Yennefer's spell surged forward, her fingers weaving symbols in the air that pulsed with violet light. The energy brushed against Alina's skin, leaving a trail of ice and fire. It wasn't painful exactly, but it wasn't comfortable either—it was like the magic was reading her, peering into places she didn't even know existed inside herself.
Kaelen watched in silence, his arms folded but his stance alert. He didn't trust magic. Alina could see it in his jaw, the way it clenched slightly with every flicker of light. But he didn't interrupt.
"You're a nexus." Yennefer murmured, her gaze distant. "A convergence point. The veil between your world and ours has thinned because of you—not solely by your doing, but by your presence. It's as though you were meant to cross over."
Alina swallowed. "That sounds... bad."
"Not bad." Yennefer corrected. "Dangerous. But also powerful. There's more to you than even you realize."
That was becoming a theme lately.
Over the next several days, Yennefer led them across the fractured land of the Echo Vale, seeking out the ley lines—the invisible veins of magical energy that fed the world. They passed ancient obelisks crackling with raw power, dead forests that whispered in forgotten tongues, and lakes that reflected not the sky above, but other worlds entirely.
Each night, Alina trained. With Kaelen, she practiced swordplay and survival. With Yennefer, she learned to feel the vibrations of magic—how to draw them in, channel them, and most importantly, how to let go before it consumed her.
At first, it was like trying to hold a storm in her hands. But soon, it began to click. She could see threads others couldn't. Portals half-formed. Shadows that didn't belong. She learned to weave sigils from memory, to command the flow rather than be swallowed by it.
And she started dreaming.
Each night, her mind was visited by strange visions: a city burning under a crimson sky; a silver wolf fighting a serpent of smoke; a tree made of bone that bled black sap. In every dream, she heard whispers—not in any language she knew, but in meaning. Warnings. Promises. A pull toward something deeper.
One morning, after a particularly vivid dream, she awoke to find Kaelen already up, standing at the edge of their camp. He was staring into the trees, blade drawn but relaxed.
"Trouble?" she asked groggily.
He shook his head. "No. Just... thinking."
She approached. "About what?"
Kaelen's golden eyes flicked to her. "You. This place. The Wyrm. Yennefer said it feeds on time, yes—but I think it's more than that. It's like a parasite, hitching onto cracks in the world."
Alina frowned. "You think it's using me?"
He gave a small nod. "Or being drawn to you, like moths to flame."
That evening, Yennefer confirmed his suspicions. "The rift's widening. It's not just this realm that's at risk—your world could fall too, if it opens fully. The creature won't stop at feeding on one plane."
Alina's stomach churned. "Then we need to close it."
"And soon." Yennefer said. "There's a convergence coming. A celestial alignment that will amplify the rift. We have days at most."
They set off again, traveling to the heart of the Echo Vale—a place called the Mirror Cradle. Legend had it that the Cradle was once the site of an ancient elven ritual, a place where dimensions were thin and magic bled freely. If there was anywhere the rift could be closed, it was there.
The journey was brutal.
Wraith packs stalked them at dusk. Thorned beasts burst from the ground without warning. A fog rolled in one night that whispered Alina's own thoughts back to her in twisted echoes. At one point, they passed the remains of another traveler—nothing but armor, a rusted sword, and a note carved into the stone beside him:
"I followed the song. It led me here. It won't let me go."
Alina didn't sleep well after that.
But on the seventh day, they reached it.
The Mirror Cradle was a valley of floating stones, suspended in a swirling vortex of violet and gold light. A great tree—dead and hollow—stood at its center, its roots crackling with raw energy. The rift pulsed above it, a yawning tear in reality, leaking tendrils of shadow into the sky.
The Wyrm of Echoes was waiting.
It didn't roar. It didn't charge. It emerged—a serpentine creature made of smoke and time, its body shifting with memories that didn't belong to Alina. She saw herself as a child, as an old woman, as a warrior in a future that never happened. It spoke without speaking, and her bones shuddered with the weight of it.
Yennefer began the ritual, weaving a barrier around the rift. Kaelen stepped forward, sword drawn, to keep the creature at bay.
And Alina stepped into the circle.
The magic surged around her. The Wyrm lunged.
But she didn't run.
She opened herself—fully—to the flow between worlds. The memories, the energy, the pain, the promise. She grasped the thread of the rift in her mind like she was closing a wound in the fabric of the world.
And then she sang.
A note, pure and sharp, spilled from her lips—just like the ballad in Novigrad. The same melody. The same ancient tone.
The Wyrm shrieked. The rift quaked.
And with a final breath, Alina severed the connection.
The light vanished.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Then—slowly—the world returned.
The tree in the center of the Cradle cracked, then crumbled to dust. The sky above returned to a deep midnight blue. The floating stones began to fall gently, like feathers, to the valley floor.
Kaelen limped toward her, blood on his arm but a look of disbelief on his face.
"You did it." he said.
Yennefer, visibly drained but smiling faintly, nodded. "You closed it. The veil is sealed."
Alina fell to her knees, gasping, overwhelmed.
But inside her, something new had taken root.
Power. Peace. And the understanding that she wasn't just a visitor to this world anymore.
She belonged to it now—just as much as it belonged to her.