Chapter 10: The Calm Before
POV: Viktor
Marilka's house stood quiet in the pre-dawn darkness, its windows dark and peaceful. Viktor crouched in the shadow of a neighboring building, watching the alderman's residence and trying to convince himself that what he was about to do was necessary rather than monstrous.
"Daily Vision," he whispered.
[MANA DECREASED: 100 → 85]
The visions came like hammer blows to his consciousness:
Renfri's band entering the marketplace, spreading out like wolves among sheep. Nohorn grabbing a merchant by the throat, demanding information. Vyr kicking in the door of a house, searching for someone who wasn't there.
The marketplace, an hour later. Vendors packing up their wares in panic as word spread. The alderman's house, empty and ransacked. Renfri standing in the town square, her face a mask of frustrated rage.
Geralt arriving at the marketplace, hand on his sword hilt, amber eyes scanning the chaos. The Witcher and the princess facing each other across cobblestones that would soon be painted red.
Viktor came back to himself with the taste of copper in his mouth and the absolute certainty that he was making the right choice. Renfri's plan depended on taking Marilka hostage. Without the alderman's daughter, the princess would have to improvise, and improvisation led to mistakes.
Mistakes that might save lives.
Viktor checked his gear one final time: two Minor Mana Potions, one Minor Health Potion, and enough desperation to fuel a small war. Not much, but it would have to be enough.
He made his way to the back of Marilka's house, moving as quietly as his limited stealth skills allowed. The door was locked, but the lock was the simple kind that could be defeated by someone with more determination than skill. Viktor had both in abundance.
The house's interior was dark and peaceful, filled with the kind of comfortable domesticity that spoke of people who'd never had to worry about princesses and massacres. Viktor felt a pang of guilt as he crept through rooms that belonged to innocent people, but he pushed it aside. He was saving the girl's life. Everything else was details.
He found Marilka's room on the second floor, a small space filled with the treasures that mattered to ten-year-old girls: dolls, books, a collection of smooth stones from the river. The girl herself was asleep in her bed, dark hair spread across her pillow like spilled ink.
Viktor stood in the doorway for a moment, studying her peaceful face and trying to find words that would make what he was about to do sound reasonable.
There weren't any.
"Marilka." He kept his voice soft, non-threatening. "Wake up."
The girl's eyes opened immediately, fixing on Viktor with the kind of instant alertness that belonged to children who'd learned to be wary of unexpected visitors.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"
"My name is Viktor. I'm the seer you met yesterday. Stregobor sent me."
It was a lie, but it was a lie that served a purpose. Marilka knew his face, knew he'd accurately predicted things he shouldn't have been able to predict. The claim that Stregobor had sent him would be plausible enough to get her cooperation.
"Master Stregobor? Why? What's wrong?"
"There's danger coming. Princess Renfri and her men—they're going to try to take you hostage. Use you to force your father to cooperate. Stregobor wants you hidden until it's over."
Marilka sat up in bed, her young face creasing with worry. "Princess Renfri? The Black Sun?"
"The same. She's here, in Blaviken, and she's planning something terrible. You need to come with me, right now, before her men arrive."
Viktor hated himself for the terror he was putting in the girl's eyes, but terror would keep her alive. Terror would make her obey without asking too many questions.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere they can't find you." Viktor moved closer to the bed, his voice taking on the kind of urgent authority that brooked no argument. "Get dressed. Quickly. We don't have much time."
Marilka scrambled out of bed, pulling on clothes with the efficiency of someone who'd been trained to dress quickly when adults told her to. Viktor turned away while she changed, staring out the window and watching for signs of Renfri's approach.
"I'm ready."
Viktor turned back to find Marilka fully dressed and clutching a small cloth doll to her chest. She looked young and frightened and completely dependent on his protection.
"Good girl. Now listen to me very carefully. We're going to leave quietly, through the back door. You're going to stay close to me and do exactly what I tell you. If anyone tries to stop us, if anyone asks questions, you tell them that Master Stregobor sent for you. Understood?"
Marilka nodded, her eyes wide but trusting. Viktor felt another stab of guilt—the girl was depending on him to keep her safe, and he was planning to lock her in a cellar.
For her own good. To save her life. But still.
They made their way through the house and out the back door, moving through Blaviken's sleeping streets like ghosts. Viktor's destination was an abandoned building near the marketplace—a former tavern that had been closed for years, its cellar perfect for hiding someone who needed to disappear for a few hours.
"Where are we going?" Marilka asked as they picked their way through the predawn darkness.
"Somewhere safe," Viktor repeated. "Somewhere the princess can't find you."
The abandoned tavern loomed before them, its broken windows and sagging roof testament to better days long past. Viktor had scouted the location the previous evening, found the cellar entrance, confirmed that the space was dry and secure.
Perfect for temporary imprisonment.
He led Marilka around to the back of the building, where stone steps led down to a heavy wooden door. The cellar beyond was dark and musty, but clean enough for short-term occupancy.
"In here," Viktor said, opening the door and gesturing for Marilka to enter.
The girl hesitated, her instincts finally catching up with her trust. "It's dark."
"I know. But it's safe. Safer than anywhere else in Blaviken right now."
Marilka stepped into the cellar, still clutching her doll. Viktor followed, then turned to face her with an expression that he hoped looked more reassuring than it felt.
"Listen to me, Marilka. This is very important. You need to stay here, no matter what you hear outside. No matter what sounds you hear, no matter who calls your name, you stay here. Do you understand?"
"How long?"
"Until I come back for you. It might be a few hours. It might be longer. But you stay here, stay quiet, and stay hidden."
"I'm scared."
"I know you are. But if you do what I'm telling you, if you stay here and stay quiet, you'll be safe. If you leave this cellar, if you try to go home or find help, you'll die."
Viktor hated the words even as he spoke them, hated the way they made Marilka flinch and clutch her doll tighter. But fear would keep her in the cellar when curiosity or boredom might lead her out.
"Promise me," he said, kneeling down so they were at eye level. "Promise me you'll stay here no matter what happens."
"I promise."
Viktor nodded and stood up, then walked toward the door. He paused in the doorway, looking back at the frightened girl sitting alone in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Then he stepped outside and locked the door.
Marilka's voice called after him, muffled by wood and stone: "Viktor? Viktor, don't leave me here!"
Viktor leaned against the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. He'd just kidnapped a ten-year-old girl and locked her in a cellar. For her own good, to save her life, but still. He'd crossed a line that he'd never thought he'd cross.
"One hour," he told himself. "Renfri arrives in one hour, and when she can't find Marilka, everything changes."
He made his way back toward the marketplace, finding a vantage point where he could watch the morning's events unfold. Vendors were beginning to set up their stalls, merchants were arranging their wares, and life was proceeding with the kind of peaceful normalcy that would be shattered within the hour.
Viktor settled into his hiding spot and tried to meditate, tried to regenerate the MP he'd spent on his final vision. But concentration was impossible when he could still hear Marilka's voice calling his name, still feel the weight of what he'd done.
[CURRENT MANA: 85/100]
[MEDITATION EFFICIENCY REDUCED: PSYCHOLOGICAL STRESS]
[ESTIMATED REGENERATION TIME: 4 HOURS]
Three hours of fitful meditation brought his MP to 100, but Viktor felt anything but ready for what was coming. His hands shook with nervous energy, his stomach churned with guilt and anticipation, and every sound from the marketplace made him jump.
Then he heard it: the sound of horses moving through Blaviken's streets with purposeful intent.
Renfri's band had arrived.
Viktor watched from his hiding place as the princess and her men entered the marketplace like predators claiming territory. They moved with the kind of coordinated efficiency that spoke of planning and practice, spreading out to cover all the exits while Renfri herself took position near the center of the square.
Nohorn immediately began questioning vendors, his massive frame intimidating answers out of people who probably didn't even know what he was asking about. Vyr disappeared into the surrounding streets, presumably to search houses and businesses. Tizzy kept watch for guards or other potential threats.
They were looking for Marilka. And they weren't finding her.
Viktor saw the moment when Nohorn reported back to Renfri, saw the princess's face change as she realized that a crucial piece of her plan had gone missing. Her expression shifted from confidence to confusion to the kind of cold rage that meant people were about to die.
"Someone interfered," Viktor heard her say, her voice carrying across the marketplace with deadly clarity. "Someone warned them. Find the prophet."
Viktor's blood turned to ice water. The prophet. She meant him. Somehow, Renfri had connected his earlier warnings to Marilka's disappearance. He was no longer an ignored madman—he was a legitimate threat to her plans.
That's when Geralt arrived.
The Witcher entered the marketplace like death itself taking a casual stroll, his amber eyes scanning the chaos with predatory assessment. Viktor could see the moment when Geralt realized what was happening, could see the Witcher's hand move toward his sword hilt.
"Renfri," Geralt called across the square. "Let them go. This is between you and Stregobor."
"It was between me and Stregobor," Renfri replied. "Until someone decided to interfere. Until someone decided to help the wizard by removing my leverage."
The princess's gaze swept the marketplace, and for one terrifying moment, Viktor thought she was looking directly at him. But her attention moved on, focusing on Geralt with the kind of intensity that meant violence was about to begin.
"Choose, Witcher. Me or them. The evil or the greater evil."
"There is no good choice here."
"Then make the lesser one."
Viktor watched as Geralt's hand closed around his sword hilt, watched as the Witcher made the same choice he'd made in every timeline, every iteration of this tragedy. The steel sword came free of its scabbard with a sound like judgment itself.
Viktor closed his eyes and activated Temporal Sense.
[MANA DECREASED: 100 → 0]
[TEMPORAL SENSE ACTIVATED]
[DURATION: 2 MINUTES]
[PRECOGNITIVE WINDOW: 1-60 SECONDS]
Time became fluid. Reality became negotiable. And suddenly, Viktor could see every move that was about to happen in the next two minutes of violence.
Geralt's first strike: diagonal slash targeting Nohorn, 3.7 seconds from now.
Vyr's counterattack: thrust toward Geralt's left side, 4.2 seconds from now.
Tizzy's throwing knife: aimed at Geralt's head, 5.1 seconds from now.
Renfri's intervention: steel on steel as princess meets Witcher, 8.3 seconds from now.
Viktor opened his eyes and stepped out of his hiding place, walking into the massacre that was about to begin.
He had two minutes to change everything.
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