Geralt is just clearing a dense patch of trees when he spots torchlight in the distance, just as the snow has begun to let up and the sun is climbing low on the horizon. It casts the house in an eerie blue light, the snow and mud reflecting a stark flickering orange against the gloom of the early morning. He can't be sure that this is where he needs to be, but his instincts are rarely wrong.
He leans far back in the saddle and Roach reacts instantly, slowing to a near stop as she throws her head back and rebalances her weight. When they come to to a full stop, he carefully dismounts, patting her neck as she huffs and puffs, and gives her an affectionate scratch on her muzzle as he moves past. He leaves her untethered a safe distance from the house to recover, knowing full well she'll respond if he whistles for her. It leaves him with one less thing to worry about as he silently approaches the building.
It's just light enough that he's able to make out small details with his advanced sight, which is how he spots the fairly fresh boot prints in the snow, tracing them as they emerge from the forest just past the house and back towards the door. As he get's a closer look, he's able to make out a drag line from something small and heavy, leaving thin areas where the snow melts and puddles in the gouges. He's drawing his sword by the time he sees snow diluted blood interwoven with the trail, because as much as he wishes otherwise…that maybe it's just evidence of a successful game hunt…this is human blood. Most likely Jaskier's blood.
He drops low by the door and listens for anything beyond the scattered drops of water melting on the roof and the rustle of dead branches. He strains for even a heartbeat or the creaking of boards under feet, and is rewarded with the sounds of a scuffle and muffled shouts. Something slams against a wall and the house rattles, then falls silent.
Geralt has the door down in seconds, the splintering wood nearly drowning out the screams from within.
Only years of repeated exposure keep him from reacting when the first thing he sees are walls drenched in blood, entrails stretched across the ground leading from the common room down a long hallway and disappearing around a doorway at the far end. Geralt forces himself not to look at the familiar bag laying abandoned at the foot of a table in the center of the carnage, instead creeping his way down the hall to the sounds of garbled choking and the snapping of bones. He spots a trail of blood leading from one of the rooms as he passes, door held slightly ajar by the head of a broken axe. He can't make out any noise from within and ignores it, grabbing at his medallion as it begins to react to whatever lies ahead.
There are many monsters that mimic the human shape, but ones capable of such extreme violence are rare. Geralt takes no chances, silently switching his steel sword out for his silver one as he rounds the corner, pausing at the top of a set of stairs leading to a pitch black basement. The noises from earlier have ceased, replaced with a quiet scratching, like claws over dirt and rocks. The witcher grabs an unlit torch from a sconce on the wall, casting a quick bolt of igni to light it before making his descent, swinging his arm out wide over the room as he goes and carefully avoiding slipping on the puddles of blood and viscera littering the steps.
The first pass reveals a familiar red jacket in the center of the room shrouding a body from view. On the second pass the light catches a shadow creeping back towards the right corner, further into the darkness, elongated black fingers sliding backwards and leaving streaks of blood and divots on the dirt ground. He's so focused on the threat that he almost steps on the mangled torso lying at the bottom of the steps.
There is no bottom half, hardly even a jaw…but what really matters, what centers Geralt more than anything…is that it's not Jaskier. There's still a sliver of hope that he made it out, that he didn't meet the same horrific end.
Geralt steps over the remains, sword at the ready as he sweeps his torch around the room, and barely has time to react when it exposes a wraith covered in blood huddling in the corner. It screeches, high pitched and guttural as it lunges at him, but in the end, Geralt is far quicker. He plunges the sword straight into its center, and it lets out one last wailing screech before disappearing in a plume of smoke. For a second he swears he sees a woman smiling sadly at him from the wisps, then it's gone.
He only lets his guard down when his medallion stops humming, cautiously checking the other corners of the room before making his way to the one thing he's been avoiding.
The leather of Jaskier's jacket reflects the light of his torch, and he can't make out the shape underneath. Just as he's reaching out to pull it back, fingers brushing the cold leather, he hesitates. The honest part of him doesn't want to know, would rather not keep the memory burned behind his eyelids for the rest of his long life, but he needs to be sure. He shifts the jacket slightly, and all it takes is the sight of too long hair woven into a failing braid to once again disprove his fears. The mother….
The wraith.
Wraiths are born through cruel deaths and the need for revenge transcending the afterlife.
It was only a matter of time. Which meant that the monster he was looking for was likely the one laying scattered around the house. He covers the corpse again, making plans to bury it properly lest it attract a different kind of monster.
A new silence settles over the house, punctuated only by the groans of the house settling...then by the faint fluttering of a heartbeat from above.
A/N: just gonna dip our toes back into the horror genre real quick nbd. Gonna be a least one more chapter after this for sure...Jaskier is gonna need it