Chapter 90: Evacuation
POV: Adam
Oxenfurt materialized through morning mist like a fever dream made real.
The port city sprawled along the Pontar Delta, wooden docks reaching into gray water where merchant ships rocked at anchor. After two days of forced march through terrain we didn't know, following directions Geralt extracted from increasingly nervous travelers, the sight of civilization brought relief that bordered on physical.
"We look like refugees." Lambert's observation came through cracked lips. My healing had dealt with the worst of his frost damage, but the forced travel had prevented proper recovery. All of us looked like disaster survivors—clothes torn, skin pale, eyes hollow from exhaustion and fear.
"We are refugees." Ciri pulled her hood lower, hiding distinctive features that might draw recognition. "Have been since Cintra."
"First priority: messenger network." Geralt took lead as they entered the city, navigating crowds with witcher efficiency. "We need to warn Yarpen that the Hunt manifested. If they're searching for us, they might check our last known location."
"The dwarves can't fight spectral riders."
"No, but they can fortify, hide, make themselves difficult targets." His expression darkened. "And they deserve warning about threats we brought to their doorstep."
The messenger office occupied a narrow building near the merchant quarter—one of dozens scattered across the continent, connected through networks that predated most kingdoms. Geralt composed the warning while I watched the street for threats that probably weren't there but might appear any moment.
[ Message Sent: Yarpen Zigrin, Mahakam Hold ]
[ Contents: Hunt manifestation warning, tactical recommendations, gratitude ]
The response came faster than expected—dwarven efficiency combined with magical relay stations that compressed days of travel into minutes of transit.
Stone-Sense: Message received. Hold fortifying, deep tunnels prepared for civilian shelter. Your warning appreciated, your survival more so. Enclosed: banking authorization for emergency funds. Use well. Come back when you can. —Yarpen
"Funds?" Lambert's interest sharpened.
"Dwarven merchant network." I showed him the authorization token. "Good at any major bank, redeemable for coin or trade goods."
"How much?"
"Enough for ship passage and supplies." The number on the token exceeded anything we'd possessed since Cintra. "Yarpen's not a man who does things halfway."
—Scene Break—
POV: Geralt
The port-master's office smelled of salt and corruption.
Geralt negotiated passage while Adam maintained watch over Ciri and Lambert purchased supplies. The official—a corpulent man whose eyes calculated profit in every glance—proved skeptical of travelers who appeared after clearly desperate journey.
"Skellige passage." The port-master examined Geralt's coin with theatrical suspicion. "Dangerous voyage this time of year. Storms, pirates, sea creatures. Most captains won't risk it."
"Most captains don't have witcher coin."
"Witcher coin spends same as any other." But interest flickered behind calculated indifference. "What business does a witcher have in Skellige?"
"Witcher business."
"Ah. Monster contracts."
"Something like that."
The negotiation proceeded through familiar rhythms—prices quoted, objections raised, compromises reached. By noon, they'd secured passage on the Northern Star, a merchant vessel departing the following morning for Ard Skellig.
"Captain Halgrim runs a clean ship," the port-master admitted while pocketing his commission. "Skellige-born, knows the waters better than most. You could do worse."
"We have done worse." Geralt collected the passage tokens. "Repeatedly."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
The inn room overlooked the harbor.
I stood at the window, watching ships rock at anchor while the sun painted the water gold and pink. Behind me, Ciri slept the deep exhaustion of someone pushed past all reasonable limits. Geralt meditated in his peculiar witcher way, consciousness turned inward for rest that didn't require full unconsciousness. Lambert had gone to find ale strong enough to numb the memories of frost burning through his flesh.
"Six months."
The thought crystallized without warning. Six months since Cintra's fall. Since waking in a world that shouldn't exist with powers that shouldn't be possible and enemies that shouldn't be real.
Six months of running, fighting, surviving. Growing stronger through mechanisms I still didn't fully understand, watching numbers increase and abilities unlock while the people around me questioned nothing about my impossible progression.
[ Current Status ]
[ Level: 38 (65% toward 39) ]
[ HP: 530/530 ]
[ MP: 820/820 (fully recovered) ]
[ Elements: Air (Adept), Water (Adept), Earth (Adept) ]
[ Fire: Locked (Level 40 requirement) ]
Fire. The fourth element. The counter to the Hunt's frozen essence.
"Level 40 isn't far. Two more levels. At current progression, maybe a month of solid training. If Skellige provides safety for that training..."
"You're brooding." Geralt's voice came from behind, meditation apparently concluded.
"Thinking."
"Same thing." The witcher joined me at the window. "What about?"
"The Hunt. Their motivation. The fact that they're dying refugees trying to save their people, and we're the obstacle between them and the tool they need." I turned to face him. "Does that change anything? Knowing they're not simply evil?"
"Does it change their methods? Their willingness to hurt Ciri to achieve their goals?"
"No."
"Then it doesn't change our response." Geralt's golden eyes held wisdom born from decades of similar moral calculations. "Understanding an enemy's motivation doesn't obligate you to sacrifice yourself to their cause. It just means you know why you're fighting. Sometimes that matters. Sometimes it doesn't."
"And which is this?"
"Ask me after we survive it."
—Scene Break—
POV: Ciri
She woke to twilight and the distant sound of sailors singing.
The room had darkened while she slept, Oxenfurt's lights beginning to twinkle through the window. Adam sat nearby, hands moving through the motions of elemental practice—air currents visible as they swirled between his fingers, water droplets dancing in impossible patterns.
"You're awake." He didn't look up from his practice. "How do you feel?"
"Terrible." But the admission came with a small smile. "Better than yesterday, though."
"Progress."
She watched his practice, marveling at control that had seemed impossible when they'd first met. The awkward clerk who'd somehow appeared during Cintra's fall had become something else entirely—warrior, healer, protector, and more powerful with each passing week.
"Do you ever wonder what you'd be doing if none of this had happened?"
The question made him pause. "None of what?"
"The fall. The running. Meeting me." She pulled her knees to her chest. "If Nilfgaard had never attacked. If the Hunt didn't exist. If I was just... normal."
"I'd probably be dead." His answer came without hesitation. "Or worse, alive but meaningless. Whatever brought me here—" He caught himself, restructured the thought. "Whatever made me what I am, it gave me purpose. Gave me you. I wouldn't trade that for any amount of safety."
"Even knowing what's coming? What we'll have to face?"
"Especially knowing that." He set aside his practice, moved to sit beside her on the bed. "Ciri, I've had safety before. Safety without meaning is just waiting to die slowly. This—" He gestured at the room, at the window, at the life they'd built through shared survival. "This matters. You matter. Everything else is just details."
She kissed him. Let the contact communicate what words couldn't—gratitude, love, the determination to survive whatever came next.
"Skellige tomorrow," she said when they separated.
"Skellige tomorrow."
"And if the Hunt finds us there?"
"Then we fight. Or run. Or find some third option we haven't imagined yet." His smile held confidence she wanted to believe in. "We're good at third options."
[ XP Gained: 200 (Reaching Oxenfurt, Securing Passage) ]
[ Level 38: 85% toward Level 39 ]
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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