— –Illyana Rasputin "Montclair"– —
The garden woke before she did.
It always did.
Illyana blinked up at the sky above her hammock, watching faint petals drift from the tree that never shed too many leaves and never grew any new ones. Ororo's tree. It stood exactly as it had yesterday… and the day before… and the year before.
Some mornings, she wondered if the world here had stopped moving the same day Ororo did.
'Another day.' The thought came without feeling, soft and flat.
A part of her whispered that she should be grateful. She was alive. The garden fed her, clothed her, sheltered her. She felt safe.
But safety had begun to feel like a cage. She wondered if it wasn't for Kate if she would have gone crazy by now.
She rose, stretching her arms overhead until her joints popped. She waited for the ache that should follow, the heaviness that came after nights spent practicing spells until her vision blurred. But the garden didn't allow exhaustion to linger. It healed, soothed, reset.
A new day. A clean slate.
Again.
She walked the familiar path between the stone lanterns, her feet leaving no imprint on the ground. She passed the koi pond, where the magical fish Ororo had created circled in the same lazy pattern she'd watched for months. One of them breached the surface with a plop, just like it always did at this exact moment.
Illyana crouched beside the water, watching her reflection ripple. Golden eyes stared back at her, the eyes Ororo had feared, the eyes Limbo had gifted her.
"Stop looking at me like that." Illyana whispered. Yet Darkchylde didn't answer.
And the next time she blinked, she saw her eyes had returned to her usual bright blue.
"I'm trying." She whispered to the water. "I am."
Her fingertips skimmed over the pond's surface. She felt the cold beneath the warmth, Limbo. Waiting for her. Yearning for her.
Yet there was more to her world than Limbo.
It was strange. Even now, almost a year after Ororo's death, Illyana swore she could still feel her. Not as a voice or a ghost, but as something gentler. A presence. Ororo lived in the roots under her feet, in the wind brushing against her cheek, in the clouds drifting overhead. She wrapped around her like warmth from a mother. Comforting in the same way Limbo guided Darkchylde.
It almost made her laugh. Not out of humor, but disbelief.
She really wasn't the child she used to be. Not anymore. A single questionable decision had become an avalanche. And all at once, she'd been forced to grow up. In pain. In isolation. In responsibility she never asked for. But the moment she'd felt the most alone… she'd also realized she wasn't.
Inside her chest, there were now two heartbeats.
One was hers, steady and familiar. The other… softer, but impossibly strong for how faint it felt. Alexander's soul, beating inside her like sunlight pressed between her ribs.
He really was her guardian angel. Her knight in shining armor. Even years after his death, she could still feel him. Not as a memory, not as a dream, but as something alive, something gentle and terrified and stubbornly protective. Practically reaching toward her even now, desperate to protect her, desperate to save her.
For a long time after she'd taken his soul into hers, she'd been drowning in feelings she didn't recognize at first. Emotions she thought she'd buried years ago rose like a tide, panic, grief, longing, a storm she hadn't been prepared for. His heart bleeding into hers, mixing with her own until she couldn't tell where he ended and she began.
Exhausted, remorseful, fearful.
She'd felt those pieces of him clearly, shadows that clung to the edges of his heartbeat. Illyana wondered if that had always been there. If that was truly how he'd felt when they were together: all that fear buried beneath the warmth of his smile. She wondered how he'd managed to keep that smile at all.
But in time, the storm quieted. As their souls healed together, she had learnt to differentiate between Alex's emotions and her own. Those feelings didn't vanish, they settled, softened, reshaping themselves into resolve. Into the quiet, burning determination and peace that had been guiding her ever since.
And it was through that peace that she kept herself motivated to continue learning, to continue improving.
She couldn't quite explain it, not fully, but after becoming one with Alex, her aptitude for magic had soared. For months after their union, she'd broken through barrier after barrier, shattering ceilings she once thought permanent. It was like a subtle intuition guiding her hands, like Alex was there, just over her shoulder, gently nudging her toward answers she wouldn't have thought to reach for on her own.
And with Limbo at her fingertips, and Ororo's garden embracing her like a second home, she'd felt unstoppable. She'd felt, finally, like she would become strong enough to destroy Belasco. Strong enough to escape. Strong enough to live.
But then, a month ago, everything changed.
She'd hit another wall. A harder one.
Limbo was Belasco's realm by right of conquest. Every vein of power in that dimension ran through him. And for six years, he'd given her free access to that magic, unrestricted, unmonitored. A twisted kindness. A leash disguised as freedom.
Now that leash pulled tight.
She could still feel Limbo calling out to her, almost yearning, but she couldn't reach it anymore. Not fully. Not clearly. Every attempt to commune with the realm met a kind of static, a muffled distortion she couldn't break through. Even Darkchylde, who had always been able to slip into Limbo's flow as naturally as breathing, found herself screaming into a void that refused to answer.
And with that static, Illyana reached the end of her magic.
Then there was her body. Her training. Her swordsmanship.
She'd pushed herself until her muscles trembled, until her bones ached, until she collapsed onto the garden floor more times than she cared to admit. But there were limits to flesh and bone, limits she could no longer trick herself into ignoring.
And when they hit those limits, Darkchylde had turned into a "pouty" mess. The kind that would've been comical if the situation weren't so devastating. She'd pushed Illyana through pain, through fatigue, through every inch of progress possible. But even she, the stronger, sharper, hungrier half, had recognized the truth neither of them wanted to accept.
They were still too weak. Too weak to kill Belasco. Too weak to escape Limbo. Too weak to survive the next time he came for her.
Illyana didn't blame Darkchylde for breaking under that truth. She understood it. Darkchylde was her, but more. Every emotion Illyana felt, Darkchylde felt tenfold. And unlike when she was a child, throwing tantrums, Illyana no longer indulged in emotional spirals. She simply… accepted the facts.
But for Darkchylde, that quiet acceptance must have felt like drowning.
So Illyana wandered the garden for almost an hour without any real direction. Killing time before she returned to her room to crack open another grimoire, to run another experiment, to search for another impossible solution.
Still, as she wandered, she felt Alex's soul stir again. And before she registered her own steps, she found herself standing in front of Ororo's tree again.
"What is it?" She asked aloud, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand."
Alex had guided her here time and time again, always here, always to the tree. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't understand him. She had even begun sleeping under it, hoping the answer would come to her in a dream, in a whisper, in anything.
But nothing came. Not clearly. She kept reaching, and the final step kept slipping through her fingers.
She'd tried countless spells. None of them answered whatever Alex was pushing her toward. She'd even attempted Ororo's spell, the one that birthed the garden, the one that made life bloom from her very soul.
But every acorn Illyana tried to create, every tiny sprout she willed into existence, simply exploded in her face. Sometimes violently. Sometimes like a candle snuffed out too soon.
Illyana was not meant to create life like Ororo had. She knew that. Limbo knew that. Even Darkchylde accepted it.
And yet… she found herself sitting beneath the tree anyway.
She let her knees fold beneath her and pressed her back lightly to the trunk. She inhaled deeply, letting her lungs fill with the garden's scent.
Then, slowly, she closed her eyes.
"Show me the way." She whispered.
Illyana's breath left her in a slow, steady exhale. She lowered her chin, letting her shoulders drop, letting her pulse sync with Alex's in the quiet dark beneath her sternum.
The air around her shuddered as silver fire bloomed beneath her, forming a pentagram that flickered like a living thing, casting soft, wavering light across her face.
"Guide my hand." Darkchylde echoed from somewhere deep within her mind as she reached out to Limbo itself, trying to reach the realm through the shackle Belasco had placed on them.
And then the world went dark. A deeper kind of darkness. Weightless. Boundaryless. She couldn't think. She couldn't feel it. She simply was.
She had done this countless times. Slipped into this void. Tried to shape something from nothing. Tried again and again to reach whatever she felt calling her.
But this time—
*Crack.*
The distinct sound of shattering glass cut through the nothingness like a blade. Her eyes snapped open. Bright blue irises glowed against the dark, catching the first sparks of something forming before her.
Energy swirled around her in spirals pulled from her soul. She could feel herself burning from the inside out as the spell took hold. She could feel her soul straining. But she didn't pull away. No. She pressed into it.
She extended her hand toward the forming mass of light, but Alex's soul stirred sharply inside her. Not a gentle pulse this time. Not a comforting warmth. A warning. A correction.
The shift hit her so suddenly she sucked in a breath. His heartbeat slammed against hers, urgent and insistent, as though he were grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her back from the wrong step.
And then—
*Crack.*
The sound tore through the void again, deafening, like glass fracturing right beside her ear. But this time she felt it. She felt the meaning behind it. The way Alex's soul pushed against hers, not guiding her toward creation…
…but away from it.
The half-formed energy in front of her twisted, convulsing violently, like it rejected the shape she was trying to will into it. Illyana flinched, her instinct screaming to stabilize it, to force it back into the pattern she'd memorized from Ororo.
But Alex wouldn't let her.
Another pulse. Harder. His soul pressed into hers with sudden clarity.
"A weapon?" Darkchylde whispered inside her, startled but immediately attentive.
Illyana didn't waste a second. Her instincts took over before the thought could fully form. The magic circle beneath her trembled, then flared as she reached down, mentally, magically, and began rewriting it.
Illyana carved new lines into the pentagram with raw will alone, dragging the silver fire into sharper shapes. Runes twisted, bending into angular, complex patterns. Circles became edges. Spirals straightened into blades. Sigils fused and snapped apart as she pushed the magic into a structure fit for war, not life.
"Darkchylde." Illyana muttered under her breath.
"I'm here." Her other half answered, already moving to control the unstable orb in front of them.
The tree behind them rustled, the branches creaking. The magic in the garden, Ororo's magic, pressed gently against Illyana's back, a quiet, wordless encouragement.
A mother's hand guiding her child.
She dragged another line of flame across the circle, forcing two runes to intersect. The ground shuddered beneath her. The silver pentagram pulsed once, like a heartbeat, before expanding, layering itself with new shapes.
"Adiuva me, mater." Darkchylde called out inside of her once more. At the invocation, the silver pentagram flared and turned a brilliant, blood-red crimson.
Two voices, one spell. Five wills, one creation.
This time, when Illyana reached into the orb of energy, her fingers didn't plunge into heat or resistance. They closed around something solid, a handle. Smooth. Familiar. The same feeling she'd known from years of practicing swordsmanship with Kate.
And then the orb began to shape itself.
At first, it slimmed into a long, elegant form, a rapier, maybe a saber, its blade shining a clean silver. A weapon fit for Illyana's precision, her speed, her discipline.
But not a weapon fit for the other half of her soul.
'No… this won't do.'
The thought alone was enough.
The slender blade thickened at once, expanding in her grasp. Its edges warped and bulged, swallowing its own shape until the weapon grew into a massive chunk of raw, burning energy. Larger than any sword or cleaver she'd ever seen.
If anything, it was now too big to be called a sword. Massive, thick, heavy, and far too rough. Or at least, it should have been, but in Illyana's hand, the weapon felt as light as a feather.
The magic circle beneath her roared to life. Crimson flames surged upward, racing along the weapon's length. They licked across the silver edge, staining it with a radiant golden hue. And as the sword in her hand finished consuming the flames, Illyana felt the static from Limbo all but vanish.
Yet, just as the weapon felt complete, the golden blade cracked.
Lines splintered across its surface like fractures running through glass. For a heartbeat, Illyana panicked, thinking the spell had failed, that she'd pushed too hard, reached too far. But the fractures didn't explode.
They glowed.
The cracks widened, releasing a brilliant golden radiance until the sword's surface turned nearly transparent. And, after a moment, the magic circle around her began to fade, leaving Illyana alone, under Ororo's tree, holding a massive sword.
No, not just a sword. A weapon tied into her very being. A soulsword.
— —Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon– —
The snow fell softly around them, settling over the courtyard in thin, cold layers. Ciri exhaled, watching her breath drift upward in a pale cloud before vanishing into the air.
Alex stood a few paces ahead of her with his eyes closed, shoulders relaxed, hands curled just slightly at his sides. He inhaled slowly, deliberately, focusing the way Avallac'h had once taught her to. And as he did, Ciri felt it again, the faint heat threading through her blood, rising beneath her skin.
His power.
She still wasn't used to it.
Avallac'h's portals never made her blood stir. The Wild Hunt's jumps through planes didn't either. Even unicorns, the "source" of her Elder Blood, never provoked this odd… reaction. Yet Alex did, every time. A pull, a warning, a ripple of instinct that made her tense before she could stop herself.
'Why him?' She wondered. 'Why only him?'
Perhaps Avallac'h would know the answer, but while Yennefer was making a lot of progress in curing him, he was still cursed. So she would have to wait.
Alex had described his power as glass shattering. Not just the sound, the sight of it too. Like the entire world was made of fragile crystal, and all he had to do was push and watch it crack. She didn't see any of that. When he teleported, he simply… vanished. One heartbeat he was there, the next he wasn't.
No warning. No flicker. No shimmer of magic.
Just absence.
'Hm…'
They really didn't have much time left, did they? Every second another grain of sand fell, and their time together drew to an end.
Yennefer had told Ciri she'd spoken to Alex, that she'd tried to convince him to stay, and strangely enough, Ciri had felt a slice of relief when she heard it. Relief she hadn't expected. But instead of slowing down, Alexander had only pushed himself harder.
Which, realistically, could only mean one thing.
A part of her wanted to ask him what he was planning. Press him, force it out of him. She'd never been shy about demanding answers before.
But this time… she held her tongue.
He spent his mornings with Vesimir, learning swordsmanship simply because Vesimir had refused to teach him alchemy otherwise. A flimsy excuse, really. Ciri knew that look in Vesimir's eyes, the old wolf missed teaching. The moment a new student appeared, he'd grabbed the chance with both hands.
Yet, somehow, Alex was improving. Quickly. Too quickly. A few days ago something inside him had shifted, something neither he nor Vesimir could make sense of, but both men pushed harder the moment they noticed. It almost looked like they were competing with each other now, matching stubbornness with stubbornness.
Then, in the afternoons, he worked with Ciri to control his power. And then spent the evenings buried away with his head in any and all books he could find. Trying to learn as much as he could as quickly as he could.
When he wasn't training, he'd… well, he'd try to "flirt" with her. Poorly. Earnestly. With that same focus he gave everything else.
She'd noticed him looking at her before, of course she had. But only after he'd told her he loved her, or what he thought was love, had he begun this awkward, genuine attempt at being… romantic. Whatever that meant for someone who had no idea what he was doing.
A part of her wished she had been within earshot of his conversation with Yen. Whatever Yennefer had said had clearly rattled him, straightened him out in some way. Whatever it was, it made him try harder. It made him look at her differently, not desperate, but honest. She wished she'd heard every word.
It was almost endearing, really. Watching someone so bright and so clueless try to win her heart with effort alone. It wasn't the first time she'd seen someone try, but Ciri had to admit that Alex was the first one to feel as genuine in his attempts. After all, Alex wasn't her first experience with love or relationships. No, she'd loved once. Really loved. And when that ended, it carved something out of her that had never grown back right.
She wasn't eager to hand someone the knife again.
And even if she was tempted, and she was, sometimes, more than she'd admit, she couldn't bring herself to fall for someone she was destined to lose. Someone who was already halfway out of this world, counting down the days until he vanished forever.
And anything she started now… she already knew how it would end. Hell, even if Alexander had chosen to stay, she would be the one to leave him behind once the time came for her to fulfill her destiny.
Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she should have shut him down. She'd been the one to initiate the first kiss. But he'd been the one who initiated the second.
And she hadn't pulled away either time.
That truth bothered her more than anything he'd done. More than his sudden bravery. More than his tenderness.
She hadn't wanted to pull back. Not then, not now.
Sometimes she wondered, foolishly, if things would have been different had they met at another time. A time without curses tightening around their throats, without demons chasing him, without the Wild Hunt chasing her, without the White Frost. A time where neither of them had to think about survival first and everything else second.
But that wasn't the world they lived in.
A crashing sound jolted her out of the thought, sharp enough to yank her back into the present. She turned just in time to see Alex tumbling through the snow, rolling twice before coming to a graceless stop on his back.
Of course.
She had to press her lips together to stop the laughter rising in her chest. She remembered all too well how often she'd done the exact same thing during her early lessons with Avallac'h. More than she'd ever admit.
"You alright?" Ciri called out, already walking toward him.
"Something like it." Alex muttered as he sat up, brushing snow out of his hair. "But hey, this time it only took me three minutes and twenty-four seconds to do it. That's a whole fifty seconds faster than last week."
"You rushed it." Ciri said simply, reaching out a hand. He took it without hesitation as she pulled him to his feet. "That's why you failed the landing. Rush again and you might end up on top of a tree next time."
However, rather than looking embarrassed, the smile on his face only grew even more.
"No, no, that wasn't how I cut off the time." Alex said, laughing under his breath. "I was trying out something new. I split the burden." He tapped his head. "Honestly, by the end of this, I fully expect Cyrus and the others to hate me. I'm sure I probably gave them depression with my time in Limbo. But I'm sure I can make it up to them."
"Who?"
"Me. Or… well, not me." He grimaced slightly. "The other versions of me. I've felt them before, and Dudu practically confirmed it. When he transformed into me, he didn't get my mind, he copied Alexander Cyrus Montclair's mind. I didn't know if I could access them yet, but the more time I spend training, the more I can feel them. They're all still somewhere in here."
He tapped his temple again, softer this time.
Ciri studied him for a moment, the way he spoke so casually about something that would've broken most people. The way he stood there with snow dusting his shoulders, grinning like an idiot, proud of shaving fifty seconds off a landing that nearly shattered his ribs.
She shouldn't find it endearing.
But she did.
Every instinct told her to keep her distance, to protect herself, to protect him, to remember how little time he had left.
And yet… watching him in this moment, passionately rambling about his other multiversal selves, smiling through exhaustion as if the cold couldn't touch him… she couldn't help the warmth that crept into her chest.
Maybe she was walking straight into another blade.
And maybe, this time, she wasn't stepping aside.
She was tired of flinching before anything even had the chance to strike her. Tired of constantly bracing for loss before she'd even had the chance to hold onto something good. Tired of letting the world snatch things away before she could enjoy them.
If time was limited… maybe that was exactly why she shouldn't waste it. And another thought tugged at her, quiet but stubborn; he could cross worlds, and so could she. Distance didn't have to be an ending, not for people like them.
But then again, who's to say when or if she would make it back from… no. She cut the thought off before it could twist itself into something foolish.
At this point she was just overthinking it, and that wasn't like her. She'd just follow her gut.
"Alright then." She said, stepping back and folding her arms. "Show me this new trick again. Slowly this time. I'd rather not see you embedded in a wall."
"As you command, Master Witcher." He answered playfully.
https://discord.gg/WTgN9J3YgK
~A/N~
I'm a yapper, so I'll keep it short this time. I have chap 23 mostly completed at this point, and if all goes according to plan I should be posting 23 - 25 in bulk. Chapter 25 should be the last chapter of "Volume 1."
Illyana gets a new and improved Soulsword from her comic counterpart, and Ciri gets to semi figure out her feelings as stuff draws closer to the end. Tbh the Ciri and Alex relationship is semi complicated, and I've kinda already talked about it in other comments, so unless asked I'll just leave it as is.
Comments and stuff are always appreciated, and I'll see ya all next time with what should hopefully be a three chap update.