Chapter 95: Confrontation

Rudra and Odimm continued drinking in silence.

By midnight, the tavern had emptied out entirely, leaving only the soft hum of dying embers in the hearth. Rudra finally set his mug down, looked across the table, and broke the quiet. "The place is empty. Aren’t you going to leave?"

Odimm offered a faint, lingering smile. "I was about to. But before I step into the night, let me ask you something."

"Sure," Rudra said, leaning back. "Fire away."

"Do you believe in fate?"

Rudra paused, the glass cold in his hand. "Not really."

Odimm chuckled softly, staring into the dark amber of his liquor. "I used to think the same way. But fate... what a cruel, twisted weaver it is. It loves to pull on thread after thread, watching its prey unravel, believing they are moving freely when they are merely dancing on a leash." He looked up, his eyes locking onto Rudra’s. "Don’t you think?"

Rudra’s brow furrowed. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing," Odimm replied, his tone smooth and detached. "Only that struggling against the current is a very exhausting way to drown."

"You speak as if you’ve tried it."

"Oh, I have," Odimm sighed, a shadow passing over his face. "And the river won."

Rudra frowned, genuinely puzzled. "That’s strange. Aren’t you some all-powerful god or devil? What could fate possibly do to someone like you?"

Odimm broke into a low, amused laugh. "I am no god, Rudra. Nor am I a devil. And even if I were, what is a titles when set against forces beyond comprehension? Power means little when the rules were written before you existed."

"Then what are you?" Rudra asked, his voice dropping.

Odimm leaned in closer, his smile sharpening into something quietly dangerous. "If I told you that, I’d have to ensure you never repeated it."

For a second, the air between them grew impossibly heavy. Then Rudra let out a sharp laugh.

Odimm joined in, his laughter echoing softly off the empty wooden beams.

Slowly, the laughter faded, dying out into the still night air. Neither moved. Across the small table, their eyes met, and the easy atmosphere dissolved into a silence far heavier than before.

Odimm set his untouched glass down and leaned back, his gaze sharpening into something uncomfortably sharp. "Every ripple finds a shore, my friend Shift the weight in one place, and the collapse simply happens somewhere else... somewhere farther down the road, where you least expect it."

Without another word, Odimm stood up. He adjusted his coat, giving Rudra a long, unreadable look before turning toward the door.

"Watch the roads tonight, my friend," Odimm said softly over his shoulder. "Some paths only appear when you’re looking back. And some debts are collected long after you think you’ve walked away."

Rudra sat alone in the quiet. He looked down at the last drop of liquor pooling at the bottom of his mug, Odimm’s words echoing in his mind. He raised the cup, downed the bit sting of alcohol in one gulp, and slammed the wooden mug onto the table.

He stood up, pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders, and stepped out into the night.

The icy midnight air bit at his skin the moment he crossed the threshold, clearing the residual haze of the liquor. As his boots hit the cobblestone street, the quiet chime of his System echoed in his mind.

"Where are we going?"

Rudra didn’t hesitate, a razor-thin smile cutting through the dark.

"To fuck with fate again."

The distorted air collapsed into silence, leaving only the rustle of the night wind behind.

___

Meanwhile, through the dark, winding alleys of Novigrad, Ciri moved with swift, silent footsteps, her hand resting near the hilt of her sword. Beside her, Dandelion hurried to keep pace, glancing nervously over his shoulder every few seconds.

"I still say it was a flawless plan on paper," Dandelion hissed, keeping his voice down. "A masterstroke of audacity! Who could have predicted that the guards would alter their patrol routes at the exact moment we set foot near the vault? It’s practically divine intervention!"

"It failed before we even crossed the threshold, Dandelion," Ciri snapped back, her eyes scanning the shadows ahead. "Your ’masterstroke’ got Dudu captured. Now he’s sitting in Whoreson Junior’s warehouse, and we’re walking right into the lion’s den to pull him out."

"A temporary setback!" Dandelion insisted, adjusting his doublet. "We adapt, we improvise, we rescue our shapeshifting friend, and then we write a glorious ballad about it. Simple!"

"Save the poetry for after we aren’t being hunted," she muttered, turning into a narrow, dimly lit alleyway.

Suddenly, Ciri pulled up short.

Dandelion, distracted by his own rambling, nearly plowed straight into her back. "What is it? Did Whoreson’s thugs find us—"

"Quiet," Ciri cut him off.

At the far end of the narrow street, bathed in the faint moonlight, a figure was leaning casually against the damp stone wall, arms crossed over his chest.

Ciri’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Rudra?" She took a step forward, her brow furrowing. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay at the tavern."

Rudra didn’t answer right away. He remained still, his dark gaze locked onto her, the quiet weight of his earlier conversation with Odimm still hanging around him like a shadow.

Dandelion blinked, looking back and forth between Ciri and the imposing figure in the alley. "Wait a minute... who is this? Ciri, you didn’t mention bringing muscle."

"He’s my companion," Ciri said quickly, not taking her eyes off Rudra. "We’ve been traveling together."

Dandelion’s mouth formed a sudden ’O’ of revelation, a smirk breaking across his face. "A traveling companion? Well, well... I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend all this time! And traveling alone together across Velen? Oh, Geralt is going to have absolute heart failure when he hears about this—"

Thwack!

Ciri’s hand flew out, smacking the back of Dandelion’s head hard enough to send his hat askew.

"Ow! Ciri!"

"He is not my boyfriend," she snapped, glaring at the poet before turning back to face Rudra, her tone sharpening. "Rudra, answer me. How did you even find us?"

"That’s not important right now," Rudra said, his voice low, carrying a heavy weight that immediately cut through the midnight quiet. "What’s important is that you can’t go save your friend Dudu."

Ciri froze. Her eyes widened, suspicion instantly flaring into open distrust. "How do you even know about Dudu?"

"Like I said, it doesn’t matter how I know," Rudra replied, taking a deliberate step out of the alley shadows. "You should be asking what happens if you walk through those warehouse doors."

"And what happens?" Ciri challenged, her stance visibly tensing.

"Either he," Rudra pointed a lazy finger toward Dandelion, "or your shapeshifting friend dies while you barely scrape out alive—or all of you end up butchered in that trap."

Dandelion let out an awkward, nervous laugh, adjusting his velvet coat. "My dear chap, I don’t know what kind of doom-and-gloom nonsense you’ve been chewing on tonight, but our plan is practically foolproof! A minor hiccup at worst—"

"Quiet, Dandelion," Ciri commanded, her gaze locked onto Rudra’s face, searching for any flicker of a lie or a joke.

There was none.

She let out a harsh, frustrated sigh. "Rudra, we don’t have time for a riddles-and-warning routine. Step aside."

"I won’t."

Ciri’s hand dropped to her sword hilt, the leather creaking under her grip. "Rudra, step aside. I don’t want to hurt you."

Rudra glanced at the bare inches between her fingers and the steel. A faint, dry smirk touched his lips. "I really hate stubborn girls."

Ciri opened her mouth to answer.

Rudra was gone.

There was no sound and no shift of weight. The air simply tore, and he stood inches from her face. Ciri gasped and threw herself backward, rolling across the cobblestones before she had decided to move. She came up in a low guard, chest heaving, teeth set.

She hadn’t seen it. Not a step, not a blur. She had fought beside witchers, and none of them moved like that.

This is the man who stayed behind me at the drowners.

"Ciri, I’m trying to help you." His voice had gone serious. "I made a mess of the threads back in Velen, and now the ripple is hitting here. Just listen to me."

"Dandelion, get behind something!" She drew her blade in one motion, the silver edge catching the moonlight and pointing at his chest. "I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not abandoning my friend!"

Her voice wasn’t as steady as she wanted. She had spent weeks telling this man to stay back and let her handle things, and she had held his hand through a swamp.

Rudra looked at the tip of her sword, sighed, and laughed under his breath.

So much for a quiet vacation.

"Last chance, Ciri." He raised two fingers toward the blade. "Put the sword away before I take it from you."

"Try it." Her weight shifted onto her back foot, Elder Blood humming under her skin.

He crossed the distance in a blink. Ciri swung, silver flashing through the dark, and the blade met empty air. Where he had stood, the air still rippled.

A hand closed around her wrist from behind.

She pulled. Nothing moved. She had cut down drowners one-handed, and her arm might as well have been bolted into a wall.

"You’re fast, Ciri," Rudra said beside her ear, calm and unhurried. "But you’re fighting a script that’s already been rewritten."

He tapped a spot on her forearm. Numbness rushed through her hand, her fingers uncurled, and the sword slipped free. Rudra caught it by the hilt before it touched the stones, twirled it once, and slid it into the scabbard on her back.

"Who are you?" She was breathing hard, and it wasn’t from the fight. "Give me one good reason I shouldn’t blink behind you and put a dagger through your ribs!"

"I’m just a normal guy. Remember?"

"That’s not funny."

"A little funny." Rudra kept his hands in his pockets. "Something I did in the bog is coming for you, and that warehouse is where it lands. My mess. I’d like to clean it up before you walk in."

Dandelion peeked out from behind the crates and raised one finger. "For the record, I find the terrifying magical man very persuasive."

"Shut up, Dandelion!"

Her hand drifted back to the hilt on her shoulder and stayed there. She didn’t draw it.

"You’re going to explain all of this," she said.

"Eventually."

"Rudra."

"Tomorrow. Over breakfast. I’m good at breakfast." He turned toward the street. "Come on. I was promised a vacation, and so far it’s been a swamp, three witches, and you."