Wow, fuck! This one's been a while. But! It's also a lot longer. So, yeah. Enjoy.

He fought very hard to preserve a stoic demeanour. Keeping a straight face, while his mind was turning around itself, bubbling and boiling like a volcano, taxed him more than the whole of yesterday's bloodshed.

Worry was clouding his mood, even overshadowing the quick outburst of anger and the uncomfortable silence between himself and the others. He wished to speak with Ciri and apologize for his inappropriate behaviour, for scaring her, but whenever he tried to concentrate on something delicate, the picture of Geralt's friend, disemboweled on that horrific sign of the healing church, wrestled to the forefront of his mind.

Little voices accompanied his struggle. Whispers from below, from beneath the crimson surface, the echoes of every man, woman, or child who had fallen to his hands. They had been with him ever since he exited Old Yharnam. The charred district had been when he had first heard the echoes speak, guiding him, sometimes to help him in his journey, sometimes to enact their own vengeance.

Of course, they were soft here, barely whimpers from the bottom of his ears, so faint that he had almost forgotten about them. When he was on the road with Ciri, or in the city with all the noise, the little voices drowned and fell back to the vast, empty expanses of his self. Only during his exchange with Akhorn's brigands did the blood sound it's sweetly, foreboding beckon.

He stopped, the gravel under his boots grinding harshly and lifted his head. A drop of rain shattered on the tip of his tricorn. He lifted his hand and watched as wet spots formed on his palm. He hadn't noticed that he had walked this far and had he walked only ten steps further, he would have fallen from the pier into the harbor basin. The wind blew a gust of salty water into his face. It was cool and sent a shiver down his spine. Spring in this place was much colder than he had anticipated, though his coat kept him comfortably warm.

"Oi!" Something told him that he was addressed. "Watch out!"

He was roughly shoved aside as a good dozen dockworkers pressed past him, large trunks on their shoulders and grim look on their faces. Johannes watched them go by, sweat and dirt on their skin from half their day at work. He smelled the exertion, foul breath, a festering wound and the sweet aroma from the freight.

He briefly wondered which one of the workers suffered from the infected injury, then turned around on his heel, deciding that it was none of his business. He had more important matters to attend to. For example, he would need to return to the spot where poor Klara had been crucified and search for any leads that might've survived the fire. In retrospective, it had been foolish of him and Geralt to torch the cross so soon, yet simply the sight of it made his stomach churn and blood boil. He knew that his hate for the church and the choir may be misplaced. They acted on human nature and had been consumed by alien powers, much like any lycanthrope that had prowled the city. Yet, he was not willing to shed a tear for the many he had killed. Not even for the pitiable Ebrietas, who had been abandoned and most probably only just as curious as the choir.

The rain was now falling in strands, yet he did not hurry as people rushed by him to either reach their destination, or find a temporary shelter from the downpour. Even before Yharnam, he had been quite resistant to the elements, hardened by his time as a soldier, even though he had always stood in the shadow of his brother.

He shook the thought from his head, deeming it irrelevant and continued on. He stopped shortly, when a patron was violently thrown from a harborside whorehouse, stepping around the man as he was cursing and threatening. He had neither time, nor was it his place to interfere in the squabbles of these people.

The rain started to lessen when he arrived at Yennefer's residence. Noiselessly, he crept up the stairs and let himself in. Ciri was not there, having left this morning to visit a troubadour who was apparently befriended with her and Geralt. Yennefer was locked in her study. He could hear the rough scratching of a feather, as she most probably was producing letters. She was high in demand he had heard.

He had almost come to ask himself where Geralt had gone to, when he saw the witcher sitting with his back to him, just around the corner at the fireplace. His blade was lying in front of the kneeling man, sheathed and with maintenance supplies next to it. It appeared that the man was meditating. Not wanting to disturb someone deep in such a practice, Johannes was about to turn, when the witcher addressed him.

"Sit with me, Hunter."

He had turned around and their eyes met. Like every time that happened, it was a subtle struggle for dominance, with neither side wanting to give in. Johannes eventually decided to give in and after shedding his dripping coat, he pulled over a chair and joined the white haired man at the fire.

Some time went by before Geralt spoke up again.

"What are you, Hunter?"

Johannes stared into the small fire, wringing his hands.

"You answered your question yourself, witcher."

"Beyond the regular profession, the word 'Hunter' means little to me. I am interested."

Geralt glanced over to him.

"Ciri has told me of what you can do. She fears that she might have similarities with you."

Johannes smiled grimly.

"Those would be few. Compared to us two, she is to me as dawn to dusk."

"And what similarities would we two share?"

The witcher nimbly rose to his feet, stretched his legs and sat down on another chair himself.

"We are not entirely human, both of us. Aren't we?"

"Yet I don't propose slaughtering entire villages because of a plague."

"Well, I do. You will too when you see what the beastly scourge can do. But isn't it true that witchers are made by introducing potentially lethal doses of physiology changing agents into the body?"

"Most boys have died, yes. The rest became us. We have stopped performing the ritual. My late master was not convinced by it and I agree."

Johannes nodded.

"I was made by the treatment with the holy blood. Ministration it was called and as I learned, it was only through dumb luck that it did not turn me into a lumbering monstrosity and left me to keep my mind."

"So here we are, two freaks with blood under our nails."

"Here we are, indeed."

There was a while where the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of clothing.

"You know, I love Cirella like a daughter." Geralt suddenly said. "I suppose you already understand, but to be sure, I want to make it unmistakable."

He tapped on his sword's scabbard with his knuckles.

"I will not hesitate to do whatever I have to, to keep her safe."

The threat didn't faze Johannes. He had no intention of hurting her, or Geralt, or Yennefer. He admitted though, that he would have intimidated the old Johannes.

"Then consider me an ally, rather than a threat." He answered. "I see her as a friend, something that the gods had the humour to deprive me often in my life."

Geralt withdrew his gaze, possibly satisfied. After while, he chuckled.

"The gods? Wouldn't have taken you for a man of religion."

"I am not." The Hunter said. "Though, it doesn't need a man's belief when he has seen."

"Seen what?"

Johannes turned his head, his face carrying an expression of grim amusement.

"Seen what we are worth to them."

"I don't know Ciri." Dandelion said in a teasing voice. "For someone you claim not to care much for, you talk an awful lot about."

She shot him an angry look.

"I didn't say I didn't care, I said I… ah screw you, Dandelman!"

"Dandel-what?" He laughed. "You might have had a glass too many."

In all honesty, both of them had downed more than usually when they met. As one of the few friends of her who was not in the business of letting blood, Dandelion was a welcome exception and someone in whom she could confide about her emotions. Yennefer, of course, was like a mother for her on many occasions. But she could be hard. Geralt cared for her, but he was a rough man. Triss and Dandelion on the other hand, they welcomed her softer sides, though she knew well how to turn those away.

"It's not like you didn't share a room overnight with him."

"Dandelion!" She almost shoved an empty cup from the table, but was quick enough to catch it before it tipped over the edge.

"I'll have you know, he was very cordial about it and nothing happened."

"Oh, of course. I know how this goes. He probably didn't even look at you."

"No." She said.

"Well, maybe he likes men?"

"If so, you should watch out. He can be quite charming, even if on accident."

"I will, but more severely so he doesn't steal my soul. My patrons are telling ghastly stories of him, you know?"

"They always do. There are stories about all of us, aren't there?"

The troubadour smiled wryly. "There are, but people speak of him like he's a demon. They are afraid, Ciri. They fear that next time, he will strike not brigands, but orderly folk."

"He's not a demon." Ciri sighed. "He's a skilled fighter and clumsy as a person. I don't think he was more courteous to me than he was shy."

"Your type then."

"Shut uup."

Ciri looked past her friend and saw his fiance, Priscilla, walk down the stairs and come towards them. Catching herself so she wouldn't fall, she immediately stood up and stretched out her arms for an embrace.

"Pris!"

"Ciri." They hugged for a long time, each enjoying the warm embrace. Priscilla spoke up when they finally parted.

"What brings you here? And why are you drunk?" She added with a narrowed eye brow.

"She has trouble with her boyfriend." Dandelion cut in from the side, before only narrowly dodging a swip from the white haired girl.

"Don't!" Priscilla said with a playful smile as she held Ciri back, who was struggling softly. "I need him, don't you damage him."

Ciri quickly regained her calm. The teasing of the bard was not enough to make her truly mad, only so much as to give him a little knock on the arm, or a flick on the ear. Dandelion was soft and she would never truly hurt him.

"So, who is it? I am interested. You show up, the first time in months and make me pull it from your nose?"

"He's not my… boyfriend." Ciri protested. "I barely know for two weeks."

"And yet you come here and pour your heart out. When was the last time you have been with anyone? Six months? A year?"

"More? Maybe two years? Probably more." Ciri replied sheepishly and Priscilla almost looked shocked.

"Oh, my child, then you need to act, before you shrivel up and become an old hag." She was teasingly pulling on Ciri's cheeks as she taunted her.

"Who is it now? A handsome farm boy, maybe a knight, or a more roguish kind of character?"

Again, Dandelion answered for her. "The oil street butcher it is, my dear."

Now Priscilla clasped her hand over her mouth. "Is that true? The one who chased these bandits out?"

"He is not my boyfriend." Ciri answered, teeth pressed together.

"But people say that he is nine foot tall and ancient. I wouldn't have thought you-"

"I don't! And he is maybe six foot and something and probably one, two years older than me."

Priscilla had a hand in front of her mouth, fighting vehemently to suppress a laugh. Dandelion didn't even attempt to hide his grin.

"They had a fight." He said, leaning over to his fiance and laying his chin on her shoulder.

"Oh, no! Why?"

"We disagreed." Ciri said. "He has a very important task, and he didn't want to accept help. I thought that was stupid and I, kind of overstepped my boundaries."

"What happened?" Priscilla asked. Her concern was genuine and Ciri felt much better so.

"I hit him." She admitted. "I slapped him across the face."

"You slapped such a man? Did he do anything to you?"

"No!" Ciri was quick to answer. "No, he didn't lay a hand on me. But now, even though he said that we could help accompany him, he won't talk to me. He avoids my eyes and doesn't even stay in the same room as me."

"He didn't just let you slap him, didn't he?" Dandelion said with a grim tone in his voice. He had a nose for such things and even though he tended to overly embellish things on occasion, he knew when it was time to be serious. At least… most of the time.

"Well… no." Ciri admitted, looking down into her empty cup. "When I did, I think I made him mad. I don't think he wanted to scare me, but when he spoke, I felt such dread, I could hardly move. He only told me to sit down, but it felt as if I had narrowly avoided something… very bad. It's... it's hard to explain."

"I think I know what you mean." Dandelion said, while Priscilla was nodding her head.

"And now, I don't know how to get to him. He seems to hate me now."

Priscilla put a hand on her thigh and squeezed the fingers of her right. "But he was easy to be around before?"

"Yes. A bit awkward, but still nice."

"Then, maybe he's as afraid as you are right now. Maybe he fears to have insulted you, or he thinks you are now afraid of him."

"Just… maybe, try to not let him get away. Make him listen to you and then tell him you want to make things right."

"You think?" She said, looking up at her friends.

"Yes, I believe so." Priscilla said warmly. Dandelion was grinning mischievously again.

"Or…" He started. "Or, we lure him to one of the rooms upstairs and then, we'll lock you guys in and you can then, 'make up' all you want. Ouch!"

This time, he didn't escape Ciri's playful punch. She held back plenty, yet she was still very strong. This would surely give him a bruise.

"I am wounded!" He howled and acted as if he'd faint. Priscilla only rolled her eyes.

"I'll talk to him. Thank you." She said. She would still stay for a while until the beer's grip on her loosened a little. Then, she would make sure that she spoke to Johannes.

Two hours had passed and she still wondered how a random man who apparently fell from the sky, could hold her mind so captive. Dandelion's teasing aside, she was still sure that his allure to her was not romantic. It shouldn't be, she barely knew who he was. Maybe now less than before.

Her way home led her through Novigrad's market district, which at night, no longer offered vegetables and sewing wares, but instead flesh. Most who sold their body, did so in closed establishments, but quite a few also went outside and beckoned either for one of the many whorehouses, or their own bedrooms. Ciri would lie if she claimed to never have considered them for a night, but she never followed through. The strain of time and the stress of the previous years had always been greater than her urges.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but tonight she paid particular regard to the scantily clad women at the sidewalks, more than one throwing her a sultry glance. It was still early in the evening. She could still spare an hour or two and she still had plenty of coin left.

A dark skinned girl with full features and a comfortable looking bust seemed especially inviting. That and the way the lady looked her up and down, stopping shortly on the scars that Ciri showed, one on her face and one on her abdomen, where her shirt had ridden up the handle of her dagger, exposing her midriff slightly. She smiled at Ciri and put a hand on the handle of the door next to her. "Just for tonight", Ciri thought, as she followed her in.

A few hours later, almost midnight, She dried the water off herself. Almost she had fallen asleep, like the girl she had paid, covered in sweat and a fulfilled grin on her lips.

Something kept her from finding peace. As she pulled her shirt over her chest and closed her vest, she glanced out of the window. The moon hung oddly low in the night sky, casting a strong, cool light over the city's roofs and bathing her in a slight blue tinge.

Silently, she crept past her nightly companion. When they had caressed and embraced each other, she had thought she'd stay the night, but now, something was pulling her away again. Straining to not make a sound, she pulled on her boots and left an additional, small sum on the nightstand, before slipping out, making sure the door fell into lock behind her.

The further the night went on, the lazier became traffic in the city. The few patrons still outside, would either remain there or soon go home, most drunk or otherwise affected as they staggered through the streets and into alleys. A few attempted to speak to her, one or two of them she could even barely understand, but now that she was sober, she didn't feel any obligation to pay them more than a passing glance.

She wasn't entirely sure what she was following, but as soon as she exited the city gate, she quickly found a direction that felt right. She cursed quietly that she didn't bring her sword, as she found herself soon in shallow woods which, even though moonlight fell through the leaves above her, could be very dangerous at night.

She made good time through the underbrush as visibility was fairly good and she had nothing on her but her knife. At one point, she passed a small cottage, but she pressed on, the feeling becoming stronger. Soon, she reached the treeline, looking over a sizable acre, where a dark figure stood.

The black silhouette seemingly stood directly under the moon, the tip of his hat almost touching the white edge of the nightly satellite. His shoulders were slumped and the hands empty. Standing in a circle of what appeared to be burned plants and pieces of ash and coal, he looked like a sleepwalking man, entranced by some otherworldly charm.

She had recognised Johannes as soon as she saw him, yet he did not acknowledge her presence at all. He just stood there, in the middle of a former fire and stared. Stared at the moon, as if he waited for it to speak.

Geralt and he had explained what they had seen here. What had happened to Geralt's friend and how they had destroyed the symbol that Johannes confirmed to know. Ciri shuddered at the thought of Geralt's description of Klara's body and she had heard the subdued anger in the witcher's voice when he had recounted the event. Johannes had been quiet for the most part, only occasionally chiming in, his tone exasperated and full of disdain.

Then, after she had hit him and what happened instantly after, he had dropped quite a lot of information on them. He even had been surprisingly transparent about his own secrecy, for example clarifying that he had knowledge that he would never share with them, either because knowing the things was hazardous on it's own, or, more directly, because he feared them falling prey to corruption. Yennefer had wanted to protest this, Geralt questioned the Hunter's conviction to kill anyone afflicted and Ciri… she had said nothing.

Johannes outburst had hit her like a bull. Just now a strange but kind man, she now felt she had to be wary of him. She did not fear him, but if his little anecdotes from his time in the horrible city of Yharnam were anything to go by, whatever he had become was either much more, or much less than a mere man. He had made sure to show them that. There was a beast below his surface, maybe even what Yennefer had felt when she had dipped her foot into his mind.

"Ciri."

She was not shocked to find him standing right before her. She had been lost in thought and he had a soft step when he wanted to. She looked at him, half his face illuminated in the stark moonlight.

"Did you follow me?" He asked. His expression was soft, almost apologetic. His eyes were unfocused, probably switching between her nose, mouth and eyes and his stance was one of defeat.

"No. I don't really know why I came here."

"Well, if you were looking for me, or not, you found me." He said and turned towards the moon again. Something about it was mesmerizing. She didn't know if she had ever seen a moon that low in the sky.

"I am glad you did though. I was struggling with myself since we last spoke."

Her heart beat a bit faster. Anticipation of his words building up in her, though she didn't quite know what she wanted him to say.

"Tell me." She said.

"Come here. Let's sit." He gestured towards a large boulder that sat just outside the underbrush. She did as he did and sat next to him, facing the burned circle of wheat.

"I wanted to apologize for my behaviour and for my inexcusable loss of control during our argument."

"I did hit you." She answered coyly, fully aware that she had challenged him to it.

"Yet what I did was neither fair, nor just a minor transgression. I used a tool of mine, that I should only ever employ against a foe. I frightened you, with the intent of subduing your stubbornness. Underhanded and relatively unprovoked."

There was a short moment where none of them said anything, before Ciri spoke up again, cautious cheer in her voice.

"Who said you frightened me?" She smiled sheepishly at him as he turned his head to look at her. From this angle, his hat threw sharp shade into his face, yet she could faintly make out his facial features, a shy smile of his own.

"You were shaking in your boots."

"Maybe I was insulted by your rudeness."

"You did hit me." He chuckled.

Another pause. Only the rustle of leaves and the whistling of the wind was to be heard.

"I will leave within the next two days." He suddenly said. "I can not let the trail become colder than it already is."

She nodded.

"I am still against you coming with me."

"Too bad." She said, maybe with a bit more bite than necessary.

"Though I don't believe I could shake you off. You and Geralt together could probably follow me to the end of the world."

"So you admit defeat? We can come help you?"

He breathed softly from his nose. "I don't like it, but yes. I won't stop you."

"Sure, sure. I got your back. No need to thank me."

"We might need to do horrible things."

Now, she sighed. "Maybe. But me and Geralt are good at finding people. Finding things too. And Yennefer is one of the most powerful sorceresses alive. Maybe, with all of us, we can stop… whatever it is, before it comes to it. Maybe, we won't need to raze villages. I do hope we don't."

"Me too."

"Yet you don't believe there is another solution?"

He shook his head. "If there is, I would have killed so many for nothing. Only very few of those who fell by my hands, were truly bad people. The overwhelming majority were innocents, their minds distorted by the scourge."

"Then you have even more reason to trust us with helping you. We know the land. We have friends who we can call on. You have only us."

"It seems so." He nodded. Ciri could tell that he was unsure what to say. She had met people like this. People who had been alone for so long that they had forgotten how to rely on others and learned to be content all by themselves. A helpful skill, surely, but equally hindering in as many cases.

"What have you been doing here?" She asked, changing the subject to something that he might be more comfortable with.

"I was out for a nightly walk. I simply found myself here, captivated by the moon. Sometimes my gut leads me back to macabre spots."

He stood up and walked back into the moonlight. The cold shine broke off his form, licking his form and dancing over the edges of his silhouette as he opened his arms and turned towards Ciri.

"The moonlight gifts me strength, as also the blood does. It holds such an allure, I can only stand mesmerized."

He lifted his head and looked at her. Ciri, unsure if she just witnessed his descent into madness, had drawn her legs closer, her feet firmly on the ground and was watching him intensely. A smile formed on Johannes' face.

"Come here." He said, offering her his hand. "I will show you just this much."

Cautious, she stood as well, still not quite comfortable with his words, but as well curious as to what the strange man had in store for her. Should the situation deteriorate, she could always draw her dagger and make off using her powers. Also, up until now, the Hunter had not betrayed her trust.

Tentatively, she took a few steps, noticing that he still held his hand out for her, so she took it, feeling a strange warmth spreading through his gloves to her body. He pulled her closer, so that she stood beside him and held her hand gently in his between them.

"Look." He nodded at the moon. "And don't be afraid. I am here to be your lake this once."

She didn't think to ask what he meant by 'being her lake', but she raised her head and allowed her eyes to take in the, almost blinding, white light.

She blinked.

Had not Johannes been there, holding her hand and taking a knee with her, she would have screamed and fallen. Her gaze frantically alternated between the Hunter and the celestial body.

The moon, which just now had simply hung in the night sky, surely lower than normal, but still explainable, it now suddenly covered almost the entire sky. The moon had jumped at her! It had come down to the world's surface!

"Cirella." His voice came to her from far away, even as she turned her head again to look at him. He still smiled, much as a parent would at their child while comforting them after a nightmare. "Nothing has changed, Cirella. Everything is the same as before."

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing but air came from her. She shot a look at him, half panicked still, half questioning.

"Relax." He said, his voice soothing and even. "What you see is neither true nor false. This is just a glimpse over the hedge, at what lies beneath the surface. Now, listen closely."

She composed herself, trying hard to strain her hearing, but she only heard the blood rushing in her ears.

"I don't… hear anything." She said. Johannes' smile narrowed slightly.

"It's all around us." He said patiently. "It tolls from the stars and from within us. Listen for me, for yourself."

She held her breath and did as he said. And truly, something was there, faint and soft. Something rained down from above them, a delicate tone, simple and clear, the ringing of bells, tiny and silvery, cutting through the wind and falling on her ears.

"It's… beautiful." She said, the fear falling off of her. The Hunter was still kneeling beside her, satisfaction in his expression.

"Isn't it? The sound of the world around us. It gave me so much comfort during the Hunt. To sit and simply listen, watch the stars go by and feel the turning of the world."

She got up again, her legs still a bit shaky and still gripping his hand like a crutch. She listened to the ground and true enough, she heard the earth rumble, deep and heavy, like a giant breathing. She heard blades of grass scraping against each other, the noise growing and expanding as she heard individual stalks, then patches and finally the whole field, roaring like an ocean wave.

"Is this… is this what you hear all the time?" She asked as she looked at him.

"It is extraordinarily strong tonight." He answered. His voice was almost like an echo from deep within him. "Though if I strain myself, I can sense far beyond my sight or hearing. It is how I followed the bandits in Rhinzweig. It was not enough yesterday however."

"The bells…" She began to ask. "The sky sounds like that?"

"No. The sky is made from wind and water. The cosmos above is of heat and cold, pitch black shadows and blinding light. We are hearing something else, something that remains a mystery to me as well."

She stared against the face of the gigantic moon, her fear dispersed steadily, leaving a numbness in her mind that was odd, but not entirely unpleasant.

"It is well enough for now, I would say." He said, squeezing her hand softly with his.

"But why? Can't we stay a little longer?"

He smiled. "I trusted you would have the strength to not be overwhelmed. Now I must insist we leave, lest the cosmos song's allure might make you a bumbling madwoman. I've seen it."

She nodded, humbled somewhat, but still unable to shake off the entrancement of this night. She didn't have to, since as soon as Johannes left her hand alone, the whole vision faded and everything returned to normal. The tree growled as usual in the wind, the ground was silent and in the distance, the song of birds had started to chime into the early morning symphonies.

She looked at the Hunter and was almost surprised to see him not, like before with a satisfied smile, but with a far away expression that betrayed honest sadness and defeat. He did so sometimes though, and with that thought, she followed him back towards the city.

Akhorn was a warrior, a hardy man who didn't shy away from a scuffle and had lived a life by the blade longer than most had any right to. With an imposing stature of more than six and a half feet in height, shoulders like a bull and hands like frying pans, armed and armoured in plate and mail, most men had faced him not without shaking in their boots. Even fewer lived long enough to tell the tale, or even regret the choices that placed them across this fearsome man of war.

So it was even more worrying for his man to observe his state as of late. Akhorn spent most of his time in his tent, huddled either in a corner, or kneeling in front of the nightmarish effigy that they had found with the corpses of a trading caravan, only weeks prior. The sight of the many armed beast, carved with great skill from some oddly silky and soft mineral, sent shivers down the spine of many of Akhorn's militiamen. Some of them refused to look at it and a few had even deteriorated into an intense insanity, babbling of dreams, the cosmos, the old blood and horrific deities from beyond the stars.

Akhorn himself had lost much of his weight. Still in fighting shape and an imposing figure, he had stopped eating regularly or exercising with his men. He too, along with the mentioned others, fell often into incoherent ramblings about foreign forces and arcane horrors. He had also been the one to order a group of new recruits, a bunch of shady figures, to retrieve a person from the nearby village of Rhinzweig. He had given them the orders personally, but word spread fast. A woman, young, virginal and of pure heart. Two of the militiamen had confronted the hulking man about this treacherous request and had been mercilessly cut down for it. Since then, no one questioned the madness that was ensuing within their midst.

But Akhorn's plan had failed. The group he sent had been butchered. A rider from Rhinzweig had informed them of their would be deserters and he and some of the militia had gone to retrieve the bodies. The sight of their disfigured corpses had sent Akhorn into an unreasonable fit of rage, where he screamed in inhuman, guttural tones and had, to the astonishment of his men, uprooted a young birch with his bare hands.

Now, he had sent a few of his best to ambush the two responsible. A woman named Ciri and a demon from the burning pits of hell itself. However, this had also born no fruit, as this morning the surviving pair of his fighters had reached the camp. Dishevelled and terrified, they had confessed their retreat to their leader, who had reacted with unexpected kindness. He had listened intently to their story though.

"He must've followed us back to the house. When we noticed him, he fell on us like a hungry wolf, fighting with the strength of ten of us." The first reported. The second quickly chimed in.

"He breached the door like a mad bull. Hans had been holding it shut. He smashed his head to pieces on the wall. I saw the demon twist poor Poleck's hand off of his wrist, before he hacked off his head. Then I just ran. Me and Aleksander only stopped once for Emer who had been hit with the door when the others and I pushed out through the back door."

"And where is Emer then?" Akhorn had asked calmly.

"The demon got him. Gutted him like a fish and then put his sword through his skull."

Akhorn remained seated in his tent for the rest of the night, contemplating these new developments and formulating a new plan. Without doubt, whoever this man was, he was surely on their trail now and, as it seemed, it was only a matter of time until they crossed paths. He was indeed curious to meet the one his men called 'demon', for they were battle hardened as himself and as such no strangers to the horrors that men can cast upon each other. To match in combat with a person of such skill would surely be a fitting end to his own existence, but Akhorn did not plan to lose. He would make sure that his arm was stronger, his step quicker and his own bellow louder than that of this 'demon'. Never before had he felt so sure of himself. Never had he wielded such confidence. Now, he had access to a different source of power. Might passed down to him from the angels above. 'His' heralds would surely grant him the strength he needed to strike down this new foe.

Akhorn looked down at his hand. It shook with greedy anticipation, but also from withdrawal. Tonight again, he would need to venture out and seek for something or someone to quench his thirst.

For no matter how much he drank, he was never satisfied.

A day had been spent in procuring provisions for all four travellers. Yennefer had mentioned her powers of teleportation, but had also herself noted that they didn't do them any good if they didn't know exactly where to go. Geralt had mapped the trails of the two fleeing culprits as far as he could, while Ciri and Johannes had been out, looking for anything else that might come in handy. She had found a length of good rope, a collection of medical supplies under advisory from Johannes and new bolts for Geralt's crossbow. Johannes himself had ventured out alone to consult a local herbalist. He supposed that, since the city harboured no hunter workshops that catered to his needs, he wouldn't find an establishment that sold poisons and drugs, yet when he met the woman running the shop, he was positively surprised.

The room was cramped with cabinets and drawers. A minty scent permeated the air and through a door in the back, a kettle could be heard boiling. The woman behind the counter was short and slender. She looked youthful, her dark, shoulder length hair tied into a ponytail behind her head and freckles dotting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Bright blue eyes blinked at him as he entered. She had not expected customers apparently, as she eyed the Hunter with some suspicion, even after he had taken off his hat and greeted her formally.

She answered his salutations and left him to browse for a little while, before she came around the small counter.

"I don't remember your face." She stated, as if her shop was not situated in the middle of a bustling city.

"I have arrived a short while ago." The Hunter answered, facing her. He was easily as tall as two of her stacked on top of each other.

"Have, you? Who has recommended me?"

"No one has. I saw your shop and walked in." He said, slightly confused.

"Are you a sorcerer then?" She asked, now putting her hands on her hips in challenge.

"No. Not particularly." He answered truthfully. By now he had the impression he wasn't welcome here.

"Then, how have you come in here? I myself have put up an illusion. You should not have seen that my store is even here."

"An illusion?" He asked. "Like a fake wall?"

She nodded.

"Then I must not have seen it."

The shop keeper and sorceress stood in silence for a while and Johannes feared that she would now throw him out of her store. If she had protected her space with such an 'illusion' he had seen right past it, without even noticing. He assumed that, in order to keep it hidden, the magicks in use could probably not exceed a certain strength, lest they be discovered by some sensitive individual. A narrow path to navigate and quite ironic that a concealment spell would need to be shoddy in order to not arouse suspicion, yet he'd seen it already. Yennefer's own disguise was flimsy, but subtle. He had had to actively decide not to see her real form, in order to follow her unspoken plea to be seen as youthful and beautiful.

"You… see right past it." She stated, a tone of unbelief in her voice.

"Yes. I also see that your hair is actually of a reddish brown colour and that the shoes you're wearing are not there at all."

Unconsciously, her hand rose to her hair. "I have taken great care to conceal the colour of my hair." Her tone was almost accusatory.

"Then I shall try my best to see it as you intended. Even though I do prever it's natural colour."

She stared at him for a moment longer, a slight blush forming on her cheeks, before she turned her head and looked away.

"Anyway. This is still a shop. So, what did you need?"

The Hunter produced a piece of paper from his pocket, which contained a list of herbs and substances which he had carefully worked out with Yennefer and Geralt's help. He handed it to her and she studied it quickly.

"I suspect that confidentiality is part of your business here." She said absentmindedly.

"It is. Though I assure you that I don't plan to use it on people."

"It would assure me if I knew your definition of 'people'." She said, looking up at him while trying to stare menacingly. The Hunter decided that her attempt was admirable, but hindered by her lack of height and her petite proportions.

"So! I suppose it's none of my business, but you roused my curiosity. I can give you what you need, but I will only do so if you explain to me who you're trying to paralyze and poison with this."

"Monsters." He answered, quickly realizing that the term was also not entirely clear, he added: "Beasts."

She nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Some of these substances are extremely potent. You must be hunting bigger game then."

"Quite so."

She regarded him with another scrutinizing look and after being seemingly satisfied, she turned and began pulling drawers and little packages from her stock.

"This won't come cheap though." She said as she took a small pouch from its place in one of the cabinets.

"I can pay." He answered, unhooking a purse from his belt.

"Yes." She muttered softly, yet still clear in the Hunter's ears. "You do look the part, witcher."

He did not bother to correct her.

At sunrise, all four departed the city of Novigrad. Geralt comfortable in the saddle of his trusty horse 'Roach', Ciri on her mare, now properly fed and groomed after all the time on the road. Yennefer lounged skilfully on a dark, Nilfgaardian tournament steed, while Johannes had purchased the only Skelliger warhorse that the stable had. They were quite happy to give it to him, most people preferring the more slender and quicker breeds from the mainland. The Skelliger was also a massive creature, it's shoulder reaching almost to his head, muscle bulging under the black fur, it struck an imposing figure, yet as he quickly learned, it was a gentle beast. Still, Johannes had never been a great rider and as much insight and power he had amassed, the old blood had not imbued him with the skill to steer a horse. As such, he had sometimes trouble conveying to his steed where it needed to go, or he fell back a bit and had to rush up to not be left behind. He was patient though and as much trouble as he had, it did not necessarily bother him. Ciri's playful jabs at him were even entertaining.

They reached the spot where Geralt's investigation had ended. The two surviving brigands had set up a camp, a short ride from the place where they had crucified the poor woman. Under an uprooted tree was a ring of rocks to contain a campfire, broken twigs aplenty and a few remains of a meal, still untouched by animals, which was remarkable after such a long time.

Geralt dismounted and began immediately to look for traces. Johannes a short distance behind him.

Ciri watched the Hunter move through the thickets and underbrush. Small movements steered him just around hanging branches and grabbing bushes. His feet seemed to leave no tracks at all, thou as she looked closer, she saw some, faintly in depressed grasses and leaves. He was as noiseless in his search as Geralt, both men occasionally turning their heads to each other to confirm they had found nothing. As the two of them moved deeper into the overgrowth, Ciri herself dismounted and began to walk after them. Yennefer had her nose buried in a book that bore a script that Ciri didn't know. In comparison, Geralt was still easy to make out. His white hair flashed through the green here and there, but she soon had lost track of the Hunter. His dark attire blended in with the shadows of the trees and where he had been, no discernable movement could be seen.

Geralt nodded to her as she reached him and started to follow him with great care. After almost half an hour of looking and not finding anything, she spoke up.

"I hope he has not left without us."

"No." Geralt said and pointed in a direction in front of them. "He's over there."

She was relieved to see a small, black silhouette pass through a pair of trees and disappearing again. Another minute passed.

"What do you think of him?" She asked.

"A bit too serious for me." Geralt answered stoically, still keeping his eyes on the ground.

"I did not ask for your taste in men." She snapped playfully. "I mean, is it wrong of me to trust him?"

"How many people are there who have my trust, Ciri?"

"I don't know. Not many. Me, your brothers from Kaer Morhen, Yen, Triss, Dandelion..."

"Yes. Though Dandelion is a special case. I trust that he wishes me no harm. I don't trust in his ability to not make a mess. It is good that he has his Priscilla now." He stopped and turned to her.

"Now, all of those people, I have known for years. It took very long for me to figure out enough about Yen to let her close. You, I practically raised. I grew up with my brother's and Triss… she is just Triss."

Ciri knew what he meant. Triss Merigold was a dear friend to him, maybe even more. Yet he had decided to be with Yennefer instead. A blow for the redheaded sorceress, yet she accepted it without any malice. Triss, over all other things, was kind. She was always on the search for harmony, only she was born into a time of war and superstition.

"He." He pointed in Johannes' direction again. "You know him for what? A good two weeks? He could be anything. Maybe he is a monster, maybe the best man to have ever lived. It is too early to place your trust in him indefinitely. He has my benefit of the doubt, yet he is a strange fellow for sure."

"But when Lea was being taken, he did not hesitate at all. He was the first to go to her aid." She countered.

"Which is good." Geralt said. "He might have also done it only to impress you, or indebt the town. Also, have you forgotten what happened when you slapped him?"

She hadn't. It was a worse memory than she wanted to admit.

"Though, that might not mean anything. For Meliteles sake, one of my own friends is a higher vampire. Look Ciri, what I am trying to say is, be careful. You are an adult. You can watch out for yourself."

She smiled. Geralt, while something like a father to her, was also one of her closest friends. He cared deeply for her well being and had gone great lengths to ensure it. Yet he was not a particularly warm person most of the time. Such words from his mouth were rare and full of sincerity.

"I think you like him." She said in a teasing tone. Geralt had resumed his search for tracks.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Too early, as I said. You seem to be quite captivated by him though."

"What?" She almost stumbled, red shot into her cheeks. "Nononono! Don't you start with this as well. Priscilla and Dandelion have already…"

Yet Geralt only chuckled and trudged forward, his gaze glued to the floor.

A creature stood not far from him. In the shadow of a large oak, it studied him with narrow eyes. A maw of sharp teeth clicked greedily as saliva dripped into a pile of leaves. His senses told him that he was surrounded, also that these things weren't entirely sure what to make of him. Maybe their instincts were sharper than those of most other beasts and that made them hesitate.

Nekkers they were called, he remembered. Reasonably harmless alone, but extremely dangerous in large groups and judging from the constant rustling in the bushes around him, there were quite a few. He took a few steps forward, into a small clearing, carrying with him the bubble of salivating monsters.

Noiselessly his blade slid from its scabbard, reflecting a single beam of sunlight that fought through the forest's ceiling. A humble flourish brought the heft to the Hunter's side, his right gripping right below the crossguard and his left resting above the pommel.

A noise behind him let him whirl around. Within a fraction of a second, he determined that it was too late to bring his blade to bear against the nekker, so he raised his arms and struck forward with the rear end of the sword. The pommel struck bone with a sickening crunch, leaving a dent in the necrophage's forehead, as it's body was deflected and fell down to the ground.

His blade already over his shoulder, he assumed a zornhut position and lashed out to his left, where the tip of the blade passed through shoulder and chest of a second foe, leaving a thin red line in it's naked skin. Within the blink of an eye, he had evaded a third and countered it's lunge with an upward swipe that disconnected the upper half of it's head above the lower jaw.

He stepped back, his leg narrowly avoiding a swipe of fouling claws, though said claw was instantly taken off by a downward strike. The nekker tumbled off to his left, it's stump bleeding profusely. Another beast had been charging him from the front, only to come to a sudden stop, as the dull creature had impaled itself with the entire half of the Hunter's longsword's blade.

Johannes pulled the sword free and shook off most of the vile gore from it's surface. The one remaining necrophage tried to crawl away, nurturing it's dismembered arm, while it's eyes shivered around in panic. It's existence was brought to a quick end as Johannes rotated his blade in his hand and casually stabbed it through it's heart. Wiping the steel clean with a cheap cloth, he walked back to where he had interrupted his search, quickly resuming the trail of faint footprints that someone had taken great care to conceal.

They led out of the woods and through a field. When Johannes reached a shallow stream, he was worried that whoever left the tracks had pulled the same trick on him and let the water wash away their footprints. Relieved, he found that they continued immediately on the other side. Some way further, the tracks became more pronounced. Rain had turned the dirt roads into mud, which was now drying up again and whoever moved here, didn't care if their shoes got dirty. The prints were so obvious, that Johannes didn't quite trust them. Also, it seemed as if these prints did not belong to one of Akhorn's raiders, but someone of smaller stature. Still, they came from the camp. Maybe a witness, he hoped. He almost prayed to not find another victim.

Leading the rest of the party here took some time. Ciri and Geralt had made some way during their own search, but didn't find anything substantial. The witcher had looked at Johannes with a meaningful gaze when they passed the slaughtered group of nekkers, but no one paid them any further heed. Yennefer did not once dismount from her steed, instead finding her amusement in teasing Ciri over something that Johannes did not know. His large skelliger trudged behind him, occasionally pushing against him with his muzzle or forehead when he wanted to be pet.

Johannes enjoyed the large island horse. It was gentle and generous, yet it still sought interaction with others around it. It's size made the gigantic animal's behaviour even more endearing to him. He had shortly contemplated if he should call him Ludwig, but almost immediately decided against it, the implications of the name resting too heavy on his shoulders. The skelliger would remain nameless for now.

Or he'd simply call him 'horse'.

After losing and rediscovering the trail several times, once stumbling into a trio of wolves which, after a silent standoff, hurried back into the depths of the woods, they reached a crossing where the tracks lead right, towards a small settlement. As they came closer it looked like an aged lumber yard that had lived long enough to become a town. Small cabins lined a broad dirt road, behind them well tended gardens and some coops, containing various animals.

As they passed the shoddy gate to the village, several people turned their attention to them, though they lost it almost immediately again. An old man, almost at death's door from the looks of it, sat on a humble terrace on a bench, smoking a pipe and lifting his head to see them better.

Ciri kept a close eye on Johannes. The Hunter had lost his usual stride and instead had almost begun stalking down the road. His hand rested, barely noticeable, on the sheath on his side, while his eyes scanned constantly from one side to another. His shoulders were hunched, his head held lower. His long legs always bent and his arms floating at his sides, muscles loaded and ready to act at a moment's notice. She thought that he did not look too out of place, all these changes being only minor and only visible if one knew how he moved normally, yet she hoped that she shouldn't walk with the same paranoid readiness as he did. His warnings still clear in her mind. There was no rescue from the affliction, only the mercy of a quick and thorough death.

The old man lifted a hand, Ciri thought first to greet them, but he held it there, telling them to stop their approach. They did, Geralt tensing up as well behind her and she could feel the anxiety creep up into her spine. Now, his eyes on Ciri, the old man turned his hand and motioned for her to come closer. She turned around to look at Geralt, who shrugged and at Yennefer, who nodded slightly. In front of her, Johannes had erected himself and stood more relaxed again, his hands were still ready to draw the blade though. He was staring forward down the street, where a colourful duck was grooming it's feathers.

She walked over to the old man who, she noticed as she got closer, was blind on both eyes. He smiled kindly at her and sat up as straight as his, surely punished back allowed. She waited politely until he decided to speak.

"What is your name, child?" He asked.

"It's Ciri. With me are my friends, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg and-"

"- a Hunter of the Dream." The old man finished her sentence.

Even though the Hunter stood a good thirty paces away, his head immediately snapped towards the old man, his eyes narrow. He immediately started walking towards the pair, but stopped again, when the man held up his hand again.

"I am not your enemy." The old man said, showing his empty palms as a gesture of peace.

"Who are you then?" Ciri asked.

"Just an old man, who has lived most of his life in peace." He pointed at the Hunter.

"But you bring to us an instrument of death. Why?"

Ciri hesitated. Obviously, this old man knew more than he should. She didn't quite know what he meant with 'Hunter of the Dream', but the way Johannes had reacted, it had been dead on. She couldn't tell him about all the terrible things that Johannes had explained to them, but in the end, she wouldn't need to. They were looking for a group of dangerous individuals, bandits, or even fanatics if one would. That was what she told the old man, who was now aiming his milky eyes primarily on the Hunter. The old man nodded.

"I can tell that you're honest with me. Thank you for that." He said. "And even if you don't tell me everything, I believe that you have only the best intentions. You must be quite brave to face such wretched men. Though if I am not mistaken, their end is not a question of 'if', but only of 'when'."

He leaned in closer. "But be wary of the Hunter, my dear. Hunters are a bad omen."

Behind him, a door opened and a middle-aged woman with a dirty apron and a broom stepped out. Her expression was one of annoyance.

"Dad! Are you telling your nightmare stories again? If you keep this up, no one will want to live here anymore." She looked at Ciri and smiled.

"I apologize, my lady, I am pretty sure that he does this only because he doesn't want to share this village with new people."

She looked past her and waved. "Would you three want something to drink? Sit down for a minute? We don't get many visitors here, so I would be happy."

"Us three?" Ciri asked and turned around. Geralt and Yennefer still stood where they had been, still idly chatting, but when she swept her gaze across the street, the Hunter was nowhere to be found. She looked for his horse and saw the large animal peacefully watching a cat go by, blowing it's nostrils as it rubbed against it's front legs.

Shit.

The tracks had been easy to follow. By now, Johannes was convinced that they belonged either to a child or a small woman. Long strides carried him down the town's long main street. He had no time to waste and he couldn't rule out that the old man hadn't been placed there to do exactly that. There was no other reason right now, why he should have known of the Dream.

He breathed and relaxed his fingers. For the last few minutes, he had been balling his fists without noticing, had been pressing his teeth. This anger was unbecoming of him, he should try to find an hour or two to meditate soon, especially since he could be dealing with a juvenile soon.

The footprints, mixed in with several dozen other trails, led further down the street, suddenly crossed a terrace, then back onto.the street again. Once, a man with a wheelbarrow walked by him and accidentally splashed the Hunter's boots with muddy water. The man immediately started apologizing, probably thinking Johannes to be a wealthy or even noble man, but he did not pay him any mind. Instead he marched forward, silently remarking on the odd size of the village. All houses were along a single street with no parallel roads or paths, making the whole settlement very… elongated. The prints abruptly turned right and went up a set of wooden stairs, towards a homely looking wooden cottage. The door was ajar.

The Hunter turned to see if someone was near the house, but found no one, only a small dog that played on the porch of a neighbouring building with something that looked like the remains of a toy made from cloth. He walked along the side of the home to see if somebody was behind it, but again found no one. Back at the front, he stepped closer and through the gap between door and frame, took a look inside.

"Can I help you?"

Someone else would have jumped in surprise, but the Hunter didn't. In fact, he was more surprised that someone had managed to approach him this quietly, than of the voice itself. He turned around and looked down at the one who had spoken to him.

It was a girl, maybe fifteen years of age, with brown hair and with stark yellow eyes. She was only a bit shorter than Ciri. She had her hands on her hip and looked at the Hunter with an expectant look in her eyes.

"Yes. He answered. I am looking for someone…" He regarded the girl a bit closer. Her dress was stained with mud and even though that could have come from the condition of the road, it seemed to be a bit much. Her feet also matched the tracks.

"Say." He began. "Have you been to the woods south west from here? This morning?"

"What if I was?" She asked defiantly.

He stepped down from the stairs, so he stood directly in front of her.

"Then we have an urgent matter to discuss."

"Have you found him?" Ciri asked, slightly out of breath from hurrying through the town so much. Geralt shook his head.

"I don't know how he didn't leave any tracks. The mud is deep and wet. There should be footprints."

"Maybe he didn't walk that way." Yennefer said, looking up from the book she had been reading. "If I were you, I'd look in the homes. See if he is inside."

"Yes, thank you Yen." The witcher said as he looked down the street. His gaze drifted over at least two dozen buildings, some with people and some with empty windows. The old man watched them with a bemused expression on his face. The witcher sighed.

"Ciri, take a look at the buildings on the right. I'll take a look at the left and the area behind the village." Geralt said in a tone that let Ciri know that he had thought about the matter. He was the better tracker, she was better at socialising, so it made sense for him to go through the wilderness in the west, while she went through the numerous houses on the eastern side of the road. She wasted no time, simply nodded and, with a last glance at the grinning old man, started towards the nearest home.

Ciri had a talent of making friends quickly. She could keep to herself, but she had always felt better around others. Strangers were not to be underestimated, but she had learned that people with foul intentions, though numerous, were always and anywhere outnumbered by fine folk who just wanted a peaceful life and were mostly willing to lend a helping hand.

This village was no different. Though she received a few puzzled looks, most people were generally friendly. An old woman stroking a cat's back, a mother tending to her flowers while twins played around her, an older man who looked and sounded rough but was quite nice. Most of the townspeople had not seen Johannes walk by, but some remembered vaguely that a dark clothed and coated man had been walking by. The last man she had asked, himself pushing a wheelbarrow, had told him of how concerned he was to have dirtied the Hunter's boots. He said that, not in a hundred years could he have paid for a new pair, but the Hunter had barely spared him a glance before walking by and approaching the house where the widow Lehm and her twins were living. Ciri thanked him and told the man goodbye.

The door to the home was ajar. Footprints of small shoes and sharper, more distinctively, the Hunter's boots led to the front door. Inside she heard a girl talking.

"We don't know such people here." The girl, now named Anna Lehm, said. She sat in front of Johannes on the table in the modest kitchen area, while he had been offered the chair.

"I watched 'em for a while. They didn't seem very happy. One of 'em always said that the "master" won't forgive 'em. Don't know who he meant by this."

Johannes nodded. When he had chased the two from Novigrad, they didn't seem to be too afflicted, though the massive increase in stress might have broken them. Maybe, if he had not intervened then, Klara would still be alive.

"Did they say anything strange? I mean, other than that?" He asked.

She made a thoughtful face while dangling her legs in the air.

"No. I don't think so. I don't remember it so well. When I saw how they looked, I hurried back as fast as I could."

"What did they look like, that they frightened you so much?"

It was obvious how uncomfortable little Anna felt while remembering the appearance of these two acolytes of elder abominations, but Johannes gave her credit for her stern determination to still do it.

"They were ragged and dirty. Surely I saw some blood on them. When one of them turned around, I thought he had seen me, but then I saw his eyes. They were broken… milky. He seemed as if he was blind. There were cuts on his face which were forming a pattern."

He leaned forward, pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, as well as a stick of charcoal and looked at her.

"That pattern, can you draw it for me?"

She nodded, got off the table and took the charcoal. She drew only a few lines, but as Johannes saw what was forming on the brownish yellow sheet, his gaze darkened. He had not seen the symbol before, but he noticed the feeling it invoked in him. Two horizontal lines where crossed by one vertical line that extended downward, while two diagonal lines came up and inwards from the edges of the horizontal lines, meeting at the top. People with weaker connection to their instincts might not specifically notice, but he did. A weight that settled on his heart, a band that snaked around his mind. He looked up at Anna, who stared at the thing she drew, tears in her eyes, so he extended his arm and took the paper away from the table. She looked slightly surprised, but he could see that her mood was immediately lightening. A soul so young, already tainted by the warped impressions of the void. He shook his head as he studied the symbol further.

The way she had drawn it reminded him of the work of the fabled runesmith Karyll, who had first interpreted the illusive languages of so called gods. The runes would imbue an individual with power, though only if they possessed the necessary insight and equipment. Carving Karyll runes into one's flesh had no effect. Instead they needed to be burned into one's mind. A painful and disorienting endeavour.

He heard a sniffle from before him. Anna was barely keeping her tears at bay. A fruitless effort in the long run, he knew, but commendable. She did not want to make him uncomfortable. A host she was for sure.

"Where is your mother?" He asked, trying to employ his most gentle tone of voice.

"I don't know." She said, her voice shaking slightly. "She left papa, we don't know why."

"And your father?"

"He is out hunting. He sells it and we live well from it, but sometimes he is gone for one or two weeks."

Johannes nodded. He truly had no way of easing her fears. A person should not be alone when exposed to something from beyond. He knew that better than anyone. When the doll awoke in his dream, he had been on his knees, in tears, even though he had thought, back then, that the plain doll was just a soulless automaton. Just the illusion of companionship had lifted a burden off his shoulder.

Tentatively he raised his hand and gently placed it on her shoulder. He couldn't do anything as the girl suddenly rushed towards him and threw her face into his collar, her arms around his neck. She was crying now, which was good. It is part of the process, but why did she need to do it now? He exhaled through his nose to blow some of her hair from his face and carefully wrapped his arms around her, gently rubbing her back with one hand, while the other held her steady.

In his head, the sobbing grew louder and louder. Her grip around his torso became more desperate, clinging onto him as not to fall down an abyssal cliff. The sounds from her turned from tragic crying to restless yelling. Her scream pierced his ears and painfully burrowed into his thoughts. Memories of the dark city boiled up and to the forefront of his conscience. A white bow, soiled with blood and dirt. Screams of pain.

He wasn't sure how long Anna had been crying when the door opened, but he was relieved to see Ciri in the doorway, as it took Anna's attention away from him. She read the room quickly, so she entered quietly and reduced her feedback towards him to a pointed look and a short "Why did you just run off like that?" He shrugged his shoulders softly and gently turned Anna towards Ciri.

"Anna, this is Ciri. Ciri, this is Anna. Ciri is a friend of mine."

"Hello." Anna managed through another sniffle as she repressed another wave of tears. She stuck out her hand and Ciri pressed it.

"What happened?"

"She…" Johannes started, vut was interrupted by Anna. Her voice was still shaking, but he heard some resolve in it.

"I saw the men you are looking for."

The new track they had found after following Anna's description, was messy and easy to follow. It seemed as if both men had picked up their pace, which was good since they left more traces, but also bad since they would have been much faster. The next few days were free of any real distraction. Johannes still wondered silently where the town elder had vanished to, when he had come looking for the strange man who knew too much to ignore, but when Johannes had reached the entrance to the village again, the man was gone, as if swallowed by the earth, or the terrace he had been sitting on. Ciri, more than him, had been able to calm the girl down a bit and convinced her to visit a friend next door, so the four of them could move on.

Through woodland, marshland and tundra their way led them first north, where the weather became harsher and a few nights they lay freezing with trouble finding real sleep. They went from settlement to settlement, questioning villagers and each alderman. Slowly their hunt led them west, steadily towards the sea, while the weather worsened. They knew by now, by reconstruction, that the pair of killers had rejoined with a bigger group in the far vicinity of Rhinzweig, then moved together west. Geralt was sceptical of Ciri's proposal that the men belonged to Akhorn's militia. He knew the man and had a lot of respect for him, something that was hard earned with the witcher. He did not oppose the idea outright though. Johannes listened for the most part.

They were taking it slow for the recent hours, taking a scenic route through low hills and light woodland. The sky was a storming sea of slow moving greys and whites. Here and there, a streak of light managed to break through the clouds and brought it's shine on a particular point. As if the sun itself stuck out a finger to say "look here. Look at this fine spot of earth." But that was just what they were, a spot of earth, nothing more.

Johannes grew more accustomed to riding on horseback again. Slowly but surely he managed to steer the beast below him to his will, no longer falling back, but able to reliably hold the speed of his companions. The skelliger was a forgiving creature, seemingly incapable of frustration and gentle to the core, while steadfast in the face of danger. It's size and mass made it more an enduring animal and less one for speed, but that was okay. If needed, he could outpace any steed over short periods of time. It was not how he hunted, but necessary nonetheless. Humans did normally not excel in great bursts of speed. They followed, like a looming shadow, always short behind their prey, but much less prone to tiring. No animal could truly outrun a human. A beast could dash away, out of sight and hope that hiding would save it, but it rarely did. An experienced human hunter could see tracks in anything. From broken twigs to feces, everything was a sign. The difference to him? He had received greater strength, speed and insight, only furthering his abilities and making him a truly dangerous foe, even to stronger prey.

Sometimes he wondered if there was still someone who could best him in a fight. He would like to try and see. Maybe he would ask Geralt or Ciri once for a friendly spar. Ciri obviously harboured a power greater than what her nimble frame would let one assume and Geralt had a reputation of a swordsman beyond normal skill, fitting for a man of violence and such an extended lifespan like a witcher. Johannes did not like to admit it very much, but his time as a soldier and the happenings of Yharnam had made him into a killer. Not a murderer per sé, but someone who took lives for a living, semantics or not. Where his will to be came from and how it had survived his encounter with the elder forces, he did not know and he did spend little time arguing. There were still things to enjoy, even if he did not yet know how.

Hours? Days? He did not particularly care to count it. He followed, led, ate when the others did and slept when he was asked to. He expended few words, mostly to appease Ciri, or Yennefer. The former who liked to entertain some regular smalltalk, the latter in an attempt to pull some valuable bits of information about his own arcane dispositions. He kept his answers vague. No need to educate her more than necessary about a topic that he knew first hand to be dangerous in anyone's hands.

"Johannes?" He raised his head and blinked into the sunlight.

"Yes, Ciri?"

They had taken some rest after hours of riding to let the horses drink from a narrow stream and indulge themselves in a few drops of watered down wine and a bit of their rations. He had decided to sit a bit secluded from the others and enjoy the midday sun. He must've dozed off.

She stepped around a bunch of weeds and crouched down beside him. "If we find that who we're following is actually Akhorn and his men, what will we need to do?"

He righted his hat, so it better shaded his eyes and took a deep breath. "If we find them, I would prefer if you three would not get involved at all."

"Why?" She had this insulted look again. "You can't plan to confront them yourself, right?"

"Confront… is a light word for what has to be done."

"You mean to kill them?"

"As I said a few times already, yes. The plague that ails them knows no cure. Only death."

She looked to the ground, one hand balling into a fist. "You say it's a sickness. What sickness can make men do something like they did to Klara, or what they wanted with Lea?"

The wind blew hard through the treetops above them, loosening leaves and twigs to clatter to the ground around them.

"Madness." He answered. "A terrible insanity that can affect the most honest and most steadfast of men and that is contagious by the blood that carries it."

"And what about you? Won't it affect you then as well?"

He shook his head. "I already carry it in me. Only dumb luck is to thank that I could withstand it's effect."

She blinked, but did not answer. Before she could open her mouth, he spoke again.

"We should let sleeping dogs lie. Please believe me when I say that I act in our best interests. I do not enjoy keeping things to myself, but I may have no choice in the matter. I must ask for forgiveness in that matter."

She sighed, but a faint smile grazed her features as she rubbed her forehead. "I didn't mean to pry. I just wish to understand."

He nodded. "As do I, Ciri. I wish I understood as well."

Their travels continued pleasantly at first after that, but after a few days, the already shaky weather turned worse. As the four of them entered a dense wooded area, from one hour to the next, the skies would open up, pouring rain in strings. Soon the ground became a muddy sludge, in which the horses struggled to keep a solid pace and had to be led on foot several times. Johannes' large beast had an easier time moving in the heavy rain, as it was bred and used to more averse conditions than Geralt's, Yennefer's or Ciri's steeds, but even the skelliger would soon slip and hesitate from going any faster than a gentle trot. The Hunter did not rush it though. Leading the group through unknown territory, under weather that surely washed away all useful evidence of their quarry, he felt his spirits sink, as well as his restlessness.

For such a long time, the only fatigue he felt had been of a mental nature. His mind would tire during the Hunt and he would seek recluse in the Hunter's Dream, with the well willed plain doll. After arriving in his Elysium, his muscles and bones would be freed of all pain, but now, without the soothing influence, he started to feel the burn in his limbs and the bruises on the inside of his thighs from riding. He had decided that there was enjoyment to be found in the mild aches, as well as some amusement when he was laughed out by Geralt and Ciri, who had been spending a great amount of time each day, for quite some time now, massaging their own limbs.

Now that the heavens had decided to honor them with buckets of water, their mood had soured somewhat and all of them were happy to find, after one full day in the pelting rain, that their path had led them directly to a secluded, but sizeable cottage in which the windows were still alight. After tying their horses in the adjacent stable, where one friendly mule happily made space for the large black skelliger.

Rolling his shoulders and enthusiastic to relieve himself of his soaked clothes, Johannes was the first to open the front door.

Jemma sighed as he put down his hand of cards. He was still hesitant to believe that a drunk like Guchy was so adept at Gwent, while being so intoxicated. Yet, the man had emptied Jemma's pockets in just a few games, after all others had already abandoned the game. Frustrated, he pushed the last of his coins over to the smiling player.

Guchy was a heavy set man of light skin and some intelligence. He could read and write, was interested in myths and legends and would sometimes sit with others around a fire, recounting stories from the books and scripts he had read. Since Akhorn had begun to introduce his men to the teachings of the so-called "greater truth", Guchy had dropped all his regular lecture, clinging to his captain's lips like a newborn on it's mother's bosom. Jemma noticed the man becoming thinner, his eyes falling into the skull and his skin turning to a strange shade of grey. To be honest, Jemma was disgusted by Guchy and most of his own comrades. More than once, arguments had turned sour, resulting in threats of violence and even more often, Jemma caught himself gripping the heft of his knife, knuckles white and teeth clenched. He also had trouble recognising himself at times. Jemma had recently lost two teeth, which had rotted away in his mouth without him noticing. Also, his own skin had become taught, as if his body was swollen and no matter how often he washed himself, a thin film of sweat was always present on him. He caught himself in more and more depraved thoughts of bloody and violent deeds and thoughts of destroying innocence. More and more often, he would not be able to remember lengthy periods of time, sometimes coming to his senses with injuries or blood on his hands. Who it belonged, he did not know.

He watched Guchy waddle away, past two other men who lounged next to the fireplace. The house's owner, a man of maybe forty years, sat there, clutching his wife and a small boy, while his body trembled in fear. Jemma hated this pathetic creature. He hated that he was afraid. He hated that he had a wife, the bastard, while Jemma had nothing. Nothing at all. Only his own decaying body and mind. Jemma had thought about the woman. She was older than what he preferred, but her skin was still supple and her curves were ripe. Maybe, just…

Three hefty slaps to his own head brought him back. What had that been again. What was he thinking. He, Jemma, was an upstanding man. A respectable and honest gentleman. He would not jeopardize his own self. Not for Akhorn and not for anything up above or down below. Let the fishmen and dark gods come up to him. He would show them what a…

What a…

He felt sick. Again, even though he hadn't been drinking for days. His breathing got heavier and he felt some unknowable dread approach him. Something deep down in his mind was telling him… something, but he could not find out what it was. Coughing and dripping saliva, he tripped and stumbled against the wooden table in the middle of the room. His strained eyes flicked around the room, catching the glances of his fellow men, then of the terrified family, until his view came to a halt on the front door.

It should have been guarded. Where was the guard? What was his name? Fucking Dawid. The damn bastard had probably run off to catch the daughter and now the front door was wide open.

His vision cleared up, now that he was sitting again, but now he realized that the feeling of strangling dread had not been just a hunch. Something had tried to.warn him. Something had reached up to him. But now it was too late.

In the doorway, soaked in rainwater, hat hanging lazily from his hand, He stood. The demon. The killer. The one who had slaughtered Emer and everyone else except for him and Aleksander. His silhouette seemed to melt into the dark of the forest, only the reflections of his wet clothes giving him some shape. Under short, drenched strands of hair, his eyes were two cold orbs of steel, his pupils wide and hungry. His jaw was clenched to the point, where Jemma thought he could feel the pressure from where he sat.

Everyone was silent. A drop of water fell to the wooden floor. A fork cluttered to the ground.

Then, hell broke loose.

Jorge, a tall bowman had drawn his Messer and rushed the man in the door. He did not draw his own blade, but ducked below Jorge's strike, grabbed his hand and smashed his arm upwards against the bowman's elbow, breaking it. Jorge screamed in a deep tone, but the noise was cut off when the man dug his fingers into Jorge's flesh and ripped away, taking his jugular with him. Blood spilled to the floor as the dead Bowman fell to his knees and sagged against the wall, clutching his throat.

Jemma almost ran as the demon's eyes locked with his own. Instead, he somehow decided to stay and fight. He pawed at his waist to draw his own weapon, but the blade was stuck somehow. He looked up, just to see the black clad man walking towards him with long strides. The darkness from the doorframe behind him seemed to seep into the room, like abyssal tendrils, gripping and pulling at the walls. The towering form of the man was now before him, not stopping. He felt his blood chill when a voice reached his ears, like a sound from all directions. A screaming tremor of whispers, a cacophony of rage and in the midst, one word, clear and loud.

"You."

Then the sword's pommel smashed between Jemma's eyes and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Ciri could not react fast enough. As soon as the door was open, she heard a battle cry and then, suddenly, the sound of breaking bone and tearing flesh. Her own blade had not cleared the scabbard, when Johannes, no, the Hunter, swept into the center of the cottage, turning his sword around and smashing a sitting man in the head. The man sank to the ground, either dead or unconscious, as the Hunter turned around, his blade at the ready and countered a stab at his waist, leveraging the other man's sword aside and dragging almost the whole length of his own blade across the throat of his attacker.

Now Ciri entered herself. A man with an axe and a crazed look in his eyes stormed at her, weapon raised and howling like a dog. She ducked and turned the man around himself, pushing him off of her. He stumbled against the front door, where he met the witcher's fist.

By now Ciri had noticed the family, huddling in the back corner of the room, the father shielding his wife and son with his own body. From somewhere, a splash of blood had scattered across the floor and the father's back. Within the blink of an eye, she was before them, her sword in a guard and ready to defend them from anyone coming too close. As she looked at the other side of the room, her eyes widened. With a clean swipe, the Hunter had opened one of the strangers from belly to his chin, spraying crimson up to the ceiling. Yet the man did not fall.

A guttural gurgling sound came from the nearly bisected, as strands of muscle started to wiggle out of the wound, shooting forward and wrapping tightly around the Hunter's neck. She was almost about to cry out, but suddenly another man was upon her, swinging a knife in a seemingly drunken rage. A strike down caught him in the neck and left him to stumble backwards, blood bubbling from the deep gash.

Geralt was fighting another one, swiftly breaking his wrist and disarming him of his own blade, which the witcher nimbly caught and, while pushing his opponent aside, rammed through the back of the same man's neck. The man fell to the ground, dead, while the witcher was already approaching his next target, a heavy set man with grey skin, who had grabbed a crossbow and was fumbling with a bolt.

The Hunter had been momentarily surprised by the attack of the abomination before him, but within a fraction of a second, recovered and countered the assault of autonomous muscle. His gloved hand took hold of almost all of the fleshy strands and, with one powerful pull, ripped them from their origins in his last victim's torso. The creature stumbled back, blood freely pouring from the wounds, staining the floor with thick, viscous red. A second man rushed up beside the walking corpse, but Johannes had already assumed his stance and led his blade in a horizontal strike. His steel bisected man and monster alike, the former immediately dead, the latter still on its feet. A second and third strike, each cleanly severing flesh and bone, finally brought the horror down, body parts strewn around the Hunter in a gruesome display of horrific violence.

Geralt pulled his blade free from one last opponent, wiping the blood away on the body's tunic. He turned to Ciri, who only answered his silent question with a nod. Then he turned to Johannes. The Hunter was thoroughly covered in crimson, his sword still tightly gripped in his hand, his eyes fixed on the remains of the monster he had just slaughtered. Geralt spoke.

"What the fuck… ist going on!?"

Hermann was shivering all over his body. For days now, these horrible men had tortured him and his family. Then, most of them had left, off to appease their disgusting god. The one that ordered them to indulge in blood and sodomy and who had led them to his own homestead. He could only watch, helpless, as the remaining men found the hatch to their basement, where his daughter, the star of his sky and blood of his heart was hiding for two days. He had thought everything was over, when they had dragged her up to the main room, but in a twisted act of entertainment, they laughed and pushed her out the back door, yelling after her to run. They would give her a head start and if she could hide or run for another day, she would live. Her family though, would die. If she gave herself and her body up to them, her family would live.

The day had been almost over, when he thought he had seen movement out of the corner of his eye through one of the front windows. When nothing happened, Hermann jad almost resigned himself to his fate. He would try and distract these horrible bandits for as long as he could, while his dear Liore and his son would try to escape. But before he had to make that choice, the door had opened and a dark figure had flowed in, like a raging wraith. Then, a ashen haired woman and finally, a white haired man, who Hermann found to be unmistakably a witcher.

The following bloodbath was without compare, but neither the woman who shielded them, nor the witcher were what drew his attention the most, but the sheer brutality and cold rage that the dark clothed man dispensed on the brigands. When the fight was over, only seconds after the door had been breached open, the woman was a bit shaken, the witcher definitely in a foul and confused mood, but the third man was simply silent, covered in gore, after having fought what Hermann could only believe was a demon from hell.

Shaking and still unsure as to what had happened, he rose to his feet, determined to say something and immediately broke into tears.

"What the fuck… ist going on!?" Geralt's voice came to Johannes. It sounded far away, but still clear. The blood was still ringing in his ears. The thing before him was different than anything he had ever seen before.

"Hunter!"

"We have found them, witcher." Johannes answered, as he calmly used a strip of cloth from one of the dead to clean the thick blood off his sword.

"The men from Rhinzweig. The men I lost in Novigrad." He gestured to one of the unconscious men. The one he had knocked out when he had invaded the brigand's midst.

"Klara's murderers."

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You remember these men, so?"

"I remember this one." The Hunter pointed at the half sitting, half lying man again. "I don't see his companion though."

"What about this?" Geralt said, nodding at the butchered abomination that lay before Johannes, occasionally twitching still, but very much deceased.

"I don't know." Johannes said simply. "I never met anything like it."

"You seem awfully calm though." Geralt growled.

"Yes."

On the other side, Ciri was occupied with a sobbing family father and a still frozen mother and son. She spoke to them in a soothing tone, kneeling down to them and trying to get them to say anything. Finally, the mother seemed to snap from her shock. A look of relief came over her face, only to be quickly followed by an expression of great fear, as she started rambling almost incomprehensible words. Only after some calming down from Ciri, did she say something understandable.

"Help us please. Our daughter is still out…"

Ciri did not wait for the last word to be spoken aloud. She immediately spun to her feet, just as Yennefer entered the building, her cloak dry and clean and an appalled look on her face.

"They have a daughter. She's still out!"

Geralt and Johannes simply nodded and followed the mother's pointing hand. The back door swung open and both men swept out. Geralt stopped, his eyes glinting in the darkness, his nose flaring as he sniffed the air. He turned to Johannes.

"Blood in the woods."

Without another word, both men, in this moment more beasts of prey than men, nodded and soundlessly vanished into the darkness of the forest.

I think I finally get to do some escalation here. Hope you liked it. If so, tell me if you want. If not, please leave constructive criticism also.