Geralt let out a heavy sigh, staring down at the xenovox in his lap.

"You don't need to ask her," Regis told him, blowing on his tea as the steam curled gently around his face. "You told me yourself she mentioned not wanting to know what had to be done for this task."

Geralt hummed, thinning his lips. "Still think I should keep her updated," he said, looking up. "Information's changed. Could change our whole approach. Figure she deserves to know."

Regis shrugged, letting out a pensive sigh and bringing his tea up for a sip. "It very well could," he agreed, wetting his lips to get the last of the taste from them. "Or it could simply upset her. But then, you know Yennefer far more intimately than I. I trust you'll know what to say."

Geralt frowned, finding it hard to be comforted by such a sentiment. "Thanks, Regis," he said, dryly, before lifting the xenovox, trying to decide how to start. It was always unnerving being the first to connect these days, with the ever-present threat of putting the group at risk with his disruptions, but he only grunted, pushing the thought from his mind and bringing the xenovox closer to his lips. "Yen?" he asked, before pausing, giving time for the xenovox to pass the message through. As usual, it took a bit for the device to wake up, crackling and hissing with magical interference, before it finally settled into a low, faint hum, the static eventually giving way to a soft hiss.

"Geralt?" Yennefer's voice came through after a moment, sounding concerned. "Is something the matter? I hadn't expected to hear from you so soon."

"Didn't expect it either," Geralt admitted. "Need your help. Hit a dead end with the task."

Yennefer faltered, seeming surprised. "Of course," she said after another moment, speaking quickly. "I'm always eager to help. Did you find anything about other Cintrian nobles since last we spoke?"

"Didn't get that far," Geralt answered, sighing. "Been doing some research. Trying to figure out why O'Dimm would want me… doing anything with Ciri." He paused, realizing how strange that sounded, but he could not quite convince himself to say the words to his wife. "Best guess, he's trying to make a navigator," he added, brushing over the awkward wording quickly. "But… looked deeper, and that doesn't fit, either. Doesn't seem to be opening gates. Doesn't seem like he can, or like he wants to."

"I can't imagine why he'd want to," Yennefer answered, fairly. "His only source of entertainment is here."

"Maybe," Geralt returned, furrowing his brow, still not sure enough to make a determination. "But someone's been opening gates—or, trying. Some mage from Rissberg, far as we can tell. Possibly with ties to Ban Ard. Don't guess you know of any connection between the two."

"Ban Ard and Rissberg?" Yennefer asked, before pausing, offering a thoughtful silence. Then, after another moment, she let out a soft hum, as if she had not thought about either in quite some time. "Nothing that I know of," she admitted. "Ban Ard wouldn't approach Rissberg with a thousand-foot rod, if they knew what was best for them. That's a sure way to get your academic license suspended – partnering with such a dubious organization, even for the sake of research. Ban Ard's current staff wouldn't risk it, nor would their current pupils, as far as I know. And I wouldn't guess that any of their living alumni would be so reckless as to attempt that sort of thing, either. Then again—"

"Rience," Geralt provided, darkly. "Dethmold."

Yennefer let out a sigh at the names. "Yes," she agreed. "As I was about to say, an education from Ban Ard does not necessarily indicate a reputable character. Though it still begs the question if anyone from Ban Ard would have the skill necessary to be considered by Rissberg… let alone the power necessary to open portals between realms. That seems nearly impossible, save for someone like Ciri."

"All true," Regis agreed, causing Geralt to look up again, having not expected the vampire to chime in. "Though Geralt made an interesting point in our talks earlier. Might a summoning spell circumvent the need for traditional navigation methods?" He paused, taking another sip of tea, as if considering the possibility himself, before he rested the cup back in his hand, staring down into the dark surface with a pensive brow. "A demon can be summoned from their realm with the use of goëtia," he added, thoughtfully. "Might other creatures be summoned with similar rituals, if one has the proper knowledge to perform them?"

Yennefer paused, seeming to consider this as well, and Geralt looked back down to the xenovox in his hand, expectantly. "I don't even know that such rituals exist," Yennefer finally answered, sounding a bit bewildered. "Let alone who might have the skills to perform them. That seems like experimental magic, at best."

"Indeed, it does," Regis agreed, nodding. "Experimental magic like they once practiced at Rissberg, if I'm not mistaken."

Yennefer huffed, clearly caught in a logic trap. "Possibly," she returned. "Though even that would require the ability to open doors to other realms. Nothing can come through a closed door—though a summoning spell would make it so the door would only need to be open for a shorter period of time." She paused, seeming to consider this, before she finally let out another huff, seeming more flustered now. "But, I digress," she said, moving the topic back on track again. "This is all very fascinating, Regis – Geralt – but it doesn't do much to help us towards completing this third task. What have we learned that can actually help us with this without having to involve Ciri?"

Geralt frowned, letting out a dark hum. "Think we have to involve her after all," he answered, honestly. "Can't think of any other way around it. Have to ask if she can help locate another Cintrian noble with her same name."

Yennefer was silent for a moment, seeming displeased to hear this news, before she finally let out a long sigh. "I don't like this, Geralt," she told him, frankly. "Not one bit. I don't trust that this won't set off a chain reaction. But I suppose I don't see any other way around it, either. I just pray this decision doesn't come back to haunt us." Geralt hummed again, thinning his lips, having expected a more forceful objection, but he supposed Yennefer knew just as well as he did how badly they needed any help they could get with this task. "I'll send a kestrel," Yennefer added after a while, still sounding flustered, though more in her element now, with something to plan. "It will take less time than a letter by messenger. Once the bird returns to me, I'll relay any response Ciri gives to you."

"Hm," Geralt answered. "Could do that. Or could just use the portal amulet to go see her."

Yennefer huffed at the thought. "Absolutely not," she said, sounding affronted he should even suggest it. "I know you, and I know Ciri. You go to Vizima to see her, and she'll follow you home like a lost puppy. I don't want her getting involved in this any more than absolutely necessary." She paused, letting out another sharp breath, clearly ruffled by the thought of her daughter in danger. "I resent O'Dimm for making this task so vile," she added, coldly. "But it's what we must deal with now. With great impunity."

Geralt made a face at the accusation. "Really think Ciri'd leave Vizima to follow me?" he asked.

"Absolutely I do," Yennefer answered, frankly, not taking even a moment to consider. "Especially if she thought it would help you in any way. You tell her you need help with a demon's curse, and she'll jump into the fray with both feet." She paused, letting out another harried huff, and Geralt could not help wondering if he had pushed her too far this time; it had been several months since he had last seen Ciri, and while any excuse to see her was usually a good one, he had to admit his wife had a point in wanting to keep her at arm's length for this task. "I have a plan," Yennefer added, still sounding stressed, though clearly trying to calm her nerves. "We'll send a letter by kestrel, as I said, worded in such a way that she won't suspect anything of being amiss. We simply have a curiosity that needs answered, and figured she would be the best one to consult on it."

Geralt grunted. "No idea how you're gonna pull that off," he admitted. "If anyone can, though, it's you."

Yennefer tutted at his words. "Flattery is unnecessary," she told him. "I'm already your wife."

"Doesn't mean I can't flatter you," Geralt answered, grinning, only to look up as Regis cleared his throat, loudly, watching as the vampire moved his teacup to rest on the table beside him.

"I believe my presence here is unnecessary—" Regis began, starting to get up from his chair.

"Stay, Regis," Yennefer insisted. "We were just finishing up. And besides, I could use your help with eloquence. We've both read Geralt's letters."

Regis paused, before sitting down again. "True," he agreed. "Utterly tragic."

Geralt grunted again, but said nothing, knowing he would never live down the shame of his 'dear friend' letter, before he turned his attention to the xenovox again, waiting for Yennefer to continue her dictation. "Perhaps…" she said after a moment, speaking slowly. "If we were to say that we were curious about other Cintrian noble families… as we've recently been informed of someone searching for a Cintrian noble named Ciri, but believe they may mean someone different? If perhaps she knows of any others currently living, who may coincidentally have ties to Nilfgaard—"

"Pretty complicated," Geralt interrupted. "And flimsy. Could just tell her the truth."

"I will not," Yennefer retorted, her tone causing him to instantly close his mouth again. "I'm not about to traumatize our daughter by telling her that some demon has asked you to sleep with her." She stopped again, letting out another heavy sigh, and Geralt looked up to Regis, who only offered a wary shrug. "I'll figure out a way around this," Yennefer continued, sounding strained, though not quite ready to admit defeat. "I just… need some time to think, is all. I'll write the letter and send the kestrel along in the next few days. I'll inform you by xenovox the instant Ciri writes back, and what she says. Expect to hear from me in a week, at most. And—don't do anything rash in the meantime, please."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Geralt answered, still staring across at Regis, who had begun to sip at his tea again, pretending not to hear them. "Can't do much without that information anyway."

Yennefer hummed, sounding unconvinced. "You'd think," she agreed. "But I know you, Geralt. You could never sit still for very long, especially with something to investigate. Just—please, this once, don't leap into the fray half-informed. For Ciri's sake, if nothing else." She huffed, still sounding flustered, though he could tell her anxiety was starting to lift, with something new to occupy her mind. "You've provided me some very useful evidence already," she added after a moment, sounding more hopeful now. "Allow me some time to investigate from my end. In the interim, you can spend some time with Regis. I'm sure he has plenty to apprise you of."

"I'm certain we can find something to talk about," Regis agreed, looking up and resting his tea in his lap again. "I couldn't ask for a better conversationalist than Geralt. He always contributes so much."

"Hm," Geralt answered, before turning his attention to the xenovox again. "Take care, Yen. Love you."

"I love you, too, Geralt," Yennefer returned, pressing a soft kiss through to him from her end.

The week passed slowly, the days dragging by with no sign of any message from Yennefer, and Geralt found himself checking the xenovox anxiously throughout the day, making sure he had not somehow lost or tampered with it. The xenovox had been given a permanent home in his hip-pouch, carried around with him wherever he went, but he could not help finding its faint weight growing almost disconcerting the longer he went without hearing back from his wife. Another week lagged after the first, with only more silence to show for whatever efforts Yennefer had made, and Geralt folded his hands worriedly between his knees, staring out across the vineyard from the portico bench.

"Don't worry about Yennefer," Regis assured him, swirling his wine in his glass and taking a thoughtful sip. "Whatever she's up to, I'm sure she knows what she's doing. Perhaps Ciri simply hasn't had time to respond yet."

"Didn't take her this long last time," Geralt answered, glancing down to his hip-pouch, as if expecting to hear the xenovox activating. "Usually writes back immediately. Doesn't like to keep Yen waiting."

Regis raised his brows, taking another sip of wine. "I can't say I blame her," he agreed after a moment, tapping a thoughtful finger against his glass. "Though with everything going on, I'm certain Ciri is being kept quite busy these days. With the acquisition of the Northern kingdoms, Nilfgaard's government has plenty to keep itself occupied. Ciri was crowned empress almost concurrently with Nilfgaard's overtaking of the North, devoid of proper leadership as it was. Everything to do with their acquisition and transition into Nilgaardian sovereignty would be within her discretion, if I'm not mistaken."

He paused, taking another moment to punctuate his thoughts with a sip of wine, before he brought the glass to rest in his lap, curling his long fingers around the bowl as he hummed, softly. "I wonder if the Northern safe-houses would even find use anymore," he mused, narrowing his eyes at the thought. "With Nilfgaard's more sympathetic view of nonhumans and magic-users under Ciri's rule, one should think they would have no reason to. Is it not possible Yennefer's hanse might be able to simply use one of them as a more permanent residence, and resolve their issue that way?"

Geralt hummed, leaning back on the bench, unable to help a small smirk from forming at the description of Yennefer's group. "New regulations take time," he said, draping an arm thoughtfully across the back of the bench. "Still plenty of sycophants. Supporters of Radovid's views. Parishioners of the Eternal Fire." He frowned, realizing all this talk of the perils of the North was only making him more worried for the group, but he set his jaw, resisting the urge to check if the xenovox was still in his hip-pouch. "Have to be someplace no one would think to look for them," he added, still trying not to think too hard about it. "Far from civilization. Or someplace densely populated. Too busy to notice a family passing through."

Regis nodded, staring thoughtfully out over the garden. "A family, indeed," he agreed after a while, musingly. "That is what you've acquired here, after all. A little family—father, mother, second mother, and a bevy of uncles. And a little one, to round it all out. She'll have quite the family whenever she comes into this world."

Geralt snorted, retrieving his arm from the back of the bench to pick up his wine glass instead. "Dunno about that," he said, pouring himself another glassful and taking a sip. "Dandelion's got a life in Novigrad. And Shani won't stay once the baby's born. Said so herself. Couple of months, just gonna be me and Yen again. Back to the way things were."

Regis paused, considering this, before he suddenly frowned, taking a long sip of wine and wetting his lips. "The way things were," he repeated, causing Geralt to look over at him, curious. "Is it really that simple to return? Once you've experienced something so different, is it truly possible to go back?" He fell silent, thinning his lips, before he finally leaned back again, his dark eyes distant as he stared across the vineyard, seeming a thousand miles from Corvo Bianco. "I've not yet had a chance to speak to Dettlaff about what we discussed," he admitted after a while, surprising Geralt. "And I'm not sure I ever will. Though truthfully, it's… less the chance, and more the impetus. I've been busying myself with this mystery, embroiling myself, toiling away in pursuit of answers, if only to distract from the real dilemma, the real… shortcoming, which I've been avoiding dealing with."

"Thought you'd been talking to Orianna," Geralt observed, taking another thoughtful sip of wine. "Asking her about her contacts. Any connection to goëtia they might know about."

Regis took a swift breath, seeming more alert now. "I did speak to Orianna," he agreed, lifting his head in thought. "But that wasn't the only place I went. I was away for two weeks, Geralt. Orianna only lives nearby." He paused, his pensive brow furrowing, his thin lips twisting in frustration at his own perceived failings. "I returned to the crypt to continue with Dettlaff's recovery during part of that time," he continued, more decisively now. "And… I continued to say nothing. I saw the opportunity to speak, and I… couldn't. I simply couldn't find the words. I kept hoping… perhaps, if I left things alone, these feelings might pass, and things might return to the way they were. But… I don't see that happening, even if they do pass. I'll still know I should've acted, but… like a coward, I couldn't. I continued to allow fear to dictate my actions. And I doubt our relationship will ever be the same again, because of it."

Regis paused again, his brow furrowing deeper, before his hands curled frustratedly around the line of his glass. "I'm not sure how you do it, Geralt," he admitted. "Going forward on things with less than perfect certainty."

Geralt grunted, finishing off his wine. "Perfect certainty was never an option," he said, reaching for the bottle again. "Spent twenty-some years figuring it out with Yen. Still sometimes wonder if she made the right choice." He paused, taking a moment to pour himself another glass of wine, before he set the bottle down between them again, taking a sip and leaning back against the bench to savour it. "Can't always count on making the right choice," he added, swirling his wine thoughtfully as he spoke. "Life just happens. Gotta accept it. Otherwise, run the risk of getting left in the dust. Can't know how Dettlaff feels until you ask him—like anything else. Never know until you try."

Regis paused, considering this, before he finally gave a soft chuckle, lifting his glass to his lips. "I'm not sure why it always surprises me to hear such wisdom from you," he admitted, glancing over at Geralt with a soft smile. "You always know exactly what to say—and nothing more. A man of few words, but effective ones."

Geralt nodded, deciding to take that as a compliment. "Dettlaff okay with you being gone so long?" he asked.

Regis sucked his lip, causing one sharp tooth to peek over the edge, as it often did. "Perhaps not this long," he confessed, letting out a soft sigh, as if admitting it to himself as well. "I only informed him I would be away to visit you, though two weeks does seem an awfully long time for a visit. I suppose, were I more accountable, I should've left at least a week ago, once we discovered about the Elder and the gate. Mère-Lachaiselongue is barely a few hours' ride on horseback—even less, by smoke or by wing—yet, I find myself unable to travel even that short distance, knowing what inevitably waits on my arrival."

Geralt hummed, resting his glass against his knee. "Can't put it off forever," he noted, solemnly.

Regis sighed again, before nodding. "Perhaps," he agreed, before pausing, seeming to consider something. Then, looking over to Geralt again, he asked, "By the way… however did Shani take you telling her about your demon?"

Geralt faltered, realizing with a bit of frustration that he should have seen the question coming. "Haven't done it yet," he admitted, picking up his glass to take another sip. "Haven't had a chance. Only been talking to Yen. Dunno when I'll get to see Shani again." He huffed, realizing with an odd sensation that he had never really considered that before, before he downed the rest of his wine in one swig, setting the glass aside and leaning forward to fold his hands between his knees. "Guess we're both hypocrites," he acknowledged, letting out a short, flat grunt at the thought. "Pretending to want what's best for the people we care about, when really we're just… covering our own asses."

Regis took a deep breath, turning his gaze out over the garden again as he swirled his wine, contemplatively. "I wish I could argue," he admitted. "Though perhaps less hypocrisy and more… conviction, is at play. You, in your belief that you can resolve your conflict with your demon before it becomes a larger concern for Shani… and I, in the belief that Dettlaff may not yet be prepared to field such an emotional complication." He paused, tilting his head, sipping his wine as he considered a row of rose-bushes just below the portico, before he rested his glass between his hands, cupping the bowl gently between his palms. "The world needn't always be so bleak," he observed, indicating with a nod towards the brightly-coloured flowers. "There will always be beauty, even in total darkness. Though it's sometimes much more difficult to see."

Geralt frowned, turning his attention to rest on the rose-bushes below as well; there was a metaphor here about that same beauty having thorns, he realized, but he decided to leave it be, for now. "Can't argue with that," he admitted, leaning back against the bench again and folding his hands across his stomach. "Just, always been a glass-half-empty guy, I guess."

"And I, a glass half full," Regis acknowledged, smiling gently. "Together, we make one whole realist."

Geralt snorted. "Rather just be a full glass of wine," he said.

Another week passed with no message from Yennefer, and Geralt found his hope of a simple solution slipping further away, unable to help wondering if perhaps the inconspicuous framing of the letter had proven too difficult for even the sorceress to manage. He could never have done it himself, of course, and though he knew from the start it had been too much to ask of her, he still could not help his disappointment at the thought that he and Regis had wasted three weeks waiting on nothing. He had taken a contract in town in that time to try and alleviate some measure of anxiety, but he found even slaughtering giant centipedes could not stop him from worrying about the silence from Yennefer's end; there was just too much at stake for even the thrill of the kill to completely assuage, and he let out a frustrated sigh as he hung his swords by the door, heading for bed without even bothering to stop for dinner.

Regis was sitting at the front-room table as Geralt entered, buried deep in an impressive-looking book, but he only spared a glance for the witcher before returning to his tome, embroiled in his studies. He had opted to stay at Corvo Bianco until Yennefer got back in contact, and had dedicated that time to continuing his research into the reversal of Geralt's sterility. Of any of them, Regis seemed to be the only one who had managed to gain any traction in his research, but even he kept coming up short now, it seemed, stumped by the connection between Alzur and Oxenfurt.

"Perhaps there is no connection," Regis had mused earlier that week, sitting with his feet warming by the fire; smoke from his oaken pipe had curled around his face, making him look every bit the scholar he had proven to be in the last few months. "Perhaps we've been looking in the wrong place all this time. I assumed whoever was doing this was looking to breed deadly monsters, but… perhaps that isn't the case at all. Perhaps this has nothing to do with Alzur, and everything to do with Moreau's wish to unmutate his son." He had paused at the thought, thinning his lips, running his thumb pensively along the sleek line of his pipe, before he eventually let out a weary sigh, turning his dark eyes to the fireplace and staring into it, intently.

"Though that would then leave the connection between Moreau and Oxenfurt up in the air, which is… just as mystifying," he had added, sounding disappointed. "If only you'd managed to collect his journal… but, alas, it's not worth the time to dwell. I'm sure it's long lost to some fence or another by now, and no one can be blamed for that."

"No one but the grave robber and the fence," Geralt had answered, taking a curt puff of his own pipe. "Can't think who'd even know to go digging for it. Let alone who'd want to buy it."

Regis had hummed, raising his brows. "People love all manner of curiosities," he had noted, musingly. "Even some that others may not understand. I'm sure the broken statue of Reginald d'Aubry outside your wine cellar has a story of its own."

Geralt had grunted at this, taking another draw on his pipe. "Wasn't broken when I got it," he answered, darkly. Regis had grinned, not one to pry, which had effectively ended the conversation, but it seemed it had not ended his research, as he had continued to delve into Corvo Bianco's library every day after that. Now, he seemed enraptured by whatever new book he had found to pore through, hardly even pausing to drink his wine, nearly missing his mouth as he moved the glass in blindly for a sip.

Geralt let out a heavy huff as he heard the door to the master bedroom close behind him, before starting to strip off his armour and tossing it aside carelessly at the foot of the bed. He was usually much better about keeping tidy, but with Yennefer gone, he had begun to slack in his habits, and he let out another tired breath as he sank into bed, pulling the covers up over him and settling in.

Time was running dangerously short for his tasks, and he had spent too much of it idling already, and he let out a frustrated grunt as he turned over in bed, staring across at the painting on the near wall. He had always liked that painting, even before knowing who its actual painter was; he found its broad, whimsical strokes calming, its sleepy palette inviting, despite knowing next to nothing about art, himself. He could recognize certain styles, of course, and had memorized the names of some of the more notable artists of their time, but he had never been particularly prone to trends in vogue, always preferring function over fashion. This habit drove Yennefer mad, as a woman for whom fashion was a deathly necessity, and Geralt smiled as he thought back to all the times she had given him an earful for his unfortunate choices in attire. She had quickly learned to dress him herself, realizing she could not trust him to pick and choose at the tailor of his own accord – he would always go for the doublet with the least pinch, which was not always available in her preferred black and silver.

Sleep came slowly for Geralt, and then all at once, with him not even realizing he had drifted off—until he found himself suddenly awakened by the sound of his bedroom door flying open, banging on its hinges. His eyes flew open at the sound, only to wince as the pale light of morning hit his slitted pupils, but he had no time to reach for a bedside weapon before he found his covers suddenly pushed down over him, trapping him. He could feel something start to crawl up the bed towards him, and he gritted his teeth, trying to figure out what it could be—there was no way a bruxa could have gotten past Regis, though perhaps something smaller and faster, and he thrashed in its grip, attempting to escape, only to grunt as he felt a sudden weight drop down on top of him, pinning him.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the figure drew closer, bracing himself as he felt its breath on his face, expecting the agony of teeth or claws to embed themselves in his throat at any moment—but instead, he only relaxed as he felt a sudden wave of kisses begin to pepper his face, and he faltered, before finally opening his eyes, looking up into the face of his would-be assailant. It took him a moment to focus, still groggy and blinded by the sun as he was, but once he did, he could barely keep from laughing out loud as he recognized the wide smile and feather weight of his child surprise.

"Ciri!" Geralt laughed, allowing her another moment to smother him in affection. "Scared me to death. Thought you were a bruxa. Damn near coulda killed you." He wrinkled his nose as Ciri kissed him again, covering his forehead, his cheeks, the scarred bridge of his nose, his face growing warm with contentment as she wrapped her arms around him, cuddling him close. She was still so small, despite her height, but her arms were as sturdy as any witcher's as she hugged him, nestling her face in his neck as she curled up on top of him, not wanting to let him up just yet.

"I don't think that's true," Ciri answered, sounding just as cheeky and confident as he remembered. "I think I could've outduelled you, even with your home advantage. I'm quite good with a sword, and you were still asleep."

"Think that makes you a cheater," Geralt chuckled, wrapping his own arms around her in a warm hug.

Ciri laughed, lifting her head to kiss his cheek again. "Not unless it makes you one as well," she argued. "You taught me that sneaking up on monsters while they slept was a legitimate advantage. It isn't fair to change the rules just because you dislike them."

Geralt smirked, holding Ciri close, breathing in the familiar scent of the girl he had come to think of as his own – leather and travel, the scents of a witcher, along with hints of rose perfume, and between them, something slightly sharper he could not quite place, something uniquely her own. Letting go of Ciri, he gave her a soft nudge, coaxing her back onto the bed again, before he finally sat up, rubbing his eyes as he let out a tired yawn. "Got me at a disadvantage," he admitted, glancing over to her and noting her attire; it was not much different from what she wore back when they were fighting the Hunt together, though the quality had improved exponentially. "Gimme a minute. Gotta get something on. Then I'll show you around the property."

Ciri nodded, reaching out to touch the vampire-fang scars on the side of his neck, curiously, before they were both interrupted as the bedroom door flew open again, admitting a flustered-looking Barnabas-Basil. The majordomo wrung his hands, puffing anxiously as he reached up to adjust his spectacles. "Master witcher!" he exclaimed, sounding distressed. "I apologize – this person just barged in, with no explanation! I resisted as best I could, but to no avail—" He stopped, noting the two of them on the bed, his gaze moving first to Ciri, and then to Geralt, before his eyes trailed down to her hand still touching his bare shoulder, and he swallowed, his hands returning to his sides.

"Oh," he said, understanding now. "My. I apologize, master witcher. I hadn't known you'd be taking company while Lady Yennefer was away."

Geralt made a face at the inference, feeling a cold chill twist in his gut, running up his spine, and he had to fight the urge to pull away from Ciri's hand, carving as much space as possible on the bed between them. He had no idea how the majordomo could not recognize Ciri from the portrait of her hanging on the wall, but he supposed it was not his fault he had never been properly introduced, leaving him free to make his own assumptions. "Barnabas-Basil, this is Ciri," Geralt explained, causing Ciri to give a small nod at the introduction. "She's my daughter—our daughter. Mine and Yen's. Ciri, this is Barnabas-Basil. He's our majordomo, and the first line of defence around here."

Barnabas-Basil gave a curt nod in return, still seeming a bit dazed by the whole event, and Geralt hummed as he turned back to Ciri again, raising an incredulous brow. "Didn't tell me you traumatized my staff when you came," he told her.

Ciri shrugged, a guilty smile curling her lips. "It must've slipped my mind in my eagerness to see you," she admitted. Then, turning to Barnabas-Basil instead, she added, "I apologize, Barnabas-Basil. It wasn't my intent to wound you."

"Wound me, you have not," Barnabas-Basil answered, sounding much less ruffled, with the situation explained. "I was merely startled – though, pleased to make your acquaintance, finally. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of having an empress grace Corvo Bianco before. I've heard a great many things about you."

Ciri laughed, turning back to Geralt at the news. "A great many things, indeed," she agreed. "Nothing too scandalous, I hope, coming from these two."

"No more scandalous than usual," Geralt answered, grinning.

With the situation now explained, Geralt had quickly shooed Ciri off to wait for him to dress, unable to help another fond smile as she glanced back at him from the door, seeming loathe to leave his side again so soon. He had never expected her to show up like this, though he guessed he should have known it might happen this way; Ciri had never been one to sit still for long, and the duties of an empress could be stifling, he was sure. He wondered, as he pulled on his trousers and boots, if she had gotten Yennefer's letter at all, or if she had already been on the road towards Toussaint before the kestrel had even had a chance to reach her. Then again, Yennefer's kestrels had some kind of homing magic, enabling them to find their recipients wherever they may be, and he frowned as he finished tucking in his shirt, wondering what could have happened for Yennefer to have never gotten back in contact.

Ciri was waiting in the front-room as he entered, halfway between the dining-table and the breakfast nook, and she looked up quickly as she heard the bedroom door opening, her smile wide as she crossed to him again, giving him a good look over. "You look well, Geralt," she told him, reaching out to brush his shoulders, fussing over him like a small mother hen; she reminded him so much of Yennefer that he could not help but smile at the thought. "Your home is lovely," Ciri added. "I had no idea you'd done so well for yourself out here."

"Got it from the duchess," Geralt explained. "Down payment for killing the Beast of Beauclair. Even started to renovate a little bit… couple touches, improvements here and there." He waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the long hall leading off towards the trophy-room and library, and Ciri turned, glancing curiously down the corridor, clearly making plans to investigate later. "So," Geralt said, drawing her back again. "How'd you get your court to agree to let you come to Toussaint?"

Ciri beamed, turning to face him again, quickly, seeming eager to indulge his question. "It was actually a bit of brilliance on my part," she explained, her smile widening as she spoke. "I convinced them that I must get to know what I'm ruling, now that I've taken the throne. I proposed a tour of the provinces—with a small swarm of advisors, which was a formality I could not avoid, try as I might. Unfortunately, having them here essentially means they take turns lecturing me whilst I follow them about, scribbling notes." She sighed, folding her arms, her pink mouth twisting, looking discouraged, but not downtrodden. "I dislike being lectured to," she added, sourly. "Still, it was worth it to be able to see you again."

"Never did like taking notes," Geralt agreed, chuckling at the memory of her lessons at Kaer Morhen. "Plan to stay in Toussaint a while?"

Ciri nodded, her expression lifting again. "A bit," she said. "I convinced my advisors we'd be unwise to depart before I'd tasted each of this year's wines. My knowledge would be incomplete, you see, without firsthand familiarity with what my provinces are capable of exporting."

Geralt grunted. "Clever," he acknowledged. "Not sure how I feel about giving my daughter wine, though."

"Oh, but you must, Geralt," Ciri implored. "It's for the good of political erudition, after all."

Geralt chuckled at the cheeky argument. "Well," he said, grinning. "Can't argue that, I guess."

"And besides," Ciri added, reaching out to tug at his sleeve. "It's not the first time we've gotten drunk together."

Geralt nodded. "True," he agreed. "And this time Yen's not around to fuss at me for it."

Ciri nodded again, before stopping, looking around with a small frown, as if suddenly reminded of something. "Yes," she agreed, slowly. "Speaking of Yennefer… where is she? I haven't seen her since my arrival. I've something important to discuss with her—she sent me this curious note…" Reaching back to a pouch at her belt, she slid out a folded piece of parchment, shaking it out, before she rubbed it out smooth against the tabletop, turning back to Geralt again and holding it up to read.

"She asked that I respond immediately," Ciri said, glancing up at him once before returning to the parchment. "She claimed that she heard a disturbing rumour while travelling through the lands to the North… a Cintrian noble who she feared was using my name to commit political manoeuvres against the interest of Nilfgaard. Something about an attempt to retake Cintra as an independent province, though the details are unfortunately quite vague." She paused, frowning down at the letter, as if looking for any other details she could share. "She asked if it was possible I knew of any other Cintrian nobles with a name similar to mine who might be involved in such deeds," she added. "Or if perhaps there was someone trying to slander my name, given my newly-attained position in the court of Nilfgaard."

Geralt frowned at the letter, trying not to show how impressed he was by Yennefer's lie; had he not known the premise was false from the start, he might have almost believed it, himself. "Hm," he said after a while. "Seems plausible."

Ciri nodded, folding the letter up again. "It does," she agreed, stowing it back in her pouch. "Which is how I knew it to be utter nonsense. That was also why I decided to investigate in person—Yennefer is clever, but I know her too well. She wouldn't ask my advice on something like this; she would simply rush to fix it herself, or get you to fix it for her. She wouldn't risk involving me in something that could potentially put me or my reputation as empress at stake." She made a face at the thought, folding her arms, before she thinned her lips, letting out a soft hum. "I don't suppose you know anything about it," she added, looking up to Geralt again, expectantly.

Geralt shrugged. "First time I'm hearing about it," he admitted, deciding it was technically the truth.

Ciri narrowed her eyes, her pretty brow furrowing as she tried to decide whether or not to believe him, before she finally shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh and unfolding her arms again, realizing there was no use dwelling on it. "I must admit," she continued after a moment, sounding much more curious now. "I expected the house to be a bit more… lively. It almost feels as if I've come at the wrong time. Wherever has everyone run off to?" Moving over to the breakfast-nook, she peered around the corner, as if expecting to find more company hiding there, before she returned to Geralt again, sucking her lip as she looked up at him, propping her hands on her hips. "I at least expected to see Shani here," she admitted, sounding a bit disappointed. "I don't imagine she's in much spirit to travel, in her condition. How far along is she now?"

Geralt paused, taking a moment to think back to the last time he had been updated on Shani's pregnancy. "Seven months, I think," he finally answered, slowly. "Might be off. Hard to keep track of time these days."

"About ten weeks until the baby arrives, then," Ciri returned, sounding much more enthused than her father. "I can't wait to meet him—or her, I suppose. Though I suspect you'll be having a boy, knowing you."

"Hm," Geralt answered, folding his arms. "Yen thinks it's gonna be a boy, too."

Ciri nodded, seeming content in her guess, before she suddenly stopped, her eyes growing wide. "What did you do to your arm?" she asked, reaching across to inspect his fresh scars.

Geralt glanced down, having not even realized he had exposed his injured arm to her view. "Monster," he answered, allowing her to examine it. "Bit me. Still got some marks."

Ciri huffed at the blatant non-answer. "I figured that," she told him, annoyed. "What kind of monster was it?"

"Vendigo," Geralt said, retrieving his arm, taking a moment to glance down at the scarring as well.

Ciri frowned as she looked up at him again, her pink lips twisting as she wrinkled her nose in disdain. "You needn't tease me," she told him, sounding a bit hurt. "I was only wanting to know what you've been up to."

"Wouldn't tease about something like that," Geralt answered, shaking his head and letting his arm return to his side. "Was a vendigo. Didn't think they existed, 'til one nearly ripped my innards out."

Ciri's expression instantly cleared at this, and she blinked, her emerald eyes wide, staring at him for another long while. "I still think you might be pulling my leg," she admitted, her tone brighter now, despite her scepticism. "But I want to hear the whole story, regardless. Where did you find it? What did it look like? How difficult was the fight?"

"Kaedwen," Geralt answered, bluntly. "Looked like death. Fight nearly killed us—me and Eskel. Just dumb luck we figured out how to kill it first."

Ciri snorted, pursing her lips at the tale. "You're terrible at telling stories, Geralt," she informed him. "Fine, then. I won't harass you about it anymore right now. But someday, you'll have to tell me the whole thing—start to finish, with all the gruesome details." Having said this, she paused, considering for a moment, before a small, pensive frown began to furrow her brow. "It is strange to think about, though," she added, causing Geralt to look up again, intrigued. "First you encounter a hybrid that shouldn't exist, then a beast only heard of in legend. It's not impossible that you might encounter such things, with how far and wide you travel… but doesn't it seem a bit… I'm not sure…" She paused, trying to think of the word she was looking for, before she finally let out a soft sigh, seeming disappointed.

"…Odd?" she settled on, though her face made it clear that was not quite the word she wanted. "Disturbing, perhaps? That you've encountered both in a matter of months, rather than years?"

Geralt hummed, nodding in agreement. "Not the first time I've thought about that," he admitted. "Doesn't take into account the mula, either. Or the thing Eskel fought—another hybrid, with another of those discs."

"So the hybrids both had cataloguing plates," Ciri concluded, sounding much more interested at this new information. "But the other creatures didn't, meaning they likely weren't created here. Perhaps they came from other worlds?"

"Thought about that, too," Geralt agreed, nodding. "Went with Regis to ask their Elder about the mula. Said he hadn't seen the gate open recently, but mentioned the fabric's been weaker. Possibly weak enough to manipulate. If these monsters were brought from other worlds, had to be by someone who could manipulate the fabric, open gates. Bring things through."

Ciri made a face at the thought. "Well, it wasn't me," she returned, sounding a bit affronted. "If I were to open gates to other worlds, it would be to explore them, myself. Not to bring monsters through."

Geralt hummed, realizing she made a good point. "Still doesn't explain the alghoul," he added after another moment. "Not sure how it plays into all this. Definitely of this world, but… not quite. Something off about it."

"An alghoul?" Ciri asked, raising her brows. "You never told me about that one."

"Didn't see a reason," Geralt returned, shrugging. "Just seemed like a big alghoul. Nothing special."

Ciri pursed her lips, realizing she could not argue his logic. "Is it possible you missed something about it when you fought it?" she asked, her pretty brow furrowing again. "Did you cut off its head when you killed it? You said that's where you found the disc in the cemetaur hybrid."

Geralt frowned, feeling a bit called out. "No," he admitted after a moment, honestly. "Didn't think about it. Didn't see a need at the time. Wasn't until that kid—" He stopped, realizing that now was not the time to get into a conversation about Rosie, before he let out a frustrated breath, shaking his head and waving a hand to move the conversation along. "Doesn't matter," he said, dismissing it. "Thing's probably long gone now. Been at least a few months since then. Imagine it was probably burned. Tossed in a pit with all the unclaimed bodies."

"Probably," Ciri agreed, nodding, seeming less deterred by the thought. "But metal doesn't burn the same as flesh. Even if it the body was burned, the disc would probably still be there." She paused, allowing a moment to pass, as if hoping for Geralt to pick up her implication, before she reached across to grab hold of his arm, tugging at it like an excited child at a faire. "Come on, Geralt," she pressed, unable to help an eager grin from pulling at her face. "You can't simply present me with a mystery like this and not expect me to want to investigate! I came all the way to Toussaint to see you—can't you spare me at least one adventure, while I'm here?"

"Didn't ask you to come out to see me," Geralt reminded her, unable to help grinning through his stern expression. "But… guess I can't do anything, now you're here. Couldn't hurt to go on one investigation."

Ciri beamed, her freckled face glowing so brightly it could have put the summer sun to shame, and Geralt paused, her expression suddenly reminding him of something he had wanted to give her when next he saw her. Reaching to the pouch at his belt, he pulled something out, before holding his closed fist out towards her, nodding to indicate for her to hold out her hands to receive her mysterious gift. Ciri blinked, her expression shifting from joy to curiosity, but she quickly released his arm as she was told, cupping her hands in front of her like an obedient child awaiting an allowance. Geralt turned his hand over on top of both of hers, emptying the warm, humming gift into her slender palms, before he drew his hand back again, allowing her to see at last what she had been given.

Vesemir's worn amulet glinted softly in the light wafting through the front-room windows, and Ciri gasped as she stared down at the medallion in her hands, too stunned for a moment to know how to react. Then, after a few seconds, she let out a soft, joyful sob, clutching the necklace to her heart, squeezing the amulet so tightly Geralt was sure her knuckles were turning white beneath her gloves. "Geralt!" she exclaimed, looking up at him again, her eyes growing misty with tears. "How—where—?!" She stopped, realizing she could not find the words to express herself, before she jumped forward to embrace him instead, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. Geralt grunted as Ciri collided with him, smiling widely as she began to kiss his face all over again, feeling the warm water of her tears start to soak into his beard as she nestled her face against his.

Tilting her head back gently, Geralt smiled down at the blubbering mess of an empress, before he chuckled softly, starting to wipe the tears of joy from her cheeks with a gentle thumb. "He'd want you to have it," he told her, kissing her forehead, before looking down at her again, warm with affection. "Empress or witcher. Nobody deserves it more."

Ciri sniffled, nodding in agreement. "Thank you, Geralt," she told him, choking back another sob. Geralt chuckled, kissing her head again, before taking the necklace gently from between her stunned fingers, moving to drape it around her neck and letting it settle heavily against her heart. The wolf's head came to a gentle rest against her chest, just heavy enough to pull the chain straight, and Ciri let out a soft, joyful huff as she ran her fingers over its sharp form, still not knowing what to say.

"Not a proper witcher without a medallion," Geralt told her, tapping the wolf's snout with a thoughtful finger. "Can't much help on witcher investigations unless you're properly equipped."

Ciri nodded, sniffling again, before quickly wiping her tears away with the back of her glove. "Right," she agreed, her voice still shaking, though he could tell she was trying hard to recover. Then, pausing a moment, she looked up at him again, before she suddenly let out a small, embarrassed chuckle. "I got makeup in your beard," she told him, reaching out to clean it, causing his beard to crackle as she ran her shaking thumb across it.

"Hm," Geralt answered, letting her fix it. "Don't let your attendants see. Might think I'm up to no good."

Ciri laughed, wiping away the last of her makeup, before she turned his head, making sure she had gotten all of it. "My attendants know who you are," she told him, sniffling again, though her crying had stopped by now. "They know you can do whatever you please, and no one can get you in trouble for it. In all honesty, you hold more authority in my court than any of them ever will, or ever could." She stopped, realizing her fretting was done, before she reached to take hold of her medallion again, running her fingers over its curves and edges, as if trying to learn the shape by heart. "If you wanted, you could even take your place in the role of court witcher at my palace in Vizima," she added, hopefully, raising her brows at the thought. "That way we'd never have to be apart again, and I would provide ample subsidy for everyone. Shani and the baby included."

Geralt faltered, finding it hard to deny that the thought of being Ciri's court witcher was a tempting one – she would provide well for all of them, he was sure, giving them everything they could ever want, and more. Shani would be able to work as court physician, and her baby would be raised in luxury—but the idea of leaving Corvo Bianco was a bit too much for him to bear, and he lowered his gaze at the thought, letting out a soft sigh.

"Offer sounds… wonderful," Geralt admitted, reaching out to take her hands in his again, sadly. "Best I'll ever get, probably. But… can't do it. Can't uproot Yen like that. Not again." He paused, his brow furrowing, feeling his mouth twist into a discouraged line at the thought; he hated that he had to turn down such a generous offer, knowing Ciri only wanted the best for him. "Too much history here," he added, looking up to meet her emerald eyes with his golden ones. "Can't justify moving. Can't ask Shani to move all the way out to Nilfgaard, either. Not when she just started a practice here."

Ciri frowned at the answer, finding it hard to take, before she finally let out a soft sigh, squeezing his hands. "I understand," she told him, nodding sadly. "It was unfair of me to ask you to uproot like that. This is your home now, and I… well, I miss you terribly, but it still isn't right for me to ask you to leave it."

Geralt smiled softly, pulling her forward into another hug and burying his face in her mousy hair. "Miss you too," he told her. "You'd asked six months ago, would've said yes. Bad timing's all."

Ciri huffed a soft breath into his shirt, nestling her face into the dip of his collar-bone, and Geralt could feel her slender arms squeezing him tightly, as if afraid to let go again and lose him for good this time. She really was so slim, he thought, so tiny, even with months at Vizima's palace under her belt; she had never been very good at nourishing herself properly, and he could not help worrying that the stress Regis had mentioned earlier might be taking its toll. She was nothing like Yennefer, all bones and angles where the sorceress was cushioning and curves, and he pulled back at the thought, holding her shoulders for a moment as he looked her over, still having a hard time seeing her as an adult with the weight of an entire empire on her shoulders.

"Should probably head into town," Geralt finally prompted, unsure what else there was to add. "Takes a couple hours to get there on horseback. Attendents'll just have to trust me with you for that time."

Ciri nodded eagerly, reaching up to clasp her wolf's head medallion again. "They won't have much choice," she returned, cheekily. "We've an adventure to go on, whether they approve or not."

Geralt grinned, chuckling at her confidence. "Just like old times," he said.

Ciri's dappled gelding blustered as it tossed its mane, bobbing its head as the morning breeze filled the riders' lungs with the smell of wildflowers, and Ciri smiled as she squinted up to check the sun, giving her horse a soft tap on its flanks to catch up with Roach. Geralt hummed as he glanced towards his daughter, unable to help a small grin from his face at the sight of her, before steering Roach a bit closer to her horse, not wanting to have to shout across the distance between their saddles.

"Can't help wondering," Geralt noted, causing Ciri to look over at him, curiously. "Why travel on horseback? Could've just portalled. Even with your attendants, would probably be a lot quicker."

Ciri chuckled, looking out towards the road again. "I am quite fast when I'm allowed to use portals," she agreed. "And, truth be told, that would've been my preference as well, but my attendants simply wouldn't hear of it. Voorhis in particular wanted to make absolute sure I was watched over at all times… I tried to tell him that neither he nor my attendants could very well stop me if I did wish to simply portal, but he told me it would set a poor example as empress if I were to do that – and, as much as I hate to admit it, he was right. So I rode horseback the whole way, to show I can be a responsible leader. Albeit an aggrieved one."

"Hm," Geralt answered. "Never liked Voorhis. Can't deny he has a point, though."

Ciri tilted her head, considering. "He's not so bad," she said after a moment, surprising Geralt. "He does try to stay in Emhyr's good graces, but I don't believe he holds any loyalty to him outside of his work. …Although, while he doesn't say it, I do believe he hopes to marry into the throne one day. I've no interest in him in that way, of course, but I do think I wouldn't mind being his friend." She paused, her pretty brow furrowing, carving a soft crease in her freckled forehead. "He seems to have a wry sense of humour," she added, musingly. "And he's quite smart—which can't be said of many of Emhyr's lackeys. I do think I could quite enjoy his company, were he not always trying to subtly cajole me into marriage."

Geralt snorted at the thought. "Guess that explains why we never got along," he acknowledged.

Ciri raised a brow, glancing over at him. "Why?" she asked. "Shouldn't you like me to marry someday?"

"Someday," Geralt agreed, wrapping Roach's reins around his fist. "When you're ready."

Ciri chuckled again, her eyes returning to the road. "Perhaps I'll wait until I'm a hundred, then, like you," she said, causing him to glance over, grinning at the jab. "Perhaps by then I'll have found someone you approve of. We can't all stumble upon our soulmates by way of djinn magic, you know."

Geralt chuckled, before suddenly stopping, remembering something he had wanted to bring up; he had nearly forgotten about it in his happiness to see Ciri, but the mention of marriage had reminded him. "By the way," he said, before pausing again, not quite sure how to word his question. Lambert had been so severe, so assured in his language, but to Geralt, it still seemed like nonsense. "D'you know what… unicorn hunting is?" he asked, nearly wincing as the words left his mouth.

Ciri faltered, before suddenly laughing out loud, seeming too startled to suppress her reaction. "What!" she exclaimed, turning to look at him again. "Geralt! Where are you getting these questions?"

Geralt shrugged, tapping Roach's flanks again. "Just… heard it somewhere," he said, uncomfortably. "Don't have to answer. Just thought you might know. Figured—"

"It's a derogatory term," Ciri answered, relieving him from having to explain. "It means someone seeking a coveted rarity – looking to bring a bisexual woman into a monogamous relationship solely for the purpose of sex." She sighed, wrapping her hands more tightly around her horse's reins as she thought, and Geralt frowned, wondering if he had made a mistake in asking such a personal question. "It's… degrading," Ciri went on after a moment, sounding more flustered now, her cheeks turning slightly pinker as she spoke. "To some, we're seen as barely human – merely as sex objects – which makes it quite difficult to find love at times, as you can imagine. Some women tend to avoid being with other women who've… been with a man, in any intimate way… and some men, by comparison, think we're easy, and assume we'll be open to things they would never ask of women with… strictly male preferences."

"Hm," Geralt answered, thinning his lips. "Didn't realize. Figured you'd have it easier, having more to choose from."

Ciri paused, seeming surprised, before she finally gave a soft chuckle, sounding almost sad. "I appreciate your optimistic outlook," she told him, turning to look over at him with a fond smile. "And I do wish it was that easy. Though I admit, I've been… thinking a bit more about a political union lately, if only to avoid such headaches. Strange as it seems, I believe Voorhis is the only person in the world interested in me solely for my crown, and not for… other things. I honestly don't know that that would be so terrible, considering the sore luck I've had in… seeking other alternatives."

Geralt hummed, raising his brows at the thought. "Liking Voorhis more and more," he admitted.

Ciri laughed again, the sound more jovial this time. "Geralt!" she said. "You must know I'm not a virgin, by now. And even if I were to marry Voorhis, I'd still likely seek intimacy elsewhere, should he agree to it."

Geralt nodded, giving Roach's flanks another tap. "Sure," he agreed. "Seems reasonable. Just relieved to think any grandkids I have won't end up looking like Voorhis."

"An alghoul?"

The gravedigger scratched his head, looking the world like the monkeys Geralt had seen in travelling circus cages – he was missing teeth, and nearly bald, with ears that stuck out like a chimpanzee's. "Don't remember an alghoul," he admitted, moving his hand to next scratch his stubbled chin. "Burned plenty ghouls in those pits – per your suggestion, witcher – but… can't say I ever burned an alghoul."

"Would've been a couple months ago," Geralt said, jerking his chin in the direction of the graveyard. "Fought it in the cemetery. Desecrated a few graves before I got there. Big thing. All black."

The gravedigger paused another moment, before he suddenly lifted a crooked finger, seeming to remember something. "Oh!" he said, his toothless mouth splitting in a grin. "The biggun! Yes, 'course I remember him. I buried him back in the grave, so we wouldn't get more scavengers. Per your suggestion, witcher."

"You buried him?" Ciri asked, raising her brows. "Where did you bury him?"

The gravedigger leaned on his spade, pointing to a headstone angled crookedly in the dirt. "Had a fresh hole," he said, seeming pleased with himself, passing a hand distractedly back across his balding head. "Rolled him right in it. Had to sorta—stuff him down, but he fit. Eventually, he fit."

Geralt grunted, unsure how much he liked the idea of the gravedigger's shoddy handiwork. "Thanks," he said. "Need you to dig it back up now."

The gravedigger gawked, his nearly-toothless mouth hanging open in a bewildered gap. "You what?" he finally asked. "Why in the world would I? The beast's been dead for months. Gonna reek something awful if I do."

"We need access to that alghoul," Ciri insisted, taking a step forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Geralt. "If you won't dig him up, we'll find someone who will. Someone who won't complain about being paid."

The gravedigger pursed his lips, seeming suddenly much more interested. "Didn't mention about being paid," he said, picking up his spade. "Let's go dig up your alghoul, shall we?"

It took less time than Geralt had anticipated for the man to empty the hole, and he wrinkled his nose at the smell, wondering if the gravedigger had truly buried the beast six feet deep, as he had recommended. It certainly did not smell like a well-kept grave, though he supposed that was to be expected, considering its occupant, and he nodded his thanks to the gravedigger as he finished, pulling out three gold coins and handing them over. It was difficult to recognize the graveyard from the fight, with the cheerful sun making everything seem soft and bright, but he could still easily recognize the grave he had nearly drowned in during his encounter with the alghoul. He hummed as he crouched down beside the hole, taking a moment to inspect the monstrous corpse inside, unable to help wondering if the original occupant's family had been informed of their loved one's new cotenant.

"You weren't joking," Ciri observed, crouching beside the hole as well with an impressed huff. "That is an enormous alghoul. I'm surprised you didn't think anything was amiss with it earlier."

"Harder to tell in the dark," Geralt admitted, before sliding down into the hole with the alghoul. He coughed as he landed in the dirt, trying his best to keep his feet between the creature's legs, before he bent down to get a better look, wondering what could even be left after so long. For all its time spent buried, he realized, the alghoul had stayed relatively well-preserved; only its softest tissues seemed to have fallen to decay in the rich Toussaint soil. He wondered if the lack of contact with the air was what had preserved it so well, as most corpses he found after a few months of rot were bloated, mummified, or stripped down to the bones by scavengers, yet this one seemed to have been kept nearly perfect by lack of sunlight and exposure to the elements.

Making a face at the thought, Geralt bent down, hoisting the beast up onto his forearms, before he started to push it up over the ledge with a grunt, hearing its spines rattle with an eerie hollow sound as it moved. Even in death, the alghoul was just as intimidating as it had been in life, and Ciri was quick to rush forward, grabbing the beast around its massive ribcage and helping to pull it up onto the dirt. She gave a sharp bark of success as they finally managed to pull the alghoul out of the grave, before she crouched down beside it for a better look, pushing the creature's mangled lip up to see its grisly teeth.

"Geralt," Ciri said, running her fingers curiously over the beast's midnight coat as she inspected it. "I admit it's been a while since I last killed an alghoul, but… I don't remember them as ever having fur."

Geralt frowned, taken aback by the question, before pulling himself up from the grave again with a huff, dusting his pants off quickly before bending down to see what Ciri was talking about. Just as she had said, the alghoul was covered in what looked to be a short layer of sleek black fur, so closely-grown that any amount of distance would have made it look like normal flesh. It had been impossible to see in the darkness and rain of the night he had first fought the beast, he realized, but now that it had started to decay, he could see parts where the fur had started to fray and peel. Running his hand over the creature's fur, he frowned, taking a moment to give it another, closer look, before he suddenly realized that the fur was not the only thing he had failed to take notice of during his fight with the beast.

"Got dewclaws," Geralt observed, nodding towards the creature's front legs still sprawled out towards the open grave. "Not supposed to have those, either. Something only mammals have. Cats and dogs, mostly."

"And look," Ciri added, reaching forward again to poke at the creature's shrivelled lip. "Whiskers. That doesn't seem right, either. What kind of alghoul has whiskers?"

Geralt shook his head. "None that I know of," he admitted, sitting down beside the beast to get a better look. "Something's not right. Too many things off. Almost like it's some kind of…" He stopped, taking a moment to think back to every furred creature he could remember, before his mind suddenly returned to the vicious black cats he had encountered during his days exploring Toussaint's countryside. "Panther," he said, furrowing his brow. "Panthers climb trees, too. Didn't occur to me before. Had no reason to occur to me then, but…" He paused again, resting his hand on the alghoul's patchy coat, trying to think of some explanation, before he reached back to his belt instead, sliding out his hunting knife and starting to pull the creature's head into his lap.

Ciri frowned, watching in interest as Geralt began to slice through the alghoul's rotting throat. "It can't be a coincidence," she said, sitting down as well and scooting a bit closer to the carnage. "The cemetaur hybrid, the alghoul hybrid… someone is breeding necrophages."

"Breeding something," Geralt agreed, sliding his knife around the edge of the creature's neck. "Can't figure out the logic, though. Necrophage with mammal, necrophage with hermaphroditic monster… insectoid with insectoid. Doesn't fit. Had to guess… seems like someone's just trying to see what boundaries they can push with manufactured genetics." He frowned, turning his knife to sink it more deeply into the alghoul's neck, before he began to saw around the width of it, trying to find something underneath. "Could just be a fluke, though," he added, turning the creature's head over in his lap to continue. "All depends on if we find another of those—"

He stopped, feeling his arm give a jerk as the knife collided with something solid under the creature's flesh, and he pulled it back out again, starting to peel back the rotting skin to get a look at what was inside. Just as he had suspected, a faint silvery glint peered out at him from between the layers of rotten meat, and he gave a triumphant huff, before starting to pare back the layers of skin and muscle with his knife, one at a time. As he worked to extract the anomaly, it began to slowly take form – a metal plate, the same width and heft as a horseshoe – until he finally managed to pry it loose, letting it fall into his lap with a satisfying thunk.

"A plate!" Ciri exclaimed, reaching forward to grab it, not even bothering to watch as Geralt pushed the monster from his lap again. "I told you it wouldn't have been destroyed!" Turning it over, she inspected the edge of the disc, where a deep cut had been wedged with a witcher's blade, before she set the plate flat against her thigh, rubbing at it with her glove and wrinkling her nose at the smell. Finished scrubbing a layer of rotten residue from the face of the disc, she then turned it towards the light, squinting as she tried to read the code stamped into its metal face. "VA… something… Ex-II-001-ALPHA," she read, tilting the plate to better read the faded lettering. She paused, pursing her lips, before looking up at Geralt again, curious. "I've still no idea what this means," she admitted. "It's much clearer than the one you sent, with that cut across it, but… it still makes no sense."

"Hm," Geralt answered, reaching across to take the disc from her and staring down at the lettering. "Had to guess… numbers represent model number. So—Experiment model two, Specimen one, Alpha version."

"Model two?" Ciri asked, looking down to the alghoul with a start and raising her brows. "That would mean there's at least one more model out there. Perhaps more, if they're still actively being made."

"Maybe," Geralt agreed, his mouth thinning into a grim line. "Wouldn't surprise me."

"And you really don't know where these might be coming from?" Ciri asked, looking over at him again.

Geralt frowned as he stared at the disc in his lap, trying to decide whether or not to speak his mind. "Only one thing I can think of," he admitted, hesitant even as he said it. "But, been too many years. Doubt there's anything left."

Ciri frowned, reaching across to take the disc again. "What is it?" she asked.

Geralt hummed, still unsure if the thought was worth pursuing. "Didn't occur to me until I talked to Eskel," he said after a moment, letting out a wary breath. "Monster he fought was similar to one I took down years ago. Had a disc in its flesh, too—like this one. Some format and everything. Traced it back to Rissberg Castle back then, but… that was thirty years ago. Can barely even remember." He paused, his silver brow furrowing as the memory of Rissberg Castle returned to him, recalling again why he had tried so hard to put it from his mind for so many years. "Letter we found on an explorer near Regis' gate mentioned Rissberg's mages, too," he added, thoughtfully. "But, again, time moved differently there. Nothing we've found indicates Rissberg's still active. Could all just be coincidence."

"What makes you so sure it's not Rissberg?" Ciri asked, frowning at his reasoning.

Geralt thinned his lips, thinking it over. "Was there when it went under," he finally answered, shrugging. "Mages did a lot of illegal experiments there back in the day, but the whole thing's totally defunct now. Nobody there anymore except…" He paused again, trying to think back to which of the old masters could possibly still be alive. "Myles Trethevey, maybe," he said after a moment. "Stucco Zangenis. Not that many. Most were either killed or resigned in disgrace after the disaster with Sorel. Can't blame them."

"Is it possible Myles or Stucco could've created these hybrids?" Ciri asked, her eyes wide at the thought.

Geralt shook his head. "Not those two," he said. "They took part in experiments, but both valued status over science. Don't think they would've had the drive to continue elder grandmaster Ortolan's research after he died. No celebrity in it – and without Ortolan and Sorel around, no funding, either." Staring down at the corpse again, he made a face, wondering why those two had bothered to keep their positions at all; Rissberg's name had been permanently damaged by the circumstances surrounding Sorel, and both would have been much better off in Kovir. Perhaps there was something appealing to them about being the last dying remnants of a fading order, he thought, though he, himself had never found the idea to be particularly pleasing when it came to the fate of the witchers.

"Would have to be someone outside the original grandmasters," he added after a moment, still considering. "With extensive study in magic and science. And funding. Someone who could make headway on Ortolan's notes. Old man was mostly into potions, but he was a disciple of Idarran, so… some pretty grisly shit." He paused, making a face at the thought, before shaking his head with a grunt to clear it. "When he found out I killed his mentor's experiment, he tried to have me captured," he added, wrinkling his nose at the memory. "Wanted to experiment on me. Pull out my eyes to study them. Promised to grow them back once he perfected his method for that. Guess if someone did have an interest in monster breeding, or… restoring body parts, might make some use of his work."

"It seems like restoring body parts would be a rather useful skill," Ciri observed, looking down into the grave again.

"Hm," Geralt answered, thoughtfully. "Maybe. Philippa Eilhart might be interested, if no one else. Not that skilled in science, though. More the type to wait for someone else to figure it out, then come in and steal it."

Ciri frowned, looking up again. "You don't really think Philippa Eilhart is behind all this?" she asked.

Geralt shook his head. "No," he answered, frankly. "Just the first I could think of who'd benefit from it. Guess it could be used to restore things other than eyes, though. If someone did manage to figure it out." Pushing himself up from the graveside, he wiped down his trousers, before dusting his hands of the dark soil. "Doesn't matter much either way," he added, raising a brow as he continued. "No actual proof anyone's using his work, except the existence of these hybrids. Might not even be his work, for all we know. Could be leftovers from Idarran's experiments, years ago. Took me 'til thirty years ago to kill one of 'em. Who knows how many more are still left out there."

"Perhaps," Ciri answered, sounding less convinced, pushing herself up from the graveside as well. "But even if that explains the hybrids, it still doesn't explain the creatures from other worlds. Was that kind of thing ever studied at Rissberg? Opening portals between worlds?"

Geralt frowned, thinking back again. "Doubt that kind of thing is studied anywhere," he finally admitted. "Though if anyone was ever dumb enough to try, probably be the mages at Rissberg. No regulations on their experiments, so the things that went on there… pretty sure not even the grandmasters knew the extent of it." He paused, making a face, remembering back to the nightmare that had been his last visit to Rissberg – how he had been brought on with a tale of demonic possession, only for it to turn out to be a sadistic mage instead, a cold-blooded killer looking for an excuse to murder without question or blame for his actions.

"Things they studied there weren't helpful, just… unethical," he added after a moment, letting out a disgusted huff. "Genetic trials, unchecked practice of goëtia… thought they could do no wrong, because no one was stopping them. Mentality like that… doomed to fail from the start. Not sure why anyone would want a repeat of that."

"Perhaps someone with no qualm for morals," Ciri answered, her green eyes distant as she thought. "Or perhaps someone desperate enough to have no other choice for where they go to perform their experiments."

Geralt hummed at the thought, feeling a bit uneasy. "Could be," he agreed. "Regis said the same thing. Just makes it more worrisome, if true. Desperation can drive men to do unspeakable things." He paused, before looking down to the alghoul again, wondering if there was anything left to learn from it, before he finally shoved it with his boot, pushing the heavy corpse back into the grave. "Think that's enough desecration for one day," he said, offering Ciri a small, forced smirk. "Got plenty of other important work to do. Plenty of wine for you to taste back home."

Ciri paused, still seeming to be considering who might be desperate enough to run such experiments, before she finally allowed herself to smile again, reaching forward to take Geralt's arm. "Lead the way, witcher," she told him, giving him a fond pat on the shoulder.