Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

The longboat bucked and swayed, its wooden hull groaning under the assault of the Skellige waves. Geralt gripped the railing, his knuckles white, as the wind whipped his hair across his face. The island of Hindarsfjall loomed before them, a jagged silhouette against the stormy sky.

"Charming weather," Geralt muttered, more to himself than to Yennefer, who sat opposite him, seemingly unaffected by the turbulent sea.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. "Are you complaining, Geralt? After all the storms you've weathered, a little sea spray shouldn't bother you."

"It's not the spray," Geralt said. "It's the feeling. This island… it feels… heavy."

Yennefer nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I sense it too. A weight, a darkness. This place has seen suffering, Geralt. And not the natural kind."

They reached the shore, a desolate stretch of beach littered with driftwood and the skeletal remains of long-beached ships. The air was thick with the smell of salt and decay, a grim welcome to Hindarsfjall. As they climbed the rocky path leading away from the beach, they came upon a disturbing sight: a mass of freshly dug graves, their mounds marked by rough-hewn wooden crosses.

"The Wild Hunt," Geralt said, his voice grim. "They didn't come here for the scenery."

"No," Yennefer agreed. "They came for something. Or someone."

They reached the village of Lofoten, a huddle of stone and timber houses clinging precariously to the edge of the harbor. The village seemed deserted, save for a lone fisherman mending his nets by the docks.

"Any sign of trouble?" Geralt asked the fisherman.

The fisherman looked up, startled. He was a wiry man with weathered skin and nervous eyes. "Trouble? Aye, there's been trouble. The Wild Hunt… they came through here like a storm. Took what they wanted, killed who they pleased."

"Did you see them?" Yennefer asked.

The fisherman shook his head. "I hid. Like everyone else. They're… terrifying. Like something out of a nightmare."

"Did you see anyone else?" Geralt pressed. "Anyone… unusual?"

The fisherman hesitated. "There was a warrior. Skjall. He… he went to Freya's Garden. Said he was going to face Morkvarg."

"Morkvarg," Geralt repeated. "The cursed one."

"Aye," the fisherman said. "He's a monster. A beast. No one's ever come back from Freya's Garden alive."

"Skjall went there?" Yennefer asked. "Why?"

"He was trying to regain his honor," the fisherman explained. "He'd done something… wrong. And he thought facing Morkvarg would redeem him."

"A fool's errand," Geralt said. "But it seems our paths converge."

They left the village behind and headed inland, towards Freya's Garden. The path wound through a dense forest, the air growing heavy with an almost palpable sense of magic.

"This place…" Yennefer murmured, her senses clearly heightened. "It's ancient. Powerful."

They reached the garden, a tranquil clearing dominated by a massive, gnarled tree at its center. The tree's branches stretched out like gnarled arms, their leaves rustling in the wind.

"This is it," Yennefer said. "Freya's Garden. Skjall came here. And so, it seems, did Ciri."

"The visions," Geralt said. "They showed her here."

"Yes," Yennefer confirmed. "But they also showed… something else. Something… disturbing."

"The Wild Hunt," Geralt said.

"And something more," Yennefer said. "Something… hidden."

She turned to Geralt. "I need you to track Skjall, Geralt. Find out what happened to him. I'll stay here. I have a feeling… this place holds secrets."

Geralt nodded. He drew his silver sword and began to follow the faint trail of blood and footprints that led away from the clearing. The tracks led him through the garden's winding paths, past ancient stone circles and whispering waterfalls. He encountered wolves, their eyes glowing red in the dim light, and dispatched them with practiced ease.

The trail led him to a locked door, its surface covered in strange runes. Geralt examined the runes, his witcher senses tingling. They were old, powerful, imbued with ancient magic. He knew he couldn't force the door open. He would have to find another way.

He followed a different set of tracks, this time leading away from the door. They led him to a set of levers, their purpose unclear. Geralt experimented with the levers, trying different combinations until he finally heard a click. A gate had opened.

He continued to follow the trail, deeper into the garden. He found a well, its stone rim worn smooth by centuries of use. He peered into the well, but could see nothing but darkness. He jumped down, landing with a splash in the cold water.

He found Skjall's body. The warrior lay sprawled on the ground, his body bearing the marks of a brutal struggle. He was dead.

"Yen!" Geralt called out, his voice echoing through the cavern. "I found him. It's Skjall."

Yennefer's voice echoed back from above. "Bring him to me, Geralt. We're going to try something…"

Geralt heaved Skjall's body onto his shoulders and carried it back to the surface. Yennefer waited for him, her expression grim.

"He's dead, Yen," Geralt said. "Morkvarg…"

"I know," Yennefer said. "But we're not going to let him die in vain."

She explained her plan. She intended to use the garden's potent energy to revive Skjall, to force him to reveal what he knew. It was a dangerous and controversial act, bordering on necromancy, but Yennefer was desperate for answers.

She began the ritual, chanting in a strange language as she channeled the garden's power. The air crackled with energy, the ground beneath them trembling. Skjall's body stirred, his eyes snapping open. He was alive, but… different. His voice was hollow, his movements jerky. He was a puppet, animated by Yennefer's magic.

"Skjall," Yennefer said, her voice commanding. "Tell us what you saw. Tell us about Morkvarg. Tell us about… Ciri."

The magically reanimated Skjall spoke, his voice a monotone drone. He revealed details of his fight with Morkvarg, the beast's cunning and ferocity. He spoke of Ciri, of her presence in the garden, of the strange figures she was with.

The ritual was a success, but it came at a cost. The garden, once vibrant and full of life, was now withered and barren, its energy drained.

As they left Freya's Garden, its tranquility shattered and replaced with a barren stillness, they were met by a group of furious priestesses. They were outraged by the desecration of their sacred grove. Yennefer, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward, accepting responsibility and shielding Geralt from their righteous anger. The encounter left them shaken, the echoes of the priestesses' accusations ringing in their ears. They had the information they needed about Ciri's presence, but the cost was high. And there was still the matter of the creature Skjall had seen. Geralt, however, recognized the description. It was Uma. He had seen him at Crow's Perch.

"Donar," Yennefer mused as they sailed away from Hindarsfjall. "We need to speak with him. Skjall saw something. Something…unusual."

"I know what he saw," Geralt interrupted. "It was Uma."

Yennefer looked at him, surprised. "Uma? You've seen this creature?"

"At Crow's Perch," Geralt explained. "I saw him when I went there to get information from the Baron. He was… well, he was just there. He's some kind of… ward. Or cursed. I didn't get the full story."

"The Baron had him?" Yennefer asked, her brow furrowing. "Why?"

"He won him in a game of cards," Geralt said. "Apparently, he's been in the Baron's possession for a while."

"Won him in a game of cards?" Yennefer repeated, incredulous. "That's… convenient."

"The Baron is… complicated," Geralt said. "He wasn't exactly forthcoming with information. I was there to ask about Ciri, but he was more interested in his own problems."

"And you didn't think to ask about Uma?" Yennefer asked, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"I didn't think he was important," Geralt explained. "He just seemed like another one of the Baron's oddities. A grotesque little creature kept locked away. I was focused on Ciri. I didn't realize…"

"That he might be connected," Yennefer finished. "It makes sense. The timing, the location… it's too much of a coincidence."

"So, we're still going to Novigrad," Yennefer concluded. "But we're not just looking for a random merchant anymore. We're looking for Uma, and we need to find out who has him now."

"And why," Geralt added. "Why the Baron had him, why he was sold, and why he's suddenly become so important."

They changed course slightly, still heading towards Novigrad, but their focus had shifted. They weren't just following a vague lead anymore. They had a name. Uma. And that gave them something to work with. Geralt remembered the unsettling sight of the creature at Crow's Perch, its misshapen form and vacant stare. He hadn't paid it much attention at the time, dismissing it as just another curiosity in the Baron's strange menagerie. Now, he realized he had made a mistake. He should have asked more questions. He recalled the Baron's casual mention of winning Uma in a card game, a detail that now seemed far more significant.

"It's a long journey," Yennefer said, gazing towards the horizon. "But it seems our paths are converging, Geralt. Ciri, the Wild Hunt, and now… Uma. They're all connected somehow. We just need to unravel the threads."

As they set sail for Novigrad, Geralt felt a renewed sense of purpose. He had overlooked a crucial clue, blinded by his focus on Ciri, but he didn't dwell on it. He hoped that this new lead wouldn't lead them down another dead end. He was determined to find Ciri, and he would follow every lead, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed, until he did.