Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

1272, Avalon - A City of Echoes (Margarita & Triss POV)

Margarita's POV:

The portal shimmered, a swirling vortex of emerald and gold, then snapped shut, leaving the newly arrived mages blinking in the soft, ethereal light of Avalon. They stood in a spacious chamber, its walls crafted from a pearlescent stone that seemed to absorb and reflect the ambient glow, giving the space an otherworldly feel. The air hummed with a subtle energy, a palpable magic that was both invigorating and unsettling.

Margarita Laux-Antille, still slightly dazed from the journey, took a tentative step forward. The floor beneath her feet felt strangely smooth and warm, almost as if it were alive. She exchanged a bewildered glance with Sheala de Tancarville, who leaned heavily on a nearby pillar, her face still pale despite the healing magic that had been administered upon their arrival. The journey through the portal had been taxing for her, even with her injuries partially mended. Margarita's gaze, however, was calculating. She saw the awe in the eyes of the other mages, their naive wonder at this apparent paradise. She, however, was not fooled. "Only the strong survive," was a truth she held dear, and this… this opulence felt like a trap, albeit a beautifully crafted one. But traps, she knew, could be turned to one's advantage.

"Where… where are we?" a young mage named Elara whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

"Avalon," a calm voice replied.

They turned to see a woman approaching them. She was dressed in simple, elegant robes, her expression serene and welcoming. "Welcome," she said, her voice gentle. "I am Anya. Solomon has asked me to… assist you."

Anya led them from the chamber into a vast, breathtaking city. It was unlike anything they had ever seen. Buildings of shimmering white stone rose towards the sky, their architecture defying conventional design, seeming to blend seamlessly with the surrounding landscape. Waterfalls cascaded down terraced gardens, their spray misting the air with a refreshing coolness. The streets were clean and spacious, bustling with activity, yet there was an underlying sense of peace, an absence of the fear and tension that had permeated Novigrad.

"This… this is Avalon?" Margarita breathed, her voice filled with disbelief. And what does it cost? she thought, her mind already calculating the price of this apparent paradise.

Anya smiled. "Indeed. A sanctuary. A place where magic is not feared, but… understood."

The mages were led through the city, their initial apprehension slowly giving way to awe. They saw mages openly practicing their craft, their spells weaving intricate patterns of light and energy. They saw non-humans walking freely among humans, interacting without prejudice. It was a world where the rigid social structures and oppressive laws of the outside world seemed to have no place.

Sheala, despite her pain, couldn't help but marvel at the sight. "It's… incredible," she murmured, her eyes wide with wonder.

"It's also… strategic," Margarita replied, her gaze sweeping over the bustling streets. "A demonstration of power. A recruitment tool." Sheala gave her a look, but Margarita simply shrugged. She had seen enough of the world to know that kindness rarely came without an ulterior motive. But Solomon's power… that was undeniable. And power, Margarita understood, was the ultimate currency.

They weren't the only ones who felt this way. Several of the other mages whispered amongst themselves, expressing similar concerns. They had escaped one prison only to find themselves in another, albeit a far more luxurious one. They were free, yet they were also… contained. Margarita, however, felt a different kind of calculation taking root. If Solomon valued strength, then she would demonstrate hers. If he sought loyalty, she would be unwavering.

Anya led them to a grand hall, where a feast had been prepared. Tables laden with food and drink stretched across the vast space, and musicians played enchanting melodies on instruments they had never seen before. The atmosphere was festive, yet there was an undercurrent of anticipation.

As they ate, the mages discussed their situation. They were grateful to Solomon for saving them, but they were also realistic. They knew that he had his own agenda, and they were now part of it.

"What does he want from us?" Elara asked, her voice filled with anxiety.

"Loyalty," Margarita stated bluntly. "And service. He wants soldiers. He wants influence. He wants… a power base." And in that power base, Margarita saw her own potential for advancement.

Their understanding was confirmed when Solomon appeared. He stood at the head of the hall, his presence commanding attention. He raised his hand, and the music faded, the chatter of the crowd dying down.

"Welcome, my guests," he said, his voice resonating through the hall. "I trust you find your… new surroundings… agreeable."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled mages. "You are safe here," he continued. "You are protected. But know this: your freedom comes with a purpose. I have saved you from Menge, and I offer you a chance to be part of something… greater. I have plans, grand plans, that will shape the future of this world. And I invite you to join me in achieving them."

He smiled, a chillingly polite expression. "Consider this… a new beginning. A new purpose. You are no longer just mages. You are now… part of my vision."

The mages exchanged glances, but this time, there was less unease, more… acceptance. They had seen Solomon's power firsthand. They had witnessed his influence. They understood that serving him was not just a matter of survival, but also an opportunity to rise, to become part of something significant. Margarita felt a thrill of anticipation. She would serve Solomon. She would rise.

Triss's POV:

The journey through the portal had been disorienting, a jarring shift from the damp chill of Deireadh to the vibrant, almost overwhelming energy of Avalon. Sheala had stumbled as they emerged, her face etched with pain. Triss had immediately channeled what little magic she had left to ease her friend's suffering, but it was clear that the injuries Sheala had sustained at the hands of Menge's torturers were deep and required more than a quick mend.

Anya, a woman with kind eyes and a soothing presence, had greeted them and led them through the city. Triss, despite her weariness, couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of Avalon. It was a city of magic, a place where sorcerers were not persecuted but celebrated. It was everything she had dreamed of, everything she had fought for. Yet, a sense of… practicality lingered. This was not a dream, it was a reality, and realities, Triss knew, came with complexities.

Sheala leaned heavily on her, her breathing shallow. "I… I don't understand," she whispered, her voice strained. "How… how is this possible?"

"Solomon," Triss replied, her voice low. "He's… powerful."

Sheala nodded, her gaze sweeping over the magnificent architecture, the mages practicing their craft without fear. "He saved us," she murmured. "And… he's offering us a future."

Triss considered this. She had met with Solomon before the attack on Deireadh, a clandestine meeting in the sewers of Novigrad. He had offered them sanctuary, protection, and a chance to rebuild, in exchange for… her loyalty. She had hesitated, but the lives of the mages at Deireadh had been at stake, and she had made her choice. Now, seeing the faces of the freed mages, their initial apprehension giving way to something akin to hope, she felt a sense of… responsibility. She had brought them here, and she would ensure they had a future. A future under Solomon's banner, perhaps, but a future nonetheless.

Anya led them to a grand hall, where a feast had been laid out. The music was enchanting, the food exquisite, but Triss couldn't shake the feeling that they were being observed, that their potential was being assessed.

Sheala, despite her pain, insisted on attending the feast. She was a proud woman, and she didn't want to show any weakness. But Triss could see the strain in her eyes, the way she winced with every movement. Sheala needed proper healing, and soon. That was something she would discuss with Solomon.

When Solomon appeared, the atmosphere in the hall shifted. His presence was commanding, his gaze piercing. He welcomed them, his voice smooth and reassuring, and this time, Triss sensed not just steel, but also… opportunity. He had saved them, and he was offering them a place in his vision. A vision that, while shrouded in mystery, clearly held immense power.

As Solomon spoke of grand plans and a new purpose, Triss exchanged a look with Sheala. They were free from Menge, and they were now aligned with Solomon, a man whose motives were as enigmatic as his power. Sheala, leaning heavily on Triss, whispered, "He's building something, isn't he?"

Triss nodded. "And we're going to be a part of it." It wasn't a question. It was a statement, a quiet acceptance of their new reality. She glanced at Sheala, who was trying to hide her discomfort, her face pale and drawn. "We need to talk to Solomon," Triss murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Sheala needed proper healing, and that was something Triss would not compromise on.

The feast continued, the music swirling around them, the laughter of the other mages a strange counterpoint to the unease in Triss's heart. Sheala, despite her pain, was trying to engage with the others, her usual fiery spirit flickering through the haze of exhaustion. Triss admired her resilience, but she also knew that Sheala was pushing herself too hard.

Finally, as the feast began to wind down, Triss approached Anya, who was overseeing the clearing of the tables. "Anya," she said quietly, "I need to speak with Solomon. It's… urgent."

Anya nodded. "Of course, Triss. He is in his study. I will take you there."

Anya led her through a maze of corridors, the walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of magic and power. The architecture was breathtaking, a testament to the skill and artistry of Avalon's builders. But Triss's mind was on Sheala, on the injuries she had sustained, on the debt she owed Solomon.

They reached a heavy oak door, intricately carved with symbols that pulsed with a faint, inner light. Anya knocked softly, then opened the door, gesturing for Triss to enter.

Solomon's study was a large, circular room, dominated by a massive window that offered a panoramic view of the city. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls. A large, ornate desk sat in the center of the room, cluttered with papers and strange devices. Solomon stood by the window, his back to her, gazing out at the city.

"Solomon?" Triss said softly.

He turned, his expression unreadable. "Triss. What can I do for you?"

"Sheala," Triss said, her voice firm. "She needs proper healing. The magic that was administered upon our arrival… it helped, but it wasn't enough. Her injuries are… extensive."

Solomon nodded. "I am aware of Sheala's condition. She is a valuable asset. Her… well-being is important to me."

He gestured towards a door at the far end of the room. "There is a healing chamber beyond that door. Anya will take her there. She will receive the best care Avalon has to offer."

Triss felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"Don't thank me yet, Triss," Solomon replied, his gaze piercing. "Our agreement… it still stands. You have a role to play in my plans. And I expect you to fulfill it."

Triss nodded. "I understand."

"Good," Solomon said. "Now, tell me… what have you learned?"

Triss hesitated. She had made a bargain with Solomon, a bargain that required her to betray those she had once considered her sisters. It was a difficult choice, a choice that weighed heavily on her conscience. But she had made it, and she would honor it. The lives of the mages at Deireadh had depended on it, and now, Sheala's health, and their future in Avalon, depended on it.

"I have… information," she said, her voice low. "Information about the Lodge."

Solomon's eyes gleamed with interest. "Tell me," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

And as Triss began to speak, the fate of the Lodge, and perhaps the fate of the world, hung in the balance.