HP: god of potions

Chapter 85

"Yes,i still am" Gray answered simply, much to her shock as she asked, "how old are you?" but what shocked her even more was what gray said, "15 years old" she took there, flabbergasted as she said, "i am older than you" she said slowly before she bursted into laughter as he finished with the herb. "So you chose the sword. Why?" she asked again, curiosity evident in her voice. Gray sighed. "Convenience," he replied, much to her surprise and disappointment. "Not everything has to have a divine purpose," he added, leaving Ciri momentarily speechless. She recovered quickly, however, and asked, "What are you doing here? In my world, I mean?" Her question made Gray pause for a moment before he got up and walked toward the chamber where the dew was condensing, leaving her behind without another word.

Ciri watched him go, her curiosity still burning but knowing better than to push further. She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Too soon, Ciri, too soon," she muttered to herself before leaving the castle, her thoughts swirling with questions about the enigmatic sorcerer.

-scene change-

Ciri returned to the icy fortress each evening, her presence like a warm breath in the cold, unfeeling atmosphere. She would sit across from Gray, her silver hair catching the faint light of the stars he had brightened for her days ago. "You know," she began one evening, her voice carrying a note of wistfulness, "I once hunted a griffin with Vesemir. He kept shouting instructions the entire time, but when it came to the kill, I landed the final blow." She grinned, her eyes seeking Gray's reaction. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on the fire. Undeterred, she continued, "You're just like him, you know. Quiet, brooding... but there's something more beneath all that, isn't there?" Gray said nothing, the faint crackle of the fire his only answer.

The next day, Ciri was out on the mountain below, her sword flashing in the sunlight as she took on a pack of monsters. Gray watched from above, his silhouette barely visible against the sky. She returned triumphantly, dragging a carcass behind her. "Not bad, huh?" she said, wiping sweat from her brow. When she attempted to butcher the beast, her lack of experience was evident. Blood splattered everywhere, and the cuts were jagged and uneven. "You're making a mess," Gray finally said, breaking his silence. He stepped in, showing her how to make clean incisions, how to skin the animal, and how to remove the blood and innards efficiently. Ciri watched intently, her hands steadying as she followed his instructions. "You're pretty good at this," she admitted. "Learned it out of necessity," was his only reply.

On another evening, she tried to draw him out with questions, her voice softer this time. "What was your life like before this?" she asked, her eyes searching his face for a crack in his stoic exterior. Gray didn't look up, his hands busy sharpening a blade. "Different," he said simply. "Different how?" she pressed, leaning closer. He paused but didn't answer. "You know, I think you're hiding something," she teased, trying to coax a smile out of him. Instead, he merely shrugged, the conversation slipping away like smoke in the wind. Behind him, the Sin of Solace appeared, a twisted reflection of Gray's younger self, pale and gaunt, with hollow eyes that gleamed with malice. "You're such a joy to be around, aren't you?" it mocked, its voice dripping with sarcasm. Gray ignored it, as always.

One day, she hunted a deer and brought it back to the fortress, her face lit with pride. "I did it!" she exclaimed, holding up the carcass. "Now what?" Her attempt at butchering it was as chaotic as before, and Gray had to step in once again. As he worked, she spoke, her words a mix of curiosity and admiration. "You know, I've never met anyone like you. You're so... detached. Like you're watching the world happen instead of living in it." Gray didn't respond, his focus entirely on his task. The Sin of Solace appeared again, smirking as it leaned against the wall. "She's trying so hard, isn't she?" it sneered. "Maybe you should tell her the truth. Or don't. Watching her flail is entertaining.

Each evening passed like this: a mix of Ciri's stories, questions, and efforts to connect with Gray, met with his silent, detached responses. Despite his aloofness, she kept returning, her presence unwavering. Some days, she showcased her swordsmanship, slicing through the air with fluid precision, her movements practiced and deadly. Gray watched in silence, his thoughts veiled, his eyes reflecting the starlight that mirrored his inner power. Yet, even the stars couldn't match the quiet determination in Ciri's gaze as she tried, time and again, to reach him.

The final night came abruptly. Ciri burst into the room, followed closely by Yennefer and Geralt. "They are here—all of them," she said, her voice trembling with urgency. Yennefer scanned the castle, her expression calculating. "The amount of magic it will take to sustain this castle..." she muttered before turning sharply toward Gray. He was calmly observing the dew condensing on the glass nearby, seemingly indifferent. "Do you not understand?" Yennefer pressed. "Every single force on the continent is coming here, to this mountain, for whatever lies behind that door." Ciri's frustration boiled over. "What?" she snapped at Geralt as he held her back. "He knows," Geralt replied, his tone heavy with realization. Shock flashed across Ciri's face as she turned to Gray. "You...you knew they would come. You wanted them to come. Why?" she demanded.

Gray's voice cut through the tension, calm and unwavering. "Because, quite frankly, Cirilla, your world is of no threat to me. Nothing in this continent can harm me." He stepped forward, his gaze steady. Geralt and Yennefer tensed, readying themselves, as Ciri stared him down. "No Nilfgaardian, no mages of Aretuza, no non-humans, and no Northern Kingdoms pose any threat to me," Gray said, his words deliberate. Turning to Geralt, he added, "Not even a horde of witches." Geralt scoffed, his grip tightening on his sword. Gray summoned his wand, transforming it into a staff. "Not even a horde of dragons," he said, and Geralt's disbelief was interrupted by the shadow of a creature flying over the observatory's glass dome. "You should leave—all of you," Gray said, his voice low as he glanced at Jaskier, who was hiding behind a door, before flying out of the castle.

Outside, the mountain was surrounded by a convergence of armies and creatures. To the south, the Nilfgaardian forces, led by their emperor, formed an unbroken tide of black armor. Opposite them stood the Northern Kingdoms: Kaedwen, Temeria, Redania, and Aedirn, their banners fluttering defiantly. Next to them were the mages of Aretuza, their ranks glowing with magical auras as they prepared their spells. Between the forces, the non-human armies, led by Francesca, held their ground with fierce determination. Lastly, there were hordes of mountain creatures—fiends, leshens, chorts, and even arachas—all dwarfed by the presence of dragons. Golden, green, and crimson-scaled beasts loomed in the skies, their roars shaking the air as they led the monstrous gathering.

The attention of all present turned to the lone figure flying from the castle. Gray floated above them, his staff shifting back into a wand. Amplifying his voice, he addressed the gathered armies. "Many of you will die a pointless death," he began, his tone booming. The sheer power of his voice sent a tremor through the ranks, silencing the murmurs. "All because your leaders were greedy, and they sought something they never should have." He paused, spinning to survey the amassed forces, before sighing heavily. "But that is a choice you made—of your own free will. So, I feel no burden for what I am about to do." He raised his wand, ready to unleash devastation, but hesitated, a disapproving face flashing in his mind. Shaking his head, he lowered the wand slightly. "I will give you one hour to decide. Leave now, or stay and die like the tools you are."