The Divine Hunter Chapter 636 -: At the End of the White Frost

Ciri clutched Eileni tightly, her gaze sweeping across the scene. All that met her eyes was utter devastation. The battlefield of Tor Lara was a grim tableau of fallen bodies – Aen Elle warriors, Hounds, knights from the Order, and sorcerers alike. The air itself was thick with the coppery scent of blood, a sickening miasma.

The only solace was that none of their own had fallen, though the witchers bore grievous wounds, and the sorceresses seemed drained, their complexions mirroring the chilling hue of the White Frost.

Then Ciri’s attention shifted to the distant coastline, and her jaw unhinged. “What in the world is that?”

An immense flock of seagulls and petrels was descending upon the Isle of Thanedd. Their collective shadow eclipsed the sun, plunging the skies into darkness. Their desolate cries echoed through the air as they fled. Behind this aerial exodus, a tear appeared in the fabric of the sky—a black abyss, resembling the very void of space.

Hail and snow cascaded from this rift, swirling with the sea winds to form a colossal hurricane of white. It towered higher than the formidable peaks of Amell, a terrifying conduit connecting the sea and the heavens.

The hurricane advanced with a deafening roar, transforming the ocean and atmosphere in its wake into an icy wasteland, barren except for snow and ice. Any living creature caught in its path was instantly petrified, frozen solid. A dozen seagulls, too slow to escape, were encased in ice and inexorably drawn into the vortex's core.

Fishing vessels out at sea were violently swept into the air. As the hurricane churned and frost swirled, these boats were reduced to splintered wreckage. The tempest moved like a monstrous white beast, consuming all in its path across the sea.

Yet, the horror was far from over. More frost spewed forth from the celestial tear, further amplifying the hurricane's already immense scale.

A peculiar vision filled Ciri’s mind: a stark white skeleton adrift in an infinite void, amidst a pale, unending frost, for what felt like an eternity.

***

“This is no mere tempest,” Coral stated, her voice strained, her fists clenched. Her fiery hair whipped around her in the wind as her heart ached with a premonition of her lover’s imminent departure.

“Then what is it?” Triss inquired, her tone heavy and grave.

Francesca clutched her chest, her face pallid, mirroring the color of the hurricane. In a voice like a nursery rhyme, she declared, “The Time of the White Chill and the White Light approaches, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Tedd Deireadh, the Time of the End. Ithlinne’s prophecy is unfolding. This is Tedd Deireadh, the final era! We have but an hour before Thanedd is eternally encased in ice!”

***

At the rear of the chaotic battlefield, the sorcerers stared at the approaching hurricane, their disbelief evident. Their spellcasting ceased. Having studied the ancient texts, they were acutely aware of Ithlinne’s prophecy and the dire significance of this storm.

“Why now? Just as we settled the conflict within the brotherhood. We were poised to demonstrate our true capabilities, and now this legendary cataclysm descends upon us?” Philippa exclaimed, her dismay palpable. With a hiss laced with fury and terror, she spat, “This is the Wild Hunt’s doing! They have brought this upon us!”

“No. They too fear the White Frost,” Tissaia countered, shaking her head as she observed the retreating Wild Hunt. moments before, they were formidable warriors, dominating the battle, yet now they were abandoning their offensive. They herded their Hounds and hastily retreated towards the dark vessel hovering in the sky.

Tissaia could discern the raw fear in their eyes as they cast nervous glances toward the hurricane, as if they had endured its wrath before. “Everyone, I propose we create a portal immediately and evacuate Thanedd. We cannot remain here; survival is impossible.” Sabrina’s hair swayed erratically.

“And where can we possibly flee? If the prophecy holds true, escape from the White Frost is futile, regardless of our destination in this world,” Marti questioned, wiping sweat from her brow. A profound sense of melancholy welled within her. “So, why don’t we seek out those we love and spend our final moments together?”

***

“We drove away the Wild Hunt, only to confront the White Frost? Is this our fated path?”

Eskel supported Vesemir, lifting him. Geralt and Lambert sat back-to-back amidst a pool of blood. Their armor was coated in frost, their faces ashen white.

“What did the prophecy say again? That everyone would be frozen solid? I’m such an idiot. I should have gone home to see poor Pashia.”

Lambert scoffed dismissively. With his right hand, now stiff with frost, he smoothed his receding hairline, which had been more severely trimmed earlier. He then turned to his right. “Does sentimentality make you a pessimist? Can’t you find a silver lining? Even the younglings possess more fortitude than you do.”

***

The younger witchers, wounded and weary, leaned on each other, forming a defensive line like a steadfast fortress. Exhaustion was evident, yet their eyes gleamed with an unexpected light of determination.

“The wicked Wild Hunt has been vanquished! We, the witchers, allies of righteousness, have triumphed! Let us see who among us felled more foes, my brothers. I eliminated a soldier and two Hounds,” Acamuthorm declared with elation. The higher vampire decoction he had consumed granted him fangs.

“Is that so? I vanquished one more than you.” Carl gingerly touched the scar that stretched from his brow down to the midpoint of his face. It was a mark of honor, and a surge of excitement coursed through him; no longer would he be mistaken for a girl.

“I eliminated two more than you.” Monti’s left arm dangled uselessly. A weak smile graced his lips.

“So, I’m in last place once more?” Lloyd’s expression soured. He was polishing his chipped silver sword, a touch of pique evident.

Felix, Coen, Kiyan, and Aiden delivered smacks to the back of their heads. “You clueless whelps. We face a cataclysm, and you squabble amongst yourselves?”

A spectral gust of wind swept across the island, chilling to the bone. All eyes narrowed as if stung by frost. The young men gazed skyward, their earlier excitement evaporating. With sobs, they pleaded, “Are we all doomed? Will the hurricane consume us?”

Silence was the only reply.

***

“After two centuries, the Viper School is at last reunited.” Ivar’s gaze fixed upon the four unconscious Viper Wild Hunt soldiers bound in silver chains, a look of profound satisfaction painting his features. “A shame I couldn’t personally dispatch that scoundrel Eredin. And now, this accursed White Frost descends.”

“Do not despair, old friend. The lad surely has a plan.” Letho rubbed his head, his eyes brimming with assurance. “He has never once failed us.”

Serrit and Auckes exchanged a knowing glance before turning their attention toward Ciri.

***

Ciri’s eyes met Roy’s. He was scorched, his body a tapestry of wounds. The girl could barely recognize him, and tears welled in her eyes. “No one would have perished had they not sought to shield me. You would not have been harmed either, and that chasm would not have appeared.”

“This is not your culpability. And I shall recover within a fortnight.” Roy gently stroked Gryphon’s head, soothing the beast. He then addressed the anxious Coral, Triss, and Francesca, offering a smile. “This is but a misstep of destiny.”

A collective sigh, laden with complaint, animosity, consternation, and resignation, filled the atmosphere. Avallac’h materialized without warning, his gaze fixed upon the witcher. “The Elder Blood is a lineage of kings. How could one not descended from Lara Dorren possess it? How did you manage to slay Eredin and Caranthir and absorb their bloodline? You have hastened the White Frost’s arrival, rendering the Red Riders’ millennia of effort futile.”

The witcher and the sorceresses regarded Avallac’h with palpable loathing. They retorted, “You murdered Caranthir and Grimm. You sought to compel Ciri into union with an ancient crone over six centuries old. You are in no position to adopt such a tone with us.”

Avallac’h remained silent for a beat. Then, drawing a deep breath, he bowed to everyone present. “Very well. I offer my apologies. My actions were necessary for the perpetuation of my people. But rest assured, I swear I shall not interfere with you further. To be precise, there is no longer any purpose in doing so.”

The women turned to Roy, awaiting his judgment.

“You have precisely one minute. Reveal your strategy. Provide me with a reason not to dismember you and the remnants of the Wild Hunt.”

Avallac’h gestured towards the lands beyond the bridge, the direction of Gors Velen. The inhabitants, sensing the approaching doom, had flooded the streets. Screams of anguish and terror permeated the air. Some fled in panic, others spun in frantic despair, and some succumbed to unconsciousness. A few seized the opportunity to sow chaos and destruction, engaging in rampant looting.

“Observe? Before the White Frost, humanity is rendered inconsequential. This applies to all of you. Though its advance may be slow, like a gorged bear, its magnitude and velocity will escalate. It will grow with alarming speed. This is the conclusion my people reached after witnessing countless worlds frozen into oblivion. If we do not devise a solution imminently, this world will face annihilation within a week at the latest. Believe me, should you remain here, refuge will be impossible to find. You cannot outrun this catastrophe.”

“What is it you propose?” Yennefer stammered, swallowing hard.

“The error has been committed. Our only recourse is to strategize accordingly.” Avallac’h’s gaze swept over Roy, Ciri, and Eileni. He extended an invitation: “Bearers of the Elder Blood, bring your kin and return with me to Tir na Lia. With your potent abilities and the portal, we can initiate vast-scale teleportations and depart these perishing realms. We can seek refuge in a more secure haven. Such is the inherent purpose of the Elder Blood.”

“So you flee to another realm, conceal yourselves for a few centuries, only for the White Frost to pursue you once more, and you abscond like a whipped hound?” Roy’s eyes bored into Avallac’h’s. He scoffed, “Your kin have been in flight for eons. Have you not grown weary?”

“Fleeing is shameful, yet it is preferable to death. And never forget, you have loved ones and kin.” Avallac’h perceived that the witcher held the position of leader within this group. He spoke with an almost slobbering intensity. “You intend to remain here and perish alongside them?”

“I have no intention of passively awaiting my demise,” Roy declared. He cast his gaze upon Coral, whose eyes conveyed deep affection. Then, he looked towards Triss, followed by Yennefer, and the witchers who had gathered closely around him. “I shall not retreat either. The White Frost will undoubtedly engulf world after world, annihilating all life in its path. I alone possess the capability to avert this catastrophe. I have contemplated this matter sufficiently, and I will bring it to a definitive conclusion.”

Avallac’h paused momentarily, his composure momentarily shaken. Subsequently, his characteristic elegance and tranquility faltered. “No. The White Frost is an insurmountable force. Not even Ithlinne’s prophecy outlined a viable method for its destruction. This represents a futile sacrifice, a gamble with an exceedingly slim probability of success. I implore you, witcher, depart with us.” Avallac’h’s tone bordered on pleading. “You have prevailed this time. I shall persuade Auberon to acquiesce to the majority of your demands, even extending to offering you, Ciri, the young maiden, or even Francesca the position of ruler among the Aen Elle. Should your desire be to eradicate the White Frost, we must devise a strategy, but that necessitates time. First and foremost, you must survive.”

Francesca found herself persuaded. She clasped her hands together, preparing to voice her thoughts. *I cannot permit the lineage of the Aen Seidhe to vanish in such a manner,* the elven queen mused, beginning to ponder how she might convince Roy to accept the grim reality.

Ciri suddenly focused her attention on the dark vessel halted at a considerable distance, and she retorted with a hiss, “Even if my desire is to sever the heads of these Red Riders?”

Avallac’h faltered, his jaw tight with the struggle of a decision.

“Never mind! I refuse to flee!” Ciri asserted with vehemence. “Calanthe, Bran, Hjalmar, and Cerys are present. I cannot abandon them to face this tempest alone!”

“Milady, I previously stated that you are welcome to bring all your family and friends!”

“Including the knights of the Order, the warriors of Skellige, and every Cintran who remains loyal to us?”

Avallac’h fell silent.

A luminous golden aura enveloped Ciri’s visage. With a naive yet resolute expression, she proclaimed, “All individuals in the North who have not committed acts of wickedness are deserving of life.”

“Live! Live!” Eileni exclaimed with delight, despite her complete lack of understanding regarding the unfolding events.

Avallac’h lowered his head in a resigned sigh. “Such a feat is beyond our capabilities. Transporting such a vast multitude is simply not feasible given the time constraints.”

“Then you have your answer.” Ciri gently grasped Roy’s scorched arm. “Let us proceed to eliminate the White Frost, Roy.”

“Forgive my inquiry, but do you possess a comprehensive and actionable strategy?” Avallac’h sought to dissuade Ciri with all his might, unwilling to witness the demise of his people’s hopes for continuation.

“Freya and Melitele imparted knowledge of a method to me years ago. My objective is to reach the very terminus of the White Frost and extirpate it from its source,” Roy stated with composure. These words were directed at Coral and the concerned witchers who were listening, as well as all his companions who worried for him, and indeed, for himself.

“I lacked conviction in this plan previously, but with the boons bestowed by Eredin and Caranthir, I am now capable of undertaking this task alone.”

“You will not be alone.” Ciri firmly clasped Roy’s hands, her gaze locked with his. “I too possess the Elder Blood, and it has just furnished me with a vision. Should I permit you to depart unaccompanied this time, we shall lose you eternally.”

A profound silence descended upon the battlefield. Tears welled in Roy’s eyes. He harbored no absolute certainty regarding this plan. Despite the Elder Blood coursing through him being more potent than ever before, the White Frost presented a more formidable threat than he recalled. It was possible that the confrontation with Eredin had fractured space itself, or perhaps the amplified Elder Blood exerted a stronger allure upon this calamity.

Furthermore, this time, he intended not merely to divert the White Frost as Ciri had done in his recollection. His purpose was to eradicate it entirely.

Lambert directed a questioning look at Roy. “Is there no alternative resolution? Might we not return to Gawain’s abode, recuperate, and subsequently formulate a plan?”

“With every moment we squander in indecision, the White Frost will lay waste to further territories. I cannot ascertain the precise duration required to subdue this disaster. Should I tarry excessively, the entire world might well be submerged in an ice age by the time my efforts conclude. I must depart imminently.”

Roy paused, offering a gentle smile to the anxious faces surrounding him. “Fear not. This is not a farewell. I have never failed you.”

“And I cautioned you against overexertion, child. You have us.” Letho affectionately ruffled his hair.

“Together! Together!” Eileni encircled Roy’s arm with her chubby limbs, perching atop his head like a koala. She showed no hesitation in staying close, undeterred by his appearance, which was more grim than that of a demon emerging from purgatory.

Roy shook his head, a smile gracing his lips. “Calanthe would undoubtedly hold me accountable if I were to take Ciri and Eileni with me.”

Ciri declared with unwavering resolve, “I shall present a full explanation to Calanthe once we have vanquished the White Frost. Please, Roy, do not forsake us.”

Coral clung to Roy’s arm, her crimson hair tickling his cheek, yet she remained silent. Her respect for Roy’s decisions had always been unwavering.

For reasons unknown, Triss found herself unable to contain her burgeoning emotions any longer. Grasping Roy’s other arm, she gazed at him wordlessly, tears carving paths down her face. This time, however, no one dared to mock her.

The elven sage, setting aside his arrogance, offered a humble bow to the witcher.

“Vatt’ ghern, Zireael. Should you succeed in this improbable feat and return unharmed, the rulership of Aen Elle shall be yours.”

***

“Can I believe my ears? Has that witcher taken leave of his senses? Is his mind truly sound?” A sorcerer scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “He intends to confront the legendary White Frost with just two young girls in tow?”

“Silence, you imbecile!” Tissaia bellowed, her slap jarring the sorcerer so violently that blood trickled from his lips. The majority of the other sorcerers shot him glares of disapproval. “When an individual risks their very life to safeguard all, they ascend to the status of a hero, regardless of how futile their endeavor may appear. Instead of offering prayers for his success, you resort to slander? I shall turn you into a stone effigy for a century! May you then contemplate your transgression!”

***

This was the pivotal moment that would determine the fate of humanity, yet remarkably few paid any heed.

Only the witchers and sorcerers gathered by Tor Lara were present to witness this departure. They observed the silhouette of the black-haired, silver-eyed warrior embark on his journey. Brisingamen had already mended his wounds. He clasped Ciri’s hand, while Eileni perched upon his neck. A celestial luminescence emanated from within them, and then, they vanished.

A brilliant star flared amidst the tempestuous, destructive hurricane raging over the sea.

***

The White Frost existed as a vast, silent current traversing the cosmic expanse. It was a dim, unsettling presence, imbued with an unending cold that leached the warmth from all that surrounded it. Everything within its chilling embrace would shiver uncontrollably, a cold that penetrated even the soul.

Nevertheless, the Elder Blood seemed to possess an intrinsic connection to this desolate domain. From the moment the witcher and the girls breached its confines, their innate Elder Blood surged with activity. They were able to wield its power without restraint.

Roy, Ciri, and Eileni ignited the dormant power of the Elder Blood, swiftly navigating the frigid expanse of the White Frost toward its ultimate destination. The Elder Blood manifested as a resilient layer of warm armor, shielding them from the relentless onslaught of icy projectiles and bitter cold that assailed them from every direction.

Initially, their progress was astonishingly smooth—almost suspiciously so. Roy harbored a fleeting sense of impending victory, but the White Frost proved to be far more expansive than he or the girls had anticipated. The oppressive darkness resembled an abyss, a cloying, viscous swamp from which escape seemed impossible. They found themselves ensnared within the White Frost, their senses struggling to perceive the passage of time, which felt like an eternity compressed into mere moments, or perhaps, it was indeed a century.

Ultimately, the Elder Blood, subjected to the relentless strain of time and the oppressive environment, began to falter. It could no longer effectively shield Roy and the girls from the encroaching perils. Jagged icicles launched themselves towards the witcher, shattering his protective magical barrier repeatedly. Each impact weakened him further until his resources and strength were completely depleted. The icicles then pierced through his armor, slicing into his flesh.

“Are you alright, Roy? I’m frightened.”

“Look after Eileni, Ciri. I will not permit any harm to befall you.” Roy instinctively curled his body, enveloping Eileni and Ciri within his protective embrace. He shielded them with his entire being.