The snow stretched endlessly in every direction, a vast, white expanse that seemed to swallow the horizon. Sebastian stood knee-deep in the drifts, his breath misting in the cold air, his eyes scanning the featureless landscape. The wind howled across the frozen plain. For a moment, panic gripped him, familiar dread that coiled in his chest.
'The White Frost. She sent me to a world destroyed by the White Frost.'
He raised his hands, expecting to see them begin to freeze, to feel the creeping unnatural frost that would claim him as it had claimed everything else. But nothing happened. He didn't even feel cold, it was the cold of a mountain winter, not the unnatural, soul-devouring chill of the White Frost. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs. It was crisp and clean, carrying the faint, salty tang of the sea.
His eyes narrowed as he focused, letting his senses reach out, searching for any sign of the unnatural. There was nothing. No lingering magic, no malevolent presence, no sense of impending doom. The snow was natural.
A wave of relief washed over him, at least this meant he is probably still in the continent, he turned his face into the wind, letting it guide him. The salty smell grew stronger, and he began to walk, his boots crunching against the snow.
He crested a ridge, and the world opened up before him. Below, nestled against the jagged cliffs, lay a bustling port. Ships bobbed in the harbor, their masts swaying gently. The buildings were stout and sturdy, built to withstand the harsh climate. Banners flew from the towers, bearing the crest of the an Craite clan.
"Thank god," said Sebastian, his voice barely a whisper. "I am in Ard Skellig, good thing that I'm still on the Continent."
"What should I do to get back quickly?" He thought of Triss, of Dandelion and Zoltan, of the chaos that Philippa had unleashed. "Right Ermion! He is a friend of Geralt. He could open a portal for me to Rivia. Maybe I could still catch up to Philippa, and save Triss..." His face turned sour, the grim reality of the situation crashing down on him.
"Who am I kidding? The king is probably dead. I failed my job to protect him, and now I am missing." His jaw tightened, his voice hardening with bitter self-recrimination. "Good. So I am a suspect for regicide. Philippa definitely killed more than one crown head, especially Radovid. But I do not think she would kill Triss... Shit. I swear it on my life, I will kill Philippa regardless and take the mask back."
He looked down at the city below, at the fortress of Kaer Trolde rising from the cliffs. Time was against him. He had to move fast, he raised his hand, and flames began to lick at his fingers.
"Let's go."
With a burst of fire, he launched himself into the air. Flame propelled him forward, arcing over the snowy slope, his body a blazing comet against the sky. The wind screamed past his ears, the snow biting at his face, but he did not slow. He had one thought, one goal, one burning need to get back.
'Hang on a bit longer, Ciri. I know that creep bastard wants you for your power. You are still alive I know that, so just survive a bit longer. I will come for you.'
He landed in the docks of Kaer Trolde with a thunderous crash, the impact carving a flaming crater into the stone and earth. Workers scattered, their shouts rising in panic. They scrambled for weapons, axes, hammers, anything they could find their faces pale with terror.
"By the gods!" a worker shouted, his voice cracking. "What in the name of the gods was that?!"
"Trebuchet attack!" another cried, his hands shaking. "What fucking trebuchet?! Are you mad?!"
Flames erupted from the crater, sending waves of heat washing over the terrified workers. The horses tethered nearby reared and screamed, their eyes wild with fear. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the fire vanished, leaving behind a figure.
Sebastian stepped out of the crater, his face cold and stern, his yellow eyes blazing with intensity. He was covered in soot and snow, his clothes singed, his hair wild. But he stood tall and unyielding.
The workers raised their weapons, their voices trembling with fear. A burly man with a thick beard stepped forward, his axe raised.
"How the fu... Who the hell are ya, stranger?!" he demanded. "And where the hell did ye come from?!"
Sebastian's voice was flat. "I need to see your jarl. Crach an Craite, I am a friend of his."
The burly man's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his axe. "Like hell you are, you flaming bastard! I've never seen ye before in me life, and ye come crashing out of the sky like a demon from the depths? I don't know what kind of sorcery this is, but ye'll not be.."
He lunged forward, his axe swinging in a powerful arc aimed at Sebastian's head.
Sebastian moved out of the way. His body flowed around the attack, his hands flashing out. In the span of a heartbeat, the man's axe was wrenched from his grip, and he found himself disarmed and disoriented. Before anyone could react, Sebastian had disarmed three more workers, their weapons clattering to the ground. The workers stared at him, their faces pale, their hands raised in surrender. They had seen enough to know that this stranger was far beyond them.
Sebastian's gaze swept the docks. The workers had stopped fighting, their courage deserting them in the face of such overwhelming skill, and he had yet to draw his sword. He spotted a horse tethered to a post, its coat glossy, its saddle well-worn. He strode toward it, untying the reins with a single motion.
"Sorry," he said, addressing the horse's owner, a thin man who stood frozen in terror. "I will borrow this. I will return it."
The man's voice was a squeak of protest. "That's me best horse! Ye can't just.."
Sebastian was already mounted, his heels digging into the horse's flanks. "I said I will return it."
He spurred the horse forward, galloping toward the fortress, Kaer Trolde citadel. Behind him, the owner's voice rose in a furious shout, but the words were lost in the wind.
Sebastian's mind raced as he rode, his thoughts a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. He had to find Ermion. He had to get back to Rivia as soon as possible. He had to stop Philippa before she could complete whatever scheme she had set in motion.
"Damn it, Geralt!" he shouted in frustration. "This would have been far easier if you had told me! I understand, but damn it!"
From behind him, the shouts of Clan an Craite soldiers rose. They had seen his arrival, his theft of the horse, and they were in pursuit. Their voices filled with fury of men who did not take kindly to strangers causing chaos in their territory.
"Halt, ye bastard!" one of them shouted, his voice thick with the Skellige accent. "Stop that horse, or we'll cut ye down!"
Sebastian glanced back, his expression unimpressed, he raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, a wall of flame erupted across the road. The flames roared into a barrier of searing heat that blocked the path. The horses of his pursuers reared, screaming in terror, their eyes wild. The soldiers were thrown from their saddles, their shouts of fury replaced by panicked cries.
"By the gods! What was that?!"
"Get back!"
"The flames, they came from him! From the stranger! Bastard's conjuring!"
Sebastian did not slow. He pressed on, the fortress of Kaer Trolde rising before him, its gates shut tight. Guards stood atop the walls.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "I do not have time to ask them. They will not accept anyways."
He raised his hand, and a massive fist of fire erupted, hurtling toward the gates. The impact was thunderous, the explosion sending splinters of wood and shards of iron flying in every direction. The guards ducked, shouting in alarm as the flames roared around them.
"What in the name of the gods!"
"Fire! The gates are on fire!"
"Who is attacking us?!"
Sebastian rode through the shattered gates, his horse leaping over the debris, his eyes fixed on the fortress ahead. His heart pounded, but his mind was clear, focused on the next step.
/-\
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