The keep's halls were quiet as Ciri slowly walked through them.

It was the first moment of free time she had gotten since they arrived three days ago. She finished scrubbing the kitchen floor just before lunch and got done training with Geralt not more then 10 minutes ago. Jaskier went back upstairs with her and walked toward the bathroom with a sort of jig in his step, mentioning something about taking a "long, long, bath."

Ciri had tossed her cloak on the chair in her room and was currently walking near the great hall. She wanted to explore the many rooms that were hidden behind the bare, dark doors lining the hallways. Even more, she wanted to wander through the keep and discover just how big it was. But she didn't want Lambert to find her somewhere she shouldn't be again - she knew he wouldn't let her live it down if he did. Nor did she want to tumble through another weak spot in the ancient-looking floor.

She decided the library was her safest bet. The warm glow from the fireplace that flickered over the rows of worn books and scrolls was a welcome break from the keep's cracked walls and floors that were adorned only with dusty pelts and cobwebs.

The room reminded her a bit of Cintra when she had first stepped inside of it. She wasn't sure why exactly. Maybe it was because the mossy green chair next to the hearth looked like the one Grandfather used to read bedtime stories to her in. Or maybe it was the way the wooden shelves groaned each time the wind howled against the keep, like the ones in Grandmother's study did during winter storms.

Ciri approached one of the shelves and carefully ran her hand over the bindings of several books. Many were simply a stack of pages held together by strands of string, while others were protected by thick leather covers that had shrunk a bit with age. Some books stood out against the wall of tan and brown. A green one near the ceiling had silver flowers painted along its spine and a red one not far from her hand was adorned with bronze letters she couldn't quite make out.

Her eyes stopped roaming when they fell on a dark, tattered book in the middle of the bookcase. It wasn't especially striking, other than its clear age. The dark leather had tears in its binding and the faint silver text was simple, if a bit small. She perched on the tips of her toes to reach it, with her hand just barely reaching the book. She pulled it forward with her fingers before gently grabbing it.

The book wasn't as thick as some of the other texts stored on the shelves. Ciri's tutors had made her read much larger books as part of her studies, with most of them being as dull as the tutors themselves. She turned it over so she could see the cover. Reading the title, it was already clear that it was more interesting than anything she read during her studies.

The Greatest Wolf Witchers and their Deeds

Ciri pulled open book and began to slowly turn through its pages. It didn't have any drawings and most chapters seemed to have been added by different hands. Some paragraphs were neat and easy to read, while others were scrawled in letters that were too close together, too small, or incredibly crooked.

That didn't matter to Ciri. She poured over the pages and drank in their stories no matter how hard it was to make out the slightly faded letters.

The first chapter described a harrowing tale of Szymon of Angren, who saved an entire town from a hoard of bruxas with only a silver knife. Another chapter detailed how one witcher, known simply as Eryk, brought down a dragon who had snatched at least a dozen children from the Redanian countryside - the only time a witcher had ever killed one of the prized, rare beasts.

Ciri slowly sunk down onto the ground with her back against the bookcase as she read about the witchers. Some stories took up at least a half dozen pages with riveting tales about slaying giant monsters, dangerous beasts, and, on the rare occasion, druids who used their magic to make monsters do their bidding. Other stories, especially the ones toward the end of the book, had just enough detail for them to even be considered stories. A chunk of pages at the back were empty, seemingly waiting for more tales to be told.

Ciri was halfway through an account of how Zenon of Moulderwood cut down a massive werewolf and its pack during a full moon when she saw a shadow fall over her and block out most of the light from the fireplace. She looked up and quickly stood when she found Vesemir standing in front of her.

How were witchers always this quiet?

Ciri shut the book and stayed silent as the old witcher stared down at her. She never felt like she quite knew what to say to him. It wasn't that she was scared of him, per say. Just nervous that he might change his mind about allowing her to stay, even if Geralt had assured her he wouldn't. Ciri didn't want to give him a reason to kick her out either way.

"Done with your chores?" he asked.

Ciri nodded. "Not long ago."

"So you spend your spare time reading in the library?" he asked with a raised brow. She took a deep breath, pushing down some of the nerves starting to edge into her chest, but he kept talking before she could try to form a response. "Wish I could have gotten those three to do the same when they were your age. They were either knocking each other onto their arses or hunting for the largest elk in the forest. Never found it," he sighed. "You're reading that?"

Ciri looked down at the book in her hands before turning her gaze back toward him. "It caught my attention on the shelf. The stories are riveting."

"Haven't picked that up in years. One of the first Wolf witchers started it to keep track of stories he could brag about to the other schools. We've used it to encourage recruits since. Shows them what they can become capable of as witchers."

"How long does it take to train to be a witcher?" she asked.

"Sometimes a decade to learn the basics at least, but we never stop training," Vesemir said, crossing his arms. "If we don't stay in shape and always try to improve our skills, a monster will slice us down the first chance it gets."

No wonder Geralt had been sparring with Lambert and Eskel so much over the last few days, she thought. He hadn't had much practice on the road, other than when they were getting attacked by soldiers or monsters.

"That makes sense," Ciri said. She thought back to how often Grandmother had trained with Grandfather, even though she was one of the best fighters in Cintra, and how she always picked up training more in the few weeks before a battle.

A warrior who isn't as sharp as her sword isn't a warrior at all, her grandmother had once told her before riding off to face bands of raiders who were terrorizing the Cintran countryside. She came back with their leader's head jammed through a pike not three days later.

"Aye. But being a good fighter alone won't get you far as a witcher. We need to know how to take down monsters based on their weaknesses. How to outsmart them, and know what herbs and potions can heal us when the monsters are smarter than we think," Vesemir said. He moved over to a stack of books on a table near the fireplace, seeming to be looking for one specifically.

Ciri's eyes lit up at this. She had been fascinated by the books of monsters her and Jaskier had flipped through on the first night they arrived. Even if it had been terrifying to run into the group of crouxens that had nearly killed her on the road, Ciri still wanted to know as much about these beasts as she could. Her tutors in Cintra never humored her questions about monsters and her grandparents and Mousesack never indulged her with stories of them, like the servants had with their children.

They were foreign and frightening to her. But the fear that struck through her heart when one almost cut into her with its massive claw was something Ciri never wanted to go through again. She wanted to be ready the next time that danger crossed her path.

"We ran into a group of monsters on the road. Crouxens, Geralt called them. They were the fastest things I'd ever seen."

"Good thing you were with Geralt. Crouxens are nasty creatures, and that boy can fight his way out of anything," he looked up from a book he had taken from the table. His golden eyes stuck out against the dark shadows dancing on the wall behind him as he stared at her. "Well, almost anything."

Vesemir opened the book and the room grew quiet, save for the occasional cracking wood coming from the hearth. Ciri picked at the hem of her shirt as she mulled over a question she didn't quite know how to ask.

"I killed one of them on my own with a sword while he was fighting the others. It was mostly luck. But knowing that monster's weaknesses, like you said, would have saved me if I didn't have luck on my side."

Vesemir stopped flipping through the book. Ciri felt the nerves in her chest pull tight.

"Geralt said you don't train girls to be witchers," she continued, mustering up the courage to keep speaking. "Would you ever make an exception?"

"Witchers aren't known for changing their ways. Our traditions are thousands of years old," he said. Ciri felt a bubble of frustration start to replace some of her nerves.

"My grandmother led giant armies into battle and won. And she cut down a lot of her enemies herself. If a woman can do that, why can't she become one of you?" Ciri said, standing taller.

"A woman couldn't become a witcher even if she wanted to. The knowledge needed to create more was lost years ago," Vesemir said and turned his head toward the fire. "Besides, learning to be a witcher is hardly the same as learning to play war from your pretty castle, girl. You need to know everything about a creature from the marks on its back to the stench of its shit."

Ciri pursed her lips as she considered what the witcher said. She knew it would be different, harder even, than her studies in Cintra, but she didn't think she had another choice. As much as Jaskier knew about the continent's courts, she doubted him or anyone else here could teach her how to rule a kingdom. She figured destiny linked her with a witcher for a reason, and learning their ways seemed to be the only clear path left in her life, save for running from the Feathered Knight.

"I should know how to protect myself properly from monsters. Geralt might not always be nearby to protect me," she said. "I think they're fascinating, too."

"And dangerous. One bite from an gravier and you're dead. Same for half of the other beasts in the forest," he said and turned toward the door. He was almost through it's threshold when his voice rang through the room, this time slightly louder. "Consider that you're first lesson. We'll go over more ways of how not to die tomorrow."

Vesemir's form disappeared into the hallway as Ciri's lips spread into a smile. She hurriedly turned back toward the bookcase and searched for the book of monsters she had looked through with Jaskier. She didn't want to wait to find out what a gravier was - or the rest of the monsters Geralt and the other witchers usually faced.

"C'mon, wolf! Don't you want to show off the fancy tricks you learned at the fancy courts you visit?"

Geralt rolled his eyes at the witcher standing behind him as he sharpened his sword in the courtyard. Lambert had been asking him to spar since he had arrived back home, and while he wasn't opposed to knocking his brother on his ass any chance he got, he was enjoying his break from fighting. Melitele knew he did enough of it on the path.

"We all know that's a bad idea," Eskel said from beside Lambert.

"And why's that?" Lambert asked.

"Think back to all the times Geralt beat you. Or just the last time you sparred. If I remember right, you needed a new sword and stitches by the time you were done," Eskel said.

"That sword was shite anyway," Lambert waved the air with his hand. "And I didn't think he'd hack at me like I was some sort of fucking beast. One comment about that witch and the bastard went mental. Didn't even say what the bitch did to piss him off."

"Didn't Vesemir tell you to clean the kitchens," Geralt grunted. The two witchers were grating down his good mood dangerously fast.

"Finished early," Lambert said.

"I'm sure it's spotless then," Eskel scoffed. Lambert punched his shoulder.

"Fuck off. C'mon, Geralt. Have some fun for once."

Geralt signed and put down the cloth in his hand. He shook his head stood up. "Fine. But I'm not holding back."

"Don't worry about that - you'll be flat on your ass soon enough," Lambert chuckled.

"Hmm," Geralt hummed.

He drew his sword and started stalking Lambert. The orange glow from the setting sun bounced off Lambert's sword as he did the same with a devilish grin on his face.

They moved around each other slowly at first, both with their glowing eyes firmly set on the other's. Lambert had always been one of the best fighters at Kaer Mohren. He was as fast as he was aggressive, and never shied away from striking a man where he was weak. But he could get sloppy if he became frustrated. If there was one thing Geralt had become an expert at since they were younger, it was making his brother just that.

"Are either of you going to strike yet? It's no fun watching you stalk each other like cockatrices in heat," Eskel called out from his perch on a nearby rock.

"You heard him, wolf. Make your move," Lambert nodded toward him.

"You first. It was your idea to spar," Geralt said with a faint smile.

They kept circling each other for a few more silent moments. With a huff, the brown-haired witcher finally lunged forward and slashed at Geralt, which he easily ducked away from.

Lambert swung his sword at Geralt's head and the sound of metal clashing together bounced off the courtyard's stone walls. Geralt dodged another attack and lept forward, landing with a roll and popping back up behind Lambert. The other witcher had already turned to face him and swung again, this time coming close enough to Geralt's head with his blade that it nearly clipped his shoulder as it swung down through the air.

Geralt stepped back and blew several loose strands of silver hair from his face as raised his sword again. He could feel the blood in his veins pumping faster as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and stared at his brother.

"What, tiring already?" Lambert laughed. "Thought you'd have a bit more bite left in you, wolf."

"Don't get cocky, Lambert. I know that's hard for you," he poked back.

Before the other witcher could respond, Geralt rushed forwards and swung his sword. Lambert met it once again with his blade and quickly knocked it away. Geralt lunged at him over and over again, the sound of swords grating against each other each time he swung.

Lambert chuckled when he sliced into Geralt's shoulder. The cut wasn't deep by any means, but it did put a tear in his new shirt. Geralt moved back and growled at the other witcher.

"Awwe, did I ruin the pretty boy's nice blouse?" he laughed. Geralt scoffed and straightened up. He didn't try to lunge again. Instead, he stood with his sword limply at his side.

Lambert watched him carefully, seemingly waiting for him to make another move. But Geralt stood rooted in the same spot with his piercing eyes subtly appraising each shift in Lambert's weight.

The brown-haired witcher pushed his brows together and frowned at Geralt. When he didn't move, Lambert ran forward and tried to swing at Geralt's side.

Geralt backed away and dodged each of the witcher's quick attacks. The blade came close to Geralt's limbs and head a few times, but he ducked out of the way every time. Only when he sensed Lambert's heartbeat start to pick up and saw his face grow red did he finally raise his sword and swing at his brother.

Geralt's attacks were swift and powerful as he forced Lambert to move back with each of his steps. Lambert made a few small advances on Geralt, even slicing another hole in his dark shirt. But Geralt was relentless as he pushed forward. Just as Lambert lunged at him with a low growl, Geralt hooked his foot around the witcher's ankle and knocked him down on the ground. He pointed his blade against his throat before he could jump back up.

"Yield?"

"Hmm," Lambert grunted. Geralt held out his other hand and pulled a clearly pissed-off Lambert up from the ground. Eskel walked over to them, laughing when he saw the sour look on his brother's face.

"Good job, Lambert. You really showed him a thing or two," he smiled.

"Fuck off," Lambert muttered, rubbing his backside as Jaskier's voice called out from the direction of the keep's doors.

"Ciri! You forgot your cloak!"

Geralt looked up to see a flash of ashen curls bouncing in the wind as his charge popped up from her seat near the stables and ran back toward the keep. Jaskier was waiting with her brown cloak in hand when she reached him. He wrapped it around her shoulders and took a dark book from her hands as she started listing off facts about vampires.

"You're lucky I went on easy on you, wolf. Especially with your kid watching. Don't want her thinking you're an easy target," Lambert muttered.

"You're right. Glad she'll think that of you and not me," Geralt said.

"I'm not - if it weren't for me pulling her up from that hole in the floor, she wouldn't even be around to think of anything. Talk about an easy target."

Geralt frowned a bit at that. As indignant as his brother was, he did have a point.

"She'll learn to protect herself soon enough," Eskel clapped a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'm sure she's already gotten plenty ideas about how not fight from watching Lambert."

"How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off today, eh?" Lambert crossed his arms. Eskel chuckled and stepped forward, grabbing the pommel of his sword from the sheath hanging from his waist. He flipped it around in his palm before pointing it at Geralt.

"Don't worry, Lambert. I'll show you and Geralt both how it's done."

Geralt shook his head as a faint grin spread on his lips. Without another word, he raised his sword and stood ready to fight.