The Free City of Novigrad,
April 28th 1173.
A biting wind whipped through the narrow, cobblestone streets. Rain slicked the cobblestones, reflecting the dim glow of flickering lanterns.
A man stood at the weathered wooden door of a modest house. His figure obscured by the hood of his cloak. But his eyes, visible, almost glowing in the dim light, were an unsettling gold, slitted like a cat's. He paused for a moment, taking in the details of the place, before raising his hand and rapping firmly on the door.
A muffled shuffling could be heard from within, followed by the creak of floorboards and the clink of a latch. The door opened a crack, revealing a middle-aged man with a wary expression, lantern in hand.
"Who are you, and what do you want at this hour?" he asked as he held up the lantern.
"Are you Sylus?" The question was more of a statement, delivered in a low, commanding voice that brooked no argument.
"Who's asking?" he asked cautiously. He raised the lantern higher as if trying to see the man's face. His eyes narrowed at the stranger's face, widening slightly as they met the unnatural, feline gaze. "A Witcher, I see. What do you seek, Wolf?" the middle-aged man asked while glancing at a wolf shaped medallion on the stranger's chest.
"The ravens carried the news to me that you can glimpse the past and future. I seek the past, my past."
"Many claim that. Few are truthful. And fewer still have the courage to face what they might find." he paused, his eyes narrowing at the Witcher and then gestured him to get in.
"What truth do you seek, Witcher?" the man asked, as he hung up the lantern to the ceiling.
"My origins." the Witcher replied, as he sat down, his tone as steady and unwavering as his gaze.
The man raised an eyebrow, "A rare request for a Witcher. But I believe you are at the wrong place. Your past is written in your blood, not your dreams."
"My blood holds no answers. My beginnings lie... elsewhere."
A long silence fell between them. The man stared into the Witcher's eyes, as if searching for something buried deep within.
Finally, the man spoke again, softly, perhaps with a hint of realization. "The path to the truth is a dangerous one, Witcher. Are you prepared for what you might find?"
"I am."
The man nodded slowly, and stood up "Very well, follow me then."
...….
Outside, a storm was brewing, the first drops of rain tapping against the windowpane.
The room was dimly lit by a few flickering candles, their light casting long, dancing shadows on the walls adorned with ancient tapestries depicting cryptic scenes. The air was thick with the scent of incense, a blend of sage and myrrh.
"To see the threads of your past, I must weave a connection with you, Witcher. Tell me your memories, your doubts, your fears about your origins. The more vivid your recollection, the clearer the image I can form. Trust is a rare commodity, and I know Witchers show little of it. But without it, I cannot help you."
There was a long pause. The Witcher's eyes flickered with indecision. Then he nodded curtly.
"Very well."
"Now, your name first."
"Now, tell me what you remember or think of your beginnings."
"I... I do not belong here. This world is not mine. This body is not my own. I have no memory of a life before this one, only fragments of another reality."
"Another world? Explain."
"I cannot. The memories are fleeting. I remember a world of steel and glass, of towering structures that pierced the sky. A world of machines that thought and moved. I remember the cold, sterile air and the constant hum of progress. I remember dying, a flash of pain, and then...… nothingness."
"A world of machines? You speak of a place beyond our understanding."
"It is a place lost to me now."
"Sadly, fragments are not enough, Witcher. To reach your past, we need a solid anchor. The strongest memory you can recall. Can you remember the moment of your death in your previous life?"
"Death? Why..."
"It is the most significant transition. The line between worlds is often thinnest at such a moment. If you can recall it vividly, it will serve as a gateway to your past. I will try my best to help you now, lie down."
Alaric lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. The oneiromancer sat beside him. A deep hum filled the air, and Alaric felt a strange sensation, as if being pulled through a vast, empty space.
"Focus on your death, Alaric. Feel the pain, the fear, the final moments."
Alaric's breath quickened. He clenched his fists, his mind diving into the depths of his fragmented memories.
......
Alaric POV –
Memories flooded back like a dam bursting open, each fragment of my life flashing in front of me at an incomprehensible speed. It was as if I were watching a movie at a thousand times the speed, yet every detail was crystal clear, each scene sharp and vivid.
In a blinding instant, I was a child again, the day my parents died replaying in an agonizing loop. I was five, playing with a toy car. Then, a crash, a screech of metal, sirens wailing. Social workers arrived, their voices distant as they explained my new reality.
The world rushed forward. I was in a group home, surrounded by hardened kids. I learned to survive, to steal, to fight. Adrenaline surged through me with each petty crime, a thrill of danger and escape. But there was despair too, the bitter taste of failure.
Then, a spark ignited. I was drawn to computers. Hacking. The thrill of breaching firewalls was intoxicating. I became a hacktivist, fighting for justice, exposing the truth. We were close, so close to victory.
Then, the fall. Handcuffs, darkness, pain. Interrogations, torture. I saw my comrades broken, their screams echoing in my mind.
And then suddenly the time slowed down, back to normal.
A dimly-lit room echoed with the sound of punches. Bash. My head snapped to the side as another blow connected with my jaw. The air was suffocating, thick with the scent of my own sweat and blood.
Chains bit into my wrists, sending sharp, stinging pains up my arms. My body felt like it was on fire; every inch of my skin was bruised or cut. Each breath was a struggle, my ribs aching with every rise and fall of my chest.
My arms were cold from hanging for who knows how long. Footsteps approached, and my heart pounded with a mix of fear and defiance. Through my blurry vision, I saw a masked figure step into the light, standing beside my tormentor.
"Now, tell me, how did you find out about us?" The voice was cold, dripping with menace. I felt their hot breath on my face, saw the hatred in their eyes.
My mouth was dry, but I gathered what little spit I had left and hurled it at them. It landed on their mask, and I forced a fanatical smile, feeling a twisted sense of victory. "Fuck you," I rasped, my voice barely more than a whisper, but loaded with all the defiance I could muster.
Rage flashed in their eyes, and I knew what was coming. A fist slammed into my face, a burst of white-hot pain exploding behind my eyes. My head snapped back, and for a moment, everything went black. The pain was unbearable, my senses overwhelmed. I could taste blood, feel it trickling down my throat. My body went limp, and I knew this was the end.
...….
Alaric awoke from the dream with a start, heart pounding, sweating, gasping for breath.
"It all comes back to me now... My past life….." he whispered to himself.
The wind howled outside, shaking the lanterns that lined the narrow, cobblestone streets of Novigrad. He turned to the window, watching the storm's fury lash against the glass. Each drop of rain seemed to mirror the turmoil within him.
"No use dwelling on the past any longer. What matters now is the peril facing Kaer Morhen. I must go…" he muttered, urgency creeping into his voice.
He sprang to his feet, the sound of his boots echoing in the small room. He was halfway to the door when Sylus's voice stopped him. "Hold, Witcher. Your vision is yet unfinished.
Alaric turned, frowning. "Speak plainly, seer."
Sylus's eyes bore into his, intense and unwavering. "You have glimpsed the shadows of your past life but not the thread that binds you to this realm. Without that knowledge, these visions will plague you unceasingly."
Alaric paused. The room's flickering candlelight seemed to waver in anticipation.
"Very well," he said, his voice steady. He returned to the bed, lying down once more. The room felt colder. He closed his eyes and prepared to dive back into the depths of his memories.
....
A man steadied his shaking hands, his eyes fixed on the symbols he traced in the air. In a low voice, he whispered words from a language that seemed to strain the very air around him.
The spell he muttered was a forbidden one, lost to all but those who dared tread the darkest paths of magic. His voice wavered as he spoke, every word a piece of his will pulled from deep within:
"Shal'ar zevin... Krovesh tahl... Lithenak vieth."
Each phrase carved the air with a chilling resonance, seeming to bind the very shadows around him. The symbols appeared in response, faint and unsteady, as he continued the incantation:
"Aluun drethak... Na'liss dor... Vitrai alzura."
His voice grew weaker with each line, his vitality pouring into the spell as the glowing crosses began to intersect, forming a portal in the air. The final words slipped from his lips, barely more than a whisper:
"Morven ka'al… Leth'ran ven."
And with that, the spell consumed him, leaving him drained and hollow as the light burst forth, obeying his final command.
The crosses hovered, flickering in and out like shadows caught in firelight. Slowly, they shifted, each one tilting until they met in the center, forming a strange, empty window in the air.
In the center of the window, a small, glowing orb appeared, humming with a restless energy. It vibrated, pulsing wildly, as if struggling against an invisible force. Then, without warning, it shot forward, flung away into the shadows, leaving the man's empty shell behind.
...…
Alaric's eyes fluttered open, the vision still swirling in his mind. He lay there, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, trying to piece together the fragments of what he had seen.
Sylus watched him closely, his brow furrowed in concern.
Alaric sat up slowly, his gaze distant and haunted. "A man... casting a spell. Symbols in the air, words from the Aen Elle Elder Speech. I felt his power, his desperation. He called to something beyond this world.
Sylus nodded, his expression grave. "It seems he summoned your soul to this realm. A feat most unnatural."
Alaric rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the lingering dizziness. "I don't recognize the spell or the language. It felt... forbidden, as though it should not exist."
The seer leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Yet, it has bound you here. You must find a way to uncover its secrets if you are to find peace."
Alaric's golden, slitted eyes met Sylus's.
Sylus nodded solemnly. "The path ahead is fraught with peril, Witcher. But you have faced the unknown before. Trust in your strength and your instincts. They will guide you through."
Alaric rose, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. "You have my thanks, Sylus."
With a final nod, Alaric left the seer's home.
-x-x-x-
A/N:-
That's the first chapter I guess. Can anyone guess the spell that summoned Alaric? (yes, its an actual spell and not made up.). If you have any questions go ahead and comment, I will try my best to answer without spoiling too much.
I have just started to write the story. So, if you have any ideas about the plot or characters comment below. I like it and it fits the criteria I will include it in the story.
Also, Webnovel doesn't allow 'illegal' characters and spaces in name. My name is Protag O'Nist. Clever, I know. (pats himself on the back.)