eredin had done what Auberon could not. He had poisoned the king and reached for the destiny the coward had squandered. But the girl, his prize, his salvation, had slipped through his fingers like smoke. So close. He had been so close.
And thus began their eternal hunt.
For years now, they had chased her shadow across worlds. But she was no longer a frightened child. The traitor, Avallac'h, had seen to that. He had taught her control, discipline, things that made her far more dangerous than the frightened creature they once pursued.
Eredin still could not fathom it. Betrayal ran deep among their kind, but to teach the human how to use the power of the Elder Blood? To gift the key of their bloodline to a human? It was madness.
If not for that betrayal, she would already be theirs. Their people would have a future. Their children would be born beneath a new sun instead of dying beneath the Frost's frozen sky.
But time had run thin.
They had done their best to try to train others to travel the veil, but in the end, without the Elder Blood, only few of their people could master it.
The Frost was spreading, consuming their cities, swallowing their seas. It no longer waited at the edge of their world, it was inside it, coiling through every crack, every breath. Soon, even their strongest mages would crumble before it.
Now there was only one path left.
The Elder Blood girl would not be their savior, but their sacrifice. A vessel. A living conduit strong enough to open the gates and carry their kind through before the end came.
Perhaps, if she survived, she could still serve another purpose. A broodmare for the next line of Elder Blood, one that would not defy them. One that would, in time, leave their human heritage behind and practically become pure blooded Aen Elle.
Yet, they could not track the girl so easily. They needed her to use the power she had stolen from their race. Once the Elder Blood burned, they would find her. And so, he waited.
— — —
In time, the air of the Between cracked like glass.
Eredin's head rose at once, the sound echoing through the void, the kind that no mortal ear could hear, but every rider of the Hunt knew by instinct. It was a pull, sharp and sudden, like a blade scraping against his soul.
The power that belonged to their people had been used. The ripple of power, ancient and familiar, cut through the fabric of the worlds to reach them, the pulse of Elder Blood.
For the first time in weeks, his cold lips twisted into something resembling a smile.
"She's close." He murmured, voice low and distorted by the helm that sealed his face. "Closer than she's been since Ard Skellig."
A thin mist drifted across the void as the forms of his warriors gathered around him. Frost clung to their armor.
"Where?" Caranthir asked, preparing himself to ride once more.
Eredin extended his hand into the empty air. The void itself responded, bending around his fingers like water disturbed by a stone.
Through it, he could feel her. The trace of her power shimmered in the space between worlds, not far, not beyond reach. A breach, small and raw, pulsed faintly in his mind's eye, painting a location across the veil.
"Here." He said finally, closing his fist. "A village near Novigrad. Forgotten. Empty."
"A trap?" Caranthir bowed his head slightly.
"Perhaps." The faintest amusement colored Eredin's tone. "Or desperation."
He turned, cloak trailing frost as he stepped toward his steed.
"Summon the riders." Eredin ordered.
Once gathered, the Wild Hunt broke through the veil between the worlds, passing through a portal directly to the location in which they had felt Ciri's power.
And when they emerged, the clouds over the Northern Realms began to darken. A wave of frost passed through the village as flakes of snow began to fall.
Eredin reined his steed atop a hill overlooking the ruined village below. Firelight flickered faintly in the distance. A trace of the human they were hunting.
"She's here." He said, his voice little more than a growl. The riders behind him stirred, the faint clatter of armor breaking the silence.
Eredin's gaze lingered on the mist-shrouded village below, his breath turning to frost inside his helm. There was no need for patience. No need for subtlety. The moment she revealed herself, she had sealed her fate.
He raised his hand, and the wind stilled.
"Ride."
In the next instant, the Hunt surged forward, a storm of hooves and steel tearing through the fog. Frost bloomed in their wake, creeping across the earth in jagged veins, freezing the very breath of the wind.
Eredin's steed struck the ground first, black hooves shattering the frost beneath them. The world itself seemed to recoil as he rode, each stride bending the mist, distorting it, making it warp and twist.
"Spread out." He barked, voice carrying over the wind. "No mercy. She is not to escape again."
The riders obeyed without hesitation, fanning out through the narrow streets. A layer of ice crept across the walls, crawling like veins toward the heart of the village.
The Elder Blood was close, she had not yet escaped, and with Avallac'h out of the picture thanks to their curse, they would be able to follow her no matter how far she ran. Even if the girl used her powers to escape, they would track her down in a moment, following the scent of her Blood. They would tire her out, and then, they would bring her back to their world.
Then, he saw her.
The pyre burned at the center of the square, embers scattering through the mist like dying stars. Beside it stood the girl, the Child of the Elder Blood. Her cloak snapped in the cold wind, silver hair gleaming against the darkness as she met his gaze.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. The king of the Wild Hunt expected to see fear in her eyes, he expected her to run.
And yet, Ciri raised her sword. Slowly. Deliberately.
A challenge.
Eredin felt something stir inside of him at the sight. Not anger, not satisfaction, not yet. Something akin to the familiar thrill that came after every successful hunt. He could see the defiance in her stance, the resolve in her eyes. Even now, the girl dared to stand against him, to try to fight him.
'Foolish girl.'
He dismounted, his boots striking the frost-bitten ground with a dull thud. The cold around him deepened, the air hissing as ice cracked beneath his steps. He reached for his blade, unsheathing it in one motion and aiming it at the girl.
Eredin began to approach her, slowly, savoring the moment.
"Tired of running?" He asked, his tone almost conversational, the faintest smile curling beneath his helm.
"Something like it." Ciri called back, voice sharp and steady. The words carried across the square, loud enough for the rest of the Hunt to hear.
At her words, her defiance, the other riders arrived. One by one they rode into the square, forming a loose circle around the pyre. Hooves struck stone, and the cold deepened until the very air began to crack.
Eredin stopped a few paces from her. All around them, the Wild Hunt dismounted in unison, the sound of steel sliding from sheaths ringing like a funeral bell. The fog thickened, swallowing the edges of the square until there was nothing left but fire, frost, and the two of them, hunter and prey.
Ciri's grip on her sword tightened, as she changed her stance into one meant for fighting.
The firelight danced across her blade. Eredin tilted his head, watching her through the narrow slits of his helm.
"You always did have courage." He said softly, almost admiringly. "But courage without power is meaningless. I will give you this final fight, girl. But nothing more."
She didn't move. Didn't blink.
"Encircle her, but don't interfere." Eredin commanded his riders. "I will take her down myself."
The riders shifted, closing in a step at a time. The circle tightened, creating a ring for the two of them to fight.
Then, Ciri stepped closer to the pyre, while keeping her sword in a defensive stance.
Eredin approached her slowly, seeing the confidence in the girl's eyes waver. And then, he saw her turn and kick a nearby box into the flames. The moment she moved, he also felt the Elder Blood inside of her burn as she vanished, teleporting a few hundred feet away in an instant, yet still within his sights.
Yet, before he could focus on his own teleportation abilities to chase her, an explosion rang out from within the pyre. An explosion that caused a chain reaction of explosions as trails of fire ignited across the floor leading into other crates that had been sitting near the pyre.
From the explosions, fine dust coated the air around them, the dust clinging to their armor as if attracted by a magnet.
"Dimeritium." Eredin muttered as he felt himself unable to appear in front of the girl.
A crude solution, if only a temporary one. Even with the concentration in the air around them, it would only inhibit their magic, and their teleportation for a minute at most. And, with the wind in the area, the time could even be diminished even more.
That was without accounting for the fact that they could simply walk out of the Dimeritium cloud.
The girl must have truly been desperate to try such a simple diversion.
However, it was then that he heard sounds akin to explosions in the distance. A heartbeat later, Eredin felt something strike him square in the back. The blow was strong enough to almost throw him off balance. And the moment he got struck, he felt the magic around him become even thinner.
It didn't cut, didn't pierce, it splattered. A thick, syrup-like substance clung to his armor, heavy and wet. For a brief moment, he thought it was alchemical oil or some new kind of explosive resin. But when he reached back to touch it, the material clung to his gauntlet, smearing across the metal in streaks of black, brown, and pale white.
The explosions rang out every few seconds, and with each explosion, another of his riders would be struck by the same strange substance.
"Spread out! Find the source!" He barked, his voice carrying through the haze.
But before his companion could move, the world erupted.
The air ignited with a roar, a living inferno that swallowed sound and light alike. Eredin felt the heat first, searing through his armor as the strange gel on his back burst into flame. The fire clung to him, crawling across his armor like liquid hunger. Around him, riders screamed, proud, immortal warriors, now flailing figures engulfed in orange light.
"Retreat!" Eredin commanded, his voice cracking with a hint of pain.
It was clear now that it was nothing more than a trap. So as long as they left the area they had prepared for them, they would be able to hunt the girl without problem.
But the fire didn't behave as normal flame should. It stuck. The harder they tried to remove it, the brighter it burned. And through it all, the white wisps rising from their bodies began to thicken, clouds of dense, choking smoke that turned the air into poison.
He inhaled, and instantly regretted it. The smoke burned his lungs like molten glass. His chest seized, his breath tearing into violent coughs. Beneath the roar of the flames came another sound, the hissing of pressure, of canisters bursting open in the mist.
Then came the colors.
Yellow. Green. Pale, translucent grey.
The clouds rolled together, each one carrying its own distinct reek, chlorine, sulfur, decay. He had seen battlefields painted in fire and frost, but this was something else entirely.
He tried to hold his breath. It only made it worse. The air already in his lungs turned to acid, clawing at his chest, searing his throat until the instinct to breathe overpowered thought itself. He gasped, and that single, panicked breath became his punishment.
The gas tore into him like fire. His eyes burned, vision blurring into streaks of green and gold. His skin prickled beneath his armor, raw and blistering, while every breath felt like swallowing molten metal. He could feel his lungs convulsing, struggling to draw air that no longer gave life.
He staggered, knees threatening to give, but he did not fall.
He was not prey.
He was Eredin Bréacc Glas, King of the Aen Elle. The Lord of the Hunt. He had crossed worlds and devoured empires. He had commanded death itself to march at his side. And he would not die choking on the breath of a mortal.
With effort that made his vision swim, he forced his body upright and bellowed into the chaos.
"Focus!" His voice cracked, rasping through ruined lungs. "If they can strike so precisely, they must be close! Follow the explosions!"
The words barely carried through the smoke, but the Hunt heard the command in his tone. Their horses screamed, writhing against their riders' grips. Eredin reached for his steed, calling it with a guttural growl, and through the fog it came, burning, neighing in agony, its hide blistering beneath the tar that clung to it.
Still, it obeyed.
He vaulted onto its back, the motion sending another burst of pain through his chest as fire licked at his legs. The armor along his spine glowed a dull orange, the heat enough to make even his enchanted metal groan. The stench of charred flesh filled the air, indistinguishable from that of his dying riders.
"Go!" He snarled, driving his heels into the beast's sides.
The steed surged forward, tearing through the poisonous haze. Behind him, the Wild Hunt followed, knights wreathed in flame and smoke, riding like specters through a storm of their own making. Their cloaks were burning banners. Their cries echoed.
"Survive until the Dimeritium wears off!" He roared, voice little more than a whisper scraped raw by acid. "Then we retreat! We do not fall today!"
He wasn't sure if they could hear him anymore. Their armor cracked from the heat, their skin blistered beneath the steel, and still they charged. The air shimmered around them, not with magic, but with heat, with the dense shimmer of burning air.
And then, through the haze, he saw him.
A man.
Standing among the ruins, his face half-lit by the inferno. The human's eyes widened as he realized what was coming. In his hands, he held a strange weapon, a black tube with silver edges, the end glowing faintly from heat. Not a staff, not a bow. Something else. Something that didn't belong in this world.
Eredin barely had time to react before a second figure appeared in the window of a collapsed house, the same face, another twin. Both aimed those strange weapons at him.
For the briefest moment, his gaze met with the man in the window. The man's eyes were not filled with fear, but resolve, cold, merciless resolve.
The next instant, the world exploded.
The projectile struck the earth beside him, and the detonation was not fire, it was force. The shockwave shattered what little balance he had left. His horse screamed, half its body dissolving into burning sludge as they were thrown skyward.
Eredin tried to teleport mid-fall. Reflex. Instinct. But the moment he reached for the fold between worlds, he felt the Dimeritium flare inside the gel coating his back, a thousand needles burrowing into his flesh, sealing the spell before it could form.
He hit the ground hard enough to crack the soil. The fire still clung to him. His vision swam in orange and green.
Coughing violently, he rose, or tried to. His lungs betrayed him, spasming with every ragged breath. He spat something black, viscous, and steaming. The sound of his riders' armor scraping against the burning ground surrounded him..
And through the smoke, he could see the human closer to him lowering the weapon, his silhouette framed against the burning village.
— –Alexander Montclair– —
The plan had gone perfectly. Too perfectly.
Ciri had done her part, leading the Wild Hunt right into the Dimeritium trap they had set up hours before. The first canisters had gone off just as planned, and for a few precious seconds, the air shimmered with faint silver light. The concentrated Dimeritium cancelling any and all magic near them.
That was the opening they needed. And what followed was the first of his creations. Creations he wasn't sure he was proud of.
A mixture of napalm, white phosphorus, and Dimeritium, all blended into a sticky, half-liquid resin that caught fire seconds after touching air. It clung to anything it touched. Flesh, armor, bone, didn't matter. And buried inside that inferno was the Dimeritium itself, spreading through every gap and every wound, keeping them from escaping even as the fire began to eat through their armor.
The more they tried to remove it, the more they would spread the Dimeritium in their bodies, and the more time they would be unable to flee.
The next wave had been worse. Chlorine gas, mustard gas, and the unstable cyanogen chloride mix that he wasn't sure would work as intended. Along with them, the smaller canisters filled with poison gas extracted from this world's herbs that Dudu had helped him create. He hadn't known what those would do. He hadn't wanted to.
He told himself it was for time. That even if they escaped, they would have months instead of weeks to prepare. And perhaps, by doing this, he would save not only himself, but the lives of those he cared about.
But saying it was one thing, and seeing it was another.
The first scream tore through the fog like a blade. Then another. The sound multiplied, dozens of voices rising at once before growing quieter as the smoke began to invade their lungs. Even the horses cried out, their bodies wreathed in orange light as the white phosphorus caught and burned through hide and bone.
Alex had expected it to be quick. It wasn't.
When he had shot the second wave of attacks, the smoke changed color, green and yellow bleeding through white. Even though he had positioned himself opposite of the wind, where the gases and harmful chemicals would blow away from him. Far enough to be "safe" from exposure. He could still smell it, the faint and distant smell of chemicals at first. And then, something human.
The smell of burning flesh hit his nose.
His stomach twisted. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. It wasn't just the smell. It was the sound too. The coughing, the choking, the scraping of armor against stone as they crawled.
He told himself not to look. To focus on the next step. But he couldn't help it.
He saw them.
The Wild Hunt charging through the haze, their armor still burning, their horses screaming beneath them. A few riders fell, thrashing on the ground as the tar burned through their armor, twisting in pain as the smoke poured into their lungs.
He couldn't help but freeze.
The sight of them, those armored riders, those monsters, should have filled him with satisfaction. It should have felt like victory. Instead, it made his stomach twist.
He saw Dudu at the window, his face pale, his hands shaking as he fired another bomb into the crowd. The explosion sent another wave of fire through the mist, knocking a few more riders down.
That should have been the end of it.
But even as the rest of the Wild Hunt screamed and fell, one figure kept moving.
The one leading the charge.
He stumbled through the ground, his body still burning. His armor cracked and blistered with every step, pieces falling away until Alex could see the raw flesh underneath. The figure reached up and tore his mask away, revealing skin that had been eaten alive by fire and gas alike.
Blood poured from his eyes and nose, his mouth opening and closing silently. No sound came out, only the faint, wet hiss of air through what was left of his lungs.
Alex couldn't look away.
He should have begun the retreat. The plan was complete, the trap had worked better than he could have ever imagined. But his body refused to move. His legs felt heavy, his mind blank, as if every scream and every crackle of fire had rooted him in place. All he could hear was the sound of burning, of metal, of flesh, of life being stripped away one breath at a time.
He stumbled forward, his armor molten in places, the flames clinging stubbornly to every piece of him. Each step he took left behind black, smoking footprints that hissed against the earth. The sword in his hand dragged along the ground, leaving a faint trail of sparks in its wake.
And then, Ciri appeared.
She flashed in front of Alex, her sword drawn, stance ready. Her breath came out ragged, and her eyes never left the figure limping toward them.
"Eredin." She said his name like a curse, her grip tightening on her blade.
But Eredin didn't respond. He didn't even seem to see her. His gaze was fixed past her, locked onto Alex, through the smoke, through the fire. His eyes burned red with blood and fury, yet behind them there was something else. Something almost human.
"Retreat, Alex." Ciri's voice broke through the noise, firm but strained. "Now."
He didn't listen.
The ringing in his ears grew louder, drowning everything else out. His pulse thundered in his head, and for a second, all he could feel was the cold weight settling in his chest. He didn't know if it was fear, guilt, or something worse.
Eredin took another step.
Something in Alex's gut twisted, snapping him out of his daze. He reached back, fingers brushing the cold metal of what he'd built, the weapon the dwarves had helped him shape. One of the weapons he had prepared for Belasco, with Dimeritium bullets to try to land an unexpected blow.
His hand trembled as he drew it, the weight of it alien in his grip. He leveled it with Eredin's face, his breath shallow, uneven. The King kept coming, each step slower, heavier, the fire still eating through him.
For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other.
Alex could see it in his eyes, the hate, yes, but also the pain. The exhaustion. It felt almost familiar in a way.
And maybe, in some strange way, Alex understood him.
He tightened his grip, the barrel shaking slightly as he exhaled. Then he did the only thing that made sense, the only thing that might still count as mercy in this nightmare he had created.
He fired.
Shoutout to @Basilisk, @Harman, and @Tertius711 for helping me brainstorm and keep on coming up with ideas for this story and for Beta Reading.
https://discord.gg/WTgN9J3YgK
~A/N~
Alex is a good guy, doing bad guy stuff feels bad. This is his first time really hurting anyone, so it's not a surprise he would be shaken by it. And I already set up Alex's reluctance to create weapons like the ones he used this chap multiple times throughout the Witcher segments. But hey, at least he and Ciri can finally stop running.
Rip the Wild Hunt. And Rip the Aen Elle as a whole lol.
Wonder who is going to show up next chap?
Also, this might have felt a bit sudden and a bit like an easy win, but I have been setting up for this for a while. I had Dudu mention just how much Dimeritium they were buying and how easy it was to access thanks to the witch hunt happening in Novigrad(Alex was buying it for Belasco)
And well, once you take the magic/teleportation away from the Wild Hunt, they really are just regular-ass people. Like, I tried to research if they had anything they could use, but not really. They wouldn't even be able to use wind magic to blow away the gases since, well, Dimeritium.