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rookthorne · 7 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

After an eternity of being held against your will, and just as long having been forced to watch your alpha suffer at the hands of the wicked, an opportunity arose. An opportunity so rare, so unique, that it would never be offered again. It was time to escape, and it was time to bathe the halls in their blood — never again would you be held by the bars of a cell, not if he could stop it.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Alpha!Winter Soldier x Pet!Omega!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 2.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — Angst, whump, gore, background character death (graphic), DARK THEMES, fluff, omegaverse, Protective!Winter Soldier is an understatement

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — I am on a new kick, sue me.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 — Where Is Your God Now by Rok Nardin — Ambush by Trevor Morris — Darkness of Light by Secession Studios

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 — @allcapsbingo 𝗜𝟱 — Hydra Base — Masterlist

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Ragged clothes rubbed against your sensitive, raw skin, and you whimpered in your throat – the sound barely making it past your lips as they hauled you to the cells deep within the base.

For years you had been kept as a pet, as a thing for the Soldat to expend his anger and fury, for him to toy and play with, some meek prey. Merely an omega for an alpha to claim; one of the deadliest.

That’s what they imagined you to be, at least.

When that bank vault of a cell door slammed behind you and the guards disappeared, gleeful at the idea of you being beaten or attacked to within an inch of your life, you blinked rapidly in the darkness to find the occupant, who, ordinally, would have made your blood run cold.

Not now.

Not when he was still in his black tactical suit, beaten and bloodied, head lolling on the wall as he looked up at you. There was a ghost of an expression in his eyes – blank with malice and a predatory glint. The mask that covered the lower half of his face was splattered with a manner of fluids that made your stomach turn.

He didn’t recognise you, and your blood ran cold at the implication. You slowly showed your hands; steel grey eyes watched every inch of movement. “Soldat,” you whispered, and he blinked twice.

The stench of exhaustion was bitter on your senses, burning your sinuses, and an overwhelming urge to calm, to comfort, overcame you. You ventured closer, feet silent over the damp cement of his cell.

“Soldat,” you repeated. “Alpha, come home.”

He looked closer at you, expression drawn and tight, until a glimpse of recognition softened his features and he launched to his feet. “Malyutka–you are hurt,” he rasped, and his hands – one metal, one bloodied flesh – immediately brushed against your sides and over your sore ribs. “Oh, my little one, where else? Tell me.”

You pointed at your knee and your head. “H-Hit me, there. And I dun’ wan’ do as they said-” A loud hiccuped sob interrupted your explanation. Soldat’s cold thumb brushed your cheek and a growl made his chest rumble, a sound that soothed you. “They–” His hands guided yours to his chest holster.

“Breathe,” he reminded gently, encouraging you wordlessly to take from him – take what you needed. You gripped the straps and leant into his warmth, leeching the comfort.

“They- They hurt me,” you whimpered.

“Come,” he murmured, and he slowly guided you towards his cot. It was a glorified stretch of canvas between affixed metal poles, and the singular blanket was threadbare, but you went willingly.

The metal groaned in protest as he sat down, back against the wall, and he pulled you close, gesturing at his lap. “Come here. Sit.”

Without protest, you straddled his lap, your bare thighs rubbing against the rough canvas of his pants and leather straps of his weapon holsters. “Alpha,” you murmured, tucking your nose into his neck.

Soldat’s hand cupped the back of your neck in a firm hold, a low growl still in his throat. “They will pay,” he snarled, and for the first time, a thrill of fear coiled around your already rapidly beating heart. “Do not worry, little one–I will make them pay.”

You blinked through tears and murmured into his neck, “How–? We are stuck.”

He shook his head and he held your waist. You pulled back from his neck to stare into his eyes, only there was a crinkle in the corner of one; a deadly smirk hidden by the muzzle. “Not any longer, malyutka. They think with how I have completed my missions that I do not need to be wiped as often–I have not seen that chair in three days.”

Gasping sharply, you gripped the holsters in your filthy hands. “What–?”

“I have been taken all through the base. They think I am nothing but a mere shell–I can get us out.” The words made a torrent of ice cascade into your stomach, and he sensed it. “I need to get you out. I need to take care of you, little one. You are my omega, my dragotsennyy.”

“Where will we go?” you quietly asked, staring into those steely eyes. “Where will we be safe, alpha?”

“I will find you a safe haven,” he promised, and he brought your forehead to his. You could feel his breath through the slits of his mask and you matched his rhythm. “You will be safe–never set foot in a cell again, be hurt again.” His hand pushed your face back into his neck and you nuzzled there, breathing deep and taking in the scent of protective alpha.

“Trust you, alpha,” you mumbled, and he hummed in response.

It could have been hours later, or days, when he suddenly moved; hair tickled your cheek with his whip-like focus. “We need to move. Now,” he rushed, placing you on your feet.

“But–”

He shook his head and pulled you to the wall next to the door, shielding you with his bulk. “You must stay behind me at all times.” Resting a hand on his belt, you nodded just as the cell door opened with a loud creak.

“Well, I can’t see a body-” Gurgling and sputtering cut the guard’s words short, and you realised, horrorstruck, that your alpha’s metal hand was covered in blood, clutching what was the guard’s windpipe.

Blood sprayed the walls and the guard slumped to the floor with wide eyes, choking on his own blood with a rattling gargle. The radio on his belt went wild with chatter and screams of containment breach.

“Move,” Soldat commanded, and you followed behind him, hand still on his lower back. “I will take you to the-” More guards crowded the corridors – all of them carried guns and other weapons, all of them looked ready to kill.

“Malyutka, hide.” Hands shoved you to the side and into a metal locker before slamming the door. There was a commotion and shouts for weapons to be lowered before chaos broke loose.

Bullets sprayed the wall next to you and you screamed, instinctively ducking and covering your head as they peppered the cement and metal by your legs – they weren’t shooting to kill, you thought.

Grunts and yells of pain filled your ears but you didn’t hear a single thing from your alpha, not even a shout, when all of the gunfire ceased. The door suddenly opened and you were bathed in light. “Are you hit?” Soldat asked gruffly, his face covered in blood. “Did they get you?”

You shook your head timidly. “No–I am fine.”

His hand grabbed your arm and he pulled you out of the locker. The floor was a river of blood and the walls were covered with trails of crimson – a stark contrast to the clinical white you were used to.

“There is a window of time between the next wave,” Soldat explained, leading you down a service corridor by some boilers. “Here.” He shoved you in front of him as he plied the drywall away with his bare hands, revealing a dumbwaiter. “Get in. This leads to the surface, straight to the truck bay. Hide in the closest locker, I will find you.”

“What about you–”

“Do not argue, little one, I need you safe. Go,” he rushed, pushing you into the dumbwaiter. “I will find you, do not worry.”

Before you could argue, the dumbwaiter began to move and the last you saw of your Soldat was the back of his head as he turned and ran back down the corridor. The contraption shuddered and groaned as it moved, and you guessed it was ancient.

Moments later it came to a shaky stop and revealed the expansive truck bay. Heavy footfalls and more shouts were echoing off the walls and through to the outside world – a pack of guards ran close by the dumbwaiter as you squeaked in fear.

In the chaos, they did not see you and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, you eased your sore body out of the cramped space and looked around, desperately searching for the locker your alpha had commanded you to hide in, when you spotted it – hidden in a nook of the wall and next to some kind of electrical equipment.

It was a tight fit, but you pushed yourself into the space and you waited, breath shaky and stomach curdling in fear. “Please be safe,” you whispered to the stale air. “I need you.”

You could hear guards yelling and screaming; heavy footsteps of armoured men ran by you and crashed into the many doors that led off the bay. Gunfire echoed even through the thick walls and whenever one of the doors swung open, you caught a whiff of iron laced with pure, unbridled terror, and underneath it all, the gunpowder, leather scent of your alpha.

He was close.

The seconds, minutes, hours ticked by, but you remained, still as stone in your hiding place, when you heard the thump of boots and squelch of wet leather by the dumbwaiter. Whoever it was reeked of iron and it smothered their natural scent. “Malyutka, ty tam?”

Before you thought better of it, you burst through the door of the locker and came face to face with your alpha, who was covered in blood and ash – the black mask that covered the lower half of his face was gone, too. You gasped and covered your mouth in shock. “I- I didn’t know it was you!”

“Spokoynyy, little one,” he soothed, “I know you are scared, it is alright.” You took a deep breath as he looked around the bay. There was an emergency shower in the corner. “Come, we will get rid of their scent and we will run, we need to get out of here.” He stalked towards the cubicle and glanced over his shoulder at the door he must have come out of. “I did not leave a single one alive, but that does not mean they did not call for more.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” you whispered, looking over your own shoulder at the trail of blood behind you both.

The water of the shower was freezing and your teeth chattered through the worst of it, but your alpha stayed close, manifesting an outfit from nowhere to dry and clothe you with.

As you rubbed your arms for warmth, he stood in the shower cubicle and scrubbed at his body until the water circling the drain turned from red, to pink, to clear. Once he dried himself, he dressed in similar clothes to his tactical suit, but more discreet – covering his arm and hiding his bulk with the loose fit.

You couldn’t help but smile as he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards a black car, windows as dark as the paint, and he pulled open the passenger door. The interior was clean and sleek, and he slid into the driver’s seat.

The seat belt was a foreign sensation across your chest as you buckled in at his insistence. “Where are you taking us?”

“I know of a man that owes them,” he gestured to the base. “Well, he owed them something. It is not known of my defection, so, he will be of use.”

Nodding slowly, you glanced around the car, happy to feel the bonds of your captors fade by the moment.

Soldat paused suddenly, his fingers that were playing with colourful wires freezing as he looked at you, his eyes bright. “You are happy.” With his mask gone, you could see his nostrils flaring as he greedily scented the air for your sweet, content scent; one that truly never saw the light of day in that cell. “Takoy krasivyy aromat, i mne nravitsya videt' tebya schastlivym, malyutka.”

You reached for his forearm and squeezed. “We are free,” you said quietly, careful to watch his eyes to see the fondness there, of what he only held for you. “And I have you, alpha.”

malyutka = little one dragotsennyy = precious ty tam = are you there takoy krasivyy aromat, i mne nravitsya videt' tebya schastlivym = such a beautiful scent, and I love seeing you happy

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #allcapsbingo2023 #rookthorne's works

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kiritella · 6 months

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Series: Sehnsucht, Chapter Eight: Retribution

Pairings: Geralt x Teen!Reader, Yennefer x Teen!Reader

Warnings: !!! death, child death !!! Fire, toxic parents? Burns. mentions of abuse, torture, murder.

Words: 4.7k

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She should have felt more, she thought, to push open the gates for the western outskirts of Ban Glean. It should have made her feel something. It wasn’t nothing, exactly, after all, there was a deeply rooted disgust within her. However, it wasn’t as groundbreaking as she had thought it would be. The steps she took past the boundary of the village were no different than the hundreds she had taken to get there, and strangely, no different than the ones she’d taken to leave seven years ago.

It felt wrong, somehow, to be so miserably calm.

“You cannot blame yourself for healing,” D’ao said.

“I don’t really blame myself, it’s just weird. So much happened…” She frowned when the village gate creaked and shuddered, unable to close properly with its crooked hinges. She stopped, staring at the rotting wood and wearing ropes. “I used to hate this gate.”

“It isn’t much of one now…”

“Was it always so small?”

“Well…you were much smaller back then.”

She huffed a small laugh, nodding as she turned toward the heart of the village. An old alley between houses approached on her left, the alley where little boys and girls used to kick and spit at her. The one she was always afraid to pass when she wanted to come home from playing in the woods. She wondered again at how she didn’t feel—Oh.

That was what was so strange.

It wasn’t that she was calm, or that she felt nothing. She simply wasn’t afraid. Years of pain had taught her fear, and never once had she been able to pass through those gates, walk this lane, without a trace of it.

“Is this why you had me talk about it so much?”

“It is. And it is why you stayed with the knights of the flaming rose.”

She scoffed. “You hated it there, wanted to leave at any moment.”

“But you did not,” he said, and she fell silent. “For what they were in their deficiencies, they were still honorable. Your faith in humanity remains because of them. They gave you something I could not.”

“They were…good, in their own way, weren’t they?” she said as she entered the main road leading through town. A few people raised their heads to watch her pass, but she didn’t pay them much mind other than a glance and a nod, and no one tried to speak to her. “More lovely than these people.”

“Indeed. There is more cheer to be found in a graveyard.”

“Dead men can’t suffer, I guess.” she said, her eyes trained on a woman up ahead. She was hunched over a pail of water, a cloth scrubbed against a washboard, but her shoulders were exposed. The markings of a heavy whipping were borne on them, embedded and marred. She grimaced and looked away, a sickening burn in her chest.

She paused at the last turn and realized, then, just how small the village actually was. Even from here, she could see the other side of it. It seemed so much bigger back then.

Three kids ran from another, nearly bumping into her when they ran across the street. They squealed and laughed, holding up sticks for swords and baskets for shields. They were so young, and naive, and didn’t understand the importance of what had happened here. Of what still happened.

Did they understand the cruelty like she had at their age? Had they been the subjects of it? They weren’t silent like she had been forced to be. Her heart ached, because even if they had tasted the end of cruel punishment, would they still end up like their parents? Little boys like their heartless fathers? Little girls like their docile, accepting mothers? It should have been a crime, she thought, for them to have been born in a place like this.

“It is not their fault,” D’ao said. “You can’t blame a child for the crimes of their parents—the laws. The only things they have done have been taught to them by the only people they have.”

“I don’t blame the children,” she said, turning the last corner. The Alderman’s house sat near the end of the street, large and built up, proud. “I blame their parents, and I hate that this wretched place is the only thing they will ever know. They are raised to believe cruelty is normal, and because of that, they won’t be any better. I mourn who they should have been, if they had not been born here.”

“Time will tell.”

“Time would see these kids whipped like their parents.”

“Time will allow for rage, and rage to rebellion, rebellion to change. The only thing certain is that nothing remains the same.”

“And how long will it take before a rebellion makes a change? How many people will be left to suffer and die here before someone gives a damn?”

“....’ D’ao sighed mournfully. “I don’t know. All I can say is this…do not mourn those who are not lost. These children may yet grow to be good people, and not all in this village were evil on the day you left it.”

She frowned and became silent. He wasn’t wrong. There were still good people here, and she would not be able to tear this place to the ground without regret. She hated it here, every rock, every building, every plant, but she could not hate every person. The mothers, despite their crimes of remaining silent and others for condoning, were mostly victims. The fathers, though some certainly deserved death, were subject to the laws and bound by them. She had seen men weep for their wives, and beaten themselves, because they could not bear to see their loved ones punished. She had seen mothers claw out the eyes of officials who dared to raise a hand against their sons and daughters. Yes, the place was wretched and she hated it to its very core, but she could not hate them all.

She stopped at the door of the Alderman’s house—her father’s house, if she were to relate to it. She did not bother to cast an illusion over her eyes as she knocked, finding it senseless at this point. Her mother would know, and her father would not be able to do anything worse than what he had already done.

“You are sure it was Ita who captured the Afreet.”

“The Council says so. It has been a week already, though, and I fear we might be too late.”

“Do you think she has already forced it into a contract?”

“I am not certain, but if she has, she has not done it here.”

“How do you know?”

“The village isn’t on fire, obviously. No genie would be bound without a fight.”

She grimaced, and D’ao continued. “Do not worry. If the Afreet is merely bottled up, you will simply take the bottle away from here and let it loose. It will know you once you begin the spell, and you will send it home with no issues.”

“And if it is bound?”

“Then your first time freeing a genie will be interesting!” D’ao said playfully. Her heart sank, and D’ao immediately changed tones. “Do not worry. It will be fine. I will walk you through what you forget.”

She hummed. Seeing as no one answered the door, she knocked again, but louder. Again, she was met with no response. Looking around her and seeing no one of great importance, she sighed and lifted the latch. There was no resistance, and so she shoved open the door and stepped inside.

The house hadn’t changed much over the years. A table was to her left, a knife and carrots strewn about on it. A few chairs sat across the way in front of the fire, which still held steady flames and fresh logs. They hadn’t been gone long, it would seem.

“I thought you might come back one day,” a woman spoke, exiting the side chamber on the right. There was no familiarity in her figure as she stood and approached the fire. Nothing familiar in the way she walked, limping and crooked, or in the way she held her back up straight, her collarbones sticking out far too much from her skin. “It seems you could not gather the hint of an unanswered door, so please, come right in.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming back,” she said, and the woman, so dreadfully strange though once familiar, laughed softly.

“And yet you did.”

“Ita—”

“Oh, you didn’t do me the traditional courtesy of calling me mother.”

The girl hesitated, strangely amused. Her brows furrowed gently. “Would you have preferred it?”

A pause. “No.” Ita sat herself in front of the fire. She did not look at her anymore, favoring the reflection of the flames. “By all accounts I have not been your mother for the last seven years. Before even that, I suppose I had not considered myself one. There is no need to stand in ceremony now.”

The girl grimaced and flicked her eyes away, favoring the carrots on the table. It was not as though Ita paid attention, or even could perceive the pang in her chest, but she found herself unable to look at her.

“What is it that you want?” Ita asked. “If you have come back here for my love, I am afraid I don’t have any to give you. You have known this since before you left, it hasn’t changed in your absence. You had best be gone while your father is out. Nothing good will happen if you stay.”

The girl smiled, and to a woman who did not consider herself her mother, it was genuine. “As you have said, I have never had your love. I do not need it now.”

Ita hummed, but there was something in the way her shoulders slumped. She stepped into the room, scanning the edges and shelves for the genie bottle.

“Might I ask you something, though?” she said.

“If you must.”

“Why did you hate me for the same sins you committed?”

Ita snapped her head toward her with a hint of disapproval. “The same sins?”

“For being born, and for having magic.”

“Hated you for being born?” Ita said suddenly, as if surprised, and stood from her seat. The flames danced in her eyes. “No, I didn’t hate you for either of those things.”

The girl paused, her brows furrowing as bitter heat gripped her chest. “No?”

“You were right on one account, though. I did hate you for my own sins. You were quiet and docile. You listened to everything your father told you, accepted his beatings. And me?” she scoffed, “You looked up to me like I was some sort of saint—the epitome of good. You laughed and you smiled and you didn’t say a fucking word. You let them beat you. Then you came home to me so that I could fix it. Your saintly mother. I hated you, because you were my exact copy.”

The girl’s eyes widened when Ita’s hand swung out, a light orange spark illuminating beneath her skin, crackling at her fingers. “But I never hated you more than the day you were exiled from this place. It would have been better for everyone if you had killed every last one of us that day. But no, you were foolish, and you spared us. You condemned us to the misery of living in this place.”

Ita sneered. “Did you know they cut out Valeska’s tongue because she tried to defend her son when he played out in the woods? No one was allowed to leave without an official after you left. He was a child. They whipped that whoreson too, Balint, for having said something kind about you and the Witchers. The day you decided to be righteous—”

“Your sins, and the sins of the rest of this village,” the girl interrupted sharply, her voice frighteningly cold in contrast to the growing flame in her chest, “Are not my burden to bear.”

Ita stiffened and turned away. She looked into the fire once more and was silent for a time. “No, I supposed they aren’t.” She said miserably, “but the burden is heavy, and I am sick of carrying it.”

The girl’s lips twisted as she resumed looking for the genie’s bottle. A violent scream ached in the base of her throat. How could she defend someone else’s daughter, and in the same sentence condemn her own? Then she remembered, she was not her daughter by any account other than blood.

“I never blamed you entirely,” she said, “It was less your fault than father’s. He was the one who influenced the laws. I despised you for a while, but that is…I don’t feel much about it all anymore, it seems,” she said, quietly, honestly and she swallowed thickly. “I still don’t particularly like you though.”

Ita laughed humorlessly and shook her head. “A bit of honesty, I see. Let me push it further so we can both be on our way, then. If you don’t blame me, and you aren’t here for my love, then what are you here for? Are you here to forgive me then? To relinquish my burdens?”

The girl hummed as she poked around the vials and bottles and vases, none of which were what she was looking for. She took a moment to spare Ita a glance. “Nothing I say can remove the weight of what happened here. And if anything of what you have said is true, that my kindness is what makes you hate me, then I am certain my forgiveness would not relieve your burdens. It would only make them worse.”

Ita’s shoulders slumped. “I see. Then…” she whispered. Tentatively, she bent over the side of the fire pit, and reaching behind it into the shadows, pulled up a large clay bottle. Runes were written within the clay, old Elder speech, if she could read it properly, and as a lid, a metal seal. D’ao made a few selective remarks that shall remain unspoken for their vulgarity.

“Then I suppose you are here for this?” Ita asked, and the runes burned red and orange, the seal hissing as she lifted the bottle up. The Aftreet remained caged within.

The girl stiffened, her jaw clenching as she remained silent. Ita smiled dimly as she turned to face her daughter. There, in the low light offered by the narrow windows and fire, the woman looked empty. Her arms crossed as the bottle hung from her slender fingers, her bones poking out from beneath her worn and taut skin. Her lips were cracked from anxious biting, her nails chewed short. Scars poked out from her shoulders and chest, bruises littered about her arms. For a mage, she was young and to some might have been beautiful still, if given the chance to heal. Despite the delicacies of her body, she was still simply empty.

“You—” she started, taking a step forward as Ita interrupted her.

“I haven’t told anyone what happened that day, but I could hardly call myself a mage if I didn’t recognize the power of a genie.” Ita grimaced, her hands clenching the bottle tightly. “I could never understand you. After everything that happened…even with all that power at your fingertips.”

There was nothing she could say that would ease her mind. “I knew what everyone thought I was.”

Ita shook her head. “I learned some things when you were gone,” she said. “I had time to think and ponder, and I realized something about people. I didn’t know it for myself for several years—don’t move or I swear it I will drop this bottle,” she said and the girl froze in her tracks.

Ita continued. “It came to me one day. I…Valeska, when they cut out her tongue, do you know what she did? She took her knife, and she slit the throats of three people before they were able to run her through. She had been so calm before then, quiet, like the rest of us. Everyone thought she had gone mad. That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? In every way we are extreme, were are the same in opposite. In every way we are kind, we are just as ruthless. In every way we are docile, we are equally savage.” She paused, and it seemed as though she wept, even though no tears were shed. “Monsters are born out of innocence, when they have had their innocence stripped from them in the cruelest ways.”

“...” the girl paused, shaking her head. It wasn’t… “We still have a choice. We aren’t…we aren’t mindless—we get to choose.” she crept a bit closer as flames danced in Ita’s eyes, sparked beneath her skin. For the first time since she entered the village, fear seized her chest.

“They already believe we are monsters, my dearest.” her voice cracked and her fingers twitched. “I’m just proving them right.”

Ita dropped the bottle, it shattered on the ground, and all at once, there was nothing but fire.

The flames enveloped her before she had the chance to react, their unnatural heat licking her skin as the ground quaked. She dropped to the floor as a violent screech cut through the air and the walls caved in. The roof erupted into flames, collapsing on top of her as a massive, bird-like creature launched up through the thatch and wood and soared up into the sky in a pillar of fire.

She covered her head with her hands, and with a few mumbled words, the air around her seized and braced like a shield, barely enough to keep her clothes unburnt as the flames took hold of every open space. The house was set ablaze, and she was in the midst of it. She couldn’t breathe, and that familiar, haunting fear erupted in her bones.

The girl gasped for air, burying herself deeper in the ground as it trembled for her. The dirt stirred beneath her knees just as a support beam fell from the roof behind her, so close her heart jumped as the flames brushed the ends of her hair.

“Get out!” D’ao shouted. A narrow dirt path lifted on the ground, the pocket of air surrounding her grew smaller. She crawled with the path, coughing as smoke gathered in her lungs, ducking beneath the falling roof and climbing over the walls as heat began to devour her skin. The path lead her stumbling into the street.

That stiff, sickening quiet that had once filled the village was gone, replaced with complete and utter panic and chaos. A rain of fire fell from the sky and she stumbled as she gathered herself to her feet. A man ran screaming from his home and fell, his body entirely consumed in flames. She couldn’t remove her eyes from him as he writhed. And then came the horror.

The moment she took a step, she couldn’t stop running. She bumped into people and stumbled, lungs burning, until she found herself further from the center of the destruction. She hid herself on a beaten path behind a house. If she wanted, she could peek back out over its side and see Ita, see everyone and everything, but she couldn’t. Her heart beat violently against her ribs and her hands clasped over her ears to drown out the screaming. The flames and terror, the constraints on her lungs, it was familiar. Terribly. And all she could feel was chains, all she could see was blood and fire.

She couldn’t breathe.

The wind stirred heavily around her as the Afreet soared above her, massive and bold, its wings of flame so intense that as they extended, their tips brushed the nearby houses and ignited the wood. And even in just those few moments, she looked back to the ground, and the place she had once called home, was slowly turning to ash and cinders. It seemed to her, in that moment, as the Afreet’s wings flapped and collided with the roof of the blacksmith’s shop, the one she hid behind, that even the dirt would not escape its fury. Hot coals littered the ground so fully the earth glowed red and she trembled.

“Gather yourself!” D’ao shouted, a steadying grip on her spin aimed to pull her out of the shock and panic. “Open the gate!”

She peeked around the corner, and in the center of the destruction, Ita stood, untouched by the flames with her arms stretched out. In a terrifying discovery, she heard the woman laugh. It verberated through the air and drowned out the screams. Her head whipped around with wide eyes, people ran all about as houses and trees caught fire. The wind picked up speed and stirred the dust and flames into a whirlwind.

“Aen daerienn essaeth–Aen dae—”

What were the words again?

The Afreet let out another ear piercing cry. She looked, and as it thrashed against the verbal chains Ita spoke into binding.

“I-I—” she stuttered, shaking her head as destruction erupted around her. The flames turned from orange to blue, and an immense heat washed over her skin. Her breaths came in short as she coughed out the smoke and her skin burned. Bodies began to collapse in the street. “I can’t remember—The words—”

“Breathe, child—” D’ao said, and for a moment the rest of the chaos was drowned out. Her ears rang.

People bumped into her as they fled, running from the homes catching on fire. She stumbled. The whirlwind picked up heat, and she groaned as her arms began to blister. With a thrust of her hand, she buried it into the earth, and then pulled. The ground launched up in a wall against the wind, shielding her from the brunt of its heat.

“You must take a breath and steady yourself. You are the gateway, child. The words have not changed, you must open the door. I will guide you, but by God child, you must breathe!”

Her body pulsed as though someone was beating against a closed door, and white lines cracked along the girl’s arms. Fresh air burst out of the miniscule fractures, filling her lungs. With it, came clarity. A cold wash of determination that was not her own, but granted to her from those on the other side of the door.

Across the way, Ita stood bathed in fire, but it did not hurt her. Instead, the flames sank into her skin until her veins turned red and crawled across her bare body. She was changing, morphing and crystalizing. It was unnatural and strange, but Ita did not waver even as her skin became dark as coal.

She grit her teeth and gathered her wits with the fresh air. D’ao began to recite the words in her ear, the impression of his hand on her shoulder keeping her steady as she knelt on the ground. “Aen daerienn essaeth en’leass comp—”

The Afreet dove down into the village with an excited shriek, startling her. Dropping quickly back to the ground, she tossed up her hands and forced the earth to entomb her in a shallow grave as the Afreet’s wings glided an arm’s reach above her, the intense heat sinking so dreadfully into her hands that she screamed. The earth shook as D’ao cursed.

For the first time in years, he sounded frightened. The earth trembled as the firm impression of his arms around her held her tightly. “Let her finish the damn spell—hellish fool! Do you want to kill her?!”

The Afreet screeched, and when her grave unburied her, crumbling around her, her heart stopped. She could no longer feel the heat, or the blistering of her skin. She couldn’t feel anything except the bone-chilling horror.

The flaming whirlwind expanded as Ita screamed, her body no longer her own as it turned back, morphing like red hot coals. Her voice was no longer hers, but layered and heavy, dreadful. But as the fire cracked, as it raged with boundless power, she watched it consume. The buildings were no more, having been burned to the ground, and because of this she could not escape the sights. Fire burst out and grasped hold of the people who ran like monstrous hands. Even the woods on the outskirts caught fire, and with agonizing screams, everyone within them burned.

For a moment, she could not speak, her mind unable to grasp reality as she watched a little boy—a child who had once held a stick for a sword, a basket for a shield—disintegrate into ash and bone. She could not understand how Ita, even consumed by fire and rage, laughed.

The Drowners that laid in rivers and ate children could hardly compare to what Ita was then, for Drowners were dead and could not understand. But she, in that moment, understood. She answered the questions she had held on to from the first moment she could think. Its answer stood in front of her. So, horror struck and frightened, she whispered the words D’ao whispered in her ear.

“Aen daerienn essaeth en’leass compes incantaentum. Ego conteram vincula vestra Cáerme creasa.”

A scream pierced the air as she reached out her hand and the chains binding the Afreet trembled and groaned. It was not from the Afreet, or even the ones subjected to the flames, but from the monstrosity that stood unbothered in the midst of the carnage. It was no longer Ita, as her flesh had turned to coal, her eyes empty of life and reddened to their core. It screeched like an animal, a mindless beast, its body becoming increasingly disfigured. The Afreet dove as white cracks began to from on the girl’s hands and reached up her arms with ghosts of golden smoke. The swarming sound of cicadas thrummed in every corner of her mind, echoing in the dirt beneath her feet, in the air she breathed. It built with every word passing her lips.

“Aen daerienn essaeath rhydd er mwyn niwtraliaeth. Agwetheill aep te Eileamaid Gaeth.”

The chains snapped. Ita’s remnants howled and jerked its head toward her. Miserably, it tried to charge at her, but the girl reached out an open hand, and the ground spiked beneath the creature. It pierced the its legs and they broke, the coal snapping in two. The creature did not seem to feel it, as it began to crawl toward her and howled. The white cracks reached up from the girl’s waist to cover her neck and met the ones breaking up her arms upon her shoulders. The Afreet’s tail touched the ground as it approached the woman from behind, and she closed her eyes and she spoke the incantation again.

“Aen daerienn essaeth en’leass compes incantaentum. Ego conteram vincula vestra Cáerme creasa. Aen daerienn essaeath rhydd er mwyn niwtraliaeth. Agwetheill aep te Eileamaid Gaeth.”

The ancient Elder words caused the air to thicken and condense, their weight descended upon the village to compact the dust and still the whirlwind, not even the flames could persist. The girl’s blue eyes flashed as a strike of lightning beneath the ocean and all at once, the Gateway opened. The cracks within her body expanded and separated in a blinding white light, and though it was not painful, it was consuming. She fragmented as the Afreet passed through her. There was a glimpse of an immense plane of fire. A dozen Afreets. A lake of white and blue flames. Reddened eyes and—a bow of gratitude. And then there was nothing.

It was dark as the fragments of her body and mind slowly sealed back into their rightful places, white cracks fading, closing the Gateway—sealing time and space. There was nothing in the midst of it, and she despised the complete stillness because in that moment, she was entirely alone, adrift as her body returned to its physical state.

Flashes of Kaer Morhen shot across her mind. Geralt and Yennefer in the gathering hall, their heads shooting up as the medallions hanging on the tree began to vibrate. She could swear she could hear their violent hiss. She saw as Geralt’s eyes landed on her, launching from his seat, her name on his lips before he too, disappeared into bitter blackness. She smiled as her weakened, reformed body began to collapse and she fell into the ash and cinders—amongst the bones of the dead and tormented, beside an unmoving coal hand, broken cleanly from its owner’s disfigured body.

It was strange, then, because all she could see as her consciousness waned, the burns on her body consuming, was purple and gold.

“Yenn—” she whispered, then her mind slipped and she was gone.

The token dangling from her neck pulsed.

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