Chapter 123: Temeria's Remnants
POV: Adam
The Temerian camp broke something in me.
Not physically—the journey from Redania's opulence to Temeria's devastation took only days. But the contrast shattered illusions I hadn't known I was carrying.
Thousands of people lived in conditions that would have been condemned as inhuman in any stable kingdom. Tents patched with whatever fabric could be scavenged. Children whose ribs showed through skin stretched too thin. Men and women who'd been farmers, merchants, craftspeople—now reduced to refugees surviving on charity and stubbornness.
"Nilfgaard's conquest did this." Commander Natalis walked beside us through the camp's main thoroughfare. "When Temeria fell, the lucky ones fled. The unlucky ones..." He didn't finish.
"How many?"
"Here? Eight thousand, give or take. Other camps across the north hold more. Total displaced—perhaps a hundred thousand. Those who survived, anyway."
Through our bond, I felt Ciri's anguish—memories of Cintra's fall bleeding into present observation. These weren't just Temerian refugees. They were her people, different kingdom but same tragedy. The destruction her existence had indirectly caused, even if she hadn't chosen it.
"This isn't your fault," I sent through our connection.
"Everything is someone's fault. And everyone who suffers pays for someone else's choices."
—Scene Break—
POV: Ciri
A child approached them near the camp's medical tents—a girl perhaps seven years old, carrying a wooden sword carved with obvious love from some refugee father's desperate attempt at normalcy.
"Are you the Princess?" The girl's voice carried innocence that shouldn't have survived what she'd clearly endured. "The one who makes doors appear?"
"I'm Ciri. I can make doors sometimes, yes."
"Can you make a door to where my parents went?" No accusation in the question, just hope. "The soldiers said they went somewhere safe. But they never came back."
The words hit harder than any attack she'd faced. Ciri knelt, bringing herself to the child's level, and found her voice failing.
"I... I can't bring people back from where they've gone. I'm sorry."
"Oh." Disappointment flickered briefly, then the resilience that children somehow maintained. "That's okay. Maybe they'll find their own door back."
She ran off before Ciri could respond, rejoining other orphans playing with makeshift toys in dust that was all they had left of homeland.
"Eight hundred of our soldiers volunteered for Hunt defense." Natalis had watched the exchange silently. "Veterans who survived Nilfgaard's conquest, experienced fighters who know what real war costs. They fight not for glory or politics—they fight because this camp might be the last refuge on the continent. Hunt wins, there's nowhere left to run."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
I healed until I couldn't stand.
The medical tents held hundreds of people with injuries and illnesses that proper care could have addressed—if proper care existed here. Instead, they suffered with whatever battlefield medicine could provide, dying from wounds that clean bandages and basic treatment would have cured.
Water answered my call, flowing into bodies that needed restoration. Infections cleared. Broken bones aligned and knit. Malnutrition's worst effects stabilized enough for survival.
[ Healing Session: Mass Treatment ]
[ Patients Treated: 147 ]
[ MP: 1040/1040 → 200/1040 ]
[ Status: Severe Exhaustion ]
"You should stop." Ciri's concern radiated through our bond. "You're depleting yourself completely."
"There are more people who need help."
"And there's a war in four weeks that needs you alive." Her hand found my arm, steadying me when my legs threatened to give out. "You can't save everyone, Adam. Not today, not ever."
"But I can save these ones. Right now. While they're in front of me."
"And if you collapse? If the Hunt attacks tomorrow and you're too drained to fight?"
The argument was sound. The logic was impeccable. And I couldn't make myself stop while suffering continued within reach of my abilities.
"One more hour. Then I'll rest."
Ciri's frustration mixed with understanding through our bond. She knew the impulse—had felt it herself during the Lodge confrontation, the drive to help regardless of personal cost. Power created responsibility, and responsibility demanded action even when action hurt.
She joined me instead of arguing further, her Elder Blood stabilizing patients whose conditions exceeded my healing capabilities. Together, we worked through the afternoon—two young people with extraordinary abilities choosing to serve rather than preserve themselves.
—Scene Break—
POV: Lambert
The witcher stood guard while they worked, grumbling about sentiment and impracticality.
But his eyes told different stories. The children he watched while Adam and Ciri healed their parents. The elderly woman who'd thanked him specifically for "protecting the healers." The soldier who'd pressed a carved wooden token into his hands—worthless materially, invaluable as gratitude made physical.
"Stupid kids." His mutter carried no conviction. "Wearing themselves out for strangers when war's coming."
"They're doing what witchers were supposed to do." Geralt had joined him at the perimeter. "Before we became mercenaries and monster hunters. We were meant to protect people."
"That's mythology. We've always been weapons."
"Weapons that care about who they're pointed at. That's the difference between us and the Hunt." Geralt watched Adam collapse against a tent pole, Ciri catching him before he fell. "They drain everything for themselves. He drains everything for others."
"And which approach survives longer?"
"Surviving isn't the only metric that matters."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
The camp elder found us at sunset.
An old woman whose face mapped decades of hardship, she approached with a walking staff that had clearly seen better days—like everything else in this place.
"Most powerful people take." Her voice carried weight that age couldn't diminish. "Lords take taxes. Kings take soldiers. Empires take everything. But you..." She gestured toward the medical tents, where patients now rested in stability rather than suffering. "You give. Without demanding return. Without political calculation."
"It's just healing. Anyone would—"
"Anyone wouldn't. Anyone doesn't." She pressed something into my palm—a small stone, worn smooth by years of handling, carved with symbols I didn't recognize. "My grandmother's blessing stone. Worthless by any measure that matters to kings. But it carries generations of gratitude now. Yours, for what you did here."
[ ITEM RECEIVED: Blessing Stone ]
[ Type: Symbolic (no combat value) ]
[ Significance: Represents gratitude of Temerian refugees ]
[ Temerian Relations: 80/100 - Beloved Protectors ]
[ XP Gained: 300 (Service, Character Development) ]
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
The Mentalist: New Detective /Suits: The Win Rate System / The Walking Dead: Shelter Sys
Love [ In The Witcher With Avatar Powers ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ In The Witcher With Avatar Powers ] with exclusive access to 70+ min chapters ( 5 chapters every week ) on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!