This is the sequel to In a World of Stone. And while it will eventually follow a new female OC and ship, it's recommended to read the first series so you have a better understanding of what's happening, who's who and why.

Like IaWoS, it's rated M for language, adult situations, sexuality, and gore.


Part I:

In the cavernous hall of Kaer Morhen, Ciri was too late. The white wolf that had wandered into her presence was near its end. In an alarming series of shudders and death throes, the body rippled and seized, flexing and contracting with such severity, the flesh split spraying blood and the bones snapped apart.

In all her life, the witcheress had never seen anything like it. And she'd seen and endured a great deal.

Stepping back, full rapt by the unfolding horror, she considered bringing her sword down against its neck, but perverse curiosity prevented her from moving any closer. The large maw traced in finger-long fangs open wide and blew a horrible sound that rose the tiny hairs on her neck. It coughed, spitting up a pulp gore and body parts.

No, not just parts. A whole hand. A pale, human hand.

Then it moved, sending Ciri's stomach into a whirl of sickness. It flexed its slick fingers and palmed the dusty floor, seeking purchase as though to pull itself out. There was more than just a hand, but a wrist and a forearm stuck in the animal's throat. The wolf's eyes rolled and bulged from its sockets, chest heaving and shuddering and until, finally, with a pronounced squelch and series of wet cracks, the chest cavity split open and a human body fell out.

Ciri couldn't move, couldn't believe. She took another step back.

Coated in blood like a newborn, the woman groaned and coughed as she worked her new lungs to suck in the cold air. Steam drifted off her skin, mixing in the moldy smell of Kaer Morhen, adding iron and… peaches?

Ciri thought of something to say, something to alert the woman she wasn't alone and that Ciri had just watched her break out of a wolf's carcass. But there were no words suitable for such an occasion. Fortunately, it seemed to Ciri, as a bad case of lycanthropy. The worst part was over.

So she walked around until the woman could view her. Panting softly, the sound of Ciri's steps opened her eyes. Like the wolf's, hers did not match. Her hair, bone-white, if not for the gore she'd been born from, clumped around her head in a wet tangle. Her bare skin was tan, but not dark enough to be from Zerrakania. More like a woman who liked to bathe beneath the sun, leaving her with a warm, summer tone. Aside from her entry into Ciri's acquaintanceship, there was nothing else significant or worthy of noting.

"Can you hear me?" Ciri asked, maintaining her sword at the low ready.

The woman could barely keep her eyes open as if the gorey exodus took enough out of her.

"Can you speak?"

The woman closed her eyes, and with effort, rasped a horrible noise. Brows furrowed, she tried again and fell into a fit of coughing.


Ciri cleaned her up. Thanks to time spent with Yennefer, she knew a long hot bath with quality soaps and oils could lift even the most dismal of spirits. Afterward, the woman did look significantly better. Her was combed and braided neatly. She was dressed and now she sat quietly along the wooden table in the kitchen while a stew bubbled in the cauldron.

Unable to speak, perhaps due to her new body, the woman kept her head down for the most part. Whether because she was tired and couldn't stay awake, or she was in a lot of pain. For now, Ciri didn't plague her with questions as she cooked. The silence wasn't comfortable. It was strange and unwelcoming. Werewolves don't normally shift without a full moon. Not only was it a new moon night, but also, they don't shift like that.

Ciri concluded she couldn't have been a werewolf.

While her head was down, Ciri strode from the kitchen corner and headed for one of the many bookshelves teeming with illustrations and chronicles depicting monsters and their characteristics. The cauldron churned and bubbled, filling the air with a warm musky fragrant of boar, spices, and red potatoes.

However, nothing in the archives described to Ciri what she'd just witnessed. Perhaps no such tome existed. A hybrid of the sort? An uncharted, undiscovered entity? If the witcher's library didn't have it, who would?

She returned, drawing two earthenware bowls and spoons, going through the motions. Supplying black ale to cool their stomachs, Ciri and her singular guest quietly dug in.

The woman took two very careful bites before she stopped, pushing the bowl away. She rested her forehead back onto the table, wrapping her arms around her narrow midsection. Judging by the condition she first appeared in, it was likely she wasn't hungry, maybe even too tired to eat. Likely enough the wolf could have eaten something that wasn't sitting well in the stomach or worse, obtained a parasite. Whatever the cause, Ciri had all types of herbs, tonics, and remedies to clear the gut of any toxins and foreign bodies. But then the woman pressed a hand over her mouth and her shoulders twitched. Jumping up, Ciri grabbed a bucket and hurried just as the girl retched. Boar and potatoes was a heavy meal even for the hearty. What else could she feed her? Swapping the black ale out for apple juice, she offered small bites of bread, which appeared easier to keep down.


The next day, Ciri waited for her guest to wake. Sleeping soundly in the tower of Kaer Morhen, the better part of the day and evening went by. The sun dipped beyond the Blue Mountains, burning the peaks in liquid gold refracted off the swept snow. To keep herself busy, Ciri rummaged about, wetting her swords, playing with her daggers. Repaired her boots and hummed while she read. Still, there was nothing she could find about an aggressive line of lycanthropy. She didn't know where else to look.

At length, the woman awoke, padding quietly down the spiral stairs that led from the tower to the great hall. Ciri looked up from her riveting chapter and smiled when she entered the bottom floor.

"How are you feeling?" Ciri closed the book.

"Better," the woman croaked, then glanced about.

So the lass finally found her voice. A silence stretched between the women. They could have been sisters, or at the very least, cousins by the hair alone. While Ciri was pale, the stranger was not. That and their eyes were very different.

Not one to mill about the subject, Ciri dove right in. But where to begin?

"What's your name?" she asked, deciding on something simple.

For a moment, the woman thought about it as if she couldn't remember the last time someone asked her that. Her white brow furrowed, eyes searching the floor as if the answer could be hidden within the cracks or under a withered leaf.

"I… I don't know," she muttered, taking a seat opposite from Ciri before the fire. A bowl of fruit, fresh bread, and ale awaited them. Memory loss wasn't surprising. Those cursed by lycanthropy often couldn't recall their whereabouts amidst the change but rarely did they actually forget their names. An aggressive strain, no doubt.

"Very well," the witcheress smiled, "My name is Cirilla, but I prefer Ciri, for short."

"Nice to meet you, Ciri," the girl smiled faintly, but that too vanished as she fell into reflection. She looked up towards the ceiling where the shadows hovered beyond the candlelight, to the kitchen fire lapping and crackling, to her own hands and whispered, "I can't remember anything. I can't even remember how I got here…"

Their eyes met and within the summer-wheat and sky-blue stare, there was confusion and desperation peering behind weakening resolve; Ciri believed her.

"You can't remember nothing at all?" the witcherss queried gently. "You must have at least a last recollection."

"I think," the stranger touched her own face, threading her fingers into her long hair where she clutched it tightly. "That I've done something wrong, that I'm running from something or someone."

A relatable thing.

"You're safe here," Ciri leaned in, meeting eyes once more. She pulled away and slid the bowls of the food before them. "For now, let's fill our bellies and worry about it later."

They ate quietly and for a moment Ciri suspected a new norm approaching until her guest lurched in her seat and threw up everything within her.

Ciri was no expert, not by a long shot. She wasn't the best witcher either, nor would she ever claim to be. But she'd been in this predicament before. Fleeing from something or someone, hiding from the Wild Hunt while her cursed Elder Blood betrayed her every time she tapped into it. Though this girl wasn't suffering the exact scenario, she was running and she was hiding. It was all too familiar, plucking an empathic chord inside Ciri she couldn't ignore. Firstly, they needed a sorceress.

Ciri helped her clean up and used finding her clean new clothes as an excuse to visit the tower privately, which she fully intended to provide garb, but only after she fired up the megascope. If she were right, then this circumstance was beyond her scope of knowledge. Complicated magic was at work and since her time in the desert, the most of her magic was out of reach.

The image of Triss Merigold blurred before her and the distorted cheer filtered through the rippling fissure.

"Triss," Ciri began before the redhead's excitement distracted the purpose of her call. "I have a situation."

"Oh?" Triss took a seat and crossed her legs. "I'm all ears."

Ciri did her best to relay the circumstances. From the moment the woman arrived as animal, to her memory loss, to even her sickness. The cruel strain of lycanthropy subjected to her, sparing no gruesome detail.

"Strange," Triss mused. "How was she able to find Kaer Morhen if she's never been there?"

"Not sure, but she mentioned running from something or someone. I think it's whoever cursed her."

"Perhaps she's a fugitive and she's feigning ignorance to earn your trust and hospitality."

Ciri shrugged, "Could very well be, but she came empty-handed, without even a shirt on her back. I think if she wanted to harm me, she'd turn into a wolf. And like any other animal, it can die."

"Hmmm, I don't know. Last night was a new moon. Typically werewolves aren't capable of transforming with even a sliver of it present, much less completely missing from the sky. Find out what her most recent memory is, and go from there." Triss stood, gathering her fiery hair at the base of her neck. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

The distorted image of the sorceress rippled like a stone tossed into the depths before vanishing, leaving Ciri alone in the silence. It was always something, she thought. Coming to Kaer Morhen at this time of year was an effort to bring the academy back to life. All the schools across the continent no longer taught and therefore the guild was dying. Less and fewer witchers remained. There was Geralt, Ciri, Eskel, and Lambert. Several others, though, that weren't worth mentioning and certainly wouldn't agree to come here, to Kaedwen to serve any school other than the one they represented.

Ciri headed back down the great hall where she found her guest curled up before the fire, fast asleep along a cot she dragged from nearby. This situation was entirely bizarre. If her assumption was correct about the woman and her condition, perhaps she was running from a very dark circumstance. Had she been compromised? Maybe that explained the memory loss as a way for her body and mind to cope.

Fortunately, there wasn't a better place to lift a curse than Kaer Morhen.