Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

You are absolutely right. My apologies. I am still struggling with maintaining context across longer passages. I am working on improving this. Here is the corrected and expanded version of the Castlevania sequence, picking up after Sodden Hill and not repeating earlier content:

Early 1264, Castlevania, Velen

Lytta Neyd had seen much in her life. She had walked the marble halls of Ban Ard, where young sorcerers were shaped into weapons for the highest bidder. She had stood in royal courts, weaving spells of influence behind silken smiles. She had fought in wars, watched men die, and understood the true weight of power.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for Castlevania.

She stood in the heart of the fortress, body aching from the battle at Sodden Hill, mind racing as she took in the sheer impossibility of the place. It was unlike any city she had ever known.

Towers of black stone stretched toward the sky, covered in shifting runes that pulsed like a living thing, a network of arcane veins throbbing with power. The castle itself moved—walls whispering, corridors shifting, as though obeying an unseen will, a living, breathing entity.

Magic filled the air, thick enough to taste. It pressed against her skin, seeped into her bones. Not Northern magic. Not Nilfgaardian. Something older. Something fundamental. Something… primal.

She had no idea where she was. And worse—she had no idea who had brought her here, or why.

A hum of energy passed through the ground beneath her boots. The very foundation of Castlevania shifted, as though sensing its new guests, studying them as they studied it. A subtle tremor, a whisper of power that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

"This place is… unnatural," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

A presence stirred beside her. Another survivor from Sodden Hill. A mage, like her. But not one she trusted. Fear and suspicion warred within her. Who were these people? What did they want?

The fortress was silent for only a moment before footsteps echoed across the stone, breaking the spell of the strange quiet.

Lytta turned sharply, her hand instinctively moving towards the hilt of the dagger concealed beneath her tunic.

A figure approached—tall, elegant, dressed in the uniform of a noble butler. At first glance, it seemed human. But its movements were too smooth, too precise, its expression too empty, too… perfect. A construct. A homunculus.

"Welcome to Castlevania," it said, voice polite, absent of warmth, like a pre-recorded greeting.

Lytta's gaze narrowed. "Where are we?"

"You are in the domain of our master," the homunculus replied. "He has given you sanctuary."

Her jaw tightened. "We didn't ask for sanctuary." Sanctuary implied weakness, and she was anything but weak.

"No," the homunculus agreed. "But you needed it." Its gaze, though seemingly empty, held a hint of something… knowing.

There was something unsettling about the way it spoke—something final, as if its words were not suggestions, but pronouncements.

Lytta folded her arms, trying to project an air of composure she didn't feel. "And your master?" she asked. "Does he not speak for himself?"

The homunculus did not so much as blink. "He will… when the time is right."

A pulse of magic rippled through the air, a subtle shift in the ambient energy of the fortress.

The construct stepped aside, revealing a doorway that had not been there before. It shimmered slightly, the edges blurring as if the very air was bending around it.

"Come," it said. "There is much to see."

Lytta hesitated. Every instinct screamed trap. But this fortress was alive, its presence watching, waiting. She could feel it pressing against her skin, whispering at the edge of her mind, probing her thoughts. Resistance felt… futile.

Refusal was an illusion. She sensed that.

She stepped forward, her senses on high alert, every muscle tense.

And followed.

Mid 1264, Castlevania, Velen

She had expected a prison. A dungeon, perhaps, or a magically sealed chamber.

Instead, she found a city.

As they walked, Castlevania revealed itself—not just as a fortress, but as something far greater. The homunculus led her through winding corridors, past silent, watchful homunculi engaged in various tasks, their movements eerily synchronized.

Stepping onto a high balcony, she looked down at the world hidden beyond the castle walls—and what she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

A city, thriving and untouched by war. Homes, markets, gardens, all nestled within a hidden valley, shielded from the ravages of the outside world. People moved freely, their robes flowing like liquid ink, a vibrant tapestry of life. And among them—Mages. Hundreds of them. Young and old. Learning. Training.

Children no older than ten conjured fire into their hands, their tutors watching with quiet patience, guiding their nascent abilities. Others wove enchantments into weapons, armor, books—magic freely practiced, openly embraced, a stark contrast to the fear and persecution mages faced in the outside world.

It was not like Ban Ard. It was not like Aretuza. There were no chains here. No kings to serve. Magic ruled itself.

Lytta ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly, trying to reconcile the image before her with the grim realities she knew. "Impossible," she whispered, the word laced with disbelief.

The thought barely had time to settle before a voice answered from behind, a voice that resonated with power, that held an ancient quality that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She turned.

And there he was. The one who had taken them. The one who had saved them from Sodden Hill.

He stood at the balcony's edge, robes dark as a starless sky, his presence wrong—a void in the fabric of reality, a point of absolute stillness in a world of constant change.

Before she could speak, he gestured forward, his hand moving with an almost unnatural grace.

"Come," he said. "There is something you must see."

Late 1264, Castlevania, Velen

Lytta had seen libraries before. The forbidden archives of Ban Ard, where knowledge was hoarded and controlled. The grand vaults of Nilfgaard, filled with tomes of conquest and power. The hidden repositories guarded by the Brotherhood, their secrets jealously protected.

But this? This was something else entirely.

The chamber stretched endlessly, an impossible space filled with bookshelves that seemed to climb into the very sky, disappearing into the shadows far above. The air hummed with enchantments, each book radiating magic so potent it made her breath hitch, a symphony of arcane energy.

She ran her fingers along a nearby spine, the leather pulsing beneath her fingertips, warm, alive, as if the book itself was breathing.

"This shouldn't exist," she muttered, awestruck.

"And yet it does," the man said, his voice echoing softly in the vast chamber.

Lytta turned as he walked toward a towering shelf, reaching for a single book. The moment his fingers touched it, golden runes ignited along its surface, whispering in a language she did not know, a language that vibrated with ancient power.

"The world has forgotten much," he said, gazing over the endless tomes before them, his eyes reflecting the light of the runes. "Magic is older than kingdoms, older than empires. It is older than humans themselves. And yet, your Brotherhood, your kings, would rather see it controlled. Or worse—destroyed. They fear what they do not understand."

Lytta said nothing. Because she had seen it. Mages hunted. Burned. Silenced for no reason other than fear, their gifts twisted and corrupted by those who sought to control them.

"This place," he continued, his voice resonating with conviction, "is where knowledge will be preserved. Where magic will be reborn. Where it will be free."

He turned to her then, his gaze intense, searching. "Stay. Learn. See what the world could be. A world where magic thrives, not cowers."

Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint hum of magic emanating from the books.

Then, slowly, a smirk curled at the corner of Lytta's lips. She was no fool. She knew a proposition when she heard one.

"And if I refuse?" she asked, her voice challenging, testing him.

His expression did not change. He simply met her gaze, his eyes holding an ancient wisdom, an unshakeable resolve.

"Then you will leave," he said simply. "And return to a world that will never accept you. A world that will eventually destroy itself."

Lytta's heart pounded. She knew he was right. The world outside these walls was teetering on the brink of chaos, consumed by war and fear. And she, a mage, would always be an outsider, hunted and persecuted.

Because, deep down—she knew he was right. And that terrified her more than anything else. The freedom he offered was intoxicating, but it came with a price. The price of leaving behind everything she knew, everything she had fought for. The price of trusting a man she barely knew, a man who radiated power and mystery, a man who had plucked her from death itself. It was a gamble, a dangerous one. But what choice did she have? Return to a world that hated her, a world where her kind was hunted and persecuted? A world that was tearing itself apart?

She looked around the vast library, at the endless shelves filled with forgotten knowledge, at the palpable magic that permeated the very air. This place was a sanctuary, a refuge from the storm raging outside. But it was also a mystery, a puzzle she felt compelled to solve.

"What… what do you want from me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She needed to understand his motives, to see the angles, to find the hidden agenda. There was always a price.

He turned back to her, his expression still unreadable. "I want you to learn," he said. "To grow. To become more than what you are. The world needs magic, Lytta Neyd. It needs those who can wield it responsibly, those who can understand its true potential. Your Brotherhood… they have squandered their gifts. They have become tools of kings, puppets in their petty games. They fear what they don't understand, and they seek to control what they cannot contain."

"And you… you understand it?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow. "You claim to know the true potential of magic?"

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. "I have glimpsed it," he replied. "I have seen what magic can be, what it should be. And I will not allow it to be extinguished."

He paused, his gaze meeting hers, holding her captive in its intensity. "The world is changing, Lytta. A storm is coming, a darkness that will engulf everything. And when it arrives… magic will be the only thing that can save it. Or destroy it."

His words hung heavy in the air, laden with prophecy and warning. Lytta felt a shiver run down her spine. She had sensed the coming darkness herself, the growing tensions, the whispers of war. But his words painted a far more ominous picture, a vision of apocalyptic proportions.

"And you believe I can help?" she asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "That I can make a difference?"

He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent another shiver down her spine. "You have the potential," he said. "But potential is nothing without guidance. Without knowledge. Without… purpose."

He gestured to the library, the endless rows of books stretching into the distance. "Everything you need is here, Lytta. All the answers you seek. All the power you could ever imagine."

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his aura of power radiating outwards. "Stay," he whispered, his voice a silken promise. "Learn. And become something… more."

Lytta's mind raced. She was being offered a choice, a chance to escape the world she knew, to embrace a new destiny. But it was a choice shrouded in mystery, a path shrouded in shadow. She didn't trust him. She didn't trust this place. But the alternative… the alternative was to return to a world that was already dying.

She looked at him, at the intensity in his eyes, at the power that radiated from him like a living flame. She looked at the library, at the endless possibilities contained within its walls.

And then, she made her decision.

"I… I'll stay," she said, her voice barely audible. "But I make no promises."

He nodded, his smile widening slightly. "Promises are for fools," he said. "Actions are what matter."

He turned and walked away, his dark robes swirling around him like shadows.

"There is much to learn," he called back over his shoulder. "And very little time."

Lytta watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest. She had made her choice. She had stepped into the unknown. And she had a feeling that her life would never be the same again.