“Goodness, look at you – you’re frozen!” – Lena’s grandmother put her arm around Lena leading her towards a fire. They were no longer floating in mid-air, they were in the Niben Valley where Lena grew up, walking towards their cottage. “Come – you need to warm up.” The Niben could be cold in winter, and Lena would often be shaking by the time she’d had enough of swimming.

“Thanks, gran” – she smiled at her grandmother, embracing her. But… wait… something wasn’t right. Lena’s adoptive grandmother had been dead for two hundred years. Would her spirit really want to keep Lena in the Fade? “No, I won’t come with you!” – Lena exclaimed, pulling away. “You are not my grandmother!” And without waiting for the demon to transform into its more powerful form, Lena broke free and dived into the frozen mist.

“I want to return to the mortal realm” – she said into the mist. “I refuse to stay here. I refuse to die – it isn’t my time!”

…

“You cannot judge whether it is your time or not” – a strong but distant voice answered. “I may take you any moment.”

Darkness penetrated the mist, brilliant darkness shining with ever changing tones of black. “A black light” – Lena thought, marvelling at the phenomenon. “Luminescent darkness. The Void.” Which meant that the voice belonged to Sithis.

“I accept that you will claim me one day, but I have unfinished business in Mundus, including business in your name” – she said into the void. “Lucien will be waiting.”

“Lucien…” – the voice seemed to search for the meaning of this name. “Oh – Lucien Lachance. His time has not come yet. Forgive me, but he is but one assassin… he holds no power over me.”

The voice seemed to grow bored and trailed off, but the darkness around Lena didn’t dissolve, it was holding her in The Void. She felt it thicken somehow, and was wondering whether the nightshade extract was wearing off. In the mortal world invoking Lucien’s name brought most situations to a swift conclusion, but Sithis wasn’t impressed – and why on Nirn did she think he would be? What was one assassin – no matter how brilliant – to an Old God?

And yet, mortals, or their souls, did matter – otherwise why would Sithis engage her in conversation?

“You ask deep questions, mortal” – she heard the voice again. “Yes, mortal souls matter, daedric souls matter, aerdic souls matter – for they all come from me through Anuiel and then Lorkhan – the path of Creation is long and convoluted. I am Chaos and Change, and you claim not to serve me. Yet you take lives in my name, then pray to Arkay for their souls – and who is Arkay if not my descendent? And soon you will bring another life into this world – and in whose name will that be? Look at you – Chaos and Change is all there is.”

“What happens to the souls that I release in your name?” – Lena had to know.

“They come to The Void.”

“But I pray to Arkay for them..!”

“And what do you think that means?” – the voice sounded amused. “Arkay’s rites protect the bodies and souls of those mortals from Necromancy – from simple Necromancy, I might add, as performed by most mortals. It is a simple enchantment placed upon the body, for as long as at least some of it remains intact. The soul comes to The Void though – for where else would it go?”

“And there… you devour it” – Lena said mostly to herself.

“I what now?” – the voice laughed. “It is amusing to hear you say it. I do not feed on souls – I do not feed at all.”

“But then… what is the difference? If all souls end up in The Void, in whoever name they are taken…”

“There is no difference” – the voice seemed to enjoy the conversation. “Daedric souls spend time here too, but they get new bodies to inhabit, while mortal souls do not. The only way to return a mortal soul to Nirn is through Necromancy – something that Arkay’s rites seek to prevent.”

“Do mortal souls persist forever?” – Lena was getting consumed by this discourse, but wasn’t there something she needed to be doing quite urgently? She could not remember.

“No, they are mortal. They fade after a time – a very long time, but eventually they dissolve into The Void from whence they came.”

So… then she was home. If The Void was where all mortal souls eventually went, then she had arrived already. But wait… something wasn’t right about that… or was it? No, she must be imagining things…

Lena started to relax, letting go of that nagging feeling that she had forgotten something important. What could it possibly be? She didn’t want anything, she didn’t need anything, The Void had embraced her completely.

“Ouch!” – a sharp pain in her liver woke her up from her reverie. What was that?! “Ouch!” – there it was again. The pangs of pain were coming from inside her, as if something or someone was kicking her liver… “Ouch!” That last kick brought a flood of memories with it – her life, her friends, her baby kicking inside her belly – all of it in Mundus where she had to return to. Urgently. Now.

“I am going” – she said into the void around her. “It is not my time yet. My life is not yet finished – I have people waiting for me and I carry this new life in my belly. You cannot have me yet, Sithis.”

“Ahhh…” – she heard a sigh in the distance. “There aren’t many who can resist the pull of the Black City.” The darkness around Lena turned into a whirlpool. “I shall wait for you, Dragonborn.”

…

Lena opened her eyes and saw a dimly lit fort chamber around her, she was lying comfortably on a bed, someone had covered her in warm blankets, a fire was burning in an urn… A heavy wooden door was closed, but through it Lena could just about make out sounds of battle – clashing of steel, pops and bangs of destruction spells, shrieks of… wraiths? Wraiths! Geralt was fighting the two wraiths that she had summoned. Now she remembered.

“You filth!” – Geralt was muttering swinging his Blue Meteorite Silver sword from one wraith to the other. “You will depart this world!” It wasn’t just a matter of defeating them – it had to be done in the right way, otherwise the wraiths would rise again.

“Can I help?” – Lena put her head through the door. She didn’t want to spoil the ritual.

“Take the Viper Silver sword in the bedroom and join the dance!” – Geralt shouted without looking. “These two mean business!”

Lena looked around the room and spotted a silver claymore with a serpent etched on the blade. She lifted it – it was like a regular silver claymore, except of course a witcher would wield it with one hand… The Viper was a light and fast weapon – by witcher standards – Geralt called it his silver dagger. His usual silver sword – the Blue Meteorite master sword – was longer and heavier, a superior weapon if you could handle it, and he was now swinging it from one wraith to the other, Lena reminded herself. She grabbed the Viper sword with both hands and joined the battle.

“Ahhh – the younger Wolf spawn returns!” – screeched one of the wraiths throwing frost at Lena as she emerged from the bedroom. Lena dodged the spell just in time, but was unable to respond with fire – she was no battlemage and couldn’t cast spells while holding a claymore, she had to hold it with both hands, or it would just drop to the ground. So instead she swung it at the wraith, not expecting to inflict much damage but hoping to distract it enough to give Geralt room to manoeuvre. The wraith gave a screech of pain and reeled back from the sword.

“What on Nirn..?” – Lena looked at the sword in amazement. “Oh – you don’t like a witcher’s sword, do you?!” It wasn’t just a silver claymore.

“Your technique needs work” – Geralt grinned in between the swings of his own. “And your footwork is all over the place! Who trained you?”

“No one!” – Lena shouted, dodging another frost spell. “I had to learn as I went along!”

“That shows” – Geralt did a pirouette elegantly landing right next to her. “You’re using that sword as if you’re chopping wood. It’s not an axe!”

“Save the lesson for a straw dummy – they don’t fight back!” – Lena didn’t approve of her brother’s timing with tutoring. “These two are trying to kill us!”

“They won’t kill us” – Geralt patted Lena on the shoulder, momentarily including her into his shield bubble. “Not now that you’re here. Inadequate footwork or not – they still stand no chance against the two of us. Watch this!” He stopped his attack, allowing the wraith to hit the shield bubble several times before the bubble burst, pushing the wraiths into the far corners of the room.

“I feel better” – Lena said with amazement.

“That shield restores you with every hit it takes” – Geralt smiled at her. “And pushes away the enemies when it bursts, giving you a moment to explain its workings to your little sister – or to cast a new shield” – he winked at her. “What now, you filth?!” – he lunged towards the wraith, stung by its frost spell.

Lena watched, thinking that neglecting proper instruction might have been a mistake on her part. “He got it, even from that distance” – she marvelled at Geralt’s moves. But she wasn’t a spectator in this battle – a hit from the other wraith reminded her of that. “All right, here comes my inadequate footwork – watch out!” – she swung the sword wildly at the wraith making it screech with pain again. The dance continued.

…

“Depart this world never to return – I compel you!” – Geralt thrust his sword into the wraith for the last time as its essence shot upwards, disappearing through the ceiling. One down.

The remaining wraith switched its attention from Lena to Geralt, making Lena suddenly realise that this wasn’t a friendly dance. These wraiths carried swords, and Geralt was bleeding from several wounds, yet his reflexes weren’t slowed – he literally ignored the pain. “But he can still bleed to death while ignoring it” – Lena thought, shooting some healing spells at him, to no effect. Whatever potion he had ingested before the fight, was blocking common healing. She lunged at the wraith making it turn around. “Cast your shield! You are bleeding out!” – she shouted at Geralt, who seemed to only now notice a puddle of blood he was standing in.

“Bloody nuisance!” – he cursed, reaching for a potion on his belt. “That cannot be healed by the shield” – he swallowed the contents of the vial, grimaced, cursed again, and turned green – or so Lena thought. His veins bulged, covering his face in a strange blue-purple pattern, his skin getting ashen pale underneath. “I hate this stuff!” – he muttered, throwing the empty vial aside and resuming his attack on the wraith.

“You look awful” – Lena commented. “But your bleeding has stopped.”

“Ekimmara decoction” – he shot her a glance, parrying the wraith’s attack. “Restores your health with each…” – lunge – “successful…” – lunge – “hit” – lunge and twirl. The wraith screeched and backed off. “Depart this world, you filth!” – bellowed Geralt, attacking the wraith with renewed ferocity.

…

Finally the battle was over. Geralt walked over to the firepit in the kitchen and dropped to his knees.

“Leave me to meditate” – he looked at Lena. “This will take a while.” He looked exhausted, the potions and decoctions that he had drank, had poisoned him as well as protected him, but he wasn’t in danger of dying – Lena’s experience with healing witchers during her stay in the Northern Realms had taught her that. He would recover, all he needed now was rest – the witcher way. Lena added some logs to the fire and left Geralt to his meditation, then crawled into the bed for some rest of her own.