Witcher: Rukh and Steel

The fire flickered in the great hall, its golden glow dancing across old stone, but it couldn't chase away the tension in the air.

The attack had come and gone, but the fight wasn't over.

Salamandra had failed—at least in their attempt to steal the secrets of Witcher mutations. Their soldiers lay dead, their assault repelled. But their mages had escaped, taking whatever scraps of stolen knowledge they could carry.

And they weren't gone for good.

Vesemir felt it in his bones. They would return.

Which was why they were having this meeting now.

He stood at the head of the war table, arms crossed, sharp gaze passing over the others—Geralt, Triss, Eskel, Lambert, and Leo. Each of them bore new scars from the fight, exhaustion clinging to them like a second skin.

And then there was Yunan.

The man sat leaning back, legs kicked up onto the table, a golden coin flipping lazily between his fingers, like the entire discussion was nothing more than background noise.

Vesemir ignored him.

His eyes moved to the war table, maps of Kaer Morhen and its surroundings spread across its surface, torn and bloodstained from the previous battle. Markers, once placed to track enemy positions, had now been replaced—new threats, new decisions.

One in particular stood out.

A small black stone, placed in the valley just beneath Kaer Morhen. The Dungeon.

"We need to talk about the Dungeon."

The air shifted.

No one needed to ask which Dungeon.

The massive structure had remained untouched for centuries, a monolith of ancient power resting in the valley below Kaer Morhen.

Until now.

Geralt exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "You think we're ready?"

Vesemir nodded. "No. But we don't have a choice."

Triss folded her arms, leaning slightly against the table. "Salamandra isn't gone. They'll regroup, and next time, they'll be more prepared." Her gaze flickered toward Yunan. "If this Dungeon holds power, we need it before someone else does."

Lambert scoffed. "And what if it kills us?"

Eskel sighed. "Then we'll at least know what we're dealing with."

Leo, quiet as ever, frowned slightly. His fingers traced the hilt of his sword, his thoughts unreadable.

Vesemir turned toward Yunan.

"You created this thing. What exactly is inside?"

Yunan caught the golden coin, flicking it into the air. He didn't answer right away—his emerald eyes gleamed with something between amusement and boredom. Then he smiled.

"A test."

Leo tilted his head. "A test of what?"

Yunan smirked. "Strength. Endurance. Wrath." He stretched, yawning slightly. "You're dealing with Baal—the Djinn of Wrath and Heroes. He doesn't care about clever tricks. He wants warriors."

Geralt's golden eyes narrowed. "And if we fail?"

Yunan's grin widened.

"Then you die."

Silence.

Triss sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You could have led with that."

Geralt, however, only nodded. "Then I'll do it."

Lambert snorted. "Of course you will."

Eskel leaned back slightly. "It makes sense. If this is about endurance and strength, Geralt's our best shot."

Triss hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Geralt met her gaze. "If this thing is as powerful as Yunan says, I'm not letting it fall into someone else's hands."

Vesemir exhaled slowly, looking at each of them.

He had trained these men, fought beside them, watched them become legends in their own right. But this? This was something else entirely. Even he wasn't sure what awaited them inside that Dungeon.

But that didn't matter.

They didn't have the luxury of hesitation.

"Then it's decided," Vesemir said finally. "We rest. Then we take the Dungeon."

No turning back now.

Leo's POV

The golden portal spat them out into chaos.

Leo barely had time to orient himself before the wind howled in his ears. The air wasn't just thick—it tasted like ozone, a metallic tang clinging to his tongue. The platform beneath them was made of dark stone, smooth yet cracked with veins of golden energy, each pulse like a heartbeat.

Then, the sky ripped open.

The lightning dragon descended from the storm above.

Leo had seen dragons before—massive, terrifying, ancient beings of raw destruction. But this dragon was something else entirely.

Its scales weren't just golden; they shimmered like molten suns, their brilliance painful to look at. Lightning arced across its massive form, the sheer energy warping the air around it. The very storm seemed to bow to its presence. Its eyes—twin orbs of pure, incandescent light—burned into Leo's soul as if it could see straight through him.

And the worst part?

It wasn't alone.

A screech echoed through the storm as twenty wyverns emerged from the darkness, their wings buzzing with static. Smaller than the dragon but no less deadly, they were its electrified brood, circling them like carrion birds waiting for a kill.

The first bolt of lightning hit with the force of a thunderclap.

Leo's instincts screamed at him. Move!

He rolled just in time, feeling the heated stone sear his skin as he hit the ground. The air shimmered with the aftershock, the scent of burnt rock and ozone thick in his nostrils.

Geralt was already moving, a blur of white hair and silver steel. His blade sang, meeting the first wyvern's hide. The impact was deafening, sparks flying as the creature shrieked.

Eskel was a wraith, his sword a dark streak against the storm. The wyverns didn't stand a chance—his strikes were surgical, each slash parting through scales like wet paper.

Leo gritted his teeth, gripping his own sword tighter. Compared to them, his blade felt small.

A wyvern screeched and dove for him.

Leo barely ducked under its massive wing, the air crackling with static as it passed over him. Without thinking, he turned and drove his sword into the beast's leg.

The wyvern crashed, tumbling into a screeching, sparking wreck.

Leo whirled around just in time to see the dragon's maw opening.

Inside, golden light coalesced—a miniature sun forming in its throat.

It was about to breathe.

Triss's incantation was a desperate cry against the impending annihilation. A shimmering barrier bloomed, just as the dragon unleashed its breath.

The golden lightning wasn't just energy—it was a force of nature. The wave of power slammed into Triss's barrier, the impact so intense that the very ground beneath them fractured like brittle ice.

Leo felt it—his bones vibrating, his muscles screaming in protest.

"IGNORE THE WYVERNS! FOCUS ON THE DRAGON!"

Vesemir's voice, rough and urgent, cut through the storm.

He was right. The longer they wasted on the wyverns, the less likely they were to survive the real fight.

Leo forced himself to focus, wiping sweat and rain from his eyes. That's when he saw them—two orbs, crackling with raw power, embedded in the dragon's body.

One was lodged in its forehead.

The other pulsed beneath its chest.

Leo's stomach dropped. The sealed gate behind them had begun to glow—reacting to those orbs.

They were the key.

"The orbs!" Leo yelled over the storm. "We need them to open the gate!"

Geralt's golden eyes narrowed. His gaze locked onto the dragon.

"Then we take them."

 Geralt's POV

Leo's words barely finished before Geralt was already moving.

The dragon's gaze snapped toward them, as if sensing their intent. Its massive wings flared, sending a deafening clap of thunder through the battlefield. The storm raged harder, winds howling like tortured spirits, rain slicing through the air in sheets.

They didn't have time.

A wyvern swooped low, wings slicing through the air. Geralt didn't hesitate.

He leaped, boots finding purchase on the wyvern's back.

The creature shrieked in rage, electricity crackling along its scales as it twisted, trying to shake him off. Geralt's fingers dug into the ridges along its spine, his balance shifting instinctively as the wyvern banked hard.

Leo followed, his jump a desperate lunge.

He barely caught hold of another wyvern's crest, his grip slipping slightly before he secured himself. The beast screeched, wings flapping wildly as it tried to throw him.

The sky battle was a chaotic dance of death.

Geralt's silver blade flashed, slicing across the wyvern's neck. Hot blood sprayed, and the beast lurched. Using its momentum, Geralt kicked off, vaulting higher—closer to the dragon's head.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the massive orb embedded in the dragon's forehead.

There.

His muscles coiled. His mind was already calculating the angle, the distance, the force needed.

The dragon's eyes locked onto him.

Its maw opened.

A sun of golden light swelled in its throat.

Geralt moved without thinking.

He launched himself from the dying wyvern, sword gripped in both hands, body twisting mid-air.

A silver streak.

A single perfect strike.

His blade plunged into the orb—and the world exploded.

 The instant Geralt's blade struck the orb, the world detonated.

A shockwave of raw golden energy erupted from the dragon's forehead, splitting through the storm with blinding intensity. Lightning splintered outward, arcing wildly across the battlefield, striking the floating stone platforms and sending cracks racing through their surfaces.

Geralt was flung backward, his body twisting midair as the force slammed into him. His silver blade, now crackling with residual energy, ripped free from the orb, leaving behind a jagged web of golden fractures in its core.

Above, the dragon roared, its voice like a tempest given form. Its massive body convulsed, its enormous wings beating erratically as it reeled from the blow. The once-pristine golden sheen of its scales dimmed, sparks flickering erratically across its form like a failing star.

The wyverns, sensing their master's pain, shrieked in unison, their formations breaking as some scattered in confusion while others turned on the Witchers with renewed fury.

Leo barely had time to react before a wyvern, charged with static energy, dove straight for him. His grip slipped on his mount's horned crest as his wyvern jerked violently, trying to evade the attacker.

He was falling.

The wind ripped past him, the dark abyss below swallowing his vision—until a strong hand snatched his wrist.

Geralt.

The White Wolf gritted his teeth, his free hand gripping the hilt of his sword as he held Leo's weight with the other. Electricity still crackled along his armor from the aftershock, but his grip held firm.

"Climb up!" he barked over the storm.

Leo didn't waste time. He swung his legs, shifting his weight until he grabbed hold of Geralt's shoulder. With a final heave, he scrambled onto the wyvern's back just as Geralt turned his attention forward.

The dragon wasn't finished.

The orb in its forehead was fractured but still intact, its golden light pulsating wildly, as if struggling to repair itself. But the second orb—the one embedded in its chest—remained untouched.

From the plateau below, Eskel and Lambert were already moving toward it.

"Eskel! Lambert! Now!" Vesemir's voice cut through the chaos.

The two Witchers dodged and weaved between wyverns, swords flashing in the storm. They had one goal.

Bring the dragon down.

The Battle Below

The ground trembled beneath the dragon's massive form, each thundering step sending shockwaves through the plateau. The storm above raged, golden lightning flashing erratically, as if the dragon's pain was warping the very sky.

Eskel, Lambert, and Triss stood in formation, surrounded by scorched earth and burning wyvern corpses.

More were coming.

Triss wiped blood from her lip, her breath ragged as she raised a trembling hand. Her fingers sparked with red-hot arcane energy, still buzzing from her last spell. The sheer amount of magic she had used already made her body feel like she was burning from the inside out.

But there was no stopping now.

A wyvern lunged, its massive wings kicking up dust and debris. Its eyes burned with static energy, its claws crackling with golden lightning as it dove straight for Eskel.

Triss reacted instantly.

She threw her hand forward, a blast of pure flame erupting from her palm. The fireball hit the wyvern midair, engulfing it in a roaring inferno. The creature screeched, its body twisting as it tried to shake off the flames, but it was too late—it crashed into the ground, a blazing wreck of molten flesh and bone.

Eskel didn't even pause. He vaulted over the burning corpse, his silver blade carving through another wyvern's wing as it attempted to strike Lambert from behind. The creature howled in agony, its body slamming into the plateau.

"Nice timing!" Eskel called, sparing Triss a brief glance.

Triss wiped sweat from her brow. "Just keep them off me! I need time to prepare something bigger."

Lambert sidestepped another wyvern, his gauntlet-clad fist crackling with static energy as he punched the beast square in the jaw. The impact shattered bone, sending the creature crashing into the stone wall with a sickening crunch.

Lambert turned, flashing Triss a grin. "Take all the time you need, Red—just don't blow us up in the process."

Triss exhaled sharply, focusing all of her will into the air around her.

The battlefield was drowning in raw elemental energy—lightning, fire, wind, chaos. She could feel it, swirling around her like a storm waiting to be tamed.

And she was about to do just that.

The Dragon's Wrath

Above, the dragon reared back, its massive wings sending out a blast of pressure that nearly knocked everyone off their feet.

Eskel's stomach dropped as he saw it—the dragon's maw opening once more.

Inside, golden light coalesced, burning hotter than before.

Vesemir's voice rang out from the far cliffs. "MOVE!"

The attack came a heartbeat later.

A torrential wave of golden lightning erupted from the dragon's mouth, searing across the battlefield, incinerating stone and tearing through the terrain.

Eskel and Lambert split apart, diving in opposite directions as the sheer force of the blast ripped through the ground between them.

Eskel barely managed to throw himself behind a jagged rock formation, feeling the heat scorch his armor as the energy passed just inches away.

Lambert wasn't as lucky.

The blast grazed him, sending electricity ripping through his body. He let out a pained snarl, his muscles locking up as he was flung backward, slamming into a boulder. He hit the ground hard, smoke rising from his scorched armor.

Triss saw him fall—and she didn't hesitate.

She moved fast, sprinting across the battlefield even as her legs screamed in protest. Another wyvern swooped low, talons outstretched—

She threw her arm up, and a shockwave of fire erupted from her palm, incinerating the wyvern mid-dive. It collapsed in a pile of molten flesh, the ground hissing from the heat.

Sliding to Lambert's side, Triss dropped to one knee, her hands already glowing with soft blue healing magic. She placed a hand over the worst of the burns, whispering an incantation under her breath.

Lambert groaned, blinking dazedly. "Hell, Triss. You're making me feel soft."

Triss smirked. "Shut up and let me work."

Above them, the dragon reeled from Geralt's attack.

The orb in its forehead was fractured—golden light leaking from the cracks—but the one in its chest still pulsed, untouched.

Eskel and Lambert locked eyes.

"This is our shot," Eskel said, gripping his sword.

Lambert cracked his knuckles, despite the pain. "Let's make it count."

Triss stood, stepping between them. "I'll give you an opening. Get ready."

The dragon began to recover, its head tilting downward—

Triss thrust her hands forward, and the entire battlefield ignited.

A massive inferno erupted from her fingertips, a towering wall of flame cutting through the plateau, separating the wyverns from the Witchers. The heat was unbearable, even from a distance—the wyverns reeled back, their bodies catching fire, their screeches filling the air.

The dragon roared, its form silhouetted against the raging fire. Its head turned toward Triss—angry, focused.

Eskel and Lambert moved.

Lambert reached the dragon's foreleg first, vaulting up using the massive talons as footholds. Eskel followed, his boots slipping against the molten-hot scales, but he held on, forcing himself upward.

The orb pulsed above them, humming with raw lightning-infused energy.

Lambert grinned through gritted teeth. "Time to break something expensive."

With a final push, both Witchers struck at the same time.

Eskel's sword drove deep into the core of the orb, and Lambert's blade followed a split second later, slamming through its center.

The explosion was instantaneous.

A blinding flash of pure energy erupted outward, sending both Witchers hurtling backward as the dragon let out a deafening, agonized roar.

Triss threw up a ward just in time, her magic absorbing the worst of the blast—but the sheer force still knocked her off her feet, her vision swimming.

The storm itself screamed, golden lightning ripping apart the sky as the beast convulsed.

Cracks splintered across its massive body, the once-magnificent golden glow dimming, its form dissolving into shimmering particles of energy.

The sealed gate behind them groaned open, its ancient runes flaring to life.

Triss pushed herself up, wincing as she looked toward the others. Eskel and Lambert were already on their feet, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and triumph.

Geralt landed nearby, his boots kicking up dust. His eyes flicked toward the now-open dungeon entrance.

Vesemir stepped forward, surveying the battlefield. Silence.

Then, a nod.

"Let's move."

No hesitation.

No time to celebrate.

The next trial awaited.

Leo, his body screaming in protest, dropped to his knees, his breath ragged. Geralt stood, his silver blade dripping with dragon's blood, his eyes fixed on the dissipating storm.

Vesemir, his face grim, glanced towards the open path. "Let's move."

There was no hesitation, no pause for breath. They pressed forward, into the darkness, into the unknown, the echoes of the dragon's death still ringing in their ears.

The bridge creaked under their weight as they crossed, the air growing heavier with each step. The storm outside was long gone, but something about the thick silence of the dungeon felt even more oppressive.

Ahead, a set of massive stone doors loomed at the end of the bridge, their surfaces covered in pulsing blue runes. The light from the markings cast an eerie glow, illuminating the twisted carvings of figures locked in battle—Witchers, warriors, and monsters alike, all frozen in an eternal struggle.

Eskel exhaled sharply. "This must be the next gate."

Geralt approached the door, his fingers running over the ancient script lining the edges. Triss stepped beside him, her own magic reacting to the energy within the stone.

"This is different," she murmured, eyes narrowing. "The first gate required a victory in battle. This one is guarded."

Vesemir's stance tensed. "By what?"

The answer came immediately.

A deep, rumbling growl echoed from the cavern beyond the gate.

Then, movement.

From the darkness ahead, monstrous shapes emerged—their heavy, clawed feet scraping against the stone, their eyes glowing with unnatural hunger.

Leo's grip tightened around his sword. "Oh, shit."

The creatures stepped fully into the light, revealing twisted abominations unlike anything they had faced before.

Fiends. Golems. Draconids.

At least a dozen of them.

The largest, a hulking fiend covered in jagged bone plating, snorted, steam rising from its nostrils as its three glowing eyes locked onto them. Its horns, thick as tree trunks, dripped with fresh blood, its massive claws already tearing at the stone beneath it in anticipation.

Beside it, a pair of armored golems stood motionless, their massive stone forms etched with glowing sigils. Their eyes flared with runic energy, their fists the size of a man's torso.

And above, draconids perched along the jagged cavern ceiling—lesser dragons with serrated teeth and lightning-coated talons, their wings folded, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Eskel cursed under his breath. "They don't want us opening that door."

Geralt drew his sword. "Then we'll carve our way through."

The monsters charged.

The Battle for the Second Gate

The fiend moved first.

It lurched forward with terrifying speed, its massive claw swiping straight for Lambert—

He rolled under the attack, narrowly dodging as the claws ripped into the stone, sending debris flying.

"Big bastard's fast!" Lambert growled, spinning as he slashed at its exposed flank—his silver blade sparking off the thick bone plating.

The fiend barely reacted, its thick hide absorbing most of the impact. With a deafening roar, it reared up on its hind legs, its massive hooves crashing down toward him.

Triss reacted instantly.

"Aard Ignis!"

A shockwave of fire and kinetic force erupted from her hands, slamming into the fiend's side just as it came down. The impact threw the beast off balance, its hooves missing Lambert by inches.

"Much appreciated!" Lambert shouted, quickly repositioning.

Triss didn't respond—she was already turning her attention upward.

The draconids shrieked as they swooped down, lightning arcing from their wings.

One came straight for Eskel—

He sidestepped at the last second, his sword flashing upward, slicing through its wing joint. The creature screeched, spiraling toward the ground—where Vesemir was waiting.

With one precise strike, the old Witcher plunged his blade into the beast's skull, silencing it instantly.

"Keep moving!" Vesemir ordered, eyes already scanning for the next threat.

Leo, meanwhile, was dodging between the golems, barely avoiding their crushing blows.

One of the stone giants swung a fist, aiming to turn him into pulp—

Leo vaulted over its arm, kicking off the creature's forearm as he flipped behind it. His blade flashed, striking at the glowing runes on its back.

The golem staggered, cracks forming where the energy pulsed.

Leo grinned. Found a weak spot.

"Hit the runes!" he shouted. "That's where they break!"

Geralt heard him, already engaging the second golem. With a quick Quen sign, he deflected a massive blow before twisting behind the creature, driving his blade straight into the glowing sigils.

The golem let out a deep, grinding groan, its entire form shuddering before the cracks spread outward—and then it collapsed into rubble.

Leo finished his own golem a second later, plunging his blade into the weakened rune, shattering the core. The monster froze, its stone body crumbling apart as the light faded.

One by one, the monsters fell.

The last draconid tried to retreat, wings beating furiously, but Eskel was already moving. With one smooth motion, he raised his crossbow, aimed—

A bolt struck true, piercing the beast's throat.

It crashed into the stone, motionless.

The fiend, now wounded and alone, let out a furious bellow, trying one last desperate charge—

Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert moved in unison.

Blades flashed. Blood sprayed.

And then, the beast collapsed.

Silence fell.

The gate stood ahead, untouched, its runes still softly glowing in the dim cavern light.

Triss, breathless, wiped a smear of blood from her cheek. "Is that all of them?"

Geralt watched the remains of the last monster dissolve into the dust. He exhaled sharply, sheathing his sword.

"For now."

Vesemir approached the gate, pressing a hand against the pulsing runes. "We're not done yet."

With a deep grinding sound, the doors began to open, revealing the next chamber beyond.

Lambert's POV

The moment they stepped through the gate, the ground shook violently.

A powerful gust of wind howled through the chamber, tearing through loose stone and dust. The air was thick with the scent of rain, lightning, and blood.

Then, they saw it.

A colossal rock face, stretching hundreds of feet into the sky, disappearing into the swirling storm above. The jagged surface was slick with rain, barely any ledges big enough to grip.

And at the very top, barely visible through the clouds—another golden door, waiting in silence.

Leo's breath hitched. "You have got to be kidding me."

Eskel exhaled. "We're climbing that?"

Vesemir studied the rock face, his expression grim. "No way around it."

Lambert scowled. "Of course there isn't."

Geralt took the first step forward, already reaching for a handhold. "Let's move."

Then, the sky split open.

Lightning streaked across the clouds—and from the storm, a deafening screech rang out.

Wyverns.

Not just a few. Dozens.

Golden-eyed, storm-infused creatures, their razor-sharp talons glinting as they circled above, waiting for their chance to strike.

Leo groaned. "Of course it's not just climbing."

Triss clenched her fists, fire crackling along her fingertips. "They're not going to let us reach the top."

Eskel adjusted his grip on his sword. "Then we climb and fight."

Vesemir nodded.

No more words were needed.

They moved.

 The moment they grabbed the rock face, the wind tried to tear them off.

Geralt climbed first, his movements fluid and practiced, finding handholds others would have missed. Eskel and Vesemir followed, measured and steady, always keeping one hand secure before reaching for the next grip.

Lambert climbed fast—too fast, but he didn't seem to care.

Leo and Triss struggled the most.

Leo's hands burned as he gripped the wet stone, his knuckles white as his feet scrambled for footing. Every time he climbed higher, the wind pushed harder, like the storm itself was trying to rip him away.

Triss, not built for this kind of thing, moved on sheer willpower alone. Her magic flared uncontrollably, the unstable energy reacting to her fear.

Then the wyverns dove.

A blur of movement—a wyvern swooped low, talons outstretched, aiming straight for Geralt's back—

Lambert pushed off his ledge, intercepting the beast mid-air.

His sword cleaved through its wing, sending the wyvern plummeting into the abyss below.

He grinned. "One down—"

Then the lightning hit.

A massive bolt of electricity struck the cliffside, sending shockwaves through the rock.

Handholds crumbled.

For a terrifying moment—

They were falling.

 Geralt caught himself on a narrow ledge, fingers digging into the stone.

Eskel and Vesemir slammed into the rock but held on, their muscles burning.

Leo—wasn't as lucky.

His grip slipped completely—

He plunged downward.

Triss reacted instantly.

She threw out a hand, raw magic exploding from her palm, slamming into Leo's chest, slowing his fall just enough for Lambert to snatch his wrist.

Leo's eyes were wide, breathless. "I—thanks."

Lambert grinned, hauling him up. "Don't make me regret it, kid."

Another wyvern shrieked, diving toward Triss.

She thrust her palm forward, sending a column of fire straight into its path. The beast screamed, its wings igniting mid-flight, and it spiraled into the abyss.

Geralt was already moving again. "Don't stop climbing!"

Above them, the storm raged harder, the golden gate glowing like a beacon through the darkness.

And waiting at the top—

Something worse.

The wind screamed.

Every muscle burned, but they kept climbing.

A wyvern lunged one last time—

Vesemir, without looking, threw a dagger over his shoulder.

The blade buried itself in the wyvern's throat.

It dropped instantly.

Then, finally—

They reached the top.

Geralt hauled himself over the ledge, turning to pull Triss up. Eskel, Vesemir, and Lambert followed, Leo dragging himself over the edge last, panting.

And then—

The storm vanished.

Like someone had flipped a switch, the wind stopped, the sky cleared, and the golden gate stood before them, gleaming in the silence.

Lambert wiped sweat from his brow. "I hope this bastard's worth it."

Geralt didn't answer. He was already moving.

The final fight awaited.

Triss's POV

The storm was gone.

One moment, the wind had been howling, the climb nearly killing them. Then—nothing.

Triss let out a slow breath, flexing her fingers to get the ache out of them. She was tired, cold, and had just spent far too much time hanging off the side of a goddamn cliff. She wasn't the only one. Leo was still catching his breath, Lambert was muttering curses under his breath, and even Vesemir rolled his shoulder like it was bothering him.

But as they stepped through the golden gate, everything else faded from her mind.

Her breath caught.

The chamber stretched wide, vast and gleaming, filled with heaps of gold, enchanted weapons, and artifacts long forgotten. Stacks of jewels and ornate armor lined the walls, shimmering under the glow of runes embedded in the stone. It looked like something out of a fairy tale—a dragon's hoard, untouched by time.

Leo let out a low whistle. "Well. That's a lot of gold."

Eskel didn't lower his weapon. "It's too much."

Vesemir nodded. "This isn't a reward. It's a test."

Triss agreed. Power like this wasn't left unguarded.

And then, she saw it.

At the center of the chamber, resting on an obsidian pedestal, was a golden lamp, its surface crackling faintly with stray arcs of electricity.

Geralt stepped forward.

The moment his foot hit the ground—

The chamber shook.

A deep rumbling filled the air, the static charge pressing against her skin. The storm wasn't gone after all—it was gathering.

Then, from above, a massive figure descended, golden eyes glowing through the haze of crackling lightning.

Baal.

The air buzzed with energy, making the hairs on Triss's arms stand on end. Her magic reacted instinctively, sensing the sheer power in front of her.

Baal's gaze swept over them, unreadable. Then his voice rumbled, low and powerful, shaking the very stones beneath them.

"You have come far."

Geralt stepped forward, shoulders squared.

Baal's gaze settled on him.

"You seek my power."

Geralt didn't hesitate. "I seek what we fought for."

The Djinn studied him for a long moment. Then, his gaze shifted, scanning the rest of them—Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, Leo, and Triss. His expression didn't change, but something in the air did.

Like he was measuring them.

Then, the lamp pulsed.

Lightning surged outward, arcing through the air—

And instead of hitting Geralt, it hit his sword.

Geralt didn't react as the energy sank into the steel, veins of gold carving through the blade like molten cracks. Sparks hissed along the edge, the weapon sharpening itself against the storm.

Baal's voice rumbled.

"You are now my King Vessel. My power flows through your blade, and through it, you shall wield the storm."

Geralt tested the weight of the sword, rolling his wrist once. The energy didn't just coast along the metal—it responded. The blade hummed like a living thing, crackling with power.

Triss exhaled slowly. That was different.

She had seen him enhanced by potions, by mutations, by magic. But this? This was something else. It wasn't just strength—it was control.

Baal continued.

"With Djinn Equip, your speed, strength, and perception will surpass mortal limits. The storm will answer your call."

Geralt said nothing. He just nodded.

Triss wasn't sure if that made her more or less concerned.

Baal turned to the rest of them.

"A King's power is never his alone."

Lightning struck the treasure piles, energy crackling outward. Four distinct shapes formed, hovering in the air before drifting toward them.

Each relic chose its wielder.

Vesemir's pendant pulsed, the veins of gold in the metal glowing faintly. He stiffened slightly, as if feeling something settle in his bones.

Eskel's sword vibrated as he gripped it, the blade extending slightly, arcs of lightning snapping outward when he tested a swing.

Lambert caught his gauntlet midair, flexing his fingers as static danced over his knuckles. He grinned, rolling his shoulders. "Alright. I can work with this."

Leo slid his ring onto his finger, barely registering the change before his entire body felt lighter. He stepped forward—and nearly overshot, catching himself before he could trip over his own speed.

Triss let out a breath. Even if she hadn't been given a relic, she felt the shift.

They weren't just stronger—they were something else entirely.

Baal's voice was quieter now, but still carried through the space.

"You are my Household. Through these vessels, my storm will guide your hands in battle. Stand as the White Wolf's sword and shield."

Then, just like that—

The storm faded.

The chamber settled into silence.

Triss flexed her fingers. Her magic still buzzed against her skin, reacting to the lingering energy in the air. The feeling wouldn't go away anytime soon.

She exhaled slowly, glancing at the others.

Yeah. Things had changed.

The moment they left this place, the world wouldn't see them the same way again.