Chapter 13 - Enduring Scars (2)

A/N:-

2500+ words today.

I'm testing out an editor for this chapter. If you find any mistakes or inconsistencies, please leave a comment.

Huge shoutout to my man @Sami_Alfoheday!! This legend took it upon himself to promote this fanfic in the comment section of other fanfics LOL!! I'm not talking 1 or 2 comments, there are like tens of them! Thanks man, really appreciate the effort!

Enjoy!!

P.S. - I couldn't write it without exclamations!! Thanks to @_VOIDLESS_; wouldn't have noticed it without your review!!

-x-x-x-

The heavy smoke hung in the distance, above Kaer Morhen. Suddenly, a faint shimmer rippled across the air, a translucent dome surrounding the inner keep of Kaer Morhen. It flared brightly as a spell struck it, dispersing the attack with a muffled crackle.

Tissaia's sharp eyes caught the movement first. She pointed toward the disturbance. "The inner keep isn't breached yet. Whoever created that barrier is holding on… for now."

Alaric's gaze snapped toward the inner keep, where flickers of blue and gold light rippled with each impact of a distant spell. His heart pounded as he studied the scene. The fires weren't consuming Kaer Morhen itself—yet. The smoke rose from the surrounding trees, and the old signal tower was little more than a charred husk.

Above them, Igor hovered mid-air, a faint aura of magic flickering around him. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted down, "Al! They're pounding the inner gate! Small army, siege engines—escalades and battering ram, maybe ballistae. They haven't broken through yet, but they're not far off!"

Alaric's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly. His sharp eyes traced the movements of the attackers. He could see them now, shifting in the dim light—waves of soldiers, perhaps two hundred strong, with trebuchets and rams pounding relentlessly at Kaer Morhen's defenses. The main gate had held so far, but it was buckling. It wouldn't last much longer.

"Damn it!" Alaric growled, a kinetic charge already sparking around him.

"Don't you dare, Al!" Igor shouted from above, wheeling through the sky like a panicked hawk. "We can't just charge in without a plan!"

Alaric didn't respond. He broke into a sprint, his kinetic charge pulsing with every stride. Igor, with a gust of wind, swooped down to follow

"We don't have much time!" Alaric shouted over his shoulder, his voice barely carrying over the wind and his pounding footsteps. His chest heaved with a breathless frustration. They were running out of time. One mistake, one second too late, and Kaer Morhen would fall – like its destined to.

"Take the soldiers to the Bastion and Father's tower! Fortify the defenses, set up barriers, and make sure they hold!"

Igor hesitated, his eyes darting between Alaric and the keep. "What about you?"

Alaric shot him a glare. "I'll head to the main gate. I need to buy you all the time I can, Keep the men focused. No one gets through!"

Tissaia hovered just above the ground, her figure gliding smoothly as she zoomed beneath Alaric, who was zapping through the canopy. "I'm with you," she called out, keeping pace with Alaric and Igor.

Igor hovered for a beat longer, his lips pressed into a thin line. "This is insane," he muttered. Then louder, "Fine! But if you get yourself killed, I'm using necromancy to bring you back just to yell at you!" He turned and shot off toward the soldiers at the rear of the trail. "Everyone, follow me to the Bastion! Move!"

With that, Alaric pushed himself faster. "Hold on," he muttered under his breath "We're coming."

...….

Ard Carraigh

A few days ago-

The heavy oak doors of King Dagread's study groaned as they swung open, revealing Tetra Gilcrest, resplendent in her emerald gown. Her chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders like a river of silk, and her eyes shimmered with a knowing allure. The guards stepped aside without question as she entered, her every step commanding authority.

Dagread looked up from his papers, his expression softening as she approached. "Tetra," he greeted, setting his quill aside. "Come, sit."

"Your Majesty," she replied, her voice a harmonious melody, as she gracefully lowered herself into the chair across from him. "You summoned me. How may I serve you?"

Dagread chuckled, a warm yet nervous sound. "Must I always have a reason to see you? But yes, there is a matter. The eastern trade routes… bandits have been a growing nuisance. My advisors urge me to send more patrols, but I'd rather hear your counsel first."

Tetra tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You flatter me, Your Grace, to value my opinion so highly. But you know as well as I that bandits are mere pests. Strong leadership—your leadership—will dissuade just as effectively as steel."

Dagread leaned forward, captivated. "Can I really deter them by just spilling some blood?"

"Of course," she said, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. "Your presence alone commands respect. A message, carefully worded, bearing the royal seal, will suffice to remind them who reigns in Kaedwen."

Her words wrapped around him like a spell, and he nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. "Wise as always, Tetra. I will see it done."

A comfortable silence lingered between them, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Dagread seemed reluctant to let the moment end, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity he barely masked.

Tetra waited, allowing the air to grow heavy before speaking again. "There is… another matter, Your Grace. One that is close to my heart."

The king straightened; his curiosity piqued. "Speak freely."

She stood, taking a step closer to him. The flickering firelight danced across her features, enhancing her beauty to an almost otherworldly degree. "It is about my mother," she began, her voice soft but laden with unspoken emotion.

Dagread frowned, his brow furrowing. "Rosalind Gilcrest… she was wronged. You know I grieve her loss, Tetra."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded, her hands clasped together in a show of restraint. "She was more than wronged, Your Grace. She was betrayed—by nobles, courtiers… and a witcher captured her."

The word hung in the air like a curse, and Dagread's frown deepened.

"I have spent years uncovering the truth," Tetra continued, stepping closer until she was beside him. "The conspiracy, the lies… all of it led to her death. But I cannot avenge her alone. I need your strength."

Dagread's breath hitched as she laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. "My strength?" he echoed, his voice dazed.

"Your armies," she said, her fingers brushing against his. "A battalion, siege machines… with your blessing, I could root out those who wronged her, who wronged Kaedwen itself. Together, we could end this shadow of corruption."

Dagread's gaze was locked onto her, his will faltering under her spell-like presence. "Tetra… you ask much."

"And I offer much in return," she whispered, her voice low and suggestive. "Your enemies would see a king weakened by inaction. But a decisive ruler? A king who defends his own? That is the ruler they will fear. That is the ruler they will follow."

His hand moved toward hers almost of its own accord, his voice trembling as if bewitched. "You… you speak with such fire, such conviction. How could I deny you?"

She leaned in, her breath warm against his cheek. "Then don't," she murmured. "Help me, and I will be… very grateful."

Dagread swallowed hard, his pulse quickening as her words sank in. "I—I cannot deny you, Tetra," he said, his tone filled with a blend of awe and surrender. "What you ask… it will be yours."

Tetra stepped back, her serene smile betraying none of the triumph coursing through her. "You are a just and noble king," she said, bowing her head. "Your loyalty to your people—and to me—will not go unrewarded."

Dagread watched her as if in a trance, his thoughts clouded by the intoxicating mix of her words, her beauty.... As she turned to leave, his voice called after her, unbidden.

"Tetra," he said, almost pleading.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

"You will… return soon?"

Her smile deepened, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. "Always, Your Grace."

As the doors closed behind her, Dagread exhaled shakily, his chest tightening with both exhilaration and confusion. Whatever power she wielded over him, he was helpless to resist. And though the fire in the hearth warmed the room, it was Tetra's lingering presence that left him burning.

...…

As Alaric and Tissaia neared Kaer Morhen, the night swallowed them in a haze of smoke and chaos. The air was alive with the clamor of battle—a cacophony of desperate cries, clashing steel, and the unholy groan of siege engines illuminated by the flickering glow of fires.

Torches sputtered along the battlefield, casting frantic, uneven light over the carnage. Shadows danced wildly as Witchers fought fiercely at the walls, their blades flashing like ghostly silver arcs in the gloom. The moon hung pale and distant above the scene, veiled by plumes of black smoke rising from the burning forest.

"Hold them off!" a Witcher bellowed, his voice raw as he parried a mercenary's blade. His shout was drowned out by the deafening creak of a trebuchet unleashing another payload, the gears groaning in protest before the missile arced toward the keep. The crash of stone against the barrier sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, the protective magic flaring brilliant blue.

Men screamed orders as soldiers surged forward, hauling massive escalades toward the crumbling walls. The towering siege ladders, reinforced with iron and covered in fireproofed leather, bristled with spikes to deter defenders. The battering ram slammed into the thick oak gates with a resounding boom, splinters flying. "Again!" shouted one of the mercenaries, his voice hoarse with effort.

Peasants armed with sickles, pitchforks, and makeshift weapons with soldiers mingled in, poured inside the walls through escalades.

Witchers fought fiercely in the courtyard, their silver blades glinting in the dying light. "Veylin, behind you!" one shouted, his voice urgent as he hurled a dagger into a soldier's throat.

"Keep the archers off the left wall!" barked another, already sprinting to intercept a group of attackers setting up a mobile ballista. Its enormous bolt gleamed ominously in the torchlight.

Above the fray, enemy chants rose like a sinister hymn. Mages shrouded in protective wards conjured fire and lightning, their guttural incantations entwined with the sizzling bursts of raw magic slamming into Kaer Morhen's barrier. Each strike made the defensive ward flare and crackle, the runes visibly straining under the relentless assault.

Smoke billowed across the battlefield, acrid and suffocating. It poured from the surrounding forest and burning siege engines.

Alaric's sharp eyes swept the battlefield, locking onto the escalades grinding forward, flanked by soldiers and shield-bearers. Already, soldiers were climbing the ladders, their shields strapped to their backs to ward off arrows. "They've got escalades breaching the eastern wall! Archers are covering them from the treeline. And three siege engines—two ballistae and a trebuchet—are hammering the barrier! The mages are focusing on weakening it—they'll breach soon!"

"They're not through yet,"

He turned to Tissaia, his tone sharp but focused. "Take care of the trebuchet and escalades. I'll handle the mages."

Tissaia's gaze flickered with concern as she studied the battlefield, her lips tightening. "You'll be outnumbered," she said firmly, the unspoken warning clear in her tone.

"I'll manage," Alaric replied. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small, dull gray orb—the telltale sheen of a dimeritium bomb catching the firelight.

Tissaia's sharp blue eyes fixed on the bomb, her expression wary. "That won't just silence their spells," she warned. "It'll stop your magic too. You're not immune to its effects."

"I know," Alaric said with a grim smile. "That's why I'll make it quick."

For a moment, Tissaia hesitated, her fingers tightening around her staff. Then, with a sharp nod, she stepped back. "Don't die," she said, her voice low but resolute.

Alaric smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Without another word, Tissaia's form shimmered as she glided upward, her robes billowing behind her as she ascended like a ghost. Her hands moved with practiced precision, threads of silver light spiraling from her fingertips as she soared toward the siege engines.

Alaric turned his focus toward the enemy mages, their chants growing louder as they poured their power into the barrier's collapse.

"I won't fail, I can't." he muttered under his breath, gripping his steel sword tightly as he moved like a shadow through the chaos.

...…

Tissaia's approach was swift and silent, her figure a flicker against the moonlit sky. From her vantage, she could see the trebuchet and the ballistae in grim detail. Soldiers swarmed around the machines, barking orders and hauling ammunition under the watchful eye of their commander, a heavily armored knight whose sword glinted cruelly in the firelight.

With a flick of her wrist, Tissaia sent an arc of blinding light streaking toward the ballista. It struck the weapon with a crackling explosion, sending shards of wood and steel flying in all directions. The soldiers screamed, diving for cover as she descended in a swirl of magic.

The commander barked an order, and a volley of arrows arced toward her. Tissaia raised a shimmering barrier with a practiced motion, the projectiles shattering harmlessly against it as she landed. Her eyes narrowed, her magic building into a swirling storm as she prepared to dismantle the trebuchet next.

"Focus on the trebuchet!" she commanded herself, her voice steady even as the enemy regrouped.

...…

Meanwhile, Alaric weaved through the battlefield like a predator, his steps silent and deliberate. The enemy mages had not noticed his approach, too consumed by their work. He counted five of them, their hands glowing with eldritch light as they chanted in unison, channeling their energy into a crackling surge that battered the barrier with each strike.

Sliding to a halt just outside their circle, Alaric lobbed the dimeritium bomb with precision. It arced through the smoky air, landing in their midst with a sharp clink.

The mages' chanting faltered as their eyes widened in alarm. Before they could react, the bomb detonated with a dull thud, releasing a pulse of anti-magic energy that rippled outward in a muted wave.

The light in their hands flickered and died, their spells extinguished. One mage stumbled back, his expression twisting in fury. "Witcher!" he spat, reaching for a blade.

Alaric was already moving. His sword flashed in the torchlight, cutting through the first mage before the others could draw their weapons. He twisted and struck again, his movements precise and unrelenting.

Two mages fell in quick succession, their lifeless bodies crumpling to the ground. The remaining two tried to flee, but Alaric was faster. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his blade finding its mark with brutal efficiency.

As the last mage fell, Alaric stood among the bodies, his breath steady despite the exertion. The barrier flickered but held firm, its runes glowing faintly as the magical assault ceased.

Alaric exhaled, sparing a glance toward the siege engines. In the distance, he saw a brilliant explosion—Tissaia's handiwork—followed by the fiery collapse of the trebuchet. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"Not bad, Sky," he muttered before turning back toward the fray. The battle was far from over.

-x-x-x-

A/N:-

Got ideas for future arcs or plots? Maybe there's something you'd love to see our main character tackle sometime in the future? Comment down below!

While I have a general direction for the early plot, I'm actively brainstorming for the later arcs. Your input would be incredibly valuable. Even the simplest ideas or spontaneous musings can ignite a spark and help clear those creative blocks.

So, don't hesitate—share your thoughts!

As always, if you have any questions, feel free to comment. I will do my best to answer without spoiling too much.

Clear skies to all of you! ✨