The morning sun cast its golden light across the rolling hills of Temeria, painting the landscape in shades of amber and green that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the horizon. The royal caravan moved along the winding road at a steady pace, its banners fluttering in the gentle breeze, the blue and gold of Temeria, the white lilies, symbols of a kingdom that had endured centuries of war.
The caravan was modest by royal standards, a deliberate choice designed to keep their movements discreet and their presence unremarkable. Fifty soldiers rode in formation fully armored, their eyes watchful and alert. A handful of cavalry flanked the procession, their horses snorting and stamping, their riders scanning the horizon with vigilance, they were told to expect danger in every shadow. At the center of it, the royal carriage rolled forward, its wheels creaking against the packed earth, its interior a sanctuary of velvet and dark wood.
Inside, the carriage was spacious and elegant, its walls lined with rich fabric that muffled the sounds of the outside world. King Foltest sat on a cushioned bench, his sharp eyes fixed on the landscape beyond the window. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, a subtle indication of the thoughts that churned beneath his calm exterior. Beside him sat Triss Merigold and across from them, Sebastian sat with his back to the driver, his yellow eyes scanning the horizon with his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his steel sword.
Dandelion was sprawled on a cushioned seat, his legs stretched out, his expression one of easy contentment. His lute rested across his lap, his fingers occasionally plucking at the strings, producing soft, melodic notes that seemed to fill the carriage with a sense of calm. Zoltan, however, sat rigidly, his thick fingers clutching his knees. His eyes darted from window to window, he was uncomfortable in the presence of the king.
Sir Loran of Sodden, the captain of the royal escort, sat near the door, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was a veteran of a dozen campaigns, his face weathered by years of service.
Foltest turned to Sebastian. "How are you feeling, witcher? The road can be wearying, even for those accustomed to it. I have traveled enough to know that the constant movement, the shifting landscapes, the endless sky, it can wear on a man's spirit."
Sebastian's voice was calm. "Calm, Your Majesty. The road is familiar to me. I have walked many like it in a small amount of time, and I have learned to find peace in the rhythm of the journey. The world is simpler when you are moving, there are fewer complications, fewer entanglements."
Foltest studied him for a moment,. "I see that something is weighing on you deeply. Some sort of trouble that I can help with? If you are still thinking about those assassins, I have left some capable men behind to investigate. They are discreet, and they know their craft. They will find answers, even if it takes time."
Sebastian shook his head slowly. "No, that is not on my mind. I know eventually I will find the one responsible. But that is a matter for another day. Like I said, Your Majesty, I am calm. The assassins were a distraction, nothing more."
Foltest's smile was thin. "If you say so, Sebastian. But I have learned to trust my instincts, and my instincts tell me that there is more going on in that head of yours than you are letting on."
Triss leaned forward. "Seb tends to think a lot. To the point that you might think he is daydreaming. He has been like that since he was this tall." She held her hand at waist height, her eyes sparkling with the memory of a younger Sebastian, still learning the ways of the world. "Even when he was training, he would pause and stare into the distance, and we would wonder if he was even paying attention. But he always was. He just processes things differently."
Sebastian smiled. "She is just making things up, Your Majesty. I have always been perfectly present. It is not my fault that the world moves slower than my thoughts."
Foltest laughed. "Is it now? I have seen many people who claim to be present, but their minds are elsewhere. If what you say is true, then that is a rare combination."
Sebastian inclined his head. "Your Majesty, what path are we taking? I have been studying the maps, and there are options. Sodden is filled with Nilfgaardian activity, the Emperor himself lays claim to that region. If we go north, it will take a long time. We will have to go through northern Temeria and Aedirn, but it will be safer. The roads are more established, and there are more allies along the way." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "The last option is through the mountains of Mahakam. The road is the shortest, safer in terms of avoiding the unexpected, but harsher on the travelers. The terrain is unforgiving, and the weather can turn without warning."
Foltest's expression shifted to one of impressed surprise. "Impressive, Sebastian. But then again, you witchers know your maps and your roads. It is one of the reasons I wanted you by my side." He turned to Sir Loran. "Sir Loran, answer the Witcher."
Sir Loran straightened, he was the man who had planned this journey down to the last detail. "Yes, Your Majesty. We are taking the shortest one, hrough Mahakam. Normally, we would go through the region of Lower Sodden or across the Yaruga river, but it is not safe at all. We cannot be sure that a Nilfgaardian company would not greet us along the way, and I would rather not test the Emperor's patience. The mountains offer better cover and fewer eyes. It is the prudent choice."
"They have yet to declare war. But that does not mean they are not watching. The Empire is patient, and they have eyes everywhere." Seb said.
Foltest's voice was cold. "But they never stopped fighting one... either through scheming or planning kings' assassinations. Now I am more sure than ever that everything that happened was Emhyr's doing." He paused, his eyes meeting Sebastian's. "The Empire does not need to declare war to wage it. They are cunning, and ruthless. They will strike when we least expect it. That is why I need you, they might have hired witchers as well, you never know."
Sebastian was silent for a moment, his yellow eyes fixed on the landscape beyond the window, his thoughts a thousand miles away. Then he spoke, "We will not give them the opportunity."
"We will stop them. We did it before. The North has survived worse, and it will survive this. We have the strength, the will, and the possible allies to see it through." Triss said.
Foltest turned towards Dandelion. "Master Dandelion, won't you entertain us for a bit? The road will be pretty dull otherwise, and I find that music has a way of lifting the spirits. I have heard much of your balads, but I have yet to witness them firsthand."
Dandelion's face lit up with the enthusiasm of a man who had been waiting for exactly this invitation. "Of course, Your Majesty! Nothing would give me greater pleasure. I have ballads for every occasion, love, loss, battle, triumph. My repertoire is vast, and I have been perfecting my craft for decades."
Triss's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Do you have any ballads with no Geralt in them? I have heard enough about the White Wolf to last several lifetimes. Every corner of the Continent seems to have someone singing about Geralt, not that I don't enjoy them but, do you have something new?"
Dandelion's grin was unrepentant. "They are everyone's favorites because the White Wolf is part of them! The man is a legend, and I made him a legend because he was my companion." He gestured toward Sebastian with a flourish. "The same way I will make Seb one. Give me time, and I will craft ballads that will make his name live forever. The Witcher of Flames, they will call him."
"The Witcher of Flames?! Please don't." Seb said.
"Speaking of the White Wolf, he once helped me cure my daughter. It was a dark time, but he was there when I needed him most. I will never forget what he did for me." Foltest said.
"Yeah... we know about it too well. Geralt does not like to talk about that contract though, I asked him about it once, and he didn't say much." Seb said calmly.
Foltest's expression was one of understanding. "I cannot blame him. She was but a child... but I will ever be so grateful for what he did. He saved her life, and he saved me from a fate worse than death. That is not something I will ever forget."
Dandelion reached for his lute, his fingers finding the familiar strings with ease. "So to the White Wolf... I will sing this."
The first notes of the ballad filled the carriage, Then the carriage lurched to a sudden halt.
Foltest's voice was sharp, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his side, his body tensing. "What is going on? Why are we stopping? We are not even close to the first checkpoint."
Triss's eyes narrowed. "We are not even far from the capital... this is not right."
Sir Loran of Sodden rose, his hand on his sword, his face hardening with the determination of a man who had faced danger before. "I will go check, Your Majesty. Remain here with the witcher. I will return."
Sebastian's eyes met Zoltan's, a silent communication passing between them. "Zoltan, remain beside the king."
Zoltan nodded, his fingers wrapping around the handle of his axe. "Aye, lad. Watch your back. I do not like the feel of this."
Sebastian stepped out of the carriage, his boots hitting the packed earth with a soft thud. The soldiers had formed a defensive perimeter, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the surrounding hills, the only sound the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of a bird.
He walked toward the front of the column, his hand resting on the hilt of his steel sword. Sir Loran was already there, his face pale, his voice carrying a note of grim urgency.
"Witcher. You should see this. It is not right."
Sebastian followed his gaze.
The road ahead was blocked. Not by soldiers or bandits, but by something far stranger. A circle of stones, arranged in a pattern that was unmistakably deliberate, each one placed with the precision of a ritual. And in the center of the circle, a figure knelt, its head bowed, its hands raised as if in prayer.
Sebastian's medallion began to tremble against his chest, a low, constant vibration and that meant magic.
"Stay back.." he said, his voice low and urgent. "I will get closer."
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