Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

Corinne Tilly, her breathing now even after the unsettling encounter with Sarah, turned to Geralt. The lingering tension in the air was palpable, a reminder of the godling's capricious power. The scent of burnt herbs still hung faintly in the air, a testament to the ritual she had just performed. "I can try to see what I can see," she said, her voice laced with a hint of trepidation. She gestured towards a back room, the light filtering through heavy drapes, casting long, dancing shadows. "Come. The visions are clearer in the dark."

She led Geralt to a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of herbs and incense, a calming contrast to the electric tension of the manor. A large, ornate mirror stood at the far end of the room, its surface shimmering with an ethereal glow, like moonlight on still water. The frame was intricately carved with symbols Geralt recognized as ancient Elven runes.

"This mirror has been in my family for generations," Corinne explained, her fingers tracing the cool surface. "It's… sensitive. It can show glimpses of the future, but the visions are often fragmented, like pieces of a broken mosaic."

"Focus on Ciri," Corinne instructed, her voice soft but firm. "Clear your mind of all distractions. Let her image fill your thoughts."

Geralt did as she said, closing his eyes for a moment and picturing Ciri. The image of the ashen-haired girl, her emerald eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination, surfaced in his mind. He remembered the last time he had seen her, the weight of his promise to protect her heavy on his shoulders. He had sworn to protect her, and he wouldn't rest until he knew she was safe.

Corinne began her incantation, her voice a low, rhythmic chant in an ancient language that Geralt didn't recognize. The words vibrated in the air, creating a strange, almost hypnotic effect. The mirror's surface swirled and rippled, the ethereal glow intensifying, pulsing with a life of its own. The air grew colder, and Geralt felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

Images began to form, fragmented and fleeting, like glimpses through a rain-streaked window. Geralt saw flashes of a city, its buildings reaching towards the sky, a maze of stone and timber under a sky heavy with clouds. He saw a swirling vortex of energy, crackling with raw power, like a miniature storm contained within the mirror's surface. And then, he saw them.

Dandelion, his lute strapped to his back, his usually flamboyant attire slightly disheveled, stood beside Ciri. They were arguing, their faces etched with worry. Ciri's expression was a mix of frustration and fear, her hands clenched into fists. Dandelion seemed to be trying to reason with her, but she was having none of it. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light engulfed the scene, followed by a deafening explosion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the chamber. The images in the mirror shattered, like ice cracking underfoot, leaving only a swirling void of gray.

Corinne gasped, her hand flying to her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Dandelion… and Ciri… they were together," she whispered, her voice trembling. "In Novigrad. But… the vision was unclear. There's something… dangerous… surrounding her. Just… thugs, I think. But… many of them. They were… closing in."

"What else did you see?" Geralt pressed, his voice urgent, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed more, something concrete he could use to find her.

Corinne shook her head, her long dark hair swaying around her face. "It's gone," she said, her gaze fixed on the now still surface of the mirror, her reflection staring back at her, pale and drawn. "The images are fleeting, like whispers in the wind. But… Dandelion. He's the key. He knows where she is. I'm sure of it."

"Where can I find him?" Geralt asked, his voice tight with anticipation.

"He inherited a brothel recently," Corinne replied, a flicker of amusement crossing her lips. "The Rosemary and Thyme. It's in the Merchant Quarter. You can't miss it."

Geralt thanked Corinne and left the dimly lit chamber, his mind racing with the images he had seen in the mirror. Dandelion. He was the next lead, the thread he would follow in this tangled web of mystery. He made his way through the bustling streets of Novigrad, the city's vibrant energy a stark contrast to the darkness that lurked beneath the surface, the whispers of danger Corinne had spoken of. The smell of salt and fish from the nearby docks mingled with the exotic spices of the Merchant Quarter, a sensory overload that did little to calm his nerves. He reached the Rosemary and Thyme, its entrance marked by a brightly lit sign depicting a rose and a sprig of thyme intertwined, a garish display that seemed out of place in the otherwise respectable district. The sounds of music and laughter, boisterous and unrestrained, spilled out into the street, a stark contrast to the grim thoughts that occupied his mind.

He pushed open the ornately carved door and stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of perfume, expensive liquor, and something else… something more carnal, a hint of desperation and hidden desires. The room was dimly lit, filled with plush velvet seating in rich jewel tones and ornate decorations that spoke of wealth and indulgence. Women in elegant gowns, some shimmering with jewels, mingled with men in fine suits, their conversations a low hum of gossip and innuendo, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Geralt scanned the room, searching for Dandelion, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

As he surveyed the room, taking in the opulent surroundings and the lively crowd, he noticed a familiar figure near the bar. It was Zoltan Chivay, the dwarf he had encountered on numerous occasions, a boisterous and loyal friend, though sometimes a bit too enthusiastic for Geralt's taste. Zoltan was nursing a drink, a dark amber liquid that looked potent, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were contemplating a complex equation.

Geralt approached him, weaving his way through the crowded room. "Zoltan," he greeted him, his voice cutting through the din. "What brings you to a place like this?"

Zoltan looked up, surprised, a wide grin spreading across his bearded face. "Geralt! Fancy meeting you here," he chuckled, slapping Geralt on the back with a force that nearly sent him staggering. "I could ask you the same question. Looking for some… relaxation?"

"I'm looking for Dandelion," Geralt said, his voice serious, his gaze fixed on Zoltan's face.

Zoltan's smile faded, his brow furrowing again. "Dandelion? Me too," he replied, taking a long swig of his drink. "Haven't seen him in weeks. Heard he inherited this place. Figured he might be hiding out here, enjoying the… fruits of his inheritance, so to speak."

"Have you had any luck finding him?" Geralt asked, his patience wearing thin.

Zoltan shook his head, his expression grim. "No sign of him. But I did hear he was connected to some… trouble. Something about a robbery and a local crime lord. Name of Dijkstra, ring any bells?"

"Dijkstra," Geralt muttered, his mind flashing back to the conversation with Corinne, the vision of Dandelion and Ciri arguing, the explosion.

"That's the one," Zoltan confirmed, nodding his head. "Apparently, Dandelion was planning to rob him. And he also ran afoul of Whoreson Junior. Seems our bard friend has been keeping some… interesting company."

"That's all I needed to know," Geralt said, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice. "Thanks, Zoltan."

"Where are you going?" Zoltan asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"To find out what I can," Geralt replied, turning to leave. "Starting with Dijkstra."

Geralt left the Rosemary and Thyme, the sounds of laughter and music fading behind him as he stepped back into the cool night air. His mind was filled with new leads, each one more dangerous than the last. Dandelion, Dijkstra, Whoreson Junior. They were all connected somehow, their fates intertwined in a way that he couldn't yet understand. He needed to unravel the threads of this tangled web, to follow the trail of clues, to find Ciri before it was too late. His next stop: Dijkstra's bathhouse.