A/N: Part of this chapter refers to key moments in Sapkowski's short story "The Road with no Return", but is not a play by play retelling and the end scene is something I added to tie it in with the rest of the story. Hope it all makes sense.

If anyone wants to read the original short story, there is a fan translation available on onlinereadfreenovel .com. The story hasn't been included in any of the books and, as far as I know, there is no official English translation available.


He spent the entire day going from store to store, looking for something that would catch his eye - something he thought worthy of her. But that special something proved to be harder to find than he imagined. His eyes swept over the sparkling items behind the glass, but despite their shine, they all seemed dull compared to what he envisioned. He regretted not having the foresight to recruit Elly's help to help him pick something out. All his research was nothing compared to the knowledge someone living in this world would have, and from what he knew about Elly, she would have taken the task as a personal mission and would have scoured the city to accomplish it.

Just as he was making peace with the fact that he'd never be able to find something suitable and he'd have to settle for something more plain-looking, he found it. He walked out of the store with a satisfied smile on the corner of his lips and a gift box tucked into a pocket of his duffel bag, knowing that what he picked would look perfect on her wrist.

He got home to find three women sitting in the living room among throngs of shopping bags, cheerfully debating something over a glass of wine. Their chatter ceased as he came into view and he couldn't help feeling like he spoiled their fun.

"You're back early! Wasn't expecting you for a few hours."

Criss jumped up and greeted him with a kiss while the other two sniggered behind her back.

"It's good to see you again," he said to the two women once his mouth was no longer monopolized by Criss's affection. "I see you were busy while I was away." He nodded to all the bags with a sly smile.

"Since none of us had time to buy presents, we all went shopping together. I had to get something for my family or I'd never hear the end of it from my mother."

He thanked the gods for not letting them run into him while they were out on their shopping spree. Not only would his deception be discovered, but his surprise would also be ruined.

"Mhm, I forgot that this is all about gifts. We don't have anything like that back home," he feigned ignorance. "Don't let me ruin your fun. I'll go shower and get some rest while you have your girl time."

"You can join us if you want. We have drinks..."

He looked over her shoulder at the two other women, who were expecting their friend back.

"I think your friends want you all to themselves today. Perhaps another time." He kissed her cheek and wished them a fun evening before taking his leave and letting her have fun with her friends.

Even if he didn't plan on eavesdropping, the bedroom door wasn't thick enough to muffle the sound of their conversation. In fact, he could hear them even in the shower over the running water. But at least he wasn't the subject discussed, and he was thankful for that - even if he was sure that was only because they had already exhausted the topic before he got home. He only hoped they didn't assassinate his character in the process. He hadn't really made any effort to get anyone to like him and her friends might think him a cur for it.

The girls were discussing plans for New Year's Eve and Kathy was complaining about not having enough time off from work to enjoy any holiday in peace. He learned she was a lawyer and, to her great dissatisfaction, each time she thought she could go out of town on holiday, some last-minute paperwork had to be filed. Sylvie was already giving out advice on how Kathy could better manage her staff and clients. Although "manage" turned out to be a euphemism for "manipulate". Criss, on the other hand, suggested she shift her attention to other kinds of cases, particularly to those that seldom - or never - required unexpected paperwork. Kathy dismissed both suggestions. One because she didn't think she could believably employ Sylvie's tactics, the other because it would cut into her income too much and would never be practical. The three women were so different in their approach that he wondered what had brought them together and made them friends. They moved on from work conversations to reminiscing about their high-school days, and so his question answered itself: they had gone to the same school as children and teens. The reminiscing soon turned to a little gossip about other schoolmates and old acquaintances. He stopped listening soon after that and instead laid in bed listening to music on his headphones while scouring the internet for advice on meeting someone's parents for the first time.

He had quickly learned that the internet had an answer for everything - not always a good or pertinent answer - but an answer, nonetheless. In his world, he had a vague inkling of what was expected for such a meeting from stories told by Dandelion, but he had no idea if there were any customs he needed to observe here, and he meant to make a good impression - for Criss's sake as well as his own. Some suggested he show up with flowers for the mother and a bottle of something strong for the father, others warned not to be too affectionate in front of the family, while most agreed that you should avoid any confrontation at all cost.

Soon enough, he found himself diving deep down the rabbit hole, reading thread after thread about the worst experiences men had when meeting "the parents". Eventually, he had to remind himself that her parents were the ones who brought her up and that simple fact meant they couldn't be as bad as the internet suggested.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bedroom door open.

"You can come out now. They've left," she joked as he took out the headphones. "Just for the record, you should know you don't need to barricade yourself in the bedroom when they come over."

"I was just giving you some privacy. Although, I had no trouble following your conversation while I was in the shower, so I needed to find something louder than the running water... hence the headphones."

"It's not like we were discussing state secrets, it was just a bit of gossip. It seems we weren't the only ones to hook up that night. Kathy and John are now a permanent item."

"Really?"

"Mhm, I thought you said you could hear us..."

"I stopped listening when you started gossiping about your old mates."

"Worried you'd hear about my exes?" she asked, amused.

He didn't answer - he didn't have to - she had hit the nail right on the head and she knew it. It wasn't like he imagined himself to be her first - he knew she had graced others with her affections before him - he just didn't want to hear about any of them.

"Unless you feel it's necessary, I'd rather not know anything about them."

"As you wish." She yawned and crawled into bed. "You said you wanted to know about your mother before we went to meet my parents. We're leaving tomorrow and you haven't brought it up so far. Can I assume you changed your mind?"

"I haven't, I'm just procrastinating."

"Geralt," she chided, "you know that's pointless."

He waved his hand and rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. No matter how far away I'll push it, the past will never change. If it's now or later, it shouldn't matter. It might as well be now." He turned to his side to look at her and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "So, how will this work?"

"There's this technique I learned on my travels, but I'll need a bit of your blood. It's what ties you to your family."

He grimaced. "It might not work. With all the Trials and changes I've undergone to become a witcher, not even my blood is the same."

"Nonsense. No Trials can erase that information. It's built into you." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you looking for a reason to get out of this?"

He shook his head and sighed. "Maybe. Not going to lie, your method doesn't sound entirely safe. I thought you'd use some form of divination or hydromancy, not blood magic."

"You don't actually think I'd ever suggest something that could hurt you?" Her fingers grazed his cheek, and he cast any unease he had from his mind. "All I need is a drop of blood and a gemstone to absorb the information from it. A spell will decode it and it'll feel like a vision. Or like watching someone's memories. You'll be asleep the whole time so your conscious mind doesn't fight the flood of information and you can sift through everything. And I'll watch over you while you explore her memories. Nothing bad can happen, I guarantee it."

She got up and rummaged through a drawer of the dressing table until she happened upon a small suede pouch. Her fingers picked out a small ruby and a silver needle from within and replaced the rest in the drawer.

"Are you ready?" she asked, sitting on the bed next to him.

He looked into her soft eyes, and a thought crossed his mind. "Could you join me?" He paused, somewhat embarrassed. "I know my father is long dead and I don't know if you'll ever meet my mother in person. This might be the closest you can ever come to meeting my parents. Hell, I don't even know if they are worth meeting. Maybe they'll turn out to be awful, but whatever the case is, I'd like you to be by my side if possible."

She smiled in understanding and cupped his cheek.

"Of course, if that's what you want, I'll be with you the whole time. Now... relax, and give me your hand."

A small prick of his finger and a single drop of blood poured over the ruby.

"Lie back. You're not going to be able to remain standing for this."

He did as was told, and she placed the stone on his forehead.

"Sleep," he heard her whisper before his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted into a deep slumber.


He woke in a dark forest, with Criss standing next to him. They were at a crossroads of sorts, and they were not alone. Two others, a man and a woman, were kneeling next to a signpost. He recognized his mother's strawberry blond hair. She was dressed in inconspicuous travelling clothes meant to hide her status and profession.

Criss grabbed his hand and led him forward, closer to the pair, so they could see and hear their conversation. The man was named Korin, and the woman Visenna. She was healing his injuries.

"Why does his name sound familiar to me?" he thought aloud.

Criss kneeled beside the two and her eyes moved from one to the other, taking turns studying them both.

"If I had to venture a guess, I'd say he's your father. You have the same strong jawline and cheekbones. Even his lip shape is similar to yours. But your eye shape is the same as your mother, your nose too."

Indeed, if he looked closely at the man's face, he could see a semblance to his own. Criss moved her attention to the injury his mother had healed.

"She did a good job with his arm. Only a faint scar remains. She's a gifted healer... perhaps that explains how..." She didn't finish her sentence, her face twisted in a disgusted grimace as she watched Visenna reanimate a corpse. "Oh, that's revolting!" She looked away for a moment before she recomposed herself. "That's one of the vilest things one can ever do! I wish no one would ever do that again!"

"She needed information..." he said, but realized his thoughts were on Yennefer, not on his mother. She had also used necromancy to get information out of a dead man in their search for Ciri, and for some reason, he felt the need to find an excuse for her. He had no love for his mother, and yet, it was hard to judge her for the same behaviour he found acceptable from Yen when their motives aligned.

"I understand the reason, but to force someone back into a decaying body... How that must feel for the wretched soul who has the information she wants..." Criss said with disgust.

"So, she's not a saint. Nothing surprising there. I was afraid she would be awful and rightfully so, it seems." Was he just as awful for condoning it? What lengths would he go to for Ciri? Yet again, his thoughts moved from Visenna to Yen, then back to Visenna.

"I'm sorry, maybe I'm overreacting, I don't know... It's just that I was expecting something else."

"Guess that ruins your hypothesis on my miracle birth."

"If anything, it makes your birth even more intriguing. Let's continue to watch what unfolds."

They travelled to a village where the first thing Visenna did was heal a sick little girl and, after gathering information about the state of matters in the area, she offered her assistance to anyone in need of healing, without expecting payment.

"This," Criss pointed at his mother, "this is what I was expecting."

"She's just buying goodwill," he snorted. "Don't get your hopes up, it's just a tactic, and I doubt there are any feelings involved. Sorceresses are all calculated in everything they do, and nothing is done for the hell of it, with nothing to gain in return."

She pursed her lips but said nothing. Instead, she dragged him further along and they watched on as his parents fought together against a band of marauders who attacked the smithy. By the end, their foes laid motionless on the ground.

"Look how shamelessly she's using magic to rally the villagers to fight," he said. "They're basically under her spell now, mindless drones for her to use. So much for the disinterested helper. She doesn't care about them, they're just cannon fodder and tools to be manipulated to do her bidding. This is all about the precious stones being mined here and nothing else."

"You plan on being cynical the whole way through?" she asked, annoyed.

"I'm just a realist. I've dealt with too many sorceresses to still be naïve about their ways. The fact that I share her blood doesn't make me blind."

"I beg to differ. Precisely the fact that she is your mother makes you blind to her kindness. You want to have reason to hate her, something objective that doesn't stem from her abandoning you in Vesemir's care. You want to be right in your hate and you're not keeping an open mind."

He grunted displeased and swallowed his reply. Already he was cutting it close to the skin with all his "sorceresses are evil and selfish remarks". She never called herself a sorceress, yet she was, and, even if he never associated the two in his mind, his brash comments risked offending her and that was the last thing he wanted.

They watched quietly as the red-haired sorceress approached the campfire in search of comfort and a little pleasure, only to find that the man she had her eyes on, his future father, was looking at her with revulsion. The show she had put on with the revived corpse had made a lasting impression that was difficult to move past. He heard Criss sigh and thought he saw melancholy in her eyes. He was about to question her about it when his words were cut off by the triumphant squeak she let out. She pointed at the changing scenery, and his eyes moved to the area she was pointing at.

He huffed and waved his hand dismissively. "So she's not taking the villagers with her to deal with the monster. I admit I wasn't expecting that, but it still doesn't mean much."

"She won't force them to risk their lives for the Circle's interests. And she let the marauders leave in peace rather than spill blood, then mollified the villagers to keep them all safe. She's skillfully navigating towards a peaceful solution. If she can get the spell formula out of the mage, then they might not even have to fight it."

He watched on with a frown. Being proven wrong about his mother was difficult to accept. If she wasn't a bad person, then why did she choose to not be a mother? His mother.

His face twisted in anger at the next sight, and he couldn't contain his disgust at the sorcerer, who was exalting the virtues of his creation. "That fucking old fat toad! Just as bad as Ortolan and his cronies. Creating monsters was all the rage in those days. Probably making a competition out of it to see who could make the most lethal one."

Rage emanated from him as he stood helplessly watching the giant koshchey hurdle menacingly towards the ones who would later become his parents. Of course, he knew they had to survive, for if they hadn't, he would never have had the chance to be born. Nevertheless, his witcher instincts roared inside him and he wanted nothing more than to pick up a sword and throw himself into the beast's path.

Criss's hand wrapped around his forearm. She was watching entranced as Visenna cast the inversion spell that blew the monster to pieces, then sighed loudly as she gave the bobolak a merciful death. She wore her heart on her sleeve and on her face he could read every emotion she felt. It was one of the things he loved about her – he never had to wonder what she thought, she'd always let tell him, and never hid from him. A smile fluttered across her face as she watched the future couple reunite at the crossroads, a sorceress forsaking her kind to walk a different path along a handsome marauder.

"It's like watching the end of a scintillating romance novel," she said, starry-eyed.

Despite her reaction, what they witnessed wasn't all that thrilling for him.

"I feel no more enlightened than we began," he spoke out in frustration. "What was the point of me seeing this?"

"Perhaps it was to help you understand their character and the fact that you were born out of love? Maybe you don't consider that important..."

"I don't see how that makes things any better. As I see it, it makes things worse. Had I been the unexpected result of a passionate tryst, it might have made more sense. Giving away a child born to someone you love is something unfathomable for any decent person."

"I agree it's puzzling. But I'm sure she must have had a very good reason to do it. Can you focus on the moment when she decided?"

He tried to do just that, and the contours of the surrounding forest faded into nothingness to be replaced by the slightly dirty plastered walls of an inn room. The only light in the room came from a candle flickering on the table and on a chair next to the table sat a woman. Strawberry blonde hair covered her face as she leaned over the table, gripping her forehead in her hands. A single teardrop fell and left a wet mark on the surface of the table. A quiet sob followed. Only then did he notice the blood-soaked shirt that was laying bunched up in her lap. She raised her head slightly and quickly wiped her eyes and nose. Her face was tired and bore the marks of hours spent crying, and now she was looking despondent at the bloodied material. She touched her stomach and sighed, then began sobbing once again.

He watched, dumbfounded, not knowing what to think or say. There was no way to tell for sure what had happened, but his imagination filled in the gaps quickly. He looked at Criss discreetly, her eyes were welling up watching the scene in front of them.

Maybe she couldn't bear the pain. Maybe I reminded her too much of what she had lost, he thought, searching for an explanation.

He didn't have to use his imagination much longer. The room suddenly became brighter as an orb of light moved through the air to settle over the chair opposite Visenna. Her sobs stopped instantly and her hand flashed up to the chalcedony that graced her diadem. The orb expanded and took the shape of a man. A man with indigo eyes. Sama.

"That won't be necessary, Visenna."

"You?" Her lips pursed together in an angry line. "Where were you when I needed your help?"

"I'm sorry about what came to pass. I cannot interfere, I can only give advice. You know that."

"Advice?" she asked with disdain. "And what advice have you come to give me today? Expect me to go down another road with no return?"

"Worse, I'm afraid..." Sama's eyes warmed for just a fraction of a second and Criss squeezed his hand in anticipation. "This concerns your son."

Visenna's eyes dropped instantly to her stomach, and her jaw clenched. "My son?"

Sama lowered his eyes and unperceivably nodded his head in approval.

"Your son was gifted to you for the change you've made." He paused as if to draw a breath, and his whole demeanour shifted as he spoke. "But you won't have long to rejoice in your gift. In him, a great warrior will be embodied. He'll have the opportunity to bring about change, be a defender of the downtrodden, but also a harbinger of death. For his destiny to have a chance to come to pass, you must leave him in the care of the witchers of Kaer Morhen before his fifth birthday..."

"No!" Her scream was akin to a wounded animal. "You can't force me to!"

"No, I cannot. No one can." He answered in a calm, measured voice, then paused and drew another long breath. "It'll be your choice if you wish to help him fulfil his part of the Plan, but I must warn you that whatever you decide, he'll not be yours for long. The one sent before him took the wrong path and now he needs to correct the great wrong one of our kind has made. That's the only reason he has agreed to this great sacrifice. You'll have him for five years, no more. Then you must choose to set him on his path or he'll wither away and die, his purpose unfulfilled. His place in the Plan leaves no room for error. I know this isn't much of a choice, but it is all I can give you."

Visenna remained silent for a long time.

"Does it have to be the witchers? It's said they turn their boys into monsters. Deformed, heartless and barren. What kind of fate is that for anyone?"

"One of long-suffering. And he won't be heartless. He'll feel all of it and it'll hurt, but he chose this for himself because it's the best path for all he must do."

Criss's arms coiled around his waist in a comforting embrace.

"Will he ever forgive me?" Visenna asked.

Sama sighed, heavy. "I know him well, and I believe he may, if given the opportunity, but he won't extend his forgiveness lightly."

"Is there any chance for him to find any happiness on his path? The thought of a life of misery… I don't know if I can do it. Perhaps it would be better to not have him at all…"

"He'll take joy and pride in his work, but his life will never be easy, and he will be alone for a long time, but not forever. His path will be difficult and perilous, but others will walk in his footsteps if he succeeds. He'll be a father figure to one, then to many. Others will be sent to help him, their destinies bound to make them meet. He'll feel them close to his heart instinctively, and I believe he might love one just as stubborn and duty-bound as he is. They'll meet when they'll be broken and perhaps they'll put each other back together."

Geralt's fingers clenched around Criss's arm and squeezed a little harder than he intended. She looked up at him in shock.

Visenna remained silent, looking thoughtfully at the slightly protruding bump.

"I'm sorry to bring you such news. And I know this doesn't bring much comfort, but this world will be lucky to have him cast his shadow upon it."

With that, the image disappeared, and they were back in bed, looking at each other with bewildered eyes.