He had been conditioned, whenever attacked, to retaliate. Witchers faced the deadliest foes that the darkest abysses of the world had to offer, so to do anything else was to embrace death. This was the reflex he now had to fight against.

No armor. No swords. No fight. He was truly out of his element.

Kozin ran. He had never felt this fear before—the one spawned from knowing that everyone around him could and would kill him if his feet moved even a fraction slower. As soon as Theila was gone, he barreled through the crowd. He felt bodies hit and bounce off of him. Men with quick enough sense got out of his way, but they didn't avoid him for long.

Kozin was only just fast enough to outpace them, having picked up enough speed by the time he burst out of the hall. He could hear them behind him—hounds frenzied by the smell of prey. Undevar had beseeched him to see the humanity in them, but it was hard not to attribute such animalistic behavior to animals.

He had to get out of the halls, off the orthodox path. If he remained he would be run down. Something caught Kozin's eye and he stopped, hopping a few steps to erode his momentum down. Outside of the large, curved window was another a sizable distance away. The gap between them was made for the wide pathway below.

He was sure the other side of the keep was far less populated. And the bend that connected the two was still further up the hall. It was as unorthodox a route as he was going to get. He grabbed either side of the open window. As soon as his boot touched the sill, he kicked himself off. Gravity pulled him down, veering him away from the other window.

Kozin reached forward. His fingers felt stone and he squeezed until they hurt. His body crashed into the wall, smearing the creeping ferns into green stains across the stone. He ground the treads of his boots into the wall. Crushed fern made the stone slippery with pulp. His feet slipped, and Kozin gritted his teeth as he struggled to not lose his grip on the ledge. Finally, he found traction and pulled himself up through the window. As he did, he felt something hit him in the back—something like a sharp punch.

Kozin stumbled away from the window and reached back. He felt the hilt of a dagger jutting from his jerkin. What the hell? The cut flesh burned. Kozin cursed the steady arm of whoever had thrown the knife.

Brashly, he pulled the dagger out. His hand reached for the vial of swallow that was no longer there. Damn, he needed to get back to the training ground where his gear was!

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Kozin hurried down the hall. The wound bled freely and burned, but pain was a fickle thing to a Bear.

The layout of the keep was foreign to him. Kozin didn't know how to get to the training yard. All he was sure of was that it was on the west side of the keep. The sun had been setting in the horizon when he and Cayessa were on that wall.

Kozin turned the corner and found that he had come to the end of a wing—a dead end. Cursing sharply under his breath, he whirled around and saw that his little posse had caught up to him. Or so he thought. Startled, he raised the blade that was wet with his own blood.

The man quickly raised his hands, palms outward to show that they were empty. He was alone, Kozin realized.

"I'm not here to fight you, witcher," the man explained quickly.

"Then what the fuck are you coming up behind me for?" Kozin hissed.

"I-I just wanted to talk."

"I've got a fucking mob after me! Got no time to stop and chat!"

"It's not all of us," the man blurted out. "Not all of us. Some wouldn't be alive and well today if not for witchers. I would've lost my wife and bairn had one of your kin not helped me."

"It was enough of you to kill my grandmaster," Kozin spat.

"I know, but… but people need witchers, even if they spit at the thought of admitting it. Your people, they'll… return to the isles some day, aye?"

Kozin regarded the man with stony eyes. "If they do," he said slowly, "I won't be among them."

"That's fair," came the quiet response. Then, the man pointed down the wing. "Least I can do is help you escape. Behind that tapestry—there's a tunnel. Takes you underground but comes up just behind the wall."

"I need to go to the training yard," Kozin said. "West side."

"You can reach it once you emerge from the tunnels," the man replied. As Kozin turned, he heard him say, "I'm sorry, witcher."

Without turning, Kozin replied, "Not all of you."


Even with favorable winds, it took him two days to sail back to Verden. Kozin missed his mark when he hit the shores of the Continent and had to hike 20 miles along the coast before he finally found the witcher encampment. He was greeted by shredded trees torn up by the roots, cracked boulders, and earth so ripped that rich orange clay had been upturned. It was as though the mother of all storms had raged in the area.

Kozin saw a small figure racing towards him. As it neared, he spied the flailing tongue and bulbous eye of a familiar, ugly creature. When Aegis reached him, she practically jumped up onto him, her paws digging dangerously near his groin. Then she kicked off of him, scurrying in excited circles.

Her other half appeared soon after. "Fuck me!" Andryk cried out as he came jogging up to the two. "Felt like I was holdin' me breath fer the longest time, waitin' fer ye te get back!"

"What happened here?"

"Mate, what happened here? Only the radgest fuckin' hen fight I'd ever seen!"

"Hen fight?" Kozin paused. "Cay and Theila?"

"Aye, who else? After Theila showed up with…" Andryk's voice faltered for a split second, before continuing, "with the grandmaster, that sorceress o'yers flew right up demandin' why ye hadn't come along. As soon as she heard ye'd been left behind at the keep, she dead lost her mind. Screamin' and cryin' in equal measure. Called Theila a murderer and said she'd gone and killed ye too. Then the radge lass tried te open a portal te get back te ye, but Theila shut it down." Andryk looked around at the mangled earth.

"That's when it went from messy te a right fuckin' mess. Cayessa turned te Theila—could've sworn the lass was fixin' te shoot fire from her eyes. She said, 'just because yer witcher's dead, doesn't mean I'll let mine join him.' Ko, I tell ye—in that moment Theila's emotions rippled through the air and we all felt it. Then, chaos. Ground started writhin' and churnin' like somethin' buried deep underneath was tryin' te claw its way out. I've never seen two mages squarin' a go full out like that, much less get caught in the crossfire. And I fuckin' hope I never do again."

Kozin looked past Andryk's shoulder. "What about the camp? Was anyone hurt?" he demanded.

"Nothin' too bad, no." Then, Andryk grumbled, "Though yer wench threw a fireball and it clipped me little lass."

"Addie," Kozin snapped. "Cay and Theila. What about them?"

"Well…" Andryk stopped and caught Kozin by the shoulder before they could get any closer to the camp. "It wasn't a fair fight, see, with one bein' the master and the other bein' the pupil. And yer lass isn't built fer violence, so—."

"Addie," Kozin cut in, his voice grating slowly through his teeth. "What happened?"

"Everyone's fine," Andryk prefaced quickly. "Nothing inflicted that time won't heal. But during the fight, Theila managed te land a solid blow on her. Knocked her out cold. And then, out o'nowhere, Os comes chargin' up. Theila lashed out at him too, but mate, I think she wasn't recognizin' anyone at that moment. Would've gotten Os real bad if he hadn't thrown up his Quen—and ye know how that fucker is with his Signs. He deflected her spell and tackled her onte the ground. Shouted fer rope."

The red-haired witcher's eyes bored holes into the ground. "We got rope. Didn't feel right—not after everything that's happened. But Os, he—I don't know, Ko. He said he saw somethin' in her, and if he hadn't done what he did, Cayessa would've… I don't know."

Kozin tried to swallow, but his throat felt dry. He passed Andryk.

The camp was deathly quiet. Oslan was sitting on the edge and rose when he spotted Kozin. "She's fine," the blond witcher said. "I have her lying down, but she's going to be perfectly fine."

"Theila," Kozin pushed.

This time, Oslan paused. He hooked his thumbs into his belt and jerked his head towards the other side of the camp. "If you're going to get near her, be careful."

Kozin couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was Theila they were talking about, not some rabid striga. "You can't treat her like she's some sort of feral animal. That's only going to make her worse."

"I think we're already at 'worse,'" Oslan countered. "You weren't here when it happened Kozin. If you saw what we all saw, you'd be treating her the same way too."

Suddenly, Kozin grabbed Oslan by the collar. "Os," he growled. "Don't fucking act like you know better. You had the luxury of being there when she died. You got to lay her down on that pyre while she looked like she was just asleep. Theila went back to the island and the only thing she found of him was his head."

"So that excuses what she did?" Oslan asked. "What she did to Cayessa?"

Kozin scowled. "I want to talk to her."

"Don't be an idiot, Ko. That gag is staying on her."

"And what about Cay? Is she awake?"

Oslan gestured towards a nearby tent. "Not when last I checked, but you go. It'll do her good to see you. She's been doing nothing but fretting over you."

Cayessa wasn't asleep. Her eyes fluttered open when he pulled the tent flap aside. With the light outside casting a shadow over his front, she didn't recognize him at first. Then, when the interior of the tent fell dark again, Cayessa pushed herself up. "Kozin!"

"Not too fast," Kozin warned as he knelt down next to the bedroll. Cayessa ignored him and threw her arms around him to squeeze him tightly.

"I thought I lost you!" She looked up at him. "I thought I was going to… I can't believe she just left you to die."

"That's not what happened," Kozin said. "And even if it was, that doesn't mean you should've said that to her."

"I was scared!" Cayessa said. Her voice had climbed a few notes higher—it usually did whenever she grew defensive. "And worried about you! Why are you even taking her side?"

"Because Theila's lost everything in a matter of days." Kozin saw that Cayessa was about to make another remark and quickly cut her off. "Not just the grandmaster. Everyone she's ever loved is either dead or has turned on her."

"I didn't turn on her! She attacked me!"

"She was upset and lost control, just like you did. Except you're not the one gagged and tied to a tree like some prisoner."

"She…?" Horror crossed Cayessa's face. Kozin saw guilt hiding under the glimmer of her eyes. "Oslan told me she left."

"He told you that so you'd lie still," Kozin grumbled. "Because even though he was trying to protect everyone, he knew it'd make you sick."

"Why? Did he think she was going to kill me?"

Kozin didn't answer. Cayessa tried to get up, but the witcher held her down with an arm. "She won't want to see you."

"But I can't leave her tied up out there like that!" Cayessa stressed. "She must feel so ostracized… so alone. Just think of what that's doing to her mind! And…" The sorceress fidgeted and stared at the ground. "And I have to tell her that I… didn't mean what I said."

Kozin stood. "I'll tell her."

"She won't believe you," Cayessa said, drawing up her knees and cradling her head between her hands. "She'll just think you're lying to make her feel better."

"What makes you think she'll believe you either?"

Only silence met his question. Kozin stepped out of the tent. Once again, the haunting silence fell around him. Before heading towards the end of the camp, Kozin looked around as though he were about to do something illicit. Then he began walking. Soft steps padded after him. Aegis trotted to his side.

Kozin first spotted the cords of rope wrapped around the circumference of the tree. Above them, two arms were pulled back across the bark by the wrist. Kozin walked around the tree and saw her shadow staining the ground.

Aegis suddenly stopped, giving the tree a wide berth. A soft whimper rumbled deep in her throat.

Kozin saw her darkened eyes dart to the dog. Then they came up to his. They were the eyes of a stranger, yet Kozin saw that they still belonged to her. She tore her gaze away and refused to look at him as he crouched down next to her.

The loss of his guild seemed almost negligible compared to all the shit that had followed. The pain was only numbed by more pain. It seemed that Undevar wasn't the only one who had gone. "Theila," Kozin said quietly. "None of this is your fault." He refused to accept that he had lost both of his parents. Kozin wanted her back. He didn't want to be the stronger out of the two anymore.

Kozin reached forward and pulled her gag down. It almost felt like pulling the string from a witcher bomb.

He expected something to happen but nothing did. A terse energy tightened the air. It was coming from Aegis, whose short fur had risen around her scruff.

Even then, she wouldn't look at him. Her head was turned away, lowered so that her hair shrouded her face in heavy curtains. A low growl came from Aegis. Kozin glared over to her and was about to shush the noisy animal when a faint voice spoke.

"You're wrong." Kozin looked down and saw that Theila had turned her head. Shaded eyes bore into him through the slits in her hair. "I did this to him. He wouldn't have been grandmaster if it wasn't for me."

"Wh—." A flash of light suddenly blinded him. When it dimmed and his eyes readjusted, there was nothing but slackened ropes. A shout came from the camp. Aegis barked and raced back. Kozin rose and followed the dog, wondering why he wasn't feeling as guilty as he should have at her escape.

Back at the camp, Aegis was pacing nervously around the feet of her master. Andryk glared at Kozin. "She took the grandmaster's body and zapped off! What have ye done?" he demanded.

"What everyone here was too much of a coward to do," Kozin spat back, walking past Andryk without slowing. He came to the beach. The pale shore also bore scars of the battle that waged just a day prior. Kozin wondered just how large a scale the clash had been. He wasn't ignorant of the power sorceresses yielded, but he still found it hard to believe Cayessa and Theila were the ones who had ripped through the earth like paper.

And with every intent to hurt the other, as well. It was a side of them Kozin wish he hadn't seen. But it was something impossible to turn away from, especially when his very surroundings served as testament.

Kozin found a boulder that didn't belong on the shore, but it had been thrown so forcefully that half of it was buried in the sand. He sat on its scored top and took out his pipe. He reached into his pouch and took out a pinch of crumpled leaves.

Again, it was quiet. Kozin had expected much more of an uproar among the witchers. Then again, maybe they understood.

He was burning through his second chamber when footsteps crunched across the sand towards him. Someone sat next to him. After a short lull, Oslan spoke.

"I thought about what you said."

Kozin blew out a stream of smoke.

"Tried putting myself in her shoes. It's already been years, but it still hurts. You know, when… I thought I was okay, and that it was my witcher mutations keeping me from feeling what I should've. But then it hit me, and it was like a tidal wave." There was a pause. "How long have we known the grandmaster? Only a few decades?"

"Can't even compare."

Oslan leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. His eyes, like Kozin's, were focused on the sea—towards some far off point. "I've started sympathizing with the rocks out in the water," he said. "Enduring battering after battering. When did the world start getting so fucked, Ko? I mean really fucked?"

"It's always been like this, Os. Somewhere along the way, we just got too old to be sheltered from it anymore."

"Aye, I guess you're right," the blond witcher muttered. "I just never thought we'd lose them like this. Or at all. Wish we could go back to when…" He trailed off, leaving both witchers to reminisce of simpler days when losing their lives to monsters was all they had to worry about.

Kozin reached down. His pouch was empty. It was time to go.

He went straight for Cayessa's tent and threw the flap aside. Inside, Kozin asked the sorceress to portal him back to the Bear keep. "Alone," he told her.

As Kozin stood at the entrance of the roaring vortex, Cayessa said, "Tell her I'm sorry."

"I will if she listens." Kozin stepped into the portal.

A strong sense of déjà vu overcame him as he looked up at the dead face of the keep. His last visit to the island had been for the very same reason. But back then he had been filled with uncertainty. It wasn't with him this time.

He walked through the remains of his home and came to the only room that held light. The garlands of vines crowning the edges of the open ceiling seemed to preserve Freya's chamber from the hollowness that consumed the rest of the keep.

He was lying on the altar before her. The stone semblance of Freya stood over him, slightly bent as though the goddess was silently watching over him. Undevar no longer looked like a corpse, and instead seemed like a man who could've awoken from deep sleep at any moment. He had been restored, whole again. The rot of death that once clung to him was cleansed. A gentle, tender magic had touched him.

She wasn't there. Kozin turned away, picking up soft noises from somewhere higher in the keep. He followed his ears, still unsure of whether to make his presence known or not. Part of him trusted her as he had always done, but the other part knew that she had been frayed thin.

The sounds came from Roffe's laboratory. Kozin stopped just beyond the doorway, listening. He heard the soft whirring of a machine powering up—the megascope. There was a click as the whirring grew smoother. Then came a creak of leather as someone took a seat in Roffe's chair.

Kozin dared to step behind the threshold, leaving the shadows just enough to see through.

The megascope was relaying a form within its parameters. Kozin knew it was a pre-recorded projection because of the man who stood inside the instrument. It was the same man who had stood by his side at the top of Sansira's Spire.

But although they shared the same face, this witcher was entirely different. His blue-gray form stood there as if waiting. His posture was boyish, tinged with a hint of sheepishness. The awkward pause stretched on for a bit longer, and then a woman's voice said, "It's running."

The witcher glanced towards a direction, looking into an invisible person's eyes, and replied, "Is it?"

"It's been running."

"Ah… aye, I see," the witcher said hastily. He then looked forward and shifted on his feet. "Ah… well." He cleared his throat.

The crystal the message was projecting from must've been incredibly old. Even Roffe's state-of-the-art megascope was having trouble reading off of it. The image continued to flicker, at times disappearing entirely and then quickly reappearing. The voice would continue smoothly, and the brief moments when the man disappeared it was as though a ghost was speaking.

"Erm…"

"The crystal only has about two minutes of recording capacity on it," the woman suddenly said. "If you want to say something, say it."

"Aye… W-well… This is radge!" he suddenly said, glancing back over in that direction. "It don't feel normal talking to nothing."

"You're not talking to nothing. You're talking to her."

He fell silent, taking a few seconds to ponder. Then, he began, "Well… okay. Theila." His voice had gained a low, almost intimate rumble at the mention of her name. "I… er, hope your research has been successful. Fruitful. 'Course it'll be. You're a smart lass—." The witcher quickly gave his head a little shake and pulled himself back from the tangent. "Thing is, I know your field work will keep you over Yule, so I just wanted to send you something to… uh…" His voice suddenly became bashfully quiet. "To, I guess, remember me by." He straightened up and regained his voice. "So work hard, aye? I know you will. I'll be right here when you get back. See you next year… I love you." His final words came out clumsily, but there was sincerity within them.

Then he disappeared. The large leather chair, its back facing towards the door, didn't move. Finally, Kozin decided to break the silence.

"Didn't know he had that much of an accent back then."

The chair shifted but didn't turn. "He ended up spending a lot of time on the Continent," came the soft response.

"So I can look forward to that, then?"

"Maybe," Theila sighed, finally swiveling around to face him. "What are you doing here, Kozin?"

"Came to see if you were okay."

"I thought you'd be more concerned about Cayessa."

"Her wounds are smaller."

Theila closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips against her temple. "I can't believe I lost it like that. What a stupid, stupid thing to do." Kozin took a step into the room. "I'm fine."

"You've been through a lot."

"I'm not made of glass."

"Metal breaks too."

Theila's eyes flew open. "I'm fine!" she suddenly snapped, rising. Kozin immediately was on edge. "Enough trying to console me! I'm not some spoiled brat like Cayessa! I don't get upset at the slightest inconvenience!" She drew in a deep, tense breath and fell heavily against the seat. "Not again," she groaned.

"Theila—."

"Just go, Kozin. If you came for him, take him. Just leave me alone."

"I didn't come here for him."

Theila leaned back and turned herself towards the megascope. "Aside from your grandmaster, there's nothing left here."

Kozin gripped the back of the chair and swiveled it back. "Theila," he said. "It's time to talk."

The sorceress regarded him wearily. "Talk?"

"Aye. Tell me about the man in the megascope."

Theila stared at the empty space where his grayed out form had stood. "Once," she said slowly, "he told me he thought it poor to keep secrets from you. I haven't been doing right by him. At least I can do this." The sorceress stood and walked out of the laboratory. Kozin followed her.

The sounds of their steps followed them as they head back down to ground level. Kozin glanced at a slightly ajar door as they passed. Beyond it, he caught a glimpse of the communal sleeping quarters where the youngest of the witcher novitiates had roomed. Fleeting memories raced through his head of the nights when the three of them had been boys in that very room—huddled together at the foot of a bed, trying to avoid the sharp ears of the masters as they played dice until the early hours of morning. The walls, which had once been adorned by their treasured monster heads, were now bare.

Kozin looked back at Theila and quickened his steps to catch up with her. She led him to the grand hall. Half of the benches were missing—they now were the splinters and debris piled around the keep's entrance. Theila found one near the center of the hall and lifted her legs one after the other to sit down. Kozin settled himself across from her.

For a while, it looked as though the sorceress was fighting a silent battle with herself. She was still trying to pick her words carefully, trying to convey Undevar in the best light possible. But Kozin didn't want to hear propaganda.

"Understand, Kozin, how difficult it is to defy the standards you are raised on. To break away from the foundations you were built atop requires the ultimate courage. It took Undevar a long time to find that courage." Theila looked down, fiddling with her thin chain bracelet. "I believe I can be confident in saying that you've met many personalities during your travels. No one better can see the facets of humanity than those who have taken a step back—outsiders. Witchers. Then you know, Kozin, that sometimes people are just born foul, no matter how much guidance they are given thereafter."

Kozin nodded.

"And then there was him. He belonged on the opposite side of the spectrum—a man born pure, locked into an environment that was hell-bent on seeping foulness into his every nook and cranny. At first, he was too young to recognize right from wrong. Children are only followers. But as he became older, he began to question. Silently, of course. On the outside, he had to show no weakness… or, at least Valdre's definition of weakness.

"Try to put yourself in his mind, Kozin. His guild had defined him, structured his very identity. Yet there was some incessant, heretical voice within him that doubted. By the time I met him, he was a very conflicted, albeit determined, man."

Gently, Theila shook her head. "My words do him no justice," she said. "There is so much more than just anecdotes can convey. Let me show you, Kozin. Let me show you who Undevar was."


I remember the prison I built for myself

You and I can tear it all down

And let the past begin to melt

I remember eternity

And the love that light has shown

I will fight for destiny

Because you and I will never be

Alone

"I Remember"—Les Friction