CHAPTER 52: MAGODILIN

The world exploded into light.

For an instant, Stephan thought he had been struck blind, the tunnel’s choking darkness torn apart by a brilliance so raw it stabbed his eyes and seared into his skull. His boots skidded against rough stone as he stumbled into open air, the stale breath of the cavern replaced by a rush of crisp wind that carried scents of pine, damp earth, and the faint sting of frost.

Behind him, the shrieks of the Sanguivores echoed like dying thunder, trapped in the black throat of the tunnels. Ahead of him, a new world unfolded.

Stephan blinked once, twice. He found himself standing beside Grief, who held Anna Mary, with Yennefer at his side.

"It’s nothing like I imagined," Stephan said.

"Me too," Yennefer muttered. "This place looks like a fucking village."

"Where’s the great City of Magodilin that piece of shit was telling us about?" Stephan asked, frowning.

"My Lord," Grief said softly, his eyes scanning the misty horizon, "I think we are indeed in Magodilin."

The so-called city sprawled before them, hardly the towering citadel Stephan had expected. Low wooden houses, their thatched roofs overgrown with moss and grass, leaned together along crooked dirt paths. A thin stream wound like a silver thread through the settlement, cutting past pens of livestock and piles of hay. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, vanishing into the morning mist that clung to the forested hills around them.

It was quiet. Too quiet for a place that was supposed to be legendary.

"Why is it deserted?" Stephan muttered. "Where are the people... I mean, the gnomes?"

"They are here, my Lord," Grief said calmly. His gaze swept the empty paths, his tone unshaken. "I can sense them."

"What do you mean they’re here?" Stephan’s eyes flicked across the terrain, searching. The tilted rooftops, the haystacks, the mist rolling low across the ground, everything looked still, too still.

Then he caught it. A twitch of movement in the underbrush, just at the edge of the trees. Something small, crouched low, watching.

"What’s that?" Stephan asked, narrowing his eyes.

"What?" Yennefer’s head snapped in the same direction, though she didn’t see it at first.

"Look closer. On that tree," Stephan said, pointing.

A frown creased Yennefer’s face. "Is that... an ear?"

Sure enough, just behind the trunk, the rounded tip of a small ear peeked out, followed by the sliver of a shoulder, trembling as though trying, and failing, to stay hidden.

Then a bare leg stepped from the shadows. A whole body followed.

"Is that... a kid gnome?" Stephan said.

It was. A young gnome, smaller than Fizzwigg had ever been, barely taller than, thirty-one inches at most.

The gnome child inched forward, small fingers clutching at the fabric of its tunic. Its eyes, bright and round, stared up at them with a fragile mix of fear and wonder. The silence of the abandoned village seemed to fold around the child’s tiny breaths, every step echoing far too loudly on the dirt path. Stephan felt his own chest tighten. For all the talk of Magodilin, of its grandeur and hidden power, the first soul they met here was just a trembling child.

Stephan’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. "What the fuck is going on? Is this some kind of joke? A trap?"

The young gnome froze mid-step the instant he touched the blade.

"Put that away," Yennefer said sharply.

Stephan’s gaze snapped to her, hard and unflinching, daring her to say it again.

"If you don’t," she added with a sly smile, "we’ll never find out where the rest of the villagers are. Including Fizzwigg."

"There’s no need to look for them," Grief interrupted, her voice calm, almost too calm. "The gnomes are already here. Hiding in the bushes. Watching us. Pointing their bows and arrows right at us."

Silence fell. Stephan’s grip on his sword slackened just slightly as he and Yennefer exchanged a glance. Both turned back to the child, studying him with wary curiosity. The little gnome stared back with wide, baffled eyes, as if asking: What the fuck are you?

"So that kid..." Stephan muttered. "Is it bait?"

"Possibly," Grief said. "But unlikely. If they wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. I think this is a test. They’re trying to see if you’re worth trusting, or if you’ll draw blood the moment they let you into their village."

Stephan’s mouth twisted. "A whole damn gnome village hiding behind the trees, huh? Bet that piece of shit Fizzwigg isn’t with them."

"In that case..." Yennefer suddenly stepped forward.

Stephan’s hand shot out. "What the hell are you doing?"

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, lips curving in a calm smile. "Practicing diplomacy."

Stephan’s lips curled into a thin smile. "And how exactly are you going to pull that off, Yennefer? Going to give a speech to an entire army of gnomes with their arrows aimed at our throats?"

"We just need to show them we’re not the enemy," Yennefer said steadily. Her eyes flicked toward Anna Mary in Grief’s arms. "We’re here for her. To heal her. That’s all."

"And after that?" Stephan asked.

"After that," she said firmly, "we find Fizzwigg. He owes us. He promised."

Stephan exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half a growl. "Fine. But hear me now,if they refuse to listen, if they so much as twitch the wrong way, then I’ll see them as enemies. And I’ll kill them all..." His gaze shifted to the small gnome child peeking from behind the tree. "...except maybe that one."

Yennefer smiled faintly, unfazed. "We won’t get to that point."

She turned to them both. "First, we lower our weapons."

Stephan’s jaw tightened. "You can’t be serious."

"You’re fast," Yennefer said, her tone calm but pressing. "Faster than any arrow here. If things go wrong, you’ll have your blade back in hand before anyone blinks."

For a moment he weighed her words, then with a frustrated grunt, he laid Lucidas’s ossuary sword at his feet. His eyes never left the trees. A silent nod from him, and Grief followed suit, placing her own blade down.

"Good," Yennefer said, satisfied. She raised both hands high above her head, fingers spread. "Now, we show them we’re not here to fight."

Stephan arched a brow. "What are you, a cop now?" he muttered coolly, though he mirrored her gesture with lazy defiance.

Ignoring him, Yennefer took a slow, deliberate step forward. The forest seemed to tighten around them, the hush of bowstrings drawn taut, the rustle of unseen figures hidden in the brush. Each step was a gamble, a negotiation written in silence.

The young gnome froze as Yennefer approached, its wide eyes flicking between her and the weapons still glittering in the bushes. Leaves rustled, bowstrings groaned tighter. One wrong move and the arrows would fly.

Yennefer slowed her pace deliberately, lowering herself until she was at eye level with the child. Her palms were still raised, her voice calm.

"It’s alright," she said softly. "We didn’t come here to fight."

The child tilted its head, suspicious. Its small fingers curled nervously at its side, yet it didn’t retreat.

Yennefer glanced back at Anna Mary in Grief’s arms. "Our friend is hurt. We need help... your help."

Stephan muttered under his breath, "This is insane," but he didn’t move for his sword.

Then Yennefer did something that made every bowstring quiver with tension, she reached into her pouch slowly, carefully, and withdrew a small scrap of bread. Breaking it in half, she placed one piece on the ground between them, and offered the other half with an open hand.

The young gnome’s nose twitched. It hesitated, then inched forward, curiosity outweighing fear.

Hidden in the trees, the silhouettes of the other gnomes shifted uneasily. None of them loosed their arrows.

"It’s okay," Yennefer said softly, her smile warm and patient. "Go on..."

The young gnome hesitated, then reached out and took the bread from her hand. It turned the piece over as though studying a strange artifact. Yennefer took her own piece, bit into it, and chewed slowly. After a moment’s pause, the child mimicked her, nibbling at the bread.

That was when another figure stepped out of the trees, a woman, bow in hand. Her weapon was raised at first, then lowered cautiously as she approached.

"You... you’re not an elf, are you?" she asked, voice low and wary.

Yennefer shook her head.

The gnome’s eyes widened. "It can’t be... You’re human?"

"We are," Yennefer said simply.

The gnome drew closer, her steps careful but steady, until she stood only inches from Yennefer. Slowly, almost reverently, she reached out and touched Yennefer’s hand. Her fingers traced the unfamiliar texture of her skin, then wandered up to her face, lips, and hair, as though confirming she was real.

"This has to be some bullshit," Stephan muttered under his breath.

And then the forest shifted. One by one, figures emerged from the brush. First a handful. Then dozens. Then hundreds. Until the undergrowth seemed to burst open with life, men, women, and children, all stepping into the open. Nearly a thousand gnomes, their weapons lowered, their eyes shining with fear, curiosity, and awe.

Yennefer held her ground and lifted her voice, calm but strong. "My name is Yennefer. These are my companions, Stephan, Grief, and Anna Mary."

The crowd stirred with hushed whispers.

"We seek your aid," Yennefer continued. "Our friend is gravely injured. We were told someone here could heal her." She nodded toward Anna Mary, pale and silent in Grief’s arms. "Fizzwigg promised us. He said if we brought him home safely, he would help her."

The gnome woman blinked, her face caught between confusion and disbelief. "Fizzwigg?" she echoed. "Who... who is Fizzwigg?"