While in between monster contracts in Novigrad and Velen, Ciri found herself thinking back to Crookback Bog and couldn't deny that she felt quite guilty over the fact that she hadn't yet found the time to retrieve Vesemir's medallion yet.

She knew Vesemir wouldn't hold it against her but it was like a constant itch that she couldn't scratch.

She could only hope that, wherever his spirit was, he didn't resent her for taking so long to take back his medallion from the Weavess.

Her heart ached whenever she thought of him and how her only memento of him was in the disgusting clutches of the last Crone, who Ciri wished she had managed to kill during the Sabbath. Unfortunately, the bitch had run away like a coward and robbed her of one of her most important mementos.

No matter how much she tried to take her mind off it by taking on more contracts, no amount of drowners in the sewers beneath Novigrad or even the more formidable monsters like Cockatrices and Noonwraiths out in the fields beyond the city walls could distract her from the medallion until she finally had enough of waiting and sought out Geralt at the Rosemary and Thyme.

"I have some unfinished business to attend to and I would like your help," Ciri said when she found her father sitting at a table in the tavern with food and ale in front of him.

"What is it?"

"The Weavess, she stole Vesimir's medallion from me and I want to get it back."

"It'll be dangerous," Geralt commented, "probably even more than before. There's even a chance she'll be expecting us."

"I know, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

"Alright, then we'll go together." Ciri couldn't help but smile, grinning so wide that her cheeks hurt.

"Thank you, Geralt."

They took the time to repair their weapons to ensure they were in top condition before their battle and in the meantime, Geralt brewed potions while Ciri worked on crafting a few superior-grade bombs - mainly Dragon's Dream and Grapeshot but just in case, she also made Dimeritium and Moon Dust bombs because the Crone was likely to throw everything she had at them - that could prove handy in their battle.

It would do them well to prepare because there was no chance that the last surviving Crone would go quietly and would likely put up a good fight. It didn't matter, though, because they were going to make her regret ever having ever crossed their paths.

Geralt bristled at the memory of the Crones admitting that they wanted to cook Ciri in a soup, in unnecessarily brutal detail, but Ciri had punished two of them and they were going to put an end to the last one soon enough. Velen would be a little safer as a result and she would have her prized memento back as well. He knew how much it meant to her, how much Vesemir meant to her and to all of the witchers, in fact, and wanted to help Ciri reach her goal by any means necessary.

The next morning, they got up bright and early and, after having breakfast, Geralt asked her if she was ready.

"I'm ready," Ciri proclaimed.

"So am I. Let's go."

They left Novigrad and started for Crookback Bog on horseback and found themselves in south Velen by late afternoon. Of course, with all of the dangers that came from being so close to the swamps, they made sure to leave Roach and Kelpie in Lindenvale and went the rest of the way on foot, if only to ensure the safety of their steeds.

This felt different from any other contract she'd done so far but was quite familiar as well. It reminded her of their individual battles on Bald Mountain, in a time in her life that felt like a whole lifetime ago. So much had changed since then…

She wasn't running scared for her life anymore, looking over her shoulder and jumping at shadows that even remotely resembled the Wild Hunt or their hellhounds.

Life was as normal as it could be, at least by witcher's standards, and she was slowly but surely making a name for herself that was comparable to Geralt's far-reaching fame.

Perhaps one day she would be as well known as her father. She could only hope.

As they entered the swamp, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched but they continued through the fog, treading carefully even as it became so thick that they could barely see two feet in front of them and found themselves relying on Geralt's witcher senses to ensure they didn't walk straight into an ambush of drowners or fall onto a water hag's claws.

"She knows we're here," Ciri remarked.

"Yeah, seems she's trying to keep us from finding her," Geralt added. The fog had never been so thick, confirming that this really was the Crone's doing.

"I think she's scared."

"Might be."

They managed to circumvent the fog by following the flooded, water-logged path deeper into the swamp but Ciri knew she would be lying if she said she didn't feel unnerved by the endless pairs of ears hanging from totems on either side of the wooden boardwalk and could only wonder what Geralt was thinking.

The Weavess was definitely listening, and they were certain that she knew they were coming for her even though they had stopped conversing well before they entered the swamps.

The crows gathered around a candlelit altar worshipping some sort of goddess - likely one of the Crones, Ciri thought - unnerved her because she knew they were in league with the Weavess. They were, after all, the animal she transformed into.

It was then that Geralt and Ciri had found themselves in a bit of a predicament: there was far too much fog and there was no telling where the huts were with how thick the fog was. They could not risk splitting up nor was just "picking" a direction a good idea but they had no other choice; just as they started east, they happened across a werewolf in the marshes. Or rather, he happened upon them, prompting them to draw their swords with the intention of slaying him but then, before they could do exactly that, he spoke.

"I'm no longer a threat. I starve, for the swamp is poisoned. I've no strength to hunt humans."

"Did she summon you?" Ciri asked.

"In my sleep… once I had wolf dreams. Now I dream of hunger, pain, and blood."

So she did. That much was clear from the werewolf's cryptic but telling words; Ciri almost felt sorry for him.

"Where is she?"

"In the swamp. I can lead you to her, if you will help me with something first."

"Very well. What is it you need?"

"There is a wolf den nearby. Wolf cubs inside. We need to carry them out of the swamp or they'll not survive here. They'll change into something… evil."

Ciri did not like the implication in his voice but decided to go along with helping the werewolf to quell the evil before it formed and continued to follow the werewolf. If his words proved to be false and he really was leading them into a trap, Ciri and Geralt would have no problem with slaying him.

"What is your name, if you have one?"

"Berem," the werewolf said before he scuttled ahead of them. He never strayed too far, staying just in line of sight to ensure that they could keep up without getting lost in the fog, and followed the werewolf through the swamp towards a hilltop before stopping.

A band of men sat beneath the cover of the tall oak tree in front of them and Ciri's heart sank into her stomach when she spotted bear traps strewn all around the campsite like a protective barrier. Nothing had been caught in them yet but she felt absolutely sick at the sight of three wolf pup corpses nailed to the trunk of a nearby tree with knives driven through their skulls.

As far as she could tell, they weren't deformed or corrupted by evil in any capacity - not yet, at least. These men, be they brigands, folk from a nearby village, or even refugees resting before they continued on the path in search of a better life elsewhere, had killed those poor pups out of malice or worse, for sick, cruel entertainment.

"We'll handle this," Geralt said to Berem before he and Ciri went to approach the men; the werewolf wisely stayed behind, just out of the line of sight of the peasants.

"What are you doing here?"

"A she-wolf's been on the prowl for the last few days. Killed a cow, wounded a man. So we set some traps," the balding man boasted as he stood up before approaching them. "Haven't caught nothing yet but when we do, we'll have ourselves a wolf baitin'."

Bastards! Ciri thought furiously.

"What happened to your ear?"

"Why's it matter? None of your ploughing concern!"

I've had enough of this! Before Geralt could stop her, Ciri drew her arm back and punched the man as hard as she could, causing him to topple over and hit the ground with a heavy thump!

His friends, shocked by what they had just witnessed her do, leapt to their feet and drew their weapons, though they didn't attack yet.

"You bitch! What the fuck was that for?" the man shrieked.

"For what you did to those wolf pups," Ciri snarled.

"You- we'll flay you alive!"

Those were the last words the man uttered, for Ciri and Geralt managed to cut him down in seconds before his friends met the same fate, limbs and heads flying as the two witchers incapacitated their opponents and left them lying dead in pools of their own blood. It wouldn't bring the wolf pups back, Ciri thought, but it was justice served.

"One wolf cub still lives," Berem confirmed when they returned to him.

"At least there's a silver lining," Ciri remarked. The fate of the other wolf pups was a tragedy and she could only hope the she-wolf had escaped with her life.

"You have helped me, now I will return the favor. Come." The werewolf ran on ahead, prompting Geralt and Ciri to dash after him to keep up, until they finally reached the trail of treats, where pastries instead of mangled ears hung from ropes tied to branches on either side of the dirt path, though it wasn't a welcome sight in the slightest.

It was a symbol of the Crones' never-ending treachery and their false promises but soon, this path would become a relic and eventually fade into obscurity once the Crones' power over Velen was severed.

Ciri and Geralt hurried along the dry dirt path until they found themselves on the plot of land where the orphans had previously lived, quiet and abandoned as it had been the day that they had been whisked away to safety by Black Beauty. It was so quiet that they could hear the nearby babbling brook and the raspy growls of water hags, but it was unnerving rather than comforting.

"She's close. Somewhere here," the werewolf reported.

"Thank you, Berem."

"Let me help you fight her."

"Your offer is much appreciated, but this is my fight," Ciri explained. "Go on, take the wolf cub and go far, far away from here. Find yourself a wifewolf and live your life."

"Very well. But do not forget: like a wolverine, she will fight. She might even kill you," Berem reminded them.

"Thank you, but I have no intention of dying today."

Ciri came to stand before the tall, looming hut with her sword drawn, ready to strike at a moment's notice, and shouted,

"Come on out!"

She knew that the Weavess knew she was here and continued to hurl insults at her to draw her out, knowing she wouldn't be able to ignore verbal abuse for very long.

This fight would be easier than her skirmish at Bald Mountain, because she wouldn't have to wade through pools of blood belonging to countless victims of the Crones and there was only one to kill. With Geralt by her side, she was confident that this battle would be over in a flash.

Sure enough, the Weavess appeared before the tall hut, almost as if she was guarding whatever was inside, and Ciri readied herself, shifting into a battle stance with her sword held firm.

"You little whore, your accursed blood… you slew my sisters! I am alone - 'tis your doing!" the Weavess rasped, trembling with rage as she pointed a gnarled finger in Ciri's direction.

"That's right," Ciri said proudly, "and now I've come for you."

"Do you wish to die, witcher?"

"After you."

"Ah, but the prophecies do not lie. You will not survive this struggle."

"I've had enough of this," Ciri scoffed. "The only one who won't survive is you."

To her surprise, the Weavess disappeared in a flurry of crows and before she could lunge after her, Ciri stopped short when Geralt said,

"Get ready. Something's coming."

In a matter of moments, Geralt and Ciri found themselves surrounded by an army of drowners that the Weavess had summoned to protect her but they drew their swords and clutched explosive bombs in their free hands, which they threw into the crowd to cut down on the vast number of monsters.

Countless drowners stood before them, more than either Geralt or Ciri had ever seen at any one time in their lives, but there was no turning back now. They had to accomplish what they had come here to do and wouldn't leave until it was done.

Just as it had been at Bald Mountain, this was personal.

Ciri teleported between the monsters, slaying groups of them at a time with quick slashes of her sword while Geralt cut down drowner after drowner with brute force and the help of Aard and Igni, sending monsters flying or burning them to a crisp until nothing but charred flesh lay at his feet.

Ciri scanned the area for the Crone but when she was nowhere to be seen in all of the chaos, she teleported back to Geralt's side, where she managed to cut down a water hag, sending its head flying, and came to stand next to him back-to-back.

In all the chaos, it took them a few moments to kill several more drowners and water hags that clawed at them before they could take a moment to catch their breath and then, Ciri saw the Weavess appear out of the corner of her eye. She ran across the field as quickly as her legs could carry her but she was no match for her because Ciri teleported to her and was at her heels in a matter of seconds, giving her enough time to get a few slashes in before she disappeared again, which nearly knocked Ciri back as she did.

She steadied herself and then scanned the area for the Weavess, knowing she couldn't have gone far.

When Ciri looked over at Geralt, she saw he had put up a Quen shield against a trio of drowners but she trusted he could handle them on his own and then teleported, managing to slice the Weavess with her sword just as she phased back into her physical form. The crone quickly disappeared in a flood of smoke and crows once more but Ciri kept on her tail, teleporting to wherever she showed herself and slashing away at her until she disappeared again.

"You coward!"

Keep at it, Ciri. She'll drop dead at some point, she told herself.

The Crone wasn't even putting up a fight and Ciri couldn't help but chuckle, for her plan to cower behind the drowners and water hags had failed horribly. They had managed to destroy her entire army in a matter of mere minutes and she was alone now, nothing more than a monster seconds away from being slain.

The next time she reverted back to her corporeal form, Ciri managed to corner the Weavess near the bloody stone and drove her silver sword straight through her heart, causing her to stumble before she fell to the ground with a heavy but satisfying thump!

That's the end of that, Ciri thought triumphantly as she withdrew her sword from the Crone's unmoving body and sheathed it before kneeling by her corpse before searching it for the medallion.

However, she felt herself growing frantic as the seconds ticked by and the medallion was nowhere to be found.

"It's not here! The medallion's not here!" Ciri cried dejectedly.

"Calm down. It's got to be around here somewhere," Geralt said as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Ciri sucked in a deep breath to steady herself and control her emotions, just as Avallac'h had taught her, and rose to her feet. All the while, she repeated Geralt's words in her head to keep herself calm and followed the whte-haired witcher's lead as he suggested that they search the huts where the orphans had slept, thoroughly searching through the chests and beneath the beds for her memento. Then, when they found nothing, they turned their attention to the tall hut that loomed over them like an elemental and Geralt forced the door open with a blast of Aard, sending it flying off the hinges.

They made sure to trudge carefully through the dark room, wary of any traps that the Crone might have set in a last-ditch attempt to harm them even in death, until they found themselves standing before the tapestry of the three Crones. On the altar sat Vesemir's medallion, gleaming in the candlelight, almost as if it had been waiting for Ciri.

"Turn around," Geralt instructed his daughter as he picked up the necklace, placing it around her neck and clasping the chain in the back.

"As Vesemir once said, 'a witcher is a lone hunter but even a lone hunter can use a helping hand sometimes'."

Ciri's hand shot up to brush over the wolf medallion, lips stretching from ear to ear as she smiled so wide that it almost hurt, and she already felt so much lighter and happier now that she had her most treasured memento back.

"Let's get out of here," Geralt said but before he could move to get going, Ciri threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for coming with me," she gushed.

"You do know you can always count on me, no matter what?"

"Yes… I do."

There were no words to describe how grateful she was to have Vesemir's medallion back and that Geralt had cared enough to accompany her on such a dangerous mission. As they exited the hut, Ciri said,

"How about a game of Gwent when we get back to Novigrad?" She managed to look over at her father just in time to see his lips curve back into a smile.

"You're on."

"No time to waste, then."

Ciri broke off into a run in the direction of Lindenvale, laughing joyously with Geralt on her heels.

That night, they played numerous rounds of Gwent, so many that they eventually lost count, and drank in Vesemir's honor. In fact, it felt as if he was there with them, smiling at them while they hurled playful insults at each other as they played weather and scorch cards to hinder each other on the battlefield and decoyed each other's spies, only to use them against each other.

After they finished another round of Gwent, of which she was the winner, Ciri got up to get herself and Geralt refills and while she waited for the innkeep to fill her tankards with more ale, she swore she heard someone say "you always were an unruly child, Ciri, but I adored that about you" behind her, sounding just like Vesemir, but when she whirled around, there was no one there.

She brought her hand up to brush over the medallion and smiled softly to herself at all of the good memories that came flooding back of her dear uncle Vesemir.

Thank you, Vesemir, for everything.