Thanks for the support! Hearing from you all always brightens my day!

The morning sun was bright on Ciri's face as she undid the blindfold covering her eyes. The tip of her nose was raw from the cold and her cheeks stung each time a freezing wind blew against her. Part of her wanted to hide inside next to a warm hearth for the rest of the day as the stinging cold continued to run through her fingertips and her eyelids grew more heavy by the hour.

She had been up early to help Geralt clean out an old store room near the kitchens that was both freezing and filled with more cobwebs than she had ever seen before. Ciri was charged with slipping in between the short but surprisingly deep shelves to pull out the old jars and tools that had been pushed back against the walls over the years, since Geralt had been too large to fit. It looked as if a spider had tried to weave her into a large web by the time they were done.

She probably missed a few of the dusty cobwebs that clung to her when she cleaned herself off before they began training, since she occasionally felt a little tickle on her cheeks from a strand of something that didn't quite feel like hair while she tried to find Geralt as he quietly crept around her.

The witcher said he had already seen her improve since they started three days ago, even if his silent movements were sometimes still hard to detect. She found herself feeling a bit annoyed each time she incorrectly guessed where he was. She tried not to show it. She was eager to start working with a real blade, and the sooner she passed this stage of training, the sooner she'd finally have a sword in her hand.

She had looked on while Geralt and Lambert sparred after supper yesterday. Their incredibly quick footwork and precise attacks were mesmerizing to watch. Each lunge was thought through, yet looked like it took them no effort. None of the fighters in Cintra moved quite like they did. Those men had been rigid in their fighting stances and impatient in their attacks. But the witchers' movements were like water; fluid, powerful, and always dominating whatever space they took up.

"You're getting better at knowing distance, but don't assume an attacker will always get closer before they strike. An archer could move back before they send an arrow at you," Geralt said as he took the blindfold.

"Couldn't we practice a bit more today?" Ciri asked. She wasn't looking forward to whatever chore Geralt or Vesemir had lined up for her next. Poor Jaskier was on shit-cleaning duty again, only this time in the chicken coop.

"No. Vesemir wants to see us in his study."

"He does? Why?" she asked. She thought she had heard Vesemir say her name while he was speaking with Geralt earlier, but had shrugged it off. They were talking quietly enough that she figured she had heard him wrong. Or that he was just assigning her another chore.

"Your power. He wants to learn more about it." Geralt said as he started to walk away. Ciri quickly followed, her heartbeat nervously picking up its pace.

"Learn how, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," he said. The expression on her face must have hinted at her unease. He glanced down at her while opening the door to the keep. "Nothing bad."

Ciri nodded. She didn't know how to understand what sort of power swirled inside of her, but Geralt had said Vesemir knew more about magic than he did. Hopefully that would count for something.

She stayed quiet as they moved through the keep. Geralt led her up a yet another staircase she hadn't been up before. He knocked on a door that was etched with old ruins and several pictures of wolves. It was almost pretty, save for the crudely drawn swords near the bottom. They looked like something she would have drawn when she was six.

"Come in," a muffled voice called from inside the room. Ciri craned her neck around Geralt as he opened the door. Tall bookshelves that reached the high ceilings were packed with bound books, old scrolls, and jars that had pickled snakes, massive spiders, and creatures she had never seen before floating inside of them.

Vesemir was sitting at a long oak desk that was covered with loose sheets of paper. Some had drawings of monsters and horrible looking creatures on them. Others were bare of any decoration, save for the decades of dust and dirt that clung to them.

"Have a seat," the old witcher gestured to a rickety looking chair in front of him.

Not wanting to keep Vesemir waiting, Ciri sat down and folded her hands together as Geralt stopped behind the chair. Her bottom had just touched the seat when a bright green light suddenly glowed from a glass box behind the desk and filled the room. It was gone within seconds.

"What was that?" she blinked. The green glow still lingered behind her eyelids each time they fluttered open and shut.

"The light lets us know when someone crosses over the wards around Kaer Mohren," Vesemir said, shutting a book in front of him. "It's likely just Eskel. He mentioned going out for a hunt earlier."

"Is it magic? The wards?" she asked, eagerly. Maybe Vesemir would be able to help.

"Yes, though none that came from witchers. Druids constructed them long ago when Kaer Morhen was first built to be what it is today. They were friends of the first witchers who came here," Vesemir said. "But that's a history lesson for another time. I'm more interested in hearing about your power. Geralt said it only comes out when you're upset."

Ciri nodded. "I didn't know about it until the night Nilfgaard attacked."

"That's not uncommon. Most chaos doesn't reveal itself until about your age and typically only shows itself under pressure at first."

Ciri felt some relief at that. She hadn't known this might be normal - her tutors never spoke of chaos or humored her questions about magic. Even Mousesack avoided the topic. Only once had he explained it to her, and that had only been after she'd seen a pretty mage with soft brown curls gift Grandmother a wreath of gold she created from thin air at a feast once.

Mousesack said most people had some amount of chaos swirling inside of them, but couldn't recognize it or hone it in to create magic. Only a gifted few could do so with years of training. But he didn't answer any more of her questions. Ciri figured it had something to do with the sharp look Grandmother gave him before biting into her pheasant leg at the feast. If the mage hadn't been King Foltest's guest, Ciri was almost sure Grandmother wouldn't have let her into the castle at all.

"What happens when your power shows itself?" Vesemir asked.

Ciri's eyes roamed over to the bookshelf again as she tried to remember the moments she so often wanted to forget. But the more she thought about the worst outbursts she'd had, the foggier these memories felt.

"It comes out in a scream," she started, silently sucking in a deep breath of the room's musty air. "The first time it really happened, things around me started to shake. A giant rift appeared in the ground the second time. I can't really remember the other times since then. I just remember waking up and feeling exhausted after."

"What did it feel like the first two times it happened? The times you remember?" Vesemir said.

Ciri was quiet as she thought back to the night Cintra fell. She had done her best to bury her memories of being pulled from the castle as it burned; as her people cried out while they were slaughtered. But she let the sound of piercing screams and smell of ash come back to her slowly.

Her palms grew damp with sweat as she envisioned her Grandmother's dirty face as she told her to leave. It took everything in her to not let a shiver run down her spine when she remembered how terrified she was when the Feathered Knight slung her onto his horse and rode away from Cintra's burning walls. Above all else, she felt a sudden emptiness bubble inside her gut when the sounds of her own piercing screams rang in her ears.

"I didn't feel like myself," she said slowly. "It was like someone else was screaming for me."

Vesemir was quiet at first, staring at her with his glowing eyes. Ciri had to keep herself from shifting under his gaze. She was relieved when he stood up and turned toward one of the shelves behind him.

"Take this," he said, pulling a small orb from a stand on one of the shelves and stepping forward to hand it to her.

She took it from his large, calloused hand and gently rolled it between her palms. It was smooth and cool and too light to feel like glass. She could clearly see the reflection of her and Geralt in the orb's opaque interior, but there was something else there, too. A faint strand of light swirled in the middle and she almost thought she felt buzzing between her hands.

"How is this supposed to help?" Geralt said from behind her. His reflection in the orb tensed.

"What even is it?" she asked. Vesemir moved forward and sat against the front of the desk.

"An Oclemencer. It helps show how much chaos is inside a person, especially in those too young to detect or control it themselves," he said. "We used it on boys when they first arrived to train as witchers to see if they possessed any notable amounts of chaos."

"Did you train them to use magic if they did?"

"No. Any who showed signs of magic were sent to Ban Ard instead."

Ciri nodded faintly as she stared into the orb. The strand of light floating inside captured her attention, yet did little else other than swirl inside of its enclosure. She looked back up at Vesemir.

"Is it working?"

"Not yet. Close your eyes," he said. She pressed them shut and took another deep breath. "Focus all of your attention on the energy inside. Feel it move between your palms."

Ciri tightened her grip on the orb. She only felt the little heat that had been transferred from her hands to its cool surface as she tried to clear her mind. Then, slowly, she felt a small pulse start to throb inside the sphere. Her own heartbeat began to match its pace as it became stronger.

The chill on the outside of the orb was replaced by a comforting warmth. Ciri felt a sense of ease roll over her - happy memories of running through the Cintran gardens in the fresh spring air with her grandfather in tow, or earning one of her grandmother's rare, proud smiles slowly gathering in her mind. Her muscles, which had been sore from days of cleaning, felt loose and relaxed. Just as her chest felt free of any tension.

A chill washed over her body as she was about to open her eyes. The musty air in the study suddenly felt suffocating as unpleasant memories flashed through her head. Dara was walking away from her for the last time. Anton and his friends were shoving her to the ground in the field near Zola's home. The Feathered Knight was smiling down at her inside the corridor that was lined with portraits of long-dead rulers, then again as he carried her away from Cintra on his horse.

Ciri gripped the orb tighter as each memory faded into the next with such speed she almost couldn't keep up. The quicker they moved, the more unrecognizable they became. She saw purple eyes race past her and flurry of snow falling so fast she couldn't see anything but white in front of her. A burning tower crashed to the ground one moment, while a man with dark hair and crown of silver vines on his head smiled at her the next.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs as the images flashed in front of her. She could faintly feel her hair whipping against her face and her body grew colder by the second. The energy in the orb was overwhelming, and she just wanted it to stop.

Almost as if she had willed it, the orb shattered in her hands and sent a freezing gust of air and a blinding glow through the room. She felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder and she shot open her eyes. Her limbs were shaking with the chill that had rushed over her.

The papers on Vesemir's desk had been swept around the room by the orb's blast and some of the scrolls that had been stacked on the tall shelves before were now strewn about the floor. Geralt, with his grip still tight on her shoulder, moved in front of her and stared at the spot where the oclemencer had rested in her hands.

"Vesemir..." Geralt slowly turned to the older witcher.

"That's never happened before," Vesemir muttered. He didn't seem shaken, per say. Just astounded.

"What does this mean?" Ciri asked, her words scraping against her dry throat and mouth.

"I'm not sure. I'll have to search through more scrolls for an answer," Vesemir said. "Go read the chapter I assigned you on common herbs before supper. I'm testing you on it tomorrow."

Ciri nodded and slowly stood on shaky legs. She hadn't been looking forward to memorizing the different types of medicinal herbs when Vesemir assigned it to her yesterday. Like her training with Geralt, it was clear they were going through the simplest, most mundane lessons first. Now she didn't mind - maybe taking notes would help her clear her mind of the images that were still faintly rushing through it.

Geralt moved his hand off of her shoulder. Ciri was slowly moving toward the door when he spoke again. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

"No, Wolf," Vesemir picked up one of the scrolls. "Go help Eskel finish dusting the armory. And see what that bard of yours is doing. I heard singing by the chicken coop earlier. The rooster nearly put a hole in Lambert's finger while he was humming last week, and the last thing we need is that bird pecking at the chicks because it's pissed off."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted. He said something else after Ciri had shut the door, but the heavy wood made his words too muffled to make out.

She started down the corridor as the keep's cold air brushed over her. Ciri shivered again and wrapped her arms around herself, but Kaer Mohren's draft wasn't the only cold moving over her. Since the orb had shattered between her palms, a chill she couldn't shake had dripped down from her lungs into the pit of her stomach and had quickly spread to the rest of her body.

Ciri's hand was tense with cramps by the time she finished taking notes on the types of herbs Vesemir had assigned, even though some of them only worked for witchers. Or, rather, were only safe for witchers. For some reason Vesemir had yet to explain, witchers were able to consume certain plants that were poisonous to humans but somehow benefit from them.

She wasn't surprised by that new information - she had grown used to Geralt's inhuman abilities quite a while ago now. But Ciri still wondered why witchers were so much stronger than any other human-like species. They ran faster, fought harder, and survived horrible toxins. Even Mousesack said druids could still fall to the same poisons humans couldn't come into contact with.

Ciri had just shut her book with her still chilled fingers when she heard a light knock on her door. Part of her shuddered at the thought of climbing out of her bed. The cold that rushed through her body in Vesemir's office hadn't completely faded yet, and the heavy covers had only just started to feel warm.

With a sigh, Ciri tossed the furs off her body and put her feet on the ground. Even with socks on, the cold floor sent a shiver up through her body that ended with her shoulders quaking with a shudder. She quickly made her way to the door and opened it to reveal a smiling Jaskier looking down at her.

"Good evening, princess! Geralt and the others are having some stew in the great hall for dinner. I thought you might like to pry your nose away from your books long enough to have some yourself."

"Stew sounds good," she nodded. Her stomach had started growling a while ago, and something warm to eat might help her feel better.

"Very good! May I escort you?" Jaskier said with a bow before he stuck out an arm to her, which she took with a giggle. He stood back up and started to walk down the hall with her on his arm.

"Do you know what kind it is?" she asked.

"I'm not sure to be honest, but it smelled decent enough when I walked by the kitchens on the way here. I did see Eskel come back with a deer slumped over his shoulder this afternoon. Most men wouldn't be able to skin an entire deer and have it ready for dinner, but then again, these are witchers. One time Geralt-" Jaskier paused. He looked down at where he had just put his palm over the hand she had on his arm.

"Ciri, your hand is freezing," Jaskier said, furrowing his brows. "And you're shaking. Are you feeling alright?"

Ciri quickly moved her hand off of Jaskier's. "I'm fine. Just a bit cold; my room can get drafty."

"I know it's cold in the keep, but you're absolutely frigid!"

Ciri mulled over how to explain what happened earlier in Vesemir's office to the bard. She didn't want to worry him - after all, Vesemir hadn't necessarily seem concerned, even if Geralt had. Other than when they first found Jaskier, it was the only time she had really seen the white-haired witcher seem genuinely surprised. And a bit frightened.

"Vesemir had me test my powers earlier," she started, ignoring the way Jaskier's eyes grew wide. "It was fine at first. I wasn't even doing anything. But then the room felt so cold, and part of me feels like I never left it."

Jaskier pursed his lips and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I's no secret that I know very little about magic or anything like it, but a warm shawl always helps me feel better when winter's bite settles into my bones," he said and guided her toward the door to his room. He pulled it open and walked over to the lit fireplace.

A tattered but thick piece of cloth was hanging from the stand of pokers in front of the fire. Jaskier picked up the fabric, closed the door, and wrapped it around Ciri's shoulders. A sudden heat spread down her arms and across her back, edging away some of the cold.

"I found this in a trunk when I was helping Geralt clean out an old store room the other day. Since I like to crawl into an extra toasty bed at night, I thought it would be a nice way to warm myself up while trying to fall asleep. Seems like it could do you some good, though. Feel any better?"

Ciri nodded with a small smile. "Thank you. Though I hope you have another you can use tonight. Geralt said a storm will probably settle in over the mountain by the time we go to bed."

"Did he? I didn't see a single cloud all day. Witchery senses, I suppose."

"Hmm," Ciri hummed. Jaskier looked down at her with smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What?" she asked.

"Oh nothing, dear. Speaking of our witcher, have I ever told you about the time we had to camp out with a village of fairies while waiting out a nasty storm in Gemmera?"

"Fairies are real?"

"Of course! Quite interesting creatures. They're beautiful, but have nasty, nasty tempers. One bit Geralt's finger when he almost sat on her. Drew a surprising amount of blood. The queen wanted to kick us out of the canopy of trees we were taking shelter under from the storm, but my music wooed her, as it usually does. Though this one fairy -"

Jaskier went on about how Geralt had to save him from a fairy that tried to pluck his eye out when he pointed out how "teeny, weeny and cute" she was until they got to the large doors of the great hall. He pushed them open for her and the smell of warm, savory stew reached her nose.

"When I saw her tits, I nearly-"

"Ahem!" Jaskier loudly cleared his throat, cutting off Lambert. He was sitting across from Eskel and Geralt at the long table with his arms spread out in front of his chest.

"Bugger off, bard. I knew you were coming," Lambert huffed before looking at Ciri. "If you don't like the story girl, cover your ears. As I was saying, her tits were bigger than-"

"Lambert," Geralt said, warningly. "Later."

"C'mon, Wolf. I was just getting to the best part! And it'll do the bard some good to hear it. You know, give him his fill of women for the first time in... well, who knows."

Jaskier scowled before marching toward the table and taking a seat directly across from the witcher. Ciri quickly followed and sat down in the space in between him and Geralt.

"I'll have you know that I get plenty of... companionship," he started, a finger pointing at Lambert's smirking face. "It's one of my many specialties."

"Is it? Never would have guessed based off your silk blouse and pretty purple pants," he chuckled.

"First of all, they're plum. Second, I have a hard time imagining your grisly beard and grimy clothes attracting anything more than fleas," Jaskier huffed. "And your stench- do you even bother to bathe?"

Eskel let out a large bark of a laugh and Ciri smiled as Lambert scowled at Jaskier.

"He's got you there, lad. You do reek," Eskel grinned.

"Zuzanna didn't mind how I smelled back at that inn in Brugge," he grunted.

"Gross," Ciri frowned.

"Agreed," Jaskier said. He leaned forward and grabbed two bowls, pouring stew into one of them with a ladle before handing it to Ciri with a spoon.

"What? I thought you liked 'companionship,'" Lambert said, looking at Jaskier. The bard raised an eyebrow.

"I do, just not the thought of it involving you and your own escapades, shall we say. Geralt, could you please pass the ale," Jaskier said and nodded toward a jug in the middle of the table.

"You won't want that. Drink it and either you'll shit yourself silly or pass out," Eskel said through a mouthful of stew.

"What? Why?" Ciri asked.

"It's a special wine. Gives us more energy," Geralt added.

"And you keep that laying around like it's any old water pitcher?" Jaskier asked.

"We don't normally have to worry about humans drinking it by mistake," Eskel shrugged.

"The good old days," Lambert muttered. Ciri pursed her lips and saw Geralt send the witcher a glare.

Jaskier seemed to ignore Lambert's comment. Ciri had noticed over their travels that he was good at brushing things off like that. "Do you have anything that won't kill me or send me into agonizing pain? The stew is delicious, but I'd like to have something to help wash it down."

"Here," Eskel said, handing him a much larger pitcher. "You might survive this."

Jaskier took the pitcher and poured some of the dark brown liquid inside of it into a mug in front of him. He tipped the mug back to his lips and took a drink.

"Melitele, that's strong," Jaskier coughed and scrunched up his face as Lambert reached out and took the jug, pouring himself a cup of ale.

"Vesemir's special recipe. Tastes like shit, but gets the job done," Eskel said.

Ciri furrowed her eyebrows as Jaskier took another sip. "Why would you drink it if it doesn't taste good?"

"Because not everyone has a fancy array of wines to choose from, girl," Lambert answered.

"I know that. Still doesn't make your's taste any better," she said. Jaskier wagged his pointer finger in the air as he finished gulping more down.

"I think it gets slightly better the more you drink it," Jaskier said after a moment. His eyes suddenly grew wide and he shook his head. "Nope, never mind - it burns. My throat's burning," he rasped.

"Do you need water?" Ciri offered.

"Yeah bard, why don't you stick with water. Wouldn't want to damage your voice," Lambert said and took another swig. "If it's even worth saving."

"Don't get him started," Geralt grunted.

"Oh no, please do," Jaskier said and folded his arms on the table in front of him. "I've played for nearly every court on the continent, and in just about every town. Why, wooing a crowd with song was even how I met Geralt."

"They were throwing food at you," Geralt cut in.

"Minor detail."

"You had bread in your pants."

"Besides the point, Geralt," Jaskier huffed. "I'm a top notch lutenist and my songs have been revered around the continent. Just ask this one here. Villagers and aldermen recognize him nearly everywhere because of me-"

"I didn't ask for that that."

"- and my voice isn't too shabby, if I say so myself. I'd be more than happy to give you a proper show."

Ciri smiled at that idea. Jaskier had played a bit on the road, but she could tell it was more to keep himself entertained and in practice while traveling for long hours on end. She hadn't seen a bard give a proper performance since the night Nilfgaard attacked. She missed the sound of sweet music ringing through a hall more than she thought.

"Jaskier is really good," she said.

"Get me drunk enough first and I might be able to stomach his wailing," Lambert said, setting his mug down on the table with a clap. Jaskier's lips pulled into a smirk.

"That can be arranged."

Jaskier picked up the pitcher and poured more ale into Lambert's cup, then topped off his own mug. The witcher chuckled and grabbed his mug as Eskel groaned.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into. I've never known a drunk to piss me off more than this one," Eskel said.

"Hmm," Geralt hummed in agreement.

Jaskier waved at the air. "I've dealt with plenty a tipsy tavern goers in my day. What's one drunk witcher?"

Ciri watched Eskel and Geralt share a look that was just subtle enough to almost miss. It became clear why as the night went on.

After listening to the witchers and Jaskier chat about monsters, courts, and any other topic that came to Jaskier's mind for about an hour, Ciri sat with her head perched on her arms on the table and a headache poking at her temple. The bard had moved over to sit beside Lambert and was leaning against his side. Or Lambert was leaning against his. She couldn't really tell, at this point.

They were both belting a song about a pretty maiden who narrowly escaped marrying an ugly old lord so loud and off-key, even for Jaskier, that each note grated against Ciri's ears. Apparently the ale's horrid taste had worn off for the bard, who had gulped down nearly as much ale as Lambert. He swayed each time he moved and stumbled on practically every line of the song, even though he was its author.

The large pitcher was nearly empty and the now cold stew had been unceremoniously dumped on the table and Geralt's left leg. Ciri had thought he looked like he might actually reach over and strangle Lambert, who knocked the pot over while reenacting one of his hunts.

She nearly sighed from relief when the duo sang their last note and finished with a wobbly bow.

"Thanks you, thankss you!" Jaskier slurred, waving at Geralt, Ciri, and Eskel, who was slumped down in his chair with a hand propping up his head on the armrest. None of them had clapped. "Nesst request!"

"Fish-mangers daughter!" Lambert called out. "S'ss my favorite."

"You said that about the last three songs," Eskel groaned.

"Those were my-" he paused to hiccup, "-favorites, too."

"Not fair, Lumbern. You picked the last ones. Let Cir-ah, Cir- fuck, that one pick," Jaskier said, pointing behind Ciri's shoulder as he slipped further down against Lambert's side.

Ciri shook her head and stood. "I think I've had enough of your show, as... lovely as it's been. I'll see you in the morning."

"You'll missss the great finale!" Jaskier called to her as if she had already left the room.

"You mean grand finale?" Ciri asked.

"Nooope. Great finale. Cause it'll be great," Jaskier smiled. Eskel shook his head.

"Both of you should go to bed," Geralt said. "You'll have bad enough hangovers in the morning as it is."

"One more song! Pleeeeaaasee?" Jaskier said as his eyes started to droop.

"Will you promise to shut up after?" Eskel said.

"Sure," Lambert nodded.

"Of course," Jaskier said.

Geralt shot them an equally tired and murderous look before rubbing a hand over his face. Clearly he wanted to get away from the two as fast as he could. Ciri almost felt bad for leaving him to suffer through the miserable fate of another song. Then again, the quiet, cozy warmth of her room was too good to pass up.

"Good night then," Ciri waved at Jaskier and Lambert, who had started to giggle over something Jaskier had whispered into Lambert's ear. "And good luck," she said softer, this time looking between Eskel and Geralt. They both gave her halfhearted waves in return.

Ciri turned and left the room, closing the door with a light thud before she headed down the long hallway. Howling winds were beating against the side of the keep and breezes of cold air brushed against her. She pulled the shawl Jaskier had lent her tighter around her shoulders when she passed a broken window at the bottom of the stairs.

Geralt had been right about a storm passing through after all.

The keep wasn't much colder than usual, despite the sheets of snow brushing against the stone walls. The few lanterns that were lit cast eerie shadows on the walls but still gave off a warm glow that comforted her as the shrieking winds howled outside. Kaer Mohren was largely empty and in disrepair, but with the witchers and Jaskier here, it was the place she had felt safest in since her Grandmother had sent her away from Cintra's burning walls.

She had just reached the top step when a faint whisper reached her ears. Figuring it was just the sound of the storm outside, Ciri shrugged it off and kept walking. She was halfway down a hall when she heard it again, only this time it was unmistakably the sound several high-pitched voices saying something just quiet enough that she couldn't make it out.

Ciri's heart started to pound against her ribs and she stopped walking. Slowly, she moved her eyes around the hallway to look for any sign of movement that wasn't a flickering shadow from the lanterns' lights. Hearing nothing but the storm echoing through the hall, she took another step forward. As soon as her foot hit the floor, the lanterns flickered out and a freezing chill ran up her spine.

White spots flashed in Ciri's vision and stuck out against the darkness that engulfed the hall. Ciri shut her eyes and shivered so hard that her knees buckled and sent her tumbling to the floor. The chill swarmed over her body as if she were out in the snow instead of the safety of the keep, and the whisper suddenly returned as a medley of screeching voices that bounced off the walls around her.

"Ess'tuath esse! Thus it shall be! Watch for the signs! What signs these shall be!"

The voices disappeared as quickly as they came, though a chill still ran through her body. Once it slowly started to ebb away, Ciri opened her eyes and stared at the hall around her. The lights were back on as if they had never blown out and the faint streaks of falling snow were still just barely visible against the night sky from the window nearby.

Ciri stood on shaky legs and hugged her arms around herself. Wanting to get to her room as quickly as she could, she took off down the corridor and did her best not to stumble with each of her quick steps.

She yanked open her door and shut it with a slam as soon as she had stepped inside of her room. Small flames still flickered in her fireplace and the shutter on her window was latched tight, but a chilling cold still flowed through the room as it settled into her skin.

Ciri pulled off her boots but didn't bother to change out of her clothes before tugging open the covers to her bed. She laid down on the scratchy mattress and pulled the furs up to her chin. Closing her eyes, she did her best to block out the voices that had filled her ears, and focus on any warmth she still felt in her body.

It felt like ages before she was finally able to fall asleep. Once she did, she was greeted with far-off screams that echoed from a sea of white she couldn't seem to escape.