Somewhere outside of Velen….
Ciri came to a firm stance before stepping past the sodden edges of Crookback Bog. There was a definitive, however alternating, perimeter of solid ground and marshy peat that separated the bog from the rest of desolated Velen. A time before, Ciri had accidentally come here and though most of the threats were disposed of, one still remained. However, today was not an accident. She was waiting for someone.
The days leading up she'd spent a number of long nights and early morning devising a plan to infiltrate the bog and rid the world of its last Crone. She never voiced her intentions, but when it came to Geralt, he had a way of reading her better than anyone else.
There would be only one reason he would return there without her.
Luckily, she didn't have to wait long to find out.
Straight ahead, sloshing through the muck and mire, was Geralt. Behind him, lead by her reins was his black mare, Roach. Ciri's own horse was grazing nearby. A noxious gas enveloped the expansive bog, and she wished to avoid it at all cost, for Kelpie's sake. The White Wolf and his mount didn't seem to mind.
"I could have done it myself." Her voice carried loudly over the mucky mounds of dead vegetations, wild grass, and dense foliage. A startled flock of pheasants burst out of hiding amidst underbrush nearby as she spoke. It was morning, and the sun was peeking over the horizon now, changing the morning dew into amber jewels and brightening the grey fog into a golden shroud. She crossed her arms stiffly and glowered as the witcher drew near.
"I know," Geralt sighed. "That's what I was trying to keep from happening."
The closer he got, the less Ciri was able to hold her ire. Geralt's presence had a way around her frustration and discontent, being fully capable of disarming her most emotive episodes. He was a sense of home and safety, no matter where they were. Perhaps because she'd known him since she was a child.
Stern and unwavering, Geralt had forged Ciri from a runaway princess into a deadly woman and then talented witcher. With an equally powerful sorceress and deadly witcher at her sides, Ciri was well-versed in combative magic and swordsmanship, cultivating the formidable witcheress she was now.
By the time Geralt stood before Ciri, her scowl had melted away leaving her bright green eyes round with curiosity. She was too piqued to see what he held in his hand, but she had an idea.
Again, he didn't keep her waiting.
The White Wolf opened his hand, palm up; along it rested a medallion, Uncle Vesemir's wolf bauble. His Destiny, his Ciri, beamed brightly, utterly rivaling the morning shine with her smile before taking it carefully into her grasp. He helped her fastening it around her neck.
"It appeared the Crone didn't want to part with it," he stated. "Imagine that?"
They shared a smile before Ciri threw herself into his arms, embracing him.
"Thank you," she breathed into his collar. With Vesemir's medallion around her neck and Geralt in her arms, her heart was full. "This means so much to me."
It was still very early when they headed to the nearest town for breakfast. Ciri predicted to herself the village would still be tucked in their beds when they arrived. They rode quietly, listening to the clop of their horse's gait, the insects chur, and birdsong. Their pommels glittered against the refracted dawn while they rode west with the sun warming their backs.
"What's our plans for today?" Ciri asked, leaning forward to pat Kelpie against her inky mane.
Geralt always liked it when she included him in her plans. The faint tug at the corner of his lips attested to that.
"I thought we could check the notice boards," he said, "Go from there."
She nodded, pleased that he was willing to partake in some swordplay and witcher-work as a pair.
As Ciri suspected, they ate breakfast in a sleepy tavern, played several rounds of Gwent and, after Geralt's third time losing, decided to pay for their victuals and peruse the notice board.
"There's a spirit plaguing some woods nearby. Could be worth looking into." Geralt pulled the parchment off the board with a jerk. "Sounds easy enough."
It sounded too easy.
Ciri yawned, crossed her arms and cocked her hip out, murmuring, "Follow the crows, destroy the totems, wait for the leshen to show."
She'd heard it all and wanted something different. Where were the rarer monsters? The Hymns, Djinns, and Dragons? Ones she'd never seen before? Perhaps something with cunning tactics and clever strategery was out there, waiting for her to find it.
"Any coin is good coin," he responded, scanning the document for the name of the one who scribed it.
She rolled her shoulders and looked off into the maturing dawn tiresomely. "Is it too soon to take a nap?"
"A nap?" he snorted. "Since when are you a napper?"
"Since right now," she grumbled, feeling the fatigue weigh down her eyelids and tighten her neck.
The town was awfully dull, and she imagined the meandering about, no-sense-of-urgency exuded was the reason she was so tired. Not only that, Geralt had snuck off sometime during the night before, prompting her to track him down until she realized his heading-toward Crookback Bog. She had yet to sleep since and considering Geralt rarely did himself only pushed her to keep up. But now it was taking a toll, especially after all the boiled oats she scarfed down and chased with apple juice. A full belly and an absent mind on top of a lack of sleep. Indeed, a nap sounded divine.
"Fine, I'll take care of it then." Geralt said, spying the subtle bruises beneath her green eyes. "You look like you need some rest."
Ciri found a nice shady grove and settled at the foot of a large oak. Someone had carved the initials ' R & L' in the bark some time ago. The edges were now smooth and through the scarred markings, green moss gathered. She plopped down in a cozy space between two gnarled roots, draped her cloak across to protect her from the filtered sun gleaming through the treetops, and stretched out. The sunshine bleeding through the canopy danced across the forest floor with the breeze. The birds sang. A finch twittered and churred furiously, darting at a stoic crow too close to her nest. Her eyes drooped as she listened to nature's quiet lullaby.
This is nice, she thought with a faint smile. The epitome of perfect.
Her and Geralt, traveling as a pair. Though Witchers typically worked alone and she had every intention to head out on the Path by herself, one mention to Geralt that she might prefer some company was all it took. He was tired of being alone and certainly didn't mind spending more time with her.
Her smile grew. The patterns of sunlight danced along her legs crossed comfortably at the ankles. Head pillowed by her arm, while the other draped across her midsection, she hummed a tune.
After the Wild Hunt had been stopped and Eredin slain, hardly a challenging adventure had presented itself. She hated to think the pinnacle of her Path as a witcher was during her most trying times; fleeing, evading, and fearing. It wasn't until after the defeat of the White Frost did she truly feel she'd become a witcher.
In short, she was craving a new campaign; one with more challenge, more danger. Something different and profound with fire and explosions, antiheroes, and magic she'd never seen before.
The small finch dove and pecked at the blackbird who couldn't be more bothered.
Which one am I? she thought. The finch or the crow?
Was she content to sit idle and wait for the danger to come? Or was she Cirilla, the White Wolf's daughter, who went out and sought her own adventure, no matter the risks?
Everyone knew that answer.
A hazardous idea quietly took seed, growing like a stubborn weed the longer she thought about. Spurred with spontaneity, Ciri sat up wide awake.
I can go anywhere, she thought. I won't take long. Just to stretch my legs and see something new.
Before reason set in and deterred her, Ciri closed her eyes and focused. The darkness crept in, coddling her like a lover before swallowing her senses in velvet-soft blackness. For a moment, she just remained there in the pressing silence. A time before, such luxury would have been a fatal mistake. Every time she used her powers, the Wild Hunt knew her location.
Now, she could afford such a respite. They were dead. All of them and she was now free to do what she wanted.
In the quiet abyss of time travel, there was a flicker. Ciri saw it at the corner of her eye immediately. Initially, she was startled. Was the Hunt back for her? No. This was different. Just a glint of light in the featureless pitch; a pinpoint of red in a sea of black.
Impossible , she stared at the black spot where the flickering star was. This was the first time she'd seen anything in the abyss.
It flashed again.
She raced after it.