— –Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon– —
It had been a week since she had crossed paths with Alexander, or Alex, as he insisted on being called.
If she was honest with herself, she had expected the week to be hell. Another blur of restless nights, running from the Wild Hunt, clutching at whatever scraps of coin she could find to keep herself fed while she searched. Geralt, Yennefer, Avallac'h, she had no idea which of them she might find first, only that she had to keep moving before the Hunt found her. Before the curse they'd placed on Avallach grew any worse.
But then Alex had appeared. His sudden presence had shifted everything.
Alex was… strange. Stranger even than most she'd met. But maybe that was to be expected from someone touched by Elder Blood. It was a curse, in its way. Wherever their kind walked, misfortune seemed to follow.
He denied it, of course. Denied being like her. But unless he gave her a better answer, she wasn't about to let go of her suspicion. Her instincts told her otherwise. Her blood told her otherwise. Or at least, she thought it did.
If Avallac'h were here, he would know. He always had a way of explaining things she only half-understood.
"Goddamn it." Alex muttered, snapping her from her thoughts. He hunched over the book in his lap, brow furrowed as he flipped through the pages.
"What is it now?" Ciri asked, crouching near the fire. They had stopped along the road again, giving her horse time to rest. Even if it was one of the more sturdy horses she'd rode, there was only so far it could go when carrying two people. Sparks caught on the wood as she stoked the flames higher.
"This world is so fucked." Alex grumbled, turning another page. He was frowning, and from the way he was acting, he was angry.
Ciri let out a quiet breath, already guessing where this was going.
"Scary plants, then?" She asked with some dry amusement.
He had told her about Limbo, or at least enough for her to understand the weight he carried. Five months of torture in a place he described as "literal hell." If nothing else, she'd learned he needed to vent, and since there was no one else around, that role fell to her.
And truthfully, she didn't mind as much as she pretended. Their rides between villages left plenty of time for long talks, and she found herself prying just as often as he volunteered. It wasn't often she stumbled onto another world hopper like her. Or at least one that wasn't trying to capture her. Even if he hadn't gone to nearly as many places as her.
However, today, she had given him her story in return. And perhaps, she should have known to hold back some of the details. But well, in a way, he wasn't the only one who needed to vent.
Perhaps she would have held back more had she not just spent the past few days listening to him ramble about his life. But she couldn't take the past back.
And now here he was, sitting cross-legged beside the fire, grumbling over a battered herbology book he'd won in a game of Gwent. A game he was surprisingly good at, and perhaps, one of the reasons her gold pouch was heavier than when they'd crossed paths.
"It's not the stupid plants." Alex finally answered, snapping the book shut and tossing it to the side. The pages fluttered for a moment before settling in the dirt. He ran a hand down his face, dragging out a sigh. "How the hell do you… live with all of this? With everything that's happened to you?"
Ciri froze halfway through feeding another branch into the fire. He wasn't asking out of pure curiosity, that much was clear. He was practically demanding an answer from her, an answer she wasn't sure she had.
"…You get used to it." She finally answered, but judging by the look he gave her, he wasn't satisfied with that answer.
"Bullshit. Nobody should ever have to 'get used to it.'" His voice cracked on the last word, not with weakness but with something closer to fury. "Your whole life, from Emhyr, Bonhart, the Lodge, the Hunt… none of it should've happened. And yet you talk like it's normal."
Ciri swallowed, forcing her gaze back to the fire. Normal. If only. She could feel his eyes on her, as if trying to look into all of the things she had tried to lock away.
"…You sound angrier about my life than I am." She said at last, aiming for humor but landing closer to weary honesty.
"Of course I'm angry." Alex snapped back, the words sharp before he even realized how loud he'd gotten. "It's bullshit. So what if you can travel worlds? The elves made the bloodline once, they can make it again. If they can't replicate it then they're just shitty scientists."
Ciri watched him in silence as he bounced his leg, the restless movement giving way to sudden motion as he pushed himself up and began pacing in front of the fire. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, unable to hide his frustration.
"So what?" He spat, almost shouting by now. "Just because of some shitty power to travel worlds? They should make a portal for all I care, if they're that smart. Build it, study it, whatever, just leave you out of it."
For a moment, Ciri wanted to argue, to remind him that things weren't so simple. That he didn't understand the weight of generations, prophecies, destinies written in blood long before she was born. But she stopped herself.
Because watching him pace, watching the anger tighten his shoulders, she began to understand something else.
His fury wasn't just for her. It wasn't only empathy, though there was plenty of that in his tone. No, what really drove it was fear. The fear that what had happened to her could so easily happen to him. That his own power, the one he didn't yet understand, would paint the same target on his back. That people would hunt him, tear him apart, dissect him in the name of curiosity or control.
In a way, Belasco had already proven him right. The chains, the endless experiments, the way the demon had tried to break him piece by piece, it was the same story, just painted in different colors.
"You're not wrong." Ciri finally spoke up, answering surprisingly quietly. "It's bullshit."
Alex stopped pacing, his head turning toward her, caught off guard by the agreement. She poked at the fire with a stick, a few more sparks drifting up into the night.
"All of it. The prophecies, the destinies, the way people look at me like I'm less of a person and more of a… weapon or just a womb. You think I don't see it? You think I don't know what they'd do if they could chain me down long enough?" She shook her head, almost laughing at the absurdity. "Sometimes I wonder if the Hunt was the only honest one about it. At least they didn't pretend."
Alex's jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists again, though this time he didn't speak.
"But I've lived with it longer than you." Ciri looked up at him then, her eyes catching the firelight. "And I've learned something you haven't yet."
He narrowed his gaze, waiting.
"You can't outrun it by being angry." She said softly. "No matter how much you want to. You can fight, you can claw, you can scream, but the fear stays. It doesn't go anywhere. Not unless you decide you're more than what they want you to be."
Alex froze for a second, his mouth opening a few more times to answer, but closing before any words left him. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to deny her.
"I think I need to go back to Limbo. And even if I don't, then maybe I'll get dragged there again." He finally muttered. "Maybe not, maybe I'll be able to go back home and everything will be fine. But I doubt it. And honestly I'm not sure if I'll make it out of there again."
Ciri studied him quietly, and for a long moment she didn't see the anger or the pacing or the sharp edges of his words. She saw someone who was being hunted as she was. Someone who understood.
She reached out, brushing ash from her palm before setting her hand down beside her on the ground and tapping it a few times, inviting him to sit next to her.
"…Then you won't have to." She said. Perhaps it was an empty promise, but it felt right to say.
For a heartbeat, Alex just stood there, staring at her hand in the dirt beside her. She could see him hesitating, but then, slowly, he began to move until he was sitting down next to her.
The two of them were quiet for a few moments, with only the faint sounds of the crackling fire and her horse chewing on the nearby grass.
It was nice.
"…Thanks." Alex whispered as his body eased up slightly.
"Don't mention it." Ciri gave the faintest smile. "We're both cursed, remember? Might as well share the burden."
"You've got a terrible way of comforting people." He huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head.
"Maybe." She said, her tone almost playful now. "But it works, doesn't it?"
Alex didn't argue. Simply staring into the fire before nodding.
"Yeah."
— –Alexander Montclair– —
As the first light of dawn broke over the treeline, Alex stepped toward the black mare Ciri had taken from the Bloody Baron. He reached out a hand to pet her muzzle, only for the horse to snort and jerk back, ears flicking in irritation.
"She doesn't like you." Ciri quipped, hoisting their supplies into the bags strapped to the saddle. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "Good thing she's trained, or I'd wager she'd have already kicked you square in the face."
"Yeah, I noticed." Alex answered with an uncomfortable expression. "I used to get along with animals just fine before..."
Before he had dipped his soul into Limbo.
Ciri swung herself easily into the saddle, then extended a hand down toward him. With her help, he clambered up behind her, settling on the horse's back and instinctively wrapping his arms around her waist for balance. The mare shifted under their combined weight, but otherwise kept steady as they set off from their temporary camp.
It wasn't the first time they'd ridden like this, after a week together, the motion had become familiar. And yet, today, something felt different. Alex became acutely aware of how close they were, of the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her back pressed against his chest. Even the smell, damp and worn from days without a proper bath, didn't bother him as much as it should have. If anything…
"Oh." Alex muttered under his breath, the realization slipping out before he could stop it.
Well… that complicated things. For one, he had felt something similar for Tandy. But well, back then he hadn't been in the proper mindset for anything. And now, after the conversation he had with Ciri, he was starting to feel his poor little heart shaking once more.
Who knew he was that easy? Perhaps he shouldn't try therapy when he got back to his world, he might end up falling for them too.
"What is it?" Ciri asked over her shoulder, her voice cutting through the clop of hooves against dirt.
"Nothing." He said quickly, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip to try to hold onto the saddle instead. "Just thinking ahead. About Novigrad. We're going in blind, no contacts, no plan. Who knows who or what we'll run into. But… it's a big city, right?"
"Yeah." Ciri's reply came with a faint note of weariness, betraying that she'd likely been mulling over the same thing herself. "What matters is finding a sorcerer. From there, we can figure out the rest. We've been moving almost nonstop for a week without major trouble. By now, we must have shaken the Wild Hunt's trail. As long as we don't cause a scene, we should have a few weeks in Novigrad. Any longer…" she paused, her voice tightening, "…and they'll find us again."
"Well, do you happen to know any merchants?" Alex asked. His voice steadied, turning thoughtful. "I know it's a long shot, but if I had the right supplies, I could make some useful things. I'd be working with practically nothing, sure… but I did prepare for this, at least in theory."
"You did?" Ciri's head turned slightly as a slight smile appeared on her face. "Were you expecting to end up in a 'fantasy' world as you call it?"
"Well…" Alex started, trailing off with a humorless chuckle. "Not exactly. More like a… just in case."
His mind wandered back despite himself. After stepping through his father's portal, he'd been stranded in what felt like a "primitive" world. One without all the advancements his father had made commonplace. At the time, he'd cursed his luck. To go from a place where knowledge was stacked at your fingertips to somewhere he had to rebuild it all from the ground up… it had felt like a cosmic joke.
Nothing made sense there, not compared to what he was used to. Tools were clunky, methods archaic, everything half a step away from collapsing under its own weight.
And yet… one thing had led to another, and before long he'd spiraled down the rabbit hole. Back then, before Tandy, he'd been a mess. Restless nights bled into long stretches of obsession, wasting away days as he scrawled diagrams and tore through whatever scraps of knowledge he could find. He taught himself how to recreate the things he thought he'd never need again, building them piece by piece in his head.
Knowledge that would've been useless back in Marvel, where everything already existed. But here, in this actually primitive Witcher world, it had teeth. He could make use of it. Still, there were holes he couldn't fill without studying their ways. Which is why he had been so deadset on reading as many useful books as he could find on his path.
After all, who's to say that some minor differences in the way their worlds are built wouldn't mess with what he knew?
"Sounds like you've been preparing for this longer than you realized." Ciri said at last, a touch of curiosity in her voice. "I'll have to see what you can actually pull off once we get there."
"Careful." Alex answered with a chuckle. "If I impress you, you might start thinking I'm useful and not just extra baggage."
"Oh?" Ciri mused, shaking her head with a faint smile. "Now I am really curious what kind of shit you can pull off. And here I thought you had wasted all your talent on Gwent." She added, chuckling before continuing. "Either way… there are some merchants I know… or well, at least one. His name is Dudu. He's an absolute genius trader, so he's bound to be able to get the things that you need."
"Dudu…" Alex repeated, the name sounding very familiar. There was a card with his name on it, one that could transform into other cards. "That's good."
"He's a friend of Geralt's, and I know him well. But don't expect charity. If you've got some long list of strange materials, you'll need more than his goodwill to cover it." Ciri warned
"Well… he's a merchant, isn't he?" Alex said with a faint shrug. "I bet if I give him something he can sell, he'd be more than willing to sponsor us. Merchants love profit. The only real risk is…" He hesitated, chewing on his words. "…making something I shouldn't."
"Shouldn't?" Ciri raised a brow.
Alex leaned back slightly in the saddle, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"Where I'm from, some things are… dangerous. Weapons. Machines. Medicines that can save you or kill you depending on how they're used. If I put the wrong thing in the wrong hands, it doesn't matter how good my intentions are. It'll just come back around to bite us both."
Ciri considered that in silence for a moment. Then she exhaled through her nose, giving him a sidelong look.
"At least you're aware of it. That already makes you smarter than half the mages I've met."
"If you say so…" Alex grumbled.
This time, it was Ciri's turn to chuckle, shaking her head as the horse carried them north.
"We'll see, Montclair. We'll see. Who knows? I'm feeling lucky."
— –Tandy Bowen– —
Waking up with a sharp gasp, she coughed until her chest burned, clutching at herself as if she could hold the pain in place.
The last thing she remembered was the light, blinding, searing, that started as warmth and turned into fire tearing her apart from the inside. Even now, under the faint buzzing lamps overhead, it was burned into her vision, as though she'd stared at the sun too long.
And then, with a blink, she was back.
The cell around her was the same, but the bars weren't. They were bent and twisted outward, as if something had gripped them like clay and pulled. Just wide enough for her to slip through.
It felt like a trap. Every instinct told her not to trust it. And yet, against the heavy knot in her chest, hope stirred.
She pushed herself upright, legs trembling, and crept forward.
The hallway outside waited, silent. No, worse than silent. She realized, with a lurch, what was missing. The guards' boots, the shuffle of prisoners in the next cells, the distant hum of voices that never quite stopped. All of it, gone.
All she could hear was her own shallow breath, and the faint drip of water echoing somewhere far away.
She wanted to scream for someone, anyone, but the sound stuck in her throat. She knew better. There was no one here who could help. If anything, anyone who heard her would only want to hurt her.
And still, she wanted to run. To bolt blindly for the nearest door, even if it led nowhere. So she squeezed through the twisted bars and stepped into the corridor. Even if it was a trap, even if it was all just to give her hope before taking it away. She had to try. She had to try to get home.
She didn't know where she was going, only that standing still felt worse. So she moved. Quiet, quick, hugging the wall as if it might swallow her whole.
But the farther she went, the worse it became.
The halls weren't just empty, they were ruined. Bullet holes chewed the concrete walls. Shattered glass crunched faintly under her shoes. Cells gaped open, their doors ripped clean off, some bent like if they were made out of putty. Everything told the story of a fight, but there were no bodies. No blood. Not even a sound.
It was as if everyone in the entire prison had been swallowed up, erased in a single breath.
But that was impossible.
Maybe the cops had raided it, maybe they had pulled everyone out and left her behind. That thought flickered in her mind, desperate, reaching for something human, something normal. But it died almost as quickly.
No… something else had happened here. The silence wasn't emptiness. It was the aftermath. And the more halls she passed through, the more certain she became.
A monster had walked these corridors. A monster that had decided to spare her.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to let the fear out, but the thought of making a sound terrified her even more. What if it was still here? Waiting? Watching? So she did the only thing she could. She ran.
Her feet pounded against the ruined floor, carrying her through hallway after hallway until, finally, she burst outside through a door that had been torn clean off its hinges.
Once outside, the cold fresh air finally hit her. She froze, breathing heavily as her whole body trembled. Then, before she had a moment of peace, she saw headlights heading her way in the darkness. A line of cars driving towards the building she had just escaped.
But they didn't have the flashing red and blue lights, no, they weren't cops. They weren't here to save her.
She felt her stomach drop. And before she could even think about running, her body was already moving. Her muscles were screaming, her lungs burning, yet she continued running until her body couldn't any more. With every stride, she felt a wave of warmth coursing through her. And along with the warmth, a wave of energy, pushing her to run faster and harder.
She could see the lights of New York in the distance, which meant she wasn't too far from home. She just had to get to the city, and from there, she could find her way home. But before she could cross, she needed to pass a bridge or swim. And she knew it was too far to swim.
However, blocking the bridge was a line of vehicles, and standing guard around it was a group of around a dozen men, with rifles in their hands.
"No…" Tandy whispered, her voice breaking.
She wanted to hide, to try to find another way, but that's when she noticed it, the air around her getting brighter. She glanced down, only to see her own body glowing brightly, pulsing with a light as if she were a lamp.
"What the hell—?" She gasped, stumbling back as the glow spread.
She didn't scream, but the light she was emitting was enough for the men across the bridge to glance in her direction and scream to her. They had seen her.
Without having any time to process what was happening, she turned and began to run again. She could hear the shouts and footsteps getting closer and closer, and when she knew she couldn't outrun them, she froze, turning around to look at them.
Throwing her arms up, she felt the warmth in her hands grow stronger, and the next moment she shouted.
"Get away!"
She didn't understand what happened next, but rather than hearing them scream for her, she heard heavy thuds, followed by gasps for air.
When she finally managed to look at the men who had followed her, she saw that they were all on their knees. Pale light daggers were sticking out of their chests. She couldn't help but freeze and stare as the daggers dissolved into them, and then, one by one, their bodies stiffened. Their movements stopped.
She had to hold back the urge to scream as she saw their skin shrivel, their bodies withering before her eyes. Her hands shook violently. She wanted to cry, to vomit, to undo what had just happened, but adrenaline screamed louder.
So she ran. Again.
— –Charles Xavier– —
"Professor. Did you…."
The voice was low, heavy. Piotr stood in the doorway, his large frame shadowing the room.
"No." Xavier said with a tired sigh. He slipped Cerebro from his head and set it down carefully, though his hands trembled more than he liked to admit. The helmet felt heavier than it ever had before.
Another failure.
A student had been taken from under his own roof, under his care, and there was still no trace of her. He had scoured the world for her mind, stretching himself further than he should, pushing until his head throbbed and his nose bled. Days spent inside Cerebro, searching, hoping, failing.
Nothing.
It was as if she had been plucked clean from existence.
He glanced back toward the doorway. Piotr's expression was grim, his jaw tight, but he said nothing. After a moment, he turned and walked away, the silence between them louder than any words. And Charles, in his heart, couldn't blame him. It had been a week since Illyana vanished. A week of promises without progress. A week of watching hope shrink.
Charles closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. He had wanted to keep this within the family, to spare the students more fear, more questions. But perhaps he had waited too long.
Rolling through the halls, he let the familiar sounds of the mansion wash over him, laughter from a group of younger students, hurried footsteps on the stairs, a door slamming somewhere down the corridor. Life went on around him, bright and ordinary, even as his own thoughts were heavy and dark.
"Professor…"
The soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned his head slightly and found Kurt standing a few paces away, he looked somewhat hesitant, his tail flicking behind him like it had a mind of its own.
"Yes, Kurt. How can I help you?" Charles asked, forcing a small, tired smile.
"Is… uh… is there any news about Illyana?" Kurt asked, his yellow eyes darting toward the floor as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
Charles felt another wave of discomfort pass through him at the question. He could feel the boy's hope in his tone, the fear and the hesitation.
"The investigation is still in progress, Kurt." He said gently. "I'm sure we'll find her soon, so don't worry."
The words left his mouth smoothly, practiced, yet they rang hollow in his own ears. Lies, or close enough to them. But he had to give them hope, he had to keep his students from panicking.
"Ja… well…" Kurt fumbled, his voice trailing. His fingers twisted together nervously. "Is there… would it be all right if I… invited a friend to the mansion? Her name is… Amanda. She's, uh… well… it's complicated, but maybe if she could visit then—"
Charles's first instinct was to sigh. Another complication, and at the worst possible time. His mind was already drowning in problems that stretched far beyond adolescent romances. But he caught himself before the expression reached his face. These children looked to him for steadiness. For kindness. Even when he had none left to give.
"Of course, Kurt." Charles said, nodding, keeping his voice calm. "Invite her. You're free to." He adjusted the wheels of his chair, already turning away. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"
"Uh… yeah… sorry…" Kurt muttered, sounding surprisingly relieved but Charles barely heard it.
He was too tired. Too worn down. Each day felt like another weight added to his shoulders. First, the sudden flare of an Omega-level mutant on Cerebro before vanishing without a trace. Then Illyana, stolen from under his own roof. And now this…
Another headache waiting to bloom behind his temples.
At last, he reached his office. The familiar space felt more like a cell than a refuge as he rolled behind his desk. His fingers hovered over the drawer for a long moment, his reflection staring back faintly from the polished wood.
Finally, with a resigned breath, he pulled it open.
Inside lay a phone. Plain, ordinary, and yet, to Charles, it might as well have been a weapon. A phone he had sworn he would not touch unless there was no other choice. The contacts tied to it were not allies he trusted, not truly. But the situation left him no choice.
He stared at it for a long time, his hand hovering just above.
Truly, he didn't know who he should call for help.
Fury? The man had resources, more than anyone else Charles could reach with a single call. But Fury was never one to give without taking twice in return. Whatever shadow agency he now commanded, it would come with strings, and Charles feared what those strings might wrap around.
Emma? Brilliant, ruthless, always two steps ahead. Her connection with the Hellfire Club might give her the people she needed to find her. And even without help, she was almost as strong a telepath as him. And she was younger than him, who's to say just how much growth she had left on her abilities. If she were to use Cerebro, then she might be able to find something he couldn't. Even if she was weaker at the moment, she might just simply look in a different way and find something he missed.
Still, he knew better than to let Emma Frost that close to his family. He knew better than to mistake her sharp mind for a gentle hand. She would use the opportunity to gain even more power. And, if she got a hold of Cerebro, then who's to say what else she might do.
Still, Charles didn't doubt Emma had a kind side to her. A side that would be willing to save Illyana purely for the fact that she was just a young girl. But he didn't want to bet whether or not he could summon that kindness out or not.
Then there was Erik…. Charles would be lying if the thought didn't hurt him. His oldest friend, his greatest enemy. Erik would come if called, only due to the mutant blood running through Illyana. Hell, he would come purely to show Xavier that he could do what Charles had failed to do.
But his methods… no, Erik's help would not be clean. One way or the other, blood would be shed. The blood would stain Charles' hands, and perhaps, that blood might bring Illyana back. But at what cost?
There were others… but Charles wasn't sure how much they could do. For example, his friend Amanda. She always seemed to know how to deal with things. But recently they had grown apart. So in the end, these were the only choices he could rely on.
His fingers finally brushed the phone.
One call. One choice. And whichever number he dialed, the consequences would follow them all.
Shoutout to @Basilisk, @Harman, and @Tertius711 for helping me brainstorm and keep on coming up with ideas for this story and for Beta Reading.
https://discord.gg/WTgN9J3YgK
~A/N~
So many options, so many ideas. If I am being honest, I have a lot of ways I could take the Xavier stuff that I would be happy with. My main goal with Xavier is to set up for future stuff for the next arc. You can tell I have been reading some Cambrian stories by the way I wrapped up the chap lol.
Also, I read the Sword of Destiny Witcher book a while back, and Dudu is just built different. The Witcher 3 really didn't give him enough justice for the kinda stuff he pulls in the books. Dudu copies Dainty, a merchant, and then immediately starts doing the best business moves ever and gets rich in an afternoon. Then, he copies Dandelion, and instantly finishes the song he was working on the entire story.
Dudu my goat.
I do have a good explanation as to how things ended up the way they did in the games. But I'll save myself the rambling as to how Dudu ended up on the run in Witcher 3 unless people are actually curious.