The forest burned red beneath a sky torn apart by fire and shadow. Ash drifted like snowflakes through the towering ancient oaks, painting their emerald leaves gray. The clamor of steel on steel echoed far in the distance, a battle beyond the trees. But she stood alone on the forest path, sword poised, her breath fogging in the crisp autumn air.
Ciri adjusted her grip on the sword, her leather-gloved hands flexing against the cold hilt. The intricate runes etched along its blade caught the flickering light of the flames in the distance. Her white blouse clung to her frame, now streaked with the grime of the chase, its dark leather straps and embellishments scorched in places but still holding firm. A scar carved a graceful line across her left cheek, cutting through skin like a forgotten story. Silver-white hair fell untamed over her shoulders, catching the ash like strands of moonlight against the shadows of the forest.
The belt cinched at her waist—a masterpiece of craftsmanship studded with cerulean stones—glimmered faintly, the jewels pulsing as if alive. Her boots crunched softly on the winding, leaf-strewn path as she moved forward with purpose, her eyes scanning for what she both anticipated and feared. The towering trees closed around her like sentinels, their mottled trunks lit faintly by the distant fire. The world smelled of earth, smoke, and the faint tang of iron.
Then the growl came. Low, rumbling, and horrifyingly close.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She spun, steel flashing in the faint light. The creature hit the ground with a thunderous crash right where she’d stood moments before. It was massive—its shoulders like boulders, its fur a matted nightmare of black and crimson. Its golden eyes burned as they met hers, and an unnatural intelligence lit within them.
“You’re bold to cross into this realm,” she said, her tone steady, though her heart raced. “But not very smart.”
The creature snarled, revealing rows of teeth that gleamed white even through the fire’s haze. It lunged again, faster than something of its size should have been able to. But Ciri was faster. Her boots dug deep into the soft earth as she sprang sideways, her sword arcing with lethal precision. The tip of the blade met fur and flesh, a spark of blue energy bursting upon contact. The beast howled as its momentum carried it past her, crashing into a tree.
She straightened, panting now, her sword dripping with viscous black blood. The runes still shimmered, faintly vibrating in her grip. She brought the blade up again, feet firmly planted, watching as the creature staggered upright. Deep gouges ran down its flank where her strike had hit true, but still it moved with terrifying ferocity.
Suddenly, the belt at her waist flared with brilliant light. The air around her quaked, rippling like water, and the beast froze mid-step, its snarl growing faint, almost confused. From the belt, a voice whispered—a familiar voice, crackling as if through wind. “Now, Ciri! Phase! Jump through before it regains its strength!”
She cursed under her breath. The last thing she wanted was to leave without finishing the job, without getting the revenge sparked by the kindling of her scar and the battles that had buried her past life. But she knew better than to ignore the Voice. The stones on her belt glowed intensely now, consuming her in cerulean fire.
The beast leapt just as the light swirled around her, enclosing her in a vortex of shimmering energy. A roar filled the air—not a sound but a sensation, like the splitting of time itself. The monster passed through where she had been as if striking through smoke.
And then, silence.
When she opened her eyes, the forest was gone. She stood at the edge of a cliff, the wind howling against her as it tossed her silver hair wildly. Below her stretched an endless void—a sea of stars upon stars, galaxies blooming in cosmic splendor against an infinite night. And yet, somehow, she was not afraid.
From behind her, the Voice returned, stronger now, calm and familiar. “You did well, but this is only the beginning. The threads of existence themselves are unraveling, Ciri. The Hunt will not stop until every world is undone. And you must find the weaver of that scar on your face.”
She turned, her sword still burning faintly in her grasp, her scar stinging as if in response. Whatever this place was, wherever this would lead her next, she knew one thing for certain: she had to fight. For the world she’d left behind in flames. For the people she’d lost. For herself.
The stars blazed brighter, as though in acknowledgment of her resolve, and she stepped forward into the unknown.
Genre: Fantasy/Adventure
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: The White Warrior: Unleashing Your Inner Fantasy with Cosplay
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